Hey, so...remember the video of Carol that Bucky showed Steve at the end of his prequel? Were any of you wondering exactly what happened? You're in luck, because this is the chapter where you get to find out! Genuinely, this chapter might be the most I've ever laughed while writing fanfiction. Enjoy :)
Chapter 10: Victory Bite
That night, Ned called him. At first, Peter was reluctant to answer, knowing his foster brother probably expected him to be healed enough to have regained his voice, but he did want to see a familiar face after a long day. He answered, and Ned popped up on his screen, visibly bursting with excitement. "Hey Peter," he greeted, pausing long enough for Peter to say hi back. His enthusiasm dimmed a little when he realized Peter wouldn't reply, but he plowed forward resiliently. "Are you doing okay?"
Peter didn't nod or shake his head. The answer to that question was far too complicated to convey in a simple yes or no. His lack of answer evidently saddened Ned, but he bounced back. "Have you met any new people your age? Friends?" This time, Peter did nod. He'd met Carol and Steve, both of whom treated him with kindness despite his lack of reciprocity. "That's good," Ned said. "I started school out here and met some cool people. But none of them are quite as cool as you." At this, Peter managed a smile.
"I talked to Michelle the other day. She misses us. You especially."
Peter didn't exactly know what to think of that. She hadn't tried to contact him since he'd been taken away, but maybe she wasn't allowed to. He hadn't tried to reach her either. Maybe because he was afraid of what she might say.
"I miss having siblings," Ned continued. "My parents—wow it still feels so weird to say that—they don't want another kid. I guess I'm glad I get all their attention, but it was nice to have someone my age around all the time." Ned paused as if waiting for Peter to affirm what he said. The kid was nothing if not persistent. He proceeded to rehash his entire week in detail for nearly half an hour while Peter merely listened and nodded along. Eventually, he ran out of things to say and they bid each other goodbye. Peter set down his phone and fell asleep, dreaming of building LEGOs and playing Catan with Ned and Michelle.
Every day he visited with Dr. Wilson, and most days with Dr. van Dyne also. They stopped expecting him to respond verbally after a while, and they redirected their lines of questioning to include only yes and no. Sometimes Peter dared to answer, but often he just sat on the sofa with his knees tucked up to his chest, playing absent-mindedly with one of the fidget toys from the table. If they were frustrated by his lack of willingness to participate, they didn't show it. A part of Peter secretly hoped that they'd give up and just let him be, but he knew they legally couldn't do that. He was stuck here until they screwed on his head straight, and then he'd be shipped off somewhere else. Maybe he was determined not to improve because he knew it would mean relocating again. Yes, Peter hated hospitals, but when he wasn't in session this place wasn't so bad. The company was certainly unbeatable.
~0~
It was a Saturday, so Steve was here. Peter liked when Steve visited because it made Carol happy. Not that she was generally unhappy—in fact, the opposite was true—but she livened up even more when Steve was around. They usually just chatted or played games, but today they'd flipped on the TV and half paid attention to some inane game show while they caught up on the events of the past week. Peter listened more closely to their conversation than the TV, smiling to himself every time they teased one another.
Peter learned a lot as a silent observer as opposed to an active participant in conversation. Sometimes Carol and Steve forgot he was even there and slipped into an easy, natural dynamic reminiscent of siblings. It made Peter miss Michelle. Carol reminded him of Michelle in a lot of ways, but she was more of a big sister to him than a peer.
"I'm serious, painting is so hard," Steve complained. "Give me a pencil and I can work wonders, but give me a brush and I'm basically a toddler with fingerpaints."
"I don't believe you," Carol countered. "I'll bet toddler Steve with fingerpaints still created masterpieces worthy of the Met."
"Not exactly."
Peter agreed with Carol; he'd seen Steve's art and it was amazing. He found it hard to believe Steve could struggle with any medium.
"I'm gonna need to see proof of your ineptitude," Carol said.
"I'll send you a picture when I finish my project. Hopefully my teacher won't fail me."
"I doubt you've ever even come close to failing."
"Well, I missed two months of school in sixth grade when the side effects of a new drug practically paralyzed me. That's the closest I've ever come to failing."
"Medially excused absence doesn't count."
"Whatever. What about you, Peter? How do you like the Ancient One's class?" Steve asked. Peter shrugged. He found the lessons way too easy for him. His thoughts drifted to how much he'd loved science classed with Ned, and that almost distracted him enough to prevent him noticing the ad that came on TV. Peter couldn't tell what they were selling, but he definitely noticed the imagery of a grocery store pop up. He willed the panic to subside, but he didn't stand a chance.
Reflexively, he dove toward the first thing he thought might offer him some semblance of comfort and safety. Which happened to be Carol. She startled at the impact, but allowed him to burrow into her side.
"Whoa, Parker, you alright?" she questioned. Peter could feel the concern radiating off of her through the haze of terror. She looked to Steve. "What do I do?"
"I don't know. I get asthma attacks, not anxiety attacks."
"Go get Happy or somebody."
"Okay." Steve stood and headed out of the common room while Peter's breath hitched even worse and he latched on tighter to Carol. She ran a hand up and down his back and tried to calm him.
"It's okay, Peter, just breathe, okay?" she said. He tried to listen and match his respiratory rate to hers, but it was just so hard to get through to his body at times like this. It was as if his conscious brain got cut off from the rest of his body and the only message that could get through was "Danger! Danger!"
"No, I don't know what caused it," Steve explained as he followed Happy back inside. "We were just talking about painting and school and he started panicking."
"Okay. We can try to help him calm down, but he really just needs time," Happy said. He knelt down in front of the couch and muttered, "Peter, you're safe. You're in the common room with Carol and Steve. Can you feel her breathing? Try to match her, okay? In for four, out for four."
He could feel Carol following Happy's instructions and tried to bully his chest into complying. Eventually—he didn't know how long it took—but eventually he started to settle into a less panicked state. By the time he detached himself from Carol, he felt completely exhausted, but no longer frantic.
"You alright?" Carol asked.
Peter nodded.
"Because you kinda scared me there."
He looked apologetically at the floor and knocked his fingernails against his cast. "Is there anything we can do to help?" Steve questioned. Peter sighed and shook his head. If there was a technique that could help him bounce back to normal more quickly after a panic attack, he hadn't found it yet. Steve and Carol exchanged a glance, and then they settled right back into what they'd been doing before, paying Peter no mind. For a moment, he was startled that they'd suddenly ignored him after focusing all their attention on him for the past several minutes, but then he realized that was their goal. They didn't want him to feel scrutinized. Peter found it actually helped. He relaxed into the couch and let their conversation calm him.
~0~
"Do you know what triggered this panic attack?" Dr. Wilson asked slowly.
Peter nodded.
"Do you want to try and explain it to me?"
No. It was far too complicated to attempt to communicate without freezing up.
"Okay. If I try and guess what happened, will you tell me yes or no?"
Peter figured that couldn't hurt, though he doubted Dr. Wilson could figure out all the details just by playing twenty questions.
"Did Steve or Carol say something?"
No.
"Did you hear something coming from the TV?"
No.
"Did you see something on the TV?"
Yes.
"Was it something that made you think of bad memories?"
Yes.
"About your parents?"
No.
"About your uncle?"
Yes. Peter knew they'd found the records shortly after discovering his psychogenic mutism wasn't going away anytime soon. Drs. Wilson and van Dyne knew exactly what happened to Uncle Ben and Aunt May. But they should also know by now that Peter didn't even want to think about it—much less talk about it.
"Okay. I'm sorry that happened. Do you remember what show it was on?"
No. Banning certain channels from the common room TV, as Peter suspected Dr. Wilson was attempting to do, wouldn't help. Content that he'd gotten as far as he ever would with that investigation, Dr. Wilson instead went over the techniques he'd already taught Peter for how to manage panic attacks. Peter listened to the lesson just as intently as the first time, but it was two completely separate things to know what to do and be able to exercise that knowledge in the middle of his brain screaming sirens at him. Maybe if Dr. Wilson taught it to him enough times he'd know it well enough to be able to put it to good use.
~0~
Peter had gotten pretty good at doing things one-handed, since his cast rendered his left arm all but useless. The break had been worse than they expected based on the height of his fall, probably because his bones were fragile from an extended period of malnourishment. Today he'd be getting his x-rays to see if they could finally cut the cast off. Peter held his breath while the machine took its pictures, and again while he waited for the doctor to tell him the results.
"Good news, you're all healed up!" she announced. They brought out a circular saw which startled Peter at first, but they assured him it didn't cut anything but cast. The feeling of his skin against the air was alien after being enclosed for so long, but not unwelcome. He bent and flexed his elbow a few times, finding it stiff from being immobilized for so long. His wrist felt much the same. "It'll be stiff for a few days, but unless it doesn't improve on its own you shouldn't need physical therapy," the orthopedist explained. Peter nodded, relieved that he probably wouldn't be adding another layer of therapy to his daily life. He wandered back to the common room to show it off to his friends.
"You got your cast off? That's fantastic," Carol said. "Can I get a high five from your newly freed arm?" She held up her hand, and Peter joyously slapped it. He'd spent way too long immobilized from wrist to elbow that the sense of liberation made him practically giddy. Carol seemed just as excited as he was. "We've got to celebrate," she proclaimed. After staring at him thoughtfully for a few moments, her eyes lit up. Peter eagerly followed her to the cabinets that they rarely explored, which she dug through until she found a brightly colored Nerf football. She tossed it experimentally a few times and apparently deemed it appropriate for whatever she had in mind.
"You do know how to play catch, right?" she asked. Peter nodded. "Great. Let's go grab Bucky and see if he'll join us." They walked down the hallway toward Bucky's room and Carol knocked sharply.
The door swung open. "What's up?"
"Parker and I are going to have some fun. You want in?" she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"Duh." Bucky stepped outside and closed his door behind them, and the trio set off toward a section of the ward that Peter didn't venture to very often. Carol led them to a back staircase and ushered them through. "Is this illegal?" Bucky asked as they made their way down to the main level. He pulled a mask out of his pocket and looped it behind his ears since they were heading towards a more crowded part of the hospital.
"Probably not," she chirped.
"Probably?"
"Relax. If we get caught, Parker will take the fall. Right, Parker?" He froze, suddenly overwhelmed with fear that he'd get in trouble. Would Carol really throw him under the bus like that? She must've seen how nervous he grew, because she immediately corrected herself. "Just kidding. If anyone's going down, it's me. This was my idea after all." They reached the second to last flight of stairs and exited onto the main lobby. Peter had seen it only once before, and it was grand. The massive row of glass front doors opened into a vast atrium filled with doctors, nurses, custodial staff, visitors, and others milling about. There was even a Starbucks, which Carol looked at longingly before setting her sights on a relatively empty area of the floor. Peter looked up at the two-story ceiling in this part of the hospital, feeling freer than he had in weeks now that his arm was cast-free and he wasn't so cooped up. The second floor contained the hospital's café, where faculty and visiting family often stopped for lunch. He could see people milling around behind the railing above. A little kid about six years old looked between the bars and waved down at someone Peter couldn't see.
"Alright, here's the game plan," Carol began. "We're going to play an increasingly intense game of football until we cause a commotion big enough for someone to stop us."
"Um, I'm not cleared for contact sports, and I'm pretty sure you guys aren't either," Bucky said matter-of-factly.
"Relax, when I said football I really just meant catch. No tackling. That means you, Parker." She pointed at him sternly and Peter broke into a sheepish smile. Then, she tossed the foam ball at him and he barely managed to catch it before it smacked into his chest. Bucky took a few steps back and held his hands up for Peter to throw. Luckily, he was right-handed and didn't have to throw with the arm that was desperately out of practice. The action brought back pleasant memories of playing catch with Uncle Ben all those years ago, and more recent recollections of Ned and Michelle.
Bucky tossed the ball to Carol, and they kept up the pattern for a few minutes. Several people in the lobby gave them funny looks, but nobody intervened. Maybe they assumed the three of them participated in therapeutic recreation or something. It must've been obvious that they were patients, between Peter's NG tube, Bucky's beanie and mask, and the ID bracelets on all of their wrists, but for the most part the passersby were content to ignore them.
Bucky ducked out after ten minutes, tired even from such minimal activity, but he found a nearby seat and watched them with smiling eyes. Carol nodded her head for Peter to take a few steps back, and he gladly accepted the challenge. Even with a smaller-than-regulation football made of foam, she somehow threw a perfect spiral every time. Peter wondered where she learned to throw like that. "What do you say we turn this into monkey in the middle?" she asked.
Peter cocked his head at her, wondering who she had in mind for a third player since Bucky was down for the count. She glanced at Bucky, and he looked back skeptically, pulling out his phone and holding it up to record whatever was about to happen. Carol stepped back, and then continued to step back until the other people here could no longer tell that she and Peter were part of the same group. Occasionally, a person or two would walk between them. Peter doubted he could throw that far with any sense of accuracy, but Carol had no such qualms. She lobbed the ball over the heads of an old couple, and it arced beautifully, right into Peter's waiting arms. He alternated between looking at the ball and at Carol, deciding whether or not it was worth the risk of hitting someone before tossing it back. She had to take a few steps, but she caught it no problem.
"Nice throw!" she congratulated. Peter smiled and took another step back. As she readied to throw, she announced, "I want to make one thing clear: nobody tells Rogers what we did today. He would be less than pleased to learn that we do anything besides sit and behave ourselves when he's not around." Peter acknowledged her with a salute.
"You have my solemn word he will never lay eyes on this video," Bucky promised.
"Good. Now Parker, go long!"
She did know he technically wasn't allowed to run, right? As Peter watched the ball soar way beyond what he could feasibly reach, he deduced that she must not have known that. Even if he was in top shape, there was no way he could have made it. They watched helplessly as the ball torpedoed right towards a young man carrying a vase of flowers. Peter held his breath, hoping it wouldn't hit him. It was foam, but he knew it could still hurt, especially if it made contact at that speed. What did happen was even worse. The ball sailed right into the flowers, shattering the vase across the tile floor.
Peter's hand flew to his mouth to stifle a silent gasp as Carol exclaimed, "Shit!" Bucky, still filming, cackled. The man who'd been carrying the vase stepped back, startled, although miraculously he seemed unharmed. He glanced in the direction the football had come from, and his gaze landed on Peter first. Peter cowered as the man strode closer, but an authoritative voice drew his attention.
"Hey! What's all the fuss about?" Everyone in the atrium glanced up, and there was Dr. Lee, leaning against the railing with a half-eaten sandwich in one hand.
"Sorry Dr. Lee!" Carol called, having gathered the football from where it landed. She tossed it between her hands a few times. "We were just celebrating Peter here finally getting his arm back." As she said it, she placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"Don't make me come down there, you punk!" he said, pointing at her with his free hand. Peter giggled.
"Punk?" Carol turned to Peter. "Parker, did he just call me punk?" Peter nodded, still laughing. "Is it the haircut? He can't possibly know about the one leather jacket that I happen to own," she scoffed. This only made Peter laugh harder. He could even hear Bucky laughing from where he sat. She looked back up towards Dr. Lee and yelled, "You don't have to come down here, sir. We'll bring the party to you. Catch!"
She hurled the ball straight upwards and Peter's stomach climbed into his throat. Everything after happened in slow motion. The ball continued its upward trajectory, and Dr. Lee's face morphed from scolding to startled. As it neared him, he opened his hands to catch it, and the sandwich slipped from his grip and descended towards Carol and Peter. The ball reached the top of its arc just in time for Dr. Lee to grab it, and Carol reached out to catch the sandwich before it could hit the floor and make a mess. Bucky cheered. So did several observers. Dr. Lee stared down at them with a combination of surprise and awe, but he didn't look mad.
"Now that's what I call a celebration," Carol quipped. She offered her prize to Peter. "Victory bite?"
Before he could even think about it, Peter leaned forward and bit a sizeable chunk out of the sandwich she'd presented. Carol's mouth fell open as he straightened up and started chewing. Even Dr. Lee saw it, and he was so taken aback that he dropped the football. It landed right on Carol's head just as Peter swallowed, and he burst out cackling once again. Carol tried to look offended, but it only lasted half a second before she laughed too.
"I might have to take back my promise not to show Steve," Bucky stated. "This is gold."
"Barnes, I swear if you show that footage to Steve you will not need to wait for surgeons to take your arm off," Carol warned, but the threat had no malice behind it. Dr. Lee's instructions to go back to the pediatric residential ward, however, inherently carried more weight, so they obeyed without question. They took the elevator since all three of them were too tired for stairs, and when the doors opened there stood Happy, arms crossed sternly.
"How long have you been standing there waiting for us?" Carol questioned.
"Long enough," he grunted. "Now who's going to start explaining?"
"Carol thought it would be a good idea to launch a foam football at an old man, and karma got her good," Bucky said snidely.
"That is not true," she insisted. "I knew he would catch it. Right, Parker?" Carol nudged him towards Happy, and Peter nodded meekly. Happy frowned at them, waiting for a real explanation. Carol sighed. "We just wanted to do something fun since Peter got his cast off, so we played catch in the lobby."
"You mean you snuck out to play catch in the lobby," Happy corrected.
"Yeah, that."
"Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?" Bucky offered.
"Not when asking for permission means asking if a certain activity will jeopardize your health, as it does in your case."
"It's only foam," Carol tried, showing Happy the football.
"Nice try. Go to your rooms." Heads down, they trudged off. Not thirty seconds later, Bucky had texted the video to each of them individually. Peter watched it over and over again, laughing as much as he did when it happened in real time. He couldn't believe he'd actually taken a bite of the sandwich. In the moment, he must have been so full of easy happiness that he forgot to be afraid. Maybe if he could recreate that he might not cower the next time they tried to get him to eat real food.
Y'all should have heard the ridiculous cackle that escaped from my throat when I reread this scene for the first time after writing it. I just...love it so much.
