Work Text:
Peter’s sitting at the Stark’s kitchen table using Morgan’s crayons of all things to finish his oddball literature project when the owner of said crayons comes running into the cabin alone, her father not in sight.
He’s wearing a pair of Tony’s glasses, using the sherbet crayon with nano-tight precision to draw in the pink pig that is the star of his Hamlet reinvention. Out of the corner he can see five year old Morgan bent over with her hands on her knees, clearly out of breath. Not a good sign.
“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,” Peter finds himself saying when the sound of Morgan panting goes on for about fifteen seconds. He has no idea what that phrase means. Sounds ominous. Fitting. Maybe he should read the play. “Out with it.”
Morgan takes a dramatic breath and announces, “Daddy broke.”
“Broke what?”
“No, he broke.”
Peter sets down his crayon and turns in the chair, tipping Tony’s glasses down the bridge of his nose. That poor man. His prescription is astronomical. “What do you mean he broke?”
“We were picking blackberries for a pie and then he saw a birdie that fell out of a nest and he tried to put it back so he climbed the tree -”
Peter groans. “Oh no -”
“-and he fell out of the tree. He can’t get up. He broke.” Little tears are starting to engulf her face. “Peter he’s dying. He told me to come get help.”
“I’m sure he isn’t dying,” he says, but he hastens to get up and grabs her hand. “C’mon, show me where he is.”
The trek that Morgan sends them on isn’t too far, but it’s still considerably a far walk. Ten minutes with the two of them hustling. But they find him, tangled in a pile of weeds next to a basket of blackberries, a baby bird cradled to his chest and an Academy Award winning frown on his face.
Before he can get a word in, Tony groans and says, “Morgan, I told you to get your mother.”
Rude.
“I found him first,” she whines, pulling on her fingers nervously.
He nods, gesturing in a way that says What can you do? “She found me first.”
Tony groans again, this time louder, and lets his head fall back into the weeds. “I hate my life. Just.” He sighs. “Put the stupid bird back.”
Biting back a snarky comment for the moment, Peter carefully scoops up the baby bird and takes a single, Spider-Man induced jump up to the branches to put it back where it belongs. Tony is stone faced while Morgan cheers, even going as far as to give him an applause as he puts the bird back. He even goes as far as to lean precariously off the branch just because he can, in a way of a bow.
Tony is not amused. “Are those my glasses?”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you wearing my glasses.”
“You left them where I can get them, am I supposed to just not mess with your stuff? Besides.” He shrugs and jumps back to the ground. “It seems like it's Opposite day. Since when does Tony Stark try to save the sad little birdies that fell out of their nests? That’s a Spider-Man thing.”
Tony stares at him as Peter comes to stand over him. “You actually do that, don’t you. That’s a check mark in your diary as Spider-Man.”
“Every other Thursday.”
“Your time management skills are an abomination.”
He shrugs. “I just go around Central Park, do a wellness check for the ducks, rabbits, maybe a stray cat if I see it. New York has me to thank that there’s still birds around to shit on their windshields.”
“Shit!” Morgan says behind them. Peter is unbothered.
“So, what’s wrong with you?” Peter taps the end of Tony’s shoe and the older man winces, growling out a hiss of pain. “Leg?”
“Yeah,” he grunts, trying to move it. “I can’t believe this, but after all these years I think I finally broke it.”
Peter tries to mask his surprise, but he does a poor job. “All these years as Iron Man and you’ve never broken your leg?”
“Well, technically, I think it’s my ankle.” Tony admits, and when Peter looks closer he can see that assessment is probably right. None of the big bones are sticking out of his skin, so that’s a good sign. “And that suit is designed to take the brunt of whatever I’m fighting so yeah of course I haven’t broken-” A pause. “Wait. How many times have you broken your leg?”
“Every other Thursday.”
Tony squints at him. “I fear that’s only partially hyperbolic.”
Peter just grins. “The world may never know.”
“Oh, they’ll know. I’ll know. I’m adding a protocol to your suit.” Tony manages to sit up. “Now, since you’re here, why don’t you make yourself useful and help -”
“- an old man clearly prone to osteoporosis. Got it.”
“...”
“...”
“...I changed my mind. Morgan, go get Pepper. I don’t want this bully’s help.”
“Don’t listen to him, Mo, I was just teasing.” Peter rolls his eyes before he crouches down, ready to pick him up. “How do you want to do this? Piggyback style? Army style? Spider-Man style?”
“I’m going to regret asking this but. What is Spider-Man style?”
“It’s where I show off my freakish strength by holding you up above my head with my pinky finger.”
“Morgan, go get Pepper. Rhodey -”
“-he’s in DC -”
“-Happy-”
“-schmoozing my aunt-”
“-literally anybody else but this little shit.”
Morgan holds up two fingers. “That’s twice. One more person says it today and I get cookies for dinner.”
Tony frowns. “That’s not a rule.”
“Uh-huh!” She looks up at Peter like he hangs the stars. He’s trained her so well. “Pete said so.”
Peter tugs and gets Tony to his feet - well, foot - but maintains his grip so he’s still doing all the heavy lifting. “I want snickerdoodles.” He looks him up and down. “Are you sure it’s just the ankle? Can you stand?”
Tony gives him that look. That you’re asking stupid questions look. “I’m standing aren’t I.”
“I meant without my help.”
“Let go.”
Peter does. Tony manages, but, likely due to a dozen bruises and other strained muscles, as soon as he tries to hop forward he crumples; Spider-Man is there to save the day, catching him underneath the arms.
“Well, I can go ahead and tell you that the hopping thing isn’t gonna work. Sun’s setting and we got snickerdoodles to eat.”
“I’ve counted only two bad words.”
“Shit, only two?” Peter gasps, making Morgan squeal. Typical. “Just hop on my back, that’ll be fastest. And least embarrassing. For you.”
Despite the snide remarks and back and forth that’s gone on for the past few minutes, Tony’s osteoporosis catches up with him and he does as Peter asks - he jumps on his back. Peter hooks his arms under Tony’s knees and stands straight with ease, so much so that Morgan gets an idea.
“Can I jump on too!?”
“No,” Peter sighs dramatically just as Tony reaches around and finally begins to take off the stolen glasses that are still on Peter’s face. “Sure, I’m super powerful and insanely strong but your dad’s back is all sore from his bird saving endeavors so. You’re on leadership duty. And blackberry duty. Bring the basket, I want a pie with my snickerdoodles.” Peter points a finger down the poorly marked trail and announces, “Onward!”
Tony slips the glasses back on his face and immediately flicks Peter on the side of the head when he sees the screens Peter had up on the glasses. “Why does FRIDAY have Sparknotes open for Hamlet?”
“Because I need them to finish my project.”
“You didn’t read the play?”
“Brevity is the soul of wit.”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do your homework.”
“Who are you, my English teacher? But that reminds me. MORGAN!” Tony flinches when Peter shouts. “After cookies you’re helping me color my project.”
“The piggys!?” Morgan gasps. She swings the basket so far in her excitement all the berries fall out. “Yay! Can we add a baby bird?”
Peter shrugs. “Disney used lions, I don’t see why not.” He stops walking, his grip on Tony tightening a bit. “Oh shit. The Lion King. I should have just watched that.”
“It’s not verbatim the play, Pete, that’s not going to help you -”
“What does four shits get me?” Morgan says. “Cookies and ice cream?”
“Absolutely, Mo.”
Tony groans, likely thinking of the sugar high they’re about to give a five year old. “This is easily the worst day I’ve had in years.”
“I can throw you in the lake to make it top the all time list?”
Tony smacks him upside the head.