Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

Hot, Hot, Hot!

Spooktober 07: Fever

a/n: idk what the hell this is

"Guys, I think I'm dying," Flash declares loudly.

Betty rolls her eyes. She's darting back and forth across the room to shove up the windows. "You're not dying, Flash. It's not even that hot."

"It's eighty degrees! Do you live in an oven?" Flash follows her around, fanning himself with his hand. "It's October, Betty!"

Ned sighs with his entire chest. Sweat is beading at his hairline, and he's down to his t-shirt, his rain jacket stuffed honorably into his backpack. "For once, I gotta go Team Flash."

Peter's forehead is pressed into the cool table in front of him, and it's sticking, and his shirt is sticking, and his jeans are sticking, and he hates the heat.

He learned it pretty quick after he got bit by the spider, but any temperature that's too extreme on either side of the spectrum makes him feel downright neurotic. Luckily, Mr. Stark put temperature controls in his suit, so patrol is a lot more bearable— no more blood-boiling, less likely to throw a punch too hard.

Peter Parker is not in his suit. Peter Parker is just Peter Parker.

He had it in his backpack, and truly, when he had learned that the aircon broke in his entire damn school, he had debated slipping it on under his clothes. Then he imagined explaining it to Mr. Stark, who was getting a little too good at checking the activity logs. The second-hand embarrassment he got from the interaction he entirely imagined was more than enough to stop him from proceeding.

"Alright," Mr. Harrington calls from the back of the room. He's speaking an inch away from a handheld electric fan, which makes him sound like a very despondent robot. "Everybody sit your keisters down, we're just gonna make due until the bell rings. Michelle, why don't you do some team-leading?"

MJ, who is apparently immune to such mortal things as heat exhaustion, nods. She's wearing a black cardigan and loose cargo pants, and the only thing possibly hinting that she feels how hot it is outside is her hair, which she's tied up to keep her neck cool.

"Everyone listen up," she says. "We're just gonna run some simple drills, okay? I'll read questions for science subjects today, next week we work on lit. Any questions before we start?"

Abe raises his hand. MJ juts her chin in acknowledgement, so he speaks up. "Are we doing the pumpkin patch trip this month?"

"Abe, it's in two days," Betty informs with a frown, her arms crossed. She looks at MJ. "I still don't even know how you got the school to pay for the trip. No Decathlon team has ever gone to the pumpkin patch."

"It's MJ," Cindy grins from her seat on the stage. "The school board's too afraid to tell her no."

MJ looks like she can't tell whether to be proud or mildly offended. "Er, yeah, I did convince the principal to let us take the trip. Started bugging him in June. Eventually he caved, I guess."

Peter, his head still pressed to the table, smiles fondly.

"So, what's the pumpkins for, though?" Flash sniffs.

"Can we not just get pumpkins for the sake of getting pumpkins?"

Flash considers this. He shrugs dramatically. "I guess. I just thought you had some cool plan or something."

"I can't do everything for you," MJ shrugs. "Think something up in that brain in yours. Clean out the cobwebs."

"Ye-ouch!" Abe yelps, looking positively giddy. He fiddles with the bell in his hands. "Did that hurt, Flash? Did it hurt get burned that badly when it's already so hot?"

Flash scowls and flips him the bird. He crashes down into a seat with a heavy huff and starts fanning himself again.

"Anyways," MJ says. She walks up to the pedestal and thumbs through a collection of cards. "Peter, head up, we're doing science and we need you in the game."

"Yeah. Right. Yep." Peter sighs, and lifts his head like a plant dying of thirst. He stumbles up to the table on the stage, takes his seat— his hand settles beside the bell.

He wonders what his luck would be if he texted Tony and begged him to use his tinkering to fix the air conditioning. Seriously. This heat has to be some sort of torture method.

MJ looks down at her cards. "Infectious diseases can be spread from person to person and are therefor known as..."

Charles hits the bell first, but it's a close tie with him and Cindy. "Communicable diseases."

"Yep." MJ switches the card. "Interferons are a type of—"

Peter's hand hits the bell. He wipes the sweat from his brow. "It's cytokine."

"Yep," MJ's mouth twitches with a smile. She switches the card. "For malaria, gametes are present in..."

Abe hits the bell. "Deez nuts."

Flash tries stifles a laugh, but ends up snorting, only making him laugh harder.

"Abraham," Mr. Harrington says, his voice dull.

"Sorry," Abe pushes the bell away from him. "The heat's getting to me."

"Same," Cindy frowns, tying her hair up in a ponytail. "Sorry, guys. I'm off my game."

Charles nods in agreement, scrubbing his eyes behind his glasses. Sweat drips down his temple. "I can't focus at all, dude."

MJ sighs. "Peter?"

Peter stares into the void, the feverish heat making his bones ache. A few seconds of silence pass and he blinks sluggishly. "Huh?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought." MJ puts the cards down on the pedestal. "I'm calling it. Everyone study over the weekend, we'll do science and social science next week together instead of doing literature. Everyone got that?"

A collective, answering groan.

"It's like working with children," MJ says, turning to Mr. Harrington.

Mr. Harrington makes a non-committal noise into his fan.

MJ shakes her head.