Like Father, Like Son (Feveruary 1)
Tony Stark had seen a lot of concerning things in his life, but walking into Peter's room to find his son bundled in what appeared to be every blanket in the compound, shivering despite FRIDAY reporting a temperature of 102.3°F, definitely ranked in his top ten.
"How did you end up like this?" Tony sighed, crossing the room to perch on the edge of Peter's bed. His hand found its way to Peter's forehead, brushing back sweat-dampened curls. The kid was burning up.
"'m fine," Peter mumbled, attempting to burrow deeper into his blanket cocoon. "Just a little cold."
"A little cold," Tony repeated incredulously. "Kid, you're practically radiating enough heat to power the tower." He pulled out his phone, quickly scanning through Peter's vitals that FRIDAY had been monitoring. "Your temperature's been climbing for the past three hours. Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?"
Peter's response was muffled by the blankets. "Didn't want to worry you. You had that board meeting..."
"The board meeting that I've rescheduled six times already?" Tony shook his head, a familiar mixture of exasperation and fondness washing over him. "Pete, you're my kid. You come first. Always."
The bundle of blankets shifted slightly, and Peter's flushed face emerged. His eyes were glassy with fever, dark circles underneath them making him look younger and more vulnerable than his sixteen years. "Sorry, Dad."
The word still made Tony's heart skip a beat, even after officially adopting Peter two years ago. "Nothing to be sorry for, bambino. Let's focus on getting you better." He reached for the thermometer on the nightstand. "FRIDAY, what's his metabolism doing?"
"Peter's metabolic rate is currently 40% higher than his baseline, Boss. Combined with his elevated temperature, he's showing similar patterns to when his healing factor is actively working."
Tony frowned. Peter's enhanced healing usually took care of common illnesses before they could take hold. For him to be this sick... "Pete, did something happen at patrol last night?"
"No?" Peter's response was more question than answer, his forehead scrunching in thought. "I mean, there was this weird guy with some kind of tech weapon, but I webbed him up before he could—Haa'ekkSHIEW! " A violent sneeze interrupted his explanation, followed by a groan. "Okay, maybe he got one shot off. But it just felt like getting hit with a blast of cold air!"
"A blast of cold air," Tony repeated flatly. "From an unknown tech weapon. And you didn't think to mention this because...?"
Peter had the grace to look sheepish. "Because I knew you'd make that exact face? The one that says 'my son is simultaneously the smartest and dumbest person I know'?"
"That's because you ARE simultaneously the smartest and dumbest person I know," Tony retorted, already pulling out his StarkPad. "FRIDAY, pull up footage from Peter's suit last night. Let's see what we're dealing with."
The holographic display showed Peter's encounter with the mysterious weapon. Tony watched, his jaw clenching as he saw the blast hit Peter square in the chest. The suit's readings showed an instant temperature drop of thirty degrees at the point of impact.
"Looks like some sort of concentrated cryogenic weapon," Tony mused, analyzing the data. "Your healing factor is probably working overtime trying to counteract the effects, which is why you're running such a high fever." He set the pad aside and fixed Peter with a stern look. "Next time, you tell me immediately if you get hit with any weird tech, capisce?"
"Yes, Dad," Peter mumbled, then immediately started coughing. Tony quickly helped him sit up, rubbing his back until the fit passed.
"That's it. We're going to the med bay." Tony stood, already calculating what tests they'd need to run.
"No, please?" Peter grabbed his hand, eyes wide and pleading. "Can't we just stay here? I promise I'll tell you if I get worse."
Tony hesitated, looking at their joined hands. Peter's fingers were ice cold despite his fever. "Tell you what – we'll stay here for now, but if your temperature goes up even half a degree more, we're heading straight to medical. Deal?"
Peter nodded, relief evident on his face. "Deal."
"Scoot over then." Tony kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, settling against the headboard. Peter immediately curled into his side, reminding Tony of when he was younger and would seek comfort after nightmares.
"You don't have to stay," Peter murmured, even as he pressed closer. "I know you're busy."
"Not too busy for you, kiddo. Never too busy for you." Tony pulled one of the many blankets up over them both, though he was already sweating from Peter's fever-heat. "Want me to tell you about the time I accidentally froze all of DUM-E's joints while testing a similar weapon in the lab? Your old man wasn't always as smooth as he is now."
Peter's weak laugh turned into another cough, but he nodded against Tony's shoulder. "Please?"
As Tony launched into the story, embellishing certain parts to make Peter smile, he kept one eye on the vital readings FRIDAY was discreetly displaying. The fever wasn't climbing anymore, which was a good sign. Peter's enhanced healing would likely kick in properly once it figured out how to counter the weapon's effects.
Hours passed, and Tony continued telling stories, each one drawing a little more strength back into Peter's responses. By evening, the fever had dropped two degrees, and Peter was sleeping peacefully, still curled against Tony's side.
Looking down at his son's face, finally relaxed in sleep, Tony couldn't help but marvel at how this had become his life. From the self-centered billionaire he'd once been to a father who would gladly sit for hours in an overheated room just to comfort his sick kid – it was a transformation he never could have predicted but wouldn't trade for anything.
"FRIDAY, cancel everything on my schedule for tomorrow," he whispered.
"Already done, Boss," the AI responded quietly. "May I suggest ordering some soup from Peter's favorite deli for when he wakes up? His metabolism indicates he'll be hungry soon."
Tony smiled. "Good thinking, FRI. Make it a double order. And add some of those garlic knots he likes."
As if hearing them talk about food, Peter stirred slightly. "Dad?" he mumbled, not fully awake.
"Right here, underoos." Tony ran his fingers through Peter's curls, watching as he settled back into sleep. "Not going anywhere."
The work would pile up, the board would complain, and somewhere in the city, there was a criminal with an illegal cryogenic weapon who would soon learn exactly why you don't mess with Tony Stark's kid. But for now, none of that mattered. His son needed him, and everything else could wait.
After all, that's what fathers were for.
