(This chapter is about me but represented as Peter and I have a fever.)
It was Christmas Eve. Peter woke up that day knowing that he had a fever. He always gets it on Christmas Eve.
"Hey kid, you feeling okay?" Tony asked.
"Just a little fever, it'll be fine." Peter answers.
"But I thought you couldn't get sick?" Clint points out. This was their first Christmas with Peter.
"Normally I can't but on Christmas I always get a fever." Peters says.
"Elaborate?" Natasha asks.
(This is now my life story described by Peter. I changed his birthday too but not to my birthday because we are not the same age.)
"Well, to start off, I was born on Friday the 13th at 3.01a.m. My umbilical cord was around my neck for some odd reason and my mother had to have C-section. Since then, every Christmas I get a fever. I have a sneaky suspicion that it is because Jesus and me, a child born on the devil's day and devil's hour don't have such a healthy relationship. When I was 6, I vomited blood on Christmas Eve, proceeded to get a super high fever. I was constantly fainting till the day after Christmas, was stuck in hospital for 4 extra days just so my fever could die down." Peter said as if it were nothing. " And now I hate Christmas."
"Jeez, talk about bad luck." Sam says.
The rest look at Peter to make sure that he is Okay because hell, that's weird and concerning.
(Merry Christmas y'all! I'm sick and I don't care. If any of you guys have the same problem, please tell me. Got to go now, need to do some things... Like totally not become a Grinch.)