hi! can i request one where peter needs to get a flu shot in medbay and he has a fear of needles? plus points if there's steve and bucky! thank you!
i’m not wild about needles, so mood honestly, lol
Peter’s leg is jiggling quickly; his foot’s tapping repeatedly against the floor that’s so clean and so white, it’s almost daunting. With as much time as he spends in med-bay, it never fails to bring forth a buried, encompassing sense of anxiety, one he keeps bottled up, locked tight in a box amongst other fears he deems irrational and not worth mentioning to others.
He can see the syringe on the tiny, metal tray beside the bed he’s seated on. Though small, to Peter, it’s large, looming over him, the sharp point of the needle practically mocking him.
He had tried to assure Tony that he didn’t need the flu shot, that his enhanced healing makes the shot unnecessary; however, Tony only responded by ticking off eight times within the last year that Peter wound up in med-bay because of an illness, and now he’s stuck in a room that’s blindling white, facing down the tip of a needle, the sterile scent around him burning his nose and twisting his stomach.
One of the med-bay nurses had left ten minutes ago, telling Peter to “hang tight” in sweet and soft voice that didn’t come close to touching his nerves, and she’s yet to return. The wait is overwhelming. He can feel small beads of sweat slipping down his temples, yet he’s trembling from head to toe. Why the hell does he have to wait? Why drag it out?
When the door opens, his entire body goes rigid. He sucks in a sharp, cold inhale, holding the breath in his lungs until he deflates when Bucky walks in.
“Hey, Peter.” Bucky nods, a frown creeping at the corners of his lips. “Everything okay? You’re looking,” Bucky pauses, motioning around the white room, “as pale as everything else in here.”
Peter breathes through a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I’m fine, Mr. Barnes.” He spares a glance back to the needle, swallowing thickly. He wants to curl away from the stupid, sharp point. No, he wants to leave. He whips a quick gaze to the door, working through an escape plot, but then the door opens again.
“Oh, Mr. Barnes! You’re early. I just need to adminster Peter’s flu shot, and then we’ll take a look at your arm. Give me just a moment.”
Crap, Peter thinks, eyes following the nurse’s every movement, tracking her motions. Everything’s moving too slowly; even the clock’s ticking seems to have slowed down, leaving endless pauses between each click. He’s aware, a little too late, that he’s not actually breathing, his heart thumping loudly in his ears.
Peter blinks slowly. The nurse is in his face, and her forehead is furrowed with worry. “Sorry,” he rasps out, clearing his throat. “What?”
“I asked if you’re ready?” The nurse pauses, humming softly. “Are you okay? Do you need a minute?”
“No!” Peter swallows tightly, his throat dry. “I mean, no. Sorry. I’m fine, just... Can we get this over with?” He’s almost pleading, and the nurse’s face gives way to soft sympathy.
“Sure thing, sweetie. Do you want to sit up, or-”
“-I’ll lie back,” Peter interrupts, voice cracking faintly. If he lies back, he can stare at the ceiling lights until bright spots dance across his vision. Of course, his peripherals usually tease at him until they burn, but typically, he can hold out until it’s over. He eases himself down onto his back, swallowing down a wince when the nurse begins rolling up his sleeve.
“You’ll feel just a pinch,” the nurse says, and Peter’s eyes dart from her to the ceiling.
Peter whips his gaze to the right to see Bucky wheeling toward him on a small, rolling stool typically reserved for the nurses and doctors.
“Y-yeah?” Peter closes his eyes at his small stutter, opening them again when Bucky pokes at this cheek, his metal finger cold against his skin.
“I heard you whipped some serious alien ass last week.”
Frowning, Peter nods slowly. “Yeah, but why-”
“-tell me about it? Steve only ever gives the PG, back-of-the-box summary versions.” Bucky cocks his head to the side, smiling. “I personally like to hear all the gritty details.”
“Well,” Peter starts, clearing his throat. “For starters, they were super ugly. I’m talking, like, large, purple, squishy monsters with slime all over them. Thing is, the slime was really acidic,” Peter drags out, feeding off Bucky’s shocked expression. “They could also morph their bodies around our hits, and we couldn’t touch them by hand because of the acid goo.”
“Oh, it wasn’t,” Peter agrees. “So, we were kind of at a standstill, and I’m thinking ‘how the hell do you kill something you can’t touch or hurt.’ So, then, I remembered this old movie I saw-” Peter gasps, his words falling short at the sharp pinch of pressure against his arm. Instinctively, he reaches out, and his hand falls into Bucky’s metal one. He squeezes hard, and Bucky holds his gaze, steady and quiet until the nurse clears her throat.
“Okay, Peter. You’re all done.”
Peter lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding swollen in his lungs, and though his fingers relax, he doesn’t let go of Bucky’s hand, and Bucky doesn’t either.
“You’re not usually the comforting type, Buck.”
Peter jerks a gaze to the door to see Steve leaning against it, arms crossed, a soft smile stretched easily across his lips.
Bucky only huffs out a low laugh, slipping his hand from Peter’s to pat Peter on the thigh. “I’d like to hear the rest of that story at some point.” Bucky wheels back to the other side of the room, slipping his shirt off and hopping onto the other bed.
Peter stares at Bucky’s metal arm, at the tight, angry red skin that seems stretched and broken at the top. He nods, frowning. “Your arm-”
“-it happens sometimes when he overuses it,” Steve explains, stepping forward to clap Peter on the shoulder. “But he’ll be okay.”
Bucky shrugs. “Perks of the prosthetic.”
“Is there... Can I do anything?” Peter asks. His own arm stings dully, but all he can stare at is Bucky’s arm. He wonders how much it actually hurts.
“You can join us for dinner tonight so I can hear the rest of your ass kicking.”
“Okay!” Peter nods quickly, smiling wide. “I’d love that! Should I... What time? Do you think Happy would drive me-”
“-take a breath, Peter,” Steve smiles, and Peter sucks in a deep breath before him.
“Sorry, It’s just... I’m having dinner with Captain America and the Winter Soldier!” He starts to the door, quick and light on his feet, the heavy weight of anxiety now just a fleeting memory that barely catches onto his thoughts. “I’ll swing by around seven. Is that okay?”
“Seven’s perfect, Peter. We’ll see you then.”
Peter shakes through another nod, his smile now competing with the white lights over head. He turns on his heel and slips out of the room, and Steve smiles so warmly, watching as Peter breaks out into a jog until he disappears down the hall.
“Ready?” he asks, dropping onto the small, rolling stool beside Bucky’s bed. He offers out his hand, and Bucky holds Steve’s blue irises in his gaze for an endless moment before he nods, slipping his metal hand into Steve’s as he falls back against the bed.
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