L

by Lazydaily

L

15. Chapter 15

Peter stared.

And stared.

And stared more.

The adrenaline from the race was still in his veins, but it had morphed into something else, excitement and exhilaration now replaced with… with….

With he didn't know what. He had no clue what he was feeling, if anything at all, because what had just happened – what was happening – couldn't be real. It couldn't be true. It had to be a mistake, it had to be an accident, it had to be his imagination because there was just… there was just no way that it could be true, not really, because – because –

Because everyone's memories had been erased. They were completely gone; burned in fire, the smoke scattering them through the air, never to be retrieved, never to be found again. Never to be remembered.

They simply couldn't remember. It was impossible.

Peter swallowed.

It was impossible.

"Peter?" Bucky said. His eyes were unusually wide, a vulnerability in them that Peter didn't think he had ever seen before. "Peter, please – please tell me what happened, I – did I…." Bucky paused, and his breath suddenly quickened. "Did I get put into cryo again? Did – did Hydra come back, did they – did they find me, did they –."

"No."

Bucky frowned, shaking his head. "Then what –."

"You aren't – I'm not –." Peter took a breath, his voice shaking. "You're wrong. You're – you're mistaken. I'm not… I'm not who you think I am, I never – I've never been to Germany, I – I've never worn a suit like that, I've never been called Spider-Man, I –."

Bucky looked even more conflicted, his browns knit tightly together as he continued to lean forward toward the ground.

"What – what do you mean? I swear – I swear, these are real memories, I –."

Peter's hands curled into fists, and his teeth clenched together. "They're not real," he said forcefully. "Whatever it is you think you've remembered, you're… you're wrong. My name is Peter Parker, I – I've been living on the streets for four years, I don't – I've never met you or Mister Rogers or Mister Stark or anyone else before now; I'm just a homeless street bum, I don't – I don't have any special abilities, I can't do anything special, I'm not anyone special, I –."

Bucky interrupted again, shaking his head once more. "But… but I can see you, I can see your face, you… in Germany, when we were fighting, you – you grabbed my hand, you grabbed my hand and you were able to stop it, and push it back, and –."

Peter abruptly stood up, his hands still gripped tightly into fists at his side. "It's not real," he repeated. "Those memories aren't real, they're not – you're mistaken. You're mistaken."

Peter turned away, looking everywhere else except at Bucky's face. "I have to go," he said quickly. "I have… I have to go. Thank you for the race, it was… it was…." Peter swallowed once more, then repeated, "I have to go."

And turning on his heel, Peter left, Bucky's voice as he shouted his name echoing behind him.

Bucky pushed the door open, stumbling into the compound. He looked down the halls, trying to find where Peter went.

Bucky was confused. He was so, so terribly confused he couldn't – he couldn't even think, much less understand what was happening.

He took a few steps forward, then slumped against the wall, gripping his head once more.

They had been near the last lap, Bucky's eyes following Peter as he pulled further and further ahead of him, wondering just how on earth Peter could possibly be beating him; how he not only had greater strength, but greater legs and endurance than him. It had made no sense. Where on earth had this kid come from, how could he possibly be stronger and faster than a super-serumed soldier, and –

And that's when it happened. That's when everything flashed like lightning in front of his eyes, and pictures – memories – of Peter started running through his mind like a kaleidoscope, each memory flashing by faster than the last, images of Peter smiling and laughing, trading endless quips with Stark or with anyone who would talk with him; images of Peter at the compound, eating with them, talking with them, training with them, one of them. Images of Peter wearing a red and blue suit, of shooting webs from his wrists – from web-shooters he had built himself – and swinging through the air, fighting enemies, being called Spider-Man.

Bucky had stumbled, then, nearly falling to the ground, managing to make it to the end and telling Peter, telling him that he remembered – that he remembered him, and –

But Peter had denied it. He said that what he'd remembered wasn't true, that it wasn't real.

But – but Bucky swore, he swore that these memories weren't fake, he swore that they were real, that they had happened, that they were true, so why – why had Peter –

It could be Hydra, again. Somehow, someway – maybe they had done something else to him that he didn't know about, that was now placing memories in his mind instead of taking them away, making him believe a past that wasn't real, throwing him into another endless chasm of fear and questions, turning in circles after circles, wondering what was true –

Bucky shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he fought back the panic storming inside him. He just couldn't… he couldn't….

"Bucky?"

The chaos in Bucky's mind momentarily calmed, and Bucky looked up to see Steve walking towards him, concern growing on his face with every step he took.

"Bucky, what is it? What's wrong? Are you okay, are you –."

"I don't know," Bucky said. There was no point in lying to Steve, not after all they'd been through, and certainly not if he wanted to find out what was happening.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Steve asked. "What's going on? Where's Peter?"

"Peter… Peter, he… something's wrong, and he…."

"Did he say something was wrong? Is that why he ran away like that?"

Tony had never liked talking about what happened on Titan with Thanos, only that Peter was there and then the Snap had happened, and after that everything was horrible. He had known that Peter had been taken in the Snap, but had never been told the particulars. It had always seemed that neither he nor Stark had ever wanted to talk about it; but from how Stark acted whenever the topic was brought up, it had obviously been bad.

Stark had always treated the kid too much like a son.

Steve sighed, settling down onto the floor across from Bucky. "Buck, Peter, he… he's a special kid. He's got a lot going on in his life, a lot of things have happened to him that I still don't know anything about. But… but I don't know, I just… I just think there's something special about him. I think he's had it rough, more than most, and I think he deserves a break, you know?"

There was silence for a moment, then Bucky asked, "Why does he keep running? If… if he's had it rough, then why… why does he keep running every time someone tries to help him?"

"Same reason you ran, Buck," Steve said with a sigh. "He thinks… he thinks that someone is after him. That he shouldn't be around us because if he is, we might somehow get hurt. It doesn't make sense, I know, but that's what he believes."

Peter's voice echoed in Bucky's ears: They're not real!

Bucky blinked, and looked up to Steve still looking down at him with concern.

"Steve…." Bucky swallowed. "Steve, how… how do you know when a memory is real?"

Steve stared at Bucky for a moment longer, before slowly sitting down against the wall opposite him.

"You're having problems remembering again, Buck?" Steve asked quietly.

"I… I think so," Bucky responded. It had been so long since he had had an Incident, since he had been left wondering which way was real and right side up. After spending all that time in Wakanda, he had gotten so much better – the tools they had given him to reclaim his past had worked so well, had given him back the life he had thought Hydra had stolen forever.

But here he was again, faced with a sudden flood of memories that he wasn't sure had even happened.

He could hear Steve take a breath.

"Well then, you just need to remember what the people in Wakanda taught you – 'that truth can be hard to find, but when found is greater than all the treasures and gold the world has to offer'." Steve paused for a moment, then asked, "and what did they say about knowing what that truth is?"

Bucky took a deep breath, trying to quell the tide of fear and panic that continued to ebb and flow within him. "They said… they said that memories – true memories – beat inside you, like a second heart. That… that they can warm you up inside, but also tear you apart. And that… and that tears…."

"'Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. Tears from the depth of some divine despair rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes; in looking on the happy autumn fields, and thinking of the days that are no more'," Steve finished.

They were silent for a moment, before Steve continued. "Memories leave an impression on you; they can bring you happiness or sorrow, no matter how long it has been since they happened." He looked Bucky in the eye. "Does what you remember do that to you, Bucky? Do you remember the feelings you felt when what you remember happened, or is it like looking on a television screen? Do you feel you were actually there, can you see everything from your own eyes? Or are you standing to the side, like someone in the audience, watching a play? Aware of what's going on, but never apart of it?"

Bucky stared back at Steve, saying nothing, as his friend's words sunk in.

With Peter… with everything that he now remembered, he felt… he felt….

He felt surprise. Surprise at how this guy in a blue and red suit was able to stop his punch mid-swing, and actually push him effortlessly to the side.

He felt shock. Shock when Spider-Man's real identity was revealed, and he found out that the man he had thought he'd once fought was instead a fifteen-year-old boy.

He felt happiness. Happiness and contentment when Peter started coming over to the compound more and more, when he started training with them, when he would talk a mile and minute, not even allowing the great Tony Stark to get a word in edgewise.

He remembered going on missions with him, how wary he had been at first to go into a battle-zone with a child; but then he had remembered how he had fought alongside countless teenagers during the War, and how he had witnessed first hand the bravery and courage that they could possess, when men over twice their age did not.

As Bucky continued to dwell on his memories, the uncertainty and confusion that had been tossing within him came to a stop, and settled into calm silence.

No. Whatever Peter was saying, he was wrong. He wasn't just some kid from the street, he wasn't someone who had been homeless for four years. He was Peter Parker – a teenage prodigy to put Tony Stark to shame, who had the ability to climb walls and swing over a thousand feet into the air. He had strength and endurance that they had yet to truly know, and he had saved him and the Avengers more than they would ever want to admit.

He remembered. And no one – not even Peter – could take that away from him.

Bucky suddenly stood to his feet, and Steve quickly followed.

"You good?" Steve asked tentatively. "You… you know where you are now?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, his voice strong. "I do. And I have to go."

Steve frowned as Bucky stared to move, walking away. "Wait, Bucky – where are you going? Is something wrong? What happened out there with you and Peter? Did he –."

A thought suddenly ran across Bucky's mind, and he turned around, staring at Steve with confused eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

It was Steve's turn to look confused, his brows knitting together as he shook his head. "Buck, what are you talking about? What didn't I tell you?"

"About Peter! Why didn't you tell me who he was? How – how did I even forget him in the first place?"

"Peter, what – Bucky, what are you talking about? Are you talking about the race? I swear, I didn't know he would be able to outrun you like that. I mean, we both knew he was strong, and he beat you in your ridiculous arm wrestle, but I didn't think he'd actually be able to run faster than you –."

"No," Bucky interrupted. "No, that's not – that's not what I'm talking about. I want to know why you didn't tell me that I had forgotten him! And where –." Bucky's brows furrowed together, questions suddenly starting to form in his mind that he hadn't thought about before. "And where has he even been? The last… the last time I remember seeing him was… was probably two years ago, a few months after Thanos, but that… that doesn't make any sense. Where has he been since then? Did – did he have a falling out with Stark, or –."

"Bucky." Steve's confusion had now given way to surprise and concern, as though Bucky had suddenly started speaking an alien language that he couldn't understand. "Bucky, I don't – what on earth are you talking about? You only met Peter a few days ago, and I only met him not long before that. And Tony only met him a day before the incident with that Green Goblin, so I don't – I don't understand what you're saying, or – or –."

Realisation started clicking in Bucky's mind, and though Steve didn't understand what was happening, Bucky slowly was.

"You don't remember," he said, confirming out loud what he already knew was true.

Steve shook his head in exasperation. "Remember what?"

Bucky didn't answer and instead turned round, making his way down the hallway towards the nearest elevator.

Steve was shouting behind him. "Bucky, remember what?!"

But Bucky wasn't listening. Because he had to find Peter – and he had to find him now.

Peter was lost.

He was sitting in his bed, all the lights turned off, only the barest of light seeping through the curtains. He had his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped tightly around them, his eyes staring into the darkness.

It was impossible. It was wrong. It was the most horrible dream he had ever dreamed, but… but….

But somehow it was still real.

It was his fault, of course. It was entirely his fault. For two years he had been able to keep his secret, he had been able to avoid running into the Avengers, or worse – talking with them or even staying with them. But of course now, now after all this time, he had to mess up. He had to fuck up so badly that the one thing Seftis had told him not to do, he ended up doing.

He'd caused someone to remember.

Except that he couldn't have. Because it was impossible. Because he had sat there in the streets for two years waiting for someone to come get him, waiting for someone to remember him, waiting for the power of love to bring back their memories and all that shit, but it hadn't happened. It hadn't happened and he'd accepted it. He'd fucking accepted it, and now – and now, just when he had gotten over the fact that he was alone in the world, just when he'd gotten over the fact that his life would never go back to the way it was, now all of a sudden Bucky had to go spewing and uttering such bullshit nonsense, and –

A knock suddenly rapt at the door. Peter jumped, but stayed where he was.

A voice came a moment later.

"Peter!"

It was Bucky, of course. Of course it was him. Of course he would follow him and not leave him well enough alone. Of course he would have questions and want answers and –

"Peter, let me in! I know you're in there, so just open the door!"

He never should have stayed here. He never should have allowed himself to grow comfortable and let his guards down. He never should have forgotten the threat.

"You can't stay in there forever. I know – I remember everything. I don't know how the hell I ever forgot, or what the hell happened but you need to let me in so we can talk. Why the hell did you run in the first place? Huh?!"

Peter still didn't respond, and Bucky growled, starting to grow angry."Look," he said, bringing his voice to barely more than a whisper. "I know you can hear me, Peter. You can hear better than anyone I know, and that's saying a hell of a lot. So just let me in."

When there still remained silence, Bucky finally had enough.

"Fine," he said loudly. "Fine. If you won't talk to me, then I'm going to talk to Stark. I know Steve doesn't remember you, but maybe Stark does, or one of his computers or – or something. I don't know. But I'm sure as hell going to find out."

Bucky started to walk away, but at that moment he suddenly heard the frantic footsteps, followed by the opening of a door.

He turned back round to see Peter standing in the doorway, his eyes wide in a manic stare as he looked at him, his jaw clenched tightly together. In the next moment he all but grabbed hold of Bucky's arm and wrenched him into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Bucky stumbled inside, and Peter locked the door. He turned back to the older man, immediately shaking his head.

"Don't," he said. "Don't tell anyone. Please, you can't – you can't tell anyone, if you do you'll –."

"Then tell me what the hell is going on!" Bucky shouted. "Where the hell have you been the last two years? Why does Steve think he only met you a week ago? Why –."

"Because – because –." The words caught in Peter's throat, and no matter how much Bucky insisted he speak them, he could not get them out.

Finally he settled for something less. "I can't tell you why. Only that it doesn't matter – not any more. You weren't supposed to remember – no one was supposed to remember. But it's fine, I – I've gotten over it, I've dealt with it, it's – it's not a big deal –."

Bucky watched Peter with incredulity as the younger man tried to stumble his way through an excuse, as he tried to clearly both convince Bucky and himself that everyone having forgotten him was not important. Then, like gears and wheels clicking together, and Steve's words echoing in his ears, Bucky knew why.

"You think someone's after you. You think if any of us remember you, that we'll be in danger."

Peter's guilty eyes looked up and met Bucky's, and that was all the confirmation he needed. But the look in his eyes held more than just guilt – there was fear, too.

And finally Bucky understood.

"Someone is after you," he said quietly. When Peter didn't answer, he pressed on. "Who is it? What's their name? Do we know them? Are they –."

"I told you, it's not important!" Peter interrupted. "Whatever happened is now in the past. It doesn't matter anymore!"

Bucky scoffed. "Well obviously it does still matter if you refuse to talk about it."

Silence descended upon the room for a few moments, the atmosphere growing thick as neither man said a word.

Peter's arms were wrapped around his middle, squeezing his sides tightly as he fought to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

He felt like an animal trapped in a corner, its prey looming over it, nowhere to run and nowhere to escape.

It was ridiculous. An hour ago he had been happier than he had ever been in two years; and now he didn't think he had ever been so angry and frightened in all his life.

Bucky was speaking again, but he was no longer listening. He had turned away, all but covering his ears in an attempt not to listen, in an attempt to believe – if only for a little while longer – that this was all just a terrible dream.

The hairs on the back of Peter's neck suddenly stood up as he felt something moving towards him. Instinctively he spun around and put up his arm, ready to defend himself in case –

Peter blinked as his gaze met Bucky's, who was looking at him wide, incredulous eyes. Finally after a moment, Bucky went and sat down by the kitchen island, dropping his head into his hands, muttering quietly. "God, I think I'm gonna puke."

Peter took a step back, and then another, until his back met the wall. Bucky looked up above his hands and the two pairs of eyes met once more. They stared evenly at each other for a few moments, until Peter finally spoke.

"I'm going home in a week," he said quietly. "I'm going back to New York in a week. You don't… you don't have to say anything to anyone. No one… no one remembers me, that's true, but… but that happened a long time ago now. It's over. It doesn't matter anymore, I've – I've moved on with my life. And I –."

"What's his name?"

Peter blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"What's his name?" Bucky repeated. "The one who did this – what's his name?"

"He… he doesn't… I'm not supposed to –."

"His name, Peter. Tell me what his name is now."

Peter's tongue fumbled in his mouth, not knowing what to do. On the one hand, he knew he wasn't supposed to tell him – that this was the furthest thing he should tell anybody. But on the other hand… on the other hand, Bucky already had his memories back, so really, at this point, was there any real wrong way down and right side up anymore?

"I – I can't –."

"Peter, this guy took my memories from me – he fucked me over without my even knowing it. I have a right to know who did this to me, I have a right to know his name, I deserve to know his name; so the least you can do, because you sure as hell aren't telling me anything else, is tell me what his Goddamn name is and –."

"Seftis."

The name was like tar on his tongue, refusing to come off after having settled there for so long, not having been spoken out loud for two years.

"And who is Seftis?" Bucky demanded. "When did he show up? What did he do to you?"

Peter looked away, shaking his head. "I don't… it doesn't –."

"Peter."

The tone of Bucky's voice was like an iron grip on Peter's face, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes once more. When they met, Bucky continued, his stare even and hard, and his voice exactly the same. "If you think that I'm going to just pretend like this never happened, if you think I'm just going to let this all go – then you've got another thing comin' for ya, kid."

He could feel himself breaking. Could feel the outer walls of his defenses begin to break as Bucky lay siege upon them, as he refused to back away, no matter how many times he told him he would be in danger if he did.

That was the problem with this little group that Tony and Shield had made – they were all too damn self-sacrificing for their own good. Even when it killed them.

Peter's eyes were growing hot, anger and despair bubbling inside his chest, and he found himself shaking his head once more.

"How did you remember?" he asked, his voice breaking. "You weren't supposed to remember. No one was ever supposed to remember."

Bucky's face softened, the lines between his brows fading as he leaned back in his chair with a sigh, saying, "I've gotten pretty good at remembering things, that others would rather I forget."

There was silence after that, Bucky waiting for Peter to speak and Peter not knowing what to say.

Bucky leaned forward and asked again, one last time. "How did we all lose our memories, Peter? What did Seftis do?"

There was a pause, a breath, and then Peter finally spoke.

"He just… showed up one day. Mister Stark and I, we were… we were fighting him. He'd been hurting people down by the docks, attacking the city. A… a few days later he took me. I tried to fight him, but I wasn't… I wasn't strong enough, and…." Peter swallowed, looking down at the floor. "The next thing I knew I was waking up in an alley, and… and everyone had forgotten me."

He looked up, meeting Bucky's eyes. "Seftis said if I tried to talk to anyone I knew, if I tried to tell them what had happened and who I was, that he… that he would come back, and kill everyone. He would find each and every person I ever knew, and millions of innocents, and kill them all." His voice was starting to shake, and the heat in his eyes grew as they started to sting. He had never spoken any of this out loud, he had never told anyone, he wasn't supposed to tell anyone –

"So you've been by yourself then, for the last two years?" Bucky asked. He was staring at Peter with a peculiar look in his eye, a hint of something that Peter couldn't quite make out.

Peter gave a small nod in confirmation, but said nothing.

"And… and what have you been doing in that time? Where… where have you been?"

This question, Peter did not answer, and the room fell into silence once more.

Peter's silence spoke more volumes than perhaps his words could ever have, and though Bucky still wanted to know the answers to his questions, he did not press any further.

Bucky glanced over at the clock.

It was getting late, and they both were tired. Exhausted, really. Mentally exhausted. The last few hours had more than wiped Bucky out, and he was certain, if the look on his face was any indication, that Peter was quite finished, as well.

It was still far too overwhelming. Bucky still couldn't really believe that any of this was even real. But he had thought the same many times before, just a few short years before; and he had learned that the best way to handle the overwhelming flood of memories and sometimes choking nature of reality, was to simply put it on the back-burner and go to sleep.

Standing up, Bucky sighed. "Look, Peter… let's… let's just deal with this in the morning, all right? We're both tired, so there's no point in beating a dead horse. Not right now, anyway."

Bucky could see the vague flicker of relief behind Peter's frightened eyes. A thought ran across Bucky's mind, and he frowned. "You won't… you won't run, right?"

Peter's opened his mouth, taking a breath, but then stopped. His hesitation was all the proof Bucky needed.

"You can run, but you won't get far. And I promise that I'll come after you if you do. I won't stop until I find you again."

The two men stared at each other for a few moments, until Bucky finally made to move towards the door. "I'll see you in the morning, Peter."

He moved past the younger man and started walking away, but something pulled at him as he went, tugging him back. He stopped and looked back.

Peter was standing exactly where he'd left him, his arms still wrapped around his middle, his blood-shot eyes staring into nothing. He looked as though he were drowning from the inside out, and Bucky's heart twisted in his chest.

After pausing for only a moment longer, Bucky finally turned around and walked back. Peter's eyes looked up at him for only a second, before Bucky had wrapped his arms around him in a hug.

"I know this is more Steve's thing, but…." He let the remark hang where it was, expanding no further. He stayed hugging Peter for a few moments longer, before finally pulling away. Peter still hadn't moved, had made no attempt to hug him back, but if his wide eyes were any indication, he clearly had not been expecting the move.

"Goodnight, Peter," Bucky said one last time, heading towards the door. And though he wanted desperately to stay and interrogate Peter further, even though he wanted all of his questions answered right now, he knew he had to give Peter space, he knew had to let him get back his breath.

He had to let him get ready for round two. Because next time, he wasn't going to give up.

When Bucky got back to the floor he shared with Steve, his friend was already waiting for him in the kitchen as he walked inside.

Steve gave the courtesy of at least waiting a few moments, allowing Bucky to make the first move. When he of course didn't, Steve quickly broke the ice.

"You good, Buck?" he asked tentatively.

"Yeah," Bucky said, making his way towards his bedroom. He was done for the night. He was more than done. In fact, he felt more exhausted after today than any time during their mission away.

He heard the bar-stool screech against the ground as Steve stood to his feet and began trailing after him.

"Are you sure? You seemed to be pretty upset, before. If you want, we can go talk to Doctor Cho, make sure everything's still going all right, and –."

"I'm fine, Steve," Bucky cut off. Though he had to admit, his head was hurting like a bitch. Though he had a feeling it had less to do with someone having messed around in his mind again, and more to do with accepting the fact that Peter, their newest member to the Avengers, who had been with them through Thanos and numerous missions, who had been apart of their fight in Germany – however much he had never really been a part of it – had been erased from their memories, had been completely forgotten by every single one of them.

It was absolutely insane.

Steve paused at the door as Bucky went inside the room. He watched silently as Bucky began preparing for bed, then asked, "Did you… did you go talk to Peter? Was he all right? He seemed to run off that field pretty fast. But I guess… I guess he's pretty fast anyway, right?"

It was an attempt to lighten the mood, as well as to bring up the subject of Bucky having lost in a race to a random homeless kid.

Except he wasn't just a random homeless kid. He had never been a random homeless kid. He was Peter Parker, Stark's little protege. He was Spider-Man. So of course he could give him a run for his money in a race, of course he was stronger than either one of them.

"Buck?"

Bucky looked up, meeting Steve's concerned, if not slightly curious, eyes.

Part of him screamed that he should tell him, that he should tell him everything. He knew what it was like to be left in the dark, he knew what it was like to not know a thing of what was going on, while everyone else around you had the wisdom and knowledge of Solomon.

He should tell them. He should tell all of them. He should tell all of them how they had been attacked without their knowing it; how one of their own had been taken out from underneath their noses, without any of them ever realising he was gone.

He should tell them.

He should tell them.

… except that Peter had begged him not to. Except that Peter, his eyes filled with a fear and panic that Bucky didn't think he'd ever seen in them before, had pleaded that he kept this to himself. Had insisted that if he didn't, this Seftis guy – whoever the hell he was – would come back, and kill them all. He seemed convinced of it – and he was terrified.

Bucky stared at Steve a moment longer, before turning away. "The kid didn't want to talk," he said.

He would give Peter one more night. But tomorrow, if he didn't get the answers he wanted, he would go straight to Steve. Hell, he would go straight to Stark.

Steve watched as Bucky began to take his shirt off. Bucky knew his friend wanted to ask more, but Steve was nothing if not astute – and he had clearly gotten the message that just like Peter, Bucky didn't want to talk anymore, either.

"All right then," Steve said after a moment, stepping back. "I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah," Bucky replied, sitting down onto his bed. "I'll see you in the morning."

With a brief smile, Steve left, closing the door behind him.

Bucky stared at the door for a few minutes, not moving a single muscle, before he finally got under the covers and laid down. He quietly told FRIDAY to turn the lights off, and in the next second he was shrouded in darkness.

But Bucky knew he wasn't going to be getting any sleep tonight.

Peter had stayed standing where he was when Bucky had left, barely moving a muscle as he focused only on his breathing. In, and out. In, and out.

In, and out.

Eventually he managed to stumble forward to the door, locking it once he'd reached it. He leaned against it and slowly slid to the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hold around his middle once more.

He wanted to go home. Never before had he felt so strongly the need to go home, go home, go home. He wanted to be surrounded by his four walls again, the low ceiling only a few feet above him, the window closed shut as rain fell quietly against it, no one in the world knowing where he was or who he was. He was entirely alone, and entirely safe.

Except now the attic was gone; burnt and destroyed. He would never be safe within its walls again.

And now he was no longer alone. Now someone had remembered; now someone knew where he was and who he was; and they weren't planning on letting him go. They wouldn't let him leave without a fight.

There was no use in even thinking about running, no matter how badly he wanted to, no matter how badly his legs ached with the desperate need to get away, get away, get away. Because Bucky was right – he would come after him, he would follow him to the ends of the earth if he had to. He wouldn't let Peter go again, not this time.

Not to mention Steve would come after him, too. And even Tony – if only to redeem himself from the humiliation of Peter's last two escapes.

Surely Seftis would be watching, now. Surely he would be seeing how badly Peter had messed up; surely he would be planning for his attack, fine-tuning the last threads needed to weave a perfect, simultaneous attack on all of them, killing them instantly and without recourse. Surely it was only just a matter of time.

Peter closed his eyes again and wished, not for the first time and likely not the last, that he would finally wake up and find this was all just a terrible dream.

When Peter next woke, he found himself still laying on the floor in front of the door, his neck crooked where the wall met the floor. He slowly sat up, digging his fingers into the muscles in his neck, vaguely thinking how bad an idea it had been to fall asleep like he had.

But then the memories of the day before came rushing back, and the state of his neck no longer mattered.

Looking up at the clock, Peter saw that it was six-thirty in the morning. Glancing outside the window, he could just make out the barest hints of dawn beginning to touch the sky.

He stayed where he was for a few minutes, thinking neither a thought nor saying a word.

Finally, Peter stood to his feet.

Well, if he couldn't run away this time, then he would do the next best thing.

Grabbing his jacket out of the closet, Peter made his way back to the door, opened it, and left.

The ground crunched beneath his feet, his breath misting in the air before him with every breath he took.

The sun had broken over the horizon by now, and was glistening brightly against the ice and frost that had covered the ground over the night. The trees were laden and draped with hoarfrost, the world around him lustrous and twinkling with the light pinks and blues of the early morning sun. The early birds of winter sang crisp and bright, their voices echoing through the cold air.

He didn't know how long he walked, only that he was forced to come to a stop once he'd reached a large ravine. He could use his webs to cross to the other side with ease, but Peter felt that he had come far enough. Without much thinking, he climbed up a tree and searched for a place to sit. He squirmed and moved for a few minutes, trying to find a comfortable place to stay.

It soon became apparent, however, that there was no perfect spot. So, after a brief moment's thought, Peter stuck out his arm, pressed his fingers against his wrist, and began to weave a web. He soon found himself laying down, his hands behind his head. He didn't know why he had never thought of this sooner, this was perhaps the comfiest he had ever been. He may as well have been laying on air.

He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the running water of a creek somewhere down in the ravine.

He tried not to think about what had happened. He tried to act as though nothing had changed, as though nothing were wrong. He tried to fall asleep, to drowse the morning away.

But his mind wouldn't let him. No matter how much he tried to ignore the pestering thoughts, no matter how much he tried to think of something other than Bucky and memories, of Seftis returning, inevitably his mind would return back to all of them; and the fear and anger that he had been trying to suppress would start to rise once more.

How could this have happened? He had thought… he had thought for so long – he had believed for so long that no one could remember, that he'd be forever alone in this world; so how… how could this possibly be?

He had no answers, of course, and so for the next hour he simply lay there, in the web that he had made – in this mess that he had made – doing his best to forget, if only for a little while, all that had happened.

He hadn't realised his eyes had closed until he suddenly heard the sounds of boots crunching against the frost and icy ground a couple miles away. His eyes snapped open and he stayed completely still, listening to the footfalls and determining whose they were.

They were Bucky's, of course. If he couldn't tell by his gait, he could certainly tell by the shifting of metal on metal as his prosthetic arm moved with each step.

Peter stared through the trees into the blue sky beyond, and waited.

After nearly ten minutes had passed, Bucky finally arrived. Peter didn't say anything, waiting for Bucky to be the first to speak.

Finally, after a few minutes of silence, he did.

"Peter," Bucky began.

"Bucky," Peter replied.

There was another pause, and then Bucky asked, "What's this?" Peter could feel the tremors of the web as Bucky's fingers moved across it. "I thought… do you still have your web-shooters? Did you make more?"

His web-shooters. How he had missed them, in the beginning. Being able to fly through the air, to stand from the highest heights and never having to worry about falling, because he could always catch himself long before he met the ground.

He'd never been exactly sure why he had ever made them in the first place; after the bite and development of all his abilities, he'd just always felt that something was… missing. That he wasn't quite complete without this last accessory, this last part – that being able to shoot webs and swing through the air was just a natural part of who he was. But for the longest time, he had always thought that to be a part of himself that he had made.

The development of his natural webs made him wonder if maybe he had been wrong; if maybe his desire to swing and fly through the air was bred from a natural desire, from an ability not yet manifested, but whose urges and instinct still lay humming beneath his skin.

Or it could have arisen from the incident with the Goblin in the laboratory, just like how his apparent ability to somehow use fire – or for fire to randomly burst from his hands – had appeared. Perhaps all of this was just an experiment gone wrong. He didn't know, and at the moment he didn't care.

"Peter?"

Peter blinked, remembering that Bucky had asked him a question.

Peter waited a moment longer, still staring through the trees as he took a breath, before answering. He could see no point in lying, so for once, he was completely honest: "No," he said. "I lost my web-shooters after… After." He swallowed, and breathed.

"Then how are you doing this? Did you create a different serum, did you –."

Reaching out his arm, Peter placed his fingers against his wrist and pressed, sending a web shooting into the air and through the trees, until it snagged along the branches. Peter let his wrist go, and the web fell away.

He glanced over at Bucky, who was staring at the web with brows slightly raised, before he turned and looked at Peter's bare wrist. He frowned, then met Peter's eyes.

"They come from your wrists," he said quietly. "I thought… I thought your webs weren't biological, I thought you could only climb walls and had enhanced senses."

"I did," Peter agreed. "Until a while ago, anyway. Then I found out that I could… that I could actually shoot them from my wrists." He began picking at the webbing, thrumming the strings against his thumb. "They're fairly similar to my mechanical ones, but stronger, somehow. More flexible."

Bucky was silent for a moment, then said, "That's… that's pretty neat." His voice betrayed his awe.

"Yeah, well, it's not like I can use them, anyway, so it really doesn't matter."

Peter went back to staring through the trees. He could hear Bucky sigh.

"Peter, look… I know you think that it's dangerous, but I think you really need to tell Steve. Hell, you can even tell Stark, if you want. The guy always treated you like a son, and –."

"Ha," Peter laughed humourlessly. "Yeah, like Mister Stark would even hear you out. The guy hates my guts. To him, I'm just a street rat; I'm an annoying pebble in his shoe that he just can't seem to get rid of. If you told him, he'd just call you a liar and ask Bruce to have your head examined."

"Then we'll tell Steve. Steve will listen, I can tell he already suspects –."

"No," Peter cut off. "I told you, I'm not telling anyone. No one is supposed to know. No one was ever supposed to know."

Bucky let out a frustrated sigh. "Why, because this Seftis guy will come after us? Because he's going to kill us? Well let me tell you something kid – you keep going on and on about how this guy will kill everyone if they find out about you, if they find out who you are or what he did to you – to us.

"But for all your gripin' and groanin' about it, for all your prophecies of doom and end of the world, he sure as hell hasn't done anything yet. I mean, you've been with us for what – over a week now? You've talked to us, hung out with us, and now I remember everything – and nothing has happened!"

Peter met Bucky's eye with a dark glare, but Bucky didn't so much as blink, and carried on: "And yet you insist on goin' on and on about this guy comin' back, like he's the fourth horseman of the apocalypse or somethin'. You've done everythin' you're not supposed to, according to you, and this guy still hasn't shown up. So you can forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical that there's really any danger."

Somewhere within him, Peter knew what Bucky was saying was true. In the back of his mind there had always been a whisper, an inkling as time went on and he spent more and more time with the Avengers, that maybe Seftis had been wrong, that maybe he had exaggerated just how much in danger Peter really was.

That maybe, just maybe, Seftis had lied.

But no. No, that couldn't be true. It couldn't be true. Seftis had shown him what would happen if everyone found out, he'd made his threat plain and clear.

It couldn't be true.

And besides, in the end, it had been too long, now, anyways. The past was in the past. What use was there in telling people who he was, if they couldn't remember him? Even if they did, life would never go back to the way it was, things would never be the same. He was just about eighteen, now. He was an adult. He could never go back to the way things were Before.

And in the end, these were all games of what-if, anyways. And the memories of Tony and Clint and everyone dying in front of him were still too vivid, still too-ingrained within his eyes, for him to ever let go of Seftis' threat.

Knowing Bucky was waiting for an answer, Peter finally replied, "He could still come back. You could be right, there might… there might not really be any danger. But still, there might be. And I'm not risking anyone's life for a what-if."

"Peter…" Bucky began, and he let out a sigh. "I know what it's like to be controlled by fear. I'd say I know that better than anyone here, and that's sayin' somethin'. If you let this guy control you like this, if you let your fear of his threats take over everything you do, then you'll be just like I was – nothing more than a brainwashed, mind-controlled, mindless sheep –."

"I don't care!" Peter suddenly shouted. He was sitting up now, glaring at Bucky from above. "I don't care if I'm letting fear control me! I don't care if I –."

"Well you should!" Bucky shouted back. "The truth is more important than some lie this son-of-a-bitch is tellin' you, Peter! Why should we all suffer because you don't have the damn back-bone to tell us the truth, and –."

"Don't you fucking dare turn this around on me!" Peter swore. He was seething, an anger running through his veins that he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before, lighting his tongue like fire. "What the hell do you think it matters anyways, whether or not anyone remembers me? I'll tell you what – it matters nothing! Nothing! It doesn't hurt any one of you to not know who I am, so no – no, don't you fucking dare tell anyone! Don't you fucking dare tell Tony, or Bruce, or Steve that –."

"Tell Steve what?"

Peter and Bucky's heads both snapped up and turned round at the sound of the new voice. Their eyes landed on Steve, who was standing a few feet away through the trees, staring between both of them with cautious curiosity.

Peter blinked, his eyes wide as he stared at Steve in disbelief. In his arguing with Bucky, he'd failed to hear Steve coming. And from the way Bucky was looking at his friend, he hadn't noticed, either.

Steve's eyes trailed from Peter's face, down to below him. His brows furrowed together as he asked, "Peter, what are you sitting on?"

It was then that Peter realised he was still sitting on his webbing, and with a jolt he suddenly jumped off, ripping the webbing down from the trees, the strings quickly disintegrating to the ground. "It's nothing," he said, turning back round. "I – I found it here, and I –."

"How did you find us?" Buck interrupted, momentarily saving Peter from his stumbling explanation.

Steve stared at Peter a moment longer, before turning his eyes back to Bucky. "FRIDAY told me you'd both gone in this direction. I figured you guys were out here talking, so I thought I'd join you. I figured I'd follow your footsteps, but it turns out I just had to listen for your voices." He glanced between the two again, eyeing them tentatively. "Is everything all right here?"

Both men answered at once, their voices running over the other.

"Yes."

"No."

Peter and Bucky's heads snapped to the other, their eyes narrowed in glares. They stared at each other for a long moment, before Bucky finally spoke. "He has to know, Peter. It's the only way we can fix any of this."

Peter could see the way Bucky moved as he turned back towards Steve; he could see the determination in his movements and in his eyes, and suddenly Peter's heart was pounding in his chest, as he realised what Bucky was about to do.

"Steve," Bucky said, "we need to talk. Peter is –."

Bucky was suddenly cut off, as Peter tackled him from the side and into the ground.

"Don't you dare!" Peter shouted, struggling as Bucky fought to push him off. "You have no right, don't you dare –."

"Peter!"

Peter felt someone grab the back of his jacket and suddenly he was being wrenched off of Bucky, and pulled away. He stumbled as he regained his footing, still glaring at Bucky all the way.

Bucky took a deep breath as he stood back up, glaring back at Peter as Steve pushed the latter behind him. Then, turning to Steve, he spoke again. "You didn't just meet Peter a couple weeks ago," he started.

Peter struggled harder, trying to pull away from Steve's iron grip. "Don't!" he shouted. His heart was beating so fast and so loud, it felt as though it were going to explode.

Bucky met Peter's eyes for a moment and he continued, looking back at Steve. "We met him three years ago. He was in Germany, he'd been recruited by Stark. He fought with us, he was one of us."

No. No no no no, he couldn't – this wasn't supposed to happen, he couldn't be doing this – he couldn't be doing this. "Stop! Bucky, stop!"

"Someone called Seftis showed up two years ago. He erased all of our memories, so none of us would remember who Peter is. He's been by himself for the last two years, while we all just sat on our asses, unaware of a single thing that had happened. He isn't just some random kid from the street, Steve. His name is Peter Parker, he lives with his Aunt May in Queens, and he's an Avenger."

And there it was. Steve now knew. He knew everything.

And Peter saw red.

Somewhere along Bucky's speech, Steve's grip had weakened, and Peter wrenched himself out of his hold. He ran forward, charging at Bucky with a yell, his arm pulled back as his fingers curled in a fist, ready to punch the living daylights out of him, and –

Out of instinct, Bucky lifted his leg and kicked, his foot colliding with Peter's stomach and sending him flying back through the trees.

He landed on the ground, spinning and tumbling over the snow and through the trees, until he began to slow to a stop…

…and fell down into the ravine.