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harleykeeners · 2 months

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Be My Life Line (Please)-Parkner

Peter Parker/Harley Keener

Prompt: Peter Parker is overwhelmed. His Dads happen to be called out on a mission the same week his life decided to fall apart. With 4 tests, massive presentations, and no parents, Peter starts popping pills to cope with the pressure of everything crumbling around him. Harley finds him and accidentally makes it worse.

Word Count: 9282

“Hey, kid. Just checking in, we just landed. Everything good?” Tony asked.

Peter put the phone down as he sighed, “Yeah, everything’s great.” Lying through his teeth, Peter started to make his way to the medicine cabinet.

“That’s good to hear. Hey, we should be back in 3 days tops. Just gotta wrap something up here with Nat quickly, something about some rogue spies, I don’t even know at this point.”

“Sounds like fun. Well, I gotta go, got things to do. Be safe, love you.” Peter hung up and just… stared into the mirror. He closed the medicine cabinet and walked away. Tony and Stephen were suddenly pulled away for a mission Peter (and apparently Tony) knew next to nothing about. Which was normal.

Except it had to be this week.

It had to be the week Peter had his Calc and Physics midterm.

It had to be the week Peter had an English and History test.

It had to be the week Peter promised to help MJ with Academic Decathlon practice.

It had to be the week Peter was set to present his work to the other head scientists at Stark Industries.

All in all, he had too much this week. Too much, all at once.

Normally, whenever Tony and Stephen were out, Peter would ask Pepper for help. Well, with Pepper being promoted to CEO, that was next to impossible. After Pepper, Peter would go to Happy. However, it appeared the universe was dead set on making Peter’s week terrible. Happy was preoccupied with training new bodyguards and media specialists (which wasn’t his job?).

So, Peter was alone. Alone with a crammed schedule.

He took solace in his bedroom, the lights low with just a lamp over his desk. He figured the best course of action was tackling everything one thing at a time. Or else he feared he would drown.

Peter found it kind of funny, how all of his teachers decided to assign work the same week his internship project was due for a presentation. He figured he’d start with his Physics review. The packet had 60 questions, and he hadn’t started yet. His midterm was 40% of his final grade. He couldn’t afford to fail- which he doesn’t think he will- but better safe than sorry.

As he stares at the packet, Peter wonders why he cares so much. Maybe it's because everyone tells him how “lucky” he is. How he has to make his Dads proud. How he has to live up to his Dads expectations. How he has to prove he’s “worthy” of the life he has.

He knows it’s irrational.

But, it's still enough to motivate him to study himself into an early grave.

He stares at the paper… and completely blanks out.

Friday alerts Peter that it is time for dinner. Normally Tony would make dinner, (or at least leave Peter some leftovers), however, he left in such a rush that Peter had to make his own dinner. The only issue with that is, Peter easily loses track of time. Peter would find himself burning several meals and leaving the oven on multiple times.

It’s not that Peter is a bed cook, just not a safe one.

Tony had banned Peter from the kitchen multiple times.

Worse comes to worst, Peter will cook. However, he’d rather not. Whenever Tony and Stephen would usually leave, Pepper or even Harley would come over and cook. They’d make a day of it.

As Peter stares into the fridge, he really starts to contemplate calling or texting Harley. However, he imagines it’d go something like this:

“Harls, how do I make pasta?”

“Peter, you can not be serious…”

Once Peter sees that there isn’t food, he goes back to his room. He doesn’t want to waste more precious study time. Besides, he wasn’t that hungry. Dinner could be a bit later.

Peter went back to his packet and about his day.

Before he knew it, Friday alerted him it was midnight.

“Great..” Peter muttered. He hadn’t eaten and still didn’t understand certain problems in his review packet.

Peter gave up and started getting ready for bed. He wasn’t that hungry anyway. He set his alarm and then remembered, Tony wasn’t here to drive him. He’d have to take the bus.

Peter set his alarm for 5 A.M.

After a quick shower, he settled into bed and checked his phone. No notifications. It seemed his Dads were busy.

“Goodnight,” Peter says to himself. He could feel it, this was going to be a hard week.

Initially, Peter thought he’d be fine. His Dads joke about how it would be a trial run for college. Peter would be responsible for getting to school, work, and all the house chores. “I’ll be fine,” Peter said. “Go! Go save the world!” Peter ushers his Dads out the door after a quick goodbye.

He wishes he went with them.

The alarm hurls him awake. Peter fights every force known to man, plus some, to get out of bed. His phone's brightness slightly blinds him, and he sees the time says 5:10 A.M. and a text from his Dad.

Dad: Have a good day! Just killed a weird alien, will bring goop as souvenir!

9:45 P.M.

Peter hurls himself out of bed and makes his way into the bathroom.

“What the fuck!” Peter shouts as he hops into the freezing shower. He laughs to himself, “Oh, the universe is out to get me.”

Pro: Peter was no longer sleepy.

Con: Peter was freezing in the middle of January, in New York.

He rushes to pack his bag, making sure to shove his review packet in there. Peter hoped to do a few extra questions on the bus. Racing downstairs, Peter quickly grabs a banana for breakfast and races out the door.

“Next bus in 30 minutes,” reads on the bus app. Great, that only means Peter just missed the bus.

He sat at the bus stop, regretting not dressing warmer, and started working on his review packet. The smell of weed hit him as a few people started to gather at the bus stop. It frustrated him that he had to smell weed this early in the morning. That was the main reason he asked Tony to drive him to school.

He wasn’t a fan of starting his day with the horrid stench of weed at 5:30 A.M.

By the time the bus came, Peter had to fight his way on. He ended up standing in the alley, holding on to the overhead rails for support. Any plans to keep studying went out the window.

The morning bus was always oddly crowded. People getting on would shove and jostle Peter, and he simply got used to it.

As luck would have it, Peter forgot to grab his headphones. The nice thing about the morning bus was that no one tried to talk to him. He quietly watched the street view and the soft fall of snow outside.

He found comfort in the route. It was the same route every day. It was a constant.

When he finally got off at Midtown, the time was 6:45 A.M. Peter had 15 minutes before class in which he can continue his studies. He found a small corner by the school and settled down.

“Yo, you got those practice questions I asked for?” MJ asks. She seemed to appear out of thin air and scared the shit out of Peter.

“Oh, no. Sorry, it completely slipped my mind.” He answered as MJ opted to sit next to him. Peter forgot that MJ was in the hospital with her mother and needed help with Academic Decathlon practice questions.

“Ah, don’t sweat it. I just need them before Thursday.” She looks over his shoulder at the packet. “Last minute cramming?”

Peter nods and sighs at the same time. “Yeah. I think I’ll be fine but can never be too sure.”

MJ laughs and quips back “Yeah, don’t be like Flash. He’s going on and on about how he knows he’ll ace it but” MJ leans closer to Peter, “If you look at him closely, you can see the panic in his eyes.”

They shared a laugh before MJ got up to roam around school a bit before class. Peter was feeling a bit more confident, however, his test anxiety was acting up. Bad enough that he has to take this test at the end of the day. Now he’ll just be anxious all day.

Throughout the day, Peter’s head started to hurt. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, mixed with his empty stomach, and his anxiety that started making his head spin.

It was fine, he just needed to get through this midterm. That he forgot about until yesterday. That was worth 40% of his grade. That could tank his 96% “A”. That Flash 100% bombed if his face at lunch was anything to tell by.

If Peter played his cards right, he just needed 81% to end up with 90%. He needs to end the semester with an “A”. He can only afford to get 12 questions wrong. He should have studied earlier. His head is spinning. His palms are sweating. When did it get so hot?

Peter flips over his test and quickly skims the questions. He doesn’t remember what happens next.

He walked out of the classroom, feeling relief that it was finally over. Until he remembers he has to go on patrol.

Peter really didn’t want to go on patrol as he had his Chemistry midterm on Thursday. But, Spider-Man can’t just disappear for a week. So, despite his better judgment, he calls Ned to take his bag.

Normally, Peter loves patrol. He loves swinging from building to building and helping those in need. Peter finds that being Spider-Man is one of the few moments he can truly be himself. No pressure from school, friends, or his Dads. Spider-Man is his window to freedom.

And right now, Peter wants to slam the window shut. Right now, Peter needs to be studying. However, just as he thinks that Peter sees a cat in a tree.

“Hey! Someone a little stuck?” Peter asks the cat, not really expecting a response. (However, he doesn’t ignore the possibility of a talking cat.) Luckily, the cat doesn’t try to scratch him. Peter easily scoops up the cat and returns it to the ground.

“I feel like I should find your owner…” The cat ends up running away behind some home, allowing Peter to conclude that it was an outside cat that simply got stuck.

He wishes his patrol ended there. Over the next 3 hours, the universe decided to line up every petty crime back-to-back. First, Mr. Delmar found himself behind gunpoint. Then, some teenagers decided to rob a gas station. Followed by three guys causing a commotion on the subway. And the cherry on top of this picture-perfect night was a woman getting mugged right as Peter was going to go home.

Peter knows he’s there to help. But sometimes, sometimes he wishes he could be selfish and take the day for himself.

He swings by Ned’s window to collect his bag and makes his way home.

“Welcome home, Peter. It is currently 9:37 P.M.” Friday announces. Peter simply groans and makes his way to the shower. One thing he feels he must do is shower after patrol. Even though he should go to bed, Peter needs to study.

The relief Peter feels as the hot water hits his shoulders is unparalleled. It's the first moment of relaxation all day.

As Peter gets dressed, he notices the clock strikes 10 P.M. That gives him roughly an hour to study. He silences his phone to avoid all distractions and hits the books.

Dad: Everything okay? Haven’t heard from you yet

10:12 P.M.

Pops: Hope you’re doing well, Peter.

10:19 P.M.

Dad: Sleep well, kid. Love ya

10:35 P.M.

He doesn’t notice the missed texts. Peter wakes up on his desk.

His phone is screaming at him from across the room. His head hurts and the lights he left on blind him.

“Shit,” He thinks. Peter pulls himself from the desk, his back in agony and his head pounding. “Friday, what time is it?”

“It is 6 A.M, Peter.”

“Oh, shit.” Peter thinks. “I’m going to miss the bus.” Immediately, Peter throws on the first thing he sees and races out the door. No time for breakfast. Now that he thinks about it, he missed dinner yesterday.

As he rushes to the bus stop, Peter realizes the bus is approaching. Luckily, there's a line of people to get on so Peter makes it on in time. Way too close for comfort.

By now, his head is pounding. He keeps forgetting to eat and he’s not getting enough sleep. He’s still sore from patrol and he’s anxious about his tests. And now, he’s out of breath from chasing the bus.

It’s not like today is going to get any better. Peter knows he still has to do the Academic Decathlon questions MJ asked for. Plus, he needs to finish patrol quickly to review some formulas that were wrong on his internship project.

Once again, MJ finds him sitting in the same corner, now reviewing Chemistry. Peter sees her from the corner of his eye and prepares to let her down again.

“Before you ask, no, I still don’t have the AcaDeca questions. I’m sorry, I’ll try my hardest to get them done by tomorrow.” Peter doesn't promise and he isn’t even sure what he just said is true.

He doesn’t really know why he can’t just tell MJ he doesn’t have the time to do them.

Well, Peter knows why.

He doesn’t want to let her down. He doesn’t want to admit he can’t do something. He doesn’t want to admit he bit off more than he can chew. Peter wants to be someone people can rely on. But right now, he can’t even rely on himself.

“No sweat, just let me know if it’s too much. I can always ask Ned to do them instead.” MJ calmly answers back.

Peter should tell her that would be better, but something stops him.

“Hey, MJ.” Peter finds himself saying. "Do you have any Advil on you?”

“Yeah, why? Headache?”

Peter nods his head as MJ hands him the small pill. “Slept horribly.” He doesn’t even bother getting water and dry swallows the pill. MJ shoots him a look of sympathy and understanding.

“Happens to the best of us,” she says. With that, MJ bids Peter farewell and he resumes his studies.

When 3rd period rolls around, Peter is hit with the fact that he indeed has a history test today. He’s not panicking, just annoyed he forgot. It seemed like things were slipping from his memory recently.

The class is silent as they take their test and Peter starts to feel dizzy again. He didn’t eat during lunch and instead kept studying. He drinks some water, which does help him a little, but right now Peter just wants to put his head down.

He finishes his test and makes a dash for the bathroom. He just needs a minute to breathe. “Okay, just calm down. Just relax and focus,” Peter thinks as he splashes water onto his face. He begins to form a list and organize himself:

Patrol.

Internship formula.

Chemistry Midterm.

English test.

Academic Decathlon Questions.

And dinner.

He keeps forgetting that one.

Peter just needs to better manage his time. Other than that, he sees no reason to be overwhelmed. He’s just all over the place. However, his head wasn’t feeling much better.

The nurse can’t give him any medication so Peter will have to wait till he gets home.

The bell finally rings and Peter makes a dash for an empty alleyway. He doesn’t bother giving Ned his bag as he simply webs it to the wall. Peter jumps into his suit and begins his quick patrol. No more than an hour, the city gets Spider-Man for one hour and that’s it. Today, Peter Parker is needed more than Spider-Man.

Rushing to wrap the patrol up, Peter ends up slamming into a pole.

“Fuck!” He shouts and concludes patrol then and there. His arms are throbbing but that doesn’t matter, Peter still needs to get home and review his project.

The tower is freezing, and Peter makes a run to the bathroom. With no time to revel in the soothing hot water, he quickly cleans up the sweat and blood and changes into his comfort clothes. The other interns will simply deal with Peter in Harley’s hoodie and sweatpants.

Before going down to the lab, Peter goes to the medicine cabinet. His head is killing him and the pain in his arms isn’t going away. He looks at the bottle of Advil and opens it. He takes two for his headache and two more for his arms.

As he swallows the pills, Peter realizes that he hasn’t eaten yet. However, he then remembers Friday exists. “Friday, could you order a pizza and deliver it to the lab for me?”

“Of course, Peter.” Friday happily responds.

With that settled, Peter heads to the lab.

Peter is face to face with the whiteboard and one problem on it. He’s been going over it for hours. He keeps ending up with a remainder, however, it ruins the machine's code. All the other interns have taken a stab at it and none have been successful.

“This is going to be the death of me.” One of them says, which by the size of their eye bags, seems to be right.

“I swear I’m going insane. How do we keep getting a remainder? We’ve used every rational method…” Another intern says.

“We have to be missing something super obvious. Maybe, we need a new set of eyes?” Peter says and then realizes his error. They have all been staring at the same problem for the better course of an hour now, and probably all have tunnel vision.

The only issue is, they've run the problem by every intern.

“Are you going to call your Dads? I bet they could figure this out.”

And that comment struck a nerve in Peter. Mainly because he knows he can solve this. He’s solved this type of problem thousands of times before. But for some reason, he’s stuck.

They have to figure this out, as they are set to present this robot to the pantheon of scientists at Stark Industries on Thursday.

“Wait…” one of the interns speaks up, “Isn’t Harley in today?”

Peter silently cries tears of joy.

The universe is throwing him a bone.

Harley is an intern in every way but legally. Peter rushes to call the front desk and hunts Harley down. “Send Keener to lab 37, immediately. Tell him it’s life or death.”

They all let out a sigh of relief, finally having a small break from the same numbers on the whiteboard. It’s 8:45 P.M. and Harley is met with five interns surrounded by several cups of coffee and energy drinks.

“What’s going on?” Harley asks in a slight panic.

Peter doesn’t answer. He simply hands him a dry-erase marker and places him in front of the whiteboard. Harley doesn’t need direction, as Peter can see his mind running as he stares at the problem. They all leave him be.

Peter takes the time to pick up his pizza and eat a bit. He forgot how good New York pizza is. With some food in his stomach, Peter quietly sneaks off to take another pill. His arms are still throbbing and his head is killing him. At least now he has some food in his system.

He comes back to see Harley on a completely new board, the previous one filled with equations.

“Still can’t crack it?” he asks.

“Darling, I think you finally got me. What the hell is this?”

“I have no idea. We’ve been stuck on this for weeks and keep getting a remainder, which then causes a system error in the bot. Thought you’d be able to figure it out.” Peter answers.

“Do you guys still have your previous proofs?”

“Yeah, right over there.” Peter points to a stack of paper on a nearby desk. Harley nods and ruffles through the stack, his eyes quickly skimming the numbers.

Peter goes off to grab some water. He gets the compulsion to check his phone and notices he has a few texts from Tony and Stephen.

Dad: Just checking in, all good?

6:11 P.M.

Dad: Would you like an alien finger as a souvenir?

8:24 P.M

Peter laughs at the messages and sends back a quick selfie to make sure Tony knows he is indeed alive (despite what his body is telling him). To his surprise, Tony replies right away and they spend a few seconds discussing TSA guidelines for transporting severed alien fingers.

Harley then speaks up and asks, “Peter, what’s the square root of -1?”

“It’s i.” He quickly responds. The square root of -1 does not exist, so its i, which stands for an imaginary number.

“Right, and who wrote this?” Harley calls him over to review some work. He points to some long equation where there’s a smudged number.

“Does that say 1 or i?” He asks.

Peter sees red. They have all spent weeks looking over this problem, going slightly insane, all because of some poor penmanship.

“That’s supposed to be an i..”

“Yeah, but then they added it to the equation as if it were a one- which throws everything off-”

“By one,” Peter concludes. “That’s why we keep having a remainder.”

In a moment of pure blinding rage, Peter throws all the work onto the floor. His entire team had spent weeks refining their robot, all because someone misread a number. Peter was fuming.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Peter shouts.

This grabs everyone's attention. They all gather around Harley, who's picking up the paper on the floor. “Hey, at least we caught it now and not in front of the professionals.” Harley tries to reassure Peter.

The group nods, but Peter doesn’t care.

He’s beyond exhausted and at the end of his patience.

He quickly checks his phone and sees that it’s 10:22 P.M. He’s even more frustrated as he still needs to shower and do homework. However, before he storms off he speaks up, “Next time we do something like this, we are all making our numbers and variables extremely legible.” He doesn’t wait to see the looks on everyone’s faces and storms off to his room.

The entire fiasco was making his head hurt even more, so Peter pops another pill before bed. At least he ate today. Peter will take the small victory.

He lost track of how many pills he took today.

Before going to bed, Peter realizes that he doesn’t care about bothering Happy. He calls Happy and -borderline begs- him to take him to school. Happy agrees and Peter is over the moon he can sleep in a bit more.

The extra hours of sleep do wonders for Peter. He’s able to take a shower without rushing and is even able to eat a light breakfast. Peter allows himself to stop and breathe. He feels like he hasn’t had the chance to.

“Kid, are you ready to go?” Happy calls out as Peter quickly packs his bag. He nods and they both make their way to the cars. Peter hops in the back and, to his surprise, ends up falling asleep.

(It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He looks like shit.)

It was a much needed power nap, and Peter felt slightly better. He says goodbye to Happy and makes his way to his corner. He sees Ned sitting there, eagerly waiting for him.

“Woah, dude are you okay?” Ned asks with concern. Peter simply waves him off and says he’s fine. Ned doesn’t question it and simply changes the subject to the Academic Decathlon training they have in two days. With that, Peter remembers that he needs to finish those questions. He makes a mental note to finally start them.

Peter knows he has his English test today, and he honestly can’t be bothered to review. He knows he’ll be fine.

Instead, he begins the Academic Decathlon questions he promised MJ he’d have ready for tomorrow. Now, the challenge with that is that he needs to come up with questions that are challenging- but not impossible. Which is extremely difficult.

He promised MJ 30 questions: Ten math questions, ten science questions, and ten history/geography questions. In the first two sections, Peter had it in the bag. He pulled several problems from projects he’d seen in the labs and even a few Tony used on his suits.

The history/geography ones stumped him. This was MJ’s field of expertise, not Peter’s.

However, Peter’s too stubborn to ask for help. It doubles as reviewing, in a weird way. Peter pulls several articles from various historical moments and begins crafting some questions. He convinces himself that he’s reviewing his reading compression skills.

By the time his English test rolls around, Peter has managed to complete 26 questions. He’s running on pure adrenaline and 2 more Advills, but he’s getting it done. Like clockwork, Peter blanks out during his test. He’s sure he did fine, English wasn’t ever challenging to him.

However, he can’t afford to worry about that. In the grand scheme of things, that test was less than 1% of his stress. He almost forgot about his Chemistry midterm tomorrow. Plus, he had his presentation and AcaDeca training the following day.

Peter sometimes wishes he knew how to say no.

Patrol was starting to feel more like a job. Peter dreaded it and that frustrated him because Peter loved helping people. He loved seeing people smile and making their day. Being Spider-Man is one of the things Peter’s the proudest of. However, he can’t help others if he can’t even help himself. That’s evident by the empty pill bottle in his bag.

Once again, Peter is convinced the universe is out to get him. Everything that could go wrong, goes wrong. Mr. Delmar gets held at gunpoint, the bank has two attempted robberies, Peter counts seven muggings, and finally, some punks thought it would be funny to rob the pawn shop run by the old lady. Honestly, he couldn’t catch a break.

And it was one after another. Spider-Man didn’t stop and was constantly moving between crimes. He was getting overwhelmed and his movements were getting sloppy. The worst part was that Peter wasn’t pulling back his punches. There was so much going on at once that controlling his strength was the last thing on his mind.

That’s when he finally accepted he had a problem.

He saw the blood on his hands and the horrified looks of the criminals he was hurting. Thankfully, most civilians had fled the area so they didn’t witness the grotesque image of Peter decking them with ease. So Peter had to call the cops and the ambulance to patch up the bodies he left behind.

He was getting irritable and irrational. He has to cut the patrol short. Spider-Man is becoming more of a danger rather than an aid.

His knuckles are busted open and he has bruises all over his chest. When he gets home, Peter downs another 6 pills to try and numb the pain. He hasn't eaten and he hasn’t showered but that isn’t his concern. He sloppy puts on some bandages over his wounds and immediately hits the books.

By now it's 8:48 P.M. and Peter is about to pass out. He’s staring at his desk with his chem packet and AcaDeca questions all spread out. He’s almost done but he's beginning to see spots. His head is pounding and no matter how many pills he takes, the pain isn't going away. It hurts to move and he’s hungry and he knows he stinks.

Finally, it seems the universe has him beat and Peter snaps.

Peter- against his will- breaks down. He’s crying his eyes out and his head is killing him. Peter can feel a migraine coming on and he doesn’t think he’ll survive. He begins hyperventilating and he runs for more pills. Whether or not they work doesn’t matter, Peter’s convinced himself it's better than nothing.

By this point, Peter’s blocked out all his surroundings. Therefore, he doesn’t notice when Harley walks onto the floor and calls for him.

“Hey, Peter! So, for our presentation, I was thinking we should maybe revisit the previous reversion with-” Harley stops dead in his tracks when he finds Peter.

Peter knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew this wasn’t healthy. He knew he was destroying his body. But Peter was ashamed.

He was too prideful to ask for help.

Harley simply looks at him, and Peter knows what it looks like. His hair is a mess, his hands are bloody, his face is bruised, his eye bags are heavy, and the empty pill bottle on the floor seals the deal.

“Peter, what did you do?” Harley asks with worry and anger in his voice.

“I’m fine. Harls. I’m just stressed.” Peter waves off. The last thing he wants is for Harley to lecture him. “I’m okay, you can go. I have homework I need to finish.”

“No! I’m not gonna sit around and watch you do this to yourself!” Harley yells. He starts to pace the living room back and forth, shaking his head and looking in shock.

“You preach on and on about how drugs are the downfall of our generation and now- what? You’re popping pills? Peter, what the hell?”

Peter feels awful. He feels like shit. He wants the ground to swallow him whole.

Peter knows what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he's in the wrong. But… he just wants to help people. He just wants to meet their expectations. And now… he feels like a failure, and Harley is only rubbing salt in the wound.

“Harley, please…” Peter breaks down and Harley snaps out of his angry trance.

“Please, just hold me.” Peter wails as he falls onto the floor. He holds himself tight as he tries to process the millions of thoughts swimming in his head. Harley suddenly drops to the floor and begins to comfort Peter.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I’m so stressed. And it started small.” Peter starts. He isn’t sure if he hears Harley ask questions, but now he can’t stop talking.

“I was just having such bad headaches and taking them made it better. But then I started taking them whenever I got stressed and- I was so stressed this week. Patrol was so hard and they helped with the pain, and I lost track of how many I’ve had. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but I already feel like shit, Harls. I don’t need you reminding me of the failure I am. I already know that! I let you down, I let my Dads down, I let myself down. I let everyone down!”

“I just want my Dads.” Peter sobs into Harley’s arms. “I’m so tired…” Tears are filling his eyes and it's getting harder to breathe. His chest feels tight and he’s in so much mental anguish and physical pain that he isn’t even really present at the moment.

Harley rocks Peter back and forth. He runs his fingers through Peter’s hair and kisses his forehead. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I snapped. I just… I care about you so much I got worried.”

“Where are my Dads?”

“I’ll call them right now.” Harley then forces Peter to look at him.”Tell me what you need. Tell me how I can help you.” Peter can’t verbally answer but he simply signals towards his chest. Harley removes his suit and notices the black and blue bruises with dried blood. Harley also notices Peter's greasy hair.

“Let me make you a meal and run you a bath,” Harley whispers into Peter’s hair and hugs him tighter.

While Harley goes to the bathroom, Peter passes out on the floor, finally allowing himself some peace. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He wakes up to the smell of chicken soup and Harley gently shaking him.

“Hey, the bath’s ready. I called your Dads and they’ll be here in the morning. Also, I talked to Ned. You’re not going tomorrow.” Harley says as he lifts Peter onto his feet and helps him remove his suit.

“Harls, I have to go tomorrow. I have my midterm and I need to give MJ the questions I promised her.” Peter answers.

Harley simply shakes his head. “I say you take it next week, however, if it bothers you that much, after tomorrow you can go. I’m sure Tony can sort that out with your teacher. But you need to take at least a day off. And if the presentation stresses you out that much, I can cover for you.”

Peter should feel relieved but he doesn’t want to give up just yet. He’s done so much to make it through this week, he just wants to see it to the end. “Can we talk about this later?” Peter asks.

He’s down to his boxers and Harley has a full view of the bruises littered all over Peter’s body. Peter can see Harley is fighting the urge to say no, but instead, he simply nods his head and kisses his cheek. “Sure, just go get cleaned up.”

Peter agrees and makes his way to the bathtub. Nice that Harley probably figured Peter can’t stand long enough for a shower.

The water is warm and sends immediate relief throughout his whole body. Peter sinks into the tub and lets the water engulf him. He looks at his body and notices just how severe his injuries are. He should probably have Stephen check those out when he gets back.

After an incredible half hour in the tub, Peter finally gets out. He didn’t realize how much he truly needed that.

He changes into some light PJs and finds Harley by the kitchen island with a bowl of chicken soup.

Peter can't remember the last time he had an actual meal. Harley sat next to him as Peter slowly drank the soup. “So, what about tomorrow?” Harley asks.

Peter checks his phone and realizes it's 10:41 P.M. He had two options: he could either take tomorrow off, or he could suck it up.

“Would you mind helping me study?” He asks. Before Harley protests, Peter cuts him off. “I have my midterm first thing in the morning, after that I’ll have Happy take me home. That lets me give MJ the questions I owe her.” Peter didn’t go through the worst week of his life only to not see it till the end. He was stubborn like that.

Harley didn’t seem to like the idea, but he agreed nonetheless. When Peter finished his soup, they both headed to his room and Harley quizzed him on a few problems. Peter was feeling okay, his anxiety was just through the roof.

They both called it quits at around midnight. Harley crashed on the couch and Peter was out like a light.

He only had two days left. He was so close.

When the morning rolls around, Peter wishes he chose to stay home. He is groggy and tired, but still feeling the best he’s felt all week. He assumes Harley was already up and making him breakfast while he went to shower.

They had both agreed that Peter would skip patrol. He was in no condition to help anyone and would probably just hurt himself again, which isn't helpful to anyone.

To his surprise, however, his Dads were home. He walked into the living room to see Stephen making breakfast (no sign of Harley).

“Good morning,” Peter says as he goes to hug his Dad.

“Hey, Harley told us what happened. Just text us when your exam is over and we’ll come to get you. I also need to check your injuries, Peter.” Stephen said as he lightly tossed Peter’s hair and serves him a small stack of pancakes.

Peter silently hopes Harley didn’t mention the pills.

By the time Peter finished his breakfast, he wanted to vomit. He hadn’t stomached that much food all week and his body was trying to reject it. He holds it down as Tony pulls up to Peter’s school. “Text me the second you’re done. Promise?”

Peter sees the worry in Tony’s eyes and simply nods. He already feels guilty. He doesn’t need the reminder. (Looks like Tony understood that.)

As Peter gets to school, he immediately tracks down MJ. He hands her the questions, doesn’t wait for a thank you, and runs to the bathroom.

He can just feel vomit rising up his throat. His eyes are losing focus and he’s currently heaving over the toilet. “Maybe I should have stayed home,” Peter thinks as he stares into the mirror over the sink. His dark circles are getting worst and his skin is breaking out. He splashes some water on his face and quietly reminds himself that he’s almost done. “Just two more days.”

The bell rings and Peter heads off to his classroom. He’s taking his midterm first thing in the morning and right now, he’s fighting to stay upright.

Almost routine, Peter receives his test and flips it over. He knows he knows the material, he just has test anxiety. The studying he did with Harley definitely helps, so he’s confident he’ll do fine.

He ends up blanking out. He doesn’t remember much of the exam, nor many of the questions. However, he feels lighter, like a weight has been taken off his shoulder.

Peter ends up vomiting in the bathroom.

He’s heaving over the toilet and clinging on for dear life. His throat burns and the aftertaste of his breakfast is in his mouth, with a mixture of acid. He’s drenched in sweat and can’t see straight and he feels a migraine coming on.

Quickly, he texts Tony that he can pick him up. Peter gets off the floor and washes his face in the sink. His face is sickly pale and the lights are blinding him. Out of habit, Peter reaches for his pockets to get a pill, only to realize that he doesn’t have any.

That movement alone scares him.

He’s worried he’s feeling dependent.

When he leaves the bathroom, he quickly tracks down MJ in the library. “MJ, here are the questions I promised you. I’m so sorry they’re so late.” He profusely, but rapidly apologizes to her as he hands her the packet.

She doesn’t even look at them, instead places her hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eyes. “Pete, are you okay?” Just being forced to look at her is giving him a headache. The library lights are a blinding yellow and he can hear noise from the hallway.

“Yeah, just a little headache,” Peter says, but MJ still looks at him with worry. “MJ, I’m fine.” Peter doesn’t even believe in himself. He has that gazed look people have after they vomit their guts out and a small twitch in his eyes due to the lighting.

It seems like she doesn’t believe him either. Before she speaks, before she pities him, Peter runs to the office, knowing Tony will arrive any second.

As he waits in the office, he decides it's better to wait in the bathroom. The office had too many people talking, stapling, and filing. The office had too much noise.

That was the main thing he hated about his powers, his senses were heightened, making his migraines a hundred times worse. He’s on the brink of tears when the receptionist yells out his name to alert him that he’s leaving.

It seems that Tony notices so he doesn’t speak, simply thanks the staff, and ushers him into the car. Tony shuts off the radio and hands Peter a jacket in the backseat. Immediately, Peter covers his eyes and attempts to drift off to sleep. He’s just realizing how tired he is, mentally that is.

The ride home is a much needed break. He only has to get through tomorrow’s AcaDeca practice. (He’s not expecting to stay conscious during class).

When they do eventually arrive at the Tower, Peter can’t stand. His body has completely given out on him. Tony ends up carrying the boy inside and up the elevator to the medical compound.

“Okay, kid, you’re scaring the hell out of me. What happened?” Peter wakes up on one of the medical beds and is met with the horrible blinding lights in his face.

He’s too overwhelmed to talk and simply points to them, silently begging Tony to turn them off. He does, thankfully.

“I took on too much,” Peter says. “Everything just pilled up on the same week, and you guys weren’t there, and I don’t know how to say no..” The tears finally begin to spill as Peter talks. His head is killing him and his body is sworn and the voice in his head is nagging him even more. The look on Tony’s face says it all. Peter let him down, Peter disappointed him, and Peter worried him. “I’m sorry, I thought I could handle it.”

Tony doesn’t answer and simply steps aside as Stephen appears to tend to Peter’s medical needs. He doesn’t say anything, he just stands off to the side and looks at the ground. Peter can’t read his face, he can’t tell what's going on in his head. Is he angry? Upset? Not knowing is somewhat worse.

When Stephen finishes, he tells Peter that he’s simply dehydrated and only has a few bruises, nothing extreme. Seems like most of his injuries were healed due to his enhanced abilities.

No one says anything. They all look at each other and quietly leave for their own spaces. Peter can’t muster the courage to tell them what happened. Right now, he just wants the ground to swallow him whole. Peter makes it to his room, takes a much needed shower, and tries to sleep. He’s awakened, however, by Tony at his door with a plate of food.

“Oh, thanks but I’m not really-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Tony coldly states and Peter shuts up. He hands Peter the plate and Peter realizes he isn’t leaving until Tony sees him clean the plate.

Reluctantly, Peter ate. His body needed to get used to consuming food on a regular schedule, not just every other day. When Peter finishes, he hands Tony the plate and apologies once again.

Tony doesn’t say anything, instead reaches over and kisses his forehead.

The next morning is a little better. Peter feels well-rested and his stomach isn’t doing flips. (He’s happy he kept his food down this time.)

He knows today his only task is to make it through the AcaDeca training (which would be easy, as he made the questions), and make it through his internship presentation. That alone takes the pressure off him, with a bonus that it’s Friday. Peter desperately needed the weekend.

He doesn’t even bother changing out of his pajama pants. He just throws on a hoodie and walks out the door. When he gets to school, it seems like MJ and Ned plotted to corner him. They both catch him in his usual corner and block any exits. “Pete, you gotta talk to us. Are you okay?” Ned starts out sweetly.

“Yeah, you look like a bus hit you on the way here,” said MJ. He laughs at her bluntness but assures them that everything is okay. (It’s not, but he thinks he’s getting better)

Today is just about staying awake- if he can even manage that. His migraine is still lingering and the school bells still hurt, but he thinks he’ll be okay.

Peter is proven wrong the minute he sits at his desk. Once he’s in his chair, his head is on the desk and he’s out cold. His body is catching up on the sleep he’s missed all week. No one bothers to wake him up, and if they did, Peter didn’t notice. Today marks the first day Peter slept in every class. Usually, he’d chug coffee to keep himself awake, but today he just couldn’t find the strength.

Every time the bells ring to switch classes, he’s violently jolted awake. Some teachers tried to check up on him, however, Peter still refuses any help and claims he’s okay.

When the final bell rings, Peter is beyond overjoyed. (No more loud bells in his ears.) He quickly makes his way to the auditorium for the AcaDeca training and throws himself into a chair.

Slowly, the rest of the team makes their way inside and immediately, “Parker, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Flash speaks up. And Peter can’t even be mad, he knows he looks awful. Flash saw him completely passed out in chemistry and history. Thankfully, MJ shuts him down and begins the training.

As MJ begins reading out questions to the team, Peter gets a text on his phone.

Harls: Hey, hope you’re feeling a bit better. The presentation got moved to 7 tonight, btw. Xx

3:56 P.M.

With a sigh of relief, Peter relaxes a bit and is able to focus on the training. While most of it was pretty easy, given that he made the questions, MJ threw in some surprise ones as well. The team discussed strategies and tactics, but Peter didn’t really listen. He patiently waited for the MJ to call the meeting to an end before he bolted out the door.

Tony was already outside the school. He’s patiently waiting in what appears to be Happy’s car. Peter hops in and just slumps into the seat. “Remind me to never take on any more responsibilities,” he says as he throws his bag into the backseat.

Tony laughs and replies, ‘Kid, you and I both know that you need to learn to say no. It’s about you taking on too much- well, partially that- but it’s also that you take on extra when you can easily say no.”

Peter thinks about that for a moment before responding, “Well, what am I supposed to do? I can’t just say no to someone in need.” By now, Tony is pulling onto the road as Peter leans his head against the window. “That’s true, just be mindful of those who need help and those who are taking advantage of you. Remember, put on your own oxygen mask before helping others.”

What Tony says rings true, and Peter sits with it for a bit. Maybe people are taking advantage of him. Or maybe he just took on too much. Right now, Peter is too exhausted to figure out which one applies to his current situation.

Eventually, Peter allows himself to close his eyes, finally allowing himself a moment of peace. (Sleeping on school desks is never comfortable, ignore if anyone tells you otherwise.) As he lays back against the seats, with the soothing hum of the car, Peter drifts off to sleep.

When they arrive at the Tower, Tony isn’t sure whether or not to wake Peter. It looks like he’s finally comfortable and finally resting. However, one quick glance at the clock and he knows Peter would be upset if he didn’t wake him up in time to review for his presentation. “Hey,” Tony starts gently shaking Peter, “We’re home. It’s 4:30 P.M. Figured you and Harley would want some time to prep for tonight, and maybe even have some dinner before.”

Peter musters up all the strength he was to get up and make his way out of the car. He thanks Tony and sluggishly drags himself to the lab. The bright lights from the Tower and the constant jostling are enough to wake him up a tad, but he’s still rather dazed.

As he enters the lab, Peter is met with Harley and his team all frantically reviewing. Harley is pointing at people and assigning roles as he catches a glimpse that Peter arrived. “-And you, get Peter a coffee, please!” The intern runs off and quickly returns with a cup of expresso for Peter.

“Alright, what do we need to go over,” Peter says as he takes a sip of his drink- and suddenly he feels much more awake. Harley begins running down everything they’ve covered. Who will be discussing the prompt, the robot, the calculations, and its real-world implications. “We just need someone to finalize the posters. Do you have the files, Peter?”

Peter nods, taking another sip of his expresso. (He can feel his entire body shaking.) “Yeah, I got them. Just to clarify, it’s one poster showing the rendered robot, another showing the entire crew, and one more for the overview and prompt?” Harley nods as Peter sets off to work in the corner. He and the team had agreed that he would begin the presentation and introduce their design, leaving the math to the other interns and Harley, who was far more awake and present. Peter quickly notices that he’s drank all of his expresso, and goes off to get more. His body is shaking and he feels dizzy, but he needs to stay awake. He just needs to make it through tonight.

Opening his computer, Peter finalizes all the posters and sends them down to the printing lab. He takes it as his excuse to get up and walk around, making sure his legs don’t fall asleep. He starts looking over all the reports, research, and calculations they did, and everything looks good. However, you can never be too sure.

Harley seems to be stressed out of his mind. “Okay, we start in an hour. Anything else we need to get done?” he frantically asks the group. After a series of ‘no’, Peter mentions that he’s going to pick up the posters and bring them up and that it should be the final thing they need. Harley lets out a sigh of relief and opts to join Peter as they both head downstairs.

The ride down the elevator is calming. Peter takes it as his chance to drop his head onto Harley’s shoulder. To this, Harley brings up his hand and begins playing with Peter’s hair. “I’m so tired..: Peter says, mumbling into his shoulders, The expresso is making him shake and he refuses to drink more, genuinely concerned for his health. “I know. You just need to do this one last thing, then you’re free.” Harley says as he places a light kiss on Peter’s head before they step put the elevator. Thankfully, the printing lab was empty. Both boys quickly gather the posters and then stand there for a moment.

“You know, I’m really sorry I snapped at you,” Harley says quietly. He’s looking down at the floor and won’t look up. “I was just so scared, I’m sorry if I made it worse.”

“No, no you didn’t.” Peter starts, “Yeah, it hurt, but I needed the reality check. I was so far in my own head that I didn’t realize what exactly I was doing. I didn’t consider how it’d affect me, or you…” Peter replies. They both look up and meet each others’ eyes. Peter notices the beginning of tears forming in Harley’s eyes and he makes his way over to catch them before they fall.

“I had a stumble. I’m…” and Peter wants to say that he’s okay, but he doesn’t want to lie anymore. He wants to fall over. He wants to cry. He wants to go to bed. “I’m getting help,” he concludes. Harley nods in approval of that statement and makes his way to kiss Peter’s foreahead. I’m just happy you’re okay,” He whispers.

Peter smiles and after a few seconds of enjoying each others embrace, they pull apart and begin to head back upstairs. By now, it’s 6:17 P.M., and Peter chooses to get a meal and a shower in before he presents. He is fighting to stay awake, as the espresso is wearing off and he can feel himself crashing soon.

After a quick warm shower, Peter finds himself a plate of food waiting for him at the table. Stephen is in the kitchen cleaning dishes when he noticies Peter. “Hey, I saved you a plate. Nervous?”

Peter immediately begins to scarf down the food. He feels slightly more refreshed after the shower, however the food finally makes him feel complete. His stomach is no longer growling and he’s not so light headed anymore. After a little small talk with Stephen, Peter feels a little more relaxed. They fall into a casual conversation, delicately avoiding the topic of Peter’s situation. He’s thankful, truly. He feels guilty enough and hearing about how it hurrt those around him just makes him feel worse.

By now, its 6:48 P.M. and Harley comes rushing into the kitchen. Without forming a coherent sentence, Peter understands what Harley is trying to say. “Robot. Present. Prep. Now.” Immediately, they both get up and begin bolting to the lab. In the distance, they hear Stephen wish them good luck.

The reason they were both so stressed was because of their reputations. It meant the expectations were even higher. These weren’t scientist that were just impressed because Peter was related to Tony Stark, these are people who couldn’t give less of a shit about Tony’s fame. However, they took it into account when setting the expectation.

When they make it to the lab, the other interns are also franctincally reviewing flash cards and pacing around the room. Peter luckily didn’t need to prepare for much, he just reviewed the outline of the introduction. Instead, he opted for drinking more espresso, trying to make it through the final push. His reward after this would be a long awaited nap.

As the scientist enter the room, Peter escapes into his safe space. If it was nay other day, he’d be fully present and in the moment, which might have caused an anxiety attack. However, Peter is just too tired to give a fuck. He disappears into his safe space and puts on his confident persona.

He goes trough the overview and introduction smoothly. Not really remembering where he is, just that he’s talking. Peter isn’t even present in the moment when the team begins to discuss the calcutioans and revisions they went through.

Peter only snaps back to reality when the board claps and congratulations them. Their faces ins’t giving anything away, he can;t tell if they’re disappointed or impressed. But honestly, he doesn’t care.

They end up finishing at 9:51 P.M. and Peter is beat. He can hardly stand up straight, and Harley is supporting his every step. When they finally making it to his bedroom, Peter dones;t even bother to get under the sheets. He falls onto his bed and the minute his head hits the mattress, he is out like a light.

Harley chuckles at the sight and draps a blanket over Peter, before kissing his forehead. Peter finally gets a break after, what he considers to be, the worst week of his life.

End.

Reposting the fic I posted here a few months ago. Wanna get into formatting more on tumblr!

#peter parker #harley keener #parkner #peter x harley #peter parker x harley keener #mcu #marvel #mcu fanfiction #i love them #mlm #gay

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harleykeeners · 2 months

Text

Caught Red Handed - Buddie

Evan “Buck” Buckley/Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz

Prompt: Oceans 9-1-1 Rewrite. In which Buck and Eddie have been secretly together for months, and are found out in the worst way possible.

Word Count: 3500

Eddie knew his week would be screwed the second the cops stormed into the station and pulled the duffle bags filled with money out of the truck. The way Bobby froze in place and Chim’s jaw fell on the floor told Eddie that they were in big trouble. Immediately, the air tensed and he canceled every plan for the week. Everyone began asking questions no one knew the answers to and they were all frustrated. Bobby called the shift early and sent them all home.

With the stress of the day and the call itself, Eddie swings his arm over Buck’s shoulder, their quiet signal that Eddie is taking him home. Buck relaxes under his touch and lets his head drop onto Eddie’s shoulder. With a holler and a wave, they pile into Eddie’s pick-up. “That did not just happen,” Buck mutters as he drops his head on the dashboard and groans. “How the hell did it even end up there?” Eddie doesn’t answer as he shifts the gear to reverse and begins backing out from the driveway.

The drive is quiet, Buck staring out the window as Eddie places a comforting hand on Buck’s thigh. In moments like this, after a stressful call, they always go home with each other. It takes more willpower than they have to not rush into each other's arms after a frightening save. So, they go home and spend time together in the private of their own homes. Right now, Eddie doesn’t want to stop touching Buck. The heat of his presence is enough to ground him in this situation. With a squeeze of his thigh, Buck moves Eddie’s hand to hold his own, squeezing back letting him know he’s right here.

Silence is often just what they need after a call, and right now they couldn’t be more grateful Chris was at a sleepover. Immediately, Buck chases after Eddie’s touch, tender and searching. Eddie reciprocates, reminding himself that whatever happened today was a mistake, that there is no way any of them are capable of such a plot. Eddie’s fingers find Buck’s hair and he relaxes at the feeling of the blonde locks. “Wanna head to bed?” Eddie whispers. Sometimes, they get lost in each other to escape whatever terror awaits them outside. Right now, that monster is the LAPD and a whole lot of paperwork. “Yeah,” Bucks answers, “I could use some time with you in bed after today.” It isn’t meant to sound crass and Eddie chuckles. With a kiss pressed against his temple, Eddie goes to run a shower while Bucks gets a snack from the kitchen.

In the boiling water, Eddie allows his body to decompress. His anxiety washes away with the shampoo running down his face and he takes a deep breath. He scrubs away the day and allows his mind to wander. All he knows is that his coworkers made it out of the bank safe and that Buck is safe. Which is all he is currently concerned with.

Stepping out of the shower he doesn’t bother getting dressed past his boxers. After the day he’s had, he can’t find the energy. He finds Buck at the counter eating some dry cereal and holds his waist as he rests his head on the crook of his shoulder. “What’s going through your mind?” Eddie waits as the crease in Buck’s brow deepens. “There’s no way it could have been one of us. It just doesn’t make sense. Hen was unconscious the entire time in the vault, Chim can attest as he was watching the cam. We were with the drills, and so was Bobby. Everyone working is our alibi, so how did it end up in the truck?” Buck rants as Eddie massages his hips. He knows Buck tends to overthink, so with a kiss to the nape of his neck, Eddie says, “You think too much. We were set up, and that's for the cops to solve, not us. Let's go to bed.”

Buck lets out a soft laugh, “You’re evil…” Eddie plays innocent, knowing full well that the hands on his hips get Buck feeling a certain way. “No, maybe I’m just trying to get you to go to bed with me.” He doesn’t need to clarify and Buck happily smiles and turns to face him. Sometimes Eddie forgets he can do this, he can have Buck. That within these four walls, they don’t have to put on an act. Eddie doesn’t have to be conscious of his every move, notice where his hands are, or even worry about the pet names that slip from his mouth. At home, he can love Buck freely. No wondering eyes or HR rules are stopping him from consuming the man he’s been infatuated with for years. Maybe they’re more eager since years of yearning finally climaxed a few months ago and now Eddie has the privilege to call Buck his.

Seeing Buck in his bed under his crappy bedroom lighting has soon become Eddie’s favorite sight. So when Buck pulls away from his lips and flashes that smile at him, batting his eyes and pulling his shirt off, Eddie forgets about the call. Instead, he focuses on the man underneath him and chooses to lose himself.

As the door gets slammed, the seconds of silence as Detective Wash and Mercer impatiently await an answer seem to stretch till eternity. They had just returned from Athena’s residency, and while she had been expecting them, she assured them that the others wouldn’t. Currently, they are at the home of Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz. Wash and Mercer had just sent two teams to the Han and Buckley residence, hoping to get to the bottom of this heist quickly.

In a panicked movement, the door opens, and Edmundo awkwardly sticks his head out the door. Wash notices that he looks disheveled and that’s fair, it is 1 A.M., and they probably woke him up. Before he can even open his mouth, Mercer presents the search warrant and the team pushes past him and enters the home. “Hey! What the hell is going on?” Eddie shouts as Wash turns the lights on and directs officers into various rooms. Mercer barks orders, speaking over and ignoring Eddie’s complaint.

“You can’t seriously have enough plausible clause for a warrant?” he shouts. Wash shrugs, “Believe it or not, the court granted it. We’re going to need you to turn in all electronic devices on the premises Mr. Diaz.” It’s the first time Wash truly looks at Eddie and realizes he’s clinging onto a blanket around his torso with his chest bare. Well, it is the middle of the night, he’s caught people in worse situations.

The orders were to be as thorough and quick as possible, regardless of the mess left behind. Wash barks orders to flip every surface and take any electronics they see. Cabinets are pulled open and the clink of plates and cups are heard ringing through the house.

Just as he sees a team go into a hallway, he hears a scream. Ears perk up as every officer drops what they're doing. Wash notices, and he and Mercer dash to the scream, following the noise to a bedroom. Officers follow behind Wash and they enter the open room where other officers are and what they see leaves them surprised. In the bedroom, three officers surround the bed as a man is frantically screaming. “Eddie, what the fuck is going on?” Wesh immediately recognizes the man as another one of their suspects: Evan Buckley. He makes a mental note to check on the officers at the Buckley home since they probably got no answer. Once again, the firefighter is frantically covering himself with the bed sheets, and Wesh isn’t dense. The flashlights pointed at Buckley illuminate the red on his neck.

“They have a warrant,” is all Eddie says as he picks up some sweats and a hoodie the officers have thrown on the floor. He can’t be bothered to care about decency and gets dressed in the room. “They’re going to flip the place inside out, and they’re taking our phones,” Eddie angrily says. Buck is left with a shocked and angry face, but before he can speak Eddie throws him some clothes off the floor. “Get dressed, before they take all our clothes.” Buck laughs, “They wouldn’t.” He’s met with a stone glare as he looks at Mercer and Wesh. They signal to the officers to keep moving. “You can’t be serious,” he huffs as he frantically puts on a shirt and gets out of bed.

“Detective, this can’t be real. You don’t think anyone in our department did this,” Buck says as he rapidly puts on a shirt and some pants and battles the sheets he’s tangled in. “Your team was the one on the call, with the money in the truck, in the safe the diamonds went missing in. Doesn’t seem like an unlikely conclusion does it, Buckley?” Wesh says as he watches the officers pull books off the shelves and flip cushions off the sofa. Cabinets are swung open and Tupperware is thrown all over the floors. Eddie and Buck get the feeling they were told to be as messy as possible. Typical red vs blue behavior.

“You two are coming down to the station with me. We have some questions for you,” Mercer says as she rudely leads the men out of the house and into the squad car. Buck sends a desperate look at Eddie, and he can’t fight the instinct to pull him in his arms. So he doesn’t, and he holds Buck close in the backseat of the squad car, whispering comforting nothing into his ears. He feels Buck’s head fall onto his shoulder. He looks over to see the blonde blinking slowly, the sirens illuminating his face in a soft haze. Buck looks stressed, and knowing him, he’s probably thinking about the others, not even worried about himself. Eddie runs a hand in his hair and presses a soft kiss to his temple with a whisper, “It’ll be okay.”

The station is cold and the lighting is sterile. They are rudely seated and Mercer and Wesh stand menacingly in front of them. Eddie doesn’t let go of Buck, holding him as close as possible to his heart. “Mr. Diaz, I’ll start with you,” Wesh says as she begins to lead him to an interrogation room. Eddie kisses Buck quickly before following Wesh and sees Mercer take Buck to another room. As he sits at the table, he realizes he should have picked better clothes, the station is freezing.

“Mr. Diaz, where were you at the time of the heist?” Mercer asks. She wastes no time and Eddie gets the feeling it will be a long night. “What have you deemed the time of the heist?” he asks. Eddie isn’t willing to give any confusion that could be used against him.

“We’ve deemed the diamonds were stolen at around 22:30 P.M. The money, however, could have been at any time.” Eddie sighs, knowing they have no idea what they are talking about. “At 10, you would have found me giving medical attention to the victims inside the vault.”

“And you sure you weren’t using that time to steal the diamonds?” “Yes, you can ask Hen, she can tell you I was taking her vitals alongside Chimmeny.”

“And who’s to say they wouldn't lie?” Eddie laughs, “The 118 aren’t liars.”

And the air tensed, and Eddie saw a smirk cross her face. “So you and Mr.Buckley over there aren’t lying to them? I mean if you’re willing to lie about a relationship to people you’ve, on the record, called your family, who's to say the rest of them aren't capable of lying.”

“My relationship doesn’t concern this,” he seethes. What he and Buck have is between the two, alone. No one bears the right to know of the secret smiles and glances Eddie steals from Buck and cherishes. No one bears the right to know how Buck lights up when Eddie whispers “Evan” under his breath as he holds him close. No one bears the right to know the special moments Eddie cherishes.

“Oh, but it does Mr. Diaz. When you’re willing to lie to your coworkers about something as trivial as a relationship, who's to say you aren’t willing to lie to law enforcement?”

As Bucks sits at the table, Wesh sizes him up. Buck feels small and is quietly counting down the seconds till this is over. “So, would you like to explain why we found you in Mr. Diaz’s residence?” The question catches Buck off guard, “He’s my friend, after last night I didn’t want to be alone.”

Wesh sighs and looks hard at Buck, “Mr. Buckley, it’s best you not lie to me.” Buck tenses up, “I’m not lying, sir.” With a grunt, Merce asks, “So who gave you those marks on your neck?” Buck brings his hand up to cover the marks, and Wesh realizes he got him.

“You two are more than friends and are already lying for each other. How do I know you two didn’t plot this whole thing together and lie to your team? Clearly, you both already have experience conspiring together and lying to them. This shouldn't have been too hard for you two.”

Maybe it's a choice of word that enrages Buck that he says, “What Eddie and I are doing isn’t conspiring. Our relationship is between us.”

“So you admit you two are in a relationship?” Wesh asks.

“Yeah, so what?” Buck doesn’t see the point of this. He’s tired, he’s angry, and he misses Eddie.

“So you’re both just lying to your coworkers and your departments as you know that not notifying them is a violation of contract.”

Buck freezes, and realizes he messed up. “What does who I’m dating have to do with the diamonds?”

“Shows your character. You’re willing to lie to your coworkers, whom you’ve called family, and your department for something as trivial as a relationship. So lying to law enforcement about stealing $6 million in diamonds with your boyfriend shouldn’t be out of the question.”

Rages flashes before Buck’s eyes and he has to remind himself to take a deep breath. “First of all, what we have isn’t trivial. And second of all, we do plan to tell them, we’re just getting our footing first. Technically, we only need to notify our departments if it gets serious. Which, hopefully, it will but not now. That doesn’t prove that we’d be willing to pull something off like this. Keeping a relationship quiet is much different than stealing millions in diamonds.”

“No, but it shows you two are more than capable. Why wouldn’t you want to steal the diamonds? I know a wedding can be expensive, much more if you two plan to buy a home together in L.A. Some diamonds could really help.” Buck flushes at the implication he and Eddie will get married, while also processing how insulting that statement truly is.

Just like Wesh, Mercer is drilling into Eddie. “You have a son, right?” She asks as Eddie clutches his fists. He’s tired, he’s cold, and he wants to go back to bed. He doesn’t dignify her with a verbal response but just nods. “I know how expensive they can be. Especially with chronic illness. Being a parent isn’t cheap, much less in L.A. Diamonds wouldn’t hurt.”

Eddie is offended she would even insinuate something like that. “Listen, I get by. My retirement from the military helps with my bills and my job gives pretty good benefits. I work full-time and make do.”

“And I’d assume having a partner also helps,” she says as if it’s something Eddie should be ashamed of. “Yes, it does. He helps when I need it and we’re lucky to never be short. We don’t need the diamonds,” Eddie angrily says. He doesn’t understand why he’s still sitting here. “We’re both veterans so our benefits still roll in and the department takes care of its employees.”

“You say you were both on the drills, opening the vault. Did you know that your Captain left to make a phone call? So, who’s to say you two didn’t take advantage of your moment alone to sneak the diamonds?”

Eddie laughs, “I’m flattered you think Buck and I would take advantage of a moment like that. In reality, we didn’t notice and were still working. Had we noticed, then-“

“You two you would have stolen the diamonds,” Mercer rudely cuts him off. “No, we probably would have made out. You see, while I’m flattered, Buck and I aren’t sophisticated enough to pull off something like this.”

“Are you calling your partner stupid?”

“If that proves his innocence then, yes. Yes, Evan Buckley is too stupid for this.”

Buck is so tired he’s struggling to keep his head afloat. “Says here you were in the SEALs.” There’s no question, just a statement. Buck looks wearily at Wesh, a sense of nausea coming up his stomach. Buck only nods.

“So you and your boyfriend are both in the military?”

“Were. We’re retired. Different branches.” Buck already knows what’s coming up. “So two veterans don’t know how to pull off a heist? A SEAL no less?”

He huffs and crosses his arms, “Sorry, but larceny wasn’t exactly what they taught us at basic. Maybe in the Air Force, they’re the intelligent ones. But not in the Army or Navy. For us, it was more like folding your bed a certain way and shooting to kill. Sorry to disappoint,” Buck says and by that question, he’s done.

“Look, if you have nothing of value to ask me, I’d like to go. It’s late, and I wish to be with my partner and sleep this horrible night off. Check the cameras again on the side of the bank, you’ll notice Eddie and I never left our post at the drill. Once it was open, I reloaded the drill and Eddie was providing medical care. Ask anyone who was there, and look at the cameras, they are our alibi. So if you’re just going to keep and ask me pointless questions while making insulting assumptions about my life, then I’d like to go,” Buck takes a deep breath as he gets up.

“You’ve already insulted my relationship, my career, and my character. I don’t know what more you have left,” Buck says as he looks Wesh in the eye, and silently tells the man he is leaving. No debate about it.

As he opens the door in the interrogation room, he can’t help the snarky remark that comes from his throat, “And you’re welcome for all my service.”

The hallway is cold and busy. Several detectives moved bags of evidence that Buck recognizes as Bobby’s phone and Maddie’s laptop. He’s irritated and frankly, the level of insult he’s feeling would be dangerous to vocalize. However, it slightly simmers when he finally sees Eddie walk out.

He sprints to him and wraps his arms around him. For the sake of holding him close and feeling his body heat, Evan melts into Edmundo. They don’t say anything, throats dry from the hour-long interrogations. Instead, Eddie looks into Buck’s eyes and the anger fades away, replaced by a longing. A longing to be safe, to be held, to be home. With a soft kiss to his temple, a phone light illuminates Buck’s face as Eddie dials to call an Uber.

“Do you think they went to your sister’s house?” Buck says as they sit outside the station, watching the few cars drive by. “I hope not,” Eddie answers, grasping at Buck’s hand as they hold each other present. “No reason to go after anyone outside of the department,” Buck mumbles as he rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “You think they already brought the others in?” Eddie whispers.

The sound of a car wakes Buck from his nap. As they pile into the Uber, Buck snuggles into Eddie’s side, wanting to hide away from the world. The drive is quiet, it’s nearing 3 A.M. The cops have finally left their house, leaving the street empty and blissful.

Opening the door greets them to the disaster left behind, however the two men are too tired to even care. Awkwardly clearing a path over the books and papers thrown across the floor, they make their way to the bedroom.

Bucks the first to hit the bed as he collapses at the mere sight of it. With a quiet beg and a gesture, Eddie follows suit. Cuddling into his warmth, Buck mumbles, “Do you think any of us really did do it?”

Eddie looks at him, pretends to think for a moment, then says, “No. I don’t think so. But, the cops were right,” This catches Buck’s attention. “For you, I’d lie to the cops if it meant keeping you safe.”

End.

Sorry for the (Ch)Air Force drag but, Go Navy Beat Army.

#911 abc #911 fox #evan buckley #evan buck buckely #eddie diaz #edmundo diaz #edmundo eddie diaz #buddie #eddie x buck #buck x eddie #gay #mlm #episode rewrite #fanfic #how do tags work

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harleykeeners · 2 months

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buddie + cowboy au

(9-1-1 // gif prompts)

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harleykeeners · 2 months

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Runaway - Sierra Six

Sierra Six/Court Gentry x Male!Reader

Prompt: It’s been nearly a year of radio silence, and Six finally returns home.

Word Count: 2367

Note: reader is a firefighter cause I’m a firefighter in training.

The last thing he told you as he frantically packed his bags was that he loved you and to not wait for him. He sensed that he wouldn’t be safe for a while, and wanted to run as far as possible from you. Keeping you safe mattered more than holding you. You remember the screams and the tears as he held you tightly, whispering empty promises and kissing your temple.

That was 6 months ago. Now, you come home to an empty house, get a full night's sleep, and never worry about blood on the sheets. Your morning runs aren’t as enjoyable, and your phone doesn’t blow up with texts in the dead of night. It’s lonely, truly. You throw yourself into work more, taking longer shifts to avoid going home to nothing. It’s not horrible, your bank account and savings have gone up. Not needing to feed another person means less spent on groceries, less cleaning supplies, and Six hasn’t called so your phone bill has gone down. It’s hard explaining to friends and family. They don’t understand his job, and you’re not at liberty to explain. Everyone thinks he got up and left you, and you tell yourself he didn’t. That he was coming back for the wedding. That he was coming back for the life he promised you. But your words would get trapped in your throat. He is not safe, and he needs to be away.

You’re coming back from another 48 hour shift. You’re exhausted and starving. The calls were non stop and you could use some quiet. As you enter the front door, you drop your bag as a scream erupts from your throat, and transforms into a sob.

Standing in front of you, Court catches your eye and dashes the kitchen to catch you as you drop to your knees. In an instant, he wraps his arms over you, holding you as your sobs become more violent. You feel his shirt is soaked and you pull back from him. Starting into his eye you notice the cuts and bruises all over his face. Mentally you’re still at work. “Stand up. Go to the counter,” you mutter and Court tries to argue. You refuse to listen to him, pushing aside the fact that he’s back, you stay in work-mode and direct your attention to his wounds.

“How old are these?” You mumble as you open your bag to grab alcohol wipes. Without waiting for his response, you begin cleaning the cuts across his face. Court winces slightly at the burn before saying, “A couple of hours”. You nod, “Are you safe now?” You meet his eyes again, he tells you yes.

After cleaning the dried blood off him and stitching the two deep cuts in his torso, you finally allow yourself to breathe. “I’ve missed you so much…” you whisper as you try not to cry again.

“Six,” a voice speaks from the hallway and you jump in fear. However upon looking at the voice, you notice a child. “Do you know him? Did we break into someone’s house?” It’s a young girl, and before you can answer Court takes your hand and leans his forehead against yours. It’s something he does to ground himself and right now, you don’t know what he’s been up to. You look at the girl and notice she also has small cuts and a black eye.

“Claire, this is my fiancé, we’re going to stay with him for now,” Court says as he exhales once again. You don’t miss the small look of surprise on Claire’s face, and so you get up from Court and make your way over to her.

“Hey sweetie, I’m a paramedic. Mind if I check your cheek?” Claire nods softly and you inspect her cuts. They aren’t as deep as Court's, which is both a relief and a pain since that means he took the brunt of the attacks. She won’t need stitches but you clean them up and place bandages to prevent any infections. “You’ll be okay, they won’t scar,” you tell her as he gives an appreciative smile.

“You told me you didn’t have any family?” Claire asks as Court makes his way over to the couch. “Yeah. You met the psychos I work with. Why would I tell them anything about me?” He grumbled as he went to lie down on the couch, and you followed him. You're exhausted, but all you care about is making sure you’re not dreaming.

“Are you really back?” You softly ask. He’s on the couch and you curl up next to him. His breathing is steady, and you try to match it. “Yeah, I am,” he says. You don’t resist as he intertwines your hands and kisses your wrists.

“When do you leave again?”

“I’m not. Not for a while,” which only means that everyone after him is dead. It’s uneasy, knowing he’s taken the lives of hundreds, but some could argue so have you. “I’ve missed you so much,” you say again as you sob some more. You bury your head into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around the small of your back. “I know, baby. I’ve missed you too. So much, you don’t understand.”

You find the small rubber ring around his neck on a golden chain. How he hasn’t lost it, you don’t really know. You slip it off his neck and place it back on his finger, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. God, how you’ve missed him.

“So, mind explaining the girl?” You ask as you notice Claire clearly shift in the corner. She’s clearly uncomfortable in her new surroundings and probably still on edge from whatever she and Court have just escaped.

“Boss’ niece. Now in my custody, I suppose,” he says and you nod. You knew how close Court and Fitz were, so you offer him a warm embrace as you feel him exhale. “I’m sorry,” is all you can say. He shakily wraps his arms around you and you stay with him for a moment. It’s not often death gets to him, since he never gets close enough to anyone for it to come to that. However, you know that you and Fitz are the only two people he’s ever deeply cared for. And now, you assume Claire.

After a few moments, Court picks himself up. So, you finally turn to Claire. “Hi honey, it’s nice to meet you,” you extend your hand out to her and introduce yourself. “Are you hungry? I have some leftover pasta if you’re interested,” you say as you notice the time. It is nearing 4 A.M. You get up to make your way to the laundry room for some oversized pajamas as you say, “Tell you what, how about you take a shower downstairs. Get all the dirt off and relax a bit. I can heat up some food, and I’ll prepare the guest room for you. Would that be okay?” Claire nods with a polite thank you. Court wraps his arms around your waist when you’re back in the room with them.

“And you,” Court perks up as you face him, “go shower upstairs. I’ll be with you in a bit. Let me just get her situated.” He nods before mumbling, “Didn’t you just get off a shift? Go to bed, I can take care of her.” However you refuse, as stubborn as you are and make your way to handing Claire some clothes and towels. She finds her way to the guest bathroom and once the door clicks, you turn to Court.

“Do you wanna explain what’s going on? I haven’t heard from you in months. Nothing, Court. Nothing! Not a call, a text, a fucking letter!” You’re frustrated and exhausted.

“They killed Fitz,” he says. That much you figured. “They were after me, after some files I took. It wasn’t just one person, it was the entire CIA.”

“Please, tell me you didn’t not eliminate the CIA?” On second thought, you shake your head. “I don’t wanna know, just tell me now, are you safe?”

“No one who is after me is breathing.” As eerie as it sounds, you let out a shaky breath. Court brushes a small strand of hair out of your eyes as he whispers, “How have you been?” It’s such a soft question, whispered in the centimeters you two are apart.

“Honestly, I’m trying not to fall apart,” you say with an exhale. “Working more. A lot more. I made it to Captain, so the pay bonus is nice,” you whisper as you see Court smile. He doesn’t have to tell you he’s proud of you, he shows you by the kiss he places on your forehead. “But it’s been hard. I miss you so much. I don’t wanna have to do this again, not for this long,” you take a shaky inhale. “Everyone told me that you left me. That I was crazy for holding onto you.”

“Well, Mr. Fire Captain, I’m not leaving you again. Fitz is gone, and I believe that means I’m done. I don’t think the CIA wants to work with me ever again, and I’m feeling the same,” a soft kiss meets your lips again. He stinks of gunpowder and you’re almost certain he’s dehydrated given his chapped lips. Still, you melt into him. You pick on the familiar scent of wood and line underneath the blood and dirt, and find your finger running through the familiar blonde locks.

“Go shower,” you say as you pull away. “I’ll prepare some food.” He nods and with another kiss, he goes upstairs. You return to the fridge and grab the leftovers you stole from the station. As the pasta reheats in the pan, you come to the conclusion that Claire will probably be staying with you two. If she’s with Court, that means she has no one left. You don’t mind, you always wanted kids. Given you and Court’s professions however, you never thought that would be a possibility. You consider this a small trial run, to live out that dream for a little while.

Setting two plates down, you pour yourself a small glass of milk as you settle in the dining room. Claire comes out first and she nervously looks around. With an encouraging nod, she sits down and begins eating. “I’m really sorry, Six never told me about you,” she says. You wave it off, given that Court never tells anyone anything.

“Yeah, he’s like that. So, how do you know him?” Claire cracks a small smile, “He used to be my babysitter. Whenever my uncle had to go out for some business, Six would hang out with me. Keep me safe.”

“Yeah, you were a pain in my ass,” Court says as he approaches from behind. He leans down to kiss your cheek and thanks you for the food as he settles down next to you.

“She still calls you Six?” you say. “She never asked.” To this, Claire cracks a smile as she meets your similar look. “Gee Six, what’s your real name?” She jokingly asks. He lets out a dry laugh, “Court. Now eat your pasta, no one wants to reheat it again.” Claire makes an odd face, “That’s a weird name. But not as weird as Six, I guess,” she says as she takes a bite of her pasta. You notice she and Court devour their plates in minutes. It breaks your heart, knowing they haven’t eaten in God knows how long.

As they finish, you take the plates to the sink, before Court comes from behind and takes them from you. “I got them, go to bed. You look tired.” As much as you want to complain, your body aches. Pressing a kiss to his lips, you promise to see him in bed as you make your way upstairs. You check in on Claire and she appears to be settling in. She gives you a hug, “I’m sorry for how long he’s been gone.” She shouldn’t have to apologize, but you appreciate it. Not knowing her boundaries, you pat her on the back and thank her. “Get some rest. Sleep as long as you want, I’ll have breakfast for you tomorrow.” With a smile and a wave, you close the door and return to your bedroom upstairs.

Opening the door you’re greeted with the sight of Court wearing nothing but his pajama pants, sitting on the edge of the bed. He smiles as he pulls up to him, wrapping his arms along your waist. You smile as you follow his lead, and straddle him. His hands rest in your back, slowly tracing up and down your spine. “Take this off, I wanna feel you,” he mumbles. A soft laugh escapes your throat as you remove your shirt. Now, you’re chest to chest, skin to skin, and you forgot how much love you have for him. At this moment, everything is perfect.

“I thought about you, every minute of every day,” he says. You fall back onto the bed, taking him with you. Getting comfortable under the sheets, you wrap your arms around him, cuddling into his chest. “Every time I thought it was my time, I would think of you and keep pushing. Cause before I had nothing to live for. Get the job done and move on. But now,” Court whispers as he picks up your chin to look at him. “Now I get to come home to a gorgeous man, with an incredibly noble career, and a heart of pure gold. And I’d be an idiot to lose that,” he says. You tear up and capture him in a messy kiss.

“I just want to marry you, Court. I just want to spend forever with you,” you cry against his lips as he holds you tighter. “I swear to you on my brother's grave, that I will marry you and give you the life you deserve.” His arms pull you in tighter. You feel his heartbeat and suddenly, a way of exhausting takes over you. A soft ‘I love you’ is the last thing you remember before falling asleep.

End.

Hope you all enjoyed that! I plan to hopefully post more on tumblr as I’m starting to branch into more x reader, and frankly there isn’t enough male!reader content out there.

#the gray man #ryan gosling #court gentry x male reader #court gentry #sierra six x male reader #sierra six #x male reader #male reader #mlm #gay #fanfic

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harleykeeners · 2 months

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Red and Rust | Sierra Six x m!reader

Anonymous asked: Can I get a "If you're gonna steal my hoodies, the least you can do is tell me" and a "You punched who, now?" With sierra six x male reader, six comes home to the readers hand wrapped cuz he hit somebody(maybe a boss or just some street protester) and six grills him and they re wraps his hand cuz reader did an awful job. Basically I just need six comfort right now. 🏎

summary: when you get into a fight, you do an awful job at patching yourself up, but it's a good thing that it didn't happen long before Six comes home... even if he isn't exactly pleased with it.

tws: swearing, mentions of Xtians being cunts, injury, blood, wounding

Six wasn't home, thankfully, which gave you a chance to sort yourself out; bloodied knuckles and cuts across your hands from getting into a fight with some fucking preacher on the corner telling you that people like you shouldn't exist, you didn't even think about stopping yourself when you hit that vile cunt. You had the speaker on, listening to Yen by Slipknot making sure it was playing on repeat as you wrapped your bloodied hand in some kitchen paper and used parcel tape to keep it in place; blood had gotten onto the hoodie you were wearing, but you didn't particularly care at the moment. It was one of Six's, his fluffy Sabaton hoodie that you often stole when you snuck out to the garden in the middle of the night for a cigarette; you looked at the clock. He would be picking Claire up from school within the hour, you didn't have much time. It stung to shit, but you had done your best and all you could now was to think of how to tell Six what had happened.

It wasn't your fault. Some preacher with a Jesus sign had confronted you in the street while you were out, telling you that queer people didn't deserve to exist and that anyone who wasn't part of his fucking bullshit was going to have eternal pain. You weren't to blame for putting him in his place. But you did feel guilty for getting blood on Six's hoodie; the taste of rust on your tongue made you wince as you headed to the fridge and pulled out of the energy drinks you had gotten, cracking it open and taking a few swigs before grumbling quietly. At least the taste of rust was gone for now. You sighed, running a hand down your face and sniffling a little; you kept an eye on the clock, and when you heard his car pull up, you nodded to yourself, saying that everything was fine and was going to remain that way. Fuck, your hand hurt. You weren't the man to blame. You weren't the man to blame.

Besides, Six couldn't be that mad when he found out, right? You were his boyfriend, he surely wouldn't be that angry, right?

Shit, it stung.

As always, Claire was first in through the door, dumping her bag at the bottom of the stairs and heading up to her room, no doubt to take her after school nap; at least she wouldn't have to see your hand, something that you were grateful for. Poor kid had seen enough, she didn't need to see the grizzly scene splattered across your skin. The little spots of tissue amongst the red and open flesh. You sighed again, shaking your head and waiting for Six to walk in; he grumbled, not taking much notice of anything as he fixed his usual cup of coffee. Only when he leaned against the counter and saw your hand, blue kitchen paper slowly becoming dark and red. He furrowed his brows.

"What did you do?"

You shrugged as you licked your lips and smiled at him. "I may have punched a Jesus preacher."

Six's eyes widened as he stared at you. "You punched who now?"

"A Jesus preacher," you explained, "look, he was spouting bullshit and I just... couldn't stop myself, alright? He was being a cunt. It weren't my fault."

He hung his head for a moment, clenching his jaw and turning around, he put his coffee down on the counter and opened the medicine cabinet. "Go sit down at the table."

You did as you were told, sitting at the table with your hand on the cold wood, a wince leaving you when the parcel tape got caught on one of your hairs. You grumbled, trying not to pick at it as you waited for him to bring over the big plastic tub filled with bandages and cream and actual medical equipment.

He sighed as he sat opposite you, careful and gentle as he undid the awful handiwork. "You shouldn't have punched him."

"He shouldn't have said that we were an abomination," you growled.

"How many times did you do it?"

"I lost count," you admitted. "I didn't stop til someone pulled me off of him."

Six sighed. "If you're going to get into fights, you could at least not do such a shit job at fixing yourself."

"Well, maybe I wanted to do a shit job so you'd patch me up," you joked with a soft laugh. Six only glared at you as he pulled out the antiseptic. "Is this gonna hurt?"

He nodded, purposefully dragging his chair forward a little so that you could grip his thigh with your free hand; he didn't even flinch when you dug your fingers into the flesh as he wiped down the wounds. They weren't dirty, but the one at the back of your hand was definitely going to scar; it was deep enough that he could see that you had definitely gotten it deep enough to plainly see tissue. He knew he would have prints in his thigh from where you were holding him so tightly, but at least it meant that he could work; each wipe came away orange stained and he put them in a little carrier bag to be chucked in the big bin later.

"What's your theory, Doc?"

Six shrugged as he pulled out the plasters. "Mostly these. You'll be fine, but that one on your hand... you'll scar."

You nodded. "I can deal with that... you mad at me?"

"A little," he admitted.

"Anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"Not really," he shook his head. "Keep still."

You did as you were told, letting your grip on his thigh loosen as you frowned and looked anywhere but at him; swallowing thickly as he applied each plaster to the little cuts and then placed a large cotton pad over your grizzly cut before wrapping it tightly and using actual bandage tape to secure it in place.

He didn't say anything again, packing everything away and putting it back where it belonged in the cabinet; he grabbed his coffee and came to sit with you, shaking his head and sighing.

"You're an idiot. You couldn't have just called me and asked me to take care of your hand?"

You shrugged. "I was bleeding and in pain, did you really think I'd call?"

Six grumbled. "And if you're gonna steal my hoodies, the least you can do is tell me."

"I'm sorry," you said bleakly.

He shook his head, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you tightly; of course he was angry, you were hurt and that was the one thing he promised himself he would never let happen. His boyfriend and his little sister were the only two people he had in the world, and the thought of you or Claire getting hurt... it made him scared, and that fear always turned to anger. He just didn't mean to lash out at you, not you. Never you. You weren't even to blame.

"I'm sorry," he grumbled.

You held onto him as tightly as you could, sniffling a little. "Have you heard the new Slipknot song?"

"Is that what you have playing?"

You nodded.

"It's good."

Let me savour what I'm waiting for, a chance to make me choke, you're all I can think about, the taste is red and rust - can I hold you in my mouth until I fade into this form? Can you cover me? Will you breathe for me? As the knife goes in, cut across my skin, when my death begins I wanna know that I was dying for you, I died for you, as the knife goes in, cut across my skin when my death begins I wanna know that I was dying for you, I died for you, don't know what has happened yet, a surge of panicked zeal, all the words for retribution only add up to revenge, overpower me and devour me

He hummed softly, burying his face against you as he dared to give your body a little squeeze; all that anger and that pain melting away now that he knew that you were safe and sound and that you weren't going to get hurt again. Still, he blamed himself for not being there, he blamed himself and he could feel the guilt ripping through his chest like a fucking animal's claws.

"Hey, (y/n), I found a TikTok you might-" Claire stopped dead in her tracks when she saw you and Six cuddling, a frown on her face as she furrowed her brows. "Six, I need to borrow your boyfriend."

You laughed, shaking your head and getting off of Six's lap; you sighed as you ran a hand through his hair. "You're not mad anymore, right?"

Six shook his head. "No."

Claire offered you her phone as she looked at your hand with confusion. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"I got into a fight with a really awful person," you told her. "It's no big deal."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

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