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Not again —-
Bradley sighed pitifully and sank down into his chair, trying desperately to ignore the mounting throbbing beginning to plague his left eye. This couldn’t be happening again . It had barely been a week since the last one!
He covered half of his face with his hand, the sleeve of his hoodie providing a brief respite from the stabbing the light had started to invoke on his retina. He couldn’t keep missing school. He already had a note for his many absences, and for his rapidly falling grades.
He was trying , but it was hard! High school, in general, was hard, but it was especially problematic for a newly minted orphan who’d transferred in part way through the year. People weren’t exactly understanding of his situation at times, not that Bradley was all that forthcoming with it.
Was hard enough being the new kid, let alone the orphan .
Bradley tried to take slow, even breaths, pinching the skin between his thumb and forefinger as hard as he could in an attempt to relieve the nausea starting to gurgle in his gut. This was going to be a bad one if the spots blinking across his right eye were any indication.
Damnit.
He risked a glance at the clock.
Two hours left.
He could do this.
*********************************************************************************************************
He could 100% not do this.
By the time the last class of the day was finishing up, Bradley was pale and covered in a cold sweat across his brow and down his back. His stomach was churning horrendously and he could not longer see out of part of his right eye. This was horrible .
The final bell of the day rang with an ear piercing screech that had the teen flinching as his head pulsed . A small whimper escaped as he bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.
He was going to be sick. He was going to lose absolutely everything he’d ever eaten, and experience told him that would only make his migraine worse. His head would pound and his ears would ring and he’d be unable to get any relief, just spiraling with his own thoughts and the pounding of his horrific head.
“Time to go, kid,” someone pat him on the shoulder.
He stumbled to his feet unsteadily, shouldering his backpack and swallowing reflexively.
If he could just make it home, if he could get there without puking his guts out—-maybe, maybe , he’d be able to die a miserable death in peace.
It was a desperate wish, one Bradley was sure wouldn’t come to fruition, but he stubbornly put one foot in front of the other anyway, keeping his gaze on the ground and squinting only as much as was necessary to slowly make his way home.
It was only a mile to the familiar house, the one he now considered ‘home’. He walked it dozens of times.
Hell, sometimes, he ran it.
But now? Now he was considering crawling it.
No amount of hand pinching was working.
He’d bit through his lip now, and the bloody taste was only increasing his mounting nausea.
The second he got home, he was going to use Pops’ golf club and take his own head off .
That was clearly the only option left.
The only thing that was going to help him at this point.
He stumbled forward on shaky legs that were getting more and more unsteady. He could do this. He was almost home.
There was that annoying crack.
The shadow from the Jeffersons’ gargoyle mailbox.
The wheel to Pops’----
With a sudden ‘oof’, he stumbled, walking straight into the back of Iceman’s car, tumbling backwards from the rebound.
A strong hand grabbed his backpack, pulling him back upright.
“What the hell? Brad??”
Bradley didn’t manage to offer a response.
Instead, he promptly turned to the nearest trashcan and began to vomit so hard he nearly fell into the can.
Only the hand fisted in his backpack kept him upright.
“Bradley?? Are you okay?”
He gagged.
*******************************************************************************************************
Tom Kazansky was relatively new to the whole parenting thing.
Though one Bradley Bradshaw had been a major part of his life for over a decade, it was a relatively new development to be a full time parent.
He loved it; don’t get him wrong. There wasn’t a single star on his collar that was worth the same joy, the same pride as being called ‘Pops’.
But it was still a pretty significant adjustment, especially as Carole had barely been buried six weeks at this point. He and Mav were worried about the kid.
He was understandably withdrawn, often stumbling through their house silently, dressed in a hoodie. He was so far from the boisterous, jovial kid they knew and loved.
Brad was getting counseling, and was pretty good about opening up to the two men when he needed to, but still something was nagging at the back of Iceman’s head.
Something was wrong.
He’d taken off of work earlier than usual, hoping to catch the teen before he slunk off to his bedroom. Bradley had been coming up the street when he pulled into the driveway, so Tom had leaned on the hood of his car, intent to wait for the boy. Maybe he’d like to go get ice cream?
But as he watched the kid approach, klaxons started blaring in his head.
Bradley was walking slowly, unsteadily , towards him, eyes never leaving the ground.
He looked drunk .
“Bradley? Hey kiddo—”
But the teen didn’t seem to hear him, continuing on his slow awkward path until he suddenly walked straight into the back of Ice’s vehicle, stumbling backwards with a completely surprised gasp.
“What the hell? Brad??”
Ice leapt forward, fisting his hand in the teen’s backpack as he staggered backwards.
What the hell had happened?
He tugged the kid upright so he didn’t fall over, only for B to turn around and vomit harshly in the trash can Maverick hadn’t rolled up to the house yet.
Ice tightened his grip as he felt the kid fall forward, keeping him from going into the garbage can.
“Bradley?? Are you okay?”
The poor kid gagged again, whimpering as he did so.
“Okay—-okay buddy, let it out,” Ice soothed, wrapping an arm around the front of the kid’s shoulders to better support him. “You’re okay, bud.”
“P-p-p-p’ps—-” Bradley whispered, screwing his eyes shut tightly.
“Hey—-think you’re done puking?”
Tom gently brushed the sweaty mop of curls away from his forehead. The kid was clammy, flinching under his touch.
“M-m-maybe,” he decided, still barely audible.
Ice frowned. “Baby?”
“S—m’ head h’rts,” Bradley admitted, slowly straightening from his slumped over state.
“Okay,” Ice nodded, taking the backpack from him, leading him slowly towards the house.. “Must be a pretty bad headache to make you feel so sick, B. Think it’s maybe something else? Ever get migraines?”
Bradley flinched harshly, curling in on himself.
Ice hummed in concern, helping the kid into the house, turning lights off and pulling blinds as they moved towards the kitchen.
“I—I c’n just go sleep, Pops,” Bradley muttered, feeling his anxiety mounting. “I—”
“I’m not going to leave you to deal with it on your own, B,” Tom was just as quiet, helping the kid to sit at the kitchen table, moving through the kitchen as silently as possible. He grabbed a glass of ginger ale and a few pain pills and gently set them in front of the teenager. “See if you can stomach swallowing those, even if they come back up, some of them should be absorbed into your system.”
Bradley took the pills shakily, swallowing them with more effort than he wanted to admit.
His head was clearly about to erupt. He was going to die of a spontaneous head eruption. That was a thing, right? Well it was now . There was no other explanation! He was too hot and there were black spots everywhere and things were spinning and—---
Crisp, cool, darkness suddenly enveloped his head and he was alarmed to feel tears slipping down his cheeks.
“Shhh—-it’s okay, Baby Goose,” Tom soothed, gently pulling the frozen beanie to completely envelope his head. “Let this settle for a second and then I’ll get you to lay down on the couch. This should start to help….”
“W-w-w-why?”
“Why does it help?” Ice frowned, wiping some blood off of the boy’s chin. “Shit, B, you bit the hell out of your lip, kiddo.”
“W-w-w-w-w-why are y-y-y-you helpin’?” Bradley sniffed, leaning into the pilot’s hold.
Those klaxons started blaring once more.
“Bradley?” Tom’s voice was still painfully soft, but it had a slight edge to it now. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. Just nod or shake your head, slowly , okay? Bud, did you know you were having a migraine?”
Nod.
“Have you had migraines before?”
Nod.
“More than 5?”
Shaky nod.
“In the last 6 months?”
Shakier nod.
“In the last month?”
The kid was practically shivering, he was trembling so hard as he nodded that time.
Ice didn’t understand.
Mav had never said anything about him having migraines, nor had Carole. He couldn’t remember ever hearing about him having them before—and he’d been living with them for more than a month now! When was his last one? Why didn’t anyone—
“Buddy, does Mav know?”
Slow, hesitant head shake.
“Bradley—-” Ice sighed, trying to release his concern and frustration. He pulled the kid upright, keeping a hand on his shoulder.
“P-p-please don’t y’ll at me, P’ps,” the teen whimpered, flinching backwards. “N’t now— you c’n—-you c’n say wh’tever t’morrow b’t—--”
“No no no, baby,” the pilot interjected softly, gently reaching to tuck him against his chest, cradling his head. “I’m not going to yell at you, especially not when you feel so sick. You’re not in trouble, Bradley—-”
Bradley mashed his face into his pops’ chest, trying to stem the tears he felt burning his eyes. He was exhausted and his head hurt so badly, but here, finally, someone was helping him.
“Don’t cry, B,” Tom whispered, gently rubbing the base of his neck. “That won’t help…. It’s okay…. Everything’s going to be okay….”
“H’rts—-“
“I know kiddo, I know. I get them too. But I’ve got a few tricks to help, okay? Gonna let me try?”
Bradley nodded slowly.
“Alright, let’s head upstairs, okay? I’ve gotcha….
***************************************************************
It took a fair amount of orchestration, and patience, but Tom got Bradley upstairs and into cozy pjs before leading him into their darkened bedroom. Ice gently removed the thawed and warming beanie and then helped him up onto the counter. He filled the sink up with hot water, plugging the drain.
“Pops?”
“Trust me buddy, your dad and I’ve tried all the tricks. This helps,” he soothed. He pushed the pant legs of the sweats up slightly before directing Bradley’s feet into the warm water. “Dip your hands in too, B.”
Bradley did as directed, folding to rest his head on his knees, eyes squeezed shut.
Ice reached over to massage slow, firm circles up and down the boy’s neck and shoulders as he slowly started relaxing.
“This helping?”
“Mhmm—-“
“Good,” Ice nodded. “So—your migraines make you nauseous and involve a lot of neck tension. Your mouth’s bleeding—-you bit your lip?”
“Mhmm.”
“Okay,” Ice sighed. “Do you have any auras or spots? Signs that it’s coming?”
A slow, careful nod.
A small, wounded sound escaped Tom as he bent and pressed a kiss to the boy’s head. “Baby, please tell me or Dad next time—-we can help you. It doesn’t have to get this bad, B. I hate seeing you in this much pain.”
Bradley shivered, leaning towards Ice. “D-d-didn’t wanna get in tr’ble.”
Ice froze. “Get in trouble? Have you—-you’ve gotten in trouble for having migraines?”
“I—“ he swallowed roughly. “Mama was sick.”
“Right,” Tom spoke barely above a whisper, gently stroking the boy’s hair. He didn’t understand where this conversation was going, but dread was starting to form in his gut.
“She—-mama got confused sometimes. C-c-c-c’lled me Nick—“
“Baby—-“ Tom pulled him into a gentle hug the best he could.
“When I started gettin’ ‘em, she got angry. Said it’s what I get for drinkin’ with Pete or f-f-f-for flyin’ or—-“ tears soaked Ice’s tshirt. “She’d yell and carry on ‘nd it would be so much worse so I j’st hid ‘em.”
“Oh Bradley, baby—-I—“ Ice held him close, trying to shelter him from the world as he processed the insanity that had just been spouted.
“She—-she was J’st confused, she—-“
“I know she was, but baby that—- you should have been looked after, B, and if not by your mom, you could’ve told one of us… I’ve had them for years. I hate that you’ve had no help.“
“M s’rry,” Bradley whined, tucking himself even closer. “It hurts , Pops—-and I’m so t’red and it—-it keeps happening—-“
“Okay, okay bud, I’ve got you,” he promised. “Don’t apologize baby, it’s okay. I’m going to take care of everything, okay? We’re gonna get you feeling better and then dad and I are going to make sure we get you checked out and get you some help, I promise.”
***************************************************************
Maverick knew instantly that something was wrong when he walked through the front door. To be fair, the trash can filled with soap suds in the driveway did give him a clue, but walking into a totally dark and silent house was never a good sign.
He toed off his boots and made his way silently through the house, trying to figure out what was going on.
He found Bradley’s backpack tossed over towards the armchair, not where it usually was. A quick inspection of the freezer showed that at least one of Tom’s beanies was MIA, which was not a positive sign. Obviously the other pilot was having one of his migraines, but then where was Bradley?
Mav grabbed one of the other beanies and quietly made his way up the stairs. Tom probably needed another one by now.
Their room had been outfitted with layers of curtains to darken it as much as possible for several years now, so it was no surprise to Pete as he crept into the space that it was nearly too dark to see. He was well versed in wandering through the room with little visible light. He tiptoed over to the side of the bed, intent on gently depositing the homemade ice remedy and slipping back out without disturbing his wingman too much. If Tom was actually sleeping, it was best to let him rest.
Only it wasn’t Tom who was sleeping.
Tom was laying in bed but he was cradling Bradley against his chest, one hand covering the teen’s head. Mav bent to kiss Ice’s forehead, grinning gently when those familiar blue eyes snapped open.
“Hey,” he whispered, grin slowly slipping from his face when he realized there were tear tracks on Ice’s face. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“Baby Goose has migraines,” Tom’s voice was barely above a whisper. Mav’s eyes widened. “He’s had them for a while—-been getting them a lot, and suffering in silence because Care—-“
Ice cut himself off. Pete forced himself to wait his partner out, gently placing the frozen beanie he was holding on the back of Bradley’s neck.
“He—-you know how we thought her ‘chemo brain’ moments were mostly with us? When she’d slip up and call him Nick or yell at you for things that happened years ago?”
Maverick nodded, feeling too cold all of a sudden.
“She—-she’d call him Nick with him too. And she thought—-she thought his migraines were Nick’s hangovers or—-I dunno—-but she’d yell at him and he just—-he thought he was in trouble, Pete. He was crying and bit through his lip trying to deal with the pain and he thought I was going to yell at him. He—“
Tom trailed off, gently tugging Bradley closer as the teen unconsciously curled towards him.
“He—okay,” Maverick nodded sharply. His head was spinning. They had a lot to process here. But Bradley was safe and seemingly feeling better if his soft snores were any indication so——
Mav moved over to the dresser, quickly slipping into sweatpants before coming back to the bed. He slid under the covers on the other side of Bradley, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his head and then pressing a longer one in Ice’s hand.
“It’s going to be okay, angel,” he whispered, wrapping an arm across the snuggly teen and squeezing Tom’s bicep gently. “We’ll get Baby Goose feeling better and then—-then we’re going to have a long talk and work on this, okay? It’ll be okay.”
“Love you, Mav.”
“Love you, Ice.”