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Tony is just re-entering the Medbay with a glass of orange juice— no pulp this time, because a sick Peter is an abnormally picky Peter—when he nearly crashes into the wobbly teen currently stumbling his way across the floor, his IV cart trailing behind.
“Peter!” Tony snaps. “What the hell are you doing up?”
“Going for a walk,” Peter rasps out. He tries to push past his mentor, but Tony just places a foot in front of the cart’s front wheel, halting him.
Raising his eyebrows, Tony crosses his arms over his chest. “Exactly what part of ‘mandatory bedrest’ was unclear?”
Peter rolls his eyes—something he’s been doing an awful lot of ever since Bruce sentenced him to Medbay three days ago. “I still don’t understand why I have to stay in bed,” he grumbles, attempting to maneuver the cart around Tony’s shoe. “It’s called walking pneumonia, Mr. Stark. Walking is literally in the name.”
“It’s a misnomer,” Tony retorts. He presses the locking mechanism on the IV stand with his foot, earning him a groan from Peter. “And after this week, I’m officially petitioning the CDC to change the name to ‘plant your ass in bed and keep it there’ pneumonia.”
Peter opens his mouth to protest but instead immediately dissolves into a violent coughing fit. Tony quickly loops an arm around the kid for support as he hacks and sputters.
Eventually the coughing tapers off, but Peter’s breaths still rattle in his chest.
“C’mon, kid,” Tony says, steering the feverish teenager back towards the bed. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“But I’m so bored,” Peter whines before hacking out a few more horrible sounding coughs. “I’ve been watching Netflix so long that it paused the show to ask if I was alright.” He shivers as Tony coaxes him back onto the mattress. “And I’m not alright.”
Tony heaves out a sigh. Then, glancing up at the ceiling, he says, “FRIDAY, see if anyone in the compound has an hour to spare.”
X
“Got any sixes, kid?” Tony asks, fifteen minutes later.
“Nope. Go fish,” Peter replies, and Tony takes another card from the deck.
Clint smirks. “Got any sixes, Tony?”
Glaring at the archer, Tony passes three cards across the bed's overhanging table. Clint flips them over and adds the final card from his hand, completing the set. “Oh look, I win again.”
“Alright, that’s it,” Tony grumbles as he gathers the cards together. “We’re switching to Blackjack.”