A/N: Hey everybody! So the 28th this month marks my one-year anniversary writing with FFN, and so I thought I'd do a little something to celebrate! My writing has improved a lot over the course of this year, and I figured why not do a comparison? Below I re-wrote Don't Call with my current writing style. (Essentially I beefed it up.) This isn't meant to replace the first chapter! Just a little something to remind myself (and you guys) that as you write more, you'll get better, gradually! It was also super fun to look back at my first published fic.

(I would also like to give a big thank-you to both the readers who've stuck with me since the beginning, and the ones who've just tuned in! Your support means the world.)

Alright, here we go.

"Peter?"

Peter Parker winced as Ned's too loud-voice joined the cacophony of noise in the hallway. He resisted the urge to grip his aching head, forcing his fingers to instead fumble their way through his locker combination. He twisted the lock and it slipped, missing the last number by a mile. He groaned and started over, closing his eyes in frustration and the dire urge to sleep.

It wasn't like he wasn't eating. Or sleeping. Or doing his homework. It wasn't like he was sneaking out in the early hours of the morning for patrols, knowing full well May was starting to figure out what was up. It wasn't like nightmares were plaguing him every time his eyes slipped closed, making him overcompensate with unhealthy amounts of caffeine and stress. And it certainly wasn't as if he was sweeping all of his problems under the rug, dreading the day he'd be forced to face them.

That would be ridiculous.

He didn't know why the issues hadn't started until now. It had been months since he'd fought the Vulture. But brains are, as he'd learned, not inclined to be all that predictable. And his had proven to be quite special, indeed.

So yes. He had nightmares. He slept with the lights on. He hands were always a little shaky. But he was managing just fine. Things were going just fine.

A pair of fingers snapped in front of his face and he startled. Ned was watching him, brow furrowed.

"You okay there, man? You're getting kind of spacey on me."

"I-what? Yeah, I'm fine." Peter said. Why were his words stumbling over each other? And spacey? He wasn't spacey...he was just more tired than usual, that's all.

"You sure?" Ned asked incredulously. Peter nodded and he raised one eyebrow. "What was I talking about right now?"

Peter flushed red. "Uh…Star Wars?" he tried meekly. Ned laughed.

"Ha. Good guess, but no. I was asking why you didn't answer my texts last night."

"Shoot, I'm sorry," Peter said, running a hand over his face. He'd forgotten, again. "I was on patrols all night."

"You were patrolling? Peter, it was fifteen below." Ned said, clearly not comforted by Peter's reply. Peter only shrugged.

"Mr. Stark told me superheroes need to have what it takes. So I'm showing him I'm a superhero."

"By freezing to death?"

"The suit has a heater."

"What about sleeping?"

"Oh, look, a clock. Time to go to class." Peter deflected, snatching up the wrong notebook for his chemistry class and brushing past Ned. He ignored the spots flecking his vision as his friend followed. He was fine. He could make it through one day sick.

As it turned out, making it through the day was a lot harder and more miserable than expected. Twice Peter nearly fell asleep in class, and he went through frequent spells of dizziness and nausea that left him gripping his desk chair until his knuckles turned white. The minutes seemed to sludge by like hours, and by history class Ned had had enough.

"Dude, you've got, like, the black plague or something. Go to the nurse." he whispered.

"I'm just stressed," Peter whispered back. "And I have a test next hour, remember?"

"You look like death warmed over." That was MJ, via a note shot across the row to his desk. Peter rolled his eyes and ignored the way his stomach was doing flips.

I'm fine, he mouthed at her.

She and Ned both shot him pointed looks, but said nothing.

There was no doubt in Peter's mind he'd failed that test.

Now he was at his locker again, mind completely blanking out on what his locker combination was supposed to be. Ned was next to him, bouncing one foot and pressing his lips together in concern. Peter tried to yank it open for the third time with no success. Maybe he could just...punch it open.

"Want me to get it?" Ned asked cautiously.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks." Peter muttered, fighting back the saliva pooling in his mouth over and over again.

"'Kay. I'm gonna head to Spanish," Ned said, biting his lip. Peter slammed his fist into his locker in frustration, resting his head on it with a small thud. Why was everything so loud? His eardrums were practically bursting, and his head swam dizzyingly. Spots crowded his vision as a mouthful of bile filled his throat abruptly. The world lurched, tilting off its axis, and the ground rushed up to meet him as he crumpled to the floor. Whoa. Where had that come from? Weariness was starting to catch up to him with the force of a freight train. Maybe it would be nice to just close his eyes…

And then there were arms around him, pulling him up to lean against the lockers. Peter pried his eyes open. Nope. He let them slip closed again, trying his best to ignore the voice breaking through his thoughts.

"Oh my gosh, Peter! Are you alright?" The voice-Ned, probably-exclaimed. A wave of pain shot through Peter's head and he groaned softly. Yeah, he was definitely gonna escape to sleep.

A hand was tapping on his cheek rather annoyingly. Soft, then a little harder when he didn't respond. "Stay awake, Peter, come on." Ned was full-on panicking, Peter could tell. And he had reason to. Peter usually didn't get this sick. He knew he was pushing himself too hard. But the other option-doing nothing-was not something he was interested in trying.

Ned was shaking his shoulder now. "Peter! Where's your phone, I'm gonna call May."

That got him up. "No...business trip...can't…" There was that thing with his words again.

But Ned was already slipping a hand into his pocket and pulling out his cell. "Passcode?" there was a pause, and then, "Your birthday, Peter? Really?"

"Seemed logical." he muttered, still pushing back the noise from the hallway. He could tell there was probably a crowd gathered around them, but he didn't care. As long as they didn't try to talk to him. Peter pried open his eyes and squinted at Ned. He was scrolling through Peter's contacts.

"Peter, stay awake! Who else can I call?"

"May's gone…" Peter replied heavily. "Maybe Mr. Stark…"

"You have Tony Stark's number?" Ned's eyes widened almost comically. But Peter realized what he'd just said.

"Wait, no...not him! 'M not supposed to bug him if 's not an emergency."

"This is an emergency!"

"No, don't-" But it was too late. Ned hit the call button and held the phone up to his ear. Peter was too tired to protest further. Peter could hear it ringing, ringing. Part of him hoped Mr. Stark wouldn't answer, but a smaller part almost wished he would.

Sure enough, on the third ring Mr. Stark's familiar tone crackled through the phone.

"Peter? What's up?"

"Um, hi, this is Ned Leeds, Peter's friend," Ned stuttered. "I go to Midtown with him-"

"Yeah, yeah, he's talked about you before," Tony said, waving him off. "Where's Peter? What happened?" Peter felt something warm in his chest at the urgency in his mentor's voice.

"Well, this morning he-"

"What's happening now?" Tony demanded. Peter could hear a car roaring to life in the background of the call. His vision wavered again, sparks flooding his eyes.

"Oh, uh, he's really sick," Ned said. He shot Peter a worried look.

"You're at school? You're with him?"

"Yeah."

Peter felt the darkness seeping into his skull. Nobody was bothering him now. Sleep would be easier. As he felt his strings of consciousness be snapped, he heard Ned's alarmed voice ring out.

"Oh, shit, I think he just passed out."

Tony's voice was muddled in his ears as he fell away. "Stay...him...be there...ten."

Tony practically flew out of his Audi nine minutes later as soon as he'd found an empty strip of curb to park at. He raced up the stairs-God, why were there so many stairs?-and through the doors of the school. Whereweretheywhereweretheywherewerethey?

He skidded around a corner and stopped at where he thought Peter had mentioned his locker was, and lo and behold, there they were. He crouched down next to Ned, who had seemingly readjusted an unconscious Peter into a more comfortable position.

Peter looked terrible. He was white as a sheet, sweat dripping down his temples. His cheeks were splotched with red and even in sleep, his face was pinched in pain. Tony's heart clenched at the scene.

"What happened?" he asked. Ned glanced up.

"He was sick all morning, Mr. Stark, sir," he said. "I'm pretty sure he's got a fever or something, and I told him to go home but he wouldn't and then-he just collapsed, right here."

Tony nodded and pressed a hand to Peter's forehead, his features hardening at the heat radiating off it.

"He's burning up," he said, scooping Peter's limp body into his arms. "Alright, I'm gonna take him back to the Tower, get him checked out. Thanks...Ned, right?" He shot him a grateful smile and was dashing down the hall before Ned could reply.

"...You're welcome."

Peter opened his eyes against the bright light flooding them. Heaviness seemed to be seeped into his bones, dragging him down onto the fantastically comfortable bed he was in. Bed...how did he get in a bed? He didn't remember leaving s-

"Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Peter whipped his head to where Tony was sitting casually in an easy chair, a StarkPad in his lap. His mentor smiled and raised one eyebrow. "You hungry?" He raised a glass of orange juice in mock toast and drank, motioning towards an identical cup on a nightstand between them. Peter took it gratefully and sipped, looking around the room as he did so. As the details filtered in, realization clicked in place. He was in his room at the Tower.

"Did I-did you-"

"I brought you here after you passed out yesterday. Raging case of the flu, not to mention any other stress you've been going through." Peter felt his ears heat up, but Tony was still talking. "-scared the everliving shit out of your friend."

Peter couldn't help his small smile. So Ned did call.

"Anyways," Tony continued. "You can stay here until your aunt gets back from her trip, if that's alright with you."

Peter shrugged. Stay with the Avengers? "Yeah, okay."

"Perfect. Okay, I'm gonna go get a bite to eat, let everybody know you're still kicking, all that jazz," Tony said, standing and ruffling Peter's hair affectionately. "FRIDAY has all our numbers, so if you need anything, call, okay?" Tony paused and cast him a knowing look. "For anything. You got me?"

Peter knew they both understood Tony wasn't just talking about wanting a glass of water.

"Yeah. Alright."

"Good." Tony smiled and turned to leave. Peter stopped him halfway through the doorway.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." For picking me up. For the suit. For being there.

"Anytime, kiddo."

Tony slipped out the room, the door shutting behind him with a soft click. Peter huffed contentedly. His head was still pounding, as his throat burned like it was housing the fires of hell, but somehow he felt a little better as he succumbed to sleep.

A/N: And that marks one year! I've had so much fun so far. I felt like changing a few minor plot points in this, and adding a little more mental health stuff just for fun. I hope y'all thought it was okay! Thank you to everyone here who's made my time on this site a positive experience.

*Alrighty, now for the exciting stuff! As a little celebration, I'm going to be doing an AUTHOR Q&A with you guys! Below is a list for you to pick from (also on my profile page). Go ahead and submit the color(s) of your choosing in the reviews or my PM box, and I'll respond directly. I love this kind of stuff, so feel free to ask away!*

List of Get-To-Know the Author Asks

Red: What type of writer's block do you experience the most?

White: How did you choose your username?

Black: Would you want to live in one of the fictional worlds you've created?

Blue: What's more important to you: characters or plot?

Yellow: What's a common writing tip that you mostly ignore?

Grey: What's a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Orange: How many projects do you usually have going at once?

Pink: Which of your characters would become your best friend?

Purple: Which of your characters would become your sworn enemy?

Green: Pencil, typewriter, or computer?

Brown: Do you have a set writing space? Or do you write everywhere?

Silver: Are you comfortable writing in public places?

Gold: Do your stories usually contain lessons or morals?

Clear: Do your characters control where the story goes or do you maintain control?

Tan: Are you open to co-writing a story?

Bronze: How did you get into writing?

Teal: Fun fact or two about yourself?

Magenta: What's your favorite trope or headcanon?