We are now entering the Gravesen era of this story. Who's excited?

Chapter 9: Keeping Company

When he woke up, he was full. The sensation was completely alien and more than a little unwelcome. He'd grown so used to the hollowness that anything else drew his attention, and he hated paying attention to his stomach. The only other thing prominent enough to distract him was the tube, which someone must have disconnected from the pole while he slept. Whoever it was also removed his sling and left his arm resting on a pillow on his chest. Based on the lighting, Peter guessed it was early morning, but he didn't know exactly what time. Peter didn't really know what to do since he was still connected to a bunch of things, but he only thought about it a few minutes before Happy bustled in, looking for all the world like his namesake adjective.

"Good morning," he greeted warmly. Peter only watched him cautiously as he went about looking at monitors and writing things down. "How are you feeling?" he asked. In answer, Peter glowered and wrapped his good arm around his aching stomach. Happy watched him and sighed in sympathy. "I know it can be a little rough to get back on track, but I promise we're doing it safely. You're in good hands."

Peter wanted to trust Happy, he really did, but this whole place reeked of terrible memories. They'd told him that May was in good hands in that exact same tone, and she died. He had no reason to believe his case would be any different. He wanted out of here, but he sensed that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

"How's your arm?" Happy asked now sitting so he could meet Peter's eye. Well, he could if Peter didn't purposefully avoid meeting his gaze. "Can you show me on your fingers a scale of one to ten how bad it hurts?"

Peter hadn't even thought about his arm what with the more pressing issue of something other than water in his stomach, but now that Happy asked he realized it throbbed. Staring down at his uncasted arm, he slowly put up one finger at a time until he reached five.

"Do you want me to give you something to help it?"

Peter shook his head no. What he really wanted was to go to the bathroom, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. His voice remained locked up, and Peter had no idea how to bring it back.

"That's okay, but will you let me know if you change your mind?"

Peter didn't know how he would go about that, but he nodded anyway. Happy used the IV in his arm to take another blood sample, then helped Peter reaffix his sling so he could be weighed. Standing up increased the urgency of his need to pee and Peter hoped Happy would notice him walking funny and show him the way.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" Happy finally asked after he recorded Peter's weight. Peter sagged with relief and nodded emphatically. He showed Peter to one of the bathrooms on the ward, shared between four rooms, all of which were currently unoccupied except for Peter's. Figuring it out with one hand took some time, but Peter managed without incident. When he finished, Happy took him back to his room and outlined the day. Mr. Harrington was coming to drop off his stuff and he was bringing Ned to say goodbye before he went home with his forever family. Peter wondered why he didn't mention the Jones, but he suspected it might have something to do with their suspicion of neglect. He wanted to see the Jones and apologize for imposing and stressing them out with all his problems, but he doubted he could make his voice work even for them. Before that, he'd see Drs. van Dyne and Wilson again. Peter didn't know what they planned to do if he couldn't talk to them, but he went along with it.

They sent him to Dr. Wilson first. Happy led Peter to his office, which contained an array of comfortable seating and a table filled with colorful fidget toys of all shapes and sizes. Peter hesitantly sat down in one of the chairs and grabbed a Rubik's cube off the table. He and Uncle Ben had once spent an entire weekend learning how to solve one, and Peter spent weeks after that scrambling and solving it and scrambling it again. He worked with it so much that some of the stickers started to peel off. This one didn't have peeling stickers; the sections themselves were colored, and it slid much more easily and quietly than Peter's old cube. Before Dr. Wilson even said, "Good morning," he'd solved it. "You're pretty good at that. Most people that come in here just scramble it around to have something to do with their hands."

Peter didn't reply, just scrambled it again. It was difficult to manipulate without free use of both of his hands, but attempting to do so gave him something to focus on other than the expectation of Dr. Wilson's interrogation. He knew enough to understand what a visit to a psychiatrist's office entailed, and he wanted nothing to do with any of it.

"So Peter, before we get started, I'd like to get to know you a little better," Dr. Wilson began. Peter kept his eyes fixed on the cube and didn't respond. There wasn't much to know about him that he couldn't find out by asking Mr. Harrington to look at his case file. "I know you know my name already, but you can call me Falcon if you want. Over the years the patients here gave me that nickname and I think it sounds pretty cool, so I kept it." Peter knew he was gunning for a reaction from him, most likely a smile, but he offered the psychiatrist nothing. Maybe if he proved resistant enough to talk therapy they'd stop trying. He solved the Rubik's cube again and scrambled it even more this time.

"Do you feel up to talking today?" he asked earnestly. It was a yes or no question, something Dr. Wilson had seen Peter answer yesterday, so he probably expected at least that much of a response. In the hopes that saying so would end this session here and now, Peter shook his head no.

"That's okay." He sounded reassuring, but Peter couldn't help but think he was disappointed in Peter for making his job that much more difficult. However, if he gave Peter what he really wanted and left him alone, Dr. Wilson's job would be super easy, so he didn't feel that bad about it. "If I ask you some more yes or no questions, do you think you could at least answer those?"

Peter shrugged. It depended on the kind of question he asked.

"Okay, that's good. I can work with that. So, Peter, I know yesterday was a really difficult day for you. Did you sleep last night?"

He nodded. Peter was glad he'd managed to fall asleep, because laying awake all night thinking about the substance dripping into his stomach through his nose was not an enticing notion. Dr. Wilson droned on for a long time with 'getting to know you' questions. Peter was glad to answer them because it meant he wasn't asking about any touchy topics, but he was growing bored. He looked for a clock in the office and found on the wall to his left and stared at it, wishing he knew how long this session was supposed to last so he could count down the minutes until it ended. In school, Peter used to do that during boring classes, but in science he would look at the clock and despair how little time they had left to discuss his favorite subject before he had to move on with his day.

Much to his surprise and delight, Dr. Wilson called it quits before he even came close to touching on the reason for Peter's food-related fears. However, he had to face Dr. van Dyne immediately afterwards. She spoke to him with the same professional warmth as Dr. Wilson but spent much less time trying to build rapport with him.

"Have you ever learned about nutrition in school?" she asked. Peter shook his head, prompting her to give him a mini lesson on food groups and calories and all that jazz. On a fundamental level, Peter understood this information, but he understood it in a logical part of his brain. Whatever part of his brain that housed his fear always won, and Peter could do nothing to stop it. Dr. van Dyne outlined the goals she set for him and explained one thing very clearly, "We will continue to feed you through the tube until you can meet these goals on your own."

Peter had never been so daunted by anything in his entire life. He'd only had one tube feed and he hated it with as much ardor as he'd ever hated anything, but the only thing he could do to stop it was the one thing he hated just as much. It was an impossible dilemma. Involuntary tears slipped down his cheeks with the realization of just what it would take to get out of this place.

"Oh, Peter, it's gonna be okay. I promise. Can I hug you?" Dr. van Dyne asked genuinely. Peter paused, but ultimately nodded. Cautious of his cast, she wrapped her arms around him and continued, "I know it's a lot and right now it looks like the hardest thing in the world, but I promise you'll get there. I'm not going to stop working until you get there. Until then, Dr. Wilson, your nurses, and I will be here to help you every step of the way."

That was nice and all, but the people Peter really wanted to be with him weren't here anymore. Even Ned, his brother and best friend, would be leaving for Arizona. Peter didn't think he could ever feel more alone than he had right after May died, when he morphed from beloved nephew to just another kid on Mr. Harrington's list of kids to find homes for, but somehow this was worse. Everyone here kept telling him they were here to help, but none of them could figure out that the best way to help him was just to let him go home. But now that the Jones seemed to be out of the picture entirely, Peter wasn't even sure where that was.

Mr. Harrington's arrival at Gravesen only solidified Peter's worries that he had no place in the world anywhere but here. He brought Ned with him, probably so he could send him off with his new family right after this chore was taken care of. Ned stared at him, mouth agape. Peter stared at his feet, overwhelmed with a combination of shame and resentment. It was Ned's confession of Peter's not eating that led them to imprison him here, and Peter couldn't just forgive him for that. He'd promised he wouldn't tell, and when it mattered most he'd broken that vow.

"Peter?" Ned whispered. Slowly, he offered Peter's stuffed Chewbacca as reconciliation, no doubt sensing Peter's anger towards him. Peter looked up long enough to snatch the plush from Ned's hand, then returned his gaze to the floor, clutching Chewy to his chest with his good arm.

"Peter might not be up to talking right now," Mr. Harrington said, placing a hand on Ned's shoulder. "Why don't we bring in his things and give him some space, okay?"

"Okay," Ned sighed dejectedly. Peter didn't own much. More than Ned, but certainly less than most kids his age. He watched passively, hugging Chewy, as Ned and Mr. Harrington brought in all of it. They left nothing of his behind at the Jones' house. If someone visited there, they would find no indication that Peter had ever lived there. Now he understood that no matter what happened to him here, he would never return to the Jones. They'd probably find him a new foster family if he ever got out of here. Peter didn't know when or if that would happen.

Ned must have moved out of their shared room too, now that he was heading to Arizona to be with his new family. Peter would much rather have moved out for that reason than this one. He wondered if Mr. and Mrs. Jones would take in new foster kids now that both Peter and Ned were gone. Would Michelle get along with them as well as she had with the two of them? A selfish part of Peter hoped not. But the rest of him just wanted her to be happy.

When Ned placed their LEGO Death Star on the bedside table, Peter audibly gasped. Ned couldn't leave this behind! It was the first and best gift he'd ever received; he needed to keep it with him. "I want you to have it so you don't forget me," Ned explained. "And so you can look at it and think of good times when things are bad…kind of like they are now."

Peter gazed back at his brother and some of the hostility melted out of him.

"I'm sorry I broke my promise, but I had to! They told Mr. and Mrs. Jones all these things that were wrong with you and it was so scary. The way they were talking, it sounded like you might die and I couldn't keep quiet when I knew what was causing it. Can you forgive me?" he asked pleadingly.

Peter wanted to. He knew he should, but he had so few people left in his life he could trust and Ned had been one of those people. If it weren't for him, Peter might not be trapped here with people who wanted to force him to eat and talk, two things that he'd never felt less capable of in his entire life. He might have been able to go home with the Jones, back to his only remaining safe space.

He managed to meet Ned's gaze, but he said nothing.

"Peter, please! At least say something."

Any words he would have said got lost in transit from his brain to his vocal cords, and silence remained.

"Okay," Ned sighed, accepted that no amount of begging would get Peter to open up. "Even if you won't talk back, can I at least FaceTime you every once in a while, so I can see that you're okay?"

Peter didn't feel okay, and he knew he certainly didn't look it, but he knew by "okay" Ned probably meant "alive." Despite his anger, Peter didn't want Ned to slip out of his life completely. Once it was clear Ned's adoption would go through, they'd promised not to let each other lose touch. One broken promise was enough. Peter wouldn't be the one who added a second to mar their friendship. So he nodded, accepting Ned's proposition.

"Good," Ned said. His tone grew more solemn as he continued. "I know you don't want to be here, and I'm really sorry, but try to let them help you? I just want you to get better."

Peter didn't reply, nor did he accept Ned's invitation to do their handshake one last time. Ned dropped his gaze, and Mr. Harrington led him out. Peter wished he'd been strong enough to at least mutter a goodbye.

~0~

Peter purposefully got lost on the way back from the bathroom and ended up in a room full of comfy couches with a TV larger than any he'd ever watched on. He figured this must be a recreation room of sorts for the patients who lived here. As much as he hated this place, he had to give them credit for stocking entertainment. There were cabinets full of toys for kids of all ages and a closet with every board game Peter had ever heard of, and some he hadn't. He knelt down to open the cabinets below the TV, hoping he'd find DVDs in there and that said DVD collection would include Star Wars, when he heard the door open and footsteps walk in.

"So the rumors are true! I have a neighbor now." Peter turned around and found a short-haired girl a few years his senior standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She smiled, and the expression conveyed a combination of welcoming, pride, and excitement. "And by rumors I mean my own guesswork based on how little attention I've been receiving lately," she remarked jokingly. "What's your name?"

Peter opened his mouth to answer a question he'd probably answered hundreds of times. Aunt May and Uncle Ben used to remind him that his first words ever had been his own name. He should be able to say this in his sleep, but no words came out. Frustrated, he held out his wrist for her to read the name off his ID. Unfazed by his silence, the girl scanned the bracelet and greeted, "Hey Peter Parker. I'm Carol Danvers, it's nice to meet you. I'm sorry you're here, but I won't lie and say I'm not glad to finally have some company."

Peter managed a smile. Having someone around his own age here might make things a little more bearable, and Carol seemed like the type of person who knew how to have fun. "So, what's your deal?" she asked flippantly, settling on the arm of a chair. He gazed back at her completely straight-faced, waiting for her to figure it out from the rather obvious clues displayed on his person. She scrutinized him. "Cancer?" Peter shook his head. That might be the only thing that could suck worse than his actual circumstances. "CF?" He didn't even know what that was, so he frowned and cocked his head in confusion. "It's a chronic lung disease. One of my friends that has it lives here sometimes," Carol explained. "He's not admitted right now, but he comes to visit once or twice a week. Are you an eating disorder patient?"

Peter shrugged. That's what the hospital probably classified him as, given they sent him to Dr. van Dyne who specialized in that sort of thing, but he didn't think that of himself. They'd learned about eating disorders in middle school health class; more often than not, they were caused by distorted body image and an unquenchable need to be skinnier. Peter certainly didn't want to be skinnier; he just wanted to minimize the terror he felt around food as much as he possibly could.

"Well, I'm a heart patient," Carol continued. "In case you were wondering." She paused. "This whole not talking thing…is it part of why you're here?" Peter shrugged again. Maybe Dr. Wilson considered him losing his voice another layer of psychological trauma he needed to unwrap. "Okay. What DVD are you looking for? I've been meaning to alphabetize them, but every time I go to do it I remember how much I really don't want to." That comment made Peter audibly laugh. He decided then that a more productive use of his time than watching Star Wars would be alphabetizing these DVDs so Carol didn't have to. Peter started pulling them all out of the cabinet and laying them out across the floor. Carol descended from her perch on the chair arm and observed him for a few moments before she recognized what task he had in mind. "Thank you. Doing it with company won't be nearly as unbearable."

They worked together seamlessly, Peter automatically assuming the second half of the alphabet while Carol took on the first. When they encountered a title that belonged in the other half, they handed it off without a word. Peter had never cooperated with anyone this well except for maybe Ned and Michelle, but it had taken them a few weeks of living together to get to that level. Carol kept up a running commentary, occasionally asking Peter a question that he could answer with a nod or shake of his head. Here in this room with Carol, he could almost forget he was in a hospital, and for the first time since arriving here he felt himself truly relax.

~0~

The next few days proceeded much the same. Peter learned something very important from Dr. Wilson: the terrifying, not-breathing, numb-hands episodes were called panic attacks, and there were techniques to help get through them. Why didn't they lead with that? It was the most helpful thing Peter had ever learned, especially since being fed through the tube still made him cry and gave him miniature panic attacks every single time.

Less than a week after Peter moved in here, another boy moved in down the hall. Peter heard him screaming in pain at one point, a cruel reminder of why he hated places like this. He didn't see him, but Carol seemed distressed by his arrival, more so than Peter expected. She hadn't seemed distressed by his arrival, so what was it about this boy that upset her? While Peter sat in his room pondering this, a knock at his door startled him out of his deep thoughts.

It couldn't be time for bloodwork again, could it? They'd stuck him so many times he couldn't keep track of their schedule. Whoever it was didn't just waltz in, so Peter figured it wasn't a nurse. They worked around his not-talking and didn't wait for verbal acknowledgement before coming in. Whoever it was knocked again, so Peter stood and opened the door himself.

A boy a year or two his senior stood in the doorway. He didn't wear a patient ID bracelet like Peter's, but he did wear oxygen, which was confusing. Was he a patient or not? "Hi," the boy began. "I noticed you just moved in and I wanted to welcome you. I'm Steve."

Peter just stared, which seemed to faze him a little.

"Would you like me to show you around? I spend a lot of time here, so I know it well."

This time, Peter nodded. He followed Steve around the ward as he showed him the classroom, kitchen—fortunately without opening anything in there—and common room. Steve tried to make conversation for the first few minutes but soon realized he would never get a response beyond a nod, shrug, or shake of the head. Instead, he just kept up a commentary that Peter listened to intently.

"I'm not technically a patient right now, I'm just here visiting my friend Bucky over in room 1216. But it's only a matter of time before I get another lung infection and have to come in. I think Clint's coming back for more treatment sometime soon. And, of course, Carol's here, who you've already met. She's great. It's also likely that some more new patients will move in, so you won't be lonely." Here, Steve paused and glanced at Peter unsurely. "But if you prefer being alone, you can stay in your room as much as you like. Whatever floats your boat."

Peter smiled. They arrived back at his room, but Steve seemed reluctant to end the tour. "Can you at least tell me your name?" he asked. Peter held out his unsplinted arm with its ID. Steve took his wrist gently and twisted the bracelet until he could read the name. "Peter. Well, it was nice to meet you, Peter. If you need anything, we'll be more than happy to help."

Peter nodded and silently watched Steve return to room 1216 down the hall. He was glad to have people like that around. Nobody could replace Ned and Michelle, but having some nice kids around his age was better than nothing. Even if he didn't talk to them he could enjoy their company.