"Peter"

"...mm"

"Peter"

"Hmmm?"

"Peter!"

His head shot up, cracking against the underside of his bunk. "Shit!" he hissed, collapsing back onto his mattress and cradling his forehead. He squinted his eyes open, peeking up and glancing at his door. Closed.

"God dammit Pete."

He whipped around, ignoring the painful pulse the motion sent throbbing through his temples, and hopped up into a defensive crouch as he faced the window. He paused, clenched fists going slack and head tilting to the side. He sat back down against his sheets. "Bucky?"

Said man had one arm thrown over Peter's window sill so that his hand was laying flat against his wall, nearly white from the pressure he was using to hold himself there. His face was slightly strained, thoroughly dampened hair clinging to his skin and hiding his full expression from view. His tense exasperation was still pretty clear, though. "No shit, kid." He grunted, trying to hoist himself up for a moment before giving up and once again resting all his weight on his flesh arm. "Mind giving me a hand?"

"Oh, yeah, of course!" Peter rushed to assure, stumbling off his bed and tripping over his covers in the process. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Any day now," He drawled.

Peter huffed as he reached the window and grabbed the soldier's bicep, using his other hand to lift the window up all the way before pulling the man through and onto the carpet in one easy movement. Bucky landed on the floor with a solid thump, grunting and clutching his metal arm. It was stiff at his side, slightly bent at the elbow but unmoving and clearly stuck by the way the fingers of it were stationary in a claw-like shape. "What happened?" Peter asked, crouching by his side.

Bucky rolled onto his back, closing his eyes for a moment and evening his breaths. He pushed himself upright with his good arm, leaning against the wall. "Hit with an EMP and some electrical shit."

Peter nodded absentmindedly, slowly reaching out and prodding at the metal arm gently, making his way up to the shoulder. "And you came here because…" he prompted.

"Closer," Bucky supplied, trying to shrug and wincing.

"Closer than what?" Peter questioned, now running his fingers along the inseam of the elbow.

Bucky sighed wearily, swiping his flesh hand across his face and pushing his hair back. "The tower. Stark," he said.

Peter squinted at him, sitting back on his haunches. "You tryna go monosyllabic or can you tell me" - he gestured at Bucky, his arm, and then the window - "what, exactly, is going on?"

The man exhaled loudly, but his lips twitched faintly at the corners. "I already explained why this" - he pointed at his metal arm - "is like that, and I've got people out lookin' for me all over. Can't make it back to base without 'em spottin' me-"

"Wait. Did they follow you here?" Peter interrupted, eyebrows scrunching and voice pitching slightly.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "No, that's why I came here, punk. I could get here just fine; the tower's the problem cause they know that's where I'm headed," he explained.

"Ah."

Bucky snorted. "Yeah. Ah." They lapsed into a momentary silence.

"… Still. Why here?"

Bucky stared at him. "Ya know," he drawled, propping one knee up and resting his chin on his closed palm, "for bein' so smart, you sure are pretty stupid."

"Hey!" Peter cried out indignantly. He stopped for a second, fidgeting with his sleeve. "You here to lie low?" he tried.

Bucky groaned, thumping his head against the wall. "You're Stark's intern, yeah?"

Peter nodded slowly.

"You work on shit with him, right?"

Peter nodded again. Bucky gestured at his malfunctioning prosthetic. Comprehension dawned on the teen. "You want me to help fix it?" he asked, eyes wide. Bucky gave him a look, raising an eyebrow. Peter flushed slightly, reaching up to tug at his hair. "I just… you don't let a lot of people really work on it," he admitted. Bucky glanced away.

"I know," he agreed quietly.

Peter shifted forwards slightly. "You sure, then?" he asked.

Bucky gave him a small, close lipped smile. "Sure as I'll ever be," he replied.

Peter nodded decisively, standing back up and heading to his closet, where he opened the doors and picked up his box set of work tools. It was smaller - a lot smaller - than the variety he had back at the lab, but it was enough for when he was in a pinch with his own suit or tech and didn't have time or didn't want to drop by the tower.

He brought it back over to Bucky, setting it down before going over and closing his window, muffling to sounds of pattering rain. He seated himself on the carpet in front of the man. Bucky tilted his head towards the glass pane. "Who leaves their window open all night?" he asked, a trace of humor lining his voice.

Peter missed a breath, eyes turning laser focused on his task of opening up his tool set to avoid Bucky's gaze. He waited a moment for his pulse to steady. "Just like the breeze," he replied. He totally didn't forget to close it after a late night of patrolling. Not at all. Nuh-uh. That'd be a totally rookie mistake. So not him. Yeah.

Bucky hummed, watching as Peter raised a pair of sewing scissors to his shoulder. The teen paused, finally looking at Bucky's face.

"Is it okay…" he trailed off.

Bucky nodded, a bit more tersely. Peter lifted the scissors, cutting off the sleeve of Bucky's black tee so that the left side was more of a tank top style than the mid bicep length it'd been. He tugged the extra fabric off, setting it to the side. His focus was glued on, now bare to see, the edge of Bucky's shoulder, scored with thick, ropey scars that melded into the metal attached to it. "My eyes are up here, pal," Bucky teased dryly. Peter's gaze flicked up to meet Bucky's, lips quirking up into an apologetic smile but coming out as more an awkward baring of his teeth.

"Sorry, Bucky. Just." He huffed. "Yeah." He turned back to the arm, picking up his narrowest driver and bringing it to one of the pull points he'd felt earlier. "You alright if I start?"

Bucky hummed affirmatively, form only bracing slightly when Peter pressed the tool against the inner edge of his metal wrist. A faint whirring hiss sounded, and Peter traced his fingers up along the arm until he found the next point, pushing down against it as well. He repeated the process nearly a dozen times until there was a small click, a slim line extending from the shoulder to the bottom of the forearm becoming visible. Peter switched out his tool for a spatula-like one, bent at the handle to ninety degrees and edge impossibly thin. He fit it between the negligible gap that'd formed in the metal, slipping it under one side and pulling upwards. There was a moment of resistance before the panel gave, lifting.

"How'd ya know 'bout that?" Bucky asked, face remaining impassive but flesh hand gripping at coarse strands of carpet.

Peter didn't look up from his work, delicately folding the frame backwards to reveal the inner workings of the arm as he responded. "Stark's shown me some stuff, and you can kinda just tell with the rest."

Bucky scoffed. "'Can just tell,'" he repeated disbelievingly. "And Stark hasn't done this shit to it," he continued, looking at his arm.

Peter shrugged lightly, gently pushing past a few wires with the handle end of the tool and craning his neck forward to peer closer. "He still theorizes," Peter explained. "And you let him examine the outside."

"Mh," Bucky agreed absently, finally loosening his hold on the carpet and resting his forearm on his knee. He plopped his chin down onto it. "What're ya lookin' for?" he asked.

Peter pinched one of the metal synapses between his thumb and index finger, making an apologetic sound when Bucky hissed nearly inaudibly through his teeth. The circuit was charred black, rubber framing melted away. Peter groped blindly for the box with his free hand, somehow managing to find a tangled ball of wires and setting it down in front of himself. His eyes flickered to Bucky's. "This's gonna hurt," he forewarned. Bucky raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, and Peter grimaced sheepishly, a hint defensive. "These're like nerves, dude. You should be in, like, a lot of pain right now," he told him - the war hero ex-HYDRA agent who'd been tortured and brainwashed for over seventy years. The lack of response was telling, though it was filled less with anger and more with a nearly palpable sort of quiet amusement. He coughed. "I'll just - yeah."

He worked silently over the next few minutes, snipping off the overcharged piece and welding on a new set from the wires he'd gathered, checking around the inner workings of the arm to see if there were any other places that were fried by the shock. When he was sufficiently satisfied, he closed the panel back in, sealing the opening from view.

"If you wanna stop by the labs sometime, I can work out some preventive stuff - for this kind of thing," Peter offered. Bucky rotated his metal arm, watching as it shifted with the movement and clenching and unclenching his fist.

"I'll think about it."

Peter shrugged again, gathering his tools back up and returning them to their spot in his closet. He plopped back down in front of Bucky. Neither of them spoke for a few moments. The air thickened in the awkward sort of pause. Bucky lifted an eyebrow, and Peter flushed, reaching a hand up to tug at his hair. "You, um, want me to call someone?" he tried, scooting backward and reaching an arm out behind him to grab for his phone.

Bucky shook his head, nearly dry strands of hair falling over his face. "I'm good now," he dismissed, raising his metal arm out to the side and making a smooth, rotating motion with it. They stayed there for several seconds of relatively companionable silence. Bucky huffed, a surprisingly amused sound, and moved to stand. Peter did the same, following the man back over to his window.

"You wanna take the door?" Peter offered.

Another sharp exhale left Bucky's nose, his lips twitching. "I'll be alright." He pulled the window back open. The rain had petered out to a faint drizzle. He swung one leg over the edge so that he was seated half in, half out of the room. He turned to face Peter, an impish grin revealing his teeth. "Thanks for the help, Spider-Man."

"What?!" Peter wheezed, but Bucky was already gone, dropping down out the window and disappearing from sight, the only remnant thereafter being the faint thud that sounded as he hit the ground.

Peter gaped at where the man had been, eyes the size of small moons and mouth wide open in shock.

A month later, Peter still hadn't found the courage to confront Bucky about the spur of the moment revelation of him knowing Peter's secret identity. Public identity? Hero persona? The Spider-Man thing.

Perhaps, he mused, picking up a plier, this would be a good time.

He turned back to Bucky, who was seated on top of the lab table counter, legs swinging idly and metal arm once again opened to expose its inner components. "Hey Bucky," he started.

"Yeah, Peter?" the man replied, far too knowingly.

Peter squinted at him, then focused back on his current task, loosening several parts of the overly tightened framings inside the arm. "About what you said…" he prompted.

"This morning?" Bucky questioned, far too innocently to be genuine. "'s not my fault Steve still can't work a goddamned toaster."

The teen pursed his lips, fighting back a smile and ultimately failing to look serious. "I know, Bucky. And I know you know that's not what I meant."

He finished up on the last bolt, setting down the plier and grabbing a cloth to wipe away some excess grime that'd gathered on the arm.

Bucky hummed unsurely, tapping against the table. "With Stark?"

Peter's thoughts drifted. "Nah, I get that. You choose who works on your arm, Bucky. Nobody's gonna say otherwise. Even if Mr. Stark's being kinda petty about it."

Bucky looked at him, deadpan. "He put glitter in my sandwich, Pete. Glitter. In Sandwich."

"It was probably edible glitter!" Peter defended.

Bucky tilted his head. "That's a thing?"

Peter laughed openly, then cut himself off abruptly. "Hey!" He pointed an accusing finger at Bucky. "You're distracting me!"

"From talking about you being Spider-Man?" Bucky asked.

"Yes!" Peter retorted, his entire face proceeding to scrunch up for a millisecond before shifting to a strange amalgamation of several emotions including shock, exasperation, a hint of levity, and faint trepidation.

Bucky snorted, taking the liberty of closing his arm's panel back up, seeing that the kid was more or less finished. "Settle down, Pete. Only me n' Nat've figured it out."

Peter spluttered for a couple of seconds, falling back onto his stool. "How?"

Bucky sighed. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask that," he said. Peter stared at him blankly. Bucky resisted the urge to slam his own forehead against a wall. "I hate to repeat myself but. You? You put a whole new meanin' ta stupid smart."

Peter scowled at the comment, ignoring the redness he could clearly feel against the back of his neck and the tips of his ears. His mind slowly caught up, the cogs in his brain finally deciding to start turning once more. He waved a hand in the air, as if to brush aside the comment. "Yeah, yeah. Super spies. Hardy har har," he muttered.

Bucky grinned back widely, teeth glinting in the light.