#tw; period typical character in closet

[terrence-silver]

Do you think you could write more about Twig and a frontline nurse in Vietnam? It could be headcanons or a fic, it's all up to you. I loved your previous post 🥰

---

On a patrol boat riverine across the Rung Sat Special Zone, he got shot.

A positioned sniper hitting him from somewhere in the bushes.

Not a serious wound by any capacity; the bullet merely grazed him.

More luck than brains, their Commanding Officer Turner quickly remarked once they were back on shore, and the infirmary it was for Terry, aided as always by John who was due for a Tetanus shot while Ponytail was off schmoozing the nurses at the bay area, ever the popular guy. Like a cat with nine lives, the only one not injured out of the squad, Terry makes note of it partially admiring, partially envious, partially relieved once safely in a familiar, erected tent all by himself, and the provisional doctor he was often deployed to was there, pulling up his white latex gloves, clean and antiseptic. He could’ve been in his late thirties or early forties, looking like the spitting image of pa’s old movie actors back home.

A bit like Charleston Heston, perhaps.

Okay, maybe he was suffering from heatstroke.

He thought John looked a bit like that too. Then again, every man looked a bit like John.

But, Terry once watched this man amputate an arm up to the elbow without pain killers while he was laying in on a nearby bed, recovering from a broken rib once bunks for the wounded became scarce and the experience was transcendental in that crammed, makeshift hospital, the sensation frightening and disturbed at first, like something that threatened to lurch out of his stomach in the form of sick and bile, but Terry found himself staring at the live operation, transfixed until the muted sounds of screaming drifted away and all he saw was the bone, the open flesh and the blood with the doctor's assistant angrily drawing on the curtains, put off by him looking so ardently. Blood. So what? Somewhere during that lay in, he remembered John's kindly voice advising him to look away. -"If they find you staring like that at the other guys being worked on, they can send you for a psych evaluation, and well, if you fail that..."- John trailed off in warning. There was always talks of those unfit for service sent back home due to being shell-shocked and frenzied after combat, endangering both themselves and their group, but Terry never wanted to be one of them. His father would never let him live it down and it would mean leaving behind the only friends he’s made in his life. It would mean leaving Johnny behind. Ponytail. -"You can get discharged, Twig. Maybe that's safer for you, though, I mean..."-

There's a sense of empathy (and pity) in John's tone and Terry instantly shoots it down.

No!

He wouldn’t be the one sent home.

-"I'll stop looking, just for you, Johnny."-

Terry promises solemnly, tiredly smiling from his bunk bed, wrapped in bandages across his torso as the soldier with the arm lopped cleaned off was led off to the emergency room. That doctor --- his doctor --- was right there, at the helm of it all that day. Terry even remembered the date, like something jubilant. 1968, November 6th, five in the afternoon, the infirmary bay in Saigon. But, now he was back in with the same man in his first aid tent and he wasn't sure what the feelings he had were called. Intrigue? Yes, maybe Terry was intrigued by the good doctor's line of work. All those...tools. Scalpels. Turning forks. Cutters. Saws. Ways in which pain could be accentuated, controlled, cured, prolonged, made acute. Was it warmth? Whenever Terry was helped and the puss and filth was cleaned from his scars with the doctor's steady, focused hands in semblance of something like care? Was it merely the coziness he felt in the presence of someone older and in charge who didn't make a note out of demeaning him, the way Captain Turner did? The very act of someone being vaguely kind making him flush as he sat there, waiting for his wound to be cauterized. Possible. The doctor speaks to him, applying the flashlight to his eyes, spreading his lids ever so slightly to check for signs of trauma. -"Not counting the bullet,"- He inquires, patiently. -"feeling any weird side-effects? Grogginess? Nausea? Migraines?"- He lists off a couple of plausible side-reactions and Terry nods away at each, saying nothing. -"Are you out of it, Private?"- He asks plainly then, removing the blinding light, looking him square in the face as Terry blinked, examining him, as per habit. -"No, I just like it here."- Terry blurts out, cursing himself for saying just about anything he deemed fit, looking around the tent, legs dangling back and forth from the tall bench where he was seated.

Man, he really needed to get in control of what kind of shit he uttered.

-"Oh, yeah? That's a first! Don't hear that often. What do you like about it?"-

The doctor chuckles, seeming somewhat amused. The older man has soft features. Soft eyes. The type of soft eyes John’s Betsy had on that photograph he carried around as a lucky charm. Terry knows by sheer experience that the boys coming back from the bush tend to say and do the darnedest things after months lacking proper socialization with anyone but each other and the wild and the medical staff, as he observed in the aftermath often lets them have it, in one ear and out the other (makes it easier to weed out the bad apples too) but still, Terry halts himself from saying what he really, truly liked about the medical bay tent specifically, John’s warnings about developing a filter coming to mind:

How did it feel like? Cutting through the bone? Terry yearns to ask.

How does it feel, sawing through it?

Being in control of the pain?

The pain, the pain, the pain.

-"It's calm, sir."- Terry lies.

#SUBVERSION! #a young terry silver has a secret crush #on a dr. in vietnam #for some very harrowing reasons indeed #kk3 #Cobra Kai #terry silver #terry silver twig #terry silver x male!beloved #terry silver x male!oc #terry silver x reader #tw; war #tw; gore #tw; horror #tw; fluff #tw; mental trauma #tw; period typical character in closet #cobra husbands

[newsies-are-the-new-best-thing]

Why must everything be so confusing?

Part 8 of my trans Davey series, 'my courage, found'

<prev & next> masterlist

TW: accidental misgendering, brief mention of period typical sexism, brief mention of minor character injury

---------

(Sarah's POV)

When Davey was eight and Sarah barely seven, they had created a pact between themselves. The two of them had snuck out of bed late one-night, childish excitement forcing them out of their warm covers to watch the first snow of the season fall. They had been laying on the rug near the fireplace. Flickering embers from the dying fire had kept the worst of the biting cold away, casting slivers of gold onto their faces. Through the window, fat snowflakes lazily drifted past, dancing in a light breeze.

Sarah was the one who brought it up, always one to speak her mind. One to demand and act without hesitation. It had been almost silent, only the slight crackle of the fire to listen to, and her voice had been loud in comparison despite how she whispered her words.

“We should form a pact,” she had said, a serious look settling upon her round face.

“A pact?” Davey had been confused, frowning slightly and moving to sit up. Sarah copied her, so they were now sitting cross-legged and facing each other.

“It means a promise,” Sarah clarified.

“I know what it means,” Davey had scoffed, “I meant, what exactly would we promise?”

Sarah had huffed at her, annoyed by Davey’s reply, “I wanted us to promise that we would never hide stuff or lie to each other, but you don’t seem to want to make it.”

“No, no- Sarah,” Davey hurriedly said, starting to smile, “I do, c’mon let’s make it.”

“You really want to?”

“Really, c’mon,” Davey had grabbed her hands then, and solemnly said, “I promise to never lie or hide anything from you, Sarah.”

Sarah had followed her lead, voice very serious, repeating the promise and even using Davey’s real name. Her sister had wrinkled her nose at it and told Sarah to use Davey. But Sarah had reminded her that the pact had to be formal which just caused Davey to sigh and shove Sarah over. Then Sarah had kicked Davey and they had both begun trying to wrestle each other while being as quiet as possible.

Their parents had found them ten minutes later because of Sarah screeching at Davey to let go over her braid, while Davey demanded Sarah stop sitting on top of her and digging her knees into her stomach.

The rest of the memory is blurry, but it doesn’t matter. The important part is the fact that they had made a promise, swore to each other, a damn oath, not to lie nor hide things from each other.

The two of them were supposed to tell each other everything. And sure, Sarah may have kept a few secrets from Davey over the years such as who stole her last piece of chocolate or the real names of her crushes. However, Sarah had never acted so blatantly secretive as Davey had been doing for the past couple months. So obviously hiding something.

At first, Sarah had brushed it off as Davey being Davey, always seeming to be half a step out of her body. Occasions where Davey had been completely unaware of outside happenings seemed to become more frequent. And Sarah had become concerned that perhaps something terrible had happened to her sister to cause such a state. Because despite Davey having always suffered from such bouts of mindlessness, it had never been so bad.

Also, Davey had suddenly started being much more tired during the days. Normally, she was wide awake and eager to learn, but now she was barely keeping her eyes open. And Sarah had offered to trade rooms, so that Davey could sleep on a nicer mattress in case that was the problem, but her sister had hurriedly and resoundingly refused. Why Davey likes sleeping in that little closet she will never know. It is either freezing or roasting most of the time due to the windows, and full of spiders and occasional mice. Also, the worn furniture takes up so much room that the door cannot even open all the way. Whatever Davey is hiding, Sarah had thought, I am not going in there to find out.

Then Davey started disappearing after school a lot more than usual. Davey normally came home to study with her but claimed to now be meeting up with friends to study. Which Sarah knows is utter horse shit because Davey does not have friends. She knows every kid in their grade at school and none of them have mentioned studying with her sister. So, Sarah had jumped to the obvious conclusion that Davey was meeting up with a boy. And that just irked her. Why would she hide something like that? Did their pact mean nothing?

But then their father had been injured and Davey had stepped up to take care of them while their mother had been trying to keep herself together. It always seemed to be Sarah who was the one to take care of the three of them, or at least Davey, Les was good at taking care of himself.

But Davey always seemed to forget how to behave, how to properly act as a girl. Her sister had been in a war against skirts for practically her whole life, always tripping and yanking at them awkwardly. On multiple occasions she had to stop Davey from cutting her hair in some sort of fit of emotion, and then lie to their teacher about why Davey had decided to braid her hair up in such a way that it looked quite manly.

So, Sarah had never expected Davey to be the one in the kitchen cooking for them, nor the one to talk with all the relatives and friends that had stopped by. She hadn’t expected to find Davey pouring over the old newspapers about the trolley strike or find him reviewing the bills and bank statements, helping their mother stretch finances more than they already have been.

After those surprises, she has been almost unbothered about Davey going to find work while she has stayed back to help their mother. It had been easier, she realized, to stay near home, in case something happened to their parents. Plus, if she and Davey were both at home and taking care of the neighbors’ kids, their brother would be going to find work by himself. And Les definitely should not be sent alone to news gate, he had a habit of scurrying off into random adventures if left unattended.

The thing is, the first night of them working, Les returned with a sum that was definitely more than what Davey would be making as a laundress. And when she had invited Jack over for dinner, Davey had conveniently not arrived home even though her sister should have been as she’d been quite worried about their father. Strange that she had not been to dinner where Les, the well-known mischief maker, had agreed to host a boy, Jack, around their ages. Hmm…she thinks, strange.

Plus, he had kept mentioning Davey. For whatever reason though, he’d thought they had another brother named Davey as well which would just be confusing. Maybe Davey knew Jack and told him to try and throw off any suspicion that they were acquainted. Why Jack chose to make up a lie about their brother Davey selling with them…. Sarah doesn’t have an answer at that bothers her.

Les’s behavior was also telling. More silent than usual, practically shoveling food in his mouth at a speed only rivaled by a high-speed train. Then, it hit her, he knew something. Davey had told him something. Told him the reason behind the hiding and secretive nature. She had told Les the reason and not her. No, Sarah is not jealous of her kid brother, that would just be petty.

Alright, she admits she is a bit jealous that Davey decided to break their pact and then tell Les instead of her. They were each other’s best friends, basically twins despite the ten month age gap, always enjoying the same books and subjects in school, always fighting over who got the scrap of extra dough when their mother made rugelach.

Currently, Sarah is waiting for Davey to return from her job which is keeping her awfully late. Maybe she could tag along with Davey tomorrow and ask her boss to assign something shorter. Tiredly, she swipes at her drooping eyes, attempting to force herself more awake. Les had gone to bed a few hours ago after telling her that Davey was probably going to be home much later and that she should not wait up.

Well, she had thought, if Les doesn’t want me to stay up, it’s probably because whatever he knows. So, here she is, sitting on her thin mattress in her creepy room, trying not to fall asleep before she comes back. But even if she does, Davey will have to wake her up to sleep which is why she chose this spot. Yawning Sarah slides backwards until her back hits the wall, letting her eyes rest for a moment.

Light slides in onto her face annoyingly bright. Confused, Sarah drags herself upright, squinting at the room around her. Even in the horrifyingly sharp orange light, everything has remained the same as last night. The door still shut; the dresser drawers undisturbed.

Davey hadn’t come home.

A jolt of fear slices through her gut. Sarah sucks in a breath trying to keep calm. There must be an answer to this. Maybe she had realized Sarah was in there and slept in the other room instead. Joints aching, Sarah quickly rises from the bed, and rushes towards her room, hoping that it is early enough that Davey is still sleeping.

When she yanks open the door however, all she finds is Les tying his boots. He looks up startled by her sudden appearance,

“Where is Davey?”

“Um….h-she left early.” Sarah narrows her eyes at him in doubt and Les pretends not to notice. Davey hadn’t even come in to change clothes…probably. Alright, Sarah is a decently deep sleeper so that could be the case. Even if it is, Davey has been acting incredibly suspicious about this whole job.

Maybe she doesn’t even have a laundress job.

Les brushes past her in the doorway as Sarah turns this idea over in her mind. It would explain the weird or weirder behavior that Davey has been exhibiting. And the strange amount of money that Les brought home. Maybe she…maybe Davey decided to become a newsie with Les?

But then why wouldn’t she have said so?

It’s not as if there aren’t any girl newsies. That newsboy, Jack, must have something to do with whatever this is. He and Les must be part of this conspiracy that Davey has developed. A frown settles onto her face, hurt rising at the thought that her sister would rather trust a random boy that she’d only known for as little as a day or at most a few months, with this secret.

Sarah gets for the day, with a muddled mind, swarming with confusion and more and more wild ideas of what exactly Davey is hiding. Finishing buttoning her shirt, Sarah goes to the kitchen where Les is sure to be nibbling on something before, he heads out. Davey couldn’t even bother to accompany Les to the news gate, Sarah thinks with a sigh, even though Les had been excitedly chattering on about them going on strike! Which, from her knowledge of the recent headlines, is bound to be dangerous, even if it’s just a bunch of kids.

“I’m going with you to the gate today,” Sarah says as she walks into the cramped kitchen, glancing over at small table where Les is chewing on a piece of bread with jelly.

“No!” Les shouts around a mouthful of food, “I’m fine goin’ on my own.”

“I’m sure,” Sarah lies, “but you said a strike is organized for today. I wanted to see what exactly occurs at one.”

Les tries to convince her not to go, which only serves to encourage her to. When their mother greets them, she too agrees that Sarah should accompany Les for a bit. As there is not much that she needs Sarah’s help with today, only asking she run a few errands afterwards. Still, Les continues to argue with her as they get ready to leave and wave farewell to their mother.

“You don’t hafta come with me, its goin’ to be really boring.” Les slumps down the street next to her, face pulled into a frown. A jolt of guilt stabs her gut, and Sarah wonders if she should just give up on going with him. It might not be worth it if its actually upsetting Les this much.

“Yesterday you said it is going to be ‘incredible’.” Sarah points out mildly, ignoring how the feeling of jealousy and guilt warring inside has her gut twisted up in knots. The heat is already picking up, sticky and thick even though the sun is barely over the horizon. Only the labor workers are present, hurrying to work on some grand project.

Les huffs at her.

“Are you worried that Davey is going to be there?” Sarah finally asks, because the feeling of confusion and hurt is currently overwhelming the guilt, and she needs to know if any of her ideas are at all correct.

Her brother freezes, eyes wide. Ha, Sarah thinks as she turns to fully face Les, she is correct that Davey has been around the news gate and probably knows Jack. But then Les is shouting at her,

“Why would Davey be there?”

“I don’t know! That’s why I’m asking you.” Les’s face has turned angry, and he takes a step back. And then another as Sarah paces forwards hands spread in front of her, trying to calm her brother down.

“Stop being so nosy,” he snaps at her, then twists around and bolts. A wave of irritation and guilt rushes up and Sarah gives chase.

“Les, stop, please! I’m sorry-” but Les continues to run, ducking and swerving around corners, well acquainted with the backstreets and shortcuts unlike Sarah. By the time Sarah is turning onto the next street, Les has disappeared from view and she is breathing hard. Nothing makes sense right now and a few tears begin to fall. Embarrssed, Sarah moves to the side of the nearest building, so she is obscured from most of the passersbys.

Frustration, worry, hurt, and guilt all mingle in one gigantic, aching, puddle of discomfort. With a sniff, Sarah presses her hands to her eyes, inhaling the smell of factory smoke and fresh bread. There must be a bakery nearby, she realizes idly as she wills her eyes to stop crying.

“Are you ok?” a woman asks nervously. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Sarah lowers her hands and tries to figure out whoever is questioning her, embarrassment heating her face. When her eyes clear, Sarah inhales sharply, mind going blank. The woman is more of girl about her age, with gorgeous auburn hair that frames her face perfectly, highlighting her beautifully green-brown eyes. Time is forgotten as Sarah becomes breathless from the beauty of the girl.

“Oh-” the girl glances away, and Sarah tries to figure out how to breathe again, “here.”

The girl clumsily hands here a handkerchief, and Sarah goes faint as their hands touch. Her face has grown hotter and as she attempts to thank the mysterious, beautiful stranger, her tongue refuses to work. Instead, Sarah ducks her head in a nod, and dabs the remaining wetness from her face.

“Thank you,” she finally forces past her lips after a few moments of awkward silence, “I am better now.”

“That’s good,” the girl nods, “I thought that perhaps you had been injured.”

“Oh, no, I just lost sight of my brother.” Goodness, why did she say that?

“Do you need help looking for him?” The girl wears a worried look, gorgeous eyes widening in concern. Shaking her head, Sarah absently replies,

“He knows where he’s going, my siblings can just be frustrating sometimes.”

The girl smiles and Sarah’s heart somersaults, “sometimes I feel the same way about my coworkers.”

“You work?” Sarah is suddenly eager to learn as much as she can about whoever this stranger is. The question brightens the girl’s expression even more and a giddy feeling bubbles up in Sarah’s stomach.

“Yes, well I’m part-time right now, but I’m hoping to become a journalist.”

“Really? That sounds quite intense,” Sarah has never heard about a woman journalist. But then again, she has never seen someone so breathtaking either.

“It often is,” the girl looks away wistfully, “but I can’t stop myself from doing it. No matter what others say, my mind won’t let me quit.” She laughs lightly, turning back to face Sarah who suddenly feels weak in the knees.

“What newspaper do you work for?” Sarah asks faintly, fiddling with the handkerchief still in her hands.

“The Sun, I mostly write vaudeville reviews.”

“That sounds…incredible,” everything about this girl is incredible.

“It is, though my bosses are not eager to let write anything else. But I’m the one who is going to be writing about the strike that is happening.” The girl’s face falls slightly, “That’s actually where I was headed to before.”

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry if I made you late.”

“No,” the girl waves her hand, “I was running early anyways. It’s been quite pleasant getting to converse with someone besides a forty-year-old man.”

“Would you like to meet some other time?” Sarah asks in a rush. When she realizes what she asked, her face heats even more and heart sinks to the dirty cobbles below.

“Yes,” the girl replies quickly, expression brightening, “yes, would you want to meet at the park on Pine this afternoon?”

Sarah nods, mirroring the girl’s dazzling smile, “yes, that sounds delightful.”

“It was quite enjoyable meeting you,” the girl steps away, turning halfway towards the street, hair rippling like copper in the early morning sun.

“You too,” Sarah steps forward unconsciously, “good luck on writing your article.”

“Thank you, I hope you find your brother.” And then the wonderful, unknown girl is waving goodbye and leaving.

Goodness, Sarah presses the back of her hand to her cheek realizing she’s still holding the handkerchief and that for some odd, terrible reason, she hadn’t even thought to ask for the girl’s name! What on earth just happened?

Biting at her bottom lip, Sarah tries to bring her reeling mind to a halt. The giddiness, sickly sweet, has persisted from when she laid eyes upon the stranger and her face is still hot and Sarah knows it must be embarrassingly red. Inside, most of the earlier emotions have been buried by whatever nauseating tumbling her heart is currently doing. After taking a few moments to calm her breathing, Sarah pockets the handkerchief and decides to let Les be. She owes him that much, she knows, by making him so upset earlier. With that decision made, Sarah goes to complete the errands her mother had requested she make, another confusing encounter piled onto her mind.

At least this one involved a pretty girl.

------------

Yesterday I told myself that I should finish writing my newsie fic and then sat down and wrote this. I'd been wanting to write Sarah's perspective on Davey being trans and sneaking around and this is what I came up with. I'm not sure if Sarah is OOC, I just sorta created her character from my own ideas and experiences with siblings. I hope you enjoyed reading it ☺️

#newsies #sarah jacobs #kathrine x sarah #trans davey jacobs #davey jacobs #les jacobs #newsies fanfiction

[ourflagmeansdeath-kinkmeme]

Entire crew or Any — Nightmare or worst memory trap, Angst + H/C

Because of a sea witch or some other mumble mumble plot device, the crew gets stuck in one of those scenarios where everyone is trapped in a nightmare/worst memory, mindscape-type things specifically built for them, and slowly the crew end up going through each other's mental hells to help break free.

Obviously, the whole crew is a lot of characters, so if filler chooses to focus on some specific ones that's fine. I'm cool with any ships or gen as well.

Some ideas I have, but filler can take in other directions too.

- Stede is either stuck with memories of the Badmintons bullying or his dad, childhood trauma stuff.

-Ed similarly gets stuck in his mind as a child with his abusive dad.

- Someone's, maybe Lucius, scenario seems almost pleasant at first, idyllic life in a little cottage or whatever, until we realize its a repressed/closeted life, maybe Lucius stuck pretending to be straight, Jim pretending to be a woman, etc. etc.

- Izzy has some absolutely horrific shit going on that everyone has to reckon with now. Maybe he's forced to watch the entire crew + Ed and Stede die over and over again while helpless to stop it, maybe he's tortured when captured, whipped by a previous captain, or maybe he's also part of the abusive shitty dad club. Whatever he has going on is a LOT it fucks with everyone/ changes how they see/treat him.

- Buttons scenario is either the most bonkers thing you've ever seen, or seems basically normal and binal. No in between.

- Some of the crew as escaped slaves, dealing with period typical racism or colonialism?

The big things I'm wanting are the angst, the crew helping each other escape, and the comfort/fallout after, so truly wherever the idea takes you.

Do not wants: Izzy's nightmare being Ed/the Kraken. Graphic non-con (alluded to is fine but no blow by blow. Unhappy ending or anyone stuck in the dream world forever. Permanent character death (temporary/in the illusion is fine.)

Fill: Nightmares [Canon Pairings] [TW: Referenced Child Abuse, Referenced Sexual Assault, Body Horror (Dismemberment)]

#C: Revenge Crew #P: General | No Pairing #T: Magic #T: Nightmares #T: PTSD #T: Backstory #T: Bullying #T: Angst #Fill: Complete #General | No Pairings Fills

[wonkystank]

Bad Decisions, Good Moments

By @wonkystank for @joyful-soul-collector as part of the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

WC: 3k

Rating: Everyone (no swearing, tw for some discussion of anxiety, a character forgets to eat for a while)

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, a bit of Tony Stark & May Parker

Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, May Parker, and a few Midtown staff

Summary/Prompt: Peter forgets to eat breakfast and faints from hunger at school. Tony takes care of him, bringing him home to give him something to eat.

Notes: huuuge shout out to Marko for being there on a bad night when I barely knew them. I was really happy when I saw I was assigned to create for them and able to give back!!

Tony was idly fiddling on the newest StarkPhone model in his lab. He was in a concentrated daze when his phone suddenly rang, startling him out of his chair and onto the ground.

He cursed and rubbed his sore backside as he sat on the floor, somewhat frantically patting the desk to find his phone, which was out of sight. He located it on the fifth ring, right before it went to voicemail and spoke without looking at the caller.

"Stark. Who is this?" He panted, out of breath.

There was a long pause on the other side before, "Uh, Tony Stark? This is Midtown High, calling in regards to Peter Parker," the voice said, in a distinctly Southern accent. The voice then, continuing off to the side in a loud whisper, obviously not meant to be heard but failing spectacularly, "Tony Stark! I'm talking to Iron Man! I did not think this number would work."

Choosing to ignore that and spare the secretary some dignity, Tony asked, "Peter? What happened with him?"

"Oh, uh, of course. Peter was in gym class and fainted. He's currently in the nurse's office, and he's perfectly fine, but we recommend he go home for the last three periods of the day and rest. We called his primary contact with no answer so you were next on the list. Are you able to pick him up?"

Tony rolls his eyes at the kid's stupidity. Peter had probably forgotten to eat that morning and his metabolism screwed him over. He replied smoothly, "Should be no problem. I can make it there in 15, 20 minutes?"

"That would be excellent, sir, thank you."

"Great, see you soon."

Tony stood up off the floor, grumbling. He grabbed a suit jacket that was thrown over the back of a nearby chair, attempting to class up the t-shirt and jeans he was wearing.

"Friday? Shut down the lab for the night, I think the kid and I will just stick to my apartment."

Tony Stark lightly jogged up the front steps of Midtown High. He thought the security was a little lacking, and considered dropping by some other time and visiting the principal with his checkbook on him. But not today - he didn't want to bore Peter.

He strolled through the doors with a certain degree of the patented Tony Stark flair and glanced around, finding the office easily, continuing on his way.

The receptionist was on the phone when he walked in, and from her voice, she seemed to be the same one he had talked to. Not wanting to distract her, he lagged back a little from her desk as he waited.

When she set the phone down and looked up, he approached her and said, "Hi, Tony Stark, here to pick up Peter Parker?"

Her eyes widened and she said "Oh, uh, he's in the nurse's office right now - that's a little ways down the hall, first door on your left." Obviously having run through the whole spiel many times before, it seemed she forgot that it was Tony Stark in front of her and slipped into a monotone drone. She continued, "It's in the guidance office, the man at the desk there will help you. You'll need ID so he can make sure you aren't a kidnapper and that you're actually picking up the right kid."

Tony smiled, "Well, we wouldn't want that. Thank you for your time, Miss..?"

She startled, not expecting him to care about who she actually was, and replied slightly belatedly, "Miss Hodge. Pleasure meeting you, Mister Stark."

Tony turned and walked out the door, heading down the hall according to her instructions.

For a few moments, he idly wonders why the nurse's office is in Guidance. What kind of person would put the nurse's office there instead of the main office? He settled on the idea there was no explanation, but that it was decidedly stupid. As he walked, he fished out his wallet and pulled out his driver's license, just in case someone thought he wasn't Tony Stark. If that wasn't obvious.

He reached the doorway and wandered in.

Directing his request to the man at the desk, he asked, "Hi, Tony Stark, here to pick up Peter Parker?"

"ID please," the man droned.

He passed it over. The secretary glanced at it for half a second, handed it back with a form, and said in a bored tone, "The door behind you is the nurse's office, he'll be in there. Please sign this sheet to sign him out."

Honestly, the man not knowing him or not caring was kinda refreshing. At least Tony knew he wasn't a total bootlicker for nothing. He signed the paper a little less boldly than normal, because even though this guy didn't care, anyone who took a look at it after might, whether that was another secretary, a parent, or whoever, and he didn't really want to deal with that. It could end up putting a target on Peter's back if people realized they had a connection and that was the last thing Tony wanted. He already was in enough danger as Spider-Man.

Doing his best to shove all his fears and anxieties into a back corner of his brain, Tony slid the page back to the secretary and turned to the door behind him to get Peter.

He knocked twice and opened the door, stepping in. His attention turned to the brown-haired kid laying on the cot, and he smiled widely at the sight.

Peter was dozing away peacefully on the rubber-coated mattress. His hair was gelled back, but some of his curls had escaped and were flying away. He looked about three years younger than usual, carefree in a way that the teenager typically lacked.

Tony took in the sight for a few moments more and then plopped down on the cot beside him. He set a reassuring hand on the boy's ankle, then started, "Wakey-wakey, Mister Parker."

Peter slowly blinked awake, getting his bearings, but winced at the light.

"M'sser- Mister Stark? What are you doing here?"

"Hmm, well, I'll give you three guesses as to why," Tony replied, in a fake indifferent tone.

Much more aware then, Peter complained, "Don't try and be funny, your personal intern fainted today. Isn't that an emergency that deserves all your serious attention?"

"One hundred percent. On that note, how are you feeling?"

Peter tried to push himself upward and fell back, stifling a groan. On his second try, he fared better and managed to stay upright.

"Mmmph. Yeah, the nurse gave me an Advil, some water, and a pack of saltines before she went to go do a Sex Ed presentation or something. But you know me, that much doesn't really stick. Headache is still kinda killer."

Tony cupped Peter's jaw and rubbed his thumb over his cheek. His brow furrowed.

"Yeah, we really need to find a painkiller that actually works for you. And get some more food. Have you actually eaten in the past 24 hours?"

"Who can really say? Time is relative."

"Kid."

"Adult," came the response, just as dry.

"Y'know, I don't have to stand for this. I can just leave you here, bored and in pain. But I won't, because I enjoy you most of the time you aren't like this." Tony said, waving a hand dramatically. He continued, "Alright, let's break you out of here because there's no sense in staying in this broom closet."

"Agreed," Peter said firmly.

Tony offered him a hand up, steadying the kid when he started to tip. The mentor secured an arm around his shoulders just in case, and then they were off.

Tony tapped impatiently on the steering wheel as they waited at a red light. It had been silent for a few minutes, and Tony was thinking hard.

He broke the silence as the light turned green, asking tentatively, "Peter? Are you… okay? Because you need to eat, and you need to sleep, and if you aren't taking care of yourself, that's something we should talk about."

Peter visibly stiffened, and his voice was unusually hard when he scoffed back, "You're one to talk about taking care of yourself."

Tony blew out a breath slowly. In a calm voice, he said, "Peter."

The boy crumpled in on himself suddenly, wiping at his eyes and sniffling. His voice cracked and the dam inside him that kept all his feelings bottled up broke. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and said, "I- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. That- that wasn't fair of me. It's… I dunno, it's been kinda hard lately. All my teachers are getting us freaked out about exams, and I'm still trying to keep up with patrolling, and MJ and I got into an argument and it's really, really just been a lot. And- and everything just swirls around in my brain at night and so I hardly sleep, and then I run out the door for school without grabbing any food. And the cycle just keeps going. May's been away for a work thing the past few days so she hasn't really been able to keep me in check. Today just sorta was my unlucky day, with the fainting thing. I just want to stop hurting. Is that not too much to ask?"

Tony wished he wasn't driving then, that he could devote 100% of himself to Peter in that moment. But keeping him alive by driving safely was also very important, so he made do with what he had and set a gentle hand on the kid's knee.

He glanced over for a second, making eye contact briefly before redirecting his attention to the road. "Pete, being completely honest with you, I can't help you all the way here. I can be here, listen, support you. And I'll be there, every time you need me. But I can't help you rewire your brain, in the way I think you know it needs. I think seeing a therapist would help you a lot, help you deal with your normal and night life stresses. I was where you were once, and I suffered alone like that for a really long time. It wasn't worth it. There's no shame in going to therapy. I go to therapy. If you're not ready yet, that's okay. But I swear to you, no matter what, it gets better. It always gets better."

Peter sniffed a few times, then cracked a small grin.

"Y'know, I'd hug you right now, but I'm pretty sure that'd be a really bad idea."

"Well, I think I can fit a hug into my schedule in a few minutes. But just a quick one, I have other stuff to do."

"Also, wow, when did you get so good at making impromptu motivational speeches? Has all that time with Captain America been rubbing off on you?" Peter wondered aloud.

"Kid, when you grow up famous, you learn a trick or two. Cap was very much in the ice when I learned all this sort of stuff."

"If that's what you say," the kid mocked.

"You're killing me, kid."

Back at the Tower, Peter stretched out on the couch closest to the kitchen.

"What are you making anyway? I thought you couldn't cook."

As Tony buttered a piece of bread, he replied, "Oh, a few years back, Pepper insisted on me becoming a sensible, capable adult, so she signed me up for cooking lessons. I'm no chef like Happy is, but I can hold my own."

Without looking over, Peter said, "So you're making me grilled cheese."

"Wh- yes, but how did you figure out that?"

"Well, I can hear you buttering bread because of my enhancement, but Tony Stark would not simply make a sandwich, ergo, you're about to turn on the pan and make grilled cheese. Easy, delicious, quick, and a step above average."

"What are you, a mentalist now?"

Peter popped his head up and stared eerily at Tony. He whispered, in a tone meant to be creepy but just reaching moderately weird, "I can read your mind."

"Sure kid. So, what happened at school today before your little episode?

"Well…" Peter trailed on about the exceptionally boring English class that morning, then moved on to telling him about Ned's latest obsession with some tech YouTuber. By the time he was finished talking about some idiot client May had at work, the grilled cheese was ready.

With an air of elegance, Tony waltzed over to Peter, plate balanced on one hand, and announced, "Apologies for the interruption, Mister Parker, but your food is ready. Bon appetit."

"Uh, merci, monsieur."

Tony lost the groomed facade and ordered, "Alright, now move your feet because I have to sit here too."

Peter scooched his feet back by one couch cushion. Through a mouthful of sandwich, he responded, "Wow, someone's bossy."

"I am going to ignore that and take the higher path - what are we going to watch?"

"Star Wars."

"You really didn't have to think about it at all, did you?"

Peter grinned, "You know how I said I could read minds? Well, your next question is going to be what episode. To that, I say, A New Hope, because it's the OG and that's what I feel like right now."

"You set me up for that one by purposely not saying which episode first."

"Still got it right, though didn't I?"

Pretending not to hear, Tony turned up to the ceiling. "FRIDAY? You heard the kid. Queue it up."

The opening music began and the text started scrolling across the screen. Peter shifted his legs again so that they were on Tony's lap.

Tony rolled his eyes, "Oh, you think I'm the bossy one? What do you call this."

Peter simply replied by shushing him loudly.

And who could say if Tony enjoyed the contact? (Well, FRIDAY probably could). He settled a hand on Peter's ankle and sat back to watch the show.

Halfway through, long after Peter's exhaustion had overcame him and made him fall asleep, Tony's cell rang. He did his best to slip out unnoticeably from under Peter's legs and went out into the hallway to answer the call.

"Hey May, I guess you heard?"

"Uh-huh. Fainted, right in the middle of class."

"Yeah, as it turns out, he hadn't eaten in a while, especially bad for his metabolism."

In a wry tone, May said, "The next time I go away, you're keeping our idiot kid at your place and taking care of him."

"Yeah, definitely don't want repeats on this episode," Tony replied.

"On second thought, I should make sure Pepper’s around, because we both know that you're almost as bad as Peter about that."

Tony let out a groan and whined, "I resent that. Why didn't I try harder to keep you two apart? I knew you'd swap stories and become more powerful."

May laughed. "You think you could've ever kept us away from each other? We're just trying to keep you in constant terror so you never step out of line."

"Y'know, I'm pretty sure that qualifies as abuse."

May smiles, then shakes her head, and her voice turns more serious. "Thank you, though, for being there for Peter when I couldn't. I'm glad he has someone else looking out for him again."

The unimaginable losses Peter had faced were woven into that sentence. First his parents, then Ben. It had only been May for far too long. But now, there was someone else to shoulder that weight again.

"Always, May. I'm always here." Tony says, in an equally somber tone.

Lightening the mood a little, May adds, "Hey, how about you come over to our place Sunday night? I'd say for dinner, but I'm sure Peter has told you stories about my cooking, so pizza? And a movie? As part of my thanks. I'm sure Pete would enjoy it."

"I think I can swing that," Tony said, "And hey, um, I was talking to Peter, and he seems to be struggling a lot right now. I can set him up with a therapist, get all the paperwork good for the secret superhero stuff. I'll take care of the money too, that's not something you should worry about."

There's a pause, and May's voice is low when she replies, "You're doing right by our kid, in case you ever doubt that. I'd really appreciate that, and I agree, I think he needs it."

"Of course. Uh, I should probably get back to the kid sleeping in the other room. Take care, May."

"See you soon, Tony."

"Buh-bye."

Tony walked back to the couch. He stopped, for a moment, taking a long look at the kid who turned his life around.

"I love you," he whispered. Peter wasn't awake to hear it, but Tony hoped he already knew. He'd say it some other time, when the moment was right and he had barely enough courage. He made a silent promise to himself to do that.

He sat back down, smiled, and basked in the rare peaceful moment he had. Life was good for Tony Stark because he had Peter Parker in his life.