Three days had passed since Peter had first arrived at the Avengers compound for the second time. In those three days Peter had seen exactly three people – the chef at the cafeteria, the lady that gave him his food, and the security guard that walked back and forth across the hall. The lady was nice and spoke to him politely, but aside from her, no one else said a word. And with Tony's rule that he had to stay on this floor, Peter had nowhere else to go.
He kept mostly to his room, drifting between eating, watching television, and sleeping. Never before had his stomach felt so constantly full and his body so rested. He had to admit, he had actually forgotten what it was like.
FRIDAY would check in every once in a while, making sure that he was doing all right, that he didn't need anything, and that no, the Goblin hadn't been caught yet, and yes, Peter was still stuck here for a while yet.
Which brought him to where he was now: lying against the headboard on his bed, the television on mute, and his eyes staring into nothing as the gears in his mind ran non-stop.
Although nothing bad had happened yet, Peter could never fully ignore the feeling that he shouldn't be here, that he needed to go back to New York, even though he didn't really have anywhere else now to go back to. Memories of Tony and everyone dying played in his vision, dancing in front of his eyes, threatening him, warning him, reminding him of why he had been trying so hard to avoid them in the first place. But somehow it seemed as though the entire universe had conspired against him, and forced him to stay in the one place in the whole world he didn't want to be.
But more than lamenting his situation and wishing he could leave, there was one thing that filled Peter's mind more.
Bruce. Bruce and that x-ray. Bruce and that x-ray that claimed there was something underneath his skin, inside his body, right here and now at this very moment. Bruce's suggestion that someone had put it there, that that was the reason for Peter's scar.
He was wrong, of course, Peter knew that. The scar was there because someone had been trying to take it – whatever it was – out. But if it could be removed, if it could be taken away without killing him, then did that mean it had been placed there, too? Or had it always been with him, a part of his body, like a limb or an organ? What if –
Peter shook his head. He had already run through all the what-if scenarios he could think of. Even he was growing sick of hearing them. Without more evidence or proof, he could go nowhere but in circles. He would only drive himself insane.
But fear remained.
On the fourth day, things finally started to change. The storm had finally begun to dissipate, and Peter could now actually see nearly halfway across the field in front of him. On the fourth day Peter started to see more people wandering the halls. It were as though the compound had been buried beneath the blizzard, and was now just starting to wake up. One of them even acknowledged Peter's existence with a slight nod and hello. It was exciting stuff.
But most of all, on the fourth day – Steve came back.
Peter had been eating in the cafeteria when Clint had arrived. The man had given him a small smile, walking up to the table where Peter sat.
"Hey," he greeted.
Peter swallowed the food that was still in his mouth. "Uh, hi," he replied. He expected Clint to sit down, but he remained standing.
"I just wanted to let you know that the Captain's back," he said. "He arrived less than ten minutes ago."
It took Peter half a second to realise what Clint meant, but when he did, he immediately pushed his food away and stood to his feet. "Really?" he asked.
He didn't know why he was so aflutter; maybe it was because he thought he could convince Steve to let him go, remind him how he was a danger to others and needed to stay away from them as far as he could. He had convinced him before (well, sort of), he could surely convince him again. Maybe it was because he actually stood a chance at convincing Steve of who Norman Osborn really was, and what he was planning to do to Stark Industries.
Or maybe it was only for the fact that he could now actually talk to someone who would listen to him, rather than shove him in his room and lock the door behind him. Either way, Peter couldn't deny that he was eager to see Steve.
"Where is he?" Peter asked.
"He's actually just exiting the Quinjet I'll take you up there now."
Clint started to walk away, but Peter held back. "Wait, doesn't he need to debrief?" he asked. After a mission they always needed to debrief, if nothing else than to at least keep Ross and his bureaucratic cronies off their backs.
Clint looked back at him curiously, his brows furrowing slightly together. He stared for a moment longer, before answering. "Tony's already talked to him. They've actually been talking for thirty minutes on the comm. And after that long, I'm pretty sure neither of them will be wanting to speak to the other for at least the rest of the day. Now come on, let's get up there before they disappear."
Peter started walking. "Are you sure? Mister Stark said I'm not supposed to leave this floor."
"Yeah, well, Stark may be the king of this castle, but I'm definitely one of the lords. So I can take you wherever I want. Besides," he stopped at the elevator and pressed the button going up, "what Stark doesn't know won't hurt him." The doors opened up and, flashing Peter a grin, Clint stepped inside. Peter quickly followed after.
The ride to the ninth – and highest – floor only took a few short seconds, and when the doors opened and Peter stepped out, he was met with a cacophony of movement and noise.
People were walking quickly back and forth across the hall, some yelling to each other while others leaned over in hushed whispers, lips moving fast and furiously. Most of them were people Peter recognised, a mixture of security and personnel that had each been personally vetted by Happy himself, while others were leftovers from Shield. So many things were happening at once that Peter couldn't even pay attention to it all.
It was a stark contrast to the lethargic and silent life of the fifth floor.
"No, don't worry about it, it's just a cut. It will heal in a couple days."
Peter's ears perked at the familiar voice and he looked over, eyes searching, until they finally landed on the man who had spoken them.
Steve.
The knot that had been twisted in his gut the past four days began to ease, and Peter found himself breathing a sigh of relief, trying not to think of how ridiculous it was that he was thankful to see an Avenger.
Someone came through the door behind him and Peter blinked, his eyes falling on a man he hadn't seen in two years.
Bucky.
"Yo Cap," Clint suddenly shouted above the noise. Steve looked up from his conversation with a young nurse, and met Clint's gaze. Clint pointed to Peter. "I found your stray."
Steve frowned for a brief moment, before his eyes trailed over to Peter and then promptly widened. He was suddenly shoving a bunch of papers in the nurse's arms and walking quickly towards them.
"Peter," he said, coming to a stop. He looked both bemused and pleased to see him. "Peter, what are you doing here? I thought –."
"He got himself into some trouble in New York," came a familiar voice. "But like the wonderful guy that I am, I bailed him out." Tony smiled, coming to a stop beside them. He met Steve's eyes. "Captain," he greeted.
"Stark," Steve replied warily.
"I would ask you how the… vacation, went, but I don't think everyone here has all the required security clearance for that kind of conversation." Tony turned to Clint, his fake smile still plastered to his face. "Barton, would you care to explain why you have our guest all the way up here on the ninth floor?"
"He asked to be notified when Cap came back," Clint replied. "And I thought that after being cooped up by himself for three days, he deserved a bit of fresh air. I didn't know there were even people on that floor." The look he was giving Tony was evident of his disapproval, but Tony, as Tony always did, simply waved it away.
"I would have taken him out for a walk eventually. But still, I don't think coming all the way up here is an ideal place for a stroll."
"Well I think..."
Peter's senses picked up the gaze of someone new, and he looked up to see Bucky standing just outside their circle, staring at him. Peter glanced over at Steve, who after a moment caught his eye, then turned back round. He motioned for Bucky to come over.
Bucky arrived at the group, nodding his head to Clint in greeting and ignoring Tony entirely. Peter frowned. He knew that the two men had never gotten along that well, after all that had happened it would have been a surprise if they did. But for as long as Peter had known them, they had at least come to a place of polite cordiality. Clearly since he'd been gone, the two had taken a few steps back in their relationship.
Steve quickly introduced them. "Peter, this is James Barnes," he said, then motioned towards Peter. "And this is Peter Parker." He looked back at Bucky. "Peter was the kid I was telling you about."
"The one who escaped Stark's guards, twice?" Bucky asked.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes – the kid's a regular Houdini. Now how about we go back to where we all belong? I have a meeting I need to get to, and the soldiers here need to get back to their barracks. And Barton," Tony said, giving Clint a look, "don't bring the kid back up here, you got it? Got it? Good."
With that, Tony spun around and promptly exited the group, immediately encircled by three other staff as he left.
Peter could hear Steve sigh.
"Don't let yourself be bothered by him, Peter. He's always that way."
But the thing was, Peter couldn't really remember if he actually was that way, or if he was only that way to strangers. He had always been… well, an ass – but he wasn't sure if it was ever quite like this. Maybe he had just hidden it more, once Peter had come into the picture. You couldn't exactly isolate the guy you were trying to recruit now, could you?
"Come on kid," Clint suddenly said, walking back towards the elevator. "We might as well get back down before his majesty comes back and throws a tantrum."
Peter gave Tony one last glance, before turning and heading into the elevator.
"I'll come see you once we've cleaned up," Steve said, staying where he was. "You're on the fifth floor, right?"
Peter turned his eyes back to Steve and nodded. "Yeah."
Steve gave a small smile. "All right. See you in a bit, Pete."
"Yeah," Peter answered quietly. "See you in a bit."
Peter's eyes flickered over from Steve to Bucky, who was still looking at him as the doors began to close, his gaze never leaving as the doors locked shut.
Peter watched as Clint walked ahead of him, the man's hands behind his head as he stretched, as though he hadn't a care in the world. Peter could only frown, wondering what on earth had the man in such a good mood. They eventually came to Peter's door, and Clint slowed to a stop. He brought his hands down, giving Peter a smile. "I guess this is your stop."
"Yeah," Peter said, still eyeing Clint uncertainly. "Thanks for… thanks for telling me about Steve, I mean, Mister Rogers, and… and yeah. Thanks." Not that it had been much of a trip. They'd practically been kicked back down as soon as they'd gone up, only managing to talk to Steve for a few minutes, something that could have easily been done through FRIDAY. Peter wondered why Clint had even bothered in the first place.
As Peter opened the door and started to walk inside, Clint suddenly spoke.
"Hey, after all this is done – how would you like to come out to my place? I have a farm back in Iowa. My wife and kids are there. I know they'd be more than happy to meet you."
Peter blinked. Okay, well that was definitely a curve ball. Of all the things Clint could have said, Peter hadn't expected that.
Peter frowned, his brows furrowed together in full confusion. "What?" he asked. "Why… why would you want to do that? I mean, I appreciate the thought and everything, but I – I'm a –."
"Laura would like to meet the guy that saved her husband's life. Usually the ones who do that tend to be gods or crazy billionaires. It's not often she gets to actually thank them in person."
Peter had met Laura before. She was nice – incredibly nice. Watching her and Clint and their family had stirred up feelings in Peter that he hadn't known had existed. It was such a warm and loving family that made Peter wonder if, had his parents not died, that life could have been his.
Which was why he had never gone out to Clint's farm much, despite numerous offers the man had made. It was easier not to think about something when you weren't completely surrounded by it.
Peter finally shook his head. "Thanks, Cli – Mister Barton. But I need to get back to New York. I have… I have people there waiting for me. I need to get back to them as soon as I can." A lie, of course. Just another to add to a now very long list.
"Besides," he said, pushing the door further in. He could feel a headache coming on. "I doubt Nathaniel or Cooper would want to give up their room for a stranger." Least of all to someone like him.
"Nate and Coop can deal with it," Clint replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Believe me, they've dealt with much worse."
"Yeah, well – I think I'll still pass. But thanks, Mister Barton. Really. I appreciate it." He gave Clint one last smile, before finally walking into his apartment.
Clint stepped back, putting his hands in his pockets. "All right then, if that's what you want. Just know then you've got four very grateful people back in Iowa. And one grateful person here."
With a smile, Clint turned and began walking away. As Peter closed the door, he didn't see Clint suddenly stop and turn round, looking back at him, his brows furrowed together as the door clicked shut.
It wasn't until after eight o'clock when there finally came a knock at the door. Peter immediately got up from the bed and headed towards it. He had almost thought Steve had forgotten.
When he opened the door he was surprised to see not only Steve, but someone else, as well.
Bucky.
Of course Steve would bring him. Whenever they had a chance to be around each other, the two men tended to stick like glue. Well, for the most part. Whenever they were at the compound, Bucky tended to stay on his and Steve's floor. But whenever he did come out, he was always with Steve.
"Hey Pete," Steve said. He was holding four bags in his hands, and he gave him a smile. "Thought I'd bring some supper."
Peter stepped back and let the two men come inside. As Bucky walked past, Peter noticed he was also carrying four more bags.
Upon opening them – Chinese, Peter was pleased to see, he hadn't had Chinese since Before – Peter determined that the food was enough to feed at least eight regular people. Or, in this case, two super-soldiers and… well, whatever Peter was.
Once they'd sat down and had each filled a plate full of food, Steve began the interrogation.
"So," he said, stirring his fork into his vegetables and rice, "I guess the first real question I have to ask is, what happened? Tony told me his version of events, but I'd like to hear it from you."
Peter supposed if he even wanted to begin begging Steve to take him from the compound, he'd have to answer the most blaring question in the room.
But, if he wanted to keep his story straight, he had to get Tony's story, first.
"What did Mister Stark say?" Peter asked, not looking up from his food.
"Tony said that you tried to get on the stage at the signing, but then that Green Goblin guy showed up and started bombing the place. When he went after him he found the guy had you in a stranglehold. By the time he got to you you'd passed out, and he thought you'd be safer if he brought you here."
Steve stared at Peter a moment longer in silence, before saying quietly, "I told you not to go there, Peter. I told you to just let it be, and that I'd take care of it once I got back stateside. Why didn't you listen to me? Why did you have to jump in?"
Peter held back a frown. He didn't exactly appreciate being reprimanded like a child. He supposed the only thing he could do was try and defend himself, what little he could.
"Did Mister Stark also tell you why I tried to get on the stage in the first place?" he asked.
"He said you thought Norman Osborn was going to use the contract to try and take over the company, or something like that. He didn't seem to put much stock in it." There was a pause as Steve looked at Peter, before he quietly asked, "Do you really think Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin?"
"Yes," Peter said right away, his tone more forceful than he had intended. "Yes, he is. And no, I didn't hear it from some guy on the street. I know… I know my sources. And whether you believe me or not, the truth is still the truth. You can close your ears and shut your eyes and choose not to believe, but it's still the truth." He swallowed. "I'm telling the truth."
The room fell into silence. Peter picked at his food, suddenly not quite as hungry as before.
He hadn't really factored in the possibility that they wouldn't believe him. He should have, now that he thought of it. That should have been the most probable outcome of all. But for some reason he'd thought that, if he just told someone, if he just revealed what was going on, that they would see the truth and stop Osborn and everything would be fixed. Everyone would be saved. He hadn't truly expected them to slough off his accusations and concerns, he hadn't truly expected them to ignore him completely, and –
"I believe him."
Both Peter and Steve frowned, their heads turning to Bucky.
Bucky was hunched over his plate, shoveling forkfuls of food into his mouth. He swallowed and looked up, pointing his fork at Peter. "You can see it in his eyes," he said. He held Peter's gaze for a few moments, before looking back down to his food. "He's telling the truth."
Something in Peter shifted at the words, a release, as though all the muscles in his body, if only for a moment, were suddenly able to breathe.
Steve said nothing, and the room fell back into silence.
"It doesn't matter anyway," Peter said after a moment. "The contract was lost. The deal wasn't finished."
Steve shook his head. "They'll just sign another contract. I wouldn't be surprised if they already have. The public signing was just for show; apparently Osborn was the one that wanted it in the first place. It was never actually important."
Peter stared at Steve, his brows flickering in a frown. So he had gone through all that – he had nearly gotten himself arrested, had fought with Stromm and the Goblin, had wound up stuck back at the Avenger's compound, the last place on earth he ever wanted to be – for nothing? It had all been for nothing?
Peter leaned back against his chair, no longer interested in his food.
Then there really was no point in his being here. There really was no point in his trying to save the Avengers; not if, in the end, his efforts surmounted to absolutely nothing. Not if, in the end, they would all be scattered and killed anyway.
Peter clenched his teeth, and for the next ten minutes said absolutely nothing.
Once Steve and Bucky had finished eating, having left Peter to his thoughts, Peter spoke up. "So when can I go home?" he asked, a little more harshly than he had intended. "Mister Stark can't keep me here against my will, no matter what protection-bullshit he gives. The storm is past, I can go home now." He met Steve's eyes. "Right?"
Steve was now leaning back in his own chair, evenly returning Peter's gaze. "No," he said, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "Not until the Green Goblin is found. For whatever reason, he seems to have a grudge against you. And besides, if we're honest, Peter, it's not like you have a place to go back to." He paused, then said, "and I have a feeling that the Goblin had a hand in that too, didn't he?"
"It doesn't matter if I have a place to go to or not," Peter rebutted. "I live on the streets. And if I want to go back to them, that's my choice. And that's what I want to do."
"Even if you have some guy with an arsenal of bombs on your tail?"
"Anywhere is better than here."
Peter could hear Steve sigh; it was clearly not an answer he was happy with.
There was a long break after that, as all three men sat but neither spoke a word. Peter knew exactly what Steve was thinking; the man's thoughts were by now almost an open book to him. But Bucky, on the other hand….
Bucky had never really stopped staring at him since they'd started eating; and while it didn't bother him, Peter couldn't help but wonder why the man thought him so interesting. If interesting was what he actually thought. He could very well just be trying to make Peter out, wondering why Steve was even bothering with someone like him. In fact, that was the answer most likely of all.
But still, after spending two years being ignored by the rest of the world, Peter couldn't help but be a little uncomfortable at suddenly being the center of someone's attention.
"Two weeks."
Peter blinked, looking up from his gaze out of the dark window to look at Steve, his eyebrows raised. "What?"
"Two weeks," Steve repeated. "If you stay here for two weeks, and nothing has happened, the Goblin hasn't shown up anywhere, if he seems to have gone away… then we'll let you go back to New York. Of course, if the Goblin is found before then, you can go home sooner. But if we can't track him down and he doesn't show up looking for you in two weeks, then you can go back home. Does that sound good?"
Peter thought for a moment, mulling over Steve's words.
Did he want to stay here for two weeks? Hell no. Would he prefer to go back to New York right now, regardless of what any of the Avengers said, no matter what danger awaited him? Absolutely.
But…
But two weeks were at least not two months. And unlike Tony, at least Steve had given him an actual timeline. At least he had given him the possibility of going home, instead of giving the impression that he would be staying here for the rest of his life.
Two weeks here were still two weeks too long. But at the moment, they were the only real option that Peter had.
Unless of course he wanted to try escaping again; but somehow he knew that they would find and come after him, no matter how long and how fast he ran.
So finally, he relented.
"Okay," he said quietly.
"What was that?" Steve asked, though Peter knew full well that he had heard him.
"I said okay," Peter said louder, looking up. He fought back an unhappy stare. "I'll stay. But when those two weeks are up, you're taking me straight home – do you understand? And I don't care if you'll just be dropping me off on the street corner. If that's where I want to go, then… then that's where I want to go. All right?"
"All right," Steve agreed. "Once the two weeks are up we'll take you straight back to New York, no questions asked. Is that good?"
"That's good," Peter replied.
"Good."
The two stared at each other for a long moment, before Peter finally looked away.
It certainly wasn't ideal. He still worried whether or not Seftis would start paying attention and decide to come after them, but… but he hadn't yet. And maybe, just maybe, if they were lucky – he'd continue to look away for the next two weeks. And if he didn't, well….
Peter swallowed.
Steve suddenly pushed his chair back, its feet scraping loudly against the floor, and Peter looked up. The seriousness that had painted Steve's face before was now gone, replaced with a small, soft smile.
"Well I guess if you're going to be here for a while, we'll have to find you something to do. Tony may think it's all right to keep you locked up here, but Tony also has no trouble staying in his lab for four days straight, surrounded by trash, so I wouldn't exactly be following his example. So how would you like a tour of the facility?"
Peter wanted to stay angry. He wanted to stay frustrated and unhappy because he was. But Peter also knew that, unless he wanted to live the next fourteen days just like he'd endured the last three, he would have to put his resentment on the back-burner and accept Steve's offer of a truce.
And besides, if he were honest, Steve was probably his only way off this floor and his only hope of doing at least something halfway interesting for the next two weeks.
He could still remember the first tour he'd been given, shortly after Germany. Tony had had business to do over the phone, probably with one of Ross's people, and Peter hadn't been scheduled to go back home for another hour. So, much to Happy's delight, he had been given the task of "showing Peter around". The next hour had been filled with hyper, energetic questions that Peter was fairly sure had left Happy with more grey hairs than when they had started.
After that, once Peter had started hanging around and working with the Avengers more, he had slowly begun to learn the building and all of its floors, rooms, and myriad of vast, never-ending halls. He didn't know everything the compound held, but he sure as hell knew quite a lot.
But it had been two years since he'd last been here, and Peter couldn't deny that he'd like to see it all again.
"Yeah," Peter said after a few moments. "That'd be… that'd be cool. That'd be great."
"Great," Steve responded, his smile growing. "Tomorrow afternoon Bucky and I will stop over, and give you the official tour. It's a pretty neat place, Pete – I think you'll like it."
Yeah, Peter couldn't deny. I think I will.
Steve showed up at Peter's door at one o'clock the next afternoon. Bucky wasn't with him, having chosen to stay behind on their floor. Peter didn't ask questions and Steve didn't give any answers, but Peter assumed Bucky simply wanted some solitude. And, with all that Peter himself had gone through in the past few weeks, he honestly couldn't blame him.
They started from the bottom and made their way up. Steve explained what each level was primarily for, and what sort of things the Avengers compound did besides providing a home base for their team. Peter knew all these things already, of course, but he said nothing, taking in Steve's comments and remarks in silence.
It was like seeing an old school again, once you'd graduated and gone away. He had never expected to be back here, but seeings its rooms and walking its halls again was like stepping into an old, warm memory.
And for once, it was a memory Peter was more than happy to remember.
It was once they started reaching the higher floors that they began running into people Peter knew. Whether it was old staff or even Pepper Potts herself – luckily she was talking rapidly to someone and hadn't noticed them – Peter had to admit it was a bit surreal to be around them again.
Though now, instead of being a part of them, instead of being one of them, he instead felt like an outsider, like an interloper. Like someone whose home and everyone in it had changed, while he had been left behind and had remained the same. While he had been lost.
Which was all the more reason to get out of here when he could. Which was all the more reason to not let himself get comfortable, and to get out of here as soon as he could.
They went through the building a little while longer, Steve discreetly leaving out all the more secure parts, such as Bruce's labs – which Peter was more than happy to skip by – and Tony's floor, which Peter hadn't been so happy to ignore, as that floor had also once been his and he had been hoping to see it again, if only for a little while.
Eventually Steve brought them to the sixth floor, most of which, Peter knew, were shared by him and Bucky. He had never spent much time here Before, usually choosing to circulate between Tony and Bruce's labs; so it was interesting to finally see where Captain America and the Winter Soldier hung out when they weren't fighting evil around the world.
"And these are the rooms Bucky and I share," Steve said finally, opening the door.
Peter's eyes grew wide.
If he thought his guest quarters were something to marvel at, or even his old room near Tony's, then he was sorely mistaken.
The kitchen was huge. The living areas were huge. The entire wall at the end of the apartment was completely made of glass, looking out onto the front field of the property. Everything was sparkling clean and barely a hint of dirt or garbage anywhere.
It was a stark contrast to Tony's living space, which had always been overflowing with leftover pizza boxes and takeout bags. Peter couldn't help but wonder if the soldiers' orderliness was a leftover attribute from the war, a habit still ingrained after nearly eighty years.
Or perhaps Tony was just a slob.
After walking a few steps in, Peter began to wonder where Bucky was.
"Bucky – I mean, Mister Barnes… is he all right with me coming over?" Peter asked. When he had known him, Bucky had never been a very sociable person, if at all. But Peter supposed that came with the territory after being someone's mental and physical slave for decades on end.
"No," Steve replied. "He doesn't mind. I think he's actually in the gym, right now."
Peter furrowed his brows. "You guys have a gym?" he asked, surprised. "I didn't know that." He didn't think anyone else had a personal gym that he knew of; he had to admit, he was slightly jealous.
Steve chuckled. "That's because I hadn't told you, yet," he said, walking further into the room. "Come on, I'll show you where it is."
Peter followed Steve through a bunch of doorways and rooms, until eventually they came to a set of staircases leading down. Peter shook his head. Good grief – how much of the compound did they have?
Once down they were immediately met with a set of doors, leading into a – of course – large gym. Steve pulled open the door and they walked inside.
There were so many different stations, Peter was struggling to recognise them all. There were of course treadmills, though these were built right into the floor, making it even easier to jump on and off. There were barbells and bench presses, pull up bars and extension machines.
Peter vaguely wondered whether super soldiers even needed to work out, or if the serum just kept them naturally fit all the time; but before he could think any deeper on it, he saw Bucky coming towards them.
"Hey," Bucky greeted.
Peter gave a brief twitch of his lips. "Hi."
"So did Steve give you the full tour of the place?"
"Yeah," Peter said, then backtracked. "Well, I mean, not everything. But as much as he could, anyway."
"Well you've probably seen more than me, then."
Peter frowned slightly, and Steve quickly interjected. "Bucky prefers to go only where he has to. Otherwise he just keeps to our floor."
"There's no point in seeing every room in the whole place. Not like I'm ever going to go back there again."
"Yeah, well," Steve said, starting to smile, "you're like that with almost everything. It's nice to see some things haven't changed, even after eighty years."
The two men shared a small smile, and in the moment, Peter couldn't help but give a smile of his own.
There was a small pause, before Steve turned back to Peter. "So, Pete; anything you want to try? You could test out all of them, if you want. Are there any in-particular that catch your eye?"
Peter couldn't deny that there was more than one piece of equipment that looked cool. He recognised some of them, but the vast majority were ones that he didn't think he had ever seen before. Not that he was a connoisseur of such things, but he wasn't totally blind to that part of the world.
Apparently seeing his indecision, Steve led Peter over to one of the sit-down machines, motioning towards it. "Here," he said. "Try this one out. It's called a pec deck; I think the name speaks for itself as to what it does." He sat Peter down and began moving the arms of the machine. "Just put your hands here… make sure your elbows stay bent, and… there. Try it out, see what you think."
Well, Peter thought, sitting down. It's not like I have anything else to do today. Or any day, really. Besides, this would probably be the first and only time he'd get to hang out in the personal gym of Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Peter had to admit, it was pretty cool.
Setting his hands around the bars at each of his sides, Peter began to pull both handles towards each other in front of him.
He did it a few times, getting a feel for the weights and where the equipment was pulling at the muscles in his chest. It wasn't difficult, in fact, Peter would say that it was pretty easy. He'd probably have to put a few more weights on in order to make the exercise actually worth while.
After a few more moments Peter looked up, and catching the soldiers' eyes, he slowed to a stop.
Bucky was staring at him with brows furrowed and head slightly tilted, his normally stoic face now etched with a slight touch of incredulity, and not a little bit of confusion.
Steve, however, was grinning from ear to ear, a smug smile on his lips, looking very much like the cat that had finally caught the canary.
Peter was confused.
"What?" he finally asked, eyes flickering between the two men.
"Oh, nothing," Steve said lightly, his grin never disappearing. "I just think it's quite interesting how a seventeen year old guy who lives on the streets, who probably hasn't eaten a regular meal in years, can pull a weight of over three-hundred pounds. Effortlessly, I might add."
It took Peter a brief moment to realise what Steve was saying, but when he did it hit him like a bucket of ice cold water, and his eyes immediately grew wide.
Shit.
Oh shit.
Oh shit, shit, shit.
Peter immediately let go of the handles and they fell back with a clang.
"It's not – it isn't – it's not what it looks lik –."
"Peter," Steve interrupted. "I don't think you can exactly talk your way out of this one. I mean, you can go ahead and try, but unless you can convince us that what we saw was just a figment of our imagination, or that three hundred pounds really isn't three hundred pounds, then you're out of luck." Steve shrugged. "Sorry, son."
Steve looked back at Bucky and raised an eyebrow. Bucky shrugged. "Guess you were right," he said.
Steve looked back at Peter. "See, I knew you were special, Pete."
Peter's heart was pounding loudly in his ears, and suddenly his entire body felt searing hot.
He was trapped. No, he was more than trapped, he'd been trapped for a while but now he was actually pinned down. They'd outsmarted his defenses, they'd made it past his walls, they'd uncovered his weakness – now they had only to strike, and….
"Please," Peter whispered. His fingers were clenched in fists against his knees, all the muscles in his body suddenly aching at once. "Please, don't… don't tell Mister Stark. Don't tell – don't tell anyone. Please, I – I haven't gotten into any trouble, I'm not going to make any trouble, I won't – I swear –."
"Whoa, whoa Peter, slow down – stop. We weren't trying to ambush you, and we have absolutely no intention of revealing your secret. I just wanted to test my theory and see if I was right." He smiled. "And it looks like I was. I mean, you couldn't exactly expect me to ignore the fact that your broken foot healed within half a day, and that you were able to send me flying through the air half a block away. I just wanted to see if there were anything else you were capable of. Can you blame me?"
No, but that didn't make the situation any better.
"So," Steve said, choosing to overlook Peter's evident discomfort and anxiety. He sat down on one of the seats in front of him with a smile. "Enhanced strength and healing. Is there anything else you can do?"
Peter desperately fought back a glare.
Fuck that, like he was going to tell him. If Steve was wanting to know all his secrets, then he was going to have to pry them from his cold, dead fingers first.
"Okay then," Steve said, clearly getting the message. Peter's attempt at keeping his face expressionless had evidently failed. "Maybe that was a bad question. How about how you got them, then? Were you born with those abilities, did someone give them to you, were they an accident, or…?"
Peter stayed silent. Steve may have tricked him into falling in this hole, but he sure as hell wasn't about to pick up the shovel and dig himself further in.
When it became evident that he wasn't going to respond to his questions, Bucky spoke up.
"Just let him be, Steve. Kid doesn't want to talk about it, that's fine. It's not our business."
Bucky walked away and started working at one of the bench presses, not saying a single word more.
Steve stayed where he was for a moment, looking at Peter a moment longer, before he, too, stood and walked to the other side of the room, where a coffee pot sat on a small counter. He took out a mug and started pouring himself a cup.
Peter blinked, then blinked again. Before he could stop himself he was saying, "Wait, that – that's it? You're not – you're not going to ask anymore questions, you're not going to interrogate me, you're not –."
"Nope," Steve said, stirring cream into his coffee. He took a sip as he turned around, leaning back against the counter. He lowered the mug and swallowed. "Why, should we?"
"Well, yeah! Don't you need to figure out what – or, or who I am? What all I can do? To figure out if I'm a threat or not? Won't you need to report me to Ross, or –."
Steve raised a brow. "Really, Peter? You honestly think we would do that to you?" He took another drink, then continued, "besides, if you haven't kept up with all the news in the past few years, General Ross and I don't exactly see eye to eye. Forcing people to subject themselves to live under someone else's command isn't exactly something I'm fond of."
Peter furrowed his brows, then asked, "but you were a soldier in the army. That's the exact definition of what you had to do."
"And look how that turned out for me."
The room fell into silence.
Peter couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it. Here, after all this time, after all these years of hiding who he was and what he could do, he was outsmarted into revealing his secret by two ninety-year old men.
He couldn't believe it.
Now that he took a good look, Peter could see how every machine carried more weights than any he'd seen in any other gyms. It was obvious to anyone that this was a place built specifically for serumed super-soldiers.
Obvious to everyone except him, of course. And now he was stuck here, in the most horrible and awkward situation imaginable, and he wanted nothing more than to leave, and –
Steve's phone started ringing and the older man picked it up, Pepper's voice reaching Peter's ears from across the room.
She didn't talk long, her terse tone, quick words and the way she said Tony's name making it evident who was at fault for her frustration. Steve of course agreed to go up and talk with him, shutting the phone soon after.
He turned to Peter, slipping the phone into his pocket. "I have to go upstairs," he said. He didn't look particularly pleased. "So I'm afraid I'll have to take you back to your floor."
Peter couldn't have been any happier to hear those words if he tried.
"That's all right," he said, trying not to sound relieved. He quickly stood to his feet and headed towards the door, ignoring Bucky's ever-present stare, and pulled the handle, walking out and towards the stairs.
They spent the journey back to the fifth floor in silence, and for a moment Peter almost thought he'd gotten away with having to talk at all. But of course, just as he was about to turn the knob and enter his rooms, Steve spoke.
"I know today was a bit of a… surprising day," he started, trying to sound light. Peter almost snorted. That was one way of putting it. "But I hope you won't feel that you can't come back to our floor. In fact, we would love to have you visit as often as you'd like. You're more than welcome, by both of us."
He held Peter's eyes for a few moments, before sighing. "Look, Peter. I'm sorry I did that. Perhaps it was a bit unfair. But, well… I think you'll find there's really no one else here that are able to relate to you more than we can. So if you ever want to come over and use the gym, or even just to talk – please do. We like you, Peter. You're a good kid. And we'd like to help you with anything it is you need. Anything at all."
Peter stayed silent for a few moments, before muttering out a quiet, "Thank you." Nothing more was said as the super-soldier excused himself and walked away, disappearing into the elevator as the doors closed behind him. Peter went into his room.
He spent the rest of the day watching TV, then thinking, watching TV again, and thinking again. And again. And again.
If this wasn't the shittiest day ever, then he didn't know what was. Well, aside from the obvious. But that didn't count.
The thing was, though… was that there was a part of Peter that wondered if this really was as bad as he thought. Whether Steve and Bucky finding out his secret – well, part of it – was really that terrible of a discovery. It wasn't like Seftis had barred him from telling anyone about his powers, he just couldn't remind them of who he once was.
It felt similar to when Tony first found out his identity, having tracked him all the way down to his apartment with May in Queens. He remembered the thrill and adrenaline at seeing the Tony Stark, and how all of those feelings quickly evaporated when the man had told him he knew who he was, that he'd been monitoring him for months, and that he had a laundry list of all the things he could do.
It had been like being stripped naked, suddenly vulnerable and exposed, having nothing left to possibly hide behind, having nowhere else safe to go.
But Steve wasn't Tony. He had no family feud to throw Peter into, he had no ulterior motive for wanting to get to know him more. He had nothing but concern for his well-being, and empathy for the kind of life he now knew Peter had. He did nothing but care.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, Peter realised that it was already nearly midnight. Shutting off the TV, Peter got to his feet and headed to the bed, turning the lights off as he went. He crawled under the covers, pulling them round his shoulders tight, and pressed his face into the pillow.
Maybe he would go back. Maybe he would go and hang out with Steve and Bucky again, if for nothing else than the fact that he would otherwise literally have nothing to do for the next two weeks. It wouldn't be so bad, and maybe he'd even be able to try out their gym again. There were more than a few pieces of equipment he hadn't recognised, and wondered whether they had been specially made for the super soldiers. It would be pretty neat to see what they could do.
Closing his eyes, Peter willed the endless stream of thoughts to go away. Tomorrow was a new day that would have all the problems of the day before and more. And for now, all Peter wanted to do was sleep.
Peter ended up going back to Steve and Bucky's floor the next day, and the day after that. And the day after that.
The first day he simply hung out, and, to his surprise, neither man said a word about his abilities. They instead acted like everything was normal, like nothing at all was different. They ate and chatted and even talked about some of Steve and Bucky's missions, which Peter found himself more interested in than he wanted to admit.
The second day they went back to the gym, and Steve ever-so-lightly suggested that Peter take a turn at one of the bench presses. Peter had very reluctantly agreed, and Steve and Bucky spotted him along the sidelines, though that wasn't really needed.
They started adding more weight slowly at first, then more and more often, their frowns growing deeper and deeper as each new weight was placed. Peter, of course, lifted each with ease, until they ran out of weights to put on. By then Peter was starting to struggle, though he would never admit that to the older men.
By the end of it all, Steve was looking at Peter in complete disbelief and incredulity, as though he had accidentally stumbled across a rock that had instead turned out to be a fire-breathing dragon.
Bucky, on the other hand, looked only impressed, a small grin on his face and gleam in his eyes that suggested he was more than pleased with what they had found.
The fifth day, however, was when Bucky had come up with the grand idea of a test that would truly determine just how strong Peter was.
Steve, however, was less than impressed with the idea.
"An arm wrestle, Buck? Really?"
"Sure," Bucky said, grinning at Peter. Peter was starting to realise just why Steve and Bucky were such good friends.
"We have numerous other ways of testing someone's strength; we're living underneath a Stark, after all."
"Yeah, and he's beaten every one of those. There's only one test left."
"And you figure that's to have an arm wrestle?"
"Yep."
Steve gave a frustrated sigh and turned away, muttering under his breath about soldiers and egos.
Peter, though, was more than thrilled with the idea. He had never had much of a chance to truly test out his strength on something that could actually be a real barometer of his abilities, and the prospect was more than a little exciting.
Especially when that prospect was potentially beating the Winter Soldier in an arm wrestle.
Sitting down at the table, Bucky placed his elbow on the glass, meeting Peter's eye. "All right kid, you ready?"
Excitement pumped through Peter's veins, and he was sitting down before he'd even known he'd moved, and speaking before he'd realised he'd opened his mouth: "Hell yeah!"
He made to set his elbow on the table, but just as he did Bucky switched his hands, placing his metal arm on the table instead.
Peter immediately cried foul.
"Hey now, that's not fair! You can't use your arm, you –."
"Fine, fine," Bucky relented, switching back. "But if you beat me with my right, I get to try with my left."
"Yeah, yeah," Peter waved away. "Let's get this started."
Both Peter and Bucky clasped hands, each with a grin on their face. They waited for a moment, then another, and then another, before both abruptly turned and looked at Steve.
Steve raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked.
"You're the referee, Steve," Bucky stated.
"Yeah," Peter said. "You gotta say go."
"Oh brother." With another sigh and a roll of his eyes, Steve waved his hand. "All right, on the count of three… one, two, three – go."
The two men struggled for twenty, short seconds, before Peter slammed Bucky's arm down onto the table.
He shouted in success. "Yes!"
Both Bucky and Steve could only stare; Bucky in that he had lost, and lost so easily, and Steve in that he was starting to wonder just what kind of kid they were actually dealing with.
Peter, however, was grinning from ear to ear.
"It's all right, Bucky," he laughed. "You gotta get old sometime, we can't all be young forever."
Bucky's stunned disbelief was quickly replaced with a determined glare, and he brought his metal arm onto the table, dropping it down with a clang.
"All right kid, let's see how you do with this one."
Peter grinned and placed his arm back on the table. "You're on, old man."
Seconds before they were about to start, FRIDAY's suddenly voice rang through the room, bringing everyone to a stop.
"Captain Rogers, Boss is at the door and requesting entry."
Everyone was silent for a moment, before Steve spoke. "Let him in."
The door clicked and a moment later Tony walked in. The atmosphere in the room fell, suddenly growing dark. Peter and Bucky removed their hands from the table, and watched as Tony entered the room.
"My my, aren't we are just getting along nice and chummy? If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you guys were playing Mario Kart in here."
Neither Peter nor Bucky said anything, and Steve just sipped from his cup of coffee. Swallowing, he asked, "How can we help you, Tony?"
Tony's eyes roamed over Bucky and Peter, staying on the latter just a little longer than the former, before turning his attention to Steve. "I need you upstairs. Romanov and Barton are there, and so is Bruce. Ross will be on call in twenty minutes."
"All right," Steve said. "And you needed to come all the way down here for that?"
"I heard you had a visitor, so I wanted to see for myself how he was doing." Tony turned to Peter. "You sure seem to be making a lot of friends here, kid. You must be quite the likable guy."
Peter didn't know why, but something in the way Tony's spoke made his stomach twist into a knot, and sent a thrum of annoyance through his veins. It sounded snarky, it sounded… it sounded petulant. As though Tony were remarking on a fact that he very much didn't like, and in the same breath questioning whether it was even true.
Peter frowned. It wasn't his fault that he was getting along with Steve and Bucky, and even Clint. If for whatever reason they didn't find him horrible to be around, that wasn't his crime. So what business did Tony have coming in here and complaining about it like a child? What did he care if Peter was spending time with other Avengers? He was going to be gone in just over a week anyway, so how could it possibly matter –
"He's a good kid," Steve said, interrupting Peter's thoughts. He set his mug down on the counter and started walking towards Tony. "Definitely more fun to hang around with than with other people around here. Now come on, let's go." He walked past Tony and out into the hall, not waiting for the other man to catch up. Tony kept his face cool, glancing back at Peter and Bucky once more before walking after the soldier, shutting the door behind him with a bang.
Peter and Bucky sat in silence for a good few minutes, the tension in the air still thick, until Bucky finally spoke. "Don't let him get to you, kid," he said. "He's always an ass."
Except he hadn't been. Maybe, from all that he'd heard, Tony had been that way before Afghanistan, but he thought he'd changed afterwards. And after they started to know one another, he'd heard others say the older man's temperament had gotten even better. So what the heck had changed?
After a few minutes of angry mental tirades, Peter's thoughts were interrupted by Bucky, whose chair screeched against the floor as he stood to his feet.
"Come on kid," he said. "Whenever Stark pisses me off, I find it best use up all my energy as fast as I can. That way I can't find him and beat him to a pulp." He started walking towards towards the door, before looking back at Peter. "Let's go outside to the track. You obviously have some strength in you. You may be able to beat my weak arm, but let's see how good you are in a race."
Peter was still frustrated, he would even dare to say he was angry, but he found Bucky's offer of actually being able to go outside – snow or not – too good to pass up. He'd been cooped up inside for over six days now; it would be a breath of fresh air to finally get, well – a breath of fresh air.
The track had already been cleaned off when they got there; they probably kept it maintained for all the super-soldiers, regular soldiers, and other enhanced people that tended to regularly hang around the place.
It was a warm day for November, so Peter didn't bother with a coat. The sky was overcast, but the light still bright, the area made even more by the reflecting snow. Peter's breath misted in the cold, but he didn't care. He was outside, breathing clean, non-city air, about to actually go for a run; he couldn't be happier.
"All right," Bucky said, walking up to the starting line. He wasn't wearing a coat either, his metal arm shining brightly in the few rays that managed to make it through the clouds. "I ain't gonna make this easy on ya, kid. Twenty-five laps; the guy who makes it the fastest is the winner. Got it?"
Peter took his place at the line, pressing his feet into the ground. "Got it."
"Okay," Steve said, lowering down. "On the count of three – one, two, three – go!"
Steve was annoyed. Okay, he was more than annoyed, he was frustrated. Even maybe a little bit angry. Half the things they had talked about in the meeting were things he had thought they'd hashed out during their… disagreement, three years ago. But here they were, arguing like it had never happened. Steve wasn't sure how much longer he could take of it, before steam would start shooting through his ears.
He was now standing at the wall, which was really just one large window, staring out onto the track and field, watching as two figures – Bucky and Peter, he recognised – stood at the starting line.
Good, that was good. They both needed to get outdoors for a while. And he had to admit, it was nice to see Bucky so comfortable around the kid. He honestly wasn't sure when the last time was that he'd seen Bucky interact this much so positively with someone else. And the kid, well…. The kid was still a mystery to him, but it was evident that going out for a run could only do him wonders of good.
He heard footsteps behind him, and knew without turning that Tony was behind him. They both watched the two figures in the distance as they started to run.
The silence only lasted a few moments before Tony spoke. "I don't know what you see in him." It was clear who he was talking about.
"He's a good kid," Steve defended. "And I don't know why you can't see that."
"Well he sent my security running in circles, for one."
"He was frightened, and I guess you just have bad security."
"Not to mention he's pretty ungrateful. I mean, I practically waved the thank-you money in his face, and he threw it back at me like it was nothing. Who does that?"
"Not everyone's obsessed with money, Tony. Most don't need it to be happy. Of all people, I would have thought you'd have figured that out, by now."
There was a pause, then, "He disrupted the signing; he practically tried to attack me onstage."
"He told you why he wanted it stopped, and Tony – don't. You know that's not at all what he was trying to do, so don't even pretend to act like it was. He felt that the signing would result in your company getting stolen – he was trying to look out for you, no matter how wrong you think he was."
Tony fell into silence, and the two watched as Bucky and Peter went into their fourth lap.
Steve began to think he had dropped the conversation, but after a few minutes the billionaire spoke up again with a scoff. "I don't know why Barne's is humouring the kid; they both know he can outrun him. Unless he just wants to be able to say he ran against the Winter Soldier."
Steve tried not to roll his eyes. "Some people just like to run, Tony," he said. "And if Bucky wants to humour him, then let him. There's no harm done."
Bucky and Peter had now entered into their eighth lap, and Steve couldn't help but be a bit impressed by Peter's stamina. Even if Bucky was slowing down to let him keep pace, they were still both going pretty fast.
Steve frowned. In fact….
"I just don't know what you see in him, Cap," Tony repeated, continuing to look out the window soldier and teenager. "I mean, he's polite enough, if you want to even call it that. But there's just something off about him…."
Something suddenly clicked in Steve's head and his frown deepened.
Bucky… Bucky was running. He was running fast. He'd seen Bucky run many times throughout their lives, he knew what it was like when he was just going for a jog, or just trying to get somewhere quick, or when he was running as fast as he possibly could. He thought he'd been holding back with Peter, but he actually wasn't. He was running flat out. He wasn't trying to keep pace with Peter, he was trying to beat him.
"…I appreciate what he did for Barton, really, I do. But I think that was simply a matter of him being in the right place at the right time…."
Peter was running, too. Running as fast as he could. They were even. Both the Winter Soldier – a serumed super-soldier, and Peter Parker – a homeless kid from the streets of New York that he still knew so little about – were neck in neck. They were equal.
"…look, I'll offer him a place again. Maybe with you here he'll actually take it. But if he says no, then that's it. I won't be offering it again. If the streets are where he wants to be, then I won't stop him…."
Steve watched as they passed their fifteenth lap, then sixteenth, then seventeenth. They remained at equal pace the entire way, that is, until, the eighteenth lap.
Steve's brows twitched as they furrowed and he suddenly leaned forward, as on the eighteenth lap, Peter began to pull ahead. Peter had pulled ahead, against Bucky – against the Winter Soldier – who was running as fast as he could. He'd pulled ahead.
"…I already had Happy give him some money for me, so that should keep him for a while. After that it's up to him, and –." Tony's words came to an abrupt halt, as his eyes finally registered what Steve's had just seen.
Both men leaned forward towards the window, as they watched Peter continue to put greater and greater distance between him and Bucky. And he wasn't slowing down.
After a few moments of silence, Tony asked, "Barne's is just letting him win, right?" He turned to Steve, a frown etched deep on his face. "Right?"
Steve said nothing, but could tell from his silence that whatever Tony had seen in his face, had just answered the question for him.
Tony turned back to the window, and the two men watched as Peter now pulled nearly half a lap ahead, until he finally came to the finish line and began slowing to a stop.
He had won. Peter… Peter had won.
"YES!"
Peter's heart was pounding in his chest, but for once it wasn't from anger or fear or terror, but from excitement and exhilaration, and – and – and he had just won against the Winter Soldier! He'd won!
Peter spun round, continuing to jog backwards as he slowed down, watching as Bucky finally crossed the finish line. Peter came to a stop, still bouncing on his feet as Bucky finally caught up to him.
"That was great!" Peter shouted. God, he didn't think he'd been this excited since – since –
Bucky was leaned over, his hands on his knees as he fought for breath. It was an odd sight to see, and for a moment Peter wondered if something was wrong, because while his heart was racing and he felt tired, he certainly didn't feel exhausted. In fact, he could almost do another five laps yet. But he doubted Bucky would agree.
Like a dam let loose, Peter's mouth couldn't stop running. "Did you see that? Did you see how I finally started making ground on the eighteenth lap? I thought it would never happen! I swear, I thought we'd stay the same for the entire time, but then I thought – then I thought, I have to win. Like, I have nothing else going for me, I at least have to win so I can say I beat the Winter Soldier! How many people would be jealous of that, huh? Like, so many people would. I'd be like, a celebrity, or a hero, or a – a –."
Peter swallowed, catching his breath before continuing. "Really though, I don't think it was exactly fair. You stumbled towards the end, and I think if you hadn't done that, you'd have probably caught up, or –."
"Peter."
"– or at least made it a whole lot closer. We could try again, if you want, once you've caught your breath and –."
"Peter."
"– and I'm sure this time we'll at least stay neck and neck, though I don't think I could let you beat me. Sorry Mister Barnes, but I've got a record to defend, and –."
"Peter."
Peter finally stopped talking, stumbling over his feet and falling onto his backside on the ground. He laughed, enjoying the feeling of the cold snow beneath his hot skin. "Yeah?" asked.
Bucky was still leaned forward, his face still hidden, his chest moving rapidly in and out. "Peter."
"What?"
"Peter."
Now Peter was getting confused. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Bucky was silent for a moment, before saying, "You're… you're Peter."
Peter furrowed his brows and shook his head, laughing slightly in confusion. Maybe Bucky's mind was having an issue processing. He knew that had happened a lot when he had first come back from Hydra.
Peter's own chest still heaved as his heart began to slow down. "Yes, hi – that's me. I'm Peter. You met me a week ago, when I was oh-so-kindly kidnapped again – this is what, the third time now? The fourth? I can't keep track anymore. I –."
"No."
Peter's words stumbled to a stop, and he frowned. "Um, actually, yes, that's when you met me. I had been looking for Steve, and you guys had just got back from your mission, and –."
"No," Bucky interrupted again.
He finally looked up, and for the first time Peter saw his face. His eyes were wide and brows were furrowed tightly together, as though he were having some internal struggle. Peter suddenly felt completely out of his depth; he had never been with Bucky when he had experienced memory issues before, he had no clue what to do or what to say, or if he should just go get Steve, or… or….
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head once more before grabbing it between his hands. He looked as though he were in pain.
It was time to get Steve.
"Look," Peter said, moving his legs so he could stand. "I think I'm going to get Steve, and –."
"You're… you're Peter… you're Peter Parker."
Peter took a breath, trying not to sigh. "Yes," he said, as reassuringly as he could. "Yes, I am. I'm Peter Parker. And I –."
But Bucky didn't let him finish. "You… you were in Germany. With Stark. You were… you were red, and – and blue. You were in a red and blue suit. You called yourself – you called yourself Spider –."
Bucky suddenly keeled over, grabbing his head again and groaning loudly.
Peter stared.
The heartbeat that had finally slowed suddenly began to speed up again, and the sounds around him were replaced with a loud, white noise, filling his ears.
Bucky took a breath, and then another, before looking back up. "You called yourself Spider-Man. You… you had been recruited by Stark. You were… you at the compound, a lot. You helped us with our missions, and you – you helped us defeat Thanos, and – and –."
Bucky's wide eyes finally looked over and met Peter's own. "I remember," he said, then said it again. "I remember." He finally met Peter's gaze, a recognition in his eyes that Peter hadn't seen in nearly two years.
Bucky frowned, then shook his head. "Peter, what happened? I don't – I don't understand –."
And neither did Peter. Because what Bucky had said was impossible. It couldn't be real. He had to be hearing things, he had to be seeing things, because if this dream that he had suddenly fallen into was real, then that meant – that meant –
That meant that Bucky had remembered.
Bucky had remembered.