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It’s three in the morning and Steve jerks awake to someone tapping his arm at a rapid pace and rasping out, “Cap. Cap…Cap!” It’s dark in his room, but not pitch black and even if it were it would still be easy to figure out that Tony’s little son, Peter, is trying to wake him up.
A panic rolls down his spine at first as he goes through all the things that could be wrong, but when he gets a good look at Peter, face tired but his eyes bright and his blanket pulled around his shoulders, he relaxes just a little. Peter sometimes comes to get him these days. His nightmares persist at least four times a week, and though Tony is often his first person to call out for, sometimes Peter will call out for ‘Cap’. Other times, Peter will come looking for him when he wants a bedtime story, glass of water, or sometimes to get him breakfast but usually Steve is awake for that.
Still, it’s three in the morning, and Peter doesn’t look scared and it’s way too late for a bedtime story, glass of water, or breakfast.
It hits him shortly thereafter that Tony is also reluctantly out of the country for a business meeting in Austria. He’ll be gone for a few more days, which leaves Peter mostly in Steve’s custody with the help of the Avengers. Neither Peter nor Tony—and really not Steve, if he’s honest—had been happy about that, but Tony promised he would try to get back before the week was out.
Steve clears the sleep out of his voice. “What is it, Pete?”
Peter swallows and then grimaces. “I don’ feel good, Cap.”
He holds his blanket tighter around him, looking even smaller than he normally does and he emits a small, dry cough that makes his face screw up in pain. He calls for JARVIS to give them some light. The second the light comes on Peter groans and screws his face up further, his eyes squeezing shut and one blanket covered arm coming to shield him from the light. In the light, Steve can see that Peter looks a little pale, and he has a thin sheen of sweat over his face.
He sits up in his bed, leaning forward to test the little boy’s temperature with the back of his hand as his mother had done to him nearly every other week as a child. He’s pretty warm, not burning up thankfully, but warm enough that it would make him feel pretty miserable.
Steve stands up and when he does, Peter tilts his head away from the light but puts his arms up. Steve would say he’s getting way too used to being carried around, but he knows it’s everyone’s fault for giving into Pete’s wishes to be carried. He picks him up, helping him hide away from the light as he takes them both out of his room, because he knows his bathroom won’t have any medicine that will help Peter, thanks to the serum in his veins.
He goes to the living room and sets Pete down on the couch, keeping the lights low for him. The little boy automatically curls further into his blanket and lists over to the side until he’s lying down on the cushions, looking small and pathetic. Steve’s heart goes out to him, he remembers constantly being sick and feeling like death warmed over. This just seems to be a bit of a flu, but it’s not fun no matter how minor the sickness.
He crouches down next to Peter, running his fingers through his hair soothingly. “I’m gonna go look for some medicine for you. Tell me what all hurts?”
Peter looks up at him with a pout, rasping out, “M’head, and m’tummy, and m’throat. I feel bad all over.”
Steve nods. Definitely the flu bug that caught Peter. “Okay, little man. I’ll be right back with some pillows and a blanket. Wanna watch Cars while I hunt for medicine?”
At Peter’s muted approval Steve calls for JARVIS to pull up the movie and heads back to his room to grab a pillow and quilt. Once Peter’s makeshift bed is complete, he goes about looking for medicine…
This proves more difficult than Steve would have originally anticipated.
Medicine in the apartment consists of Tylenol, Excedrin, and Midol primarily, with a random tube of muscle rub and a half empty pack of Clint’s allergy medicine. There’s no mentholatum, not a single cough drop to be found, and any sort of syrup to help with symptoms may as well be a distant dream.
He sighs and starts going through some home remedies his mom used when they didn’t have money for medicine and she couldn’t take any from the hospital she worked at. A splash of whiskey in water with a lot of lemon warmed up for sore throats; a cool cloth on his forehead to help with fever; mineral water for upset tummies.
Not what ‘modern’ parents would probably do for their kids, but Steve will make due with what worked for his mom and him.
*
Peter does not like the whiskey-lemon concoction, not that Steve can blame him. They are really gross and he had hated them as a kid. The mineral water gets a wheezy giggle from him because the bubbles tickle his nose, but he sips at it and tells Steve that it helps a little. The cloth is not welcome in any way, shape, or form. The second Steve settles it on his head, he immediately starts whimpering and trying to throw it off of him. It takes several seconds of Steve arguing with Peter that it will help before he has to tell him firmly, “Leave it on, Peter,” which makes the little boy glare at him, but leave the cloth on his forehead.
It takes about fifteen minutes before the whiskey’s side-effect pushes through and Peter falls asleep to his movie. After a few minutes to make sure he won’t be waking up again anytime soon, Steve goes back to his room to retrieve his cell from the nightstand, pressing one on speed dial to ring Tony in Austria. The call goes to voicemail, but barely a minute later he hears the obnoxious tones of Lady Gaga coming through his speaker. He is going to have to have a talk with Clint about messing with people’s phones again.
He doesn’t even get to say ‘hello’ before Tony is saying, “Sorry, couldn’t leave the restaurant quickly enough and these investors are unlike any I’ve seen before. They actually believe in a good time.”
Steve can hear traffic over the line, a bit of wind and some other people laughing and talking in German and French. He must be outside. It makes sense that Tony would take the call outside. Steve has come to realize that Tony doesn’t usually take personal calls anywhere around his business associates, sometimes, not even around Pepper.
“What’s going on?” Tony continues. “Do we have trouble? Should I come back?”
Steve shakes his head with a small grin. “No, Tony. Everything’s okay. I was just calling to let you know that Peter caught the flu.” There’s a pause on the other end. “You do remember what the flu is, right?”
“Of course, I remember what the flu is, Steve!” Tony snaps and Steve can’t stop from smiling at how flustered he sounds. It’s few times that Steve can make the other man sound like that and these days they all have to do with his son. “How bad is it?”
Steve returns to the living room to sit on the couch at Peter’s feet, tucking the blanket snuggly around his legs. The rag has fallen off his forehead, so Steve moves his hand to feel the skin, still warm, maybe a little warmer than before, but it still doesn’t cause panic to well in Steve’s chest yet.
“He’s got a mild fever and a sore throat. When he woke me up he had a headache and his tummy hurt,” he tells Tony quietly so as not to wake Pete up. “He fell back asleep about twenty minutes ago. It’s really not too bad, but I’ll keep monitoring him just in case.”
Tony doesn’t hesitate. “Should I stop and get something on my way home?”
Steve feels he should have seen this coming. Tony would only naturally come back to his son if he was sick; whatever previous engagement he had could be damned for all he cared. He’s done it enough times for lesser things. “Tony, you don’t need to skip your meetings. I can take care of Pete until you get back.”
“Steve, this dinner was a celebration for getting everything taken care of. I was going to head back tomorrow morning anyway. I’ll just be getting an earlier start. Now, do I need to pick something up on the way home?” Tony demands, sounding impatient and probably hailing a cab or something to take him to his hotel.
“Mentholatum and flu syrup probably wouldn’t go amiss. And some chicken soup would probably be appreciated.” Steve looks down at Peter and brushes his hand through his darker hair. “He says it hurts him to swallow. I whipped up some home remedies, but they’re probably not condoned by Parenting Today.”
He can hear Tony smiling bitterly when he says, “40’s were fraught with great home remedies. The old man’s favorite was grin and bear it.”
Steve refrains from sighing at the reminder of what a terrible father Howard was to Tony, instead rubbing his eyes irritably and saying, “Mine involved alcohol and lemon to sooth his throat and a wet cloth to break his fever. I think I win this round of 40’s home remedies.”
“You always do, Steve.”
Beneath Steve’s hand, which has been carding through, Peter slowly comes back to consciousness. Not surprising. Sometimes, sick people just don’t sleep well, but Steve hoped he would sleep for more than thirty minutes. Steve sighs and rearranges, pulling Pete’s feet, blanket and all, into his lap as he scoots closer. “Hey, Pete, your daddy’s on the phone. Wanna talk to him?”
Peter nods groggily, his small hand reaching up for Steve’s phone. When he has it against his ear, he croaks in a combination of sleepiness and sickness, “Hi, daddy. When’re you coming home?”
Steve can’t really hear Tony, but since the other man already told him he smiles when Peter’s face lights up a little. It still sometimes shocks Steve how close the father and son are, despite the fact that before Peter’s mother and step-father were killed they only saw each other a few weeks out of the year. Peter loves being around his dad, and Tony loves being around his son. Steve just loves being around both of them and taking care of them when he can.
He comes back to himself to hear Peter say, “Yeah…soup sounds yummy. Can I have saltines too?” There’s a pause before he nods. “Okay. No…Cap is takin’ care of me. He let me watch Cars in th’living room.”
Steve smiles at him and rubs his shin, his heart warming at the child-like glee he hears in Peter’s voice at the news he was allowed to sleep with a movie on. It’s still a new thing, to be considered worthy of Peter’s trust, to have the little boy come to him when he wants something, every once and a while even before he goes to Tony. It’s nice to know that he gets to read the bedtime stories and he gets to play kickball or teach him how to throw a baseball, even if Peter is kind of bad at it. It’s nice to know that when Tony isn’t there and Peter doesn’t feel good, Peter is secure enough in their relationship to come into his room and wake him up.
“’Kay, daddy. I love you too,” Peter finally says, smiling a little as he hands the phone back to Steve.
“Hey,” he says into his phone. “What’s your ETA?”
“Uh…I’m taking the suit so I’ll probably be there around lunch.”
Steve frowns. “Does the suit by chance have auto pilot?”
“JARVIS will get me home. Don’t worry, Steve.”
He hangs up then and Steve sets the phone on the coffee table, taking a deep breath and leaning back against the couch, his hand still on Peter’s feet. On the television, the credits are rolling, so it’s time for a new movie.
“What d’ya wanna watch now, sicky?” Steve asks.
“Monsters!”
Steve stares down at him confused until giving in and calling out, “JARVIS, help me out here.”
The computer responds to him, sounding dismayed and pained. “I have it under control, sir.”
*
Steve somehow falls asleep on the couch with Peter and blankets settled across his chest. He doesn’t quite realize this until Tony gently touches his shoulder. He opens his eyes with a snap and looks around, feeling the warm weight of Peter on top of him with his arm holding him steady. When his focus lands on Tony again he can see a smile on his lips as he leans down to kiss his forehead.
It’s strange. He and Tony aren’t together, but every once in a while, one of them will expend these small displays of affection and it will feel so natural, but then nothing more will come of it. To be honest, Steve is getting a little frustrated with it, but with Peter…with Peter it’s hard to know where to start, where lines are, what Tony will accept from him. He wants to convey that he’s willing to give it all, but the words get lodged in his throat, stuck in fear of rejection.
He clears his throat, blinking to full consciousness. “What time is it?”
Tony settles next to the couch, sitting on the floor and leaning his elbow against the cushion. “It’s a little past ten.” He looks at his son, and smiles softly. “What time did you two get back to bed?”
Steve groans quietly, wrapping his arm further around Peter’s small body. “It was an on and off ordeal. We’d go to sleep; he’d wake up. I’d fall asleep; he’d wake me up. He doesn’t sleep that well when he’s sick. I think the last time I looked at a clock it was about 6:30.” He looks down at the tuft of dark hair and the tip of his little nose that he can see and smiles. “I’m not entirely sure some of his inability to sleep wasn’t to make sure he didn’t miss you coming home.”
“Mm, sounds like something he would attempt. Too bad flu normally wins those fights.” He moves his hand through Peter’s hair, watching him sleep before feeling his forehead. “Thanks for watching him, Steve.”
He turns his head toward the other man again, telling him honestly, “It wasn’t a problem. We only had a few fussy instances and he only cried a few times, but that was when I was trying to get him to drink the warm whiskey for his throat.” He smirks a little. “He’s definitely a better patient than you are. He didn’t try hiding from me under the couch.”
Tony sniffs. “I never tried hiding under a couch. I’ve hidden in nearly every place I could think of in the medical unit, but never under a couch, a bed, or in a closet.” The last place causes a grimace, because Peter did hide in a closet while his family was murdered downstairs. “You know what I meant.”
Steve nods. “Yeah. I do.” They sit in the silence of the room for a few minutes before Steve hears the vague sound of ceramic and cutlery in the kitchen and tilts his head up, unable to see over the arm of the couch and unwilling to wake Peter up to see what’s going on. “What’s that?”
“Clint is in the kitchen getting the soup I brought home ready for lunch.” Tony shrugs. “I made sure that everyone would have some. It just needed to be heated up and since Clint was rummaging through the cabinets, I put him on reheating duty.”
“An executive decision.”
“I thought so.”
Steve smiles at the smug look on Tony’s face, shaking his head as he looks down at Peter one last time, cataloging this scene into his memory, before calling his name softly, patting his back softly. The little boy doesn’t want to be woken up, in fact, snuggles further into Steve’s chest, his hands wrapping in the material of Steve’s sleep shirt. Steve chuckles, “Come on, buddy. Daddy’s home and he brought you some soup.”
That gets his attention and he sleepily picks his head up to look around, smiling lazily when he sees Tony on the ground next to the couch. “Daddy,” he rasps, his throat still probably sore. He wiggles off of his human bed, which causes some pain to said human bed when boney knees and elbows find a soft belly and sternum.
Tony gets to his feet to help his son, picking him up blankets and all and holding the swaddled child to his chest. “Hey, baby boy. Are you feeling any better?”
“Kin’a. My head doesn’ hurt so bad, but my throat still hurts,” Peter says, putting his hand to his throat and looking at Tony with wide, glassy eyes that are most likely a combination of sleepiness and the flu. Bundled up in the blankets as he is, the entire effect is heart-melting and Steve doesn’t blame Tony at all for making a sympathetic hum as he pulls Pete in to kiss his forehead.
“Well, I’ve got some soup for you and some medicine for you to take. Then you, me, and Cap can watch some more movies while you rest. How’s that sound?”
Peter nods. “We can skip the medicine.”
“I thought you’d say that. Sorry, baby boy. You have to take medicine,” Tony smiles, kissing his forehead again before turning to Steve, who has been lounging on the couch and watching the display with his own stupidly sappy smirk. “Come on, Cap. We need to drug the kid with soup and syrup before he turns into a pumpkin.”
“I won’ turn into a pumpkin!” He looks to Steve. “Will I, Cap?”
Steve hauls himself up off the couch and grimaces a little, “It’s probably better to do as your dad says…just in case.”
Peter’s eyes go comically wide as he looks between the two of them. Steve would almost feel bad, but he remembers how his mom and Bucky used to tell him silly things like that. His mom once convinced him that if he wasn’t in bed by eight-thirty his eyes would fall out and a gnome would steal them away. Finally, Peter nods solemnly, and actually begins negotiating with his father. “I’ll take th’medicine, but you and Cap have t’take some too so you don’ get sick.”
Steve shakes his head. “He is so your son, Tony.”
“No, I think the mother-henning totally comes from you, Steve.”
He almost trips over his feet at the offhand comment, staring up at Tony with shock coursing through his system. For a moment he just stands their stupidly as the sentence replays in his mind over and over again and something warm and terrifying blooms in his chest. It feels like another large hurdle has been crossed, another step closer to being allowed into Tony’s life as more than a friend.
Tony looks back with a raised eyebrow. “Walking too complicated for you today, Cap?”
“No,” Steve says emphatically. “My legs are just a little…uh, numb.”
Tony gives him a disbelieving look and smirks like he knows exactly what caused Steve to stumble. He doesn’t say anything about it though, instead looking down at Steve’s legs and mock-frowning. “Right, well. You come get soup and if they’re still numb, I’ll give them a massage.”
“After his medicine!” Peter pipes up.
“Of course. After your medicine.”
Steve glares at him a little, still feeling warmth in his chest though it’s momentarily eclipsed by irritation. “Tease.”
He smirks again as he takes Steve’s hand and pulls him into the kitchen. “It’s only teasing if I don’t intend to follow through. Now take Pete and sit down before your numb legs refuse to hold you.”
Later, while Peter is napping to Shrek 2 and they’ve all taken medicine, even Natasha and Thor, Tony pulls Steve’s legs into his lap and gives them a massage.