"Okay, okay, okay," Peter said hurriedly, "so Mr. Stark, I've been thinking about what would happen if my suit had, like, a flag? Like, could you imagine if Spider-Man had his own flag? Like, I could use the flag to catch me whenever I fall and stuff—"

Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Kid," he croaked—actually croaked, because it was three thirty in the morning. "You already have a parachute. What do you need a flag for?" He adjusted his phone over his ear and glanced down at Pepper, who was starting to stir in her sleep. When she opened her eyes, Tony mouthed, 'Peter'.

"Tell him to go to sleep," Pepper whispered, resting her head against Tony's side. "Tell him it's bedtime."

"Why're you still awake?" Tony asked instead, squeezing Pepper's hand. "Isn't it a school night? Or morning?"

"I dunno," Peter replied, and his voice suddenly sounded far away from the phone. "Wait, hold on." Then, Tony heard something slamming from the other end of the line, followed by a frenzied string of "oh my God"s and "Peter Benjamin Parker!" and then "wait, wait, May…!"

Tony barely had time to process what was going on until a breathless May Parker picked up the phone.

"Hi, Mr. Stark," May said. "Sorry about that."

"No worries," Tony replied. He cleared his throat. "Is everything okay with Peter over there?"

"He's—Peter, bed—he's not feeling well," May replied. "There's been something going around the school, and Peter caught it, of course." Tony heard some mumbling in the background, and he had to hold the phone away from his ear as May hollered, "Peter Benjamin Parker, if you don't go to sleep right now, I'll make sure you don't go out patrolling for a month!" When Tony held the phone back to his ear, May was saying, "…sorry again, Mr. Stark, but I don't think he'll be able to swing by the Compound this weekend."

"No worries," Tony repeated. "Sorry to hear about Peter." And he was, for the most part—Tony had slowly gotten used to the boy's constant stream of energy, and his presence had almost become regular at the Compound. But Tony had worked in the Compound without Peter before, so surely one quiet weekend wouldn't be too much of a problem.

"Thanks. Good night!"

"Good night," Tony replied, and with that, he hung up. When he sank back into bed, he murmured, "Peter's sick. Got confused and called, I think."

"Poor Peter," Pepper murmured sleepily. "Did his aunt take over?"

"Yeah," Tony replied. He stared up at the ceiling. "Sounded pretty bad."

"Good thing he has his aunt, then," Pepper said, though Tony could tell from her voice that Pepper had already given up and that she was floating back to sleep.

"Good thing," Tony only repeated.

Tony knew he had worked at the Compound alone before. After Steve and Natasha went AWOL, everyone else seemed to slowly drift away. Wanda and Vision were off traveling somewhere, Clint was with his family, and Bruce and Thor hadn't been heard from since Ultron. Even Rhodey was elsewhere on military business, although there was the occasional call that let Tony know that the legs were working just fine.

Tony drummed his fingers against the workbench. "Hey, FRI," he called, "get me the diagrams for Parker's suit."

"Yes, boss," FRIDAY replied, and instantly, a screen of Peter's suit sped up in front of Tony. Flicking past the components of the suit, Tony became all the more aware of the silence. He could only hear his own hand swiping across the screen, the distant thrum of machine, and the occasional whirring of gears.

"Come on," Tony said, clearing his throat. "I feel like I'm at a funeral. Some music, FRI. You know which one."

"Yes, boss," FRIDAY repeated, and as the sound of drums and electric guitar rolled through the workshop, Tony still found himself distantly swiping at the diagram. His eyes glazed over the suit schematics, only seeing the numbers and notes but not actually reading them. The other day, Peter had been standing on the other side of the workbench, pointing out some of the parts of the suit that he wanted modified or making suggestions as to make the rest of the suit fit. Just that other day, Peter had looked fine. Talking his mouth off, as usual. Switching between working on the suit and then talking about how some girl named MJ was going to kill him if he didn't show up for Decathalon practice on time.

At first, it was confusing. Tony didn't do conversations about Decathalon practice—at least, not with the other Avengers.

But then, like everything else, it became normal. Normal like the way Tony always woke up exactly fifteen minutes after Pepper did. Normal like the way Tony knew that Wednesdays were the easiest days to contact Rhodey. Normal like the way Tony had been doing this for longer than just a few months.

Tony dropped his hands from the diagram. This work session—or what was supposed to be a work session—was getting him nowhere.

"FRIDAY, call Happy," Tony said, pushing himself off the workbench. "Tell him I need to make a quick visit to Queens."

When Tony reached Peter's apartment, he had half the mind to turn around and walk back to the car. Tell Happy that this was just a mix-up, lie that he had forgotten that Peter was sick. But before Tony could do any of that, the door swung open.

"Mr. Stark," May said, surprised. "I didn't expect you to be here."

Neither did I, Tony thought.

"That makes the two of us," Tony replied. He cleared his throat. "I was wondering how Peter was doing." He halfheartedly lifted up a bag. Comic books. A stuffed elephant doll. All haphazardly thrown together as Tony asked Pepper what the hell sick boys needed to feel better. (And Pepper had watched from the sidelines with an amused smile on her face. She wound up instructing him how to properly put things into a care package. Which Tony wasn't used to. The putting-things-into-a-care-package part, not the Pepper-telling-him-how-to-do-things part.)

May looked at the bag, one eyebrow slowly inching up to her hairline. "Is that for him?" she asked.

"Figured it might cheer him up," Tony replied, and he hoped the look he gave May didn't show his own confusion. Tony Stark, showing up at a teenager's doorstep with a care package—if the paparazzi had tailed him, Tony could just imagine the tabloid headlines.

Tony cleared his throat again. "Is this a bad time?"

"I—no," May said, opening the door a little wider. She gestured inside. "Come on in."

"Thanks," Tony said, and as he walked in, a small part of him started to shout a little louder as to why he decided, again, that this was somehow a good idea. Still, Tony kept walking forward, one hand still clutching the bag.

May walked ahead until they were both standing in front of Peter's door. One hand resting on the doorknob, May asked, "Aren't you worried about getting sick?"

Tony waved a hand. "Strong immune system."

"If you say so," May replied, and she opened the door slowly. "Peter," she whispered, poking her head into the room. "Mr. Stark's here." She turned and nudged her head into the room.

As another jolt of is this a good idea went through his mind, Tony strolled in. "Hey, kid," he said.

Peter was a mess. His whole face was pale, and his lips were dried and cracked. Dark half-moons circled underneath Peter's closed eyes. His chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths, and despite the fact that Peter was practically swaddled in blankets, the boy still shivered.

Tony turned around to May. "Has he gotten worse, or is this him getting better?" he asked.

"Worse," May replied, rubbing a hand over her forehead. Only then did Tony register the dark circles shadowing Peter's aunt's face, too. She had been the one to take the phone from Peter earlier in the morning, after all. And dealing with a sick teenager, too. "He fell asleep at around…" She squinted up at the ceiling, trying to remember. "Maybe four fifteen?"

Tony looked down at Peter. He had rolled over on his side, a small wrinkle appearing in between his eyebrows. "Didn't think he could get this bad," Tony said. He looked back up at May. "He seemed fine last weekend."

May smiled wearily. "High schools," she said. "Or just schools in general. They're petri dishes." Then before, either May or Tony could say anything, a phone rang from outside.

"Hold on," May said, walking backwards. "That'll probably be the doctor." She looked down at Peter, then back up at Tony. "Do you mind just being with him for a few minutes?"

Tony only shook his head once before May said, "Thanks, Mr. Stark. Back in a minute." And with that, she darted out of the room.

Tony turned back around to Peter. "Went to sleep at four fifteen, huh?" he said, sitting down at Peter's desk. Propping up his head against his palm, Tony added, "Careful, kiddo, you're going to wind up like me—and then your aunt's not going to happy with me." Tony blew out a sigh. "Or maybe not—you've got an excuse. Sick and all, I suppose I can't blame you." He turned towards Peter's desk. His laptop was closed, but Tony could tell from the mess of notebooks and sticky notes that the kid had been working on both suit upgrades and pre-calculus homework at the same time. Tony glanced down at one of the problems in Peter's opened notebook and, examining the new suit design doodled in the margins, he felt a smile curl over his lips. "Not bad."

Tony lifted his gaze up to the textbooks sitting on the shelf above his desk, some of them looking older than others. A few books. Science-fiction, some fantasy. A few classics, which Tony wondered were for school or for just pleasure reading. A small stack of National Geographic.

A small whine forced Tony to look away from the books and magazines. When Tony turned around, Peter had curled in on himself, one side of his face buried deep into the pillow.

"Peter?" Tony stood up slowly. A part of him wondered if he should call for Peter's aunt, but she was still talking to the doctor—and May had asked him to just be here. Tony swallowed. Did this count as being here?

"Gotta stop…" Peter mumbled, one hand clutching the pillow. "Can't stop…"

"Peter?" Tony called again, making his way to Peter's bedside. "Hey, kid."

Peter's eyes sprang open. "Mr. Stark," he breathed, and he bolted upright so fast that Tony had to hold up his hands.

"Easy, Parker," Tony said. "Don't hurt yourself."

Peter's eyes were wild and glossy—fever, Tony noted. "We gotta go," Peter breathed, and before Tony could even react, he pushed himself off the bed. "We gotta go, Mr. Stark," Peter said, his voice louder now. He stumbled, nearly crashing to the ground before Tony reached out and held him up by the wrists.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, his voice cracking. Peter lifted his head up to Tony, trying to tug his wrists free. "Mr. Stark!" Peter yanked his wrists again, but Tony held on tight. He could feel the fever burning through Peter, feel the heat sting his own palms.

"Peter," Tony said, trying to meet Peter's eyes. "Look at me. What's wrong?"

"Something bad is gonna happen," Peter said frantically. He pushed, pulled at Tony. "Mr. Stark, we gotta get out of here now—"

"Nothing bad is going to happen," Tony replied. "You're in your apartment. Safe. See?" He held up Peter's wrists in front of him. "Look, Peter. Look at me."

"No," Peter gasped, and his chest heaved up, down, fast. "You don't understand—if I don't stop it, then people are gonna—" He looked up at Tony, his eyes so wide and so scared that Tony didn't know whether to let go of Peter or hold onto him tighter. "What if people die?"

Tony's heart sank as Peter shook his head. "It's all going to be my fault," Peter choked out. "It'll happen because of me."

"Peter," Tony started, but Peter kept shaking his head, faster and faster until all Tony could see was a blur of curls.

"Couldn't save everyone," Peter whispered. "Now Liz's gotta get out of school, and—"

"That wasn't your fault," Tony said quietly.

"It was," Peter replied. He tilted his head back at Tony. "Couldn't stop him," he whispered, and Tony stepped forward in time just to catch Peter crashing into him.

After Tony had to explain to a (very) frantic May about why her nephew was still mumbling on about having to stop bad people, they managed to tuck Peter back into bed.

"The doctor's got some medicine that she think might be more effective for Peter," May said, throwing on her coat. "If Peter wakes up again…" She let her voice drift as Tony nodded.

Which left Tony alone with Peter, whose breathing had slowly evened out and whose face had slowly turned into a somewhat more normal color.

Tony was wondering if he should just ask Happy to bring over the medicine instead when he heard Peter whisper, "Mr. Stark?"

Tony looked down at Peter. To his relief, Peter's eyes had lost their glossy shine. His eyes only looked tired, now—Peter's eyes, but with the volume turned down. "Hey, kid," Tony said, leaning forward on Peter's desk chair. "How're you feeling?"

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, re-open them. "Like I got hit by a truck," he mumbled. He let out a weak laugh, but Tony couldn't bring himself to laugh along—not after thinking about the last thing Peter said before passing out.

"Your aunt's out getting some medication," Tony said instead. "Something that might work a little better."

Peter nodded, and then, after a beat of silence, he said, "You don't have to stay." He started to prop himself up on his elbows, but Tony quickly shook his head.

"Stay down," Tony said, pressing Peter back. "Don't want you crashing again."

Peter's eyebrows furrowed together. "Crash?" he asked.

Tony cleared his throat. "You were…pretty aggravated last time you woke up."

Realization slowly dawned on Peter's face, and Tony wondered if he had said the right thing because then Peter pressed his hands to his cheeks. "Oh God," he groaned. "Please tell me I didn't do anything stupid."

"Not exactly," Tony said, and when Peter looked up, Tony added, "You said a few things, though."

Peter groaned again and disappeared behind his hands.

"Nothing embarrassing, don't worry," Tony replied. When Peter slowly lowered his hands, Tony said, "Seems like you just had some thoughts in your head." He paused. "Regarding the Vulture."

Peter was quiet.

"You did what you had to," Tony said. "You can't feel guilty about that."

Peter's eyes lowered to the blankets. "I could have…"

"You couldn't have done anything," Tony said. "Adrian Toomes was a lost cause." He tried to catch Peter's eyes. "You can't save everyone. You can try, but at the end of the day, there are just some people who don't want help."

Peter closed his eyes. "I tried," he said in a small voice. "I really did." He opened his eyes again, this time focusing on Tony. When he spoke again, he sounded so desperate that Tony wondered if he was slipping into fever again—but Peter's eyes were steady. "I tried."

Tony's throat tightened. He didn't expect it to, but Peter's voice was cracking under pressure—he was cracking.

"I know you did," Tony replied quietly.

Peter closed his eyes, burying his head deeper into the pillow. "Didn't mean to talk about that."

This time, a corner of Tony's lips twitched upwards. "You're sick," he said. "People say and do all kinds of crazy things when sick. Which, speaking of…" He reached over for the bag sitting by his feet and tugged out the small stuffed elephant. Handing it over to Peter, Tony said, "Figured it might cheer you up…or something."

Peter's eyes widened as he took the elephant. "You got this for me?" he asked.

"And some comic books," Tony replied, pulling out the small stack of comics. "And there's some cocoa mixes down there, too." When he looked up to see Peter staring at him, Tony added, "Sick days aren't fun." He paused. "And juggling school and superhero stuff can be a handful. Not that I would know—I can handle all of that." When Peter laughed, Tony continued, "So your body's going to break down eventually, even with all your crazy spider genes." He cleared his throat. "I don't know how you feel about hot cocoa—Pepper told me that you would like it, and I figured you'd like anything with sugar, since teenagers live off that stuff. Let me know if you want some more comic books. Or if you need—"

"Mr. Stark?" Peter interrupted.

"Mm-hm?" Tony asked, looking up at Peter.

Peter smiled, and his eyes were the clearest Tony had seen. "Thanks."

So this wasn't a bad idea after all, Tony thought. And he could only reply, "No problem, kid."

A/N: This was written for whumptober prompt #3: delirium. Currently trying to write an Irondad and Spiderson fic every other day for the whole of this month, so let's see how far I get! Writing sick characters are always fun, but writing sick!fics can also be a lil' tricky, so I hope ya'll enjoyed this?

As always, reviews/constructive criticism are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!