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Walking around the track, I had to refrain from holding my hand on my lower stomach to try to relieve the pain. Sometimes being enhanced really sucks, like with how many superheroes there are out there why doesn’t anyone create a pain med strong enough for us? I mean, I can handle stab wounds and gunshots just as well as anyone else, but period cramps? That shit is straight from the devil.
I tried to take in Ned’s words as he talked about a new LEGO set that came out, or maybe he was talking about a new movie? Either way, I just absentmindedly nodded along to his excited rambles as I tried to ignore my sweaty binder sticking to me and the feeling of my wet pad shifting against me with every step. I really should have changed into a new pad before gym, it’s like wearing a wet diaper.
I did not realize I was slowing down, until Ned was turned around right in front of me. Did it get cloudy? Everything looked so much darker than earlier. Looking up at my friend I saw his mouth moving, but I did not hear any words. Why can’t I hear anything?
I tried to speak, but I did not even hear myself, “feel dizzy,” I tried to tell him, but what if he can’t hear either? Looking at him, I tried to keep my balance but I couldn’t, I sat down on the track before I could fall. Sitting is nice, but I can only hope the coach doesn’t yell at me for being lazy. Looking back up at Ned, who seemed even more panicked than me, I attempted to read his mouth but it was so hard with how dark it is. I thought he asked if he should get someone, maybe a teacher? Assuming that’s what he said, I nodded. But that was a mistake.
I brought my hands up to my head, the nausea suddenly hitting me, and god why is my binder so tight? One of the teacher's aides came over, and looking up I thought he asked if I wanted to go somewhere more… more what? I really need to get better at reading mouths. I tried to say a ‘yeah’, knowing nodding will only make it worse. I forced myself to stand, one hand still holding my head, the other on my stomach. He began leading me towards the building, but only a few steps later I was spewing my guts out.
That is when my knees gave out on me, thankfully I landed next to my mess rather than in it. Well only my knee landed in it, which made me gag again because of course I’m wearing gym shorts and so my bare skin was in my own sick. I put my hand over my mouth, getting it dirty with my own puke, as I sat there not knowing what to do. Finally, Ned arrived with the actual teacher, the aid having been just as clueless as me. I’m not sure what the coach said, but then she walked away leaving me with Ned. Finally, as he was nervously babbling on to me, I could faintly begin to hear him again.
“-urse is coming with a wheelchair, she'll be here soon,” he tried to reassure me as he sat next to me. How can he stand to be with me when I just threw up? Even the smell alone is atrocious to say the least.
Instead of explaining I had not heard most of what he said, I just murmured out a “thank you.” He really is a better friend than I could ever ask for. As per what Ned said, the nurse did in fact arrive with a wheelchair. I didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed as she helped me up into it and wheeled me inside. I’ll take whatever she gives me as long as I can just go home already. I just want to curl up on the couch, free of my binder, heat pad over my stomach and warm drink in hand.
Getting to the nurse’s office, after making sure I wasn’t still at risk of fainting, she had me go wash the puke off my hands and knee. Oh damn, I feel bad for the custodians who have to clean my throw up outside. I closed the bathroom door, knowing there has to be pads in here somewhere. Thankfully I found one, one of those cardboard ones that scratch against you where you don’t want to be scratched, but at least it’s dry.
Once changed into the fresh pad and cleaned up, I exited the bathroom and practically collapsed into the bed the nurse directed me to. Yet she still would not leave me alone to rest, needing my gym locker number and combo to get my stuff, and needing my name to find my record for my guardians phone number. It was all just too much information and god why can’t I just be able to rest already?
When I finally thought the kind but persistent nurse was done interrupting my rest, she came back in, “sweetie, your aunt isn’t picking up so I’m going to call your next emergency contact, okay?” Not really taking in what she was saying, just craving some peace and quiet, I mumbled an ‘okay’ hoping that would suffice for whatever it was she had asked.
Laying on the bed, which would have already been mildly uncomfortable because of how shitty the mattress is, was almost unbearable when my stupid cramps absolutely refuse to let up for a single second. And people say boys don’t understand periods. Of course I could never blame Aunt May, but just… if we could afford hormones then maybe my periods could end and I- I could be more like a real boy. But that’s too much money, it’s selfish, I could never ask for hormones. After endlessly shifting and adjusting my position, I still did not find a comfortable way to lay. But it did not matter anyway because the nurse was saying my emergency contact was in their car outside the school waiting for me.
Stepping out of the little room, I found my backpack and clothes already sitting there waiting for me, I probably should have changed out of my puke stained clothes earlier. It’s fine, Aunt May has seen me sick before, it’s okay. I stuffed my clothes into my bag and slung it over my shoulder. I slowly wandered my way to the main doors, not wanting to wish making myself dizzy again. Looking around the parking lot, I did not spot Aunt May’s car, no, instead I saw the more expensive than our apartment car that could only belong to the one and only Tony Stark sitting there.
Brows furrowed, I slowly approached, but before I even got to the car Mr. Stark himself was exiting and coming over to me, “kid, the nurse called me and said you puked, are you okay?” I haven’t heard him this frantic since the last time I got shot, “you haven’t been sick since the bite before, right?” Too much to take in, too much input, why is he here? Where’s Aunt May? Seeing how out of it I am, he let out a sigh, allowing me to not answer for now, “c'mon kid, we can talk more in the car,” with that, he helped me into the passenger seat before going around the car into the driver's seat. Where’s Happy? Mr. Stark never comes on his own.
Sitting in the seat, I let out a quiet groan when a particularly worse cramp pain hit me. I looked anywhere but my mentor, eyes landing on the bowl on the floor in front of me. Picking it up, Mr. Stark explained before I could ask, “In case you got nauseous again, I didn’t have any bags or buckets around so I figured a bowl is better than nothing.” I nodded in understanding, shifting uncomfortably in the seat.
He gave me a look I could not quite make out as he began to drive, “what’s going on, Underoos?” I had to force myself not to shift again, half out of pain and half of discomfort. Oh god, if I go back to the compound with him there won’t be able anything that I need, no pads, no heat pad, no being able to take off my binder. There’s no way I can tell Mr. Stark what’s actually going on, it would be stupid to come out because of a worse period than normal.
“Nothing,” I whimpered out, unconvincingly, “can you take me home please?” All I could do was hope that he would just drop me off and leave me to my own devices.
He glanced over at me sympathetically, “kiddo, the only reason I got called was because May was too busy at work to pick up. I can’t just leave you alone when you’re sick, especially when you shouldn’t even be able to get sick.” Normally I would be honored that he cares so much about me to be willing to help so much, but right now why can’t he care just a teeny tiny bit less?
Why can’t he just take my word? “Please, Mr Stark, I’m okay. I promise I won’t go patrolling or anything, I’ll just stay in bed if you bring me home,” I pleaded with him. And that is one promise I will keep, there’s no way in hell I’m getting up again after a day like today.
He met me with a frown, “why are you so insistent to go back to the apartment?” There was a million things left unsaid in those eleven words and I couldn’t help wish I hadn’t said anything in the first place.
“No, no,” I tried to fix this, “it’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you, I just want to be home,” I tried to explain in the least rude way possible. If I was sick for any other reason of course I would want Mr. Stark to take care of me and be here for me, but not for this. If he knew what was going on, what if he thought I was like gross or something? A boy having their period isn’t exactly a normalized thing.
He let out a sigh, “if we need to figure out why you’re sick, we need to be at the lab. I’m sorry,” he sounded so genuine and concerned and so much more caring than I deserve. If I keep making excuses he will think I really do just not want to be around him. I nodded, too tired to keep arguing. There’s several women in the compound, there has to be supplies somewhere. And I should be able to go a few hours without changing my pad anyway, even if the school pads feel like sandpaper against my skin.
Thankfully, he let me try to rest during the remainder of the car ride. I tried to keep my squirming to a minimum but god I’d rather get stabbed with a rusty knife, again , than be dealing with these stupid cramps. As much as I desperately wanted to sleep, the pain just would not let up enough for me to be able to. Why is the first day always so bad? How am I supposed to deal with four more days of this torture?
When we finally arrived at the compound, Mr. Stark came around and took my backpack for me, while I held onto the unused bowl. Walking in, he instructed, “why don’t you go change into something clean, then we can figure out what’s going on, okay?” I gave him a simple ‘okay’ before walking off to my room. Though I’ve always managed to get out of spending the night here, he still insisted I have a space all to myself. As much as I know I would love spending the night at the compound, I can’t keep my binder on for that many hours in a row. I can’t risk him seeing me without my binder.
Getting to my room, after grabbing a clean set of clothes from the dresser, I immediately went to the bathroom, cursing myself for not having thought to keep a stash of pads here. Once in the bathroom I ripped off my soiled shirt and then my still sweaty binder, giving my body a chance to breathe even if just for a few minutes. As thankful I am for my binder, I still can’t help but wish it wasn’t so tight. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s dangerous to wear one that’s too tight and all that jazz, but this was all we could afford and I’d much rather have a bit of trouble breathing than have nothing to keep me flat at all. This one is still better than the badanges I used to use, I almost cracked a rib with those.
Once I pulled off my gym shorts, I inspected for any leaks, thankfully I did not find any. Surprisingly really, given how low quality the pad I’m wearing is, I’d be shocked if it lasted more than an hour. I can only hope it’ll last until Aunt May comes to get me.
“Oh my god!” I exclaimed aloud, “how stupid am I?” I asked myself as I pulled my phone out of the pocket of the shorts I just discarded. When I put my phone in my pocket, I have no idea. I quickly dialed Aunt May’s number, still wearing nothing but my underwear.
Thankfully, on the third ring she picked up, she spoke before I had the chance, “honey, I just got the message from your school, did Tony come get you?”
I nodded even though I know she couldn’t see, “yeah he did, but-”
She cut off, clearly in a rush, “I’m sorry baby, I don’t have a lot of time to talk. Everything’s gone to shit here, three people are out sick, I needed to take an extra shift. I’m so sorry, can you please stay with Tony tonight?” She continued before I could answer, “I promise I’ll get you first thing tomorrow. Oh, my boss is calling me, I need to go. All the larb,” and with that she hung up. I only got in four words and she was gone.
Oh my god I need to spend the night here. I don’t have any supplies, and I can’t just keep my binder on overnight. Oh my god, what am I supposed to do? I can't just come out to Mr. Stark, what if he hates me for never telling him I’m not cis, what is he’s transphobic? Oh god, he’s gonna hate me, how could he not? I just-
My thoughts were cut off by Friday, “Peter, would you like me to inform Boss of your distress?”
Wait what? “What? No, no, don’t-”
“I informed him,” she said it so simply as if she was not going against what I literally just said. What the hell am I going to do?
I let the profanities spill out of my mouth as I looked around the bathroom. I can’t just sit here and do nothing. First off, I need to deal with my binder. I would be fine if I wouldn’t get so goddamn sweaty on my period, cuz now I have to make sure I don’t smell. Speaking of sweat… I grabbed a wad of tissues and began trying to dry the sweat off of my chest, under my breasts, and anywhere my binder touched. Hopefully that’ll help.
As much as I hate not wearing my binder, I know wearing it will only make me more nauseous and lightheaded. But I don’t have a choice.
Next I went to the bathroom, wiping away all of the blood, trying to make sure my pad will last as long as possible. I could only hope, I wouldn’t have to use this one through till Aunt May can pick me up, even if it was thick enough and high quality enough to hold my heavy flow, wearing a pad that long straight up hurts let alone being extremely uncomfortable.
Then there was a knock on the door, “hey Petey? Are you okay? Friday said you’re in distress.” Shit.
I quickly slipped on my sweatpants, flushing the toilet right after, “I’m okay,” I assured him. I kicked my dirty clothes over to the corner before washing her hands. He asked if I threw up again, but instead of answering, I finally opened the door.
He let out a sigh of relief, checking me over, “what’s going on, kid?” He reached out a hand, brushing my sweaty bangs from my forehead. I did not mean to lean into the touch. Before I answered, he helped me onto my bed, “have you been sick like this before?” Is it worse to say I get like this every month, or to pretend like this is something new? If it’s new he’ll want to check me over in the lab, but if it’s something that happened before he’ll want to know why I never came to him before.
If he checks me out in the lab, he may find out what’s actually going on. “It’s happened maybe a couple times…” well that’s an understatement.
His eyebrows raised, “Peter, why have you never told me you’ve been getting so sick? It could be dangerous,” he didn’t sound angry exactly, more concerned and frustrated. And though I anticipated this kind of reaction, I still was left at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry, I just- I don’t know, I’m sorry…” I mumbled, looking down at my lap.
He reached out, using his finger to raise my chin so I would look at him, “what's really going on, Peter?” You know he's dead serious when he uses my full name. I did not even realize the tears were leaking from my eyes, until he used his thumb to wipe them off my cheeks.
I whimpered, voice cracking, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I cried, pulling away from him. I covered my face with my hands, trying to keep my tears at bay.
He reached forward, trying to pull me into a hug, our first hug , but I pushed his hands away. I can’t ever let him hug me, as much as I crave the comfort, I can’t let him feel my binder. I know if I looked at him, he would look pained at my rejection. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he insisted softly.
I fiercely shook my head, ignoring the dizziness it brought back with it, “I have every everything to be sorry for. I- I’m a liar,” I’m not sure if my face was more red from the crying or from the shame.
His voice was low, but not unkind, “what do you mean?”
I’m in too deep to get out now, there’s no way for me to get through the night without him finding out. Better to tell the truth now then him to find that I leaked blood all over my bed because my pad was overused…
I tried to get in any air, maybe my binder really is too tight because my breathing was just not being sufficient, “I- I, oh god you’ll- you’re gonna hate me,” he tried to interrupt, saying he could never hate me but that’s just not true, through my tears, I whimpered out, “I- I’m transgender,” I broke off in a sob. I couldn’t dare look at him as sob after sob shook my stupid incorrect body.
He’s gonna hate me, I deserve to be hated. How could I not?
“Oh kid,” he breathed out, “I’m not mad at you,” that doesn’t make sense , “Peter, please look at me,” he still called me by my name? He waited until I took my hands away from my face, glancing up at him before looking back down, “Peter, I am not mad at you at all. I am so proud of you for trusting me enough to come out to me.”
This time, when he reached out, I leaned into the embrace instead of pushing him away, when I continued to cry, gasping in breaths, he kept talking, “you can’t understand how proud of you I am. And kid,” he chuckled a bit, “I’m a genius and even I had no idea. Of course I knew something was up, but I never knew.” That’s a relief I guess. “I accept you for anything, kid. Now, what can I do to help?”
I whimpered, “‘m on my period, it hurts,” I whined, but he seemed to hold no judgment against me. “Hurts so bad.” That seemed to really bring up his worry, he knows how I try to never complain about pain, even when I’ve been stabbed.
He repeated his question, “how can I help?”
Even though I knew the answer, I still hesitated, “need to take my binder off…” God, I’ve never had my binder off around anyone but Aunt May, I don’t know if I can do it. I’m supposed to be flat, no ones supposed to see how wrong my body is.
He sighed, “that’s probably for the best. I’ll leave the room and you can call me back in when you’re done, okay?” I nodded, and reluctantly he pulled out of the hug. Once he was out in the hall and my bedroom door was shut, I stood up, but had to sit back down again when my vision blacked. Only after the dizziness had subsided did I try to stand back up again.
This time I was able to stand with it as much trouble, and I went back to my dresser. I dug through until I finally found a nice thick sweatshirt, I don’t care if I get more sweaty, I need to make sure I’m covered as much as I can. Sweatshirt in hand, I made my way back to my bed so I could finally sit down again. Only after making sure Mr. Stark wasn’t going to barge in, I peeled off my shirt. Then I slowly took off my binder, my protection , but I could not help let out a sigh of relief when the pressure on my chest was gone. It’s like I could finally get in a deep breath.
Who knew deep breaths were such a privilege?
I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, it was so big and bulky it made me look like a shapeless blob. Which is an improvement over the over shirt I was wearing before, which would have shown my figure more. I was about to call Mr. Stark back in when I realized I still needed to do something with my binder, I can’t just leave it sitting here. Looking around the room, I decided to just hide it. Sliding my binder under the bed, I called out, “Mr. Stark, you can come back in.”
As he promised, he must have been right outside the door because he came right away. “Hey kid, he greeted me with a smile, “how are you feeling?” He walked over and sat down next to me.
He reached out and ran his fingers through my hair, once again pushing my bangs away from my forehead, “still hurts,” I mumbled, closing my eyes in comfort from the touch, “but feels better to be able to breathe.”
When I opened my eyes again, his brows were furrowed, “what do you mean? Was your binder making it hard to breath?”
I didn’t mean to startle, “well… yeah. It’s just a bit tight on me, but that’s normal!” I tried and failed to reassure him.
“Pete…” he looked older than usual in that one word, “I admit, I don’t know a lot about this kinda thing. But I do know it should not be making it hard for you to breathe,” when I looked down, he asked, “what’s on your mind, Roo?”
My voice came out a lot softer than I meant, “I can’t afford a better binder…” I admitted, shame and embarrassment filling every syllable.
He was quick to try to ease my embarrassment, “hey, hey, it’s okay. I’ll never think bad of you for having money troubles,” he wasn’t done, “but kid, you can always come to me if you need anything, okay? You’re never a burden. If you need or want anything from food to clothes, to stuff like this, you can always come to me.” I could not help but gape at him. How could he be so generous? I’m not worth it, I can’t ask that of him. But then again… I didn’t ask, he offered. Unless that’s one of those offers people say just to be nice and you’re supposed to politely decline.
But this seemed genuine.
I managed a small smile, thanking him, before asking what to do next. He ran a hand through his own hair, smiling a bit, “well kid, I’m kinda new to this. What do you usually do at this time of the month?”
“Mm,” I thought, “a lot of resting, usually with a heat pad. Oh,” I paused in embarrassment, “I’ll need pads…” but he was not phased at all, immediately telling Friday to get me some. That is when his face lit up, offering up the idea of a movie night, “I would love to,” I smiled back at him. He helped me stand, holding onto me when my vision blacked out again.
Getting to the common room, he helped me onto the couch before throwing every blanket he could find onto me. And that’s a lot of blankets. He told Friday to have someone bring a heat pad for me, before walking over to the kitchen attached to the common room.
“Friday said juice would be better than water after throwing up, and crackers for if you get hungry,” he explained while he placed then jug and box on the coffee table in front of me.
I smiled at him, “thank you,” I told him sincerely as he sat down beside me. Without really thinking about it, I curled into his side, “can we watch Star Wars please?”
Wrapping his arm around me, I could hear the smile in his voice, “whatever you want.”