Work Text:
"Hey, how're you feeling, kid?” Tony asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom watching the sorry sight in front of him.
Peter responded with a mouthful of vomit being launched into the toilet bowl followed by a wet cough.
"That bad, huh?"
"I feel like my insides are dissolving," Peter muttered, before trying and failing to cover a sickly belch.
Tony smirked at the kid’s dramatics. "It's the stomach flu, kid, not 'The Plague', and besides, you can go home today, your Aunt texted and said she would be home around eight."
Peter mumbled and his eyes slid shut as he rested his head on the cool porcelain of the toilet seat.
Tony sighed, "Come on, let's get you into the shower and then we can go back to your apartment and watch movies," he said, grabbing the kid’s shoulders and hauling him upwards. Peter did his best not to gag as Tony turned on the shower and helped him out of his clothes.
Tony winced when, as soon as he shut the shower curtain, Peter was on his knees, puking vaguely in the direction of the drain.
Tony reached his hand in and turned the showerhead to rinse the vomit away as much as possible. He smiled sadly as he heard a quiet 'thanks'.
———
Tony looked up to see Peter standing in his doorway, paler than ever and shaking despite the large hoodie and sweatpants wrapped around him. "I, uh, I wouldn't go in there for a while," Peter muttered, not meeting his mentor’s eyes.
Tony quickly stood up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, directing him towards the stairs and into the living room. "Don't worry about it, buddy, let's go downstairs."
Peter gingerly sat down onto the sofa, pulling his sleeves down over his hands.
Tony placed the mop bucket beside him before handing him a large cup of tea.
"Drink that and I can take you home," he ordered.
Peter looked tiredly at the cup in his hands, but knew that if he drank it he could go home and sleep. He tentatively took a sip, relishing in the warmth it gave him.
After Peter had carefully drank two cups of tea, Tony wrapped him in his biggest coat and strapped him into his car, bucket in his lap should the need arise.
Tony drove carefully, keeping in mind that if he hit a corner too hard, Peter would lose the contents of his stomach.
Tony glanced over at Peter, who had his head hanging over the bucket. "You gonna throw up?" Tony asked quietly.
Peter shook his head 'no' before the wet splat of vomit hitting the inside of the bucket filled the car.
"Wait here," Tony said, pulling up outside Peter’s apartment. "I'll be back," he said, before jumping from the car and heading inside.
When Tony returned Peter was still sat in the same position, the bucket considerably fuller. Tony watched as Peter dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, barely removing any of the remnants of vomit and saliva from his chin, "I need the bathroom," he said quietly, "like, now."
Tony winced as he realised what Peter meant and he took the bucket from him as he clambered towards the bathroom. Tony tried not to think about what was happening to him in there.
Peter emerged ten minutes later, looking considerably paler. Tony jumped up and wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders and led him to the sofa, where he lay down, hand resting gingerly on his stomach.
"I've put on some soup, it should be ready in about ten minutes. The fire is lit, so it should start to get warmer in here soon, and your Aunt called, she'll be home in about two hours.”
Peter smiled at his mentor, "Thanks, Mr Stark,"
Tony smirked, "Anytime, kid, now I'm gonna go put on movie, any preferences?"
———
May Parker dropped her bag at the door and smiled at the sound of the 'Fresh Prince of Bel Air' theme song coming from the living room, a tell tale sign of a sick Peter. She rounded the corner and smirked at the sight. Tony was curled up in the armchair in the corner, half asleep as he blinked lazily at the TV. Peter lay across the sofa, hand resting lightly on his upset stomach, mouth open as he slept.
Tony looked up when he saw her enter.
"Hey, Tony, how's he holding up?" May asked quietly, putting a hand on her nephew’s forehead, taking note of the thin layer of sweat covering his body.
"Good, I think, he's kept down a bowl of soup for the last couple of hours, and I think his fever has finally broken. He should be fine in a couple of days."
May smiled, Peter was lucky to have him.