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itsy-bitsy-spider-fan · 4 years

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Hold On to Me (I’m A Little Unsteady)

By @itsy-bitsy-spider-fan for @imgoingtocrash

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark, Happy Hogan, May Parker.

AO3 Link

Summary:

“Can we just not do this right now?” Peter asked tiredly, glancing at Tony.

There was a beat of silence, and unexpected anger was rising in both of them. Tony because he was tired of seeing Peter deteriorate, and Peter because… well Peter didn’t really know. But he didn’t want to breach this right now. He didn’t want Tony to push him into saying something he shouldn’t. He felt like he was standing at a precipice high above an abyss, and he could either step back and give in to Tony by telling him everything that was going on --- everything Peter was feeling --- or he could stay in place and let the ledge crumble beneath him.

After the reversal of the Snap, Peter isn't doing as okay as he pretends he is. Luckily, he has a certain mentor in his corner to help him through it.

Peter knew what was happening to him, but he couldn’t stop it.

***

Hold On To Me (I’m a Little Unsteady)

The Blip had drudged up everything: every fragment of trauma he’d experienced, every bad thing that had ever happened to him (and it was a whole laundry list at that point), every loss he’d faced. He saw it every night.

Peter could count on one hand the amount of sleep (hours) that he’d gotten in the past two weeks. Getting through the day was agonizing, but at night, when he was alone and suffocated by thoughts he’d tricked himself into thinking were behind him, it was worse.

It wasn’t like Peter wanted to stay awake. Needing sleep was the only comprehensible thought that Peter managed nowadays. But the tradeoff wasn’t worth it. Seeing his uncle fall back, a gunshot piercing his brain and jolting him awake and upright wasn’t worth it. A building crumbling, collapsing, crushing him while he screamed for help wasn’t worth it.

Reliving the experience of fading to dust wasn’t worth it.

So he stopped. Stopped trying to sleep and started trying to crash. Peter waited until the exhaustion was too much for his body to physically handle and he crashed, too worn out for his mind to conjure up anything that might jerk him awake with a scream lodged in his throat and knives lodged in his lungs.

His mistake wasn’t staying awake.

It was thinking that pushing himself to the brink wouldn’t catch up with him.

Peter leaned his head against the window of Happy’s black SUV --- a new one, a different one than he’d ridden in five years ago --- lightheaded from the energy drink he’d chugged five minutes before getting in the car. His overnight bag was carelessly tossed onto the seat beside him.

Though his body seemed to buzz with energy, Peter could tell that it wasn’t real. He had maybe a half hour before that buzzing feeling was replaced with tiredness, and he’d be back to dragging himself through the day and pasting on smiles so that nobody would notice that he wasn’t as okay as he tried to be.

Or maybe he’d get lucky, and the energy drink would mimic the natural flurry of excitement that, according to Tony, Peter used to light up rooms with. It was just another he hadn’t quite managed to get back from before the Snap.

Sometimes, Peter thought that some parts of him were still on Titan. That not all of him had been put back together after Tony had reversed Thanos’ actions. As for Tony… seeing him helped as much as it hurt.

It was hard to see past the red and gold prosthetic arm. It was as much as a symbol that Tony was okay as it was a symbol that Peter hadn’t been good enough during the fight. His train of thoughts tended to be pretty depressing whenever he visited the lakehouse. “What ifs” were his weakness. What if he had been faster? What if he had stopped Quill? What if he’d been better, like Tony wanted?

And when he thought of the final battle: What if I had gotten there first?

The Iron Spider was similar to the suit Tony had worn. It could have formed the gauntlet. Peter could have snapped. Could have taken the hit of the ancient magic. Peter could’ve walked away from it. Right?

In the month that Tony had spent recovering and in a coma, Peter had stayed at the man’s bedside --- well. He'd stayed in a chair in the corner of the same room. He couldn’t bear to infringe on the space that belonged to Pepper, and Rhodey, and Happy, and --- and Morgan.

He never voiced his internal anguish, never talked about the dreams he had where he had taken the stones, and he had ended it all. Instead, he distracted himself by borrowing a tablet from a certain genius Wakandan princess and started fleshing out a design for a prosthetic arm. At first, it was nothing more than a means for peace, a cathartic activity. Then Tony, not long after waking, had seen it, and Shuri had built it, and Peter decided that he needed to do more. “Fixing” Tony’s arm was not enough.

He had to go back. Back to the Peter that May wanted, that she used to know, that Peter had been before. Peter thought that if May didn’t spend so much time deluding herself that Peter had come back in one piece, it wouldn’t be so easy to pretend she had.

That’s why Peter was on his way to the lakehouse. He liked it there, liked it more. And it wasn’t just because being at the lake was less stifling that being in the city. It was because Tony understood better than anyone the way that Peter felt, even if Peter never outright said anything. Tony pressed offhandedly, but when Peter shrugged him off, Tony gave him space. Enough to let him breathe without completely detaching himself from Peter.

“Kid?”

Happy’s voice was edged with concern and when Peter blinked, they weren’t moving anymore. The lakehouse stood in front of him, and trees made up the horizon around them. On the front porch, Peter spotted Tony immediately, and Pepper beside him. Little Morgan peeked out from behind them, dark eyes narrowed. She was still in the process of warming up to Peter (though Tony had assured him that it was a given.)

“Sorry, Hap,” Peter mumbled, popping open the door and swinging his bag over his shoulder. “See you Sunday.”

“Two o'clock on the dot,” Happy agreed.

Peter walked up to the house, and a small burst of warmth managed to loosen the tightness in his chest. Tony and Pepper both greeted Peter with a smile. Morgan was still watching him with curiosity. He probably needed to spend more time with her if he could manage.

“I’m making carbonara for dinner,” Tony told him, slinging an arm over Peter’s shoulder as they walked inside.

Peter shot a startled look at Pepper without thinking. The last time Tony had cooked for Peter --- BT (Before Thanos) --- they’d become distracted and the lasagna that Tony swore he could make in his sleep turned out worse than the store bought ones May liked to (try to) cook on Thursdays.

Pepper caught his look and laughed, “Don’t worry. He’s gotten much better.”

Tony made an offended noise, but Peter was already slipping back into his thoughts while they bickered, tripped up on how easily the joke had come. He headed upstairs to deposit his bag in the guest room and wondered if maybe this weekend would end up going fine. That he ’d be fine.

He should have known better. He didn’t even make it through the day.

Things went fine until dinner. The buzz of the energy drink predictably disappeared after an hour, though Peter was still clinging onto the hope that nothing would go wrong. But then Tony had pressed him after dinner, questioned how he’d been doing, how things with May and Happy were going, if he’d talked to May, if he was okay.

“Tony,” Pepper said quietly, when she noticed the way that Peter had gone tense, stifled anger warming his face.

Tony shot her a glance in acknowledgement, but his face was set and determined. “I just want to know how he’s doing, Pep.”

Peter wondered why just that much was leading him to irritation. “And I told you I’m doing fine, Mister St-- uh, Tony.”

“Mr. Tony?” Tony repeated, and Peter rolled his eyes, stabbing at his carbonara with his fork. “That’s new.”

“Can we just not do this right now?” Peter asked tiredly, glancing at Tony.

There was a beat of silence, and unexpected anger was rising in both of them. Tony because he was tired of seeing Peter deteriorate, and Peter because… well Peter didn’t really know. But he didn’t want to breach this right now. He didn’t want Tony to push him into saying something he shouldn’t. He felt like he was standing at a precipice high above an abyss, and he could either step back and give in to what Tony wanted by telling him everything that was going on --- everything that Peter was feeling --- or he could stay in place and let the ledge crumble beneath him.

“No,” Tony decided after a beat, stubbornness etched onto his face. Clearly, he’d been planning this ambush for a while. “Peter, just talk to me, kid.” He hesitated. “Or even if not me, then talk to May---”

“What do you want me to say, Tony?” Peter cut in, setting his fork down forcefully. He was breathing hard. Part of him wanted to know the answer to his rhetorical question.

“At this point? Anything. Tell me what’s wrong---”

“Just lay off me,” Peter half-yelled instead.

They both snapped their mouths shut when Morgan jumped, eyes wide and looking at both of them.

Peter grew angrier, but he was unwilling to admit that most of that anger was at himself. For not putting up as good of an act as he thought he was, for scaring Morgan, for yelling at Tony.

“Kid, calm down---”

“Or what?” Peter spat. “You’re going to take my suit? Ground me?” Tony’s face twisted with indignation and Peter stood, knocking his chair down in the process.

He stood up too fast though. The floor lurched under his feet, swinging back and forth like a pendulum, and black spots danced across his vision. Tony’s anger melted to concern and he reached forward but Peter batted his hand away and gripped the table instead. Unwilling to prove Tony’s point that Peter was very much not okay, he kept going.

“Well, newsflash, Tony. You don’t get to do that anymore. You never did.”

“Is that what you think?” Tony challenged, sufficiently distracted again.

“Yeah,” Peter answered, breathing heavily.

He hadn’t noticed Pepper take Morgan out of the room, but at some point, she had. It was just Tony and Peter, staring each other down.

“Sit down, Peter,” Tony said harshly. “I just want to talk.”

“ Why ?” Peter breathed, angry and disbelieving, both at once. “Why can’t you just let it go?”

“Because---” Tony stopped, pursing his lips. “It doesn’t matter. I know you’re hurting---”

Peter scoffed bitterly. “Of course that’s what you say. You think you know everything, but you don’t. And I’m not some math equation that you can just solve because you’re bored. So quit pretending to be a father and leave. Me. Alone. ”

It was a low blow, and Peter knew it. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care, or even stop to see the shock and hurt play across Tony’s face. Instead, he turned and stomped upstairs, heart beating rapidly. Blood rushed in his ears, almost drowning out the sound of Pepper and Tony talking downstairs --- apparently she hadn’t gone far.

Peter swept over to his bag and furiously began unzipping it. At the bottom, exactly where he’d left them, were his webshooters and his suit. Peter was clipping his webshooters onto his wrists when he heard footsteps and a small voice behind him. He turned, freezing at the suit of Morgan hovering in the doorway, looking unsure.

“Peter?” she asked quietly. “What are you doin’?”

Peter unfroze, shaking his head. “I’m leaving. I’ll--- I’ll see you later.”

He headed over to the window, opening it. Without looking away from the ground fifteen feet below, he heard Morgan take a few cautious steps into the room. Peter sighed. Anger still raged through his veins, but he knew better than to take it out on a kid, especially Morgan.

“But why?” she questioned. “We didn’t even have dessert yet.”

“I know,” Peter said quickly, deciding to only put his mask on, leaving his suit in a twisted heap on the bed. “It’s fine.”

He was halfway out the window, one leg hooked over the sill, when Morgan whispered, “Bye.”

Peter felt regret clench in his chest. He knew he shouldn’t be leaving. It was just a dumb fight, and really, it was Peter’s fault. Most of the anger that he’d taken out on Tony was derived from anger he had for himself.

But he wanted to act out. Wanted to be angry instead of face the exhaustion that never left him, or the fear that made it hard to breathe all the time. Or even the nightmares that, no matter what he did, never went away. His hands were shaking, he realized.

Peter leapt from the sill and landed on the damp earth without error. He glanced back when he paused for a deep breath. Morgan was standing at the window, leaning out and looking at him. Wind whipped her hair around her face.

Peter broke his gaze away and took off through the trees.

The knowledge that May and Happy were on a date night was what compelled him to stop by the apartment and put on his suit. He’d received too many shouted, “Who are you?”s from New Yorkers who recognized Spider-Man’s brand but were probably shocked to see him after a five and a half year break.

It only took an hour of patrolling for the regret to really set in. Tony had only tried to call him once, and Peter had ignored him.

Before the Blip, Tony would have called again and pushed it through. But that's not what he did. He just left Peter to his own devices, even though Peter was starting to realize that's not what he wanted.

Normality. That's what he wanted. He wanted it back. Bad. That seemed to be the root of his problems. He wanted things to go back to normal. Where having a conversation with May wasn't painful. When Peter could tell Tony anything. When waking up from breath-stealing nightmares wasn't an everyday occurrence.

Peter perched on the top of a building and let out a deep breath. He'd have to apologize. At least for the last part, because Tony had confessed to him more than once how much his own father had made him wary of his ability to be one. And Peter had thrown that in his face.

Peter stood, stretched, and started thinking about what he'd say.

I'm sorry.

The obvious starter but not enough.

I'm drowning. He could tell Tony everything. And Tony would help him tell May but May… would be so disappointed. Wouldn't she?

I didn't mean it.

Back to Tony, because Tony was the one that Peter had thrown cruel words at like knives.

A shrill scream and a grunt pierced through Peter's thoughts, and he snapped back into reality.

Looking down on the street revealed a woman being pulled into an alleyway by a hooded man.

One more save, Peter decided. Then to the lake house.

Looking back on the moment that he leapt from the building, he wondered: was he stupid for thinking that anything could go right? That it would? Or was he just too tired to realize that something was off about the alleyway attack he was about to interrupt?

The woman was nowhere to be found when he swung to the ground, but the hooded man was standing with his back to Peter.

"I knew you'd come," came the low, gravelly voice of the man. "Spider-Man always does."

Peter swallowed uncomfortably, feeling the familiar spider sense of his crawl up his neck. "Where did she go?"

Finally the man turned, a cruel, taunting smile pulling at his thin lips. "Pity. They told me you were smarter than this."

"Smarter than---"

Crack!

A baseball bat slamming into the back of his head. Pain shooting through his skull, white hot and breathtaking. Vision shuddering and warping.

Peter stumbled onto his knees, blindly firing a web behind him, but the newcomers had the upper hand, would have had it even if he hadn't have spectacularly missed like he did.

Panic streaked through him when he felt arms grabbing him, pulling him, dragging him backwards over cracked and dirty asphalt.

One clear thought filtered through his mind. Tony.

"Karen," he croaked, only for his hopes to be shot when hands fisted the back of his mask, pulled it off. "N-no---"

Another brain-rattling blow to the back of his head and Peter's thrashing and twisting lessened. His fights were almost completely dulled when two needles slid into his neck: either darts or syringes but both containing some kind of concoction that made his stomach flip and his limbs feel heavy.

The people who had him stopped dragging him and hefted him in the air, carrying him to the mouth of the alleyway, where the shadow met the street.

They were approaching a running vehicle, Peter realized, and his thoughts melted together. They were taking him oh God and he'd been so stupid, hadn't told anywhere where he was and he needed to tell Tony sorry, to tell May sorry that he didn't fight hard enough to get away ---

A loud bang reverberated through the alley, so intense that it drew a strangled gasp from Peter's mouth. A blast of heat washed over his body, too confusing for his muddled thoughts to comprehend. Then the arms digging into him were pulling away and he was falling.

He slammed into the concrete on his back, mere feet away from the awaiting van. Peter groaned and rolled onto his side, gripping his head as another wave of pain slashed through it, coupled with more bang s that made him grip his ears in agony.

He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw and swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat, and just when he was at the brink, when his vision was starting to dim --- pain and overstimulation to his senses dragging him into an abyss --- all became quiet.

"Peter," someone breathed, voice shaking and scared but familiar. "Pete. Kid. Open your eyes for me."

Peter didn't want to. Didn't want to open his eyes and realize he was dreaming this up because Tony was mad at him, Tony wouldn't be here, but---

There he was, when Peter hazily cracked open his eyes. Crouching in front of Peter in the suit, though the faceplate was retracted. Concern was etched in every line of his face.

"Tony," Peter croaked, overwhelmed with regret and fear but also relief.

The pain was still there, too. Pulsing through his skull like a thick, hot fire poker being stabbed into his head over and over again.

"I'm right here, kid," Tony said. "I'm going to get…"

Tony didn't trail off. Rather, Peter found safety in his voice, his presence, and the tension seeped out of his body --- as did every ounce of consciousness that he'd been hanging on to.

When he woke up in the hospital room, he'd thought he'd be alone. He remembered pretty quickly what had happened, and the guilt still clung to him like wet clothes. He'd be disappointed, but not surprised, if the chairs surrounding his bed were empty.

Somehow, they weren't.

May was the first one he saw, and his chest tightened. She didn't see him stir, and neither did Happy. Tony, asleep in a chair on Peter's other side, didn't stir yet either.

It wasn't until Peter sat up --- and regretted the motion instantly since it made his head hurt like no other, drawing a shaky gasp from his lips --- did May look up. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw Peter struggling to move his pillows to support an upright position.

"May," Peter said, voice gravelly from disuse.

It was then, at the hoarse sound of Peter's voice, that Tony jerked awake, eyes flickering around the room before landing on Peter. Almost comically, Happy remained asleep.

"Kid," Tony said, moving forward like he wanted to reach Peter's hand.

May moved at the same time, and Tony jerked back, glancing at May like she might yell at him.

May paused, glancing from Tony to Peter before staying on Tony. "Don't fool yourself, Tony. He's your kid, too."

Tony looked at her, then nodded. When May looked away, Peter saw relief cross Tony's face, and he tentatively reached forward to grab Peter's other hand, waiting for Peter's nod of approval before actually grabbing it.

"I'm so sorry," Peter whispered. "To both of you. For fighting with you, Tony, and for not calling you May and---"

"We can talk about that later," Tony said, and May nodded in agreement, chewing her lip nervously.

Peter wanted to protest, wanted to apologize until it was drilled in their head how sorry he was, but a man in scrubs stepped into the room, and his attention was torn away. He glanced at Tony panickedly. This wasn't the same, confidential doctor that Peter had grown used to before the Blip.

"He knows you're enhanced," Tony said, squeezing Peter's hand. "And he's trustworthy. He specializes in enhanced people."

Peter glanced back at the man, who stepped forward with a kind smile. "That's right. I'm Doctor Weber. Do you know your name?"

Peter nodded slowly. "Peter Parker, sir."

Weber smiled again. Peter figured if the man was dangerous, his Spider Sense would have let him know already.

He didn't think about how unreliable it had been when he was sustaining the very injury he was in the Medbay for.

"The sedative your assailants used has already been metabolized," Weber began as he fiddled around with the nearby machines and screens. "There should be no lasting effects, but I am more worried about the fractured skull."

Peter winced, resisting the urge to prod the back of his head.

"I have a few precautionary questions…"

Peter answered Weber's questions correctly and was given another dosage of souped-up pain meds. He tried not to let his heavy eyes fall closed, but before he knew it, they were slipping shut… and his body was heavy and he was tired…

But he had to know who had done this to him in the first place. He managed to force his eyes open and glanced at Tony, who would probably start with the truth instead of trying to censor it to protect him like May would.

"Who did this?" he managed.

Tony's eyes went dark with a familiar anger, the one he saved for whenever someone targeted Peter and landed Peter in the Medbay. "Natasha's working on it as we speak, but so far, we think they may have been a splinter group from Hydra."

Peter nodded drowsily. "I am… safe?"

His tongue felt like it was made of rubber.

"You're safe, kid," Tony affirmed as May squeezed Peter's hand.

"Sleep, Peter," May instructed softly. "We'll be here when you wake up."

That turned out to be a lie, because the next time Peter opened his eyes, it was just him and Tony. Tony had a tablet in his lap and was video-calling someone.

Peter stayed quiet, not wanting to intrude, but Tony noticed him anyways. The soft grin on his face dropped and was replaced with stone.

"I'll be up later, Pep," Tony said, not looking away from Peter, who instantly felt worse for pulling Tony away from his conversation with his family. "Bye."

"Where's May?" Peter asked quietly.

Tony set his tablet down on the empty chair next to him. "She went upstairs with Happy. Said it was to shower but I think she knew that your meds were wearing off and wanted to give us a chance to talk." Tony paused. "A great woman, your aunt is."

Peter nodded, but there was a lump in his throat that kept him from speaking. Peter didn’t know if it was a big fat ball of regret or just plain emotion. Tony looked at him and sighed.

"I'm not mad, Peter."

Peter looked down at his lap. “You should be.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I was,” Tony said, and even though his voice was light, it sounded strained. “But then Weber showed me your charts, and Friday ran some scans. They estimate that when I brought you in, you hadn’t slept for thirty-two hours, Peter.”

When Peter said nothing, Tony said, “Did you know that skipping on sleep for so long causes moodiness and irritability?” It was a question with an answer that Tony didn’t want an answer for. “Now, there’s a lot of fun side effects to sleep deprivation --- hell, I’ve been there more times than I can count --- but I think those two matter the most in this situation.” He eyed Peter scrutinizingly. “What do you think?”

Peter swallowed. “That I’m an idiot.” Peter paused. “And I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be---”

“ Not just for our--- our fight,” Peter said urgently, needing to get the weight off of his chest that it had been crushing his lungs and ribs for weeks. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Tony was clearly unwilling to push on that, probably after what happened last time, but Tony didn’t need to. The truth was already spilling out: a dam that should have come down a long time ago.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Peter confessed, unable to meet Tony’s eyes. “Bad ones. And I’m… I’ve been too scared to sleep because every time I close my eyes I see you, dying. Or Thanos snapping, or my uncle, or--- just. Everything, Tony.”

Tony’s face was masked off, but his words were soft. “You should have told me, kid. You should’ve came to me sooner---”

“I know, ” Peter breathed, and when he looked back at Tony, his eyes were shiny with tears. “But I didn’t want to bother you when you were still..” He waved his hand vaguely towards Tony’s prosthetic arm, which was mostly covered by the gray hoodie that the man wore. “And I was scared that you would think, I don’t know, less of me? That I couldn’t be part of the team and I couldn’t lose Spider-Man even if I haven't been him for a while because that’s all I had left from the old me---”

Tony’s mind was spinning like lottery slots, probably because he was processing Peter’s ramblings at light speed. He clearly didn’t know where to start, but his voice was firm and insistent when he reached out, gripped Peter’s shaking hand and said, “Kid, there is no old you, okay? You’re still Peter Parker, you’re still my kid, and having nightmares or trauma doesn’t make you weak or take that away from you.”

Peter sniffed, ready to say something, but Tony wasn’t done. “Trauma isn’t something you can just push away and get over. Not when you’re dealing with things like Thanos or any villain you’ve faced as Spider-Man for that matter. Fighting people, putting them away, seeing death: it follows you home. It sucks. And I say that as the posterboy of PTSD.”

Peter wiped his eyes, disbelief shining in them. Tony had never opened up about that kind of stuff before, though Peter had pressed after Homecoming whenever he spent the night at the Compound.

“We’ve both gone through some shit,” Tony said. “It’s not ideal, but it’s part of the job. An occupational hazard, if you will. We might as well make that a prerequisite for joining the Avengers.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Peter joked with a watery laugh.

“I’m trying to say,” Tony continued, “that we’re here to help. All of us, but especially me. Right now. I’m going to do whatever it takes to put a smile back on your face, okay?”

Peter studied his face, and after a beat, nodded. “Okay.” He looked down, toying with the blanket in his lap. “Will you help me talk to May?”

Tony stood, and for a brief, terrifying moment, Peter thought that he was leaving. But instead, he gently nudged Peter’s leg out of the way, and Peter scooted over to the side of the bed to make room for Tony to lay down. Peter couldn’t help but smile when Tony crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, like they were sunning on a towel on the beach and not squished together in a hospital bed in the Medbay.

“Like I said,” Tony answered, “Whatever it takes.”

Peter nodded, which quickly turned to him yawning. The conversation --- plus the fractured skull --- had worn him out. Exhaustion, but a different kind, was already dragging him into sleep.

But even with his eyelids drooping and bodily tension disappearing, he still heard Tony murmur, “I invented time travel for you, kid. I’m not giving up on you now.”

#friendly neighborhood exhange #irondad #peter parker #tony stark

33 notes · View notes

paradoxicalpatton · 4 years

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Wearing Our Hearts On Our Sleeves

hi everyone! so this is my new (not so little) little project, and im really excited about it!! this chapter is just the prologue so if this does well im going to write and post the actual story. so please if you enjoy this little sneak peek into my new au, like and reblog it!!! also, @tinysidestrashcaptain wanted to be tagged, so here!

Title: Wearing Our Hearts On Our Sleeves Chapter: Prologue Word Count: 2018 Ships: Logicality, Prinxiety, Dukeceit Summary: Logan Bright, a Police Officer, is trying to find his father's killer, and solve the case that led to his death once and for all. Throughout his investigations, Logan meets an eclectic bunch of people. A paramedic who owns 2 cats yet is deathly allergic, a 911 operator with severe social anxiety, twins who happen to be a firefighter and a forensic scientist, a cps worker who is a compulsive liar, and a 7-year-old boy who's parents were murdered. Warnings: References to past child abuse, mentions of murder, and includes references to violence and talks about injuries so please be careful if you choose to go ahead and read! this fic is also very, very, sympathetic deceit heavy, so if you dont like that, dont read. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046337/chapters/55117603

[April 24th 2020, 2:17 am]

“Hello, 911, what’s your emergency?”

“Some bad man hurt my mom and dad, I don’t think they’re okay. Can you please come?”

“Okay, how old are you?”

“Please come fast, there’s lots of blood.”

“I’ve got officers coming as fast as they can, but I need you to stay calm for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“What’s your name?”

“Thomas.”

“Hi Thomas, I’m Virgil. How old are you?”

“I’m 7 years old.”

“Okay Thomas, you said there was a bad man, is he still there or did he leave? Did you see him?”

“He left. I only saw his clothes.”

“Alright, where are you right now?”

“In my mom and dad’s room.”

“And do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, it’s just me.”

“Can you tell me what happened, Thomas?”

“I was sleeping with my mom and dad and I had to go to the bathroom, and then I heard my mom scream and two loud bangs.”

“Those loud bangs, did they sound like gunshots?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, did the bad man leave quickly?”

“No, he stayed for a little.”

“So you heard the loud bangs and waited a little until the man left?”

“Yes, he did something else to my mom and dad.”

“What did he do Thomas, do you know?”

“He closed their mouths with string.”

“...God, okay the officers should be there any minute now.”

“I can see police cars.”

“Perfect, you did such a good job calling. Can you give the phone to a police officer for me please?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, Thomas.”

“Detective Phillips speaking.”

“Hi detective, I just wanted to make sure help arrived before I ended the call.”

“No problem, we’ll handle this now.”

“Of course.”

[The Sanders Residence, April 24th, 2:21 am]

Detective Clark Phillips hung up the phone call and made his way over to the front stairs were Thomas had sat down. Sitting next to him, Clark shrugged off his coat and placed it around Thomas’ shoulders, making sure to give them a firm squeeze before he pulled away. Clark lent down slightly so that he could speak to Thomas more quietly and directly.

“So Thomas, was it? Did you see the man that killed your parents?” Thomas dried his face with his pyjama sleeve and looked at the detective sitting next to him, trying to find the courage to speak, his voice uneven and scared.

“I saw what he was wearing, but I didn’t see his face.” Clark watched as Thomas wrapped his arms around himself tightly, bowing his head and attempting to shrug the coat off. The detective chuckled at the sight before him.

“Well, Thomas that won’t help us at all.”

“But-” Clark put his right hand on the back of Thomas’ neck and squeezed slightly, a warning for the boy to stop talking.

“Unless you saw his face we’ll never find him. So if someone asks you if you saw something you tell them you saw nothing, alright?”

“But I did-” The hand tightened around Thomas’ neck and new tears began to form in the corner of his eyes.

“What did you see Thomas?”

“Nothing.”

[The Myers Residence, April 24th, 2:18 am]

Demitri Myers was rudely woken by the sound of his annoying default ringtone in the early hours of the morning. Without moving as much as he could, Demitri reached behind him and grabbed his phone from his bedside table, hitting the answer button and putting the call on speaker.

“Myers.”

“Dee, oh good you’re awake.”

“Why of course, it’s not as if I were sleeping or something.”

“Oh poor Demitri was woken from his beauty sleep-”

“Look, Allison, unless someone’s died I’m hanging up.”

“It was two people actually, their young son found them, I need you to take this one.”

“Fuck, sorry. Yeah alright, text me the address, I’ll get there as quick as I can.”

“Thanks, Dee.”

Hanging up the phone, Demitri threw the bed covers off him and made his way into his ensuite, turning the tap on and gently splashing cool water over his face. He quickly slipped on his sneakers and coat, then grabbed his ID badge and car keys, and left. Demitri turned the car on and opened up his phone, tapping on the address Allison had sent him and started his GPS before pulling out of the underground car park and driving toward the crime scene.

[The Sanders Residence, April 24th, 2:27 am]

Demitri walked up to the yellow police tape and showed the nearest officer his ID badge before slipping under the tape and walking over to the group of detectives standing by the paramedics. He was quickly given a rundown of what had happened and was directed by another officer over to the boy who was alone on the stairs. This was always the worst part of these kinds of jobs, the child had just lost his parents and now some stranger wants him to go with them. But Demitri had never struggled as much as he did that night. As he got closer he realised that the kid hadn’t been seen by the paramedics on sight, he could tell by the dried blood on his hands and the bottom of his pyjama pants.

Kneeling down in front of the child as slowly as he could, he was able to get a closer look. His eyes were red and swollen, his cheeks were puffy, hair a mess, and dried snot under his nose. Demitri tried to keep the left side of him facing away from the kid as he introduced himself.

“Hi there, my name’s Demitri, but you can call me Dee.” The boy slowly looked up at him, nodded his head and looked back down at the ground.

“My name’s Thomas.” Demitri smiled sadly and moved to sit next to Thomas on the stairs, noticing him flinch away as he got closer, so he put some space between them and let his hands fall into his lap.

“It’s nice to meet you, Thomas. I’m here to look after you, do you have any other family we can call?” Thomas shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself once more.

“Alright then, why don’t we go inside and pack a bag with some of your things. Do you think you can do that?” Thomas nodded and Demitri let out a quiet sigh, he knew this was going to be difficult, he just wished that Thomas didn’t have to go through this. Demitri stood up and walked over to Detective Phillips who seemed to be leading the case and asked him if he and Thomas could pack a larger bag and take a few small comfort items. The detective agreed and he went back over to Thomas asking him where his room was.

When they reached Thomas’ room, Demitri looked through the closet to find something to pack Thomas’ things in, eventually deciding on his small Spider-Man themed suitcase. Together they packed it full of clothes and toys, as well as Thomas’ toothbrush and hairbrush. Before leaving the room Demitri grabbed one of Thomas’ pillows and asked the boy to grab his shoes.

[The Myers Residence, April 24th, 2:45 am]

When Demitri and Thomas had finally made it back to his apartment, he gave Thomas a quick tour, showing him where he’d be sleeping, where Demitri slept, where the bathroom was, and how to use the television. But before anything else, Demitri grabbed a new towel for Thomas and a new change of clothes, turning on the shower and letting the child clean himself of his parent’s blood. While he showered, Demitri put clean sheets on the guest bed and placed Thomas’ pillow near the headboard.

After Thomas had gotten changed he brushed his teeth and lied down in the bed that’d been made for him, quietly asking Demitri to leave the door slightly ajar. Once he was sure Thomas was safe and comfortable, Demitri made his way to his own room and climbed back into bed after kicking off his shoes. He knew he should probably figure out what he needed to do tomorrow regarding Thomas, but he could practically feel sleep calling him. He had almost drifted off when he heard a soft knock on his bedroom door and a creak letting him know it’d been opened.

“Mister Dee? Are you awake?” Demitri sat up and patted the empty side of his bed, inviting Thomas to take a seat so they could take.

“Yeah buddy, I’m awake. You doing alright?” With a little help, Thomas climbed up on the bed, sitting cross-legged and playing with the edge of the blanket.

“I’m okay, I can’t sleep.” Demitri nodded and slid back down the mattress until he was lying once more, pulling some of the blankets from underneath Thomas and lifting it up, inviting him to lie down with him.

“That’s fine, you can stay here with me.” Thomas smiled, albeit sadly, and made himself comfortable.

“Mister Dee-” “Just Dee, Thomas.” “-Dee… what happened to your face?”

Demitri stiffened. Usually, when he looked after children they’d be too scared to ask about his face, so when Thomas questioned him about it he was immediately ready to respond with a lie, to keep him happy. But his only rule when it came to lying was that he would never do it to a child. So he told Thomas the truth.

“It melted in a fire when I was 9.” Thomas’ wide, chocolate brown eyes blinked a few times, the boy refusing to break the silence so that Demitri would go on. And with a reluctant sigh, he did.

“My parents had a bad fight one day and my Dad hit me so hard I fell asleep. While I was asleep he accidentally started a fire. I was left inside.”

“Did they forget you?” Demitri should really lie here, to tell Thomas ‘No, they didn’t, my Dad saved me’ and that everything was okay. But looking across at him, Demitri just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“No, they didn’t forget. My Mom and Dad didn’t want to save me.” Before he knew it small, warm arms were wrapped around his stomach, Thomas’ face pressed tightly against his chest. For the first time ever since the incident, Demitri let a few silent tears slip past his eyes and down his cheeks. Because Thomas, a boy who had just lost his parents, who he had just met, was here comforting him for something that had happened 19 years ago.

Demitri smiled as Thomas pulled away, looking up at the scar tissue that travelled down his face, neck, and arm, slowly raising a hand and looking back to Demitri.

“Can I touch it? Does it hurt?” Demitri chuckled softly and carefully grabbed Thomas’ hand, placing it on his bumpy cheek and running it past his jaw and down to the part of his shoulder exposed by his t-shirt.

“No, it doesn’t hurt.”

“It feels so weird, cool!” This time they were both laughing, real happy smiles on each of their faces.

“Hey Dee, guess what.” Thomas curled into Demitri’s side as he placed an arm around him, holding the boy close and gently rubbing circles on his shoulder.

“What Thomas?”

“It’s my birthday today.”

The rubbing stopped. Surely he had heard that wrong. Surely, there was no way that sweet, sweet Thomas’ birthday was today. Everyone’s always scared that something will go wrong on their birthday, maybe a friend didn’t turn up, or the family dog took a bite from the cake before the candles were blown. But for a child to listen to their parents be murdered, find the bodies, and make the 911 call is quite possibly the worst thing that could ever happen. What was Demitri supposed to say to that? What? ‘Happy birthday Thomas, I hope it’s a great day! Your parents are dead but that’s okay!’ Instead Demitri chose the safest option, resuming rubbing circles on Thomas’ shoulder and pulling the blanket up.

“Get some rest Thomas, tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 5 years

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A Girl’s Best Friend (Peter Parker x OC) - Part 13

Synopsis: Diamonds are man’s best friend- or dogs are girls’ best friends, wait… how does the saying go again?

Warnings: Family issues; Peter has a crush and it’s complicated; mention of assault; good dogs; College AU; aged up! characters; TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WE ALL LIVE IN A HAPPY PLACE CALLED DENIAL

Word count: 3.5k

Part 12 <<< >>> Part 14

MASTERLIST

There was a big stage, with spotlights and thousands of people standing there, watching on. The TV crews of every big channel had their cameras turned towards the silhouette of the mayor, waving at the cheering crowd who had braved the cold to be a part of this.

Peter’s eyes were darted on Emmeline, who stood straight as an ‘i’ between her parents, a stiff smile plastered on her face – he could only imagine how much her cheek muscles hurt. At first, she had stood a little behind and to the left of her mother, but she had been dragged to the forefront, looking panicked. Peter could tell it wasn’t her usual place, but her mother’s way of ensuring that she would be on her best behavior after the stunts she already pulled tonight. He was sure that his mere presence here was an insult to half to other guests, yet he didn’t mind.

Snow began to fall but nobody seemed to care, if anything, it added to the general vibe. Why did no one but him see the blatant discomfort of the young girl on stage? Why did no one see what he saw? He’d have liked to shoot out a web and take her away, he’d have liked to be brave and join her on stage even if it would cause the ire of mister mayor.

But he didn’t. And no one else saw. Everybody listened to the speech, rubbing their hands together for warmth or holding their cup of mulled wine, eyes shining with the reflection of a thousand fairy lights hanging from streetlamp to streetlamp. No one saw, and neither did Peter, who was so focused on Emmeline that he missed it.

He missed the first gunshot.

Suddenly pulled out of his reverie, he sent panicked looks all around, watching the crowd kneel and people scramble around to try and get out of the sea of people.

Peter was standing on the left side of the stage, by the stairs leading “backstage”. He had promised Emmeline that he would stay there and wait for her; he saw her fall on her knees, protecting her head and crawling back to get out of shooting range but she didn’t know where the shooter was, nor did Peter, because he could hardly tear his gaze away from her. Everything was still in slow motion.

Gunshots still echoed in the square, sending the crowd into hysterics, coming from everywhere. There must be more than one shooter.

It wasn’t the first time in his life that he had to choose between being Peter Parker and Spider-Man. Peter Parker was who Emmeline wanted; she was looking for him, searching his eyes but also too scared to move from her little hiding spot behind the lectern. Spider-Man was who she needed, what everybody present needed.

When Emmeline finally gathered her courage and decided to make a run for it to try and join Peter and get out of here, she found no one standing by the stairs leading off stage. She barely had the time to process that before feeling herself being yanked backwards and hitting the lectern again, now unable to move. What…?

“You stay here, princess,” a familiar voice ordered her.

Emmeline twisted her neck to look upwards and found none other than Spider-Man perched on top of the lectern. He had webbed her down so she wouldn’t move. Another gun shot and this time, shards of wood from the lectern were blown off, forcing Emmeline to whip her head around to avoid them. Her right cheek flamed up and she didn’t dare look up to check on the super hero.

The noise around her didn’t help either, the general panic created a mob mentality and everyone started freaking out beyond all sense and measure, probably making things a thousand times worse for the police and Spider-Man. Gunshots everywhere, screams, cries and the low rumble of footsteps from people running across the stage and right past her.

Breathing was difficult, Emmeline folded her legs under her, adopting the fetal position to avoid being ran over. She buried her head in her knees and pressed her eyes shut, willing the situation to deescalate quickly, praying that wherever Peter was, he was safe.

Where were her parents? She dared open her eyes again but saw no one lingering on the stage, and she couldn’t see what was happening around her because she was still webbed to the back of the lectern. They left her. She shouldn’t have been surprised but she was shocked still. They left her.

Everybody had left her, except Spider-Man, who always seemed to be around when she was in trouble.

Once again, Emmeline was yanked away from her place of safety and she found herself in the airs, holding tightly onto the body against hers, eyes still shut.

“Here you go, you’re on the ground, you can let go now,” Spider-Man told her, gently removing her arms from around him. “Stay behind the police line.”

“Wait!” Emmeline shouted after him before he flew off again, slipping right past the line of policemen to followed Spider-Man and grab his arm. “I was here with someone. I need to find him!”

“You need to stay safe and out of the way,” he replied, obviously annoyed that she would put herself in danger and not stay with the rest of the people. “You need to go back there, I have a job to do.”

“I’m not leaving without him!” she insisted, stubbornly following after him. “I know him, he wouldn’t have left me, he must still be in the-“

“I said go back, Emmeline!” Spider-Man shouted. He was growing frustrated: Emmeline refused to obey and go to safety and he still had shooters to deal with. Bullets still flew around, there were still people lying on the ground, covering their ears and closing their eyes as if that was going to dissuade the shooters from killing them. “I’m serious!”

“And I’m-“ She didn’t get to finish her sentence. Spider-Man’s body collided with hers and she barley managed to keep them upright, helping him on his feet and feeling something sticky against her hand.

“Fuck,” he swore. Time was up. “He’s fine, don’t worry about your friend.” She frowned a little, confused. There was something off in the way he said it. “He was swept away with the crowd and evacuated by the police.”

“But-“ This didn’t make any sense. “You- you’re hurt,” she now noticed, looking down at her hand covered in blood.

“It’s nothing.”

He was always flying off towards danger again, leaving Emmeline close enough to the police line to go back by herself.

Of course, expecting her to do as she was told was wishful thinking. She followed right after him. She couldn’t just let him go off when he had taken a bullet God knows where; and she didn’t believe for a second that Peter had been swept away with the crowd. He wouldn’t leave her. He would have given her a sign of life by now.

“Peter!” she shouted in desperation, pushing people and being pushed around by people who ran away like headless chicken, tripping on their own feet and bumping into inanimate objects in their rush to escape the square. “Peter! Peter are you-“

She was cut off when she something flew past her at an astounding speed, blowing her hair right out of her updo. She recognized it immediately, noting the red and gold shine of Iron Man’s armor and feeling a wave of overwhelming relief wash over her. It didn’t last long.

Something next to her blew up again, sending more shards of wood into her. This time she could move and shielded her face with her arm, but the blast threw her off balance and she landed on the ground a few feet away, almost immediately getting kicked in the side by someone who was no doubt running for their life.

This couldn’t be happening. Where were her parents? Where was Peter? Oh God, if anything happened to him…

The now familiar sensation of vertigo that came with being lifted into the air signaled her that Spider-Man had once again came to her rescue.

“Emmeline, you can’t stay here,” he told her when he brought her back behind the line of policemen. “Peter is safe, trust me. Now you stop making my life more difficult than it is, and stay here. Gotta go,” Spider-Man told her before joining the effort and helping Iron Man.

She couldn’t see what was happening from where she stood now; policemen kept pushing her backwards, forcing her to step back and away from the flying bullets. She resisted at first, compelled to make sure Spider-Man was okay. He was still bleeding; she knew it from the stain of blood on her coat.

However, she was once again pulled backwards by someone, and it was starting to irritate her that people felt entitled to push and pull and shove her around like a ragdoll.

“What are you doing, you retard?!” the sharp voice of Dexter pestered her. He didn’t bother to be gentle and simply yanked her towards him and out of the police’s way. Emmeline shook him off of her and scowled at him. “Lost your little boyfriend?” he sniggered, not missing an opportunity to be an ass, even in the middle of a shooting. “That delinquent shattered my jaw! What kind of lowlife are you hanging out with? Wasn’t it enough to get chased down by some psycho years ago? You want more?”

“Shattered?” she scoffed, letting out a snort. “Yeah, right. As if.”

She would know if Peter had punched him this hard, right? His hand would have hurt a lot more, and who knew how much strength you needed to put in a punch to shatter a jaw on purpose?

“You don’t believe me? You think he’s your prince charming, is that it?” he asked, already reaching out to her again. “Then why are you alone?”

“Get away from me, you disgusting piece of shit! You abandoned me! Peter would never do that!” I hope I’m right. “We got separated. Now step back, and never, ever touch me again or I swear to God, I will file a restraining order against you.”

Dexter, smirk still twisting his lips in a sick grin, raised both hands in surrender, taking a couple steps back.

“Whatever, bitch. You were a lousy fuck anyway.” As if to give leverage to his statement, he flipped her off one last time before walking away to join his gang of rich kids friends.

She waited until he was out of her sight to start looking for Peter but she quickly understood that it was a fool’s errand. This was New York City, on the busiest day of the year, at a late night political rally disguised as a Christmas celebration. It was too dark to distinguish faces in the crowd, people were running around, and away from the shooting. The passersby were curious and gathered outside the safety perimeter, policemen pushed people back, gunshots were still being heard and blasts of light came from the other side of the line of trees, a clear evidence that the fight was still going strong.

Emmeline would never find Peter and she was feeling herself getting cold, freezing to the bone in fact. The aftershock was hitting her. Staying here wouldn’t do any good. In a last attempt to reach Peter, she called his number but fell on his voicemail.

“Damn you, Parker,” she cursed, putting away her phone. She didn’t mean it, but she was out of options and it frustrated her. She didn’t want to leave him here if he was still around, but what else was she supposed to do.

“Miss?” someone said from behind her, tapping on her shoulder to get her attention. It was a paramedic. “Please follow me, your cheek needs to the tended to.”

She had forgotten about the stinging pain in the side of her face, but as soon as the man mentioned it, came the sharp reminder. She was no doubt riddled with shards. He guided her out of the crowd and towards the ambulance where other people were being patched up and she surrendered herself to the medics, determined to go home after that, and try to contact Peter again.

The second she closed the door to her apartment behind her, Emmeline crumpled to the floor, bursting into tears and turning into a sniffling mess, which in turn quickly attracted Bella’s attention and concern. The young pit nuzzled Emmeline’s arm until she managed to push her head under her arm to lick the girl’s face.

She was used to having full on conversations with her dog, but not tonight. Emmeline couldn’t talk tonight, she couldn’t stop sniveling and crying, and so she let Bella try to console her the only way she knew how to: by licking the sadness out of her.

An age passed before she found the strength to stand up and go to her room on wobbly legs, followed closely by Bella who seemed rather determined not to leave her side. Emmeline shivered from the close, her teeth rattling, her hands shaking. It was warm in her apartment, the thermostat was set on the usual temperature, she shouldn’t be cold.

She peeled off all the layers of clothes, feeling nasty, absolutely disgusting. She shed her dress and threw it in a corner as if the thing reeked, as if she didn’t love it when she chose it, hoping that Peter would like it too. Her heels met the same fate, as well as everything else she wore. Instead of her usual ostentatious and elegant clothes, Emmeline dug out a pair of mom jeans and a fleece lines sweater. She put on two pairs of socks too.

Peter still didn’t pick up, his phone didn’t even ring, she got straight to his voicemail every time she called. She called Ned, out of desperation, begging him to give her Peter’s off campus address.

“Sure, why’d you need it for?” he asked, not having heard of the shooting yet. Emmeline didn’t have the heart to tell him now and ruin his holidays or alarm him when she didn’t even know if Peter was alright or not.

“I just need to see him and he won’t pick up.” It wasn’t a lie, it was just a slight understatement of the truth. “I’m guessing he’s not spending Christmas alone in his dorm.”

“Oh no, he usually doesn’t stay at all when he doesn’t have class. He only stayed for you,” Ned blurted out, only to realize he maybe shouldn’t have disclosed that information. “I mean- for your project. He didn’t want to have to go back and forth between Queens and-“

“I didn’t know...” Emmeline breathed out, shaking her head to herself. “I get it though. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him you spilled the beans.”

A sigh of relief answered her.

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

Bella went absolutely insane without any warning, and Emmeline nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a knock on her window, almost causing her a heart attack.

“I have to go Ned,” she told him.

“I’ll text you the address. Merry Christmas, Em!”

She only just managed to return the courtesy and ended the phone call. When she looked at her screen, she saw that it was past midnight already. She had stepped onto that stage over two hours ago, though it felt like longer.

Bella barked like the devil was standing outside her window, but when she flipped on the balcony lamp, she saw Spider-Man. Her knees gave in but she caught herself before hitting the floor. Even with his mask on, she could see the worry on his face. Pulling herself together, Emmeline opened the sliding window.

“What the hell was that, Em?” he immediately began to scream, holding his arms open in incomprehension. “You can’t go around running into the face of danger like it’s nothing! Fuck that! You couldn’t have gotten killed, you know that?! I can’t look after you all the time, as much as I’d like to be able to,” he raged on, his expression of anger visible through his mask.

Emmeline just stood there, shaking slightly.

“It was irresponsible and thoughtless and stupid! It was stupid as shit Emmeline! Do you know how worried I was?! I’m gonna go gray from this, and it’s all your fault! Holy fucking shit! I can’t even believe you followed me in there, there were people shooting real bullets, and you just ran after me!”

He couldn’t stop the flow of words coming out of his mouth, he had been worried out of his mind! He wasn’t one to curse usually, but the profanities just came out. But eventually, his anger subsided a little and his tone lowered.

“It was so reckless. Swear to never do that again! I’m dead serious, you can’t pull stunts like that anymore. Putting your life in danger won’t save anyone, it’ll just make the people you love go mad with worry and make my job more difficult. Shooting 101: run away from the bullets. If I see you do that shit one more time, I’ll-“

He was cut off when she pulled him inside her apartment by the wrist, throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh- okay…” she heard him say against her head before returning the hug and rubbing her back in a soothing gesture. He realized just how shaken up she was now, and maybe yelling at her wasn’t the right course of action but he had been so worried, he just couldn’t help himself. He had to find a way to make her understand that she couldn’t do things like that. “It’s nice to be invited inside for once,” he joked, trying to make her smile – and she did, before resuming her crying. “Hey, hey, it’s okay now. You’re fine, I’m fine. We got the bad guys, no need to worry now. I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Bella had calmed down as soon as she recognized their visitor when he stopped yelling at her owner and was now sitting by their feet, wagging her tail, tongue out.

“Why does it feel like you’re constantly saving me from one thing or another?” Emmeline mumbled, trying to recompose herself. “You were hurt because of me. I saw the blood.”

“Not an impression,” he laughed. “I actually do that. And don’t worry about that, I heal fast.”

“You know what I mean!” she countered, pulling back and wiping away her tears. It felt good, she needed to let it out. She was just sorry it had to be on the local super hero’s super suit. “Did you put a tracker on me? Figured trouble was wherever I was?”

“I did not, but there’s an idea.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He laughed, his shoulder shaking slightly, and she found she couldn’t stay serious and soon joined him.

“I can’t stay, but I wanted to make sure you were alright. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you look like a hot mess and I’ve never seen you so dressed down even in pajamas, but you look like you’ll make it through the night,” he teased her, letting his arms fall each side of his body. His eyes lingered on the bandage on her cheek but it didn’t look too bad. He was there when that bullet blasted away a chunk of wood near her face.

“What happened to the shooters?” She wanted to know, for her peace of mind.

“Two killed, three arrested. The police say it was a political act,” he told her, a bit bitterly. There was a long moment of silence. “Don’t you want to know if your parents are fine?”

Emmeline’s smile dropped and her face shut off before his eyes. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that they weren’t her real parents and that they never really acted like parents anyway, but he had thought that she would ask about them.

She recalled the moment she realized they had run off, letting her alone on that stage in the middle of a shooting whose targets they most definitely were. She gulped down and brought her lips in a thin line, arms crossed over her chest.

“I don’t have parents.”

The sentence hung heavy between them, and Peter was starting to rethink his brilliant idea to swing by on his way to aunt May’s. He needed to go back; she must be worried out of her mind. He had told her where he was going tonight and knew she would be watching the live on TV.

“Go now,” she said, stepping back and looking away. “I also have something to do.”

Just then, her phone buzzed and Peter wondered who it might be. He didn’t ask, it was none of Spider-Man’s business. Without another word, just a friendly nod, he was out again, and Emmeline stood by the open window, still freezing cold.

“Merry Christmas,” she said to no one in particular.

Then she closed the window and got moving.

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sad-af1121 · 6 years

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Blind Love: Part 1/2

Summary: When revealing true feelings for the one you love is too late and the only thing left behind is pain. (Best friends AU) Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 2128 Warnings: Angst, heartache, language- verbal abusive relationship, cute fluff A/N: Based on the song Love is Blindness (yes the title of the song and fic are similar fam 👌), this is part 1 of 2 for @asirenscalling writing challenge! Enjoy and hopefully I’ll have part 2 written up by the 20th or by the end of this month :’) Feedback is welcomed 💜

You’ve known Lance since middle school, riding the bus together and fooling around with things you weren’t supposed to in science class. You’d never forget the day when he saved you from face planting on the playground platform. Your shoelace had gotten caught under someone else’s foot, resulting in your downfall.

However, Lance caught the back of your shirt in time, yanking you up from gravity’s attempt to hurt you. Clinging to his arm for dear life, you remembered how scared you were to open your eyes, waiting for the impact. But it never happened, Lance made you sit down as he mimicked the recess overseer's nasal voice while petting your hair. When a giggled escaped your mouth, Lance pulled away and you opened your eyes to see his piercing blue one’s squinted in a warm smile. As if time stopped on purpose, you could’ve sworn your heart fluttered in your chest, doing 20 summersaults all in one go. Yet that moment was quickly taken away when your name left his lips, snapping you out from your trance. He was running away from you before looking back to shout out “you’re it!” Grinning, you ran after him in attempt to get him back.

But you forgot to tie your shoelace again.

As time went on, Lance wasn’t like the other kids, always striving for the best at a young age and getting what he wanted, even if that meant he had to work twice as hard. Determination was written in his DNA and so was competitiveness. Back then, popularity didn’t matter that much, only if your scooter went faster downhill and you bet your money that Lance’s scooter was the fastest on the block. He won every round and bought ice cream for everyone who participated. Thank Mrs. Miller down the street who paid Lance $10 every day just to walk her dogs.

Lance had your back and you had his. You two made an agreement if there was ever a problem that might jeopardize your friendship, you’d talk it out first before anything else happened. Luckily, that method helped a lot throughout the years of your friendship because the Tuckers didn’t make your bond any easy. They pushed and pushed Lance until he finally got the memo that he’s meant for more. Guiding him to gymnastics and taking away his free time to practice. He was taught that he had no weakness, that it was an illusion that pulled him back down to the ground rather than rising to the top. And his focus was in being the best all his life. You were split between Lance and what his parents wished for him, so you tried staying away as much as possible.

Nevertheless, Lance Tucker wasn’t going to let that happen, not in a million years. “What are best friends for then, Y/N?”

He stood by your side no matter what, was a shoulder to cry on, and a comfy cuddle buddy on movie nights. You were his wingman and so was him for you during college. After your careers started booming, you always made sure to see each other once a year or more if destiny allowed it. Love kept your relationship strong and nothing was going to tear it down. Nothing.

Even if that meant betraying the love gods because you couldn’t resist falling in love with Lance. There was a side you only knew and the world was given just a glimpse of how amazing that man is. It was as if he was afraid to share who he was, who the real Lance Tucker was. He was a different person around you, in comparison with others. Not once did you complain about his decision to keep certain things to himself, you wanted him happy despite it all. He was home and you were his heart.

“Did you send him the right address this time? I don’t need a whiny Lance walking through that door.” You laughed, placing the salad bowl on the dinner table before stepping away to look over the masterpiece you put together for tonight. “I want everything to go perfect, baby.”

“I did, would ya stop worrying? I told him it was a joke. Who knew he’d actually drive to the post office and think that’s where we live.” Joe says softly, kissing the side of your cheek. He wraps his arms around your mid and pulls your closer, earning a heartfelt giggle from you.

“Lance can be gullible. He’s probably got a lot on his mind with the new training he’s being put under. It’s like a whole other level of stress for him.” You sigh, leaning your head against your boyfriend’s chest.

“I’m sure Nicole is taking good care of Lance and being there for him. They’re like the cutest couple ever and still going strong after 3 years, Christ. I hope we get that long.”

Furrowing your brows together, you turn in Joe’s hold, playfully punching his arm. “Ow!”

“Are you having doubts about our relationship, mister?” You question, cocking your head to the side while crossing your arms. Your heart dropped to your stomach hearing that and you couldn’t give away that it did, taking Joe’s words in amusement.

Chuckling, Joe grabs your left hand, bringing the back to his lips as he kisses there gently, his emerald green eyes landing on the princess cut diamond ring on your finger. “Of course I don’t, future Mrs. Martinez. I’ll love you till the end of days.”

You couldn’t stop the blush from creeping on your cheeks as you bashfully pull your hand away and smirk, forgetting about before. “Good. Or else you’re asking for trouble.”

“You’re so cute.”

“And you’re so full of it.” You amuse, pecking his cheek. When you pull away, you notice you’ve forgotten to get the drinks from the basement and your guests would be there any moment. “Hey, can you get the beers from the fridge downstairs. I completely forgot to get them.”

“Yeah, I’ll get them. Don’t miss me too much!” Joe says, hurrying to the basement and disappearing down the stairs.

You met Joe in your freshman year of college, studying in the same science and health field but he was more for physical therapy and you in Nutrition and Wellness Studies. Lance was also studying the same thing as you which turned out for the better since his main career is to help train other Olympians and make sure they’re fed and physically trained right. You stayed in touch after college and fell for Joe overtime, deciding to pursue a relationship with him and knowing Lance wasn’t going to be with you. He never showed interest and liked girls that were the complete opposite; he had a certain type. You couldn’t mope around and wait for Lance to pick you. It was time to move on.

As much as your heart didn’t want to.

“You’re a fucking idiot. Why can’t you ever get anything right?” Nicole hisses, glaring out the window as Lance makes his way into the car.

“For the last time kitten, Joe gave me the wrong address. I should’ve paid more attention-”

“Well, no shit Sherlock.” Nicole spits, clipping in her seat belt. Lance shut his eyes, sighing deeply to calm his aggravated nerves, not wanting to have another argument with her. It was taking everything in him not to kick Nicole out the car and break up, but she’s all he’s got now. “I’m sorry, okay? Please don’t be upset with me. I can’t handle that right now.”

He was met silence, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe. Lance would do anything in the world to put his life on pause so he can figure out where things were going wrong. To the world, he had the perfect life: a hot girlfriend who “loved” him more than anything, a striving career that had a hefty paycheck, and a best friend who he can get lost in. Never craving to leave the pool he’s been sunk in. But he felt a gap missing and couldn’t quite understand what it was.

“Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” Lance jerks, gripping the steering wheel when the car comes to a stop. Looking to the left, Lance scans over the little white Ranch home with a purple porch swing on it’s right. “She actually got one.” Lance chuckles to himself, a gentle smile craving along his lips. He remembers the debate you two had about the odd little porch swing that soon became a reality. You said it was your personal touch and every house on the block would know that’s your home. Lance bet his money with Joe that you weren’t going to have that since it was antique-ish and you’d forget.

Yet you proved him wrong, like so many other times.

“Look,” Lance says, turning in his seat. “We can’t argue how we usually do and let’s try not to, okay? Y/N said this is an important dinner and I have a feeling they’re gonna tell us something big, so try to be civil with me, please?”

“Alright. Now let's go! I’m starving.” Nicole whines, throwing her head back. Lance chuckles again before leaning forward, pecking her lips. “Attagirl.”

When Lance arrived, you hopped off the kitchen counter and ran to the door, pulling it open to jump into his arms. “Oh my God, you’re here!”

“Hi to you too, spider monkey. Never gets old.” Lance laughs, catching you in his arms and walking in to admire your new home. “Holy shit, this is nice. Needs some work in the front but it’s do-able.”

“Excuse me? My house is perfect.” You argue, leaning back.

“It’s beautiful, Y/N. I love the porch swing.” Nicole says.

“Thank you! You see, I ain’t the only one who likes it.” You raise a brow to Joe who playfully rolls his eyes and nods.

“Yes, my love, you’re right. It’s an eye-catcher. Now, should we eat?”

Everything was going the way you planned it, noticing Lance and Nicole were smiling more than they usually did. You were glad things were getting better with them and hoped they’d stay together, knowing how much Nicole makes Lance happy. He was radiating, and this made you content.

“Alright, you two. Spill it. What’s the big news?” Lance says in mid-chew, eyeing you and Joe.

Snorting, you wipe your mouth with a napkin before setting it back down onto your lap. “You still haven’t figured it out?”

“Figured what out?” Lance hesitantly laughs, his browning knitting together and forming creases on his forehead. A knot begins to form in the pit of his stomach, giving him a not-so-good feeling about the next few words that are going to fly out of your mouth.

As if your nerves weren’t already wrecked, you prepare yourself again, taking slow steady breathes and taking Joe’s hand in yours, a bright grin casting your features. “We’re engaged!”

“Wh-what?” Lance stuttered, alarms going off in his head, his stomach coiling into itself.

Why did it feel like he was losing you when you’re right in front of him?

“Oh my god! When did this happen!?” Nicole squeals, scooting her seat closer towards the table to get a look at the ring that fitted perfectly around your finger. You excitingly bring your left hand in view, smiling brighter than the day Joe proposed. The twinkle in your eyes made it impossible for Lance to even look at it, bothered by the news.

“Isn’t it too early? I mean, it’s only been a year and a half. And you guys just moved in together…” Lance debates, clenching his fists underneath the table as his eyes lands on yours. He sees you look down, pulling your hand back, your lips forming into a pout. He didn’t mean to sound harsh but couldn’t hold back.

An awkward minute passes by and Joe begins to bounce his leg. “Yeah, but I love Y/N and she loves me. We’ve known each other for more than a year and a half and that doesn’t change anything. I’d be marrying my best friend.” Joe says, placing a hand on your thigh.

You look up at Lance, watching his jaw clench. You already knew he was starting to get jealous and didn’t want the two to argue over something so little.

“One of your best friends, honey.” You giggle, trying to make the atmosphere less uncomfortable.

“No, I get it. But being friends and being each other’s partners are two different things, Martinez.” Lance states, leaning back in his seat as he grabs his beer, taking a full swig of it.

“Lance,” You whisper loud enough for everyone to hear and look up.

“I’m pregnant.”

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avengeultrons · 7 years

Text

Title: “How much champagne did you have?” (Stark! Reader x Peter Parker)

Summary: Peter and the reader are the two youngest at Tony’s party, a party full of alcoholic beverages that youngsters shouldn’t drink.

Word Count: 1750

Warnings: Underage Drinking don’t do it

A/N: I love Peter lol we all know this. I hope you enjoy this fun lil stark reader imagine!

–

“Oh, thank God you’re here. My dad was just about to send me to run errands but he can’t possibly do that now that I have a guest,” you smiled as you ran to the elevator as the doors slid open and an anxious looking Peter stepped over the threshold. He smiled nervously at you while you grabbed his arm and looped yours through his, “Peter’s here!” you announced loudly, causing a pink blush to dust over his cheeks.

You smiled sheepishly, your own cheeks darkening in color when he looked at you. Your dad sighed once he caught sight of the two of you, clearing his throat loudly.

Even though he didn’t want you breathing next to a boy, he decided that you hanging around Peter was the best option, “Great, now you can have a buddy so you can keep an eye on each other. We need snacks, not the fancy kind. Here’s my card, Happy can drive you,” you groaned loudly as he placed his credit card into your hand, “Oh, come on, the sooner the two of you get back the sooner you can join the party and watch the game!” he smiled satisfactorily and buttoned his suit jacket before giving you a pat on the shoulder and joining the crowd.

“We’re on snack duty?” Peter asked with a slightly annoyed expression on his face. You gave a nod, stepping into the elevator with Happy, Peter on your heels.

You couldn’t help but feel bad about having to drag him along for a bunch of errands. All Peter wanted to do was impress Tony and prove to him that he could be a valuable asset to the team, and you weren’t sure snack duty was the best place to start, “Like Mary Poppins says; in every job that must be done, there is an element of fun!” Peter laughed and shook his head at you, fixing his hair in the mirrored doors of the elevator before running after you.

The first place you stopped at was a total bust. They didn’t have any snacks, unless you wanted oyster crackers and ramen, of course. What they did have was hoards of paparazzi, one of the store clerks was acting rather suspicious on the phone and this was obviously why. You grabbed ahold of Peter’s hand and pulled him through the swarm to the next store, finally locating boxes of less-fancy snacks.

“We’re giving them a field day,” you commented, looking over at the flashing cameras from outside. First you and Peter holding hands, now you and Peter shopping together. You couldn’t wait to see how they turned this around.

Peter nodded in agreement, his face a shade of green as he took your hand nervously, leading the way through the swarm and back to the car, “I can see it now; Baby Stark steps out for errands with new teen on the scene, Peter Parker. If that’s the title you owe me five bucks,” Happy announced from the driver’s seat after the two of you dove into the car.

“Do you have to say ‘Baby Stark’?” you pretended to gag as Peter pressed his head to the cool glass of the window, his face green, “I think he’s going to be sick. Good going, you scared him,” you slid across the seat to Peter and put an arm around his shoulders, concern etched across your face.

He looked over and smiled wearily, his breathing shallow, “No vomit in this car, do you hear me Mister?”

Peter sighed and flashed you a smile before climbing out of the car, you following after him to rejoin the party with your boxes of crackers.

You had lost Peter sometime in the night, but he was probably just on the sofa enjoying the game. A smile lit up your face when you heard his bubbling laugh coming from the common area, it was so loud that you could hear it over the voices of others, “There you are!” you stepped behind the couch and peered down at him while he gazed up at you, a dreamy and airy smile on his face and an empty champagne flute in his hand, “Who let him have champagne?!”

“There you are, Y/N. I have been looking all over for you!” he laughed lightly while you glared at everyone sitting around the couch, all looking guilty. There was an empty bottle of sparkling champagne lying on its side on the coffee table, “Have you met my friend, MJ? Guys, this is Y/N Stark. You may or may not know her, she’s great! Smart and funny and intelligent and hilarious and pretty and…” the group around you laughed while your cheeks burned red.

“Peter, those all mean the same thing,” You stomped your way around the couch to stand in front of the television, “Do any of you know how old he is?” you frowned, pulling Peter up by his jacket. You couldn’t believe you were scolding your father’s A-list party guest, but it needed to be done.

“What’s going on here?” Tony trotted in, smiling sheepishly at his guests. He was obviously embarrassed, but what like at Peter made the embarrassment go away, “Jesus. He’s not drunk, is he?”

A hard stare was answer enough, “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Mr. Stark, you’re like, really lucky to have such a great daughter,” Peter smiled at you, his eyes shining. Your dad looked over at you with a raised eyebrow, but you merely shrugged, your cheeks a dark shade of red. You could even feel the heat rising in them.

“Thank you, Peter,” you said quietly, practically holding him up as you dragged him down the hallway, “What are we going to do? I guess we could keep him here and tell May that he fell asleep early or something.”

Tony pondered for a moment and finally shrugged, “I’ll call her and let her know that she can pick him up in the morning. Who even, how did he get ahold of alcohol?” he asked himself, already walking off to call Peter’s aunt.

“You’re going to stay here for the night, okay?” you smiled at Peter as you helped him to the couch, trying to hold in your giggles as he clumsily tripped over his own feet, “How much champagne did you have?”

His eyes widened as you began to take his shoes off, “Enough, I’m sure,” he said in a whisper. Now that the two of you were the only ones in the room, talking in normal voices felt too loud. Everything outside was dark and quiet, the only noises you could hear were from the party starting to wind down, “What about saving the city? I am Spider-Man, after all. They’re gonna need me!”

“The city will be okay for one night, P,” you said as tiptoed around to grab blankets and pillows, “Plus, you can’t drink and swing,” you snickered at your own joke while Peter simply smiled a lopsided, puppy dog grin that made his eyes crinkle up.

You tossed him a blanket and placed his shoes at the edge of the couch, helping him take off the bomber jacket that would surely be too uncomfortable to sleep in, “Are you sure your dad will be okay with me sleeping here? I-I can go home, I’ll be super fast,” Even when drunk, he was still the adorably nervous Peter you were best friends with.

“He’ll be fine, he knows you’re staying. Plus; I’ll be in my room. I’m sure he’ll make sure of it,” you cracked a smile, Peter turning to face you with a childlike grin on his face, “There’s a bottle of water on the table that you might want to drink. No need to be a stubborn hero.”

He nodded sharply, wrapping the fluffy blanket around himself like a cape, “You mean superhero, Y/N. I’m a superhero,” he said, looking down at his socks, “I guess I should get some sleep now, huh?”

“Maybe,” Peter giggled, his eyes widening as he did so. You pressed a kiss to his cheek and placed a pillow on the couch, “See you in the morning!”

You heard loud conversations happening in the early hours of the following Saturday morning, so much so that you rolled out of bed to see what was happening. You’d forgotten that a drunk Peter had stayed on the couch until you saw him being reprimanded by his aunt, “Morning!” Tony smiled mischievously at you, taking a loud slurp of his coffee as he watched the exchange.

Peter looked absolutely miserable. His eyes were bloodshot, a frown was on his lips, you could practically feel the headache he was experiencing.

“I can’t believe you would do something so irresponsible! You’re lucky you have a nice man like Mr. Stark here to look out for you. You’re grounded, Peter,” she announced with an affirmative nod, crossing her arms to seal the deal, “and you’re all over the paper! This is…I’m just going to stop talking.”

Peter looked up at her with puppy dog eyes that would surely win her over later, “I’m sorry. So sorry, really,” he said, getting to his feet quickly. She sighed and thanked your dad one last time before stomping right out of the door, “Wait, on the paper?”

“Well, thank you for, everything,” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, smiling nervously at you one last time before running after his aunt.

You smiled after him as Tony sipped at his coffee as you tiptoed into the kitchen, “Anything you want to tell me about?” you raised an eyebrow as you poured your own cup of coffee, shrugging your shoulders. What was there to tell?

He casually lifted a newspaper that had a large photo of you and Peter holding hands, trying to weave through the crowd. The title of the article was “Baby Stark steps out with new teen on the scene, Peter Parker”. The article featured photos of the two of you laughing and grabbing snacks, along with gobs of hand holding photos. Seriously? This was not good, especially not to your dad who didn’t want you breathing near a boy.

“Looks like I owe Happy five dollars,” you gave a groan and took a gulp of coffee. It burned your tongue, but you didn’t care. Nothing could burn as much as your father’s eyes as they bore into you like lasers. He wasn’t too thrilled.

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