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whumphoarder · 6 years ago

Text

Dad Level: 3000

Summary: Peter comes down with the flu while visiting the Stark family (and Happy) at the lake house during his spring break from MIT. Thankfully, Tony has been spending the last five years honing his Dad Skills™. He's got this.

Word count: 5,227

Genre: sickfic, hurt/comfort, fluff, whump

A/N: This story is set in March 2025. Morgan is five and Peter is 18 (but also 23 on paper, which totally isn’t confusing at all).

Most of the events of Infinity War/Endgame happened, except Captain Marvel did the snap with her mighty-glowing-lady-warrior-powers and so no one freaking died.

Thanks to @sallyidss and @xxx-cat-xxx for beta reading <3

Link to read on AO3

Tony walks into the kitchen Monday morning to see his five-year-old daughter standing on her tiptoes on a chair, attempting to reach a small cardboard box inside the open freezer.

“What is this, a heist?” he asks, moving towards Morgan. He loops an arm around her middle and lifts her into his arms, planting a quick kiss on the top of her head and causing the little girl to giggle. “I thought Mommy said no juice pops before noon.”

“It’s for Peter,” she says simply.

“Oh it’s for Peter, is it?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow. “And why does Peter need a juice pop at ten in the morning?”

“Because he doesn’t feel good and juice pops always make me feel better,” Morgan concludes.

Tony’s brow furrows, but he just steps closer to the freezer to allow her to reach into the box properly. Now that he thinks about it, Peter had seemed pretty wiped last night, but he’d brushed it off as midterm exam stress. “I think he likes the orange ones best,” he advises.

Morgan fishes out an orange popsicle and Tony lowers her back down to the floor. She skips off down the hall, around the corner, and all the way to the cabin’s guest bedroom where the kid has been staying for the past two days since MIT spring break had officially begun. Tony follows along, his frown deepening when she continues straight through the room and pushes open the slightly ajar door to the ensuite bathroom.

It’s a sorry sight indeed. Peter is slumped on the floor, propped up between the bathtub and toilet, eyes half-closed and his cheek resting on the edge of the bowl. One arm is wrapped around his stomach and he’s pale and sweaty.

Morgan, bless her heart, runs right over to him. “I got you a juice pop!” she says brightly.

Peter blinks up at her and then swallows thickly before offering her the weakest of smiles. “Oh. Thanks,” he croaks. “Uh, do you think you can do me a big favor and eat it for me?”

Spinning around, Morgan gazes up at Tony, her eyes big. “Can I?”

Despite his growing concern, Tony huffs out a quick laugh. “Sure, why not,” he agrees. Pepper is the one always reminding him to choose his battles after all. “We’ll just keep this one to ourselves.”

As Morgan unwraps the plastic from her popsicle, Peter closes his eyes tightly and swallows again, face draining even further of color.

Tony pats Morgan on the shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you go eat that with Uncle Happy? I’m gonna sit here with Peter for a little while.”

“Okay,” she agrees, spinning around on her heel.

The moment she’s gone, Tony’s attention turns back to his other kid, who is looking even more miserable now. “Not feeling so hot, huh?”

Peter shakes his head slightly, letting his eyelids squeeze shut again. “‘M’sorry,” he murmurs.

If Peter didn’t look so pathetic right now, Tony would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he just lets out a small sigh. “Not your fault, kiddo,” he assures. “You throw up?”

“Not yet,” Peter mumbles, then swallows again. “Just... feel really sick.”

“C’mon, Happy’s tuna casserole wasn’t that bad…” he tries to joke, but it falls flat when Peter doesn’t so much as smirk.

Tony steps further into the bathroom and crouches down beside the kid, wincing as his knees click in protest. “Is it just your stomach?”

“I dunno.” Peter shrugs tiredly. “Kinda ache all over...”

Tony places his hand on the back of Peter’s neck and instantly can feel the heat radiating off the kid’s sweaty skin. Peter shivers at the touch. “Your hand is really cold,” he complains.

“Nah, you’re just warm,” Tony disagrees, moving his hand to press to Peter’s forehead instead. He sighs and pushes himself back up to standing. “Think you’ll be okay here for a few minutes?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Peter croaks, looking a little guilty. “You really don’t have to stay. I know you’re busy…”

“Ah, see that’s the beauty of the retired stay-at-home-dad life,” Tony retorts, straightening back up to standing. “This is literally my job now.”

Before Peter has a chance to dwell too much on that response, Tony exits the room and heads to the master bathroom to locate the thermometer, and then to his lab to grab the bottle of spidey-kid-strength painkiller and fever reducer pills he and Bruce had concocted. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to use them—he knows Peter hates the way the meds knock him on his ass and make his thoughts fuzzy and disconnected—but he figures it would be good to have them on hand just in case.

After making a quick detour through the kitchen for a can of ginger ale and some crackers, he heads back to the guest room, quickening his pace when he hears the telltale sound of retching and splashing issuing from the bathroom.

“Aw, Pete…” He winces in sympathy at the gagging boy. Peter’s nose is running and his eyes are red and wet with tears.

“Flu was going ‘round the dorm last week…” Peter moans as Tony sets the items down on the counter and wets a washcloth at the sink. “Thought I lucked out. Guess not.”

Tony places a hand on the kid’s sweaty t-shirt to start rubbing circles on his back. But he freezes instantly when he feels Peter tense up at the touch.

“You alright?” he checks, hand hovering just over the kid’s shoulder blades.

“Yeah,” Peter rasps. “Jus’... you never did that before.”

Tony recalls the handful of times he’d seen Peter sick during their time together before. Vomit has never fazed him—he’s had much too colorful of a past for that—but before he was definitely more inclined to offer a joke or a sarcastic remark than to settle for being a comforting presence. Funny what five years with a child who turns into a clingy octopus whenever she’s ill have done to him.

Then again, Morgan is in kindergarten while Peter is eighteen (or twenty-three, according to his birth certificate—it’s been over a year since Thanos and still no one seems entirely sure how to refer to the un-vanished). Maybe the Comforting Presence™ protocol is different for teenagers.

He is just about to offer to step out in order to give the kid some privacy when Peter interrupts his thoughts. “’S’nice,” he murmurs. “May does it too.”

Tony’s heart swells a bit. Then the moment is shattered when Peter suddenly sticks his head back over the toilet and starts gagging again.

“Alright, alright, get it all out…” With a small sigh, Tony lowers himself down to sit on the floor beside Peter and resumes rubbing his back.

When he’s finally finished, Tony flushes the toilet and Peter slumps back against the tub, his eyes closed. Instinctively, Tony lifts the washcloth up to wipe his messy face. Peter flinches at the contact and weakly reaches a hand up to take the cloth.

“Sorry, can do it myself,” he mumbles. “‘S’gross…”

Tony gives a quick snort. “Nah, you know what’s really gross? When I found Morgan’s secret booger stash on the side of her bedroom dresser.” He shudders dramatically.

Almost instantly, Tony regrets his comment when it triggers another round of heaving from Peter. “Sorry, kiddo,” he says as he rubs Peter’s back. “That was on me.”

This time when the spasms cease and Peter slumps back against the tub, he doesn’t bother protesting when Tony cleans his face and flushes the evidence away for him. Tony cracks open the can of ginger ale and passes it to the kid.

“Small sips, okay?” he instructs, reaching up to the counter for the thermometer.

“Can’t FRIDAY just tell you that?” Peter asks as Tony flips on the device.

“Morgan’s pediatrician convinced me this is more accurate,” Tony replies, inserting it in Peter’s ear. “Just be glad she’s graduated to the aural one now. You would not be happy about where this guy had me sticking it for the first year or so.”

“Huh?” Peter blinks at him. Then all of a sudden it seems to click and he groans, “Mr. Starrrk.”

The thermometer beeps. Still smirking, Tony lowers the device down to read the display. His grin falters for a second at the number.

“Wha’s it say?” Peter croaks.

“Nothing we can’t fix,” Tony replies briskly.

“But what’s it say?” Peter repeats. He weakly attempts to get the thermometer from Tony’s grip, but his mentor just holds the device out of his reach, lightly swatting the kid’s hand away.

Peter stares blankly at Tony for a second before glancing upwards. “What’s my temp, FRI?” he asks wearily.

“103.2,” FRIDAY reports.

Tony scoffs, finally flipping around the thermometer to show the ‘103.1’ displayed on the screen. “See? The doctor was right—manual is much better.”

Peter glances nervously at the orange pill bottle on the counter. “Does that mean I have to take the meds?” he whispers.

Tony hesitates for a second. While he knows 103 is not exactly life-threatening, it’s still a far cry from normal. “It would probably make you feel better if we could get it lower,” he reasons.

“It’s not worth it,” Peter mumbles. “They make me feel weird.”

“I wish we had something better for you, bud,” Tony says with a sigh. He considers their options for a moment. “Alright, how about we wait a while and see if it goes down on its own?” he suggests. “But if you hit 104, I’m making an executive decision.”

“Deal,” Peter croaks.

They sit there for a few more minutes, Peter taking deep breaths and looking like he might fall asleep right there against the tub. Finally, Tony’s stiff back protests. “How’s your stomach now?” he asks.

Without opening his eyes, Peter lifts a hand and makes a so-so gesture.

“Well, you seem pretty empty,” Tony goes on. “What do you say we move this party elsewhere?”

“Mm...‘kay,” Peter breathes. Tony pushes himself up to standing and helps him up, supporting him under the elbows. Peter sways on his feet. “Whoa…” he murmurs.

Tony quickly adjusts his grip to get a better hold on the kid. “You dizzy?” he asks.

“Kinda,” Peter admits. ”Just need a sec.”

When it seems like he can safely move without passing out, Tony helps him out of the bathroom and sits him on the edge of the bed.

“Let’s change your shirt, okay?” Tony says.

“Huh?” Peter glances down, for the first time seeming to notice how soaked with sweat his shirt is. “Oh. Yeah.”

Tony locates (what he hopes is) a clean t-shirt from the kid’s messy duffel bag on the floor and watches him pull it on. The simple act seems to take far more effort than usual.

“You wanna go back to sleep?” Tony offers.

Peter’s only response is a non-committal grunt. “Don’t think I can,” he admits. “Woke up at like, six. Couldn’t really fall back asleep.”

“Should we try the couch then?”

At the kid’s nod, Tony guides him out to the living room, keeping a firm grip around Peter’s upper arm for support. Morgan, Happy, and a staggering array of the five-year-old’s favorite toys are currently occupying at least two-thirds of the room’s large sectional sofa while reruns of Peppa Pig play on the TV.

“Peter!” Morgan exclaims when he comes into view. She hops down off the sofa and runs over to them while Happy stands up and starts clearing off some of the cushions to make room for Peter. “Is your tummy feeling better?” she asks. “Can you play now?”

Despite how miserable Peter looks, he manages to give her a half-smile. “Um, maybe in a little while…”

Tony takes pity on the kid and intervenes. “Peter’s not feeling that great, so how about we just watch a movie?” he suggests as he situates the teenager on the chaise section of the couch.

Morgan’s eyes light up. “Can we see Frozen 3?”

“God no,” Happy grumbles, sinking down into a nearby armchair. “That damn song with all of Olaf’s little frolicking snowball children was stuck in my head for a week last time.”

“There’s a Frozen 3 now?” Peter questions, his brow wrinkling. “There wasn’t even a Frozen 2 when I got dusted.”

“Yeah, well, global crisis or not, Disney marches on,” Tony retorts. He tugs a fuzzy blanket out of the stack in the wicker bin by the fireplace and tosses it to Peter, who gives a little grunt of thanks. “For the record, Cars 4 was better than Cars 2, but it was no Cars 3.”

“See, I think they peaked at Cars 5: European Adventure,” Happy argues.

“Nah,” Tony scoffs. “There were at least three too many roundabout jokes.”

“But Mater and Fillmore driving the Autobahn was peak comedy.”

Peter is still struggling to unfold the blanket, so Tony takes it back and shakes it open for him. “What are you in the mood for, kid?” he asks as he tucks it around Peter.

“Whatever you want,” Peter mumbles, leaning back against the pillows. He looks utterly exhausted—Tony figures he’ll be lucky to make it fifteen minutes into the movie before falling asleep. Best to go with something he’s already seen then.

“Lilo & Stitch?” he suggests.

The kids agree, Morgan with much more enthusiasm than Peter. Happy even gives his begrudging blessing on the basis that at least it’s ‘not another damn musical’.

(As if FRIDAY didn’t already have half a dozen audio recordings of him singing “Let It Go” in the shower).

Tony instructs FRIDAY to start the movie before heading back to Peter’s bathroom to gather all the supplies he left, and also snags the room’s small trash can because if there’s one thing he’s learned from Morgan, it’s that you can never be too careful.

Peter’s breathing has already evened out as the opening credits fade from the screen and Tony sinks down into the sofa beside him, and by the time Lilo explains why she can’t give Pudge a tuna fish sandwich, Peter is snoring quietly.

To Tony’s relief, Peter sleeps straight through the remainder of the movie, with Happy joining him somewhere around the halfway point. The moment the film ends, Morgan hops off the sofa. “I’m hungry,” she announces. “Can we have mac and cheese?”

Peter gives a low moan and stirs slightly in his sleep. Tony locks eyes with Morgan and presses a finger to his lips, tilting his head sideways in the boy’s direction.

Her eyes go wide with understanding and she tries again in a stage whisper (which honestly isn’t any better than her normal volume). “Can we have mac and cheese?”

Sighing, Tony pushes himself up to standing and prods her along to the kitchen. “Fine. But only if you eat a vegetable with it.”

Morgan grins. “Okay! I want corn.”

“Corn isn’t a real vegetable,” Tony grumbles. He steers them both into the room and moves towards the cabinet where they keep the pasta. “Pick something green.”

Her face falls for a moment. Then, just as quickly as they darkened, her eyes light up again. “Green jello!”

Tony rolls his eyes. He takes out a box of mac and cheese and then opens the fridge to take stock of what’s on hand. “You’re getting cucumber,” he says after a moment.

“I don’t like cucumber,” she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tony frowns at her. “But you said it was your favorite last week.”

“I don’t like it anymore,” she says simply. “It’s gross. Can we have pudding?”

“That’s the opposite of a vegetable,” Tony argues. “So if you’re eating that, now you have to have two vegetables.”

“Um… Potato chips?” she asks hopefully.

Tony runs a hand over his face in exasperation. “No, that’s not a—”

“Hey Tony?” Happy’s voice calls from the living room. There’s an edge of worry to it. “Can you come here?”

“Yeah, coming,” Tony replies, a feeling of dread already sinking in. He heads back to the living room, Morgan tailing along behind.

The sight awaiting him causes Tony’s heart to clench. Happy is standing over Peter, urgently shaking his shoulder while the kid moans incoherently and tosses in his sleep, clearly in the midst of a nightmare.

“He’s not waking up,” Happy says worriedly.

“I got it,” Tony says, quickly closing the distance between himself and the sofa. “Hey, Pete, naptime is over,” he commands as he taps Peter’s unusually warm cheek. “C’mon, rise and shine. I’d offer to make you some breakfast, but it looks like you’re already cookin’…”

It takes a moment, but finally Peter wakes. His eyes snap open and he sits up gasping.

“There we go,” Tony soothes, rubbing a hand down Peter’s arm. “You’re alright.”

Peter blinks at him. “...Mr. Stark?” Tears are already welling up in the kid’s eyes and falling before he can stop them. His breath hitches in his throat. “Oh god…” he sobs. “I thought… I-I was trapped and...”

“It’s okay.” He sits down beside Peter on the sofa and wraps an arm around him, pulling him into his side. Even six years out from the initial snap, Tony still has nightmares—he can only imagine what Peter must be going through. “You’re okay, you’re safe, just a dream,” he assures.

“Daddy?” Morgan asks nervously. Tony glances back and sees her standing just inside the room’s threshold, lip trembling.

“Hey, munchkin,” Tony says, giving her a forced smile. “Peter’s fine. You wanna go teach Uncle Happy how to make the mac and cheese? Don’t let him add tuna.”

Eyes still locked on Peter, Morgan nods slowly.

Happy moves over to take her hand. “C’mon, kiddo,” he says as he ushers her back to the kitchen. “And don’t listen to your daddy, tuna is a great source of protein…”

The moment they leave, Tony focuses his attention back on Peter, who is just now starting to get his breathing back under control.

“‘M’sorry…” Peter chokes out. “I just thought I was trapped there, and, and…”

“It’s okay, Pete,” Tony says gently. “You’re here with me, not on Titan, not in the soul stone. You’re safe.”

“Titan?” Peter asks, his brow wrinkling. “Wha’ about Titan?”

Tony frowns. “Your nightmare? Trapped on Titan, right?”

Peter’s tears have stopped now and he’s staring at Tony with glassy eyes. “Wasn’t on Titan,” he mutters. “Nick Fury found out I was a spider and sucked me up in a giant vacuum cleaner”—his breath hitches again—“an’ I was swirlin’ around and I couldn’t get out, and someone was chasing me with a giant spray can, and there was this cat but like, a monster cat, and—”

Okay, that wasn’t what Tony expected. He places a hand on Peter’s forehead and feels the heat pouring off of him. Taking the thermometer from the coffee table, he turns it on and sticks it in Peter’s ear.

When it beeps this time, the display reads 104.2.

Tony lets out a low whistle, already starting to untangle the blanket from around Peter. “Alright... guess we’re doing the meds now.”

Peter groans, rubbing a hand at his eyes. “Mr. Stark…”

“Nope, non-negotiable,” Tony replies. He grabs the pill bottle from the coffee table along with the package of crackers. “And you have to eat something so they stay down.”

Despite his grumbling, Peter takes the crackers Tony passes him and nibbles at them between sips of ginger ale. When he’s managed to get two down, Tony gives him the pill.

“I know you’re not a fan, but it’ll help with the pain too,” Tony promises.

“Hm, that’s good…” Peter croaks. “Have a headache. And my throat hurts.”

Tony hums in sympathy. “I can imagine.”

Stepping out, he wets a washcloth with cool water in the bathroom and returns to place it over Peter’s forehead and eyes.

Immediately, Peter lets out a sigh. “That’s really nice,” he whispers.

They rest like that for a few minutes until a small voice interrupts them. “Um, Peter?”

Peter lowers the cloth and both of them glance back to see Morgan padding into the room, a stuffed corgi dog plushie tucked under one arm, an orange popsicle clutched in the other hand. Happy is standing just inside the threshold, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed casually.

“Hey.” Peter manages a half-smile.

“I got you another juice pop,” she says, handing it over. “And this is Korg, he’ll make you feel better,” she adds as she nestles the toy into the crook of Peter’s elbow.

“Korg?” Peter questions as his fingers fumble to unwrap the popsicle.

“Thor named him,” Tony replies. “Apparently he’s got a buddy with the same name—thought it would be hilarious when he learned what this breed was called.”

“Uncle Happy said you had a scary dream,” Morgan goes on, plopping down on the couch next to the boy.

Peter’s already fever-flushed face goes a little redder. “Oh, yeah. I guess it was kinda silly.”

“You can tell Korg about it,” she says, stroking the plush dog’s head. “He can’t laugh because he’s not real.”

Seeming caught off guard by that, Peter barks out a sharp laugh which quickly morphs into coughs, but Tony is glad because it’s the first real humor he’s seen from the kid all day.

While Happy and Morgan eat their mac and cheese—with tuna for Happy, peas for Morgan—Tony manages to cajole Peter into eating half a can of chicken noodle before the kid nods off with the spoon halfway to his mouth.

“Sorry...” Peter murmurs as Tony dabs the spilled broth off his shirt with a wad of paper towels. “Tired.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah, that would be the meds kicking in,” he says. He checks Peter’s temperature again and sees it’s down to 102.7 now. “At least they’re working.”

“Hmm…” Peter hums sleepily.

“Let’s go ahead and move you to your real bed,” Tony decides. “It’ll be more comfortable to stretch out.”

“Hmm…” he says again.

Tony hoists the wobbly boy to his feet, supporting him under his arm. “You should probably have a shower when you wake up, but I’m thinking it’s a safety concern at the moment.”

“Hmm…”

“Okay, not in the chattiest mood, I get it…”

Tony shuffles him back to the guest room and changes his shirt again. Then he helps Peter crawl into bed and pulls the covers up around him.

“Alright underoos, take a nap,” he says softly. “I’ll keep the little troublemaker from bothering you.”

“Hmm... and Morgan too?” Peter murmurs.

“Smartass,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “Keep an eye on him, FRI,” he commands the AI. “Sleep well, kid.”

After fixing himself his own lunch, Tony spends the next two hours alternating between entertaining a rambunctious five-year-old and trying to catch up on his backlog of SI paperwork for Pepper. He’s sitting at the kitchen table with Morgan, watching her color a page out of her Frozen 3 coloring book, as he skims through yet another proposal on his tablet. That’s when FRIDAY’s voice comes over the speakers.

“Boss, Peter’s temperature has just reached 103 degrees. He is awake and appears to be in distress,” FRIDAY reports.

“Shit,” Tony mutters, getting to his feet.

“You said only Mommy can say that word,” Morgan complains as she colors Elsa’s hair bright purple.

“Yeah, yeah, I was just borrowing it from her,” he mutters. “I’m gonna go check on Peter, okay?”

She nods, still coloring intently. “‘Kay.”

Tony hurries out of the kitchen and down the hall towards the guest bedroom, fully prepared to talk Peter down from another nightmare. What he’s not prepared for is the sight that awaits him.

Peter is sitting up in bed, hunched over himself and trembling. Liquidy vomit is running all down his shirt and soaking into the comforter.

“Aw, bud…” Tony sighs, quickly moving over to the bed. “You really go all out, don’t you?”

Peter doesn’t even look up. His breaths are coming out far too quick, and he’s mumbling something under his breath.

Tony places a hand on his shoulder, causing Peter to jerk his head up, revealing the tear tracks trailing down his cheeks.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Tony asks in alarm.

“S-Sorry…” Peter chokes out. “I just, for a minute, I didn’t know where I was. Called for May and she didn’ answer, so thought I was at the d-dorm, but this isn’t a bunk bed, an’ then I thought I was in the stone but it’s not orange, and then I felt sick but I couldn't get up fast enough, and I just—”

(Okay so the PTSD was just a bit delayed.)

“You’re okay, you’re fine,” Tony assures, rubbing a hand up and down over the kid’s back. “You’re here at the lake house and you’re safe.”

“’M’sorry…” Peter sniffs, hanging his head. “This is dumb, maybe I should just have May come pick me up”—his nose is dripping and he sniffs again—“you shouldn’t have to take care of me when I’m being all gross”—sniff—“a-and...”

Absently, Tony pulls several tissues from the box on the nightstand and holds them to Peter’s messy face. “Blow.”

Peter goes silent and Tony freezes as the realization of what he’s just done sinks in.

Tissues still pressed to his nose, Peter raises an eyebrow to his mentor. “D-Did… Did you just tell me to blow my nose?”

Tony recovers quickly. “C’mon, it’s swallowing all that crap that’s making you feel sick in the first place,” he points out. “Now blow.”

So Peter does.

Tony lowers the used tissue back down and tosses it into the trash can. “Better?”

Looking mildly traumatized, Peter deadpans, “Iron Man just wiped my nose.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll live,” Tony dismisses him with a hand wave. Then in a more gentle tone, he asks, “Now do you really want to go home? Because I get it if you do, but I promise, I really don’t mind taking care of you. And with your healing, you’ll probably be feeling better in another day or so. There’ll still be plenty of your break left.”

Peter hesitates. “I dunno. I mean…” He shrugs. “I guess, I don’t really want to leave, but…” he trails off, sounding conflicted.

After a moment, Tony intervenes. “Okay, here’s an idea,” he suggests, as casually as he can manage. “You’re looking a little more steady now, so how about I run a load of laundry and you go take a shower? You can call May after and decide what you want to do. Then we’ll go from there.”

A look of relief instantly washes over Peter at the suggestion. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he whispers. “Thanks.”

During the next half hour, Tony checks on Morgan—who is contentedly playing with toys on her bedroom floor—before stripping Peter’s bed and running a load of laundry. When he reenters the guestroom, he finds Peter sitting on the bare mattress in fresh pajamas and with wet hair, looking much more relaxed.

“How’s May?” Tony asks.

Peter shrugs. “Her shift just ended. She said she’s sorry I’m sick.” He pauses for a beat. “Also said she’s not surprised, given all the all-nighters I pulled during the last two weeks and the fact I’ve been mostly living off cereal, ramen noodles, and Fig Newtons this semester.”

Tony snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, that’ll do it.” According to FRIDAY, the lukewarm water of the shower has had the added benefit of bringing Peter’s temperature down to just over 102 and he’s looking significantly better for it. “Still wanna bail on us?”

Peter shakes his head, a bit sheepish. “Not if you don’t mind me staying.”

“Nah, ‘course not,” Tony assures. “Now you wanna go see if Morgan’s up for another movie yet?”

Peter agrees and the two of them shuffle upstairs. As they approach the landing, they can hear muffled voices issuing from the little girl’s bedroom.

“Do you want some more?” Morgan’s voice floats down the hall.

“Yeah, fine. Two sugar, no cream…” a gruff voice replies. “And one of those cookies.”

“No, no you have to call it a biscuit,” she insists, her tone just bordering on a whine. “Mommy says that’s more fancy.”

“It’s a double-stuffed Oreo,” Happy grouses. “It’s a goddamn cookie.”

Peter shoots his mentor a perplexed look. Tony just gives a shrug in return as he pushes Morgan’s door open and then they both immediately pause.

Happy glances up at them from where he’s seated cross-legged on the floor beside the kiddie table. One of Pepper’s silk scarves is wrapped around his shoulders making some sort of shawl, and he’s wearing Morgan’s flowery sun hat with several of her homemade plastic beaded necklaces hanging around his neck. Meanwhile, Morgan sits in the chair to his right, pouring pretend tea from her little plastic teapot into a tiny cup.

Peter leans closer into his mentor’s side. “I think my fever went up,” he whispers. “I’m hallucinating.”

Happy shrugs. “What can I say? She makes a mean chamomile.” Pinching the minuscule handle of his teacup between his thumb and forefinger, pinky raised, he lifts it to his lips and mimes taking a sip.

“Do you guys wanna join us?” Morgan asks hopefully. She’s dressed in her yellow Princess Belle dress and her hair is sporting a loose braid that definitely wasn’t there last time Tony saw her.

Peter hesitates a second, looking into the little girl’s wide eyes. Then he lets out a small sigh. “Well, May did say I should be drinking more fluids…” he mutters as he moves towards the kiddie table, Tony following along behind.

When Pepper arrives home from work just past seven that evening, she finds Peter, Tony, and Happy passed out on the sofa and snoring softly amid an array of Morgan’s plush toys. The little girl sits beside them with a bowl of popcorn nestled in her lap, intently watching Frozen 3 on the room’s massive TV.

“Mommy!” Morgan greets, hopping off the sofa and running over to her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Pepper says as she scoops the five-year-old up in her arms. She gazes around the room, taking in the interesting fashion choices on display. It seems half of her accessory drawer has been commandeered to adorn the three men on the sofa.

Morgan’s full plastic tea service—now complete with Gatorade in the teacups and Saltine crackers on the plastic saucers—has been moved to the living room coffee table. Besides the dishes, the table also contains the thermometer, an empty soup bowl, and a box of tissues, and on the floor in front of the couch is a lined trash can. “What happened here?” she asks.

“Peter didn’t feel good, but Daddy took his temperature and gave him medicine and I got him juice pops,” Morgan reports. “And then we had tea and I gave Uncle Happy and Daddy makeovers.”

Pepper peers closer, noticing the two older men’s nails are painted with sparkly lilac-colored polish and their cheeks are looking a bit more glittery than normal.

“Good girl,” Pepper praises, giving her a quick kiss on her forehead. “Looks like you all took good care of each other.”

Fic Masterlist

For more fluffy illness, try:

Give the Kid an Oscar

Bedridden Spider

Sick as a Bug

#sick peter parker #peter parker whump #irondad fic #spiderman fic #flu #fluffy illness #sickfic #morgan stark #my fic

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