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Bruce couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t know why.
He was in the lab with Peter, Tony having been forced into a meeting half an hour ago leaving him and the kid to work quietly on their individual projects. Normally, Peter would be far more talkative but they were both too focused and tired to talk — the kid had dark circles betraying his lack of sleep, which he was sure Tony would probably hypocritically lecture him for — so they worked in silence only broken by the sounds of tinkering and breathing.
Breathing that was now coming much louder and faster from Bruce.
HIs lungs simply felt like they refused to work, like the air he was pulling in was absolutely useless. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t think.
It felt like the building was about to crumble down on top of him, bury him under this panic until his panic breaths stopped as his lungs collapsed.
He was vaguely aware that his vision was swimming, dots growing in front of his eyes, but nothing really processed, like his mind was disconnected from his body. He needed to reconnect, needed to think through what was happening, but his body was out of reach, slipping through his fingers like mist.
Was he dying? This felt like dying. Maybe it was a heart attack? Whatever it was, he couldn’t breath or think and it needed to stop.
His breaths were coming in wheezing gasps at this point, mouth stuck open as he begged oxygen to reach him, to stop his mind from drifting into the void of panic that was threatening to consume him.
He distantly heard a small voice trying to get his attention, but it was too hard to focus on what it was saying, blood roaring in his ears.
Suddenly, something small and hard was placed in his palm and the voice was speaking again, closer this time. He missed what it said the first time but a hand was grabbing his wrist, moving his hand up. The confusion at the action was enough to clear his thoughts, even if just barely, to start to process what he was hearing.
“-nner? Can you hear me? Eat this.”
What? He looked up to find Peter sitting in front of him, wide eyes staring into his as he spoke softly.
“Try eating this. It should help.”
Bruce didn’t understand how a snack could help stop him from dying from whatever this was, but he wasn’t exactly in the space of mind to argue, so he complied.
As he put it in his mouth, he realized it was a piece of candy. Before he could wonder why Peter thought it would be useful in any way, a burst of sour flavor registered, enough to shock him out of the daze he was in.
“What the-”
“Sorry, Mr. Banner. It’s a warhead. I don’t know if you like those, but they help.”
“I- what? Why?”
“You’re still breathing a bit fast, Dr. Banner sir. Can you follow my breathing? It’s a practice we used to do in band to help with lung capacity but it also helps calm down. You breathe in for four counts, hold it for 8 counts, and breathe out for 4 counts. Fri, can you play a met?”
A soft clicking sound started to play through the room and Bruce, despite still being deeply confused, followed Peter’s instructions and tried to calm his breathing. They synced exaggerated breaths in and out with the clicking, counting together for a couple minutes until Bruce was no longer lightheaded and could actually feel his body again.
As his capacity for thought returned, along with a sense of relief that whatever had happened to him was going away, he blinked up at the boy waiting patiently in front of him.
“What was that?” he whispered.
“Um, I think you had a panic attack, Dr. Banner.”
“I– what? No I didn’t! It was some health thing! Or…” He trailed off, realizing that it felt awfully similar to what someone he knew had described panic attacks as. He definitely underestimated them if that was true.
“How did you know?”
“That you were having a panic attack?”
Bruce nodded, still having trouble vocalizing it.
“Oh I did check if there was a medical issue. I asked Friday and she told me you were medically okay and it was likely a panic attack. She is programmed to recognize them because To- because some people here get them.”
“And how did you know how to fix it? What was the candy thing?”
Peter gave him a tight smile, hesitating as he seemed to try and decide what to tell him.
“Well… I guess you could say I have experience.” When Bruce tilted his head in curiosity, Peter sighed, looking away. “I kinda get them sometimes. Panic attacks. I learned how to deal with them from… another friend with experience. He helped me and I got fairly decent at dealing with them after quite a few… ‘opportunities for practice’, you could say.”
Peter’s shoulders had hunched slightly, face flushing red at the admission as he refused to meet Bruce’s eyes.
“And the candy?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s a warhead. Sour candy is supposed to help, something about shocking your system enough to snap you out of it. I always keep some on me now.”
Bruce rested a hand on Peter’s knee, waiting until he met his eyes.
“Well, thank you Peter. I’m sorry you have to deal with those enough to know how to manage them, really. But I am thankful you were able to help me. You are a very kind and understanding young man. Thank you. Really.”
Peter’s face flushed redder and his eyes flicked away from Bruce’s gaze a few times like he was fighting to maintain eye contact, but his posture opened slightly and he smiled softly up at the man.
“It’s no problem, Dr. Banner. I’m happy to help. Anytime, really.”
After a moment of the two regarding each other, they silently agreed to go back to unspoken tinkering, though this time they seated slightly closer, glancing up at each other every now and then to offer reassuring smiles, to just confirm that they were both there and okay.
And if after that, Bruce and Peter started working together more often and going on candy runs, they didn’t need to acknowledge it. No one seemed to think anything of it, or at the least they didn’t question it. They all knew how fast Peter could grow on someone.