Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

A Bag of Frozen Veggies

Spooktober 19: Melted

The first time it happened, she had assumed it was nothing more than her own sleep-deprivation.

She didn't always remember what she did after she would come home from work— the days get long, and the occasional nights and double-shifts make them even longer. It wasn't strange to wake up in the morning and find things in odd places, including herself. Peter once woke her up in the hallway after she fell asleep folding laundry. It happened.

So, sure. The first time she stumbled into the kitchen to find a bag of carrots sitting in a pile of its own condensation on the counter, she only sighed and chucked it in the trash. It was an afterthought, something between I'm going to be late and I'll grab breakfast on the way to work.

Then it happened a second time. Mixed vegetables, this time. Unopened, and sat on the counter, entirely thawed, now warm.

"Did I take these out of the freezer for dinner last night?" She had wondered in her confusion, holding it up to Peter. She had attempted a homemade stir fry, but they ended up using leftover Thai food— she definitely didn't remember taking a bag of veggies out to thaw.

Peter turned around and went still, his mouth opening. Then he shrugged helplessly. "Uh. I may have done it? I don't remember."

May frowned, turning the bag over in her hands. "Well, we can't refreeze them now... I'll pick some more up on the way home tonight. I can pick up dinner too?"

Peter made an acknowledging noise, shoving books into his backpack. "Can we do matzoh ball soup?"

May's heart settled, because only a few months ago Peter had been like a shell of the kid they'd raised, and that loss was more painful to her as a mother than it had been as a wife. But here, now, the little parts of him were starting to return to her. Subtly, so quiet she had to strain her ears.

If Peter asked for matzoh soup, then that's what they're having. Definitively. (If he asked for lobster, then she'd dip into her savings, carve out every scrap of change from her wallet, damn it.)

"I think I can swing it," she told him with a smile.

Peter's lips twitched like he found something funny. "Right. Well, I'm gonna go. Bye May, larb you."

"Larb you too, honey."

Peter went to school, and May went to work. They had their soup. Then May did the dishes, and Peter excused himself to his room like he usually did now.

It went unnoticed as other things starting poking up, things that took more attention. Because increasingly Peter was coming home from school with bruises and various injuries, and May did not care for that shit at all.

She started doing research. The results on Google for 'what to do when your nephew, who's more like your son, comes home from school hurt, and pretends like nothing happened, and wont talk to you about it' is pretty slim, but there's sinking feeling in her chest and it makes her sick with worry during all 24 hours of the day.

"You can tell me anything," she started to stress, a smile on her face that was weak even to her own sensibilities. "If something is going on, or... just, anything."

It's hard to tell him, I would understand, because she wouldn't, not fully. But she could listen, and she had a good head on her shoulders, smart enough to give advice, and she had warm arms and the time to hold her kid until it was all okay again. 

And every time she pressed, Peter just assured her it was okay, that he was clumsy, that it was just some bullies, and pleaded for her not to do anything. No calls to the school, no calls to the police, nothing. She relented, but only because she could understand it wouldn't fix everything— she knew how kids were, how mean they could be.

Peter seemed to heal enough every time that he never missed school, so it was... fine. It was fine. She would make it fine.

Then it happened a third time.

She was still awake, in her room with the door open, the lights off. Her head hadn't stopped hurting since she got off her shift. She's been waiting for the Tylenol to kick in since she's walked through the door.

Peter's door creaked open— not uncommon, because she knew his childhood struggles with nightmares and insomnia had made a great return ever since the latest traumatic event.

May kept an ear out, just in case he called for her, or seemed to be in any specific distress, but sometimes he just needed to be left alone to sort out his thoughts. As always, she would be there for either outcome tonight.

The freezer door was next. Then some muttering. A painful groan.

May pushed herself up from the bed and walked into the hall. She decided against flicking on the lights, already squinting through the dark with her pounding head. "Peter? You okay, honey?"

"Shit," he hissed. "Sorry, May, did I wake you?"

"No, I was already awake." May frowned. In the dim light of the kitchen, he's in boxers and a ratty t-shirt, holding a bag of frozen peas to his temple. "What happened?"

Peter was quiet for a moment. "...I... bumped my head."

May's chest tightened, twisted, swam upside down. Curse her own parenting, she had never taught her son to be good at lying.

"Are you okay?" She murmured.

"Yeah," Peter said quickly. "Yeah, I'll be fine. It happens. Bunk beds."

May stifled a sigh, and shuffled closer. She settled beside Peter at their small dining table, and pulled him into her arms. He smelled of sweat, and god-forbid, iron. She shut her eyes tightly.

"May?" Peter asked, his voice hesitant. "Are you okay?"

"Just need some hugs from my kid," May answered, just as quietly. Her voice wavered. "I love you. Do you know that?"

"Of course I know." Peter's body and voice was weaved with deep concern. He wrapped an arm around her, wincing as he did so. "I love you too, May."

"Good," she sniffed.

May gently took the bag of frozen peas away, kissed his forehead, and brushed the curls back.

Just as gently she placed the frozen bag back on her baby's bruises. She tried to convince herself this was not her failure.

The next day, Peter asked for homemade tzimmes. She picked up frozen carrots from the store.

She also bought some ice packs.