In a tower full of super heros trained in various forms of defense, stealth, and schooling, all with years of experience and each formidable in their own field, it was difficult to say which resident was the worst when they got sick. Steve and Bucky were both bad when injured; they hated feeling useless. Clint turned into a cat, curling up in the most inconvenient of places like doorways and the island of the communal kitchen, transforming from demanding attention to lashing out at anyone who ventured near. Bruce, thankfully, had only gotten sick once from some Asgardian cold, and that had been a mess that should have ranked him the worst sick patient but really it was Hulk's fault, so no one blamed Bruce for that destroyed land in Iowa. Tony swore Natasha couldn't get sick because even her white blood cells were made of bad-assness and would obliterate any germs that dared seek refuge in her body. Tony, when he got sick, got really sick, so he tended to be more pathetic than difficult. However, it wasn't until they had actual children running amuck in their home that they realized how difficult being sick could actually be.
"Come on, Pete," coaxed Steve, sitting in the bed with his son resting against his chest, his sweaty brown locks plastered to his flushed cheeks. "Uncle Bruce ran out and got this tea just for you. It'll make you feel so much better."
"No," whined Peter pathetically, rubbing his face against Steve's shirt. "It's gross."
"Here, how about I drink some and then you drink some?" suggested Steve. "Then it'll be gone and you'll see how not bad it is. Think we can try that?"
Peter thought about it for a minute before nodding miserably.
"You go first," coughed Peter.
Steve took a sip of the lukewarm mug of tea. Peter hadn't been wrong, it was disgusting, reminding Steve of spoiled milk and raw eggs blended in a blender Dummy had recently used, but he forced the fluid down with a pained grin and handed the mug to his son.
"Pretend it's a milk shake," said Steve.
Peter wrinkled his nose but took a dutiful sip; he would do anything Steve asked in the end.
"Good job," praised Steve when over half of the mug was finished, kissing the boys sweaty locks. "Think you can go to sleep?"
Peter nodded, already mostly asleep after consuming the tea. Steve lowered him back onto his pillows and turned down the lights, creeping out of the room only when he was sure his sick charge was asleep.
"How's he doing?" asked Tony when Steve arrived in his workshop.
"Fever's lower and he's sleeping now," reported Steve, sinking into the ratty old couch that he swore had magical powers of comfort and the ability to seat every single Avenger at the same time while still looking like it could only fit Tony laying down. "How's Emmy?"
Tony nodded over to where Emmy was sitting under one of his work benches messing with what had once been a computer. Dummy sat in front of the table like a guard dog. Emmy was having a bad day; she's had nightmares all night and everything made her jump, like she was on the verge of a panic attack at all times. When Peter wandered into Steve and Tony's room at two in the morning sick, Steve handed Emmy – who was curled up on his chest – to Tony and took Peter back to his room to take care of him. After the third nightmare caused Emmy to wake screaming, Tony took her down to the workshop. She had promptly crawled under the table with her blanket and stuffed dog and began taking apart everything Dummy brought her. When she would start crying, Dummy would alert Tony and he would sit on the ground next to the table, allowing Emmy to make the choice to stay or come to him if she wanted to be comforted.
"She's doing okay, considering," said Tony. "She's been missing you, though. She was asleep when you took Peter back to his room and I think with everything going on in her head she thinks you left her for good."
Steve sighed and ran a hand through his short hair.
"Alright, I'll swap you," said Steve. "You go check on Peter and I'll bring Emmy upstairs for some food."
"Aye, aye, Captain," said Tony with a mock salute before walking over to Emmy's hiding place.
"Daddy?" whispered Emmy, her eyes going tearful as Tony approached as if she knew he was leaving her too.
"Hey Ducky," said Tony brightly, opening his arms for Emmy, who promptly fell into them, clinging to him like an octopus. "I'm going to go check on your big brother now. He's sick, remember? So Papa is going to take you upstairs to eat. Maybe Uncle Bucky will be there and you can play with his hair. You like that."
"No," whispered Emmy, clinging tighter to Tony's worn black shirt. "Don't go."
It had taken her almost four months of living with Steve and Tony before Emmy said more than their names consistently and she still barely spoke above a whisper when she opted to speak at all. Still, those three words of protest both warmed and shattered Tony's heart at the same time because while he was thrilled that she was comfortable enough to finally speak, it hurt him that she still expected him to leave her.
"Petey needs me right now, Ducky," reasoned Tony, walking over to Steve so his husband could pry the toddler off. "Go with Papa."
Emmy just shook her head and gripped Tony's shirt tighter when she felt Steve's hands attempt to take her away. On the verge of a total melt down, Dummy beeped up at Steve and held out Emmy's blanket and dog. Steve took them with a grateful pat and wrapped the blanket around the girl.
"Here we go," said Steve softly, pulling a reluctant Emmy from an equally reluctant Tony. "Look what Dummy brought you."
"No!" shouted Emmy, throwing the dog on the ground when Steve handed it to her.
Everyone froze for a moment, each looking equally surprised at the action. Emmy's bad days normally consisted of her crying, being clingy and cuddly, but she had never thrown a tantrum, never thrown anything, especially not her prized dog. Before the adults could react, Emmy squirmed out of Steve's grasp and jumped to the floor before curling in on herself, trembling and whimpering apologies.
"Oh, honey no," said Tony, instantly recognizing the behavior for what it was – Emmy expecting to get hit for lashing out. It was a problem they had run into before with her; when she did something new that she thought was against the rules, she panicked and expected to be physically punished.
Tony sat on the ground and pulled Emmy back into his arms while Dummy whirled anxiously in the background.
"No, Ducky, it's okay," said Tony soothingly, rubbing Emmy's back, which did nothing to stop the tremors. "You're tired, you're having a bad day, I know you didn't mean to throw your dog. You're not in trouble, honey. We're not mad."
"Tony," said Steve. "I need to check on Peter."
"No, I'll do it," said Tony. "Just give me a second."
Steve nodded.
"Emmy, Papa, you, and me are all going to ride the elevator together," said Tony, already standing up with the girl in his arms. "Then you are going to go with Papa while I check on your brother. I won't be far and I won't be gone long but I need you to be good and let me check on Peter. Understand?"
Emmy nodded and when the elevator reached the communal living room, she allowed Steve to lift her out of Tony's arms. Bucky was in the living room waiting.
"JARVIS called," said Bucky in explanation. "Said you had your hands full with a sick Peter and upset Emmy. I'm here to offer my services as favorite uncle and give you a break."
"Pretty sure Clint thinks he's the favorite uncle," said Steve, dropping exhaustedly on the couch next to his long time best friend.
"Yes but Clint also thinks Arrow is better than Supernatural, so his judgment is not to be trusted," replied Bucky before leaning forward slightly to look at the morose bundle in Steve's arms. "How you doing, brat?"
Emmy sighed but crawled onto Bucky's lap, poking at his metal arm dispassionately.
"Not talking to me?" teased Bucky lightly.
Emmy's eyes filled with tears at the comment.
"So it's that bad of a day," said Bucky softly, flesh hand bringing Emmy closer.
"I want Daddy," whispered Emmy, tears starting to fall again as she buried her face to Bucky's shirt.
"Go get some rest, Steve," said Bucky. "Or look in on Peter if that would make you feel better, but I've got her until Tony gets back."
Steve nodded, kissed Emmy's messy hair, and left. It broke his heart to see his daughter do upset when he could do nothing but he also knew that Peter – while the boy adored Tony – was more of a Papa's boy, just like Emmy was a Daddy's girl, and when sick Peter generally just wanted Steve's attention.
"So what's this really about, kid?" asked Bucky when Steve left, setting Emmy in front of him on the couch, both sitting tailor style to see face the other.
Emmy looked down, tugging absently at the blanket that pooled across her lap.
"I'm not going to make you talk about it," said Bucky softly. "But I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong."
"I just want Daddy," whispered Emmy, curling up in her blanket, tears tracking down her cheeks. "Please."
"He is taking care of your brother," said Bucky, metal hand rubbing her hair.
"Daddy and Papa love Petey more."
There it was. Bucky knew Emmy adored Peter. Everyone had expected her to become upset and jealous when she had to share her father's time but she hadn't, then again she also hadn't had such a bad day since Peter had joined the family. Every other bad day she had Tony and Steve available to her but with Peter sick, they had to split their attention and clearly she was not handling that well.
"Damn," cursed Bucky.
*Sequel! Because you asked for it and I would have missed writing if I stopped.
I was going to post this later but it's my birthday and I wanted to give you all a present. So here you go! Always-Ari