Chapter 10
The hours after the event at Stark Towers were spent at the X-men mansion. Peter had sobbed, unable to be touched by anyone, on the cold ground until Charles had gone into his mind to see what had happened. Peter relived it again trying to tell Charles, show him what had happened, how betrayed and hurt he was, and Charles could do nothing but watch.
“This is the worst I’ve seen him.” Remarked Wade to Charles, looking for any solution to the problem. Charles did not have one.
“I think this is a problem only one person can fix.” Charles murmured as he rubbed Peter’s back, who was curled up on the ground with his mask half off. Wade looked away.
Getting Peter home was even harder than getting him to the mansion. His leg was badly injured, burned through his suit and seared into his skin was Tony’s blaster ray. Charles had tried to patch him up, have him go to the first aid room to get bandaged, but Peter refused. Refused to change clothes, refused the ride home, refused everything. They swung home. He’d had to stop multiple times on the way home, once to wretch onto a rooftop and lose the contents of his stomach, not that it was much.
Once home, Wade stripped him of his suit, threw it under the bed so he couldn’t see the reminder of the night, and got him in the shower. As soon as the warm water hit Peter, he crumpled to the floor of the tub and sobbed into the stream. Wade’s heart broke, gathering him up and shushing him as gently as he could.
The cleaning of Peter’s leg was harder than it should have been but Wade finally managed to get it cleaned and bandaged up. There was melted rubber from the suit burned into his skin and it took a good while to get the burn totally decontaminated. Peter didn’t even flinch at the pain, instead letting himself be grounded with it. This pain was the pain he was used to, the physical pain of a fight, and it was nothing like feeling the betrayal of his father.
Once he was all cleaned and had finally been able to stop crying, Wade made him a cup of tea that he didn’t even touch. He laid with his head on the pillow, blankly staring ahead. Wade bought him a book called Existential Physics: A Scientist’s Guide to Life’s Biggest Questions on Audible and set it to play while Wade got himself ready to get into bed.
It was the middle of the day, and there they were, Peter’s chest full of stones and Wade feeling the same, in bed with the arms around each other. And that’s where Peter stayed for the next twenty hours.
The next morning Peter woke up with a sore throat and a fever, a virus obviously taking advantage of the weakened state of his body.
Peter was ruined the next couple of days with sickness and heartache. Skipped his AP Calculus final, lied and said that his Aunt May was in the hospital, and that he would take it next week. Forging documents from doctors was illegal and he felt immensely guilty but there was no way he could get himself up for it.
Wade knew there was nothing he could do other than comfort and pamper. He had found the money (Peter dreaded to know who he had stolen it from) to buy a nice steak dinner and cook it for Peter, but he could barely stomach a bite. Wade spent all night rubbing his back, cuddling close to his side, and reassuring him of anything he could.
The healing process was slow and hindered by the nasty cold that plagued Peter’s body, but by Thursday he’d finally gotten himself up and to his finals. He managed to even study for a couple of hours before one. With a box of tissues and enough Dayquil to kill a horse, he made it through. His burned leg ached along with the muscles in his back.
He’d lied to his calculus teacher again, telling him that he’d caught the cold at the hospital while visiting his aunt.
When the phone rang on Friday morning before his AP Lit exam, Peter knew that it was Tony. The hair on his arms stood at an edge. He ignored the call on Monday after the attack, mentally and physically unable to answer the phone. Wade had texted Tony that he was studying for finals. Peter felt that Tony would think it was awful that Peter hadn’t checked in on him after the attack, but Peter couldn’t find the room in his heart to talk to him.
“I don’t know if I can answer it.” Peter muttered, rubbing his thumb over the screen of his phone. Wade commiserated with him, told him not to fucking answer it because Tony never even deserved a relationship with him in the first place, but regret settled into Peter’s gut like it was the stomach flu.
“Hello?” Peter answered the phone, voice shaking. In his head he heard the echoing of his voice doing more harm than good, doing more harm than good, doing more harm than good.
“Hi!” He heard Tony’s voice on the other side and he couldn’t help the tears well in his eyes. He ducked his head so Wade couldn’t see. “You’re coming for dinner tomorrow, right? I have something special planned for my high school graduate!” Tears leaked out of Peter’s eyes.
“Um-” He stuttered, trying to think of any excuse, anything to get him out of seeing Tony. He had already revealed that Aunt May was throwing him a little get together next week, so that excuse was off the list. He had agreed to this weeks ago, and knew that Tony had probably done something elaborate for him despite the pleas not to.
Peter couldn’t say anything while Tony was patiently waiting.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you after the attack.” Peter blurted, the guilt finally bubbling up and over and out of his mouth into his words. He could hear Tony hesitate on the other side of the phone. “I-I-I was just nervous, and scared that you’d been hurt and I couldn’t-”
Tony cut him off.
“It’s okay, Pete. Don’t worry about that.” Tony soothed, confusion prickling at the base of his spine. He had thought it was a little odd that Peter hadn’t called, hadn’t even texted after hearing that his tower was attacked. And now Peter had brought it up as well, sounding truly miserable on the other side of the phone.
“I knew you were okay.” Peter’s babbling continued. “I-I saw on the news. I knew you were okay, and I knew that you were probably too busy to talk to me, and maybe didn’t even want to-” Tony had to cut him off again.
“Hey, hey,” Tony started, knowing something was wrong, something more than what Peter was letting on. “I promise it’s okay. You could have called but it’s okay you didn’t. I always want to talk to you, you know you can call me anytime. Are you okay?” Worry teased Tony, something feeling off. Peter sounded like he had a stuffy nose or something, but he could feel those fatherly instincts for the first time that was telling him it was more than that.
Dizziness swirled Peter’s head, and he sat down on the edge of his bed.
“Yeah.” He lied, temperature well above normal, his throat and leg aching so badly that he had resorted to taking half the bottle of tylenol about an hour ago, and all he could do was lie to his father.
“Are you sick?” Tony asked again, and a shiver trickled down his spine.
“Just a little under the weather.” The excuse Peter really did not want to use was the only one he had left now. “Can we do a raincheck on tomorrow?” He finally managed to get out.
“Of course we can, but you are coming over anyway. We can skip the celebration and I can take you to see the tower Doctor. And then I’ll order some chicken soup and we can watch a movie.” There was no room left in Tony’s voice to argue.
“I couldn’t imp-” Peter took a deep breath in hopes to ground his body and mind to the floor. “I couldn’t impose. Just need to take it easy.”
Tony was concerned. So concerned that he was one more odd comment away from going to Peter’s apartment to check on him. Through some sleuthing of his own, he’d finally gotten Peter’s exact address in case there was an emergency.
“No imposing. You’re coming. In fact, do you want to come now? I’m free. I’ll send Happy to come pick you up.” Tony’s voice was harder now, more serious, and an alarm rang through Peter’s mind.
Peter was short of breath, sucking in air from his nose quickly and letting it out of his mouth. His heart fluttered at the thought of seeing Tony after everything that had happened.
“I-I-I’m fine, dad! Tomorrow’s fine.” Peter exclaimed, trying to salvage what was left. Peter was not going to see Tony today, he didn’t even want to see Tony tomorrow but he was left with no choice.
The use of dad got Tony to quiet down, thankfully, and he agreed that he could come tomorrow but he would be sending Happy to get him.
“Okay.” Peter let out shakily. “Do you know where I live?” Peter asked, and cringed at the thought. Tony was not letting it go, though.
“I have your address. Happy will come get you tomorrow at noon, okay? Or should we do earlier?” Peter swore his heart could stop at any second.
“Noon.” Peter whispered into the phone.
“You’ll tell me if something’s wrong,” Tony hesitated for a second. “...right?”
“Of course.” The lie tasted bitter in his mouth.
~
By 11am Peter was hyperventilating as he sat at the dining room table. His phone sat behind him, ticking down the seconds until Happy would be there. He’d been up since 3 in the morning, coughing, sneezing, shivering with fever, but he didn’t want to take any medications until he left for his dad’s.
That turned out not to be the best idea, though, because by the time 11:30 rolled around Peter felt worse than he had in a while. It was not normal for him to get this sick, and now that was a whole other worry on top of his already growing list.
“Why do you think you’re so sick?” Wade’s voice was light and comforting. Peter shook his head.
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten sick since before I was bitten.” Peter’s teeth chattered as Wade pulled the blanket tighter around him.
“I think I should probably take more Dayquil this time. Last time it only worked for an hour.” Peter added on, and Wade grabbed Peter’s medication journal that tracked when and how the medication worked.
“You took double the dose last time, wanna bump it up to triple?” Wade flipped through Peter’s scribbles of notes, marking how much medication he’d last taken and if it worked. Peter had already decided that he would much rather overdose on the tylenol concoction than look sick in front of his dad.
“Your liver must hate you.” Wade muttered at Peter’s affirmative nod, throwing the journal to the ground and turning to face Peter.
“Do you wanna talk about how Tony has your address? Meaning he looked you up?” Wade followed up, but Peter only scowled at him. That was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now.
“Guessing that’s a no. You’ll need to talk about it soon, pookie-bear.” The scowl deepened on Peter’s face.
“I’m just gonna focus on my breathing until Happy gets here. Thanks for all of your help.”
Happy was five minutes early. An unknown number popped up on his phone, and as much as Peter tried to remind himself that he was not under any threats, it didn’t stop the lick of negative anticipation that climbed his spine.
Peter answered the phone and told Happy he’d be right down.
“Do you want me to come?” Wade asked, and Peter furrowed his eyebrows.
“Where would you-”
“I’ll stay right outside. Just creating havoc and committing chaos.” Peter gave it a thought, but decided that having Wade close would probably just make him more anxious than anything else.
“No, can you stay here? And come get me if I need it?” Peter appealed, meeting in the middle, and Wade nodded.
“You know I’d be there in a flash. Get it? Flash?” Peter rolled his eyes.
~
The ride to the towers was silent. Peter couldn’t get himself to talk to Happy, only nodding in greeting when he got into the car. Happy seemed to understand and didn’t initiate anything. The low hum of the radio from the front of the car was the only thing Peter could focus on. When they finally pulled up to the towers, Peter did a self diagnostic test.
His hands were clammy and pressed against his loose t-shirt. A fist-sized knot had settled into his stomach the second he had woken up this morning, growing in size every time he thought about his father. He was having frequent palpitations, a fluttering that made his shortness of breath worse. The tightness in his chest ebbed with every inhalation and exhalation, almost comforting in its consistency.
Peter coughed into his hands, bringing himself out of his hyper-fixation on the physical things he was experiencing. Happy pulled to the curb and put the car into park, turning to look back expectantly at Peter.
“Thanks.” Peter muttered, reaching his hand to open the door. When he stood up to stretch his back out, he coughed again. His legs started moving on their own accord, towards the door of the tower.
Fuck. Through the glass, he could see Tony. He thought he’d have a couple of minutes to work himself up, to hide in the bathroom and hyperventilate all by himself but it looks like he’ll have to do it right here.
Tony was not happy with the sight he saw. Peter had sounded weird on the phone the day before, sounded sick, but more than that. He sounded sad. Something was wrong. And looking at him now, through the dark glass of his own building, he could see right through him. Peter was heartbroken.
Tony’s heart lurched in his chest, going forward to meet him as he came through the doors.
“Pete,” Tony breathed out, trying not to sound too concerned. Peter was pale with dark bags beneath his eyes, looking like he hadn’t slept in at least a week. Peter stood in front of him, and with only a moment of hesitation, Tony reached forward and wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders.
Peter first stiffened, but when Tony tightened the squeexe, Peter melted into his body. His head leaned forward onto his father’s shoulder, tears suddenly in his eyes. Blinking them away, Peter pressed his face harder into his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Tony could feel the heaving of his son’s breaths, felt a slight shaking. Peter could only nod his head. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Peter could see the construction from the ruin of the building on the first floor; the ruin that he took part in. He briefly wondered what his father’s personal floor looked like after Norman.
Tony took a hard look at Peter when he pulled back and guided him toward the back elevator. His eyes were now red-rimmed, lined with poorly hidden tears, and Tony held onto the back of his shirt a little tighter.
The elevator ride was quiet, the only noise Peter’s ragged breathing. When the elevator doors opened, Peter quickly took in his surroundings.
A lot had been repaired in the days he was so sick he couldn’t even get out of bed. The top floor had been practically destroyed, but now it was well on its way to being back to normal. There were large construction tarps on various different places, but from what he could see from walking in, a lot of the rooms had already been fixed.
Peter made sure to note that the bedroom he sleeps in was pristine, even though he knew it was destroyed that night.
“They fixed it up pretty quick. Still have a bit more to go, but I made sure your room is all good if you want to sleep over tonight.” Peter knew he was going to bring that up, most likely about to insist that he sleeps over. He wasn’t surprised.
“You probably should, with how sick you are.” Peter had to stop himself from laughing out loud. There was no way he was sleeping over tonight, or staying more than an hour.
Peter made his way over to the new, and somehow nicer than the last, couch. He dropped his tired body onto the couch, resting his head on the back of the couch. Tony followed close behind.
“What’s wrong?” Tony went right into it.
“I’ve just got a cold.” Wrong, wrong, wrong. More bitterness in his mouth.
“It seems like something more. Please, tell me Peter. I can help.”
There was nothing Tony could do to help his situation. The words still rang in the back of his head.
“It’s really nothing.” Peter continued, physically and mentally unable to open up any further. Even the sickness was enough.
“It doesn’t look like nothing. You-” Tony, thankfully, was cut off by Steve coming into the room and interrupting.
“Peter! You look terrible, have you seen the Tower doctor yet?” Steve did not hide his concern like Tony was.
“He hasn’t gone yet. I’ve told him to be ready in thirty.” Tony added in.
Peter shook his head, unwilling to go to their doctor.
“I don’t need a doctor, guys, I already went. Just said it was a cold.” Lie, lie, lie. “Dayquill and fluids. I can do that.”
Tony shook his head immediately.
“There is no way I’m letting you leave without seeing the doctor.”
After bickering, Steve and Tony practically forced Peter down to the thirteenth floor where they had their communal doctor. Thank god it wasn’t Bruce, because he didn’t think that he could handle all of that right now.
It was some amazing doctor from Harvard, and she ended up just swabbing Peter’s nose and throat to run some tests.
“Is there anything else that you have going on right now? Any rashes, skin changes? Would it be okay if I looked? Some infections can cause rashes and it’s important for me to know if you have any.”
Peter immediately thought about his newly burned leg, not far into healing. His skin there was blistered, and still painful so he was not going to give up that information.
“No. No changes.” Peter kept it short, to the point, because there's no way he’s letting anybody look at his legs.
“Well-” The woman was looking at a test that she had performed. “It looks like you’re positive for strep. Strep A, specifically. I’m going to prescribe some antibiotics for you, amoxicillin. I’ll get it ready for you and send it up to Tony when it’s ready. Should take a couple hours, at most.”
Peter let a sharp breath out. There goes his plan of leaving.
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” Peter left the exam room, to where Steve and Tony were waiting.
“Strep.” Peter waved his hands. “You were right, I needed some antibiotics. She’s going to send them up.”
Tony’s smug face made Peter want to scream, but he was able to push it down.
“I knew you were sicker than just a cold. You’re sleeping over tonight, where I can keep a close eye on you. Okay?”
Peter couldn’t do anything other than nod, again.
“And I’m ordering some soup for you.”