Sick Days

p/s: This is too-sappy-drooling-over-too-many-sweetness that I can never imagine Wade Wilson capable being of. But this is for you, my dear sister, to fawn over.

"Peter? You doin’ okay?"

Peter had pulled the webbing tight around the unconscious robber, fighting off a wave of nausea when Tony’s voice filtered through his earpiece.

"I'm fine, Tony," he repeated the answer he'd been saying for the past hour, trying to reign in his annoyance. This is the last time I'm ever telling him I don't feel good... "It's just a cold."

"Well, don't push yourself," Jessica joined in as she came up, resting her hand on his shoulder. "We can take it from here, if you wanna go home and rest."

"It's okay," he said in exasperation, stretching out his aching arms. "We're almost done here. I can wait." He swallowed tightly before adding on, "But...I might need tomorrow or something off."

“That’s perfectly alright, Peter,” Steve said as Jessica was pulled off by a police officer. “But just go back to the tower right now.”

“Yeah,” Tony chuckled as he landed next to them, the mask folding back to reveal his smirking face. “You almost swung into a building three times. Can you even walk in a straight line?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, embarrassed.

Peter’s body was practically screaming for him to go home and sleep. Or give in to temptation and curl into a ball in the back seat of one of those police cars. That was starting to sound more and more like the better option here. But his conscience wouldn’t let him give up without a fight, nagging (in a voice that sounded distinctly like Aunt May) at him to not make their lives harder and to do his share of work.

The nagging was silenced, though, when Natasha threatened to knock Peter unconscious and carry him home.

Making sure one last time that the rest of the team was okay by themselves, Peter grabbed his backpack and took of swinging towards the Tower, immediately stopping after a few swings to heave in the corner of an alley.

Holy God, why oh why did he think it would be a good idea to swing back home when he felt like he was going to throw up just by standing?Stupid, stupid, stupid…

When Peter felt like it was safe, he rummaged around in his back and located his cellphone. He called Happy, garbling out the street name and asking for the driver to come get him. Happy immediately said he would be there in five minutes. Six if there was traffic.

Peter pulled on the jeans and hoodie from the bag over his uniform, lazily tugging his mask off. Happy was there in what Peter guessed to be five minutes, but everything was kind of blurring together and his head felt so hot it was hard to think.

Happy kept glancing worriedly at him through the rearview mirror during the drive, asking if he was feeling alright or if he was going to throw up. Peter mumbled a response, leaning his forehead against the tinted window.

When they reached the garage(s) of Stark Tower, Happy quickly hopped out and helped Peter into the elevator, clucking the whole time about how he should be taking better care of himself and not pushing his boundaries so far. Only a fourth of it made it past Peter’s ears, but the teenager bobbed his head up and down mechanically in agreement anyways.

He stumbled towards the bathroom as soon as they reached the right floor, curling around the toilet and throwing up. Happy hovered over him worriedly, while JARVIS’ came through the hidden speaker and asked if he should call Dr. Banner.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Happy gave Peter a disbelieving look. “You must be joking,” he stated. “You’re so sick you can barely get a syllable out before throwing up. JARVIS, call Mister Banner.”

“I already have, sir.”

“But—“ Peter weakly protested before he started throwing up again.

“I would tell you to shut up, but I think your body is already doing an excellent job of that,” Happy pursed his lips. “You just stay here and finish up while I go wait for Mr. Banner.” Physically unable to respond with anything more than a wave, Peter let Happy go.

It turned out that Bruce was gone on a trip to a remote village in India to help with a string of sicknesses that had popped up. The area didn’t have any cellphone coverage, and Happy quickly turned down JARVIS’ suggestion of sending out a squad of SHIELD agents to retrieve him.

Peter was in a daze throughout this exchange and the next few hours. He was vaguely aware of Happy half-carrying, half-dragging to his room and setting him on his bed when his stomach had settled down. Later, of someone lifting him into a sitting position so he could take pills with a few swigs of water.

When he was finally aware of his surroundings, there was a cool hand running through his hair soothingly and someone sitting next to him. He groaned and pressed into the cool hand, the owner of it letting out a relieved sigh.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve murmured. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” Peter whimpered, rolling onto his back. “What time is it?”

“It’s only seven. You’ve only been asleep for a few hours.” Steve reached over and grabbed the bottle of Gatorade from the bedside table, picking up two pills as well.

Peter felt bile well up in the back of his throat. “Can I have water instead? I don’t really think I can stand anything else…”

“Of course, honey.” Steve left and returned with a glass of water, Tony following close behind him. He had oil smeared on his face and arms, goggles up on his forehead.

“Hey, Dad,” Peter greeted him, squeezing Tony’s hand tightly as he pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead.

“How’re you feeling, kiddo?” Tony asked, sitting next to his husband on the edge of Peter’s bed. “Can’t tell ya how freaked out Steve and I were when JARVIS told me you had a fever of 102 and was throwing up every half hour.” Peter grimaced.

“I’m, uh, feeling better now,” he said, chuckling weakly. “I don’t remember much of that. Did I at least make it to the toilet?”

“You made it to the bathroom,” Steve offered, sheepishly grinning as he ran his thumb over Peter’s cheek. “But, you did miss a couple of times.” Peter made a disgusted face, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Oh, great. How bad is it?”

“Jessica refuses to step foot in there until it’s been bleached.”

Peter tried to fake a gag, but the contracting of his throat ended up making it a real one. Tony was immediately off the bed and Steve had a trashcan positioned in front of Peter’s face.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. False alarm.” His parents sighed, shoulders sagging in relief.

Tony and Steve stayed with Peter for a couple more hours, talking and fretting over their son. They tried to make him eat, but all he could keep down was a half of a piece of toast before the vomit-y feeling returned. Jessica and Thor came in to check on him, sitting in for awhile as Tony had to stop something from blowing up in his lab. Even Logan called from his mission with the X-men, shocking the teenager.

Peter finally managed to shoo his parents and teammates away when he couldn’t take any more of their coddling, saying he needed to rest. He fell lightly into a dreamless sleep, having to shift from side to side to make it easier to breathe.

After more time had passed, Peter was awoken by the sound of a soft thud and a muffled curse. Mind and movements hindered by his aching muscles, Peter struggled to push himself up into a sitting position, prepared to deal with whoever had broken into his room and frantically worrying why JARVIS hadn’t alerted him of the intruder.

“Wade?”

The mercenary smiled beneath his mask, finishing with taking off his boots. His suit was torn and mud stained, his guns already laying on Peter’s writing desk., hinting that he had just come from a job. “Hey there, sleepy head. Surprise?”

“What are you doing here?” Peter hissed angrily. “Dad and Pops said that if they found you here again they’d blow you up!”

“Pshaw,” Wade said, waving his hand in the air. “I’d just heal myself up and be back to normal in a week. Plus, I heard that you were sick, and what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t come and visit you?”

“How did you find—you know what, we can discuss your stalker tendencies later,” Peter said bluntly. “You need to go. You are in a tower filled with superheroes, and an AI who could tell them you’re here at any moment.”

“Aw, JARVIS wouldn’t do that,” Wade said assuredly, rubbing the wall lovingly. “Would you?”

“I am withholding this information solely for Master Peter’s happiness,” JARVIS said dryly.

“You wound me so.”

“Wade,” Peter groaned, elongating his name. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his headache and nausea at bay.

“It’s alright, babe,” Wade said, pulling off his mask and setting it on the bedside table. “I promise I’ll be gone by the time your super family wakes up. You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that. Just focus on feeling better.”

Peter flopped back down reluctantly as Wade undressed, knowing there was no use arguing with his boyfriend when he set it mind to something. His head was pounding and he felt a spike of sickness.  He scrabbled to the edge of his bed, yanking the trashcan closer to him so he could dry heave into it. Wade rushed over to his side, putting his hand on his back and shushing him gently, ignoring the fact that he was completely naked.

When he was about done, Peter gasped for breath and managed to point at his dresser and choke out, “Pants.” Knowing Wade, the idiot was no doubt planning on sleeping in the nude. And holy Zeus, if anyone in the Tower found Peter in bed with a naked Wade, they would tear the mercenary apart into little pieces, putting them into boxes and sending each to a different country.

He wished he could say he was joking, but Natasha and Bruce—Bruce of all people! He wasn’t supposed to encourage homicidal urges!—had created quite a detailed presentation on the subject, including some very lifelike 3d models.

Wade climbed over him and took the side closest to the wall, thankfully having listened to Peter and put on a pair of sweatpants. Peter instinctively curled around him, entangling their legs and wrapping his arms around Wade’s scarred torso.

“You still feel a bit warm,” Wade said contemplatively, brushing his nose across Peter’s hairline. Peter just groaned and tightened his hold on his boyfriend.

“My temp’ll go back down eventually,” he mumbled. “Hey. You won’t get sick, too, will you?”

“Probably not,” Wade shrugged. “But if I do, it’ll go away after a day or so. Y’know. Healing factor.” Peter hummed, eyes drooping shut.

“Good.  ‘Cause this really, really sucks.” Wade huffed out a laugh.

Peter growled a few moments later, lazily pushing Wade’s face away from his own. “Don’t, puke breath.” Wade chuckled deeply, the vibrations making Peter shiver and goosebumps break out over his arms.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Wade played dumb, running his hand teasingly from the back of Peter’s sensitive neck down to the curve of his waist.

“I refuse to be sexually tormented by you when I still feel like I’m gonna barf,” Peter groaned, catching Wade’s hand at his hip and holding it there. “We can do this after I’m not as sick as a dog.”

Wade hugged him closer and buried his head into Peter’s neck. “’Kay,” he said, nuzzling Peter’s cheek to draw a weak laugh from the sick boy.

“Oh my God,” Peter said in surprise, eyes widening. “You’re actually behaving.”

Wade looked bashful. “Shut up,” he grumbled, flicking Peter nose.

“Are the boxes in your head making out again? You haven’t been talking to them much.”

“Nah, they save that for when they think I’m asleep,” Wade responded casually. He snickered a few moments later at whatever the voices in his head had responded with. “They’re worried about you, too, so they're staying quiet.”

“That’s nice,” Peter mumbled, cuddling closer. “Thought they didn’t like me.”

“Really? They’re absolutely obsessed with you. They love you as much as I do.”

Peter couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his mouth. He hesitantly said, “Thanks for coming, Wade. It’s really nice to see you.”

"It's no problem," Wade said sincerely. "I'm here for whenever you need me, sweets."

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Peter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wade.”

“Mr. Rogers.”

They stared at each other, one calm and silent in his fury while the other looked like a deer about to be pummeled by an eighteen-wheeler. Wade swallowed heavily, tightening his arm around the sleeping superhero on his chest.

The captain clenched his jaw at the gesture, eyes narrowing. “I’m sure you have a reason for being in my son’s room without a shirt on?”

It was still way too fucking early to be dealing with this. Wade had stayed up most of the night, watching over Peter to make sure he was alright and then soothing him when he threw up or had a coughing fit. At one point, he had even snuck out of the room to get him a glass of lukewarm water and a rag to clean up some puke that had missed the trashcan and a new trash bag. His voice was gravelly from talking nonstop after Peter had deliriously said that his voice made him feel better. Which, now that he thought about it, was probably why Steve had come into his son’s room.

“Um.” Don’tfuckitupdon’tfuckitupdon’tfuckitup. “I saw—heard—from JARVIS—“

“That’s a lie, Master Rogers. I had no part of this.”

“You’re not helping, you big toaster! Anyway, I, er, heard that Petey wasn’t feeling good, so I stopped by last night to check in on him…and sort of…fell asleep?” The boxes in his head chorused in delight that he hadn’t made any reference to Captain America’s biceps or how cute his son’s ass was.

“And what exactly happened while you were ‘checking up’ on him?” Steve growled.

“Just…talking?”

“Talking,” Steve repeated, leaning in the doorway. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Uh-huh.” The uncomfortable silence returned, broken only when Peter groaned in his sleep and buried his head into Wade’s neck, throwing his leg carelessly over Wade’s.

Wade was positive the superhero was going to have an aneurysm, but he somehow held it together.

“We’re not going to discuss this now,” Steve said calmly. “We’re going to talk about it later, when Peter is awake and I can hear his side of what happened. And then I am going to send him out, and you are going to ‘just talk’ with Clint and Natasha.” Wade blanched. “Is that understood?”

“Yessir,” the mercenary moaned, banging his head lightly against the wall while Steve stormed out of the room, loudly calling for his husband.

Peter let out a breathy giggle. “I told you to leave before they got up.”

“I liked it better when you were throwing up and cuddly, you little buttface.”

Wade pushed his boyfriend off of him and started getting dressed, taking off Peter’s sweatpants and putting on his ratty uniform. When he was dressed, he grabbed Peter’s shoulders and kissed him hard.

“If I get castrated, know that we’ll find a way around it. We don’t have to give up sex.”

Peter made a disgusted face and punched him in the arm as he got up, too, dressing in comfortable clothing. He grabbed his boyfriend’s hand and dragged him into the living room, where the team was waiting with a murderous rage emanating out of them.

Thor stood with his arms crossed over Wade when he was pushed into a chair while Peter loudly convinced his parents and family that no, he hadn’t had sex with Wade, no, the mercenary hadn’t felt him up in his sleep, and yes, they had just cuddled.

“I’m so sick it feels gross to stand up,” Peter said bluntly. “Do you really think I have enough energy to have sex with Wade?” Each time he said the word sex, Steve cringed and Clint shot a glare at Wade.

Tony was the one who caved in, saying that they did trust Peter and believed him. But they didn’t trust Deadpool, and wanted to have a private word with him in the other room.

“Okay, fine,” Peter said, holding up his hands. “But you aren’t allowed to hurt or shoot him.”

Clint looked affronted. “We wouldn’t do that…” He stopped when Peter and Natasha shot him cold stares.

Thor and Steve grabbed on to Wade’s arms and dragged him into one of Tony’s offices. Peter tried to go after them, but Jessica and Coulson—and who knew where the hell he’d popped out from—held him back, using the excuse that they wanted a doctor to look at him.

The doctor diagnosed him with just a bad virus, and said that he needed lots of rest and shouldn’t do any missions for a couple of days. Peter only half listened to what was being said to him, anxiously asking JARVIS if his family was done with harassing Wade, or if the mercenary was dead yet.

Peter was in the elevator as soon as JARVIS announced the ‘meeting’ was coming to an end, Jessica right behind him whining for him to be patient. Wade was standing ramrod straight when the elevator doors opened, waiting for Peter in the living room. The rest of the team was eating breakfast in the kitchen, Natasha wearing a smug expression that earned her a high-five from Jessica.

“What’d they say?” Peter asked him worriedly, checking his boyfriend for any new cuts or bloodstains.

“…Nothing your innocent ears need to hear,” Wade said hastily, awkwardly squeezing Peter’s forearm. He hesitated and then lowered his voice. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, it really wasn't that bad. And it’s wonderful that your family loves you so much.” Peter huffed mutinously, grumbling about how he wished they’d hurry up and get used to having Wade around.

“Do you want to stay for some coffee?” Peter asked, entering the kitchen. Tony leaned to the side so he could see Wade and gave him a very pointed look.

“I’d love one,” Wade said, intercepting Peter on his way to the coffee pot, “but allow me to get it. You just go sit down on the couch and relax.” Peter gave him a grateful smile and went into the living room, turning on the TV. Wade mentally cheered for himself when Tony gave him an approving nod.

“They’re kind of adorable,” Jessica whispered to Steve, watching Peter cuddle up into Wade’s side as the other wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

A smile ghosted over Steve’s mouth as he turned the page of his book. “I think so, too,” he murmured. “Just don’t tell Tony.”