Fever
It had all started with a slight headache. Nothing insurmountable; Peter simply had the impression that a ghost was continuously drumming in his right hemisphere.
He hadn't been ill in years and chalked the migraine up to a lack of sleep. His nights had been restless since May was no longer there, interspersed with sobs he stifled in the soft fabric of his pillow. If Tony knew about his insomnia, he never brought it up—and Peter was grateful for that.
The teenager convinced himself the pain would subside soon.
However, far from calming down, the headache only intensified throughout the day. The light, especially, drove tiny invisible awls into the back of his eyes.
‘You really do look terrible,’ MJ said over lunch, giving him an indecipherable look over her sandwich.
‘Thanks a lot, that warms my heart,’ Peter grumbled, chewing a piece of lettuce that tasted like cardboard.
MJ smirked. ‘Sarcasm, really? Stark seems to be rubbing off on you.’
‘Maybe it's you who’s rubbing off on Peter,’ Ned suggested—but fell silent as MJ’s expression turned dangerous.
After a pause, she gave a disdainful sniff and turned back to Peter.
‘Seriously, loser. Are you okay?’
Peter hesitated. He didn't like lying to his friends, but whatever this was couldn’t be serious—his superhuman metabolism would probably wipe it out by nightfall. So he nodded and attempted a smile, ignoring the lettuce stuck between his front teeth.
‘I'm fine.’
‘Okay,’ MJ said, suspicious. ’But if you’re gonna puke, aim for Flash's shoes, alright?’
‘Promise!’
OOO
By the end of the day, things had worsened considerably. Shivers crawled down his spine like static. It felt like a wave of cold was seeped under his skin, chasing out any sense of warmth; and yet, his face felt too hot.
‘What's the matter, kid? Cat got your tongue?‘ Happy asked during the drive, thrown off by Peter’s silence.
‘Last time I checked, my tongue was still in my mouth,’ Peter mumbled.
He was slumped against the window, arms crossed tightly in a futile attempt to trap what little heat his body was holding onto. Happy gave him a concerned look in the rearview mirror.
‘You okay?’
‘Yes. Totally fine,’ Peter lied for the second time that day. ’Just tired. We watched a Lord of the Rings marathon last night, I only made it halfway through the second movie.’
As Happy still looked preoccupied, Peter tried to make conversation, as if everything was normal:
‘Hey, Hap, did you ever think about being a Hobbit? No more socks, second breakfast every day—honestly, kind of living the dream! No?’
The driver frowned. ‘I don't know. It's not the kind of question normal people ask.’
‘You'd be a perfect Hobbit, Hap. The kindest, funniest one in the whole Shire!’
‘If you say so, Peter,’ Happy interrupted as they pulled into the Tower parking lot. ’Glad to see you've not lost your optimism. By the way, Tony won't be home tonight. Some business meeting across town, he doesn't know what time he'll be back. You can ask Friday to order you something to eat.’
‘Noted! Thanks!’
‘If anything goes wrong, call me.’
‘Okay, Hap!’
‘And stop calling me that.’
OOO
Peter flopped onto his bed and started his math homework, but his mind quickly wandered. He re-read the same figures over and over again, without managing to connect them. The numbers blurred—three, five, one, two... Pain split through his temples like a wedge, and he was getting colder and colder. He wrapped himself in a blanket, but the heat soon became unbearable, and he tossed it off with a groan.
How could he be so hot and so cold at the same time? Sweat beaded on his forehead, he felt like he’s just run a marathon.
A shower, he decided, might help—but he froze when he saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He was pale as a sheet, with hints of green beneath vivid pink cheeks and glassy eyes.
MJ was right: he looked terrible.
He only had the strength to splash some water on his face before stumbled back to bed, still dressed, eyes fluttering shut the moment he hit the mattress.
OOO
He felt only minutes had passed when he jolted awake, certain he needed to be somewhere—but couldn’t remember where. His room was dark, the Tower was silent. A glance at his phone told him it was 2 a.m.
Peter sat up. His legs wobbled, so he held on to the wall, easily catching his knuckles on it. He decided to pull himself up to the ceiling and, upside down, make his way to the empty living room—in this position, the room seemed bigger. Then he curled up in a ball, shivering. He felt safer up high. It was instinctive: in his particularly vulnerable state, his whole being was crying out for shelter.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, eyes wide as the world gently titled and swam below him, until the elevator chimed. The doors opened, and Tony Stark stepped in, looking exhausted, sill in a three-piece suit. Somewhat fascinated, Peter watched him peel off his jacket, toss it over the couch, and rub his face.
‘Friday, everything okay while I was gone?’ he asked, flopping down on the sofa.
‘Nothing major to report, Boss.’
‘Pepper didn't try to reach me?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Mhm. And how's the kid?’
‘You can ask him yourself. He's right above your head at the moment.’
Tony froze, looked up—and nearly feel off the couch.
‘Jesus, Peter...! Are you trying to give me a heart attack or something?’
‘S-sorry, Tony, I didn't mean to scare you.'
‘What are you doing up there, in the dark? Shouldn't you be in bed? Friday, lights.’
Peter squinted under the sudden assault of the light bulbs. Tony stood, his face tightening as he took in Peter’s pallor.
‘Okay. Get down. Now.’
There was something in Tony’s voice —low, tight, unfamiliar—that made Peter obey immediately. He stumbled as he landed but manage to catch himself.
‘You alright, Tony?’ he asked as soon as the world around him stopped spinning. ’You look weird.’
‘I look weird? You’re the one hanging from the ceiling in the middle on the night, looking like some kind of possessed kid! Friday, what's going on with Peter?’
‘According to my sensors, Peter's current temperature is 39 degrees Celsius. His pulse has reached 110 BPM. He has not had any food or fluid since returning, and he also seems to be suffering from headaches. In view of his state of health, I would recommend him rest and hydration... and possibly less ceiling crawling.’
‘That's not true, I feel great!‘ Peter insisted. 'I'm just a little hot. Or cold, it's the same thing.’
‘No, Pete. It's really not.”
Tony approached, gently cupping Peter’s sweaty forehead.
‘What are you doing?’ Peter yelped.
‘Relax, kid. I'm not trying to steal your soul. I'm just checking your temperature.’
‘... Oh, okay.’
‘Yup. Got yourself a fever.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No need to apologize. Did you hear what Friday said? Pajamas and back to bed, chop chop! I’ll check on you in ten minutes—I just need to make a call first.’
Peter nodded and wobbled off to his room, still feeling Tony’s gaze on his back.
Once inside, he wrestled off his T-shirt and jeans. He was halfway through accidentally stuffing his leg into the arm of his pajama top when he heard Tony’s voice through the wall—less confident than usual, even a little shaky.
‘Hey, Pep? It's me.’
Pepper's voice was muffled, but Peter’s enhanced hearing picked up enough to follow.
‘Tony, why are you calling me? It's three in the morning. This really isn’t—’
‘Peter’s sick.’
There was a pause. Then, softer:
‘Oh, poor thing. What’s wrong with him?’
‘He has a fever. And headache. Friday says he hasn’t eaten or drunk anything since school. I… I don't know what to do. I’ve never had to deal with a sick kid. Should I give him some medicine? Call a doctor? I told him to change and go to bed, but what if he gets worse?’
‘Tony, calm down. He just has a fever and a headache? No other symptoms?’
‘No, I don't think so.’
‘What's his temperature?’
‘39 degrees Celsius. Friday checked.’
‘Okay. Look, Tony, I'm not a doctor, but it sounds like he’s just... run down. Despite the superpowers, he's still human, remember?’
‘You think so? I thought he couldn't get sick.’
‘He’s been through a lot lately. His body probably just need rest. Emotional stress hits the body hard—you know that better than anyone.’
‘Yeah, thanks for the reminder.’
‘Sorry. But really, he’ll be fine. You just have to… well, take care of him.’
‘But I don't know how! I didn't get the manual for sick superhero teenagers!’
‘Me neither, Tony. There’s no manual for any kind of kid, otherwise, the world would look a whole lot different.’
‘But surely you know some tricks?’
There was a short silence before Pepper replied in a mock-instructor tone:
‘You have to keep his temperature under control. Don’t bundle him up too much. Cool cloth on the forehead. Make sure he drinks lots of fluids, he mustn't get dehydrated. You can give him paracetamol, it won't cure him but it’ll help. And.. that's pretty much all.'
‘… Are you Googling this?’
‘Hey, I told you—I don't have a sick kid manual engraved in my brain either! As for the rest, you’ll do fine.’
‘But—’
‘Tony, you treated me when I was injected with a mystery drug that turned me into a human glow stick. You'll know how to handle this.’
‘You… you really think so?’
‘Peter adores you. He trusts you. In my view, he’s in the best hands he could be.’
A new silence greeted these words, during which Peter could hear Tony's pulse begin to slow.
‘Okay. Thanks for your help, Pepper,’ he finally murmured. 'And, um... Thanks for answering my call.’
‘You're welcome, Tony. You know I'll always answer your calls.’
Tony let out a brief sigh.
‘Sometimes, I forget.’
‘I know. Good night, Tony.’
‘You too, Pep.’
Tony hung up and sigh heavily.
Peter quickly buried his face in his pillow as he heard his bedroom door’s open. He tried to feign sleep, but jumped when a hand brushed his damp hair.
‘Hey, easy, kid. It's just me.’ Tony knelt beside the bed, meeting Peter’s groggy eyes. ‘How’re you feeling?’
‘C-cold,” Peter mumbled.
Tony gave a worried smile ‘Yet you're sweating like crazy. We're gonna try to cool you down a bit, okay?’
‘N-no. I’m cold,’ he repeated.
‘I know. That’s the fever.’
‘Mhhm.’
Tony vanished and returned what felt like seconds later with a wet cloth. Peter winced at its icy touch, trying to turn away, but Tony gently held his chin.
‘Don't move. I’m almost done.’
‘I-I don't like this. Please...’
Guilt flickered in Tony’s eyes, and his tone softened. ‘It'll help, I promise.’
Then Tony left the cloth on his forehead. When Peter reached up to swat it away, Tony gently stopped him. 'Leave it, Pete.’
Peter considered fighting back, but exhaustion won; he closed his eyes, and jumped again when something touched his lips.
‘Drink some water, then you can sleep.’
He complied; he had the impression that the water got stuck in his throat and gagged a little, but Tony's hand on his arm helped to steady him.
Finally, he closed his eyes again and drifted off. Unfortunately, it was not a restful sleep.
OOO
He was dreaming. Or maybe not?
He was in the school courtyard, facing MJ. She was speaking, but her words blurred together. She ended up getting frustrated and pushed him away, before vanishing. He tried to follow her, but his legs were glued to the pavement. On the other side of the courtyard, Flash was laughing and pointing at him.
Next moment—he was on a rooftop in his Spider-Man suit, wind slapping his burning cheeks. A scream rang out—someone needed help!
He leapt. Web shot.
And—snap! The line gave way.
He was falling. Falling…
The scream grew louder. A shiver ran down his spine when he recognized May's voice, but he couldn't move...
BAM!
Peter bolted upright in bed, heart hammering, convinced he’s hit concrete. But no—just sheets, twisted around his clammy body. A blurry figure sat next to his bed, asleep.
‘M-May?‘ he croaked.
He tried to stand, but he stumbled and grabbed hold of his bedside table, sending his phone flying to the floor. The figure jolted awake.
‘Pe... Peter? What are you doing?’
‘May,’ he whimpered.
He wanted to tell her something—he had to tell her something—but couldn't remember what. Frustration brought tears to his eyes.
The figure reached out to stabilise him. Disorientated, Peter started to struggle, even though his limbs were as floppy as jelly.
‘Whoa, easy, kid! Friday, turn on the light at 10%’, the figure ordered in a voice tight with panic.
A very faint glow lit up Tony's face. Peter's eyes widened and he stopped struggling.
‘T-Tony? B-but... I thought... May... she was there...’
‘It was a dream,’ Tony said softly, placing a rough hand on Peter's cheek.
He immediately frowned, anxiety blossoming in his dark eyes.
‘Shit, you're burning up. Friday, what's his temp?’
‘41 degrees Celsius, Boss.’
‘41… crap.’
‘Mr. Stark?’ Peter whispered, clutching Tony’s sleeve. ’Mr. Stark, I have to tell May... I forgot what I wanted to say… but I need to…’
Tony’s face was stricken. Peter froze.
‘Mr. Stark?’
‘Boss, your heart rate is elevated,’ said Friday’s voice above them. ‘You seem to be on the verge of a panic attack. Should I call Miss Potts?’
Peter heard Mr. Stark swallow. ‘No. No, I’m okay. I’m handling it, Fri.’
He took deep breaths—in and out, and Peter could clearly hear his pulse slowing.
‘Mr. Stark?’ he repeated.
He tightened his fingers on his sleeve and tried to sit up.
‘No, Pete, don’t move.’
The teenager blinked. He felt as if he were floating, the room revolving around him as if he were trapped in a carousel. The only fixed point was the pale face of Mr. Stark. Peter reached out his hand to him and he immediately grabbed it.
‘Are... are you alright, Mr. Stark?’
‘Yes. And you, Pete?’
He didn't reply immediately. His thoughts, which Mr. Stark's behavior had briefly brought together, were scattering again. Another shiver rolled down his spine and he couldn't help but groan.
‘Pete?’
The last time he had felt this bad, May had stayed with him all night. She had held his hand, stroked his hair and whispered words of comfort.
May...
‘I don't remember what I wanted to tell her,’ Peter whispered. ‘I forgot, and she's gone, she's gone...’
‘Hey, hey…’
Tony's free hand cupped his cheek again, cool and soft despite the calluses that dotted it.
‘I want May...’ Peter’s voice broke. ’I-I w-w-want M-M-May...’
‘I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby.’
Baby… May always called him baby. She had been like a mother to him...
He broke, his shoulders trembling to the erratic rhythm of his sobs. He suddenly felt himself being lifted up and found himself nestled against a warm, reassuring body; his face was buried against a familiar shoulder, the scent of which reminded him of his home. An arm wrapped tightly around him and a hand gently cupped his neck, holding his head.
‘Shh. I'm here, baby,’ Tony's voice whispered in his ear. ’I'm here.’
Peter clung to him like he was the last piece of the world still holding together. He was certain that if he let go of him, he would sink into darkness.
‘I'm here,’ Tony repeated tirelessly. ’I'm here.’
OOO
He had no memory of having fallen asleep. When Peter next woke, the sun's rays were forming a golden rosette on the ceiling.
He still felt weak, sweaty, but clearer. He sat up on his elbows and realized his pajamas were inside out.
There was an empty armchair at the foot of his bed, which made him frowned. Tony had been there, he vaguely remembered. Had he really stayed with him all night? And that hug… had that actually happened?
He left his bed and managed to slip to the bathroom, determined to get rid of the sweat clinging to his skin. Fortunately, te hot shower did him good.
As he pulled on a fresh T-shirt, his damp hair beating against his forehead and cheeks, he heard a panicked yelling on the other side of the door:
‘Peter? Peter, where are you? Friday, where's Peter?’
‘In the bathroom,’ Peter replied before the AI had time to answer.
The next second, the door burst open to reveal a livid Tony Stark, arms crossed and looking stern.
‘Hey, I could have still been getting dressed! You know teenagers need privacy, right?’ Peter protested.
‘What are you doing up? You're still sick! Back to bed. Now.’
‘To bed? But I’ve gotta go to school!’
‘I called you principal, you’re staying home for the day.’
‘But I feel better!’
‘You still have a fever, kid. Now, stop babbling and go to bed.’
Peter rolled his eyes but complied. Tony's shoulders didn't relax until he had almost completely disappeared under the bed covers.
‘You're not moving from here, it's an order. And don’t try to sneak off, or Friday will rat you out.’
‘You don't need to babysit me. I’m perfectly fine.’
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t catch that. I'll be back with breakfast. In the meantime, don't move!’ Tony trumpeted as he left his room.
Peter rolled his eyes and decided to check his phone while waiting for the man to return. He had two new messages:
Ned: Hey Peter! Heard you’re sick. How’s it going? Let us know!
MJ: Told you you looked like shit. Come back in one piece, loser.We miss you.
He chuckled and started to reply, until a tray with a plate full of pancakes and a bowl of hot chocolate was placed on his lap.
‘Bon appétit, Pete!’ Tony said proudly.
‘Woah, you cooked this?’ Peter asked, raising his nose in surprise.
The smell of the food immediately whetted his appetite, and he happily stuck his fork into a pancake covered in strawberry jam.
‘Yes. Surprised?’ Tony remarked falsely offended.
‘Oh, no! Well, yes. A little. Mmmhh, thanks, it’s really good!’
‘Don't talk with your mouth full.’
‘Sorry!’
Tony sighed ostentatiously.
Peter managed two pancakes before his stomach protested at this sudden onslaught of food. He pushed his plate away, queasy.
‘Aren't you hungry anymore?’ Tony asked, worried, as he picked up the tray.
‘Not really. Better stop now or I’ll puke on you.’
‘Well, you're right. Get some rest. Exceptionally, you get a pass on brushing your teeth.’
‘Cool!’
Peter briefly closed his eyes. He was sure that he wouldn't be able to sleep again—but minutes later, he was out cold.
OOO
He was awakened by another telephone conversation between Tony and Pepper.
‘He slept all day. Fever’s mostly gone.’
‘Thank goodness! I told you you could handle it’ came Pepper’s reply.
‘Oh, I didn't do anything. He's the one with the super-healing. Anyone else would have been bedridden for a week, but his fever only lasted twenty-four hours.’
‘Don't sell yourself short. You were there when he needed you, and that's very important. How did it go?’
‘Honestly? I thought I wouldn't be able to do it. His fever had risen a lot during the night, and... er...
‘Yes?’
‘He was crying and asking for May.’
‘Oh, honey…’
‘I didn't know what to do, so I just held him in my arms. I don't know if it was effective, but he finally calmed down and went back to sleep.’
Pepper snorted with laughter.
‘What's so funny?’ Tony frowned.
‘Sorry, I know it's not. I just pictured you hugging him, and I thought it was adorable.’
‘It wasn’t a hug—I just held him close to me!’
‘That's literally what a hug is, Tony.’
He protested for a few more minutes, before changing the subject.
Peter couldn't help smiling. So it wasn't a dream: Tony had really given him a hug—Tony, who was always so slow to show affection... His heart suddenly felt lighter.
When he had to say goodbye to May, he’d thought the word family would no longer mean anything to him.
But with Tony... Tony and Pepper...
Maybe that word would take on a new meaning. Different from the one he had known with May, but just as strong...
‘Pete? Are you awake?’
The teenager turned his head. Tony was kneeling beside him, one hand resting on his pillow. When their eyes met, Tony smiled at him.
‘Hey, Tony.’
‘Friday says you're almost back to normal. Wanna watch a movie in the living room?’
‘Am I allowed to get up now?’ Peter asked, amused.
‘Only within a 20-meter radius of your bed. Friday’s watching out.’
Peter wanted to protest, but there was still a glimmer of concern in Tony's eyes, and he thought it best to nod.
‘Tony?’ he asked as he left his bed.
‘Yeah, Pete?’
‘I... I just wanted to say... thanks. For last night. When I was all… er, fever-crazy,’ he said quickly.
Tony seemed just as embarrassed as he was.
‘It was nothing, kid.’
‘It wasn’t nothing,’ Peter replied. Then, his face lighting up: ’What movie are we going to watch? Can we keep watching Lord of the Rings? Tell me—don’t you ever dream of being a Hobbit?’