Work Text:
“Mhmm, yep,” Morgan hummed as she tapped Peter’s arm with her plastic hammer. “Just what I thought. We’re gonna have to cut it off.”
Peter gasped dramatically, throwing the back of his hand against his head for extra effect. “Oh no, doc, not my arm! Isn’t there any other option?”
Morgan hid her smile behind her hands as she shook her head, attempting a grave expression. She rifled through her play set, emerging victorious a few seconds later with what Peter assumed was a plastic imitation of a scalpel.
Peter widened his eyes with all the theatricality he could muster as Morgan leaned towards him, putting the plastic knife up against his sleeve. “Wait- I think I want a second opinion! Where did you say you got your medical license, anyway?”
Morgan couldn’t hide her giggle as she covered Peter’s eyes with her hand. “Shush, you’re asleep now.”
“Oh, okay, yes Doctor Morgan, sorry.”
Peter grinned, shutting his eyes. Morgan traced a line around his forearm with careful precision, then declared that the amputation was done. Peter kept his eyes closed as he slid his arm into his shirt sleeve, then “woke up.”
He made a show of glancing around, feigning horror at the sight of his empty shirtsleeve. Pretending to ignore Morgan’s snickers, he set a sorrowful expression on his face, attempting his best Shakespearian accent as he soliloquized, “alas, mine arm, I knew thee well.”
Both Peter and Morgan lost it at that, breaking character entirely dissolve into laughter at the ridiculousness of Peter’s accent.
The door creaked open just as Peter snorted, sending Morgan into even more peals of giggles. Mr. Stark walked in, back from his super-secret Christmas gift shopping trip that Peter pretended he knew nothing about.
“Hey kids, what’s-“
“Oh, hey Mr. Stark,” Peter called nonchalantly, “your daughter chopped off my arm.”