Chapter 1
Peter’s self-preservation had always been questionable.
There was that time he got stabbed in the middle of an alleyway and, when Karen ratted on him to FRIDAY who ratted on him to Tony, he told the man it was just like getting stabbed by a toothpick. A toothpick that resulted in 12 stitches and a thorough lecture from May about not mocking muggers into stabbing him 2 inches from vital organs.
And then there was the time that he totally broke his ankle during a mission with the Avengers after he landed wrong, but he didn’t admit it because Sam would have given him a bad time for it, so then Tony laid into him about ‘you can’t let what other people say get to you, because then this shit happens’ and he had to lay on the couch for 3 days straight to let his ankle heal. When Peter complained about watching Frozen 4 for the sixth time in 48 hours, Tony told Morgan to turn the volume up with that absolutely evil smirk of his.
There were plenty of embarrassing instances that had burned themselves into Peter’s brain, but it was safe enough to say that yes, fine, Peter himself even knew he didn’t have a lot of self-preservation (even if others would argue to say it was non-existent).
So naturally, when Peter woke up that morning with queasiness rolling over him in waves and his side throbbing, his first instinct was to power through the day. He had important quizzes for Spanish and Physics, and then that essay for English that he couldn’t turn in late.
He was chalking it up to the hotdog and tacos and Delmar’s sandwich he’d inhaled during patrol last night. Wasn’t the first time he had a strange concoction of processed foods during a high-activity patrol, and there wasn’t a chance that he would let a little stomach bug keep him from a stellar GPA and his name on the honor roll. If he made it again, then Pepper promised to make him her famous cinnamon rolls and there was no way he would miss that.
But then he was nauseous after second period and MJ gave him a weird look when he walked into English late, having spent 20 minutes in the boy’s bathroom leaned over a toilet while his stomach debated on whether or not to expel his breakfast. He picked at his lunch (because seriously, what was with the plastic cheese nachos lately?). Flash had hit him in the stomach with a dodgeball in PE, and while usually he’d just snicker to himself at the lame throw, he’d kinda gone all woozy and tripped as he made his way off the court, causing even more laughter from Flash and co.
The whole day sucked, and what sucked even more were the texts that came in after his last period of the day; a “can’t wait to watch you compete tonight, kiddo!” text with an obnoxious line of emojis from Tony and the "show up tonight and don’t be late" text from MJ. Because of course Peter managed to get sick on the same day of a decathlon meet. Parker luck at its finest.
So nap plans were laid to rest (unlike Peter) and he sucked it up, climbing aboard the yellow bus to hell.
And so there he was, standing outside the auditorium with Tony who was far too engrossed in a round of Candy Crush. At that point, he was absolutely sure that it was the hot dogs from the shady guy on the corner behind May’s apartment. It was salmonella. Or… E. coli? Or poison.
Shaking his head to bring himself back to reality, Peter gave Tony a side glance. Maybe he had a shred of self-preservation after all. It was better late than never to admit defeat.
“Mr. Stark? I really don’t feel good-”
Tony’s head snapped up. “Peter, you know I hate when you say that.”
Peter groaned, waving a hand to stop Tony from continuing. “I know, sorry,” he muttered. “But I’m serious. Y’know Ed, with the hot dog stand behind our apartment building? I think he has it out for me, poisoned the hot dogs or something.” At Tony’s raised eyebrow, Peter sighed heavily. “My stomach feels weird. Can you just take me home?”
“It’s just the nerves that are making you feel queasy, kid,” Tony said as he pocketed his phone after one more swipe and slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “You need to do this. When was the last decathlon meet you went to? And remind me how pleased MJ has been with your dismal practice attendance lately?”
Wincing at the reminders, Peter grumbled, “Spider-Man-”
“Right, Spider-Man duties. Because building your resume for college falls below swinging in a onesie around the city.”
“It’s not a onesie,” Peter defended the costume, arms wrapping around his midsection.
Tony snorted. “I made the onesie in question. Definitely a onesie, but a multimillion-dollar onesie.”
Peter didn’t have the strength to argue with him as the churning in his stomach began all over. “Stop saying onesie,” he finally huffed as he threw a weak glare in Tony’s direction.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes. “Trust me kid, I learned all the tips and tricks for playing sick. You’re not gonna be able to get past me. I also promised May lots of pictures and Morgan wants to see you compete.” Leaning in, he muttered, “Sometimes I think she likes you more than me. Impossible, I know, but I get the idea.”
Peter snorted at Tony’s admission right as a cramp hit his lower abdomen, instead exhaling sharply. “She does ‘cause I let her have a juice pop before bed. You don’t ‘cause you’re afraid Pepper will yell at you.”
“I’m not afraid of Pepper-”
An exasperated sigh interrupted Tony, along with the click of heels as a familiar voice floated their way. “What did you do now?”
Tony spun around with a playful grin to avoid the topic at hand. “Oh, would you take a look at who it is? My lovely wife!” Pepper’s look of suspicion only grew, to which Tony wrapped an arm around her waist.
“I hope you’re not putting anything in Peter’s head. Lord knows you’re already a bad influence on him,” she said before reaching over to ruffle Peter’s hair. “Hey, Pete.” Turning her attention back to Tony, she asked, “Morgan already inside?”
“Yeah, with Happy. She’s not impressed by the ‘sit still and be quiet’ part, but I told her it would be fun to see Peter compete.”
“It’s not fun for me when I feel like I have to throw up, Mr. Stark,” Peter piped up petulantly, staring at him with a frown.
Tony sighed, shaking his head. “Peter-”
“What?” Pepper asked, seeming far more alarmed at Peter’s admission than Tony was. “If he’s not feeling well, then we should take him home-”
“It’s a ruse, Pep,” Tony said, crossing his arms over his chest as he fixed Peter with another stare. “Last time he pulled this just so he could bust a drug deal across town.”
Pepper hummed in response, turning to look at Peter thoughtfully. “That’s right, I think I remember hearing about that.”
Peter groaned. Tony hadn’t let that go for at least a couple of weeks, and apparently, Peter still wasn’t out of the clear. “Okay, yeah, I did that. I said I was sorry. But I’m serious this time- here, feel my forehead.” Snatching Tony’s wrist, he placed the back of his hand onto his forehead and stared expectantly at him.
Tony shot him a warning glance but seemed to humor him before pulling away. “You feel fine to me, Pete. What, did you try to put hand warmers on your forehead to warm the skin up? I know that trick, too.”
Feeling hurt and a little embarrassed at the way the conversation had turned, Peter was quick to stutter a “what? No!”
“You’re going up there. End of story.” The tone of finality made Peter’s shoulders slump.
Pepper seemed hesitant, tapping on Tony’s arm. “Maybe the kid’s actually sick, Tony.”
But before Pepper could come to his rescue, Ned’s head was poking out from the auditorium. “Peter! C’mon, MJ’s looking for you. We’re about to start.”
“Go on,” Tony said and Peter knew that ‘no’ wouldn’t be taken for an answer. With another half-hearted glare, he turned to trudge towards the auditorium doors (where Ned was not-so-subtly gazing awestruck at Tony and Pepper).
“I always forget they’re like, your guardians or something,” he whispered.
“Unfortunately I can’t,” Peter mumbled back as he listened to the conversation outside the doors.
“You were harsh on him, Tony. He looked run down. Maybe he isn’t lying.”
“You know how he is, Pep. Kid’s lied to me before and he needs to learn how to own up to it. He might be mad at me now but he’ll get over it.”
__________________
The competition felt like everything was in slow motion. The words coming out of the quizmaster’s mouth took Peter a couple of seconds longer to recognize, and after the third time that he tapped the buzzer just after the other team, MJ called for a time-out.
“Parker,” Flash snapped from beside him. “Get it together. I can’t lose.”
“I’m trying,” Peter snapped back, ignoring the way his throat closed up and his cheeks burned at the way the rest of the team stared at him. Why was the blame being put on him?
A hand hitting the table from the very right caught the attention of the team as MJ leaned in. “It’s not Parker’s fault. Anyone can answer these questions. We’re four questions down, so get it together, because I’m not going home as a loser.” Her eyes caught Peter’s and for a brief moment, he could almost see them soften and she nodded his way. We got this, it’ll be fine.
Leaning back as the timeout ended, Peter sought Tony from within the audience. He was wrestling an energetic Morgan to sit down, while Pepper smiled and Happy threw him a lazy thumbs up.
He just had to make it through the rest of the meet.
_____________________
“Yay, Petey!” Morgan cried as she ran over to wrap around his legs, ignoring the way his legs shook after stumbling outside and through the crowd of students and parents. “You won! And winners get ice cream, right, daddy?”
Tony laughed. “A true con artist. Using her brother’s win for a chance at sugar.” Bringing Peter in for a one-armed hug, Peter gasped under his breath at the sharp movement and swallowed convulsively against the churning in his stomach. “We’re proud of you, kiddo. See what happens when you just go up there and-”
Peter bent over, forcing Morgan away from his legs with a breathy “don’t look, Mo” as he promptly vomited on his and Tony’s shoes.
There were a few exclamations around him as people moved out of the way, casting disgusted looks at the queasy kid puking on everyone’s shoes.
Vaguely, he could hear Morgan’s own screech and Happy easily swooping in to carry her away. “‘M sorry,” he gasped, trying to hold back another bout of sickness as his knees buckled.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Tony reassured him as he pulled Peter’s arm over his shoulders, but somehow it made Peter feel even worse. He latched onto Tony’s shirt as he breathed heavily, trying to reorient himself.
It wasn’t until Tony had eased him down onto the stone bench nearby that Peter’s stomach revolted once more, threatening to bring up plastic nachos. Slapping his hand over his mouth, he couldn’t help the whimper that followed.
A hand caught Peter’s wrist and pulled his hand away. Instead, a thin plastic bag was placed against his fingers. “Take the bag, honey,” Pepper’s soft voice managed to get past the static in his brain.
Snatching the bag and opening it with shaking fingers, his stomach had decided it waited long enough. Hands remained on both sides of him, rubbing his back and holding him up so he wouldn’t go diving face-first into the concrete.
The second round had him feeling absolutely exhausted, not even being able to protest when Pepper pried the bag out of his fingers and hurried away.
“Alright, kiddo,” Tony said, his hand coming up to knead at the back of Peter’s neck. “Let’s just wait for Happy, yeah? You think you can hold out that long?”
Peter shrugged half-heartedly as his head tilted down at Tony’s ministrations, catching a glimpse at the true mess he had created. “Shit,” he sighed, reaching down slowly to try and pull his shoes off. Tony huffed and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.
“Stop that. Just sit still.”
“But it’s gross,” he complained, taking a glance at the mess on Tony’s shoes as he tried to ignore the squeamish feeling that was building again. “I didn’t mean to puke on your shoes.”
“Yeah, I know you didn’t,” Tony agreed with a sigh. “Look at it this way, Morgan’s done worse. Have I told you about the time she projectile vomited carrot across the table? It was that gross, burnt orange-”
Peter gagged.
“Okay, sorry, no throw up talk.”
“You really know how to comfort, don’t you, boss?”
Peter looked up to see that Happy had returned and was casting an unimpressed look Tony’s way. “Hey, it’s the man of the hour, Harold!”
“There’s no way I’m cleaning that up.”
“It’s a good thing I wasn’t asking you to. You got something for me, big guy? Wipes? Shoes? Pepto Bismol?”
“Unless you want to wear Pepper’s heels or Morgan’s Rapunzel dress, no,” Happy sighed. “I got this, though. Might help for the ride. I can take Morgan and stop at the pharmacy before I go home.”
Peter looked at the Frozen blanket with distaste, but Tony paid no mind as he began to pry the jacket that was covered in vomit off of Peter’s figure. “Yeah, that’d be good. Have Pep come with you so she can pick out the good stuff. Pick up some dinner for the little gremlin while you’re at it.”
“Sure. You want anything? I’ll pick up cheeseburgers-”
Peter gagged again.
“Nope, I’m good. In fact, keep the food out of the apartment,” Tony said, trying not to wince as Peter leaned over the bench to retch again. “Far, far from the apartment.”
Happy wrinkled his nose. “Got it. See you in a bit, boss.”
“Yep,” Tony sighed with a pat on Peter’s back.
_________
Peter’s forehead was pressed against the glass of the car window, breathing shallowly to try and ignore the smell of sick that continued to follow him. The fuzzy blanket was wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
“You doing okay over there, kid?”
“Mhm.”
Silence followed Peter’s answer and he dared to raise his head to look toward Tony. The older man was frowning as he drove, sneaking a side glance toward Peter. “You’re not a great liar.”
Peter shrugged one shoulder and turned back toward the window. Apparently he wasn’t great at telling the truth, either, but he settled for a small “sorry”.
“Pete, I wasn’t-” Tony cut himself off with a heavy sigh, seeming to change his mind. “We’ll get back to the tower and get you some of those heavy-duty fever reducers, fit for any enhanced spider-child. Alright?”
Peter’s nose scrunched up. “Those ones always make me feel woozy,” he complained, slumping even more as he wrapped his arms around his midsection. It had settled into the right side of his abdomen with a dull ache, making him groan softly as he relished in the cool window’s touch on his warm forehead. “I just want to go to sleep.”
“I know, kid,” Tony sympathized as he pulled into the garage of the tower. “Once you get some electrolytes in you and some meds, you can nap to your heart’s content. C’mon, let’s go switch Elsa for a fuzzy blanket. If you’re good, I’ll give you the Iron Man one.”
“Ugh,” Peter groaned, pushing the car door open. “You’re insufferable.”
“Doesn’t sound like me.” Tony rounded the side of the car and held the door for Peter, waiting as he got his bearing and began to clamber out. “You got it?”
“Yeah,” Peter grunted as he went to push himself up. In a split moment of pain and panic, Peter gasped and fell back into the seat as the pain in his side became sharp. “That hurts.”
“What does?” Tony asked, crouching next to Peter with wide eyes. “Hey, kid, talk to me. Is your stomach cramping up? Maybe it’s the dehydration…”
Peter hummed in uncertainty as he closed his eyes tightly as he clutched his side. A hand began to card through his hair and he leaned into it with a soft exhale. “Can I just stay here?”
“Unfortunately not,” Tony murmured, letting his hand still for a moment. “Is it your right side?" Peter nodded lazily, eyes still closed. "How bad is it on a scale of 1-10?” Peter started to open his mouth and Tony cut him off. “Let me rephrase that; without lying, how bad is it on a scale of 1-10?”
“Uh… 6?”
“Jesus, Pete.”
“I think you mean Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, cracking an eye open just in time to see Tony’s exasperation.
“And you say I’m the insufferable one,” the man muttered, looking around the garage. “Stay here, alright? I’ll be back.”
Peter huffed in annoyance as Tony jogged away toward the elevator. Like he was going to go anywhere. Curling back up and ignoring the way his side twinged with each movement, he picked his phone up off the seat next to him.
mj: hey loser, you did fine today. don’t beat yourself up or anything.
ned: dude, flash said he saw you throw up outside. u ok?
ned: don’t look in the gc he’s being weird again
Sure enough, there in the group chat was a mocking text message about Peter’s very public vomit session outside the doors.
flash: Looks like competition bested Parker again. Remind me why he’s not an alternative?
mj: because he’s smarter than you and competes better?
Smiling slightly at MJ’s defense (while also ignoring the blush of embarrassment creeping over his cheeks), Peter was glad that at least his outdoor disaster wasn’t a topic that the group chat wanted to talk about. Conversation had moved on a couple messages later, thanks to MJ and Ned, and Peter was able to lower his phone with relief.
The quiet ding of the elevator had him looking up, seeing Tony with a wheelchair.
“Noooo,” he groaned, letting his head fall against the seat. “I’m not doing that.”
Tony flourished a hand towards the chair. “How else are you going to get up and to that elevator?”
“Dunno. I’ll crawl.”
With a snort, Tony pushed it closer to the passenger door. “Yeah, okay. Stop complaining and get in the chair.”
Hands came to support him, holding him up under his armpits and helped to maneuver him to the chair. He was breathing heavily by the time he got there, wrapping his arms around his side. “Mr. Stark, I think it was the hot dogs.”
Tony made a noncommittal noise as he started wheeling him toward the elevator. “Yeah, uh, I hate to break it to you kid but hot dogs don’t give you appendicitis.”
Peter’s head whipped around (much to this stomach’s dislike) to stare at his mentor. “No- what? Appendicitis? No way. I don’t have that.”
“I’m not a medical doctor but from the sounds of it, that is very much the beginning of appendicitis,” Tony countered.
“Petey! Daddy!”
“Nuh- Maguna, hey, don’t be running full speed into the invalid here,” Tony warned as the six year old came crashing out of Happy’s car just as it had come to a stop at the beginning of the garage. A pharmacy bag was in her grubby little hands, and just beyond her, Peter could see Happy gathering the last few bags and Pepper walking behind him.
“Is his fever that bad?” Pepper asked in alarm, half-jogging to the elevator to hit the button for Tony.
Tony laughed sharply. “It’s not the fever we need to worry about. Like always, he has to go above and beyond. I think today’s culprit is appendicitis.”
“Oh, Peter,” Pepper tutted, moving a hand to brush his curls back. He leaned into the touch easily, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment of comfort as her cool fingertips brushed over his flushed skin.
“What’s app-a-appenitis?” Morgan asked as the elevator doors opened and Happy reached to pull her back so that Tony could push the wheelchair forward.
“Appendicitis,” Peter corrected her, his fingers curling into his shirt as a sharp pain washed over him. “And it’s not that. It’s the hot dogs. It was a shady hot dog man, and he’s tryna poison me.”
Tony turned them both around so they were facing the doors. “I’ll explain it to you later, honey. In the meantime, you stay with Uncle Happy and mommy. I have to make sure bug boy gets taken care of.”
The doors shut on a disappointed Morgan.
“You’re mean,” Peter muttered.
Tony huffed a small laugh as he pressed the button for the med bay. “FRIDAY, tell the on-call medical team that we’re heading up, another Parker incident.”
Indignantly, Peter scoffed. “Parker incident? What does that-”
“The team has been notified,” the AI cut Peter off and the elevator shuddered softly with its movement. “They will be meeting you at the door.”
Tony let out a heavy sigh at that point, sagging against the handles of the wheelchair. He rested his chin on the top of Peter’s head. “How’s the pain, ‘Roos?”
Peter shrugged a shoulder half-heartedly. “I mean, it’s probably the same as that time I got stabbed.”
There was a soft noise of disapproval. “I don’t think there’s any other 17 year old out there who would give me the levels of anxiety that you do. My heart can barely handle it.”
Peter shrugged. “Just to keep you on your toes.”
There was another small huff resembling a laugh before Tony pressed a soft kiss onto the crown of his head. “I’ll have Pepper call May. Let her know that you're probably going to be spending the night in the med bay, whether it’s appendicitis or not.”
With a disappointed groan, Peter didn’t even get the chance to argue over his residency in the med bay when the elevator came to a slow stop and a soft ding to signal their arrival to the floor. The two nurses immediately outside the doors didn’t even wait for Tony to start pushing him forward, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair.