Archive of Our Own

"I wouldn't have taken you for the camping type, Mr. Stark." 

Peter had taken the lead, mud caking his hiking boots as he trudged along the path.

"I'm not," Tony replied, stopping a moment to catch his breath, "I'd kind of hoped you'd be the expert out here today."

Peter paused and turned to face his mentor. 

"You don't mean to tell me you've never been camping at all , do you?"

Tony shrugged, his large walking stick emerging from the mud with a loud pop.

 "My father wasn't exactly the 'outdoorsy' type, kid."

"Well, this is your lucky day, then!" Peter replied enthusiastically, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest as he broke into a wide grin, "You're looking at a former Boy Scout!"

Tony let out a huff of air.

"No shit, a Boy Scout, huh? When did you quit?"

"First grade." Peter's grin didn’t waver. Tony rolled his eyes with a laugh.

"I'm sure you're very knowledgeable."

"Hey, I was really good at knot-tying," Peter quipped, smiling innocently. "I could never get my shoelaces to come apart, like, ever. "

"Okay, Bear Grylls, let's keep moving. If we want to get to the campsite by sundown, we're gonna have to pick up the pace." By now, Tony was caught up, and he nudged Peter along with his hiking stick.

"Okay, but in all honesty, Mr. Stark," Peter said, turning back to continue the hike, "I've been camping with Ned's family a few times, so I actually know what I'm doing."

Tony nodded and followed Peter's lead,  silently grateful that Peter at least knew the basics. When the kid had suggested they do a "mentor-prodige" camping trip, he hadn't wanted to disappoint the boy and agreed to take him for a weekend in the woods, despite not knowing the first thing about nature.

Now, a few hours into their adventure, Tony was feeling a little apprehensive. They still had a ways to go before they'd be anywhere near the campsite, and he couldn't help but worry that something would happen. He and Peter had agreed not to bring any A.I. tech along on the trip so they could be "closer to nature," (Peter's words), so he had no way of faking any camping expertise via FRIDAY or call for help should something go wrong. Just thinking about it had his stomach in knots.

Tony’s internal narrative was cut short as Peter pulled out a small compass and flipped the lid off, orientating his body so he was facing a slightly different direction before trudging on through the trees.

"Did you know that the guy who wrote the music for The Incredibles also wrote the music they use on the Space Mountain ride in Disneyland, Mr. Stark?" He asked, closing the lid on the device and replacing it in his pocket.

Temporarily distracted from his troubles, the billionaire chuckled, amused by the kid's seemingly endless need to find a bit of information that Tony didn't already know.

"Is that so?"

Peter glanced back at his mentor, eyebrows raised in excitement.

"Yeah! Michael Giacchino, the guy’s a legend! He’s also done some stuff for Jurassic Park, Star Trek, and a bunch of Disney Pixar movies, and you know, like, Grammy awards?"

"I don’t live under a rock, if that's what you're asking."

Peter rolled his eyes, ignoring Tony's retort.

"Well, he’s won like, 3 of ‘em. Isn’t that cool, Mr. Stark?"

Tony laughed and continued to follow Peter through the woods, allowing his apprehension to subside a little. Everything seemed to be going all right, so far.

“Yeah, that’s pretty cool, kid. Since when did you become an expert on Michael...Cappuccino?”

“ Giacchino, ” Peter corrected him, shaking his head with a chuckle. “And I dunno, the music from The Incredibles is just really good, and I wanted to look up the guy who wrote it. You should listen to it sometime, Mr. Stark, I think you’d really like it! You could even play it through your helmet as, like, theme music when you’re fighting crime!”

Peter was on a roll, and Tony wasn’t about to stop him. He was completely entertained.

“You think I should have theme music, huh?”

“It would be so cool,” Peter replied, the speed of his voice raising with excitement. “I mean I guess you couldn’t have The Incredibles theme as your theme, because Disney’s got a copyright on like everything, but you could totally have a theme song! That would be awesome...You should ask Michael Giacchino to write one for you!”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” Tony laughed, the image of having his own theme song just a bit ridiculous for him. “Maybe I’ll have to incorporate some speakers into the nanotech of your mask so you can have one too.”

“ Yes!” Peter exclaimed in excitement, pushing on through the woods. He began to sing The Incredibles theme, (with many a “BA da bum-bum, BA da bum-bum, Ba-da DA da-daaaaaa) for quite some time as they made their way deeper into the forest.

After they'd been hiking for a few hours, the trees began to grow thinner and thinner before stopping altogether, and the pair found themselves at a clearing with a firepit and some log benches in the center. Peter had long since stopped his singing, and the excitement on his face was replaced with a look of exhaustion.

"Hey! Looks like that first grade Boy Scout knowledge came in handy after all, Cappuccino," Tony quipped, giving Peter a pat on the back. "You actually got us here in one piece!" Peter smiled, but it wasn't nearly the wide grin he'd shot at Tony when he brought up the theme music.

"Tired?" He asked Peter.

The kid shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess so," he answered, his eyes looking a little heavy. "Spider-metabolism probably just burned through the few Cliff bars I had already."

Tony smiled, relieved that it wasn't something more serious.

"Well, then what do you say we get cooking? We can get a fire going and then cook up some wieners and s'mores," He suggested, opening the cooler to get the hotdogs. Peter groaned.

"Can you please not call them 'weiners?'" He said, a small smile returning to his face.

"What, would you prefer I call them ‘schlongs’?"

"Hotdogs. You can call them ‘hotdogs,’" Peter chuckled, taking the kindling from his backpack.

"Hotdogs?" Tony asked, wincing. "Nah. Not really my style, y'know?" Finding the packaged dogs, he pulled them out and flipped them over in his hand. "I think I prefer 'penises.'"

Peter was so caught off guard by the end of his mentor’s sentence that he couldn't hold back the laughter when it erupted from deep within him. He immediately doubled over and stayed that way for some time while his whole body shook. When he was finally able to stand upright and walk over to arrange some kindling in the firepit, he still had tears in his eyes.

"God, why are you such a dad?" He huffed, finally getting his breath back as Tony came over to join him. Tony just shrugged, taking a lighter from his pocket and handing it to Peter.

"Maybe it's because I spend most of my days at home with a 5-year-old," he retorted, watching as Peter expertly lit the kindling and blew till there was a little flame spreading to the logs.

"Are you saying you've been telling dick jokes to a 5-year-old?" He asked, watching as the flame began to grow.

"Nah, I saved those ones just for you," Tony returned, grinning. Again, both men dissolved into laughter.

Peter managed to get the fire going relatively quickly, and the pair immediately got to work on cooking their dinner.

--‐---------------------------------------------------------

The sun was beginning to set as Peter and Tony let their hotdogs roast in the warm fire.

"Do you think this is done enough?" Peter asked, bringing a lightly charred hot dog up out of the flames for inspection, "I'm starved and this is taking FOREVER."

Tony shrugged, sticking his hot dog a little closer to the burning embers at the bottom of the pit.

"The package said they were fully cooked, so if you think it's done enough, then it's done enough."

"Thank God," Peter returned, gently but quickly removing his dog from the stick, taking care not to burn his fingers.

The instant he had it off of the skewer, he took a huge bite. They hadn't brought any buns for fear of squishing them in their packs, but Peter didn't seem to mind as he began to devour his hotdog. With just the end left, he slowed his pace down, frowning a little at the last bit of meat that was pinched between his fingers.

Tony, who had only just taken his charred sausage out of the fire, noticed his hesitation.

"What's the matter? Does it taste funny or something?"

"No, it's not that, it's just..." Peter's voice trailed off for a moment. "I thought I was, like, starving, but I don't think I'm actually all that hungry, I guess."

Tony's mouth immediately dropped open in a dramatic exaggeration. 

" You ? Not hungry ? The kid who ate two entire pizzas and barely left me a breadstick last weekend? You've gotta be joking."

Peter smiled a little bit and shrugged.

"I don't know. I guess this was just enough." 

Tony had started to eat his own hot dog and was already thinking of putting another into the fire.

"Are you sure? We've got plenty more schlongs in the pack over here."

The weak smile remained on Peter's face, but he shook his head.

"That's alright, Mr. Stark. I'm good with just this." He popped the last bit into his mouth and chewed it slowly before swallowing.

The bad feeling that Tony had had earlier had certainly returned, but he did his best to hide his apprehension while he polished off two more hot dogs and chatted with his prodige.

After he finished, he stood up, taking note of the quickly darkening sky.

"What do you say we throw some s'mores down the hatch and pitch the tent?" He said, rubbing his hands together.

"Oh, that's alright, Mr. Stark. I'm not really hungry enough for s'mores."

Tony deadpanned.

"What are you talking about kid? There's always room for a s'more. Just a little graham cracker, chocolate, and marshmallow. Plenty of room for that." He patted his own stomach, indicating that he, too, had plenty of room for a s'more or two, in spite of having just eaten 3 hotdogs.

Peter looked at him sheepishly.

"I guess I'll have one," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Tony had a feeling the kid was just agreeing to please him, but Peter really hadn't eaten much that day, and with the super-fast metabolism and a long hike back ahead of them in a day or so, things could get dicey without a little grub.

Tony put two marshmallows on his stick, since Peter had already tossed his back in the woods, thinking he didn't need it anymore, and stuck them into the fire, where they immediately went up in flames. Tony looked over at Peter with a wince, but Peter just shrugged, saying he liked them better burned anyway, and brought the graham crackers and chocolate over to his mentor, helping Tony to scrape the burnt marshmallows off of the stick and into the s'mores. Tony didn't mind the burnt flavor himself and had eaten the treat completely in just a few minutes. He looked over to Peter and saw that the kid had only taken a bite or two of his own.

"Okay, Kid, what's up?" He asked, no longer able to hide the concern in his voice. Peter just shook his head and moved his shoulders up and down.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark...It's really good, It's just...I'm feeling...I'm just really not hungry, I guess." He took another bite, but Tony could tell the kid was chewing as slowly as he could, as if he was dreading having to swallow the morsel.

"You don't have to be sorry, and you don't have to eat that if you’re really not hungry," Tony replied, suddenly feeling guilty for having pushed food on the kid. "You know what? Why don't we pitch the tent and turn in for the night? We took quite the hike getting here, and I think we both deserve a bit of sleep. You can toss that into the woods, I'm sure the raccoons will love it."

Peter seemed relieved, but threw the s'more into the fire instead.

"I feel like chocolate probably isn't good for the animals out here," he muttered. "You know, like how it's bad for dogs and stuff?"

Tony barely held back a chuckle as he raised his brow.

"I think the raccoons will be fine with a little chocolate, but I dunno. Might be hard to believe, but that's never been relevant to my life."

The smile returned to Peter's face as he helped Tony pull out the tent and supplies.

"Now, let's see...It...does it just pop up, or...?" Tony couldn't hide his cluelessness; he had no idea what he was doing.

"You've never pitched a tent before, huh, Mr. Stark?"

He shook his head and shrugged.

"I've made plenty of blanket forts with Morgan, though, so...potato potahto, right? Just give me a few kitchen chairs to hold up the middle and sides and we'll be good to go."

Peter tossed a bag of poles over to Tony.

"There are your kitchen chairs, Mr. Stark," he laughed, bringing a hand up to his stomach. "If you stake those to the ground, they'll keep the tent up and in place."

The kid seemed in good spirits, but Tony could very clearly see the outline of Peter's shaking legs in the moonlight.

"You sure you're okay, kid? You look like you're about to have a face-to-face chat with the ground over there."

"I'm fine," Peter insisted, suddenly trying to keep his legs still. "Just tired."

"Scout's honor?" Asked Tony, holding his thumb and pinky together but leaving up the remaining three fingers.

Peter knelt down to unraveled the tent, but reluctantly repeated after his mentor. 

"Scout's honor."

"You didn't do the scout sign. How do I know you're not pulling my leg?"

Peter’s eyebrows twitched.

"How do you know you were doing the Scout sign? I thought you said were never a Boy Scout."

Tony smiled.

"I've sat through one too many of Morgan's Brownie meetings. I wish I could say I picked up a few tent-making tips, but all they do is sing songs and make friendship bracelets at those things." He shuddered as he picked up one of the poles and began to snake it through one of the sleeves on the tent. "Is it not the same sign they teach you in Boy Scouts?"

"No, it is," Peter said, snaking one of his own poles through a sleeve.

"Then why didn't you do it back?"

"I didn't think I needed to. I said 'Scout's honor;' I thought that was enough." Peter had stopped making eye contact with his mentor and was instead focusing his gaze on the bit of tent he was working on.

"Well, everybody knows Scout's honor doesn't mean Jack if you don't use the hand sign," Tony replied, quirking an eyebrow, but keeping his tone light.

"You just made that up," Peter stated with a shake of his head. "You said yourself that you don't know the first thing about Scouts." There was a hint of growing annoyance in the kid's voice, but Tony pressed on.

"Well, why don't you throw the sign up anyways, then, hmm? Humor me."

"Mr. Stark, it really doesn't matter."

Peter continued to look down at the tent pole in his hands.

"Scout's honor, otherwise I don't know that you mean it. I don’t know that you’re really okay unless you use the sign. If it doesn't matter, then why don't you use the sign, Pete? " Tony knew he was pushing it, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Because, it's stupid!" Peter said finally, his voice cracking in frustration. "Because I shouldn't have to put up a dumb Scout sign for you to listen when I say I'm fine . I'm not five years old, Tony!"

A sudden silence hung in the air. It was hard to tell with the way the kid's head was angled, but Tony could have sworn he saw tears pooling in Peter's eyes. Both of them had stopped tent-assembling, and neither seemed eager to speak next as the heavy, awkward, quietness formed a barricade between them.

After what felt like an eternity, Tony cleared his throat.

"I...I'm sorry." The phrase felt unnatural coming off of his lips: Peter's words had stung, but it was clear that something else was bothering him, and Tony knew better than to yell at the kid right now. He took a deep breath and continued, sounding more sure of himself this time.

"I'm sorry, Peter," he said, setting down his section of tent and walking over to crouch beside his prodige. "I'm sorry you feel like I haven't trusted you."

Peter sniffed, and suddenly it was clear to Tony that the boy was crying.

"It's not that," he whimpered, his breath beginning to hitch. "It's just...ever since the Blip, I feel like you haven't let me out of your sight . And I get it, okay? I do. You thought I was gone. You almost died yourself, and I can't even imagine what that all must have been like for you. But I can't have you spending the rest of your life sitting around worrying about me, okay? I mean, I'm Spiderman! I'm going to be doing dangerous stuff all the time! But it's okay, I can handle it, Mr. Stark! I can't just watch you break apart every time I scrape my knee, because I'm fine! Okay? I can't send your mind back to wherever the Hell it was while I was Blipped, so I'm fine! Okay? I'm fine! I'm FINE ! I'm-" Peter gasped suddenly and his body began to shake as his sobs turned into coughs, and Tony's Dad Instincts kicked in before he could process what the kid had even said. He slowly began to rub Peter's back, shushing him gently until the coughing fit had passed and Peter was able to regain his breath.

"Peter, I need you to listen to me," Tony said as soon as the boy had calmed down enough. Peter looked up at him, nose still running and tears rolling down his cheeks. It took everything in Tony's power to keep his own eyes from welling up.

"I'm always gonna worry about you. You got that?" He said, keeping his arm steady on Peter's back. "But that's unavoidable, alright? You're practically my kid. You have a room in my house that you spend every other night in, you're out with my family every weekend...Christ, Morgan even calls you her brother! So yeah, I'm gonna worry about you, because I care about you and your stupid scraped knees, and your runny noses, and your Spiderman duties. But that doesn't mean you need to be okay all the time for my sake... nobody is okay all the time, that'd be ridiculous! Anything going on in my head is my own business, and it's not nearly as bad as you're making it out to be, okay? I'm not gonna be fine all the time either, kid, and it's okay. We'll both get through the tough stuff together, got it? You don't have to be fine if you're not."

As he said the last words, Peter began to sob once more, and Tony wrapped his arms fully around the kid so that they remained locked in a kneeling embrace.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter choked out through the sobs, burying his face into Tony's sweatshirt.

"Hey, none of that, kid. You and me? We're good. Capiche?" Tony held the kid close, reassuring him as best he could. He became suddenly aware of how warm Peter was, the heat radiating off of him through his sweatshirt and into Tony’s skin, and in an instant, Tony finally understood what had been going on with Peter all day.

"Capiche,” Peter said, pulling back and wiping away some stray tears. He looked down at the half-assembled tent in front of them. "I guess we should finish putting the tent together, huh?" He asked, reaching for a stake.

"Oh, I'm gonna finish putting up the tent," Tony said, taking the stake from Peter. "You're gonna sit over there and try not to keel over; I can feel that fever through your sweatshirt."

Peter blinked at him in surprise.

"But I...I can help you, I'm okay, really Mr. Stark-"

Tony fixed him with a look that, without any form of verbal communication, very clearly said 'Are you kidding me? We literally just had an entire conversation about this and if you don't sit your ass down I'm going to make you wish you didn't have one,' and Peter looked sheepishly down at his feet.

"Yeah, okay, I'll sit." He muttered, and walked over to a nearby stump where he watched Tony struggle, but manage to pitch the tent.

------------------------------------------------------------

They had already been sleeping in the tent for a few hours when Tony woke up to the air mattress being jostled, and turned his head to see Peter fumbling with the zipper on his sleeping bag in the darkness.

"What's up, Pete?" He whispered, sitting up in his own bedroll.

Instead of answering, Peter let out a burp and a gag, and Tony was greeted by the sickening splat of vomit hitting the fabric of the kid's bedding. Peter shoved himself out of the blankets and crawled off the mattress to the opening of the tent, burping wetly as he quickly unzipped the door and tumbled outside.

Tony was up in an instant and quick to follow, doing his best to avoid the vomit in the tent as he crawled out of the opening after the kid.

Peter had just barely made it out of the tent before the rest of his stomach contents decided to make an appearance: Tony found him kneeling on the ground right next to the tarp, gagging and holding his stomach as another mouthful of vomit passed by his lips and splattered onto the leaves.

"Oh, Kid..." Tony mumbled, kneeling beside his prodige as the boy gasped, trying to catch his breath before the next wave of sick overtook him. 

"M'ser Stark, I-" he swallowed thickly, "I don' feel goo-" he pitched forward again, cutting himself off as he puked again.

"I know you don't, Kid," Tony said, his voice so soft he was nearly humming as he began to rub Peter's back gently. "It's alright, Pete, I've gotcha...You're safe, just...get it up, buddy."

The kid gave one last heave before slowly settling back on his haunches, shivering. Apparently Peter hadn't been lucky enough to miss his sweatshirt the first time he hurled, because now that he was sitting back, Tony could see that the front of the kid's shirt was just covered in sick. Obviously not caring about the soiled sweatshirt anymore, Peter wiped his mouth on his sleeve before wrapping his arms around his midsection with a low moan.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, that was so gross," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "I thought I could at least make it out of the tent."

"No need for sorries, kid. Wasn't your fault."

The two sat for a second, Peter shaking in the dark while Tony enjoyed the relief of being outside the stuffy tent...which probably now smelled like vomit. Shit.

"You think you're done?" Tony asked, his hand still on Peter's back. He had to admit that somehow the boy felt even warmer than before, and the poor kid was drenched in sweat, which definitely didn't ease the worry that had begun to crease Tony's brow once again. Peter looked at him uncertainly.

"I...I think maybe for now? I don't know, Mr. Stark, my stomach still hurts."

Tony heaved out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. Morgan had been down with the worst case of the flu Tony had seen just a week ago, but he thought the rest of them had been lucky enough to dodge it...Apparently he had been wrong. If this was the same bug she'd had...they could be in for a rough night.

He turned his attention back to Peter.

"Okay, tell you what. Why don't you hang out here for a second. I'm gonna get things cleaned up in there and grab you a change of clothes. I packed a couple of extra blankets in case it was colder than this, so don't worry about the sleeping bag, kid. We'll throw all your dirty stuff in a garbage bag and I'll have it all cleaned as soon as we're back. I'll get you all set up, and then we'll go back in and go to bed. Sound good?"

Peter bobbed his head, squeezing his eyes shut again and gently rocking himself in place.

Taking it as a yes, Tony worked quickly to get the inside of the tent cleaned up. As far as he could tell, all of the vomit landed on the kid's sleeping bag, so it was an easier cleanup process than he expected, and (thankfully) took the smell right out of the tent. He set up the extra blankets on the other side of the air mattress and placed Peter's water bottle next to the spot before looking around the area for something to use as a makeshift puke bucket. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought to bring a bucket or anything, and the only real container they’d brought was a cooler. Tony made a quick decision to lose the rest of the hotdogs and some ice they'd had along in favor of using the receptacle as a vomit-catcher.

Within about 5 minutes, Tony had everything pretty much taken care of, so he went back outside the tent, garbage bag in hand.

"Do you not have another sweatshirt?" He asked, ducking out of the tent. Peter was still in about the same position he'd left him. "I couldn't find one in your bag, and no offense, but I'm not sleeping next to you if you're gonna smell like that." Tony did his best to keep a lightness in his voice, even though he could tell the kid was feeling miserable. Peter wouldn't meet his gaze.

"This is the only one I packed," Peter said, his voice sounding small. "I could try to wash it off with some water-"

"No way, Puke Boy. Arms up." Tony said, standing next to Peter to avoid the vomit puddle.

"But Mr. Stark-"

" Arms . Up, kid. Come on, I've got you." Tony wasn't about to let the kid spend the night in a wet, vomit-reeking shirt, especially in his condition. Without the energy to argue, Peter put his arms half up and allowed Tony to pull the soiled clothes off of his head. After placing the shirt in the trash bag and closing it up, Tony took his own hoodie off and put it over the boy's head, guiding his arms through the sleeves.

"Oh no...Mr. Stark, I can't let you do this," Peter protested, the exhaustion suddenly heavy in his voice. "I'm so gross right now, and...I'm gonna ruin your clothes."

Tony scoffed.

"Kid, I care about you way more than I care about an old sweater that I planned to wear in the woods for a few days. Trust me, I'm not worried about keeping it in mint condition or anything."

Peter looked apprehensive, but was grateful for the older man's larger, warmer, hoodie, so he didn’t argue any further.

"Why don't we get you back inside the tent now, Pete?" Tony suggested, kneeling down to place a hand on the kid's back once again.

"I don't think I'm ready to...to go back in yet," Peter said hesitantly, his eyes on the vomit puddle in front of him.

"You can use the puke bucket I've got set up in there if you really need it, Kid, but we really need to get you back inside and laying down. You can’t stay out here all night."

Peter still looked unsure, but allowed Tony to lead him back into the tent. The arc reactor shining through Tony’s now-uncovered T-shirt made it easy to see as the older man helped him onto the mattress and under the blankets.

"This is the cooler," Peter said flatly, still shivering as Tony climbed into the sleeping bag beside him.

"Yes," Tony answered, following Peter's gaze to the plastic orange receptacle beside him.

"You said you had a puke bucket. This is a cooler." Somehow, even in his current state, Peter sounded amused. Tony smiled and decided to humor the kid.

"If you're worried about the hot dogs, don't be," he said. "They obviously didn't agree with your stomach, so I left them to the cruel mercy of the wilderness."

"...You threw them into the woods?" Peter asked.

"Along with the ice, yes," Tony replied.

Peter let out a tired chuckle, and after a while, though he was still shaking, his breathing seemed to even out a little and he drifted off into a fitful sleep. Tony closed his eyes, thinking that maybe they'd be lucky enough to make it through the night without incident, and even allowed himself to doze off a little.

As if to prove Tony wrong, Peter sat bolt upright on his side of the air mattress about half an hour later. Tony was awake and sitting up too before the kid even had the chance to say anything, the movement beside him having jostled him into consciousness. Peter's eyes were wild as he looked around the tent.

"Wh-where 'm I?" He gasped, supporting himself on shaky arms as he looked from side to side.

"Hey, Peter, calm down, kiddo, you're alright." Tony was already half out of his sleeping bag with a hand on the kid's back, and in the dim blue light that shone through his shirt, he saw Peter's eyes slowly focus on his face.

"M'ser Sterk?" He slurred, recognition in his expression as he squinted through the darkness.

"That's right, Kid," he said gently, trying to calm Peter down. "Everything's fine, we're just camping. You're in a tent, Peter, that's all. Just lay back down and-" Peter suddenly turned his head and burped just in time for some watery vomit to miss Tony...but hit the spare blankets he had. Obviously still unaware of his surroundings, Peter retched again, more puke landing on the covers that lay on top of him. As the kid gasped for air, Tony sprang into action.

"Cooler!Cooler!Cooler!Cooler!Cooler!" He whisper-shouted, crawling behind his prodige and grabbing the boy's shoulders to help guide him towards the orange bin. Peter seemed to understand and leaned in the direction Tony pulled him, continuing to vomit into the cooler. Once again, Tony sat beside him on the air mattress and rubbed his back, doing his best to comfort the kid as he retched over and over again, barely seeming to get a breath in before the next heave sent his head dipping below the top of the cooler.

It was about 10 minutes before there was a break in the heaving, and Tony felt comfortable dealing with the new mess Peter had made.

"Hey, Pete," Tony said gently, still rubbing the kid's back. "Think you got it all up so we can get you back to sleep?"

Peter nodded, but didn't lift his head from the cooler.

" 'm sorry," he said, voice echoing around in the plastic container. "Di'n't mean to throw up."

"If I have to ask you again to stop apologizing, you're gonna be sleeping outside with the raccoons and their hotdogs."

Peter chuckled and brought his head up slowly, looking considerably better for having vomited. He looked back at his side of the bed, wincing a little at the now vomit-soaked blankets.

"I, um...I c'n take care o’ those," he said, suddenly sounding like he was in danger of being sick again. Tony immediately shook his head.

"No way, José," he said, unzipping the tent. "You're gonna stay put for a minute while I take care of this, Sicky."

The comment wasn't meant to be mean, but Peter looked down at his feet, embarrassed for having vomited twice now in front of his mentor. Tony winced a little.

“Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean anything by it, I just don’t want you to make yourself sick by having to smell it up close.” Peter nodded, understanding, but didn’t say anything.

Tony had carefully gathered up most of the soiled blankets before realizing that Peter had gotten a little bit of vomit on his side of the air mattress on the way to the cooler.

After bagging the soiled blankets and emptying the cooler, tony came in with a rag and did his best to wipe the barf from the mattress.

Peter, who was still sitting on the bed, suddenly spoke up.

"I...I can use my towel as a blanket, Mr. Stark. Sorry I ruined yours." The poor kid sounded more coherent, but miserable. Tony moved in front of him, deciding the mattress was about as good as it was going to get. He tossed the rag out of the tent and pressed a hand to the kid's forehead: Peter felt just as hot as before, if not hotter. He shook his head, wishing he had FRIDAY there to ask how high the fever was.

"What kind of mentor would I be if I let you use a towel as a blanket when you've got a fever of God-knows-what in the middle of the woods at night?" Tony asked, looking him in the eye. Peter shrugged and looked down at his feet.

"It's just...this is my own fault, so I should be the one to fix it," he said, not looking back up at Tony. "And I'm guessing you don't have backup-backup blankets."

"See, that's where you're wrong, Pete," Tony said, getting up, going over to his sleeping bag, and unzipping it. "It's not your fault Morgan got you sick, you don't have to try and fix everything, and-" he spread out the sleeping bag, completely unzipped so it could cover two people, "I have a backup backup." Tony climbed under one half of his sleeping bad before patting the space beside him.

Peter looked at him hesitantly. 

"Mr. Stark, I..."

"If you're about to tell me you're fine with the towel I will leave you out with the animals. I'm not kidding. This is a threat."

"...But what if I throw up, like, on you?" Peter ventured.

"Well, then It'd serve me right for trying to force-feed you s'mores earlier while you had the flu," Tony replied, patting the other side of the blankets. "Come on, Kid. I'd like to get some sleep tonight, and if you keep this up, I'm gonna end up with a whopping 20 minutes. Besides, your side has puke on it, so you can't sleep over there."

Peter smiled a little before dragging his pillow and the cooler over to Tony's side of the mattress. He slipped under the other side of the sleeping bag and gently pulled it over himself, feeling a little odd but not uncomfortable about being so close to Tony. 

"I'll try to find a payphone tomorrow and see if Happy can't get us out of here a little early," Tony said: Peter was in no shape to make the hike back out of the woods.

“I actually brought my cell phone, it’s in my bag,” Peter muttered, moving his shaky frame a little closer to Tony. “I thought we should at least have one in case of an emergency.”

“Why didn’t you let me bring mine for emergencies?” Tony asked, surprised by this tidbit of information. Peter shrugged.

“You get too many business calls. I didn’t want you to be glued to it.”

Tony wanted to argue, but he had to admit the kid had a point. And, if he had to admit it, he was relieved to know he’d be able to call for help if Peter got worse in the night. The thought alone made him relax for the first time in hours.

“Smart kid,” he breathed, gazing mindlessly at the mop of brown hair in front of him.

Peter nodded, closing his eyes. The soft glow of the arc reactor passing through his eyelids made it surprisingly easy to relax in the close presence of his mentor.

"You know, Mr. Stark, your chest makes a great nightlight," Peter mumbled, already drifting out of consciousness.

Tony smiled, having heard the same comment from his other child plenty of times.

"Yeah, kid. I know."