A/N: It's Spring Break! So here ya go!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)
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Trope: Thermoregulation
I Can't Get Warm
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"You got a hat?" May yelled from the kitchen.
Peter snatched his beanie off the floor for where he had discarded it last night. "Yes!" He yelled back, pulling the hat onto his head and over his ears. He switched off the light in his room and started to make his way down the hall when May posed another question.
"Do you have your gloves?"
The teen shoved his hands into his coat pockets where he was sure he left them. He came up empty. He spun on his heel and ducked back into his room, switching the light back on. A quick scan of the disaster area (Peter hadn't had time to clean recently) found them sticking out from under his pillow.
How or why they were there, Peter didn't know. He quickly stuffed them into his pockets and turn the room's light back off.
He'd made it two steps into the hallway when May asked if he had a scarf.
Peter let his head hinge back on his neck, eyes slipping shut. At this rate he was never going to leave the house.
"I don't need one, May," he responded, finally stepping into the kitchen where his aunt was perched on the counter eating a bowl of salad. "It's not even that cold outside."
May raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I thought the weather guy said it was like twenty degrees or something?" She said, one cheek full of half-chewed lettuce.
"Ill be fine," Peter reassured as he zipped up his coat. He had just gotten the door open when May called, "You have your phone?"
"Yep! Bye! Love you, May!" He quickly pulled the door shut behind him before May could ask anything else. She could've kept going all day if he'd let her. But then he'd be late to meeting Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts.
Peter pulled open the door to the street and just about ate his words. It was that cold outside. Twenty degrees sounded about right if the icy blades of air stinging his cheeks were anything to go off of.
Queens had been visited by Jack Frost himself over night. Snow was piled four inches high on top of every structure in sight: mailboxes, newsstands, hotdog carts, and shop awnings. The melted snow from a few days earlier had turned to ice, making the simple task of walking a hazard to any who dared set foot outdoors.
Salt crystals crunched beneath Peter's sturdy winter boots as he made his way down the sidewalk. He hadn't even made it to the first street corner when a shout arose behind him.
"Peter! Peter Parker!"
He spun around at the familiar voice and saw his aunt practically running down the sidewalk. Her appearance was incongruous to say the least. One foot sported a flip flop while the other was swimming in one of Peter's tennis shoes.
Today being a weekend, she hadn't bothered to properly dress herself and hence was sporting a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that came down to her knees. But even after all her nagging out Peter gearing up for the cold, she had neglected to grab a coat in her mad dash out the door.
"May, what're you–"
He met her halfway and she skidded to a stop. "You forgot your skates," she panted, hoisting a pair of well-worn brown ice-skates. Peter's eyes screwed shut and his palm met his forehead with a sharp slap.
"Ugh. Thanks, May," he said, a sheepish smile spreading on his face. She smiled back and passed him the shoes.
"Have fun, kiddo."
"I will!" Peter said, starting to back away. "Get back inside; it's freezing!"
May rolled her eyes, but heading back the way she came. "Say hi to everyone for me!"
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"Are you sure this is safe?" Tony said, eyeing the the frozen pond dubiously. Peter looked up from where he was busy lacing up his skates.
His breath plumed in little white puffs as he stared around at the pond's mostly deserted surface. There were a few couples lazily making loops on the ice, arms linked and hands stuffed deep into their pockets. The colder weather seemed to have deterred the pond's usual population.
"Of course it's safe!" Peter insisted. "May and I come here every winter and I've never seen anyone break the ice. Besides, it's been frozen solid for weeks."
Beside him, Pepper cupped her hands around her nose and mouth and expelled a breath of warm air into her palms. "I think it looks like fun," she smiled at Peter as she briskly rubbed her hands together.
She pushed off the bench and tapped the toe of her own pristine skates against the ground. "You ready, Tony?"
Tony opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he instead clicked his teeth together and gave a 'what-the-hell' shrug and rose to his feet.
Peter grinned and instantly began hobbling awkwardly on the blades of his skates to the frozen pond. He gingerly put one foot on the ice quickly followed by the second. It only took him a second to gain his balance and then he was off.
He pushed off powerfully against the ice, skates flying as the wind whipped at his nose and made his eyes water. Peter couldn't help the whoop of joy that left his mouth as he gained speed.
He flew by the couples still leisurely making their rounds, weaving out and around them with ease. It wasn't long before he made it back to the start point where Pepper and Tony were just now boarding the ice.
Peter turned his skates sideways and came to an abrupt halt. "See?" He panted lightly. "I told you it was safe."
Tony just rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like, "Youths."
Pepper just chuckled and gently pushed off from the ice, gliding gracefully away from the pair. Tony followed, not as elegantly but with enough coordination to get by.
Peter wasn't sure how long they stayed out on the ice, laughing and making fools out of themselves. It wasn't until they started to try tricks on the ice that things began to go south.
It was nearing one o'clock and all the other couples had long since disappeared to entertain other interests. The three of them had the pond to themselves.
Now everyone who's anyone knows that any action that follows the words "Watch this!" is not going to end well. Unfortunately, it was Peter who uttered those cursed words that afternoon.
"Watch this!" Peter shouted , skating backwards towards the center of the ice.
"Be careful, Peter!" Pepper called as she and her fiancé stood motionless on the ice, watching the teen perform his trick.
Peter swung his right leg out and bent his left. He spun slowly in a circle then sharply dragged his right leg back in, straightened his opposite leg, and he was suddenly spinning faster than a top.
He squeezed his arms to his chest, eyes clamped shut as his rotations increased. Just as he was getting ready to throw his leg back out to slow down, he heard an almighty crack followed by a multitude of smaller, sharp cracks.
There was a scream of "Peter, move!" before he was suddenly submerged beneath the icy surface of the pond.
Peter's eyes flew open as he gasped involuntarily. Freezing, dirty pond water flooded into his mouth and seeped into his lungs. He tried to cough but his lungs didn't seem to want to cooperate.
He trashed his arms and legs, fighting to reach the surface, but the weight of all his already heavy winter things and combined with the solidity of the skates was difficult to counteract. Fear-filled brown eyes turned toward the muted winter sun straining through the thick layer of ice above him.
Peter felt himself sinking lower and lower into the pond's depth. His heart was pounding in his chest as terror-filled memories of a parachute and glacial water and not being able to breathe or escape.
This couldn't be happening again.
Please don't let this be happening again.
Peter tried to coordinate his arms and legs in a way that would help him reach fresh air. But, keeping his eyes turned upward, he couldn't even find the hole he had dropped through. He fought hard to pull himself towards the surface.
He vaguely remembered his swim instructor teaching him something about wet shoes and drowning. But that had been back in the fourth grade. Peter couldn't quite recall the memory at the moment.
It wasn't long before the burning in his lungs had begun to dull; the urgency was fading. Energy spent and lungs depleted. The light streaming in above him was no longer taunting, but soothing.
If he was going to die down here, at least he had something nice to look at. Peter saw the last of his air slip through his nose in the form of bubbles rising towards the surface, doing what he could not.
Did drowning have to be so cold? Peter thought as his eyes began to slip shut, lungs instinctively drawing in the cloudy liquid around him.
Distantly he felt his skates collide with the bottom of the pond, the blades cutting easily through the silty bottom and sticking there, leaving Peter floating like a bizarre buoy.
Peter didn't know how long he stayed at the bottom of the pond, how long the gelid waters surrounded him. He was only faintly aware when something began to lug him up to the surface. Peter couldn't find it in himself to care as the water gave way to brisk air that he had been so desperately craving moments before.
There was the distant sensation of being dragged for a minute before he was released back flopping down against a hard surface.
Peter was dimly aware that that should probably have hurt, but he didn't care. He just wanted to sleep and let the encroaching darkness overwhelm him.
Something was patting his cheek. No– it was harder than a pat. Slapping. Someone was slapping his cheek.
That was rude. Didn't your mama ever teach you it's not okay to hit?
He could hear voices shouting next to him, but they sounded muted and distorted. He couldn't make out the words.
Now something was grinding against his sternum, making small painful circles against the bone.
Peter tried to gasp against the pain, but ended up coughing instead. He had the disorientating feeling of being rolled as his lungs contracted painfully, a geyser of green water escaping his mouth and breaking down the powdery snow on the ground.
"That's it, Pete," a voice was saying somewhere behind him. "Get it all out."
He coughed until his abdominal muscles hurt then promptly vomited the entirety of his breakfast onto the ground. Peter couldn't tell if those were tears running down his cheeks or excess water dripping from his hair.
Hands were slipping under his side and back and helping him sit up once the heaves had stopped altogether. Arms wrapped around his chest, pulling his close against something that was equally as wet as he was.
"Christ, Peter," Tony breathed behind him. "Don't ever do that to me again."
Pepper appeared in Peter's line of vision, eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Tony, we need to get inside and get him warm. He's shaking like a leaf."
Between Pepper and Tony, they were able to make sure that Peter made it to the car without any other incident. Tony hopped behind the wheel and sped into traffic, eyes periodically glancing in the rearview at Peter's quivering form bundled against Pepper's side in the backseat.
They made it to the Tower in record time, Tony throwing the car in park with a jolt and switching the engine off. He hopped out of the car and opened the door to the backseat swiftly, gently extricating Peter from the car.
"Mr. S-St-Stark," Peter chattered. "I'm f-fine, r-really."
Tony all but rolled his eyes as he ushered Peter into the elevator. "Yeah, real convincing, kid." He waited for Pepper to step on before asking FRIDAY to take them to their private level.
As soon as the elevators opened, Peter was swiftly ushered into the spare room Tony kept for Peter while Pepper beelined for the kitchen.
Once they were in the room, Tony finally took his hands off the teen's shoulders, heading into the walk-in closest and emerging a few moments later with a pair of black sweats and socks. "You need to get out of those wet things," Tony chided, as if Peter had made a conscious decision to wear sopping wet clothes full of pond algae and fish pee.
Peter accepted the clothes out of his mentor's hand and headed to the bathroom to change. He toed the door closed with a trembling foot. Now that he was out of the gaze of Mr. Stark, Peter collapsed onto the seat of the toilet.
His chest burned terribly from all the water he'd inhaled and his breastbone was still smarting. But the worst thing of all was that he was so damn cold. Peter couldn't remember ever being this cold before. He'd never been a fan of the cold. Peter enjoyed all the things that came with the cold: hot chocolate, snow for snowball fights or building snowmen, ice skating (though he might be changing his opinion on that one). But the cold itself? Peter could do well without.
Peter stood to shed his coat, the sodden material dropping onto the floor with a heavy whump. He discarded the sweater he was wearing and tossed it onto the floor next to his coat. The more layers he shed, the more violently he shivered. The cool air attacking his chilled skin.
He wasted no time pulling on the dry sweats as soon as all the soaked clothes had been removed. By the time he was slipping the socks onto his feet, the shivers were so bad it nearly looked as if he were convulsing.
He wrapped his arms around himself, extending a hand to pull open the door and then quickly hiding it back in his armpit. Peter had barely stepped through the doorway when something heavy dropped around his shoulders.
Upon a quick inspection, Peter determined it to be a quilt, though he couldn't ever recall seeing it anywhere in the Tower before. He didn't have much time to ponder it however as something else was dropped over his head.
"Hey!–" Was all he got out before the material was vigorously, yet carefully, rubbed back and forth across his head. The towel was suddenly pulled away, leaving Peter blinking owlishly.
"Alright, kiddo," Tony chuckled, slinging an arm across Peter's shoulders again. "Let's get you warmed up."
As they walked, Peter noticed that Tony had changed into a different set of clothes too. It occurred to Peter that Mr. Stark had been the one that pulled him out of the pond.
In no time, the two were seated on the couch in the living area. Pepper shuffled in, still wearing all of her winter gear, balancing three mugs in her hands. She passed the first to Tony and the second to Peter. The third she kept for herself.
Peter looked down into the mug, the liquid sloshing against the sides of the mug as Peter continued to shake. The sweet smell of rich hot chocolate swirled up from the mug. Peter raised the mug and attempted to take a sip. But it seemed his hands were not to be trusted as he only managed to splash some down the front of his sweatshirt.
"S-sorry," he said apologetically to Mr. Stark, seeing as the sweatshirt didn't actually belong to him.
Tony just waved him off and sipped from his own mug. "Are you starting to feel any better? Warmer?"
"Y-yeah," Peter said, inwardly facepalming. Why was his first gut reaction to lie about his health?
Tony looked skeptical, eyebrows pinching together. "No, you're not," he said, taking a long pull from his mug.
"You're not," Pepper echoed, setting her mug down and taking a seat next to Peter on the couch. She gently removed the mug from Peter's hands and set it next to hers. Tony had gotten up and had grabbed a few more blankets from the chest in the corner.
"Budge up, bud," Tony said, jerking his head sideways. Peter scooted over obediently as he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Mr. Stark handed the stack of blankets to his fiancée before he plopped onto the couch beside Peter.
Tony tugged the around Peter's shoulders off before the teen had a chance to protest. Then the man lifted his right arm and held it off to the side. Neither of them moved for a moment. It was only when Mr. Stark made a beckoning sign with this fingers that Peter realized what the man wanted.
Peter scooted towards his mentor, arms wrapped around himself again in the absence of the little heat he'd had beneath the blanket. He settled against Tony's side, finding it surprisingly easy and comfortable. How had the man managed to warm up so quickly while Peter was still a shivering block of ice?
He couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips as Tony swung the blanket around the two of them. Pepper was quick to pile on the others, creating a sort of nest. She kept two for herself and was soon snuggled into Tony's other side, feet tucked up under the covers.
"FRIDAY, could you get an episode of Friends going?" Tony asked. The response was instantaneous. A hand settled into his still damp hair, fingers combing lightly through the curls as the theme song washed over the room.
Peter could feel the rumble in Mr. Stark's chest as the man mindlessly hummed along wit the theme. That, combined with the hair combing and the heat finally starting to return to Peter's body, was downright soporific.
He inhaled deeply, the smell of coffee and laundry soap filling his nostrils. Peter turned his eyes upwards lazily and saw that Mr. Stark had reclaimed his mug and as sipping at it contentedly as his eyes followed the antics on the screen.
Peter turned his gaze to the tv and, with drowsy eyes, watched the the friends pile onto the couch of Central Perk and poke fun at each other.
And, volitionally or not, Peter found himself being lulled to sleep, shivers finally abated.
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