Peter hadn't gotten sick since the spider bite. Before it, he was an asthmatic with poor vision who had seasonal colds - as in, every season he had a cold. Afterwards, though? Normal injuries healed at an exponential rate; there was no reasonable way for him to get sick with how fast his metabolism and healing ability functioned.
And yet, here he was.
Peter flopped out of his bed groggily, falling onto the floor in a tangle of covers. He groaned, resting his cheek on the scratchy carpet and laid there for a few moments longer, willing strength into his limbs, before he finally managed to push himself upright. He rubbed the crust out of his eyes and tried to breathe through his clogged nose with varying levels of success. His head pulsated rhythmically, heightened senses causing the lights to seem blinding and the sounds from the streets below to be near deafening. He stood, listing to his side and knocking his hip against his nightstand before he managed to catch himself, bracing his hand against it. His lamp teetered precariously for a brief moment before stabilizing; Peter blinked tiredly at it.
"Peter, I'm leaving now honey! I'll see you tonight! Love you!" his Aunt May called from downstairs. He listened as she bustled around the entrance before making her way outside, closing the door and locking it behind her with a soft click.
"Love you too," he replied belatedly, voice scratchy and quiet.
He eventually made his way downstairs to the kitchen and he stood there, swaying slightly. He leaned against the countertop, eyeing the cupboards for a moment before sighing in resignation and heading for the front door. With the way his stomach was roiling, he doubted he'd be able to keep in anything he ate, so straight to school it was.
.
Coming to school was not his smartest move. This was a fact he could readily admit. It was only fifteen minutes into first period, but he was already done for the day. The piercing ring of the bell had sent his pounding headache from a level eight straight to an eleven, and the constant chatter from his classmates did nothing to subdue his pain. He dropped his head onto arms, taking refuge in the slight cavern of darkness they provided.
Ned leaned over from his seat on Peter's left. "You alright?" he asked quietly, a slight crease in his brow. "Is this because of your… internship?"
Peter shook his head from where it was nestled in his arms, mussing up his already tangled hair.
"Hey Penis," Flash intoned, a smirk clear in his voice. Peter didn't acknowledge him, though his eyes rolled from behind closed lids. "You still think anyone besides lardass believes in your stupid internship?" he goaded.
Peter dragged his head up, craning his neck to see Flash, who was standing in front of his and Ned's shared table. "I don't care," he rasped, eyes remaining at half mast.
His expression was apparently misinterpreted by Flash, as the other teen sneered. "Sure you don't, Penis. That's why you spread such a dumb lie to make yourself look cool, huh?" he jabbed.
Peter squinted at him, fighting the urge to cover his ears. "That's the stupidest line of logic I've heard," he said honestly, his mind-to-mouth filter apparently broken. Ned choked on a laugh by his side, the sound coming out as a coughing snort.
Flash scowled, grinding his teeth. "Penis-"
MJ interrupted him, not even bothering to glance up from her book on her spot at the table to their right. "Are you just looking for an excuse to use a phallic word or is Peter just special?" she monotoned. Flash's mouth gaped open and closed for several moments, his expression reminiscent of a fish out of water, before he promptly turned around and went back to his seat.
"Thanks Michelle!" Ned exclaimed. She waved him off, still not taking her eyes off the novel, though Peter noticed her pulling out what he'd learned to be her crisis sketchbook with her other hand.
"Okay, everyone!" Mr. Willis called from the front of the room. Peter sat up in his seat, and it sent a wave of pain slithering up his spine, making him feel like his brain was being compressed as his vision wavered in and out. He barely held in a pained moan, tilting his neck forwards and holding himself up with one hand propped up at the elbow. The rest of what his teacher said filtered past him as wordless garble. He felt someone touch his shoulder - Ned - but he flinched away from the contact, his oversensitive skin feeling burned. His temple pulsated at the same time his stomach did, the urge to vomit coming back with a vengeance.
His forehead slipped off his equally sweaty palm and onto his arm that was still lying on his desk. His breath came out as echoes into his own ears; he could barely make out that Ned was speaking, only realizing why when a hand gently grasped around his upper arm and pulled him up, a second hand remaining as a steadying presence on his back. "'m fne," he mumbled as Ned helped him from his seat. He kept his eyes closed, and his steps were shaky as he followed Ned along in his grip.
"It's okay dude, we're just goin' to the nurse," Ned soothed, his voice finally coming through over the whispers of his classmates. Peter shook his head, but the motion sent another arc of pain straight to the back of his head, and he leaned further into Ned's support as they stepped through the classroom's doors. Once they were out in the hall, the door firmly closed behind them, Ned spoke again, his voice quiet yet panicked. "What's happening Peter?" he hissed, "I thought, like, you couldn't get sick? Is this because of your powers?"
Maybe, Peter contemplated internally. His symptoms were pretty similar to when he first got bit. To Ned, though, his only response was a weak "mrgh" and putting more of his weight onto his friend as they stumbled towards the nurse's office.
He zoned out again once they arrived, letting Ned do all the talking, and breathed out a thankful sigh when he was laid down on one of the cots. His stomach gurgled and his eyes snapped open, arm reaching out and snagging Ned's wrist as the teen was turning around, eliciting a startled yelp from him. "Bucket," he moaned, curling inwards and letting his grip fall slack. A small trash can was brought to his side in record time, and he leaned over the side of the bed in an unholy feat of balance and retched into it. The stomach acid burned at his throat, not much else leaving him since he hadn't eaten that morning or the night before, when he first started feeling unwell.
"I'm gonna call your Aunt," Ned declared, his own voice tinged with nausea. Peter raised one of his hands, stopping him.
"Busy," he gasped out, fumbling for his phone in his pocket and unlocking it. "Call Tony," he whispered hoarsely, passing the device to Ned.
His friend's eyes widened as he clutched the phone, scrolling through the contacts. "I'm gonna talk to Mr. Stark," he breathed, then shook his head. His face set with a determined countenance. "I got this," he said bravely, clicking on Tony's handle - Tony Snark. The man picked up on the second ring.
"Hey kid. You alright?" There was a low murmur of voices in the background.
Ned fumbled with the phone for a moment, bringing it to his ear. "H-hey Mr. Stark, it's Ned -"
"Hey Ted, where's Peter?"
"Um. Yeah, so Peter's, like, super sick right now? We're in the nurse's office - he's puking and everything." Ned winced, looking away as Peter started to gag again.
"Shit," Tony muttered; the voices in the background picked up in volume. "I'm in Malibu right now with Happy, so we can't come grab him. Is his Aunt not there?" he questioned.
"Uh… he told me not to call her," Ned glanced at Peter, who mouthed 'work,' "She's at work."
"Alright then. That's okay. I'll call Steve - he'll be there soon. I gotta go, but call me if anything changes."
"D-definitely! -" the line clicked off. Ned breathed out a sigh, tension sloughing off his shoulders, before he whipped around to look at Peter again. The teen was lying on his back now, a forearm pressed against his eyes. "Peter, I think Captain America's coming to get you," Ned whispered dazedly.
Peter's lips turned up in a pained grin. "Makes it sound like he's gonna murder me," he huffed.
"Captain America," Ned emphasized, not really listening, eyes trained on Mr. Stark's contact.
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Good and Righteous," he muttered roughly before breaking out into a loose fit of coughs. "Ughhh," he moaned, curling up on his side.
The clacking of heels signified the presence of the nurse, who made a noise of sympathy upon seeing Peter's sorry state. "Your friend here let me know he was calling for someone to pick you up, so I'm gonna check your temperature for now, alright hon?" she said quietly, pulling out the device. "I'm just gonna need you to open your mouth, 'kay?" Peter obliged, keeping his tired eyes closed as he felt the cool, thin piece of metal and plastic slip under his tongue, closing his lips around it. After a moment, there was a soft beep, and she took out the thermometer. She winced. "That's not lookin' so good. You're at 102 right now. I'll be telling your guardian to definitely get some cold meds for you; don't even think about comin' in for school tomorrow - it's against school policy for a fever this high." Peter gave a weak thumbs up before she left, going back to the front desk.
"Hey Peter," Ned whispered, leaning in for a moment before jolting backwards as the putrid smell from the trash can hit him. He coughed, waving a hand in front of his face before continuing. "Michelle texted me - she said, 'send me a pic of Peter's face rn.' What's rn? Why's she want that? You think she likes you?"
Peter squinted up at Ned. Inwardly, he determined that no, he most certainly did not think that. To Ned, "mhrgh," was his astute reply. He tucked his face into his knees, curling up tighter into a ball. Today's sick face of his would not be entering Michelle's notebook next to Flash's.
A few blessedly silent minutes passed before the door to the office was opened. "Peter?" a low voice asked. A few squeaks left the nurse before she articulated that he was in the back.
"Oh my God; I'm about to meet Captain America," Ned observed in quiet wonder.
The person who came around the corner was decidedly not Captain America. Peter propped himself up on the cot and looked at the man. "Ah, hey Bucky," he greeted, coughing into his fist.
"You're the Winter Soldier," Ned blurted, eyes wide and mouth gaping.
Bucky raised an eyebrow at him before turning his attention back to Peter. "Steve's busy, so I came," he said, picking up Peter's backpack from where it'd been strewn haphazardly on the ground and slinging it over his shoulder. Peter stood up, placing a steadying hand on the wall before Bucky reached him. "Should I carry you?" he asked, face flat but a trace of amusement in his voice. Peter frowned, crossing his arms and pouting. The effect was somewhat lost when he broke out into another fit of coughs.
"I'm good, just, yeah," he muttered, reaching out to the other man and gripping onto his metal arm to support himself. He felt it freeze under him for a moment before it relaxed. He turned to Ned. "Thanks, Ned. I'll text you an update later." The other teen nodded dumbly, eyes fixed on the super soldier at his side. Peter huffed, rolling his eyes as a smirk played on his lips. "Hey Bucky" - the older hero peered down at him - "this is my friend, Ned," he introduced.
Ned let out a whimper when the man turned to him. "Hello, Ned," he addressed. His friend nodded faintly, letting out a few nonsensical mumbles. Peter grinned drowsily as he and Bucky turned away, leaving Ned by the cot, staring in awe.
At the front of the nurse's station, the woman looked like she was struggling not to have a conniption, a paper clenched in her hand as she stared at Bucky and Peter. The latter tilted his head in question, grimacing at the headache that had thankfully reduced to a dull throb. The nurse seemed to steel herself, shoulders going back. "U-um. Y-you need to sign the per-permission slip. To take him," she said, voice strangled despite her apparent renewed confidence. Bucky moved forward, taking the slip out of her hands and grabbing a flower headed pen from the cup to his side. He scribbled through the lines quickly but paused at one for a moment, turning to Peter.
"It asks for relation," he said. Peter shrugged, muffling a laugh in his hand when he heard Bucky mumble, "uncle," and shoulders shaking when the nurse's eyes bugged out. He tugged at the metal arm, pulling Bucky out of the room with a smile still straining at his cheeks.
A couple of moments after entering the hall, the bell rang, its piercing shriek indicating the end of the period. Peter winced, clutching belatedly at his ears as the halls flooded with students. None of them missed the obvious war hero ex-HYDRA agent turned hero again by his side.
"Penis?!" a voice called from behind him, causing Peter to groan internally. He was forced to turn when Bucky did, his arm dragging Peter along in the motion.
"What'd you just call me," the man asked the teen lowly. Flash took a step backwards, waving his arms around frantically.
"No, no! I was talking about him" - he pointed at Peter - "Penis Parker," he said, apparently not noticing or considering the significance of the two practically being linked arm in arm. Bucky's expression darkened.
Peter snapped his head around and buried his face in the hero's sleeve, shoulders shaking, when the man said, "So that's what you call my son?"
By now, a large crowd had gathered. All of the hushed, excited whispers stopped at Bucky's accusation. Flash looked like his brain was leaking out his ears, eyes taking a glazed hue as his mouth hung open. "Son," he repeated faintly. Peter struggled to keep his laughter muffled in Bucky's sweater, air leaving him in gasping huffs. He stilled momentarily when a large hand fell on his head.
"It's alright, now, Peter," Bucky said. Peter gaped. Was he - the hand resting on the crown of his head ruffled at his hair gently. "Look what you did," the hero ground out. He was!
Peter's head shot up, glaring at the super soldier. "I'm not crying," he exclaimed, offended. The corner of Bucky's lip twitched up for a moment before settling.
Flash called for their attention once more, raising a shaking finger to point at Peter once more. "Y-you," he started, shutting his mouth and licking his dry lips before trying again. "Internship?"
Peter rubbed at his throat, voice still hoarse. "Yeah, what about it?" he intoned.
"Real?" Flash squeaked. Ah, Peter realized. Now it seems believable. He opened his mouth to reply, but Bucky interrupted.
"Course it is. Stark's his uncle," he said evenly. Peter gave him a harsh glance.
"Tony-" he started.
"Tony?!" someone in the crowd shrieked.
A smirk played on Bucky's lips. "Ah, you're right," he conceded. "Tony's your godfather." Peter stared at him. The entire student body stared at him.
Someone screamed, and then they all were - either trying to yell questions at Peter or Bucky or just screeching because their entire worldly conceptions had been uprooted. Flash had stumbled over to a wall, muttering words that only he himself could hear though were likely still unintelligible.
The noise around him swelled, and Peter winced, ducking his head at the volume. Bucky put an arm around his shoulders and tugged him through the crowd, which split for him like Moses at the Red Sea. In moments, they were out of the building and into the crisp, morning air, leaving behind the pandemonium of the school.
Peter tugged at Bucky's sweater, making the man look down at him. "Son? Godfather?" he questioned, coughing out a disbelieving laugh. Bucky tried and failed to withhold a grin.
"There, there son," he simpered, tousling Peter's hair once more.
"What happened to the nephew thing, huh?" the teen questioned, glaring halfheartedly.
Bucky shrugged, looking away, but not before Peter caught sight of the smile that danced across his lips. "Dunno," was all he said.
"Now everyone's gonna think I got the internship through nepotism," Peter complained, throwing a weak punch at Bucky's stomach.
The man huffed. "So -" His phone rang, the opening of The Star Spangled Banner playing before he clicked accept. "Steve," he acknowledged.
Peter listened in on the tinny voice. "Bucky. How's Peter?"
The long haired man glanced at his companion, his metal arm still encircled around the younger's shoulders. "Eh. Sick, but alright," he responded.
"Good, good," Steve said. "I'll be back at the tower no later than one o'clock, so I'll see you guys then."
Bucky hummed. "Hey Steve?"
"...Yeah?"
"I'm a Dad."
"What?!-" Bucky hung up the phone, stuffing it back into his pocket as a wide grin splayed across his face.
"What've you done," Peter groaned, thumping his head against the man.
He shrugged nonchalantly, still smiling.