Disclaimer: I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor do I own any characters featured in this story. This was written purely for my own fun.
A/N:
This is my first attempt at writing for TASM, so please take it easy on me. And don't forget to R&R! Every time a person reviews my stories, my power grows stronger. Fact.
Enjoy!
Peter Parker had hardly been asleep an hour when his alarm clock (new, seeing as he'd wrecked the old one) loudly informed him that he'd be late for school if he didn't get up, like, now, and it was only through every ounce of his available willpower that he actually managed such a feat, dragging himself groggily out of the cozy embrace of his bed to face another mundane day and wild night like the one he'd retired from so recently it felt like he'd hardly blinked before morning arrived. This particular morning, however, felt unusual, at least compared to the last, and the reason behind this was something he couldn't quite put his finger on. At least, not until it fought its way to his attention through a series of very loud, very wet coughs.
He doubled over, half due to the force of the aforementioned coughs and half just in sheer surprise, and would have actually fallen to his knees if he had not caught his bearings just in time, straightening up slowly and warily as if fearing attack. No such attack came, however; at least not right away, and he was quickly confident enough in his own health to resume the task his alarm had so insistently dragged him out of bed to perform.
Getting ready took hardly any time at all (once he'd gotten the hang of actually being conscious) and Peter soon surmised that he'd actually get to class on time for once-if he could make it there without fainting, that is, and at that precise moment his hopes regarding his continued consciousness were not spectacularly high, even with the promise of one of Gwen's amazing kisses undoubtedly waiting for him at the high school. In fact, he thought as he wrestled with a pair of dark skinny jeans, his hopes regarding his continued consciousness were very, very low, and getting lower every second he spent upright.
He wasn't upright for much longer, though, for just when he'd finished buttoning his pants and was searching his messy floor for something warm to wear, his breath hitched and he sneezed so forcefully that he lost his already-unstable footing and fell unceremoniously to the carpeted floor, knocking over stacks of books and DVDs on his way down.
Aunt May had apparently heard the racket, for immediately following his tumble he heard her call up the stairs, "Peter?" but made no attempt at calling back down. His throat ached far too badly for that.
As he was sitting there, achy and sniffling and far too exhausted to stand up, he spotted an old, remarkably baggy sweater and slipped it on over his pajama shirt (and Spider-Man suit, which he'd gotten in the habit of never taking off) just in time for a knock to sound at his bedroom door, and he fumbled for a moment with the remote control, but eventually managed to get the mechanical lock to move. He groaned, "Come in."
The door opened and in slipped Aunt May, expression a mixture of concern and amusement to find her nephew in such a state as he was, all pale, shivering, and sitting cross-legged on the floor. He swallowed feebly.
"I fell down," he announced resignedly, voice hoarse from illness and lack of use.
"I can see that," replied Aunt May, shaking her head just a little. "Are you planning on getting up?"
Peter looked down at his bare feet and heaved a sigh, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. "Eventually," he finally said, eyes drifting back to the towering form of his aunt. She turned to leave.
"Well, just make it soon, or you'll miss your chance at getting breakfast before you leave."
He called out, "Not hungry," as she was leaving, but steeled himself to get up all the same.
Once he was up, he had only to wrestle on his worn sneakers and grab his backpack, but all the same it took him a good ten minutes to get downstairs where Aunt May was packing his lunch, entirely oblivious to her nephew's discomfort.
"Thanks, Aunt May," said Peter when his aunt handed him the bagged lunch. "See you later."
"I love you, Peter," she said by way of response, and smiled almost sadly when he trudged back over the ground he'd covered en route to the door to plant a kiss on her cheek.
"Love you too." And with that, he was off.
Despite the swiftness with which he'd gotten ready that morning and the fact that he'd skipped breakfast, Peter was still late to class, and would have undoubtedly been issued detention had he not looked so pathetic in his over-sized grey sweater with his skin so pale and eyes so wide and bright; seeing as he was so visibly under the weather, though, his teacher simply ushered him to his seat and made a mental note to send him to the nurse if given half a chance.
Gwen had made a similar note; so much was obvious in the way she scanned his face for a complete list of symptoms, and actually compiled a pretty decent one based entirely on the view she got of her boyfriend before he plopped down in the desk behind her own.
It wasn't until after class, however, that she got a chance to confirm these alleged symptoms.
"Peter, you look awful," she said when he met her by his locker, and he really did. His eyes look glassy and dazed, and the dark purple circles beneath them spoke of his exhaustion better than his words could; his skin was alabaster, except for his cheeks which were flushed with fever and his nose which was bright pink from irritation, and his breathing seemed labored, if not altogether painful. Gwen grimaced with sympathy when he sneezed harshly into his arm and wiped his nose with his sleeve in a most unsanitary (but undeniably cute) way.
"I feel awful," he rasped when he'd finished soiling his sleeve. "Can this day please be over with?"
"I'm afraid not, sweetie. It just started." Peter groaned loudly, and then erupted into a fit of violent coughs which wracked his slender (yet muscular) frame. "Why did you even come today?" asked Gwen when he'd finished hacking and retrieved his books from his locker, shutting it forcefully with his elbow and following her to grab her own books before class.
He made a vague "I don't know" sound and ran his fingers through his unruly hair, tousling it even further and making impossible for Gwen to bite back a smile. "I guess I just wanted to be with you."
Her heart fluttered a bit at the statement despite how it simultaneously threatened to trigger her gag reflex, and she found her fingers reaching out to stroke his cheek before her brain could tell them to do otherwise. When they touched his heated skin, however, they retracted slightly in mild wonder at just how hot it was. She was surprised he was still upright, in fact.
"You're burning up, Peter," she told him, watching carefully how his body shivered in contradiction and making a split second decision. "C'mon," she beckoned, holding out her hand.
"Where are we going?" Peter asked weakly, sniffling.
"We're cutting class. You're in no shape to be here today."
Peter followed without protest, trudging along like a trooper despite how he was practically quaking with fever and about this close to keeling over, and Gwen did her very best to get him back to his house as quickly and painlessly as was possible in his current state, something he appreciated immensely though he made no effort to tell her so just then.
By the time they arrived at the Parker residence, Peter was all but sagging with exhaustion and Gwen was certain he wouldn't remain conscious for much longer, but all the same relief flooded them both to be there, and in such good time considering their current hindrance. Aunt May, too, looked happy to have them there, though mostly she was worried about Peter (and rightly so) who had collapsed into the first chair he came across, drenched in sweat and shivering all the time but looking infinitely better just on account of being someplace safe and warm and distinctly not school.
They didn't explain to her that they'd cut out of school and she didn't ask, being much more concerned with helping Gwen get Peter to bed than any alleged rule-breaking they might have done, for which Gwen was unbelievably grateful, and in no time at all the two women had Peter tucked into his bed and a thermometer tucked under his tongue.
"I'll leave you to rest, then," said Aunt May after Gwen had checked the thermometer and pumped him full of flu medicine. "I can tell you're in good hands." And then she departed, shutting the door behind her and leaving the couple alone.
"You should probably get some sleep," Gwen announced after a few beats of silence. "I'll stay, though. That is, if you want me."
"I do," said Peter, perhaps just a bit too quickly. "Please stay."
Gwen smiled then, and planted a kiss on her boyfriend's fevered brow. "I will. Sleep now."
And with one more feeble smile, Peter did just that.
A/N:
Thanks for reading! Please R&R, and have a great day! :)