#tw: vomiting

[withacapitalp]

@lazylittledragon did more Mombin (check it out here it's great) which I think means I might be contractually obliged to write more fic that is inspired by it. Like wowza I am obsessed with this concept

Tw: vomiting/morning sickness, reddit, discussions of cancer

Robin was dying. 

That was the only explanation. 

Dying. 

And the worst part was, she was dying of something that was both incredibly funny, and incredibly sad, and she had been so desperate for answers that she had gone to a place no mortal should ever dare to go to. 

Reddit. 

Posted by u/familyvideobrokeme

I (24F) think that I might have breast cancer, and I have no idea how to tell my (25M) best friend.

So my best friend “Sam” and I have been attached at the hip for as long as I can remember. He’s not just a friend to me, he’s my person (and before you get any ideas- I’m a lesbian, so no, not happening.) we tell each other everything, even the super gross stuff neither of us wants to hear- like seriously he’s asked me to check his ass to see if he managed to pop the pimple he found there before- so I’ve never been in this position before…

But I think I’m dying of breast cancer, and I have no clue how to start this conversation. 

It just came on really suddenly??? Like last month I was fine, and this month my boobs just hurt in this really weird way I’ve never experienced before? Like I’m sore and tingly and my bras don’t fit?! Boobs are kind of a joke between us though, so I feel like if I just blurt it out then he will start saying ‘boobie cancer’ over and over at me and we will just end up laughing and he’ll think I’m kidding. 

Sam is also my roommate? I don’t know if that matters here? I also haven’t gone to a doctor yet, but there isn’t anything else this can be, right? Nothing else just magically makes your boobs hurt and get big?

Robin had made the post at three am the night before while crying and eating Ben and Jerry’s, and she had forced herself to not look at replies all night, even going as far as to shut her phone off entirely.

But now it was the next day, and she had steadfastly ignored the notifications from Reddit all the way through Saturday Brunch and Bitch. 

She couldn’t ignore them anymore. 

“You’re good if I work a little?” Robin asked, pulling her laptop close to her and carefully angling it so Steve couldn’t see the screen. 

“As you wish,” Steve muttered, completely absorbed with whatever dog video he was watching. 

“Dingus,” She whispered affectionately, an odd mixture of love and guilt crashing in her chest as she opened the website and logged into her account. She had over a thousand notifications now, and the comments were still rolling in as she opened her post and scrolled down. 

Endofthebeginningoftheend

OP are you sure you’re not in love with Sam

Grapenuts Dude she said she’s a lesbian

View 564 more replies

Robin rolled her eyes. She had expected that, but she didn’t expect it to be the top comment. She quickly scrolled past. 

Cheercaptainfromhell

OP I would definitely go to a doctor before anything else! 

SmeddieSmunson Seriously how has she gotten this far without going to a doctor??

The answer was easy. Robin was terrified of doctors. Why go to a doctor when Steve had EMT training? 

Because in this instance she couldn’t ask Steve for help. 

Robin kept scrolling. 

Frenchiefreis

You might be pregnant honestly…I would take a test first

Headphilosopher She’s a lesbian so I doubt it, but pregnancy can also cause those symptoms-

Robin snorted to herself, side eyeing Steve to make sure he didn’t look up when she did. 

Did everyone just ignore the part where she said she was a lesbian? 

…was Robin ignoring the part where being a lesbian didn’t mean fuck all when it came to her chances of getting pregnant?

Yes she was ignoring it because it was once just once and they had barely even gotten to do anything at all and-

Robin scrolled again, growing more and more desperate

Rummingbird

That doesn’t really sound like breast cancer to me My mom had similar things happen when she was pregnant though-

Another scroll. Another flutter of her heart. 

No. It wasn’t that. She was dying. Dying was bad but the idea that she was…that she could be…

HyllyBRd

OP have you considered that you might be pregnant? I know that you’re a lesbian, but if you’ve had penetrative sex in the last month then you might want to consider-

“Are you going to be good for me?” 

Robin gasped as the memory hit her, closing the reddit tab with a slam of her finger on the mouse pad, her entire body starting to softly shake as she panic opened a google tab.

Boobs hurt????

Not exactly the most scientific way of phrasing that question, but Robin needed an answer that didn’t involve nine long months of what the fuck. Luckily there was a read more question that got right to the heart of the issue. 

What kind of breast pain indicates pregnancy? 

It was going to say something completely different to what she had, and Robin was going to laugh, and then she would turn to Steve and let him know she was dying of boobie cancer. 

It wasn’t going to be the same. 

It wasn’t. 

Robin looked at the screen. 

Fuller. Sorer. Tingly pain that felt unlike anything else. Aka exactly what she had. 

Robin’s fingers moved on autopilot, asking another question of Google

How late should my period be before I worry?

Worrying about what? She knew about what, but she couldn’t bring herself to type it, she couldn't even think of that word yet.

Google said after a week of missing your period it was time to see a doctor. Robin’s period was over three weeks late. 

And a month ago-

A month ago…

“Fuck you’re so tight,” The woman above her whispered. Robin whimpered, unable to help herself as the stretch-

“I need to use the bathroom.” She blurted out, slamming her laptop shut and practically throwing it off of her, stomach twisting into knots. 

“I’ll tell you what I tell my students Bobbin,” Steve said, barely looking up and completely unaware of her meltdown, “You don’t need to ask me for permission to go take care of your bodily functions,”

“Oh, shut up,” Robin replied, laughing breathlessly. It was such a stupid joke, such a meaningless stupid joke. But it was safe, and it was familiar, and if the sneaking suspicion creeping down Robin’s spine was true, then nothing would be safe and familiar again for a very long time. 

She stood up, stopping to press a kiss to the top of Steve’s head as she walked by, just because that was familiar too and she needed it. Steve hummed, leaning over to bonk his head against her tummy as she passed him.

A bonk on the tummy that may or may not be-

Nope. It was a no. It was definitely a no. There was no possible way. 

Robin was going to be sick. 

She basically flew the last few steps to the bathroom, managing to lock it tight before she threw up in the sink. It was disgusting, and messy, and she pushed the tap on before kneeling down at the porcelain throne and continuing to hurl. 

I need Steve.

It wasn’t even really a thought. She couldn’t think while throwing her guts up, that was an experience that required every bit of her attention and mind power. 

No, not a thought, just an instinctual message from the universe, a pull from somewhere deep inside her that felt like more than just a truth. 

Because Robin didn’t need Steve because she was throwing up. Or because she thought she might have boob cancer. 

Robin needed Steve because she knew she was pregnant. 

“Fuck me,” She groaned, leaning back from the toilet only to lean forward once more as the rest of brunch came back up. 

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1137

I don’t think people quite understand how miserable misophonia is.

It’s the nausea that comes with sounds that you know people can’t help but make. It’s the coughing that puts your teeth on edge, the crinkling of paper that makes you furious. It’s the too-loud TV that makes you want to scream and the voices with hissing ‘s’ sounds that make you want to vomit. It’s the chewing and heavy breathing and scratching of cutlery that destroys your appetite. It’s the constantly creaking floorboards that awaken a panicked rage in you when you’re just trying to breathe.

It’s the overstimulation when your headphones are too loud but not loud enough as the usually predictable songs grate against your brain.

It’s the inability to get comfortable in your usual safe space.

It’s the tears of frustration and headaches that form because no one gets it. You can’t talk about it because it’s unreasonable. You can’t ask someone to stop because they get defensive/see no issue.

It’s miserable.

Maybe this is something your whumpee experiences from so much time spent alone/in isolation. Maybe they inadvertently isolate themselves further, as they can’t stand to be around the people they love through no fault of their own (taking their meals to their room etc).

[i-just-want-to-be-a-bumblebee]

Here is Chapter One of A-Z Sullivan whumps.

Trigger warnings: house fire, burns, vomiting, description of blood and injury.

A is for Arson

“This is madness.” Goodfellow stated. He stood next to Inspector Sullivan as they surveyed another burning cottage. This marked the fourth in the last month of fires. 

“I’m certain this one won’t be an accident either. We need to catch whoever is setting these fires before someone is killed.” The dark haired man replied. He could feel a headache coming on and the sight of a priest in a black cassock made it worse. 

The fire brigade nearly had the house fire out. Spectators had come out of their homes to watch, nearly an hour ago. It was something that bothered Sullivan, these fires were started in the middle of the day. No one ever saw someone fleeing, there was never someone who didn’t belong at the scene watching. And there didn’t appear to be any obvious link between the four houses that had been set alight. 

They were lucky so far that no one had died in the fires. There had been one case of smoke inhalation and one of the men on the brigade had received a minor burn. They needed to catch this arsonist before it got any worse. 

“Did everyone make it safely out?” Father Brown asked from where he was suddenly beside the officers. 

“Yes, please stay out of our investigation Father. Unless you know who is doing this?”

“I am afraid I have yet to hear anything of interest. I am not trying to be in the way of your investigation, Inspector.” The priest stated mildly.

“Please do. We don’t need you becoming a target and this mad person deciding to light up the church.” Sullivan responded dryly. He turned and strode toward the fire Chief, where he was talking to a couple men who had just exited the smoldering shell of a house.

“Is there anything you can tell me, Chief?” 

“It was intentional. Just like the others.” The man replied. “Whoever is doing this isn’t a random child either. They know what they are doing.”

“Thank you, Chief. Would you mind stopping by my office once you’re finished?’

“Not at all Inspector. Give me a few hours and we can discuss this more.” Sullivan liked the fire chief, he was no nonsense, work came before anything, and he took pride in his work. In another life they may have even been friends. In another life they may have been more. 

Sullivan made his way back towards Goodfellow and the Bain of his existence. 

“Dawson is going to come by once this is under control. I would like to look at the other fires and see if there is a connection between the homeowners. This can’t be purely random blazes.” He turned to the priest who made no attempt to remove himself from a likely official conversation. “Father, do you know of any links between the home owners? Any at all?”

“None that I can think of off the top of my head inspector, but I will ponder it a bit more and ask around. I am sure you’re right. These seem too intentional to be random targets.”

“Goodfellow, could you go ask around as well? People are more likely to talk to you than me.” The inspector hated to admit it, but he knew he came off as brash and insensitive to much of Kembleford. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Thank you for coming, Chief Dawson. I trust you were able to get the Thompson home put out?” He waved the other man in, offering him a seat and a cup of tea. 

“Yes. Although, there’s not much left of the place, sadly enough. Ben Thompson was telling me that they’re considering moving north, towards her parents.”

“We’ll be sad to see him leave the cricket team for sure.” Sullivan added, attempting to keep the small talk smooth. 

Dawson nodded, Ben was a good player, one that the team would surely miss. He looked up, not making eye contact with the younger man but able to see how his face remained impassive. He knew there were many in Kembleford that wanted nothing more than for the inspector to leave town and head back to London, the inspector included. But, he had always found the man professional, if a little stiff. Perhaps if he stuck around they may even become friendly. Perhaps if he stuck around they could become more than that.

“What can you tell me about these fires, Chief?” Dawson was torn from his musing at the question. 

“I can tell you that they're all the same person, and it's not a kid.”

“Just one person?” Dawson nodded, taking a sip of his tea, pleased that Sullivan got his preference right. 

“Seems likely. It’s all doable for one person, and doesn't appear to be a second source of ignition.” Sullivan saw the man hesitate. 

“What else did you notice, Chief?” 

“I think… I think it may be one of my men.” Sullivan eyebrow lifted in surprise. 

“Indeed? What led you to that conclusion?” Dawson set his cup down and leaned forward, trying and failing to catch Sullivan's eye. 

“I told you before that it's someone who knows what they're doing. But beyond that, it’s someone that has an understanding of how to put fires out as well. Middle of the day, so it’s someone local. No one is ever home, so they’re familiar with the house's routine. And, it’s never happened when I didn’t have a full house of men ready to go, so they know my station's routine as well.” He sagged back into his chair, saddened at the thought of one of his own causing this kind of harm. 

It was Sullivan's turn to set his cup down, elbows leaning on his desk. 

“I need a list of names of your men, Dawson. And I need you to tell me if any of them have been acting odd lately.”

Dawson nodded, reclaiming his tea cup. He studied the other man for a brief moment. Hard, determined eyes, clenched jaw and pinched eyebrows should not have made him attractive but Dawson found himself appreciating the look. Even with as much as he wanted to make his way back to London, Sullivan put his all into keeping this community safe. Dawson appreciated that at the very least. 

“I can’t think of anyone acting obviously suspicious. If I had to guess I’d say Nelson, McLeary, or Davis. They’re seasoned but still young, not married, dedicated.” He hesitated but continued. “They’ve been good men. They all get along with the rest in the house. But those three, I would say, run a little hotter than the others.” He shrugged, looking helpless at the thought of pointing fingers at someone under his command. 

“I would like to see your schedule for the days of the fires, and their personnel files as well. Please.” The please was tacked on. He didn’t want to appear rude. Training that had been beaten into him as a child kicking in. 

Dawson nodded and drank the last of his tea. “I’ll get that for you. I’ll stop back by tonight with it.” He stood and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. He still smelled faintly of smoke and wanted nothing more than a shower and a good night's rest. Sullivan could see the exhaustion hanging off the other man. 

“It’s late. I have a few other things I can work on. Bring it in tomorrow.” Dawson smiled in relief. 

See he wasn’t totally oblivious, Sullivan thought of himself. Dawson nodded and headed out the door, closing the door behind him with a soft click. 

Sullivan spent the rest of his evening reviewing the other fires, the owners all similar ages, all married couples, not all had children. The husband's service records varied, nothing linking them there. The wives had similar hobbies, had all attended the same secondary school but weren’t close now. Two of the families had pets, one vacationed in the north, another didn’t make enough to take vacations. Different workplaces, different social classes, different social circles. Surely there was something that connected them all.

By half seven in the morning Sullivan was once more standing at his desk. He looked over his notes from the night before with fresh eyes, enjoying his tea. A quick knock on his door had him turning away from his work.

“Come in.” Dawson’s head peaked through the crack, Sullivan found him amusing.

“Wanted to drop this before I head in for the day.” He handed Sullivan the three files. He felt… guilty? No that wasn’t it. Apprehensive? That may have been closer to the truth. He felt apprehensive about giving the files to the Inspector, he had a bad feeling about this case. 

“Thank you.” Sullivan set the files on his desk. “Chief?” Dawson straightened up, looking attentive. “You’ve been here your whole life, minus your years in service. Do you know of any connection between the victims? I’ve been looking but I am not finding much to go on, besides that the wives all attended the same secondary school.” Dawson nodded, thoughtful.

“They all went to the same school, same year possibly? They graduated…what, six years ago? Maybe go around and ask the teachers? It’s a small school, they may remember something that I never knew about.” Sullivan nodded, he would send Goodfellow. The headmaster at the school hated Sullivan for reasons unknown. 

“Thank you, Chief. I won’t take up any more of your morning.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Goodfellow came back later that morning with news.

“That was a good tip sir. Looks like all three girls were part of some club back in school. The teacher that I spoke to couldn’t remember what, but does remember that there were a few other members, all young ladies but the others moved away-”

“So it’s likely someone they went to school with, which narrows it down by age to… Johnathan Davis.” 

“Sir, one more thing. There’s one woman left from the group in town, Cynthia Pierson.”

Sullivan and Goodfellow raced from the precinct to the Pierson residence. 

“We will warn them first, then head to the Fire Station to pick up Davis. Hopefully we can keep this quiet.” As they were driving up the road they began to see smoke. Sullivan punched the accelerator and came to a skidding stop outside the cottage gate, leaving room for fire rescue vehicles. Both men jumped from the car, spotting a blonde man watching as flames engulfed the small cottage. 

Sullivan ran towards the cottage as flames burst from the windows. Goodfellow had grabbed their suspect, whom they caught with the lighter in hand, too entranced by the flames to hear them coming. He scanned the building and surrounding areas, looking for any injured. Just as he was about to relax his shoulders he heard a small cry.

“Help… please!” A child, a small boy by the sounds of it. Sullivan raced towards the engulfed cottage, ignoring Goodfellow’s cry of alarm behind him.

“Sir?! What are you doing?!”

“There’s a boy inside! I can hear him!” He shouted over his shoulder and he kicked in the front door and dove into the inferno. 

Smoke overtook his senses immediately. He covered his mouth and nose with his elbow, but it didn’t help. His eyes began to water as he scanned frantically in the blaze for the child calling for help. Finally after what felt like eons he spotted a small shoe peeking out from by the stairs. He sprinted towards the child, falling to his knees, he scooped the boy into his arms, the child frighteningly limp in his hold. He attempted to stand when a deafening crack overtook the house and a beam from the ceiling collapsed onto him.

Goodfellow could hear the house crumbling down. He could hear the sirens from the fire brigade coming closer, he could almost make out the sound of the onlookers. But he didn't hear his Inspector. He had already handcuffed their suspect to the car and he tried to keep people away from the house. Minutes ticked by and he was certain that Sullivan and the boy had already perished. 

The fire brigade flew into the drive with a spray of gravel.

“Inspector Sullivan is inside! He said he heard a child!” Two of the men in full turnout gear and masks raced past him and entered the house without hesitating. The gathered crowd was silent as they waited with baited breath to see if anyone would come out of the blaze. 

“God will protect.” If he wasn’t already so shell shocked Goodfellow figured he would have jumped at the sudden appearance of Father Brown. “They will find him and the child. I have faith in that.” The giant of a policeman nodded his head, his eyes never leaving the flames. 

The two men who had dashed into the blaze were able to quickly find the downed Inspector and his charge. He was stuck and writhing under the beam. His suit jacket ablaze. They worked quickly, tearing the flaming fabric from his back. With haste that did not allow for gentleness they pushed the beam off the man and child, amazed when Sullivan managed to stand and stagger his way towards the door, the boy clutched tight to his chest. 

Cheers of elation broke out when he breached the door, quickly turning to gasps of horror as he stumbled to his knees and fell onto his side. Firemen, medics, police and priest darted towards the downed man, moving him out of the way of the firemen who were attempting to put out the house fire. 

Sullivan’s breath was a rasping, hacking cough. His face coated in soot, dirty tear tracks down each cheek. Father Brown dropped to his knees at the inspector's head and began to pray. The medics were barely able to pull the small boy from Sullivan’s tight grasp. They passed the unconscious child to another pair of medics and dove back for their patient. His left sleeve and onto his shoulder and back were a charred mess of fabric and muscle. There wasn’t much they could do at the scene. They loaded him into the transport with as much gentleness and haste as they could manage. 

“Father, you may want to ride along!” 

The scene had fallen silent as those gathered watched the transports peel out of the drive with the inspector and his rescued child. Father Brown held onto his right hand, muttering prayers under his breath. Prayers of gratitude for the man being able to rescue the boy, who must have been little James Pierson, six-years old, and waiting for someone to come home. He prayed that the inspector wasn’t in any pain, as he was unconscious since they had left the scene. He prayed that it would be a quick recovery, or if it wasn't meant for the man to survive, that he would be taken swiftly. 

The good Father felt his prayers dry in his throat as the inspector began to shake, gaining just enough consciousness to be aware of the agony he was in. The Inspectors mouth opened, as if to scream, but only a choked out gasp escaped. 

“Inspector? I need you to take a deep breath. You’re all right. We are heading to the hospital.” The medic stated, close to the inspector's head. He attempted to take a deep breath but it caused his lungs to rattle and he began to choke on soot that had gathered in his throat and lungs. The medic jumped to turn him on his side, just as he began to vomit. Strings of ash filled bile ran down his face and gathered in a puddle on the floor of the van.

“It’s alright, Inspector. We’re nearly there.” Father Brown could see the agony the other man was in. He shook so fiercely that he feared the younger man was having a seizure. It was merely minutes later that the vehicle jerked to a stop and the doors were thrown open. Hands appeared and pulled the gurney from the bus, rushing the still shaking man away. 

Father Brown saw another ambulance pull up, slower in its approach and additional personnel pull little James from the back. He was unconscious but from what could be seen he didn’t appear to be burnt. Father Brown offered a prayer of praise and thankfulness that at least that mercy had been granted. 

It was over an hour before Goodfellow joined him in the waiting room. 

The duo sat in silence for a short time before Father Brown had to ask. “Did you discover why Mr. Davis was setting those houses on fire?” Goodfellow nodded sadly. 

“It was over childish cruelty. Apparently the girls were part of a club. One that had some influence over the dating lives of its members. I don't understand it myself but apparently they were cruel to Davis, and he decided that waiting nearly seven years and lighting up their houses was a suitable revenge. He said he didn’t know Jamie was home or he would have waited.” Goodfellow looked tired and baffled. How another person could do something this extreme just didn’t make sense to him. Father Brown shook his head sadly. A lost and troubled soul.

It was nearly two hours before the door opened and a doctor stepped out. Dr. Aoki was a man of small stature, delicate features that made him appear years younger than he was. He and his family had come to Kembleford after the war, looking to escape the poverty of Japan. They had settled in well, after the initial outbursts at least. The village could hardly turn away a trained doctor such as Aoki. Currently he looked drawn and tired. 

“Are you here for the Inspector?” Dr. Tatsuki Aoki asked. 

“Yes. How is he?” Both Goodfellow and Father Brown rose to their feet as soon as he walked in. 

“He is… settled. He suffers from second and third degree burns along his left arm and shoulder. If we can keep the infection out he will not lose the arm.”

“You may have to amputate?!” Goodfellow gasped out, his knees going weak. Dr. Aoki held up a calming hand. 

“We hope it does not come to that. I have him sedated currently. He is not breathing well. Hopefully clean air and water help to clear his airways of soot. He also appears to have broken two ribs. He is going to be my guest here for several nights. Likely a couple weeks.”

“He’s going to hate that.” Goodfellow felt the need to add. 

“Yes, I anticipate that. You are welcome to come sit with him. Please don’t touch him if you can avoid it. We are trying to keep him as free of contamination as we can.” The unlikely looking duo followed after his brisk steps towards the long term use rooms. 

Sullivan was stripped to the waist. He had been bathed and scrubbed clean before dressings had been applied; they covered him from finger tip to chest. He was reclined partially upright and turned so they could see the expansive bandage around his back and shoulder. From the doorway they could hear the rattle in his lungs as he breathed in and out. 

“Is there nothing we can do to help? His breathing sounds painful.” Father Brown whispered in deference to the injured man. 

“We are doing what we can. I would have liked to attempt clearing techniques with him but it isn’t possible with the burns and broken ribs. If it worsens then we will suction out his throat and lungs as needed. Again, hopefully it clears up on its own. For now, keep him company. He is heavily sedated but he may still hear you speaking. Please alert a nurse if you need anything.” 

Brown and Goodfellow took another step into the room and claimed the only two seats available. They sat in silence for only a moment before Father Brown spoke. 

“Thank you Inspector for saving James. His parents will be so grateful once they hear. I know you do not believe it but I will continue to pray until you are well enough to tell me to stop.”

“I’m here sir. You did really well. Didn’t even hesitate to rush in and save that boy. You’re a hero. Now you can rest and heal. We’ll be here when you’re ready to wake up.” It could have been their imagination but it seemed to them that Sullivan breathed just a little easier. 

[monaisme]

Sicktember: Day 21

This is chapter 2 of the Sicktember fic posted yesterday. You can find it here (along with this once I get this posted over on ao3! 🤭):

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58933525

#21- Anaphylactic Response

It couldn’t have been timed better if they had planned it.

Granted, they’d lost a minute or two trying to convince the uber driver that Peter’s cough was NOT a result of covid, so maybe they hadn’t needed to cut it that close.

Bruce had first noticed that something was off a few minutes into the ride.

Peter began to bounce his leg...

No big deal. Bruce remembered Tony joking that he and Peter could start up a band called AD/HD so the stimming didn’t seem too out of place.

At least the coughing was starting to settle.

The breathing between those coughs, though, “Are you doing okay there, Peter?” Bruce had to ask. “You’re kind of quiet all of a sudden and your breathing seems a little...”

“’m still fine.” Peter forced out, then shifted his focus to the scenery as it passed by.

It was all Bruce could do to not call him out on the obvious lie. Peter was most definitely not fine. What he could do, though, was count down the minutes back to the hotel as Bruce recognized each landmark along the way. Bruce thought it might have helped, as they hit the two minute mark and Peter pulled out his phone, prepared to complete their uber transaction as hastily as possible.

The leg shaking grew more frantic.

 “Peter?” Bruce had to ask again as the vehicle finally pulled under the hotel’s porte-cochere.

Peter just shook his head.

The driver tapped on a screen as he thanked them for using Uber, Peter’s phone pinged, and in a flash, a tip had been given and Peter was bolting out of the vehicle and into the hotel without a word. 

Even struggling, the boy made sure to be kind.

Bruce offered an awkward ‘thank you’ as he fumbled to exit the car to follow Peter, and accidentally leaving their food behind.

“Peter!” Bruce called out as he watched the boy enter to the stairwell. A quick glance as he passed the lobby elevator showed the single elevator car biding its time on the sixth floor, with their room set on the third. Bruce had never been so thankful to Natasha and her insistence that Bruce focus on more than just yoga and meditation as he set off up the stairs behind him. Knowing the urgency, Bruce didn’t call out again, just rushed behind and hoped to catch up if Peter needed him before their destination.

Bruce was only steps behind Peter by the time he’d pushed the third floor stairwell door open with more strength than necessary. Planning ahead, Bruce pulled the room key card from his pocket as Peter patted down his own pocket for his. “I’m here, Peter. I’ve got it.” Bruce announced as he reached past him to the card reader on the door handle and tapped. The green light flashed and Peter was in the room and dashing past the vanity to the bathroom before Bruce could fully enter the room, the door slamming forcefully behind him.

And then the heaving started.

 Bruce had intended to follow, even tried to open the door to get to him, but Peter had managed to throw the lock before it all went to shit. All Bruce could do was lean against the counter outside of the door, silently supportive as he waited for Peter to come out, though the brief silence once he finally was did have Bruce nervous enough to contemplate breaking the door down. “Uh, Peter?” he finally had to call out. “Are you good?”

A weak, “Just a minute,” answered back.

Bruce took that as the cue to get to work, so he hurried into the hotel room proper and pulled back the blankets on Peter’s bed, which was conveniently located closest to the bathroom. Once that was done, he went back to the vanity, hastily lining the cheap plastic ice bucket with the provided plastic bag and filling two of the four disposable cups with tap water. He’d just placed them on the bedside table and brought the garbage can over as a reinforcement when the bathroom door creaked open.

“I am so sorry...” A concerningly pale Peter croaked as he shuffled to his bed and sat cautiously as he clutched his stomach. “I’d really hoped this wouldn’t happen...” Peter winced as he shifted to lie down.

Bruce stood by helpless, wishing that Tony could be here for Peter instead of him, but then Peter’s words sunk in, “Uh, hold on? What does that mean?” What had Bruce missed?

Peter sighed in frustration, “Since the whole, you know,” Peter waved a tired hand over his altered body, “It’s always a wild guess... ‘what is Peter’s body going to do with this new food exposure?’” Peter curled up a bit, “So this is totally my bad. I should’ve been more careful and ordered something I knew... especially when I was away from home. I should’ve...”

“Wait a minute...” Bruce cut him off as he processed that information, “Are you telling me this is an anaphylactic response?”

Peter shrugged, “I am neither confirming nor denying anything.”

“Hang on.” Bruce whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and pulled up his search engine. The look of horror that spread across Bruce’s face made it obvious exactly what he was scrolling through, “I sat beside you in the uber and you didn’t say anything while your symptoms were literally manifesting! You could have died? You could still die? Do you even have an epipen?”

Peter’s eyes drooped with exhaustion. “Nah, it hasn’t gotten that bad any other time. I think my spider DNA helps with that some. And you’re a doctor.” Peter coughed a little, “If something had happened, you’d have made sure I was okay.”

Bruce dropped down onto his own bed and dragged his hands through his hair. “I keep telling you guys—I’m not that kind of doctor” He exhaled loudly, “When are you guys going to believe me?”

Peter chuckled, “Mr. Stark says that you always say that, but he also says you always come through.”

Bruce blushed a little at the compliment, and meant to reply, but Peter kept talking.

“I’m just sorry that I messed up the rest of the weekend. I mean, I can try, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be out of commission for most of tomorrow, and you were talkin’ about that lecturer you wanted to go hear and the SI demonstration...” Peter’s voice cracked as he trailed off, then faux-rallied for Bruce’s benefit. “But it’s totally cool if you even want to go alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Peter. Here,” Bruce was back up and offering one of the cups of water to Peter and picking up the garbage can. “Wanna give your mouth a rinse? And maybe, if you’re feeling safe, try to take a couple of sips?”

Peter nodded warily, then hesitated at the thought of either sitting back up, or more so, risking actually throwing up in front of a witness.

Bruce saw the hesitation, and understood. “Relax, Peter. As a future Avenger, it is a guarantee that you will have to do this in front of at least one- if not all of us at some point. You may as well get that first time out of the way now... especially if you still have anything in your stomach.” Bruce cringed at the idea. “In fact, I think I’d definitely feel better about it. Getting all of it out, that is...”

He sighed, “How is this my life?”

Bruce just shrugged, “Well, you wanted Dr. Bruce, so here we are.”

 “Ugh.”

“Hey,” Bruce crouched down to look him in the eye. “Let me tell you something that not too many people know—” Bruce made a show of looking over his shoulder for imaginary eavesdroppers. “The Avenger this is happening in front of is also the guy who always loses his pants at the end of the battle.”

“Oof. That sucks.” Peter clutched at his stomach as he laughed. “I thought losing my backpacks all the time was bad.”

“Oh, it sucks alright, but it just goes to show you that you’re not alone when it comes to the less than glamorous stuff. Now, my thought is that you want to drink as much as you can so that we can get this done and over with so you can start feeling better.” Bruce wiggled the water cup in front of him. “Throwing up something is better than throwing up nothing, and I’m right here. Is that okay?”

He eyed the cup like it had just insulted his Aunt May then Peter finally relented, propped himself up a little on one elbow and took the cup in his other hand. “I really am sorry about this. Really.”

“Nope. No apologies. Let’s just get this part done, then I’ll run down to the front desk and see if they have any overpriced painkillers to help take the edge off the stomach cramps, okay?”

Peter shook his head, “Don’t bother,” he took a first, tentative sip. “Painkillers don’t work on me anymore.”

“Wait—what?!” But he was too late.

Peter downed the rest of the water in a few of huge gulps, took a couple of deep breaths, then blanched. “Oh,” Peter slapped a hand over his mouth and belched. “That happened faster than expected.” He jackknifed upright and twisted just in time for Bruce to shove the garbage pail into his hands.

And so began round two.

Between heaves, Peter continued the litany of apologies.

Meanwhile, Bruce’s mind was in a tizzy. He awkwardly patted the kid’s shoulder while muttering soft comforts, “You’re okay, Peter,” or, “It’s almost over, Peter,” while implication after implication of Peter’s spider bite ran through his head. How many secrets did this kid have? There were so many questions—that Bruce would have to get to later on.

“I hate my life,” Peter panted out after a particularly violent sounding heave. “but think I’m—” he dry heaved again, then again, and then breathed for a minute. “Yeah,” he panted. “Done.” He sounded like he’d run a marathon.

“Good—good,” Bruce stood up, wincing as his own knees cracked. He grabbed the second cup of water from the nightstand, and offered Peter a trade, “If you’re sure, wanna give me the can and you can do that rinse now?”

“I’m one million percent sure that my stomach is empty now so...” All concern about appearances was out the window and with a little bit of passing and grabbing, Peter was feeling as refreshed as he was going to be. “Thanks.” Peter handed the cup back to Bruce and tried to get comfortable again.

“That’s enough with the apologies.” Bruce was already feeling bad for him, “I’m sorry that I don’t have anything to help you out with, but—can I—?” He’d just told Peter that he wasn’t a real doctor and now here he was... “Can I just do a quick evaluation?”

Peter stiffened, ready to refuse, but Bruce was figuring out the lay of the land.

 “It would make me feel better...”

Peter blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine.”

“Great!” Bruce jumped to work, “let me just get rid of these,” he placed the mostly full water cup back on the nightstand and then rushed to the hotel room door and placed the garbage can the hallway. A quick call to the front desk for housekeeping made its contents someone else’s problem, but Bruce made a note to leave a big tip when they left, so no guilt.

Peter simply watched from the bed.

Once everything was taken care of, Bruce sidestepped to the vanity and washed his hands before coming back into the room proper. He dragged the wheeled compute chair over to sit between the beds, and then pulled his phone out again. “Um,” Bruce needed to approach this delicately. “Before I do anything more, I do want to call your aunt, if that’s okay?”

Peter immediately opened his mouth to argue but Bruce cut him off before he could start.

“I ask only because you’re sixteen, Peter, and first and foremost, that technically makes you a minor who is in the midst of a medical situation, and believe it or not, I’m really not a doctor. Second, someone should really know what’s going on here in general what with the altered DNA and your aunt makes the most sense. If you think about it, it’s only dumb luck that nothing more catastrophic has happened.”

Peter didn’t seem to know what to do. He’d been through the wringer already tonight and it showed. “I get what you’re saying, but you don’t understand! I can’t tell my aunt,” Peter begged. “I already cause her so many problems, Dr. Banner, and I can’t add another one... I just can’t.”

He exhaled slowly, then caught the slip up. “It’s still Bruce, Peter. You’re fine. And if you don’t want me to call your aunt, then can I at least call Tony?”

Peter muttered, “Do you really have to?”

Bruce didn’t feel out of place grabbing Peter’s hand and giving a squeeze of support. “Yeah, I think it is.”

And so he did.

Bruce put the phone on speaker to put Peter at ease.

Tony answered on the second ring, “Brucie! How are you and my young protégé doing this fine evening? Is the spider-baby all tuckered out from getting his geek on? And what did he think of the SI demo? I had him in mind when I was coordinating with our tech guys. ”

Bruce waited patiently for Tony to come to the end of his greeting. “The convention has been amazing so far, but we, uh, we missed the demo... Yeah. That’s actually why we’re calling,” he cast a quick glance over to Peter, who was looking devastated. Bruce squeezed his hand tight again. “You’re on speaker, Tony. We have a bit of a situation here and I think you need to be in the loop.”

The shift in Tony’s tone was immediate, “Tell me what’s going on, Bruce, and how can I help?”

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Reason 101 to Wear Your Helmet

It’s not normally Virgil who runs into trouble taking his helmet off at a rescue.

(Trigger Warning: Vomiting. You have been warned.)

It was with great relief that Virgil finally wormed his way out of the debris stack he had been forced to crawl through. Something in the pile was messing with the sensors, and John was only 95 percent certain that the life sign was erroneous data, so physical recon had been needed.

It had taken longer than anticipated for the powerful scanner rig Virgil had worked into the heart of the former building to take and relay the necessary readings to John on Thunderbird Five, but his older spaceborne brother had finally declared the debris survivor-free.

Virgil tried not to think that that didn’t mean everybody had gotten out.

It had taken Virgil even longer to work his way back out of the debris pile, again lugging the scanner that seemed to grow even less portable with each passing minute.

Equally alarming was the rapidly diminishing O2 levels showing on his helmets HUD. The air was getting pretty stale by the time he finally worked himself free, and he founding himself panting for breath. It was with great relief when he was finally able to pull off his helmet and suck in great lungful’s of mercifully fresh oxygen.

If only that was all he’d sucked in.

He’d been so desperate for air, he’d breathed in open mouthed, and was only aware of the flies surrounding him one impacted the back of his throat.

The effect was instantaneous.

Virgil retched violently; gagging, coughing and spluttering, as his entire body rejected the invasion. From down near his feet, John’s alarmed voice emanated from his helmet, but Virgil was helpless to respond. His body rolled with nausea, great waves working up from the pit of his stomach to his mouth as he coughed and dry heaved helplessly. By the time Scott thundered to a stop beside him, he was doubled over and actually vomiting, acid watery bile splattering the ground and his boots, burning his throat and tongue on its way past.

He ignored the scanner as the yellow beam passed over him, and gradually got his body back under control as Scott stared, baffled, at the cheerful green readouts.

“Virg, what’s wrong?”

He couldn’t speak to answer, still gagging and spitting out alarming amounts of saliva as his stomach still occasionally roiled. He mimed ‘fly’, and hoped Scott understood.

Scott understood. At least partially. “Fly? Oh, you swallowed a fly!”

It was enough to set him off again. His throat closing up and the roiling and coughing intensified until his stomach ejected what precious little was left. Virgil noted with a kind of vague satisfaction that Scott hadn’t got out of the splatter zone in time, and his boots and legs were now liberally decorated with his former stomach contents.

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Scott finally remembered. “Hit the spot, huh?”

Virgil glared, weakly, from where he was still doubled over, desperately trying to evict the sensation (and hopefully the invader) from his body.

Scott triggered his comms. “False alarm, John. Virgil … had a close encounter with local wildlife.”

“Local wildlife?” John was radiating anxiety from space. “What was it? Did it bite him? Does he need a hospital?”

And Scott, damn him, smirked. “Only if he decides to swallow a spider, a bird, a cat, a dog …”

“Huh?” The look of incomprehension on John’s face was comical, and Virgil would have enjoyed it if he wasn’t so focused on his desire to wipe that smirk of Scott’s face. And gagging.

“Oh!” John had reached enlightenment. “He swallowed a fly?”

Bastards! Virgil thought, as his body reacted involuntarily, going in for his third round of intense retching. His older brothers were definitely going to pay for this, and pay dearly.

Scott finally took pity on him, and dragged him back to the safety of Thunderbird Two, where Brain’s elaborate biosecurity measures meant the interior was blissfully insect-free.

As Virgil enthusiastically gargled and scrubbed at his teeth, trying to get rid of the phantom sensation. Scott watched him carefully, monitoring for signs of ‘relapse’. Virgil knew there was no way he was living this down.

“How’d it happen, Virg?” Scott asked carefully, trying to avoid setting off Virgil’s over-active disgust reaction.

Virgil glared. “How know how it had to have happened. I took my helmet off,” he growled.

Scott’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, like Thunderbird Three launching into space. “YOU took your helmet off? Mr Safety? Mr For-the-Hundredth-Time-Scott-Don’t-Take-Your-Helmet-Off? YOU took your helmet off?”

Virgil glared and keyed in the holographic readout on his gauntlet. The urgent red blinking ‘low oxygen’ alert hung in the air between them.

“Oh.” Scott’s eyebrows returned to their proper place. “Yeah. That’s a good reason.”

Virgil grunted.

Scott smirked. “Although we have just found reason one hundred and one to keep your helmet on!”

He darted out of the small bathroom with Virgil’s helmet in flying pursuit.

A week later, Brains found his laboratory meticulously cleared of his current project, and a proposed design adjustment for the ground-ops helmets sitting in its place. A handwritten note from Virgil read: ‘Urgent adjustment needed for ground-ops helmet. Require emergency air-intake and filtration. Proposed amendment for your immediate review.’

International Rescue’s chief engineer smiled. Virgil was accommodating Reason 101 to Wear Your Helmet, now officially enshrined in the ‘Big Book of Rescues’.

Virgil Tracy was never going to swallow a fly again.

Notes:

I.

HATE.

FLIES.

And yes, I have been known to throw up after inhaling a fly. It just hits THAT spot, and …

Gross.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[flameunquenched]

had to call out of work just after what technically should have been my lunch. tw: vomiting, discussion of stomach issues

i have not felt great all day, between a very upset stomach and then around 10:30 the beginnings of feeling a strong urge to vomit. i managed to hold off til about 12:45, which is during my 30m lunch break. i have not eaten anything before a handful of chips and a single pink starburst and i know i need to eat soon to stabilize my blood sugar but the mere idea of putting food in my mouth sickens me. ended up calling out at 1 and went to lie down in my bed with both cats til about 4 and i still feel sick and shaky. dunno if it's a bout of food poisoning or something else but god i feel rough af.

[bidisasterevankinard]

❤️❤️ (for the make me write thing)

hiii <3333 for you tw: vomiting

When Buck was planning this evening with Tommy and Eddie he wasn’t expecting to spend it quite like that. He wanted to watch the game with his favorite people, drink beer, eat not healthy snacks, then say  bye to Eddie, order some take out, open wine and end his night fucking with his boyfriend.

He didn’t expect to rush to his bathroom to throw up all his lunch the moment Eddie opened his favorite chips.

That’s how he spends the last ten minutes. His head is almost all in his toilet, he spits out first all the food that was in his body, and then the bile, with his hand on his stomach trying to ease his cramps, while Tommy and Eddie look at him, staying near the door. Buck just feels their eyes on him. But never able to look to see what they are doing.

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 13

Chapter 13 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Jason keeps asking Chrissy out, who tells him she’s dating Steve to get him to stop. It leads to him coming out to her. In the evening Eddie comes by. Steve falls asleep and has a nightmare. Eddie tries to comfort him, but the person he needs is Robin, to which Eddie drives them as he gets to witness their friendship.

On AO3.

Ships: steddie & buckingham

Warnings: period typical sexism, homophobia mention, nightmare, vomiting

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 13: The Rejected Date

It’s already the middle of October. School has been in for a while and Steve has been living on his own at the cabin for a few weeks already.

Living on his own has been both fun and hard. He misses Robin, but she stays over at least one night a week and he is at the Buckley’s for dinner and to sleep over once a week as well. They usually end up sleeping together three nights, one of them, because they woke up from a nightmare and had to check the other was okay.

When it’s Robin, Steve will get called awake and drive over to find Robin waiting on her porch in her pajamas, freezing. She’ll fall into his arms and he’ll carry her to her room, wrapping both of them into the blanket as she shoves her ice cube toes between his calves.

If it’s him, he’ll show up still sweaty and shivering from the nightmare. He knows where they keep the spare key and he’ll let himself in, crawling into Robin’s bed. She’s used to it and wraps her arms around him, sleepily lecturing him about safety on the road.

The set up isn’t perfect, but it works for them. He and Robin are bound for life, he cannot imagine not knowing her. If sneaking into her bed is to be part of his life, then he’ll do so with the gratefulness that he gets to know her.

Beyond his sleepovers with Robin, he calls Lisa from time to time and hangs out with Chrissy on Wednesdays. There isn’t cheer practice, but Chrissy told her mom there is. They hang out together, just talking or stunting, depending on the mood.

Steve loves spending time together with Chrissy. He might be half conjoined with Robin and she is his person, who gets him on so many levels, but he connects with Chrissy about bad parents and a love for sports in a way that Robin won’t get. And he doesn’t begrudge her that. Robin has amazing parents and he is thankful for that, besides he doesn’t get her obsession with weird books, movies and music either.

Chrissy loves the cabin and is always excited to hang around there. She loves the quiet sounds of nature and how there is no one to watch or judge her. Steve gets the feeling, though he isn’t the biggest forest fan after the Upside Down.

On Saturdays he hangs out with Max and Lucas. He brings dinner and plays basketball with Lucas at the trailer park, both ignoring how Susan is never home and how this is the most decent meal Max eats in the week.

Lucas is improving his skill and is going onto the varsity team, which is huge as a freshman. It makes Steve so proud of him, despite his own bad experiences with the basketball team during the last part of his time at high school.

When playing with Lucas, Steve also doesn’t think of Eddie, whose trailer is right across from Max’s, who has been sworn to secrecy and let in on the prank. He sees her eyes glittering whenever Lucas complains about giving the guy a chance as they eat dinner.

But it’s okay, he sees Eddie at other times.

He drives the kids home from Hellfire club on Fridays. Usually he and Eddie exchange a few words in the parking lot. When he recounts them to Robin she calls it flirting, but Steve tries not to believe her, tries not to get his hopes up.

Just like he tries not to get his hopes up whenever he and Eddie hang out. Steve doesn’t have the best sleep schedule and it seems that neither does Eddie, because he’ll often show up at an hour that is too late to be socially acceptable and stays until deep in the night.

Eddie makes it very hard to not get hopes up, or at least to get over the crush. He’ll always press close, easily stepping into Steve’s space and handing out casual touches like it’s nothing. He’ll grin showing those cute dimples and creating crinkles around those kind and beautiful eyes. It makes Steve want to do something stupid.

However, Steve knows better. He has seen enough of Eddie to know that the affection is just baked into his being. Steve isn’t special. Eddie is just nice and he shouldn’t look for things that aren’t there.

It’s not special when they sit on the porch and look at the stars, sharing things they wouldn’t say in the light of day. It’s not special when Eddie uses his joint to light Steve’s cigarette. It’s not special when Eddie rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. And it’s not special when the night drags on and a drawl creeps into Eddie’s voice, when man gets replaced with sweetheart and Eddie gazes at Steve like he’s something precious.

Steve just has to keep reminding himself of that.

Robin tells him he’s being an idiot, but Robin doesn’t get to say shit. It’s not like she’s telling that Vickie girl from band that she likes her. So, he ignores her arguments about why he should risk the friendship he’s only just starting to build and lingers in the moments where he has Eddie, before he reminds himself it isn’t special.

Yesterday was such an evening again, but Robin can’t say anything, because she is working and he is not. He’s going to hang out with Chrissy at the cabin and just try to forget and work it out by throwing Chrissy into the air for a bit.

He goes to pick her up after school. She looks a little nervous, glancing around as she quickly gets into his car. She looks like she wants to say something, but can’t. Her nerves are making Steve anxious as he wonders what could have happened. He asks: “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I did something and I need you to go along with it and not be mad,” Chrissy tells him, worrying her lip between her teeth.

The words do nothing to soothe Steve’s nerves and if he weren’t focused on driving, he would have more space to panic. “What did you do?”

“I told Jason we’re dating when he asked me out,” Chrissy rushes out, then rambles on: “He just keeps asking and I said no multiple times, but he won’t stop. So, when he asked why I won’t give him a chance I said that I have a boyfriend. He didn’t believe that, so I just said your name, because I don’t really want to date right now, so I needed someone who wouldn’t be secretly in love with me.”

“Of course I’ll back your story,” Steve promises, not seeing an issue with it. Chrissy is too young for him, but it’s not real. She knows he won’t be in love-

Wait, Steve’s brain screeches to a halt as the latter part of Chrissy’s ramble registers. He stops at the intersection, looks at Chrissy and asks: “Who says I’m not secretly madly in love with you?”

Chrissy looks surprised at the question and taken aback she says: “You are?”

“I mean, no, but I could have been, right?” Steve says, finding an edge of desperation in his voice as the walls of the car start to close in on him. He does not like where this conversation is going. He does not know if he can do this.

Meanwhile, Chrissy’s face turns sympathetic and she starts: “Steve…” trailing off with nothing to say, which is horrible for Steve’s frame of mind.

“Right?” he repeats, knowing that the crack in his voice does nothing to help his case.

“Oh, Stevie, you don’t- you don’t have to pretend with me,” she tells him softly, compassion and gentleness filling her voice.

She knows he’s gay.

Steve got the inkling, but those words confirm it. She knows. She has known. She knows and still she hangs out with Steve, lets him be near her, touch her, be close with her. All his fears about her rejection due to her religious house were for naught, because she doesn’t seem to mind.

Chrissy doesn’t mind he’s gay.

He feels tears start to try and get out, so he pushes them down and takes a shuddering breath. He can’t deal with all these emotions right now. Instead he checks if anyone is coming at the intersection and starts driving again.

The tension in the car is palpable. Chrissy is fidgeting next to him and Steve is just staring at the road, trying not to feel. He doesn’t know what to say. What if he misunderstood and Chrissy is talking about something else? What if he says it and then she hates him?

So they drive in tense silence, something they haven’t done in all the time they’ve known each other. Not really, not like this.

It’s only when they pull up at the cabin that Chrissy speaks up, her voice very timid. “Are you okay?” she asks. “If I said something wrong you can say it. I’m really sorry, I didn’t know it was something I shouldn’t say.”

“How long have you known?” Steve asks, still not meeting her eyes. He has to know. He has only just gotten his respectability back. What if it’s obvious?

“Since the summer,” Chrissy answers.

“How?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure at first,” Chrissy begins to explain, sounding unsure. “I mean, you know what whispers went around about you, but I don’t like rumors. So, I ignored them. You seemed nice and we became friends. I liked that you treated us like people, not just dumb cheerleaders. Then I noticed you never talked about Nancy. Never. Barely mentioned her.”

“What does Nancy have to do with it?” Steve asks, confused as to why Chrissy is bringing her up.

“For someone not enough over the heartbreak to date again, you never talked about her,” Chrissy shrugs and smiles. “I thought that was odd. But that’s all maybe’s. Robin confirmed it for me.”

“Robin?” Steve frowns.

“Yeah, you were very adamant about nothing being there,” Chrissy says. “I almost convinced myself you had to be lying about it, but I know you too well. So, I assumed. I didn’t say anything because you didn’t. Sorry. Should I not have done that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, looking Chrissy in the eye. “I honestly don’t know, Chris. I’m terrified of people knowing. Robin knows, but beyond that…”

“That sucks,” Chrissy tells him in that sweet genuine way only she can. She bumps her shoulder against his and smiles: “I’ll never judge you, Stevie. You’re my best friend.”

Words escape Steve. He never thought he would have people who would accept him, but here he has not only Robin and Eddie, but Chrissy as well. His Chrissy. His favorite cheerleader. He pulls her into a hug and practically crushes her.

Chrissy doesn’t seem to mind, just clings to him equally tight and doesn’t let go. They sit there in the front seat of Steve’s car, until Steve is willing to let go.

“You’re my best friend too,” Steve tells her. “Thank you for not hating me.”

“Never,” Chrissy says and it sounds like a promise.

They finally get out of the car and Chrissy seems to know that he doesn’t want to get into it now, but just put it out of his mind. So, she drops her stuff off inside and immediately comes back out to warm up. The October chill is coming in, but neither of them care.

The two of the run around to warm up. Chrissy can now comfortably to a handstand on Steve’s hands, so they’re just working on flipping. It’s not the smartest thing to do without anyone to catch her, but they don’t care. Stunting makes them feel alive in a way nothing else does.

So they stunt until they’re both sweaty and both take a shower, their hair a mess as it air dries and grins on their faces.

Steve doesn’t have a TV, so they put on some music while they crawl onto the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. The heating in the cabin isn’t the best, but Steve has amassed a collection of blankets that they burrow under.

The cabin itself is very homey. Steve finally has a bed frame that he stumbled upon in the second hand shop, a lucky find. The living room is painted an orange-y red, giving it a warm feel. Though he painted the beams the same yellow as the cabinets, which he loves.

He made it his little home and he is happy there. On some lonely nights however, he stares at the closed door where the last memory of Hopper remains. He’ll think of El living here. Hopper and her fixing it up. The countless days she’d been cooped up here. He wonders if she’d like what he has done with it, but he’s too scared to ask whenever he calls all the way to California.

It’s there, sitting on the couch that Chrissy brings it up again. She doesn’t start a serious conversation about it, instead curiously asking: “So, do you have a crush on anyone? A real one. I told you mine, now you can tell me yours.”

“Who says I have a crush,” Steve counters.

“Pleaseeeee, even if it’s just a celebrity,” Chrissy pleads. “I wanna gossip with you.”

“You’re being nosy, that’s different,” Steve points out, but he’s smiling too big for his judgment to be believable. He can’t believe Chrissy is being so casual about it, so accepting.

“Then let me be nosy,” Chrissy pouts. “I told you my embarrassing crushes, it’s only fair. I even told you when I liked that guy in my history class, despite the fact that he would always stick his chewing gum under the tables.”

“And he didn’t wash his hands after peeing,” Steve reminds her.

“I know, it was gross and why I stopped liking him,” Chrissy says. “What about you? Do you have any deal breakers in guys?”

“You’re persistent,” Steve laughs.

“Thank you,” Chrissy grins.

Steve is quiet for a second, then he blushes and softly admits: “I like dimples. And muscles. Like on the arms. Arm muscles are good.”

Chrissy squeals and gushes: “Oh my god, when a guy lifts something, right?”

“God, yes,” Steve groans sinking into the couch as he remembers Eddie lifting the heavy tools onto the roof of the very cabin he’s in. Next to him Chrissy giggles. He can’t help but laugh too, a giddy feeling spreading through his limbs. He always wanted to join when the cheerleaders gossiped about crushes and now he can. It feels like acceptance.

“What else? What else?” Chrissy demands, slapping his arm excitedly.

The only person Steve has ever talked about this is Robin and he is worried about it being too much for Chrissy and that she’ll be grossed out, so he keeps it a bit less explicit and skips over the fingers to say: “Stubble is nice.”

“Oeh, yeah, like Indiana Jones,” Chrissy squeals excitedly.

“Yeah, like Indiana Jones,” Steve agrees, because Harrison Ford is hot and he is not ashamed of thinking that.

They continue to talk about boys for a little while longer. Steve admits to thinking Micheal J. Fox and Judd Nelson are hot, which delights Chrissy. She doesn’t seemed grossed out all throughout the conversation and Steve is practically floating on air as he drives her home.

Even in his wildest dreams, he would not have thought Chrissy would be this cool about it all. Hell, he would never have thought he’d ever come out to her, yet here he is. She is the fourth person to know after Eddie, Robin and Will, that is four more than he’d thought. It feels like a middle finger to his parents to tell her. To not deny it. Steve feels great.

He contemplates calling Robin to tell her when he gets home, but his phone bill is already criminal and he’s driving her to school tomorrow morning. He can wait.

Steve makes himself dinner and eats. He doesn’t have many hobbies, but there are always little things to do in the cabin. However, before he can commit himself to any of them, there is a knock on the door. Steve isn’t expecting anyone, but there are multiple people who could randomly be standing on his doorstep.

Today it’s Eddie. He’s grinning and holding up a six pack as he asks: “Wanna drink and forget high school exists?”

“Sure, man,” Steve grins and steps aside to let him in as he asks: “What subject is kicking your ass this time?”

“All of them,” Eddie groans, shrugging off his jacket, six pack on the coffee table. He flops down on Steve’s couch and Steve’s heart does a flip at how comfortable Eddie is in his house. Eddie continues: “I don’t know why, but they all have it out for me. I don’t want to be doing all of this again either, you know?”

“High school just sucks, I think,” Steve offers, pushing Eddie’s feet of the couch so he can sit next to him.

“It does,” Eddie agrees, coming up from his flopped position to sit next to Steve, their thighs pressing together, which neither of them comment on. “But word is, you and Chrissy are dating, what’s that about?”

“Some guy wouldn’t stop hitting on her, so she said we were dating so he’d get of her back,” Steve shrugs. He doesn’t really care if that gets around, if it means Chrissy gets left alone. Plus, it’ll be good for his reputation.

“And does she know the dating is fake?” Eddie asks.

“You mean, does she know I’m gay?” Steve counters. “Yes, actually. Told her today, but she kind of guessed already. It’s why she said me.”

“Damn, congrats man,” Eddie says as he pops open two beers with his rings, something Steve will always find attractive and offers one to Steve as he toast: “To you coming out to Chrissy.”

“Cheers,” Steve cheers, clinking his bottle against Eddie’s.

A comfortable silence falls over them as they both take a sip of their beer. Eddie has become a common guest at Steve’s. Not every week, but at least once every two weeks he’ll be on Steve’s doorstep and Steve always craves it like a dying man does water.

He knows that this is bad for the burning crush and Robin calls him pathetic, but he likes having Eddie to himself, hidden away from the world in the little cabin. So, he never says anything that could discourage Eddie from coming back again.

Steve is too anxious to go to Eddie’s place, so he just keeps welcoming Eddie whenever he comes to Steve’s.

“But enough about school,” Eddie grins. “How are you, Stevie-boy? Customer still as traumatic as ever?”

“Fuck, don’t even joke about it.” Now it’s Steve’s turn to groan. “Just yesterday this lady came in and she yelled at me for half an hour for renting her son an R-rated movie. Her son is sixteen and it was her husband that rented the movie. Like, why?”

“That’s the worsttt,” Eddie says. “I swear, you can shoot me if I ever try to get a job like that. I think I would get into a fight within a week.”

“Wouldn’t rule it out,” Steve snorts. “I fantasize about murdering some people in moments like that. To keep me sane.”

“Remind me to stay on your good side,” Eddie grins, head lolling against the back of the couch as he does, neck on display.

Fuck, Steve wants to bite it.

He doesn’t though. These nights with Eddie are an exercise in self restraint. Instead, he grins back and says: “I promise to make it look like an accident,” before reclining on the couch as well.

“You can be terrifying, dude,” Eddie tells him, sounding both awed and delighted. Then he launches into a story about the campaign he’s running that it reminded him off. Steve has already heard about it from Dustin, but gladly listens to it again in Eddie’s warm voice.

They make their way through the six pack slowly and quickly take a smoke break. Eddie usually smokes a joint, but he is out of joints and smokes.

Steve is on his last cigarette, which they share. Every time Steve takes a drag he has to remind himself to not think about how the filter is still wet from where it had been in Eddie’s mouth earlier. Has to remind they’re only sharing because they’re both out. That it isn’t special.

After their smoke break they migrate back to the couch. Steve is feeling tired, but he doesn’t want Eddie to go yet, so tries to keep blinking his eyes open for as long as he can.

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind his tired audience and keeps up rambles about whatever comes to his mind. It always amazes Steve how Eddie never seems to run out of topics to talk about. He just keeps talking, hands waving about, until they begin to fidget with the couch cushion, before moving to Steve’s hair.

Usually Steve is very protective of his hair, but Robin has no boundaries and he figured out how nice it is to have someone play with his hair. So, when Eddie’s hand touches his hair, twisting a bit around his finger, Steve leans into the contact before Eddie can stop.

There is a slight falter in Eddie’s sentence, but picks up right where he left of when Steve blinks at him, too exhausted to register what exactly is happening.

And when Eddie plays with his hair, Steve is playing a loosing game. He’s already tired, the nightmares cutting into his sleeping time, and the safety of someone watching over him combined with the soothing hands in his hair, means that Steve is dropping off before he can stop it.

While Steve isn’t the best sleeper, he normally sleeps better with other people there. However, it seems the universe has it out for him, because his brain comes up with a horror show that includes all the worst days of his life, until he’s gasping as he falls of the couch.

He scrambles up into a fighting position when someone moves, before the curls register. His brain says Nancy, which means there is at least back up. Then it registers a concerned: “Stevie, sweetheart, are you in there?” in something that is definitely is not Nancy’s voice.

Eddie, it pings, but before he can say anything, his stomach acts up and he stumbles to the bathroom, where he drops to his knees and sees the three beers and his dinner again.

As he’s retching into the bowl in a high mortifying and undignified manner, a warm hand rubs his back soothingly. Another hand gently pushes his bangs out of his face. He can hear Eddie gently murmur: “You’re okay, I got you, you’re alright, sweetheart.”

Tears well up in Steve’s eyes and stream down his face, mixing with the snot, spit and bile already gathering there. He probably looks fucking disgusting and pathetic and he hates that Eddie is seeing him like this, but he’s still shivering with fear and can’t bring himself to stop. Eddie’s words are helping too and he is unable to send Eddie away.

Steve dry heaves for a few seconds, before he coughs and spits the last bit into the bowl. He sniffles and reaches for the toilet roll, blowing his nose and throwing it into the toilet before flushing it with the rest of his dinner.

He knows he should face Eddie now, explain what happen and tell him that he’s okay and that Eddie shouldn’t worry. Instead, however, he sits on his knees next to the toilet with hunched shoulders, unable to look Eddie in the eyes as his cheeks burn. What an impression to make, he thinks bitterly.

There is a moment of quiet between them, throughout it Eddie keeps up the rubbing on Steve’s back that Steve wants to shrug off, but also uses like a lifeline.

“Are- are you okay?” Eddie asks cautiously when the silence drags on without Steve moving or saying anything.

Steve swallows thickly, the image of Robin’s corpse still in his fresh on mind, fake as it might have been. “Yeah,” he assures Eddie with shaky voice that does not sound believable in the slightest. “I- I am okay. I just- I need to see Robin.”

“Robin?” Eddie frowns.

“Fuck, I- I have to go check on her,” Steve says, stumbling to his feet. He’s more present, but still trembling with fear. He won’t be able to calm down until he has seen Robin. He hasn’t had a nightmare this bad in weeks.

He staggers into the living room, still not having faced Eddie. He already made a fool out of himself, might as well look like a full madman, if that means he can get to Robin right now. He gropes around for his car keys, letting out a victorious noise when he fishes them out of his jacket pocket.

The keys are immediately plucked out of his hands and he whirls around with a wounded noise as he pleads: “Give those back.”

“No,” Eddie says. He looks worried, but determined. “I don’t know what just happened, but you’re out of it. I’m not letting you drive like this. If you want to see Robin, I’ll drive you.”

Steve wants to protest. He doesn’t need to be babied, he doesn’t need concern and he definitely doesn’t need Eddie to see him break down again when he sees Robin. However, he can also see that he is not winning this argument right now. He looks a mess and isn’t in a state to have a fight, he’s more likely to start crying again.

So, he huffs: “Alright, fine,” and crosses his arms, before storming out of the cabin.

Eddie rushes behind him, snatching a coat for Steve and locking the door, before he rushes to his van, which is parked in a way that locks in Steve’s car. Both of them climb in, since that is easier and Eddie starts the van. Steve gets jump-scared by the music that Eddie quickly turns down with an apology.

They drive the first part in silence. Steve looks at the passing scenery with unseeing eyes, his leg jiggling anxiously. What if he gets there and the door is broken down? What if Robin as been dragged away by some creature from the Upside Down? What if she has been taken by Russians, who have tracked her down? What if she’s dead?

He is snapped out of his thoughts by Eddie, who softly asks: “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“Nightmare,” Steve answers, looking down. Apart from the argument about the driving, he hasn’t looked at Eddie, and that was fueled by desperation, which he feels guilty about. Eddie doesn’t deserve his bullshit. He wonders if Eddie’s mad at how he acted.

“Looked like a bad one,” Eddie prompts when Steve offers nothing more. He doesn’t sound mad, just confused and scared. More worried, actually.

Steve chances a glance his way. Eddie is tapping the steering wheel anxiously, focusing on the road, before he glances Steve’s way. A small, involuntary and relieved smile appears on his face when he sees that Steve is looking back.

There are dimples in that smile and Steve’s nerves are calmed by them. He says: “It was. I’ve been getting them about Robin ever since the mall burned down. Just need to make sure she’s okay, you know?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Eddie nods. “I get you don’t want to talk about it, but you could, you know. If you want to of course. It must have been terrible.”

“It was,” Steve confirms, a shudder wracking his body as he remembers that cold Russian bunker ground. He pushes it out of his mind and says: “But I’m good. I don’t want to talk about it.” He isn’t allowed, even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t. Not really.

Eddie gives a shrug that seems to say ‘that’s fair’, before he smiles: “Course.”

They’re pulling into Robin’s street and Steve is already out of the van, before Eddie has fully stopped. Now that he’s so close, his anxiety is ramping up again and he fumbles with the key, before unlocking the door.

It’s still pretty early in the evening, so Robin is still awake. She must have heard him, because she’s already meeting him at the door. Seeing her there in her pajama clad glory sends a wave of relief through Steve and he stumbles into her arms, holding her close.

She clings right back, practically climbing him to hug him properly, in a way that grounds them both. She kisses his forehead and whispers: “I’m okay, dingus. We’re okay. We made it out of there.”

Behind them, Eddie clears his throat. Steve sets Robin down again as Robin looks surprised at the new visitor. To break the tension Steve laughs: “Good thing you know I’m gay or that would have been awkward to explain.”

That gets him wide-eyed looks from both of them and he says: “Oh yeah, both of you know. It’s fine, I’m not outing myself on accident here.”

“Eddie was the other person that knew?” Robin practically screeches.

Steve winces and covers his ear as he wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, he is. Who else did you think it was, I told you I told him I got kicked out.”

“Chrissy, dingus! Obviously, Chrissy. Why would I think Eddie when you and Chrissy are thick as thieves?” Robin exclaims. “Does she not know? I mean, I haven’t said anything about it to her, but I have a motor mouth, so I need to keep an eye on that, because I don’t-”

“Robs, she knows,” Steve cuts her off, before she can spiral. “I came out to her today. I was going to tell you on your way to school.”

“She’s cool?” Robin asks.

“She’s cool,” Steve grins.

“Congrats, dingus,” she grins back, punching his arm in a way that is a bit too hard.

“Ouch,” Steve yelps, massaging where she hit him. He glares: “You’re stocking shelves during our shift, I can’t. You’ve injured me.”

“I haven’t injured you, you drama queen,” Robin rolls her eyes. “You’re the one telling me I have noodle arms. It can’t have been that bad.”

Steve is about to counter, but is interrupted by Eddie before he can. “Okay, so while this is entertaining, I am also confused. Are you doing okay now, Stevie? Is this some weird ritual you two do? Is that what you needed? Should I go?”

Robin bursts out into a loud cackle at Eddie’s questions and confused face as he awkwardly hovers in the doorway.

“Ah, sorry,” Steve flushes bright red. He and Robin can get caught up their own world and he honestly hadn’t realized how odd their bickering must look to Eddie, who held his hair back as he threw up from his nightmare like half an hour ago.

“It’s okay,” Eddie smiles. “Just catch me up a bit.”

“I’m good now, thank you for driving me after I freaked out on you,” Steve says.

“Yes, thank you,” Robin adds. “This dingus always drives when he’s freaked out and I keep telling him he should be safe, but he always does it anyway.”

Bitchily Steve crosses his arms and says: “I have to or I’ll never calm down. Do you want me to run all this way? Is that what you would prefer?”

“You could call,” Robin bitches, crossing arms right back.

“I don’t want to call your parents awake,” Steve counters.

“My parents don’t care, if you do,” Robin says.

“Okay, as fun as this wonder-twin arguing act is,” Eddie interrupts again. “Is there anything I can do? Or should I leave.”

“Sorry,” Steve apologizes again. “I’m just all over the place,” he says, like he is not always like this when Robin is there. “I feel kind of bad about how tonight ended.”

“That reminds me, what were you doing at Steve’s when he was asleep?” Robin butts in, like Steve hasn’t told her about Eddie’s visits.

Steve elbows her, but she ignores him as Eddie blushes. He kicks the ground a bit, before shrugging: “I mean, we hang out sometimes. Steve fell asleep on me, he looked peaceful. I didn’t wanna wake him.”

The confession makes Steve’s heart do something interesting as Robin coos: “That’s actually really sweet. He needs his rest.”

“He is right here,” Steve says, before Robin can embarrass him more. He turns back to Eddie and gives him a smile – Steve does not realize how that smile makes Eddie melt – and says: “Thank you for that. Again I’m sorry how tonight ended.”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Eddie smiles and Steve already misses the sweetheart from when he was comforting him. “We all have our shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods with a lopsided smile.

“Well, if you’re in good hands,” Eddie says and Robin pipes up: “He is,” which makes Eddie, smile before he goes on: “Then I’ll see you around.”

“See you around,” Steve greets, feeling a bit silly.

They watch Eddie climb into his van, before pulling out of the driveway. They smile and wave at him, but as they watch him, Robin comments: “I take back my thanks about him driving you, he is a danger on the road.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, before cutting himself off and saying: “My car is still at the cabin. How am I going to drive you?”

“Fuck,” Robin says. “Guess we’ll have to be really nice to my dad at breakfast tomorrow or I have to find my bike again.”

She closes the door and starts to turn off a few of the lights around the house as she puts on the kettle, Steve following behind her like a puppy. Her presence is soothing and he keeps a hold of the back of her shirt as they walk around.

When the tea is done, they take it to Robin’s room and press closely together on her bed as they sip their tea. It’s then that Robin asks: “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nothing new,” Steve shrugs. “You died. I couldn't save you.”

Robin makes a sympathetic noise and rests her head on his shoulder. Her hand creeps between them to squeeze his and the message is clear: You did save me, we made it out. We’re alive.

Steve squeezes back.

They sit like that, in a comfortable silence until their tea is gone, then Robin grins at him and says: “So, Eddie was a gentleman.”

“Shut up,” Steve blushes, as he pushes her grinning face away.

“Ahww, come on, give me something,” Robin whines. “He drove you here. He let you sleep on him, because you needed the rest.”

“He saw me throw up because my dreams scared me,” Steve deadpans. “It was the opposite of romantic. It was humiliating.”

Robin pouts: “You’re no fun, dingus. He didn’t look like he minded. He was worried about you, from where I was standing. He cares.”

“Of course he cares, we’re friends,” Steve defends himself.

“He knows you’re gay,” Robin points out.

“He does,” Steve says. “That doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Do you know if he is?” Robin asks. “Stop. No. I don’t want to ask that. No outing here, no, sir. I mean, if he is gay, then he is definitely into you.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve tells her, but inside he is bursting with feelings.

“Maybe not, but I have perfectly fine eyes, thank you,” Robin says.

“Shut up,” is all Steve replies and gets up to brush his teeth as Robin follows him, blessedly quiet about Eddie.

He wants to believe her, truly he does. He just knows he can’t. He isn’t ready to try and date anyone he actually likes. Another boy. And if he thinks too hard about it, he might do something stupid and it will blow up in his face. Being friends with Eddie is more than enough.

They don’t talk about it again and crawl into bed together. After his earlier nightmare, Steve sleeps uneasily, though soothed by Robin’s presence.

The next morning, neither Daisy nor Thomas are surprised that Steve is there. He and Robin are extra nice to Thomas, who can only drive Steve to his car so he doesn’t have to walk all the way out there, before work, while Robin has to bike to school.

Robin complains loudly about her father picking favorites, but it’s all in jest. The Buckleys always make Steve feel like a part of the family.

During the afternoon shift, he tells Robin all about coming out to Chrissy. She isn’t going to tell her about being a lesbian yet, but she is excited about how well she took it anyway.

The next day, Steve picks up the boys from Hellfire club and Eddie checks him over to see if he’s okay, before putting on their little act. The action makes Steve’s stomach flutter in a way he can’t fully suppress.

~~

A/N:

Ahwww, it’s going to well for Steve!!! ….Would be a shame if anything fucked that up….

[medicdoodles]

DRAtchet week 2022 Day 13: Reunion/Blood from the Mouth.

(First Day)||(Day 12)||(Last Day)

There's a rumor that Deadlock is around the area. Ratchet uses this as his chance to talk to him.

Deserter, traitor and coward. None of those words matter.

All that matters is finally being able to go back out on the trail. To find and heal the downtrodden mechs. Giving hope is an Autobot concept, but preserving life. That was something that Ratchet learned ment more than just fixing bots.

It was understanding their joy, fears, and anger. The injustices, dreams, passions and guilt; it was knowing a mech beyond function. He also learned that his own wants and needs matter too, not because it would make him happy. It was to show other mechs an example of what he says means something.

So when he hears a rumor that Deadlock was in the area, he makes a beline towards them. Even as Decepticons or Autobots shoot at him. Even as the the miss fire hits his frame slowing him down.

He makes his way towards open space. If anyone was here they would immediately come to investigate. He should start repairing the open wond that is opening up on the side of his chassis. And he will.

Just as soon as he finds Drift...

A distance gun shot is fired. His sensors can pick maybe three or four mechs heading in that direction. If Deadlock really was here that would be as good as spot as any.

He puts his hand above the wound to love faster. Dragging his feet to location. It would have been faster to transform, but there was a high chance that parts would get caught in the wound locking him mid form. Something is coming up his intake, he'll deal with that later...

Around the corner and past the slabs of fallen metal. There! On the third floor he can see gun shot color the room. More gun fire, good a place as any.

With the last of his strength, he pulls himself forward. Every step weighs more and more. Not before long he has to enough force to crush the debris with no resistance. Some of the walls cave inward, creating a ramp bringing closer to the open door.

A clear trap, but it doesn't matter. He has to have faith that Deadlock will be there. No, he knows that mech will be there, and this time he will fight for him. For them...

Whatever battle had happen had quiet down. One more step. One more and his feet reach the entrance. The taste of blood has now dried up in his mouth. At least his chassis stopped bleeding.

Another step closer, and finally he entered the room. He sees the barrel of a gun pointed directly between the eyes.

"Ratchet?!" Ahh he knew it.

"Drift... I finally found you." He lets his wound go to move the gun out of the way. "I'm sorry it took me so long..." More blood came back, spilling over his lips. The unprocessed fuel leaving as chunks of energon.

"Ratchet!" He pulls their frame together. He's hugging him. Primus, this is what he was looking for. "Ratchet, stay with me!"

"Always." Ratchet moved his hand to hold Drift's, places above his wound. "I'm sorry for always making you fight..." he let the hand go and moves to finally repair the damage. "Now it's my turn to fight for us. For love."

[the-offical-alternate]

TW VOMITING

[The first thing Rudy smelled when they walked into that room was a smell that could only be described as death. This for sure had to be some sort of hazard, Rudy was sure. The mask hid the smell a little bit, but they felt sick to their stomach and they threw up, puke flooding the inside of the mask. They backed up, closed the door, and ran to go get rid of the foul liquid in their mask.]

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1095

TW: alcohol / emetophobia / spiking

Did you know that the most common method of spiking is with alcohol? 

That being said, your whumpee spends a carefree evening with friends. They’ve been sober for a while, and have truly worked hard to get to where they are now. So they sit back with a glass of coke at the bar, watching their friends do some drunk karaoke/fail miserably at hitting on people at the bar. 

When someone offers to buy the next round, they of course say yes, and they are brought another glass of coke (or your whumpees preferred soft drink. Whatever works). They’re thirsty, so they drink at least a quarter of it pretty quickly... but stop when they see someone laughing. 

Then it hits them. The taste of vodka on their tongue; clear as day. It burns. 

The perpetrators laugh as he tries to use someone else’s water to get it off their tongue. But the damage has already been done, and your whumpee panics. 

Maybe they rush to the toilets to make themselves throw up. Maybe they have a full blown panic attack, because they’ve ‘failed’  and don’t want to put their friends and family through that again. They’ve worked so hard, so fucking hard to get better...

A while later one of the more sober friends finds them in the cubicle, sobbing and apologising profusely. The sober friend tries to reassure them that it’s alright - that they’re still sober, and that they’ve done nothing wrong and they promise to keep an eye on your whumpee the next few days, as your whumpee is terrified of relapsing. 

When word reaches the more drunk friends... they are more than happy to ‘have a chat’ with the perpetrators.

[monaisme]

Sicktember: Day 11

#11- Medieval Treatment

“Hey, Peter,” Ned called out into the boy’s locker room, “Are you still in here?”

Peter groaned from the stall he was currently sitting in. “Yeah,” he called out. “Can you tell everyone I’m sorry and to start without me?” Peter shifted in discomfort. “I’m definitely gonna be a bit longer.”

“Aw, man. That sucks.”

“I know.” Peter whined. “I don’t get it, Ned! Since the...  you know...” Peter’s voice dropped low for that part, “My stomach is just—” Peter tried to find the right word but, as though being summoned by its mere mentioning, Peter’s stomach gurgled. “fucked.” His face flushed red, not that anyone could see it. “Just go, Ned. You don’t want to be in here for this. I’ll come out when I can.”

Peter heard a couple of shuffled steps come closer, and then, “Have you thought about talking to Mr. Stark about this?”

Peter’s face flushed even more. “Yeah, that’s a hard pass. Gosh. He hardly talks to me now?! Can you imagine that call? Hi, Mr. Stark, it’s Peter Parker. So my tummy is rumbly and— oh gaw—” Cramps flashed like lightening across Peter’s abdomen. “Please go, Ned. We’ll talk later!”

“Got it,” Ned replied and hurried away, wishing he could figure out how to help his best friend, but at a complete loss.

The worry must have still shown on Ned’s face as he re-entered the gymnasium because before he could even make his way across the gymnasium, Abe had looked over to him and piped up, “Uh, oh. Something’s wrong.”

Mr. Harrington shushed everyone’s whispering with a look, but their attention still shifted as Ned walked over to the group. Ned kept his focus on Mr. Harrington. “Uh, Peter’s sorry, sir, but he’ll be a little late. He says he doesn’t think we should wait for him and to just get started.”

Mr. Harrington had picked up on the concern. “Oh, dear, should I go check on him?” he asked quietly.

But Ned knew better. “I think he just needs some time to work things out?” he replied awkwardly. How would one convey that his best friend’s digestive system was rebelling in the most horrible way imaginable for no reason that Ned could share? “He, uh, probably wants to be alone for it, you know?”

Mr. Harrington looked sympathetic. “Okay, then. I can respect that.” The teacher then turned away from Ned, and clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Alrighty, Aca Deca! Let’s turn our brains on to maximum output and get this practice started. Captain, the floor is yours.”

And just like that, everyone moved on.

It took longer than he’d hoped, but Peter joined everyone about twenty minutes into the hour long practice, looking pale and shaky enough that even Flash bit his tongue and left well enough alone.

Mr. Harrington cast a questioning glance at him, but Peter gave him a quick nod of assurance and practice was back on track.

Ned, however, needed to hear the words for himself, “Are you going to be okay, Peter?” Ned leaned over to whisper once Peter had sat himself tentatively in his chair.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Peter answered back softly. “I’m just gonna get through this and then head home and lie down for a bit.” He huffed a little laugh. “There are some soda crackers in the cupboard I’m praying my stomach won’t totally hate me for.”

Ned cringed, nodded, and gave Peter an awkward shoulder pat in support. What else could he do?

MJ cleared her throat and glared at the pair.

Peter must have looked really bad if MJ was letting their chatter slide with nothing more than that.

Crap.

It was all they could do to turn their focus fully to MJ and the remainder of the rapid fire Q & A that she’d prepped for their practice. It wouldn’t have done Peter or Ned any good to have MJ murder them for not focussing when those crackers were suddenly sounding so good.

Finally the last buzzer had been buzzed and the lot of them had proven their worth to MJ once more. To say that Peter was relieved that he’d redeemed himself with his responses was an understatement, especially after the debacle in D.C. Peter was determined to prove his worth—if only his stupid stomach would cooperate.

“Come on, buddy. I’ll walk you home, okay?” Ned patted gently him on the back and picked up both of their backpacks. Peter nodded and started the shuffle toward the gymnasium doors.

“Hey, guys, wait up a sec!” Betty Brandt had been speaking to Charles across the gym, it seemed, but called out to them as she bolted toward them before they could exit. “Peter! I wanted to talk to you!”

Both of the boys glanced at each other questioningly and stopped in their tracks.

“Oh! Good! Thanks!” Betty smiled brightly. “I’m not going to take long, I know you’re not feeling great. I just—” Betty, it seemed, had just realized what she had planned to say, “Oh, gosh. It’s just that we- I mean, I’ve noticed that you’re having some ‘stomach issues,’” Betty blurted, “and my uncle is a chiropractor, so...”

Peter was tired enough from all of the discomfort and overall grossness of what his life had become that he almost wasn’t bothered by her slip of the tongue and the newfound awareness that everyone was talking about this... subject... almost. Peter blushed, but needed to cut her off. “Uh. No offense, Betty, but what does my back have to do with my...” He couldn’t help but be suspicious.

“Well, my uncle took a couple of extra courses about nutrition and such and he swears that if you drink apple cider vinegar every day, it will help to regulate your digestive system. Like, in your stomach and intestines and all that. He explained it to me, and I was looking over my biology notes last night and, well, the science works in theory so I thought that maybe it was worth mentioning? Or you could maybe do some reading, too, I guess? Check it out?”

“Uh, thanks,” Peter smiled weakly. “We’ll definitely do that.” Peter looked at Ned then back to Betty. “So, uh, I guess we’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Betty grinned big, obviously pleased with herself for performing her good deed for the day. “Awesome! See you tomorrow!” She nodded at Peter in farewell, then grinned even bigger for Ned, “I’ll see you, too, right?”

Ned shrugged, “Yeah, sure,” then hooked his arm through Peter’s and ushered them both away.

“That was weird, wasn’t it?” Ned whispered when he knew they were far enough away that Betty wouldn’t hear them. “I’m feeling like I’m missing something... it wasn’t just me, right?”

Peter chuckled. “Oh, that was weird, all right, but I wanna know if she was right about the—” Peter’s forehead scrunched as he tried to remember what exactly Betty had suggested. Focussing for MJ decathlon was one thing, but Betty had been a bit of an unexpected blur after the stomach talk. “I know she mentioned apples and vinegar?”

“That’s about all I got out of it, too,” Ned pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened up a search engine as they walked, “Huh? Cool beans! Apparently vinegar was used to treat the black plague during medieval times. It had to do with balancing the humours and all that sort of stuff.” Ned hefted the two backpacks he still carried a little higher then started scrolling down the page. “I need to look into becoming a chiropractor! This is straight out of D&D, Pete!”

Peter’s stomach did a warning lurch. “That doesn’t sound too promising.”

“I hear you, man, but Betty did say she checked it out and she is the go-to for bio notes. You know that computers are my thing. Anything else is gobbledygook until I have to study for a quiz... and then I go to Betty!” Ned thrust his phone in front of Peter, “But here. You can read the article while we walk and you can tell me what you want to do.”

Peter pushed Ned’s phone back towards him. “I just want to go home, crawl in a corner, and die.” Peter replied. His stomach swooped and he looked to see how close he was to home. “You know what, Ned?” Peter suddenly didn’t have time to waste. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, yanked out three one dollar bills, and passed them over to Ned. “That’s all the cash I’ve got. Gimme the backpacks. I’m gonna head back to my place before I become the stereotypical New Yorker. Please, Ned, just... I can’t take this anymore. Go find somewhere that sells vinegar. If it’s more than three dollars, I’ll pay you back when I get my next allowance.” Peter was on borrowed time. He took both of the backpacks and started walking faster. He couldn’t wait for an answer. The discussion was over. “Don’t forget about the apples! Thanks, man. I owe you!” And Peter was off.

/-/-/

It was only thirty minutes later that Ned arrived at the door to the Parker apartment carrying his bounty and executed his special knock.  

“Hey, Ned. It’s open.”

Ned frowned as he came in. “Dude? Come on! I get that you’re Spider-Man, but this is still the city,” he chastised his friend as he walked past the couch, into the kitchen, and pulled open the cabinet door hiding the glasses. “What if I’d walked in and decided to murder you dead—” Ned grabbed a glass and turned, intending to head to the dining room table, but caught sight of his friend. “Peter?”

“Hey,” Peter dragged himself up off the couch he’d been lying on. “You were way faster than I thought you’d be.”

Ned couldn’t take his eyes off of Peter, who had shucked his bulky sweatshirt, long sleeved tee, and jeans in exchange for a plain black tee and sweats. How had Ned not noticed that he’d started to lose weight? “Dude?” Ned was more than worried now. “Are you sure we shouldn’t call Mr. Stark? I’m starting to feel like—”

Peter frowned. “I already told you, he doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“But—”

“No!”

“But, Peter! Something’s wrong!”

“Yah! And we’re trying to fix it! So did you find the vinegar or not?”

Ned nodded. “Uh huh.” He lifted up his arm to show the plastic bag hanging off his wrist. “Mr. Delmar had some hiding on a shelf somewhere in the stockroom. When I told him it was for you, he went and dug it out.”

Peter’s dulled eyes brightened. “Awesome! And the apples?”

“One apple, and it is also in the bag,” Ned walked the last steps to their dinner table and placed the bag and Peter’s three dollars in front of him. “AND it was all free of charge, so you know. Mr. Delmar said the vinegar is about to hit its best before and he wasn’t gonna be able to sell it anyways, and he says you need to eat more fruit and vegetables so the apple’s on him.”

Peter smiled wider. “He’s so amazing. I’ll be sure to say thanks the next time I go get a sandwich.”

Ned didn’t say anything else as he pulled the dusty bottle of vinegar and the apple out of the bag, but there was no hiding the fact that he was second guessing this. “Maybe I should read another article before we get started?”

Peter frowned at the hesitation, “C’mon, Ned. How bad can it be? It’s vinegar. It’s in practically everything we eat... and I’m guessing the apple is to, like, get the taste out of your mouth?”

Ned shrugged. “Makes sense, but...” he moved to pull his phone out of his pocket.

Peter crossed his arms, getting frustrated. “Stop it, Ned. This’ll be fine.”

Ned crossed his arms, getting frustrated, too. “This could also be so bad, though.”

Peter tried to crook an eyebrow. (He was still working on perfecting that particular skill.) “How’s about this—” Peter pulled his phone out of his back pocket and placed it on the table next to their supplies. “As a precaution, if something goes wrong, you have official permission to try calling Mr. Stark. I am telling you that nothing will go wrong—but if it does... it’s not like he answers now, so.” Peter shrugged.

Ned did manage to crook his own eyebrow. (As the Guy-in-the-Chair, he had more downtime to work on it.) “I hear you... and if he doesn’t answer, I’ll call Aunt May’s cell and pray for mercy. What is Mr. Stark listed as in your phone... just so I’m ready.”

“Currently?” Peter attempted another eyebrow crook, paused for effect, and answered, “Dr. Dolittle.”

 Ned exhaled slow and loud. “That’s deep, dude.”

“I know,” Peter looked impressed with himself. “But we can talk about that later. I’m ready to get on the path to—what did you say it was? Balancing my humours?” Peter grabbed the bottle of vinegar and twisted the cap open. “Phew,” Peter’s eyes watered as the vapours escaped into the air. “Maybe we’re supposed to mix it with the apple instead?” He wondered aloud, then poured a small measure into the glass. “I think Aunt May picked up some juice boxes?”

Ned walked back over to the kitchen, already knowing exactly where they would be if there was, indeed, apple juice. “Aha!” He shouted out in victory. “One brand spanky new pack of ten apple juice boxes. Dude, your aunt is a goddess!” Ned pulled out a single juice box, set the remainder on the counter, and returned, triumphant.

“I know,” Peter smiled, “now hand that over.” He made grabby hands, “I’m so over this.”

“I’ve got you, Pete,” Ned removed the straw from its plastic and poked the box open. “Do you think a one-to-one ratio would be best?” Ned asked as he squeezed the juice through the tiny hole and added it to the vinegar.

“Did it say anything about it on your phone?”

Ned shook his head, ‘no.’ “Not that I saw?”

“Well then, let’s start with that and see what happens.”

“If you’re sure...?” Ned was looking hesitant.

“Sure that I’m ready for this to be over? Absolutely.” Peter picked up the glass and gave it a swirl. “Think I can do this all in one go?”

Ned cringed at the thought of actually consuming the concoction, “For the sake of your taste buds, I sure hope so.”

“Me, too.” Peter took a couple of deep breaths, mentally preparing himself before one last thought came to him, “Oh! If I die, you can have my Funko Pop collection, okay?”

“PETER!” Ned hollered at him, “Don’t even joke about that!”

Peter snorted laughed, “Okay, I’ll haunt you and Betty instead.” With a final nod, Peter exhaled, raised his glass to Ned, smiled, and downed the glass in one great gulp...

And then everything went to hell.

/-/-/

Peter came back to himself all at once.

And by all at once, he meant it was with an attempt at a deeper than normal breath once he’d apparently been taken off the ventilator. Instead of relief, he struggled to breathe through a coughing fit for the ages, while wondering how he’d been made to swallow glass while simultaneously drinking gasoline and then setting his stomach on fire.

“ugh.” Peter rasped, then curled into a ball—well, he tried to. The tugs of the IV line and various monitors stopped him in his tracks, and that was when he remembered his everything in a flash of jumbled memories, “Oh.”

Even the click of the leather heel of Mr. Stark’s shoes sounded fancier in what Peter could guess what the medical floor of... somewhere? “Oh?” Mr. Stark came up to Peter’s bedside. “That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

“Uh. I guess vinegar’s bad?” Crap, did his throat hurt.

Mr. Stark laughed, “Yeah, you can say that again.”

Peter rubbed at his throat and shook his head, “Nope.”

The brief look of amusement on Mr. Stark’s face shifted into one of regret, “Kid...” Mr. Stark shifted from one foot to another as he tried to come up with something to say, then finally spoke again, “I think I owe you an apology.”

Peter blinked in confusion. “Wha—?”

“No! Please. Stop talking before Dr. Cho kills me for messing up what’s healed so far. Just...” Mr. Stark sighed. “Please know that realize now that I should have been around more to help you out with... things. And I especially should have made myself available for you when you starting having issues with your mutation. I’m so sorry.”

Peter frowned and opened up his mouth to speak again when Mr. Stark stopped him. “Wait, really! Let me get something for you to...” he glanced around the room, but found nothing, so he pulled his own phone out of his pocket and opened up a blank screen. “Just, no talking. Type... please?”

Peter typed, fumbled a bit in his exhaustion, backspaced, then typed some more before eventually handing the phone back to the man. “Does have something to do with the whole spider thing? Am I dying?”

Mr. Stark almost choked as he read Peter’s words aloud, “No. Why would you think you were dying?!”

Peter put his hand out for the phone. He typed back, “You’re THE Tony Stark—and apologizing?!”

Mr. Stark’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Well, yeah. When my asshole ways almost get you killed because I can’t be bothered to answer your calls... I can admit that I screwed up. AND,” Mr. Stark kept going, “I’m going to do better. While Pepper won’t let me buy back the tower, I am going to set up a base camp of sorts, somewhere closer to home so when things go to shit, we don’t need to fly you outside of the city via the Iron Man express to get help for emergencies.”

“WHAT?!” Peter couldn’t help his reaction, but wished he had as the pain flared enough that his eyes watered.

“Whoa, kid, relax... deep breaths! You’re okay... just breathe.” Mr. Stark instructed as Peter tried to get the pain under control. “That’s it.” He’d obviously had little experience in comforting, but he was trying, even as he rubbed Peter’s back.

“Peter?” A younger voice called out from somewhere behind him. “Mr. Stark? Is he awake?” Ned popped up beside Mr. Stark. “Oh, thank god! I thought we’d killed you! Did Mr. Stark tell you about it all yet? It was like out of a horror movie, man, blood spewing everywhere! And vinegar! Did you know that vinegar kills spiders? And peppermint? And cinnamon? And lemon! Dude! Everything you were eating was making you sick! Did Mr. Stark tell you about that? Man, oh, man! Good luck finding something to eat at the cafeteria now...” Ned finally trailed off once he noticed both Peter and Mr. Stark staring at him in awe.

“Did you even take a breath there?” Mr. Stark had to ask.

Ned just shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a gift.”

“Well, I was just about to tell Peter,” Mr. Stark brought his attention back to the boy in the bed. “That we’re going to do some testing before we send you home so you and your aunt can keep you safe. Okay? If that means that I have to hire you a private chef to make you specialized meals, then so be it, but for now, we’re gonna keep things super simple and wait on your gut to heal a little more before we go too crazy.”

Peter nodded, then picked up the sound of a woman’s footsteps coming down the hall.

Oh, no.

Peter’s brain flew into survival mode. He frantically tapped something out on the phone. “ned howdid you ge there”

“Oh, yeah.” Ned was pickin’ up what Peter was layin’ down. “Mr. Stark grabbed you, and then Aunt May and I came together in her car and, uh...”

Peter knew he shouldn’t have put it off, but he hadn’t wanted to worry her with anything else and he had it all under control until they’d decided to...

Even Ned looked nervous, and he’s had a head start! “Yeah. Sorry, Peter. She knows about everything... and she’s pissed.”

[embretheworld]

HEHEEH

I POSTED IT! keep in mind this is before aventurine's character devolpment in the au so he's a pretty mean to march here.

[batwynn]

I might be built different, but I was just catching up on literal months of being off Tumblr (I'm OCD, it's irrelevant). I saw a bunch of posts where you were hedging about talking about your health or anything personal because of anon hate, and I just wanted to say that I absolutely care and want to hear about how you're doing. If people do not want to, you 1) have told people what tag to blacklist, and 2) have an "unfollow" button. It's not hard to show compassion. You are important to me.

To be honest, I reached a point of no return when people were being pointlessly cruel while I was literally so Ill that I was dying. (not once, but twice in one year!) I mean, one full on disgustingly hateful message after another while I was laying in a hospital bed waiting for another brain scan or vomiting up the water they forced me to try.

It’s not that I don’t love and appreciate the kindness of folks like you who do give a hoot about me, and/or are nice enough to scroll by if you don’t have the spoons for it or who are capable of using the black list tag option without complaint. I really do appreciate that so much, and it makes me feel like some people actually remember that I’m a real person still. But I don’t think I can ever really go back to fully talking about my health or a lot of my personal life ever again after that.

I don’t even really feel comfortable disclosing details to close friends anymore, because around the same time I (understandably, I’d think) felt like maybe straight up dying would be better than sort-of-dying-and-suffering for months/years at a time and I had a newish friend stalk me through someone else they knew who ordered something from me, call the police (on a trans/queer and bed ridden disabled person) to come do a ‘wellness check’ on me when they knew I couldn’t get out of bed to even answer the door, never mind the fact that the fucking police do not help in a mental health crisis to begin with. And then they got angry that I wasn’t thankful enough for this, and spread lies and made up a bunch of Evil™️ stuff I supposedly did to deserve having the cops called on me or whatever.

So, yeah. All I’ve really learned is people don’t see me as a real person with a life outside of art, or they sort of do but don’t know the best way to react to it and end up doing something that could cause more harm in… a really inappropriate way. I can’t fault anyone for either one, really. But I sure as hell am not being as open or even as kind as I used to be. And I guess that’s just how the internet is, in the end.

Thank you, though, for caring. Like I said, you and others like you are very highly appreciated. And thanks for reaching out after a long time away from Tumblr. I hope it’s been more fun and not perusing through the Tumblr back log lol. Enjoy the absolute batshit memes we’ve grown here over the past few months, they’re fresh to death.

[lilliths-not-just-httyd-blog]

just got stabbed

at the hospital

by a nurse

i got a vaccine

i bled a bit which was fun and then almost threw up but feeling fine now gonna try to finish a fanfiction

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 4

Chapter 4 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Chrissy and Steve have a sleepover. During it, they open up about shitty parents, unhealthy habits around food and Steve has a nightmare. It makes them even closer as the year progresses. Meanwhile, Billy is getting more and more frustrated until he snaps and attacks Steve, who is saved by an unlikely hero.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie and buckingham

Warnings: eating disorder, child abuse mention, period typical homophobia, nightmare, vomiting, bullying, f-slur, fighting

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4: The Sleepover

Ever since that Saturday, Chrissy has discovered how easily she can get out of the house and over to Steve’s under the guise of meeting up with people from cheer squad. So, their time together has increased significantly.

Steve is pretty sure Chrissy is his best friend right now.

Of course, they still mostly see each other at school, having practice each day. However, now Steve will drive her home after and they’ll stop by a park and talk for a little bit. And it’s not until two weeks later that Chrissy says: “We could have a sleep over. My mom will be going with my dad to this work party and she said she’d feel better if I’m not alone.”

In all honesty, Steve is kind of blown away that he is her first pick. He has never been anyone’s first pick without performing King Steve. He smiles at her and says: “Course, sounds fun.”

The bit of insecurity that lingered over Chrissy disappears as her face brightens. “Cool, then I’ll see you Saturday,” she says, before skipping over to the changing room.

Chrissy arrives on Saturday quite late, but grinning mischievously as he opens the door. “I stalled, so my mom wouldn’t wait to see, who opened the door. She thinks you’re a very nice christian girl, Stevie.”

“You’re a menace, Chris,” Steve shakes his head as he lets her in. He is excited to have a fun evening with his friend, but also unsure of how the night will go. He is also planning to bring up the food thing, though he doesn’t know how that will go.

She throws her bag in the hall and toes of her shoes. Then she dives into her bag as she says: “I have a copy of the Breakfast Club and you’re not allowed to protest.”

“Whatever you say,” Steve tells her with a fond grin, not having planned on protesting.

It says a lot about how close they’ve gotten that Chrissy moves through his house easily without having been there often. She rummages through all his cabinets in search for a glass and he watches her with amusement from the kitchen threshold.

However, the Harrington kitchen is quite big and they have a lot of cabinets with all sorts of tableware. So after watching her struggle for a bit Steve says: “You can also just ask, you know that, right, Chris?”

Chrissy pouts at him and says: “It’s not my fault that your house in confusing. Where do you keep glasses? I want some water.”

Steve opens a cabinet she hadn’t gotten to yet and fills it up with water, before handing it to her with a flourish: “My lady.”

“Thank you,” she grins, then moves to the living room where she attempts to figure out the TV system the Harringtons have.

Meanwhile Steve gets himself a glass of coke and goes to sit on the couch. He watches as Chrissy continues to press buttons until she figures it out, heart swelling with fondness. It’s nice to have a friend again, he hasn’t had a sleepover in ages.

The last time he watched a movie with someone like this was back when he was still trying to be King Steve. For a second he worries that she thinks this is a date, which he wouldn’t go for even if he were straight, because she is fifteen to his seventeen.

Right when he wonders that, she turns around and huffs: “Your TV is fucking stupid, Stevie. It is evil, I tell you.”

She is in a ratty shirt and her hair is up in an ugly bun. The way she’s complaining reads more like an annoying little sibling than anything else and he’s been on enough dates to know that her behavior isn’t very date-like.

He lets out a relieved breath, before smirking as he gets up, easily starting up the movie as Chrissy rolls her eyes and tells him he’s annoying.

However, she doesn’t complain further and crawls onto the couch, making herself comfortable as Steve starts up the movie and sits down next to her. When he does she flops over him. The move makes Steve smile and he relishes in the friendly contact.

By the time the end credits roll, they’re two vegetables on the couch. Steve is sure they can find something else to watch, but first: “What’s your preferred pizza topping?”

“What?” Chrissy asks, looking up from where she made herself at home in his lap.

“I’m gonna order pizza, what do you want?” Steve clarifies.

“Oh, uhm,” Chrissy says, looking wrong footed. “Not a big pizza fan,” she settles on after a moment.

“Chris,” Steve starts, unsure where to go from now, but knowing he has to say something. “You- you need to eat something. What you’re doing isn’t healthy.”

She straightens up, getting out of his lap as she practically shrinks into the other side of the couch. It rubs Steve wrong, the way she makes herself smaller. She tucks her hair behind her ear and says: “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t do this, Chris,” Steve says, brows pulling together, a lump in his throat.

“Let it go, Steve,” Chrissy shoots back and the use of his name hurts more than he’s willing to admit.

Still, he doesn’t let it affect him. He steels himself and shakes his head. “No. Just no. I’m not letting it go. You barely eat during lunch, you always refuse snacks. Fuck, you’re skin and bones, Chrissy. It shouldn’t be so easy to toss you in the air.”

“You don’t understand,” Chrissy is yelling now.

“Then make me understand,” Steve yells back. “Just fucking talk to me. Explain. Please.”

They’re both breathing heavily after their outbursts, just staring at each other. Neither of them are willing to break the look first, to give in. So, they stand there and wait to see who breaks first. Who will blink. Who will give in.

In the end Chrissy looks away first, her eyes boring holes into the ground as she hunches her shoulders. Quietly she says: “You don’t know what it’s like to live with her.”

“Who?” Steve asks softly, sitting down next to her gently, not yet touching. He doesn’t want her to stop talking.

“My mom,” Chrissy whispers. “She’s always on my case about what I’m eating. It’s suffocating. I’m not even allowed in the kitchen alone. And she’ll- she’ll like hem my clothes continuously, so they’re always too tight and it- it drives me wild. You can’t understand how that feels.”

“I do, though,” Steve tells her. “I get it. It fucking sucks, but you don’t have to listen to her. She’s being an asshole. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be healthy.”

“How the fuck can you know?” Chrissy snaps, her tone venomous. “Look at you. You’re doing perfectly fine. You’re not always getting yelled at, how the fuck can you know?”

“Chrissy, I’m literally being protected by the cheer team, because shit got so bad,” Steve frowns at her harsh words, his own slipping out. “My life also isn’t sunshine and rainbows.”

“Well, it’s not the same,” Chrissy tells him. “Your mother isn’t always breathing down your neck about every calorie. You can do whatever you want.”

The words hit a sore spot and Steve can’t stop the bitter laugh he lets out, something ugly twisting in his chest. “Yeah, I can do whatever I want,” he spits bitterly.

“Stevie?” Chrissy asks, his tone tipping her off that something changed.

“Seriously, Chris?” he says instead of answering her. “You think my parents fucking love me? They have been gone since January. January. I have been by myself for months. They don’t care. They’re off prancing through Europe or some shit, happy to forget me. All I’m good for here is playing their perfect fucking son. And I can’t even do that right.”

He gets off the couch, tears burning in his eyes as he starts pacing: “I’m a screw up. I had to quit basketball and if they ever find out that I did, I’m sure my father will kill me. Literally. He already thinks I’m pathetic. He gave up on me years ago. I am always by myself, having to keep up this charade to make them happy and it’s never enough.”

Steve turns to Chrissy, looking at her with imploring eyes as she sits on the couch without moving a muscle, waiting for the storm to be over.

“I know what a controlling mother is,” he tells her. “They’re never here, but when they are… Fuck, it’s like I can’t do anything right. The way I move is wrong, what I eat, how I eat- shit, some days I feel like I can’t even breathe right.”

“Stevie, I-” Chrissy starts.

“No,” he cuts her off. “I don’t want you to pity me, Chris. That’s not the point of this. I- I’m messing it all up. The point is that I get it. Parents suck. They’re the worst on the fucking planet and we’d be better of without them. I get it. But you can’t let them take everything from you. You deserve better than this, don’t you get it?”

He runs a hand through his hair and pinches the bridge of his nose. Then he turns around, waving his arms as he continues his speech. The words that have been built up inside him for so long finally pouring out.

“My parents would hate everything I do, if they ever found out, but that isn’t going to stop me. I like cheerleading. I like having friends. I like it. I don’t care what they think, I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m not going to let them force me to give up what I like. Because I fucking deserve better, okay? And so do you.”

Steve turns back to Chrissy, who is still on the couch, looking quite gobsmacked. He is about to ask what she’s thinking when she burst out into tears.

Panic rises in his chest as he rushes to her side, slinging an arm over her shoulder as he holds her gently. Softly he says: “Hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay. Please, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” Chrissy hiccups, wiping his face with the sleeve of her shirt.

“No need to be sorry,” Steve tells her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m so sorry, Chris.”

“It’s okay, idiot,” Chrissy says, bumping her shoulder against him. “I needed that. You’re right. And I am sorry about what I said about you being able to do what you want. Your parents sound like they suck.”

“They do,” Steve snorts. “For what it’s worth, it sounds like your mom sucks too.”

“She does,” Chrissy laughs. It’s still a bit wet sounding, but it’s better than the crying from earlier, so Steve takes the win.

Both of them fall quiet for a second, sitting on the couch in the living room, the credits of the Breakfast Club still rolling in the background.

“How did you do it?” Chrissy asks after a few seconds, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“Do what?”

“Stop caring.”

Steve is quiet as he thinks, then he slowly says: “It’s hard. I mean, I still care, but I try not to. It just takes time and effort. I have to remind myself constantly. And it’s easier to not care when they’re not here. But then they’ll call and I lie and pretend cheer practice is basketball practice and I pray that no one here reached out to them. They’ll tell me they’ll be away for a bit longer and it’s a relief, because I still care what they think and when they come back I’ll know.”

“So it all just sucks?” Chrissy asks.

“Yeah, kinda,” Steve laughs. “But you gotta keep trying anyway. Just start one day and try not to stop.”

“I can do that,” Chrissy says, determination bleeding into her posture.

“Hell yeah you can,” Steve agrees proudly. “So, pizza toppings?”

The question makes Chrissy laugh, before she admits: “I like pepperoni, but I- I can’t eat an entire pizza, Stevie.”

“We’ll share,” Steve offers with a smile. “I like pepperoni too.”

“Sounds good.”

Steve gets up and orders the pizza. He is glad it is finally out in the open. That Chrissy hasn’t shut him out or is mad at him. He hates it when his friends are mad at him.

Chrissy looks reluctant when the pizza arrives, but Steve doesn’t push. Some steps have to be made by yourself. Indeed determination swoops over her as she takes her first bite. Her eyes grow wide and she lets out a happy hum as she chews.

“Good?” Steve smiles.

“This is delicious,” Chrissy says, mouth still full.

Steve’s smile widens. “Good to hear.”

He puts on another movie that neither of them pay attention too. Chrissy only manages to eat three slices, but Steve is so proud of her. Making her blush as he tells her so.

With the pizza gone, the movie goes further ignored. Both of them end up lying on the floor, looking up at the popcorn ceiling. They’re talking about school, complaining about classes and homework, teachers that suck, weird stuff classmates did and mishaps from practice. Steve also talks a little about the kids.

When there’s a lull in conversation Chrissy suddenly asks: “Are you okay? No one bothering you at school or something?”

“What?” Steve asks, still not really used to someone looking out for him, especially someone like Chrissy, who is both younger than him and a girl.

“I don’t know, you’ve just been more fidgety the past week,” Chrissy says. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Steve feels himself flushing. The reason he’s been more fidgety is because he’s been trying to avoid Eddie. He has come up to Steve once since their conversation. Steve was nice, but ended the conversation and tried not to look in Eddie’s way after. Something he has been less successful at than he’d want.

He just can’t help it, though. Eddie is magnetic and his eyes are naturally drawn to him. Steve likes watching his dramatic gestures and hypnotizing eyes.

However, Steve only wants to make it through this year unscathed. That means getting an even bigger crush on Eddie Munson is out of the question. Hell, associating with the other boy is out of the question. Especially now that it seems like Eddie wants something from him. Steve has enough trouble as it is.

Though, when he thinks about it, Eddie hasn’t approached since that first time when Steve kind of iced him out.

Of course, Steve has ensured that he is continuously surrounded by cheerleaders, a part of the student body Eddie avoids almost as religiously as the basketball team. So, it’s not like he has given Eddie the chance. Which is good. That was the point.

Still, Steve can admit he’s a bit disappointed at how easily he has shaken the boy. And the only reason he’s still fidgety is because he’s become quite paranoid after the Upside Down, so the few times he has caught Eddie’s eyes afterwards are enough to put him slightly on edge.

Not that he can tell Chrissy any of this. He wants to kid himself into believing she’d be cool with the whole gay thing, but he isn’t going to delude himself like that. Chrissy’s entire family is highly religious. The chances she’d be cool are very low.

So instead he says: “I’m okay. Nothing happened.”

“You sure?” Chrissy pushes.

“Sure,” he tells her with a smile.

“Alright,” Chrissy lets it go, much to his relief.

They stay up way too late, like you’re supposed to at a sleepover. Chrissy teaches Steve how to braid hair and Steve confides in her about the Farrah Fawcett spray, after which he swears her to secrecy. It’s fun and they’re still giggling as they brush their teeth,

Steve sets Chrissy up in a guest room near his, telling her where the bathroom is before leaving her there.

He knows they could share his bed, but he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable or make it seem like he’s pulling a move. He also doesn’t want to scare her in case he has a nightmare. They can get pretty bad, but it has been a while since he woke up screaming. He hopes his luck will hold through the night and he won’t wake Chrissy if he does have a nightmare.

Of course luck has never been in his favor and a few hours later he finds himself flying out of his bed, feeling disoriented.

A door opens behind him and he swirls around, his arms up in a fighting position as he tries to blink the world into focus. Sweat is cooling on his back, breath still catching in his lungs, as images of the demodogs surrounding him still flash in his mind’s eye.

“Stevie?” a voice asks him. One that doesn’t fit into the nightmare he had just woken up from.

Chrissy, his mind supplies.

Another blink and indeed there stands Chrissy in her pajamas, hand still clutching the door knob as she worries a lip between her teeth. She looks a bit scared, like she wants to reach out to him, but is afraid of the probably too intense look in his eyes and his fighting stance.

The anxiety slowly seeps away as a wave of nausea rolls through his body. He swallow thickly, before rushing to the en-suite bathroom, flicking on the light, before dropping to his knees and throwing up in the bowl.

There are footsteps behind him, then a small figure appears beside him. An equally small hand starts rubbing his back as he gags a few more times.

When no more puke comes out, Steve leans back against the wall. His head is bowed between his knees and he feels unable to face Chrissy. God, he feels fucking pathetic.

He feels Chrissy’s warmth against his side as she sits next to him. Both of them are quiet for a few seconds, then Chrissy asks: “You okay, Stevie?”

“Not really,” Steve confesses softly, not finding the energy to lie or come up with a reason.

“I’m sorry,” Chrissy says.

That gets Steve’s attention. He looks up at her in confusion. She looks earnest about it too and he doesn’t get it. “What are you sorry for?”

“After that day when Lisa forced you to eat, I- I should have guessed you weren’t fully okay either, especially not after that speech tonight,” she explains. “But I never asked. So, I’m sorry.”

Steve is overcome with incredible fondness for the girl next to him, who somehow cares about him in a way no one has.

“It’s okay, Chris,” he tells her, gently bumping against her. “I wouldn’t have told you if you asked anyway.”

“Why not?” Chrissy asks with an unhappy frown.

“Because it’s embarrassing,” Steve answers bluntly. “I mean, come on. I am nearly eighteen and I get nightmares that make me puke. That’s not exactly information I want out there.” He’s quiet for a second, then he softly adds: “I don’t like talking about it.”

Chrissy is silent as she thinks. Her face has lost the frown and she gives him a sympathetic smile as she says: “You don’t have to. But I’m glad I know. We’re here for each other, right?”

“Yeah, course,” Steve assures her, though mentally he thinks he is more there for her than vise versa. He is older, he’s already a protector. He’ll look out for her, to make sure nothing will get her. She doesn’t know half of what’s out there.

“And for the record,” Chrissy states, “I don’t think it’s embarrassing. Nightmares are the worst and you’re brave for going through them.”

He appreciates the sentiment so much and he knows that if he tries to say anything he voice might crack or tears may start to fall. So instead he throws an arm around her and pulls her close. The two of them just sitting on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

They sit there for another fifteen minutes, before Chrissy asks: “Wanna go to bed again?”

“No, I’m probably gonna go downstairs, maybe do some homework or something,” Steve tells her honestly. “But you can go back to sleep again. I don’t want to keep you up.”

“I’m not going to let you wallow alone, you idiot,” she says, sounding offended that he would even think that. “Lets play a card game or something.”

“Chris…” Steve protests, but Chrissy doesn’t listen to him. Instead she gets up and pulls him along to his bed, plucking the deck of cards from where they lay forgotten on his desk.

Steve decides to just give in and let her do her thing. They argue a little about the rules, but in the end it doesn’t matter much. They play about two rounds, before exhaustion sets in again. Steve can’t remember which one of them falls asleep first.

After that night Chrissy and Steve are as thick as thieves, practically inseparable, both in school and after it.

Lisa is quite done with how they seem to make a game out of annoying the other, or how they’ll compete about stupid little stuff. But she tags along whenever she can, making sure Chrissy and Steve don’t accidentally kill each other by stunting without a back spotter.

Steve has also made it a habit to bring extra lunch to school, since Chrissy’s mom refuses to give her more food to bring. It isn’t perfect yet, but it’s comforting to see her eat during lunch period and there is a sense of pride that comes whenever she thanks him for it. Like he’s taking care of her, doing something right for once.

Chrissy meanwhile asks him every day if he slept okay, noting when the bags under his eyes get darker when he’s going through a rough patch.

She helps him hide most of it with some makeup that she brings to school and convinces her mom to let her sleep over that weekend. It’s nice to not wake up alone for a change.

In their months of friendship, Steve has never met Chrissy’s parents, not that Chrissy has met his either.

Quite honestly, he truly doesn’t want to either. Whenever Chrissy talks about her mother especially, he is reminded of his own parents, who still haven’t returned home. He doesn’t know what it says about him that he hopes they’ll stay away until he can go to college.

Still, he is quite well known by Chrissy’s mother, who is delighted that Chrissy has befriended a good christian girl named Stevie. Chrissy delights in telling him about their fictional adventures that she spun to her mother. It’s kind of funny, Steve has to admit.

In reality most of their afternoons are spend in cheer practice. Competitions are coming up again, so they’re perfecting their new routine. Molly is convinced they’ll win this time and her laser focus and enthusiasm is infectious.

Not all is perfect of course. He often has to clean his locker when it is vandalized again and he is tripped up whenever possible, not to mention all the insults that are slung in his face.

On top of that, he hasn’t had a single acceptance letter in the mail yet, which isn’t great for his anxiety and the only reason he thinks he even has a shot at graduating is because Sofia graciously offers her time to him. He has taken to buying her lunch as a thank you.

Outside of school he still drives the twerps around as well. They mostly want to go to the arcade, but he has also brought them to Hopper’s cabin a few times or picked them up the Wheeler’s house after DnD.

One weekend he even drove Max to a skating rink a few towns over and watched as she performed all sort of dizzying stunts on her board.

Dustin is still his main little guy and he will show up whenever he pleases and brighten Steve’s day, a fact he will never let him know. However, Max and Will are both quickly making it up there as well.

He and Will never talk about that connection in the kitchen, about what they share. Neither of them is willing to acknowledge it, but sometimes they share a look when something happens and that is enough for now.

Steve has for example figured out that Will has a crush on Mike, which he thinks is stupid. Sure, the kid is Will’s best friend, but he’s also a bit of an asshole. Granted that can also just be because he is thirteen years old and everyone is an asshole at thirteen, but Steve stands by it.

So, whenever he thinks Mike does something idiotic, he’ll look at Will with judge-y eyes and Will will pull a face as if to say that he knows, but that he can’t help it and there are good parts to Mike as well.

It’s fun.

He knows that Max doesn’t have it easy at home. He sees Billy on a warpath nearly every day in the halls of Hawkins High. He hasn’t gotten a date with a cheerleader in months now and Steve is just waiting for the day he’s going to snap.

So, Steve tries to get her out of the house and doing something fun as often as he can. They never acknowledge it, but he’s trying to be a better brother than Billy is. So far, he thinks he’s pretty successful all things considered.

His efforts aren’t as appreciated by Billy, who doesn’t show any interest in his step sister beyond tormenting her, yet will glare at Steve whenever they see each other out in public. Still, he hasn’t done too much since their encounter last November.

However, not all good things are meant to last and it comes to a boiling point in the week before spring break.

Steve is sitting in the cafeteria talking to Chrissy and Lisa when his eyes are drawn to some movement. He looks up to see Molly walking away with a huff and a little bit of a thunder cloud over her head.

He looks to see what got that reaction and sees Billy leaning against the wall with an annoyed look on his face. If Steve has to guess he’d been leaning over Molly moments before in an attempt to ask her out. Something that seems like it wasn’t a success.

Tommy is coming up to Billy, likely trying to placate his anger. He’s been Billy’s little lapdog since the fall and it still hurts a bit to see his old friend now hang around his primary bully.

Right as Tommy is doing that, Billy looks up and happens to meet Steve’s eyes. Billy’s eyes immediately narrow, probably thinking that Steve is getting some amusement out of his misfortune or something. So to try and negate the damage, Steve quickly looks away, but it is too late.

Billy straightens up and shrugs of Tommy’s hand as he starts to march towards Steve. His face looks like murder. It looks like that day at the Byers house. It looks like Steve is in deep shit.

Without being conscious of it, Steve gets to his feet. If he is going to be attacked, he’s not letting himself be trapped at the table of a cafeteria, ready like an animal for slaughter. Steve might have made it a habit to get beaten up, but at least he’ll do down swinging.

None of the girls have noticed the danger yet, so when he gets up Lisa asks: “Steve?” in a confused voice.

Before he gets the chance to explain, Billy is already on him. He has grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt and this time he won’t be able to wiggle out of it that easily. “You,” Billy seethes.

“What about me?” Steve shoots back, trying to look unaffected as he searches for a way to get out of this, or fight back.

“You fucking fag,” Billy rages. “You and your little pathetic protection squad. Can’t look even after yourself. Need the cheerleaders to do it.”

“Come on, man, no need to be jealous,” Steve smirks, oozing King Steve charisma. “Not my problem you suck at getting the ladies to like you.”

He knows it isn’t the smartest idea to poke the bear, so to speak. However, he hopes that he can keep some of his dignity throughout this ordeal, to not just fold like a straw. And he might as well take Billy down a peg if he is going to get his ass beat.

Billy doesn’t reply to his taunt, instead tightening his fists as he readies himself to punch.

“What?” Steve continues now that he has found a sore spot. “Nothing to say, Hargrove? You can’t get a date? So what. You’re going to beat me up over it? Like you tried to fight that twelve year old you didn’t like?”

They’ve gathered quite the audience now and Steve decides to fuck it. Billy is making his life miserable, he can choke on his own actions.

“Yeah, I remember that,” he says, projecting his voice so everyone can hear. “Real mature move that was. You might have beat my face in, but won’t change that your first target was a little kid, you pussy.”

Over Billy’s shoulder he can see Tommy looking conflicted, his eyes flicking between Billy and Steve, as if he’s unsure if he should step. Steve can’t care less. Tommy is an asshole and he hates him.

Meanwhile Billy is apparently pushed to the brink of insults he’ll take. He lets out a roar – Steve can’t describe it as anything else – and throws a punch. A hard one.

Steve recoils from the force and hopes he doesn’t get a concussion out of his. He vividly remembers the doctor’s visit after his last fight with Billy. He can’t go through that again, literally. He physically can’t. Well, he could, but it has a big chance of ending badly for him. Very badly.

So, he immediately start to struggle to get free, knowing from their last fight that he can’t let himself be pinned down, because Billy will ruthlessly rain down on him and this time, there is no Max to save him

He hunches into himself and starts walking towards Billy, both of them moving back again. But they hit Tommy, who picks Billy, supporting him and pushing until Billy can turn the tide again and start pushing Steve back.

Vaguely Steve is aware that there is screaming around them and that his nose is bleeding. However, he can’t concentrate on the chants and the chaos, as he desperately fumbles in the hope of prying Billy’s fingers loose from his shirt. He’s already asking himself if he can rip the fabric to get out, before Billy can make him loose his footing.

The answer is: he can’t.

Billy hits him again and he barely manages to duck out of the way so that the hit only slides alongside his face, hitting his ear.

Still, the punch is enough of a distraction that Billy manages to push him over, letting go of his shirt so that Steve can’t hold on to his arm to keep himself upright. So he goes down like a sack of flour, hitting the floor with a dull thud that travels up his arms.

He doesn’t allow himself time to reorient himself, already envisioning Billy pinning him down like he did before.

So, he’s already scrambling back when a dark blur fills his vision. For a second he fears that it’s one of Billy’s lackeys, but no pain comes. Instead the form stands over him in an almost protective manner.

Steve blinks a few times, there in front of him is Eddie Munson. He is holding both of Billy’s fists in his hands, holding him back from attacking again. He is smirking and not looking like it’s taking him much effort. However, Steve can see how his neck is straining, muscles likely bulging under his leather jacket.

“You know, the pulling on pigtails thing is so overdone,” Eddie informs him casually. “If you want to sleep with Stevie-boy here, there are better ways to go about it.”

“I’m not some fag,” Billy snarls as he pulls back as if burned. Then he directs his next words at Steve, who is still on the ground behind Eddie. “First girls, now your boyfriend? It’s pathetic how you hide behind others, Harrington.”

“At least I could get a date, if I wanted,” Steve shoots back, not letting Billy have the last word.

Billy moves to jump him again, but is stopped by Tommy. He pushes Tommy out of the way, but doesn’t start shit again and instead he stalks away.

With Billy gone the excitement dies down and people turn to their own things again. Chrissy and Lisa are at Steve’s side checking him over. Chrissy’s brow is pinched as she asks: “Should we get you to a nurse? Your nose is bleeding.”

“Yeah, you don’t look okay,” Lisa adds.

“Wow, thanks. You two really know how to make a man feel special” Steve jokes, attempting a smile even as his face throbs. “No, but I’m fine, really. It’s okay.”

“I think you should get that checked out, pretty boy,” a new voice cuts in.

Eddie has squatted down in front of him and is checking him over as well with those concerned Bambi eyes. That gaze makes Steve aware how messy he looks. Blood is soaking from his nose into his shirt and he is entirely rumpled. He is also still on the floor.

A blush creeps over his face and he tears his eyes away from Eddie as he huffs: “I didn’t need you protecting me. I had it handled.”

“You call that having it handled?” Eddie asks with a raised brow, like he’s having a hard time believing it.

“It’s better than last time,” Steve defends himself. “He smashed a plate over my head then.”

“What!” Chrissy shrieks.

“I was fine,” Steve assures her, already regretting letting that tidbit slip.

“That sounds bad,” Lisa frowns.

“I was fine,” Steve repeats. “I went to a hospital and everything. It’s all okay. Just like I’m okay now.” He glares at Eddie. “I was fine.”

Eddie faces his glare head on with an air of nonchalance that always hangs about him. “I’m sure you are, big boy,” he tells him. “It still won’t hurt to get a tissue for that.” He nods towards Steve’s still bleeding nose.

When Eddie doesn’t respond to his hostility, Steve switches tactics and asks: “Why did you even help me? You’ve only made yourself a target.”

“Nah, man. Not if Billy wants his drugs, I’m not,” Eddie grins. “Besides, whereas the basketball team looks after the popular kids, I look after the lost sheep. You’re one of the outcasts now, Stevie, that means you’re under my jurisdiction.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” Steve protests, but he manages a smile. Eddie might want some mysterious thing from him, but he also looks out after his own. He had almost forgotten they shared something now.

“Well,” Eddie stands up again and claps his hands. “That was enough excitement for today, I think. See you around, Steve. Look after yourself.” He nods at Chrissy and Lisa. “My ladies.” Then walks back to his table.

“He is not like I expected him to be,” Chrissy whispers.

“Mean and scary?” Lisa asks.

“Yeah,” Chrissy nods.

“He’s a weird guy,” Steve says, unable to hide a bit of fondness that creeps in. He gets up from the floor and says: “Might be smart to get a tissue.”

“I’ll walk you to the nurse,” Chrissy offers.

“Yeah, and I’ll take your stuff our next class and explain why you’re late,” Lisa adds.

“Thanks,” Steve smiles.

He and Chrissy walk away. As they make their way to the nurse, she comments: “You and Eddie seemed to know each other.”

Steve hesitates for a second, then shrugs: “We talked once. He seems nice, but- I don’t know… We don’t really associate.”

“Alright,” Chrissy luckily seems to let it go. “Glad he was there. I was really scared.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” Steve says, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

~~

A/N:

Chrissy and Steve have parent issues, jock solidarity and u can’t change my mind, lmao

Also, disclaimer: I am not in any way, shape or form a good source on how do deal with someone you care about going through an eating disorder. Please do not take fanfic as a helpful source or guide to deal with such issues.

It’s hilarious in a sad way that I am going against the grain by giving Steve a little bit self worth rip