December Sniffles
As much as Peter loved Christmas, and basically the whole month of December, there was still one very important downfall to it all.
Which, of course, was the temperature. As it dropped and rose over the days leading up the Christmas, Peter was always knocked off his feet in December, without fail.
He had a terrible immune system. His mother used to say if was because he was born early. He’d always had health issues, year-round, and the time around Christmas wasn’t any different unfortunately. Each and every winter, usually right before or over Christmas, Peter would fall ill with the flu or a rather terrible cold that kept him bed ridden.
It sucked.
What didn’t help with this, was the fresh snowfall they’d had the day before. That awesome kind of snow that was just about slush and perfect for snowballs and snowmen building. So, he returned home late that evening, soaking wet but smiling brightly. His hands had been pale and prune-y after being in his soppy wet gloves for the afternoon.
The fact that Pepper had dragged Peter into the penthouse by his jacket sleeve, forcing him to strip out of his soaking snow clothes, then proceeded to wrap him in blankets and settle him in front of the fireplace to warm up.
He’d stared exasperated at Tony who was fighting a smile off his own face, slumped back into the couch and not bothering to help Peter. Morgan was in Tony’s lap, watching, but also not saying anything. In fact, the little traitor giggled at him as Pepper fussed over him.
Despite Pepper warming him up, and keeping him bundled all evening, he was still struck with a cold.
That next morning, Peter woke with a wheeze, finding it difficult to get air in his lungs. He coughed himself up into a sitting position, having been dragged from his sleep by a pesky cough that was suddenly there.
The room around him was hot, but he himself was incredibly cold, even under his covers. His face was burning, but his feet nearly icicles.
In the next few minutes as Peter attempted to prepare himself for the day, his bedroom door was pulled open. Pepper and Tony liked to wake him up themselves, which he didn’t mind. It was better than being startled out of his sleep by the ringing of an alarm clock.
“Mornin’ Pete, breakfast is ready.” It was Tony. Peter turned his head to look at the billionaire, groaning again before flopping backwards and pulling the cover over his head. He wasn’t a morning person, for sure, but he also usually wasn’t this bad.
The man at his door snorted, rapping his knuckles against the doorframe before speaking again, “five minutes, bud.” And then he left to get Morgan.
Peter rolled from his bed, feeling a bit dizzy as he pulled on a pair of sucks to try and warm up his poor frozen toes. It didn’t help much. He coughed into the crook of his elbow and finally stood up. The house was cold, freezing if you asked Peter. His arms wrapped around himself to try and contain his heat, but shivers shook his body anyways.
He could already hear Tony talking away to Morgan in the kitchen. When Peter entered the room, Morgan was perched on Tony’s hip as the billionaire stirred a pot that looked like it contained oatmeal.
Peter collapsed at the table with a sigh, casually brushing his nose against his sleeve. His head was pounding, and he was freezing, but at the same time his face felt like it was on fire.
The teenager barely noticed as Tony slipped Morgan into her highchair. Then, a bowl of oatmeal was set down in front of him. One similar, but smaller and in a plastic bowl was set in front of Morgan, who happily dug into her breakfast.
Peter glared down at his meal over his nose. He liked oatmeal, but he was not hungry. The toppings Tony had put on it melted into the oats below, but Peter didn’t bother touching it. Tony sat across from Peter at the table, his own bowl in front of himself.
“What’s up with you?” Tony asked slowly, as he looked from Morgan, oatmeal smeared across her face, to the spoon untouched beside Peter’s bowl of equally untouched oatmeal.
“Not hungry,” Peter shrugged, pushing the bowl back and crossing his arms on the table. He let his cheek fall onto his forearms and huffed, sniffling quietly.
Tony went to speak, but Peter interrupted him with a hard cough, the teen just barely managing to contain it in his sleeves. It was painful, his lungs tensed as another bout of coughing shook Peter’s body.
The billionaire winced at the teen, then stood to move around the table to where Peter was sitting slouched over. Peter blinked blearily at him, as the man’s hand settled across his forehead. Tony brushed Peter’s hair back, frowning to himself.
“Back up to bed,” he insisted, “why didn’t you mention you were sick when I woke you up?”
Peter shrugged again lifting his head lowly to halfheartedly mutter, “I’ve got school.”
“Not today, you don’t.” Tony declared, trailing his fingers through Peter’s hair, “and depending on how you feel throughout the day and tonight, probably not tomorrow either, Kiddo. I’ll call the school. There’s no way you’re leaving the house with that fever, Bud.”
Normally, Peter would be trying to pass himself off as fine. Telling the man that he was okay, and that he could go to school, but the teen knew, even if he could convince Tony to let him go, that his first period teacher would just send him right to the nurse's office to get his guardian to come pick him up.
That would be a waste of everyone’s time. Plus, he really wanted to just curl up in his bed right now.
Peter coughed again as he stood. He dragged his feet back up into his room, stopping by a linen closet to grab another warm blanket since he was freezing. He collapsed in his bed, barely managing to get the second blanket over his torso before shivering.
He was alone for a bit, knowing Tony was finishing breakfast and probably getting Morgan settled somewhere. Peter didn’t want to get her sick before Christmas.
When Tony did finally enter the room, he had the thermometer in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other. He frowned at Peter’s shivering frame. The teen’s cheeks were flushed, a strange comparison to the rest of his overly pale face. “Open.”
With a hazy glance at the billionaire, he opened his mouth and the man slipped the thermometer in. Peter put it under his tongue and waited, eyes following Tony as he moved.
“I called the school, I know you wanted to go, but I pulled you out for today and most likely tomorrow as well. I also called Pepper, and she said she hopes you feel better and that she’ll be home by lunch,” the billionaire talked as he unfolded the second blanket Peter had gotten and laid it out across the boy. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, pushing Peter’s hair back as he waited for the thermometer to beep.
“Just about one-hundred and one degree,” Tony informed as he pulled the plastic from Peter’s mouth. The boy coughed with the loss, sniffling miserably. “Maybe the second blanket should come off?”
“But’m cold,” Peter frowned. Tony petted Peter’s hair back some more, deep in thought.
“Okay, okay,” he relented as Peter leaned into his touch, “but if that fever goes up any more, it’s off.”
“Deal,” the teenager agreed, shutting his eyes.
“Anything else we should be worried about? Throat, head?”
“Head hurts, throats sore...” Peter coughed, then tried inhaling through his nose, which made a gross noise.
“Cough and congested?” the billionaire gave Peter a small smile. The boy nodded, squeezing his eyes shut again. “Okay, I’ll go get you some Tylenol and tissues. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to eat?”
Peter shook his head, voicing a hoarse ‘no’.
When Tony came back, he had a bottle of Gatorade, tissues and a bottle of Tylenol.
“Gotta keep you hydrated. Pepper said the electrolytes would help,” Tony informed, handing the bottle to Peter. He shook two pills from the bottle and handed those to Peter as well. “You’re off scot-free for breakfast, but you are going to eat some lunch. Pepper said so.”
“Okay,” Peter whispered after swallowing the pills with a sip of Gatorade. It hurt to swallow.
“Try and get some sleep, okay, Bud?” Tony gave Peter a smile, the boy was already half asleep, “hollar if you need me.”
“Mhm.”
----
Peter woke up again to someone petting his hair back. He leaned unconsciously into the touch. His first thought was that it was Tony checking on him, but that wasn’t Tony’s voice.
“Are you waking up?” Pepper’s soft voice questioned; she didn’t stop carding her fingers through his hair. Peter blinked his eyes open, then closed again. Everything was hazy still, and now his throat was hurting more. He coughed, trying not to cough on Pepper.
“You’re’ome,” Peter whispered hoarsely, nuzzling his face towards her.
“I am, baby,” Pepper agreed, “I made you some soup for lunch, if you’re hungry?”
After a second’s thought, Peter nodded lightly. He wasn’t hungry, but he promised Tony he’d eat lunch. “’S time is it?”
“A little after one,” Pepper carded her fingers one last time before standing up. “Come down when you’re ready, and wear those slippers you have but never wear.” Pepper pressed a kiss to his forehead, frowning before leaving the room.
Peter stumbled shakily to his feet, coughing again and pulling the second blanket over his shoulders and wrapping up in the fuzzy texture. He slipped the slippers on, snorting to himself. He did never wear them, but his feet were really cold. Next, Peter blew his nose so he didn’t sound disgusting at the table.
Morgan, Tony and Pepper were all at the table when he shuffled his way in. There was a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of everyone. Morgan’s was more noodles, chicken and vegetables than broth though. Peter’s was mostly just the chicken broth, and Pepper and Tony both had normal bowls of soup.
“How’re ya feelin, kiddo?”
“Gross,” Peter huffed, sitting in front of his soup. He picked up the spoon, letting his head fall into his cupped hand which was being supported by an elbow on the table. Peter coughed a couple times while at the table, muffling every one into the blanket over his shoulders or sometimes into the bend of his arm.
The soup tasted good, not that he could really taste anything, but he was sure it was delicious. Despite that fact, he really wasn’t hungry. He ate only a couple bites; some of the chicken, one or two of vegetables and a bit of the broth before he was pushing this meal away as well.
It had felt kind of nice on his throat, but he really wasn’t hungry.
He avoided even looking in Morgan’s direction, as though germs could magically be transferred via eye contact.
“’etey otay?” Morgan’s small voice asked. He glanced over at her, to see her looking at him worriedly. Or, as worried as a two-year-old could look anyways. He managed a small smile, despite not being in much of a smiling mood.
“’member, Squirt? Petey’s sick. That’s why he went for a really long nap today.” Tony reminded, “he‘s okay though, right, Petey?”
“Yeah,” Peter sniffled, “I’m okay, Momo.” Morgan didn’t look convinced, but she returned to more or less smashing her noodles into the bowl with her spoon.
Peter swallowed a sip of water from the glass beside his bowl, then looked back at Pepper and Tony. Peter stared at his bowl, biting his lip.
“Do you wanna head back to your room, or hang out here?” Pepper asked him quietly. By the looks of it, everyone was finished eating, so Peter didn’t feel bad about leaving the table.
“I don’t want Morgan to get sick,” Peter answered, glancing at the toddler.
“It’s Morgan’s naptime,” Tony told Peter, reaching over to brush a noodle clinging to Morgan’s cheek away.
Peter thought that information over for a second before deciding, “couch.”
“Good choice,” Tony grinned. “C’mon, let’s you ‘an me head into the living room. We can watch a movie or something.”
Peter stood to follow behind him, as Pepper took Morgan from her highchair to clean up and to be put down for an afternoon nap. Peter flopped onto the couch tiredly when he was close enough, drawing his legs up to his chest and muffling a couple hard coughs into the fabric of his pajama pants that was covering his knees. Tony patted his back through the coughing fit, and it kind of helped.
Tony helped Peter cover himself in the blanket, then disappeared, only to resurface with Peter’s bottle of Gatorade from his room. It wasn’t until Tony plopped down beside Peter and pulled him into his side that Peter noticed the second bottle in his hands.
“We’ve got some cold and flu medicine, if you want that. It might make you sleepy though,” Tony explained as he examined the bottle. Peter shrugged, coughing once again, then groaning.
Tony measured a cap full for Peter, and Peter shot the horrible syrup back. He scowled as he handed the cap back. Cough syrup was disgusting.
“Gross, I know, but it does help, Bub.”
With the cough medicine settling, Peter curled into Tony’s side as the billionaire started one of the Star Wars films. Peter was so out of it that he couldn’t even tell which one it was. The teen slowly let his eyes fall shut, not falling asleep, just sitting contently in the warmth of everything as the cold medicine finally quieted his symptoms.
Tony’s arm was across his shoulders, holding him close to his own body. The man’s hand was settled on Peter's shoulder, and his thumb was rubbing lightly back and forth over the fuzzy blanket Peter was curled in.
Peter didn’t blink his eyes open until a cool hand flattened on his forehead. He blinked his eyes open to see Pepper, frowning lightly once more.
“I brought you some tea, baby. It’s got honey in it, so it’ll feel nice on your throat,” Pepper gave him a little smile as she held the mug out. It took Peter a second to wrestle his cold hands from the restraints of the blanket, but when he did, the warmth of the mug instantly warmed him. “Your fever hasn’t broken yet, so school tomorrow isn’t looking good.”
“’s okay,” Peter rasped, sipping the tea and letting his cheek fall to Tony’s side.
“Poor boy,” Pepper sympathized, running her fingers through his hair before sitting down beside Peter and pulling his feet into her lap so he was basically laying on both of them. Peter finished up his tea, it doing wonders on his throat.
His eyes slipped closed, and he was content to just sleep in the safety of the room.