Work Text:
Tony doesn't know what he's done to deserve this. Maybe he accidentally ran over a nun in a past life. That is the only plausible reason for Tony to be stuck in bed with strep throat and the flu. That meant a painful as all fuck throat (obviously), a fever, some nausea, and all that fun shit.
That isn't even the worst part. The worst part is his personal nurse that made it his job to help him until he's better. Or at least not bedridden.
It’s thoughtful for him to do and at first, Tony was grateful. But, now a few hours later…
“Kid, fluff my pillow one more time and I'll smack you in the face with it,” Tony says without opening his eyes.
“Sorry, Mr. Stark!” Peter says, pulling back. “I just want to make sure you're comfortable.”
“My eyes were shut. I was trying to sleep. I'm comfortable,” Tony mutters, keeping his eyes shut.
“Oh. Okay. I'll just go, then, uh, call me if you need me.” Peter sounds sheepish, but he doesn't leave. Tony knows he's waiting at the side of his bed.
Tony peeks open an eye and sure enough, there's the kid staring down at him with wide eyes. He looks startled that he was caught. “That isn't going.”
“Right. Sorry. I'll just go.” Peter jerks his thumb towards the door and leaves thankfully, leaving Tony to some peace and silence.
--
Of course, it doesn't last.
Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke.
“Psst. Mr. Stark.”
Poke.
“Mr. Stark.”
Tony would go back to sleep if he could. Instead, he pries his eyes open and says, “What do you want, kid?”
“It's time to take your medicine again.” Peter lifts the bottle of penicillin he's holding in his hand.
“Go away,” Tony grumbles, letting his eyes fall shut again.
“Wow, Ms. Potts was right: you are a bad patient.”
“When I'm strong enough to stand again, I'm going to lock you in a closet. A very soundproof closet,” Tony decides.
“You'll only get strong again if you take your medicine,” Peter replies too quickly.
“Parker, I'm keeping a tally of every time I want to kill you. It's not looking good on your part.” Tony starts to sit up anyway so he can swallow the medicine.
Peter smiles and fills up the measuring cap. He measures it exactly and Tony rolls his eyes at his precision. Then the kid actually lifts his hand up and says, “Here comes Iron Man.” He makes the sound of his suit flying through the air.
“Cut it out or I cut out your tongue.” Tony raises his eyebrows as he takes the cap from Peter’s hand and swallows it. He pulls a face as it goes down. “Blech, that stuff is nasty.”
“It'll make you feel better, though,” Peter counters as he takes the cap from him.
“Yeah, yeah. Can I go back to sleep now?” Tony asks, already laying back down.
“Sure,” Peter says with a smile before leaving the room to clean the medicine cap. Tony quickly shuts his eyes, hoping to fall asleep before Peter comes back in.
--
A freezing cold wash cloth wakes him up next. It's not pleasant. He groans and lifts his hand to try and rid his forehead from the wet cold. A hand swats his away.
He squints up at him to see Peter kneeling next to him. He's holding a wet washcloth to his forehead. “What’re you doin’?”
“Your temperature went up. I'm trying to keep your fever down before it gets bad,” Peter says and Tony thinks he sees some worry in his eyes.
“Checking my temperature when I'm sleeping? Good thing I threw out my rectal thermometers, then, huh?” His eyes feel droopy as he slurs.
“Mr. Stark, this isn't funny. Dr. Banner said to keep an eye on your temperature.” Peter is too young to sound this worried.
“So what? No’ like he's a doctor or anything.” Tony laughs again. “Ha. Get it? ‘Cus he's a doctor.”
“Exactly,” Peter sounds a little exasperated.
“Don’ worry ‘bout me, kiddo. I'm Iron Man.” Tony waves his hand, or at least his tries, but it's way too heavy.
“I'll always worry about you, Mr. Stark,” he hears the kid whisper.
“No need. S’okay.”
There's a hand on his forehead. “I don't think it's going down. Hold on, let me call Dr. Banner.” The hand is replaced with the cold face cloth.
--
He opens his eyes again and the wet washcloth is still there. Then it's gone. And then it's back, bringing water to drip down the sides of his head.
He groans, his head feeling like it was split open with a jackhammer.
“Mr. Stark, are you up?” He hears Peter, of course it's the kid, ask.
“Shhh,” he mumbles. “I think I have a hangover.”
Peter laughs softly as Tony hears the sloshing of water. “That's just a headache. You just fought off a bad fever. It broke an hour ago.”
“Fever?” Tony doesn't remember a fever.
“Yeah, you were like 103.2. Dr. Banner said to keep you cool. So, I sat here and tried to bring it down with cold water and a washcloth.
“What? No ice cube bath?” Tony jokes because that's how he handles things that make him uncomfortable. And the idea of this kid caring so much to sit by his side for hours, reapplying a washcloth to his forehead makes him very uncomfortable. He's not used to it. He doesn't deserve it.
“If I had to, I would have dragged your ass into that bath,” Peter informs him seriously.
Tony laughs at the kid. “My hero.”
“How do you know I wouldn't just let you drown?” Peter counters with a laugh of his own. He still sounds relieved.
“I hope you're smart enough to not go through all this work to nurse me back to health only to kill me.”
Peter just shrugs his shoulders as he continues to dab Tony’s forehead with the washcloth. After a few quiet moments, Tony tells him, “Don't worry, kiddo, I would drag your ass into the ice bath if you needed, too.”
“And they say Tony Stark can't do everything.”
“Shut up, Underoos,” Tony mumbles but there's a smile on his face when he lets his eyes shut again.
--
It doesn't get bad again until a few hours later. He had just taken another dose of his medicine and he’ trying to sleep when his stomach churns dangerously.
He is still half asleep, so it takes him a second longer than it should to realize what's wrong. He wants to curse, but he's afraid to open his mouth.
Rolling out of bed, he stumbles to the floor and he's prepared to baptize his carpet when there is a sudden set of hands helping him up. “Mr. Stark!”
Tony leans on the kid and tries to run into the bathroom. He barely makes it to the toilet before he's hurling up everything he's eaten.
“Shh, it's okay, let it out.” Peter rubs his back soothingly.
Tony tries to push him away but he throws up again. “Go,” he mumbles when he finally gets a chance to breathe. “Don't need to see this.”
“I'm not leaving you, Mr. Stark. It's okay. Just get it all out.” Peter rubs his back some more as Tony empties his stomach.
It goes on for a few minutes before he lays his head against the cold toilet seat and says, “Fuck, ‘m done.”
Peter wordlessly helps him up to his feet and over to the sink so Tony can brush his teeth. Peter never leaves his side as he helps him back into bed and pulls the blankets over him.
“Kid, you don't have to stay here. I'm fine. I feel much better.” Tony isn't lying; he does feel better, but that doesn't take away the embarrassment of the kid watching that.
“You're sick and there's no on else to sit with you. I don't get sick from normal things like this. I'll be fine.” Peter reassures him as he fluffs his damn pillow again.
“Not even my mom babied me this much,” Tony argues as his eyes slip closed.
Peter pauses and for a moment, Tony thinks he said something wrong. But then Peter is back to tucking the already tucked blanket closer to him. “Sometimes it's nice to be babied,” Peter says softly.
Tony hates to agree as he watches Peter fix the blankets by his feet, but yeah, Peter’s right: it's good to be babied.
--
“Scoot over,” Peter says as he pulls up the blanket.
“I'm going, Mr. Bossypants.” Tony moves over in the bed so Peter can climb in the bed and under the comforter.
He plops a big bowl of ice cream in Tony’s lap. “Whenever I have a sore throat, May lets me have like a gallon of ice cream to help soothe the pain.”
Tony lifts up a spoonful of double chocolate fudge brownie and says, “May lets you have sugar?”
“Weekends and holidays. Or when I'm good,” Peter replies.
Tony laughs at the kid's serious answer. Of course, she would restrict how much sugar he consumed. He had enough energy.
Peter spends some time fixing his position in the bed before finally settling down. Tony stares at him with raised eyebrows. “You good?”
“Shut up.” Peter fixes the bowl on his lap and picks up the remote.
“So, what are we watching?” Tony asks around a mouthful or ice cream.
“My favorite go to show when I'm sick,” Peter says with a grin. “ The Golden Girls .”
Tony laughs loudly. “ The Golden Girls ? Seriously?”
Peter’s cheeks flush. “Yeah, uh, when I got sick, my Uncle Ben would watch reruns with me all night.” His face gets wistful before he clears his throat. “It's a really funny show about--.”
“I know what The Golden Girls is about, kid.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Start it up.”
Peter smiles and does as he's told and even sings along with the theme song. Tony lets his eyes fall shut as he listens. But then there's a cold spoon being poked to his cheek. “Wake up.”
“‘m up.”
“You shut your eyes, like 2 minutes into the show.”
“Being sick is very tiring.”
“If you fall asleep and spill ice cream all over yourself, I'm not cleaning it up.”
Tony lifts the spoon to his mouth without opening his eyes. “Don't be mean to me. I'm sick.”
“Trust me: I know.”
Tony snaps his eyes open. “What's that supposed to me?”
Peter sticks the spoon in his mouth. “Nothing.”
“Uh huh,” Tony says in disbelief. “Let's keep it that way.”
Turning his attention back to the television, Peter laughs. Tony smiles and falls asleep to the sound.
--
“You're like an old man. Or a toddler. You can't stay awake for more than like 10 minutes.”
Tony is laying on his side, facing Peter as he continues watching the television. He's not sure how long he's been out.
“I'm adding another tally to your list. You know the one where I'm going to kill you in the end.”
“Sounds fun.”
Tony has just enough strength back to lift up a pillow and smack Peter in the face with it. Peter only laughs, shoving him away.
“You snore, you know. I could barely hear the television.” Peter gets hit with another pillow. Tony would have smothered him with it if he could.
“Leave me alone.” Tony closes his eyes again just to be spiteful.
Peter goes quiet so he must assume that Tony is sleeping again. He feels Peter crawl under the blanket further until his head is resting on the pillow near Tony. The bed shakes with each of Peter’s laughs and Tony smiles.
So, maybe Peter is an overbearing caretaker and drives Tony up the walls when he can't even leave the bed, but there's no one else he'd want by his side nursing him back to health.
“I know you're awake,” Peter whispers close to his ear. “I can tell because you're not snoring.”
The kid is close enough to Tony that he can shove a pillow over his head. The kid yelps, but it's muffled. “Remember all those tallies, kiddo?” Peter makes another muffled garble of words. “Well, I'm cashing them all out.”