Wake Up Sleepyhead
In this world, there are essentially three groups of teenagers: the ones that need no sleep, the ones who need all the sleep, and the ones who ping-pong between the two categories depending on the day.
Peter Parker was in the last category.
He was at Avengers HQ for a long weekend. Tony Stark—the Tony Stark!—had picked him up in a shiny orange convertible just after school on Friday. The plan was that Peter would sleep over two nights in the Commons dormitory, get as much training in over the weekend as he could, and be back in Queens to have dinner with May on Sunday night.
At least, that was the plan.
He was just too excited to sleep.
Sunday morning saw him pop out of bed at 6:30. The sun wasn't up yet, so he waited for it, watching Youtube videos on his phone while hanging upside down from a thread of webbing on the ceiling. Half an hour later at 7:00, he threw his slippers at the alarm clock to turn it off. By 7:30, he was showered, dressed, brushed, combed, and cologned, and enough people were awake that he didn't feel bad running around the HQ in an excited frenzy.
Sure, he'd only gotten to sleep at like 3:00 in the morning last night and he was probably gonna crash at some point, but gosh darn it he'd chugged a Redbull and inhaled a bagel heaped with Nutella and he was gonna ride this buzz in his head for the whole day until he crashed and fell on his face and exploded into flames.
Everybody else seemed sluggish. It was kinda hilarious to see so many superheroes with bedheads. Even the Black Widow's hair was kinda frizzy. He didn't even know it could do that.
"Where's Mr. Steve?" he finally asked. It was 8:00, time to start drills, and despite all the faces he'd seen, Captain America wasn't one of them.
Clint Barton—aka Hawkeye, aka The World's Greatest Marksman, aka purveyor of bad jokes and puns—shrugged one shoulder as he bent over his coffee. "No idea." He looked up at the ceiling. "JARVIS?"
A crisp British voice immediately answered out of nowhere. Peter jumped. Right, right, robot voice in the ceiling. He really needed to get used to that.
"Captain Rogers is asleep in his quarters," said JARVIS.
At that, Clint perked up. "No way!" he grinned sleepily. "We're up earlier than Cap!"
Peter tilted his head to one side. "Is that weird?"
Clint chuckled into his coffee. "Heck yeah, it's weird. He's always up at the butt-crack of dawn."
"Guess we know what that means." Natasha looked over at Clint with a weird kind of half-smile, and he glanced meaningfully at her over his coffee.
Unlike them, Peter was not a super-spy. Unlike them, he had never learned the skill of having entire conversations in complete silence.
He also hadn't learned the more general skill of reading the room.
"I'll go get him!" Peter launched into a dead run.
"No, wait—!" hollered Clint.
Too late. Peter didn't hear him, and he was already halfway down the hall.
Clint and Natasha peered after the kid, both of their faces blank with surprise and sleep.
He smirked and leaned his head towards her. "Who's gonna tell him?"
"He'll figure it out," she answered with a devious grin.
In the HQ dorm, Tony Stark only had one rule: Everyone is allowed to decorate however they want.
Most of them had. Mr. Barton's door was sloppily painted purple. Wanda and Pietro fought for territory with magazine cutouts of race cars and athletes on one side of the door, and flowers and baby animals on the other. Mr. Stark's door was made of metal and completely automated.
Steve Rogers' door was really boring, and that made it easy to find. It was just white-painted wood with his name on the placard.
It was also unlocked.
Peter skidded to a halt, his socks sliding a little on the hallway carpet. He crept closer, turned the knob, and peeked his head inside.
The room was still dark. Sunlight peeked around the navy blue curtains and cast a thin rectangle of light over an easel and a record player in the corner. In the bed was a slightly snoring lump, its back to Peter, with bare feet peeking out the blankets on one end and a tuft of blonde fuzz poking out by the pillow.
Peter had to bite his lip hard to keep from snickering. This was awesome. He found the light switch—a push-one, instead of the flippy kind—hovered his hand over it for a second, and slammed it with all his might. The light blazed on.
"Mr. Captain America, wake up!" he bawled at the top of his lungs. "You're late!"
A snore cut off in a snort. "Wha-?" The blonde head on the pillow turned, trying to see over his shoulder, but he was still bleary and half-asleep.
Peter put his arm around his middle and wheezed. This was too good to be true.
And then, his stomach dropped out.
Somebody else was in the bed. Someone half-naked, with a metal arm and shaggy dark hair over his eyes.
Bucky Barnes sat up behind Steve and ground out, "What the hell, Parker?"
"Holy shh-!" Peter blanched and ran away.
Peter sat on a bar stool at the kitchen island in the Common Room, staring at the granite.
He didn't see the granite. He didn't hear the voices around him. He didn't even know where he was or what reality was supposed to be anymore.
He'd just found Captain America. In bed. With another dude. And not just any dude. Bucky Barnes. As in the dude. As in they-were-practically-never-apart-when-he-saw-them, The Dude. As in they'd-been-best-friends-for-so-long-it-was-literally-in-the-Smithsonian, The Dude.
He'd heard the rumors. He'd heard the crazy conspiracy theories. Heck, he'd gotten into debates with people on the fan sites! He just never thought they'd all be true.
Captain Frickin' America. All that is true, just, and right in the world. And Peter had walked in on him in the morning after...y'know...That.
Peter just stared at the counter-top with a bright red face.
"You alright there, spider-boy? Look like you're trying to pass a kidney stone."
Peter shook himself and tried to find the source of the voice. "Uh, no," he stammered, "no, Mr. Stark, I'm fine! It's just—"
"Is it really almost nine?" Steve Rogers strode into the Common Room, freshly showered, and stared at the clock in utter disbelief. Bucky stayed close behind him, like a hunched, dark shadow.
"Daylight savings," said Natasha.
Steve raised his eyebrows and whistled. "That would do it."
He stepped away to make breakfast, and Bucky slid onto a bar stool between Natasha and Clint. A whispered conversation ensued in...Russian, maybe?...and Natasha glanced at Peter, which made Bucky follow suit.
Peter stared very hard at the counter-top.
Mr. Steve and Mr. Stark were negotiating territory on the stove-top.
"I'm just making a protein shake—could you get me those—yeah, the blueberries, thanks—and then the blender is all yours."
"No, you're all right. I won't need it. Just a couple burners for the skillet."
"No patriotic morning smoothie?"
"Hilarious. I was thinking more ham and eggs."
"You got somethin' to ask, Parker?"
Peter jumped. Bucky was right there, looking dark and tired and looming, with his flesh-and-blood arm and the metal one crossed over his chest.
"What?" cried Peter, and then he launched into rambling. "No! No no no, there's nothin' to ask about! I'm just kinda still in shock—not shocked like it's bad or anything, just surprised—not surprised! Uh, I guess it makes sense, but I didn't think it was like that, and is it like a secret or something 'cause I had no idea and if you're trying to hide it—"
Bucky's eyebrows furrowed. "Pete."
"—not that it's bad and you should have to hide, but if you were, you're doing a really good job, and I'm really sorry if I just, like, I—"
"Peter."
"I guess it would be pretty good for you guys now 'cause it's not, like, illegal in this century or anything—"
"Petey-bird."
"I'm sorry!" Peter waved his hands frantically. "Don't be mad! I didn't mean to out you guys or anything, it was just an accident—!"
"Peter!" Bucky barked. "Shut—"
A cold, metal finger pressed into his nose.
Peter bit his own lip.
For the first time that conversation, Peter became cognizant of everyone else in the room. And he heard snickering.
"Wow, you actually did it!" crowed Mr. Stark. "That's incredible!"
"He really takes after you, Tony," Natasha said with a fond, sly smirk.
Peter tried to glare at them, but it didn't work very well. He was too busy being embarrassed and terrified.
Bucky smiled. "That's better." He pulled his finger off of Peter's nose and sat down slowly, looking exhausted. "It's all right, kid, there's no secret." His voice dropped to a rasp. "Everyone knows I crash in Stevie's room when the nightmares get bad."
"Well, sure," Peter blurted, "I mean, it isn't like it's—" He blinked as it finally clicked in his head. "Wait, nightmares?"
Bucky stared at him flatly. "Yeah, nightmares. I was in a war, tortured, and brainwashed for seventy years. You think I don't get 'em?"
"Oh." Peter slumped and shuffled his hands between his knees. "Well, now I feel like a jerk."
Bucky sighed. "No, Pete..."
"But, wait," Peter frowned, "if—if it was just that, then why were you—?"
"What's going on here?" Mr. Steve stepped up from behind them, and his hand rested loosely on Bucky's shoulder.
Peter stiffened.
'Cause that was Captain America.
The Captain Frickin' America.
Peter wanted to wither up and die. "Uh—eh—why—"
Bucky frowned. "Just finish the question, Pete."
"So—" Peter looked from Steve, back to Bucky, and then back to Steve again. "So, wait, you weren't—I mean, you're not—?"
Mr. Steve looked confused. Bucky looked confused and tipped his head slightly to the side.
Peter's voice was tiny, and his face was flaming red, and he stuffed his hands between his knees.
"You know. Canoodling?"
Mr. Steve's jaw dropped. Bucky put his face in his hand. Several voices around the table burst into laughter.
"NO!" chorused the Avengers.
Bucky's shoulders shook uncontrollably. His face was hidden in his hand. Was he crying?
"Is this what this is about?" cried Mr. Steve.
"I didn't know!" Peter squawked back. "I thought I barged in on—"
Bucky threw back his head, whacking Steve in the arm, and burst into howling laughter.
"Buck!" Mr. Steve was chuckling too, probably 'cause it was infectious, but he almost looked worried.
Bucky clutched his side and leaned against Steve. There were tears in his eyes.
Clint's jaw had fallen open. "Holy cow, are you okay?"
"That's it!" Mr. Stark threw his hands in the air. "We broke him. We broke the Terminator! Gonna have to turn him in for a new one."
Bucky rolled on the bar stool, planted his elbow on the counter, and laughed into his hand.
"You all right?" Mr. Steve smiled, but his eyebrows were furrowed.
"Yeah, yeah." Bucky was calming down now, only breaking into scattered giggles. He took a deep breath, wiped his eyes with a finger and thumb, and leaned his forehead on his wrist. "Hooo, I needed that."
"Told you." Natasha smirked at him across the counter.
"You did." He looked like he was gonna say more, but cut himself off with a chuckle, straightened up, and cleared his throat.
Peter sat on his hands and felt very uncomfortable. "I...am...so confused right now."
Bucky sighed. "Sorry, Pete. It's been a rough night."
A rough night, huh? Peter made a face. Bucky scowled.
"Not like that. It's just..." Bucky took a low, deep breath. "Sometimes I remember things, and it's..." He thought for a moment, staring at the counter. "No," he whispered. "A kid like you shouldn't have to hear that."
Peter frowned and crossed his arms. "I'm not a kid."
"That's exactly what a kid would say."
"Really! I'm almost eighteen!"
Bucky raised one dark eyebrow.
Peter deflated. "Well, almost sixteen, anyway. In a few months."
Bucky was still staring at him.
Peter squirmed. He whispered, "Eight months."
Bucky shook his head. "Yeah, no. I'm not telling you."
"I can take it, okay?" Peter straightened and puffed out his chest. He didn't like to think about it much, but...well, he'd lost his mom and dad as a baby, and he'd lost Uncle Ben, and that must've made him grow up faster, right? "I've lived through a lot."
The Winter Soldier, of course, didn't even blink. "No."
Peter deflated. "Fine, then just summarize."
Bucky shrugged. "HYDRA bad, people dead, big owie."
"I'm not two!" squawked Peter.
"Too bad, Pete, that's all you're gonna get."
Peter crossed his arms, grumbling to himself.
Bucky smirked. But just as soon as the smile came, it was gone, and he once again seemed tired and small. "It's just...it's easy to get caught up in the past. Regret. All the things they made me do that I wish I didn't." He smiled thinly. "But laughin'? That grounds ya in the present. So...guess I oughta thank you."
Wow. This was...a lot more serious than Peter thought it was. He slumped. If he hadn't been sitting down, he would have kicked himself in the butt. "Man. I really messed up."
"It's a'right. Honest mistake." Bucky chuckled and leaned on his hand. "I'm not datin' Stevie. That would be like kissin' my stupid kid brother."
"Hey!" Mr. Steve was busy at the stove, but he turned around and grinned. "I take offense to 'stupid'."
They were trying to make him feel better. It was painfully obvious. But it kinda worked. Peter smiled, shakily, and then it fell off his face. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"You just did."
"No, I mean really help!"
"Pete—" Bucky sighed. He paused for a while, his eyes haunted and far away, and then he leaned forward, as if this was really important and he needed Peter to listen. "It's not somethin' I can just flip a switch and it'll go away."
Peter stared at his shoes, dangling off the stool.
"But I am getting better," Bucky added. "Slowly. And havin' reason to smile really helps." He reached forward with his flesh-and-blood hand and ruffled Peter's hair. "Sorry we gave ya a scare, pal. But thanks for the laugh."
Peter's face scrunched up. He'd just combed his hair, dang it, and now it was all sticking up again! But after Bucky dragged his bangs up the wrong way and finally left him alone, Peter found himself looking up with a tiny smile.
"Okay," announced Mr. Steve, turning to the room at large, "who wants pancakes?"
Several hands shot into the air.
"Ooh!" Clint bounced up and down like a little kid. "Me, me!"
"The twins will want some when they wake up." Natasha smiled.
"We've got blueberries," said Mr. Stark. "Can you make blueberries?"
"Sure," said Mr. Steve, and he began to count heads. "Okay, that's three, four, five—put your hand down, Buck, I already know—Parker?"
All eyes were on Peter. He shrank into himself, still feeling kinda sheepish.
"Maybe with chocolate chips?" he finally asked.
Bucky did a small fist-pump and whispered, "Yes..."
Mr. Steve smirked. "You want 'em, you get 'em."
Peter leaped out of the bar stool and made a mad dash for the cabinets. Laughter filled the Common Room kitchen, warm and friendly, and it felt like the whole world was right side up again.
From then on, Peter never forgot the invaluable lesson he learned that day.
Always knock first.
A/N: Inspired by the vine. I'm sure you all know the one. I'm really excited to finally share this with you guys! I've had the idea in my head for a while. I hope you all find it as funny as I do.
Bucky sleeps shirtless sometimes, by the way. Thus the misunderstanding. He was wearing sweatpants.
Reviews are chocolate chip pancakes! Tbc...