Comfort

By Zoé Daoust

   Jason had heard a lot of terrible sounds in his life. Sounds he doesn’t care to revisit, so he’s shoved them deep, deep, down, and sure, that’s probably not recommended by any mental health specialists, but oh well. Point is, he’s seen sights and sounds that many could only imagine. 

       But nothing, he realized, as he was jolted awake, at 2:47 on a Sunday morning, would ever be worse than being woken up by the sound of a child screaming. Even if that child has superhuman abilities, and could probably protect himself in the event of danger. 

       “Peter?!” He stumbled out of bed and rushed out of the room. He barely registered that his phone was beeping at him, telling him Peter’s temperature was 102.9, that his blood pressure was rising, or that he was waking from a nightmare. He just hears another anguished cry from Peter’s room and runs. 

       “Peter?”

       Peter turned slightly to look up at Jason with one bloodshot eye, and Jason noticed tears streaming down his face.

       Jason started babbling then, a series of I know, it’s okay, and I’m right here, to comfort him. He started asking the kid what was wrong when he put a hand on his wet cheek and felt how hot it was against his palm. He slid his hand up to Peter’s sweat-soaked curls, lightly rubbing his head, and Peter shivered at the touch before stilling, his body tense and chest expanding as he held in a breath. 

       “You’re burning up,” Jason said, panicking a bit again at the fiery skin. 

       Peter let out a trembling exhale and looked up at Jason in confusion. “I am?” he asked, in a wrecked voice, whether from the yelling or illness, Jason wasn’t sure. Peter brought a hand up to his chest, patting his shirt as if to check for the part of him that was burning up. He raised his hand a bit higher, checking his neck, fingers trailing through the sweat that was starting to pool in his collarbone. “Oh.” he said, probing the warm skin and shuddering again, “Oh no.”

       It came out so sad and weak that Jason felt his heart break a little as he kept running his hand through Peter’s hair. 

       “Hey, bud, it’s okay. It just means you have a fever. You’re sick.” 

       “I’m not sick,” Peter replied hoarsely, “I’m… scared?” His voice cracked on the last word, coming out like a question, followed by a fresh round of sobs. 

       “Shoot,” Jason hissed, keeping one hand in Peter’s hair, resuming the motion, he used the other to pull him in and rub his back.

       “I don’t want to fall asleep again,” he whimpered, but he’s already nodding despite this. His eyelashes fluttered rapidly as he tried to keep his eyes open before losing the battle with sleep. Soft snores slowly filled the room. 

       Waiting a short while, Jason carefully laid Peter back on his bed and tucked him in. He stood up slowly and carefully made his way over to the nearby bathroom. He rifled through the second drawer searching under the bath towels before locating a clean washcloth. Grabbing it and a fluffy towel, he wet the washcloth in the sink first before returning to Peter’s room. 

       Using the towel first to dry Peter’s hair, he then used a corner to dry the sweat along the side of his face and neck. There’s a small gasp when Jason pressed the cool washcloth to Peter’s forehead.  

       “Sorry, bud, I know it’s cold.” 

       Peter’s eyes flew open with another gasp and a stuttered “N-no, please don’t! Please… don’t hurt… c-cold…” 

       “I’m not trying to hurt you,” Jason said quietly, heart aching, “Just trying to lower your fever a bit.”

       “Don’t want to be cold,” Peter whimpered, a bit more awake now. “Too… I just don’t wanna be cold. “ 

       His nose was stuffed up, from all the crying or illness coming on, making him sound even younger than he already was. 

       “Do you want to change into a new shirt?” Jason asked, pushing dark out of his face, and frowning down at Peter. 

       Peter nods and rubs his eyes. “Your hoodie?” he asked, looking hopefully at Jason. 

       Jason shook his head, “Nope, just a shirt, bud.” 

       “A… turtleneck shirt?” Peter asked, and Jason almost let out a laugh. 

       “Do you even own any?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

       “Well, no…” he admitted. 

       “A t-shirt,” Jason clarified, “Your fever is too high for anything warmer.”

       “Please?” Peter tried one last time, not yet losing his hopeful tone. 

       Jason sighed, “No, I’m sorry, but your body is really hot right now, and it wouldn’t be good for you.” 

       Peter made a grumpy face and looked away, closing his eyes, and sighing. 

       After a moment he seemed to be falling asleep, but then he’s gasping so hard it made him cough, and he scrambled back towards the wall like he was trying to escape something. 

       “Hey. Peter. Peter!” Jason said, carefully reaching out to him, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” He waited until Peter caught his breath a little and then put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. He really needed a new, dry shirt. “Bud, Peter, breathe, it’s okay. I’m here.”

       Peter swallowed a sob, “I don’t want to see it again,” he whispered in a broken voice. “I keep seeing it, every time I fall asleep. A-and, when I just close my eyes…” 

       Oh, shoot, the nightmare. Jason had forgotten about the nightmare, in concern over the fever. Peter had nightmares often enough but rarely was it this bad. He made a decision. 

       Peter was far off to the side already, so Jason sat down, pulled Peter in and laid them both down on the bed. Peter melted easily into the warm embrace. Nuzzling into Jason, Peter smiled and settled down. Jason smiled at that despite being uncomfortable. He knew he’d be sore and sweaty later, but it was worth it to help his son through his nightmares. To make him happy. 

By Zoé Daoust