Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Mon, January 6
Peter’s glad he’s already faced MJ, because he knows seeing Mrs. Benninger and the rest of his chem class his first day back is going to throw his anxiety into overdrive. That, and he has to check in with the nurse’s office at lunch like he’s in elementary school. Tony’s orders. He knows it’s really May’s orders, though, that she already spent an hour on the phone with the nurse this past Friday going over every little detail of his treatment plan. May has been a wreck about sending Peter back to school. An overbearing, obsessive wreck.
Which is why he’s going back on a Monday, even though everyone else went back last Thursday.
His backpack is weighed down with extra inhalers, nebulizer medication, and epi-pens for the nurse’s office, as well as his own set. Tony’s even bought him a smart case for his epi-pens that connects to an app on all of their phones. It gives Tony and May an alert and his location when it’s opened. At first, Peter found it ridiculous, especially since he knows his StarkWatch can sense his vitals and has an emergency button, but the thought of having another severe attack is the only reason he hasn’t fought the added layer of protection. He’s been thinking about that attack, how he was convinced he was drowning and dying, more than he wants to. A lot more than he’s wanted to. But then again, there’s been a lot in the last few weeks that Peter hasn’t wanted to think about that’s been right there, in his face, forcing its way into his everyday life.
Peter wakes up groggy and anxious, fights Tony on his morning treatment even though his lungs feel like they need it. He tries to get away with an extra puff of his reliever inhaler instead, but Tony catches on quickly when he hears him wheezing in the kitchen, makes him do the Atrovent/albuterol treatment that tastes like metal, makes him shaky, and can’t go in the quiet, quick nebulizer. It takes him fifteen minutes to complete it at the kitchen island, makes his mouth dry and his body wired, earns Tony the cold shoulder for the next half hour while Pepper forces a bowl of oatmeal and some fruit on Peter. He downs his morning pills, hates the way the chalky steroids combine with the aftertaste of his treatment and his breakfast. Tony insists that Happy drive him to school, and Pete doesn’t mean to be so grumpy about it when he protests with a scowl, but he wants to be left alone, wants to get today over with as soon as possible. He’s not used to being up so early, is struggling to keep his eyes open, and his spidey senses are making the awful taste in his mouth from the medications unbearable.
“He needs his independence back,” Pepper whispers to Tony as she pours him a second cup of black coffee, Peter in the living room putting his coat on. “Let him take the subway. Today’s gonna be hard enough. He’s already having a difficult morning.”
“He’s not usually like this,” Tony whispers back, taking the cup from Pepper.
“Yeah, well, he’s not usually this sick, Tony.”
“Doesn’t excuse it.”
“No, it doesn’t, but you have to pick your battles. He did all his meds, ate some breakfast, is running on time. Let him choose how he wants to get to school today. I still think he needs another week, but Bruce and May cleared him, so my opinion doesn’t count.”
“Hey, have a good day, honey. Call or text if you need us, okay?” Pepper calls out when she sees that Peter’s ready to go.
“Thanks, Pep,” Peter answers, the elevator doors closing down the hallway. He puts his headphones on, starts a playlist, and heads for the subway once he’s let out at the ground floor.
Ned meets him at his locker before the first bell, is talking so rapidly about the Lego kit he got for Christmas that Peter’s mind is swimming as it tries to keep up. His spidey senses are overwhelmed by the sheer volume in the hallway, and he hopes he can make it through the day without his pounding headache getting worse. He rubs his temple and tries to think about what books he needs for the first three periods.
“Ned, you’re my best friend, but I need you to slow down. It’s hard to hear you over the noise and I’m already getting a headache,” he says, sighing. He places his English/chemistry binder in his bag and reaches behind a stack of textbooks to grab his calculator.
“You’re sure you’re ready to be back?”
Peter’s trying to hide how offended he is, but he knows Ned can see it on his face. “Why would you ask that?”
“I don’t know, you just seem off.” Ned shrugs.
Peter slams his locker closed and fiddles with the lock so that it’s cleared. “Thanks. Nice to see you, too,” Peter grumbles.
“Peter, come on,” Ned argues, following Peter as he walks away. They have two different teachers for math, and Peter ducks into his classroom just as the bell rings, leaving Ned behind in the hallway.
He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s feeling weaker than he thought he would. He can’t zip through the hallways as efficiently, can’t get his breath back as quickly as he’s used to after climbing the stairs. He’d never actually admit it, but Tony was right about the elevator pass; it would make getting to and from class infinitely easier. His senses overload during group work, when the bell rings, during transitions in the hallway. It’s easier not to talk, to avoid looking his classmates in the eye; he knows they want details about what happened, that they’ve been talking behind his back and giving him looks of sympathy and disapproval all morning, and it’s only making everything worse.
He's feeling somewhat hopeful when he slips into his seat in chemistry because it’s his first class of the day with MJ, but then he hears Flash’s snide laugh from across the room and freezes.
“Nice swan dive you did before the break. Thinking of joining the diving team, Parker?” Flash taunts, winning some laughter from the small group sitting around him.
Peter chooses not to respond, taps his pencil anxiously as he waits for class to begin. He hates that the teachers have to stand in the hallway to greet students, knows Mrs. Benninger would gladly serve Flash a referral for his behavior. He sighs, slides down in his seat, and glances at the door to see if MJ’s arrived.
She hasn’t, and neither has Ned.
If he and Ned were talking and Ned was in class, he’d have some kind of back-up, someone to tell Flash to “fuck off,” but right now, it’s just Peter trying to come up with a possible retort for Flash’s next snarky comment. He looks around for MJ again, but she’s nowhere in sight.
“Maybe wrestling? Since you like so much time spent splayed out on the floor?” Flash adds.
More laughter.
“Oh, that’s right,” Flash continues. “You’re too skinny for that now. No weight class to put you in. Did Tony Stark even feed you over the break or what?”
“Enough,” MJ warns, her arms wrapped around her books as she stands beside her seat.
Peter breathes a sigh of relief as Flash feigns surprise. “Oh, is your little girlfriend standing up for you now?”
“Shut up, Flash. Those of us who had to suffer through your bullshit in middle school clearly remember you peeing your pants on a field trip in seventh grade, so unless you want me to rehash a play-by-play for those that weren’t lucky enough to be there, I’d kindly fuck off.”
“Kindly?”
“Fuck off, Flash!” she warns, the bell ringing to start class.
“Thank you,” he mouths to MJ, sliding back up so that he can open his binder and take notes. She winks and turns her attention toward the board, leans over her notebook. He’s glad she doesn’t ask how he’s feeling, just goes back to what she always does during class: Drawing. Sneaking glances of her sketching between copying from the board is a welcome relief for Peter; he’s not looking forward to his time in the nurse’s office during lunch, is thinking that maybe he’d rather spend it with MJ in the library where it’s quiet and not too crowded. He wonders if he could manage it, strike a deal with the nurse, use the new quiet nebulizer Tony’s gotten him for their trip and hide away in a corner.
The thought has him in decent spirits by the next period, until he has an argument with his gym teacher, Mr. Campbell, who puts him on the spot in front of most of his class because his medical excuse paperwork has to be validated by the secretary in the dean’s office. The sudden attention throws him off his game, drains the last of his energy. He trudges to the dean’s office, and then the nurse’s office at the start of lunch, rubs at the tightness growing in his chest from being overdue for a treatment, and weighs having Tony pick him up early so that he can go home and nap. He gets stuck there for the whole period because he’s forgotten his portable neb, has to use the clunky school one that takes forever while Shannon, the younger of the two nurses, goes over the treatment plan that May sent over. He barely has time to eat and down his midday meds before his last three classes of the day. His brain feels muddled, hand moving as he copies from the board, but none of the information wants to stick.
It’s the most frustrating side effect of the meds, other than the shakiness, and there’s no way around it.
When the final bell rings, he’s the first one out the side door, is swiped in and on the subway before MJ or Ned can find him.
“How was your first day back?” Tony asks when Peter drops his backpack on the living room floor and flops belly down on the couch around three in the afternoon.
“Mr. Campbell gave me a hard time about being excused from gym, I forgot my new nebulizer and did the longest treatment ever during lunch on the old school machine, and Ned and I had a fight and didn’t speak all day.” He purposely leaves out Flash bullying him.
“Not so great, huh?”
“Think I need a nap.”
“How much homework you got?”
“Not much.”
“Due for another treatment, kiddo.”
“I just did one, like, three hours ago,” he says, groaning. “And it took almost twenty minutes. I’m going on thirty-five minutes of treatments so far today and it’s only three.”
“You take your pills after lunch?”
“Always do.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it consistently. You wanna do your treatment right here, or-”
“Just give me a few minutes.”
“You’re going to fall asleep, and then you’re going to miss it completely. I know you, kid. Come on. You wanna nap through it? I can get you a mask. You look beat.”
“It’s impossible to nap through something that makes your heart feel like it’s running a race!”
“If you miss this one, it’s gonna push your last one off until late and then you’re not gonna sleep. I don’t want a repeat of the other night. Treatment and then nap. Come on.”
“Need a break,” he whines, glad that his face is pressed into the couch because he suddenly feels like crying, like having to get up will suck up whatever energy he has left, and he’s not sure he wants to spend it on that.
“You’ll get a break when all of this settles down, kiddo.”
“I’ll wash the dishes for Pepper after dinner if you just let me take a quick nap.”
“I see what you’re trying to do. Come on. Let’s go.”
Reluctantly, Peter lifts his body from the couch and grabs his backpack, gives the sigh of all sighs to show his annoyance. “Thought you were supposed to be working,” Peter grouses as Tony pushes him toward his room.
“I’m trying to take Pepper’s advice and relax.” He makes a disgusted face. “Hating it so far.”
“Hate is a strong word,” Peter comments.
“It is,” Tony says, cocking his head. “You get that quote from MJ, too?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe,” Tony comments, grinning. “I emailed her and told her she should come over Wednesday to start her internship.”
“I’m starting to feel like you prefer MJ’s company over mine.”
“MJ doesn’t try and bargain with me to get out of doing treatments.”
“MJ doesn’t have asthma.”
“True,” Tony pretends to consider.
“I can do this myself, you know,” Peter complains as he sets up his own machine.
“Oh, you can?” Tony throws back. “Because you almost missed this morning’s, and last I checked, you’re supposed to be doing at least four, if not five, every day.”
“Really not in the mood for your sarcasm, Tony.”
“Not feeling warm, are you?” Tony asks as Peter flips the switch and puts the mouthpiece between his lips. “You’re extra mood today.”
“Even if I had a fever, you’d already know.”
“His temperature is currently 99.2, sir,” FRIDAY tattles.
“Case in point,” Peter groans around the mouthpiece, throwing himself back against the pillows as he kicks his shoes off.
“I was hoping you’d never embody the broody teenager vibe, and yet, here we are,” Tony jokes.
Peter throws a small pillow across the room, narrowly missing Tony as he leaves.
“Remind me to tell Bruce to taper your steroid dose, Spider Brat!” he yells from the hallway.
Ten minutes later, when Tony comes to check on Peter, he finds the teen asleep and curled against his pillows, treatment still going, the mouthpiece propped up with a pillow. So much for not being able to sleep through it, Tony thinks to himself. He waits for it to start sputtering, turns the machine off and gently removes the mouthpiece, placing it on the nightstand. He stands in the doorway for a moment upon leaving, listens to Peter’s steady, even breathing, and finds himself feeling grateful as he closes the door, leaving it open just a crack, just in case.