WARNING: Mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation, but it doesn't happen.
WARNING: Mentions of childhood sexual abuse, but it's not any of the characters.
PS I almost made myself cryyyyyyyyy happy reading!
James "Bucky" Barnes
"Absolutely not," Steve said with all the righteous indignation his patriotic ass could muster up. He turned his incredulous eyes on me, and I had to physically fight not to roll my eyes. "Bucky, why would you promise him something like that? It's too dangerous!"
"Unfortunately, I'm with Steve on this one," Nat said, crossing her arms and sitting on the arm of the couch, looking displeased. "With everything he's been through, I don't think sending him out against criminals and the like is the best idea."
I took a steadying breath. I knew there would be opposition, but I'd kind of hoped Nat would be on my side. She was good at talking people into things. "I promised him because this is something he needs. I know it's dangerous, but…I told him there was no way he'd be allowed to go alone, at least not for a while. I'm not just going to send him out and say, 'Good luck.'"
I'd explained Peter's idea, his idea for a name, his web-shooters, and his reasoning, as best I could. I thought it would probably be better if he wasn't here, because I knew there would be heavy opposition, and I didn't want him getting discouraged and giving up before he'd even started, because that was a Peter thing to do. I'd temporarily banished him to the main yard, where he and Stella were getting some much needed exercise and sunlight.
"But it's…it's really dangerous out there," Bruce said quietly, fidgeting with his glasses in his hands. Damn, if the quiet man was willing to speak out against it so quickly… "I don't think he's ready for that. He's only fifteen, and most New York cops are traumatized by the time they're thirty. Peter's already traumatized."
"In Asgard," Thor weighed in, "warriors begin training at a young age, but they are kept from battle until they reach at least twenty."
"You're like 2,000 years old," Tony commented. "You don't count. If humans lived a hundred years, that would be sending one-year-olds in Huggies pullups to defend the world against aliens."
"I'm…yeah, I'm against it," Sam said. "I talked to Andrea, and she's exactly right—witnessing the wrong thing, a murder, a rape…it could undo all the progress we've made, and I'm not sure I'm willing to risk that."
"I'm with Sam," Rhodey said, looking uncomfortable.
"Me, too." Damn, I thought as Clint spoke up. They were dropping like flies. "I wouldn't let my kids do it. Ever. So I don't want to let Peter do it, either."
I dragged a hand down my face, shaking my head. "It's not just—just something he thinks might be cool to try. It's not exploring a hobby, it's—he really, really needs this, guys. He said having this idea and working towards it is what pulled him out of his depression. He needs to feel like—like he's giving back."
"We can work out another way for him to do that," Nat said, eyebrows creased in an uncharacteristic show of concern. "A much safer way."
"No, it's—you're not getting it," I said, frustrated. Peter explained it well, and I was trying to relay his thoughts, but it wasn't getting me anywhere.
Tony dragged a hand through his hair, looking around. "Well, this is probably the first and last time this will ever happen, so snap a picture, but…I think it's a good idea. Or, at least, I agree with Bucky that he should be allowed to do it."
Eight pairs of eyes blinked in stunned confusion, regardless of their stance. "Seriously?" I asked, just to confirm that I wasn't hallucinating. "You agree?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. "Well, yeah. From what you said earlier, I became Iron Man for the same reasons. Because a lot of people died for me, and because of me—the soldiers, and Yinsen, and…you know, the people my weapons killed when I wasn't aware—and I thought that the only way I could really…move on, and feel like I deserved any of what I was getting was by saving people who needed it, and stopping more weapons from being used." He looked away, sniffing like he did when he was uncomfortable. "Without Iron Man, or Yinsen…or you, of course, Honey Bear…" Rhodey snorted. "…I don't know if I would've made it through all that."
Tony looked uncomfortable with the admission, but I was happy to have an ally. "That's exactly what Peter's saying. He wants to feel like things are…balancing." I had to think to remember the exact words he used, hoping it would sway the others like it had him. "I'm not entirely comfortable with it either, but…he really needs this. I'm telling you. He literally started crying when he even thought that it might not be possible."
The other seven were looking thoughtful, and I locked eyes with Tony, who nodded. He still looked uncomfortable, but I was…glad we'd come far enough that he was able to do that.
"Well, so," Tony started, getting up and walking around, hands in his pockets. He looked more like he was at a board presentation than a family meeting (which sounded weird to me, but…I didn't hate it). "Obviously he wouldn't be allowed to go alone, at least for the first few months until he got the hang of everything. One or two of us would go with him every night to make sure nothing was wrong, and we'd ease him into doing things alone. And I have some ideas for a suit…I'd design it, of course, with Pete's help, so of course it's going to be incredible and safe. And I've got to see these webshooters. Damn kid's gonna be smarter than me one day.
"Anyway, continuing on, he's surrounded by nine of the biggest superheroes in the world, and we all have our own experiences and expertise. We've already trained him on basic self-defense, and now that he has the aptitude and fortitude to hold up to super strength trainers, you could teach him more. Not to mention it would be a good way to build up his stamina and everything; Cho says he still feels kind of weak after long days, or when he exercises too much."
Well. If I'd known Tony was going to create a whole briefing, I would've let him handle it from the start. He should've made a PowerPoint.
"And, of course," he said, on a roll with no stop in sight, "probably not more than one or two hours at a time, until he really gets the hang of it. I'll have a surveillance system and AI software running in his suit the whole time, and if he does anything we don't like, or that isn't safe, it'll alert us immediately, and do what it can to stop him."
Tony paused, looking up at the pensive faces of his teammates, mine included. That was…a really detailed, well-thought out approach to what seemed like an impossible problem. "I have more points. I just thought I'd let you catch up."
"That's a really good plan, Tony," I said, looking at the others for their reactions. I never thought I'd confirm that Tony Stark had a really good anything, least of all a plan or idea, but a lot had changed in the past six months.
Nat shook her head, sighing. "That's…it sounds great, in theory, but we can't protect him from everything out there, no matter how we handle it."
"Nobody can protect anyone from everything," Tony countered. "Especially not parents. That's part of parenthood." He paused, blinking, looking vaguely horrified. "Holy shit, I just said the word parenthood."
"In any case," Rhodey interjected, "everything you said is viable, Tones, but that doesn't mean we're happy about it."
"Hell, I'm not happy about it," I admitted, crossing my arms. "I'd never suggest it. And if I thought there was any alternative that would make him better, I'd take it in a heartbeat. But…I know you were just as scared as I was a few weeks ago." I paused, letting it sink in, taking in the creased foreheads at just the memory.
Peter had been…horribly depressed, and it had gotten worse with every passing day. For brief days, days that scared the living shit out of me, I'd thought he was going to…try to hurt himself, or something worse. Andrea had also been concerned, and said to keep an eye out for any signs indicative of suicidal ideation, and I'd seen what might have been a couple. Days he didn't get out of bed, days he didn't feel like eating…things he said that didn't point to any future.
Just thinking about it made my spine tingle. I didn't want him to go back down that road.
"He doesn't have any reason to feel like he needs to save people," Tony started, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking out the back window. I followed his gaze to the main yard a couple stories below, where Peter was chasing Stella around the yard, a grin on his face. She weaved expertly between his legs, and even his enhanced speed and agility couldn't keep up with her; his feet got tangled, and he fell onto the grass. Even form the distance, my enhanced eyesight caught his laughter as he lay there, splayed in the grass as Stella hopped on top of his chest and curled up, looking down at him with a little toy in her mouth.
"We know that," Tony continued. "But until he knows that…this is something he needs. Trust me, I know."
Tony's quiet declaration was greeted with thoughtful silence and multiple headshakes, but I could tell he'd made some headway. I was hoping it would be enough to convince everyone to at least…accept the idea, if not support it.
"…I don't like it," Rhodey admitted after a moment, his braces whirring quietly as he propped his feet up on the ottoman. "But…Tony, you make some good points. And…if it's something you really think he needs, that will help him recover…I guess I'll help."
"Aye," Thor said, smiling. "Peter has the heart of a fine warrior—I have no doubt that he will become an even finer hero. I will do whatever I can to help in this endeavor."
Hesitantly, Bruce shrugged. "I guess…there isn't much I can do to help, but you were surprisingly convincing, Tony."
Tony blinked. "Did you think I ran a multi-billion dollar international industry with my good looks? I am a businessman, assholes."
Okay. Okay, this was progress. This was really good. Five out of nine was really good.
I knew with some more pressure, Clint might cave. It would be tricky, but doable. Nat, Steve, and Sam were going to be hard to convince, but…not impossible.
"I am still very much against this," Sam piped up, just as I knew he would. "Literally a therapist. Very much against it."
"You and Andrea both agreed that it would be good for Peter to find a hobby, something to put his energy into," Tony said, quirking an eyebrow. "He found one. Now his whole little self is entirely invested. We can't just rip the carpet out from under him. As a therapist," he said pointedly, earning a scowl from Sam, "you should know he doesn't need any more of that."
"He also doesn't need to be fighting muggers and robbers and murderers as a coping mechanism," Steve argued, looking two seconds from a Captain America explosion of justice. They weren't pretty. "He's fifteen. Excluding Nat, none of us started doing this until at least twenty, and most of us were older. And we still have nightmares."
"He already has nightmares!" Tony argued, finally done being patient. Yeah, I was waiting for that too. "Every night! I know you're all afraid of it getting worse, but a few weeks ago? That was rock bottom, and this notion of an idea, barely developed, was the thing that pulled him out of it!"
Steve's eyes were angry, his forehead pinched in frustration. He opened his mouth to respond, but another voice beat him to it.
"You're not going to destroy the living room again, are you?" Peter asked from the doorway, Stella curled into his chest. "I like the new couch."
All of us turned to look at him—none of us had heard him come up, and we didn't know how much he'd heard. "I banished you," I said pointedly.
"I got thirsty," he defended, putting Stella down and coming in, face carefully neutral. "And I figured…it's my idea. It's what I want to do. I should at least be able to explain it to you guys."
He stood uncertainly, picking at the edges of his sweatshirt. He wore sweatshirts all the time, now—he didn't want anyone seeing the scars on his arm or chest. I hadn't seen him in a t-shirt in months, even though it was late April, and it was warming up. That was a subject we hadn't even thought about discussing yet—it was way too soon for that.
"Well, before we have another civil war," Clint said pointedly, ignoring the dirty looks multiple attendees shot him, waving a hand, "you've got the floor, Peter."
Peter took a deep breath, glancing at me. I gave him a smile and nodded for him to continue, hoping he'd do a better job of convincing them than I did. I never was good at public speaking.
"Um…I know it's dangerous. And…probably not the most…common coping mechanism to deal with…with PTSD, and anxiety and everything. But…I mean, I've looked up to you guys since I was little, you know? I never thought this would happen to me. That I would have…powers, and be able to do the things you do. And now that I do…I mean, what do I have to show for it? Just…a lot of…of dead people. Of people I'll never be able to see again or save.
"No, don't…let me finish," he pleaded, holding a hand up when Steve looked like he was about to interject. Steve relented, but his face remained pained. We all wore similar expressions. Peter, taking a shaky breath, continued. "You're…amazing. All of you. You've saved the world, so many times, and I'm not—I'm not trying to undermine that, or belittle it, because we all owe you our lives. You saved the world. But…every day, even in New York…hundreds of people's worlds are being just…ended. Like mine.
"My world was…completely shattered. I had just watched…really, the only family I knew, bleed out under my hands, and…and then I was shoved some papers and told to protect them with my life without even really knowing what I was fighting for, and I was constantly running and afraid, and the whole time…the whole time, I was alone. And then I found…I found Jason, who was like…I never admitted it, not to anybody, but for a while, he was kind of like a brother to me. The only person in the whole world who knew me or gave a damn what happened.
"And then I was unfortunate enough…or lucky enough, now…to have papers that led HYDRA to me, but led me to you. I got a second chance to make a new…a new world, for myself. To build a new life. With you. With the most amazing family. And that's…that's so rare, guys, it's so rare. I'm—it's not even that I'm lucky, it's a miracle, because that doesn't happen. And I'm so, so grateful, but I can't sit here…and accept all the love and protection I'm getting when…when I know that hundreds of worlds are being destroyed every day just a few miles down the road."
He shifted, looking down. His words were like knives cutting into me. God, I never wanted to hear him sound that…hopeless. He wasn't crying—didn't look anywhere near crying. His voice was small, and sure. He wasn't making eye contact, but his hands were in fists at his sides, his shoulders hunched, his features confident in a contradictory show of vulnerability and determination.
He was quiet for a long few seconds, and I thought he was done. I opened my mouth to comfort him, to acknowledge his feelings, but he kept going, and my heart kept breaking. "I heard…a little bit. From the elevator and the hall. You're worried…I'll see a murder, or rape, or something horrible that will…that will set me back."
He shifted again, his fists tightening. "You guys, I think…I think you forget sometimes that before you took me in, I was…basically alone, for eight months, in homeless shelters and in dark alleys and in abandoned structures with leaky roofs and…and really scary people, and I didn't have powers then. I had the biggest secret in the world in my sock, and I was always scared. I saw…I saw a lot of things. I couldn't avoid it. There was…this little girl named Carla, in one of the camps, who told me about how her dad beat her and her uncle…raped her, before she finally ran away and was taken in by the camp. She was eight.
"And…and there was this really nice guy who gave me a water bottle after I hadn't been able to…to find anything to eat or drink for over a day. I think his name was Evan. It was his last one. He had cancer, and…he died that night. I was sleeping outside his tent. I went to wake him and…and he was just…gone.
"And I've seen people…killed, and beaten, and…and worse, because nobody was there to protect me from it, and every time I saw something, I hated myself just a little bit more because there was nothing I could do. And every time I thought about risking it, about trying to step in even though they were bigger and stronger and there were more of them…I remembered the stuff in my sock, the papers, and I had to put…put that above the person being hurt in front of me. It happened so many times."
Peter had…never told us this. Not any of us. I knew this for a fact, because if he had, it probably would have been me first. It usually went like that—he shared things with me to work up the courage to tell the rest of them. But we'd never heard a word of any of this.
"If you're trying to protect me from seeing horrible things…I saw them long before you met me," he said quietly, "and I'm sure I'll see a lot more. The difference is now…now I have…resources, and powers, and support. I can do it now. I can do what I couldn't out there. I can save another Carla. I can help another Evan, and…and maybe save another May and Ben, and I can save another kid like me from having their world torn apart in front of them."
Breathing slowly, blinking, and looking up, I'd never seen so much resolve in this kid's eyes. I probably never would again. He'd gone through hell, come out on the other side, only to fall back in, and claw his way up again…and now, rather than dwell in it, his way of coping was to help the people around him and make sure he didn't experience the same hells he did.
I didn't think it was possible to love this kid more, but every day, he proved me wrong.
"Help me," he said resolutely, looking at all of us. "Help me do this. Please. I…I need this."
He stopped, looking at us with quiet desperation so palpable it filled the room. There was silence—utter, stunned silence—for several seconds after his declaration, but Peter didn't move. He stood his ground, looking at all of us with pleading eyes and unwavering resolve.
In the end, Nat was the one to break the trance. With a heavy sigh, she said, "I don't know of anyone who could go against that display, Peter." She went to him immediately and pulled him into a hug, and if I knew her, she'd been wanting to do that the whole time. "I'm very, very proud of you right now, Малыш. All the time, but especially now."
He hugged her tight, finally letting his shoulders slump and his face crease in relief. "Thanks, Tasha."
Steve was next to cave, unsurprisingly. As soon as Nat let go, Steve was there, pulling Peter in. "Every day, you find something new to do to amaze me. I'm…it makes me nervous, Peter, and it probably will for a long time. But…I'll do whatever I can to help you. Ok?"
Peter nodded, Steve holding the back of his head, Peter's face pressed against his shirt. "Ok." His voice was muffled, but steady.
In the end, everyone agreed. There wasn't really another option after Peter's reveal.
"Can we…do something fun?" Peter asked, smiling slightly. "That was heavy, and I didn't like it."
I laughed, and Clint responded quickly, "Of course. It's warm today, isn't it?"
Peter nodded. "Yeah, it got kind of hot a while ago. Why?"
Clint grinned. "Who wants to introduce Peter to an Avengers style water-balloon fight?"
Peter Parker
I quickly discovered that Avengers prank wars were absolutely nothing compared to Avengers style water-balloon fights.
The entire Compound, with the exception of the offices and other places where non-Avengers personnel were working, was turned into a warzone. One different thing was that there were no teams—it was everyone for themselves. We each picked a place around the Compound, far away from everyone else, and we had a backpack full of water balloons—everyone got thirty, and you had to make them last, because you weren't allowed to fill anymore. You could, however, take whatever was left of anyone you "killed".
Being "killed" meant you had to hit one of the others with a balloon, and it had to break on your body. You couldn't just throw it on the ground by their feet, get them wet, and say they were dead. After that, they had to sit out the rest of the game; FRIDAY would announce throughout the Compound who was killed when and by whom, so everyone knew who was out and who was in. The game went until there was a final winner. As punishment for whoever was killed, if they were inside, they had to clean up the water themselves, since we didn't want to make the janitorial staff do it. And after it was over we'd all help pick up balloon pieces out of the lawn.
Adjusting the big backpack on my shoulders, I'd elected to start in one of the hallways on the South side of the Compound, Stella secure in a little pouch under my shirt so she could travel with me without me having to use my hands. "What do you think, Stella?" I asked quietly, waiting for FRIDAY to give the start. "Think we've got a shot?"
She purred, nipping gently at my finger and meowing excitedly. I laughed quietly, excitement buzzing through my veins. "Yeah, me too."
Any other day, I would have been absolutely outmatched. I probably would have just stuck with Bucky or something, and ridden his coattails to victory or defeat, whatever happened. But now, we were on a level playing field. Sure, they had a lot more experience with me, but I was good at hiding.
As FRIDAY gave the countdown, I grinned, a plan forming in my mind. This was going to be epic.
As soon as FRIDAY gave the start time, I took off my shoes and socks, tossing them into a janitor's closet, and used my natural sticking ability to climb the wall, arming myself with a balloon. As soon as I'd realized that my sticking ability could be used to climb surfaces, I'd started practicing everywhere—in the gym, my room, the kitchen, everywhere. I'd given multiple members of the team heart attacks over the past few days.
They thought it was hilarious, until I'd gotten into my pranks.
I settled myself in a corner where the ceiling met the wall, adjusting myself to stick with my back facing the wall and my right hand free to throw. Unless it was Nat, or Bucky maybe, whoever came around the corner wouldn't see me; I'd be in a blind spot. And the other end of the hallway was too far to throw a water balloon very accurately, so as long as I was keeping an eye out, I'd have the upper hand. Literally.
Luckily, weapons and suits weren't allowed, so even though I was bummed about not getting to show off my new webshooters, I was happy I wouldn't be obliterated in the first two minutes.
FRIDAY's voice startled me so badly I nearly fell off the ceiling. "Clint Barton killed by Sam Wilson."
I resisted the urge to laugh and give away my position. That was fast.
I heard distant shouting from what sounded like the yard, along with a few choice words Steve would have melted at.
I was shocked out of my musings when I heard footsteps echoing around the corner, holding my breath and winding my arm up.
Tony didn't even know what hit him.
I threw the water balloon at his head with enough force to knock him down, wanting to get at least one person out before my inexperience inevitably caught up with me.
"Holy shit," Tony yelled from the floor, a hand on his forehead, incredulous eyes staring up at me where I sat in the corner still, laughing like a maniac. "You little—oh, my God I'm done. I'm too old for this. I am human and I have a heart condition…shit, just…take the spoils of war and leave me to die, why don't you."
"Tony Stark killed by Peter Parker," FRIDAY announced, sounding smug.
I laughed, doing one more scan of the area before dropping down, loading ten extra water balloons into my backpack. That was all I could comfortably fit without the bag overflowing. "You'll be fine. Thanks for the boost of confidence!" I took off around the corner, trying to find another spot of cover before I ran into anyone else.
Okay. Eight people left in the game, and some of the others would knock each other out. I mean, I didn't have any illusions about my ability to win—I totally wasn't going to—but damn if I wasn't gonna try.
I decided to move outside, crawling up one of the pillars that held the terrace and tucking myself away in the rafters to wait. I'd be visible to someone who looked out over the railing of the terrace and straight down, but hopefully firing from there, their aim would be off and I could dodge.
I waited a few minutes, but all I saw was Sam in the distance, slinking around a hallway corner behind one of the big glass windows. The Compound was really big, so it was gonna be a while before the game was over, but…this was actually really fun. It had been a while since I'd been…excited and had this much adrenaline going without…you know, running for my life.
"Gotcha!" A voice shouted above me, and I looked up just in time to see Rhodey chucking a water balloon right at my head. In what I can only credit as pure instinct, I threw myself off the rafter and onto a nearby pillar, sliding down a couple feet before I finally got control of my sticky limbs.
"Ha!" I shouted up at Rhodey, who looked downright cheated. "Gotta do better than that, old man!"
With a look of absolute offense, Rhodey reloaded, firing a couple at me, one after the other. "Old man my ass you little punk."
He came really close to hitting me a couple times, but I scampered up the pillar in a weave, dodging all his projectiles, and using my momentum, I planted a foot on the chiseled decoration in the top of the pillar and propelled myself onto the terrace railing, scaring Rhodey enough hat his next aim was off.
"This is not fair," Rhodey shouted as I reloaded, Stella meowing happily as we soared through the air to land behind him, stopping him dead in his tracks as he raced for the glass door leading inside.
"What's not fair?" I asked, innocently cocking my head to the side as I tossed a water balloon up and down, walking towards him lazily. I grinned as he sighed, slowly raising his hands.
"Guess I have to surrender to superior forces," he said with a smile, his eyes glinting. In a blur of movement fast enough that someone could have convinced me it came from Steve or Bucky or Thor, he whipped a balloon out and chucked it at me.
I was kind of reminded of the Wild West movies Clint liked to watch, because as soon as he reached for his bag, I was winding up to throw my own balloon—it reminded be of a quickdraw gunfight.
Unfortunately for Rhodey, I had much faster reflexes.
"Shit," Rhodey said, not unlike Tony, as he wiped a hand down his face, picking a neon green balloon piece off his shoulder as I doubled over laughing at his expression. "I'm crippled, and you're over here doing freaking acrobatics. This isn't fair. Humans should get handicaps."
I laughed as FRIDAY announced Rhodey's "death", taking a couple water balloons from his backpack. I didn't really need anymore, but it was the principle of it. "That's what Tony said. Have fun waiting for the winners!"
With that, ignoring his dumbfounded expression and his cry of alarm, I all but yeeted myself off the terrace after a running start, feeling more like a bird than a spider, and landed on one of the pillars, narrowly catching my balance as I stumbled on top of it. At Rhodey's shouts of dismay and reprimand, I could only laugh.
I'd never felt so alive, and hopeful. Because of my dizzy spells, my asthma…I'd never been able to really do a lot of sports, or anything. I couldn't' run fast like the other kids, or participate much in PE. May and Ben hardly let me outside during allergy season because it made my asthma so bad.
Now…free of all that, from the physical limitations, and moving on past the horror that had been so intent on dragging me down…it felt like I could fly.
I felt free.
…
In the end, Tasha won, as everyone expected her too, but I made it to the last three. Thor was killed by Natasha, who caught him slinking through the kitchen trying to pin down Sam, who was around the corner. It ended up being a double murder, as the sound of Thor going down drew Sam that way, and Tasha was lying in wait for him.
On the other side of the Compound, Steve and Bucky engaged in some intense close-quarter combat (which I paused in my sneaking around to watch from the ceiling of the gym, because it was pretty cool). Steve had tried to catch Bucky unaware by slamming a balloon into his back, swinging himself around some of the gym equipment for momentum, but Bucky turned just in time, knocking it from his hand.
The two basically engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with water balloons in their hands, trying to slam it on each other. The best part was that they knew each other so well, they anticipated each other's moves every time. I was awestruck by how well they were both doing, so much so that I almost missed Bucky's victory.
He'd gotten in a lucky hit to Steve's side, catching him off guard enough to slam the bright blue water balloon into his chest, sending Steve stumbling back a couple steps, where he stopped. Giving a rueful sigh, he shrugged. "You win, Buck. I surrender."
"Course you do, punk," Bucky said with a grin, shouldering the offered backpack. "I always win."
"That was awesome!" I shouted from the rafters, clapping. They both looked up, obviously startled by my presence. "That was super cool to watch!"
Bucky smirked as Steve laughed. "I'm glad you think so. You're still in, aren't you?"
"Yep," I grinned, running along one of the rafters and leaping down, grabbing one of the higher bars on the obstacle course and doing a flip off it, feeling incredibly nimble. I usually had trouble walking in a straight line. I landed on top of the climbing wall, standing with my hands on my hips.
"You joining gymnastics?" Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow, tossing his water balloon up and down. I had one in my hand, too, waiting for an opening.
"Maybe," I shrugged, walking around on top, pleased that I didn't have to work to keep my balance. "Haven't decided yet. Might go to the Olympics."
He smirked as Steve backed away, watching with interest. "You gonna come down so we can do this?"
I laughed. "And give up my high ground? No way!"
He grinned, slowly approaching the obstacle course. "Okay, kiddo. I'll come to you."
In the end, he caught me pretty quickly. I might have been a little bit cocky thanks to my new abilities, and I may have overshot one of my leaps and landed on one of the mats spread-eagle, looking up at the ceiling as I caught my breath from where I'd landed. Stella yowled unhappily at the treatment, wiggling out of the pouch and shaking herself, stretching. She bounded over to Steve, who scooped her up without preamble.
Bucky's face came into my line of vision as he stood above me, balloon in hand, eyebrow raised. "You good?"
I gave a thumbs up, and that's all it took for him to drop the balloon on my face.
"You suck," I said through the water dripping though my hair, trying to get it out of my nose.
"And you got cocky, kid," he said, grinning, holding out a hand to help me up. "Don't let a little agility go to your head."
"Yeah, yeah," I huffed.
Tasha got Bucky across the Compound a half hour later in a sneak attack to end all sneak attacks. After that, Sam and Steve cooked a big dinner of a bunch of different foods, and we all ate in the living room and played a couple board games. Playing Monopoly was pretty fun with so many people, but Tony won before anybody could even get started, buying up property left and right. I think we sometimes forgot that he did kind of have a job other than being an Avenger, and he was good at it.
Later that night, as the day caught up with me, we all started going to bed. Being stubborn, not wanting such an awesome day to end, I stayed up, but Bucky caught me as soon as I started yawning.
"Bed?" He asked, ruffling my hair.
"Yeah," I conceded, figuring I should get some sleep. Only Bucky, Bruce, Clint, and I were left in the living room, so I wished them goodnight and tugged Bucky's sleeve, signaling him to follow me.
In the hallway, away from them, I turned to him. "Um…I just…wanted to say thanks, Bucky. For…supporting me, and for helping me, and trying to convince them for me. I know…I know they're all nervous, and I know you're nervous. I'm nervous, too. But…but I think this is going to be a really, really good thing."
I risked a smile up at him, and he scoffed, smiling despite himself. "You're welcome, kid. Of course. I'm always going to support you." He hugged me, and I'd been waiting for it, and hoping for it. I hugged him back, relishing the feeling of safety.
"Peter," he said quietly, his voice becoming more serious. He didn't let go. "Why didn't you ever…tell us any of that? You know we would've listened."
Ah. Yeah…that. I shrugged, and he tightened his arms around me just as the memories filled my vision. I closed my eyes. "I…wanted to forget. It was…those eight months were really horrible, and I saw so much more than just Carla and Evan. There's this guy at…at the camp Jason was at, named Benny. He's so nice. He's a veteran. But he's older, and…I don't even know if he's still alive. It's just easier not to think about it.
"And then…I feel so guilty, because…that's so disrespectful to them. To the people who helped me and confided in me. And I just…I want to help them. To do something for them, now that I can. And…if you guys were going to really understand how much I needed it…I had to force myself to think about it."
Bucky nodded, his chin on top of my head. "Thank you for telling us."
Feeling a lump in my throat at how lucky I was, how utterly blessed I was to have him and them and this, I hugged him tighter. "Thank you for listening. And being here."
I felt him smile. "I'll always be here, Peter."
And I believed him, with my whole heart. I knew, without a doubt, that he would always be behind me. That they would always be behind me.
I didn't have to be alone anymore. I wouldn't have to be alone ever again.
A/N: *cries* my sweet children
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