The other Brotherhood boys went straight to the kitchen as their leader stomped past them. Avalanche's face contorted into something almost unrecognizable and he fisted his hands in his hair as he crashed through the house.
Toad's eyes widened at the sound of Avalanche's heavy boots crashing up the stairs in anger. "How mad do you think he is yo?"
A snarky sigh emanated from behind the open refrigerator door, "And 3…2…" the silver haired teen counted down. The loud slam of Alvers' door put the cherry on top of the Brotherhood's already craptastic night. Quicksilver sniffed disdainfully at his amphibious cohort as he made a huge sandwich in 4 seconds. "Let me think," he said sarcastically, tapping a slim finger on his pointed chin, "The X-men have like 3 times as many people as us, so they whipped our asses again, Lance completely lost control and blasted a sinkhole a hundred yards across, which his jeep promptly fell into, and on top of that Blob was caught by the cops!"
Toad swallowed nervously and looked up at the sound of thumps coming from the ceiling directly over his head and right under Alvers' stompy feet. He sidled a few steps to the right until he stood under the door jamb, "So…yeh….guess he's mad."
"Idiot," Pietro sighed as he finished his sandwich in a blur. "I think complete fucking pissed off is more accurate. And where the hell are we going to get bail money for Fred? We are BROKE!" His voice hit a volume that made dogs bark a street over.
As if in answer there came a sharp crack of something shattering upstairs. Toad winced and hopped into the den, turning on the TV and cranking up the volume to drown out Quicksilver's shouted "Goddamnit, Alvers!" as the speed demon sprinted upstairs and began hammering on his teammate's door.
"Quit throwing a fucking tantrum, Avalanche! It's not like this is the first time we lost!" We're losers. It's what we do! Now quit breaking shit!" Pietro yelled through the door as his hand beat an accelerated tattoo against the creaking wood.
"Argh, go away," Lance's voice muttered darkly and Pietro heard another thump as something heavy hit the floor.
"Hey, I TOLD you to"-Pietro threw his shoulder against the locked door "QUIT" again "BREAKING" it was giving now "SHIT!" The lock crashed through the already frail doorjamb, splintering it as the door crashed open and slammed heavily into the wall, leaving a hole in the drywall. The weak light from the dirty bulb in the hallway cast a sparse strip of illumination into the otherwise dark room. As he stepped over the threshold Pietro's boot crunched down on something. He toed it aside and stared into the shadows as he snarked, "Why you bust the fucking lamp? It didn't sink your jeep, boulders for brains." Pietro reached over and flipped up the switch for the overhead light.
"Fuck, turn off the light!" Alvers was standing next to his bed with his back to the door, clutching his skull. "It's too bright," the darker boy snarled.
"Whatever Dracula," Pietro rolled his eyes. "You need to come downstairs and help us figure out how to get Fred out of j-"
"Argh!" The earthshaker's legs suddenly contracted under him and he kneeled almost spastically, bent double, and ground his face into the floor, "Fuuuuuuck, hurts" he moaned.
"What the -" Pietro stammered, surprised at the genuine sound of pain, not anger, in his teammate's voice. He slapped the light off and scrambled over to his captain. "Dude, what's wrong? Did one of the X-men-" he hissed, crouching by the folded over form of his teammate.
"My head," the brunette moaned. "My powers….too hard, ugh, too long…shit, feels like a drill behind my eyes." One of his hands suddenly left his head and shoved right into Pietro's surprised face, knocking him aside. The silver-haired teen gave an angry huff at the abrupt facepalm that he quickly bit back as his friend vomited heavily into the nearby wastebasket. Wrinkling his aquiline noise, Pietro fished around in the near dark and snagged one of Lance's t-shirts, which littered the floor in abundance. When the bigger boy lifted his head weakly after emptying his stomach Pietro handed it to him to wipe his face.
"Light makes it worse?" Avalanche nodded carefully, one hand clutching his forehead as though the slight movement would cause his aching brain to crack into a thousand shards. "Let me guess, you get dizzy if you sit or stand up?" Quicksilver queried, mentally checking off a little list as Alvers gave a grunt the silver boy assumed was a yes. "You got a migraine, man. A bad one." Pietro slung one of Lance's arms around his neck, careful to avoid coming into contact with any residual barf, "C'mon you have to lie down. I got you."
The brunette heaved himself to his feet with his friend's help, "What you a doctor now?" he said weakly but with familiar sarcasm.
"Just because I don't care enough about school to do any work, doesn't mean I don't know anything," Pietro snapped waspishly as he none-too-gently plopped his friend on his bed. "You know I don't sleep more than ," the smaller teen buzzed irritably, his speed overtaking him as usual when he was huffy.
"English," Lance muttered as one forearms came up to lie heavily over his eyes, covering most of his face, which was strained in obvious tension. Pietro took a breath, held it for what felt like 2 days to the speed freak but was actually only 3 seconds in normal time. "I read a lot, ok. Anything, everything that catches my eye, medical journals and magazines lately. Migraines can last hours easily and can get a lot worse." Lance moaned angrily then winced as the pain intensified with a sharp throb that made his teeth clench.
Pietro tutted prissily at his patient, "Chill out, Lance, I picked up a few ideas that might help," When Lance made a weak shrug the speedster was gone in a flash and back just as quickly. A wonderfully cool, damp cloth was pressed to Lance's forehead as his teammate's hands pulled off the shoulder and chest plates of his dark blue uniform.
Avalanche pushed away the silver haired teen's hand from the zipper at his throat, "I can do it myself." Sitting up on one elbow as he unzipped and pulled off his uniform top made his head spin and the room wobbled dangerously to the left. Lance firmly squashed down the urge to lean over the bedside and puke again.
Pietro stifled a smirk that threatened to sneak over his face at Lance's ill-disguised nausea and typical tough guy attitude. It was pretty clear he wanted to spew but Mr. Macho was in the house. But he swallowed any jibe he's planned as his captain sunk back on the bed again with quick grimace of pain as the migraine throbbed once more, like it was pounding his head apart from the inside out.
"Ok, a bunch of doctors say acupressure on certain nerve points can help. Just don't get all weird on me," Pietro quipped as he sat on the edge of the bed, next to Lance's sprawled form, grabbed one of the other teen's hands, and began pressing into the web between the thumb and first finger as he looked for the right pressure point. "Or a hard-on," he teased his friend.
Lance snorted inelegantly, "Pietro, you might be gay as a picnic basket and a remorseless slut, but even your standards aren't this low. I'm dying." Then he then winced as something that felt like a hot wire stabbed at the back of his eyes.
"Ok, Mr. Invalid, you're obviously not dying if you have enough energy to be a catty bitch." Quicksilver smirked as he felt the right nerve point and began to massage it with firm pressure.
"Not yet. Still, keep it above the waist," Lance returned with dark humor.
"Whatever, Neanderthal. You know I like my boys twink as a Disney character anyway, so don't worry that I'll lose myself to temptation," Pietro scooted up the bed a bit and reached for the crook of Lance's shoulder where it met his still battle-grimed neck, using just the tip of two fingers to press and rub small determined circles at the correct spot. "Your smell alone is putting me off big time."
Lance shifted, the damp cloth sliding over his eyes, "Yeh, Toad tried to slime Daniels and got me." Quicksilver repressed a shudder and used his knee to nudge Lance's nasty uniform top off the bed and onto the floor.
"Huh, that does help," Lance said quietly, a surprised tone in his voice, as Pietro's small ministrations on his neck made the flaring pain recede a bit. Pietro resisted the urge to say "Told you so," and instead leaned slightly over his friend to work the other side of the boy's neck, careful to avoid any lingering traces of barf or slime.
"A bit better," the brunette sighed, his breath ghosting lightly over Pietro's neck as the silver haired youth leaned back.
Pietro smothered a small flinch at the prickling intimacy of the sensation on his skin. Bleh, Lance was just so…Lance. Who had been slimed and had almost hurled all over him. Eurgh. This was his teammate and someone who clearly didn't know how to use hair products, in addition to an unwashed dirty laundry list of other blargh things. But Alvers was a friend who needed a little help, so Quicksilver resolved to think of England and carry on.
Pietro got another washcloth from the bathroom and wet it, then returned to his captain's room. "At least clean yourself up a bit, you're gross." Lance sat up on one elbow as he swiped away the grime and smoke of the battle from his face and neck, as Pietro sat behind him on the bed and began working the nerve point at the base of his skull.
"Guh…ahh…better," Lance sighed and leaned more heavily into his friend's ministering hands.
Pietro sucked in a breath as the brunette leaned his back again his stomach and relaxed. "Don't get too comfortable," he snipped as his finger pressed again and again into the softer spot between the cords of muscle that ran the sides of Avalanche's neck. The dark teen grunted noncommittally even as he leaned more of his weight back into Pietro's touch.
The speedster sighed internally and moved his hands around Lance's head to rest pale fingertips on either side of the earth-shakers nose and pressed gently but grimly and he slid his finger up between his eyebrows and back out again to his temples, steadily releasing the painful sinus pressure. The pads of his finger rolled small circles into his friend's temples for a few moments, then returned to their starting point and started the sweep over again. Then again. And again.
Lance's breathing evened out and the vein that had been visibly throbbing in his forehead slowly disappeared. Pietro, usually so accustomed to life at near light speed, found himself relaxing at the measured pace of Avalanche's breath, the slow and steady up and down bellow of his chest as he relaxed. The slow thump of the dark teen's pulse under his fingers as he once again traced his nose, then forehead, temple, then cheeks with each pass started to zone out the silver haired mutant. Absently as his finger once again swirled over Lance's temples, his threaded his finger briefly into the hair and stroked back once, before again returning to the slow, hypnotic circles of the bigger boy's face. Cheeks, nose, eyebrows, forehead, temple, hair, return. Once more. Again.
After an indeterminate time, Pietro heard a light snore and realized his teammate was finally asleep. He shifted slightly to work his way out from under Lance's pressing weight, then froze as one sleepy hand wrapped gently around his forearm, keeping it in place just over the dark boy's chest. Avalanche's muttered something in his doze and his hand tightened once then relaxed as he fell once again into deeper slumber.
Pietro sighed, not wanting to disturb his friend's much needed rest, and grumpily settled back. As he sat there irritably calculating a list of way his friend owed him one, his fingers once again settled in dark hair and began an absent-minded rhythm.