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Peter had babysat Morgan plenty of times before, so when Mr. Stark asked him to watch her for a weekend, he had no problem agreeing. He was going to a conference on the other side of the country and didn’t want to subject anyone to Morgan hanging on him all weekend. Peter had an early release on Thursday, and no school on Friday for a holiday, so it was a perfect weekend for Tony to attend the whole conference he was going to.
It wasn't exactly the relaxing long weekend Peter had originally imagined for himself, but he couldn't think of a better way to spend it.
Besides, babysitting Morgan hardly felt like work anymore.
The first few times Tony had asked him to watch her, Peter had been terrified. He'd spent the entire day convinced he was somehow going to lose the billionaire's daughter despite being inside one of the safest buildings in the world. He'd texted Tony every hour with updates and questions ranging from How much ketchup is too much ketchup? to Is it normal that she's trying to teach Dum-E ballet?
Tony had laughed himself breathless reading the messages afterward.
Now, nearly a year later, Peter knew Morgan almost as well as Tony did.
He knew she refused to wear socks unless someone reminded her that superheroes wore them too. He knew she always wanted bedtime stories read with different voices, and that she'd interrupt halfway through to correct him if he forgot one. He knew grilled cheese had to be cut into little squares, not triangles, because triangles were "too pokey."
Most importantly, he knew that if she smiled at him with those big brown eyes and asked for "just one more" anything, she absolutely did not mean one.
Peter had gotten much better at saying no.
...Usually.
Peter got to the tower as soon as school was over, excited to hang out with Morgan. He had a soft spot for the almost six year old.
His backpack bounced lightly against his shoulders as he stepped into the elevator, still dressed in his Midtown sweatshirt and jeans. He'd stopped by May's apartment long enough to grab a change of clothes and let her know where he'd be for the weekend before catching the subway across the city.
The ride up to the penthouse felt familiar now.
The elevator chimed, the doors slid open, and almost immediately he heard the unmistakable sound of Morgan laughing from somewhere deeper inside the apartment.
A smile tugged at his lips before he even saw her.
Tony and Pepper were packed and practically out the door by the time Peter arrived. Tony gave Morgan a kiss on the forehead, “Bye baby, be good for Peter.”
Morgan barely spared him a glance, completely engrossed in the colorful fish swimming across the enormous television.
“Daddy,” she sighed dramatically. “I'm watching my movie.”
Tony looked personally offended. “I see how it is.”
Pepper hid a smile behind her hand as she adjusted the strap of her overnight bag.
He turned to Peter, “My credit card is on the counter if you guys want to order food and the fridge is stocked. She’s been sleepy this afternoon, I think she played too hard at school, so she should be easy at least for tonight,” the man chuckled.
“She fell asleep in the car on the way home,” Pepper added. “Which never happens.”
Tony nodded. “She insisted she wasn't tired, then passed out before we got out of the garage.”
“Was not,” Morgan called from the couch without turning around.
“You were snoring.”
“I don't snore.” She giggled.
“You absolutely snore.” Pepper laughed quietly.
Peter smiled and glanced at Morgan who was watching a movie on the couch. Mr. Stark continued, “I’m only a call away. Well…I’ll be pretty far, but still. Call me for anything. I mean it Pete.”
Peter recognized the tone immediately. It wasn't that Tony doubted him. If anything, it was the opposite.
Tony trusted him enough to leave Morgan in his care for three nights. That wasn't something Peter took lightly. He knew Tony could have asked Rhodey, Happy, Pepper's parents, or any number of people.
Instead, he'd asked Peter. That trust still amazed him. “I’ve watched her before Mr. Stark, don’t worry. We’re gonna have a great time, right Morgan?”
Morgan turned and looked at him over the couch, “Yeah! Go away Daddy. I want to hang out with Petey.”
She jumped up then and pushed at Tony’s legs, “Leave Daddy.”
Tony exaggerated the force, stumbling backward several dramatic steps. “Oh no. I've been overpowered.”
Morgan giggled.
Tony chuckled and threw his hands up, “Alright, I’m leaving. Jeez kid.”
He crouched just long enough for Morgan to throw her arms around his neck in a quick hug. “Love you too, bug.”
Peter couldn't help smiling. Watching Tony with Morgan never got old. For all the genius, sarcasm, and larger-than-life personality the rest of the world knew, moments like these reminded Peter that Tony was just...Dad.
Tony pulled Peter into a hug, “See ya in a few days kid.”
Peter hugged him back automatically. “Have fun at the conference.”
Tony groaned. “I assure you, absolutely nothing about a three-day engineering conference will be fun.”
Peter laughed. Pepper stepped over and gave Peter's shoulder a grateful squeeze. “Thank you again.”
“Seriously,” Tony added. “Anything you guys need.”
“We'll survive.”
Tony pointed at Morgan. “She'll convince you otherwise, but she does, in fact, have to eat vegetables.”
“I heard that!” Morgan turned.
“You were supposed to.” Pepper rolled her eyes affectionately. “Come on, Tony.”
Morgan resumed pushing at his legs. “Go!”
Tony finally surrendered. “I'm going.”
He paused one last time at the door, giving Peter a look that said thank you without actually saying it. Peter nodded back. He understood.
Pepper wished them a good weekend and then it was just Peter and Morgan. He settled onto the couch next to her. “Hey Morg, what are we watching?”
“Nemo.” She answered, “I like the turtle guy.”
“Crush?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “He says 'duuude.'”
Peter grinned. “He does.”
“And he swims upside down.”
“I don't think that's intentional.”
“It is.” She sounded completely certain. Peter wasn't about to argue with six-year-old logic. Instead, he leaned back into the couch cushions, letting himself relax for the first time all week. The apartment was quiet except for the movie and the occasional traffic noise drifting up from the streets below.
It felt...comfortable. Safe. Like home, in a strange sort of way.
He smiled, “What do you feel like for dinner? And don’t say juice pops.”
She narrowed her eyes at him in obvious concentration. “I'm gonna tell Daddy.”
“You absolutely can.”
“And he'll say I can have juice pops.” She told him.
“He absolutely will not.” Peter snorted. “Good try though.”
Morgan crossed her arms with an exaggerated huff before answering. “Peterrrr. Juice pops are healthy, they are juice.”
Peter tilted his head thoughtfully. “I'm gonna have to disagree with your scientific findings.”
“They're fruit. So they're healthy.”
“They're frozen sugar pretending to be fruit.”
“They're still juice.” She pointed out.
“I admire your commitment to this.”
Morgan grinned, clearly pleased she'd gotten him to play along. He smiled, “How about grilled cheese and tomato soup? And you can have a juice pop for dessert if you finish your whole dinner.”
She considered it far more seriously than the decision probably deserved. “...Two juice pops?”
“One.”
“One and a half?”
“How exactly do you eat half a juice pop?”
“I bite it.”
Peter laughed. “Absolutely not.”
She sighed dramatically, the picture of injustice. “Fine.”
Then she brightened immediately. “Deal. You make it. And I’ll watch my movie, you don’t know what’s happening anyway.”
Peter looked at the television where Marlin was frantically swimming through the ocean. “I've seen Finding Nemo before, you know.”
She glared at him with her big eyes and he chuckled, “As you wish your highness.”
She gave an approving nod.
Peter shook his head as he headed toward the kitchen.
The Stark kitchen was almost comically oversized, with gleaming marble countertops and enough high-end appliances to feed a restaurant. The first few times he'd cooked here he'd been terrified of breaking something that probably cost more than May's apartment.
Now, he moved around almost automatically. Bread was in the pantry. Butter in the second drawer of the refrigerator. Cheese in the deli drawer. Soup in the cabinet beside the stove.
He pulled a saucepan from the cabinet and poured the tomato soup inside before setting it over low heat. While it warmed, he buttered slices of bread and layered cheese between them before placing the sandwiches into a skillet.
The quiet sizzle filled the kitchen. From the living room, Morgan happily narrated the movie to herself.
“Petey!” she called suddenly.
“What?”
“Dory forgot.”
“She's silly.”
A pause. “I like her.”
He flipped the grilled cheese, smiling when the bread had turned the perfect golden brown.
The smell quickly filled the apartment, warm and comforting.
School had been exhausting lately. Patrols had been busier than usual. He'd been looking forward to having a couple days where nobody needed Spider-Man.
Just Peter. Just hanging out with Morgan.
As the soup finished heating, he grabbed Morgan's favorite bowl from the cabinet, the little blue one with cartoon stars around the rim, and cut her sandwich into neat little cubes.
He carried both bowls to the dining table before poking his head into the living room. “Dinner's ready.”
She paused the movie with exaggerated care before hopping off the couch. As she walked toward the kitchen, Peter noticed she rubbed one eye with the heel of her hand.
“You alright?” he asked casually.
She nodded immediately. “Uh-huh.”
She yawned halfway through the word.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Tired?”
“Sleepy.”
He remembered what Tony had said. She'd apparently worn herself out at school. That wasn't exactly unusual. Kindergarten seemed to require an impossible amount of energy.
He didn't think much of it as she climbed into her chair, though he did notice she leaned her elbows on the table instead of bouncing excitedly in her seat the way she normally did.
She ate only a few bites before she said she was done. Peter looked at her pointedly, “Morgan, come on. You need to eat more than that.”
She whined, “I don’t wanna.”
There wasn't much force behind the complaint.
Usually Morgan argued like it was an Olympic sport. This sounded tired.
He sighed, “If you don’t finish your dinner you can’t have a juice pop.”
Normally that sentence would have been enough to spark negotiations.
“I don’t care. I don’t want it anymore, I’m not hungry.” She pouted.
Peter's eyebrows knit together almost immediately.
Morgan always cared about juice pops. Always. He glanced at her plate again before looking back up at her face. She'd gone a little pink around the cheeks, though he couldn't tell if it was from sitting over the warm bowl of soup. “You feeling okay squirt?”
She pushed the cubed pieces of grilled cheese around on her plate, “I’m tired.”
She rubbed both eyes this time, blinking slowly afterward. Peter's concern deepened.
He glanced toward the microwave clock. Seven o'clock. That couldn't be right. Morgan usually had enough energy at this hour to convince him to build blanket forts or stage elaborate tea parties involving at least six stuffed animals and Dum-E.
Peter felt a little knot of worry settle in his stomach. Extra sleep certainly couldn't hurt. “Alright, how about an early bed time then?”
He expected her to protest. Instead, Morgan climbed down from her chair without another word.
Peter blinked. “...Really?”
She nodded. Peter quickly cleared the dishes into the sink. “You go pick pajamas,” he called.
Kids got exhausted. Kids also caught every bug imaginable during the school year. Nothing to panic about.
He joined her in the bathroom a moment later. She was already sitting patiently on the closed toilet lid.
He started the bath, checking the water temperature the way Pepper had shown him months ago.
Usually bath time involved endless splashing and enough bubbles to flood half the bathroom.
Tonight she simply subdued.
She leaned back against the warm water with a content little sigh.
Peter smiled. “Feeling better?”
“Mhm.”
He poured shampoo into his hand before gently working it through her hair.
When she yawned for what had to be the tenth time that evening, he couldn't help smiling. “I think somebody's running out of batteries.”
“I'm at…” She paused, thinking very hard. “...One percent.”
He laughed. “That's dangerously low.”
She nodded solemnly. “I need charger.”
“Pretty sure beds are kid chargers.”
He helped her stand, wrapping a fluffy towel around her shoulders as she stepped out of the tub. She leaned into him while he dried her hair.
She was warm. Not alarmingly so. Just...warm.
Maybe from the bath. He didn't think much of it.
He was quiet as he got her teeth brushed and pajamas on after that. He read her a story and before he knew it she was passed out. He smiled and got up from her bed quietly, closing the door behind him.
He knocked out a couple assignments at the table and cleaned up from dinner before retiring to his own bedroom for the night.
He changed into an old Stark Industries T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, plugged in his phone, and collapsed onto the mattress.
His body welcomed the chance to rest.
His sleep was short lived when he was woken up from small fingers poking his arm. He was up immediately. Morgan’s voice was small and shaky as she spoke, “Peter, I threw up.”
He was fully awake in an instant. The room was dark except for the faint light spilling in from the hallway, and Morgan stood beside his bed clutching Bunny tightly to her chest. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her pajamas and hair were covered in vomit.
Peter’s heart sank. He was out of bed quickly when she started crying, “Aw hey, it’s alright. You’re sick, it happens.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, burying her face against his shoulder as soon as he wrapped his arms around her. “I made a mess.”
“You don't have anything to be sorry for,” he soothed, rubbing slow circles across her back. “Beds can be cleaned. It’s all good.”
He picked her up in his arms despite the child being covered in throw up. She clung to his neck without protest, her body limp against his shoulder.
He set her up in the bathroom attached to her bedroom and peeled the soiled clothes from her before sticking her in the shower for a quick rinse. “Gonna get you cleaned up and then back to bed, okay?”
She nodded, lip quivering. “I threw up in my bed too.”
He gently rinsed the vomit from her hair, adjusting the water so it stayed warm. “That’s alright, you can sleep in my bed, okay?”
She gave a tiny nod, looking utterly miserable. He pulled her out, put her in fresh pajamas, and tied her hair up…just in case. “How are you feeling now? Does your stomach still hurt?”
“Tummy feels icky. My body says it’s tired.” She whispered.
Peter brushed the back of his hand across her forehead. She definitely felt warmer than she had at bedtime. Not burning up, but warm enough to make him worry.
He put a hand on her head, she felt warm. He carried her back to his room and set her on his bed, pulling a trash can over. “If you have to throw up again, try to throw up in here. Just try, it’s okay if it doesn’t work.”
Morgan nodded, staring at the trash can before looking back at him.
“Can you scratch my back?” She asked.
“Of course, I’m just gonna go clean up a little and I’ll be right back,” he promised, gently squeezing her hand. “Close your eyes in the meantime.”
He shut the door behind him and walked towards Morgan’s room again. He stripped the bed quickly, bundling the blankets and pajamas into a pile before carrying everything out into the hallway.
“Hey FRIDAY, can you get a temp on Morgan?”
“Certainly, Peter. Morgan has a temperature of 100.3 degrees. Her symptoms indicate a mild flu. Records show four students in her class went home with the flu this past week.”
Peter let out a quiet sigh of relief. The flu wasn't fun, especially for a little kid, but at least it explained why she'd gone downhill so quickly. “Wonderful,” he muttered.
He grabbed fresh sheets from the linen closet and remade Morgan's bed as quickly as he could before gathering the dirty laundry into his arms. As he walked toward the laundry room, he pulled out his phone and dialed Tony, putting it on speaker. It was past one in the morning here, but only a little after ten where Tony was.
He picked up on the second ring. “Pete? Isn't it the middle of the night there? What's wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Tony, don’t panic,” Peter said quickly. “I could've texted, I just figured you might still be awake.”
“We're only getting ready for bed now. Peter, what's wrong?”
“I just wanted to let you know that Morgan's sick. FRIDAY thinks it's the flu.” Peter started the washing machine as he spoke. “She threw up a little while ago, but she's cleaned up now. I just thought you'd want to know.”
There was a beat of silence before Tony sighed. “Oh no. I'm sorry, buddy. I can come back. Or Rhodey's in the city, I can ask–”
Peter cut him off before Tony could talk himself into booking the first flight home. “Mr. Stark, stay. I can handle a sick kid, no biggie. I wasn't asking you to come home. She's already back in bed, and I'm going to keep an eye on her all night if I have to.”
Tony hesitated. “You sure?”
“Of course, I promise.” Peter shifted the phone between his shoulder and ear as he poured detergent into the machine. “FRIDAY says it's mild. She has a fever, but it's only a hundred point three. I'll call you if anything changes.”
Another pause. Peter could practically picture Tony rubbing a hand over his face. “Still...I'm sorry, Pete. This isn't what you signed up for.”
“Thanks for taking care of her.”
Peter smiled to himself. “Always.”
“Promise you'll call if she gets worse? I don't care what time it is.”
“I swear, Mr. Stark.”
“Alright.” Peter could hear Pepper saying something quietly in the background before Tony spoke again. “Give her a hug from me...and be warned, she's grumpy when she's sick.”
Peter laughed under his breath.
After they hung up, Peter stood for a second, listening to the washing machine begin its cycle. Once he was sure everything was taken care of, he switched off the laundry room light and headed back toward his bedroom.
Morgan had fallen asleep almost immediately.
She'd somehow managed to inch across the bed until she was lying on his side, one hand still resting near the trash can as though she'd wanted to make sure she could reach it if she needed to.
He carefully climbed in beside her, making sure not to jostle the mattress too much. The movement was enough to rouse her just slightly.
Without opening her eyes, she scooted closer until she found him, wrapping both arms around his middle and pressing her forehead against his chest with a sleepy sigh.
Peter rested a hand on her back, gently scratching between her shoulder blades just like she'd asked earlier.
“It's okay,” he whispered, more to reassure her than because he thought she could hear him. “Just get some sleep.”
Within moments, her breathing evened out again.
Eventually, lulled by the steady sound of the rain beginning to patter against the windows and the comforting weight of the little girl curled against him, his own eyes drifted shut.
They were both asleep again.
He blinked against the sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows and instinctively looked down.
Morgan was still curled against him, one hand fisted in the front of his T-shirt. She looked peaceful now, the lines of discomfort from the night before gone from her face. Peter rested the back of his hand against her forehead.
Still warm. But cooler than she'd been in the middle of the night. He let out a quiet breath.
“Morning,” he whispered.
Morgan's nose scrunched before she slowly opened one eye.
“How're you feeling?”
She thought for a long moment. “My tummy doesn't hurt.”
“That's good.”
“My head feels funny.”
Peter smiled sympathetically. “Yeah? Mine too.”
It wasn't entirely a joke. There was a dull ache sitting behind his eyes, the kind that usually came from not sleeping enough. Between waking up several times to check on Morgan and spending half the night listening for the sound of her getting sick again, he doubted he'd gotten more than three or four hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Nothing a cup of hot tea couldn't fix. “You think you can eat some breakfast?”
Morgan shrugged. “Maybe toast.”
“Toast sounds perfect.” He carefully untangled himself from her grip and climbed out of bed. The headache followed him as he stood, a brief pulse of pain at his temples that faded almost as quickly as it came.
Definitely lack of sleep. He padded into the kitchen, starting the tea pot before putting two slices of bread into the toaster.
Morgan wandered in a few minutes later, Bunny dragging by one ear behind her. Normally she bounded into the kitchen demanding cartoons or pancakes. Today she quietly climbed onto one of the barstools and rested her chin on the countertop.
He set a mug on the counter with a green tea bag in it before pouring her a small glass of water. “Doctor Peter's orders.”
They ate breakfast mostly in silence. Morgan managed one piece of toast and half a banana before pushing the plate away.
Peter didn't push her.
After breakfast he found the children's acetaminophen in the medicine cabinet and checked the dosing instructions twice before giving Morgan a small cup.
She made a face after swallowing it. “Gross.”
“I know.”
“Can I have juice now?”
“You can have apple juice.”
“I meant a juice pop.”
Peter smiled. He was inclined to give it to her if it would keep her hydrated. “Nice try. If you can keep your breakfast down, you can have one in a few hours.”
The morning passed quietly. Morgan wasn't throwing up anymore, but she tired easily. Her temperature stayed warm, but not any higher than it had been last night, which Peter assumed was a good sign.
They built a blanket nest in the living room instead of the elaborate forts she usually insisted on constructing. Peter spread pillows across the floor while Morgan arranged every stuffed animal she could find around them.
Finding Nemo played again in the background. Halfway through the movie, Morgan crawled into his lap without a word.
Peter wrapped an arm around her automatically. She fell asleep before the sea turtles even appeared.
The headache he'd woken with hadn't gone away. If anything, it had settled more firmly behind his forehead. He rubbed absent circles against his temple with his free hand.
Morgan shifted in her sleep, letting out a tiny sigh. Peter looked down to find her cheeks still faintly pink. He texted Tony with one hand, letting him know the rest of the night was uneventful and Morgan seemed to be okay.
When she woke nearly an hour later, she looked brighter than she had that morning. “Can we color?”
They spread crayons across the coffee table. Morgan drew an elaborate picture of Iron Man fighting what she insisted was a dinosaur pirate.
Peter contributed a remarkably lopsided Spider-Man in the corner.
She frowned at it. “Your Spider-Man looks funny.”
“I tried.”
“You should practice.” She giggled.
The sound made Peter smile despite the persistent ache in his head.
Maybe her immune system was handling this well, with the help of the medicine she had earlier. By lunchtime she even asked for soup. Peter happily heated up chicken noodle soup, relieved when she finished almost the entire bowl. “Good job, bug.”
“I'm hungry now.”
“That’s great. You can take juice pop from the freezer.”
She grinned proudly. Peter only managed a few spoonfuls of his own before setting the bowl aside. His stomach wasn't exactly upset…
Food just didn't sound particularly appealing. He blamed the headache. He poured himself another cup of tea instead.
By early afternoon, the apartment was quiet again. Morgan had curled up beside him on the couch with another movie playing. She wasn't asleep this time, but she leaned heavily against his side, her small hand absentmindedly clutching the sleeve of his hoodie.
“Are you okay?”
Peter blinked. “Me?”
“You rubbed your head.”
He hadn't even realized he'd done it. He smiled reassuringly. “I've just got a little headache.”
Morgan frowned. “Are you sick too?”
“I’m Spider-Man. Can’t get sick. I’ve got a better immune system than Uncle Steve.”
She accepted that without question, snuggling closer. Peter rested his cheek lightly against the top of her head.
He hoped he was right. It had been a long night. That was all. He just needed a good night's sleep once Morgan was feeling better.
Still, as the afternoon wore on, he found himself reaching for the bottle of ibuprofen Tony kept in the kitchen drawer.
He swallowed two tablets with a glass of water before returning to the couch.
Tony checked in on them a few hours later and was relieved to hear Morgan was doing better. “Are you okay Peter? You sound kinda tired.”
“Me? Oh I’m fine Mr. Stark. Just a little tired.”
“I’m sorry Morgan kept you up all night. Hopefully now that she’s feeling better you’ll both sleep good tonight. And hey, I know it’s Friday night and you’ll want to throw a party with the parents out of town, so Morgan knows the numbers of where to get kegs, okay?”
Peter snorted, the motion hurting his throat slightly, “Yeah, sounds great Mr. Stark.”
That night, Peter happily collapsed on his mattress and welcomed sleep.
Peter woke to the unmistakable feeling that something was wrong. For a few disorienting seconds he lay still, staring at the ceiling as his brain struggled to catch up with the rest of his body.
His head pounded, his throat burned every time he swallowed, and every muscle in his body felt stiff, as though he'd run a marathon in his sleep.
He sat up slowly, immediately regretting it when the room tilted for a second.
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes before forcing himself to stand. The digital clock read 11:12.
His eyes widened. Shit. Morgan. He left to go find the young girl.
A burst of laughter echoed from the hallway. Peter blinked. “Morgan?”
A second later the little girl barreled into the room at full speed, “Peter! You're awake!”
He caught her automatically, wincing as his head throbbed.
“Can we make pancakes?”
Peter couldn't help smiling. She looked much healthier. The dark circles beneath her eyes were gone. Her cheeks had their usual healthy color back, and she was bouncing like she'd never been sick at all.
“Sure thing. I’m sorry I slept so late.”
He rested the back of his hand against her forehead. Cool. “No fever,” he murmured.
“You feeling better?”
“I'm all better!” She threw her arms into the air.
He followed her into the kitchen at a considerably slower pace. Every step made his joints ache. By the time he reached the counter, Morgan had already pulled a mixing bowl from the cabinet. “I got it!”
“Nice job.”
He reached for the pancake mix and frowned. His hands felt strangely shaky. Probably hungry. He hadn't really eaten much yesterday.
Morgan happily chattered away while they cooked, telling him every detail she could remember about kindergarten, her teacher's new shoes, and why dinosaurs would definitely beat unicorns in a race.
Peter listened with half an ear. He felt bad for not really listening to her, but he knew she didn’t really know what she was rambling about anyway.
He was concentrating much harder than usual on not dropping the spatula. The smell of pancakes should have made him hungry. Instead, it made his stomach turn slightly.
He discreetly set the spatula down and took a slow breath.
After breakfast, Morgan wanted to play hide-and-seek. Peter considered suggesting another movie. Instead he looked at the grin on her face. She was healthy again.
He couldn't bring himself to say no. Twenty minutes later he was pretending not to notice the very obvious pair of little feet sticking out beneath the living room curtains. “Hmm…”
He exaggerated looking behind the couch. “I wonder where Morgan could be.”
A muffled giggle answered him. He smiled despite the pounding in his head. By lunchtime she wanted to build a pillow fort. Then she wanted Peter to help her braid Bunny's ears. Then they had to have a tea party because "forts need tea."
Peter kept up as best he could. But by early afternoon, every movement felt like it required conscious effort.
He found himself sitting down whenever Morgan was occupied for more than thirty seconds. When she ran off to find another stuffed animal, Peter leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes.
His skin felt strangely hot. His sweatshirt suddenly seemed too warm.
“Petey!”
He opened his eyes immediately. Morgan was standing beside the couch. “My castle's done.”
He pushed himself upright. “Lead the way.”
His legs felt heavier than they should. FRIDAY's voice interrupted them.
“Peter, Tony Stark is requesting a FaceTime call.”
Morgan gasped. “Daddy!”
She sprinted toward the tablet sitting on the kitchen counter before Peter had even answered. The screen lit up a moment later.
Tony appeared, Pepper beside him with coffee in hand. “Hey, bug!”
Morgan beamed. “I'm all better!”
Tony smiled broadly. “You definitely look better.”
“I didn't throw up today.”
“I appreciate the update.”
Morgan launched into an enthusiastic retelling of everything she'd done since breakfast. Tony listened patiently, laughing in all the right places while Pepper smiled beside him.
Peter leaned against the kitchen island, grateful Morgan was doing most of the talking. His head was absolutely killing him. Eventually Tony looked past Morgan. “Hey, Pete.”
Peter managed a tired smile, lifting his head from his hands. “Hey, Mr. Stark.”
Tony's expression shifted almost immediately. “You look awful.”
“I'm fine.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Morguna, hun, I think you gotta take it easy on Pete. He looks a little exhausted baby.”
Morgan looked at Peter, “Maybe we play doctor!”
Peter smiled, “Sure–”
Tony cut her off, “How about a movie sweetheart? I think Peter might have caught your bug. Why don’t you go pick something out while I talk to your brother.”
She happily skipped away. Tony looked back at him, “How long have you felt sick?”
“Really Mr. Stark, I’m fine. I guess I caught the flu from Morgan, but I’m perfectly capable of taking care of her.”
“Peter…are you sure? I mean, I didn’t even know you could get sick.”
“I didn’t think so either, but I guess it’s just not as common, I think Cap mentioned he got a cold once. It’ll probably be gone by the morning, just like with Morgan. You’ll be back tomorrow anyway, no biggie.”
Tony hesitated, “Maybe I should call Rhodey and have him come stay with you.”
“I’m fine Mr. Stark.”
Tony bit his lip, “Fine. But I expect you to check in every hour, understand? If you get worse, you call me immediately. Promise me Peter.”
“Promise.”
Peter finally settled onto the couch. It was only a few minutes into the movie before he was asleep.
He woke up to a buzzing in his pocket. He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. His vision swam, his head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls and his body felt like a sauna. He groaned, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was a text from Tony. He texted a quick reply and threw his phone back down.
He inhaled deeply, hoping the wave of nausea rolling through him would pass if he stayed still. It didn't.
Instead, another shiver ran through him despite the heat radiating from his skin. His sweatshirt suddenly felt unbearably heavy, sticking to the back of his neck.
He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for his head to stop spinning.
“Peter?” Morgan's small voice pulled him back, maybe it was hours later, or just a few minutes. He couldn’t tell.
He blinked, turning his head toward her. The movie was over and she was sitting cross-legged beside him, looking at him with a deep frown. “I think you’re sick.”
“I'm just…” He swallowed hard. Even that hurt. “...Really tired.”
Morgan scooted closer until she was kneeling beside him on the couch. She reached up and put the back of her little hand against his forehead exactly the way she'd seen him do to her the day before.
He barely registered her touching him. His thoughts felt sluggish, like they had to push through mud before they reached the surface. “You feel really hot.”
He frowned. “I...do?”
She nodded vigorously. “You feel hotter than I did. I think you got sicker than me.”
Peter let out a weak laugh. “I don't think that's how fevers work.”
He meant for it to sound reassuring. Morgan didn't laugh. She kept staring at him. “FRIDAY?”
“Yes, Morgan?”
“Can you see if Petey's okay?”
Peter opened his mouth to tell her it wasn't necessary. Before he could speak, FRIDAY answered. “Peter's current temperature is 103.4 degrees Fahrenheit.”
Peter's head snapped up, “...What?”
That couldn't be right. “I recommend Peter sit or lie down immediately.”
Morgan looked back at him with alarm. “Peter.”
Peter tried to push himself upright. The room lurched violently. He barely caught himself on the arm of the couch before sinking back down. His heart was pounding much faster than it should have been.
“You need medicine. I’ll take good care of you.”
“I know.” He tried to remember if he'd already taken something.
Had he? He couldn't remember. His brain refused to cooperate.
Morgan watched him struggle for several long seconds. “You look confused.”
Peter blinked.
Thinking felt impossibly difficult. His body felt like it was on fire, but he couldn’t seem to stop shivering at the same time.
Simple thoughts slipped away before he could hold onto them. He knew there was something he was supposed to do.
Medicine? Water? Call Tony?
That seemed right. He was supposed to call Tony.
Call…Tony…
Morgan climbed fully onto the couch beside him. “Are you gonna throw up?”
“No. I just…I’m just sick Morgan, it’s okay.” Peter tried to give her a reassuring smile.
She didn't smile back. “Peter, I’m scared.”
He rested a shaky hand on her hair. “I'll be okay.”
She looked unconvinced. “You should have medicine now.”
The way she said it made it seem like she had said that already, but he would’ve remembered that surely. She was right though. He needed to take something.
His eyes snapped open, Morgan was talking to him, tears in her eyes. Had he fallen asleep? What was he in the middle of doing?
He felt really bad. He should call Mr. Stark. He had told him to call if Peter felt worse, hadn’t he? Or was he imagining that?
Another wave of dizziness washed over him. This one was worse. Everything sounded muffled, like he was underwater.
His limbs felt impossibly heavy, like someone had piled blankets over every inch of him.
His eyes drifted shut for just a second more.
His eyes snapped open, Morgan was shaking him, crying.
He blinked at her, trying to make his eyes focus. “Morgan?”
Her little hands were gripping his arm tightly. “Petey, wake up.”
Everything felt fuzzy, like someone had stuffed his head full of cotton. He felt like he was dreaming.
He couldn’t seem to open his eyes again, his head fell back into the cushion.
He vaguely thought he heard Morgan calling his name again. He couldn’t keep his eyes open without feeling completely disoriented.
It all blended together until he couldn't tell what was real anymore.
Big hands were patting his cheeks, muffled voices around him. Not Morgan. He felt his face furrow in confusion. He forced his eyes open.
Bright light stabbed at his eyes. Everything looked blurry.
“...there you go buddy. Open those eyes for me.”
He knew that voice. Where did he know that voice from? He let his eyes drift closed again but someone patted his face again.
“Nope, gotta stay awake for me. I need you to open your eyes.”
Peter let out a quiet groan. Everything hurt. His head. His throat. Even breathing made his chest ache.
He made himself look at the man to his side. Rhodey. He could make out the familiar figure, but couldn’t get his eyes to concentrate more than that.
The room finally began to piece itself together around him. His stomach dropped. He whimpered as his senses started overwhelming him. He shot up suddenly, eyes wide. “Morgan!”
He was panting, heart racing. He was babysitting Morgan. He looked around but couldn’t see her. Where was she?
Had she wandered off? How long had he been asleep?
A strong hand pushed him back down, “Sam is making her a snack, don’t worry about Morgan. We need to be worried about you.”
Peter looked around the room frantically until two hands forced his wide eyes to focus straight ahead on Rhodey again. Rhodey snapped in front of him, “Peter. Hey, buddy, do you understand what I’m saying? Can you hear me?”
Rhodey was worried about him. He nodded through a burst of pain in his head, “Morgan…she’s okay.”
Rhodey sounded relieved, “Right. I need you to calm down okay?”
He let himself be pushed back down into the couch and groaned. His whole body felt like it was on fire. He was shaking. When had he started shaking? Wait. Was he shaking? Or was there an earthquake? Maybe he was dreaming. They didn’t get earthquakes in New York. Did they?
Peter wasn't sure how much time passed.
The room drifted in and out around him, never staying clear for more than a heartbeat. Every time he thought he'd managed to focus, another wave of heat crashed over him, dragging him back under.
He knew people were talking around him, but he couldn’t comprehend it.
“...yeah, 105.8…”
The number floated through the haze.
“...too high…”
“...not coming down…”
“...call him again.”
“I already did. They're on the jet.”
“How long?”
“Less than an hour.”
An hour. An hour until…
Until what?
His thoughts slipped away again.
He faintly recognized that he was choking when he heard, “...Gods, get him on his side! Now!”
Strong hands slid beneath his shoulders. A hand ran through his hair. Warmth spilled down his cheek. Was he throwing up? When was the last time he had eaten something?
“Easy, Pete.”
Rhodey. He knew Rhodey's voice.
What was Rhodey doing here?
“We're gonna move you, alright? Gotta get you cleaned up, and we need to get that temperature down.”
Peter frowned weakly. Move him? Why?
His body answered before his brain could. The moment they helped him sit upright, the room spun so violently he let out a broken whimper.
“N-no…I don’t feel good…wanna sleep.”
“I know,” Rhodey said quietly. “I know.”
Another voice came from somewhere nearby. “Bathroom's ready.”
Bathroom? He didn’t need to go to the bathroom.
Peter barely registered being lifted from the couch.
His skin burned. Even the air against his face felt too warm. By the time they reached the bathroom, Peter was shivering so hard his teeth chattered.
“...He's burning up.”
“We've got to cool him down.”
Peter heard the words but couldn't make sense of them.
Cold…yeah…he did feel cold if he thought about it.
His eyes flew open as they lowered him toward the bathtub. “No…”
His voice cracked. “No…”
“It's okay, buddy,” Rhodey said immediately.
“You've got a really high fever. We've got to bring it down.”
Peter shook his head frantically.
The cool water touched his feet.
His entire body jerked violently. “It’s too cold.”
He tried to pull away, but his limbs refused to cooperate. Or maybe the hands were just stronger. He was lowered into the tub.
Against skin that felt like it was on fire, it shocked every nerve in his body. Peter cried out. “No, please–!”
His breathing dissolved into panicked gasps. He twisted instinctively, trying to climb back out. Strong hands steadied him before he could slip.
“Pete.”
Rhodey's voice stayed calm despite Peter's growing panic. “Stay with me.”
His body shook uncontrollably now, every muscle tensing against the water.
The fever made it impossible to tell whether he was freezing or burning.
Both, he decided. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks.
“I want…”
He couldn't finish. His teeth chattered too hard. He wanted his dad, but that seemed wrong in his head. He could picture who he wanted in his head, but he couldn’t put a name to the face. He knew ‘Dad’ was incorrect but couldn’t seem to grasp why that was.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, gasping through broken sobs. “I want…”
“...my dad…”
The words came out so quietly Rhodey almost missed them. Maybe Rhodey would know who he was talking about.
For just a moment, Rhodey's face softened. “He's coming.”
Peter shook his head weakly. “Need…”
“I know bud, I know. I understand.”
Peter wasn’t sure if he did. How could Rhodey understand? Was he a mind reader? “Need...Mr. Dad…”
Rhodey rested a steady hand on the back of Peter's neck, careful to keep his voice even. “Tony's on his way.”
Peter's breathing hitched.
“He knows you're sick. We need to get your fever down or I’m gonna have to bring you to the emergency room.”
Another sob escaped him.
Peter looked at him with glassy, unfocused eyes.
“Shit. He'll be here as fast as he can, okay? Hang on.”
Peter's shoulders shook with another wave of shivering. Rhodey kept one hand firmly on his shoulder so he wouldn't slide beneath the water.
“Just keep looking at me, buddy.”
Peter tried. His vision refused to stay still. Everything blurred together until Rhodey was nothing more than a familiar silhouette.
Somewhere beyond the bathroom, he heard Morgan asking in a frightened voice, “Is Petey gonna be okay?”
Sam answered softly enough that Peter couldn't make out the words.
He looked toward the doorway for only a second before returning his attention to Peter.
“She's okay,” he assured him. “Sam's with her.”
Peter gave the tiniest nod. His eyes drifted shut again.
“Peter.”
Rhodey squeezed his shoulder.
“Nope. Stay with me.”
He couldn’t do it.
When he drifted back into consciousness he was on a bed being held tightly in someone’s arms. When he opened his eyes he recognized the man as Mr. Stark. He inhaled, even though it hurt.
The man’s eyes looked down at him, “Oh my god, Peter. Are you with us?”
Peter tried to nod, he felt tired. When he looked around, he saw Rhodey sitting in a chair looking worried. “...w-why are you sad looking…”
He wasn’t sure if his words made sense, but Rhodey wiped his eyes and chuckled softly, “I’m not sad bud. Not sad. Happy to see you’re okay. Happy to see you’re doing better.”
His head still pounded, but the crushing pressure that had been squeezing his thoughts together had eased. The violent shaking was gone too, replaced by a deep exhaustion that settled into his bones.
He became aware of a cool cloth resting across his forehead.
Tony nodded in agreement, one hand never leaving Peter's back.
Peter frowned. “Did I...made you come home?”
Tony's expression crumpled. “You think that's what I'm worried about?”
Peter swallowed, wincing at the soreness in his throat. “...Conference?”
Tony let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Pete.”
He brushed the damp hair back from Peter's forehead. “I couldn't care less about the conference.”
Peter looked unconvinced. “I'm supposed to…”
“You are supposed to get better.” Tony's voice was gentle but firm. “That is literally your only job right now.”
Peter's eyes slipped shut for a moment. “I'm sorry.”
Peter stared at him for a long moment. “I scared her.”
“You did.” Tony whispered. “You scared all of us.”
Peter frowned in confusion. “What actually happened? I feel…like…I was dreaming.”
“Morgan called me crying. She said she couldn’t make you wake up and that you were really hot. I called Rhodey and he and Sam came to check up on you. You…were really, really sick Peter. Your fever got up to 107 at one point but Rhodey was able to cool you down enough to avoid a hospital visit. You’re still sick, but we’ve got your temperature down to 102.”
A lump formed in Peter's throat.
Peter's eyes filled.
“I couldn't…” His voice cracked. “I couldn't think.”
“I know, it’s alright.”
Rhodey spoke up from across the room. “You were delirious. It was scary.”
Peter looked over at him.
Rhodey gave him a crooked smile. “You asked me if New York was having an earthquake.”
Peter blinked. “...Really?”
Tony chuckled quietly and let his chin rest on the top of Peter’s head, “Peter I’m so glad you’re okay. One of these days you’re gonna give me a head full of gray hair.”
“Is Morgan okay?” Peter whispered, voice still hoarse.
“She knows you got sick. She wanted to come see you, but we thought it wouldn’t be good for her to see you like that.”
Peter let out a slow breath. “Was it really that bad?”
“Worse,” Rhodey breathed.
“But you’re okay now.” Tony almost sounded like he was reassuring himself more than Peter.
Silence settled over the room.
Peter hadn't realized how tightly he was holding onto Tony's shirt until his fingers started to relax.
Within seconds his eyes began to drift closed again. Tony kept one arm around his shoulders while smoothing his hair back with the other.
Peter was almost asleep when he felt Tony press a gentle kiss against the top of his head. “You scared me, kid.”
Peter's eyes stayed closed. “...Sorry.”
A few moments later, Peter's breathing settled into a slow, even rhythm.
“I’ve got you.”
For the first time in hours or maybe days, Peter slept peacefully.