Regrets

Fourteen year-old Peter Roger-Stark’s life could be easily summed up in one word: boring. The average person would have thought that the sole child of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers would be filled with adventure and entertainment and whatever other adjectives one could possibly think of.

He was not popular at school. Quite the contrary in fact. He did not stand out in any particular way and a part of him appreciated that fact, but there had to be a certain line. He excelled in school, but he did not receive any recognition, from his teachers nor his dads, as it was expected of him given the fact that one half of his parental unit was a genius. He had lucked out on his best friend, Ned, but other than that most of the other students at the school managed to care less about him day by day.

His parents loved him, of course, but gone were the days of Dad and Pops doting on him every second of the day. Peter was accustomed to coming home now to an empty mansion most days of the week, but he could not blame his parents as a hectic schedule is necessary to their lifestyle of being, well, superheroes. He had Jarvis there to keep him company, as sad as that may sound, and Ned was allowed at his place whenever his friend’s parents allowed it which given the fact that the tower was always a target for villains, was not that often. Even after his parents purchased a home closer to his school, he still managed to not see his best friend as often as either one would have liked. For that same reason it was easy to understand why his friend’s parents were hesitant on even allowing Peter to come to their house because, hello, only son of Iron Man and Captain America was sure to put a target on his back.

He held no resentment, that is most times. But today was not one of those days. As much as Peter prided himself in being old enough to not need his parents every second of every day, he was still a child. A sick child. A feverish, wheezing, constipated and vomiting child.

“Young Sir, I would highly recommend not laying on the bathroom floor. The amount of germs and bacteria-” Jarvis stated and Peter cut him off with a moan, waving a hand at the A.I. as if to tell him it was O.K.

“Thank you for the insight Jarvis, but unless you can summon a chair here, this is the only way I’ll be close enough in case I need to throw up in the toilet for the hundredth time.”

“I have contacted your fathers, sir. No response yet. They may be in an area where communication signals are not able to be received.”

“Mhmm,” Peter murmured as he curled up, whimpering at how much his stomach ached. He wrapped his arms around his mid-region, applying pressure in hopes to alleviate some of the pain but it only ignited the fire within him even further making him cry out. The bathroom floor was rough and disgusting, but cold enough to nourish part of his fevered body that he managed to overlook those first two parts.

“Your symptoms are correlated with that of appendicitis, young Sir. If I am unable to reach your parents, I will have to notify emergency responders.”

“What? God, no. No paramedics. It’s just a stomach ache, Jarvis. Wherever dad and pops are doing, it must be important. They are going to rush all the way to the hospital and be furious when they realize I just had gas or something easily as minor. No notifying anyone,” Peter demanded. His dad more than likely programmed Jarvis to ignore Peter’s demands in this kind of situation, but he was praying that the A.I. would not follow through on what Peter saw as a threat. He could not fall victim to a simple stomach ache in such a way that made him seem like a whiny kid. Everyone had stomach aches now and then. He was just on the receiving end of a very bad one, but it had to eventually pass. His fathers risked life and limb every day and they would be ashamed to have a son who could not even a handle a simple tummy ache without bringing paramedics to the house.

“Sir, if you are having appendicitis, there is a limited time frame of removing the appendix before it will inevitably explode, sending toxins throughout your entire body, which could lead to death if left untreated.”

“Jarvis! Just a stomach ache. Dad and Pops will be here soon. Probably have Uncle Bruce poke and prod me, give me some disgusting medicine and then they’ll tuck me into bed.” Peter argued. He was trying to convince himself of those same words. A part of him wanted Jarvis to notify the paramedics if only that he would be able to see his parents sooner rather than later because at the moment he wished for nothing more than having his father's’ soothing arms around him. Maybe they would see Peter as being whiny, but damn it he deserved to be needy every now and then, especially when he was this sick.

“Still unable to reach your parents, young Sir. I will attempt one more time before notifying emergency responders who would be here in approximately three minutes,” Jarvis stated and Peter started to argue back before he suddenly lurched up from his spot and threw up whatever was left in his stomach into the toilet bowl and with all the grace he could muster, feel back onto the floor.

“Emergency responders have been notified, young Sir. They will take care of you and I will continue calling your parents until I am able to reach them and update them on the circumstance.” Peter groaned, hearing sirens in the distance but he felt relief from the fact that help was coming. Did he mention the fact that he had been curled up on the bathroom floor for about three hours now?