When the events of Star Trek 2009 take place Chekov is 17.
He is seventeen when he witnesses the death of almost six billion people.
Seventeen when he saves Sulu and Kirk from slamming to their deaths but minutes later loses Amanda as the surface of Vulcan gives way & he is unable to lock onto her signal. He's a child, the death of someone else's mother is on his hands.
Chekov watched as a few elders and Spock appeared in the transporter, saw the look of devastation on his face as Spock realized his mother was now gone. They returned to the bridge and watched as a planet died, knowing there was nothing to be done about it.
Chekov's calculations were correct and it must have been the worst feeling in the universe. He had to hope - even if it was just in the back of his head - that he was wrong. He had most likely never wished for anything more in his young life.
All of this... only to then be present when Kirk forced Spock into showing that he was emotionally compromised. Hearing Kirk goad Spock with, "It must not even compute for you. You never loved her!" only to see someone he most likely admires lose his mind. No one on the bridge, except his father, could have imagined Spock in such a state.
You can't convince me that Chekov didn't internalize that. He had to have been feeling poorly as it was - to run through the halls shouting, "I can do that I can do that!" and save two men only to lose someone a few moments later in a similar situation. I know I'm repeating myself here but I remember being 17 and internalizing all kinds of things.
The one break Chekov probably had was taken from him when Spock snapped. To see Spock react logically must have been a level of comfort, even if on some level Chekov knew it was probably a lie.
And then to be the one that came up with the plan to hide the entirety of the Enterprise??? To go through all of that and still be mentally present is a kind of strength that is unimaginable for me.
I like to think that after the events of that day McCoy is making his rounds, checking in on everyone. When he gets to Chekov the kid smiles and says, "Everything is fine with me, sir."
McCoy gives him a look before responding, "Ever eager, huh? You didn't even let me ask my question."
"What question is that?"
"How are you?"
Three simple words. And Chekov's illusion he built for himself shatters.
Seeing Vulcan destroyed was bad enough. But he hasn't been able to sleep without seeing Amanda disappear from the screen, seeing Spock hit Kirk over and over with displaced rage, hearing Spock's voice shake as he says, "Doctor, I am no longer fit for duty. I here by relinquish my command based on the fact that I have been emotionally compromised. Please note the time and date in the ship's log.", or waking up scared that Spock will blame him, because why wouldn't he?
It’s not everyday that Peter is pistol whipped in the face by a Starbucks customer.
Today, however, is that day.
He’s at the front of the line, finally, and just as the cashier hands him his change a man wearing a crudely cut ski mask shoots two bullets into the ceiling. Everyone screams, ducks, and through the mass panic Peter hears his handful of change roll across the floor.
Summary: Two weeks after the Vulture-incident, Tony buys a parenting book. Too bad there isn't a chapter on Parker luck.
Read on Ao3 HERE :)
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Two weeks after the Vulture fiasco, Tony buys a book called ‘Parenting for Dummies’.
He almost immediately regrets the purchase and hides it in a drawer in the lab, not yet brave enough to face it. Then one day he spends three hours squished against Peter’s side, listening to the boy ramble about everything under the sun while they adjust his web shooters. It hits Tony like a brick wall, and when Peter bounces out of the lab after teaching Tony a complicated handshake he knows he’ll never remember, he swears under his breath.
He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He had known it from that very first moment in the kid’s bedroom in Queens.
For once, denial has gotten him nowhere.
After his eyes ache from staring at the door Peter had disappeared from, Tony stands, stretches out a kink in his lower back, and grabs the book from the drawer before he can lose his nerve. Still standing, he traces his thumb over the word Parenting on the cover.
Retreat, his mind begs. Stop. Before it’s too late.
But deep down, he knows he’s already in too deep.
With a heavy sigh and a pressing warmth in his chest, Tony flips the pages to chapter one.
--------
Peter calls it ‘Parker luck’.
Tony calls it the source of his ever-increasing gray hair.
When Peter stumbles into the Tower covered in blood and delirious from a nasty hit to the head, Tony thinks he’ll pass out from the sudden weight of his worry. It only takes some gentle coaxing and seven stitches to make it better, but the unease sits in Tony’s gut long after Peter falls asleep. When the boy wakes up, he apologizes until Tony snaps at him not too.
“It’s the Parker luck, Mr. Stark,” Peter tells him, his head wrapped like a mummy on halloween. “It gets me everytime.”
Parenting for Dummies Chapter Three: Listen. “A nasty concussion doesn’t exactly sound like luck to me, kid.”
“Oh, well it’s not good luck,” Peter clarifies with a weak smile. “In fact it’s really bad luck. Exceptionally bad.”
“You’re killing me here.”
“Did you know that I slipped on a banana peel once? A banana peel. I was on crutches for three weeks in middle school.”
Tony’s worry melts into a hesitant amusement. He sits back on his stiff medbay chair and makes a distant note to invest in a better one. “That is pretty lousy luck, kiddo.”
“And it just keeps getting worse,” Peter says. “Getting bitten by a radioactive spider, crashing Flash’s car, or the fact that I spent homecoming destroying a plane while fighting my date’s dad.”
“I hope this Parker luck of yours isn’t contagious,” Tony jokes, but something in Peter’s eyes darkens. He leans back against the white sheets, chewing on his bottom lip. Tony thinks again of chapter three, of the subtitle that prompts to push at the right times, and takes the liberty. “What is it, kid?”
Peter closes his eyes and gives a watery smile. “Nothing, Mr. Stark. Sorry.”
And because he’s an idiot, Tony believes him. Something tells him he needs to buy Parenting for Dummies 2.
--------
When Peter saves a school bus full of third graders from a thirteen car pileup at the expense of his collar bone, Tony rereads his book, this time with a highlighter in hand.
He wishes there was a section on Parker luck.
This time, he’s less careful about where he reads. Pepper catches him one night, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs in her surprise. Her smile is genuine. “Is that what I think it is?” she asks.
“Maybe.”
“Oh God, please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”
Tony rolls his eyes and dog ears his page before setting it aside. “I am, actually. And sorry to break it to you, but you’re not the father.”
Pepper laughs and sits on the arm of the couch. She runs her hand through his hair and he can’t help but lean into her touch. “This is about Peter,” she says.
His first instinct is to deny it. He feels vulnerable in a way he isn’t used to. “So what if it is?”
“He’s a good kid.”
“I know.”
“He’s making you soft.”
Tony scoffs, but doesn’t deny it. Not with Parenting for Dummies on his lap. “He’s stressing me out, is what he’s doing.”
“He really cares about you, Tony. I see it every time he’s over here.”
His body betrays him by the gentle swoop in his stomach. His mouth twitches in a smile. “I care about him too.”
“You’re a good example to him. He needs someone like you in his life. Especially after what happened to his parents. And his Uncle.”
And then it clicks. Parker luck. Tony’s mouth goes dry.
“I’m trying,” is all he manages to whisper. The book in his lap seems to increase by ten.
Pepper leans over him, pressing her lips into his hair. “I know.”
---------
It’s his and Peter’s fifth mission together.
Today, they’re going up against “the Detonator”, a crazed woman with an affinity for making bombs and setting them off in busy neighbourhoods. She’s armed with a team of rocket-launcher-wielding henchmen, and it’s taking every effort to keep the city in one piece.
Most of the block has been evacuated, thanks to Peter. Tony remembers chapter seven and shoots the boy some praise over their coms. Steve, who’s joined them for the day’s fight, agrees with clipped enthusiasm.
“Thanks guys!” Peter says in his usual animation. “These rocket launchers are no joke. Have you ever seen the movie-”
But whatever it is, it’s lost in the deafening sound of an explosion. He hears Peter swear over the com and Tony’s blood runs cold. Three blocks down, an orange fireball balloons into the air. Steve is already running, his shield tucked into his chest.
Tony shoots off into the sky.
---------
Peter thought they had everything under control.
Until rocket launcher man number 3 decided to explode the bank off 47th street, that is.
He feels the heat from the explosion before he can process what happened. It rips across his back and throws him off his feet into a hot dog cart across the street. Rubble and ash rain down on parked cars and their alarms begin to sound.
“Crap,” Peter groans, shoving away the dented cart and stumbling to his feet. His ears are ringing.
“Pete?” Tony’s voice cuts through the haze. “We’re on our way. You alright?”
“Yeah,” he responds, breathless. His shoulder aches. “These guys are not in a good mood.”
“You can say that again.”
The man who had fired the shot runs up the steps of the bank, bypassing chunks of concrete. Peter limps after him.
“Sorry man,” Peter says when his opponent’s back is still turned. “It’s after hours.”
Startled, the man spins. Peter fires a web to disarm him and it only takes one swift punch to finish the job. He webs him to the floor and kicks the rocket launcher into the corner.
“Kid?” Tony lands beside him, faceplate lifting and his hands reaching to grab onto him. His grip is tight on Peter’s arms, and Peter is unsure which one of them Tony is trying to comfort. “You still in one piece?”
Peter’s ears are still ringing, a high pitched whine that makes his eye twitch. His ankle throbs and he can feel warmth spreading down his back from a cut on his shoulder. He nods anyway. “Are you?”
“Better now that I see you haven’t been barbecued.”
Steve joins them as Peter laughs off Tony’s worry. He’s breathing heavy, his forehead streaked with ash. “Someone sighted the Detonator. She’s heading east towards the Empire State Building.”
“Of course she is,” Tony sighs. Finally, he lets Peter go. “Ready for a field trip?”
But just as he says it, another violent explosion lights up the street across from them. Peter stumbles against the force. Tony grabs his arm, and Steve his shoulder, and he steadies. Through the black smoke, a child cries.
Chest tight, Peter takes a step forward before he’s yanked back. It’s Tony. His helmet hides his expression, but Peter can tell from his stiff posture that he’s worried. That he doesn’t want to separate.
As if sensing it too, Steve places a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Peter and I will clear the rocket launchers. You go take care of the Detonator.”
“But-”
“She can’t get to it first, Tony. You’ll be the fastest.”
The crying continues, and Peter takes another step. This time, the metal fingers wrapped around his elbow loosen, letting him go. “You better watch him, Rogers.”
“Mr. Stark-”
“Don’t do anything stupid, kid.”
And then Tony is off, blasting off into the sky. Peter shivers against the hot air his exit leaves before turning to run towards the smoke and debris, Steve hot on his heels. Without hesitation, he jumps over the small flames and emerges on the other side, his throat closing up against the smoke.
The first thing Peter sees is the child, snot-nosed and hidden underneath the bed of a truck. His eyes widen when he sees them, a cry stopped short. “Spider-Man!” he yells.
“Get the kid,” Steve says. “I think I see our guy.”
And then he’s gone.
Peter doesn’t dwell on it, vaulting over a smashed mailbox and a stretch of broken glass to reach the kid’s side. He’s trembling, but his hands reach out. Trusting him.
“It’s alright,” Peter says, accepting the kid’s outstretched hands. “We’re okay. Do you know where your family is?”
The boy shakes his head, lip wobbling but obviously trying to be brave. “N-no. I lost them over there,” he says pointing down the street.
“Okay. No problem. Let’s go find them.”
He doesn’t give the boy an option to walk, but instead guides him to rest against his back. Small fingers lock together at the base of Peter’s throat, holding tight.
“What’s your name?” Peter asks as he heads in the direction the boy had pointed. Keep him distracted.
“Benny.”
Peter’s breath catches. “Nice to meet you, Benny. I’m Spider-Man.”
“I- I know.”
“Oh yeah?”
The boy’s head bobs against his back. “I see you on TV. And on the newspapers on the street. You fight bad guys.”
“I try too.”
“You’re awesome,” Benny says, and the shaking quality to his voice recedes.
“I think you’re the awesome one. You’re being so brave.”
“Brave?”
“Yeah, Benny. Even though it’s scary right now you’re still going.”
Benny sniffles. “Are you scared?”
“Nah,” Peter says. “I’ve got you to protect me.”
Against his back, Benny’s chest swells with a breath of a response, but before he can let the words lose a relieved cry erupts from their left. A woman in a pastel headscarf runs towards them, her arms outstretched. “Benny! My little Ben-”
“Mom!”
Peter maneuvers him to the ground and as soon as his small feet hit the ground he’s running. The pair meet in the middle of the street, their arms wrapping tight and their tears mixing. The mother’s eyes meet him from over Benny’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she says, every ounce of her emotion leaking into her words.
“Of course,” is all he can manage.
Once he’s sure they're safe and off the street, he deviates his attention to his coms. “Steve?” he asks over a private channel. “Where are you?”
For a long time, Steve doesn’t respond. Then just as Peter’s worry spikes the man’s voice fills his ears, pinched and strained. “By the river. I’m cornered.”
“Karen-” Peter starts, but Steve’s location pops up on his screen before he can ask further. He changes the trajectory of his swing and just barely avoids clipping his hip on the corner of a building. Then, to Steve, “I’m on my way!”
He finds the Captain in worse shape than he had expected. He’s hunched against an upturned car, it’s tires melted from the sheer heat of the destruction on the street. His shield is raised over his head to protect him from debris raining from the crumbling buildings.
Across the road, three of Detonator's accomplices are shooting the buildings around him, shrieking with glee whenever new glass shatters. Peter glides between the chaos before landing beside Steve. He scrapes his hands on the landing.
“Oh my god,” Peter says, flinching from another loud explosion. “What do we do?”
Steve grimaces, and it’s only now that Peter sees how messed up his leg is. It’s twisted at an unnatural angle, the material of his suit singed and still smoking around it.
“What the hell happened?” Peter gasps, feeling sick.
“It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here.”
“Not with those crazy rocket guys standing guard. You can’t walk!”
“I can try.”
Adrenaline courses hot through Peter’s bloodstream. He peaks over the car and reassesses their opponents. “I can take them.”
“No. Tony said-”
“Tony isn’t here,” Peter argues. “Besides, I have my Peter tingle. I’ll be fine.”
“Peter tingle?”
“Be right back.”
“Wait!”
But Peter ducks out of cover, knowing that Steve won’t be able to stop him. He runs towards the one closest to him and hopes the element of surprise will be enough to take them down. It is, but barely, and now his cover is blown. The other two turn their weapons towards him and before he can suck in a breath, fire.
Peter swears and jumps high, the rockets whistling as they pass under his feet. They hit the edge of the sidewalk by the river, blowing it open and skipping chunks of debris into the water. Not wanting to wait for them to reload, Peter swings and takes them both out with a single kick. He lands in a messy roll, disoriented by the quickness of the fight.
“We’re clear!” he yells over to Steve, but even as he says it dread sits heavy in his gut. He takes one step towards the car before he hears it- a sharp release of air.
Fire blooms up at the base of the building closest to Steve, the crack of the impact enough to rattle Peter’s teeth and throw him to his knees. It’s the last straw. The building makes a horrible noise of grinding cement, like a scream, and Peter knows enough from experience that it’s close to collapse.
“Steve!”
He sprints to where the man is trying to limp away. His eyes find him, their blue shocking through the dust and smoke. “Peter. You have to get out of here-”
“Not without you.”
Before the man can object, Peter pulls his weight over his shoulder and makes it his burden. He wonders distantly where the fourth rocket launcher is and why they haven’t been blown sky high yet.
But then glass and cement falls down around them like rain, and Peter realizes. Because the building will finish the job for them.
“We’re not going to make it,” Steve says through ground teeth. His hold on Peter’s shoulder is bruising. “Peter, please.”
The building sways again. They have a couple seconds. Nothing more.
Then Peter sees it. A manhole.
“Here,” he gasps, dropping to his knees and tearing off the cover. Every alarm bell in his head is screaming, but it’s the only option. The only way they’ll both have a chance. “Go.”
Steve drops in, disappearing into darkness and landing below with an aborted shout. Peter kicks his legs in just as the building crumbles. Fear stops the breath in his chest and he slides the rest of the way in. He falls and lands hard, head spinning, before finding Steve’s arm in the darkness and pulling him deeper into the sewer.
There’s a couple moments of silence.
And then the world erupts.
Peter will remember later how the force of the impact threw both of them off their feet and how it was impossible to keep his grip on Steve’s arm. He’ll remember the deafening noise of the building smashing onto the street above them, of the great plume of dust that filled the tunnel and blinded him.
He’ll remember falling, his legs jelly, and struggling to his knees.
He’ll remember wishing he had called Tony.
But none of it registers in the moment. There’s only terror.
And then there’s nothing.
----------
“Peter. Come on. Work with me here.”
Awareness brings pain. He strays.
“Nope. No. Peter. Open your eyes.”
The voice belongs to Steve, Peter realizes in a stilted disorientation. Steve, who had been hurt. Steve, who sounds very much alive.
It’s enough for Peter to lift his heavy eyelids. His surroundings are dark, but he can see the Captain’s worried face swimming in front of him, warping in and out of focus as both of them release a breath of relief.
“Thank God,” Steve says.
“Are you okay?” Peter murmurs, surprised for a moment by how unwilling his vocal cords are to cooperate. There’s new blood on Steve’s face and the torso on his suit is torn.
“It’s you I’m more worried about.”
“Mm. Why?”
Steve might respond, but Peter doesn’t hear it, his awareness slipping like the close of a stage curtain. Strong hands shake him and the sting of his injuries are enough for him to struggle back into wakefulness.
“Stay awake, kid. Alright? Tony is on his way. Keep your eyes open.”
Peter didn’t remember closing his eyes, but sure enough, when he tries they open. “Tony?”
“He’ll be here soon.”
There’s a tightness in his chest, and Peter coughs against it. It sparks a sharp pain behind his ribs and he curls his fingers into the ground as Steve braces him by his shoulder. His ribs are definitely broken. His leg throbs and the skin on the right side of his face itches terribly with drying blood. He blinks a couple times to try and alleviate his double vision, but it does nothing.
“What happened?” Peter asks.
“You don’t remember?”
“Not really.”
Steve’s expression pinches like he’s just eaten something sour. “The building above us collapsed, but don’t worry about it too much. Tony will be here in a flash.”
Collapse. Peter sucks in a panicked breath and it makes him cough again. It hurts worse this time, and his vision goes gray. He comes back to himself in Steve’s lap, his whole body shuddering and then man’s hand clamped protectively against his back.
The new perspective shows Peter a growing red stain on the Captain’s side.
“Steve,” he gasps, uncoordinated fingers reaching out to press against the wound.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not- it’s not nothing-”
Before Steve can retaliate further, their coms crack back to life. Peter winces against it, his fingers reaching up to struggle with the edges of his mask. Steve pushes his hand away. “Leave it. It’s helping filter your air.”
“Peter? Rogers?” Tony’s voice comes through in a mess of static. It reminds Peter of Ben’s favorite radio station that had been broadcasted too far to have a good connection. “I’m here. Oh Christ, I’m here. Are you okay?”
“Steve’s hurt,” Peter mumbles. It’s important Tony knows.
“Rogers?”
“Just hurry, Tony,” Steve says. There’s a pressure in his voice that Peter’s too tired to translate.
“The explosion caused the river to flood. You’re under about three feet of water right now.”
“We’re airtight.”
“For now.”
Peter feels himself dip further into Steve’s lap and the man’s steadying hand is delayed. Weaker. “Peter? What did I tell you about staying awake.”
“What’s wrong with Peter?”
“Queens. I need you to put pressure on this for me. Don’t give up on me now.”
Peter groans. For once, he doesn’t care how young it makes him sound. He struggles up anyways and replaces his hand obediently over Steve’s side. It paints his hands red and he tries desperately not to think of Ben.
“Rogers-”
“I got it, Tony.”
There’s a weighted silence. Peter bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself lucid. The static in his brain reminds him of the time he had gotten stabbed, and wonders if he’s bleeding somewhere too.
“Okay. I found a weak spot. It shouldn’t cause too much damage. Are you ready?”
“Go for it.”
There’s another lurch of shifting rock. Peter can’t help but cry out, his muddled brain struggling to comprehend that this time, it’s to help. Then there’s a loud crash, a weak beam of sunlight, and the rush of water.
Within seconds, the cold spray is up to their waists. Peter grinds his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut against reflexive tears the biting temperature brings. It gives him a boost of adrenaline, and when he opens his eyes again, his vision is more clear.
Tony is with them moments later, hovering above the water. His hands reach for Peter, but Peter shys away. “Steve first,” he pleads. “He’s bleeding-”
“You’re bleeding too-” Tony starts, but even as he says it, Steve lists dangerously to the side. His face is pale, his breathing shallow. Tony catches him by the shoulder. “Don’t move,” he tells Peter, and works to lift Steve up towards the hole.
The water is up to Peter's chest now. It steals the breath from his lungs and he scrambles to stand. Somewhere in the journey the ground above him groans and he loses his footing. He hears Tony yell out for him, feels metal hands push him hard, and then he’s completely underwater. There’s more noise. More pain.
He breaks the surface, stuttering on his breath and his teeth clattering. More sunlight has entered the tunnel, and it’s easy to piece together what had happened.
“Tony!”
Peter fights against the current to reach his mentor’s side. His suit is pinned under a large slab of concrete by his left leg, the water already sloshing up to his neck. Peter practically collapses beside him and digs his fingers under the weight, but his ribs scream in protest so violently that his vision goes white.
“Easy!” Tony yells, catching him by his arms when he falters. “Kiddo, listen to me. The suit will let me breathe for a while. You need to get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You have to. FRIDAY took some damage, but she’s recalibrating my boosters. I’ll be able to get out.”
“No,” Peter chokes, trying again to lift the concrete keeping Tony pinned. “I won’t leave without you.”
“Peter-”
“I’m not losing you too. I can’t- I can’t-”
Tony’s voice is more gentle, his hand reaching to cradle the side of Peter’s face. “Listen to me, bud. I know this is scary. But you have to trust me. You have to go. For me.”
Peter shudders. Feels hot tears pool under the tight confines of his mask. “Told you I have Parker luck,” he says.
Tony finds it within himself to laugh. The water is at their chins. “I know, kiddo. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ve got each other now.”
“Tony-”
“Go.”
The water rises over his mouth. He wouldn’t be able to answer even if he wanted to. Then Tony’s head is submerged, and icy terror closes around Peter’s heart.
He dives under and reaches once more for the weight on Tony’s leg. He pulls and struggles and feels Tony’s hands on his arms, trying to pry him off and pull him away. The light is gone in the murky water.
Please. Please.
The concrete shifts. It takes everything in Peter not to gasp out at the pain it causes, to waste the precious air he has left.
Please.
It shifts again. Tony has given up on trying to push him off and is instead helping to lift the weight. Just a little bit more.
Peter screams, tiny bubbles escaping and carrying whatever he had left away. His body loses strength just as the concrete is alleviated. He thinks he feels Tony’s hands close around his numb body. But really he can’t be sure.
Tony is safe.
And it’s all that matters.
-------
“Peter. Don’t do this.”
“Breathe, Queens. Oh God-”
“Steve. What do I- I can’t- I can’t-”
“Keep the compressions going, Tony. Keep going okay? Don’t stop.”
“I can’t do it without him. I need him, Steve. I need-”
“Keep it together. He’s going to be fine. Right, Peter? You’re going to be fine. You just have to breathe for us.”
“Kiddo. Baby. Please.”
It’s all water down a drain.
A swirling, murky mess.
And it takes Peter with it.
-------
Parenting for Dummies: Chapter 12.
Love them unconditionally.
Tony hasn’t left his kid’s side for hours. He’s been glued to him, the boy’s limp hand pressed between his own like a lifeline even when the doctor’s had worked to splint his leg. Every breath, every rise and fall of Peter’s chest is a miracle, and Tony stares at the heart monitor until his eyes burn.
May is dozing in a recliner in the corner, her glasses crooked on her face. It’s just nearing three in the morning.
There’s movement behind him, and Tony turns to find Steve. He’s traded his hospital gown for a pair of loose sweats and a white shirt, the skin on his arms wrapped with thick bandages. The Captain turns and sees May. When he speaks, his words are almost a whisper. “How is he?”
Tony shrugs, a sudden lump monopolizing in his throat. “He’ll be okay.”
“Has he woken up yet?”
“No.”
Steve sighs. He limps to Tony’s side, but still manages to keep some distance. “He was brave today.”
“If by brave you mean dumb, then yes.”
“He saved our lives. We both know that you wouldn’t have been able to blast out of there by yourself.”
Dread sits heavy in Tony’s gut, because it’s true. He would’ve said anything to get Peter to safety. His blasters weren’t recharging. Weren’t even close to functioning.
But the kid had been too selfless for his lie. Really, Tony shouldn’t be surprised.
And now every time he closes his eyes he sees Peter. Hurt, small, Peter. Jerking with the last of his energy to free Tony. Of going limp in the water, no more air leaving his lips and remaining totally unresponsive as Tony fought to return the life to him.
“I wish it didn’t have to be him,” Tony says.
“But it is. It was.”
“I know.”
Steve lays a hand on Tony’s shoulder. He’s too tired to flinch away from it. “Let me know when he wakes up.”
And then he leaves.
Tony runs his thumb over Peter’s knuckles. “Wake up,” he says. Pleads.
But with his usual stubbornness, Peter doesn’t show signs of waking for another hour. First his fingers twitch. Then he groans. His eyelids flutter and Tony nearly collapses in his relief. Soft and weary eyes turn to find him, and Peter’s lips turn into a smile.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs.
“You have no idea how angry I am with you right now,” Tony says, but any heat behind his words is lost behind his relief. Peter must see it because his smile only widens.
“You don’ look angry.”
“Furious?”
“Nope.”
“Enraged?”
Peter laughs, then winces. He looks down and notices Tony’s hand clamped on his own. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”
“Well, the feeling’s mutual.”
Peter looks up. Tony tightens his hold.
“Maybe I don’t have Parker luck after all.”
“We’re breaking the cycle,” Tony agrees. He lifts Peter’s hand and presses a firm kiss to the back of his hand. Peter smiles again.
“Pepper told me you bought a parenting book,” he says, eyes drooping.
“That woman is nothing but a liar.”
“Mm. I believe her.”
“Sorry to break it to you kid, but whoever would want to willingly parent a danger seeking, heart attack inducing kid like you would have to be crazy.”
Peter squeezes Tony’s hand. “Sorry to break it to you, but I guess that means you're crazy.”
Tony’s heart compresses with warmth. “Yeah kid,” he says, “I guess I am.”
when ppl say that infintalizing all trans men into a hyperfeminine submissive role is bad they mean “call out fetishizers” not “bully femine trans men for fitting a stereotype”
trans boys who like pastels and big sweaters arent the reason that a lot of trans guys are fetishized. its the people who view trans men as women and are only comfortable with their maleness when it is viewed through a feminine light. I see ppl getting WAY too comfortable making fun of ‘uwu soft boy transmascs’ just bc they dont want to be seen as one- completly forgeting that someone fitting a stereotype doesnt make them responsible for negative view of a community as a whole.
a little kid came up to the desk (it came up to his like, collarbone) and very seriously asked me about baby name books, because he wanted to help name his new sibling. i guided him to the shelf (there were only two book of names) and pointed out the differences between them, and after some serious contemplation he went, “I think I should take both, just in case.” So I gave him both and he thanked me and went on his way.
And I went back to my desk and screamed into my arm for like 45 years because HE WAS SO FUCKING ADORABLE AAAAA
i love when little kids come to the reference desk alone because they want to be perceived as an adult and so they come up to you and very seriously inquire “Where are your books about dolphins? ò__ó”
and of course you have to very seriously show them your collection of dolphin books while they nod carefully at your explanations and it’s SO CUTE!!! THEY’RE SO CUTE AAAH
