#{tw:ptsd}

Steve glanced around. There was an awful lot of wood panelling, but he supposed it was a cottage. On his left, a big stone fireplace sat in the centre of the wall, flanked by windows. Hardwood that had seen better days stretched out in front of him, showing wear patterns in the high traffic areas. But a colourful rug anchored the comfortable-looking gray sofa where pillows of blue and purple continued the theme from the porch. 

The small TV sitting on a stand next to the fireplace caused him to frown. He hadn't seen one so thick in a long time. The one in the guest house was newer than Syn's.

To the left of the sofa was a desk area overrun with papers and bills, while to the right, beneath the front window, was a bevy of toys. From the miniature kitchen to the dolls to the large-piece puzzle, Steve could tell what money she had Syn spent on Gracie. 

Yours? He asked her.

She nodded. 

Dinner make here? Steve pointed to her fake stove.

Gracie giggled and shook her head. 

"Are you sure? I think you must have helped. It sure smells good," he spoke and signed when Syn appeared from the room beyond the dining table. 

Gracie giggled again and pointed.

"Oh, your mom made dinner? I bet it's not as good as yours."

"Imaginary food always tastes amazing," Syn smiled.

Steve chuckled. "Thanks for this. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," she insisted, setting a serving bowl onto a hot pad. "Ice tea or milk?"

"Milk would be great." 

And a pleasant surprise. Most people offered him alcohol which he declined and then sent them scrambling for something else, but Steve couldn't see the point in drinking when it didn't do anything for him. It felt like a waste, and truthfully, he didn't care much for beer.

He glanced again at the back door, noted what must be Syn's bedroom through the open one down a bit of hallway and did a double-take. It wasn't the iron rail footboard or the white lace bedding that gave him pause. It was the glimpse through a third door at what had to be the most god-awful bathroom he had ever laid eyes on. 

He only caught a glimpse, but the reflection off the mirror was that of a sea of pea green. 

Steve wondered if it was possible for eyes to melt having to look at something so horrendous. Then he approached the dining room and got a glimpse into her kitchen.

He wouldn't say he recoiled in horror, but he sure took a step back. 

"Holy Thor!" burst from Steve's lips before he could bite it back and caused Syn to wince and shoot him an embarrassed smile.

"I know. It's like the seventies threw up in there," she sighed and shook her head. "But it functions even in its ugliness."

"Doll, ugly is too tame a word," Steve muttered.

The wood cabinetry had a distinctly orange hue, but he couldn't tell if it was actually that colour or if it was reflecting the tone of the hideous wallpaper. 

Vines stretched up the wall and - good lord - over the ceiling on a cream background that had darkened with age to a not-so-nice yellow. Large circles, he thought were meant to depict oranges, lemons, and limes, grew on the vines in varying sizes like a child had stamped them on with a cut sponge. 

He'd seen such artwork when visiting elementary schools but didn't relay such to Syn. 

The kitchen rounded out with a stainless steel sink and backsplash (all one piece), yellow gold countertops and matching fridge, and a linoleum floor - cream with parkay work in golden green. 

"I think my eyes are bleeding," he muttered.

"Well, soldier, if I ever win the lottery, I'll make sure and call you for design tips!" she snapped, dropping a bowl with the green beans firmly on the table.

Steve flinched and tucked his hands in his pockets. "I didn't mean to insult you. I've just never seen anything like that before."

"Well, I assure you it was the height of fashion in the seventies when my great aunt built this place."

"I'm sure it was," he murmured, glancing down when a small hand tugged at his wrist. 

He pulled his hand from his pocket and gave it to Gracie, who led him to the chair at the head of the table and bid him sit. The metal and vinyl seat appeared flimsy but didn't even protest his weight as he settled gingerly into it. 

Gracie immediately climbed up on his knee and reached for the bowl of cut pickles. 

"Ah!" Syn tapped her fingers on the table to catch Gracie's attention. "Did you wash your hands?"

The girl ducked and shook her head. 

"Off you go," Syn instructed, her hands flying.

Gracie gave a long-suffering sigh and stared at him with pleading eyes. 

"Best do what mom says," he encouraged. 

You?

Steve smiled and set her on her feet. "I washed mine before coming over."

Gracie pouted but ran off to the bathroom.

"She's never this way with strangers," Syn murmured, watching her go and relieving Steve's fear about child predators. 

Her attention darted back to him. "You're very good with your ASL."

"One of the guys I work with is deaf without his hearing aids. I learned because he often turns them off to ignore us." 

"You learned for a coworker? He must be some kind of guy. Most people wouldn't bother." 

She swept back into the kitchen, and Steve admired the way her dress swirled around her legs and hips. It tied in the back with a thin string, while small buttons ran from her neckline to hem in the front. The floral pattern was small, carnations in a darker pink and leaves in muted greens Steve found pleasing to look at and focused there instead of on the disastrous wallpaper. 

"I guess you could say he's a friend."

"Would you say he's a friend?"

Steve glanced up and frowned. "Yeah, he's a friend."

She scraped carrots from a cutting board into a wooden bowl. "Support staff for your unit?" 

"How do you know I'm a soldier?"

She glanced at him, then looked pointedly at the fireplace behind him. 

Steve turned around and froze. A folded American flag sat beside the picture of a young man in full army dress. 

How the hell had he missed that?

"Syn, I'm so sorry," Steve said.

"My brother, Sawyer. It's been five years, and I still-" She turned away to grip the countertop. "You asked how I knew? You have the same look as him. The walk, the way you talk, even the duffel you carry."

"Observant," Steve murmured.

She busied herself with tossing the salad. "Afghanistan?"

"Among other places."

"How long have you been back?"

Steve found the fact she didn't seem to know who he was refreshing, but he still told her the truth. "I've been out for a couple of months, but they want me back. I'm… just not sure I can go back."

He looked down at his hands and rubbed his thumb over his palm. So much blood. So much pain. So much death followed him. Steve wasn't sure he could do it anymore. 

The weight of her hand startled him when it landed on his shoulder. He looked up into eyes like liquid smoke. "Don't let them pressure you into anything. If you need time to figure out what you want, then take it."

Steve laid his hand on hers and felt the contact zip like a shock up his arm. "I'm certainly gonna try."

She smiled and patted his shoulder, heading to the stove where she dished the chicken into a pan. "And Steve?"

"Yeah?" he muttered, eyeing the butter biscuits not far from his plate. 

She set the chicken down beside him. "Thank you for your service. I doubt you hear that enough."

He swallowed the choked feeling in his throat and nodded. 

***

Syn watched the man across the table sign with her daughter. She'd never seen Gracie quite so enamoured before. 

Her daughter was shy, standoffish even when it came to new people, but there was something about Steve, something in the air around him that made Syn feel safe. Even when he'd been angry and harsh, she hadn't been afraid of him. 

She'd recognized that he was a soldier almost instantly, even scruffy and unkempt. He had the same look Sawyer did when he came home. A little hollow, a little lost, his eyes haunted by things no one should have to see.

In the end, Sawyer wasn't able to handle it. He'd left shortly before Syn found out she was pregnant, and the phone call that they found his body came two weeks before Gracie was born. 

So intense was her despair over it; if she hadn't been pregnant if her great aunt hadn't left them this house, Syn knew she might have done the same as Sawyer. 

That was how Gracie got her name. She was Syn's saving grace in a world gone mad. In this world where her fiance wanted nothing to do with their child and left her as suddenly and as devastatingly as her brother, she had Gracie.

Even when they told her Gracie would never hear and likely never see with any clarity, Syn hadn't cared. She felt like Gracie was Sawyer's way of looking in on her because every smile, every giggle, every cheeky grin was like looking at her brother when he was a boy.

Looking at Steve, all she could see was Sawyer before he walked out of her life and took his own. 

She hated how poorly her country treated veterans. There was so little support for those who desperately needed it. So little care. So little understanding. 

Steve needed all three. 

Syn didn't know what God, angel, or deity placed him in her path, but she'd be damned if she let another soldier walk out of her life and lose his. She wasn't having it. Never again. 

After Sawyer left, she'd spent hours pouring over books on PTSD and mental health; she'd taken online classes, determined when he came home to help him and was hoping to work her way to a Ph.D., but after Gracie, all her school funds went to medical bills, and she put those dreams out of her mind.  

Steve was her chance to help a soldier like she couldn't help Sawyer. 

Thor help her if she failed a second time. 

A slight smirk twitched her lips. Steve had used Thor instead of God earlier. It made her wonder if - like so many soldiers - he, too, had a resurgence of Norse faith since the God of Thunder fell out of the sky or if it was just for amusement. 

She hoped it gave him a little peace or a little joy, whatever the reason.

Syn rose to gather the dishes and the empty chicken platter. Steve didn't look like someone who'd missed many meals - yet - but he ate like it. 

It was nice that someone appreciated her cooking. When he cleaned his plate the first time, then eyeballed the chicken, she slid the platter in front of him with a smile and a nod. Her leftovers disappeared down his throat, but she didn't complain. 

As his praise was mostly grunts of appreciation mixed with murmurs of how good it all was, how it reminded him of his ma's cooking, Syn was plenty happy to watch him eat.

"Let me help."

She avoided jumping but just barely, amazed by how quiet he was when he moved. "It's fine. You're my guest."

"No, ma'am." He gave a firm shake of his head, sending shaggy hair flying. "My ma always said the cook doesn't need to clean, even when you're a guest. I've washed dishes before. I don't mind doing so again."

He took the pile of plates from her and walked into the kitchen, where he began to fill the sink with hot water. He crouched to get the dish soap from under the cabinet like he knew it would be there.

Syn couldn't help the flair of feminine appreciation his broad back, lean waist, and incredible ass gave her. The man was stacked, but she kept those thoughts to herself.

Instead, she busied her hands collecting and carting the rest of their dinner dishes to the sink. Then she picked up the dish towel and began to dry. 

She bobbled the first cup and almost dropped it. The dishes were so hot they practically steamed.

"Steve! You'll burn yourself!" 

Syn grabbed his wrist to pull his hand out of the water, but there was no redness at all when it appeared.

"It's fine," he murmured. "I'm tougher than I look."

She frowned but released him and added cold water to the sink. "You don't have anything to prove here."

He chuckled and shot her a look she couldn't read. "That would be a first."

Syn found the sarcasm interesting. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shrugged. "Not much to say."

The next few cups weren't nearly so hot, and Syn dried them carefully before putting them away, letting the silence stretch. She had no right to push him into speaking, but she wished he would. 

Silence was Sawyer's answer to everything too. 

She returned to his side and picked up a plate. "You don't owe me anything, and you're welcome to tell me to butt out, but… sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger."

"Is that what you do?" he snapped. "Talk to strangers?"

Syn didn't allow herself to flinch. She looked him in the eyes. "My fiance decided Gracie and I were too much trouble before she was ever born. He left me destitute and alone after cleaning out our bank accounts. I moved here because my great aunt was gracious enough to leave me this house after she died. Unfortunately, small towns aren't forgiving to unwed mothers. Having a disabled child just fans the flames of gossip."

Guilt coloured his cheeks and caused Steve to look away. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

She shrugged. "It's fine. We don't know each other, and I was pushing."

"Maybe." He sighed and handed her a plate. "A lot of people want me to talk. I'm feeling talked out."

"I understand." 

And she did. After Sawyer, she'd talked to a therapist but never felt like it resolved anything. She still lived with the guilt over his death every day. Even though she knew there was nothing she could have done to stop him from walking out of her life, she still knew something was wrong. She just didn't know how to help him.

"It's just…." Steve trailed off and sighed.

Syn waited, drying and putting away dishes while he leaned over soapy water. 

"What's the point? What's the point of fighting when it never ends? When it's like it doesn't matter? Nothing I do changes anything."

He stared down at the water, his eyes once more haunted.

Carefully, Syn reached out and touched his arm. "Can I hug you?"

He blinked, shock registering on his face. 

"Why?" Steve sputtered.

Syn smiled. "There's nothing I can say to make you see what you've done is valid. You've likely saved more lives than you can ever know, but I don't want you to think you're just some nameless, faceless soldier. You're a person. You matter. A hug portrays that sentiment better than words because it's tangible. The contact is just for you. It shows that you mean something to someone else, even if we don't know each other that well."

He stared at her for a long time, emotions flashing across his face. 

It took so long for him to decide; she thought he would say no. Then, he pulled his hands from the soapy water, used her offered towel to dry them, then tentatively held out his arms. 

Syn stepped into them and hugged him around the waist. His arms closed loosely around her back. 

It took a moment of her just holding on, her ear against his chest, listening to his heart beat slowly before he relaxed and his arms settled more comfortably around her. That was when she realized her mistake. 

He was solid, warm, and smelled so good it caused her belly to twist and tingle in a most pleasant reaction. She fought the instant arousal, ignoring her body’s instinctive reaction and held on a few moments longer.

“I yelled at my best friend. I know he’s just trying to help, but… I can’t… of all people, he should understand, but it’s like… I can’t speak-” 

He cut himself off and turned away from her. “I don’t know why I said that.”

She watched Steve thrust his hand through his hair, the other clenched against his hip. Syn wanted to reach out and lay her hand on his back, but she didn’t know him, not really. Still, she didn’t like leaving him so conflicted. 

“Just because you don’t feel like he understands doesn’t mean he isn’t trying. Give it time. Maybe the reason you can speak the words is that you haven’t found them for yourself yet.”

Steve froze for a moment, then turned back to the sink and went back to washing dishes. 

Disappointed, Syn went back to drying and put them away, occasionally checking on Gracie. It wasn’t until Steve pulled the plug on the sink that he spoke again.

“Thank you for dinner.” 

She nodded, setting the last dish in the cupboard. When he lightly touched her shoulder, Syn looked up and found eyes of brilliant blue, sadness and confusion, making them brighter than before. 

“It was my pleasure. Steve… I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she apologized, but he shook his head. 

“No, what you said, it’s made more sense than anything anyone else has said so far. Given me something to think about anyway.”

“I’m glad,” she smiled. “And thank you for spending time with Gracie. She’s happier than I’ve seen in some time.”

“She’s a cute kid. It was nothing to spend time with her.” 

Syn looked at Gracie playing with her dolls in the living room. “It means everything to her.”

Steve’s smile was full of softness when she looked back and found him watching Gracie. His attention shifted to her, and Syn fought the desire to blush. 

He was a very handsome man. 

Steve nodded. “Thanks again,” he murmured before heading toward the back door. 

He signed his farewell to Gracie and headed outside. 

The screen door slammed, but Syn watched until he closed the door to the rental house before she gave all her attention to Gracie, tugging on her hand. She smiled and picked Gracie up. 

“Yes, I liked him too,” she murmured, glancing at Sawyer’s photo on the mantle. 

She hoped Steve really would think about what she’d said.

It was him.. He found your shop , hes out .. hes.. He looks so broken, hurt, tired.

“Draco!” you ran over wrapping your arms around him crying hard into his chest trying to talk but nothing was making any sense. He was really here, after so long you could finally feel him against you , hear his heartbeat and feel his breathing on your head… but.. His heartbeat was slower than it should be and his breathing seemed to be staggered, was he trying to hide it ? Draco pulled you in closing his eyes just taking it in. He made it, alive.

She doesn't love you

We love you Draco

Come baaack...

“Draco?”

His breathing started to hitch.

Shes second guessing this whole thing.

“Draco?” you rubbed his chest so he would look at you. “You okay?”

The man shook his head getting rid of the voices and cupped your cheeks in his palms. “Is it really you, Rabbit?”

You giggled leaning into him. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Can we sit down?” he asked you looking around the shop not seeing anyone.

“Yes, wait here just gotta close up” gently you let go of him to go flip the OPEN sign over.

She hates this

Draco leaned on the counter holding his head. “Sshhut up….” he whispered.

You are not welcome here…

“Yes i am….”

Biscuit hopped over to the mans shaking hand to lay its head on it and the voices started to fade away. The man looked down to see the brown rabbit staring at him wiggling its nose. “I..” he flipped his hand over to scratch at the rabbits chin. “I cant tell her...this happens.”

You returned with a big smile on your face. “Aw he likes you already ! “ you picked up the rabbit holding him with one hand.

“Where did .. you get him..” Draco took your other hand following you up the stairs of your shop.

“The twins, graduation gift.cheeky bastards” you giggled nuzzling your cheek on the rabbit. “I love him though, hes helped a lot.”

“Rabbit..”

“Huh? Yes?” you sat Draco down in the living room and put Biscuit on his pillow.

Are you going to show her?

It might scare her.

He shook his head and started to unbutton his dress jacket. “I need to .. show you something.”

“Okay, whats wrong?” you joined Draco on the couch watching him pull his dress jacket off with shaky hands. “ Draco..?”

“Yes..?” his undershirt was pulled over his head .

“Your really shaky -..”

The bruises were a deep purple; they were all over his chest as if someone had been kicking him repeatedly in all the same spots. The middle of his chest, the lower half by his stomach and his arms around his shoulders.. All purple. Around his elbows had scratches from elbows to wrists that did not look good at all; they were sporadic red lines in all directions. His nails were short with red under them that seemed to not go away. His neck was full of cuts and his hands had cuts on them as well. You picked up one of Dracos hands to see his knuckles. Deep purple with fresh blood.

Told you the cuts would open…

Shes scared….

“Draco?”

He wasn't looking at you, just breathing hard and whimpering. “M’fine..”

“Stay right here okay?” you got up hurrying off into your restroom.

See?

She ran away from you

Your not the same person you once were

You cant fit in

Come back….

He shook his head but they just got louder.

Come back…

Come back…

Come back…

“Shut up…” Draco leaned on his knee holding his head up with his hand staring at the sleeping rabbit. “..b-b--biscuit…”

The rabbit opened an eye to see Draco on the verge of a breakdown. He got up hopping over cautiously so Draco could pick him up and set him on his lap.

Come…...ba.aa..ck..

He exhaled heavily once the voices left…

You had returned as well with some medicine and health potions. “Here, these will help, i made them” you held up the purple potion to him . “just drink this..”

Draco took the flask in a shaky hand drinking the sweet tasting liquid, he felt his body aches fade away and saw you wrapping up his knuckles. “I cant heal the bruises but.. “

“Do you still want me……”

“Huh?”

His hand cupped your cheek after putting the flask down. “Even if i look like this..”

“Draco id want you no matter what.” you kissed him. “Promise.”

He leaned into you heaving heavily. “Of course you would rabbit.”

Your arms wrapped around him to rub his back, his breathing was still off to you.. “Draco..what happened in..”

“I dont want to talk about it… not yet.” he cut you off fast. Dropping the conversation.

“Alright alright.. Lets go to bed instead.” you got up taking hsi wrapped hands in yours leading him up to the bed, Biscuit had hopped off Dracos lap to go back to his pillow to sleep.

It was a small room but you liked it, Draco ditched his pants, socks realizing he would need clothes . He looked at the bed staring at it for a long time. This would be the first night not in a cell…. In two years..

Its not the same

Don't you miss the cell?

Draco dug his hands in his hair, closing his eyes. “Shut up.. Leave me alone.”

We are a part of you now Draco.

We will never leave..

You came over moving the blanket down for him and pulling him over , your eyes down.

“Rabbit? Whats wrong?” he tipped your chin up seeing your sad face staring at him.

“The-the last time we … shared.”

He pressed you to him squeezing very tight. That night, that awful night , he was his worst.

Even she remembers that….

Awful…

Draco shook his head and leaned down to press his forehead to yours looking in your eyes. “Rabbit, I promise. I will never do that again.”

You waved your hand around ”i know.. Im just.. I want to “ you could not help but laugh. “ i want to snuggle.”

Draco hitched out a chuckle and kissed your forehead. “Oh Rabbit, of course.” you followed Draco into the bed and he pulled the covers up and laid your head on his chest. Soft.. comfortable.. Warm. it had been so long for him.

“Draco.. The light”

“Oh.” reaching out he grabbed the long string , his arm around you squeezed your shoulder as he pulled it making the room very dark. You snuggled into Draco and he did the same, running his fingers up and down your shoulder staring into the pitch black ceiling. This was not like the first night.. You were so scared of him.. Would not even face him in bed or look at him. Hes still amazed you stayed all night.

..

…

….

.

…..

A couple hours later. Draco was still awake holding your sleeping body.

Its dark isn't it ?

Draco shut his eyes, breathing slightly hard.

Remindssss us of the cell

Do you miss the dark..?

We miss the dark

“Leave me alone…”

But why? Dont you want to see us?

“ i want you to get out of my head..” his hands found his hair.

Do you think you can get rid of us on your own…?

His breathing was picking up, when he opened his eyes all he saw was darkness staring back at him, the room was starting to spin.

At least in the cell you had the moon…

The one light …

“Go … aa a- away…”

He got up in bed carefully laying you back down on his pillow.

She does not love you.

“Yes she does..” he got out of bed stumbling in the dark hitting the wall. “She does.. She loves me” he stammered out to the hallway feeling around for the light switch flipping it on. “Dammit Draco.. Your fine.. Pull it together…”

Are you sure…?

You can hardly walk..

“I just need some water… ignore them..” he shook his head, getting a small moment's peace. Draco found the kitchen slamming a cabinet open grabbing a glass. His wrist hit the sink turning on the water, he held the glass under getting the water more on his wrist then the cup.

You cant do things on your own anymore

The water was turned off and draco lifted the very shaky glass up to his lips while drinking .

Shes going to tell you to leave………

The glass shattered in Draco's hand waking you up to see the bed empty and the light on. “Draco?” quickly you got out of bed getting to the hallway just to stop when you heard him.

“I'm fine! Just needed some water…” his hands were bleeding . “go back to sleep Rabbit..”

“But.. I heard something.. Are you sure?” he heard your footsteps .

“Yes, Rabbit. Go to bed.” he tried to sound like he used to , when he had you under his finger in school. It must have worked because he heard you turn around and go back to bed. Draco leaned over the sink watching his tears hit the broken glass . “i … i cant tell her….”

Please note all trigger warnings before continuing: mentions of physical abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, alcoholism, post-traumatic stress disorder, depression

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Sierra has always been the sweet girl who cares about others more than she cares about herself. Some think this is a fake persona she puts on and they think this more when they find out she was raised doing pageants. They usually think it’s a kind of show but she really does just care about people’s happiness. She is 100% the type of girl to cry when in an argument and hates being shouted at. In spite of Sierra’s need to make sure everyone is happy, she’s very reckless with herself. She holds a lot of trauma in her head that she doesn’t deal with healthily. If she can look after others, she doesn’t have to look after herself. This makes her quite reckless with things like alcohol because it helps to numb her for a little while. She doesn’t think she has a problem. Sierra is quite a naturally flirty person - whether she means to be or not - and loves physical connection. She loves hugs and feeling close to people. If you have Sierra as a friend, she is undyingly loyal and would always be there for you no matter what. Sierra can be a little naive from time to time and struggles at recognising liars. Overall, she’s a sweet girl with a kind heart but struggles to be kind to herself.

P A S T

Sierra was born on 11th June 1999 to Marie and Michael Harvey. Michael was an oncologist and Marie owned her own dance school. They originally met when Marie was a patient after finding a lump in her breast. Luckily, she could be treated and survived this. The second she was no longer a patient, Michael asked her on a date and they were married within two years to then have Sierra. Marie had a lot of ambition growing up and participated in pageants but as she grew older, she felt she was no longer pretty enough to take part in competitions and ended up opening her own dance school with the money she had made from her crowns. Now that she had a daughter, she could push all of her ambition on to her daughter. She was signing her up for pageants left right and center since she was 5 years old. Although she was pushed in every direction from dancing to baton twirling to gymnastics, the main skills she loved the most was musical instruments and singing. Her early life consisted of a lot of pressure and a lot of travelling to different states to take part in competitions. Her father, however, did his best when she was around to keep up with her education and trying to treat her like a normal child. They’d go to the park, they’d get ice cream. He spotted how much passion she really had for music outside of it being used for competitions that he really invested in her learning music. It was fair to say he was a supportive dad who cared deeply about his daughter while her mother saw her as a way to relive her own youth. In her mother’s eyes, she was an object whether she would admit that or not. 

During her pageant competitions, Sierra did very well. Most often, she was in the top three and won quite a number of crowns and prizes. The few occasions when she wouldn’t be in the top three, her mother would get furious - blaming her, asking her why she couldn’t do more. When I say she would get verbally abusive, I’m not kidding. It rarely got physically abusive but there were the occasional times in her teens where she would get a slap if she didn’t get something right. In a competition when she was 14, it was looking like Sierra wouldn’t make it in to the top and her mother felt like she had to do something to stop her daughter losing. She took Sierra to the dressing room of one of the judges and left her there for the man to do anything he wanted with her. She never spoke about the abuse she suffered there but it was enough to win her the crown which was all her mum cared about. Marie let this happen two more times in the next year. It wasn’t until she came back home to Los Angeles with her mum and a crown in hand that her dad noticed the bruises on her wrists. He’d noticed she’d been a little off over the past few months. She’d snap out of nowhere and hate being touched by anyone. He’d tried his best to get out of her what had happened subtly but when he noticed the bruises, he followed her to her bedroom where she was unpacking and locked the door. Michael sat her down and out right asked her what happened. After a few claims of nothing, he just kept pointing out evidence that gave him the reason to ask until finally Sierra burst in to tears and told him everything. Michael promptly kicked Marie out of the house and got a swift divorce, winning custody of Sierra and getting a restraining order against Marie for both himself and Sierra as well as making sure all the money won from Sierra’s pageants were put in to a savings account for her to access when she was 18 so that Marie could not handle any of the money. He got three different men charged with sexual assault on a minor so they would spend time in jail for what they did to his daughter.

Her dad did everything he could to help Sierra. He got her in to therapy which took multiple sessions for her to open up at all but when she did finally open up, she told them everything. She was officially diagnosed with PTSD and depression. She takes anti-depressants to keep her balanced and for her lack of sleep, she was initially given sleeping pills to make sure she slept however, her nightmares were made worse by the sleeping pills so they had to use alternative forms of therapy to try and help her. Sierra’s main use of therapy was reigniting her true passion for music and writing songs. Another method being meditation and yoga to feel more in control of herself and her body. However, she does keep one method away from her therapist and that is alcohol. She likes the way her body feels loose and numb when she’s drunk as well as the fact she doesn’t worry about anything. It’s how she ended up in the party scene of LA with fake IDs. Her dad wasn’t exactly happy about her being drunk when she was still young but it was getting harder to control her. He understood why she was doing all of this and he was doing his best to lightly stop her. Michael ended up finding a job back in his hometown in (insert Student #4′s location here), he decided to move him and Sierra out there to get her away from the scene she was finding herself in. 

P R E S E N T

It was Tony’s worst nightmare.

So many years later and it was still haunting him — gnawing at him in the back of his mind, terrifying him at the most inconvenient moments. His therapist gave him exercises: count to ten and breathe. It doesn’t always work, so Tony started carrying around objects that helped. Scraps of fabric from Peter’s old spider-suit, a pencil Peter chewed on and left in the workshop, threadbare varsity sweaters with Peter’s name stitched to the back.

After Thanos, after the end of the world, after Tony finally had time to calm down and breathe, he realized how much he loved his boy. He watched him return to school, join sports (as a way to release pent up superhero energy), graduate his classes (top grades, immediate acceptance and full ride to any top college of his choice), and pull Tony aside any time he was having a panic attack, help his head between his shoulders, and Peter’s once small frame slowly getting larger, shielding him from the world. Peter meant safety — and Peter meant home.

Most days Tony was okay.

Most days, Tony would occupy himself by running Stark Industries with Pepper, hanging out with with Morgan in the park or a bookstore, sneaking small kisses with Peter before and after dinner. Pepper and Tony had separated amicably. Their priorities changed after the war and as much as they loved each other, their worlds and perspectives too different. Despite the seemingly endless counseling sessions and finally the divorce, Pepper would forever and always be his best friend and soulmate. Plus, they had agreed that between Morgan, Peter, and May the five of them still made an amazing team and great family.

Most days Tony forgets that he is the epitome of trauma. The death of his parents, the kidnapping, almost dying, years of battling, being a superhero, the world literally resting on his shoulders would disappear and fade into wisps of memories in the back of his mind. Morgan’s laughter and Peter’s smile would clear a path and Tony would forget that he had ever known such terror and unhappiness.

But most days don’t last.

Some days...some days Tony can’t make it out of bed. His body would be paralyzed with phantom pains from old wounds, his brain unable to process that he had long since retired. The Mark 85 sat quietly in the back of the workshop collecting dust (before the cleaner bots polished it up) and Tony would stare at the dents and scratches, mind immediately flashing back to that last battle.

I should be dead.

He’d hear the ringing and the rush of blood—the pain from hitting his head on the floor dulled by fear as the memories flash through. He’d be cold, and his face wet from tears he didn’t know he had cried.

Tony!

“I’m sorry…”

Tony!

Tony! Come back to me!

“I’m so so sorry, P-pete, I’m so sorry…”

“Tony!”

The ringing would fade and the dust would settle and he’d open his eyes, blinded by a mop of brown curls, the scent of apples and cinnamon would take over his senses.

“Tony! You with me?” Peter’s concerned cries would wash over him, soothing over old wounds and scars, “FRIDAY alerted me of your heart rate and I found you on the floor. Did you hit your head? Do I need to get Strange in here?”

“N-no,” Tony groans, “I’m fine, sorry, just a small bump.”

Peter would wipe away Tony’s tears and he’d press kisses over them, slowly, softly, and the taste of Peter would overwhelm the dread and Tony would feel grounded again.

“Thank you for finding me kid, as always.” His shaky fingers would stroke Peter’s face and in return, he’d lean into Tony’s touch.

“Always.”

Another kiss.

“I’m always here for you.”

Most nights Peter slept shirtless. Something about the spider bite making his blood run hot, Tony never minded.

But on the bad nights, Peter would make sure to sleep in the soft sweaters and hoodies he knew Tony liked. He’d slip his old threadbare varsity sweater over Tony’s head, the collar stretched out from use, the sleeves a bit too long.

“Sorry about the growth spurt Mr. Stark,” Peter had joked the first time Tony made a comment about their heights.

On the bad nights, Peter would make sure he kept the hallway lights on dim, Morgan’s old Iron Man night light plugged into the socket by Tony’s side of the bed, and that the air conditioner was turned on so Peter wouldn’t sweat through his clothes. He’d wrap Tony up in his arms, making sure his arms shielded him from his nightmares.

He’d make sure to fall asleep after Tony’s breathing evened out and his body relaxed, fingers combing through his salt and pepper hair, humming Morgan’s old lullabies in Tony’s ear.

Peter would make sure to kiss the top of Tony’s head throughout the night, adjust himself to make sure they were always touching, spooning up behind him, or shifting so his chest rested under Tony’s head.

“I can always fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat Peter,” Tony had murmured one night, pressing his right ear into Peter’s chest.

Ba-dum

Tony would play with the drawstring of Peter’s hoodie, speaking softly, scared that anything above a whisper would bring him back to the battlefield, back to Peter’s body fading into dust, back into his nightmares.

“It reminds me that you’re here, not...lost.”

Ba-dum

“I’ll always be here Tony,” Peter would whisper back, stroking Tony’s hair as the soft glow of the night light bounced off their bodies, “I’m not going anywhere anymore.”

Ba-dum

“I know. I just…” Peter would press a kiss, stealing the words from Tony’s lips.

“I’ve got you Mr. Stark. You’re safe now.”

Safe.

Tony would smile, bury his nose into Peter’s hoodie, inhaling his scent. Apples and cinnamon.

“I know. Goodnight Pete, I love you.”

“I love you too Tony.”

Safe.