Growing Up 2

11 Years Old

When Tony planned a nice, relaxing weekend for him and Pepper, he imagined someone like Steve or Natasha watching Peter. He hadn't planned on them both getting called in for a mission while Sam had a family thing and Rhodey was currently dealing with military stuff. Bruce was in South Korea with Helen Cho and Vision and Wanda were having their own relaxing weekend, which left Clint Barton to stay with Peter. To say Tony had concerns was putting it lightly.

"Don't worry, Stark," Clint had tried to reassure him. "I have three kids of my own, I think I can handle one well-behaved kid."

Tony had only left because Pepper had dragged him out of the Tower with Happy's help. She had even taken his phone and turned it all the way off before putting it in her purse and telling Clint if there was an emergency, he should call her, not Tony.

"Bye, Dad!" Peter had waved wildly as Tony walked into the lift, yelling instructions at Clint until the doors shut.

That had been the day before. Clint and Peter had both been happy to be left together for the weekend. Now, though, Peter was running a fever and had a cough that could rival Thor's battle cry. He had woken up early and promptly hurled onto the floor of his bedroom. Despite how quickly Clint had come running, it was too late. Now they were both staring at the vomit on the floor while Peter's eyes teared up.

"It's alright, kiddo," Clint said, helping Peter carefully crawl out of bed. "Go take a bath and I'll clean this up. When you're done, come out to the living room and I'll have a blanket fort for you to sleep in."

Peter just nodded and walked into the bathroom as he tried not to cry. He hated throwing up. All he wanted to do was curl up with his dad and cry, but his dad was gone so he would have to settle for Uncle Clint.

After his shower, Peter changed into new pyjamas and walked out to the living room. Thankfully, he no longer felt nauseous. He really didn't want to throw up all over the blanket fort Clint had set up in the living room.

"Burrow in," Clint instructed from the kitchen.

Peter coughed as he crawled into the middle of the nest that had overtaken the living room. Uncle Clint had made quick work of finding every blanket in the Tower (and probably even those on the other floors) and depositing them in the Stark living room.

"Uncle Clint?" Peter asked weakly before coughing again. "Are you making soup?"

"I am," Clint answered, turning to glance at Peter.

As Peter coughed again, Clint stopped stirring the soup and filled a water bottle up. He grabbed some cough drops as well then took them into the living room to Peter.

"I make it when I'm at home and my kids are sick," Clint told him, handing him the water and cough drops. "I'm sure you'll like it."

"You made it yourself?" Peter asked, sucking on the honey lemon cough drop. Clint nodded and Peter's face scrunched up. "Dad says you can't cook."

"Your dad is right about most things, but that he is wrong about," Clint said, rolling his eyes as he returned to the kitchen. "Ask Aunt Tasha. She loves my food."

If Peter was planning on replying, he was stopped by more coughing. He groaned and burrowed further into his blankets, thankful that his Uncle Clint knew what he was doing when it came to making blanket nests.

When the soup was done, Clint put it in a cup and covered it with a lid. He stuck a straw in it then took it over to Peter before snuggling down in the blankets himself. Peter didn't seem thrilled to be handed a cup with a straw instead of a bowl, but he took the soup.

"You'll thank me when you start coughing your lungs up again and the soup doesn't go everywhere," Clint said, giving him a knowing look.

Peter didn't look like he believed him, but he did turn and beginning drinking his soup. It was gone within a few minutes and Clint refilled his cup with the remaining soup.

When he returned to the living room, Peter had finished off his water bottle. Clint traded him cups and filled up the water bottle for Peter. He returned to the living room just in time for Peter to finish his soup again. Giving Clint a shy smile, Peter traded him yet again for the soup cup. This time when Clint got back to the living room, Peter was curled up under the blankets half asleep.

"Uncle Clint?" Peter asked. Clint hummed as he climbed under the blankets beside Peter. "Can you tell me a story about a mission you and Auntie Tasha went on?"

"Any one in particular?"

Peter shrugged and reached for his water bottle again. He curled into Clint and closed his eyes.

"Auntie Tasha said she'd tell me about Budapest, but she never did," Peter said softly. Clint chuckled, rubbing Peter's arm as he snuggled close.

"Well, I can tell you my version, but you'll have to ask her for her version," Clint said, "Apparently we remember Budapest very differently."