hi my name's charlie and im a piece of shit | 22 | link for masterlist doesn't work but message me if ya want it | apologies in advance for my autistic ass being autistic all over this damn blog | will write tw content if requested | requests OPEN | oh ! and all #wycftq fics can be read as standalones | #charlie writes | #charlie answers | #wycftq
A/N: This is gonna be very self indulgent. Also I've never written headcanons before so bare with me. Also disabled was too wide of a field so I narrowed it down to just joint issues/chronic pain.
Hobie With a Disabled S/O or Friend:
I can definitely see him helping you decorate your mobility aids with different cpunk slogans. Much to the dismay of your family.
"Oh honey you got a new sticker on your cane, what does it say?"
"Big Pharma can suck my dick."
"Oh....that's nice."
His hands are probably rough but I guarantee you that this man gives the best massages. You just tell him what's hurting and he's got you.
If you're having a bad pain day and you don't feel like moving he'll bring you what you need and just vibe with you in bed all day.
"Don't you have to go into HQ today?"
"And leave you here to fend for yourself? Come off it luv."
Always keeps some sort of pain reliever on hand whether it's medicine or homemade ice/heat packs.
He steals your medicine for you if you can't afford it. (Honestly he probably still does even if you can. People should never have to pay so that they don't suffer.)
Definitely helps you on your wash days when your joint pain flares up.
Despite him and his damn long legs he makes sure to match your pace when you both walk together.
He'll side eye you at first but he'd carry you if you asked him too (this is for me)
"Hobie please? My ankles hurt. It'll just for a couple minutes." 🥺
"Luv we could just sit down and rest for a minute if you're in pain."
"And here I thought that Spiderman was supposed to be strong. It's fine. I'll ju-"
He picks you up and slings you over his shoulders like a sack of potatos.
"This isn't what I meant and you know it."
He laughs and then he carries you correctly.
Actively advocates with you for your needs and rights.
Also after he introduces you to Sun Spider y'all become close friends who exchange tips.
E/N: I spent most of my time watching YouTube videos of the same clips of Hobie from the movie over and over again instead of writing this so yay. Hope you like and reblog this. Might write some more idk.
hi friends ! I miss you ! how’s things, what’s the vibe, what’re your fave fics recently, send me your fave stimmy things, got any reqs, idk ? I miss having people in my inbox come hang out xx
Request: i was wondering if you could possibly do a rewrite of tfatws for bucky x autistic!daughter for the scene in ep5 where they’re all working on the boat together, and they go into sensory overload and it’s just rlly fluffy?
Word count: 1,381
Warnings: description of sensory overload
Note: Not every autistic person experiences autism the same. I’m autistic and I am writing from my perspective of how I personally experience autism, but not everyone feels the same as me or has the same perspective as I do.
Request: i wanted to see if i could request a loki x autistic!teen with just a lot of fluff? maybe they get to stim with his hair while in the middle of like an avengers movie night or a meeting?
Word count: 463
Note: Not every autistic person experiences autism the same. I’m autistic and I am writing from my perspective of how I personally experience autism, but not everyone feels the same as me or has the same perspective as I do.
Headcanons request for Tony Stark’s daughter and tony being overprotective when someone says something mean in public when you stim. Thank you
(Except I liked this so much it became a full fic. Can be read standalone or as WYCFTQ)
You truly never understood the value neurotypicals placed on spontaneity. Its opposite, routine was everything that kept you grounded; safe, predictable, generally within your scope of capacity. Your worst days were the ones that were shoved off kilter by a change in plans, a cancellation, a meltdown that threw your timetable for a loop. You went to school, went to the tower, went home. That was your world. Small, but anything bigger felt unmanageable. Even that was barely manageable. So when Tony announced a surprise for you and Peter on an afternoon where school let off early, you felt unbalanced.
“Mr Stark, pleaaaaaseeeee tell us I literally can’t wait. I might die,” Peter, ever-impatient and fuelled by ADHD after his meds had worn off for the day, was literally vibrating with suspense. As opposed to your drained stillness, feeling like the floor had collapsed under you.
“You’ll like it, that’s all I’m giving you. Patience is a virtue, young one,” Tony raised an eyebrow at Peter, feigning a lecture. “And you’ll be fine,” he turned to you. “We’ve practiced using your strategies. We’ll bring stim toys, your headphones, and I’ve asked where we’re going to turn the lights down and music off to make it accessible. And they listened, because I’m me. We can leave as soon as you need, and you’ve got your communication device to tell us if you’re non-verbal. You’ve got this. It’ll be good for you, and for this hyped one over here,“ he ruffled Peter’s hair. “Capische? Good. Let’s go.”
Tony drove, but kept the music fairly low key. Peter was bouncing in the front seat, animatedly keeping a running list of all the possibilities that got increasingly far-fetched as Tony refused even the slightest hint. You had to admit, even through the snowdrift of anxiety that felt like it was building by the second, it was pretty funny. Amusing, even. Eventually, the Audi pulled into the parking lot of a mall and as he swung it in to park in the electric vehicle charging station, Tony pulled a baseball cap on low over his eyes.
“Alright, you ready?”
Peter was already halfway out of the car before the engine had been cut off. Tony turned to you. “Well, clearly someone is”, he gestured to Peter. “You doin’ okay?” At your nod, he continued in a near-whisper. “We’re going to a toy store. There’s Lego and sensory stuff for days, and I promise you’ll like it. But if it’s too much, I’m right here, and you’ve got your device to communicate. You say the word and we leave, no hesitation, okay?” At the mention of where you were going, you started happy flapping and bounced in your seat. Sensory stuff AND lego? Fuck yeah!!!! Some of the anxiety snowdrift melted back down and you got out to join Peter, who still had no idea where you were going and looked like the fact was making him positively implode. It was funny just how different you were, yet how you were both going to love this place.
At some point between the car and the store, you grabbed Tony’s hand. It was grounding, which you needed when the sensory overload of the general mall walkthrough got disorienting. You stopped, fluorescent lights searing into your brain and the beginning of the meltdown urge to run crept up your spine. Peter, miles ahead and oblivious to just about everything except the mystery destination, kept going, but Tony pulled your noise canceling headphones out of his jacket pocket. “You left these in the car,” he said by way of explanation, “And we’re nearly there. You’ve got this.” Resolve strengthened, you pulled the headphones over your ears, pressing the button on the side, hoodie pulled up, determined. If nothing else, you were going to get there for Peter’s sake- he might explode from excitement if it wasn’t soon.
In line with Tony’s promise, the toy store was bliss. The lights were dimmed and corporate music absent (thank Thor, and whatever other gods are out there), and the Lego. Oh my god, the LEGO. Rows of Star Wars and flowers and little city buildings and a huge tub of loose pieces, next to a free play table in the centre of the display. Sticking your hands deep into the cool plastic pieces felt positively heavenly, and in forgetting anyone else was around you were stimming freely in unfiltered joy. Vocal stimming, too.
“Surely you’re too old to be making those sorts of noises. I mean, I’d expect them from my 2 year old grandchild, not at your big age.”
The admonishment came from a woman, somewhere between middle- and old-age, making her way over to you from the baby doll section. You froze. She meant you? You were so happy you hadn’t been masking, not forcing the happy stimmy noises down the way you typically did when in the presence of others.
“Yes, you, don’t look at me all stunned. What are you doing in here anyway? You look too old to be playing, with Lego or with anything else.”
Fear felt like it was shutting down your access to comprehensible thought. Like moving through jelly, you pulled the lanyard around your neck forward to show the woman the pin. It was a green sunflower lanyard, the hidden disabilities awareness kind, and the button read “Please do not touch me. I’m Autistic.” You felt a distressed sound come from the back of you throat, whining, that you just couldn’t push down. Tony Tony whERE IS TONY?
“Hey y/n, have you seen-“
“Oh, so you’re special. That’s nice of your… people… to bring you out like this. You know, into the community.”
“What the fuck did you just say to my kid.”
The baseball cap was off. Tony had come from the back of the store, from the sensory section with Peter, and stepped straight into the middle of the degrading, one-sided conversation you were now trying to practice your breathing exercises through. You’d practiced them a million times, with Tony, Peter, Nat, Bucky, everyone said to practice because when the time came you needed them to work but right now you weren’t sure they were enough because you felt like you were drowning. Special. You weren’t fucking special, not in the way she meant it, you were just Autistic and Autistic is fine, Autistic isn’t bad, you had as much right to be here as anyone else but that word was making your ears ring, and you felt like your head was underwater and you couldn’t breathe and your hands were flapping but not in the good way in the too much bad energy need to get it out way. You needed weight, pressure, grounding, to be crushed, and, no longer paying attention to the conversation between Tony and the stranger, you pulled your AAC forward from its crossbody strap.
“Squeeze. Tony.”
“Okay, kid, yes, squeeze. I hear you.” You basically body slammed him as he crouched down to your level, and you hummed in relief as the hug was all the input your nervous system was craving. He turned to speak over the top of you.
“I need you to leave. Now. You had no right to say what you did. This is a public place, and my kid deserves access in the way that works for them. That includes stimming, and playing, in the way that brings them joy. I hope you learn from this.”
You assumed she left, because he didn’t say anything else. You stayed, tightly held, until you pulled back from the hug cautiously.
“Do you want to leave?” You shook your head. No. As awful as that whole interaction had been, getting here was a task and you didn’t feel you had made it worth it yet. “Want to see the sensory toys?” Yes yes yes a million times yes. Nodding wasn’t enough; with trepidation, a little of the flappy happy hands broke through. Not fully, though. The word ‘special’ still echoed in the back of your mind, unwanted and uncomfortably present.
The sensory toy section was pure magic. There were bubble tubes, tactile fidgets, bouncy seats, spinners, lights, glitter bottles, projectors, a reversible sequin dinosaur, acupressure rings, a cocoon swing hanging from a frame… It was like a goldmine of sensory wonder. As you joined Peter in discovery, little by little the mask you put up melted away and you were spinning, joyfully bouncing on the balls of your feet, happy vocal stims free and unjudged. And if Tony was putting aside one of everything you showed interest in to purchase and bring home with you, well, of course he was. If he couldn’t make the ableist public go away, the least he could do was provide you with the safest, most inclusive and loving home possible.
WYCFTQ is one of my favourite series to read and reread and then read again!! I just absolutely love it!! I love it so much!!! It makes me so happy!! Thank you for writing such beautiful fics!!!💛💛💛
Headcanons request for Tony Stark’s daughter and tony being overprotective when someone says something mean in public when you stim. Thank you
(Except I liked this so much it became a full fic. Can be read standalone or as WYCFTQ)
You truly never understood the value neurotypicals placed on spontaneity. Its opposite, routine was everything that kept you grounded; safe, predictable, generally within your scope of capacity. Your worst days were the ones that were shoved off kilter by a change in plans, a cancellation, a meltdown that threw your timetable for a loop. You went to school, went to the tower, went home. That was your world. Small, but anything bigger felt unmanageable. Even that was barely manageable. So when Tony announced a surprise for you and Peter on an afternoon where school let off early, you felt unbalanced.
“Mr Stark, pleaaaaaseeeee tell us I literally can’t wait. I might die,” Peter, ever-impatient and fuelled by ADHD after his meds had worn off for the day, was literally vibrating with suspense. As opposed to your drained stillness, feeling like the floor had collapsed under you.
“You’ll like it, that’s all I’m giving you. Patience is a virtue, young one,” Tony raised an eyebrow at Peter, feigning a lecture. “And you’ll be fine,” he turned to you. “We’ve practiced using your strategies. We’ll bring stim toys, your headphones, and I’ve asked where we’re going to turn the lights down and music off to make it accessible. And they listened, because I’m me. We can leave as soon as you need, and you’ve got your communication device to tell us if you’re non-verbal. You’ve got this. It’ll be good for you, and for this hyped one over here,“ he ruffled Peter’s hair. “Capische? Good. Let’s go.”
Tony drove, but kept the music fairly low key. Peter was bouncing in the front seat, animatedly keeping a running list of all the possibilities that got increasingly far-fetched as Tony refused even the slightest hint. You had to admit, even through the snowdrift of anxiety that felt like it was building by the second, it was pretty funny. Amusing, even. Eventually, the Audi pulled into the parking lot of a mall and as he swung it in to park in the electric vehicle charging station, Tony pulled a baseball cap on low over his eyes.
“Alright, you ready?”
Peter was already halfway out of the car before the engine had been cut off. Tony turned to you. “Well, clearly someone is”, he gestured to Peter. “You doin’ okay?” At your nod, he continued in a near-whisper. “We’re going to a toy store. There’s Lego and sensory stuff for days, and I promise you’ll like it. But if it’s too much, I’m right here, and you’ve got your device to communicate. You say the word and we leave, no hesitation, okay?” At the mention of where you were going, you started happy flapping and bounced in your seat. Sensory stuff AND lego? Fuck yeah!!!! Some of the anxiety snowdrift melted back down and you got out to join Peter, who still had no idea where you were going and looked like the fact was making him positively implode. It was funny just how different you were, yet how you were both going to love this place.
At some point between the car and the store, you grabbed Tony’s hand. It was grounding, which you needed when the sensory overload of the general mall walkthrough got disorienting. You stopped, fluorescent lights searing into your brain and the beginning of the meltdown urge to run crept up your spine. Peter, miles ahead and oblivious to just about everything except the mystery destination, kept going, but Tony pulled your noise canceling headphones out of his jacket pocket. “You left these in the car,” he said by way of explanation, “And we’re nearly there. You’ve got this.” Resolve strengthened, you pulled the headphones over your ears, pressing the button on the side, hoodie pulled up, determined. If nothing else, you were going to get there for Peter’s sake- he might explode from excitement if it wasn’t soon.
In line with Tony’s promise, the toy store was bliss. The lights were dimmed and corporate music absent (thank Thor, and whatever other gods are out there), and the Lego. Oh my god, the LEGO. Rows of Star Wars and flowers and little city buildings and a huge tub of loose pieces, next to a free play table in the centre of the display. Sticking your hands deep into the cool plastic pieces felt positively heavenly, and in forgetting anyone else was around you were stimming freely in unfiltered joy. Vocal stimming, too.
“Surely you’re too old to be making those sorts of noises. I mean, I’d expect them from my 2 year old grandchild, not at your big age.”
The admonishment came from a woman, somewhere between middle- and old-age, making her way over to you from the baby doll section. You froze. She meant you? You were so happy you hadn’t been masking, not forcing the happy stimmy noises down the way you typically did when in the presence of others.
“Yes, you, don’t look at me all stunned. What are you doing in here anyway? You look too old to be playing, with Lego or with anything else.”
Fear felt like it was shutting down your access to comprehensible thought. Like moving through jelly, you pulled the lanyard around your neck forward to show the woman the pin. It was a green sunflower lanyard, the hidden disabilities awareness kind, and the button read “Please do not touch me. I’m Autistic.” You felt a distressed sound come from the back of you throat, whining, that you just couldn’t push down. Tony Tony whERE IS TONY?
“Hey y/n, have you seen-“
“Oh, so you’re special. That’s nice of your… people… to bring you out like this. You know, into the community.”
“What the fuck did you just say to my kid.”
The baseball cap was off. Tony had come from the back of the store, from the sensory section with Peter, and stepped straight into the middle of the degrading, one-sided conversation you were now trying to practice your breathing exercises through. You’d practiced them a million times, with Tony, Peter, Nat, Bucky, everyone said to practice because when the time came you needed them to work but right now you weren’t sure they were enough because you felt like you were drowning. Special. You weren’t fucking special, not in the way she meant it, you were just Autistic and Autistic is fine, Autistic isn’t bad, you had as much right to be here as anyone else but that word was making your ears ring, and you felt like your head was underwater and you couldn’t breathe and your hands were flapping but not in the good way in the too much bad energy need to get it out way. You needed weight, pressure, grounding, to be crushed, and, no longer paying attention to the conversation between Tony and the stranger, you pulled your AAC forward from its crossbody strap.
“Squeeze. Tony.”
“Okay, kid, yes, squeeze. I hear you.” You basically body slammed him as he crouched down to your level, and you hummed in relief as the hug was all the input your nervous system was craving. He turned to speak over the top of you.
“I need you to leave. Now. You had no right to say what you did. This is a public place, and my kid deserves access in the way that works for them. That includes stimming, and playing, in the way that brings them joy. I hope you learn from this.”
You assumed she left, because he didn’t say anything else. You stayed, tightly held, until you pulled back from the hug cautiously.
“Do you want to leave?” You shook your head. No. As awful as that whole interaction had been, getting here was a task and you didn’t feel you had made it worth it yet. “Want to see the sensory toys?” Yes yes yes a million times yes. Nodding wasn’t enough; with trepidation, a little of the flappy happy hands broke through. Not fully, though. The word ‘special’ still echoed in the back of your mind, unwanted and uncomfortably present.
The sensory toy section was pure magic. There were bubble tubes, tactile fidgets, bouncy seats, spinners, lights, glitter bottles, projectors, a reversible sequin dinosaur, acupressure rings, a cocoon swing hanging from a frame… It was like a goldmine of sensory wonder. As you joined Peter in discovery, little by little the mask you put up melted away and you were spinning, joyfully bouncing on the balls of your feet, happy vocal stims free and unjudged. And if Tony was putting aside one of everything you showed interest in to purchase and bring home with you, well, of course he was. If he couldn’t make the ableist public go away, the least he could do was provide you with the safest, most inclusive and loving home possible.
okay so i don't know if you still write or not, but i just keep coming back and re-reading everything you write since you posted. like i am absolutely obsessed with your writing and you write so eloquently and i've never related to a fanfic as much as i relate to wycftq and all the accompanying oneshots. i love mama nat and dad tony. its so difficult to find representation and i just want to say thank you so much. i hope you do still write cause i would love to read many many more chapters and oneshots of mama nat or dad tony. i hope you're doing well and stay safe! :)
Hi friend !
I took a break for 2-ish years bc i was going through some shit (like, lost a close family member, escaped my abusive parents’ house, dropped out of uni kinda shit), but I’m doin a bit better ! Still got that sweet CPTSD but we tryin our best out here to use healthy coping mechanisms haha. I’m so, so glad that the fics i’ve written to give myself the representation i couldn’t find have given that to you.
Also ! I posted a new wycftq part yesterday w bucky hehehehe here it is enjoy :)
No matter how far that I've run (memories always seem to catch up again)
Chapter 2: You're my chosen family
Read on ao3
Chapter Summary:
"Well, it's a flexible synthetic material with great tensile strength, inspired by spider-webs, since they're-"
His rambling stopped when he felt hands on his wrists. Howard was holding his arms, forcing them down from their previous position in front of his chest, stopping them from flapping. Peter tried releasing them, or at least flapping his hands, but the man wouldn't budge. Peter whined.
"Would you stop that?" Howard said, irritation clear in his voice.
The next morning, Peter woke up to a quiet penthouse.
"Hey Friday?"
"Good morning, Peter! What can I do for you?"
"Where is everyone?" he asked.
Turns out, Pepper was at a meeting until lunchtime, and both Howard and Tony were still asleep, the latter undoubtedly still exhausted from his panic attack the previous day.
Feeling awkward being the only one up - usually Mr. Stark would be up before him - the boy took a look at his routine board to start his day. He took his time with his hygiene before heading to the kitchen in search of something to have for breakfast.
Peter was seated on his preferred stool at the kitchen counter ("they're all the same," Tony had said when he found out about it, and Peter had simply stated, "They are, except this one is better"). His legs were swinging back and forth and he bounced in his seat as he chewed on his plain omelet. Tony would say it can't be called that, though, since Peter never mixed the egg whites with the yolk, but Peter couldn't care less about omelet-related social norms.
"You're oddly comfortable in this penthouse for an intern."
The voice came all of a sudden, startling Peter and causing him to drop his fork on his plate with a sharp sound. He instinctively covered his ears and whined as the noise rang inside his head. As the other person in the room stepped closer to the counter, he tried to recompose himself and opened his eyes only to come face to face with none other than Howard Stark.
"So, how did you get this… internship with Anthony, anyway?" the man asked, seemingly unfazed by Peter's momentary distress.
"Uh I applied for it and I guess he took some interest in my work" the boy replied sheepishly.
"I see. And how did you even get into science?"
"My parents were both scientists, and I grew up to be interested in that, too. My uncle always encouraged me, he even encouraged me to try getting into a STEM program for high school, which is what I do now."
From the little Peter could remember about facial expressions, Stark seemed unimpressed by all of the information - not that he was seeking the man's approval.
"Well, I'm glad a young man like you chose Stark Industries" Howard said.
"Yeah, Mr. Stark is great" Peter said with enthusiasm.
Howard huffed, though Peter couldn't tell if it was from amusement or annoyance - perhaps both.
"I hope you're not indulging in the same projects Anthony used to at your age - robots with no purpose, useless machines…"
"Well, I am" the boy answered quietly, before tentatively adding, "But I'm also working on a versatile medical bandage of sorts, to be used mainly in first aid"
This time, the man actually seemed interested, to some extent. Enough, at least, to have questions.
"And what kind of material are you working with?"
Peter gained confidence at Howards interest in the project he's been hyperfocusing on, and he started flapping his hands and bouncing on his seat as he talked.
"Well, it's a flexible synthetic material with great tensile strength, inspired by spider-webs, since they're-"
His rambling stopped when he felt hands on his wrists. Howard was holding his arms, forcing them down from their previous position in front of his chest, stopping them from flapping. Peter tried releasing them, or at least flapping his hands, but the man wouldn't budge. Peter whined.
"Would you stop that?" Howard said, irritation clear in his voice.
Peter couldn't muster a verbal response over the whines and grunts building up in his throat.
"If you want me to let go, you have to use your words"
The boy could only shake his head, pulling his arms back while trying his best to keep his strength under control. He knew if this kept going for even a little longer, he wouldn't have much control over anything at all. His protests only grew louder as Howard tightened his hold on him and kept yelling at him to stop. When he tried freeing himself from the man's grip one more time, the stool slipped from under him, causing him to hit his still injured head painfully on the counter as he fell to the floor - still, the hands never left his wrists, holding them above his head now.
Just as Peter felt like he was about to explode, two familiar voices sounded at once.
"Sir, I urge you to let Peter go, as he seems to be in great distress" Friday said, just as Mr. Stark entered the room in a rage.
"That's her polite way of saying 'get the hell away from the kid right fucking now'" he said, while prying his father away from Peter, then, "Fri, darling, get Happy here now. Tell him it's a Peter emergency"
He let go of Howard, then quietly approached Peter, hoping no one else could notice how much his hands were shaking.
The boy seemed to be frozen in place where he sat on the floor next to the fallen stool. He held his arms tightly around himself as he rocked back and forth while tears continuously streamed down his reddened cheeks. As he got closer, Tony noticed Peter was biting his own arm near his shoulder, though thankfully he couldn't see any blood - not yet, at least. His heart ached at the sight.
"Pete?" he called almost in a whisper, crouching down next to him, "I'm sorry he did that, buddy."
Tony wasn't sure if Peter could even hear him over his own grunting and whining, but he still hoped that his voice would at least bring him some comfort.
"I'm sorry, but Happy's taking him somewhere else now, it'll be okay."
As he talked, Tony looked around, searching for anything that could help the boy calm down. As if reading his mind, Rhodey appeared by his side, handing him a chew necklace. Tony nodded to show his gratitude, then tentatively tried handing it to the kid as Rhodey retreated to the living room to give them some space..
"Here, can you try to chew on this instead? You're hurting yourself" he tried.
Peter grunted in response, his eyes still shut tight. Still, he flexed the fingers on one of his hands, without taking it away from his torso. Tony took that as a yes, cautiously putting the necklace around the kid's neck and holding it up so the chewable piece was close to his mouth. Peter quickly bit onto it with force and Tony let go of it. He also asked if the kid wanted his weighted blanket, but only got a distressed squeal in response. Peter probably didn't want any kind of touch or pressure that didn't come from himself right now, after being held the way he had been.
He sat there quietly talking and humming random tunes as Peter kept rocking back and forth, making random sounds and biting on his chew necklace. When the rocking finally slowed down, along with both of their breathing.
"I know you don't like it, but can we put some ice on your head? You've got a bruise again, I bet it hurts"
It must have been hurting, because Peter hummed without hesitation.
They sat on the floor in front of the couch in the living room, with Hercules playing quietly on the TV like Rhodey had asked Friday. Tony kept his distance from Peter, but still talked to him and kept checking if he was putting ice on his wound. It didn't take much longer for the boy to fall asleep, his head resting on the couch behind him, the ice pack slowly leaking on the carpet.
Only then did Tony allow himself to feel his own emotions, and this time he was the one being comforted with Rhodey holding him as he cried.
"It's not your fault, you know," Rhodey said when Tony's sobs finally subsided.
"I let him into the Tower, I let him get near the kid" Tony spat in self-deprecation, "Now look what happened"
"What's done is done, Tones" his best friend said, "What matters is that you're there for him now, just like he was there for you when you needed him"
Tony nodded, smiling sadly as he looked at Peter's sleeping form, who by now had been moved to the couch, a thin blanket draped over him.
Deep down, he knew Rhodey was right. There was nothing he could do to change what had already happened - no matter how much regret he felt.
This regret turned into rage when Friday suddenly announced:
"Boss, your father is requesting your presence in your office downstairs. He wants to talk to you. Would you like me to say you do not wish to talk to him?"
Tony sighed, "It's okay, darling." He stood up and walked into the elevator, shaking his head at Rhodey when he tried to follow him there. "Let's deal with this once and for all."
When Tony stepped into the office, his father was clearly angry: his clenched fists laid on the table in front of him, and his face was twisted into a scowl.
"How dare you" Tony jumped as his father slammed his fists into the table, "treat me like a prisoner in my own building"
"None of this" Tony retorted, motioning to the room, "is yours anymore. In case you forgot, you're dead."
"This is not the way to treat your father, Anthony. Show some goddamn respect!" Howard yelled, now standing and shoving a finger in Tony's face.
"And what you've done earlier is not a way to treat a kid either, or anyone for that matter. I let them bring you here so Doctor Strange can fix all the things that were fucked up before he can send you back and you can go back to your actual life. This is not a goddamn resort" Tony yelled back, towering over his father. "You have no right to come into my home and mess with me and my family. Don't ever come near my kid again."
"That's always been your weakness, Anthony. You're too soft"
"Well, at least I don't go around making people feel like shit for my own enjoyment. People may say I don't have a heart, but at least I have a family who I love and who loves me back. And I'm happy. No thanks to you."
Tony stepped back, ready to walk out the door, when his father called in a quiet voice.
"I'm disappointed in you, Anthony. You're not the man I raised you to be"
"That's what I've been striving for" Tony spat out the words before leaving, not giving his father the chance to say anything else. He'd heard enough, and he'd said all he had to.
______________________________________________________________
Peter woke up to a hand running through his hair. His senses slowly came back to him, and he could hear a voice saying, softly, "It's okay, he'll never come near us ever again. We're gonna be okay."
He laid there, still pretending to be asleep and enjoying the comforting touch for a few more minutes.
"I know you're awake, kid," the voice said, and Peter only groaned in response.
He opened his eyes slowly, thankful that the lights were dimmed enough to not bother him. He was laying on the couch, and Mr. Stark was sitting on the edge of one of the cushions, his hand still on Peter's hair, his mouth curved into a sad smile. He looked tired, with bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair.
"How are you feeling?" the man asked.
Peter shrugged, "Tired."
"Yeah, me too."
After a few seconds, Mr. Stark broke the silence again.
"I'm sorry about Howard. He shouldn't have done that, I shouldn't have let him get near you" he said, his voice breaking.
Peter sat up, pulling his mentor into a much needed hug for the both of them.
"It's okay, Mr. Stark. You did nothing wrong. And I'm okay now."
"I'm still sorry he hurt you" Mr. Stark insisted.
"I'm sorry he hurt you too."
______________________________________________________________
Howard only stayed at the Tower for another day - not once being allowed to enter Tony's private floor again -, then Doctor Strange was finally able to send him back.
Both Tony and Peter were still shaken up by the whole ordeal, but after their conversation on the couch, neither one had much time to dwell on it - nor did they have to.
The rest of the week was filled with teary smiles, comforting hugs and popcorn-worthy movie nights.
During one of those nights, watching Peter explain the movie to Rhodey, Pepper sleeping next to him on the couch, and Happy smiling fondly as he texted May, Tony knew he would be alright. And if it was up to him, so would his family.
Hi! So I really love your “When You Can’t Find The Quiet” series and I think it’s amazing how well you write! If you’re still taking requests I’d love to see another part with maybe like Bucky and Steve helping the reader through a meltdown. Like Peter’s ill or something so couldn’t be there and Tony’s away on some kind of business but like Happy picked the reader up and took them to the tower and Tony contacted Bucky to help. And like Steve’s confused and just draws for the reader or something?
(Can be read as standalone or as (the much delayed) WYCFTQ pt 6)
There weren’t many people you interacted with on a regular basis, and that was just the way you preferred it.
People are scary. Unpredictable. Deceit hidden behind curtains of seemingly genuine intent, gauzy and constantly shifting and impossible to focus on what lies beyond. It didn’t make sense. All your life you had been exactly as you were, no lies, no acting unless instructed to. The masking kind, only, as you tried to keep up in the neurotypical social game. Frankly, it all seemed rather put on and pointless and by the time you reached high school you’d all but given up on it. Given up on trying to decode other people as well. There was too much shit going on, and it was the path of least resistance to settle on your small group of friends and leave it at that. Minimal masking, minimal need for interpretation. You trusted your friends to be who they said they were, and you showed up with no pretences held.
That being said, entering Peter’s world was terrifying. Here were adults that seemed to have true intentions; adults with the time and resources to make your life easier in a way you’d never before had access to. Adults- Tony, Nat, Bucky, Pepper- who said they wanted to help. Who did help, and not in the way you were used to adults ‘helping’, with social rules and short reprimands and sad sighs when you just didn’t get it. You had to trust them. Because without that help, trying to manage being a generally functioning human that left the apartment and did homework and went to school and didn’t punch randoms on the subway on instinct for standing too close, felt impossible. Part of you felt shame for having grown so reliant, but you knew the alternative all too well. Complete shutdown. Burnout. Months of being so hazy and out of it nothing felt real and nothing got done. So, reluctantly, you accepted the status quo.
Meltdowns happen. They suck ass. At this point you felt like you’d experienced every possible way that they could happen, the growing Big Bad Feeling in the pit of your guts almost familiar. They honestly didn’t get any easier with time (or, to phrase it kinda weirdly, with practice). The humiliation stung just as harshly after every one when you had nothing left to give. The Post-Meltdown Energy Drain leaving you collapsed on the floor like some kind of deflated beanbag, letting everyone else take over. You could cry over the mortification later when you had the spoons.
This last meltdown was no different. It had grown over a few days, the general unrest of the student body headed towards summer break doing nothing to help, nor did the constant stickiness of late-May humidity. It made sense, in a weird parallel way- humidity inevitable breaks with a storm, and the growing sense of badness broke in a meltdown. It was only too bad you couldn’t have waited until school was out to have it in the privacy of your bedroom. The floor probably would’ve been less gross as well, but even the thought of high school corridor germs wasn’t enough to get you up as you waited for Happy.
It wasn’t usually Happy who picked you up. Tony typically did it himself, and as selfish as it felt you preferred it that way. He knew what to do, and he hadn’t belittled you for it yet so there was a growing sense of trust that it was an unlikely scenario. Alas, being an avenger and owning a multi-billion dollar company is no casual business, and there was just no way he was able to come and get you, so Happy was enlisted. You weren’t sure what to make of Happy. He never really said much to you (not that you would’ve said much in return) but he seemed to like Peter. Only problem was, Peter wasn’t even at school today. Probably hurt himself patrolling, given that it was probably impossible for his genetically enhanced ass to get sick. Lucky.
The slapping of Happy’s shoes on the worn linoleum broke your train of thought. The corridor was being kept clear by Ned and the new school nurse, who probably volunteered just to not have to figure out what else to do. You could’ve sworn none of these people had ever met another goddamn autistic person out in the wild before. Which, their loss, honestly. You hoisted yourself up on a locker and followed Happy on autopilot, eyes glazed over by the time you reached the distinctive black car. You felt like absolute shit. But every part of your brain was yelling at you to act fine, act normal, like nothing had ever happened.
Unsurprisingly, Happy didn’t say a word the entire drive back. You felt like every atom in your body had been drained of energy and you collapsed against the window of the car, too viscerally exhausted to care about the vibration of the car against your skull. Somewhere deep in your brain you tried to remember all the steps to the sensory room- the elevator, the right level, FRIDAY, the security pass- but each thought was too much effort to complete, and trailed off part way through. You kept trying over and over and over and over to remember how to do it, how to get to safety, with each attempt fizzling out sooner and sooner and never eventuating. You were too preoccupied with forcing the repetitive thought loop to recognise pulling into a driveway, down to the garage, half closed eyes seeing nothing, and the bone-tiredness letting your head just hang when the pressure of the door dropped as someone opened it from outside. Cool metal pushed hair back from your forehead and held you up as the restraint of the seatbelt rescinded and you realised it was Bucky.
He didn’t even ask before transferring most of your weight to his shoulder, and picking you up and out of the car. Somewhere in the haze you considered that maybe, this treatment was embarrassing; after all, you’d only met Bucky like, twice, and this was the second time he’d seen you in at some point in the meltdown life-cycle. But your body felt simultaneously numb and tingly and not there at all, and you didn’t even have the energy to cry despite desperately wanting to be able to, and all you could do was sink into his shoulder and try and keep your eyelids open.
You could feel when Bucky spoke. “Hey, can you grab that blanket over there? It’s weighted.”
Still feeling devoid of any capacity, you almost imperceptibly shook your head. Bucky rubbed your shoulder. “It’s okay, I wasn’t asking you, doll. We’re up in the sensory room. Steve is here. He wants to help, and I’m gonna get him to grab the weighted blanket so we can rest on that big comfy beanbag. You can sleep if you want, or we can just ride this out until you’re feeling a bit better. Nice and easy,” he lowered himself to slowly fall back into the memory foam. It only just occurred to you that you were gripping onto Bucky’s shirt for dear life, that the only way he would’ve been able to put you down would be to pry himself from your entangled hands. An honestly, you didn’t even fucking care. Humiliation aside, Bucky felt steady and calm and reassuring and you still felt so unsafe in your mind and body, an unrest that could easily spiral into meltdown round two. Which, ya know, you’d rather not do. Fighting sleep, you felt the air shift next to you and Steve returned, draping the grounding weight of the blanket over your jittery bones. He had something else with him too; as he sat on the ground beside you and Bucky, you registered that it was a sketchbook, and without a word he started to draw. First a landscape, a sunset, some birds, etched in grey then filled in pastels of colour. Mesmerised, you watched as your consciousness dripped away, sleeping in the way you only ever did when you were safe
