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“Where’s Spider-Man?”
Tony’s voice is on the verge of sounding panicked, and he hovers just above Bruce’s shoulder in his Iron Man suit, looking around in all directions. Bruce scans the front of the burning building, not exactly wanting to have to turn back into the Other Guy so soon.
“Inside, again. More civilians,” comes Steve’s reply in his earpiece, and Bruce sighs wearily, cracking his knuckles. Next to him, Tony looks down and shakes his head.
“No, Bruce, not you. Head back, we’ve got this,” and though he’s thankful for an out, Bruce can’t just leave when some of their own still might be in there.
“How many more are there, Cap?” Tony asks, but a second later both Steve and Spider-Man emerge from the building, each carrying two people over their shoulders. Bruce jogs over, flagging down a medic and helping Steve support one of the civilians, a young woman who’s sobbing and unable to stand on her own. They have the other three people sit on the ground until the medics arrive, and after Steve gives an all clear for the building, Bruce heads over to where Tony is talking with a police officer.
“Your guy over there pulled eighteen people outta that building,” he says, nodding over at Spider-Man in the distance, and Bruce looks over. Spider-Man is coughing hard, doubled over with his hand on his knees. He reaches up to pull his mask up slightly, but he doesn’t lift it higher than his nose, and when Tony flies over and lands in front of him he yanks it back down and stands up straight.
“You alright, kid?”
Spider-Man nods, his chest heaving. Bruce frowns. He wonders exactly how young Spider-Man is, but he guesses he’s young, maybe college-age with the way Tony has already seemed to latch on to a paternal role with him. He chuckles to himself, imagining Tony being a parent. Watching him interact with Spider-Man makes him think he’d be alright at it.
“C’mon, time to go home,” Tony tells Spider-Man, leading him away by the elbow, and Spider-Man practically skips when Tony proudly pats him on the back. “Good job, kid.”
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Peter takes a deep breath and holds it, eyes prickling with tears as the action makes his chest burn and his lungs ache. He almost makes it the entire elevator ride without coughing, but just as he gets to the penthouse level, the tickle in his throat becomes too unbearable and he lurches forward, hastily throwing up an arm in front of him so he can bury his face in the crook of his elbow as he hacks away.
When the elevator doors open, he stumbles forward, still coughing into his hoodie sleeve. It takes him a moment to compose himself, and when he straightens, his eyes widen in shock at the sight before him.
“Who the hell are you?” Steve asks, and Peter shrinks back against the now closed elevator doors.
Rhodey crosses his arms and takes a step forward. “I think you’re in the wrong place, buddy. You have a name?”
“How did you get in here?” Natasha tips her head to the side, her eyes narrowed. “How did you get past security?”
“He’s a student at Midtown School of Science and Technology,” Bruce says from his spot at the kitchen table. He pulls his mug of tea closer and raises an eyebrow when they all turn to look at him. “According to his sweatshirt.”
Peter clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “Yeah, I, uh…I have an internship, with, uh…with Mr. Stark, and I–”
“Stark has an intern?” Clint asks, narrowing his eyes. “You’re like, what, twelve?”
“Fifteen,” Peter croaks, wincing at the way his voice cracks.
“High schooler,” Bruce says. He frowns when Peter starts to cough again. “A sick high schooler.”
Rhodey already has his cell phone out and is dialing Tony. “Tones,” he says into his phone, eyeing Peter. “Your little intern dude is here.” He nods, then frowns. “We’re all a little surprised, to be honest. He just walked right in like he’s been here before.” Another nod, and then Rhodey grimaces when Peter starts to cough hoarsely. “He’s pretty sick…you better get up here.”
A minute later, the elevator dings behind Peter, and he spins around to see a very guilty looking billionaire step off the elevator.
“Peter! Are you okay? What’s going on? You’re sick?”
Peter opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a weak, raspy cough.
“Were you feeling sick yesterday when we were– uh, when you were at school?”
“I’m not sick,” Peter starts to reply, but Tony cuts him off.
“Nope, I don’t want to hear it. You’re not going to do the whole ‘I’m fine’ thing, got it?”
“But Mr. Stark–”
“Uh-uh, zip it. C’mere, I want to check and see if you have a fever. F.R.I.D.A.Y., why didn’t you alert me when Peter arrived?”
“He’s acting like a dad,” Clint whispers as he watches Tony fret over the teen.
Bruce narrows his eyes. “A dad, huh?” He watches Tony feel Peter’s forehead before leading him toward the living room.
“C’mon, get on the couch,” Tony says, gesturing to the sofa in the living room, and Peter gulps.
“The…couch? Out here?”
“Yes, Peter, unless you have some hidden couch elsewhere, the couch out here. I want to keep an eye on you.”
Peter looks around at all of the Avengers watching them, his face flushing.
“This is all my fault,” Tony mutters to himself, gathering up blankets. “I never should have let you come along.” Once Peter is sitting, Tony gently pushes him down onto his back and starts tucking the blankets around his frame, adjusting each one to fully cover his body. Peter shifts uncomfortably, then clamps a hand over his mouth, coughing hard. Tony waits until he’s done before he leans down to press his palm to Peter’s forehead again.
“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y.? What’s Peter’s temp?”
“ Peter’s internal temperature is 96.3 degrees Fahrenheit. ”
Bruce frowns. “That can’t be right, that’s pretty low–”
“Okay, thanks, FRI,” Tony interrupts. “Uh, just give me an alert if Peter’s temp gets into a fever range.” He turns back to Peter. “We’re gonna pump you full of fluids. I’ll get you some orange juice, you hang tight.”
Peter coughs, shaking his head. “I can’t have orange juice, Mr. Stark, remember?”
Tony pauses, then snaps his fingers. “Okay, then. Gatorade. The blue kind. I think there’s some in the fridge, I’ll be right back.”
“Hey!” Sam protests. “That’s my Gatorade.”
Tony ignores him as he goes into the kitchen and rummages around in the refrigerator.
“Hmm. Are you allergic to all citrus?” Bruce asks, peering down at Peter.
“Uh, yeah, kinda,” Peter replies hoarsely.
“Interesting. Do you have any other allergies?”
“Here you go, Pete! Blue Gatorade. Drink up.” Tony nudges Bruce aside and uncaps the bottle.
“Am I allowed to sit up to drink?” Peter mumbles. His voice is rough and gravelly. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and accepts the drink, gulping it down greedily and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he’s done. Tony takes the empty bottle with a satisfied nod, then motions for Peter to lie back down before he starts readjusting the blankets over him.
Peter rubs at his temples, then under his eyes, and finally the sides of his nose, using his fingertips to gingerly put pressure against his sinuses. “Can I get up?” He sniffles. “Lying down like this is kinda making my nose all stuffy.”
“I’ll get you a couple of pillows and we can prop you up. And tissues. And medicine! I’m sure we have medicine somewhere, right?” Tony looks around, eyes wide and almost frantic. “And I’m gonna need everyone to clear out,” he barks. “Peter needs some rest and he’s not going to get it with all this noise.” The room fills with grumbling and protests as everyone grudgingly but obediently begins to shuffle out.
“I’m not sick, Mr. Stark,” Peter says once they’re gone, coughing immediately after.
“I’ll be right back,” Tony replies, ignoring him.
Peter groans and throws his arm over his face, then coughs again. He’s starting to get really, really tired of coughing. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to hold his breath and rubbing at his throat. Another cough tumbles out and his chest aches as his inflamed airways work hard to get the irritation out. He hears footsteps and uncovers his eyes, sighing when he sees Tony approaching with an armful of stuff, including a bottle of cold medicine, a box of tissues, another blanket and two pillows.
“I’m. Not. Sick.”
“Peter, I swear–”
“No, really!” Peter coughs hard, then pants as he tries to catch his breath. He clears his throat loudly and winces. “I mean, I think I’m just coughing from all of the smoke yesterday. You know, the… explosion?” He whispers the last word, his breath crackling in his lungs.
“Shit,” Tony hisses. He paces back and forth in front of Peter. “ Shit . That’s even worse.”
“I’m fine,” Peter insists, but Tony is already pulling him up by the arm.
“No, you’re not fine. Shit. We’re going to see Bruce.”
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The elevator doors open, and Bruce looks up from his project to see Tony and Peter entering the lab.
“Hey, Bruce,” Tony says, attempting to casually lean against a table. “So, Peter here is sick.”
“I gathered that much, yes.”
“And, uh, he’s been coughing a lot, so, I was just wondering if you’d be willing to take a look at him? Just, you know, make sure it’s not something really bad, like pneumonia or bronchitis or something.”
“Yeah,” Peter squeaks, trying to suppress a cough. “Bronchitis would suck.”
“Okay, sure.” Bruce leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “What are your symptoms?” Peter coughs, then pinches the bridge of his nose with a sniffle, and Bruce nods at him. “Besides the cough, irritated sinuses, and headache?”
“Pretty much just those,” Peter admits. “And my chest kinda hurts.”
“It almost sounds like smoke inhalation,” Bruce says with a smirk, and after a long pause, Tony sighs.
“How long have you known?”
“About…” Bruce checks his watch. “One hour.”
Peter looks between Tony and Bruce, his eyes wide. “Uh…”
“So?” Tony finally says.
“So, what?” Bruce uncrosses his arms, standing up and walking around the lab table to grab a tool.
“Aren’t you going to fix him?”
“I don’t really think he needs to be fixed,” Bruce murmurs, focusing back on his project. “Besides, I have no idea what kind of…” He looks over and gestures vaguely at Peter. “Genetic makeup we’re working with.”
“Well, he’s a little spiderling. Sticky, great reflexes, can’t thermoregulate. Super strength, enhanced healing, all that jazz.”
“And he doesn’t like oranges?”
“See? You’re catching on quick, Bruce.” Tony sighs. “So?”
“Rest.”
“ Rest? ”
“Stay away from smoke.”
“Bruce, you mother–”
“He can suck on a cough drop,” Bruce adds, smirking, and Tony throws up his hands in frustration.
“I’m actually feeling a lot better,” Peter interrupts hoarsely. “I couldn’t really breathe when I woke up this morning, like I couldn’t really catch my breath. A cough drop does sound nice though.”
Tony and Bruce turn to look at him, the former man’s mouth dropping open.
“Also, my nose and throat were like, super swollen. So I’m actually doing a lot better now.”
Bruce glances sideways at his friend, who looks like he’s about to scream, or pass out, or both, then looks at Peter.
“If you have enhanced healing, you probably don’t have to worry too much about permanent damage to your lungs. You’ve already mentioned your airways and breathing have improved, so you’re likely going to be just fine.”
Peter coughs into his fist, then gives Bruce a small smile. “Thanks.”
Tony closes his eyes and takes a long, slow breath in through his nose.
“Mr. Stark, are you okay? Your heart is beating way too fast,” Peter asks nervously.
“This is what I get,” Tony says, almost to himself. “This is what I get for recruiting a teenager. This is what I get for taking a teenager on a mission. I’m too old for this shit.”
“Clint was right, you know,” Bruce chuckles, sitting back down in his chair.
“Right about what?” Tony asks, and Bruce looks back and forth between him and Peter, his face lighting up with a satisfied grin.
“You’re acting like a dad.”