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slowandsteddie · 9 months

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Part One

CW: abuse, Steve’s dad is a dick, pain and blood is talked about, Steve thinks he deserves it, mentions of homophobia, not seeking medical attention right away, trying to tough it out, descriptions of the aftermath of abuse,

To everyone who wanted to be tagged in part two, I want to make it very clear that the vibe is much different here, at least in the first half. The angst wasn’t meant to come in yet, but here we are. 😅. It does have a good ending though!

Tag list: @estrellami-1 @hallucinatedjosten @gaelicblue @starman-jpg @halfadoginatank @messrs-weasley

2141 words.

He sniffled and carefully wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. It was probably too warm for the damned thing. That didn’t stop him from having the hood flipped up and the strings pulled tight with a dumb looking bow resting basically on his lip. The sunglasses hid most of the rest of his face while still allowing him to see.

Steve was trembling pretty badly as he knelt beside the headstone. His hands were so shaky that he splashed more water than he meant to. He let out a deep sigh, resisted the urge to wipe his face again, and started moving dirt and moss away.

Carefully, he slid the old plastic card beneath the debris and pushed it to the edge. It was easier when the mess was a little damp, easiest when he got to the cemetery after a good rain.

Rain wasn’t in the forecast.

His entire body ached.

He let that thought go and gave in to the work he was doing. Once all the gunk was to the side, he pushed the small pile completely off the stone. He flattened it down a little bit where it landed.

Another splash of water.

Steve grabbed the toothbrush out of his back pocket and gently started working the dirt out of the carvings of the name and dates. Small, slow circles were most of it. His shoulders begged him to stop.

He didn’t.

Another splash of water.

He pulled out a bandana, something that he had only recently started bringing with him. He swiped off the headstone carefully. This was as clean as he was going to be able to get it.

Slowly, he pressed two fingers against the first syllable of the name that he had just unearthed again.

“Hello, Minerva Hurts,” his voice cracked. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Steve had never met her, she had passed in 1894, but he had given her name back before.

His entire body was begging him to lay down and take a nap right there. Instead, he pushed himself to wobbly feet and stumbled back toward his car. He could still smell and taste blood, but he’d deal with that in a little while.

More accurately, he would find someone willing to help him take care of it later. When it was higher up his priority list. He started the car before gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. Every time he accidentally breathed too deep, he felt a stabbing pain in his rib that he knew wasn’t a good thing. But, he had a promise to keep right now.

He had promised to go to Eddie’s and bake some cookies. He wouldn’t let something stupid, like trying to fight his dad, get in the way of him keeping his word. He let out a sob before starting the drive to the trailer park. Honestly, the older male was probably the only one he would let see him like this.

Having wounds from the Upside Down was a lot different from having his ass handed to him by an older male who was meant to protect him.

When Steve got to where he was going, he pulled his sleeves back down before turning off the car and putting the keys in his pocket. He adjusted his sunglasses before getting out and limping to Eddie’s front door. He knocked and waited, using all of his will power to not lean against the trailer.

About a minute later, Eddie was opening the door. “What? Ashamed to be seen with me?”

“You’re the one with the reputation to protect, Munson.” Steve’s voice shook slightly.

Eddie immediately moved out of the way to let him in. Steve stepped in, nearly falling on the two steps it took to get up. He closed the door behind himself so he could lean on it.

“You okay, big boy?”

Steve tried to smile at that. He really did. “I need to sit,” was his response.

Eddie followed him to the couch, fully prepared to catch a male who was practically his own height. The injured male sucked in a breath when he sat down, his hand going to his left ribs.

“Who’d you try to fight this time, Harrington?” Eddie was on his way to the freezer to see if there was anything that could be used as an ice pack. Frozen peas and a beer should do the trick.

Steve heard the footsteps stop when the older male took in the sight before him. He had taken off the sunglasses and the hood. His eye was bruised and swollen shut, his lip was split, and his nose might have still been bleeding, but the most shocking part was his hair. It had been shaved badly. There was a line of hair that was completely missed. There were a lot of short hairs sticking out everywhere, and lines of blood…

Eddie’s hands had tightened around the items he was holding until his knuckles were white. The can might have crunched slightly, but Steve’s flinch took him out of it.

“Who am I killing?” Eddie asked as he opened the beer and held it out for Steve. As soon as the drink was taken, he carefully put the bag of peas beside him on the couch. Eddie knelt beside Steve’s knee, looking up at the crying male and resisted the urge to try and touch him.

“My, uh.” Steve paused. “My mom said I looked pretty and I blushed, you know. I must have looked too happy about it.” He couldn’t look at the male whose couch he was currently sitting on. “My dad lost his shit. Said no son of his was going to be a fucking queer, and, uh. Well you see it.” His eyes closed. “Help me take off the sweater? I don’t think I can move my arms above my head again.”

Eddie did as he was asked as gently as he could after moving the beer to the coffee table. Steve hadn’t even taken a drink. He saw red when he saw how many bruises littered the younger male's body. Saw the cuts on his hands and arms.

“Well, you aren’t going back there.” His voice left no room for argument. “Not while he’s there. Other than that, you have complete say in how to… handle this. But I’m not letting you leave. Not tonight.”

Steve sagged back against the couch and let his head fall back.

“Nope. You aren’t tilting your head back with a bloody nose, either.”

The injured male grunted, but he did listen.

“Thank you. I’ll be back with some stuff to get you cleaned up.”

Steve grunted again. Then softly, he asked a question that he never could have imagined asking before all of this. Not even in his wildest dreams. “Would you… finish shaving my head?”

Eddie’s face crumpled. Everyone knew how important Steve’s hair was to him.

“Yeah, yeah I can.”

—

Steve was as cleaned up as he was going to get without going to the hospital. The worst of his injuries were bandaged, he had an Ace bandage wrapped around his ribs, and bags of frozen peas. Eddie had let him borrow some clothes.

He felt weird in sweats and an Iron Maiden shirt, but he was grateful that they fit. That he didn’t have to go home. At some point, he had taken Eddie’s hand and intertwined their fingers when he wasn’t met with any objections. They were watching something on TV, though that was more turned on just so Steve would have an excuse to not have to talk.

He had never been more grateful to Eddie than he was right now. He was about to say something when he heard a car pulling up and he squeezed his friend’s hand tighter.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, big boy. It’s just my uncle.”

Steve let out a shaky breath and nodded. “He’s, uh. He’s going to be okay with me being here?”

“He’s used to me taking in strays.”

Steve laughed, then groaned and took his hand back to hold his ribs. “Asshole.”

“You know you love me.”

Steve was trying to figure out how to respond to that, blushing and smiling, when the door opened.

“Steve,” Wayne greeted with a nod.

“Wayne,” he replied softly.

The older male took in the sight in front of him and hummed in thought. He didn’t say anything, he just went to the kitchen and started taking stuff out of the bag that he had brought in with him. The microwave started and Steve looked at Eddie.

“He’s gonna be staying with us awhile,” Eddie informed his uncle without preamble.

“Good. He should.”

“Thank you.”

“Hmm.”

Steve wanted to take Eddie’s hand again, but he didn’t dare. Not with an adult in the house. Eddie seemed to be able to read his thoughts because next thing he knew, they were holding hands again and Steve felt himself relax again.

Wayne brought three tv dinners to the coffee table before sitting down on the couch, leaving Eddie in the middle.

“I’m not the type to make a fuss,” Wayne started. “But you aren’t going back to that house alone. I’ll go with you to get your stuff tomorrow and you’re going to stay with us. And that’s the end of it.”

“You’re getting soft,” Eddie teased with a grin.

Wayne just hummed. They all ate in silence and the only thing that Steve felt right now, the pain not included, was gratitude.

—

Steve was grateful that he had an adult with him when he got home the next day. Wayne followed him in and up to his room before standing outside the door with his arms crossed.

Steve’s mom was crying and his dad was yelling. Wayne didn’t react other than to make sure Steve was alone to gather what he needed without being hurt again.

After about fifteen minutes, he had everything he needed in a duffel bag and a couple of boxes. His mother helped him by taking a box. Wayne took the duffel bag, and Steve was left with the lighter box to carry.

“I’m not paying you to steal my boy.” There was venom in that voice that had Steve whimpering.

“I don’t need your money, Harrington.”

His stuff was put in the pickup bed. He hugged his mom who slipped him something and kissed the side of his face that had less injuries.

“I love you, Stevie. I’m sorry it turned into this.”

“Me, too, mom.”

He got in the truck and buckled up before looking out the window, away from his father.

Wayne got in as well after a few minutes, then they drove in silence. It was surprisingly comfortable.

Eddie had a Hellfire thing that Steve had refused to let him reschedule.

“Oh, um. Happy birthday by the way.” Steve said when they got back to the trailer.

“Thanks, kid.”

Steve smiled small before getting out and grabbing some stuff to bring it in. Wayne helped him get everything into Eddie’s room before humming and walking away.

Steve sat on the bed and opened the envelope that his mother had given him. Inside was the title to the car that he had been driving, and a lot of money. Way too much. His heart was pounding quickly as he stood up and went back to the living room. Wayne was sitting on the couch with a beer. Steve sat beside him and took a breath before handing him all the money that was in the envelope.

“I can’t take this.”

“Mom gave it to me.”

“It’s yours.”

“But… I’m going to be staying with you.”

Wayne looked at him. “One hundred bucks a month. Absolutely nothing more. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

—

Eddie was helping Steve clean headstones. His long hair was pulled back into a messy bun. Steve’s own hair was a few inches long.

It had been months of them spending every night in the same bed. They still did their own thing a lot during the day. But at night, there were lots of hushed conversations and giggles until sleep overtook them.

Steve was falling. Hard. But he wasn’t going to say anything. Not when all they’ve done was hold hands and cuddle.

“I have something I need to tell you,” Eddie said after a few moments of silence.

Steve’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah? What it is.”

“I’ve been going at your pace this whole time. I was going to wait until you were ready. But I need you to know that I really want to kiss you, big boy.”

“Come here, then,” he said without hesitation.

Eddie wiped his hands on his bandana before turning toward the younger male, gently cupping his face, and pressing their lips together.

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie stranger things #steve stranger things #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #Steve’s dad is a dick #mentions of abuse #the aftermath of abuse #wayne munson #I love Wayne Munson #protective Munson’s #Steddie’s first kiss #slowandsteddie

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furiousgoldfish · 1 year

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traumatized individual: endures inhumane amounts of stress, panic, and fight-or-flight situations, keeps a mountain of rage and terror down every day in order to try and function, struggles in secret with exhaustion, shame and grief, has to control their emotions every single day in front of other people to hide how badly they’re doing, goes above and beyond to appear normal and to continue their daily activities

also traumatized individual, as soon as one (1) emotion slips out: I’m overly sensitive and need to get over myself right this second. I’m the most pathetic weakling in this world, I have lost control over myself and my life and I should be shot for this

#cptsd #the aftermath of abuse #trauma symptoms #child abuse symptoms #toxic shame #self persecution #harsh towards yourself and nobody else #internalized hatred #internalized psychological abuse #brainwashing

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melblogsgfreethruptsd · 3 months

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#toxic parents #emotional abuse #trauma #aftermath #parental abuse #accountability #repentance #manipulation #dysfunctional family #boundaries #trust #trust issues #ptsd #relationship problems

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hajihiko · 1 year

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Family Business

#Fuyuhiko kuzuryu #Kazuichi Souda #Sdr2 #Super danganronpa 2 #Danganronpa 2 #An art #Because... both their family situations...#Kaz with his dad and Hiko with his parents (and natsumi even?? )#I'm never sure how to interpret Fuyuhiko's family situation what does 'in the aftermath' mean was it deliberate #Kaz only mentions it offhand but yea. Boys u could bond over this silliest #CW abuse #abuse mention #child abuse mention #Lmk if I should tag more

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elitadream · 1 year

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While exploring ideas that would demonstrate just how much Bowser enjoys tormenting Mario, I started wondering what was the worst possible thing the Koopa King could do to humiliate him.

And then I remembered this post, and thought: “Oh no.”

...Well, yep. He saw right through Mario and thought it would be fun to brutally expose his feelings and insult him at the same time, just because he can. And Mario, who had already convinced himself long ago that he didn’t stand a chance with the Princess, is rightfully hurt and mortified. :’(

But what will Peach think? There’s still a lot of room for doubt here, and in her view, maybe Bowser is just being an asshole. The tricky part will be for her to have even a semblance of talk with Mario after this. 😔💔

#Mario #Princess Peach #Mareach #Bowser #angst #emotional abuse #poor Mario ;_;#I'm so sorry for hurting him like this D:#this isn't the way his confession was supposed to go at all #BUT this is Bowser after all #He'll do whatever the hell he wants #especially if it cuts deep #but there's a lingering ambiguity to the bullying #as far as Peach is concerned he could very well be lying #all she cares about is her friend and how unfair this is to him #they both deserve none of this #the aftermath won't be fun :(#Super Mario Bros #fanart

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fromtheseventhhell · 3 months

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It's crazy that people still uphold show!Sansa as a well-written character and pretend that liking her is the pinnacle of feminism when it would be infinitely more impactful to acknowledge her terrible and misogynistic writing. This is the same character who, while written by two men, was thankful for the abuse she suffered because it allowed her to grow. The same character who we had to be told was smart because the writers were too lazy to develop or show her intelligence. The same character who had to rely heavily on the men surrounding her and ended up accomplishing nothing on her own merit ( and no, thinking that she deserved to be Queen doesn't mean that she earned it). She is not well-written, she is not complex, and she is not a feminist character. Which is fine! If you enjoy her then good on you, but please stop pretending that she's something she isn't just because you feel the need to justify liking her character

#anti got #anti d&d #anti show sansa #anti sansa stans #like literally one of the worst written characters on that show because they tried so hard to make her the most important #while being entirely incompetent and their only method of doing so was to steal from other characters which ruined the plot #the only arguable achievement was defeating LF but even then it's written in the script that she had to go to Bran to explain things #/she rallied the Vale army!/ no she didn't 😭 she wrote a letter to LF and he did everything. instead of showing her arc in the Vale and #her learning about politics to rally them herself they took the quickest route to give her a /badass/ savior scene #which only ended up making her look selfish + power-hungry for putting her brothers' lives at risk for not telling anybody about said lette #and idiotic in the aftermath after relying once again on LF even though he was very obviously manipulating her #/pawn to player/ sounds catchy on paper but without seeing that growth/development it doesn't work #Arya was terribly written but at least we /saw/ her training in a way we never did with Sansa #and people try to apply this same logic to the books and think she's gonna suddenly spring forth as a political mastermind #when that's not how George writes...we see characters develop and make mistakes on page and get actual earned growth #feminism isn't defending the writing of two men who gave her a rape plot not in the books because they thought it was /interesting/#when the only aspect of that plot they adapted was a woman suffering abuse :/#and as per usual with stansas their only /evidence/ of her being well-written is accusing you of being misogynistic if you don't like her

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angelbvn · 1 year

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maybe i’ll forever be a child forced to act like an adult.

#brainrot.txt #childhood trauma #trauma aftermath #child abuse #trauam core #traumatized

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crimeboys · 2 months

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i’ve seen a lot of people wondering what they “should do” in terms of stuff like fanfiction/fanart and their enjoyment of dsmp, and you have gotta take a step back man. we are on like day 3 of learning that wilbur soot’s a piece of shit and most decisions you make/thoughts you have are going to be heavily based on emotional responses, which is very fair, but most of these decisions do not need to be made right now. most of these thoughts are just going to send you spiraling.

it feels like the end of the world, it feels like everything you love is ruined, but at the end of the day a shitty guy made something you love and now you still have that love. this has unfortunately been happening since the beginning of time. i remember when the dream situation happened, i thought i would never be able to write about dsmp again, especially not about his character. i got through a lot of that time period by writing a fic where cdrm was not involved whatsoever which helped me not spiral from thinking about the character to the guy. two months afterward, i drafted up an idea for a story where cdrm was the main character and have not looked back.

shit like this takes time and you don’t need to make every single decision in every single aspect of your life that this guy touched right this second. you’re stressing yourself out about things that ultimately don’t really matter right now. focus on yourself, your safety and comfort, and if you can, sharing what shelby talked about in her stream in the hopes of helping out other people who were/are abused and what those signs can be. everything is new and shitty, give yourself time to breathe.

#text post #mine #abuse #not making this rebloggable bc i think it’s important but i dont think it should be the focus of anything i was just seeing a lot of despai #specifically about writing fics and stuff and like? just dont think about the rn fr. you’ll figure it out eventually you do not need to #stress yourself out about it constantly. watch a shitty show hang out with your friends do anything else than think about every single #action you are going to take in the aftermath of something that Just happened

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whump-and-other-misfortunes · 3 months

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Whumpuary 2024 Day 15

15. (Jan 29-31) You're safe / Aftermath / Touch starved

cw aftermath of torture, conditioned whumpee, physical abuse, captivity

Whumper gently lays them on the bed, mindful of Whumpee’s bruised ribs and sprained ankle. Or maybe it’s broken—they can’t tell. All they know is that everything hurts and their vision is still blurry. But Whumper shushes them and pets their hair, wiping away Whumpee’s tears as they sob.

“It’s okay, it’s all over now,” they coo. Whumper is always so sweet after their little sessions—it's disarming. “You did so good for me, angel.”

They feel empty and utterly drained—they always do after Whumper is done with them. And the worst part is that Whumpee always ends up craving their touch. They should hate Whumper. But after hours of being tortured and humiliated in whatever ways Whumper feels like, all they want is to be held. To be praised. They let their eyes slip shut as they reach out for their captor, tugging them closer.

“Aw, honey,” Whumper murmurs, lying down beside them and gathering Whumpee in their arms. “Rest, okay? You did so well tonight. You can sleep now, and I’ll be right here.”

Whumpee sniffles as their cries begin to peter out, exhaustion overtaking them. They nuzzle their head into Whumper’s chest and take comfort in the affection, too tired to wonder what horrors Whumper has planned for them tomorrow.

For now, they can sleep.

taglist: @morning-star-whump

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno15 #aftermath #touchstarved #aftermath of whump #whump #whump writing #captive whumpee #physical abuse #whumpblr #conditioned whumpee #snippet

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squeakitties · 3 months

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#octavia umberlight #aurora #<-her abusive sister ate shit and died and this is the aftermath

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reneewalkersknives · 1 year

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one thing I don’t see nearly enough appreciation for is the depiction of Vin as an abuse survivor. she’s such a nuanced and realistic portrayal of the aftermaths of years of abuse, not just in her inability to trust others or see the good in people but in her absolute love and longing for her abuser.

every time I read the quote “He beat me over, and over, and over. He swore at me, he yelled at me, he told me he’d betray me. Every day, I thought about how much I hated him. And I loved him. I still do. It hurts so much to think that he’s gone, even though he always told me he would leave.” I have to sit down and cry. it’s just so raw and wrong and real

the fact that she is never blamed or judged for her love and mourning of her abuser is so cathartic. she is allowed to grieve for him without anyone shaming her for it or telling her how she ought to feel. it’s just so, so healing to see a character openly love and miss their abuser without punishment for it from the other characters or the narrative itself.

#mistborn #cosmere #like everyone talks abt the great depiction of Kaladin’s struggle with her depression (as they should)#but I rarely see any love for the portrayal of vins struggle with the aftermath of her abuse #which imo is just as hard to write #the fact that she is met with nothing but understanding is just so personal to me #vin venture #brandon sanderson #the final empire #kelsier

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furiousgoldfish · 2 years

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When you have a history of abuse, you often somehow find yourself in a Situation, and the Situation is bad. It’s the stuff of nightmares, whether it’s being exploited, or taken advantage of, or bullied, or tricked/groomed into befriending/dating a predator, or being pressured into something you feel uncomfortable with, you will get yourself, or life will get you, in those Situations.

And we, we’re familiar with the Situations. We have lived thru the Situations. And now that we’re in the Situation again, we have things we want to try, ways to make it Work This Time. Because the last time, the Situation made us feel helpless, cornered, small, weak, ashamed, useless, incapable, stupid, wrong, not enough. And now, this time, we’re going to be good enough and endure whatever needs enduring in order to make it work; we’re going to change the situation into a good one! We figure this situation just needs more kindness, understanding, compliance, love and affection, and we have that! We’re going to force it to be good!

The stakes are extremely high for us. We don’t want to disappoint anyone again, we don’t want to be seen as a failure again, we don’t want to be seen as weak and damaged and give up, no! We have something to prove in this Situation and we will try and try again until we find a solution or run ourselves ragged trying to please everyone but ourselves thru this Situation.

Which then, allows the Situation to continue, and the Situation is so goddamn triggering that we’re enduring 300% the usual amount of stress. We’re not sleeping right, we’re not eating right, we’re having cold sweats, shaking, panicking, all that mess. But, we tell ourselves ‘This is because I’m weak. This is because I’m failing to be impervious to the abuse. This is because I’m in the wrong again, if only I did things different, if only I was more enduring. I’m feeling this just due to trauma, if only I could be normal I could do this’. And we do it until the situation is swarming us with red flags and triggers to the point where we’re endangered enough to have to leave. And again, we’ll doubt ourselves and need explicit proof that the Situation was, in fact, bad. That we were not wrong to leave it, that we weren’t weak and running away.

And the thing is, people who were not abused, will experience 1% of the Situation and go, B Y E because that is not a Situation a human person wants to be in for more than 1 second, the first time they’re uncomfortable they’re not looking for ways to get over that discomfort, they’re out there getting mad! Demanding what is this shit, excuse you, and why the fuck are they not getting what they want out of the Situation? They’ll question the Situation, get mad at it, and drop it like a hot potato. There’s nothing to prove, there’s no doubt in their self worth, the Situations are everywhere, and nobody needs to endure them or fight them, the Situations need to be told off!

This doesn’t necessarily apply to every case - sometimes, if the manipulation tactic is good and very long-winded, the non abused will fall for it for a while, and then stay out of embarrassment and unwillingness to admit that they were wrong, and some abused people have sharpened their senses for the Situation so they yeet themselves out before they even meet it.

But, we do tend to see the Situations more often as ‘proving ourselves, and fixing what we think we’ve done wrong in the past’ kind of deal. We feel familiar and safe in the Situation, because it’s what we know, what we think we deserve, and the environment we know how to function in, because it’s so similar to abuse, so alike all those things we consider normal. For us, it doesn’t look like a Situation, it just looks like another thing like the rest of them, something you have to grab because what if the opportunity slips away and you’ll be sorry. That’s how they present themselves too.

So next time you find doubting your own feelings in a Situation, please be reminded that a non-self-doubting person would not even try to endure a 1% of what you’re enduring. They would reject this stress right away and tell it to fuck off. You’re already enduring more than can reasonably be expected out of someone, you’re not supposed to endure more. If the Situation is bringing you pain, that’s because it’s a fucked up situation, it’s designed to cause harm to you, and how dare it! Get mad at it and tell it to fuck off! You’re made to do more in life than to suffer thru a stupid damn Situation!

#abuse symptoms #the aftermath of abuse #trauma #cptsd #life after abuse #psychological abuse #emotional abuse #stress

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melblogsgfreethruptsd · 9 months

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#toxic parents #emotional abuse #aftermath #accountability #guilt tripping #manipulation #unhealthy relationships #toxic family #scapegoat #boundaries

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slowandsteddie · 1 month

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Lazy Petals

AO3

Okay. This work is NOT completed. I cannot guarantee an update schedule because only the first chapter is completed. However, I DO have everything plotted out (assuming it doesn’t get a mind of its own) and the goal is to be 50k+ words.

This story is very personal to me. I’ve taken my grandparents love/live story and made it Steddie. The characters are going to be OOC. Just letting you know right off the bat in case that is something you aren’t interested in. Also, this is a No Upsidedown AU.

My grandparents were immediately obsessed with each other, but didn’t date until after they had graduated high school. Which means that while this isn’t a slow burn, it is going to be slower than the stuff I usually write.

I don’t want to give too, too much stuff away. There there is a post where I described the main highlights and asked your opinion on reading it. There is also a poll where I asked if I should start posting before it was finished, and I got a pretty definite yes.

I saved the divider that I plan on using for this series back when I first started talking about it. I have since lost my note that told me whom to give credit to. If you know who made it (or know how to find that information on mobile!!) please let me know.

I think that’s enough of a preamble. Without further ado, here be the CW’s and the first 3,489 words.

Content Warnings: Steve was hit by a car and in a full body cast for over a year - he makes a bowling joke about it, his parents are very distant, his grandparents got very distant after his injury and he doesn’t understand why, Wayne is very careful while babysitting to make sure that no one can accuse him of being inappropriate, mentions of his mom overmedicating him so he’s easier to deal with, mentions of how weak he got from being in the cast. And as always, let me know if I missed anything.

Steve didn’t remember much about that night.

His mother said that it was a blessing and refused to fill in any blanks for him under any circumstances.

His father, however, if he had drunk enough whiskey, would look at the six year old Steve as though he were a much older man and sigh before telling him anything he wanted to know.

Which meant that Steve knew that the car that hit him swerved in order to do so. (He didn’t know if the lady in the little blue car did it on purpose, or if she was a distracted driver. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know that.) He knew that she had to have been going over forty miles per hour because the impact sent him flying at least a dozen feet before he slammed into that bus stop. He knew that the driver kept going and that at least half a dozen people ran to his aid and that one of the women had screamed because he was unconscious and she was so certain that he was dead. His little body was so broken and bloody and they couldn’t see him breathe.

He also knew that his father got to his hospital room before his mother, sweat pouring down the older male’s body as though he had showered in his clothes because he had run there from work. His mother showed up over twenty minutes later, all put together like she had taken the time to clean herself up before appearing. Something his father wasn’t sure if he could forgive her for. (This was one of the few times that his father would express just how much that he loved Steve, and he would carry that warmth with him forever.)

He knew that they had to revive him four times, that they had done twelve surgeries, that they had put him in a full body cast because nearly every bone in his body had been broken, including parts of his spine. He knew that his parents had been told that he would likely never walk again. He knew that a specialist had pulled his father aside to inform him that his brain wouldn’t develop normally after all of the trauma that it had been through after being smacked around in his skull. They’d have to be careful, and that they’d have to understand if he never progressed much past the age that he was now. That he could be in his fifties and still acting five and that there was nothing that could be done beyond what they had already done – remove a small part of bone behind his ear to help relieve the pressure and pray for the best while preparing for the worst.

And, while he couldn’t remember the absolute agony that he must have been in. He did have the descriptions that he used to tell his father. That there was lava in his veins and his bones were shards of ice cold glass threatening to tear him apart completely. His father had only told him that part once, with tears in his eyes. “There wasn’t anything I could do to help you, boy. I couldn’t take the pain away. I would have died to save you even a fraction of that.”

That was one of the few times that he could remember his dad hugging him. He had been so careful and gentle while pressing his face into his hair. He inhaled deeply and he cried. And Steve had done his best to hug him back despite the plaster that made it near-impossible to move his arms at all.

At first, Steve had thought that it was really cool to be stuck in bed all the time. He didn’t have to do anything. That got boring within a week and he still had at least a year ahead of him where he was meant to stay in bed unless he was in the bathroom or at a doctor’s appointment.

Even eating in bed, something that had once been unacceptable and even punishable before, lost its novelty pretty quickly.

He liked having his mom read him notes from the teacher and his classmates. He liked her reading him his homework assignments and writing down his answers for him so that he would still be on track. It made him feel like an important man, like his dad was going to be, with a secretary.

The thing is, though, that he really missed going outside. He missed playing in the woods outside of the trailer park where he lived. He missed going to his grandparents house with the pool and the stairs that he’d probably never be able to walk again. He could climb them, though, after the cast was removed. He was pretty sure. He might not have a lot of muscle left at that point, but that would just mean that he was lighter and had less to have to move anyway.

When Steve brought that up to his mother, her lips would turn into a very tight, thin line and something he couldn’t name would flash in her eyes. “You are not going to go to that house any time soon, young man. It’s best to let those ideas go.”

“But I miss Grandma Marty and Grandpa Pete, and they won’t come here,” he whined.

“The Harrington’s won’t come to the trailer park and you know that.”

“We’re Harrington’s too,” he’d say defiantly.

She’d leave the room at that. Effectively ending an argument that they had had multiple times before. But what else did Steve have to talk about? He didn’t really have anyone else to talk to either, other than their neighbor that he had taken to calling Mister Wayne.

Wayne was probably a few years older than his dad and lived alone in a trailer that had always seemed so lively despite the quiet man who lived in it. He always had the tv or the radio on when he was home and Steve lived for that. Because his window was always cracked open for the breeze, which meant the sound could drift to him as well.

It was better than the quiet of his house that only seemed to get broken up with arguments and slamming doors. He was so used to it, but he still flinched every time and did his best to pull the blanket over his head as though that would muffle the sounds.

Sometimes, Wayne would come to his window and read him a book that his own nephew liked. The Hobbit. Steve fell in love with the adventure of it, and Wayne never seemed to mind reading him the same book over and over, a few pages at a time while he smoked.

More often than not, Wayne was the one who came over to babysit once he noticed that Steve had been left alone. He never once complained about it, never once gave someone else the chance despite all the ladies who would come over with food. And wine for his mom, when they could spare it.

Sometimes, Wayne would talk about his nephew. He was a scrawny kid, a few years older than Steve, named Eddie. Had a dark mop of long curly hair, and eyes that always seemed to have mischief in them. They’d like each other, Wayne was pretty sure, and he’d introduce them the next time that Eddie came to visit.

Steve would want to ask when that would be, but he never did. He had Mister Wayne and that was more than enough for him. His dad was staying later at the office, trying to prove that he deserved that promotion that would get them the hell out of the trailer park, without his parents' money. His mother was getting into yoga and book clubs, and Steve was being left alone a lot. Because, what kind of trouble could he get into when he was stuck in bed? Besides, the neighbors could hear if he shouted for anything and Wayne seemed very invested in making sure that he was okay.

Steve never knew why the older man made sure that his curtains were always wide open and that his light was on so that others could see that he was reading to him, or talking with him, from a chair that was always at least three feet away. Maybe it was so they would know he wasn’t alone? He wasn’t going to ask about it, not wanting to chance scaring away the one adult who never raised his voice at him, who never abandoned him when things got hard like his grandparents seemed to.

Months went by like this. His parents not being home, his grandparents not even calling about him, and Wayne doing his best to fill in the difference despite his own job. The other neighbors would come on occasion, but Steve was very sullen with them where he would laugh with Wayne. That didn’t deter them from coming over as he would have liked, and begrudgingly he found himself becoming friendly with a few of them.

It was the beginning of summer when Steve was finally able to get the casts removed. His father took him to the appointment, and he tried to not be disappointed that his mother wasn’t there at first. By the time he was wheeled out to the front of the office, though, his mother was sitting where his father had been.

He did his best to not look at himself. He was pale and scrawny and kind of stinky from not being able to wash himself properly because of all the plaster that had basically covered him for over a year. Most of his bones had healed great, according to the doctor. He wouldn’t know because he still hadn’t looked.

His father came back from wherever he had been, paid the bill with tight lips, and then took Steve out to the car. His mother helped him into the seat before covering him with a blanket that he was grateful for. It wasn’t that he was cold, he just didn’t want the chance to look at himself yet. He wanted to do that when he was home, where if he broke down and cried, no one else would know. Or, he wouldn’t have to see them knowing in any case. And that was enough for him.

They stopped for ice cream on the way and Steve asked for a small strawberry cone. Strawberry wasn’t his favorite, but it was what Grandma Marty had all the time, and he missed her even though she didn’t acknowledge him anymore. Wouldn’t answer his calls, wouldn’t call him back. He didn’t even know if she got the letters that Wayne had helped him write.

When they got home, Wayne wasn’t home. Not for the first time, Steve found himself deeply upset by that. He’d never voice it. Adults had responsibilities outside of him. And he knew that he only got about an hour with Wayne a day, maybe two if he was incredibly lucky.

His father came to help him out of the car, because he had more muscle if Steve should happen to fall. He clung to his father’s arm with all the strength that could muster as he walked like a baby giraffe toward their trailer. Well, he called it walking. It was more like wiggling his lower spine and hips while throwing his legs forward. After maybe five steps like that, he found himself being lifted into his father’s impatient arms as he was carried the rest of the way in and sat on the couch.

“Thank you,” Steve said instead of complaining about not being able to use his legs. He had wanted to walk, to prove that he could.

His father simply grunted in response before going to the kitchen to grab a drink. The same way he always did when he was home for the night.

His mother was inside a few minutes behind them, having stopped to talk to a neighbor briefly. She looked at Steve on the couch and tilted her head at him with a calculating look in her eyes.

“Would you like a bath?”

“Yes, please.”

This time, Steve did get to walk on his own two feet to the destination. He was leaning heavily on the wall, almost gripping on to it with one hand as he practically threw himself forward. He was breathless by the time that he got to the bathroom and pain seemed to radiate out through his entire body, starting at his tail bone.

“You can have some meds after your bath,” his mother said gently. “And I’ll get you your refill before dinner, okay? So you don’t have to worry about running out.”

Steve didn’t think it was time to refill his medicine yet, but he didn’t question it. His mom was on top of it. He was a kid who lost track of time a lot.

He sat on the toilet and he watched his mom prepare the bath for him, knowing that she would only let him have the water a little above room temperature. His skin was sensitive and the steam wouldn’t be good for him with the medicine that he was taking. He couldn’t even have hot food without the steam making him nauseous.

Carefully, he was pulled back to his feet and stripped of his clothes before he was helped into the tub that seemed to be more bubble than water. He sat down carefully, wincing a bit as he did so, before letting himself lean back in the water that felt warmer than it probably was because of his weakened, cool skin.

He sighed in contentment as his mother washed his body for the first time in what seemed like years. He was nearing seven years old and thinking about years in the past, it would make his dad laugh if he shared that thought with him, an idea that made him smile.

His mom washed his hair, tilting his head back and using a hand to make sure that no soap got in his eyes that he had squeezed tight. He got to play in the bubbles for a few minutes, his dad standing at the door as his mom got him some comfy clothes and a towel.

It was his dad who dried him off and helped him get into his clothes.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he said softly. He knew he was expected to thank his dad for everything he did that was above and beyond, which meant he ended up thanking him for everything.

Steve was carried back to his bed, something that he would have whined about if he wasn’t so tired and in so much pain. He was tucked in and his mom came to give him some toast and juice to take his pills with. He knew he was only meant to have one, but he took both that his mother gave him anyway. He washed it away with grape juice and half of the slice of toast she had brought him.

“Thank you, Mommy,” he murmured.

“Get some rest, love,” she replied while kissing his forehead. “You had a big day today.”

Steve nodded in agreement, wishing that it could be that easy to just let the sleep overtake him. He closed his eyes as his mom left the room.

His father checked on him once a day, his mother gave him two pills instead of one, and made sure he at least had breakfast and dinner. One of the neighbors made sure he had lunch and new puzzles to work on, new toys to play with. Steve would wander around the trailer as best as he was able, and Wayne would read to him before he went to bed.

Days turned to weeks like that.

One day, Wayne wasn’t at work and both of Steve’s parents were gone. He wandered over to his bedroom window and opened it wide.

“Mister Wayne, if I can get to the front door, can you help me out?”

His walking was still unsteady and stairs were very difficult for him.

“Are your parents okay with you being outside?” Wayne asked sympathetically.

“Uh. Dad said I could as long as I either finished my puzzle or put it up first.”

Wayne gave him a knowing look. “Okay, you little hellion. But only because I know you’d hurt yourself trying to do it anyway.”

Steve beamed and closed his window most of the way before making his way to the front door. It was a struggle to unlock the door because of the latch chain, but he managed. Wayne was waiting there for him with an unlit cigarette hanging between his lips.

“Getting outside used to be easier,” he sighed before reaching out.

“Maybe it’s the weight of knowing that you’re doing something you shouldn’t be,” Wayne teased as he picked Steve up and set him back down on the ground.

“No idea what that means, but thank you for helping me pass the stairs.” Steve grinned widely, the dirt and grass squishing slightly beneath his toes. It felt so good.

“You’re welcome, brat.”

Steve giggled before doing his version of walking. He took maybe ten steps, very much aware of how closely he was being watched. His breath came a little harder from the effort, the times between walking so close together. Shakily, he sat down as carefully as he was able. Movement caught his attention and made his head snap up to look toward Wayne’s trailer.

“You gotta ghost!” He exclaimed.

Wayne laughed at that, shaking his head. “That’s the nephew I’ve been telling you about. He’s staying with me for awhile. Treat him like a skittish cat until he’s used to ya, and I’m sure y’all would be good friends.”

“Eddie,” Steve said happily. “Can he come out so I can meet him?”

“I’ll send him out after I smoke my cigarette,” he said as he put more distance between them before lighting up.

“Thank you!”

Steve laid down flat on the grass, spreading his arms and legs out as much as he could without the pain becoming unbearable. It wasn’t very far, but he didn’t care. He got to grip the green strands in his fingers. He got to feel the light and heat of the sun soaking into his skin and settling into his bones. He was beyond convinced that the bright yellow thing in the sky was much more healing than the meds that made him feel tingly from his head to his toes.

He must have fallen asleep like that, because next thing he knew he was being awoken by a toe nudging his shoulder. His eyes flashed open and he was met by the most dark, beautiful brown eyes he had ever seen.

“Uncle Wayne said you just got released from the mummy’s curse.”

“He said that?”

“Well. He said your name was Steve and you just got a full body cast removed a few weeks ago.”

“That sounds more like him.”

“So…What happened?”

“A lady tried to go bowling with me and her car. The only pin she knocked down was me.”

Eddie snorted. “Shoulda planted your feet more firmly, she woulda gotten a strike.”

Steve’s lips tugged into the widest smile that he had ever had on his face. “My parents don’t like it when I joke about it.”

“Parents are stupid.”

“Yeah. How long are you stayin’?”

“As long as I can.”

Steve hummed in thought. “You any good at reading out loud?”

“Depends. What book?”

“The Hobbit.”

Eddie’s entire face lit up, his huge smile showing off the chipped front tooth. “My favorite book in the entire world? Yeah, I’m pretty good at reading it out loud.”

“We should read to each other. I have troubles with some words, but I am trying.”

“I’d like having someone to read and play with.”

“Oh, uh. Playing is hard for me right now. I’m still trying to get my strength back.”

“It’s okay. We read The Hobbit, we gotta have a pretty good imagination. We can pretend to play.”

Steve blushed and looked away. He never had someone his own age willing to work around his limitations before.

“I heard about a game with dice where we can talk out stuff and the dice decide how well it goes,” Steve said suddenly.

“Dungeons and Dragons!” Eddie apparently decided that he was tired of standing because he flopped down next to him at that. He rolled around in the grass before eventually settling on his side, propping his head up on his hand. “I can find a way to make that work with just two people.”

“Oh.”

“Turn that frown upside down, friend. I like a challenge. We’ll make this work because it sounds like fun.”

Steve beamed.

Taglist (let me know if you want added or removed! I was just trying to get who I remembered to seem interested!):

@estrellami-1 @eriquin @epiclazershark @morganski-19 @ellaelsinore @y4r3luv @valinwonderland @thespaceantwhowrites @jackiemonroe5512 @spectrum-spectre @princessstevemunson @ghost--enthusiast @gothwifehotchner @kas-eddie-munson @auroraplume @salisbury-at-the-stake @currently-steddiebrainrot @finntheehumaneater @marshmellowpaint @littlewildflowerkitten @perseus-notjackson @sapphirecobalt-1 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @gloomysoup @anne-bennett-cosplayer

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve stranger things #eddie stranger things #steve x eddie #taking my grandparents love story and making it steddie #grandparents love story #lazy petals #no upside down au #read the cw #car accident aftermath #mention of medical abuse #let me know if i missed anything

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 1 year

Text

Previous Husband AU, Pt 12

((Content warning for abuse, suicide, trauma, etc))

When Lena's crying slowly ebbs, Kara pulls away just enough to meet her gaze.

"What do you need?"

"I want to go home," Lena admits quietly.

Kara nods immediately. "Of course. We can go home, and--"

"No," Lena corrects. "My home."

Blinking in surprise, Kara's brain takes a moment to compute. Somehow, she's forgotten that Lena has only been a guest, not a roommate. Quickly recovering, Kara nods again.

"Okay. I'll take you home."

Not that she intends to let Lena be alone once they get there. Lena is visibly numb, her reactions and speech muted, almost robotic. Alex agrees to drive them, and waits in the car while Kara helps get Lena upstairs. She's already forming a plan of a shower, food, and sleep for her friend, and in that order, only for all thought to vacate her brain when the elevator doors open onto the mess that remains of Lena's home.

Kara and Lena survey the damage side by side: lamps are knocked over, in some chases their bodies shattered or their shades ripped off to expose the broken bulbs. Drawers and cabinets lie open and askew, whatever contents they'd housed strewn across the room. Shreds of paper litter the floor, mingling with fluff from slashed cushions and pillows. Even now, after everything, Tom has left his mark, from every smashed dish in the kitchen to the gaping wounds of the ripped canvas art on the wall-- much of it priceless and chosen by Lena herself.

Kara's breath catches in her chest, tears rising in the face of such destruction. But Lena simply stands beside without reaction, before she simply turns and wordlessly leaves the way they came. All Kara can do is follow.

Alex doesn't ask when Kara requests that she drive them back to Hope Street. Lena doesn't move to exit the vehicle until Kara opens the door and offers her hand to help her out. Only then does Lena seem to shake herself awake, just enough to accept the offered assistance and head towards the building.

Kara promises to keep Alex apprised of developments before hurrying after Lena. Once inside the apartment, Lena stands listlessly between the kitchen and dining room, as though unsure of what to do with herself.

By now it's almost evening, and Kara quietly suggests that Lena take a shower while she herself orders some food.

"Chinese okay?" she asks.

After a vacant moment, Lena nods. "Yeah. Sure."

Kara places the order as soon as Lena disappears into the bathroom. Once she hangs up, she sets about preparing for Lena's imminent retreat to bed and some rest. She pulls out a fresh pair of pajamas, swaps out the pillowcase, and straightens out the bedsheets.

When Lena emerges, water drips from the ends of her saturated hair, as though she hadn't had the strength to reach up and dry it with the towel she now hugged around herself.

"Here," Kara offers swiftly, handing Lena the pajamas. Lena accepts the clothes, only to stare at them for a long moment before issuing a quiet thank you. Kara swallows thickly. "Just a minute."

Pulling a fresh towel from the linen closet, Kara beckons for Lena to sit on the edge of the bed. Lena obeys, and Kara climbs up to sit behind her to carefully begin the process of blotting the excess water from Lena's hair.

"Is this okay?"

Lena nods faintly, and Kara proceeds in silence. It's more intimate than they've ever been, and the weight of the moment sits heavily on Kara's shoulders. She's always wanted to be close with Lena-- as close as Lena would allow. But this isn't the way Kara would have wished for it to happen.

After towelling away the worst of the offending moisture, Kara reaches for Lena's hairbrush. Once free of snags Kara deftly weaves damp hair into a single braid down Lena's back, securing it away from Lena's face and from sticking to the back of her neck.

"Okay," Kara murmurs. "You're done."

She watches as Lena inhales, as though preparing to say thank you. But it hiccups halfway, and no words emerge. Lena lifts her hands to dig the heels of her palms against her eyes.

Kara doesn't know what to do. Nothing in her life has prepared her to care for a friend like this, to know what to say or how to say it. But her heart won't let her do nothing.

Carefully, she loops her arms around Lena's waist and hugs her from behind, pressing her cheek to Lena's shoulder blade. Lena's shoulders hitch at the contact, and her chest tightens under Kara's arms.

"I'm glad you're okay," Kara says, her voice low like a hum. "You're are going to be okay. I promise."

Lena doesn't respond.

---

Lena doesn't leave Kara's bedroom for three days. What few words she was able to issue upon arriving home dwindle to silence. Alex warns of trauma, leaves a list of counselors who could help Lena process what she's experienced, what she's witnessed. Before Kara can mention it, however, Lena shocks her by waking one morning and deciding to leave.

"I'm going home," she issues dully.

Kara's eyes widen in surprise. "Lena..."

"Jess has confirmed the cleaners have finished and the apartment's been refinished. I don't have any reason to impose on you any longer."

Something in Kara's chest twinges painfully. "You're not an imposition."

"I'm leaving," Lena says again. She has yet to meet Kara's eye, not even breaking stride as she gathers her things into her overnight bag.

"Lena, I don't know if it's a good idea for you to be on your own right now--"

"I'm finally free to live my life again, Kara!" Lena snaps. She slams. her toiletry bag into her duffel as her gaze finally snaps to Kara's. Her glare makes Kara's blood run cold.

"Let me live it."

---

That day feels like the beginning of the end.

For a few weeks, Lena allows Kara to keep an eye on her, before their meetings and meals once again give way to busy schedules and rainchecks. This time, however, Kara refuses to give up.

She continues to reach out even after her calls and texts are met with silence. As news of the death of Lena Luthor's husband takes over the airwaves, Kara tracks Lena's decline through every interview she gives.

To the outside world, Kara presumes Lena appears impeccable as ever-- they wouldn't notice the tremor in Lena's hands as she speaks, nor the subtle signs of exhaustion hanging beneath her eyes. Nor would they notice the slight glassiness of Lena's eyes themselves, proof enough to Kara of Lena's turn to drink.

Sure enough, when Kara finally gathers the courage to break the cone of silence Lena has erected around herself and goes to Lena's apartment, she finds the door open and the living room dark.

"Lena?" Kara calls carefully. Her heart lodges in her throat, unable to shake the alarm that courses through her veins. "It's me-- I'm here. Please, talk to me."

After a long moment, a croak issues from the dark.

"There's nothing to say."

Kara follows Lena's voice to the far corner of the living room, where she finds her friend's dark shape sitting on the floor, a decanter of scotch beside her and a glass in her hand.

Signs of distress around the apartment come into focus as Kara's eyes adjust to the dark. Couch pillows on the floor, dishes on the counter, a blanket puddled in front of the armchair Lena prefers. Kara makes no mention of it as she settles down next to Lena, smoothly sliding the decanter out of reach to make room for herself.

"Tom chose to make me a widow rather than just fucking divorce me," Lena mutters, words slurring drunkenly. "And he made me watch while he did it." She scoffs. "But what's one more body on the Luthor tally sheet, huh?"

Kara doesn't know what to say to that. She can't even comprehend what Lena must be feeling, the tragedy she's witnessed. Even if Tom were a monster, which Kara believes he is, there was a time Lena cared for him, even if it wasn't love.

"GODDAMIT!" Lena shouts sharply, throwing her glass across the room, where it splinters against the wall.

Kara jumps at the outburst, heart pounding. She's never seen Lena like this. "Lena...?"

Before her name even passes Kara's lips Lena deflates, features crumpling into tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, feeling out Kara's hand and squeezing it tightly. "I'm sorry. I just-- everytime I close my eyes, I see him. I see what's left of his face and I-- I can't control it."

Lena's voice quakes, her tears audible even in the dark.

"He's gone, but I'm still scared, Kara. And this time, I'm scared of myself."

Kara swallows, steeling her nerve as she turns Lena's hand over in her own and presses Alex's list of counselors into her palm.

"You don't have to do this alone."

With a gasp, Lena leans into Kara, crying messily into her shoulder. Kara grasps Lena's hand once more, trapping the slip of paper between their palms as she wraps her free hand around her friend's shoulders.

"You're not alone."

---

The next morning, Kara awakens where she still sat, leaning against Lena's shoulder, their hands still clasped. When she shifts, she dislodges Lena slightly, waking her friend as well.

"Fuck," Lena curses, wincing and squinting against the morning light. Kara silently echoes the sentiment-- her back won't thank her for the overnight slump against the wall.

"Bathroom?" Kara rasps out, her mouth dry.

Lena grunts. "Go ahead."

When Kara re-emerges, her hands and face clean, she finds the apartment noticeably tidied. Not perfectly-- the blanket isn't folded and the dishes now reside in the sink, but the pillows are back on the couch and the glass shards from the broken tumbler have disappeared.

Lena herself sits at the kitchen island, shoulders slumped as the coffeemaker gurgles on the counter behind her.

"You okay?" Kara asks warily.

Lena doesn't respond right away. After a moment, Kara realizes she's staring at the list of counselors.

"I texted Alex," Lena says finally, pointedly ignoring Kara's question. "See if she could get me some phone numbers."

She lifts the slip of paper, and Kara nods. "I think that's a good idea. I'm proud of you."

"I'm sorry I cut you out," Lena continues. "Again. I think it was easier to ignore how pathetic I'd become without you there as a witness."

Kara frowns. "You're not--"

"I am. I let him control me for months, and now I'm letting me haunt me from beyond the grave."

Lena lifts her head, looking Kara in the eye. "You helped me realize that there are still people--alive-- that I owe more than I ever owed him."

Kara bites back a protest. Lena doesn't owe her anything. But... if this is what brings Lena back from the brink, if this is what keeps her grounded, then Kara will keep her silence. For now.

"I think," Lena says, her voice cracking slightly. "I think I might need you a bit longer. If-- if you'll forgive me."

Kara breathes a quiet sigh of relief, her mouth trembling as she smiles. "I forgive you," she says readily, "on one condition."

Lena nods, eyes wide as she waits.

"Can I get a hug?"

The request almost seems to make Lena melt. She sags for a brief moment, releasing a thin breath, before tearfully nodding. When she opens her arms, Kara moves in, nestling her arms firmly around her.

The embrace holds long and firm, neither of them in any rush to disengage.

"Thank you," Lena murmurs softly.

Kara squeezes her eyes shut.

"No," she says quietly. "Thank you."

#supercorp #prev husband au #trauma #suicide #abuse #aftermath #not sure what other tags #pretty much just a continuation of whats already been posted

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