#i have very few points that point to james being the lamest as i say he is. most of these points have to do with lily though so when he’s | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

searchingforstarss · 4 years

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you held your pride like you should have held me

by @searchingforstarss for @irondad-is-cannon-bitch, written for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange - i took your argument prompt, added in a little whump and here we are! i hope you enjoy this <3

rating: teen

relationships: peter parker & tony stark, peter parker & tony stark & james rhodes

characters: peter parker, tony stark, james rhodes, bruce banner

summary: “I had to take the risk!” Peter snaps. “I saved your life.”

Tony’s stare hardens. “Yeah, and nearly ended your goddamn own. This isn’t a trade-off. It wasn’t your call to make.”

You would have done the same thing to protect me,” Peter points out. Tony just seethes at the statement.

“I don’t care about what you think I would have done. You are not me. And I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself."

or, as the timer ticked down, Peter knew his only option was to take things into his own hands. He just didn’t expect Tony to be mad at him for saving his life.

read on ao3

“What’s our game plan for tonight?”

“Our what?”

“Our game plan.”

“Kid, I don’t think I’ve ever had a game plan in my life,” Tony says as he tips blueberries into the blender. “I kind of just… do.”

He looks up towards where Peter is perched on the benchtop, letting himself be distracted for a moment. Almost the entire punnet of blueberries ends up in the blender and he curses, reaching in to scoop a handful back out.

“I was talking to FRIDAY earlier-”

“Oh, were you now?”

Peter nods his head, completely ignoring Tony’s snark. He’s learned to let it all roll off his back by now. “Yeah, she was telling me all about the guys we’re going after and well, I was thinking that since I’ve seen Chitauri tech up close and all - not that you haven’t, with the whole New York thing-” Peter cuts his ramblings off, stopping short when he realises that was probably the wrong thing to bring up. Tony’s leaning up against the bench, watching him carefully. His face remains carefully schooled, but Peter’s quick enough to catch the slight wince that flashes across his face for a second. The two of them don’t really talk about New York. That day was distressing enough for Peter, being separated from May and Ben in the midst of the panic, let alone for Tony who flew a literal nuke through a hole in space. “I, uh, anyway,” Peter resumes awkwardly, “what I mean is since I’ve seen what they do with the weapons, surely that means I should go in first and scope out the-”

Tony turns around. “No.”

Before Peter can open his mouth to speak again, Tony switches the blender on, the room filling with noise.

Okay. Rude.

“What do you mean, no?” Peter asks as soon as Tony turns the blender off again. Tony turns to him, a tired expression settled into the lines on his face like he’s been expecting this argument.

“When I said you could come along, I meant to get a feel for what’s going on. Get a little bit of field experience under your belt. But from a distance. I don’t want you in the middle of anything.”

Peter tries to school his features into a neutral expression and not let them fall into the petulant frown he can feel coming on. “How is it field experience if I’m stuck outside the whole time?”

Tony’s been hesitant about letting Peter come along on these types of things, so when he finally agreed to let Peter tag along with him and Rhodey to bust an illegal Chitauri weapons ring, this wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. He can be useful, he knows he can - especially since he’s seen these weapons up close, he knows what they can do.

“You gotta learn teamwork, kid. We always need someone out there watching our six.”

Tony turns to get a couple of glasses out of the cabinet above him. Peter slips off the counter and steps closer to him. “But I can do more than that! I'm practically an Avenger!”

“An honorary one at most, maybe. More like the team mascot.”

Peter frowns. “You did offer me a place on the team, you know, just in case you forgot.”

Tony tenses almost imperceptibly. “Yes, we are forgetting. That was irresponsible of me and I’ve since retracted said offer. My terms are that once you finish high school, then we’ll talk Avengers. You know this, Pete.”

Peter sighs. He knows that Tony worries. The older man is still meticulous about making sure he picks up Peter’s every phone call and insisting that he pops into the tower to check-in after each patrol (okay, maybe that one only came about after Peter tried to hide a broken arm for a couple of days but he really did have it all handled), even though it’s almost been a year since Toomes.

They’re closer now. Peter always thought the closer they got the more trust Tony would have in him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not qualified to save the world until high school has provided me with the necessary skills, like reciting the entirety of Shakespeare’s discography and knowing how to list everything in my backpack in Spanish, got it,” Peter grumbles.

“Did you just refer to Shakespeare’s plays as his discography?” Tony looks incredulous, his eyes widening almost comically, but Peter just groans again, tipping his head back in frustration.

“Of course that’s all you got from that. I was trying to show you that high school is pointless in the grand scheme of things, Mister Stark. I could be useful! You know I could.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Pete. You finish school, get the piece of paper and let me take at least a dozen photos of you wearing one of those stupid-looking graduation caps. That’s my price for putting in a good word for you with the Avengers.”

“You basically are the Avengers.”

“I’m sure the others would be very offended to hear you say that.”

Peter shrugs, unbothered. Tony takes a moment to turn around and divide the smoothie up between the two glasses before speaking again. “Look, I’m going to be totally honest with you right now, okay Pete? This is something that Rhodey and I are doing for SHIELD, and-”

“You can’t not let me come,” Peter interjects. It’s taken him months of wheedling to convince Tony that he’s finally ready for the big stuff. Peter twists a few fingers into the fabric of his hoodie, suddenly nervous that Tony might change his mind completely.

Tony sighs. “I’m not going back on my word. I just don’t want you involved with SHIELD before you have to be. Which means for a little while, you’ve just gotta lay low and watch and learn. I need you to trust me on this one.”

Peter knows that it’s time to drop it as soon as he sees the pleading look on Tony’s face - pleading with Peter to just listen to him. He gives Tony a small smile. Tonight, he’ll just have to try and show Tony that he can be useful. That he can listen to directions. That he’s worth keeping around.

“Plus, if I let you get hurt May will probably kick my ass all the way from, where is she with her college buddies this weekend? Ohio?”

“Oregon, Mister Stark,” Peter corrects.

“Exactly. That’s what I meant. Now drink up,” Tony says, pressing a smoothie into Peter’s hands. All the purple from the blueberries has been lost in amongst the green from the spinach and kale that Tony undoubtedly shoved in there when Peter wasn’t looking. It’s disappointingly healthy-looking. “Oh, don’t look at it like that,” Tony chastises good-naturedly. “You need your energy for tonight.”

“I’m not even doing anything but sitting there.”

“You’re gonna keep an eye out. That’s an important job, kiddo. Real high stakes.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Just count your blessings it’s not a school night, otherwise your ass would be doing nothing apart from sitting at home.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re the lamest person on the planet?”

---

“And you’re both totally sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

Tony shoots Peter a sharp glance. Peter thinks he hears Rhodey stifling a laugh.

“We’re sure,” Tony says firmly.

Night has fallen to give them a cover of darkness as they stand in front of the warehouse. In Peter’s opinion, he’s not sure it looks particularly like a dangerous criminal hideout. This whole place looks like nothing more than a regular old warehouse district, the type that you would never look twice at when driving by on the highway.

“We shouldn’t be any longer than half an hour, kid,” Tony promises. He eyes the run-down looking side door they’re standing in front of. “All we have to do is get the weapons out of here, and I don’t think we have a whole lot of security to contend with.”

As if proving his point, he takes aim at the rusty lock and chain over the door and blasts it with his repulsor. The whole thing unravels and falls to the ground with a dull clunk.

“I was right. As usual.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes, but his military instincts keep his eyes trained firmly on the door, watching in case something - or rather, someone - that they’re not expecting comes to greet them. Tony, on the other hand, is much more relaxed.

He turns to face Peter, “You know what to do?” he asks.

“Yep. Watch the perimeter. Tell you straight away if I see anything sketchy,” Peter answers, repeating what Tony drilled into him on the way here.

“And?” Tony prompts. Peter groans.

“Stay out of trouble.”

“That’s right,” Tony nods, satisfied. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Be careful,” Peter says after them, “and good luck!”

Tony shoots him a cocky grin. “Always, kid. And keep your luck, I don’t need it. Never have. I’m Tony St-”

“Get your ass in here, Tony,” Rhodey calls over his shoulder, voice echoing from where he’s already disappeared into the warehouse. Tony’s smile widens and he turns away from Peter, ducking through the doorway.

Peter watches them as they disappear into the darkness of the building. The door creaks shut slowly behind them, and for a split second, he considers following after them. They won’t notice, especially if he’s as quiet as possible. Plus, if he manages to take down a few of the arms dealers then Tony could never be mad at him for not listening. It would be awesome.

He lets himself revel in the glory of his daydream for a moment longer before he shakes himself out of it. He’s being stupid. He knows what his mission is. It’s to keep watch - nothing else.

He shoots a web up towards the roof of the building before he can change his mind and swings himself up.

---

Peter tries his hardest to patrol diligently for the first thirty minutes.

He paces the roof back and forth, watching out for any suspicious activity, but the warehouse district remains empty. The most exciting thing he sees is a racoon walking along the fence line. He jumps to alert at one point as a metallic sound catches in the wind and echoes through the night, but it just turns out to be a stray soda can being blown across the concrete.

A small part of him almost hopes that a nefarious looking figure slinks out of the shadows and tries to take their raid down just so that he can do something. How is he ever going to impress Tony if all he can say he’s done is hang out on a rooftop and watch cars go past on the Long Island Expressway?

---

After forty-five minutes, it all starts to get a bit dull. He’s not sure what’s taking Tony and Rhodey so long.

He tried to count the cars whizzing by on the expressway briefly, but all the bright lights gave him a headache after a while. He practised a few of the new web-shooter combinations that he and Tony dreamt up last week, and then once there’s webbing sprayed across a section of the roof he spends a good ten minutes with solvent trying to dissolve it all just to give him something else to do.

Now, he’s resorted to having Karen help him practice for his Spanish quiz on Friday just to pass the time.

“How would you describe your family, Peter?” Karen asks him. Peter kicks at a bit of gravel mindlessly as he walks along the roofline, thinking.

“Uh,” Peter pauses, “Mi familia es pequeña. Mi tia se llama May. Mi tía es muy… amable? La quiero mucho.”

“That’s right, Peter,” Karen praises, but he’s startled out of his practice by his comms crackling to life in his ear for the first time tonight.

“Peter?” It’s not just Tony checking in like Peter guessed it might be, but Rhodey instead. His voice is tense and Peter’s on alert immediately. “Come in, Peter. Are you still outside? We-”

“Of course I’m still here, ” Peter rushes out, almost offended that they thought he might ditch. “I’m on the roof. What’s happening?”

“We need you to get down here.”

Peter pauses. Is this a trick? Some kind of test? They told him to stay out here, to keep watch. But Tony wouldn’t do this to him, surely?

“But, Mister Stark said-”

“Tony is not in a position to be calling the shots right now,” Rhodey says firmly.

“Is he-”

“Peter. Please,” Rhodey says, more steel in his voice than Peter has ever heard from the man. “Just get in here.”

Okay. No more questions.

He can do that.

“Got it.”

Peter vaults off the roof, jogging around to where he vaguely remembers the entrance being. Anxiety buzzes through him. Tony is not in a position to be calling the shots right now. What does that even mean? Peter’s brain runs away from him before he can help it. What if Tony’s been hurt? Images of him lying on the ground, bleeding and broken, flash through his mind but he tries to shove them down as he heads inside.

The warehouse is just a series of vast empty rooms, high ceiling and rickety walls which don’t look very structurally sound. Peter makes his way through a few of them, each one just as deserted as the last. He can hear hushed voices though, Tony and Rhodey, so he follows the sound.

They’re arguing, Peter realises when he steps into the room. They’re backed into a corner, neither of them looking in his direction. Rhodey’s back is turned and Peter can only just catch a glimpse of Tony from over his shoulder. He looks like he’s standing upright, which instantly lays some of Peter’s anxieties to rest.

“I’ll burn you if I repulsor it off,” Rhodey hisses. “Just wait for Peter to get here.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on that. Peter shouldn’t even be here in the first place, you know he’s safer outside where-”

“He was on the roof, Tony. He would have been just as screwed as you and me.”

“Uh, hey, guys?” Peter says cautiously. As he makes his presence known, he sees Tony’s eyes whip up towards him, face paling significantly at the sight of him. “What’s going on?”

Peter isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting to find when he was called in - but as Rhodey sidesteps slightly, finally giving Peter a proper view of Tony, he realises it definitely wasn’t the Iron Man suit in a heap of metal on the floor, and Tony handcuffed to a drainpipe.

What the fuck?

He hurries over to their sides, trying not to feel sick at the sight of the thick metal clamped around Tony’s left wrist. He can’t stop staring at it though. For someone who apparently never needs a game plan, Peter’s pretty sure this wasn’t how Tony intended the night to go.

“How did this happen?” Peter blurts out before he can stop himself.

“That’s not important right now. You can’t be here.” Tony turns to Rhodey. “I told you, he can’t be here. I need you out of here, Peter, please.” The panic in Tony’s voice sends an uncomfortable shiver down Peter’s spine, despite how dramatic it feels. He’s not that incapable - he’ll be fine.

“Is anyone still here? Do you need me to go after anyone? Who chained you up? How did they even do that to the suit? What-”

“Peter,” Tony cuts him off sharply.

“You can't just expect me to walk in here and be totally cool with the fact that the suit is smashed up and you're chained to a wall,” Peter stresses, voice pitching slightly higher with confusion and maybe just a little bit of hysteria.

Tony huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Look, there a few of the guys running this place were still hanging around when we got in here. I split off from Rhodey and they caught up with me before I could even get a goddamn look at what sort of operation they’ve got going on. They told me to get out of the suit-”

“And you did?” Peter interrupts Tony incredulously, looking towards Tony. He never parts with his suits on missions like these, never.

“They had weapons - all their Chitauri shit would have fried the suit in a second - in fact it did,” Tony snaps, gesturing with his single unchained hand to the pile of charred metal. “It’s not exactly like I had a choice. And then they chained me up here while they made a getaway with all the illegal weapons we were supposed to be getting out of their hands.” Tony’s face crumples into one of defeat. “There you go. You’ve had your story. It's time for you to run along and put yourself to bed. Rhodey and I have got this handled, trust me.”

“Yeah, except you left out the part about the present our charming friends left us,” Rhodey deadpans. “We’re wasting time here, Tony. We just need Peter to give it a crack and then we’re out of here.”

God, there are so many things for Peter to unpack right there in that sentence. He focuses on the first thing that caught his attention, that makes foreboding simmer in his gut. “A present?”

Peter follows Rhodey’s eyes towards the centre of the room, noticing something that he hadn’t seen when he first walked in. It looks like a hunk of metal at first glance, a mess of wires snaking across the surface. It’s emitting an uneasy blue glow with Peter instantly recognises as Chitauri, the timer strapped to it flashing in the same hue.

It’s a bomb.

Tony’s earlier panic suddenly seems a lot less like dramatics and more so grounded in a situation that, in Peter’s mind, has grown very serious very quickly. He watches the numbers tick down.

3:03… 3:02… 3:01

Three minutes.

“Can’t we just... move it?” Peter asks. The suggestion sounds sort of stupid even to him because surely that would have been the first thing they thought of - but three minutes is more than enough time to get it far away enough that when it detonates, none of them will be in the hot zone.

Rhodey shakes his head grimly. “There’s no way to tell whether it’s rigged to blow if it’s moved. It’s not worth the risk.”

“What do you need me to do then?” Peter asks, suddenly hyper-aware that their time is dwindling with every second that ticks by.

“He doesn’t need to do anything,” Tony growls. “I told you, just repulsor them.”

“I’ll burn your damn hand off, Tony. I’m not doing that.” Rhodey turns to address Peter. “We just need you to try and pull the cuffs off. I couldn’t get it, but with your strength, if you can get them off then we’ll all be home free.”

No pressure then.

“I do not need Peter’s help, I need him to get the hell out of here,” Tony repeats. He sounds more frantic now but Peter just ignores him. Tony’s insane if he thinks he’s going to leave him here, cuffed in a room with an active bomb.

“Tony, you’re literally chained to a drainpipe. I don’t think we have any other options,” Rhodey says, before addressing Pete

“So I’m just your last resort? Jeez, thanks for the confidence boost guys, means a lot,” Peter mutters, joke falling flat as he takes a few steps closer to Tony, Rhodey moving out of the way to let him. Up close, Tony doesn’t look too banged up, or like he even put up a fight at all. The only sign of struggle at all is a pale bruise, just beginning to bloom underneath his right eye.

Two minutes.

Peter wraps one hand around Tony’s wrist - stomach twisting at the sight of blood from how furiously he’s been trying to get himself free - and the other around the chain of the cuffs. Tony eyes him warily. The only thing Peter can hear from this close up is Tony’s unsteady heartbeat and erratic breathing.

He yanks at the chain not yet quite daring to use his full strength out of fear of hurting Tony. It’s not enough. The cuffs don’t budge.

Peter tightens his grip on the metal. He pulls again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” Peter instructs Tony.

“You hurting me is the least of my worries right now,” Tony forces out.

Gritting his teeth, Peter channels as much of his strength into his arms as he can and he pulls and pulls and pulls.

Nothing. The chains don't budge or give even just a little. Peter’s not strong enough.

The realisation hits him like a freight train. He can’t do it.

“Vibranium,” Tony mutters darkly, “of fucking course.” The only metal Peter wouldn't be able to pull apart with his bare hands. Tony yanks at the cuffs as Peter steps back, guilty, embarrassed. The chain rattles against the metal of the pipe, echoing around the room.

There’s silence for a moment.

The resolve on Tony’s face breaks. He looks defeated, shaking his head to himself. He knows what’s coming for him. “I need you two to go. Now. Please. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“We’re not leaving you.”

“Rhodey. James,” Tony’s voice is desperate now, pleading. “I need you to take Peter and go.”

The timer ticks over again.

One minute.

Peter makes a decision. The only one there is left to make.

Even in the suit, he knows that Rhodey can’t move as quickly as him, and Tony, well, he can’t move anywhere at the moment. It has to be him.

As Tony continues to plead with Rhodey, Peter makes a few tentative steps towards the device, holding his breath - Rhodey’s words echoing in his head. There’s no way to tell whether it’s rigged to blow if it’s moved.

Two more steps closer. The timer continues, numbers flashing threateningly up at Peter. Fifty-one seconds. Fifty-one seconds left of all the rest of their lives if he doesn’t act now.

Peter’s hands are shaking as painstakingly slowly, he leans down to place a hand on the outside of the device. It’s hot to the touch, but the timer just continues counting down. Nothing happens. Tentatively still, he scoops the device up towards his chest. It doesn’t explode.

He’s got a bomb in his arms. His heart thunders against his ribcage.

“Just shoot the cuffs with it, you complete-”

“Uh, I think I’ve got a better idea,” Peter offers, “turns out it doesn’t explode if you move it.” Both Tony and Rhodey’s eyes widen, turning towards him. “I’ll see you guys in a minute.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony gasps. “Don’t you dare. Put that down. Right now.” His voice shakes with pure fear in a way that cuts right to Peter��s core. He yanks against the cuffs again, this time in Peter’s direction.

The metal of the bomb is growing hotter in Peter’s arms. He shakes his head.

“Peter,” Tony grits out, "no, no, no." He’s shaking uncontrollably now - whether from fear or anger, Peter’s not sure - as he turns to Rhodey. “What the fuck are you doing, just standing there? Get that thing off him.”

Forty seconds.

Peter’s eyes widen. Without a second more hesitation, he turns on his heel.

There’s an anguished yell from behind him, the distinct rattling of metal Peter’s gotten so used to over the past few minutes. He wants so desperately to turn around and tell Tony that it’s okay, that he knows what he’s doing, that he’s just trying to protect him.

But he doesn't have time.

He sprints.

Peter was always the slowest kid in class at elementary school. His asthma never helped - all the times that he was doubled up after running a couple of laps of the track didn’t exactly earn him many status points.

Since the bite, that’s never been a problem. Now Peter has to play down his abilities in gym class. He doesn’t play them down right now though. He can’t afford to. His legs move rapidly beneath him as he weaves through the rooms he distantly remembers coming through on his way in here, feet pounding against the concrete.

He’s outside now. Night air fills his lungs as he gasps for air, desperate for enough oxygen to sustain him at this pace.

He needs to keep going.

Warehouses, ones that he distantly hopes are unused, blur past him. He’s not far away enough yet. He knows what damage these weapons can do, he’s seen them with his own eyes. Tony isn’t in the suit. He doesn’t want him to be hurt.

He’s got to do this.

He doesn’t know how much damage this thing will do when it goes off. He needs to keep running. Peter pushes harder, further.

Twelve seconds.

He slams to a halt in the middle of what looks like an empty parking lot. Maybe companies used to keep trucks here. If they still do, they won’t for much longer anyway. Not as Peter lowers the bomb down onto the ground just as carefully as he picked it up. Six seconds flashes up at him.

He turns and runs.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The countdown in Peter’s head finishes. He’s early. For a split second, there’s silence. Blissful silence.

Then, it's shattered by the inevitable arriving with a sharp bang from behind him, piercing through the night air. It’s a horrifying, deafening sound, one that’s punctuated with the sound of splintering metal shooting outwards through the air. The heat from the vivid orange flames that dart up into the sky engulfs him.

The force hits him not even a split-second later. It knocks all the air out of his lungs, throwing him through the air.

The warehouse he can see in the distance, hazy through all the smoke and debris, is still intact.

If Mister Stark is okay then all of this is worth it - he’d do it a million times over.

He’s unconscious before he can even hit the ground.

---

“-Peter? Kid? You have to hang on, buddy. You think you can do that for me?”

A voice. It floats vaguely around Peter’s periphery but his ears are ringing and he can’t work out what they’re saying. He thinks maybe he recognises the voice. He tries to turn himself towards it but his whole body screams in protest at the movement.

It hurts. Everywhere hurts.

“God. No, no, no, don’t do this to me. Peter. Peter. I need you to stay with me, please.”

The voice sounds upset. There’s a hand holding his. He thinks he can feel it but he can’t squeeze back. He doesn’t have control of his body.

He’s in pain.

Everything is on fire.

He doesn’t want to stay. Not here. He slips back into the darkness.

There’s no agony in the darkness.

---

Peter’s head is throbbing when he wakes again, every muscle in his body aching. He cracks his eyes open to try and figure out where he is, what’s happening, but the bright light that slips through his eyelids feels like it’s burning straight into his skull. He whines, burrowing into the pillows behind him as though that will allow him to escape it.

His head is pounding. Why is it pounding?

He lets his eyes slip shut again to alleviate some of the relentless pain and tries to sort through his muddled thoughts. He casts his mind back as far as he can.

The illegal weapons ring. The warehouse.

The drain pipe. The vibranium cuffs.

The decimated Iron Man suit.

The bomb.

Mister Stark.

Peter shoves himself upright suddenly, his ribs protesting and sending a sharp jolt of pain through his chest. Instinctively, he sucks in a gasp of air, but all that does is exacerbate the pain more. He’s hardly concentrating on that, though.

He’s in the MedBay, he realises. He recognises the white-washed rooms and sterile scent like the back of his hand by now.

Tony. He needs to find Tony.

His eyes dart around until they land on a blurry figure propped in a chair at his bedside. He blinks a few more times, his eyes finally adjusting to the light.

Relief. Some of Peter's panic eases. It’s Tony.

It’s not an uncommon sight, Tony at his bedside. It’s almost concerning, maybe, the fact that Peter wakes up in these situations so often that he’s no longer fazed by it. What is unusual is the fact that Tony isn’t looking at Peter. His eyes are glazed over slightly, focused down on where he’s picking at the corner of a stark white bandage on his wrist - his left wrist, the one that had been cuffed, Peter realises in his hazy mind. The image of Tony chained to that drain pipe, skin bloodied from the way he’d been yanking at those cuffs, works its way to the front of his mind and burns itself there.

“M’ster Stark?” Peter struggles to raise his voice to anything above a rasp. At the sound, Tony looks up, snapping out of whatever daze he was in. His expression is impassive, but there’s something brewing behind it that Peter can’t quite work out.

“You’re awake,” he says simply. There’s no fussing. No rearranging of the pillows, or gentle one-armed hugs or are you okay?’s

He just reaches for the call button on the bedside table instead.

Peter’s still struggling to connect himself with reality, but the feeling that something isn’t right floods through him. He’s slightly less blinded by the sharp ache of pain now, so when he Peter looks at Tony, he sees things he didn’t notice before. He sees how tightly hunched his shoulders are, the deep lines in his face - only exacerbated by the harsh overhead lighting, eyebrows furrowed, drawn into a scowl.

But he’s okay. He’s breathing.

He’s alive.

Peter opens his mouth to say something - what exactly, he’s not sure - but he’s cut off by a voice that disappointingly, isn’t Tony’s.

Peter and Tony glance up at the same time to see Bruce passing through the doorway and crossing the room to Peter’s bedside. “Good to see you awake, Peter.” Bruce places a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder, and Peter realises that he’s still hovering at the same awkward angle he had been when he shot up to look for Tony. He lets Bruce push him back towards the pillows behind him. A tiny breath of relief puffs past his lips when the pressure is taken off his aching chest. “You gave all of us a pretty nasty scare.”

All of us. That must include Tony as well, who has returned to resolutely not looking at Peter.

“I, uh, I didn’t mean to,” Peter croaks out. His throat is horribly dry, but Bruce seems to be prepared because he pushes a glass of water into his hands. Peter grips it carefully, trying his best not to let his hands shake - with what he’s not sure. Anxiety? Pain? Leftover adrenaline? He tucks the straw in-between his lips and takes a sip just to try and alleviate some of the awkwardness he feels, not saying a word and pretending not to see the probing looks Bruce is sending Tony’s way.

“It’s okay. I’ve learnt to expect the unexpected when it comes to you, Peter,” Bruce tells him. Peter watches warily at the way Bruce’s eyes flit between him and Tony. He feels like there’s something unspoken going on that he hasn’t been let in on.

“How long have I been out for?” Peter asks, suddenly noticing the light filtering in through the darkened windows.

“About fourteen hours,” Bruce tells him. “It gave your healing a chance to give everything a good crack. It’s three-thirty on Saturday afternoon.”

Peter swallows. The last he remembers clearly is the panic etched so deeply onto Tony’s face as he sprinted from that warehouse, bomb cradled in his arms. Everything after that is a bit of a blur, a haze of freezing night air and the darkened sky above him and then fire, the reverberation of the bang, being tosses backwards like he weighed nothing - like he was nothing. That’s what people are to those kinds of weapons. Destructible. Nothing.

Peter couldn’t have let it go off anywhere near Tony. That was never even an option.

“Mister Stark, I really wasn’t trying to-”

Tony shakes his head, the movement sharp and jerky. “Just let Bruce do his job, Peter.” Peter barely recognises the tone. It’s not warm, or smooth and reassuring, the one that he’s gradually taken on as he spends more and more time at Peter’s side. This is cold and impersonal, the type of tone that makes a shiver run down Peter’s spine involuntarily. He hates it immediately.

Bruce shoots Tony a confused look, “It’s okay, I can focus just fine with you jabbering on. I’m used to dealing with the two of you.”

Tony doesn’t budge, just giving another shake of his head. “We’ll talk afterwards,” Tony says, letting himself sink back into the chair again instead of sitting ramrod straight. The movement is less relieved and more defeated. Exhausted. Worn down.

Bruce looks taken aback for a second before he regains his composure and focuses his attention back on Peter. “Are you in any pain?” he asks, feeling around Peter’s ribs. He’s gentle, but Peter flinches back anyway as he brushes over a particularly tender spot.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter sees Tony’s eyes dart up to fix on him at the movement. Concern flashes across his face but it’s gone as quickly as it came. By the time Peter can turn his head to catch Tony’s eye properly, the man is staring out the window, stony expression set back in place.

The knot of discomfort in Peter’s stomach grows.

“I see your healing hasn’t quite gotten the whole way there yet,” Bruce hums. “You broke five of your ribs,” he explains when he sees Peter’s thinly-veiled quizzical look. “A few second-degree burns on your arms. You’ve got a pretty nasty head wound as well, but with a few stitches, it will be as good as new in no time. You’re lucky that’s all it is. It looks like you took a pretty big hit when you landed.”

Peter winces, noticing for the first time the thick white bandages covering his upper arms. He’s used to this, listening to Bruce reel off a laundry list of injuries that he’s had to tend to for him. But this seems bad - even for him. He reaches up for the back of his head, feeling around. His fingertips brush over the stitches and he hisses before Bruce can wrap a hand around his wrist gently to tug him away.

“Is it bad?” he mumbles.

Tony scoffs almost inaudibly at the question. Bruce just gives him a softened smile. “Nothing a few days in bed won’t let your healing take care of.”

“A few days? But I feel-”

“Don’t argue with him,” Tony mutters, speaking up again.

That’s more than enough to shut Peter up. He bites down on his bottom lip, chewing on it anxiously as Bruce bustles around Peter for a few more minutes. He gives Peter another dose of pain meds when even shifting against the pillows makes the angry aching in his ribs flare-up, makes sure that he’s got enough liquids to keep him hydrated and checks all of his vitals once more.

“Are you going to be okay if I leave you to it?” Bruce asks once he’s finished. He’s looking directly at Peter but before Peter can even open his mouth to answer, Tony nods stiffly. “We’re fine.”

Bruce glances back at Peter, conflicted, but Peter keeps his mouth shut. He needs to grow a pair and just explain himself to Tony.

As Bruce closes the door behind him, Peter realises all of a sudden that he actually would have quite liked Bruce to stay. Especially as Tony turns to him properly for the first time since Peter’s woken up. His face is still set firmly, emotionless, but there’s a new fury that’s been let loose, burning behind his eyes.

Peter can only hold eye-contact for a few moments before he ducks his eyes away. Neither of them speaks for a minute.

“Care to tell me what the hell you were thinking?” Tony asks lowly.

Peter looks up again cautiously. “The bomb... I, I had to get it out of there.”

“And you had to do that by running out of there with it like a football?”

“I didn’t mean to get hurt, or get in the way, I promise,” Peter rushes out quickly, trying to make Tony understand. “But you were stuck and that thing was going to go off and I know I’m faster than Rhodey in the suit, it had to be me, it had to.” Peter watches as Tony sucks in a sharp breath at his words. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Trying to be helpful?” Tony repeats incredulously. “Is it lost on you how completely reckless you were? I don’t give a damn about what you were trying to do, not when your own actions end with you in a hospital bed,” Tony growls. “Do you know that Rhodey had to be the one to come out and find you splayed out on the concrete like a fucking ragdoll after the bomb you were carrying imploded in your arms? Or that I had to sit there, holding your hand wondering if you were about to die on me in the back of a medevac, of all places? Does any of that even matter to you?” Tony stops and sighs, burying his head in his hands for the briefest of moments. Peter wonders what he’s trying to conceal. “God, Peter. I just wish you’d put the tiniest bit of value on your own fucking life for once.”

“Of course it matters. I care about my own life” - just maybe not more than yours. Maybe I’d rather die protecting you than live with the guilt of not being able to save you - “and I was careful, I promise.”

“I don’t care how careful you were, Peter. My problem is with the fact that you picked up the damn thing in the first place. It’s the first rule of bomb safety. You don’t touch it. Ever.”

“I was never taught bomb safety,” Peter mutters, for no real reason apart from the small spark of satisfaction of talking back. He can feel his hackles rising a little as he’s dismissed so carelessly. He was just trying to help. That thing would have blown Tony to pieces.

“You shouldn’t need a fucking SHIELD standard bomb safety course to know not to pick up an active bomb and run with it. What if the bomb had gone off when you picked it up, huh? How did you know that wasn’t going to happen? Then all of us would have been done for. Even if we’d somehow survived the blast, the building would have collapsed on us. Did you think of any of this?” Tony accuses as if he thinks that in that moment, Peter had room for any other thoughts in his mind apart from the constant chant of, keep Mister Stark safe, keep Mister Stark safe, keep Mister Stark safe.

“I had to take that risk!” Peter snaps, voice raised as he loses his cool slightly. “I saved your life.”

Tony’s stare hardens. “Yeah, and nearly ended your goddamn own. This isn’t a trade-off. It wasn’t your call to make.”

“You would have done the same thing to protect me,” Peter points out. Tony just seethes at the statement, shoving his chair out backwards to stand, suddenly towering taller over Peter.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about what you think I would have done. You are not me.” Tony paces, back and forth at the foot of Peter’s bed, releasing some sort of frustrated tension that’s emanating off of him. “I let you come along because I thought I could trust you to listen to me, Peter.”

I thought I could trust you.

The words hit Peter harder than anything else. Tony can trust him. He wasn’t purposefully trying to go against orders. He was trying to save his life.

“You would have died,” Peter says, the words soft as he struggles to force them out. All his anger has disappeared now, replaced with the memory of fear pulsing through him as he remembers what went down in the warehouse. Tony would without a doubt been blown apart if someone hadn’t gotten that bomb out of there. He really, really doesn’t want to think about that. “I don’t know what I would have done if you-”

Tony shakes his head, dismissing Peter’s weak attempt at building bridges between them before he could really even say what he needs to. The movement is sharp enough that Peter’s mouth snaps shut, words dying on his tongue.

“You’re a kid, Peter, Tony thunders, the word kid flying out of his mouth with more vitriol than Peter has ever heard it from him. He’s used to the word escaping Tony’s lips when they’re pulled in a warm smile, reserved just for him. It’s not like that today. It’s the furthest away it could possibly get. “I don’t need your help. I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. I thought you’d be able to work that out for yourself but apparently I have to spell a few things out for you. You’re not an Avenger. I just want you to survive goddamn high school - and it seems like even that’s too much to ask of you.”

Peter can feel tears burning in his eyes but he blinks them away desperately, willing himself to not let them spill down his cheeks. He’s already being spoken to like a child, he doesn’t need to give Tony any more reason to believe that he’s nothing more than that.

“I think you’re being a bit harsh, Tony,” a new voice says firmly.

Tony, clearly having been so engrossed in his tirade, jerks around to face the door. Rhodey is standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Tony’s scowl just deepens.

“Shut it, Rhodes,” Tony snaps. “If he can handle a live bomb then I think he can handle hearing the truth.”

“You’re not going to do this. Not right now. Peter’s hurt.”

A ghost of something unreadable crosses Tony’s face. A tiny bit of the fight eeks out of his posture and his shoulders slump. His voice still has the same hard edge to it though, as he says, “I’m very aware of that, funnily enough.”

Rhodey steps forward and wraps a firm hand around Tony’s elbow, despite the protests, and all but hauls him from the room. He halts in the doorway and turns around for a second. Peter eyes him hesitantly. “It’s good to see you awake, Peter,” he says. It’s solemn but genuine.

Peter nods. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s run out of words. The two of them disappear out the door, leaving Peter alone.

Peter thinks he’d rather have just stayed asleep. At least this way the ache of his bones wouldn’t be competing with the void of regret growing inside of him.

He was just trying to protect Tony - but now all Tony sees him as is an incapable kid, and worse than that, someone that he can’t even trust.

---

The room stays empty all afternoon.

Maybe a little naively, Peter keeps waiting for Tony to reappear.

He doesn’t.

The closest he gets to any affection is from Bruce, who gives him a comforting squeeze on the shoulder as he ups his dose of painkillers before he goes to sleep.

Tony doesn’t come in to say goodnight either. FRIDAY tells him that Tony is still awake. She asks Peter if he’d like her to tell Tony that he’s asking for him.

Peter shakes his head, curling up under the blankets. “I, uh, no, no thank you, FRIDAY. I’m okay. Totally fine.”

He goes to sleep trying to believe his own words.

---

By the next morning, Peter’s head has stopped giving him grief completely, and according to Bruce, the stitches have dissolved. The burns are on their way to healing as well. The pain in his ribs is the only thing he’s really still contending with but he’s still not allowed to leave the MedBay.

Bruce hangs around for a while, listening to Peter’s weak arguments about how he feels great and how he’s sure that he’ll be totally fine if Bruce would just discharge him to go home. Tony must have told Bruce that May is away for the weekend because that particular request gets shot down extremely quickly.

After all, Peter knows Bruce doesn’t believe a single word that he’s saying, and isn't even considering his arguments for a second - but he’s indulging him anyway. It’s his way of keeping him company, at least for a little while, without making Peter feel pitied. It’s nice.

Especially since it’s the only human contact he gets for the morning - if you don’t count FRIDAY. He spends the rest of the morning scrolling aimlessly through his phone, chatting to her. Peter thinks maybe he can count her as human contact. She’s always felt real enough to him anyway, such a source of comfort in times like these that it almost feels like an insult to think of her as any less.

By the time the afternoon rolls around, Peter tells himself that he hasn’t just spent the entire morning tentatively hoping for a visit from Tony.

He was stupid to even think about it. Of course, he was never going to show. Peter learnt that yesterday.

---

A few hours later, as Peter’s making his way down his Instagram feed for what feels like the hundredth time today to try and keep his mind off everything, there’s a voice in the doorway.

“Hey, kid.”

Peter’s head shoots up at the familiar words, hope blooming in his chest for a moment before his eyes meet the person’s in the doorway. Rhodey. The hope withers and dies.

He forces his lips into what feels like the barest shadow of a smile. He doesn’t know why he thought it might be Tony. Of course it isn’t him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Unlike yesterday, where he appeared briefly to all but haul Tony out of the room, Rhodey appears to be intent on staying this time. He crosses from the doorway to Peter’s bedside and sinks into the chair that Tony had been occupying yesterday.

“How’re you doing?” he asks once he’s settled, watching Peter carefully like he’s trying to pick up on any tells. Peter attempts a smile again. If this was Tony he might be worried about his poor acting skills giving him away, but it’s not. As much as he likes Rhodey, he doesn’t know him like Tony.

(Not many people know him like Tony.)

Peter shrugs. His ribs have been aching all morning and he’s got a splitting headache that just won’t leave. It’s probably too much phone time. Tony would tell him to put it away and let his eyes rest if he was here.

“M’fine.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

As Peter shrugs again in answer, Rhodey seems to cotton on to the fact that Peter doesn’t feel much like talking about his ailments, so he changes his tack. Peter’s grateful - it means he doesn’t have to think too much about his own issues. He’s sick of feeling sorry for himself.

So they talk about nothing for a little while. Rhodey’s last deployment that Peter hasn’t caught up on. How Peter’s doing at school. What he’s been working on in the lab.

But eventually, Peter just can’t help himself. He chews on his lip for a second, before he bites the bullet and just hopes the answer isn’t something that he doesn’t want to hear. “I, uh, do you think Mister Stark might come down today? I get he’s probably super busy and, y’know, mad at me, but I just thought… maybe...”

Peter knows what the answer is going to be as soon as Rhodey’s facial expression folds into one of distinct regret. “Tony’s a little busy today, Pete,” he says, before pausing. Peter can tell he’s thinking on his feet, trying to cover for his friend. Peter curls further into the blankets he’s lying under. “He had a few meetings come up. You know how it is.”

That’s exactly the problem. Peter does know how it is - and it’s not like this, whatever this is. Tony will drop anything business-related in a second to take care of the people he loves. That’s who he is, Peter’s discovered, after months of texts and dropping by and late nights in the lab, chipping away at his walls.

Peter doesn’t know which is worse. Tony telling Rhodey to lie to him about where he is, or Tony actually deciding that meetings are higher on his priority list than Peter as he lies alone in the MedBay.

He hates me. He hates me. He hates me.

Rhodey obviously sees the look on his face that Peter’s trying so hard to hide because he sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m sure he’d be down here as soon as possible if he could.”

Liar. He wouldn’t. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near me.

“He hates me now, doesn’t he?” Peter asks, voice small and resigned. He doesn’t want to hear the answer, not really. Not when he’s pretty much already accepted that he knows what it will be.

Rhodey’s eyes widen. He flounders for a second, looking lost. Peter’s once again reminded that he’s not Tony. Kid doesn’t sound the same when he says it. He doesn’t know how to settle Peter when anxiety wraps itself around his chest, all-consuming. He doesn’t know that a hand run through Peter’s hair will make him go soft and that if you scratch right behind his ear he’ll lean into the touch automatically.

Tony knows all these things.

“Absolutely not, he doesn’t hate you,” Rhodey says, finding his voice. “He’s just busy, I-”

“I know you’re bullshitting,” Peter mumbles. He knows it’s rude. He knows he shouldn’t talk like that to Rhodey - Rhodey’s just trying to help, he’s here, which is more than anyone else. But he’s tired and sore and frustrated and god, he just wants someone here to love him. “He hates me. He does. Otherwise he'd be here."

“Tony could never hate you, Peter,” Rhodey says. “I’ll talk to him, okay? He’s just having a tough time.”

"All I was trying to do was help. He didn’t have the suit. Otherwise, he was going to… he could have…” Peter trails off, the words lodging themselves in his throat.

Rhodey doesn't seem to have an answer for this. He knows as well as Peter does what would have happened if Peter hadn't gotten that bomb out of there. The two of them fall into quiet.

Even still, Rhodey doesn’t budge from his bedside for an hour or so after that. It’s company, it’s something, but it’s not the same.

Peter will take what he can get.

---

May phones that night when he’s alone, again. The room is swathed in darkness, lit only by the glow of the TV. There’s an old rerun of Jeopardy! playing that he isn’t watching.

Peter shifts in bed, trying to make himself more comfortable as he answers her call. His chest aches as he props himself further up the pillows. Bruce has told him it’s totally normal to expect some discomfort as they heal but it’s been getting steadily worse all throughout the afternoon - maybe speaking to Rhodey took it out of him more than he thought. In the back of his mind, he reminds himself to call Bruce down for another dose of painkillers before he goes to sleep tonight.

He has FRIDAY put May on speakerphone. This way, her voice echoes around the room, filling the empty space that’s been threatening to suffocate him all evening.

He tries to ask her how her trip is going, but apparently, she’s not so interested in pleasantries tonight.

“You want to tell me why I had to wait for a call from Colonel Rhodes to let me know that my nephew is in hospital?”

Peter swallows. “Technically it’s just the MedBay,” he offers weakly.

May makes a slightly unimpressed sound at his answer. “Peter,” she says, “I’m serious. You can’t just, not tell me these things.”

“I dunno,” Peter says, shrugging even though she can’t see him. “I was going to eventually, I promise.”

(He does know why he didn’t tell her. She’s having a nice getaway with her friends. She doesn’t get many of those, not with Peter around. He doesn’t want to get in anyone else's way this weekend.)

“Is Tony okay? I was so worried about you I didn’t even think to ask, which I feel terrible about but-”

“He’s fine,” Peter interjects. “Totally fine. It was, uh, mainly just me.”

“Is he with you? Can I speak to him?”

Peter casts an eye around the room, almost like he’s looking for the man that he knows isn’t here - it just feels like he should be. Peter lying in the MedBay alone feels wrong. “He’s not, actually. Not right now.”

“He has been though, right?” May asks, though there’s no worry in her tone. She says it like a given. Like there’s nowhere else Tony would be rather than at Peter’s side, especially when she can’t be there herself. She trusts Tony to look after him.

He wonders whether she would understand that Tony can’t stand to be around him if he told her what happened.

“Yeah, he has been…” he says, hoping the uncertainty in his voice doesn’t give him away.

“Good. I'm looking forward to seeing both of you. I’ve booked the first flight home, I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”

Peter shoots upright, ribs twinging. “No, no,” he rushes out, suddenly feeling extremely guilty. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh hush,” May tuts, “I want to, don’t be silly.”

Peter opens his mouth to refute her again but he finds that he can’t. He wants her here. Now more than ever.

May keeps talking and Peter lies back and closes his eyes. If he tries hard enough, he can almost pretend that he’s lying sprawled out on the couch back in their apartment and May’s just in the kitchen, somewhere nearby where she could step over and give him a hug as soon as he broke and admitted that, god, he really needs one right now.

Only almost, though. Because the room still smells sterile rather than of May’s favourite cedarwood reed diffuser and the sheets underneath him are soft, too soft, so unlike the worn, slightly scratchy fabric of their own couch.

He lets himself drift off pretending anyway, clinging to the daydream of comfort.

---

By the time Peter’s let May’s voice lull him into a deep sleep, he’s completely forgotten that he didn’t call Bruce in for any more painkillers.

---

It’s dark when Peter wakes next, and he can barely breathe.

He has no idea what the time is. He can barely remember where he is.

All he knows is pain.

It burns from deep inside his chest, emanating everywhere, cutting right down to his bones. His breathing is coming in heavy, painful pants and every gulp of air he sucks in sends a jolt of pain through his ribs. He doesn’t know what’s going on - he’s still stuck in a half-asleep daze but he feels like he’s dying.

It hurts. It hurts. Everything hurts.

He screws his eyes shut. It wasn’t like he was seeing much anyway, his vision blurred with tears and the room spinning dangerously around him.

Someone whimpers. It’s whiny sounding, like a wounded animal. Peter hates it. He tucks his knees to his chest - more pain - and buries his head in his knees to try and block out the sound. It doesn’t work.

A few minutes later, still curled up in the same cramped position, still lost inside his world of pain, Peter’s hazy mind comes to the conclusion that it’s him whimpering.

Pathetic. Pathetic.

He needs his pain meds. He needs something to numb this, to numb everything. In the back of his mind, he distantly remembers that he needed to ask Bruce for more. He doesn’t think he did. Or at least, he doesn’t remember the man ever coming to administer them.

It’s your own fault, Peter.

Something else to add to the list.

He twists in agony as another strike of pain hits, his ribs flaring up again. He could ask FRIDAY to get Bruce for him. He knows that she’d wake him up. But he doesn’t want to disturb him. If he needed his meds he should have remembered to ask at a reasonable hour.

You’re already in everyone’s way. Mister Stark hates you. Bruce has been having to deal with you all the time.

Stop being a baby.

Mister Stark doesn’t want a kid on the team.

Prove it to them. Show them that you can be strong.

He tucks his limbs closer to his chest, curling up tighter. Everything hurts, and he can feel tears starting to burn in his eyes. He feels a few hot tears drip down his cheeks before he can contain them and he shifts a hand up to wipe them away.

“F-FRIDAY?” Peter starts, quietly. He stumbles over the word, voice hitching.

“Yes, Peter?” FRIDAY replies. Her voice is soothing, and Peter wants to lean into its familiarity.

"I..." Peter falls silent. He doesn’t know what he’s asking. He just wants.

---

Peter's not sure how much time has passed when he hears footfall outside his door. He thinks maybe he’s imagining it. The pain is ebbing now, rising and falling like the tide, returning every so often just to crash over him and drown him in it.

The door creaks open, a sliver of light falling across the room. Peter’s breath chokes in his throat

I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine.

Don’t make a sound. Don’t be a bother.

Don’t get in the way.

“Peter?”

That’s his name, spoken in such an unsure way and shielded behind a cold demeanour. Peter immediately knows exactly who it is. His breathing ratchets up because oh god, it’s Tony and he sounds exactly the same way as he did last time they spoke. Peter’s meant to be showing that he’s strong, that he’s capable. And yet here he is hyperventilating and trembling in pain under the covers. He stays as still as he can, eyes screwed shut. Maybe if he lies here for long enough, Tony might leave.

He doesn’t want Tony to leave - not really. But there must be some mistake. Tony can’t mean to be here. If he meant to be here, surely he would have been a whole lot earlier.

“Do you need something? FRIDAY said you were in pain.”

Oh. He doesn’t even mean to be here. FRIDAY called him down. Peter doesn’t remember asking FRIDAY to fetch him.

“Peter?” Tony questions when he doesn’t reply, voice now less hostile and laced with confusion.

Peter doesn't know what he needs. But he knows he wants someone to stay.

“H’rts,” Peter mumbles before he can stop himself. “Please make it stop.”

And then before he can stop himself, he’s crying, embarrassing loud, ugly sobs because he’s so sore and so lonely and Tony is just there, only a few feet away and yet he feels so impossibly far away. He wants someone to hold his hand and push the strands of sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. He wants someone to tell him he’s going to be okay because right now all he knows is pain, burning through his veins, and he can’t see the way out.

He wants May. He wants Tony.

He wants someone to hold him.

Quiet footsteps tread towards his bedside. Peter doesn’t dare open his eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony soothes, and the way he speaks so gently only makes Peter sob harder. It’s hard to breathe with the lump in his throat and crushing ache of his ribs. He gasps out without realising it, and then tries to quieten himself. Tony’s still there though. He hasn't left. Peter feels him lower a warm hand down onto his back, rubbing in circles gently.

“Shh. Breathe, Pete, you just gotta breathe. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Why is he being so nice? Suddenly, Peter wonders if he deserves it. He can’t even remember if he apologised to Tony.

“‘m sorry, I tried not to get in the way but it hurts,” Peter whines. He sounds pathetic but he can’t help it. “I can’t breathe. M’ster Stark, make it stop, make it stop, please.”

“You need to talk to me, buddy. What hurts?” Tony asks. His voice is quiet and reassuring. Peter likes this Tony better than angry Tony. He lets his eyes slip closed. “No, no, I need you to look at me. Just for a second, okay?”

Look at him? At Tony? Peter can do that, he thinks. He blinks his eyes open, eyelids heavy. He wants to close them again so badly, but Tony’s got this concerned look drawn all over his face while he’s looking at him, which Peter’s so confused about. The last time he saw Tony, the man had looked like he thought Peter was the worst person on the planet. Like he hated him.

Tony grabs the medicine chart off the clipboard above Peters’ bed and Peter watches through tear-blurred vision as he scans his eyes over it. “That'll do it. Your ribs are probably throwing a fit since you haven’t had any meds since midday, Pete, that was well over twelve hours ago” - Peter tries to do the math to figure out what time it is, what ungodly hour he’s dragged Tony out of bed to run around after his sorry ass, but his brain is too addled to figure it out - “didn’t Bruce dose you up before bed?” Tony asks. He knows the answer. He has the chart in front of him. Bruce is meticulous, he never forgets to tick these things off.

Peter gives a pitiful shake of his head, a barely noticeable movement. “M’fault. Didn’t ask.”

Tony sighs, biting down on his lip like he wants to get into it but he knows he can’t. Peter’s glad. He doesn’t have the energy for any of this. He feels like his brain is still trying to play catch up. Every time he blinks, Tony is still there when he opens his eyes, standing in front of him, concern pulling his face down in a frown.

“Well, I’m gonna dose you up now.”

“The good stuff?” Peter mumbles, turning his face into the pillow to try and hide a wince as another wave of pain arrives, lapping at his toes before surging forward to wash over him. Tony doesn’t miss it, and his movements grow hurried as he fumbles to pull out a dose of Peter’s pain meds.

His fingers are gentle as he takes Peter’s arm in his grip to keep it steady. Peter didn’t realise how badly he was still trembling - from the panic or pain he’s not sure. Tony slips the syringe into the IV catheter and plunges down slowly. Peter watches him lazily, eyes cracked open. He’s seen Tony do this so many times, hell, he’s even seen the man do it to himself. He trusts him.

“Yeah, bud, the real good stuff.”

The familiar sensation wraps Peter in its hold not long after. He lets his eyes flutter closed, but tries to blink them open again when he hears a voice above him. “Yeah, there we go… no, shhh, close your eyes.”

Peter does as he’s told because the voice is gentle and he trusts it. He doesn’t think it would lead him astray.

“There we go. Nice work, kiddo.”

The room floats away, but there’s a pressure against his scalp, a hand running through his hair, grounding him to reality. It’s nice. A much nicer reality than the one he was trapped before. That seems like such a long time ago. Maybe Peter dreamt it?

“‘m sorry I didn’t listen,” Peter mumbles out. He turns, pressing his face into the palm of Tony’s hand like a starved animal seeking out the barest scraps of physical attention. Tony curls his fingers gently, blunt nails scratching against the tufts of hair around Peter’s ear.

“You’re okay, bud, you’re okay. We can talk later when you’re not so loopy. Just try and get some sleep.”

Talk… later? What if Tony leaves again? What if there is no later? Peter wants to talk now. Ben always used to tell him that you should never go to bed angry and he and Tony have broken that rule the last two nights now - he doesn’t want to do it again. But whenever he tries to open his mouth, his tongue feels too heavy to force out any of the right words.

“Sleep?” Peter slurs out quietly.

Tony nods. “Yeah, all you need right now is a good night’s sleep. I’ll be right here in the morning,” he says, words soft and genuine. Peter believes them - but he makes sure anyway.

“Right h’re?”

Tony nods again, settling further into the chair he’s sitting in as if to physically demonstrate to Peter exactly what he’s saying. “I promise.”

That’s good enough for Peter. Sleep does sound pretty good, on second thought. There’s a floaty feeling flowing through Peter now, dissipating the pain. He’s comfy, and the weight of Tony’s hand against his cheek where he’s still scratching at his hair feels so nice. He rolls over, trapping Tony’s hand there between the pillow and his cheek. He can’t leave now, even if he wants to.

---

Hours later, Peter only remembers a few things from the night before when he surfaces from his sleep, memories blurring together in the back of his mind.

Burning pain and then nothing. Someone by his bedside maybe? A hand in his hair. A quiet voice.

Close your eyes, you’re okay.

Peter knows that voice. It sounds so achingly familiar, even as it echoes through his thoughts.

You’re okay, buddy. You’re okay.

Peter rolls over onto his side at the sound of an exhale from beside him, the smallest of yawns like someone trying their best to be quiet. It’s Tony, he realises, the comforting words whispering through his mind suddenly making much more sense. He clearly managed to get his hand free from underneath Peter’s cheek last night but he’s still here anyway, in the chair by his bedside, the one that’s remained largely unoccupied over the last couple of days. He’s dressed in an old t-shirt and faded jeans - Peter dreads to think what important lab work he pulled the man away from last night.

“Hey, bud” Tony mumbles. His voice is rough with sleep and he stretches his arms out above his head, poorly hiding a wince as he does.

A rush of shame floods Peter almost immediately. He can’t believe that Tony had to spend the night down here last night just because he kicked up a fuss about a little bit of pain.

He stares stupidly for a moment, willing the words to work their way out of his exhausted brain but he doesn’t know what to say. Tony shouldn’t be here. He probably doesn’t want to be here.

“You can go,” is the first thing that works its way free from Peter’s mouth. Tony raises his eyebrows.

“Good morning to you too,” Tony says, looking equal parts bemused and a little taken aback by Peter’s greeting. “Am I allowed to at least ask you how you’re feeling before you kick me out?

“I’m not kicking you out,” Peter mutters, the slightest bit defensive. He doesn’t know why Tony would think that he’s the one that wants him gone. He’d love Tony to stay - he’d have loved Tony to stay the second he woke up in the MedBay and they had their blowout. But it’s not about him. He doesn’t want Tony to stay if he doesn’t want to. He’s just making it easier for him - he’s made it abundantly clear that spending time with Peter isn’t exactly at the top of his priorities list, after all. “I, just, uh, I’m sorry you had to come down here. I don’t really remember much from last night.”

“That doesn’t exactly surprise me, you were pretty out of it,” Tony says easily. He shifts in his seat, but he seems to be making himself more comfortable than preparing to get up out of it and walk out the door again. The longer he sticks around the more it’s going to hurt when he leaves.

“I know you're mad at me and I know you don’t really want to be here. You can go, I won’t mind or be offended or anything, I promise,” Peter says, words catching as he says them because of their mistruth. He does mind. He does want Tony here.

But not if he doesn’t want to be.

“I think this means we need to talk about the other day, huh?” Tony says simply. Peter’s brows furrow together in confusion. He wonders if Tony is expecting an apology. He didn’t exactly give him one the other day - didn’t think that saving someone’s life warranted an apology. But obviously he went wrong somewhere along the way because if he hadn’t, maybe Tony might have stuck around.

“I’m sorry, Mister Stark,” he starts, a little nervous. He doesn’t know what he’s expected to say. What do you say to make someone want to stay? “I promise I wasn’t trying to not listen, or put any of us in a dangerous situation, or-”

“You don’t need to do the apologies, kid,” Tony says with a wave of his hand and a strained expression on his face as he listens to Peter’s words. Peter snaps his mouth shut.

“But I really am sorry,” Peter tries again after a beat of silence that Tony doesn’t fill. “I was just trying to protect you, that’s all. You were trapped and the whole place was going to blow and I couldn’t let anything happen to you… I couldn’t.” Peter watches Tony’s face carefully - he’s struggling to read his mix of emotions. “I’m only apologising for not thinking it through. I’m not apologising for trying to protect you,” Peter finishes determinedly. He won’t say he’s sorry for trying to save Tony’s life. Never. He’d do it over and over again in a heartbeat.

“That there, Pete, that’s the problem,” Tony says. He scrubs a hand down the side of his face roughly. “I can’t handle the idea of you protecting me, it’s-”

Peter frowns, a tiny stab of betrayal shooting through his chest. Despite the last few days, somewhere deep down still, he really thought that Tony still believed in him, at least a little bit. Maybe that was stupid of him.

“You let me come to Germany and let me loose against Captain America and the Winter Solider and now suddenly you don’t even trust me to protect you against a few guys with guns and explosives? I handled it, Mister Stark, and I know you think what I did was stupid and reckless, but I handled it.”

Tony shakes his head. “You’ve got a couple of things a little twisted, not that I can exactly blame you, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly the other day,” - he huffs humourlessly. Peter thinks there might be regret in his eyes. “I know what you can do - I’ve known that since before I even really knew you. You’re capable of dealing with what you did the other day, you showed us that.”

“So what’s changed?” Peter asks. He knows he should keep the edge of frustration out of his voice but he can’t. If Tony really trusts him as much as he claims to then why won’t he just accept that Peter is capable of so much more? “Why did you freak out the other day?”

“What’s changed is that now I do really know you.”

Peter’s confused. This whole conversation feels like a roller-coaster of emotions that he’s a little too tired and dozy from the residual drugs pumping through his system to process. “I… what?”

“Now I know you,” Tony repeats. “When I took you to Germany, I didn’t know any more than Spider-Man, really. But you’re still a kid behind the mask, buddy-” Peter scowls weakly, “-and I know you’re gonna tell me that you’re not a kid and all that, but you are and I know you’d guard my life with your own if you’re given the chance and I trust you but that right there? That’s the damn problem.”

“The problem?” Peter repeats incredulously. He’s grown up watching movies and reading comic books under the bed covers with a torch after his bedtime, enamoured with the idea of the action hero choosing to do the right thing - even at the expense of themselves. He’s always thought that laying your life on the line for someone is the most selfless thing you can do for someone and that’s what Tony’s upset about?

“It’s… oh, I don’t know,” Tony mutters. He pauses, thinking for a second. “I was the one who screwed that mission up in the first place. I let my guard down and those idiots got a hold of me. My bad-”

“That wasn’t on you,” Peter says firmly. At this point, it’s becoming unclear who’s trying to comfort who.

“Uh, uh, I’m not done,” Tony chastises. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. And not just because your Aunt would skin me alive. I’ve, uh, I’ve grown kind of fond of you, kid, I don’t know if you can tell. And the idea of anything happening to you - anything at all, let alone something happening because of me doesn’t sit particularly well.”

Oh.

That makes more sense than Peter was expecting. He suddenly feels bad about even rising to the challenge of Tony’s argument in the first place. He knows that Tony tries to cover up the way he feels with a mask of sarcasm and sharp words - Peter just never thought that he’d be on the receiving end.

“I didn’t know I scared you,” Peter says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Tony admonishes with a half-hearted scoff. “I don’t think I’d go that far.”

“Sure,” Peter says conspiratorially. He shifts closer to the edge of the bed, closer to Tony. Tony brings an arm up to rest on top of the bed, brushing against Peter’s leg under the covers. It’s nice - the sort of grounding they both need right now. The sort of contact they’ve both been sorely missing.

“Okay, so maybe I was a little worried,” Tony concedes. “I’ve never really been one for kids, never thought I would be. But with you, I just, I don’t want you to grow up too soon. And if I know you half as well as I think I do, then I know that you won’t be hanging up that suit for a long time. Just do both of us a favour and stick to giving old ladies directions for a while, maybe? You’ve got all the time in the world for all the traumatising, hardcore stuff, I promise you.”

“So… you're saying I should skip the traumatising stuff and just stick to traumatising you instead?”

“You’re already doing a pretty damn good job of that, kid.”

---

“May’s on her way from the airport,” Peter says distractedly, later that day as he types out a reply to her text.

Tony is still by Peter’s bedside, his legs kicked up on the bed as he scrolls through his StarkPad. Peter looks up when Tony doesn’t reply. “Hey, Mister Stark?”

“Huh?”

“May’s on her way. Happy just picked her up.”

“Okay, good.”

“What’re you working on?” Peter asks, abandoning his phone as he wonders what’s got Tony so distracted.

“Just going through Rhodey’s report on the other day. Adding in the details, trying to make myself sound cooler, all that good stuff.”

Peter laughs. “Can I help?”

“Pete-”

“You said you trust me!

“Well, this is paperwork, it’s boring-”

“I want to learn! I could help!”

Tony lets out a long-winded sigh. “You really like to make me suffer, don’t you?” He turns fully towards Peter and raises his eyebrows expectantly. “So, hit me then. What’s your take on how the other day went down?”

Peter looks up towards Tony, the beginnings of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, I saved the day for starters, it’s really important that you put that in there.”

Tony’s face twists in conflict for a second before it smooths out again. He gives Peter a smile, tired and a little worn but genuine all the same - “yeah, yeah. Sure, kid. We’ll work it in.”

#my writing #irondad #irondad fic #the friendly neighborhood exchange #today on 'hayley doesn't know how to stick to a word limit': this fic #oops #when will i ever control myself

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fangirling-throughlife · 4 years

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So close, and still so far

Word count: 2517 words.

A/N. This is the first non-academic thing I’ve written in a year or so, so it might not be the best. Inspired by the song So Close by Jon McLaughlin and one of my favourite movie scenes ever, the dancing scene in Enchanted with Amy Adams, Patrick Dempsey, Idina Menzel and James Marsden. Comments are appreciated!!

“Peter Moore and Ella Lewis invite you to their engagement party, on Saturday 22nd August.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise, as Brian had told him about the engagement, but having the invitation in his hand made his heart stop. Peter and Ella had been a couple, The Couple of their group, ever since their high school senior year. Now that they both had graduated college, it was the logical next step. After all, Ella and Peter complemented each other. She was as organised as he was playful, she was as logical as he was spontaneous. They were the power couple, and they were so absolutely right for each other that it made no sense to avoid the unavoidable.

Still, Shawn’s mouth went dry, and for a moment he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. His best friend in the world was getting married. The person who knew everything about him, his rock, his muse. The girl he’d written every single song about. The love songs, the heartbreak songs and the hopeful songs. His world revolved around Ella Lewis, and she would never know it did.

As if life were mocking him, he heard his phone ring with the sound of her favourite song, Everything I Do by Bryan Adams. Shawn had to swallow twice before he was sure he’d sound normal.

“Hey there!” he tried to sound as cheerful as possible.

“Hi, Shawnie! I was wondering if you’d got the invitation, because almost everybody replied and you didn’t.” she sounded excited. Of course she did. She had just graduated top of her class, and now she was organising a party to celebrate her engagement to the love of her life.

“Yeah, just got it. I was about to call Andrew to ask if there was any problem with me going.” He lied. He knew that, in the writing process, he was mostly the one who organised his own schedule, so he could free that day without any problem. But he wanted to seem busy, for some stupid reason.

“Uh… Alright, I guess?” He could picture her nibbling her lower lip. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, but couldn’t you try and get the day off? It’s pretty important for us, and all our friends are gonna be there, and…” She was pacing now, he could hear her footsteps down the stairs. He was being cruel, he knew that. But he couldn’t tell her that he’d leave everything just to make her happy. He didn’t have a partner, and music was all he had. She couldn’t know she came first.

“I’ll talk to him, I promise.” He heard her low hum, and the click of a pen. “So, anyways, congratulations! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me though.” A text would’ve been nice, he added mentally. Just so he could prepare himself for the gruesome conversation that they were having.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been busy with some paperwork, and my final project and stuff, so I’ve been a bit out of it. This is honestly the first day I’m fully invested in this, so call yourself lucky that you’ve been the very first person I thought of!” Against his own judgement, his heart sped up, but the little mean voice in his head reminded him that she thought of him while organising her engagement party. He knew he was being ridiculous letting his hopes up.

“Lucky me!” He forced a chuckle. “By the way, congratulations on your graduation. I have no clue what your final project was about but I heard the guys say it was ground-breaking.” He tried to steer away the conversation from the invitation on his table.

“Oh, thanks! It wasn’t that big of a deal, truth to be told. Sheldon Cooper would’ve totally mocked me.” He rolled his eyes. There was no real person to criticise her work, so she went to fictional characters. “By the way, are you bringing a plus one? Camila, perhaps? Haven’t seen her in ages.”

Hearing her mention Camila felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Um, I’ll have to get back to you about that. I don’t think she’ll be able to make it, though.”

“Erm… Okay, I guess? I mean, it’s not a big party, or anything. But I wanted to have it…”

“Controlled.” Shawn interrupted her.

“Well, yeah it comes down to that.” She giggled. “Hey, I’ve got to go. Peter’s family is coming over to have lunch, I’ve got to go check on him in the kitchen. Love you!”

“Love you too!” If only she knew how true that was, he sighed as he heard that she’d hung up.

Ella was a very dedicated person. Whenever she had an interest, or a plan or a goal, she was invested a 100%. Her engagement party was no different. That was the reason why she didn’t reach out to Shawn in the month prior to the party. She spoke to Vanessa, her maid of honour, and to Brian, who would be Peter’s best man, but her interactions with Shawn went no further than a couple of texts to check up on each other every couple days. He seemed busy, he never said much. Honestly, she was busy as well, so she didn’t dwell on it. That went on until three days before the party, at 2 a.m.

She would be lying if she said he woke her up. Her body wasn’t used to her new-found freedom, so she couldn’t sleep until past 2 or 3 in the morning. She spent those late hours, when Peter was already asleep, reading scientific papers, reading books or playing the keyboard. After spending so many late nights working on papers and studying, she felt like her mind was the sharpest when the world was asleep. And, suddenly, after almost a month of silence, Shawn was calling her.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asks. Being friends with Shawn for years, she knew that this could very easily be a breakdown. She closed the door of her study room so she didn’t wake Peter.

“I love you, you know that?” It was very clear that he was drunk. Very drunk.

“Of course I do, Shawnie.” Ella could hear him open a bottle of something, then knocking something over, and taking a big gulp. “Is that why you’re calling me? I’m not mad or anything, I was reading. But… do you know what time it is?”

Her words seemed to get lost and never reach the other side of the line. “You know, Kid in Love is actually about you. And so is Never Be Alone. And Imagination.” She was startled. She knew he had a crush on someone in their friend group, but she never imagined it was her.

“So… It was me you had a crush on in junior year?”

“And so are Because I Had You, and If I Can’t Have You, and Mercy…” He lost track of his own train of thought, because he went silent.

“Are you really saying you’re in love with me, Shawn?” Those words were difficult to speak out. He couldn’t do that to her.

“Do you remember when I was just the Vine kid and we were sitting in my room looking for a song to cover? And we kinda jammed to Everything I Do? I tried to tell you then. And when I got drunk for the first time because of just one beer and I kissed you? You started dating Peter a week later and I brushed it off.” Every word Shawn said felt like a dagger directed to her heart. Tears were threatening to fall, and she let out a silent sob. “It has always been you. You're with somebody I can't be. But I can tell that you're happy.” He started singing. “I know you and Peter are a perfect match, don’t worry. But I needed to get this out of my system, you know?”

At that point, she couldn’t hide the fact that she was crying. And Shawn heard her ragged breathing, which seemed to sober him up.

“Oh, El. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, very deeply sorry.” He started crying as well. “I’m such an idiot. I’ve kept it to myself for so many years, and I tell you now. I understand if you don’t want to see me ever again, if you hate me now. Oh my god, El. I hate myself so much now.”

As much pain as he was causing her, he was still her Shawn, her younger brother from another mother (by six exact months, she reminded him continuously). She had had a crush on him for a few months, back when he was writing Handwritten. Now she knew that those songs she hoped he wrote for her were actually about her. Knowing it didn’t change anything though. She was wearing Peter’s ring, because she was in love with him, because they balanced each other out. While Ella considered Shawn to be her little brother, Peter was her best friend, her soulmate.

“It’s okay, Shawn. I’m just shocked… Why… why would you keep that from me?”

“I’m so stupid, I was nervous you’d make fun of me and hate me. It’s okay if you do now. I mean, not okay, obviously, but I’d understand.” Another sob escaped his mouth.

“Shawn, I don’t hate you. You’re… you’re like my little brother. I just wish you would’ve told me sooner. I could’ve helped you get over me.” She let out a sad chuckle. “We’ll see if some of my friends from uni is your perfect match at the party, okay?”

Shawn couldn’t believe his luck. He was so drunk he wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning, yet she wasn’t mad at him. Peter could never know what jewel of a person he was marrying. What Shawn didn’t notice was that he was thinking out loud.

“If his words are any pointer to go by, he knows.” This time, her laugh was genuine. “Shawnie, go to bed. Sleep this off. I’ll see you at the party, okay? I… I’ll see you.”

Ella couldn’t bring herself to tell him she loved him. She honestly did, but it felt wrong to say it, now that he’d said he was IN love with her.

She looked at the clock. Half past two. The crying had been very tiresome, so she’d give sleeping a go. She entered the room on her tiptoes, but somehow, Peter sensed her coming in.

“Love… what’s the matter? I’ve heard you crying.” He sounded worried.

She didn’t even give it a second thought. The conversation between Shawn and her would remain private. Peter didn’t need to know. Hell, she wasn’t even sure Shawn would remember in the morning.

“It’s nothing. I was watching kitten videos.” She mentally facepalmed. It was probably the lamest excuse she’d ever given. But Peter just shrugged, patted on the bed and snuggled into her neck as soon as she laid down. “I love you.” Ella whispered. Peter was already sleeping, because he answered with a hum, just one beat too late.

On the day of the party, everything was perfect. Ella had organised it, so nobody was surprised. Everything, from the pins in her hair till the wine that was served, had been handpicked and controlled. She was a quantum physicist, after all. She liked details and perfection. The guests started to arrive with gifts, and she greeted them all like a perfect hostess. Peter was chatting with his grandmother when she saw a familiar set of curls by the open door. The smile on his face as he approached her could mean two things: he had let go of the whole situation or, most probably, he had forgotten all about it.

“Hey, El. Nice party.” He greeted her with a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Shawn. Peter’s over there,” she pointed to him “and the rest of the group are somewhere inside. Probably close to the snacks.” She chuckled. “I’ll catch you guys later.” With that, she turned to greet her cousin and her nephew. “Hi! Thanks for coming.”

Even though Ella enjoyed being the perfect hostess, half an hour later her mouth was so dry she needed a glass of something. When she approached the table, Shawn was pouring himself a glass of white wine. “I’ll have one of those as well, Shawn.” She half asked-half demanded. He nodded, acknowledging her words, and gave her his new glass. It wasn’t until he was done pouring a second glass that he looked at her.

“Look, El. I’m sorry about anything I said last Wednesday. I don’t remember all of it, but I’m pretty sure it included me confessing you my…” Ella quickly cut him off.

“It’s alright. I’ve thought about it and, honestly, I feel sorrier for you, for not being able to help you, than for the situation.” Shawn nodded solemnly.

“So… water under the bridge?” Instead of answering, Ella simply hugged him, and she felt Shawn’s chest relaxing.

Ella closed her eyes, happy that they had finally made amends. Suddenly, she felt Shawn humming a song that sounded familiar. She focused on the music that played softly from the stereo. So Close by Jon McLaughlin. She hadn’t realised that it was still on the playlist. She loved the song, but it didn’t seem suitable for an engagement party.

So close to reaching that famous happy end. Almost believing this one's not pretend. Now you're beside me, and look how far we've come. So far, we are so close.

Just like in the movie, her favourite movie, he whispered the words in her ear. They weren’t dancing though, just merely swaying in place.

Ella felt sorry for Shawn. She didn’t understand how she could have missed the song when she was grooming the playlist to engagement party-appropriate songs. She hoped Shawn didn’t take it to heart. He was still her best friend, and she hoped that nothing would ever change that.

For Shawn, hearing that song, at that exact moment, was bittersweet. Somehow fitting. He was saying goodbye to the love of his life, who considered him a brother, who was marrying the love of her life. He was holding her close; he could pretend for a moment that he was hers. But he knew it was a lie, a hopeful thought. He would always love her; he would always be there for her.

As the final chord of the song died out and something else, much happier, started to sound, they started to become aware of their surroundings again. They let go of each other, and they smiled as they looked into each other’s eyes.

“I love you, Shawnie.” “I love you, El.”

They both walked towards their friends, sharing a secret that nobody knew. Ella’s eyes were gentle, and her laugh was genuine, and nothing had changed between them. And Shawn knew that was the first step to heal. His smile was bright, and he was having fun. Ella decided to let him be. She’d tell him they were moving some other day.

#shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fluff #so close #enchanted #shawn mendes imagine

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liloelsagranger · 5 years

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One night in December ( # rocketshipping oneshot) - Merry Christmas to my #rocketshipping family

Hey my dear friends, this is my Christmas gift for you. Thanks for your support, love you! #rocketshipping ahead. To @ndbern-rocketmonsters @ndbernarts @jessicarocket @estrelarabyss @prepareforetrouble @masterstarpikachu @tothestarsabove @teamrocketfanart @thelovelyjessie @webelieveinlovepower @chaosandhope @james-team-rocket @danadiversity @krazy-holly @keksrocket @harmonyrocketeeveon @pok3ship @yesjanii @thecomputergirl @elysiiandream @fugly-chan @batfamfan1 @ghostkitty @pikamofo @eclipsing-dreams @abatwc @emily1037 @texansman20 @inuyashaeienni @zayphantomslayer @cat-0301 @james-kojiro-team-rocket @stjarnflicka @diehardrocketshipper @eclipsing-dreams and everyone else <3

One night in December

Completely lost in thought, I sat at the bar and watched the singing Meowth on stage. Just like every night. Ever since I got kicked out of the college for future nurses. The talented cat-Pokémon who would work for peanuts held up a mirror of grief, depression and despair to me. « I feel sorry for you, Jessie » he would say while he struck up the next blues song. I cheered him and took a generous sip of the beer in front of me. I tried to let the malty taste of beer melt on my tongue and recover from the strains of the last days. What more could I do with my life? I was a loser, a good-for-nothing, not even capable of learning simplest medical terms and techniques. Why did I even waste another thought on a life in uniform, surrounded by illness and suffering? Because I wanted to help. Because I wanted to prove to the world out there that I had what it takes to make something of myself! I’m not just a hopeless orphan! I’m strong, beautiful and deserve a chance ! I want to decide freely about my life, but fate treated me unkindly. Used by the state, screwed over by men, my life story. I took another big sip, trying to avoid the prying eyes of a young man sitting next to me. He looked quite passable with his lavender locks and the piercing emerald green eyes, but my past has taught me to be careful. He could be just another guy who gives me a hard time, even though he looked anything but dangerous. In fact, he looked as devastated as me. A shy smile flitted across his face.

« Hey, do you need that bottle cap ? » he asked, pointing at the metal seal on the bar counter. I cocked an eyebrow. That was by far the lamest pick-up line I’ve every heard. Nevertheless, he had earned my attention with this question. «Help yourself » I replied. His eyes flashed for a brief moment as he examined the bottle cap. « A really rare find, thank you » he grinned and stowed his precious treasure in his pocket. How pathetic! How miserable must a person be when he feels joy for a bottle cap ? This man became more and more interesting. Judging by his looks, women hat to lie at his feet. Yet here he sits, all alone, collecting garbage. «My name is James» he introduced himself. «Jessie» we shook hands. «Tell me, Jessie. What brings you to this dump so close to Christmas? Isn’t your family waiting for you? A loving family that appreciates you and cares for you ? Who gives you freedom to develop and takes your dreams seriously ? » I felt a deep sadness. What he told me only existed in fairy tales, a picture-book family is nothing more than a fraud. « Family’s overrated, James » I said, « besides, I really like that singing Meowth» we both laughed.

« Can I get you something to drink ? » James pulled out his wallet. A lot of green bills jumped out at me. ‘Great, a stuck-up aristocrat. A rich, spoiled mama’s boy. That’s all I needed’ I was about to get up and crawl into another corner of the bar, but he held me back. «Please, don’t go! It’s not what it looks like. I’m not a pompous schmuck! To be honest, I’m on the run from this, » he pointed at his money. « Who would voluntarily run away from so much money?» I sat back on my seat waiting for his answer. «Money isn’t everything, Jessie. Not if it means losing your dignity and your will to make free choices » he explained. Then suddenly I realized this man got into trouble and he was seriously trying to escape from it. «Money is all well and good, but if it determines your whole life, you learn to hate it». I couldn’t figure it out at the time.

For a few minutes we sat next to each other in silence while listening to the cat’s singing.£«Would you like to dance?» James reached for my hand an lead me to the dance floor. It was very busy in the bar, people were busting on the floor, so for better or worse we were forced to move closer. I inhaled his tart sent. Although we had known each other for a little over an hour, a certainty unknown to me emanated from him. He was the type of man you would share everything with and who you could trust. He was decent, he laid his hands very carefully on my hips, fearing that he might break me otherwise. «What do you do during the day, Jessie?» he asked. It was incredibly loud on the dance floor, I almost had to shout my answer. « I actually wanted to be a nurse. Unfortunately, that dream has been shattered» disappointed, I let my head down. James lifted my chin and smiled at me. «Don’t give up, Princess ! You’re going to be great, I’m sure of it » his words were so motivating, making the corners of my mouth twitch. It’s been a long time since anyone gave me hope. It was good to hear that encouragment from James. « As a girl, I always wanted to be famous, a real star » I whispered. James looked at me with the kindest eyes. « There she is!»

«What about you?» I wanted to know. He made me twirl around. I wrapped my arms around his neck. « No one has ever asked me that before. I want to be free and my biggest wish is to become a Pokéringer» I could see James was having a hard time answering that question. Could I dare? What did I have to lose? I had no family, no home, no job, no boyfriend. «Then let us explore freedom together! With your pocket money we can travel, discover the world, feast and fall in love», romantic nostalgia was flaring up inside of me. It was time for a fresh start, and with James, I would take it. It seemed to me that he was not completely averse to the idea, but then the slap in the face. «It’s not that simple, Jessie. My life is predetermined. I can’t make decisions of my own free will. Tomorrow I’m a prisoner again. I’ll be married by force, so my parents can maintain their image. Everything’s settled, everything’s in order. I’m so sorry » he sighed. How could I be so naive and dream of a happy life? Each time, I was denied it! «Then this is where we parted ways again, James. After all, you were honest with me from the beginning. Farewell!» I didn’t turn around anymore, grabbed my coat, pushed the door open and ran out onto the snowy streets. Thickly wrapped, I strolled through the deserted alleys, only hearing the snow trickling softly. «It always comes down to just me», I rebuked myself for being so naive that I really would have given James a chance. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. So courteous and polite, if a little pathetic and shy. Would it had been funny ? Would we have supported each other? Would he have accompanied me on the road to fame ? Would I have cheered him on when he played for victory high up in the skies ? Questions upon questions, the answers to which I would never know.

« Jessie ! » I could hear a faint voice in the distance, probably fate laughing at me. « Jessie ! » There it was again. It approached with heavy steps. I turned around facing James. He was completely out of breath, his cheeks turning red from the cold. «Jessie» he grabbed my hands. «Forget the money, forget the weight on my shoulders. Ever since I spotted you in that bar today, I can’t think about anything else. You’re so different from the women I know. You’re determined, beautiful and talented. I know you’ve got big plans and I want to be with you every step of the way. We can both buy ourselves free from the shackles of society. We can do our own thing, become an unbeatable team. Jessie», he pulled me closer, so close I could feel his breath on my face. « Let’s be free. Let’s dream again, » he proposed. At first I was speechless and completely taken by surprise. We did not know if it would go wrong, but it was worth a try. I nodded. James smiled as if the heaviest burden had fallen off him. He cupped my face and pressed his lips on mine. I had never experienced such an intense kiss. It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a promise. Only the night was our witness. Our lips parted and we looked at each other in silence for a long time. «Yous two can count me in» a familiar voice broke the silence. Meowth tugged at my sleeve. We bent down to him and held each other in our arms. Our little free family.

THE END

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wigwurq · 7 years

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WIG REVIEW: STRANGER THINGS 2

Unless you have been living under a rock for the last week, you already know that STRANGER THINGS SEASON 2 DROPPED AND OMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!1 It’s been a week and somehow the internet hasn’t imploded over this show so I guess it’s time to talk about the wigs. As with Twin Peaks, I’ll be reviewing each episode as I watch them and adjusting whether the season as a whole wurqs. Let’s get demogorg-going!

CHAPTER ONE : MADMAX

The Duffer Brothers live and breathe 80s nostalgia (obvs) so we open with a rando car chase in Pittsburgh because THE 80S (if the Duffer Bros really wanted to make this 80s accurate, it should have been Detroit or Chicago - THE DEMOGORGON IS IN THE DETAILS, isn’t it?) Anyway, some rando punk burglars are staging a getaway - with the help of some chick who is basically an older, more ethnic Elle. And she’s got a #008 tattooed on her arm. DUN DUN DUN.

Back in Hawkins, it’s a year after Will and Barb (RIP) got trapped in the Upside Down and everyone is doing JUST GREAT AND DON’T HAVE PTSD LET’S JUST LISTEN TO DEVO THANKYOUVERYMUCH. Oh and go to the arcade, where we meet our wiggiest non-wig in this dude eating cheetos and creepily demanding sister dates from Mike.

We also meet Winona Ryder’s new boyfriend, RUDY RUETTIGER (aka Sean Astin)! No wig, but dang HE LOVES MR. MOM AS MUCH AS ME. YES!

Speaking of Winona Ryder, girlfriend got a MUCH better wig than last season. I still don’t know why she needs to wear a wig at all, but I mean…sure? Clearly the wig budget is bigger than last season (if they can afford to license every song of the 80s to play during the episode, they can throw a few bucks at Joyce Byer’s mane, so amen).

Over at the high school, Nancy Wheeler got herself a haircut! She is clearly trying to channel some Jennifer Grey action but much like her body, this hair has no body (get this girl and this hair a sandwich).

Just sayin’…she should have had more of that KFC. Joe Keery’s epic hair remains flawless.

We are also introduced to the major wig of this episode (and likely, this season) in the form of a mulletted new bad boy, BILLY. I love that his name is Billy in a clear homage to Rob Lowe in St. Elmo’s Fire…but only time will tell if he can wail on a saxophone. This wig is…fine? It obviously looks like a wig so already that is a negative. Also I’m guessing everything about this guy is a negative.

Meanwhile, Nancy and Mike’s mom got herself a new ‘do! Welcome to the 80s, GIRLFRIEND! Bye bye Farrah waves, hello BANGS! Mama like. Damn fine wig. Still, why are you voting for Reagan (but of COURSE you are). BOO. #GeraldineFerraro4Ever

Meanwhile, Elle lives! But of course she does. And Millie Bobby Brown got herself a PERM just as the 80s intended.

And she’s living with Sheriff Hopper who took time out of his busy schedule of looking at “poisoned” pumpkins (which is clearly a job for Moana, duh) to take care of Elle. He got hisself a daughter and she got herself a dad! SOBBING.

CHAPTER TWO : TRICK OR TREAT, FREAK

It’s Halloweeeen and of course our favorite foursome dressed up as the Ghostbusters (and NO ONE WANTS TO BE WINSTON). Sadly, they go to the lamest school ever where no one else dresses up for Halloween. BOO indeed!

Will is still seeing some pretty effed up Upside Down visions but more scary: this poor kid had to have a bowl cut in the show and in life! This is the ultimate commitment to your art! Pure terror!

Rudy Reuttiger continues to be our favorite dad, fully committing to vampire hair and teeth and then slow dancing with Winona Ryder to “Islands in the Stream.” DREAMBOAT.

Meanwhile, Elle is getting cabin fever from watching Susan Lucci on TV all day and her hair is looking bigger and curlier than ever! Still, sorry you couldn’t go trick or treating, gurl.

Over at the most 80s teen Halloween party ever, new badboy Billy is suddenly a popular beer chugging sweaty bohunk (who listens to Ted Nugent - yep, this guy is the worst!) Also of course his new pal is dressed as the bad guy from The Karate Kid. 80s VILLAINS CONVERGE!

Meanwhile, Will’s older brother, a so-called purveyor of good musical taste, thinks this chick CLEARLY DRESSED AS SIOUXIE SIOUX is a member of KISS! BLASPHEME! YOU ARE DEAD TO US, JONATHAN!

Oh and Steve and Nancy OBVIOUSLY had a couple’s costume, and one of the most confusing ones EVER. It was confirmed to me later that they were Tom Cruise and Rebecca De Mornay from Risky Business (and not Johnny and June Carter Cash as I had suspected)…but if that is true this costume is AN EPIC FAILURE. Why isn’t Steve just wearing a white shirt and no pants? Why is Nancy’s hair all bouffanted out like June Carter Cash? WHY ISN’T SHE WEARING A BLONDE WIG?!?! WIG FAILURE x100000000. BOO ON YOUR HORRIBLE ATTEMPT AT A POP CULTURAL HALLOWEEN PARTY, DUFFER BROTHERS! THE DEMOGORGON IS IN THE DETAILS! BOO ON YOU!

CHAPTER THREE: THE POLLYWOG

Dustin found a new friend in a trashcan (where all the best friends come from!) and quickly decided that he has discovered a new species which DEFINITELY WON’T MESS ANYTHING UP. Kids, amiright?

Meanwhile, it should be mentioned that Dustin’s mom is played by Netflix MVP Catherine Curtain (our favorite former guard from OITNB). This lady loves cats as much as I do and knows her way around a good Midwest mom wig. Amen.

This episode also gives us some flashbacks to explain how Elle came to live with Hopper. And we get some flashback wigs! As with all men’s wigs, this one sucks. The texture is a nightmare and the back flips up with little assist from this shearling coat.

Elle is definitely getting cabin fever and busts out to see Mike, which she does in the very 5 minutes he happens to be talking to Max (isn’t it always the way?) then totally makes Max ruin her ollie in a jealous rage and hightails it out of there. We’ve all been there, gurl.

Speaking of Max, her awful brother Billy makes some mention of her not actually being his sister . Oh god. HES NOT HER DAD, RIGHT? UGH. Also he continues his reign as a new sweaty bohunk always as he plays mullet basketball with Steve (and of COURSE he’s ‘skins’ not shirts. UGH). Also if you’re gonna be an 80s villain, I guess you should be a pro-sports 80′s villain, right? The demogorgon is in the details (I have a quota to say this once during every episode recap).

Meanwhile, through the power of 80s home video consumerism, Winona Ryder and her slightly better season 2 wig realize that Will’s effed up Upside Down visions might be for reals (thanks, wax paper!) Oh, and thanks for the terrible advice to stand up to demogorgons, RUDY REUTIGGER.

CHAPTER FOUR: WILL THE WISE

Whilst trying to stand his ground against demogorgons, Will gets possessed by one (again, way to go, RUDY!) Winona Ryder’s season 2 wig got a wurqout trying to figure out what the eff is going on with suddenly coldblooded Will and his effed up vine illustrations.

Meanwhile, Nancy and her Jennifer Grey minus the body perm and Jonathan who apparently listens to the Clash (ugh) have staged a stakeout in the most effed up public park ever and it totally worked - bitches got hauled away to Hawkins Labs immediately! There, they totally got Paul Reiser on TAPE saying some shady shit. Side note: is this show just a big commercial for RadioShack?

Back at the high school, apparently the only class is SKINS VS SHIRTS and Billy is king! His horrible mullet wig got a shower which did nothing for it but did lead to some pretty fabulous homoerotic dialogue. Ooh la la. As always, the demogorgon’s in the details.

Billy’s dried off coif looks HORRIBLE IN BACKLIGHTING - major 80s hair fail. This wig blows. Also, NICE CANADIAN TUXEDO.

Oh and Billy is a complete racist who likes to control everything his sister (?) does. Continuing in the long tradition of 80s villains who are just evil for the sake of being evil, Billy joins their lexicon. What are his motivations? WHO KNOWS?! HE’S JUST LIVIN TO BE AN ASSHOLE. Similarly, I would totally approve of this dude playing the James Spader role in a remake of Pretty in Pink. ALSO I TAKE IT BACK: NEVER REMAKE PRETTY IN PINK, PLEASE.

In the end, Elle finds the secret file about her actual family and teleports to see her mama (SOBBING). And, as predicted, that pollywog Dustin found turns out to be a mini demogorgon who eats his cat. (DOUBLE SOBBING). I know y’all are still mourning Barb, but the death of Mews the cat might be the worst thing to ever happen on this show. RIP.

CHAPTER FIVE: DIG DUG

After Mew the cat’s tragic demise (known only to Dustin at this point), his mom continues her frenzied search for her beloved feline and her wig is as frazzled as she is. Still, Dustin’s mom is officially my favorite mom on this show not only because of her kitty love, but because she has a damn Mondale/Ferraro sign in her front lawn (and is apparently the only Hawkins resident not voting for Reagan). The demogorgon is as always in the details. #GeraldineFerraro4Ever

Speaking of demogorgons, note to self: don’t go investigating them in a creepy vine/tunnel by yourself because you’ll probably end up being trapped there alone.

Great work, Hooper.

Luckily Will’s art therapy home installation is about to get the cartographical analysis it needs from Rudy Reuttiger who is back in our good graces after his abysmally bad demogorgon advice.

Winona’s season 2 wig remains shook but hopeful.

There remains to be no hope for Billy’s mullet wig, which took a brief break from skins vs shirts to drive his sister (?) to the arcade where Lucas gave her the 411 on Hawkins’ demogorgon problem.

Speaking of truth quests, Nancy and her no-body perm is on one with the help of Jonathan and apparently their little road trip is so long that they had to spend the night in a hotel for the sole purpose of having this awkward “we’re not gonna do it” scene. Just drive through the night! You’re teenagers!

Speaking of road trips, Elle found her mama! Buuut her mama remains to be a catatonic shell of her former self as does her hair.

I guess if you’re catatonic, hair is the least of your problems, but this coif definitely needs some self-care.

We do get some flashback wig action, and apparently even after having her child stolen away during a Twilight Sleep delivery, Terry Ives was looking pretty fierce in the 70s!

Her sister, Becky, has a much bigger perm than last season and also a much bigger creepy factor. She doesn’t really question Elle’s sudden appearance or the faulty electrical work in her house, or Elle’s Poltergeist TV static communication skills. Maybe she’s just super trusting…or there is a Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? scenario afoot…

CHAPTER SIX : THE SPY

Good news: with the help of Rudy Reuttiger, Hopper got saved from the demogorgon tunnel! Bad news: Will is still possessed/his insides are burning/he has selective memory loss/he might be dying imminently. And Winona’s season 2 wig is PISSED ABOUT IT. She goes into full on Shirley MacLaine in Terms of Endearment mode and demands Hawkins Labs fix her son. Hey, you break it, you buy it.

Meanwhile, Nancy and Jonathan’s super unsexy roadtrip suddenly gets sexy with the help of….a rando crazy wall journalist, and ton of underage vodka drinking, and a bunker with a french-doored guest room. Beyond the inappropriateness of serving copious amounts of booze to teenagers, this creep/amateur Francis Ford Coppola impersonator also fully pimps out his pad for late-night teenage sexcapades. And the following morning has the nerve to ask Jonathan “how was the pull-out?” THIS LINE IS OFFICIALLY THE WORST THING TO HAPPEN ON THE SHOW. YUCK.

Meanwhile, Dustin has gone code red with the disappearance of his now huge pet demogorgon and the only person at his disposal to help is: Steve?!?! Sure. This is bromance is actually the perfect antidote to any Nancy/Jonathan romance grossness. Not only should these guys be bffff, but Steve shares his hair secrets with Dustin and they include Farrah Fawcett hairspray. The demogorgon is always in the details and this one is pure happiness. Never change, you guys and #TeamSteve ALL THE WAY.

Lucas finally gets the code red message and hightails it over to Max’s house for help. Max’s house is basically an extended weight gym for Billy who is pumping iron while blasting Ratt with no adult supervision in sight. ALL 80S VILLIAN STEREOTYPES CONVERGE. Also Billy’s mullet wig is getting sweatier and curlier by the episode but not any better as a wig. However, this week we get a glimpse of one dangly earring which confirms his homage to Billy in St. Elmo’s Fire. We still need for him to wail on a saxophone and make jokes about Mare Winningham’s underwear for the homage to be complete, however. Oh also, Max’s big family secret is: her parents are divorced! DUN DUN DUN.

Anyway, back at the old junkyard, Dustin, Steve, Max and Lucas spread around a ton of raw meat and gasoline and wait and see what happens (WHAT A PLAN!) Steve, the most popular guy in high school until that sweaty bohunk Billy showed up, seems unfazed by hanging out with two nerdy middle school guys and a “random girl” but does get a little too cocky when he breaks out of the bus to confront the demogorgons hisself. Also I’m pretty sure the Duffer Bros are trying to turn Steve into Michael J. Fox this season because he’s definitely wearing the same Nike shoes he does in Back to the Future and also OF COURSE THEY ARE. Also between Steve’s nail bat and Negan’s barbed wire bat on The Walking Dead, baseball is officially dead to me.

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE LOST SISTER

Our girl Elle who is now going by her birth name, Jane, explains to her weird Aunt Becky what she saw in her Poltergeist shapeshift into her mama’s subconscious and while weird Aunt Becky finally decides to call someone about the rando tween that showed up at her house, Elle/Jane stole some dough and booked it out of there in search of her “sister”, another stolen girl who was experimented on at Hawkins Lab. Cue your least favorite Bon Jovi song and some POV shots of Chicago at night and suddenly we’re in every 80s teen movie ever shot in a city (the city was always Chicago).

Just beyond that building from Adventures in Babysitting and some trashcan fires (the demogorgon is always in the details) she is reunited with her “sister” Kali who you might remember from Chapter One of this season and her gang of misfit PUNKS!!!!!!!!

Basically these randos are every stereotypical punk who was featured in 5 seconds-50 minutes of any 80s teen movie. White chick with a pseudo Cyndi Lauper ‘do, oversized bow and faux prep school look: CHECK! Kinda angry black chick still rockin’ a power ‘fro and 70s military duds: CHECK! Super angry white dude with an x-treme dyed mohawk, face piercings, dog collar, and a switchblade: CHECK! Looks angry black dude in black bomber coat described as a “teddy bear”: CHECK! Ethnic chick with tons of black eyeliner, asymmetrical half-shaved hair wearing an oversized coat, combat boots and fingerless gloves: CHECKCHECKCHECK! This is a perfect assemblage of PUNKS that would fit in perfectly at the most 80s punk party EVER. The Duffers outdid themselves here. As for wig quality? I mean….it’s about as good as the hair in that punk party link so I’ll give it an amen.

But what is the deal with these PUNKS anyway? Turns out that they’re not just stealin’ stuff to buy hair products and living in a cool warehouse that could easily double for the digs on any season of Real World. Led by Kali, they track down and murder former employees of Hawkins Lab (and also steal stuff - hair products ARE VERY EXPENSIVE!) Kali helps Elle/Jane tap into her rage so that she can move stuff and whatever. Here, Elle/Jane totally moved a big train for no reason! Way to go?

Most importantly, these PUNKS give Elle/Jane a PUNK MAKEOVER! Thanks to a gallon of black eyeliner and hair gel, a pop-collared oversized coat, french-cuffed jeans and white kicks, she magically transforms into Dave Vanian (lead singer for The Damned duh!) While she could easily use her newfound LEWK to front a cool band, she instead leads the PUNKS to one of the former labworker’s houses.

There, the sisters in their cool duds debate whether to let this dude live or die (Elle/Jane says nope after discovering the dude has some kids). And honestly, maybe y’all should just…go start a band instead? In the end, the cops bust in on the PUNKS’ digs and Elle/Jane buses it back to Hawkins.

The internet super hated this episode for a number of reasons: it’s pointless, it feels like one of those episodes where a popular show tries to incubate a spin-off of new characters (never to be seen again!), Elle/Jane is helped by her cool ethnic sister only to leave her behind, thus fulfilling the “magical negro” trope, her sister also helps her tap into her anger to better fuel her skills only to abandon them when it counts so all in all…it’s pointless. These are all valid points and I get it but I still liked this episode because any opportunity to enjoy silly 80s PUNK stereotypes is an hour well lived.

EPISODE EIGHT: THE MIND FLAYER

Back in Hawkins, the lab is undergoing a teeny weeny bit of trouble ever since Will’s shadow monster tricked everyone into letting all the demogorgons loose and basically everyone is maybe about to die. Winona Ryder’s season 2 wig is NOT ABOUT TO LET THAT HAPPEN so just like FIGURE IT OUT, PAUL REISER.

Paul Reiser does NOT really figure it out but Rudy Reuttiger is ON IT because he knows basic (in the computer sense that is). Pretty soon Rudy is realizing that admitting you know basic is like admitting you can type - DON’T DO IT OR YOU WILL PROBABLY BE KILLED BY A DEMOGORGON.

Bob is absolutely killed by a demogorgon (after saving everyone!), thus fulfilling the internet’s need for Bob to be the new Barb. #RipBob #RipBarb

Meanwhile, everyone’s least favorite skins vs shirts player, Billy, is gettin’ hisself ready for a hot date (who is the lucky lady????) He sprays some random hairspray on this disgusting mullet (definitely NOT Farrah Fawcett hairspray), sprays some cologne down his pants and he’s READY! This dude’s wig looks worse every single time I see it but I do have to throw some respect this character’s way for having a TANK poster in his room (the demogorgon is always in the details). Also why does every room in this house have a fireplace?

No time for questions! Billy’s dad is home and he is every 80s villain dad combined - an abusive, violent, terribly mustachioed monster. And now we get it! Villains beget villains; violence is learned at home. It’s all a cycle. Demogorgons, please kill this dude first.

Back at home, Winona Ryder’s season 2 wig is an EFFING MESS and so is she. Shadow monster, get out of Will already!

The only solution seems to be making a hostage barn for Will’s Shadow Monster and we learn two important things: interrogation lighting makes Will’s bowl cut look shiny and lustrous and also Will knows morse code! CLOSE THE GATE, Y’ALL!

WHO ON EARTH CAN CLOSE THE GATE?!?!?!

Oh, right: Elle/Jane. Duh.

CHAPTER NINE: THE GATE

Elle/Jane’s sudden appearance RIGHT AT THE PERFECT MOMENT leads to a bunch of mushy reunion hugs, all of which are delivered while Elle/Jane still has a bloody nose. If you really loved her, GIVE HER A DAMN TISSUE! Anyway, after everyone has a lot of FEELINGS, a plan is made: Elle/Jane and Hooper will go to the lab to close the gate and Winona Ryder’s season 2 wig will take Will and Jonathan to Hooper’s cabin to break Will’s Shadow Monster virus with all of the heat necessary. Sounds legit!

Steve, our new favorite character and sudden nice guy apologizes to Nancy and her new curly up-do for abandoning her drunken ass at the Halloween party and tells her to go to Hooper’s cabin with Jonathan. If this means more time for Steve and Dustin’s bromance, so be it!

Meanwhile, Nancy’s mom is taking some time out of her busy schedule of allowing her kids to disappear for days on end while she daydrinks white wine to have some ME TIME in a bubble bath reading a romance novel. Calgon, take me away! This up-do is even better than Nancy’s and the best Nancy’s mom’s wig has ever looked. Sadly, someone has the audacity to ring her doorbell just as she’s truly weewaxing and her good-for-nothing husband is out-cold sleeping in the study! UGH. WHO ON EARTH COULD BE AT THE DOOR?!

OOH-LA-LA! Don’t you love it when you’re reading about an oily bohunk and then one just shows up? And uses the dumbest line ever and asks if you’re Nancy’s sister, not mom?

I think Nancy’s mom got her groove back! Does this mean she’ll finally abandon her Reagan supporting, constantly napping older husband? Only time will tell but girl, your wig looks GOOD.

Thanks for the cookie, Nancy’s mom. Billy’s mullet still looks TERRIBLE.

Billy’s mullet then hightails it over to the Byers residence where he and Steve have a skins vs shirts rematch battle thus ensuring that Winona Ryder’s house is completely trashed at least once every season of this show. Steve puts up an admirable fight but he’s no match for Billy’s violent assholery. Also way to go doing nothing: Mike, Lucas and Dustin! The only one able to stop Billy is his sister (?) Max who sedates him with some of Will’s conveniently accessible sedatives and then threatens him with Steve’s nail bat. Max is the new Negan! All hail! Also Billy’s character never amounted to ANYTHING and we never got to see him wail on a sax so: missed opportunities all around.

Over at Hopper’s cabin, Winona’s season 2 wig is getting all kinds of swampy in the sweat lodge they’ve created to exorcise the shadow monster out of Will. What a MESS.

Meanwhile, Steve comes to in Billy’s car which is being driven by Max (and yes, we see the Indiana Jones reference, Duffer Bros!) and despite probably having a concussion from being wailed on by Billy, goes into the demogorgon vine tunnel to burn out some demodogs. This is where Stranger Things achieves peak Goonies status.

Anyway, back at Hawkins Lab, Paul Reiser is totally still alive (yay?) and Elle/Jane is able to harness her anger just like her sister helped her to do and close the damn gate. Now will someone PLEASE GET HER A TISSUE?!

A month later, it’s Christmastime (because just like now, the 80s skips straight from Halloween to Christmas). Everyone is doing GREAT YOU GUYS. Dustin’s mom got a new cat (Mews 2.0) and he got hisself some Farrah Fawcett hairspray! Can this show actually bring back this product? I feel like it has the power to do so.

Anyway, the hairspray of hairgod Steve transforms Dustin into THIS! YES! I have no idea why Steve drives Dustin to the Snow Ball but logic went out the window years ago with this show. I guess they just still have a bromance, which does warm my heart and #TeamSteve always.

Anyway, inside the Snow Ball, Lucas successfully dances with Max, who is wearing a striped velour shirt and burnt sienna corduroy PANTS to a semi-formal - ok gurl you officially won me over. Also some rando girl asks Will to dance and even though she calls him zombie boy, it’s nice.

Sadly, no one wants to dance with Dustin and his duckie shoes (officially best 80s movie reference - the demogorgon is always in the details). Dustin 4Ever and all you Hawkins Middle School girls can fall into the upside down for not wanting to dance with him!

Luckily, Nancy is inexplicably chaperoning the dance and comes to Dustin’s rescue. Her up-do HAS NEVER LOOKED BETTER! Her no-body perm FINALLY GETS BODY! HALLELUJ! Also just look at the meeting of these two hairdos. Magic.

In the end, Jane (who is officially Jane now because Paul Reiser gave Hooper some official birth certificates about it - vegetable mom be damned!) shows up to dance with Mike because OF COURSE SHE DOES. Her hair is sort of a gelled down combo of curly and sleek and...ok? All these Snow Ball hair lewks are wigless anyway since no one wants Billy’s mullet to chaperone anything. And it is because of this awful mullet and Winona’s season 2 wig that I have to say.....

VERDICT: DOESN’T WURQ

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mintypothos · 8 years

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Convince Me

@raythrill @hubris-but-no-writing @holdthesewords remember this post?

Here’s half of a fic because why not

It started off as a simple thought.

Burr frequently allowed himself to be dragged to their various gatherings. For a long time, Lafayette wondered why Burr bothered to come, or why Alexander kept inviting him. Hercules was with Lafayette in their confusion, but didn't care either way, personally. Laurens was actually on Alexander's side, and not just because he liked backing Alexander up.

“Hey, shut up!” Laurens hissed once, when Lafayette voiced their objections, forgetting Burr was still there- and what? He was as quiet as a mouse! “Don't be an asshole when you don't even know him, man. Aaron's actually a cool guy.”

With Laurens apparently glowing endorsement, Lafayette knew they had to investigate. They started by trying to draw Burr into a conversation.

“Ah, Aaron Burr! You look lonely!” The teasing was uninspired and almost automatic, so it wasn't entirely surprising when Burr looked in their direction with a raised brow, but failed to react to the taunt. “Tell me, are you a cat or dog person? We need a tiebreaker.” Technically, they did, since Laurens and Alexander were arguing dogs, and Hercules with Lafayette were arguing cats. In reality, Lafayette liked both about the same amount, but making the tie was a good excuse to pull Burr in.

Burr took a long moment to reply, as if something important depended on his answer. “I like both equally,” he said smoothly. Lafayette's nose practically wrinkled at the bland, nothing answer. Why couldn't Burr say what he really thought?

“Man, people weren't kidding when they said you had no opinions.” Hercules laughed.

Lafayette could have sworn a tiny frown flashed across Burr's face, but maybe they'd been looking too closely. “That really depends on what 'people' have been talking about me.”

“You are the worst, Burr.” Lafayette drawled at the plain answer. Something curious wiggled in them, though. Lafayette wondered what Burr's actual opinions were.

When Lafayette was curious about a person, they flirted. It was their thing. First, it was an easy way to out transphobes, but second, it was plain fun. Lafayette liked getting under people's skin and enjoyed the ego boost of causing someone to flush or stutter.

Which was why, when Lafayette decided to try flirting with Burr, they were surprised and a little bit bothered to find failure.

“Hey, Burr, how has your day been?” Lafayette winked and flashed a flirtatious smile. With most people, it would be the lamest trick in the book, but Lafayette was confident and charming and had a winning smile, they knew it worked coming from them.

Burr blinked and returned a customer-service smile, boring and fake. “It's been alright. Yours?” Lafayette rolled with it, because not everyone reacted the same, and really, Burr was probably also wondering why they just started talking to him.

But after a few weeks of light probing, there was still nothing. Fluttering their eyelashes in a certain way usually caught anyone's attention for at least a moment, but Burr's expression never wavered. Just polite, clean small talk all around.

It became something of a challenge. Lafayette didn't mind, challenges were fun.

“Laf, why are you going after Aaron?” Alexander accused one night, when it was just them alone. One couldn't expect five people to always have matching schedules, after all- especially when Laurens and Hercules were in school.

“I'm curious, are you not? He is always hanging around, but never sharing anything of himself.”

Alexander huffed, a surprised, amused sound. “So you just want to know what he stands for? I guess I can't complain, it used to really bother me when we first met.”

“Yes, it constantly confuses me why you continue to like Burr,” Lafayette shot Alexander a teasing look. “Unless you just enjoy having someone nearby who will never contradict your arguments? You do like winning unopposed.”

Instead of snapping back or even scowling, Alexander broke into laughter. “Are you kidding me? Aaron doesn't let me get away with shit. He's almost as good a debater as I am, even if he plays full defense far too often.”

“You're lying.” Lafayette blurted, surprised. At Alexander's raised brows, they were forced to consider the point. “This is Burr you're talking about? Mr. Aaron Never-shares-his-opinion Burr? Little Burr who would rather talk charming circles around a point than ever actually get to it?”

Alexander snorted. “You think he's charming?” He held up a hand before Lafayette could object, “And yes. That Burr. He actually has plenty of opinions, when you get to know him. John likes him too, and even Hercules is warming up to him.”

“Hercules warms up to everybody,” Lafayette pointed out. “Liking everyone is his thing. And Laurens likes Burr because you do.”

Alexander shook his head. “Dude. How about you actually just talk to him, instead of whatever you're trying to accomplish. Aaron's not awful, I promise.”

'Not awful' was far from high praise. But it did come from Alexander, the man frequently incapable of polite social interaction. Lafayette vowed to give it a try.

The problem was, 'actually just talking' to Burr posed a dilemma. On the one hand, it gave Lafayette more chances to put his flirt on and make a real effort, while simultaneously actually listening to Burr instead of looking for reactions.

On the other hand, Burr was an interesting person, under all the blandness. He was also completely immune to Lafayette's efforts.

“You should come over,” Lafayette encouraged, when Burr once again refused the Sunday dinner they hosted. “It's not even just Alexander, Herc, and Laurens. The Schuylers and Thomas and James come, also.” Lafayette knew Burr was friendly with those last two by now, not that he ever mentioned them. “It would mean a lot to me if you came,” Lafayette leaned into Burr's personal space. Nothing.

“Do you really want to know why I don't like going to dinners?” Burr shared a soft quirk of a smile, just a tad self deprecating. It was a sign Lafayette was beginning to recognize as Burr preparing to be honest. Maybe it wasn't nothing. Lafayette nodded quickly for him to continue.

Burr shifted, looking around like someone could be listening in. Alexander was occupied by Laurens, deep into some animated conversation, and Hercules was off on some clothing-related subject with Peggy. Peggy didn't usually have the time to hang out with the group, and was actually as into fashion design as Hercules, so Lafayette couldn't exactly blame him.

“I have misophonia.” Burr said in a hushed, but not quite whispering voice. It was not what Lafayette expected. At their blank look, Burr pushed forward. “It's okay if you haven't heard of it. Basically I get a strong reaction when I hear certain sounds, like eating noises. It makes dinners with people hell, unless I can distract myself well enough.”

“I know what misophonia is,” Lafayette answers, too surprised to even make a joke. “Alexander never said anything.” Alexander was terrible at keeping such things quiet.

Burr nodded, understanding the statement for what it was. “I never told him. Or anyone, really.”

This gave Lafayette pause. Burr was clearly in a deeper friendship with Alexander than he was with them. “Why are you telling me this?” It made no sense. Something small and warm brushed their heart, touched at being confided in. Lafayette wasn't usually the friend people vented to- that was Hercules if one wanted comfort, Alexander if one wanted someone to be angry with. Lafayette was the fun friend, the friend one went to when they wanted to forget things, not confide about them.

“Well, you said it would mean a lot to you,” Burr shrugged, but there was something warm in his eyes. Lafayette felt butterflies. “Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually want everyone to think I'm heartless.” A few weeks ago, Lafayette would have, and probably did, make jokes about just that. But here and now, they were drowning in the definitive proof that Burr was anything but heartless.

There was a beat, Burr's expression turning confused, before Lafayette realized they needed to respond. “You should come anyways,” Lafayette said impulsively, when they couldn't think of anything else to respond with. “I promise to be plenty distracting,” they hastily tacked on, with a confident smirk that belied the sudden fluttering in their chest.

Burr's eyes widened a bit, before his lips tipped into a genuinely amused smile and then, wonder of wonders, a tiny but real chuckle. “It doesn't work that way. You said you knew how it worked.” Burr wasn't even trying to be playful; Lafayette had seen his 'charm' before. This right here was all natural, and maybe that's why Lafayette felt like they were floating.

“It was worth a shot,” If Lafayette's laugh was a bit too quick or a bit too high, Burr didn't notice. “But really, everyone talks the whole way through, loudly too. If that's not enough, I could play some music.” Most of Lafayette's initial motivation in inviting Burr had been to pick his brain. They weren't sure when it became more about actually wanting to spend time with Burr.

This earned a happy little grin, the expression reaching Burr's eyes with a friendly glint. “You don't need to go out of your way for me. Your dinners sound like enough trouble as it is.”

“It's not trouble!” Lafayette almost rushed to respond. “How about, if you come, you're allowed to throw a shoe at anyone who tries chewing with their mouth open?”

Burr chuckled again. The sound was very nice. Lafayette wished to hear more of it. “Only if that privilege extends indefinitely. Alexander loves to talk while he eats, I literally can not be in the same room as him like that.” Burr leaned forward with that statement, actually entering Lafayette's space in an attempt to be conspiratorial.

“It's a deal.” Lafayette was gone.

Burr did show up at the dinner, and Lafayette did make sure music was on, even though everyone kept asking them why. When Alexander tried launching into a story with a mouth full of food, Lafayette called him out. Everyone gave them a bewildered look, except for Burr, who gifted them a soft smile. Already, that made it worthwhile.

Flirting still didn't work, even now that it was as much about actually getting closer to Burr as it was about the challenge of it all. Eventually, Lafayette had to call for backup.

“He's not straight, is he?” Lafayette whined to Laurens, busy studying for his med school classes. The sight reminded them of how nice it was to not be in school anymore.

Laurens only raised an eyebrow, flipping a few pages of his textbook. “He's bi. You can't tell?”

Lafayette loosed a long, breathy groan. “I don't know anymore, he hardly responds at all, and I know he's single. Straight people are the only single people I can't even pull a bit.” Even that wasn't exactly true, they were occasionally approached by straight women thanks to their slightly more masculine gender expression, but a mention of pronouns usually sent them packing.

Laurens made a long, considering hum. “And this actually bothers you? I thought you were just flirting to get under his skin. Also, you're succeeding more than you think you are.”

“At first, but I don't know, Burr's actually...” Lafayette stopped. “Wait, what do you mean, I'm succeeding?”

Laurens actually closed his textbook, smirking at Lafayette like he knew something. “Why do you want to know?”

Lafayette huffed, crossing their arms. “Don't try to be coy, Laurens. It doesn't suit you.”

“Fine. Aaron thinks you're cute.”

Laurens already had Lafayette's focus, but with that, they were riveted. “He does?” Then, realizing the sentence, “Hey, I'm not cute, I'm elegant.”

Laurens snorted, and then snickered, and then full out laughed. “Laf, you've got a crush!”

“Crush sounds so juvenile.” Lafayette sniffed. It wasn't worth denying. “How do you know, anyways?”

“He doesn't complain at your little nicknames. 'Our Burr', 'little Burr', and all that. He nearly kicked Alex in the face, the last time he tried to call him 'little'.”

Maybe crush was the right word, because it was also very juvenile how that statement made Lafayette's heart float. “Well, in that case,” Lafayette said, their words soft and airy like the feeling in their head. “I'm definitely getting at least one date.”

That caused another snort. “A little ambitious, there.”

“What?” Lafayette's forehead creased. “You just said-”

“I said he thinks your cute. He still doesn't know you're flirting with him. I'm pretty sure half of the time, Aaron's convinced you're trying to make fun of him.”

Lafayette's mood dropped. “I'll tell him, then.”

Laurens shrugged. “If you can. When's the last time you actually, genuinely asked someone out? You always just ramp the flirt up until they ask.”

Damn. Laurens was right. “It can't be that hard.” Lafayette wasn't a shy person, after all.

“Oh, you have much to learn.” Laurens gave Lafayette a condescending pat on the head, somewhat ruined by the fact that he had to stretch to reach.

“Okay, you know what,” Lafayette, frustrated and a little bit egged on by the obvious challenge, made a mistake. “I bet you 50$ I can get a date with Burr by the end of the week.”

It was an easy bet- It was early in the week, Lafayette was good at dating, good at charming despite the recent difficulties, and now they knew for sure Burr was interested. “You're on,” Laurens took it anyways.

The next day, Hercules and Alexander and even Peggy immediately added their stakes to the bet. Peggy was on their side, bless her, and everyone else against.

The stakes only made Lafayette more determined, but they should have realized it was a terrible idea.

Aaron Burr was in a conundrum. He often was, but this one was considerably worse than the usual fare.

Lafayette happily existed in an entirely different world from Aaron, despite them often being in the same social space. It was clear that Lafayette was both mystified and vaguely disapproving of Aaron's presence, they never tried to hide it. Aaron was fine with that. Despite what everyone said, Aaron knew he couldn't please everyone, and was perfectly content to stay distantly polite as long as Lafayette wasn't actively mean about it- which they never were.

But then, Lafayette started talking to Aaron. First, with a few words, a half assed invitation to debate. Then it became more, and more, until Lafayette started seeking Aaron out first, before their friends.

It shouldn't have been a problem at all, never mind a conundrum. Except for the fact that Lafayette was very beautiful, and actually very interesting to talk to. Once one got past their constant teasing and dramatic flair, they were every facet of Aaron's stereotypical romantic fantasy. Tall, dashing, with great hair and sparkling, smiling eyes. Whip-smart, but not academics obsessed. Outgoing enough to pull Aaron into conversations a bit outside his usual comfort zone, but attentive enough to back off when Aaron needed. They were also funny, very positive, and wasn't put off even by Aaron's driest remarks.

“But there's no way they'd be interested,” Aaron sighed over the face-to-face messenger. Maria laughed from the other end. “Can you stop enjoying my pain?”

“Not until you stop being terrible at everything.” Aaron rolled his eyes fondly at the comment. Aaron's frequent social mishaps were a common thread between them. “Why do you think they aren't interested? You said they talk to you a lot?”

Aaron considered the question. “They're one of those popular, confident types. I'm pretty sure Lafayette has never once been hesitant about the people they're into. I figure if they were interested, they'd have done something by now.”

Maria hummed. “And what if they have done something, but you're too dense to figure it out?”

“Don't be ridiculous, I'm not an idiot.”

The resulting laugh came out somewhat static-y from Maria's low quality mic, but the light derision was still obvious. “Do you not remember when we were kids and I thought I was straight?”

The memory was very old, but still somehow very clear. “Shut up!” Aaron huffed. “You promised never to talk about that.” Given that it was Maria who had been trying to express her mistaken crush, and gotten considerably more desperate, she should have been the embarrassed one, not Aaron. Unfortunately, Maria was one of those few people completely capable of reviewing past embarrassing memories with no shame. “Also, I was a lot younger then, so that's not even applicable.”

“Aaron, honey, you haven't changed that much.”

“Oh, shut up.” Aaron shot back again. “You're no help.”

That was a lie, Maria was always a lot of help, even if it never seemed that way at the time. Judging by her smug smile, Maria knew this as well. “Look, I'll put it simply, for you. Would you want to smooch them?”

“What?”

“Answer the question!”

“Okay, maybe. Yes.” Aaron averted his eyes. “You're being childish.”

“Shut up,” Maria returned Aaron's words. “ I'm not even going to tell you to ask them out, since I know you'll never work up the guts,” Aaron didn't respond- she was right on that. “How about this, if they ask you out, would you say yes?”

“What is this, highschool?” Aaron sniped, and then relented under Maria's glare. “I don't think it will happen, and if it did happen it would probably be as a joke, but if they seriously asked, then yes.”

“Well then, there you go. You've decided what you're going to do, crisis averted.”

The crisis didn't feel averted at all, but Aaron let it go. There were other, less confusing subjects to talk about.

The talk with Maria did actually help. Aaron was able to relax a bit, enjoying his conversations with Lafayette, and occasionally even instigating himself. Even when he did occasionally say something awkward, something that slipped through his usually perfect mental filter, it felt okay. He was getting comfortable around Lafayette.

Until, Lafayette started acting weird. More weird than usual. They greeted Aaron, but jumped when he responded. They started talking about unusual topics, like favourite restaurants, fun places nearby, or activities they both enjoyed. And while Lafayette would share their own thoughts, they kept pressing back to Aaron's opinions, and what he liked. It sounded almost like they were scoping out date ideas, but there was no way. If that was what Lafayette wanted to do, surely they would have a more graceful way to do it.

“Are you okay?” Aaron finally snapped, when Lafayette refused to meet Aaron's eyes after asking him some strange question about food preference.

Lafayette was visibly taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Aaron bit back a dry response that wouldn't help the situation. “You're acting strange, this past week.”

Lafayette opened their mouth, denial on their lips clear as day, but then froze, and wilted. “So even you've noticed now. I'm a mess.”

It was Aaron's turn to be taken aback. “You've never been anything less than fully put together from the day I met you,” Aaron admitted. “But if you're going to tell me what's up, I'm not complaining.”

“You think I'm put together?” Their recovery was quick enough to cause whiplash. “Why Burr, I had no idea you thought so highly of me.” Their smirk was wide and mischievous. And Aaron knew it was full of shit.

“Let me rephrase. If you don't tell me what's up, I am complaining.” Aaron put his hands on his hips. Lafayette pouted. Burr held steady, even if the sight was cuter than it had any right to be, coming from a grown person who was a full head taller than him

They stared at each other, until Lafayette crumbled, glancing away. Aaron allowed a tiny smile of victory. He could blankly out-stare anyone. Lafayette shifted their weight, clearly weighing their options.

“I have a question, but I don't think you want to hear it.” Lafayette finally admitted.

Aaron raised a brow. It was a strange thing to occupy someone, especially Lafayette. “Let me be the judge of that, then.”

“Okay,” Lafayette took a breath, crossing their arms over their chest defensively. “Do you want to go out sometime? Like to a dinner with ambiance, or a movie, or something?”

“What?” Aaron was baffled. “Who's all coming, and why would that bother me?”

Lafayette let out a long, frustrated sigh, scrunching their hair with one hand. “No one would be coming. I'm asking you out, Burr.”

“Oh.” Oh. Aaron considered the idea that Maria was right, about everything, all the time. “Like for real?”

“What do you mean, for real?” Lafayette's brows furrowed.

“Like, if you're joking right now, I will kick you in the shins.” Aaron said blankly, still in shock from the revelation.

It took Lafayette a moment, but then they almost jumped forward. “No, oh my god, it's not a joke! I wouldn't do that!” Lafayette looked honest, and for a moment Aaron's heart skipped.

“Are... you sure?” Aaron finally asked, when it was clear he should be responding.

Lafayette huffed, sharp and loud and almost a laugh but not quite. “Stop torturing me Burr, please. I would like to take you out. Yes or no?”

“Um,” Aaron stalled, trying to process past his surprise. “Okay.”

It wasn't particularly smooth, for either of them. But it didn't need to be.

The actual date wasn't anything fancy, but Aaron was glad for it. Lafayette greeted him at the coffee shop with a chaste peck on each cheek, that they dramatically stooped down for. “It's custom in France, you know,” they said in way of explanation, eyes dancing in laughter.

“Um,” Aaron said, overwhelmed. Lafayette chuckled and laced a hand in his, gently towing him to the counter.

Aaron and Lafayette chatted, drank the whip cream from their fancy coffees, went for a scenic walk, and chatted some more. Aaron found himself smiling more than he had in a long time, since moving across the city for work. Lafayette even laughed in turn at Aaron's sarcastic comments. Real laughter too, not the light forced chuckles of a person trying to impress, something which Aaron had plenty of experience with. Most people tended to misunderstand Aaron's tone. It was nice.

Aaron kept Lafayette's warm grip in one hand, the half finished coffee in the other. The coffee of course was a lost cause when Aaron lurched over an uneven patch of sidewalk. The coffee went arcing through the air, Aaron not far behind- until Lafayette's hold wrenched him back, their other arm reaching up quickly to settle him.

“Are you alright, little Burr?” Aaron almost flushed between his clumsiness and the pet name. Then, he noticed his nice burgundy jacket was soaked in coffee, and Aaron did flush.

“I'm the worst,” Aaron groaned, vainly trying to wipe off what he could.

Lafayette giggled, light and pure and unguarded, opposite from the mocking notes Aaron half expected. “You are the worst, Burr,” They teased, easing their own jacket off and offering it to Aaron with a flourish. “But only because you tempt me into making the cheesiest of gestures.”

The jacket was going to be stupidly huge on him. And it was, in fact, an incredibly cheesy gesture, but the chill of wind against wet clothing was already starting to make him shiver. “You don't need my help for that, you're cheesy all on your own,” Aaron joked to distract from the red likely staining his cheeks. He shrugged Lafayette's very warm, very large jacket on, folding his own over one arm. As expected, the jacket nearly reached Aaron's knees.

Lafayette plucked Aaron's free hand again, leaning down towards him with a silly grin and crinkled eyes. “You look adorable. May I kiss you?”

“Only if you never call me adorable again,” Despite the words, Aaron leaned closer, caught up in the moment, cozy warm from both the coat and his own fast-beating heart.

“I make no such promise.” Lafayette leaned closer still. This close to their face, Aaron could see that he wasn't the only one affected. Aaron wondered how Lafayette ever managed to look smooth- they were actually a dork. A very charming dork.

Aaron took a rare moment of initiative, and leaned up. With Lafayette already in his space, he didn't need to reach very far to meet their lips. It was light, it was sweet, and it was short. But Aaron saw stars anyways.

The date came to a close, after that. Even if they pretended otherwise, Lafayette quickly became cold, New York winters being nothing to joke about. Still, they insisted Aaron wear their jacket for the trip home.

“You're being ridiculous,” Aaron complained.

“Ah, but am I?” Lafayette swung their joined hands. “If you have my jacket, then you must meet me to return it again. It is the perfect opening to request another date.” Lafayette stopped then, dropping his tone into something uncharacteristically nervous. “If you'd like?”

“What?” Aaron realized he spent far too much time being either confused or surprised. “You want another date? I just proved I'm a walking disaster.”

Lafayette gripped Aaron's hand tighter. “You're perfect!” They blurted, then considered their words. “I mean, if you really are a walking disaster, at least I get to rescue you.” Sheepishly, they scratched their neck.

Aaron's head spun. Obviously, he wasn't perfect. But to hear it come out so impulsively in his defense felt... nice. But Aaron knew he didn't want to make that decision, as high on giddy, puppy-love feelings as he was now.

“I'll get back to you?” To Lafayette's credit, they only drooped a bit at Aaron's uncertain words.

“Well, you do have to return my jacket.” Lafayette repeated. “Which you still look adorable in.”

“Don't call me adorable,” Aaron grinned through his own admonishment. It was a good night.

Aaron woke up happy. He bought himself fast-food breakfast and got to work on time, instead of his usual earliness. Everyone started giving him strange looks. Aaron wasn't surprised- he was on cloud nine, and though he wasn't the most expressive of people, it probably showed.

“Are you constipated?” Thomas rudely snapped when Aaron went to ask him for a document. Aaron hummed, ignoring him.

After work, he dropped by Laurens' place to help him colour code and organize his study notes, as previously promised- Aaron was a long time study expert, even if he had no clue about the subjects Laurens was taking.

“You seem happy.” Laurens commented, always blunt.

“Yeah,” Aaron sighed, pulling out the pink high-lighter. Laurens rolled his eyes with an exasperated puff, but let it be.

After a quick trip home and a nervous meal, Aaron knew it was time to return the jacket. Feeling silly, Aaron put it on once more. The cut was flattering on Lafayette, but made Aaron look almost childlike. It smelled like vanilla spice. Aaron laughed at his own absurdity and bundled the fabric up in a bag, shrugging his own, freshly cleaned jacket on.

Aaron considered texting first, but it was Monday evening, which meant Lafayette would be at Alexander's, likely also with Laurens and Hercules unless either of them had assignments due. It would be easier just to head over.

Aaron tried not to think about the likely teasing he would get, returning the jacket in front of their mutual friends. Alexander certainly wouldn't let it go without at least one lewd comment. The others would probably snicker or cajole and act like children in general.

The door was unlocked, and Aaron didn't bother knocking. That was his first mistake. The second mistake was being quiet enough in doing so that the loud conversation inside was not interrupted as he approached the kitchen.

“No one made you wager money, Alexander,” Lafayette's voice was smug and teasing. “Or any of you. I want to see those bills.”

“Oh come on, I don't just have 50$ in cash lying around!” Alexander complained. Aaron wondered what stupid bet Alexander lost this time. They all seemed to like the occasional wager, but Aaron always turned them down because betting was stupid. It wasn't surprising or even disappointing that no one invited him to get in on whatever it was.

Of course, Aaron's benign mood towards the bet went out the window when the subject revealed itself. “How was I supposed to know you'd actually convince Aaron to go on a date with you? You, of all people!”

“Yes, me of all peop-” Lafayette's voice cut off when Aaron dropped his bundle with a soft but audible thump against the ground. Everyone's face whipped immediately to the source of the noise. “Aaron..” Lafayette's voice was surprised, uncertain. They were holding an incriminating fistful of bills.

Aaron felt numb, and slightly dizzy. The high he was riding through the entire day crashed, compressing into a strange hollowness in his chest. “Enjoy your winnings,” He said, not sure if it was a whisper, a shout, or even his normal tone.

“Aaron, wait!” Lafayette scrambled to their feet, long limbs working against them. Aaron was already at the apartment door, nearly slamming it behind him. He took to the stairs at a firm speed-walk. Halfway down, the stairwell door banged open again, multiple voices now shouting for Aaron to stop, to wait, to listen. He walked faster, clearing the building and crossing the street before any of them could see where he was going.

Aaron wasn't interested in explanations. The truth stood out for itself well enough.

#fic #burrlaf #please suffer with me #if at least one person who reads this goes from #oh hey burrlaf sounds kinda cute #to yep i ship that shit now #i will have succeeded #nonbinary lafayette

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wineanddinosaur · 6 years

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Seven Power Couples of the Wine World — and How They Make It Work

Everybody loves a love story. This February, we’re celebrating some of the beverage industry’s coolest, most inspiring couples in a two-part series.

Here, we toast to the dynamic duos of the wine community. How do they make it work in a competitive field with long hours and late nights? From global tasting trips, to one-night stands that became work-and-life partnerships, these seven wine world power couples have careers that inspired romance — and vice versa.

Swati Bose and Kabir Amir

Co-Owners and Sommeliers, Flight Wine Bar. Washington, D.C.

Credit: Scott Buchmann

How they met:

Swati: “In the summer of 2002, my best friend Susan and I hosted a Fourth of July party in my apartment in Rosslyn in Virginia. We were known for throwing these fun parties. But this turned out to be the lamest party I had ever been to, much less hosted.”

Turns out, Swati’s friend Susan had run into a law school classmate on the train and invited him to attend. He brought three friends — including Kabir, an acquaintance he’d just met in the George Washington University dorms.

Swati: “Kabir showed up with a 6-pack of beer and he had drunk half of it on the way. I thought he had a huge attitude and wanted nothing to do with him. But Susan and Betsy thought he was great and loved him, as did a few of my friends that we saw later that night. And they invited him to hang out with us again the next night.

“That next night was wonderful. We chatted all night, and I had what I thought was a one-night stand with Kabir (I hope my parents aren’t reading this). The next morning, he asked my last name. And then he asked if I was seeing anyone. When I said no, he said, ‘Let’s have brunch.’ And 16 years later, here we are.”

Why it works:

Swati: “For us, it has been wonderful working together. Of course, running a business together and working on daily operations has its struggles. We have certainly had to learn how to do it peacefully, and we are still learning. But our passion for food, wine, and hospitality was a joint one. In creating Flight, we got to make that a reality. Every year, when we revise our wine list, we have an opportunity to work together to put together a list of our favorite winemakers, regions, and talk through what is getting us excited currently. Throughout the year, we also meet a few of these winemakers, and it takes us back to why and how we got here.”

Kabir: “Both of us have learned to get over things very quickly. We might disagree about something one minute but the next minute we can resume working together happily. This took us time to learn and practice. Or we might have a tough day at work but we can return home and snuggle up to watch TV and unwind. And this is crucial, so you don’t spend your days resentful and being mad at each other.

“Treating each day like a brand-new day in this industry is key so that we retain our energy and can feel passionate about our work.”

Victoria James and Lyle Railsback

Partner and Beverage Director at Cote, Sommelier, and Author; National Sales for Kermit Lynch Wine Merchant and Illustrator. New York

Credit: Gary He

How they met:

Victoria: “I first met Lyle when I was a sommelier at Marea. He works for Kermit Lynch Wine Merchant and was trying to sell us wine! We became acquaintances in the industry but were both dating other people. Later that year he asked me out to which I responded that I was dating someone else. He said, ‘No worries, invite him along!’”

Lyle told Victoria to treat it as a dinner party — she’d bring her date, and he’d invite others to come, too.

Victoria: “Then this happened (taken from Lyle’s wedding vows to me):

‘As luck would have it, you wrote the day before saying that you’d broken up and would be coming solo, which worked out for me as I’d been too busy traveling and hadn’t invited anyone else, so it would just be you and me for dinner…

…This first date was on a full moon, like tonight, but it’s hard to even think of this as a first date because for me the date hasn’t really ended yet, and it never will.’”

Why it works:

Victoria: “The industry is where we met. Had I not been a sommelier and wine buyer, and had he not been a wine salesman, we might not have crossed paths. For this, I will forever be grateful.

“Being able to share an industry with your spouse is really a blessing. We both understand one another’s insane and odd work schedule — I work from 10 a.m. to 1 a.m., Monday to Friday, and he travels weekly across the United States and overseas. He also has helped me understand the nuances of his side of the business, something not easily seen or understood by many sommeliers. Thanks to him, I now understand the way wines are imported, priced, taxed, the three-tier system, and how to negotiate the best pricing for our restaurant.

“On the flip side, I keep him abreast of what is trending, what guests are asking for, and what sommeliers are drinking. I help him explore wines from outside just his portfolio and give him a broader picture of the wine world.

“I am so grateful that we are in the same industry but on different sides. This allows us to each see a unique viewpoint and give the other valuable information. We have both built one another into strong, powerful buyers and salespersons in the business.”

Thomas Pastuszak and Jessica Brown

Executive Wine Director at The NoMad Hotel New York; Senior Analyst, Onboard Experience at JetBlue. New York

Credit: Andrew Frasz

How they met:

Thomas: “Jess and I had mutual friends when we were still living in Ithaca, N.Y. I was actually a bartender at the time, still intending on going to med school, and Jess was finishing a degree in fine arts photography (though also working in restaurants part-time), and she was a regular of mine. I thought she was way out of my league, so I sent many delicious cocktails her way to catch her eye, and we ended up hanging out with our larger group of friends before finally going on a date together.

“It was pretty instantaneous, and we both supported each other’s decisions to forgo the fields we were pursuing in order to focus on restaurants and wine. In fact, it was Jess who, while I was studying for my MCATs, said, ‘What if your passionate hobby or part-time job could be your livelihood?’… That really helped push me to go full-on in the world of hospitality.”

Why it works:

Thomas: “Both of us working in wine has been great, because it’s given us similar passions that we can align on and chat endlessly about. We have always tasted wine together (and usually love the same bottles, though not always!), and have traveled to wine regions together. We go out to restaurants as often as possible, and make friends in the restaurant and wine community that have become our family… Our professional relationship and close friendships in the business have melded together in an amazing way.”

Thomas and Jessica now have two small children, and so their lives and careers shifted accordingly.

Thomas: “Jess currently works for JetBlue as a senior analyst for MINT… which keeps her busy throughout the day, but able to be home at night, a big difference from being on the floor all the time. Meanwhile, I’m overseeing all of the NoMad wine programs as executive wine director, which keeps me busy a lot at night still, though I am able to be home in the evenings with family more now than in the past. It’s certainly not a walk in the park, figuring out the balance, but our shared passion for the industry certainly helps to make it possible.”

Juan Muñoz-Oca and Jessica Munnell

Executive Vice President of Winemaking, Vineyards and Operations, Ste. Michelle Wine Estates; Owner and Winemaker, Wautoma Springs. Richland, Wash.

Credit: Richard Duval

How they met:

Jessica: “We met in the Spring of 2001 in Grandview, Wash. I had just finished school and was working as a viticulturist for Ste. Michelle Wine Estates (SMWE). Juan had been wanting to travel to the States from his home in Argentina.

“Ironically, it was the chair of my master’s committee that talked him into coming to Washington instead of California. On the advice of Dr. Wample, Juan traveled to Washington State to check out the industry and look into continuing his education through a master’s degree. Juan began working as an intern for SMWE, where we met.”

Why it works:

Jessica: “I think a lot of our successes have been because we work in the same industry. Having a partner that I can talk to about issues with a fermentation, or bottling, or how to be better at sales, is priceless.”

Alan Baker and Serena Lourie

Owner and Winemaker, Cartograph Wines; Owner, Cartograph Wines. Healdsburg, Calif.

Credit: Henry Dombey, Clubsoda Productions

How they met:

Alan: “The five points on our logo came out of our love story. We met at Crushpad, the urban winery in San Francisco. Alan was on staff and Serena came in to attend one of the winemaking classes Crushpad conducted. After that class, Serena signed up to make wine with her friends and Alan coordinated their winemaking that harvest season, 2008.

“The idea of Cartograph was launched late one night in 2009 while sitting on the sidewalk outside Crushpad talking about our dreams and realizing that we were falling in love and had a shared vision of our future.”

Why it works:

Serena: “We came to the wine industry independently but creating Cartograph really fueled our relationship — so the industry helped our love story. The more challenging it got as we grew, the more we had to rely on each other for support, advice, and laughter.

“When we opened the tasting room we were in the midst of doing construction on our home at the same time so everything felt really unsettled. Had we not been working together creating Cartograph, it would have been pretty easy to get frustrated with each other but because we were working on a shared vision, we were able to choose the priorities together and navigate the chaos of construction and building a business.”

Cam Baker and Kate Solari Baker

Proprietors, Larkmead Vineyards. Calistoga, Calif.

Credit: JBH Photography

How they met:

Kate: “Cam and I met in September of 1960. He was in his third year at Boalt Law School at UC Berkeley and I was in my third year of undergraduate there as well. In hindsight, we were both infants. We were double-dating, he was with one person, I with another. But a spark was struck. I was definitely interested…we talked about the possibility of Nixon winning the 1960 presidential election, a highly unusual conversation in those days between college folks (Cam was working for candidate Kennedy at the time). And so our courtship began, with lots of details lost in the mist of time. We have been married 57 years!”

Why it works:

Kate: “Our early years were preoccupied with Cam’s legal career in San Francisco and my life as a mother of three. My parents had owned Larkmead Vineyards since 1948 and the wine business was always the career of my father, B.C. Solari… Cam and I became grape growers and winemakers after my mother’s death in 1992, and we’ve worked together ever since. In the early days we were a three-man band: the two of us and our winemaker, Andy Smith.

“Our relationship has survived because we have a clear division of labor. While Cam brings business acumen to the table, I bring lots of human wisdom and good hospitality knowledge. We always discuss together big changes and big investments, such as the choice to build a winery on our property in 2005. It was a big decision! The whole family discussed it and ultimately followed Cam’s lead. Every business needs a leader. I offer my thoughts and opinions, which are given serious consideration before finalizing movement forward. That works for Cam and me.”

Lauren Wong and Damon Wong

VP Sales and Marketing, Aperture Cellars and Devil Proof Vineyards; Director of Hospitality, Kosta Browne Winery. Santa Rosa, Calif.

Credit: Margaret Austin Photography

How they met:

Lauren: “We both grew up in Sonoma County, went to high school in the same town, but never met each other until years later, when I was in college and Damon was working for a local winery.

“It was at a Mardi Gras house party, everyone was drinking jungle juice out plastic cups, the music was loud, and there were green and purple decorations everywhere. I was standing there alone, getting ready to pull the sticky ladle out of the mysterious ‘juice’ when Damon came up to me, introduced himself, and asked if I might prefer some bubbles instead. Damon was working at Iron Horse Vineyards at the time and had brought a bottle of ice cold blanc de blancs and flutes along with him — just in case of an emergency. It was like he read my mind and the rest was history.

“And some things never change. It is pretty rare that my drink order of choice is not a glass of bright bubbly.”

Why it works:

Damon: “We both love our jobs and are enthusiastic about the future of the industry… Having this passion as a common driver has absolutely brought us closer. We have a huge amount of respect for each other professionally, weighing in on each other’s projects, collaborating on new concepts or bouncing ideas off each other is one of the great things about our relationship.”

The post Seven Power Couples of the Wine World — and How They Make It Work appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/wine-power-couples-love/

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marauderingbad-blog · 7 years

Text

One Was Gold

A Chronology of Lily and Severus’ Friendship: Year Three

Part 3/7

Read the Full Story on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11690688/chapters/26319129

The Hogwarts express slowed and eventually came to a groaning halt as it reached Platform 9 ¾ . Lily kneeled on the seat in her compartment with her face pressed against the glass, looking for her parents and sister. Finally, she caught sight of her father’s graying, faded auburn hair and two familiar blondes--it was never hard to spot them, really, in their Muggle clothes. Lily beamed and waved at them enthusiastically--Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas were also squeezed in at the window, waving to their respective families. Lily’s parents caught sight of her gave and waved back enthusiastically; Petunia was clearly sulking with her arms crossed, regarding the wizarding families with open disdain. Lily tried to trick herself into not noticing.

“Well!” Lily said, bouncing back into her seat. “Our third year, all done. Make sure to write, yeah?” she said to the girls.

“We’ll have to go to another Quidditch match together!” said Marlene.

“And I want to see another Muggle movie,” Dorcas chimed in.

“Just one? I want to see like, twelve!” Mary added.

Lily laughed. “We’ll have to make a list! But yes, let’s do all of those things, I want to see you lot as often as possible,” Lily smiled. She gave each a tight, long hug in turn before they went off their separate ways to find their families.

Heaving her trunk off the train, Lily ran over to her family; her father caught her in his arms, lifting her off the ground. “My Lily,” he said, kissing her cheek. “How we’ve missed you,” he told her, then set her down.

“Darling,” greeted Lily’s mother, hugging her tightly and kissing the top of her head.

“Mum,” she said fondly. Lily peeked at Petunia over their mother’s shoulder; Petunia’s arms were still crossed and lips pursed.

“Tuney,” said Lily, as brightly as she could manage in the face of her sister’s determined aloofness. “I missed you,” she said truthfully--if, perhaps, foolishly--and hugged her sister, who returned it in the weakest, lamest way possible.

As Petunia quickly let go, Lily spotted Potter, who looked to be with his grandparents. The older woman was hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek. Potter made eye contact with Lily over her shoulder, and suddenly blushed profusely.

“Mum,” he groaned. “You're embarrassing me, there are people everywhere. People I know.”

Lily was mildly surprised to overhear that these were his parents--then she smirked as his mother pinched his cheeks. “Oh, you think I care that I’m embarrassing you?” Lily heard her ask. “You’re cute,” she retorted, then tried to smooth his hair down, much to Lily’s amusement. “Honestly, James, have you forgotten what a brush is? Why don’t you ever use your father’s potion? He invented it for your stubborn type of hair, you know.”

“Mum,” James practically growled, eyes still darting over to Lily, who was full out laughing at this point.

“Ah, the boys nowadays want to look like this, Effie,” explained Mr. Potter. “In my day, it was all about the slicked back look. Very difficult for me to manage,” he said.

“Yeah, well, your day was in the nineteen-teens, Dad. It’s the seventies now.”

“Is that one of your friends?” Lily’s mother asked, noticing her eavesdropping on the Potters.

“Oh, no,” said Lily, offended. “No, not at all. Just enjoying seeing him embarrassed is all.”

“That’s not very nice, Lily,” her father remarked.

“Nah, it’s good for him,” Lily insisted. “He’s not very nice.”

“Oh, there’s Severus,” Lily’s mum said suddenly. “Severus!’ she called, waving.

“Mum,” Petunia hissed, alarmed. “Why’re you calling him over here?”

“He’s my friend, Tuney, be nice,” Lily hissed right back.

In stark contrast from Lily’s warm homecoming, after several moments of mild searching, Severus came to accept that his mother was not present on the platform. The sounds and sensations of excitement surrounded him: Exalted families reuniting, trunks dragging and teetering, owls hooting and rattling in their cages. But Severus very much felt as if he were on the outside of all of this joy looking in, disconnected. Her absence wasn’t entirely unexpected--as each year passed Severus’ father became more and more angry, which in turn made his mother more and more dismal.

Severus swallowed this disappointment like thick treacle. He felt very much alienated by how different he felt from everyone else on the platform that day--well, almost everyone. In the midst of his somber, faint-hearted search, Severus’ eyes glimpsed Black approach a towering, skeletal woman with his same black hair and grey eyes. Obviously this was his mother, as indicated by her dark, intricate, custom-made robes and upturned nose. This woman clearly had never even considered wearing muggle clothes a day in her life.

Black wore a sour, humorless expression as he stood before her. He turned and met Severus’ eye just for an instant. But in that second, Black and Severus shared their first and last moment of sullen understanding.

Severus nearly jumped from surprise when he heard his name being called. He half-expected (hoped, really) to see his mother standing there, but instead his eyes fell upon Mrs. Evans. He sighed a bit as he dragged his trunk towards the Evanses, knowing he’d now have to make up some excuse yet again for his family’s negligence.

“Hello,” he said tonelessly to Mr. and Mrs. Evans. His eyes shifted with disinterest past Petunia, and he avoided making eye contact with Lily entirely. She would know instantly what was going on if he looked at her--she probably already knew.

Lily did, indeed, surmise fairly quickly that Severus’ mother must not have come, and she would never have expected his father to willingly surround himself with all this magic. Petunia probably quite agreed with him in this regard, but their parents left her with no choice but to come.

Even if she hadn’t know, however, her mother's next words would have given it away.

“Hello, Severus, dear,” she smiled. “Have a good year?” she asked warmly. “I ran into your mother the other day at the grocery store, she asked if we’d be able to pick you up from the platform, so you'll be coming with us, dear.”

Petunia looked as if she might be sick, sending imploring looks to her parents--looks which were utterly ignored.

“We were thinking, though, of stopping for lunch in London,” Lily's father said. “Would that be alright with you, Severus, or are you very eager to get home?”

Lily cringed at the cluelessness of her father's question. Of course, Lily was the one who kept him clueless, carefully dodging questions of Severus’ home life for his sake--she was never quite sure if she was doing the right thing in this regard.

“Yes, my mum’s second-cousin up in Sheffield developed a bad case of mumblemumps.” Severus felt he had used a similar excuse before but he was too disheartened to be creative.

At Mr. Evans’ invitation, Severus shuddered. All he really wanted was to hide away from the world until September. “That’s fine,” he mumbled. “But is it alright if I wear my uniform? I forgot to pack myself muggle clothes..” In truth, Severus was no longer a little boy and the sad excuse of clothing his parents supplied for him were no longer acceptable for public display. His eyes flicked to Lily and he held her gaze fleetingly.

Lily caught Severus’ look, offering him an uncertain smile--uncertain, because she was worried about it coming across as too sympathetic or pitying, so her face muscles weren't quite sure what she wanted them to do.

“Yes, of course, not a problem at all,” Mr. Evans said easily--Petunia stared up at him in horror and disbelief, yet again.

“Bye, Evans!” James called over, and seemed to regret it as soon as his eyes landed on Snape. Lily coolly ignored him. With his parents there, she guessed he surely wouldn't say anything too snide if he didn't want to hear it from them at home. “Snape,” he mumbled, grabbing both his parents by the elbows and steering them swiftly towards the exit of the platform.

The Potters were soon joined by the Lupins and Pettigrews who all greeted one another fondly. James gave Sirius a distant, forlorn wave goodbye as the three families made their exit. James’ mum refused to even be in the presence of Sirius’ mother after Walburga had shouted at Euphemia last year about how James was corrupting her son--Mrs. Potter had infamously said she simply wouldn't stand for such disrespect from a mere child like Walburga Black.

Lily watched the three families carefully, trying to set a slow pace so that they wouldn't again be on top of one another. It was easy enough with her parents, who were content to take in as many magical sights as they could. It was Petunia who was the problem, she was walking so fast she was dangerously close to Potter.

Considering how well Severus knew Lily, he rapidly discerned her woes of their proximity to Potter by her behavior. He burst ahead just a bit, then stopped abruptly, allowing himself to back into Petunia. When she stumbled, Severus mumbled a feigned apology, stating something about his truck getting snagged on the pavement.

Although his scheme had left a more expansive margin between them and Potter, the distraction was noticed by Avery and Avery senior who were conversing with Mulciber and Mulciber senior.

“Snape!” Avery called.

Severus groaned and shook his head in disbelief. This was the opposite of hiding from the world. He stepped a few paces away from the Evanses and mixed in a bit with the flowing horde. He thought he might have escaped them once he was out on the street in front of Kings Cross, but, alas, they jogged breathlessly to his side.

“Where are you going?” Mulciber asked.

“Home. Obviously.”

“By yourself?”

“Yes.”

Severus eyed the Evanses wearily, it was a difficult balancing act--staying close enough to them but not too close to incur suspicion.

“But how do you know the way?” Avery asked with confusion.

Severus rolled his eyes at this question and scoffed. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

Unfortunately, to Severus’ dismay, Avery then noticed the Evanses nearby.

“Well, well--it’s the mudblood’s muggle family. They look even more like rubbish than I thought they would,” Avery mocked and Mulciber laughed darkly.

Luckily, the Evanses were currently distracted by the fact that Black had escaped his mother’s company and now stood next to Lily, since she was the closest person to a friend that he could find--which said a lot about his relationship to all of the other people around them.

“Hi Evans, and other Evansies,” he grinned at all of them with a smile that even at thirteen made most females weep.

Petunia turned at the greeting and seemed to let go of her enduring hatred of magic for just a moment as she blushed profusely at Sirius’ greeting and smile, “Oh, hello,” she said pleasantly. “Are you a friend of Lily’s? I’m Petunia, her sister” she said, eagerly extending a hand to Sirius.

Lily gaped at her sister as she beheld this incredible display. Normally, Petunia acted as though she was about to catch something contagious and deadly from wizards, yet one look at Sirius and she was sweet as could be. Lily collected herself and snorted. “No,” she said, “This is not my friend.”

Petunia frowned. “Why not?”

“Lily, please. You should be friends with everyone,” insisted their mother. “Hello, dear,” she said to Sirius. “What’s your name?”

Although the Evanses were blissfully unaware of the slurs fired against them, Severus’ gaunt face had turned red with rage at Avery’s insult. He opened his mouth to say something just when Regulus Black joined the little group and interrupted him.

“Mulciber, Avery, your dads are about to apparate without you.” Even though Regulus was a year younger than them, he was more perceptive than those two dimwits combined. Severus might have even liked him if his entire life didn’t revolve around trying to one-up his cleverer, more popular, and even handsomer older brother.

Mulciber and Avery quickly scampered off like roaches to find their fathers without saying another word. Regulus turned back to Severus with a scolding glare.

“Don’t be stupid,” he warned, gesturing his head towards the Evans family a bit of a ways off just before his mother appeared at his shoulder.

“Where’s your brother?” Mrs. Black asked Regulus coldly, shooting Severus an undeserving glare. Then, like a hawk, she scanned the area and spotted her eldest son with the Evanses.

“SIRIUS BLACK. WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT TALKING TO MUGGLES.”

All of the Evans looked shocked by the sudden outburst--all except for Lily, whose cheeks reddened not in embarrassment, but in anger, as the glint in her eye would surely confirm. Still--this was a tricky situation, Lily didn’t know how to engage combatively with a parent, and even if she refused to let it show through her defiant countenance, Lily had to admit to herself that Sirius’ mother was quite fearsome to behold.

“Excuse me, what did you call us?” Mrs. Evans demanded.

“Oh, don’t mind her,” Sirius explained to Lily and the Evans family, clearly unfazed by the outburst. “She’s not used to being out of her coffin.” With that, he shook Petunia’s still outstretched hand and sulked off with his mother.

Petunia stared after Sirius in horror, not at all certain if he was joking or not.

Regulus gave Severus one last look before joining his family.

Severus would have sneered at this entire exchange but the combination of his mother’s negligence and his near public defence of the Evans family left him feeling vulnerable and even more somber. He re-joined Lily and turned straight to her parents.

“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll just go home. You go ahead to lunch, I can take the knight bus back home.”

Lily’s parents were alarmed by this idea, exchanging looks with one another that clearly said they both agreed they wouldn't allow Severus to go home on his own.

“We don’t need to stop for lunch, I’d really rather you not go home alone, especially when you’re not feeling well and when your mother asked us to pick you up,” Mrs. Evans insisted. “We can go straight home to Cokeworth instead, drop you off, and have lunch there, so it’s no trouble,” she assured him. Mrs. Evans also thought it was ridiculous to expect a thirteen year old boy to make it all the way back from London on his own--to think of all the terrible things that could happen.

Petunia, on the other hand, sneered and frowned deeply as though it was a great deal of trouble indeed.

“Yes. fine,” Severus muttered, keeping his gaze on his shoes.

~~*~~

Severus sat on a less littered area of the grassy bank overlooking the filthy river of Cokeworth. It wasn’t a tranquil or pretty site to say the least. The surrounding area was blanketed in a thick fog caused by the chimneys of the endless identical brick homes that lined the water. Off in the distance, a run-down mill could be seen, rocking uselessly with the wind.

No, this side of Cokeworth wasn’t much to regard, especially in contrast to the majesty of Hogwarts, but this had always been Severus’ place. He would come here to be alone, to escape his volatile home environment. Now, Severus was really just hoping to escape his own thoughts. Tears leaked from his eyes and rolled off of his chin as his thoughts lingered on his mother’s absence and his failure to stand up for his best friend and her family, who had been more welcoming to him than his own parents ever were.

But what would standing up for them have done, really? Would it have shifted anyone’s cemented prejudice? Would it have stopped future cruelty? No, probably not. Certainly, though, it would have destroyed Severus. If the Slytherins turned against him then he would truly be alone.

He tried to distract himself by pulling out his copy of The Two Towers and forced himself to read.

Lily always knew where to look for Severus when she wanted to find him--she knew all his favorite haunts as well as her own; in fact, many of his favorite places were hers as well. The bank by the river wasn’t necessarily one of those mutually beloved spots--Cokeworth in its entirety was fairly grimy--everything seemed to be coated in pollution--but the river had to be one of the absolute grimiest places. Her grandparents could still remember a time when you used to be able to swim in it or take a boat out if the current wasn’t too harsh--those days were clearly long since past. Lily frequently wrote letters and petitions to the city council about the desecration of the local environment, but all they seemed to care about was commerce.

Still, after she’d gotten home from lunch with her parents and Petunia, Lily had a strong feeling that she would find Severus there. He didn’t seem to be in high spirits, not that Lily could blame him in the least, and the river was a fitting landscape for low-spirited individuals.

Lily had already changed back into her Muggle clothes--she frequently donned them on the weekends at Hogwarts, anyway, as most non-purist kids did, but she usually added some magical accouterments, even if it was only her robes over them. Now, Lily had no robes on, just a yellow jumper tucked into a plaid skirt, white knee socks, and loafers.

She spotted the top of Severus’ head first and smiled a bit at her talent for finding him. It felt good to know someone as well as she knew Severus.

“Hey,” she said simply, sliding into the spot on the grass next to him. “Oh, I could really read those again this summer,” she said dreamily, noticing the title of the book. One of the things Lily most looked forward to in the summer was being at liberty to read anything she liked.

Severus wasn’t in the least surprised when Lily found him. They always knew how to find each other at home. He just wished he had cleaned himself up a bit better before she arrived.

“Yes, I missed them,” he replied, carefully keeping his stare on the pages.

“Sorry for making you come home early…” he went on with melancholy. “I just...Couldn’t be there with so many people around.” He frowned.

Lily shrugged, “It’s okay, I didn’t mind,” she said truthfully. Even if Cokeworth was nothing like the Scottish countryside, or even London, she still always found she genuinely missed home--she liked the familiarity of their favorite restaurant at home and the way her room felt like a new place the first day she got back.

She watched Severus for a minute longer, then looked back out at the river--she could tell he was still upset, and she suspected he may have been crying, but she wasn’t entirely sure about that. She had a strong urge to ask him how he was, but Lily knew that if Severus was actually going to tell her, then he just would, and if she asked, she might scare him off.

“If they would just put a garbage bin here there would at least be less litter,” she remarked instead. “I should write to someone about it--I doubt it will do any good, but I’ll at least have done my part.” Lily’s father was a history and government teacher, and he always tried to instill Lily and Petunia with a strong sense of civic duty. It had worked on Lily, at least.

Severus listened to Lily speak as he stared out at the water. He wasn’t processing what she was saying but the sound of her voice comforted him. It reminded him that they were away from Hogwarts now, away from everything and everyone. Severus didn’t have to be defensive here, he could just be with Lily.

Fresh tears began to well in Severus’ eyes, but this time he didn’t actively hide them from Lily. “She didn’t even look up from the couch when I came in,” he began suddenly, his voice quivering. “She’s so unhappy, I used to make her happy.”

It took all of Lily’s will power not to cry at the sight of Severus crying--it made her profoundly sad just to see him sad, but she needed to be the strong and supportive one now.

Lily wrapped her arm firmly around Severus’ shoulders, leaning her head against his.

“She loves you, Sev,” said Lily. “But it can’t be all on you to make her happy,” she said. “She--everyone, really, has to find happiness inside of themselves before anything else.” Lily sighed, “But it’s not always so easy to do.”

Severus nodded slowly and wiped his face on the sleeve of his school sweater.

“You’re right, I just--I just wish I could change that for her. I wish I could change a lot of things...” he then broke apart from her just slightly so that he could turn to look at her. “Are you happy, Lily?”

Lily nodded--of course, she imagined one of the main things he must have wished he could change was his father, though, she didn't say it. Lily couldn't imagine what Severus could really do about him.

She considered the question, then answered with a decisive, “Yes.” Overall, Lily had much to be happy about, she had good friends, good parents, and a good education. “I mean...obviously there are things that bother me,” she admitted. “Like...well, Petunia,” she said, since this was the most immediate thing on her mind. Petunia had sulked the whole ride home and all through lunch.

“I seem to make her miserable just by being around, and I try so hard to be sensitive and considerate of her feelings. I get why she would be jealous. I try not to go on too much about school and asking her things about her self, but she barely even answers,” Lily said and rubbed her forehead. “We just...used to be so close. I always think I can fix it, but every break I'm less and less sure of that.”

Lily sighed. “Now it probably sounds like I'm not happy, but I am. I try not to let my happiness be affected by things I can't control, and Merlin knows I can't control Petunia.”

She then looked over carefully at Severus, “Are you happy, Sev?” she asked.

Severus’ eyes rounded a bit when he heard his question turned onto him. He held Lily’s gaze as he contemplated his answer. Happiness was complicated and volatile for Severus, which made it difficult to quantify. But there was a happiness that he was sure of--one that was always unwavering.

“I am happy when I’m with you.”

Lily smiled, though she wished he could say he was happy most of the time. She hadn’t exactly expected him to say that, though, and she appreciated the honesty.

“I’m happy when I’m with you, too,” she told him. Lily hesitated for a moment--although she’d always known Severus had a difficult life, she thought he was happier at Hogwarts than he’d just implied. He seemed well-liked by the other Slytherins, and that gave him a certain amount of status at school. Of course, Potter and Black gave him trouble, but Severus always got them back. If he wasn’t fully happy at school, was it to do with his friends?

“Aren’t you happy with Avrey, Mulciber, and Wilkes, too, though?” she asked gently. As much as she didn’t like them and as much as they sometimes made her jealous, when faced with Severus’ unhappiness, she found herself hoping their friendship was genuine.

“Most of the time,” Severus answered honestly. “But it isn’t quite the same.”

Truthfully, despite the Slytherins' purist hostility, Severus did consider them to be good friends of his. But meeting Lily after years of neglect and cruelty at home had introduced him to true happiness. Nothing else compared.

Lily nodded, feeling better at the reassurance that his friends made him happy.

“I know what you mean,” she said. “I love Marlene and Mary and Dorcas, but it’s not quite the same either,” Lily agreed. “But maybe it’s not meant to be the same. Childhood friends are something...different, something special,” she smiled. “We’re lucky we were able to stick together.”

Severus smiled a bit sheepishly in response. If it wasn’t for the lack of coloration in his complexion he may have even blushed. It thrilled him to know he was special to her--not that this was news, of course, but still. Hearing it aloud made it all the more real.

“I promise I’ll spend more time with you next year. We’re not little kids trying to fit in anymore, it’ll be different.”

Lily smiled optimistically, choosing to take Severus at his word. “I’d like that,” she said. “And I’ll be here for you all summer, whenever you need me.”

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