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You hated winter. Loathed it, almost. It was always so cold and even the heavy winter coat you wore barely did anything to stop the low temperatures from freezing you half to death. Sometimes your dad liked to call you “The Grinch” because of how much you hated the cold. You argued that you didn’t hate the holidays, but simply hated being cold.
You walked out of the elevator door into the common area, feeling absolutely disgusting. You’d been tired before, but it was a new kind of exhaustion: your head was pounding, and your nausea was starting to get to you, leaving you sick-feeling and dizzy.
“Hey Y/n,” your father called from the kitchen.
“Hey,” you replied, sounding more congested than you thought you’d been.
Your dad stopped preparing whatever snack he was making. “You okay kid? You’re looking a little green around the gills.”
“Fine,” you replied, sniffling. “I’m fine. Just a cold.”
Before your dad could argue, you hastened your pace to get to your room. This ended up being a mistake, as you were leaning on the walls for balance before even getting 20 yards. Your vision was swimming in front of you, and your legs swayed dangerously.
By the time you made it to your room, you were already making a beeline for the bathroom. You collapsed on the tiled floor in a heap, and promptly threw up, surprised you had anything in your stomach. Because of your nausea, you hadn’t been eating a lot. Even the mere smell of food was enough to make you wanna barf.
After you were done being reacquainted with your prior meals, you started coughing and wheezing, unable to take in a breath. What was going on with you? You hadn’t been this sick since… ever. You were never sick, and you were intent on not breaking your streak. But for the past couple of days, your health had been declining. A stuffy nose turned into coughing fits and nausea, and recently you’d started feeling lightheaded and nearly passing out.
You stood up shakily, and looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked like shit; your (s/c) skin was paler than a ghost, and the bags under your eyes were ridiculously dark. Sweat sheened on your forehead, and your cheeks were blushed.
Out of all the weekends, you thought miserably. It was winter break, and you finally had a couple weeks off from college. But of course your body took this as a sign to be weak and get sick. Perfect. Just great.
You decided to take a shower before dinner; the steam might help to clear your nose, and maybe you’d feel better if you were cleaner.
-
You collapsed on your bed, somehow exceedingly more tired than you were an hour ago. You’d almost passed out in the shower from a dizzy spell, and you kept getting either super hot or super cold. At the moment, you were freezing, and your weaker-than-normal body shook with chills.
“Hey Fri?” you groaned miserably. “Could you turn the heat up please? And dim the lights?”
“Of course, Y/n,” the AI responded.
You grunted your thanks, and piled yourself into your thick covers.
Just a little nap…
-
Tony
“Hey Friday, where's Y/n?” Tony asked.
“She’s currently asleep in her bedroom.”
“Huh.”
“What?” Natasha walked into the room. “Where’s Y/n?”
“Sleeping,” Tony answered. “Not surprised. She looked pretty tired when she walked in. Said she had a cold.”
“Would you like me to wake her up?” Friday asked.
“Nah, let her sleep. Can you wake her up for dinner though?”
“Of course.”
-
Y/n walked into the kitchen, hair mussed and face flushed. In general, she looked like a mess.
“Honey, you okay?” Tony asked, making his way over to his daughter. He placed the back of his hand on Y/n’s forehead, and noticed it was warmer than it should’ve been.
“Mm-hm,” the teen answered, pushing Tony’s hands away. “It’s just a little cold, I’m fine.” She brushed her hair out of her face and rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “What’s for dinner?”
“Chinese,” Tony said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, fine. We still gonna work in the lab after eating?”
“Absolutely not,” Tony said. Y/n seemed crestfallen, but Tony didn’t care. He didn’t want his daughter to develop the same bad habits as him.
Y/n scowled at Tony and crossed her arms, mumbling some frustrated and rude Italian under her breath.
“Don’t give me that tone, young lady,” Tony scolded, putting his hands on his hips like his mother used to when he played with the wires in the microwave. God, he even sounded like his mother.
“You look like death warmed over. After eating, you’re going straight to bed and not waking up ‘til tomorrow. Got it?”
Y/n grumbled and glared at the floor.
“Got it?”
She sighed. “Got it.”
“Good. Now let’s eat.” The rest of the team had already taken their share of the food, and headed off to their respective locations throughout the tower. Typically they’d all eat together, but tonight, everyone was a little occupied. It was fine: Tony wanted a little time alone with his daughter anyways. He’d had many meetings as of late, and Y/n was busy with school.
The two settled onto stools parallel to each other in the kitchen. During the dinner, Tony made multiple attempts at conversation, but Y/n either gave one-worded answers, or simply hummed in agreement. She barely touched her food, choosing rather to push it around her take-out container with her chopsticks.
“Don’t play with your food,” Tony said, in a scolding but joking manner. Y/n glanced up, as if startled, then trained her gaze downwards as she had for the entire dinner.
“Sorry,” she apologized, sounding tired. “I’m just not that hungry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I’m just not thoroughly convinced that you’re okay.”
“It’s just a cold, I’ll be over it by tomorrow.”
I hope so, Tony thought.
After the two Starks had finished eating (or rather Tony had finished, and Y/n hadn’t eaten anything), Tony escorted his daughter to her room. She could get there herself, but Y/n had a tendency to not do what she was supposed to. Like sleep. If Tony hadn’t been watching, she probably would’ve sneaked down to the lab.
“‘Night kid,” Tony said, ruffling Y/n’s hair.
“‘Night Dad.” Y/n shut the door, and Tony hoped she’d get enough sleep.
-
Okay, this was just too much. Y/n had slept in pretty late before, but this was just overkill. It was nearly two in the afternoon before the teen emerged from her room, looking worse than she did the day prior; she was pale and sweaty, her eyes glazed over, and Tony thought he heard her wheezing.
“Afternoon, Sleeping Beauty,” Tony snarked, hoping to get some kind of reaction from his daughter. But she merely hummed in response before grabbing a glass of water and silently started heading back to her room.
“Honey, are you okay?” Tony got up, all humor gone from his voice.
“Fine,” Y/n croaked. “Jus’ tired.”
Tony followed Y/n down the hallway, calling her name, to which she replied “I’m fine”.
“Y/n, what’s going on?” Tony asked. He placed his hand on Y/n’s shoulder, but immediately recoiled when he felt the heat coming off her in waves.
“Woah, Y/n, why-”
“I’m fine,” she repeated for the upteenth time. Without another word, she shut her door behind her, and Tony heard her coughing up a storm. Yeah, she was most definitely not fine.
As soon as Tony found a thermometer (typically he would’ve used Friday’s sensors, but given the fact that he hadn’t been notified of his daughter’s clear sickness, he didn’t know if she had messed with anything), he headed towards Y/n’s room, determined to find out what was going on. He hoped that it was nothing more than the flu or a common cold.
When he opened the door, Tony was met with a burst of heat. It must’ve been at least 90 degrees in the room.
“Friday, turn the heat off,” Tony demanded. He saw Y/n (somewhat unsurprisingly) under a large lump of blankets on her bed. Tony walked over to the teen and pulled the covers off of her, much to her dismay.
“No,” she grumbled, half-opening her glassy, bloodshot eyes. “Put ‘em back.” She was shivering despite the heat and a thick hoodie, and Tony immediately knew she had some kind of fever. He just wanted to know how high.
“No can do, kiddo,” Tony said. “Open up.”
Y/n took a hazy glance at the thermometer in Tony’s hand before turning her head away with an indignant “Mmm-mm.”
“Y/n,” Tony said with a warning undertone in his voice. “You’re sick, I gotta take your temperature.”
“‘M nah sick,” Y/n muttered, head still turned away, and very obviously sick. Tony’s daughter was probably one of the most stubborn people in existence. She could’ve been shot and still say that she was fine whilst clearly bleeding out. It infuriated everyone around her to no end.
“Y/n, either you take this willingly, or I bring Steve and Bucky in here to hold you down and you take it that way.”
Y/n grumbled and held her hand up to take the thermometer. Not only was stubbornness something Y/n had, but pride. She’d die of embarrassment before someone helped her or forced her to do something she didn’t want to.
Tony placed the thermometer in his daughter’s outstretched hand, and a moment later, the device beeped. Tony removed it from the teen’s mouth, and sighed upon seeing 103.2 on the little screen. “C’mon, let’s get you to the medbay.”
“Don’ wanna,” Y/n whined. That was definitely weird. Tony’s daughter was many things: a genius, a sarcastic little shit, and a near-fearless young woman. A whiner was not one of them.
Tony had started to get a little frustrated, but reminded himself that Y/n was sick, probably delirious from the fever, and who knew what else. He had to get her at least some help, and call him paranoid, but he wanted to make sure nothing was seriously wrong.
“Kid, you’re burning up, you’re not gonna get better unless we find out what’s up with you.”
“N-no,” Y/n feebly argued. “No doctors.” Her still-glazed eyes widened with fear. Now, Y/n had been to the medbay before on a handful of occasions (for both herself and others), but being far from lucid, her mind was cloudy and she was scared. Tony pitied the kid.
“It’ll be fine, I'll be there.”
“Promise?” Y/n said in a small voice. She sounded like a child, and Tony’s heart broke.
“Promise.” He reached for Y/n, remembering how unsteady she was walking just moments prior.
“‘M fine, don’ need help,” she muttered, pushing Tony's hand away. He backed away in surrender.
“You wanna walk by yourself? Okay, let’s see that. Ten bucks says you don’t make it to the door before passing out.”
The young Stark held up her head defiantly, and shakily pushed herself up into a sitting position, then shuffled to the edge of her bed. She placed her feet on the floor and stood up, only to stumble. Luckily, Tony caught her before she fell.
“Steady now,” he said softly.
“S-sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and walked her to the medbay. She was lighter than Tony expected, which worried him even more.
“Kid, have you been eating enough?” Tony asked.
“Not really. Whenever I eat, I always throw it back up.”
Nausea. Explains the dizzy spells.
When the two arrived at the medbay, Tony was half-carrying, half-dragging Y/n into a private room. He set her down on a cot in a private room, and grinned to himself when she immediately passed out on the sheets.
Good. Kid needs the rest.
Tony bent down and took his kid’s ghostly pale face in his hand, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. Y/n leaned into his hold, humming contently. He could hear the gentle wheezing of her breath, and feel her feverous temperature. Tony pecked the top of her head, and asked Friday to send for Bruce.
-
Pneumonia. No wonder his daughter was feeling and looking so shitty.
Bruce suggested that Y/n spend the rest of the afternoon in the medbay, and that she be hooked up to an IV of saline. Otherwise, the infection should go away by itself, but Bruce prescribed a couple of antibiotics to speed up recovery.
“Honestly,” he said, “she’s pretty sick. Nothing she won’t bounce back from, I’m sure, but it’s going to be a crappy week or so for her. It’s most likely going to get worse before it gets better, so I suggest keeping her comfortable.”
-
You
You woke up, your head pounding and your body sorer than after even the most exhausting of training sessions with Steve, Bucky and Nat. And that was saying something.
Cold wrapped around your exposed arm, and you took a shuddering breath in. It was freezing. You thought you had asked FRIDAY to turn up the heat, so why was it still so cold?
You struggled to open your eyes, and when you did, you regretted it immediately.
“Fri, dim the lights by 50%,” someone commanded quietly. You hesitatingly re-opened your eyes, and saw your father sitting in a chair beside you. “Hey, sweet-pea,” he greeted.
“H-” You started coughing violently, and each breath you took caused pain to blossom in your chest. A glass of water was held in front of you, and you slowly took a sip from it, then set it down on the bedside table next to your hospital bed.
“What happened?” you rasped.
“You’re sick. I brought you to the medbay, they hooked you up to an IV, and you’ve been in and out the past couple of hours.”
“Oh,” you said, not remembering anything. “How sick am I?”
Your father sighed wearily, and turned his gaze away from your own. It wasn’t at all comforting, to say the least. “Pneumonia,” he answered after an agonizing ten seconds of silence.
The door opened, and in walked Dr. Banner. He looked to you, then to your dad. “She awake?” he asked, pointing to you. Your father nodded his head in response.
“Good, good,” Dr. Banner said, mostly to himself. He pointed to the door. “I’m gonna have to kick you out.”
Your father paused for a moment, his eyes flicking hesitantly from you to Dr. Banner. Then he got up from his chair, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“I’ll be back in a little bit,” he said, and walked out the door.
Dr. Banner smiled warmly, and whatever panic had risen in your mind had gone down. You’d been to the medbay before, often for overnight stays, and Banner had usually been the one to check you out, unless whatever was going on with you was out of his area of expertise.
“Hey kiddo,” he said, sitting down in a chair parallel to the one your father had been sitting in. “I’m just gonna take your vitals.”
You nodded in response, your throat too sore to talk. FRIDAY could take your vitals, but fussing over everyone when they were in the medbay was Bruce’s way of showing he cared, so you all just let him do his thing.
He took your wrist, and looked down at his watch. “Glad to know you’re finally awake. You’ve been deliriously slipping in and out of consciousness for the last three hours. Could you sit up for me please?”
You did as he said, your head spinning slightly due to the sudden motion.
“Try breathing in deeply,” Banner said. You obliged, but winced when pain erupted in your chest.
Bruce frowned slightly, but smiled when your gaze met his. “I’m just gonna up your fever reducer, and have you go through another bag of saline, okay?” Banner slid a needle into your IV, and you felt a familiar burning as the liquid entered your weakened system. Then the sleepiness hit you, and you closed your eyes.
Before completely passing out, you heard the door open, and felt a peck on the forehead.
-
You woke up a couple hours later, and (despite your protesting) was brought by wheelchair to the common area to eat dinner with everyone else. Unfortunately, you weren't able to eat the takeout like the rest of the team, instead having straight broth for dinner, much to your disappointment.
After eating, you all settled down on the couch and watched the next episode of a show you’d been watching together. You were comfortably snuggled between Natasha and your father, and it was the most content you had felt in days.
Sometime during the second episode, you fell asleep, head resting unconsciously on your father’s shoulder.
-
A Couple Days Later…
You woke up in a cold sweat, heart beating so rapidly that you could hear it. You couldn’t breathe, and everytime you attempted to take a breath, you were struck with bouts of coughing and stabs of pain. It felt like you were dying.
Your health had begun to steadily decline rapidly over the past few days. At first, it started to get better. Fever had gone down, you weren't coughing as much. But then the pills you were taking stopped working, and everything came back tenfold, and this time, you couldn’t breathe. You were getting weaker and weaker, but you couldn’t show it. You had to make everyone think you were getting better. You were already embarrassed from your short stint in the medbay and the way you had to be carted around everywhere. You even had to code overrides into FRIDAY’s system so she wouldn’t alert anyone if you started throwing up, or if your temperature spiked.
The first couple days you’d been careless, let the weakness show. You didn’t want everyone to think you were just some weak little kid who was a burden. So, you had to improve on your acting skills.
A crimson drop fell onto your lightly colored sheets, and you were made painfully aware of the metallic taste on your tongue. Your coughing had lessened, but your panic rose. Bouts of coughing weren’t uncommon for you then, but coughing up blood? That scared you, as did the minimal amount of air you were taking in. Your vision had already gone blurry, but the darkness threatening your sight was starting to take over. You fought against the inevitable unconsciousness, though you knew your battle would be in vain.
You shakingly got up from your covers, shivering from the sudden lack of heat. Using the wall and your bed, you made your way across the floor, but collapsed from a dizzy spell on the other side of your room. You attempted to push yourself up into a sitting position, but your arms were too weak to handle the full weight of your body.
As if from far away, you faintly heard a female voice saying something, and you couldn’t make out the words. You’d stopped coughing, but your breathing became too labored, too shallow, too light. For once, you had to admit that you needed help.
“Call… call Dad.”
Tony
Tony was awakened by a female voice calling his name urgently. He turned to look at the time, and saw that it was two in the morning. He groaned to himself. The billionaire had barely gotten himself to sleep an hour ago. He was worrying about his daughter; the kid seemed to be getting better, but Tony knew something was up. He’d known Y/n for almost her entire life, and the teen was far too much like Tony for him to be comfortable. Thankfully, that meant he was able to recognize when Y/n was lying. Her skin was still too pale, and he saw her nearly pass out discreetly in the middle of dinner that night.
“Friday?” he said groggily. “What’s going on?”
“Y/n cannot breathe.”
“What?”
“She is currently having a bronchospasm, the result being a panic attack, and her infections are preventing her from taking a full breath. I sugge-”
Tony had never gotten up so fast. The sleepiness was immediately gone, and he rushed out of his bedroom before you could say “Avengers Assemble”. He heard Pepper call his name, but his kid wasn’t breathing . He couldn’t waste any time.
Tony burst into Y/n’s room, and froze when he saw her limp body on the floor, eyes closed. Blood slowly dripped from her mouth, and her skin was so ghostly pale it was almost blue. She looked like death, and, given the terrifying fact that she wasn’t breathing, the intrusive thought was the farthest thing from comforting.
Tony dashed to his teen’s side. “Y/n?” he called, gently shaking her body. When she didn’t wake, he raised his voice, desperation leaking into his tone. “Y/n!” Yet despite the noise, she didn’t even stir. Her breathing was laborious at best, struggling to take in even a small, wheezing breath.
“Friday, what do I do!?” Tony shouted.
“Get her to the medbay. I’ve already informed them of your imminent arrival.”
“Hang in there, piccolina,” Tony said under his breath. “Just stay alive.” He picked Y/n up in a princess hold and jogged out the door to almost slam into Steve, who, upon seeing Tony with the teen in his arms, gained a concerned edge to his voice.
“What’s going on, what happened?” the captain asked.
“She can’t breathe,” Tony answered, teetering on the edge of a panic attack. “I-I gotta get her to the medbay.” Steve put his hand to Y/n’s forehead, and his eyes widened and flicked back to Tony.
“She’s burning up.”
-
Two Days Later
Tony was back at Y/n’s bedside in the medbay, waiting for her to wake up. She’d been sleeping for a few days now, as Bruce said she should. If it was up to Y/n, she wouldn’t be sleeping at all.
Because of the difficulty she had breathing, she was fitted with an oxygen mask, and had multiple IVs in her arms, delivering a variety of meds and fluids into her body. Tony thought she seemed so small, lying in the hospital bed with so many lines going into her body. It seemed wrong to him.
Bruce had suggested that, once Y/n woke up, for her to sleep in the common area instead of in her own room, so that the Avengers could keep a close eye on her and she wouldn’t be able to hide her sickness. At least, not anymore than she had previously. Maybe Tony’s daughter would shy away from hiding it, now that she had landed herself in the medbay (again), and this time not just for the afternoon.
The Avengers had gathered around the bed in anticipation of Y/n waking up. Even if any of them wouldn’t admit it, Y/n was their kid almost as much as she was Tony’s. They were just one big family, waiting for the youngest member to get better.
Tony held his daughter’s hand, careful of the IV stuck into the back of it. He still wondered why Y/n hid her very obvious sickness from him. He was her father, and he tried his best to let her know that she could tell him anything. Sure, he wasn’t the best father, but he always made sure his daughter was safe and secure.
Unlike Tony, Y/n was never especially narcissistic and boastful, though it wasn’t like she was lacking an ego. In many ways, the younger Stark was different from her father, but they were very much the same in many aspects. They were both genius, sarcastic people with a dangerous insomniatic habit and obsession with anything containing caffeine. But one thing they definitely shared was pride. And with that came an inability to ask for help.
Y/n’s finger twitched in Tony’s grasp, and she groaned softly, her face scrunching in discomfort. She pulled her fingers from Tony’s grasp to claw at the oxygen mask on her face, her hands fumbling as she attempted to pull off the mask.
“No! No, no, honey, keep that on; you need that, it’s helping you breathe.” Tony hurried to stop Y/n, tugging at her hands. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe.” Y/n slowly paused her struggling against Tony’s grip, and hazily glanced around at the gathered Avengers.
“Hey guys,” she strained, her voice raw from disuse. Everyone said their greetings.
“How long was I out?”
Tony sighed. “Two days,” he replied.
The room went silent for a few moments, until Steve took the initiative to have everyone leave the room to train, and Tony silently thanked him. Once all but he had left, Tony asked Y/n the question that had been consuming him for the past two days.
“Honey, why’d you hide being sick from us?”
Y/n suddenly looked very uncomfortable, and started to fiddle with her IV. Tony took her hand, but his daughter shied away from his grasp. Y/n stayed quiet and wrapped her hand around her left wrist, something both Tony and her did when they were anxious. But Tony needed to know. Deserved it, at the very least.
“Y/n, y-”
“I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“If you didn’t want to be a burden, you should’ve told someone,” Tony snapped, then realized that he did something wrong when Y/n had tears streaming down her face and whispered “I’m sorry” piteously.
“Oh honey,” Tony murmured. “No, it’s not your fault, I’m sorry, I never should’ve said that. C’mere.” Tony took his delirious daughter into his arms, careful not to disturb the IVs and oxygen mask attached to Y/n. Her arms slid around Tony and gripped the back of his shirt tightly.
The two sat there for God knows how long until Y/n’s grasp on Tony loosed, and he knew she’d fallen back asleep. He guided her onto her back, and pecked her forehead.
-
You
You were released from the medbay on two terms: one, you wouldn’t try anything, and two, you wore an oxygen mask to help you breathe. You argued that you didn’t have trouble breathing, but when they took the mask off you, you had to admit that it was much harder than usual. So you were given a portable tank of oxygen attached to a mask, and were supposed to wear it at all times unless you were eating, drinking, taking meds, or going to the bathroom.
You were moved from the somewhat uncomfortable hospital bed to the couch in the common area, and you knew you’d be there for at least the next couple days, probably more. Knowing the Avengers, someone would be by your side at all times, making sure you were comfortable and fed and given your meds.
As soon as Steve set you down on the couch, you were out like a light. Not exactly a cause for concern, but it was unlike you.
Tony
Tony pressed a hand to Y/n’s head, feeling the feverish temperature beneath his fingers. He’d been against her being released from the medbay, but Bruce said there wasn’t much they could do besides keep Y/n on an IV and an oxygen mask, both of which she could do in the common area. She would take some pills instead of the meds being administered through a tube, and the oxygen mask was there to help her breathe. Y/n would be more comfortable in the common area anyways, and the Avengers would be able to keep a close eye on her.
Tony fetched a washcloth from beneath the sink and dampened it, then placed it on his daughter’s head. He didn’t want to wake her, but knew he had to get Y/n’s fever down. The last time anyone had checked what her temperature was, it was 102.9, and the fever reducers she was taking didn’t seem to be working.
In Y/n’s feverish sleep, Tony heard her groan, and he winced in sympathy. She didn’t deserve to be so sick. No one did.
About 15 minutes later, Tony had a pot of soup on the stove and was called by Pepper to an emergency meeting. He tried his hardest to get out of it, but Pepper was firm, though sympathetic. Tony grumbled something under his breath and turned down the heat on the stove.
“Fri?”
“Yes, boss?”
“Get Rogers down here, would you? Tell him where I’m going and that he needs to wake Y/n up and have her eat and take her meds.”
“Of course.”
You
“Y/n?” Someone called. It was distant. Too distant for you to care.
“Y/n?”
You groaned and opened your eyes reluctantly. You expected your father to be standing in front of you, but instead it was Steve, holding a bowl of what you suspected to be soup.
“Wha‘?” You said, your voice sounding like sandpaper against rocks, made even worse by the oxygen mask muffling your words.
“You gotta eat,” Steve said.
You covered your head with your blanket. “‘M not hungry.”
“I wasn’t asking.” You heard the bowl being set down on the table and you were gently being forced into a sitting position, the blanket and damp washcloth on your head falling off. The motion made you slightly dizzy, and you squeezed your eyes shut, groaning softly.
When the nausea went away, you pried open your eyes and saw Steve holding the bowl of soup patiently in his lap. He turned off the tank giving you oxygen, and slipped the mask off your head. He went to spoon-feed you, but you reached for the bowl, arguing that you weren’t completely helpless. But Steve insisted and you didn’t have enough spare energy to continue arguing with the captain.
Soon the bowl of soup was gone, your cheeks burning from embarrassment and not just the raging fever. You hated being babied or coddled. It was a show of vulnerability and weakness and you hated feeling that way. Self-reliance was a Stark trait, and having that taken away from you was loathsome. You knew the Avengers were just worried and they wanted to make sure you’d get better, but you couldn’t help feeling like a burden.
You snuggled back into the nest of blankets you’d created as Steve put the bowl into the sink. Even being awake for a maximum of ten minutes was exhausting.
Too soon, Steve was waking you back up.
“Kid, you gotta take your meds before you go back to sleep, okay?” he said. You gave the smallest of nods and weakly pushed yourself up, taking the pills from Steve’s hand and dry swallowing them. Steve handed you a glass of water, and you gladly downed the entire thing. The action left you quietly gasping for air, and Steve quickly slid the mask over your head. You thanked him quietly, and gratefully went back to sleep without Steve waking you up.
-
Tony
“How she doing?” Tony asked Steve quietly. The meeting wasn’t of much importance but the CEO of some random company was throwing a hissy fit and demanded to speak to Tony. Pepper had done her best, but eventually Tony had to come, and he’d shut the situation down as quickly as possible. Finally, everything was sorted out, and Tony was back to his daughter.
Steve sighed. “She’s doin’ okay. Said she wasn’t hungry but basically downed the bowl of soup. Tony, I’m worried. She can barely breathe without the mask, and she still feels hot.”
Tony wordlessly glanced over at his sick teen, who was shivering despite the mountain of blankets overtop of her.
“But,” Steve said, the ghost of a smile on his face. “If pre-serum me could get through multiple cases of pneumonia in the forties, Y/n can get through this now. I know it.” Steve patted Tony on the shoulder and left, saying that he was going to take a shower. Tony nodded, and made his way over to the couch where his daughter laid. He sat himself down on a chair, and pulled out a StarkPad, intending to work until Y/n woke up. Though Tony suspected that would be a while.
-
A Couple Days Later
Y/n had been gradually getting better over the past couple of days. The Oxygen mask was no longer needed, much to Y/n’s relief. Her fever had gone down, though it hadn’t disappeared completely
Tony had been awoken by FRIDAY calling his name, alerting him to something. When he heard Y/n crying, he immediately set aside the StarkPad and rushed to her side.
“Y/n?” he called, shaking her shoulder. She stirred and opened her eyes, delirium firmly set in her dilated pupils. She seemed relieved upon seeing Tony, and pulled him into an embrace.
“Dad,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” Tony said, somewhat confused. “Are you okay, what happened?”
Y/n pulled away, hands shaking. “I-I had a nightmare from Afghanistan. You-you were gone, and Peter was gone too. An-and then the wormhole opened up in the sky and I-I saw you falling and B-Banner didn’t catch you, a-and-”
Y/n continued explaining her dream, the details of which horrified Tony.
When she was done, Tony wiped the tears from her eyes and placed a kiss on her head. “You okay?”
Y/n nodded her head and closed her eyes without a word.
“Y/n? You still with me?”
“Mmhmm,” she answered drowsily. She rubbed her eyes in an attempt to stay awake.
Tony glanced at the time: 7:28. “How ‘bout we get you some dinner?” he said.
Y/n grimaced and opened one eye. “Please no more broth. Do we have any leftover burgers from the other night?”
“No,” Tony said. That night had been longer ago than Y/n thought. About two weeks longer. “And if you think you can hold down something thicker than broth, we can try, but we’re taking this slow. Deal?”
“Deal,” Y/n said, relieved. “Just no more broth.”
Tony let out a small chuckle, and got up from the couch. “You want me to put something on while I go make our dinner?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Any preferences?”
“The first Pirates of the Caribbean.”
“Didn’t you watch that earlier with Nat?”
“No, we watched the third one.”
“Fair enough.”
Tony put on the movie, then walked to the kitchen to put the egg-drop soup on the stove. He’d lessen the amount of broth used, but it was a part of the dish. Hopefully Y/n would disregard the broken promise and just eat the soup.
While the food was on the stove, Tony brought a glass of water over to Y/n, who was thankfully still awake. Her bloodshot eyes were trained on the TV, barely glancing over at Tony as he set the water down, though he heard a small thank-you.
“I want that entire glass empty by the time your food’s done, okay?” Tony said. You nodded your head, and Tony ruffled your hair before going back to the kitchen.
As he finished making the soup, Tony occasionally glanced back at his daughter. The water in the glass slowly seemed to dissipate, and Y/n didn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing. A couple coughs here and there, but nothing Tony was excessively worried about.
Once the soup was done, Tony poured two bowls worth and brought them over to the couch. Y/n glanced up from the TV. “Is that broth?” she asked skeptically.
“Maybe. But now there’s stuff in the broth. That sound better?” Tony heard Y/n grumble “Yeah, I guess” before taking her bowl from Tony’s hands. He sat down next to Y/n, of whom snuggled into Tony’s side contentedly.
“You good kiddo?”
“Yeah. I’m good.”