Rapid Onset

Peter couldn't hold back a sigh on his walk home from school.

"Something up?" Ned asked, and Peter deliberated on how honest the answer should be.

"Nah, not really. I stayed up too late last night." He shrugged as if it had been unavoidable. He wanted to believe it was, anyway. He never liked to admit that his own lack of planning caused so many of his problems.

Ned took the answer at face value instead of reading between the lines and redirected the conversation until it was time for the two to say their goodbyes and finish their walks home separately.

Peter would normally detour into an alley to change for patrol or head straight home on non-patrol days, but he had a headache from hell and he was eighty percent sure he'd finished off the painkillers at home a couple weeks ago. He'd meant to replace the bottle he'd emptied the day after it happened, but it kept slipping his mind before he had a concrete reason to follow through on the plan.

He slipped into a corner store on his path to the apartment. It wasn't exactly known for its affordability, but he was just shy of desperate for some relief from the stabbing in his head, to hell with whatever ridiculous markup he had to shell out. He passed by a drink cooler and snagged a soda to help him stay awake long enough to get through his assignments tonight. He pointedly avoided looking at the price he was about to pay—with his luck, this single trip would wipe out this month's allowance—and moved on toward the pharmacy section.

He'd never come here to buy medical supplies and hadn't expected the frankly overwhelming selection. Half an aisle was dedicated to dozens of different brands of painkillers of varying strengths, sizes, and gimmicks. None of the bottles leapt out at him right away, so he found himself zoning out as he stared blankly at his options.

A buzz from his phone brought him out of his indecisive daze.

Want to visit the tower? It was short and to the point, as Happy always was when he deemed to text.

Duh. He erased the word and thought for a moment before trying again. Everyone already treated him too much like a kid. No need to encourage them by texting like one.

Sure! He sent the text and followed up with his location, though he suspected Happy could track his location without the help. That, or the guy had a weird knack for guessing whether Peter would be at his apartment or Ned's and which exit of the school he'd take on any given day.

He took his time with several breaks to close his eyes and block out the irritating overhead lights before he went for a small generic bottle of aspirin largely by virtue of its price. His head hurt too much to take the time to research all the pros and cons of basic painkillers. All he wanted was to cure his headache, and these would do the job. He spared a moment to rub a palm against his temple and went to check out. He hid a wince at the price but forked over the cash while his items were unceremoniously thrown into a cheap plastic bag.

Plopping himself down on the curb to wait, he pulled out his phone to check his notifications. The bright light sent another sharp stab through his skull, so he shoved it back in his pocket and rested his forehead against his knees instead.

The pressure of skin on skin helped a little, but it really could only take a bit of the edge off. He wished Happy had given an ETA. He'd planned on walking home and taking the pills there with some water, but that made no sense now that he'd told Happy to meet him here without thinking about it first. He could go back inside and pay another ridiculous sum for a bottle of water, but he ran the risk of making Happy wait outside. Happy never appreciated a wait. He could swallow the pills dry, but he wasn't a fan of the feeling of cold, hard aspirin rubbing along his throat on the way down. Could he handle it? Absolutely. Did he ever want to? No, definitely not. He had the soda he'd bought, but he was trying to put in a solid effort to cut back at Mr. Stark's request, and this bottle was meant for later tonight.

After Mr. Stark's intervention earlier that month, Peter had been forced to dramatically cut down his caffeine consumption under penalty of being grounded from patrol. It had been a couple days since he'd had any caffeine since he'd been working harder on getting enough sleep recently, but last night had been killer. He'd stayed out until midnight fighting crime before he reached home in time to remember a history paper that had been due today. It took him two hours flat from the rough draft to a final polished copy and left him with only four hours to sleep, but he felt good about the work he'd done. He was suffering for it now, and the deal had been to cut back, not to quit caffeine completely. No one was going to hound him over one Mountain Dew, and there was a good chance his headache came from caffeine withdrawal in the first place.

He twisted open the aspirin bottle first, digging against the aluminum seal before pouring out four tablets in the hope of stopping his body from working against the medicine too easily or too quickly. He tossed the remaining pills back in the bag and opened the soda. He took a swig to wet his mouth, then threw back the pills two at a time with a couple more sips.

The drink eased his tiredness just a little. He let himself drink half while he waited for Happy, but he needed to save the other half for later to help him focus on his homework so he set it aside with the painkillers. He was working on lowering his dependence, but he couldn't deny that the right amount gave him the convenient ability to push himself through his least pleasant assignments.

If he was being honest, that wasn't his only reason for limiting himself to half of the bottle. His stomach felt increasingly unsettled, slightly lurching often enough that he couldn't bring himself to put anything else in it. It had been awhile since his school lunch—which left much to be desired in terms of quality and especially quantity in the first place—and he was pretty sure soda on an empty stomach had been a mistake. He spent the rest of the time waiting with his eyes closed and his head pressed into his knees while he coached himself through deep, even breaths. At least the headache had dissipated already.

The nausea lingered, but he'd calmed it for the most part when Happy pulled up alongside the curb where Peter was curled up. He'd never dangerously approached the point of actually throwing up and he felt mostly fine now that he'd meditated his way through it, so there was no need to embarrass himself by mentioning it to Happy. He gently pushed himself up and slid into the middle of the backseat. Happy must have been in a good mood since he even got a small smile in greeting from him.

He closed his eyes as Happy pulled back into the rush hour traffic and started his usual route. One of the cool parts of riding to the tower was getting to see more of New York during the car trips. His Spider-Manning took him through some of the same places, but patrol was work, work, and more work. He was always too busy to stop and just observe.

Peter didn't want to look now, though. The thought of watching the scenery rolling by the window unnerved him. He could still feel the slight call of sleep and wanted a nap, just something to pull himself out of actively experiencing the moment. His body disagreed with his desires, and it easily beat down his willpower. He just let himself lean back with his eyes closed but fully conscious, feeling every subtle shift in the car's speed and direction thanks to his refined sense of balance.

It was difficult to keep track of time. All he knew for sure was that the nausea slowly but surely ramped up. At some point, it crossed the line from something he could handle on his own to something that left him wincing and stifling a groan. He felt his stomach tumbling uncomfortably and dove for the plastic bag he'd gotten from the corner store. He lost precious seconds digging out the two bottles and tossing them aside into the seat before he wrapped the handles of the bag around his hands and buried his face into it. He ducked down as much as his stomach comfortably allowed.

Happy had ignored the rustling of the plastic but had to cut off a curse when he heard a retch from the backseat. He stared at his charge in the rearview mirror with sheer horror long enough for another gag to come and for a car to honk at his inattention to the road and dwindling speed. Peter's blush at being noticed was especially obvious with his pale pallor, and he couldn't hold Happy's gaze at a moment like this, not when he felt like such a child.

He ducked back down with another retch that tapered off into a strangled whimper as the liquid made its way back up and into the bag with a splatter that did nothing to calm his nausea. He coughed, but that sensation in combination with the mixed smell of bile and lemon lime just triggered another gag that sent the sickening taste of more Mountain Dew to the back of his mouth.

Happy swore again. Peter looked up from his suffering long enough to gather that they'd made it to the highway at some point and there was no room to pull over. He tried to offer his reassurance since Happy wasn't one to get frazzled like this.

"I'm-" A wet burp interrupted him. "-fine!"

He heaved, and more of the soda flew uncontrollably from his mouth and into the bag. He needed a moment to catch his breath and slow his breathing again.

"I'm good!" He did his best to smile, hoping it didn't come off as a grimace. Happy didn't look especially convinced and seemed a little nauseated himself, but he stuck to the route without comment.

There were a few more unproductive gags and false-alarm dry heaves before he could finally lean back and breathe a quiet sigh of relief without setting off his gag reflex.

It took a few shaky 'I'm good's after that, each a little stronger and more assured than the last, before Happy agreed not to cancel the evening plans. Now, if only he could convince him not to share the details with Mr. Stark…