Avengers Stories //Oneshots//

Sick Avengers (Dad Tony)

Everything had been set. A week of vacation with the Fantastic Four fighting any enemies coming to challenge. One week of relaxation. One week being worry-free. One week of doing whatever they wanted. One week of bonding and fun.

They just had to get sick.

It was some alien virus, not anymore dangerous than the common cold. They don't know if Thor would've caught it (since Cap and Bruce got it and they usually can't catch any normal sickness) because he was currently in Asgard, leaving them to deal with this epidemic.

The epidemic being that Clint kept throwing wadded tissues at everyone while the others (sans Tony who hadn't been effected because he was in a special suit that he could close up and have oxygen.

"Clint, if you throw another tissue I will destroy you in training," Natasha says, somehow managing to be threatening while having a Hello Kitty blanket wrapped around her. Clint stuck his tongue out at her but snuggled deeper into the couch, leaving the tissues alone.

"No one will be fighting anytime soon," Tony says, his voice quieter than usual as he glances over at Steve and Bruce's sleeping forms. He sits a tray filled with bowls of chicken noodle soup onto the coffee table with a small 'clink'. He passes one bowl to Clint and another to Nat as he turns down the TV a little.

He's still wearing a business suit. After the battle his phone blew up with calls but he refused to leave them. He leaves every few minutes for what Natasha knows are phone calls and video conferences, though he doesn't look the least bit haggard or weighed down she knows he is.

She just doesn't know the extent of it.

___

Six days pass as the our slowly start to get better with Tony's care. He brings soups, blankets, tissues, movies, stuffed animals, everything they desire in their sick state.

On the seventh day, the originally sick Avengers wake up scattered in the livingroom feeling the best they've felt in a while. Clint kicks his blanket off and sprints around the room, yelling at the top of his lungs about not feeling crappy anymore. Steve just shook his head with a fond smile as the rest kick off their blankets.

"Hey Jarvis," Bruce asks, "where's Tony?"

"Asleep, Dr. Banner." Natasha noticed he didn't say where, but shrugged it off. He probably wanted some quiet after these last few days. Steve looked like he wanted to go look for the genius, so Natasha told him what she thought. He begrudgingly agreed to leave him alone for a little while.

Bruce made breakfast. Jarvis said that Tony wasn't hungry when Clint asked if he should take a plate to him. The dirty blonde looked a little put out at that.

They cleaned up the kitchen and went to do the same to the livingroom. Save Tony some work after all he did for them. She pulled at a wad off blankets that covered the entire couch, one they hadn't woken up on. The covers didn't budge, but something moved under them.

Steve came up beside her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What could be under there? Slowly, Steve reached forward and pulled down the blankets on one end to reveal a pair of feet dressed in designer sneakers.

  Realization hit Natasha like a truck and she gently pulled the covers down from the other end. Just as she predicted, a mop of black hair and closed eyes was in front of her.

Clint had a mischievous glint in his eye as he glanced at his cup of ice water. Bruce smacked him on the back of the head before Natasha could, shaking his head.

There's concern in the doctor's eyes. He reached over and put the palm of his hand to Tony's forehead, brushing back damp hair as he did.

Damp with sweat.

Bruce's eyes widened and he pulled the cover down a little more to touch the genius's flushed cheeks. Fever.

"He has it. Worse." Bruce gets out in a clipped tone before he slipped into doctor mode and started ordering them around.

Natasha stole one last glance at the sleeping, sick genius. How long had he been like this? Why didn't he say anything? She didn't ask these questions out loud but pressed her lips to his sweaty forehead with a whispered "we got you".

She'll find answers later. For now, they have to take care of their self sacraficing idiot friend.

....

"C'mon Tony, you gotta wake up and take your medicine."

Tony turns his head away from the voice. It may be soothing and familiar, but it's keeping him from the oblivion of sleep. Unwillingly, his brain takes note of his body. He's wrapped in something soft and warm. His feet are bare. His head is stuffy. His nose is the same as his head. And his whole body feels heavy.

"Tony...." the voice comes again accompanied by a hand combing though his hair. Begrudgingly, he opens his eyes.

First there's three red heads who then focus into one, bringing out a concerned face and worried frown. Natasha?

He makes a small noise but she shushes his, pressing something to his lips. It tastes horrible but he has the feeling he shouldn't spit it out. She said something about medicine earlier....

His mind snapps into focus.

The others are sick.

Including Natasha.

They shouldn't be on their feet.

Including Natasha.

Tony starts to push himself up but is pressed back down to the bed. He whines, not able to form words through his sore throat.

"We're all fine and well, kitten. There is no need to worry. You, on the other hand..." she sighs and with it goes Tony's adrenaline. He sinks gratefully into the pillows surrounding him. He's in his room, lying on his bed. He sees the others peeking into the room.

This is their last day of vacation. They shouldn't be here. They should be at the beach or hiking or something other than watching him.

Once again, Natasha seems to know what he's thinking. "There is no where we'd rather be right now. There is nothing else we want to do besides get you back on your feet. We're all going to take care of you."

She smiles. It's soft. Fond. An expression he doesn't usually see on her face.

Her hand resumes running over his hair and Tony finds himself relaxing into the touch, drifting into sleep.

Clint takes a photo.

It will be framed in the common room for the rest of time.