It had seriously been the worst day. Peter had slept through his alarm, and since May was already at work, he didn't realize it until nearly 7:30, which is normally when he'd be running out the door to catch his train to Midtown.

He'd jumped out of bed and grabbed the first shirt he felt in his drawer, then snagged his jeans from the day before off the floor. Ugh, he really needed to do laundry. He'd brushed his teeth directly after inhaling a pop-tart (strawberry filling and mint toothpaste were a terrible combination, by the way) and stuffed all his homework from the night before in his backpack right as he ran out the door, even daring to give his route a kick of super-speed.

He'd still missed his train.

And on the next one he ended up crammed next to a lady wearing really strong perfume, which made his head start hurting, and made him wish he hadn't even eaten the pop-tart.

He hadn't quite grabbed all his homework apparently. His math set was missing (he'd later find it under the kitchen table) and his teacher hadn't been interested in any excuses, even though Peter was normally an A student in that class. She'd given him lunch detention, which meant he was stuck with a single generic tray of food, with none of the extra snacks he normally got, and without the extras MJ and Ned usually passed on to him. They knew how hungry he got. One pop-tart and one typical high-school student lunch was not nearly enough for his spider-enhanced metabolism, so hunger was now adding to his headache.

He'd been having trouble focusing his eyes all day, and everything was too bright. He'd forgotten he'd wiped some formaldehyde on these jeans in Biology yesterday, and even though MJ swore she couldn't smell anything, Peter could smell it constantly, and mixed with all the lingering lunch smells, it was making him feel nauseated.

He could hear too much, too. Usually he could filter sounds out and ignore them, but today it wasn't working. So trying to pay attention in class, while he was hearing all the lectures in the whole building at once, was a no-go.

Oh, crap. He was having sensory overload. It had happened several times during the first month or two after the spider bite, as he adjusted to his newly enhanced senses, and May had been about ready to take him in to have a doctor assess his "migraines" before he'd figured out some things he could do to help dial them back down. But none of that was working today, and things were getting worse. He laid his head down on his English desk, just trying to be grateful he didn't have woodshop. Because he could hear the power tools two buildings away already. Could he make it through two more periods? Could he handle getting on the subway again, feeling this way? He didn't think it would be safe to swing home in this state, but it sounded better than being packed in with a bunch of overbearing sounds and questionable smells.

"Parker, are you okay?" MJ asked quietly from his left, one delicate eyebrow raised. "You don't look so good."

Peter dragged his head up from his desk. "Um. Not really? Having some… a….uh, a bad headache."

MJ actually looked worried. "Do you need to go home?"

"I'm gonna have to do something . It's getting worse."

Peter shoved his notebook into his backpack and stumbled to the front of the class.

"May I go to the nurse, Ms. Brown?" Peter requested when his teacher glanced up. "I have a migraine." It was still the easiest explanation for what was going on with him. If he got home, where he could make it dark and (more or less) quiet, he might be able to get his senses to calm down.

Of course he'd managed to forget that May was working an early shift today. Ned's mom was his secondary contact, but the nurse doesn't have any luck reaching her either. Peter can hear all of this from the back room where he's laying down. He can hear pretty much everything in the school, unfortunately.

He heard when May called back. He couldn't quite hear her end of the conversation over the overwhelming roar of background noise right now, but the nurse comes in to speak to him shortly after.

"Your aunt said she can't leave work, because all of their relief nurses are already placed, but she's sending someone to give you a ride home," Mr. Cole reassured Peter.

He manages to nod. Sending someone? Their neighbor, Mrs. Kowalski, had picked Peter up a few times in the past when they'd had an emergency or a mix-up, but he was pretty sure she was gone visiting her kids in Virginia.

The bell rang, and a fresh wave of pain seared any curious thoughts from Peter's mind.

The next thing that broke through the waves of discomfort and general noise of the school was hearing his name over the intercom in the nurse's office.

"Mr. Cole, please send Peter Parker to the office. He's going home for the day."

Peter winced as he sat up and opened his eyes. He grabbed his backpack and made his way to the front office as quickly as he could. At least the halls were empty at the moment. He really should have just stuck it out. He could have lasted, and gotten home… somehow.

He doubled down on that wish when he realized who was waiting for him in the office.

"Mr. Stark?"

As Mr. Stark navigated in his yellow Audi R8, Peter tried to just breathe. Without any thought for the fancy leather seats, he pulled his scuffed tennis shoes up into the seat with him, curling into a little ball of misery.

"Sorry you had to come, sir," he said hesitantly.

"I didn't have to Peter, I was happy to help. Your aunt said she called all the regular people that could usually come, and they weren't available. I don't love that I was the last resort, but I guess at least I was a resort, right?"

Peter could tell that his mentor was trying to lighten the mood, but Peter was in too much pain to care.

"Are you sure you should be home by yourself like this?" Mr. Stark asked after a few minutes. You're not looking so hot there, kiddo. You aunt said something about your senses being in overdrive, with symptoms kinda like a migraine? Can you tell me about that? How often does it happen?"

"That's… a lotta questions," Peter slurred. "Doesn' happen too often anymore. Senses're more like twenty 'stead of eleven. I'll be fine at home. Just gotta make it dark an' quiet an' sleep. I just need to-" He broke off, patting first one front pocket, then the other. Oh, crap. His deadbolt key was in his backpack, but he'd been taking the other one off to put in the little pocket of his suit lately, just in case, and he could picture it vividly, still on the kitchen counter. He groaned in annoyance.

"What's wrong?"

"Forgot my key. Not a big deal. My window's not locked. I just need to-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there. You're obviously not going to be climbing any buildings right now. It's not that much further to the Tower, and I've got some fantastic sound- and light-proofing there that doesn't get much use since I stopped drinking." Tony smirked a little in self-deprecation, but when Peter let his eyes open just a bit, the older superhero looked worried. About him ? They'd been working together once a week for several months now, and Peter liked to think they were becoming friends, too, but he didn't want to impose or assume anything. He was sure someone as important as Mr. Stark had things he was supposed to be doing… Peter opened his mouth to protest being taken to the Tower, but instead just groaned again and the car seemed to spin around him. He really hoped he wasn't going to throw up.

"FRIDAY? Can we get a scan on him? Anything else going on other than the senses thing?"

"Of course, Boss." Peter clenched his eyes shut, his muscles permanently contracted in discomfort. Not just from sensory input, but from a general achiness.

"Peter is running a fever of 100.8, which compared to his normal temperature, would indicate a low fever." FRIDAY sounded concerned. "Further scans are warranted, but preliminary findings would suggest a virus."

"Oh," Tony said, eyebrows raised. "You're sick?"

"I don't know?" Peter said in confusion. Suddenly he felt much more awake as he considered the possibility. "I… yeah, I do feel like I have a fever. I've only been sick once since the spider bite, and it was just a cold. But Ned is home sick with the flu, and he was at my house the night before he got sick…"

"Okay, then. We'll, uh… we'll deal with that." Mr. Stark didn't sound very confident.

"Here," the older man said, removing his sunglasses and settling them on Peter's face while they waited at a red light. "See if those help."

They did, a little. Peter sighed and suppressed a little shiver of distress.

"So this is kinda like a guest room, but I thought you might be using it at some point, so I did a little redecorating," Mr. Stark was saying. Peter only half heard him, but did open his eyes to try to see the room his mentor had led him to as soon as they reached the penthouse. FRIDAY had been lowering the lights for him all along their path, and she had them on an even lower setting in here. But he could still see the big queen-sized bed decked out in dark reds and blues, and the posters on the walls seemed to be things that were more in his wheelhouse than Pepper's classic and clean preferences.

"You put up Star Wars posters in here?" Peter asked in confusion. "And Back to the Future?"

"Yeah," Mr. Stark grinned. Those are originals. Pretty cool, huh? They seemed like something y…uh, younger guests would like." Originals? Of course they were originals. Peter tried to shake his head in disbelief, but it just made everything tilt sideways.

"Whoops! No lying down on the job, Spider-kid," Tony said as he caught Peter's arm and steadied him. Peter leaned hard into his mentor's shoulder, trying to ground himself.

"I think I'd better. Um, lie down, I mean," Peter said weakly.

"That would be advisable," FRIDAY piped up, unprompted. "The ensuite is there to your left if you should need it, Peter. Boss, perhaps you could get him some water and pain medication once he's settled?"

Mr. Stark looked surprised, and amused. "FRIDAY, did you get your nursing degree when I wasn't looking?"

The AI was silent for a beat.. "Not yet, but I've had so much experience looking after incapacitated geniuses, one more is hardly a challenge."

Mr. Stark raised his hands in mock surrender. "No need to get snarky, sweetheart. I can take direction. Let's get you into bed, Pete, then I'm on fetch-and-carry duty."

Peter groaned as Mr. Stark helped him walk forwards towards the bed. He hurt everywhere, and his senses were still going haywire. He needed to get horizontal before he lost his light lunch.

"You okay? You good there?" Mr. Stark was trying to tuck him in, but it was obvious it wasn't in his skillset.

Peter couldn't help but smile a little. It was sweet how he was trying so hard to help. Almost immediately though, emotions hit, and Peter had to clench his already achy jaw against tears. He was fifteen years old. He would not cry just because he was sick and felt like crap and missed his aunt. And Ben. Ben had always been fantastic at helping him feel better when he was sick. He'd hold Peter close on the couch while they watched a movie neither of them cared too much about, and Ben would run his fingers lightly through his hair, or rub his neck and temples if he had a headache, or make him hot chicken noodle soup when he had a cold. No matter how hard Peter scrunched his eyes closed, a few stray tears escaped.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Crying isn't part of the included package. If you'd like to continue, you'll need to upgrade to the elite 'better caretaker' level," Mr. Stark said with a pained laugh, trying to distract and deflect, but sounding a little panicky. Then softer, "Pete? Is it your hearing? Your sight? FRI, did you soundproof the room?"

"Of course I did, Boss," the AI said, sounding testy. "According to my scans, Peter's fever is starting to climb, and his blood sugar is also very low. Perhaps some quick calories?" Then she took additional initiative. "Peter, does anything sound good to you to eat?"

"Um," Peter wiped at the tears, trying not to move too much, so the room didn't rock. "Maybe some toast? With peanut butter?" That was a go-to of his when he wanted something quick and filling, and it didn't sound like it would upset his stomach.

"Right. On it," said Mr. Stark, seeming relieved to have something concrete to do. "And water, right, Nurse FRIDAY?" The AI didn't deign to reply.

As Mr. Stark left the room, Peter started shivering under the covers.

"Peter? Do you feel cold?"

"Yeah, pretty cold. Can we turn up the temperature in here a little?"

"Your body is trying to push your core temperature up. Have you experienced chills before?"

"Um," Peter said, trying to will his teeth to stop chattering, "maybe? It's b-b-been a long t-t-time."

"It's not dangerous, but it's very uncomfortable. I'll ask Boss to get another blanket when he returns."

"'Kay, thanks." Ugh, the achiness was intensifying as all of his muscles contracted in waves. He felt so cold, but could feel that his skin was warm. He'd just barely had a low fever twenty minutes ago. How were things progressing this fast?

Even with the noise-canceling technology (which was very helpful), Peter could hear Mr. Stark coming before he entered the room, and he sounded agitated. Oh no, was something wrong?

Mr. Stark came quickly to the bedside and set the water and toast down on the bedside table. "Hey, bud. FRIDAY said your fever is going up?" Peter just shivered, teeth knocking together. He wasn't able to form a coherent answer. "'s c-c-c-cold."

"Cold? FRI, what's the temperature in here?"

"73 degrees, Boss," FRIDAY reported. "There's an extra blanket in the chest at the end of the bed."

"Oh, right. Of course there is," Tony said with a hand to his forehead in frustration. He got it out and spread it over Peter, but he continued to shiver.

"S-s-sorry, s-sir. I just ff-f-feel like I c-c-can't warm up."

"FRIDAY, temp?"

"101.7, Boss. Nowhere near dangerous ranges, and my sources indicate it's okay to make him warm enough to be comfortable, even if it pushes his fever up."

"Okay, then."

"May I suggest body heat? My observations indicate physical touch would also be comforting for Peter, specifically."

Peter could hear their conversation, but it was kind of fuzzy. Most of his conscious thoughts were caught up in how awful he felt. So cold, and all the muscle spasms just hurt and… well, his senses seemed to have dialed down, so there was that.

"Pete? Peter?"

Oh, Mr. Stark was talking to him. "Hmm?" He tried to focus through his shuddering.

"I've got a few of the pain killers the lab whipped up for you. Do you think you can sit up and take them? They should work like a couple of advil for you, and hopefully help with the body aches and keep the fever from getting too high."

"Sure," Peter said weakly, trying to struggle into an upright position. Mr. Stark braced his back, and he managed to swallow the pills.

"Take another big drink while you're up, okay?" Mr. Stark didn't even sound like himself. He sounded so sympathetic, and quiet, and worried. Peter tried hard to comply, and managed to drink half the bottle before collapsing back down. The shakes were hitting harder than ever after coming halfway out from under his blankets to take the meds.

"Pete?"

"Mmm?"

"FRIDAY said it might help you feel warmer if I lay there with you. Is that something you're okay with?"

"You're warm?" Peter knew he wasn't making tons of sense, but his mind had shuttled back to when he was much younger and chilling like this. He'd gone to find May and Ben in the middle of the night, and was crying because he felt so awful. Ben hadn't even hesitated, but had just pulled him into bed with them, wrapping his arms around the boy and helping him feel warm faster. And letting him know he wasn't alone with the scary sensations. It was one of those core memories he hadn't thought about in forever.

"Well, yeah, usually pretty warm, I guess." Mr. Stark sounded hesitant.

"Tha' sounds good," said Peter, clenching his teeth and trying to scoot over.

"No, no, no. Don't move. I'll slide in behind you," Mr. Stark said, still sounding worried. Peter couldn't see straight; he was shivering so hard. His jaw ached with the tension of trying to keep his teeth from banging together.

He felt the bed sink down a little as Mr. Stark climbed up behind him, laying next to him on the pillow, and wrapping his arms around him, blankets and all. The pressure felt good, like maybe it could keep him from vibrating so hard that he eventually turned to dust. In his fevered state, Peter was a little worried it might really happen.

"Shh, shh, Spiderling. I've got you," his mentor whispered in his ear. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah. T-t-t-t-tighter?"

"You want me to hold tighter?"

"P-p-please." Peter fought it, but couldn't keep the tears back. This was the worst feeling ever. Worse than the stab wound he'd gotten two weeks ago, even. At least that had just hurt in one spot.

The veteran superhero pulled himself forward, wrapping his arms and a leg more firmly around Peter, and the resistance he provided to Peter's chilling body was reassuring, and yes, even made him feel warmer. It was another ten minutes at least before Peter was able to stop shaking completely, but just not being alone with the crazy, out-of-control feeling made all the difference, and soon he even felt warm enough to take the extra blanket off. Mr. Stark moved back away to facilitate its removal, and Peter whined a little, surprising himself.

"I'm not leaving, kid," his mentor soothed, scooting back to sit against the headboard. "FRIDAY, temp?"

"103.1, Boss. The meds should start bringing in back down in the next half hour though. All of Peter's other vitals are stable."

After a moment of silence, Peter felt long, calloused fingers gently stroke through his hair. It was a little damp, and Peter felt gross, but it didn't seem to bother Mr. Stark. Peter let a long, slow breath out, so grateful that his muscles had finally relaxed.

"Sleep, bud. Your aunt will be here in a couple hours."

Peter did.

By the time May arrived, Peter had slept for a while, and woken up ravenous, and feeling much better. He finally ate his toast, as well as three slices of leftover pizza, and was working on some of Tony's leftover Chinese food when May came in.

"This kid? This one was sick?" she teased.

"Well, the meds seem to work pretty well for him. I promise he was a wreck two hours ago," Mr. Stark said, shaking his head incredulously.

"He's got good color," May said, leaning in to brush Peter's hair back softly, leaving a hand on his forehead to check his temperature. "And he doesn't really feel warm."

"Peter's temperature is in normal ranges," FRIDAY said, sounding satisfied.

"I'll send some of his meds with you," Mr. Stark was saying to May, "but he looks really good. Maybe it was just hard and fast, and his crazy spider-system already kicked it to the curb."

"He did get over the cold he had a few months ago in like twenty-four hours," May replied, helping to gather Peter's things. "I don't know how to thank you, Tony."

Mr. Stark waved it off. "I'm happy I could be here. Really glad I didn't just drop him off at home, though."

"Me, too. Bringing him to the Tower was a stroke of genius."

"I specialize in those."

Peter took a last bite of his pizza crust. "Yeah, FRIDAY said you're going to join her in getting your nursing degree, now that you know how good you are at it."

"FRIDAY is a liar who lies. And so are you, I think, because she would never say I was 'good' at anything resembling nursing."

"I don't know, Boss. I was pleasantly surprised today." Mr. Stark tilted his head in interest. "At least in your latent ability to actually follow instructions."

"There it is," he said with an eyeroll. "Peter, don't listen to her. Stay sweet and obedient, and don't give your elders grief," he teased.

Peter just smiled and shook his head, relieved that there was no room-spinning involved.

"If I feel good the rest of the night, can I go to school tomorrow?"

"No!" Mr. Stark said, visibly alarmed. Understandably, since he's the one who'd been holding the shivering teen as he cried just a few hours before.

"Maybe." May cautioned at the same time. They turned and gave each other measuring looks.

"Uh… whatever your aunt says, of course," Mr. Stark backtracked.

"Good. I liked her answer better."

"Ungrateful punk," the genius growled, swiping an affectionate hand over Peter's extra-curly-from-being-feverish hair. The hand dropped down to his shoulder and pulled him into a quick side hug, and Peter felt Mr. Stark sigh as he gently released him.

That was new. Good for sure, but definitely new.