Archive of Our Own ^beta

“And that, my child, is how you balance all of the expired food cans in a single stack on your forehead.”

Peter Puckett swooped into a bow, all of the cans crashing to the convenience store floor with a loud metallic clatter, adding to the dramatic effect.

Zoe froze mid-restocking to look in disgust. “Are you sure I’m not adopted?”

Peter gave a goofy grin. “I’m afraid you have every one of my can-balancing genes, darling. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Zoe returned to her restocking with a grumble, checking the inventory clipboard in her hand.

Peter chuckled, then began picking up the mess he had created (though thankfully none of the cans had popped open). He would be lying if he said he ran this place on his own, Zoe had very much taken the reins in many of the responsibilities that came with owning the shop. Definitely something a normal nine-year-old should not be worrying about after school, but Peter knew Zoe. She was a mature 30-year-old at heart and having adult duties was her way of de-stressing. Even so, Peter was careful to make sure she didn’t over do it and still played the occasional balloon sword death-match with her brother.

Speaking of…

“Zoe, you haven’t seen Max yet, have you? I could’ve sworn his school got out an hour ago.”

Zoe continued placing candy bars on the shelf. “No, not yet. He’s probably just doing something dumb with the new club he joined.”

Peter picked up the last can from his previous acrobatics off the ground, reaching to place it on the counter behind him. “New club? What-”

He was interrupted by the jingle of the entrance bell, causing him to drop his can in surprise. He turned to see Max’s figure hastily walking in.

Peter gave a big, relieved smile. “Wa-heyyy! It’s Maxamillion! How was school today?”

“Fine.” Max snapped, hunched over and darting toward the stairway. Man, that kid was zooming… and it looked like he was hiding something. His parental-concern-alarms immediately started ringing. Something was up.

Knowing very well that Max was about to disappear into his room and not come out, Peter for the second time that hour drew upon his fantastic athletic abilities to leap in front of the stairway door, placing himself between Max and the doorway.

He looked to the sky, fists on his hips and chest puffed out like a superhero. “Not so fast, my child! I want to hear about your da-”

He was interrupted by his daughter’s loud gasp across the room. “MAX! Wh- your arm!!”

Confused, Peter glanced down, finally getting a good look at his son. What he saw caused his heart to sink down to his shoes, his breath leaking out of him like a deflated balloon.

Max was looking down at the ground, his expression unreadable, with his body fidgeting nervously. His right arm was wrapped in front of his left, trying to hide the fact that it was currently hanging limply in a blue sling.

He felt all the goofiness leave him in an instant, replaced by concern and confusion. After a second he managed to find his voice. “Max… what… your arm? ...What happened?”

Max raised his right arm defensively, taking a step back while simultaneously shifting his eyes, looking for an escape. “Dad. It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m fine, I promise-”

“If you’re fine, why is your arm in a flippin’ sling?” Zoe countered, appearing at Peter’s side. Her face was pasted with worry, leaning forward and trying to get a better look at the topic of discussion.

Peter forced himself to take a calming breath. Clearly, more questions were in order. And Max would most likely not be in the mood to answer them, darting out the second he had an opening. Max had always been this way with injuries growing up. He would always love seeking out attention, showing off his new skateboard moves or flips, but when it came to a skinned knee, a chipped tooth, or even a bad day, he would shut down and hide it as long as possible. June always did a good job of getting him to come out of his shell, somehow pushing all the right buttons and asking all the right questions to get him to come clean.

Dear gosh, June… was it possible to need her more with each day that passed?

Peter crouched over, hands on his knees, coming to eye level with his son.

“Max, I need you to tell me what happened. And how bad it is.”

Max’s frown deepened into a grimace, turning slightly away, at the same time itching towards some kind of path that led around his father to the door.

Peter stepped to the right slightly, blocking his path.

“Max. I know you don’t like attention when you’re hurt. We’ve had this same conversation whenever it’s happened before. Remember what usually happens when you hide? What happened when you fell down the skate rink?”

Max slipped his uninjured hand beneath the side of his hat, scratching slightly. He looked down again. “Mom had to rip all the band-aids off that I put on wrong.”

Peter ignored the squeeze in his heart. That memory created a large, looming elephant in the room.

“That’s right. Things usually end up hurting worse when you don’t do anything about it or tell anyone. Now, will you tell me what happened?”

Max met his dad’s eyes. Peter met it back with a small, encouraging smile. The kid seemed to be making a decision, and Peter couldn’t help but notice how tired his son looked. It didn’t take a detective to see that he had been through a lot today.

Max finally let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping in surrender. His guard didn’t seem to be totally down, but this was a good sign that he was going to cooperate.

“We… we were playing dodgeball in gym today. I got hit by a ball and fell over pretty hard on my arm. It really doesn’t hurt that much, I swear, I probably just bruised it, but the nurse made me wear this sling…”

Zoe snorted. “Dodgeball? I thought that was banned in all Mayview schools. So kids wouldn’t be idiots and fall on their arms and get hurt-”

Max rolled his eyes. “It was a different version, Zoe.” He paused, giving a pleading look. “Can I go to my room now? I just need to rest, I’ll be fine.”

Peter didn’t buy that for a second. Max had obviously downplayed the story, and the nurse wouldn’t give a sling to a kid with just a bruise.

He adjusted his glasses, trying to cautiously inch his way closer to Max to get a better look at his injury. “Just some rest, huh? What did the nurse have to say about your arm? Why didn’t they call me?”

Max looked sheepish, scuffing his shoe on the ground. “I.. uh… I kind of ran away from the nurses office.” He gave a nervous grin, already knowing what he was about to say wouldn’t do a thing about Peter’s disapproving look. “...because I needed to get to my study group on time?”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, standing up straight with a sigh. “Son, I’ll forgive you for playing two lies and truth with your old man, but only if you let me give your arm a check-up.”

Max scowled again. “Since when were you a doctor?”

“Since I’ve spent the last twelve years trying to keep my backflipping-off-skate-ramps-children in one piece. Now, up you go- onto the counter.” Peter herded his son forwards and Max gave a very teenagerish-groan as he moved towards the register counter, almost drowning out Zoe’s quiet mumble “I never did those things…”

Max placed his good arm on the counter, and Peter watched with concern as his son attempted and failed to hoist himself up. His left arm remained limply hanging in front of his chest despite his need for it, eliminating any doubt (if there was any, Max wasn’t the type to fake something like this) that Max was faking the injury. Peter stepped forward and quickly slipped his hands through Max’s armpits, and (ignoring Max’s grunt of protest) lifted him until he was sitting on the edge of the counter.

He cleared his throat, fake rolling-up his non-existence long sleeves. “Now, I’m just going to get a quick looksy to make sure we won’t have to chop it off, alright?” He gave Max an encouraging goofy grin. His attempt to lighten the mood was predictably met with a glare, although he saw Max’s body relax slightly.

Peter turned his attention to the arm. His view was mostly blocked by the sling, but glancing inside he noticed there was no bandage, cast, or splint, causing him to frown. It seemed he really had booked it out of the nurse’s office, content with an incomplete check-up and nothing but an item to secure the injury.

Peter’s voice softened. “Max, I’m going to take the sling off so I can look at it better. Is that ok?”

Max shrugged in indifference. “Sure. Whatever.”

Peter nodded. “I’m going to be as gentle as possible, but it might hurt, okay?”

When he got no response, Peter began with the careful removal of the medical accessory, looping the strap over his head. Max was right about one thing, he definitely wasn’t a doctor. Hopefully he could get his boy to see one after this. But he did his best, slipping the fold off of his forearm and elbow, quickly replacing it with the gentle support of his hand to keep the arm from falling.

To his curiosity, he found that Max had shown no sign of pain at the movement, looking emotionless, only slightly nervous if anything. Could it genuinely not be that bad, like his son had claimed?

That thought was quickly dashed as he finally got a good look at the arm in his hand. The flesh was slightly red and swollen all the way down the forearm, the swelling getting worse around the elbow. The skin on the top of the arm looked redder than the rest, like it had been slammed into something, and now that he was close he could see the slight abrasion on Max’s right arm in the same place as well. What mainly concerned him, though, was the unnaturally jaggedness he saw at the crook of Max’s elbow. There was a small, but noticeable bump beneath the skin right where the bend was. Peter may not be a doctor, but he knew the tell-tale signs of a broken bone when he saw one.

He took in a shuddering breath, trying to control the panic rising in his chest. It had only been a week since they moved and Peter had been convinced it was going to be a fresh start for their family. They were going to have game nights, make new friends, run a store together, anything to try to fill the empty hole June had left just a few short years ago. Yet here he was, a week after their supposed “fresh start” with a child seriously injured in front of him. And despite all the circumstances suggesting otherwise, Peter couldn’t help but feel entirely responsible.

Zoe pulled him out of his thoughts, her voice both curious and scared, “Is Max okay, dad?”

He wished June were here.

Peter swallowed down all his anxiety and turned over his shoulder, giving his daughter a small, reassuring smile. “Not sure yet, sweety. But the good news is that your brother is definitely not going to end up with a cool pirate hook for a hand, despite his desperate attempts.”

Max snorted. “Please. I would for sure go for the cyborg arm. It would be 1000% more useful.”

“Ooh! I wonder if he could get a bear arm! Or an octopus arm! Do you think that’s possible?” Zoe chirped, her very much 9-year-old self peaking through.

“Why the heck would I want an octopus arm?”

Put at ease by his children’s familiar banter, he continued his observation. He should probably test Max’s movement. This whole time Max hadn’t even shown as much as a wince, and Peter was concerned the break had blocked off any feeling entirely. Was that a thing? Could bone breaks cause nerve damage? His limited medical knowledge was not helping him at the moment.

“Max, can you try moving your arm? Just a little bit.”

Max gave a small noise of agreement, then frowned, his eyebrows scrunched together. A beat passed with no movement, peaking Peter’s concern. Beads of sweat formed on Max’s forehead, the first sign of discomfort he had shown so far, as he seemed to focus intently on his arm.

Peter felt a slight tremor in the arm his hand was still supporting.

“Max, don’t push yourself–” he warned.

Max continued anyway, managing to make his fingers twitch.

Peter nodded, putting a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder. “Alright, that’s enough. Looks like moving it’s a little tough. That’s ok.”

Max gave a frustrated huff, but his arm relaxed in Peter’s grip.

Content with his examination, Peter began carefully slipping the sling back on. When he finished pulling the strap back over Max’s head, he patted his son’s shoulder. He wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.

“Alrighty, my boy. Looks like you’ve got yourself a broken arm. But just imagine all the cute girls you’re gonna get to sign your cast–”

“It’s not broken.” Max interrupted with a growl. “It’s just bruised, I’ll be fine after I go to bed, okay?”

Peter frowned down at his son. “Max. Even I can tell there’s something seriously wrong with your arm. I know you know it too. Why are you in denial about this?”

Max looked down, his cap hiding his face. It didn’t hide the small sniffles that came through, though.

“It’s just…” Max mumbled, and Peter leaned in, recognizing the cracks showing through his emotionless mask. “It’s just a really bad time. For this to happen.”

Peter looked down at his son a moment longer, then offered him a hand. Max took it and slid off the counter, stiffling a small grunt as his arm jostled. He took Max’s shoulder and gently led him outside towards the car, Zoe following close behind. Max must’ve realized where they were headed but followed in silent submission, still hiding his face beneath his hat.

It still blew Peter away how much he didn’t know about his son or what he was dealing with. The kid had gone to a full week of school in a new town and had hardly said a word about it. Peter knew he must being going through a lot, and this injury had definetly not been in his plans either. All he wanted was for Max to open up to him. But for now, he just guessed he had to trust him. That’s what a good dad would do, right?

“Sorry, kiddo. I know this isn’t fun for you. If you want to talk more about it, just let me know. I’ll be here for you.” Max continued looking down.

They came to the driveway and started getting into the car.

“I’m getting post-doctor ice cream after, right?” Max suddenly mumbled as he pulled his seatbelt on. Peter felt a small smile grow on his face. He adjusted the rearview mirror to look Max in the eye. “You can count on it. But only if you’re a good boy.”

“Daadddd" he groaned, causing Zoe and Peter to chuckle.

Suddenly, an old but fond memory came to Peter’s mind.

“Everything’s that broken can be fixed. All you need is time and a little elbow grease” June had said with a smirk, snapping down her welding mask.

Peter smiled at the image in his mind of his wife kneeling over some impossible project, sweat dripping down around her determined grin.

They could be fixed. Their family was going to be okay.