Outnumbered

Chapter 4

Peter's bedroom door slowly creaks open, waking him. He's usually a heavy sleeper, but the middle of the night wakeups so that Tony can check his blood sugar, help him treat a low, or give him a bolus of insulin have made it so that the tiniest of noises has him up and wired.

"Petey?" Morgan whispers. "You awake?"

"Yeah, Mo. What's up? Everything okay?" he asks, sitting up.

He doesn't mind this, these nights when Morgan tiptoes into his room with her bunny stuffed animal, doesn't get angry or irritated with her. He knows Tony needs sleep, that with his health and love of late night lab sessions and making sure Peter's blood sugar is in range, he barely gets enough, so Peter lets Morgan wake him when she has her nightmares, when she wants a cup of water, when he thinks he can handle the myriad of stories Morgan conjures up with her wild imagination, in place of Tony.

"I dreamt about Daddy's arm again," she says, and Peter can barely see her in the dark, can just make out the outline of her unruly hair and long nightgown in the little bit of light coming through his window, but he imagines her as smaller than she is, can picture her biting her lip and clutching her bunny close.

"Come here," he says, lifting her up and into his bed so that she's tucked against him. He moves his pump, which he unclips from his pants while he sleeps, so that she can't rip his pump site out.

She's done that more times than Peter cares to count. Unintentionally, of course, but painful every time.

"I don't like it when I dream about Daddy's arm," she says, sniffling.

"I know, Mo. I know," he whispers back, brushing her hair from her face. "Hey, you wanna see something cool?" he asks her softly as he turns his lamp on. She burrows into his chest and nods.

While going through things from May's apartment a few weeks ago, Peter had found the old View Master he'd had as a kid, the red plastic goggles and white cardboard reels in pristine condition.

He gets up from the bed, is trying to get a good grip on Morgan so that he doesn't have to put her down, when he feels the weight of his pump pull on his infusion set. It hits the wood floor with a loud clatter, his eyes closing as he silently curses himself.

He should be used to having a pump by now, but he isn't.

"Oh no!" Morgan whispers, shimmying out of his arms and pulling his pump into her hands. She gives a small sigh of relief. "Look, Batman's okay!"

Peter had named his pump Batman and his Dexcom sensor Robin to help Morgan adjust the weekend after his Easter low. They'd been sitting watching Saturday morning cartoons, Batman, to be exact, when he'd come up with it. Morgan had been eyeing his pump from her side of the couch. He'd felt self-conscious, all of a sudden, exactly like he'd felt at school the few weeks prior with his shiny new pump, though he didn't exactly blame her for the interest. She was only five, after all. She didn't fully understand. And how could she? His dramatic Easter fall with blood gushing from his forehead, or so May had told him because he doesn't remember most of it, had been more than enough to give Morgan a new set of nightmares. Giving the devices familiar, fun names and explaining their functions as simply as possible seemed to do the trick.

"Thanks, Mo," he whispers with a smile, examining the pump for himself in the lamplight and deeming it fine before clipping it to his pajama pants. He crouches down beneath his bed, pulls out the box, and digs for the View Master and set of Disney scenes from his favorite animated movies. When he finds it and holds it up in all of its red and yellow glory, Morgan's eyes go wide.

"It looks like Daddy's helmet!" she says with a loud giggle, and Peter has to shush her.

"Shh, Daddy's sleeping, remember?" Peter reminds her sweetly.