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They have been in the waiting room for almost an hour and Tony is starting to get restless.
The sterile zoo-themed pediatrician's office makes him feel almost too dirty to sit on the cushioned benches but he represses his regret at not taking a shower first. A random child's scream from a nearby exam room cuts into his head like a knife, giving it such a stabbing pain that it makes him silently beg for ibuprofen.
With a despairing sigh, he looks down at the reason why he's here in the first place.
Peter is lying across the bench and facing the cushioned backing, with his head laying on his dad's outer thigh. The nine-year-old keeps wincing as he tightly grips onto the hem of the older man's T-shirt.
"Is it the ear or the kid?" Tony says with a grunt.
"Both," Peter drawls, “How much longer?”
“They’ll call us soon, I can feel it.” The older Stark continues ruffling the tyke’s hair, being mindful of the infected ear that's facing up. “How’s your ear? Is it the same or getting worse?”
The boy curls his knees to his chest, wincing again as a whine escapes him. “It just hurts.”
“I know, I know,” his dad says softly, “We’ll be outta here in no time and you can get all the McDonald’s your heart desires.”
A frustrated groan is Peter’s only response.
You know he feels like shit when he’s not even excited about McDonald’s.
Tony holds back a grumble of his own as his free hand occupies an outdated Better Homes and Gardens magazine, opening it on the bench next to him. It's not exactly his first choice of reading material but it was the closest in proximity to him; at least it will give him some pictures to focus on instead of that damn kid who's still screaming.
I don’t remember Peter being this bad when he got his vaccines. What the fuck else could that little shit be screaming about?
Another whine emits from his son so the man increases his speed on the ruffling, giving him a look of sympathy while trying not to get jealous over how Peter is falling asleep amidst the “torture device” echoing throughout the waiting room.
Tony can’t help but scoff as he roughly flips another page of that magazine. Barely six months before, the two Starks were sitting here—almost in this very same spot—also due to an ear infection. How can a nine-year-old get two ear infections in one school year when he hasn’t even been out swimming?
After two days of trying and failing on over-the-counter earache drops, Tony bit the bullet and brought his kid back to his pediatrician, wasting so much time that the two of them might be skeletons when they’re finally called into an exam room.
Maybe I should switch pediatricians.
Memo to me: call up Tracy and find out where she takes Ned.
He feels his son’s head shift on his leg so he looks up from the periodical, seeing the tyke’s face scrunching in pain while he has the hem of his dad’s shirt in a death grip.
Tony lightly shushes him, hoping the soft sound can distract him from the pain in his ear. “Almost there, kiddo, that kid’s screaming isn’t as loud this time.”
It’s true, the annoying sound is still present but it’s not as loud as it was a few minutes ago, giving the man hope that they’ll soon leave and he and his kid will be up next.
There’s no one else in the waiting room, we better be fucking next.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?” Tony puts his focus on his kid while making sure not to falter on the hair playing.
“Kids suck.”
The older Stark barks out a laugh, covering his mouth with his free hand to not alert anyone at the front desk. “But you’re a kid,” he says, his face sporting a disbelieving grin.
“And that’s why I know kids suck.” A half-smile spreads across the child’s face as he scoots his hand under his dad’s thigh, successfully hugging it like he’s cuddling a stuffed animal.
“You comfy there?” Tony says with a snort.
“Now I am.” Peter curls back into an almost fetal position with his knees against his chest, his face drooping with sleep when he settles as close to his dad as possible. “I told you you’re comfy.”
“You’re lucky you’re sick or I wouldn’t let you use me as your personal plushie,” the elder playfully retorts.
“But I hug you like this all the time—”
“Hush.”
A slight giggle escapes the tyke that tells his dad he won this “argument.” Tony simply gives his son more hair ruffles while he goes back to that magazine.
Fine, you win this time.
But only because you’re sick.
It’s another ten agonizing minutes before the screaming child and their mother finally check out and exit the building, taking the unsuspecting weight off of the father and son still residing in the waiting room.
“Anytime now,” Tony says to himself, “ Aaaaaaanytime now.”
Please.
For the love of fuck.
Just give me the antibiotic so we can leave.
“How much longer?” his son says, his voice scratchy due to the in-and-out doze he’s been doing for the last little while.
“Soon.”
“You said—you said that forever ago, though.”
Don’t remind me.
“Just go back to your nap, bud, I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”
It’s another five minutes and an almost third flip-through of that magazine when the name “Peter Stark” is finally called.
Tony sighs loudly in utmost relief, not giving a single damn if anyone takes offense. He turns back to his kid and almost coos at how peaceful he looks when he’s fast asleep, dreading that he now has to wake him up.
“C’mon, kiddie, time to wake up,” he says, lightly shaking him to speed up the process, “When we get home, you can sleep as long as you want.”
Peter stirs during the second round of shaking, his sleepy eyes opening and taking in his surroundings. “We’re still here?” he says, slumping back on the bench.
“Not for long. C’mon, let’s get up.”
The boy slowly sits up, rubbing his eyes with sleep before he grabs his dad’s hand and gets off the bench. “I wanna go home,” he whines.
“I know, buddy. This isn’t gonna last long, I promise.”
Yeah, I’m lying, but we’ll be home eventually.
Another memo to me: switch pediatricians before Peter has another fucking ear infection.
Knowing our luck, there'll be another one before the school year's out.