Chapter 12: She Called Me Parker

Word spread around the ward that Peter had talked, and he expected that to be the first thing Dr. Wilson brought up in their next session. However, the psychiatrist evidently had more important things to discuss. Namely, the bright green bird with blue and red feathered wings sitting innocently on a perch behind him. Peter stared at it, waiting for it to fly around the office or make a noise or something, but it just stared right back at him.

"This is Redwing," Dr. Wilson introduced. Peter smiled and nodded. "He's an eclectus parrot."

The bird stepped around on its perch, still eyeing Peter with a suspicious glint in its eye. It opened its beak and squawked out a word he never expected to hear from a bird, "Psych!"

Dr. Wilson rolled his eyes and shook his head despondently. "That's the only word he'll say. I think he's picked it up from listening to my pager all day."

"Cool," Peter said quietly. He hadn't expected his revelation with Carol to carry over, but evidently it had. Maybe Redwing's antics helped relax him enough to talk. Dr. Wilson's eyes widened at the sound of Peter's voice, but he didn't immediately pounce on it like Peter feared he might.

"Psych!" the bird repeated.

"Yes, you're in the right department," Dr. Wilson assured him. "Now pipe down so I can talk to Peter."

Peter didn't want to talk to Dr. Wilson about their usual subjects. He would much rather discuss this bird for the next hour. It was far more interesting. "R2D2 is a pretty cool first word to have," he said. "Is he your favorite character?"

Peter shook his head and corrected, "C3PO."

"I'm partial to Han Solo myself, but I see where you're coming from."

Dr. Wilson knew about Star Wars? Peter had no idea. Could he possibly redirect every future conversation so they could talk about that instead of Peter's problems? As awesome as that would be, Peter knew it would never happen. Dr. Wilson had a job to do in fixing Peter, and he was tenacious enough not to quit until he'd accomplished it.

"What is it you like about him?" the psychiatrist asked. That was a much more complicated answer than just stating a name. Peter kept his mouth shut and shrugged. "That's okay. I couldn't just pick one thing either. There's just so much that makes him great. I get that you're only up for short answers, and that's okay. I have a very important question to ask that you will be able to answer in just a word or two, can you do that for me?"

"Yes," Peter squeaked.

"Is there any food that you will eat, something that won't cause a panic attack?"

"Psych!" Redwing contributed. They'd given up on trying to bring him solid food since he completely lost it at the mere sight every time they tried, even things that he normally could tolerate. But maybe if he got to dictate what they gave him and when, it wouldn't catch him off guard and send him spiraling. Peter thought that with that amount of control returned to him he might be able to do it.

"I—I can try toast," he whispered.

"Anything on it?"

Peter shook his head vigorously.

"Okay," Dr. Wilson relented. Content that he'd gotten enough out of Peter for one session, he dismissed him, but not after offering him a chance to pet Redwing. The bird's feathers were nothing like the fur of the therapy dogs that came here, but he leaned into Peter's touch like he enjoyed the attention. Later that day, they brought him toast and he ate both slices without a hint of terror. When Happy saw his empty plate, he gazed at Peter in awe.

"Hungry, were you?" he asked. Peter smiled and nodded. In that moment he thought maybe—just maybe—things would be okay.

~0~

Peter dared to do something he hadn't done before: FaceTime Ned. The other boy usually called him and talked about his week while Peter listened silently. But now that he knew he could voice his thoughts to some degree, he thought he just might be able to reciprocate. Ned picked up within five seconds and Peter grinned the instant he saw his face.

"Hey Peter!" Ned greeted with all his usual enthusiasm.

"Hi," Peter squeaked back.

Ned's eyes grew so wide Peter worried they would pop right off his face. "Holy shit. Am I hallucinating? Was that some sort of glitch?"

"No."

"Are you serious? That's you talking to me right now?"

"No, I'm a clone," Peter said sarcastically.

"He makes jokes too? Who are you and what have you done with the real Peter?"

"Nothing. Just me."

"Peter, you have no idea how long I've waited to hear your voice. This—this might be the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"You got adopted," Peter reminded him.

"Yeah, and that's great and all, but this? This is beyond awesome. What happened?"

"Carol forgot R2D2's name. I reminded her."

"Your first word after not talking for months was R2D2?"

"Yeah."

"Dude, that's awesome."

"I guess."

"How are things going? You talking again must be a huge step in the right direction, huh?"

"I guess."

"Do you feel any better?"

"I dunno. How're you?"

"I'm pretty good. School isn't too hard, but we get no snow days out here. None."

"That sucks."

"It barely even feels like winter. It's still so warm. I'm afraid of summer."

"You'll live."

"No, I'm actually scared I'm going to melt into the sidewalk."

Peter laughed, the kind that warmed him deep inside from toe to top. Ned chuckled, but it soon turned into a fit comparable to Peter's. "Man, I am so happy to be able to talk to you," Ned reiterated.

"Me too."

~0~

Ever so gradually, they expanded the list of things he got to eat. It still didn't include anything Peter considered unsafe—he shut Dr. van Dyne down whenever she so much as suggested something he knew wouldn't sit well—but it was enough that they could remove his NG-tube. Peter hadn't been this happy in ages. He could look in the mirror and see just his face, no tape or tubes obscuring it. The smile didn't leave his face for days afterwards.

Of course, he still had a long way to go. He still couldn't speak freely around any of the adults here, still anxious enough that he choked up in the middle of sentences and fell silent. But when it came to chatting with Carol, Steve, Bucky, and new arrivals Natasha and Thor he could manage almost normally. Which is why he was taken completely by surprise when he walked into Dr. Wilson's office and found Carol already seated on the couch, opposite Peter's usual spot.

"Good morning," Dr. Wilson greeted.

"Morning," Peter replied hesitantly. Was he early, and Carol had a session that hadn't finished up yet? She didn't make any move to leave, which confused him even more.

"Carol's going to sit in with us today, is that okay?" Dr. Wilson asked.

Peter nodded unsurely. He glanced behind the desk for Redwing's usual perch, but the bird was nowhere to be found. "Where's Redwing?"

"I couldn't get any work done with him constantly screaming, 'Psych!' in my ear, so I let a friend of mind adopt him."

"Okay." Slowly, he sat down, eyeing Carol cautiously. She quirked a smile at him like everything was normal, but he still didn't understand anything about whatever was going on here.

"Peter, if we're going to progress any farther with your recovery, we need to understand the root of the problem," Dr. Wilson explained. Peter knew he wasn't going to like where this was going. "Your records can only tell us so much. I need to know what you saw and what you felt so I can help you work through those feelings."

"I don't want to," he insisted.

"I know you don't, but I promise it'll be worth it in the end. Once you've said it, you won't have to carry it all by yourself anymore."

"I—I don't know if I can."

"That's why Carol's here. I want you to explain it to her, not to me. I'm just here to listen and support you both."

"Really?" Somehow it felt different to talk about it with her than with the psychiatrist. It would feel more like a conversation and less like an interrogation.

"Yes. Whenever you're ready, I want you to talk about what made you stop eating."

He genuinely didn't think he could do it, after having forcefully swallowed down the memories over and over again for the past two years. But Peter met Carol's eye, and he saw there nothing but unbridled support. Dr. Wilson finally understood him well enough to know that he needed this bridge, someone he felt more comfortable with, to broach such a difficult subject. The next thing Peter knew, it all came spilling out, accompanied by heaving sobs that left him struggling for air and scrambling to find the next words. By the end of it, he was curled up practically in Carol's lap, trembling and weeping yet feeling the knot that had sat in the middle of his chest for ages and ages finally loosen its hold on his heart. Carol ran her fingers calmingly through his hair, in a manner he vaguely remembered his dad using when Peter was a little kid.

"You did so well, Peter," Dr. Wilson encouraged. "I'm so proud of you."

"Are we done?" he asked, sniffling.

"Yes. We're done for today, if you want to be. I know that was a lot, but I really hope it helped.

"Yeah, it—I think it did," he hiccupped.

"I'm so glad."

"Can I go lie down now?"

"Of course."

Peter scurried back to his room and closed the door, lying down on his bed to stare at the ceiling. That had been the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. He saw the way Carol's eyes darkened as he proceeded through the story, hated that she now knew this horrible side of him. But afterwards, her eyes shone with nothing but love for him, Dr. Wilson's with a combination of pride and relief. As difficult as it was, Peter was glad he did it.

~0~

A few days after that, Peter was on his way to another session with Dr. Wilson when he paused outside the door because he heard a familiar voice. Mr. Harrington. "I have a foster parent lined up for whenever he's ready to leave the hospital," he stated.

"That's great," Dr. Wilson replied.

"Do you have an estimate on when he'll be ready so I can tell Mr. Westcott?"

"No, I don't. But I'm pretty comfortable saying it won't be for weeks, maybe months. Peter is just beginning to come back to himself, and the last thing I want to do is introduce any drastic life changes that could put him off course. He has stability here, and he's not ready for that to be taken away."

"Of course. I completely understand. I just wanted you to know that he will have somewhere to go when he's released."

"Thank you. I'm actually due to see him in a few minutes," Dr. Wilson explained. Peter seized the opportunity to knock on the door. "That'll be him. Come in!" Peter stepped through the door and waved to Mr. Harrington.

"Hey Peter," he greeted. "I was just telling Dr. Wilson that I found a new foster home for you for when you're ready to leave."

"Okay," Peter said. He didn't love the idea of being relocated yet again, but he supposed that was a reality he'd have to get used to as a kid in the foster care system. His life with the Jones was only a memory now, somewhere he could never go back to. They probably already had new kids to replace him and Ned now that they were both gone. Peter clung to what Dr. Wilson had said, that he wouldn't be leaving here for quite a while. He'd rather stay here with friends and workers that he knew than go off to another stranger's home.

Mr. Harrington left, and Peter sat down with Dr. Wilson to start his first day of exposure therapy. They were tackling his phobia from that horrible day at the grocery store. Peter was…not excited, to say the least. Dr. Wilson started small, with photographs. Peter knew the intangibility wouldn't matter, having had a massive panic attack at a television advertisement not long ago, but that still didn't stop the jolt of adrenaline that ran through him. Dr. Wilson coached him through the panic attack, but he refused to take away the stimulus. They waited it out, until many minutes later Peter's breath returned to his chest and the image remained in front of him.

They proceeded much like that for days, gradually working their way closer and closer to the real thing until Dr. Wilson could leave an unopened bag of chips on his desk and Peter could walk into his office and barely bat an eye. Ever so slowly he grew to accept more variety in his diet, though he was fairly certain beef would remain off the table for the rest of his life. Dr. van Dyne and Dr. Wilson assured him that was perfectly okay. He put on a bit more weight, but still not nearly enough to satisfy his doctors. All things considered, he was doing great.

And then Carol got sick. Really sick.

It came out of nowhere. The ward had just welcomed its newest resident, a brain cancer patient named Peter Quill. After a brief discussion, they both agreed to go by their last names to avoid confusion. Peter was secretly overjoyed. Carol called almost all of them by their last names, and every time he heard her say it his heart swelled remembering that, although the rest of them were no longer here, he was a Parker at heart. Having everyone call him that just ensured he felt that love even more often.

However, he felt it more than ever before when Carol whispered with breath she didn't have to spare, "Parker, you're going to be okay." He only shook his head, unable to speak with the grief already constricting his throat. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but I promise you you'll make it through this." Carol had never broken a promise to him. Peter had faith that even in death she'd remain true to her word. Still, he knew that with her departure, much like his parents', Uncle Ben's, and Aunt May's, she would take a piece of Peter with her. So, before he said goodbye, he took her cold hand in his and pressed into her palm the minifigure of himself she'd gifted him last Christmas. Carol curled blue-tipped fingers around the little piece of plastic and nodded. Their gazes locked for a fraction of a second, exchanging in that single instant years' worth of conversation.

He wasn't with her when it happened. Only her mother and brother were awarded that terrible privilege. Peter spent that last day of February with LEGO Carol lying between his hand and his chest, right over his heart and next to the locket containing the photos of both his families. He feared he'd lose his voice again, or relapse when it came to his eating habits, but he didn't. Dr. Wilson must have expected the same thing, because he seemed surprised when Peter responded during their session.

"Does this mean she didn't mean as much to me?" he asked desperately. Why didn't his grief for her send him spiraling as badly as that he carried for his other loved ones? Had the course of his life just completely desensitized him to loss?

"No, Peter," Dr. Wilson assured.

"Parker," he corrected before the psychiatrist could continue. Quill wasn't here, so there was no chance of a mix-up, but he liked the nickname so much he wanted everyone to use it. Plus, it reminded him of Carol. "She, uh…she called me Parker."

"This doesn't mean she meant any less to you. It only means you've found healthier coping mechanisms."

"That's good, right?"

"Yes. That's very good." They spent the rest of the hour discussing different ways to manage grief. Peter left Dr. Wilson's office that day knowing that, with some help, he could make sure Carol's promise rang true. He would be okay.

The arrival of Tony Stark felt like a sign from above. He was everything Peter needed in a friend; warm, witty, and stalwart in the face of frightening circumstances. Peter wanted nothing more than for this new kid to see him as someone worth spending time with. Which is why, when Tony asked him about his earlier days at Gravesen, he started making things up on the fly to make his time here seem more interesting. Peter never kept his own food log and lied about it, and he certainly never cheated the system by hiding food. He started to run out of ideas and thought Tony would bust him for sure when he mentioned the possibility of them planting a camera, but shockingly Tony believed his every word. Peter felt so bad about lying that he nearly confessed the truth right then and there, but the topic of conversation quickly moved on, and soon it became obvious that his little fib didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. All that mattered was continuing the fight, and keeping the memories of those who had lost alive.

I can't believe we're already at the end of this much-anticipated prequel. Three chapters every week really makes a story fly by fast. Has it lived up to your expectations? The hype for Clint's prequel isn't nearly as high, but I can promise it will have Carol content almost as fluffy as this story's, along with some intense medical realism. Hope to see you there! Only two more prequels until After Gravesen!