I groan, throwing back the covers and getting out of bed. I'm staying the weekend with Mr. Stark at SI, Aunt May is out of town and she insisted. I don't particularly mind, it means I get to work on cool tech everyday.

It's been a few weeks since I wandered in on the Avengers. It's been great ever since, chats with Steve Rogers, Natasha teaching me Russian, movie marathons with Clint. I still can't believe it.

I hang out with the Avengers.

The Avengers.

If Flash knew he would piss his pants.

My geeky bedroom is dark, the only light coming from the the window in silver streams. Mr. Stark kitted it out especially, with a Star Wars duvet, shelves above my bed teeming with lego, and a comfy desk and chair to study on.

The glowing digital clock on my bedside table reads: 4: 21. I pad across the carpet as quietly as I can, opening the door with only a creak. The rest of the hallway is dark, no-one else is awake - not even Mr. Stark. A heavy, sleepy silence cloaks the tower.

I wander down the corridor towards the kitchen, the beige carpet soft under my bare feet. I used to get lost, but after the 5th time getting up in the night I manage my way. But still, the dark maze of hallways and rooms are unnerving.

The rest of the Avengers have officially moved into the tower - which the press is having a field day with - and everyone's settled into a routine. I come around at least three times a week, and have gotten to know everyone pretty well.

I push open the kitchen door, yawning. Stepping inside, I swing open the fridge door. Instantly, a cold metal bar wraps across my throat from behind. I gasp, going stiff in surprise. The yellow light from the fridge illuminates a shiny silver arm - not bar.

In an automatic move I claw at the metal that's squeezing at my windpipe, "Who are you?" the rough, unmistakable voice of Bucky Barnes whispers in my ear.

"Pe..Peter," I choke out. The arm around my neck is gone in a instant. I gasp in air, slipping to the cold tiled ground.

"Sorry, sorry!" he says frantically, "I didn't recognise you," He sounds regretful, genuinely, actually sorry.

"It's fine, Mr. Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes sir," I ramble, still catching my breath.

"Honestly, Peter, I'm sorry. I just stepped into uh...HYDRA mode, and I just didn't think."

"Not your fault," I stand up.

"I..I thought I was getting better," he mumbles, pushing his hair back from his face.

"You are." I say confidently.

He looks up sharply, "how would you know that?"

"I can hear through walls. Mr. America was talking to Mr. Stark about your improvement."

"Been eavesdropping, have you, kid?"

"Not my fault, I can't tune it out."

"Huh. You really do have superpowers." It's not a question, not a statement either. Somewhere in between. He wanders over to the counter, leaning on it heavily.

"Yeah, got bit by a radioactive spider," I explain, fiddling with the hem of my T-shirt.

"How'd that happen?"

"Field trip to Oscorp, I'm not sure when it happened, and the next thing I knew I was throwing up in the school bathroom."

"Och." Bucky winces sympathetically.

"Yeah, it was horrible. The first week after the bite I felt like shit. I would pass out, and puke and I was always cold. But it was worth it, my powers I mean."

"Damn. Sounds tough, kid." I know he's probably just humouring me, I mean he was in a war for god's sake, but it still strokes my ego.

"Want me to demonstrate?"

He snorts, "of course."

I step back, clearing a bit of space. Bucky sees what I'm doing and steps back too. I do a backflip, landing on my feet perfectly. Normally that would impress Ned, Aunt May or even Mr. Stark.

"That all? I could do that in my sleep," Bucky teases.

I laugh, "I'll bring out the big guns."

I step closer to the wall, jumping the switch between horizontal and vertical. "I guess I already demonstrated this, but I don't want to use my super-strength on Mr. Stark's stuff."

I walk up the plaster, hoping I'm not leaving footprints on the paint. In a moment I'm standing upside down on the ceiling.

"That's pretty cool, kid."

"Really!?" I say incredulously.

"Yeah, that would have helped us out back in the day."

"What were the forties like, Mr. Barnes?" I ask eagerly.

He smiles mistily, nostalgia thick in his voice when he speaks, "growing up was some of the best times of my life. I mean, there were bad things too. The Great Depression hit everyone hard, and I saw people starve, but we leant on each other. Don't even get me started on block fights, but swing music and stuff was really popular, so me and Steve would go dancing all the time."

"I wish I could have lived back then, it would have been so cool!" I say excitedly.

"We lived in a queer neighbourhood, and the parties would be absolutely awesome. I mean, the stuff we got up to," he whistles, "I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to tell you."

"Are you gay?" I know it's probably insensitive, that even if he is it's none of my business and if he even wanted to tell me, it would be in his own time.

Bucky swallows, "Uh, yeah, yeah I am." he says, eyes meeting mine tersely.

"Cool. So what're block fights?"

Bucky laughs.

"Why is there footprints on the wall?" Steve walks into the kitchen. I choke on my cornflakes, coughing suspiciously. Bucky pats me on the back.

"Why are you two acting suspicious?" Steve says, eyes narrowed.

"Bucky's gay," I blurt out, "Sorry!" I say to Buck, "I was just thinking about all the stuff you must've gone though and what a change that had to have been coming from a homophobic community to an accepting one and just…" I falter, giving Bucky a 'I'm sorry' look.

Steve raises an eyebrow, "I know Bucky's gay."

"It wasn't that big of a deal," Bucky says, "I mean, we did live in a gay community, so we weren't that exposed to homophobia. But we did know people who lived outside and were hated on."

"Susanna, Joe Gringsworth, Violet Sherbasky," Steve lists, sipping a mug full of coffee.

"Johnny White," Bucky adds, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Steve sighs, looking sad, "poor Johnny."

"What happened to Johnny?"

"Some guys beat him to death with a brick when they found out he was gay." Steve says bluntly.

"Holy shit," I gape, "how is that allowed?"

"The police didn't care," Bucky explains, "just another queer."

"How the fuck did that go by?" I demand.

"Language," Steve warns, "and it didn't. Half the community was out for blood. They found one of the pricks that did it."

"What happened to him?" I ask, eyes wide as saucers.

"Tied him up and threw him in the river," Bucky explains, picking at his metal arm.

"Like the Hudson?"

Steve shrugs, "I don't remember now."

"Did you do it?"

Steve hesitates, "I helped." he says stiffly.

"How?"

"Got the ropes and stood watch while they threw the bastard in. Johnny was my friend." he explains, fire boiling in his eyes.

Bucky clears his throat, "I think that's enough. We don't want to mentally scar him, and you remember Tony's rules."

"Yeah. Sorry kid." Steve apologises, the fire in his eyes simmering down.

"No! It's so cool! I'm gonna do my report on it!"

"On Captain America throwing homophobes in the river? Because I don't think Pepper, or PR, would be very happy with that," Bucky smirks.

"No, on homophobia, focusing on the thirties and forties."

Bucky laughs, sharing a look with Steve, "You go, kid."