Work Text:
It starts out slow, as most things tend to do.
When he woke up late one morning, feeling more exhausted than he did falling asleep the night before. When his muscles had ached as he forced himself out of bed in a rush to prepare for school, before Happy threatened to leave him behind (Harley knows he never actually would, though, the man cares too much about him even if he refuses to admit it). When the lingering feeling of exhaustion had seeped into his bones, and stayed for the rest of the day.
He should've known the warning signs, should've realized that he was falling ill, but it didn't really hit him until now.
Now, when he's in the lab, trying to focus on his homework through the sudden pounding in his head, not helped by the thruming music surrounding them (he normally can zone it out, it usually helps him focus, but today it feels like nails on a chalkboard). Now, when his stomach starts to twist uncomfortably, making his shift and swallow. Now, when the last person he would want to find out about his sickness is stood two feet away from him, humming along to the beat and messing around with holograms of some type of project that Harley can't remember.
Well, it isn't like Harley doesn't want him to find out, it's just... well...
Two days ago, Peter had come down with the stomach flu, and had been stationed upstairs ever since. Tony's been looking after him while May's been away on vacation for the first time in years, and he knows how stressed Tony is about Peter and how much he cares for Peter like a son, and he doesn't-
He knows (or, thinks, anyways) that Tony doesn't really feel the same way. About him. Or at least doesn't act the same around him. Sure, he knows Tony cares, why would he have let him stay at the tower to look for universities if he doesn't, but...
He just doesn't want to be a bother, more than he already is.
So he tries not to say anything, tries to keep it on the down low, even as the words of his notebook start to spin in front of his eyes (or maybe that's just his vision in general), and his head starts to throb heavily, again and again and again, his stomach churning dangerously, choppy like waves during a storm, until it squeezes harshly, lurches-
Oh no.
He scrambles for the smaller plastic garbage can placed under his desk, leaning his face into it and swallowing once, twice, breathing heavily through his nose trying to keep the waves at bay, trying to keep his lunch down, but its futile, and before long, hes ducking further and gagging into the bucket.
He hears a loud curse from behind them, before the music shuts off suddenly, and then there's a hand on his back, heavy and soothing, rubbing up and down as he gasps and heaves. "Its okay, you're okay," Tony murmurs, but his voice is higher pitched with shock and slight panic, and it makes Harley's chest squeeze, makes him lean into another spasm and whimper. "Shh, you're okay, just let it all out, buddy."
They sit like this for a few moments, Tony whispering comforting things while Harley grasps shakily onto the bucket before he finally feels stable enough to pull his head away, spitting one last piece of bile into the bucket but leaning back heavily onto Tony with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut as his stomach turns uneasily. "There you go, nice and easy," He feels Tony shift, before there's a napkin wiping at his mouth. "Gosh, you're warm." The hand then raises to his forehead, and Harley leans into it, the coolness of the back of his palm easing the ache in his skull. "How long have you been feeling like this, bub?"
It isn't said accusingly, quite the opposite, in a soft hushed tone, but Harley still flinches slightly, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as he feels them burn. "I'm sorry," He croaks out instead, his voice rough and throat raw, and Tony quickly shushes him, quickly reassures.
"No no, its okay, none of that." His hand rubs heavily on his back for a second as he sighs lightly, before he leans into Harley's peripheral vision, smiling gently at him, even as a weird emotion swirls in his eyes. "You think you can make it upstairs or do we need a few more minutes?"
Harley pauses, focuses on his body, feels his muscles aching and his head pounding, a jackhammer digging into his skull, but his stomach is settled, for the moment, so he nods once, slow and careful. "'can make it." He mumbles, and Tony's smile widens slightly, even as his eyebrows furrow more.
They don't say anything else after that, Tony helping Harley to stand (slowly, slowly as his leg tremble and his body screams, the room spinning for a few seconds), and then, after waiting a few seconds to make sure his stomach resettles again, the shift making him queasy, they approach the elevator. The ride up feels like the worst thing Harleys ever experienced, the slight vibrations and heavy hum feeling like a hammer crashing into his brain again and again and again, but thankfully, thankfully it doesn't last too long, and they're out into the penthouse before Harley can blink.
Before they can stumble too far into the room, though, making their way towards the other couch not taken already by a still sick spiderboy, Harley freezes, feeling his stomach starting to twist again. "To-" He starts, but can't finish, can't do much of anything except turn around, the wave coming on too quick for anyone, even himself, to stop, and the next thing he knows, there's vomit on the laminate flooring and Harleys coughing for air.
And then, the emotions set in. The panic, the pain, the anxiety, the fears, the overwhelming guilt rushes over him like a stampede, all of it comes to the forefront and bubbles over like a science experiment gone wrong. It doesn't help that right at that moment, two other people speak up, Peter from the couch, with a "Dad? Harley?" And a more feminine voice, Pepper, from further away, saying with all the pity in the world, "Oh no, him too?"
And then Harleys sobbing, tears pouring down his cheek and wheezing out, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"
"Hey, hey," Tony brushes away the hair falling into (and sticking to) his face, now sounding really panicked. "Its okay, you're okay."
"I didn't- didn't mean to-"
"Oh baby," Pepper chips back in, and she's beside him now, suddenly, her hand on his shuttering shoulder rubbing gentle circles with her thumb. "We know, you're alright. Come on, let's go lie down, hm?" Her voice is soft, soothing, and reminds him so much of his ma, he wants his ma, that he can't really do anything against it, leaning into his touch as she slowly maneuvers him onto the other couch, carefully laying a blanket over his still sniffling, still shaking frame as Tony grabs another, clean bucket to place at his side, just in case. She speaks to the older man, then, running a gentle hand through Harley's hair almost subconsciously, whispering. "I didn't know he was sick?"
"I didn't either," Tony whispers back lowly, the two of them acting as if Harley wasn't sat right in front of them, acting like he couldn't hear them.
It just makes him shake out another sob, burying his face into the arm of the couch. "Im sorry. 'Didn't- didn't wanna bother."
There's a pained noise, then, and another hand is on his face, a calloused thumb wiping at his cheek softly. "You aren't bothering us, kid." Harley only glances up at him with one teary eye, the other still buried into the fabric. "You could never bother us." Tony looks so serious, then, that Harley can't help but believe him, can't help but hear the underlying meaning hidden between the words. You could never be a bother to me. "I want you to tell us when you're upset, or don't feel well, okay, bug?"
There's a playful, teasing huff of "my nickname" from the other couch, and Tony snorts, but Harley doesn't pay it any mind, just leans forward until his face is pressed into Tony's shirt, the mans arms wrapped around him tight. He nods, then, to show that he heard, and Tony presses a kiss to his head before letting go, letting him lean back onto the cushions, sinking back into the couch with a light groan.
"Get some rest, okay, sweetheart?"
He blinks back up at Pepper blarily, nodding once and uttering a quick, "'kay," and, before he can think on it too much, his eyes shutting again as he curls back up, "Love you."
Just before the exhaustion of the days events pulls him under, he feels two faint kisses pressed to his face, one to his forehead and another to his cheek, before the soft murmur of a "Love you too, buddy." Lulls him into slumber, a faint smile etched onto his face.