Waiting

Summary: I’ve been waiting for you, Rey. These are the words she longs to hear. Rey waits her whole life for someone to find her.

AO3

Fanfic 

Chapters: One - Two - Three

Waiting

Previous Chapter Two: Existing

Summary: I’ve been waiting for you, Rey. These are the words she longs to hear. Rey waits her whole life for someone to find her.

Please be aware of tags. 

Rey’s eyes no longer watch the sky, they stay permanently on the ground. Instead of being ready to run to the depot, her feet drag deeper into the sand until each step equals a thousand. She no longer scans the faces of those who pass her to see if they are recognizable. It doesn’t matter anyway.

The dream is reality now. It’s like no one can see her. If she could feel afraid, her skin would tremble anytime someone got close to her. What if they could walk right through her? There’s a piece inside that’s missing. The vibrancy humbling her ferocity is gone somewhere and all she is left with is those wild feelings she can’t understand. Plutt packed it in Kit and the trader’s ship and it’s gone like they are.

In another time, Rey would scrap and fight tooth-and-nail for her life; her destiny. She would stop waiting for someone and rescue herself.

But in this time, Rey is tired.

The amount of tick marks on the wall remains the same as that day. Life moves on but Rey feels detached from it. It doesn’t feel like she’s fighting to live anymore but each day is more of a struggle than the last.

Rey tries to limit the time spent in civilization. The sight of the depot sets her stomach in knots, while Plutt sends her into a rage. His smirk becomes more pronounced every time she shows up with parts to sell. Her stomach sours at how he takes advantage of her passive nature, running the prices down even lower, but eventually she has to go.

The sun has set for today. Rey would go tomorrow if not for the sand storm brewing in the air. Something pushes her toward town. It has to be tonight or she’ll be trapped without water for however long the storm stays.

She walks at a brisk pace, the wares she needs to sell strapped onto her back when she hears it. Not many people are out and fewer still react to such a sound anymore. It quiets and another cry echoes from close by. The staff is in her hand and she’s creeping toward the sound before she knows it.

Staying on her path doesn’t ever occur to her. Jakku shares its host of bad memories but she won’t stand by and let more happen on her watch. No matter how hopeless she may be, Rey would never want the same for someone else.

Rey ducks into an alley staff in hand. The sounds of laughter and torment guide her. Around the corner is a group of men some no more than overgrown boys. They hover in a circle. The imposing bodies added together act as a cage for whatever is inside. It’s a scene she knows too well. One that needs metal and gumption to get out of.

The crying continues and they yell down at whoever is there.

“…should teach you!”

“I think it’s time to go home.” She says before stepping out of the shadows and into the alley. Her blood pounds as they look at her.

Rey’s smile is more akin to snarl. A fight would be the perfect way to end the day. She’s ready and her body is already primed for conflict. She gets closer and sees the boy she bought Tuanulberries for so long ago. He’s just as skinny but has a wild look under the tears.

“Why don’t we call it a night. Leave the kid alone?” She says and hopes her itch for a fight isn’t obvious. At least now she can tell herself she gave them a chance to leave.

“Go home, sweetheart. This isn’t any of your concern.”


Rey shrugs. The alley gets quiet and she can hear their breathing. The younger ones are fidgeting back and forth, deciding between running and fighting, while the older, more experienced folks, are sliding their weapons out as quiet as they can.

For a moment Rey closes her eyes, grounds herself and grins. This isn’t how she thought the night would go. All she wanted to do was get enough credits to get some water so she could shelter in the storm. But now, staring down this group, it was like this was meant to be.

Everyone holds their breath in anticipation before the storm of the fight begins.

The man nearest to her reaches out to grab her wrist. Pain tingles along the tendons in her arm and Rey hisses before bringing her staff down on his wrist. He lets go with a groan, stumbling back a step when Rey brings her leg up and kicks him square in the chest. His breath stutters, gasping under the pressure, and the man crashes into one of the others.

Rey brings her staff forward. Cracked teeth go flying through the air as blood coats the end of her staff. Her body whirls and bends around the people coming at her. One strikes from behind and she ducks inches before his fist connects with her skull. Another one, smaller than the rest, jabs her side. While she holds it and tries to gain her breath the same one slices something sharp across her shin. Rey smiles.

It’s not that she’s winning. There are more of them. They are stronger and bigger than her, not to mention Rey is by herself. Still, it’s invigorating. She can tell by their stances that they are taking her seriously. Their feet are angled wide mirroring with their hands raised to attack.

Rey jumps onto a bin of garbage to survey the chaos around her. She feels powerful. It’s twisted in a way. She’s hurting people even if they were just doing the same thing to someone else. Some of the men still standing turned toward her.

The dream from months ago dawns on her. One, powerful figure fighting alone against dozens. Rey’s stepped into his shoes, for a moment. She is the lone person against all. Everyone is scrambling forward to fight her. Chills spread through her stomach in anticipation and dread at the faces frowning at her.

How would it feel to fight alongside someone like that instead of by herself? Life would have been much more bearable with someone next to her, she thinks. Someone who shared the same wild look that was surely in her eyes.

The men come to her and the fight continues.

Waiting

Please be aware of tags.

Previous Chapter One: Waiting  

The sand wears her down while the heat melts the rest of her to little more.

Rey does the best she can. No physical dangers get to her – she’s always been stubborn as a mule and in the real world, action has always been her strong suite. No, what hurts her the most is that no one can get to her. Neither her parents or some faceless stranger is coming for her. Not even her dreams are safe.

The dream left her more alone than she’d ever been and the harsh wasteland of Jakku starves out the few fantasies she clung onto. Survival becomes a chore. It’s tedious waking in the morning. All Rey wants to do is curl up on her small bed and stay hidden from the world; from herself.

As much as she wants to think the dream wasn’t real it continues to haunt her. All this pain is penance for her inaction. At the crucial moment she should have done something to help, Rey stalled and let her fear overtake her. Now her fear is this huge creature. It follows her, shadows her every movement and whispers that she let him die by indecision. That the inaction was their destruction.

It can’t happen again so she forces herself to move when nothing sounds worse. Rey makes herself get out of the bed. When she tucked in the corners so they wouldn’t drag on the floor, now she leaves them hanging. Still, she gets up. Food is the last thing on her mind but if she can make herself eat half a ration, she can function through the day. It’s enough.

Climbing the shipwrecks gets harder. Her muscles ache and her mind is no longer curious about what could be buried in the shadowed rooms and abandoned hallways. It feels like she’s picked through them time and again. It feels like she’s a ghost walking through the empty rooms. That no one can see or hear her.

Once she gets to the depot, the opposite occurs and it’s almost worse. The people’s untrusting eyes are full of hatred. She’s an outsider though her life has passed on this planet the same as any of them. She burdens herself with their stares and hate just to be around someone. Rey tries not to dwell on how pathetic that is but every time someone spits at her or tries to bargain a bad deal, the knot constantly pulsing in her chest recedes for a moment.

Rey’s good at surviving even if her heart isn’t in it. Her bed may call but she won’t let inaction claim her again.

How long can someone be alone, Rey wonders?

It’s six months following her birthday. Her dreams of battles and black crowns shielding dead, brown eyes haunt her night after night.

The morning cold creeps through all the cracks and crevices of her shelter, stealing away under the covers to chill her spine. Rey’s been awake for hours but unwilling to get up. She moves her head up till it rests against the wall so she can see out the window. Sand blows in a never-ending stream. That’s all there is.

She forces herself up, packs her bags, and is gone before long, ready to turn in loot from the other day. Her bike revs under her thighs as the depot comes into view. Jakku doesn’t receive many visitors at any time of the year but now, it’s especially unusual. She spots a new ship kicking up dust as it descends. Her heart burns and she drives faster. Who lands on this godforsaken planet?

Rey resists the urge to run right up to the new ship and goes about her day. She parks the speeder and gathers the materials so she can get enough credits for the rest of the week.  

Plutt’s unpleasant sneer remains as she remembers.  “Take it or leave it, Rat. Of course, you know there’s other ways to get more credits.”

The threats, which are nothing new, form a pit in her stomach. Without a word she grabs the credits and turns around. If she could do more than growl. If she could stand up for herself without risking death. It’s not worth it to attack, she repeats for the thousandth time. Sometimes her action lies in a greater inaction. Last time she’d barely made it through his barricade against her.

The vendors in the market stare without offering anything. Everyone knows her and her limited funds. They hate her because she can’t buy anything from them. They scowl at her because she can’t save them from the desert that they’re all drowning in.

She hates it too.

Rey looks anyway ignoring everyone else until a small child catches her eye. The boy has long hair tied in messy pigtails. Wisps of hair slip out of the lazily done bands. He stretches on his tiptoes to try and reach some Tuanulberries at a stand. The vender who Rey knows has had their fair share of left, pushes the child off with a warning. Children’s funds are even scarcer than hers. The child’s head hands down. It’s a dog eats dog kind of world, she thinks.

Rey turns around to return to her speeder, then stops. She repeats the phrase in her head again before walking off and buying a handful of the fruit. The alley where the boy disappeared to isn’t far and she finds him with no problems.

He doesn’t thank her; he doesn’t say much of anything as she approaches him. Rey keeps low to the ground with her hands out in front of her. With slow, dragging steps she moves as close as she would to a feral animal. They all are in a way here.

She can’t help the smirk that makes its way onto her face thinking about how she must’ve looked as a child. All gangly arms and permanent frowns. She has and will always be wild. Rey was forged in it and time has only sharpened her.

This stranger is the same from the way his eyes track her hands to how he grabs the fruit and runs off without a word. Something in her chest feels tight but she stomps out the worry for the nameless child. He has to learn to survive one way or another, just like everyone else.

The real test is when nothing seems possible. Maybe it’s when Plutt won’t extend credits or the scavenging isn’t yielding anything of worth. Maybe it’s the dry spells or changes in weather that leave the skin flaky and irritated. Maybe it’s just all the nothing; all the nothing filled with more nothing tasks to distract from the waiting. All of these weed out someone. Not necessarily the weak, for it takes any and all, but they still take and take. They test and test, and you either survive or you don’t. Rey can’t help but hope the child will make it.

She finds herself walking to the new ship with less enthusiasm than before. Peering around the corner of the station, a group of persons disembarks off the ship. Her eyes scan each face with wild ferocity. Though it hurts to watch them come, it will be much worse when they leave. To see the red of the engines, disappear into the endless sky and to know once again nothing happened left a mark.

It’s when they are unloading trade goods that she thinks of it. Of all Plutt’s ships for ‘sale’, none of them were ever really a possibility to buy. The shipyard is more than just a scam, it’s a graveyard. The ships themselves are overpriced for what their rusting, cheap metals, and in truth it would take more than Jakku had to offer in order to fix them up. The parts missing for decades if they would even work anymore.

This ship is new, though. It hasn’t been ground-down by the sand storms and unpredictable desert weather. If she could get aboard this ship, if Rey could find a way to leave with these traders, maybe she could leave.

Rey flattens her back against the wall and stares up at the sky. She doesn’t let her hopes rise. Her practical nature is a necessity for the plan and her mental stamina.

From the looks of the flats and boxes they unloaded, they are traders. Rare in these days on Jakku but the perfect opportunity. Her determination grows. Rey watches them from a distance until their work is done. They go to one of the older cantinas on the other side of town to rest and eat.

The credits she made today are supposed to last the week but this her chance. A hint of recklessness surges through her veins. She will stick to the plan no matter what but it’s like the atmosphere broke and the universe is open before her for the first time. Space and prospect and freedom all in her grasp.

Rey walks straight into the bar with her decision made. It’s dark now and the shadows have long since bled into the night. The barkeep is known to her. They’re dangerous but not threatening to paying customers. Her shoulders don’t relax.

“What will you be drinking?” They say.

“I’d like a meal. Hot.”

One thing she will never waste credits on is any sort of alcohol. It is no more than them throwing away on drink that could be dangerous. A lower inhibition and lack of awareness will not help her. Her stomach is cramping from the lack of food this morning. She’s about to ask where her food is at when a large bowl of something is placed in front of her.

Rey wonders how the food from Jakku looks to outsiders. How does it measure up? Either way, she tucks in while holding back a groan. The contents of the bowl may be grey (and a bit slimy) but it’s the best she’s had in a while. Rations have nothing on this.

Half disappears before she has time to breath. Her left arm curls in front of the bowl while the other is fast as lightspeed between the bowl and her mouth. With only half there, she takes a moment to glance around the establishment. Loitering people, all she’s vaguely familiar with, run along the edges and, there, in the corner are the traders.

Their appearance is rough in the way that shows off hard work. Their clothes are dirty and torn along the edges but, with a glance down, their shoes are sturdy, reliable. Hard work is familiar and it bodes well that these traders aren’t flashy in wealth and privilege. Those are either dangerous to themselves, people won’t hesitate to take attack displays of wealth here. And if they are bent on showboating power they don’t have, well, that’s just as bad.

She scans their clothes and is satisfied with the modest patches and designs she finds. Her eyes meet one of them. For a moment Rey thinks of running. Instead she takes a breath, squares her shoulders and nods. They return the gesture and after a soft word with their companion, get up, and make their way toward her.

The original plan is to eat and meet with the group together. She hopes she can charm them though she’s never been complimented on her people skills. After that, it is sort of up in the air, which is not like her. All Rey knows is it’s vital to convince them. She’s certain that if she doesn’t get off this planet, she will wind up trapped in the sand, lost for all time waiting for someone who will never come.

In the back of her mind, Rey wonders what they see when they look at her. She should have washed this morning instead of leaving at first light. What if her own rough appearance hinders the whole operation?  They sit next to her and she knows it’s too late. They watch her from the corners of their eyes. Rey’s head sits at the same height as their shoulders. Green skin and read eyes are unfamiliar but don’t bother her.

It’s as silent as a bar can be until, “What in tarnation is that?”

Rey follows their gaze. She stares at her food. The grey, shapeless stew’s almost gone and her stomach clenches in mourning for the meal before answering.

“Dinner and I’ll not have you say a bad word about it.”

Kriff, if this isn’t going sourly. Why did she have to defend the food? It didn’t care and she knows that’s not how to win friends. The moment draws long. Rey hurries to eat the few chunks while making sure she stays alert. She winces at a sudden noise beside her. They laugh, their mouth splitting into a wide grin sending wrinkles around their eyes.

“We’ve all been there, kid. though I’ve never had the…pleasure of this particular meal before.”

Waiting

First time I've written for Star Wars fandom!  Please be advised of the warnings. 

Summary: I’ve been waiting for you, Rey. These are the words she longs to hear. Rey waits her whole life for someone to find her.

AO3 

I’ve been waiting for you, Rey.

These are the words she longs to hear.

Rey waits her whole life for someone to find her.

Her eyes never fall from the sky, always watching the stars; always dissecting every new ship to see who disembarks. Her feet brace themselves in the sand, ready at a moment’s notice to run toward the depot. Rey’s mind scans the people’s faces for any detail. The hope that she would know if any travelers were her parents, even if the pencil only hovers over the page with no images coming to her mind when she goes to draw them on scrape paper, is wearing thin.

She waits for a sign of them until the hope fades. Rey waits until she’s old enough to give up on childhood dreams.

No one will come for her.

The hope lingers but soon enough the ache in her chest is too much. Rey knows she will never leave Jakku. It’s this absolute that changes the dreams. Instead of her family coming to her, she dreams of strangers. They’re nothing more than faceless bodies but they rush to her AT-AT. Her small table is filled with silence and her rations are shared between them, instead of going to the wrecks of old ships alone someone would be there among the old ghosts with her, and at night when the cold settles in, they can share their heat.

These wishes ground her. They can happen, she argues with herself when it looks like all other hope is lost. Rey knows she’ll never leave this planet. It feels like she’s somehow ingrained in the sand, or maybe, the sand is ingrained in her. The harsh weather turns her sour and more skeptical as the days pass. She waits as if there is nothing else to do. She survives on the fumes of this. But it’s a harsh realization even those meager dreams are too much.

Rey turns twenty-five. The exact date of her birth is a mystery but as a child she chose one for herself. No one else knows there’s anything different about today. Her birthday is a secret she keeps to herself. It’s just another tick mark on her wall but still, she keeps her shoulders back a little straighter.

It’s not ancient, she thinks. People who survive past childhood tend to cling to their lives on Jakku despite how each year added is more dangerous than the last. Their wills to spite the harsh planet ever at odds with the realities of life here.

Her self-proclaimed birthday is when everything changes and, like so many things, it doesn’t really change anything at all in the grand scheme of things.

Rey throws a wrist over her eyes and tries to sleep for some minutes longer. Rest never comes with ease to her. With danger around every corner, she has to be alert and ready. Even as sleep comes to her, it’s a struggle to survive whatever nightmares her subconscious dreams up.

Tonight, her legs move through smoke and fog so thick Rey can’t see what’s in front of her. The mist seeps into her lungs making the task of breathing a burden. Rey’s running as fast as she can. She doesn’t know why but it’s an enormous effort not to stop. The dream urges her forward.

On and on she goes with muscles screaming in protest until, with an uncanny shift of the wind, the smoke shifts. It creeps toward the periphery. Bodies surround her. They pile in grotesque heaps every way she turns leaving no route to run. Still, the dream urges her forward. It’s slow climbing over them. Bile rises in her throat at the sounds. The crunching stays with her during odd hours of the coming days.

She slides down a mountain of them, ignoring the way it feels like their hands grab at her. The dead don’t move, she tells herself.

The view that greets her is the same and different. It’s war that surrounds her. People in white and brown armor clash together. Red drips from every surface leaving no color untainted. War surrounds her, engulfs her in its endless barrage, but somehow, despite her walking further into the violence, nothing touches her. It’s like she’s physically away from it all. Like she’s not real.

Cold sweeps through her limbs. Dreams should be different than real life in some way but this is frighteningly similar. That invisible feeling is familiar and though she wears it like an old cloak, a part of her hates the way the people of her planet’s eyes go through her. And Rey hates how her solitude continues even in her dreams. How her isolation is so integral to her life that it follows her past reality.

Even so she moves in and out of the chaos. No blood or wounds mar her body; not a body hair is out of place. In the face of the falling bodies it feels hallow. The world blurs for a moment. She wipes a hand across her face to find tears dampening her cheeks. Every time her hand reaches forward to help one of the soldiers, it glides right through them. Every time, she thinks she can provide some help and is wrong. If she can just steady their fall to the ground, Rey thinks, but her hand passes through them.

Why is she here? Why can’t she help? 


Rey scans the crowds of people. Is there a purpose to these apparitions or is her destiny to watch with no alternative? The horrors through the room continue happening. Blood and cries for help and the stench of death rise up. Rey’s about to turn around, to run in hopes of finding her way out, when she sees him.

He’s larger than any man she’s seen and robed in black from head to foot. The dark panels lining his body move with him in perfect unison, spreading and flying behind him like a fallen angel’s wings. The helmet adorning his head is the only aspect of his appearance not faultless. Splinters of it are cracked off and tilted back at an odd angle. On someone else it might look meager or proof of mistakes on the battle field. He wears it like a broken crown; like it is his birthright. All sharp pikes and menacing edges reach to the heavens, whether in exaltation or threat, she can’t tell. Rey can barely make out the left side of his face. She sees a glimpse of an eye and a hint of a thick eyebrow through the crack but not enough to see him.

People surround him, swing at him, and try to hurt him. He is their target, if their formation, increasingly tight to him, is any indication. Still, outnumbered and alone, he fights on. There’s something in the sheer wildness radiating from his body that reminds Rey of herself. Each swing is filled with such strength. Every snarl and harsh jab hold a fierce amount of life despite the encompassing death. She can’t help but think of herself, fighting alone against the desert that is her home. They are the same in a way.

All of his opponents are brought down and he is alone atop a raised platform. The eye visible to her is alight with fury. Rey shivers at the fire held in it. His chin is pointed up as he stares down at all the other soldiers clambering up to replace the ones that fell before. Light shines on him from behind and he looks like a prince staring down at enemies invading his territory. The strong planes of his chest and sweeping arches of his arms only give power to him. He reaches down to his belt, unhooking something from his tight waist.

A beam of light coming from his clasped hands. Its size reminds her of her staff. As she watches the fight, Rey thinks she might be able to convert some of the moves he uses for herself. But the similarities stop there. This weapon is pure energy. It’s as if the man conducts the heat from his soul into the blade, sharpening it into a blade powerful enough to kill. His swings are far reaching, using every muscle to their maximum potential. He makes no wasted energy or unnecessary movement. That confidence, the belief he is powerful enough to defeat anyone in his way, is magnetizing. Rey craves that feeling for herself; wants to soak in any excess coming off of him she can.

Her heart races at the sight of him.

She begins to make her way toward the platform, drawn to the eye of the battle. The process is slow as ducks and bends out of the way of the others fighting around her. She knows she doesn’t have to but it alleviates the unnatural reminder of her transparency.

Her eyes are drawn to the man again and again. It’s just to make sure he’s still fighting; that he hasn’t given up, she thinks. The place hidden in her chest pulses, almost pushing her forward onto the platform. A burning sensation fills her chest the closer she gets. Energy she’s never felt before expands making it hard to breath under its breadth.

In the back of her mind, the future spins out of control. All the phantom guests at her kitchen table becomes this tall stranger. Her bed, just right for her before, becomes cramped and tight due to the body next to her. Her future so blank before opens wide as the desert and it hurts so wonderfully.

The battle rages on in screams and cries and blood until, without warning, everything stops. Silence presses against her; suffocating her body and mind. The desert closes before her. Rey gasps and her eyes turn toward to the platform automatically.

Life teaches her time and again there is no permanence to anything; nothing will be a part of her besides its ruthless heat and sand. She knows this but the wisp of a promise made her forget. The moment of her future slips away before it is anything but a dream. It makes it harder when his face, the portion of skin seeking light from behind the dark mask, drains of vitality. He staggers fighting against an unseen enemy. Rey can’t help but cry out when he falls.

Her breath beats against her ribs, stuck and anxious like a bird trapped in a cage. But Rey is never one for stillness. Already she’s running. Her arms pump at her sides urging her legs to move faster. She tries desperately not to think of the wide alarm in his expression.

Nothing touches her so she runs through anyone in her way. Does it mean Rey can’t touch anything either? There’s a grain of hope still left in her, buried at the back of her mind. Maybe the universe isn’t fully against her. Maybe she can help.

A stray tear rolls down her face. If the situation were any less dire, if she had any time to think, there would be nothing but amazement at the salty liquid on her cheeks. So long has passed since Rey’s cried that she was sure the sands had soaked up all her tears. But there’s no time to reflect over the bittersweet miracle, she knows only that she must go forward.

Rey is oblivious to the bodies around her and the apparent change in them. Too focused on her goal, she doesn’t see when they morph into something less. They lose their colors. The blood dripping onto the floor begins to drain of its pigmentation. Their clothes fade to the background and as she runs to the platform, the soldiers remaining on the battle field begin to turn to dust; still fighting as they leave the world.

The altar stands erect and imposing in front of her at last. She makes it in time to see the man grasping in wild jerks at his neck. It’s so quick Rey thinks she might have imagined it but the gold collar behind him moves into the light for but a moment. Pale skin shines against the light revealing a glimpsed of the person who’s hurting him. She moves to attack but the flesh and gold disappear so all that is left in whatever nightmare this is are her and him.

The man struggles to stand. His hands scratch at his chest. There should be some wound on his person - something to visualize the pain in his eyes to the world but she can’t see anything besides his dark clothes.

After a breath, she doesn’t know why but there’s a ball of churning fear in her stomach, he falls to his knees. Rey is spurred into action. She snarls at whoever was standing behind him before moving to kneel. Her hands rise to hover over his chest. They tremble but she needs to do something – anything. Still, she holds back.

What if she can’t touch him?

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Eighteen: Existing

As the weeks passed, Peter struggled in vain against the extra workload of his sophomore year classes. The balance between work, school, friends, and himself was everchanging, ever in threat of tipping off the edge of the proverbial blade. Though the latter was pushed to the side with increasing frequency and his bed was becoming more of a rare luxury much to his dismay.

The tub of tabouli, hummus, and carrots sat uneaten in front of him while Mike explained again why the discourse surrounding the new Firefly show was important to their group and the larger culture abroad.

“It’s a western in space, guys, how can you not like it? Plus, Nathan Fillion is working it. You know he’s damn charming.” 



“It’s basically a soap opera and you know it.” Midge said, arms crossed in front of them.

Mike sputtered and Ned stepped in before anyone else would get more offended. Still pouting his lips, Mike turned away from them and started shoveling down his lunch. Midge just sighed. Peter shifted in his seat wondering if he should say anything when Ned bumped shoulders with him.

“You okay?”

He forced a smile on his face. Ned waited for an answer, his eyes open and earnest. The expression made something in Peter’s chest ache. This bitter tug nestled down behind his ribs. Ned was dragged along in all of this. What started as befriending a lone boy in an empty classroom had turned into trying to gather intel from two of the biggest corporations in the world. Still, his friend was right there for him, ready and unfailingly patient with a smile.

“Want to hang out this weekend?” Peter asked instead of answering the question.

He wanted to do something. To have fun and get out of the house for once. His work shifts were pretty stacked up but it was worth it to rearrange them. Ned agreed if his answering smile was any indication.

“Yeah, dude. There’s this cool exhibit downtown about brainwashing. Maybe weird but it could be cool.”

“Sounds fun.” He said.

“Yeah, they get all these big companies to put something together. I’m surprised you know who didn’t do it. I hear Oscorp is holding one in the fall.”


Peter rubbed his chest. The cafeteria noise rushed toward him. All the laughter and words and echoes pressed against him, weighing down. His smile felt wobbly to him but hoped it came off as sincere.  

“We’ll have to check the one this weekend out.”

-

Ten hours later, Peter sat at his desk. His head resting in the crux of his arms crossed on the scattered papers and notebooks. He shifted in the chair and tried not to think about the coming week. The to-do list was somewhere in the mess under him. Every bullet point added another reason his headache was growing at an alarming rate.

One of the pages peaked out from under the curve of his elbow. The model car on it was dissected into the median and coronal planes showcasing all the guts. Why was he tinkering with it after all this time? No one would see it now. Red marks, newly etched into the paper some sleepless night would probably never leave this room let alone the top of his desk unless it was carried through the trash.

The thought of acknowledging he was finally abandoning the project left him gripping onto the papers tight in his palms. Even all these months later, Peter found himself tweaking their project and trying to improve upon it. Lee, the head intern, had said she was always available. Maybe he could email it over and then she could send it onto whoever her boss was? The chain of command wasn’t something he was entirely familiar with but eventually it had to land in his hands.

His phone buzzed.

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Seventeen: Reflections and Realizations 

Enjoy! 

“We come to you live, this morning, from the new Oscorp building here in New York City. Joining us now is the man himself. Would you like to say a few words, Mr. Osborn? Why a new building? What’s its purpose?”

Mr. Osborn walked toward the camera, blocking the news anchor from frame. He smiled without blinking; seemed gaze straight into the viewers’ eyes while gathering his thoughts. Peter couldn’t help but shiver.

“Oscorp is at an exciting stage of expansion. Our new projects, headed by some very talented young people, deserved more space and more funding. When you think of brilliance I want you to think Oscorp. You will think of the brilliant future. And you will think of power. This building is just one of the first stages of that future.”

Mr. Osborn’s lips curled into another smile. The news anchor cleared their throat and, after holding the smile for a second longer, Mr. Osborn stepped back. They shook hands before moving onto the next segment.

The whole interview was over in less than five minutes. It was completely normal but still it was … unsettling. There was something in the way Osborn said the word power. The slight pause, no longer than a breath but holding a weighted touch, before saying the word slow and strong. Power was what he wanted. It didn’t matter the cost to a man like that. Something as insignificant as stealing a child’s idea or intimidating those around you. All for the sake of a ‘brilliant future,’ for the sake of power. What other acts had the man done in name of those ideals? What was he willing to do next?

Peter’s spine was stiff. Tension coiled in his muscles keeping him still. Anger surged in him for a moment. The back of his throat itched and all he wanted to do was throw the phone at the nearest wall. Instead, he took a breath, pulled the headphone from his ear, and handed Flash’s phone back to him.

He couldn’t do anything. The sentiment earlier had been a lifeline, a fact. Now, he was starting to hate it.

“If you would just listen to us, Peter.” Flash said.

“I thought I said no.”

“You said it months ago but we all thought that, if we gave you space-”

“Which we did.” Julia interrupted.

“-that you would come back to the logical choice. It’s called copyright laws… or something like that.” Julia crossed her arms in front of her chest as she stared at Flash. A hint of amusement hidden under the exasperation. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s not the legal word for it but he’s got the right idea.”

Peter shrugged. His fingers played with the napkin in front of him, folding and unfolding it while Flash and Julia bickered over what they wanted. It made something warm in his chest to know that still, after all this time, his friends were trying to help.

He watched as Flash scooted closer to Julia as she began pouring over their notes. Their foreheads were almost touching, though their voices were loud enough for the table behind them to hear.

The napkin ripped at the edges. He balled it up and stuffed it under his thigh. They were friends. His friends. Two years ago, it would’ve seemed like an impossibility to be sitting here across from these two people.

Julia was writing something down, fast and neat like always. Her eyes are almost crossed with how hard she’s concentrating. Flash sat next to her. Although he was leaning away, his lips are thinned in concentration and he kept asking questions to her, clarifying and adding ideas to their ever-growing notes.

These two people, one a former bully, and the other a stranger only a few months ago were his friends. A strong support system. He could remember the tears of Flash’s face on that stairwell, the way he had screamed at Peter, antagonizing him every step of the way, when he was also in pain. It seemed like he had so many friends; was popular at Midtown. But Peter realized they were similar in some ways. Whereas Peter was alone in his pain, Flash was surrounded. He was mean and hurtful to gain their conditional acceptance. Peter can only imagine how isolating that would be both from the others and yourself. Now here Flash was, working outside school to help Peter.

Julia’s friendship was no less surprising, yet sweeter all the same. Her hesitant, introverted nature at the beginning was all to similar to how he felt. She was withheld but never curt. Her eagerness endeared her to their whole team in a short time. Julia was also more than that. She didn’t need to overcome any of those traits to be a strong person like Peter thought. Like what people always told Peter. (Smile more, speak louder, be more) Those words followed him around until they didn’t hurt anymore.

Julia surely faced similar sentiments but it felt like she never took them to heart. Instead, she used them to her strengths. Their team was silently bolstered by her calm confidence. The tense atmosphere between Frank and Monica turned into nothing more than a minor blip in their project because Julia talked to both of them, encouraged them and worked to appease both with compromise.

It was the quiet moments with Julia. The snacks she brought with her to share, the sincere way she communicated, and above all just the effervescent care for everyone around her.

Here they were sitting across from him, trying to convince him to fight for himself. How could they want to help him after everything? This wasn’t even the first plan they had come up with, just the most recent. Every time he could see this gleam in their eyes, hesitant but stubborn. Every time he shot them down the hesitation receded but the stubbornness grew.

Peter sighed and wondered if his eyes were as weighed down as he felt.

“Look, it just doesn’t matter.”

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Sixteen: Civil War 

Summary so far from previous chapter: Here's a summary of the previous chapter: Peter goes to upstate New York with his team plus Flash and Ned. They all have fun with some heart to heart conversations about the disaster that was the end of their project because of the trip to Oscorp. It's summer with two weeks back to school. Peter reflects on what happened with Mr. Stark with much angst and sadness. He's also working himself too hard with two jobs, one at a coffee shop and the other at a radio supply store called Barry's. It is there that Peter finds himself watching the news as Civil War happens. Close footage of the event is released and the world watches as two superheroes battle it out. Peter stumbles home and calls Mr. Stark to make sure he's okay only to get a voicemail. He doesn't leave a message. 

Peter always felt at odds with the world. From his youth – the time waking up alone in the hospital and going through middle school with laughter following at his back – left the impression of permanent displacement. The uncomfortable foreignness he sometimes felt inside his own skin was nothing new. Peter’s preference for a quiet room over something loud was strange to people. Sam Carlson called him a freak and at the time Peter cried. When no one stood up for him he believed it was true. What else would explain the differences between him and everyone else?

At home, his family knew and loved his differences. Ben wore his varsity jacket with pride. Peter would run up to him and beg to wear it, loving how the plush leather draped around his shoulders. Hoping one day he could wear his own like Ben. Peter could remember Ben’s excited ramblings. All the plans he made for Peter - with Peter. When he fell short of those dreams, Ben still loved him.

Ben took him to ice cream outings after spelling bees and pushing Peter to believe in himself no matter what. He showed Peter that sometimes, with special people, those differences weren’t considered bad but unique. Like his quirks were interesting instead of outlandish.

With the anniversary of Ben’s death approaching at the end of the week and now Germany, the differences felt like too much. His skin itched. He wanted to destroy his phone and hide under the blankets in his room. He also wanted to plop himself down in front of five monitors and make sure he didn’t miss anything.

It was a week since Germany. Seven days of news stations repeating words and phrases over and over again. Their pantomime words were pointless and flat but Peter couldn’t do anything but watch them. He had to make sure there wasn’t a speck of information missed. What if new injuries came to light? What if, after the bloody fight there was more violence and fear? The smallest word could incite the people of New York and the world to shift to a strange unease. To look at their heroes as lesser because of an in-house fight. Would they be wrong do so? So, hours of the tv he watched.

Today, though was different. He climbed out of bed to drag himself to the couch in their living room. It was still pushed to the side of the wall so May could roll her yoga mat out in the middle of the room so he had to sit at the end and crane his neck to see.

Peter yawned and stretched his back before turning on the tv. Both hope and dread tangled in his stomach as he waited to see if anything new happened while he was asleep. The first thing he noticed was the absence of colors. There was no red and gold; no red, white, and blue either. Instead a story played about a new workout fad on the morning show. Both hosts tried to squat in heels and a tight suit and all Peter could do was watch in disbelief.

He moved to the edge of the couch, digging his hands into the sides of the cushions. Peter switched the channels back and forth but …  there was nothing. Not a single story on the Avengers.

The day passed in a blur after that. Peter sat in the back of Barry’s listening to the radio as he worked. The Yaesu FT – 891 sat exposed in front of him on the table. Gears and widgets crowded the small paneling of the front.

Still no word about it on the radio. Iron Man, Captain America, The Avengers. Nothing.

It was incomprehensible. How had the world already moved on? The arguably largest powers of the world clashed in epic proportions and a week later no one cared. Everyone else was getting back to normal.

Peter’s whole world had changed. Maybe in minuscule terms but at a fundamental level. If this was what it meant to be at odds with the world then maybe it was a good thing. If he could remember, keep those relentless attacks and trembling fists in mind, then maybe it was worth it.

Before their upstate getaway. Peter scowled at the news. He hated how these strangers gossiped and mongered any information they had about Mr. Stark. Chest heaving from running. Peter watched from the side of the street as Iron Man was on the tv. Mr. Stark wearing his superhero persona complete with the large glasses and faux smile. When the woman who walked up beside him asked him who the man really was he was blindsided. Who else would he be besides Iron Man?

Peter didn’t understand at the time.

It was when he saw Mr. Stark, when Iron Man had fallen to the ground. Blood stained the red metal dripping onto the concrete underneath him. Peter realized he was as bad as the people in the hallway of the Tower like the man who spilled coffee on himself as their boss walked by all those months ago. He was the one staring at the man from behind glass – through a pair of Mr. Stark’s rose tinted glasses.

All those months he’d spent in knots because “it was Iron Man, after all.” Isn’t that what he thought before his presentation? All those dinners and movie nights with the man and Peter never viewed him as a person.

He was Iron Man.

But he was also Tony Stark.

The Creature from the Blue Lagoon

Previous Chapter two: Best Stay Away from the Waters 

Penny had few memories of her childhood. Blurry, faded images of two people and faint traces of warm hands came to her sometimes when she was on the verge of sleep. The images were never concrete and were accompanied by the stinging realization that no matter what she wished, she would always be by herself. Being alone was a part of her. She’d come to stand the cold nights huddled in bed and empty kitchen tables, but loneliness was something new. Not until she found him.

Her heart ached during hours spent watching over the mermaid with nothing but her fears. His faded scales and bleeding wound doing nothing to alleviate the gnawing dread worming its way inside her. Her tears were stilted at first under the sun but once night descended and the water turned colder, they flowed freely into the marsh surrounding them.

Two days with no sign of change. Nothing, not even a twitch, besides a heartbeat and steady flow of blood out of the wound despite her best efforts to heal it. She worried her medicines wouldn’t work on his anatomy. Maybe she hadn’t packed the wound right, or maybe his heartbeat was working too fast. Her hands needed to keep busy so Penny studied his armor. There was a gash through it leaving a vulnerable spot and in between her attempts at healing and pitying herself, Penny began carving a a slab of wood to fit into the hole.

Penny was whittling when, without warning, his eyes opened. It sent her reeling back onto her haunches. He stretched in slow measured movements, feeling his muscles flex after being stagnant for so long. He pulled to the left with a particular quickness and winces. She could see his tail twitch against the water.

“No!” She cried out without thinking. Her hand flew to her mouth and he bared his teeth, too sharp to even be considered human, at her. His tail rose higher, slapping the base on the water. Against her will, Penny realized what the villagers might have seen and hated that she flinched away; hated that once again her first instinct was to hide. Recognition lit his eyes and as slowly as he could, his expression neutralized. He lifted his hands up in a placating manner.

She shook off her fright knowing how ridiculous it was. Her eyes wandered down to the packed materials in the wound. The bandages were holding up for now, but she would need to change them.

“I’m so - don’t move too much. You’re hurt.” Penny stepped forward, first to scoop up her meager supplies and closer to him. She laid the bag on the ground, careful to keep her eyes on his. His tail muscles flexed as it slid down. Waves rippled out from the appendage gliding into the water until he was the height of an adult human. He was still taller than her but now the difference was a bit more manageable.  

Her hands trembled as she presented the materials and herbs. He sniffed it and nodded. It was a relief how unafraid she was so soon. As she worked, peeled off the soaked material and began packing it with new, she couldn’t help but peak up at him and think. Though he was taller now, he wasn’t nearly the height of before, when he was extended up on his tail. The mere breadth of his shoulders was enough to intimidate any man but she found that all there was room for was worry. The suddenness of everything had pricked at her emotions but she knew, from all their meetings and last battle together, he wouldn’t hurt her.

A flinch ran down his side at a poke to the sore area. His hands clenched at his side as she hurried to finish.

“I’m so sorry.” She murmured over and over. “I tried to do this the best I could but I… I only know what I’ve taught myself.”

He raised his hand to wave her off.

“This is more than I expected.” He said. She bit her lip and began putting her things away.

“Couldn’t you, you know, heal yourself like before?” His hand cupped his wound. He frowned at the question.

“It is not up to me who the waters will heal.”

And if that didn’t raise a thousand questions in her head. Penny watched as he descended further into the water. The waves lapped over his chest and she couldn’t stop her hand from shooting up. She couldn’t stop the thrumming in her chest at the thought of an empty marsh.

“Don’t go!” She cried out. “I have so many questions that is and you’re not healed enough yet.” 

The Creature from the Blue Lagoon

New / old fic I’ve decided to move into it’s own category because it’s turned from a one shot into multi-chaptered story! 

AO3

fanfic

Chapter One: Meeting 

Chapter Two: Best Stay Away from the Waters

Chapter Three: Legends of Old 

A Night She Won’t Soon Forget

Previous Chapter Six: A Day He Begins to Move

Hi all. Hope you are doing well. Here is the next chapter, Enjoy!

Chapter Seven: A Day She Bakes Cinnamon Rolls 

Penny stood at the bottom of the stairs gazing up at the cobblestone building in front of her. The bricks constructing it, old as they looked to her young eyes, were clean and evenly spaced. They were woven into arches and patterns unfamiliar in the buildings around Midtown. With her meager belongings tucked under her arm and her feet dragging on the sidewalk, Penny felt like she was between worlds.

On the way here, she watched out the window of the car as neighborhoods and buildings morphed into designs she was unfamiliar with. People loitering on the street corners became few and far between. Instead, she spied people walking with purpose between the clean and uncrowded buildings. It was like she stepped into one of the stories the late-night radio shows talked about. Families with small children laughed and went about their day and business-minded people hurried to their workplace. A different atmosphere than what she was used to.

Penny glanced down at her hand-me-down smock and then over to Ms. Potts.  Her hat rested atop her head in some mysterious way not visible from the outside, revealing a bouquet of curls. The brilliant purple color matched that of her coat, gloves, and shoes. Penny swallowed. Her hands twined her smock in endless knots until Ms. Potts bent toward her. The woman’s smooth gloved reached out and unbearably gentle, she pried Penny’s nervous fingers apart.

“Are you alright, dear?”


Penny nodded sending her chopped hair every which direction despite the butterflies cramping in her stomach. She could see the woman’s gaze follow her hair for a moment before landing on her ears and nose. The frown that settled on her face was foreign to Penny. There was a certain detachment in her wrinkled brow. An anger Penny was almost sure wasn’t directed at her in the way the corners of her mouth turned down. Still, she couldn’t help but flinch back when Ms. Potts’s hand brushed her hair back from where it had fallen on her forehead.

“We’ll need to get you some warmer clothes, Penny. Your poor ears are bright as an apple.”

She wanted to lean into the soft touch of her warm, leather gloves. If only for a moment she could enjoy the feeling but her earlier outburst lingered at the front of her mind. The tears she shed so easily when before she was convinced they were permanently dry. Heat burned in her cheeks not entirely due to the cold. To think that someone like Ms. Potts, someone so warm and kind, witnessed her breakdown. So instead of basking in the affection like she wanted, Penny ducked her head and pulled her sleeves down over her hands, clutching the book under her arm.

The buildings loomed overhead. The possibilities waiting. Penny shivered.

“I’m alright, Ma’am. It’s not too cold.”

Ms. Potts’s shook her head as her hand dropped.

“Pepper or Ms. Potts please, Penny. And there will be no arguments from you. I want to go shopping and you will just have to humor me.” Penny remained silent but nodded in response. Ms. Potts, content enough with the nonverbal answer, gestured to the front door. “Shall we?”

Penny scrambled up the stairs after Ms. Potts. The ornate, gold knocker hung right above her head on the front door in the same shape as the crest imprinted on the papers in Mrs. Delores’s office. Her eyes traced the slanted eye slots on the helmet’s décor and she had to stop her hand from reaching out to feel the smooth edges. The door swung open. Penny held her breath and ducked her head further down as a guiding hand on her back moved them into the house.

The sleet sticking to her wrinkled shoes melted with the heat of the indoors and sunk through her socks to freeze her toes. The carpet’s red and gold tones caught her attention first. The colors twisted and weaved together in spirals and delicate paisley patterns. It was hard not to compare the intricate artistry with her leather loafers. They were another child’s before hers and probably someone else’s before that. Time soaked into the crevices of the shoes, staining the material a deep brown and wrinkling the buckle edges. They were the beginning of the reminders of her lack of place there. She couldn’t even compete with a carpet.

Penny scrambled to make sure the bottoms were clean before stepping onto it with Ms. Potts beside her. She turned in a half circle to take in the full view of the room until she heard a throat clear. Frozen on the spot, Penny took a moment to breath, hoping and knowing it was beyond hope, that no one had seen her lack of decorum.

Black patent shoes stepped into her view. Her eyes followed them to the attached body. From the chores at Midtown, ironing being one of the many, she knew how precise you had to be to achieve lines that straight in the black pants and suite jacket. She admired the clean cut of the outfit before Penny met the person’s gaze.

While Mr. Stevens, the delivery man, had a beard similar to the bristles of her trusty broom at Midtown, this gentleman, for surely with his outfit and fancy demeanor he was one, had a neatly combed mustache, shockingly bold and grey. It twitched under her stare and Penny fought the urge to giggle. His piercing, grey eyes sat under a set of similarly colored heavy eyebrows.  

Ms. Potts stepped up beside her.

“Friday,” She said with a smile. “Good to see you. I have someone I want you to meet.” She placed her hand on Penner’s shoulder and brought her to her side. Penny shivered at the contact but held still.  “Penny this is Friday, our magician of a Butler here at Stark House. Friday, this is Miss Penny Parker. She will be staying here with us.”

The man craned his head down at Penny. She stared at the wall behind him but offered her best smile while attempting to curtsey. Her legs wobbled and she could hear Mrs. Delores’s voice critiquing the movement. Ms. Potts laughed as she looked between her and Friday. She brushed Penny’s hair back again.

Penny peaked at the man from under her bangs. His expression hadn’t changed from her earlier observations but there was a minute softening in his eyes. She fidgeted with her sleeves. Her head whipped up when he clicked his heels together. Friday bowed low before them and Penny giggled along with Ms. Potts.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Penny. We welcome you to Stark House. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

“T-thank you, Sir.” She said and stepped back. Penny peered around Ms. Potts’s leg as the two began talking quietly. It wasn’t her intention to eavesdrop but she couldn’t help but overhear some of what they were saying.  

“…how is he, Friday?”

“I… haven’t seen him, but Harolds dropped Mr. Stane and him off at the club after you left. Both had bags with them.”

Ms. Potts’s hands curled into fists. Penny wondered at the significance of this and who they were talking about.

“No matter. Penny, give your…” Friday and Ms. Potts shared a look. “Coat to Friday. We will have tea in the blue room first. I’m feeling a bit peckish after this morning.”

She clutched onto her jacket and shuffled back a step. It wasn’t that she was fond of it but the clothing was her only heavy outerwear. No matter how nice they were she couldn’t give it away. Mrs. Delores would be furious and the cold bite of winter was fresh on her mind.

“I-I can keep it.” She said forcing herself not to step back any further. Both adults stopped and turned to face her. Ms. Potts furrowed her brows as she stared at the girl clutching her chest, barely more than rags between her fingers. It was Friday, silent eyes widening with realization, who acted.

He stepped in front of Penny, tall and immovable. His gaze directly on her, sizing her up, before he got down on one knee so he was her height. Penny’s breath caught in her throat.

“Miss Penny, I am only taking it to put in the closet. I promise, you will get it back at any point you need it. Is this acceptable?”

Penny dropped her eyes to the floor unable to take the honest expression Friday was showing her. He waited as she thought. He was offering, not demanding like Mrs. Delores solely did. He came down to her level. Penny wasn’t sure why but the action brought a sort of knot to her chest. Tension lumped up in the middle of her ribs and rose to the back of her throat but still he waited.

Taking her time, Penny untangled her coat and, with care, put it into Mr. Friday’s waiting arms.

“Thank you” She said.

“No, need for thanks, Miss Penny.”

“Come along Penny,” Ms. Potts called from down the hall. Penny made to follow but looked back at her coat still in his arms, torn with what to do.

“One second, Ms. Potts” Friday said before turning. “Follow me, Miss Penny.”

Penny glanced at Ms. Potts noting her nod and began following Mr. Friday down a short hall. The doors were all shut and Penny almost ran into him after he suddenly stopped. He opened a door to the right revealing a rack full of hanging coats.

“Yours will be right here if I’m not around to retrieve it for you. Anytime you need it, feel free to find it here.”

Mr. Friday slide the hanger into each sleeve, taking the time to straighten the hems and wrinkles before he hung it inside the closet next to the other, far longer and nicer, coats. The knot in her throat itched seeing it there. Like it was as worthy as any of the other pieces of clothing in the closet.

“Thank you, Mr. Friday, Sir.” She curtsied again, feeling only slightly silly doing so when she saw his eyes crinkle around the edges and his mustache twitch into a smile.

“And it’s my pleasure, Miss Penny. Again, don’t hesitate to ask for anything no matter how small. Now, I think it’s time for tea and if you’re lucky Mrs. Vern will bring her famous chocolate chip cookies up.”

-

A Night She Won’t Soon Forget

Previous Chapter Five: A Day She Receives Some News

Hi all. Hope you are doing well. Here is the next chapter, Enjoy!

“You can stop here, Harold.”

His driver looked toward the walkway. His eyes scanned over the decrepit buildings, taking in the address which was at least five blocks away from where he was scheduled to drop off his employer. Harold raised his eyes to the mirror so he could gaze at the man sitting hunched over in the back.

“Are you sure, sir? I can drop you off at the regular location.”


“I want to walk the rest of the way. Drop me off here.” Tony motioned to the open spot between parked vehicles and nodded at his driver’s kind sentiment. “And get back to your family. It’s Christmas time or so I hear.”


Harold sighed but did as requested after relaying a genuine thanks. Tony supposed by now that the man was used to his eccentricities. He knew Harold wouldn’t put up too much of argument no matter how long lasting his sighs were. Sure enough, Harold pulled the car over and Tony stepped out onto the sidewalk before leaning through the front window Harold had undoubtedly rolled down to give some last remark on getting home at a decent hour.

Before the man could speak Tony nodded to the seat he had occupied moments ago. “There’s an envelope with your bonus in the back. Treat your family to something nice this holiday.”

Harold tipped his hat and with a wavering voice Tony pretended not to hear thanked him for the gift.  

“Happy holidays, Sir.”

Tony patted the edge of the window twice and stepped back from the car. Harold waved before driving off. The last of the car’s lights disappeared around the corner in a puff of smog. Tony grabbed the flask out of the pocket sown into the inside of his coat. The liquid burned his throat on its descent and quickly spread its warming effects in his belly and limbs. He pulled his coat tight around his body in order to stop the rest of the heat from escaping on his walk back home.

The brisk winter air around sought its way into his bones despite his precautions but Tony continued at a leisurely pace. Wind whipped around his frame carrying more than ice into his bones. Tony could feel his memories sweeping out of the dark recesses of his mind. He couldn’t tell if it was the wind, so similar to that night about a year ago or just the festivities decorated around him. There were sparks of light in the windows peeking out from a curtain. The scent of gingerbread and pine infused into the breeze. It was enough to make him shudder against the onslaught of childhood memories and one particular vision of the frozen lake in his upstate home.

Tony shook his head and tried to focus on other thoughts. The previous year he spent working. The business was waiting like a reliable friend back in the city for him and his paperwork spent the rest of the holidays as companions. That and the drink remained another old friend. His desk was bowing under the weight of all those friendships by the end of the previous year and when Mrs. Vern arrived back at the house, bringing with her a blessing of fresh meals, Tony could have kissed her bright cheeks.

He remembered stumbling down to the kitchen to find, for the first time in took long, his cook finishing up supper. Not one to take much stock in station and maybe noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the woman ordered Tony to chop vegetables. He couldn’t help the pleased smile that came across his face at Mrs. Vern’s stubborn reluctance to accept his compliments. After another, more exaggerated sated groan she finally subsided and pinched his cheek before taking his empty plate. His bed dipped under his weight and he slept at peace for the first time that holiday.

The coming days saw the house opening again as the season ended. Staff arrived back leaving little room for errant thoughts and wayward breezes. Pepper gifted him a sensible present of carved, wooden pens. They sat, gleaming in the firelight on the corner of his desk close enough to reach out and touch. He caught up with Rhodey over dinner, reminisced and laughed until his sides were sore. And when business caught his friends’ attention again, Obadiah was there at the club with an open bottle and listening ear. Confined in the walls of the club and bottle he created his own oblivion. He found the events of the cottage faded into nothing more than an unpleasant dream by the time the new year arrived.

Now, a year later the holidays were back much to his chagrin. He decided to stay in the city this year though it had nothing to do with last year, Tony assured himself. They were having a guest at Stark House. An interloper.

The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Twenty-One: Turning Back Time 

Full Story on AO3

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Wow, I can't believe this one is done! Can you believe this was supposed to be a one-shot for whumptober? Thanks everyone who read silently, those who left comments, and those who favorites or followed. I appreciate everyone and anyone. Hope your new year is off to a good start. Much love, E.

1992

Peter was present enough to realize his heart was breaking.

They walked side by side to the beginning of the path, staring down the hill as the wind swept through the trees and over the frozen water. The cold breeze pooled around their bodies, separating them in their own private storms before pushing them together again.

Peter’s shoulders slumped forward, his arms clung around his torso. He told himself it was for warmth and not because of the aching in his chest. The uncomfortable itching in the back of his throat was enough cause for concern but with every step they took toward the lake a painful tearing rose up in his heart.

He was leaving. Though he knew it as fact, it didn’t stop him from worry. He had no more present of future here. 1992 would once again become a part of his past. It was relieving in a way until he remembered the people would be in the past as well.  

The hope he would find them alive and well burned as the tiniest flame within him. There was no alternative as far as Peter was concerned. Rhodey and Tony were fine. They were alive and happy and so much older. He cracked a small smirk at the last thought.

“I can’t believe you’re a 2000’s baby.” Tony whined and drew his attention to his friends.

“You don’t even know what that means.” Rhodey said

“It just sounds so drab. And to think we’re already out of college and he’s in high school, almost 30 years from now. We’re going to be so old then.”
Rhodey also crinkled his nose at Tony’s statement. Peter sighed at them with soft eyes. He shifted his feet against the pavement.

“It’s a long time and you’ll probably forget all about me but…”



“Shut up, kid.” Tony said, him and Rhodey squared their shoulders to face him. Their solid wall blocked most of the wind and Peter smiled at their unintentional protection. They were always looking out for him.

“We will never forget you. We will look and find anyway to help you we can. You’re a weird one, Peter, and so are we. We’re family.” Tony was solemn but in agreement with his friend. Peter saw his fists, peeking out from his jacket. The solidarity in the words made it that much harder to leave. He wanted to believe them, to believe they would come and find him in the future before all the bad happened.

He pictured them arriving at May’s tiny apartment. Her suspicion of the two older men and how they knew he son would be present until she saw how good they were. They would squeeze into their tiny kitchen and cook meals together, laugh together, and live as a family. He knew they could save her.

But he also knew that wouldn’t happened. Peter had already lived through a world without her and them. He knew what awaited him on the other side. May was gone no matter how hard he wished.

What he had to do was have trust in something he couldn’t tell: the future. He remained blissfully unaware of what was in the future and was happy about it. That was one space time rule he didn’t want to break.

Peter stared at his friends noticing the dark circles and concerned eyes that made his stomach warm. It seemed he wasn’t as good of an actor as he thought. Peter decided to give them one last present. Some comfort to hold while he was gone throughout the years. They could think he would be safe and happy. They wouldn’t be burdened by the events they hadn’t seen come to fruition yet. Sometimes ignorance is bliss and as he hugged his friends, Peter wished someone could do the same for him. Their arms squeezed him until it hurt to breath but he didn’t let go.

Peter blinked and he was standing on the shore of the lake.

-

2017

They left the hospital together in more or less one piece. Bandages and medicine were their new companions but they were free to leave after a week in the white, sterile halls. Peter couldn’t care about anything else.

Tony scanned a badge along the wall and the door to their apartment opened. The three of them settled in as if they had been doing it their whole lives. Rhodey organized the entry way and all of their bags before grabbing the first aid kit to change their bandages, Tony tinkered with the suits, and Peter went straight for the kitchen to make tea and bring snacks. He could hear Rhodey forcing Tony to stop fidgeting and rest.

The air was warm and full of words left unsaid.

Tony and Rhodey gave each other enough looks for Peter to know they were having one of those secret conversations. So, he gave them the space they needed. Peter wandered down the hall to his room, stepping into the dark room. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. It was exactly the same as it had always been since he’d moved in and Peter understood at long last that it was fully and completely his. It was no mere guest room or a temporary stay. He had always been a part of this place; a part of them. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as he beheld the blue walls and bedding.

-

“Ready, kid?” Tony asked from the doorway.

Peter nodded and took Tony’s hand. He felt like an unruly toddler grabbing on to the warm fingers but he marveled again at the strength in his hand once more just like when they first met. So much change but that was constant. Tony pulled him through the hallway until they reach Rhodey checking over the bags.

Their apartment, the little safe space they spent afternoons watching movies, evenings cooking, and time growing together wasn’t safe anymore. Ross was gone now, safe in some place he would never see the light of day again but more might follow in his footsteps. They needed to move on. Together. There was no need to fixate on the past or future. There was no waiting to go back or forward anymore. They were together and could be together in the present.

Peter closed his eyes and imagined the sand floating, the grit rubbing across his skin. The weightless falling. He opened his eyes to find himself in the same spot, Tony and Rhodey staring at him. He shrugged with a bashful smile.

“Just saying one last goodbye.”

Tony’s hand squeezed his. Peter reached over to grab Rhodey’s hand.

“Let’s go, Peter.”

The three of them left their small haven behind. Relics of their multiple pasts sitting left but not forgotten. The three friends moved toward the future. Peter looked up at them and his chest almost burst. He’d fought for their time, their futures, and now with his family beside him, they could do anything. Peter smiled and held the feeling close to his heart.

-

The End.

Thank you! 

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