Tougher Than the Flu
Peter Parker knew something was wrong the moment he woke up. His head felt foggy, his limbs heavy, and his throat scratched like sandpaper. He groaned, rolling over to glance at the clock—he was already late for school.
Not again.
He pulled the covers back over his head, trying to will the ache away, but his phone buzzed. A quick glance told him it was Tony, and Peter let out another groan. Tony always knew when something was up.
Peter hit the answer button. "Hey, Mr. Stark..."
“Kid, you sound like you’ve been run over by a truck,” Tony said, his voice a mixture of concern and teasing. “Tell me you’re not thinking of going to school like that.”
“I’m fine,” Peter said, though his voice cracked mid-sentence. He winced. “Really, it’s just a cold or something. No big deal.”
Tony wasn’t buying it. “Uh-huh. Just a cold. You forget I’ve got advanced AI monitoring your vitals?”
Peter sighed, trying to sit up, but his body protested. “I can handle it. I’m Spider-Man, remember?”
“You’re a fifteen-year-old kid with the flu. Big difference,” Tony countered. “Look, take the day off. The city’s not going anywhere.”
Peter hesitated. His mind buzzed with the thought of missed homework, class notes piling up, and the awful anxiety that came with falling behind. His body ached, but the idea of staying home somehow felt worse. His routines kept him grounded, and missing school wasn’t part of that.
“I don’t want to fall behind,” Peter said quietly.
There was a pause, and then Tony’s voice softened. “Alright, I get it. You’ve got a thing about keeping on schedule. But you gotta know when to listen to your body, alright? I’ll make you a deal. You go to school, but if you feel worse—promise me you’ll call Happy to pick you up.”
Peter coughed, clearing his throat. “Okay. Deal.”
Peter barely made it through his first class. His head throbbed, and the fluorescent lights above felt like they were drilling into his skull. The sensory overload from his enhanced senses was only making things worse. By the time lunch rolled around, he was running on autopilot, fighting to keep himself upright.
As Peter shuffled into the cafeteria, Harley Keener slid into the seat beside him, balancing a tray loaded with food.
“Whoa, Parker,” Harley said in his thick Southern accent, eyeing him up and down. “You look like death warmed over.”
Peter blinked, trying to focus. “Thanks... appreciate the compliment.”
Harley raised an eyebrow. “You seriously went to school like this? What, you runnin’ a fever or somethin’?”
Peter shrugged, pulling out his sandwich but barely managing a bite. “I don’t know, I think so. I just didn’t want to mess up my routine.”
Harley snorted. “You sound like my Nana. She wouldn’t miss bingo night for nothin’. But you, man—you’re burning up.”
Peter pushed his tray away, suddenly feeling nauseous. “I can handle it. Spidey powers, remember? Should be tougher than a cold.”
Harley leaned in, his voice dropping. “Yeah, but you're still human, right? Spider powers or not, if you’re sick, you’re sick. Ain’t no shame in admitting it.”
Peter rubbed at his temples, the noise of the cafeteria pounding in his ears. “I don’t want to call Tony. He’ll just worry more.”
“Tony’s already worried,” Harley pointed out. “But c’mon, man, it’s not like you’re a disappointment if you call it quits for one day. The world ain’t gonna end.”
Peter leaned back in his chair, feeling the world tilt slightly. Maybe Harley was right. His skin was clammy, and the aching behind his eyes was getting worse.
Harley nudged him. “Tell you what. I’ll walk you to the nurse’s office. You rest up there for a bit, and if you still feel like crap, we call Happy.”
Peter glanced at Harley, who gave him a half-smile. “Don’t make me drag your butt there myself, Parker.”
Peter chuckled weakly. “Alright, alright. Fine.”
By the time Peter reached the nurse’s office, the exhaustion had fully settled in. He collapsed onto the cot, pulling the thin blanket over himself. The nurse muttered something about his temperature being too high and told him to lie still.
His phone buzzed again. It was Tony.
Peter groaned and answered.
"How are we feeling now, Spiderling? Still think you can ‘handle it’?"
“Not really,” Peter admitted, his voice muffled by the pillow. “I’m... I think I’m done for the day.”
“Good call,” Tony replied, relief evident in his tone. “Happy’s already on his way. He’ll bring you home, and you’re going to rest. No patrols, no lab work, nothing. Got it?”
Peter nodded, though his eyes were already starting to close. “Got it.”
Before Peter could say anything else, Harley’s voice piped up from across the room. “Told him the same thing, Mr. Stark. Kid’s stubborn as a mule.”
Tony chuckled. “Sounds like I owe you one, Keener. Keep an eye on him for me until Happy gets there?”
“Sure thing, boss,” Harley said with a grin, settling into the chair next to Peter’s cot. “Though you owe me more than one at this rate.”
“Duly noted.”
Peter smiled faintly, his body relaxing for the first time all day. He wasn’t used to this—letting people take care of him—but maybe, just this once, it wasn’t so bad.
As his eyes drifted shut, he heard Harley’s voice. “Get some sleep, Parker. World can wait till you’re better.”
And for once, Peter agreed.