"PETER!"
Both Bucky and Steve rushed forward, heading towards the ravine where Peter had fallen.
Then suddenly, just as Steve reached its edge, something shot past him, landing on a nearby tree. Steve's head whipped towards it, his eyes taking in the way the… the rope latched against the tree's trunk, the end frayed and stretched across the bark, almost like a… like a web –
Steve had no more time to think, as suddenly a body was flying towards him and the next thing he knew he was jerking back, and watching as someone – as Peter, his eyes finally recognised – flew past him, slamming feet-first into Bucky's chest.
There was no time to wonder at how Peter had made it back – how he had shot out of the ravine like a bullet – as both he and Bucky immediately began to fight once more; though it was clear to anyone with eyes that it was less a fight, and more a one-sided attack, as Bucky continually fell back against Peter's endless barrage of assault.
Steve immediately started after them, as the two began moving back through the trees.
"PETER!" Steve shouted. "Peter, stop this! Why are you – there's no reason – stop!"
His words, however, fell on deaf ears, as Peter continued to let out his anger and fury with every punch and kick he gave.
Steve saw the moment when Bucky's willingness to take Peter's assault ended, and suddenly he began fighting back – meeting and returning each of Peter's attacks with his own. Soon the two were a frenzy of swinging arms and kicking legs, dodging and feinting, acting for all the world as though there were actually a battle to be fought.
It was completely ridiculous – it was absolutely absurd.
And it was about to end.
Stepping forward into the fray, Steve began to shout once more. "Bucky, Peter, stop this! What the heck are you doing, you're –."
Steve was cut off as a piece of bark torn from a tree came flying towards him. He ducked, lowering himself to the ground just as a branch flew over his head.
What the hell – were they attacking the trees, now? What could they even be possibly fighting about in the first place? What the heck was Bucky thinking, attacking Peter as he was, barely even holding back on his punches, and –
Another crunch as someone hit a tree, another kick, and another flying piece of shrapnel.
Instinctively, Steve grabbed hold of a large piece of bark that lay on the ground and brought it up in front of his face, just as a piece of another branch crashed against it.
He lowered the makeshift-shield just in time to see Peter being kicked, sent tumbling through the snow, then reaching back up and aiming his arm towards Bucky. A rope, or – or something – shot out of his wrist like a cannon ball, flying towards Bucky before smacking him directly in the face.
Steve watched as Bucky scrambled for a few moments, struggling to get the string – the rope, or whatever it was – off of his face, before giving Peter a dark glare and running towards him once again.
Steve could only stare in complete and utter bewilderment. He knew that Peter was different, that he had strength and stamina nearly equal to his own, but this… what the hell even was this? What was coming out of his wrists? How was he even doing that –
Suddenly Bucky was flying towards him, landing on the ground in front of him and scrambling to regain his footing. He finally stood up, then in the next second jumped out of the way. Steve barely had time to realise that something was shooting towards him, and he immediately brought up the piece of bark once more. The rope – or whatever it was – hit the shield, and in the next second it was ripped from Steve's hands and tossed to the side.
The fight between Bucky and Peter continued, their voices yelling at one another as they began arguing over something to do with secrets and dangerand truth, but Steve was no longer listening.
He stared at the empty space between his hands, where the piece of bark had once been. One minute it had been there, and in the next it was gone. He had been using it to protect himself, to defend himself, and it had been suddenly torn away from him – just like that, by what he could only describe as a sticky piece of rope.
Just like that.
How – where had it come from? Who had it come from? How could they have possibly ripped his shield – his vibranium-steel shield – from him so fast? Looking up, Steve could see the shield was now being held by a guy in a red and blue suit, who was holding it on his arm as though it actually belonged there, which of course it absolutely did not – who the hell did he even think he was, daring to take his shield from him, and –
Steve blinked, the images of the man in the red and blue suit disappearing in front of him, replaced back with the wintery-woods and dueling figures of Bucky and Peter.
Steve stared, watching as the two men continued to fight. Thoughts were scrambled in his mind, but one held out about all the others: What the heck was that?
Shaking his head, Steve stood to his feet, and began stumbling towards the pair once more. This had to stop.
"BUCKY!"
He knew Bucky the best, obviously, and so had the greatest chance of convincing him to stop. But then, also knowing Bucky, perhaps that wouldn't be as easy as he thought.
Finally meeting them, Steve grabbed hold of Bucky's shirt and tried to pull him away. "Bucky, stop this! What the – what the heck are you two even fighting about?!"
Peter suddenly stilled, stopped what he was doing, and turned his attention to Steve, staring him straight in the eye. "You're wrong," he said. "You think you're right. And that makes you dangerous."
Steve's eyes widened and he stepped back, stumbling over broken branches and falling onto his backside.
Peter's face suddenly contorted back into anger, his hand still holding onto Bucky's collar with his other one raised, ready to swing. His fist stayed where it was, however, his chest heaving in and out as his narrowed eyes stared at Steve in growing confusion.
Steve didn't know what the hell was going on. Was he having some kind of seizure? Was this a super-serumed soldier's version of delirium?
He could hear Bucky's voice saying his name, swimming in the backround: "Steve? What's wrong? Are you okay?"
Steve opened his mouth to speak, to tell Bucky that maybe he should go back inside for a while, maybe get Bruce to check him out – but before he could say anything, Peter suddenly jerked and started backing away.
"Okay," he said, shaking his head at the shield in Steve's hand. "That thing does not obey the laws of physics at all." He almost sounded offended, as though Steve's shield had personally wronged him by simply existing. His white and black eyes were stark against the red of his mask, and Steve wondered, not for the first time, just where this guy had come from.
"You've got heart, kid," Steve said. "Where are you from?"
The guy in the red and blue suit faltered slightly underneath the weight of the semi, before answering, "Queens."
Steve couldn't help the small grin from pulling his lips as he started to back away. Motioning to himself, he said, "Brooklyn," before turning round and running back to join the fight.
The scene dissolved before him and Steve suddenly lurched forward, gripping his head between his hands.
He could hear people calling his name, someone's hand grabbing his shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to look up. All he could see were the images of a red and blue figure shooting webs through the air, punching and dodging, catching his hands with his webs, twisting him around, the two men caught in a complicated dance as they fought to take the other one out.
It looked like it was in Germany; it looked like it had happened in the airport that the Avengers had all fought in. Except he didn't remember there ever being a man in a red and blue spider-suit fighting, he'd never met or seen someone like that ever in his life. There had been so many other Avengers there, pretty much their entire team – but there had been no guy in a red and blue suit, there had been no new recruit of Tony's, there had been no Spider-Man.
Steve sucked in a breath, his eyes opening as he stared in confusion at the ground.
Spider-Man. Where the heck had that come from?
He needed to go see Bruce; he really needed to go see Bruce now. Whatever was happening, Bruce could fix it. He had to.
Shifting his leg, Steve attempted to stand up, but as soon as he made it halfway he started to fall sideways. Someone was already at his side, catching and holding him up. He looked up to see Bucky staring at him with wide eyes, fear and concern etched all across his face, silently asking what was wrong.
"I'm all right," Steve tried to reassure as Bucky helped him to his feet. "I'm fine. I'm just a bit dizzy, that's all. Should probably… should probably see Bruce."
Once standing, Steve felt another flicker of light behind his eyes and he quickly squeezed them shut.
No, no more. He had… he had to go see Bruce.
He had to go see Bruce.
"All right, all right take it easy," Bucky insisted. "Take it easy, Steve. Do you want me to call someone to come get you? I have a phone, I can –."
"No," Steve quickly declined, shaking his head. "No, you don't need to do that. I can… I can walk back. It's not that bad."
They took a few, small steps, and suddenly Peter's voice sounded from beside him. "I'll go ahead and get help," he said.
He'd started to move, stepping forward into Steve's vision, just as Steve opened his mouth to tell him to stop. "No," he said, more forcefully than before. "You don't have to go ahead, we'll just walk back and then we can –."
Steve's voice suddenly faltered, his words disappearing from his tongue as his eyes took in the entirety of Peter in front of him. His eyes widened, and he blinked.
Peter turned back to him, his brown, messy hair fluttering in the wind as he gave the older man an incredulous look. The morning sunlight reflected off the skin-tight red and blue of his suit, the bright colours a stark contrast to the white and brown of the snow and trees around them.
"Mister Rogers, come on – you can barely stand up; I'm gonna go ahead and get someone."
Steve could only stare, before squinting and shaking his head. "Pete – Peter, what are you wearing? What – what on earth is that –."
Steve watched as Peter's eyes glanced towards Bucky, before looking back at him. "Uh, what – what are you talking about? Mister Rogers? Mister Rogers!"
Steve's legs suddenly buckled from underneath him, and if it weren't for Bucky's arm around his shoulder, he would have collapsed entirely to the ground.
Everything was suddenly very hot.
Peter's eyes widened and he immediately dashed forward, grabbing hold of Steve's other side, shoving his shoulder underneath Steve's arm to help hold him up. "Cap – Captain," he said quickly. Steve looked up, meeting the young man's eyes as Peter continued to speak. "Big fan," he said, touching his chest. "I'm Spider-Man."
"What?" Steve asked, his eyes growing wide with incredulity. There was a beat, and then another, the sounds of the world suddenly rushing in his ears. "You're… you can't be, you're… you're just a kid. You can't… there's no way that Stark would have…."
Would have what? What would Stark not have done?
The pressure in his head intensified, and Steve squeezed his eyes back shut, gritting his teeth against the pain.
He didn't see the way Peter looked at Bucky, his face filled with lines of confusion as he shook his head, listening as Bucky told him they'd have to carry him back to the compound.
He was back in Germany again. They were fighting, but this time he was fighting one person in particular – a young-sounding guy in a red and blue spandex suit, who shot webbing out of his wrists.
The scene shifted, and suddenly he was back at the compound, watching as the same man – who he now knew as Spider-Man – slowly took off his mask, the guilty face of a young teenager appearing underneath.
"My name is Peter," the boy had said. "Peter Parker. It's nice… it's nice to finally meet you all."
He'd been furious. He'd been mad at Tony before, for many, many things, but this – this took the cake; this was worse than anything else because he'd recruited – he'd actually gone out and recruited a teenaged boy –
Steve blinked.
But wait, they… they had already fought over that. He'd… he had finally accepted what had happened, had finally accepted that whether or not he liked what had happened, it didn't matter, because it was all said and done now and Peter was a part of them, whether he liked it or not; they couldn't just kick him back out to the curb. And then after Thanos they found out Tony had made him an official Avenger, which in the ensuing events turned out to be more deserved than they could have ever known, and –
And….
And….
"Mister Rogers?"
Steve looked up, his eyes meeting Peter's once more.
Peter's eyes. The kid from Queens. The homeless kid who'd saved Clint Barton in New York.
The kid who'd fought them in Germany.
The kid who was living on the streets.
The kid who was supposed to be living with his aunt.
The kid that ran away from them, twice.
The kid who was Tony Stark's protege and practically his son.
The kid that had run away from his aunt and her boyfriend, who had been living on the streets for four years.
The kid who had fought against Thanos, who had become an Avenger. The kid who he hadn't seen for two years.
The kid. Their kid. Peter Parker.
Spider-Man.
Peter was looking at him with wary concern, an attempt at a reassuring smile on his lips as he spoke. "Hey, how you hangin' in there, Captain? We're almost back at the compound, just one more mile left."
Looking round, Steve suddenly realised that he was moving, being carried along by Bucky and Peter. They were no longer by the ravine, but now on the trail back towards the Avenger's compound.
Looking back up at Peter, Steve suddenly began to move. He pushed his way out of Bucky's hold, ignoring his friend's protests, focusing all his attention on the young man in front of him.
"Peter," he said, placing his hands on Peter's shoulders.
Peter looked between his eyes, his own eyes wide with confusion as he grabbed Steve's arms to keep him up. "What?" he asked. "What is it? What's – what's wrong?"
Peter – his homeless teenager that he had been determined to save – had never truly been homeless at all. At least, not like he'd thought.
So this was what Bucky had been trying to tell him. This is what had been nagging in the back of his mind ever since he'd started to get to know the boy; this was what the feeling in his gut had been telling him whenever Peter had wanted to leave.
Steve's hands moved over Peter's shoulders, trailing up his neck and resting on the sides of his face.
This was Peter Parker, their teammate, an Avenger, Spider-Man. He had known him since Germany.
God, how could he have ever forgotten?
"Mister Rogers?" Peter said again, his voice now laced with worry, and not a little bit of fear. "Mister Rogers, I think you should sit down, you're not feeling we –."
Without warning, Steve suddenly pulled Peter into a bone-crushing hug. The boy's voice was cut off as his face was shoved into Steve's shoulder, and for a moment there was nothing but silence.
After a few breaths Steve pulled back, before turning around and looking at Bucky.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice both hard and unsure. He felt like a fish that had been living on land, and had just been thrown back into the sea. He was struggling to get his bearings. He turned back to Peter. "What's been going on?"
Both Bucky and Peter were looking at him as though he'd lost his mind.
"Steve, I think you should let us take you back to the compound," Bucky said, gently grabbing hold of Steve's arm.
"Yeah," Peter agreed, trying to pull away from Steve's grasp, which remained tight around his shoulders. "You should probably see Doctor Banner, or Doctor Cho. They can figure out what's wrong with you, and –."
"No," Steve suddenly said, turning back to Peter. His eyes were hard and his jaw was clenched. "No, you don't understand." His grip on Peter tightened as he looked the younger man in the eyes. "I know who you are, Peter. I remember. I remember everything. What I want to know is – how did I ever forget in the first place?"
Peter's eyes grew as wide as saucers, and the hint of fear they had held now filled them entirely. He opened his mouth, looking as though he were about to say something, as though he were about to respond, but after a few moments it shut back closed, and Peter said nothing.
Peter wanted to fight. He wanted to argue, to instinctively refute Steve's statement, to tell Steve that he was wrong, but….
But he knew, somewhere inside, that it was utterly pointless.
He watched as Steve pulled away, the older man still staring at him with growing confusion and incredulity, as one set of questions left, only to be replaced by a dozen more.
A helpless frustration started churning within him, as the denial and fear and anger that Peter had felt with Bucky grew tenfold, the same questions he had been asking for the past twenty-four hours screaming at him yet again: How had Steve found out? How had he figured out who he was? How could he have possibly remembered?
"Peter?" Steve said again, the question in his voice not needing to be asked.
But he couldn't, he – he wasn't ready. He wasn't supposed to tell them, he wasn't supposed to tell any of them, but now… but now….
When Peter didn't respond, Steve turned back round to Bucky. "Buck?" he said questioningly.
Bucky breathed quietly for a moment, looking between Peter and Steve, before finally resting on the latter. "It turns out we were all screwed over when we weren't looking," he said, his voice quiet but strong. "And Peter here go the short end of the stick."
Steve's brows furrowed in confusion, and Bucky motioned towards the direction of the compound. "Come on," he said. "Let's go inside. We both need our questions answered, and I need a drink."
It still hadn't hit him, that Steve remembered him. It still hadn't hit him that Bucky remembered him. He was still running on the last vestiges of fear, anger, and denial, and though he was beyond exhausted from it all, he wasn't ready to let it go.
Not yet.
They walked the rest of the way to the compound in silence, their feet and breaths the only sounds as they made their way through the snow. Steve wouldn't stop staring at him, his eyes practically boring a hole into the back of Peter's head, but Peter ignored him. He had to. Because if he didn't, if they started talking about all that had happened, Peter didn't think he'd be able to hold back the stinging heat in his eyes any longer. And breaking down into a fit wasn't exactly something he was planning on doing any time soon.
But all the while, a voice continued to whisper in the back of his mind: Steve remembered. Steve remembered.
They entered the compound, making their way toward the elevator and eventually to Steve and Bucky's floor. They remained as they were in silence, neither one saying a word until they finally crossed the threshold of Steve and Bucky's apartments, the door shutting quietly behind them.
Peter immediately made his way towards the table and sat down, only now realising just how weak his legs suddenly were.
Bucky immediately made his way towards the fridge, opening the door and pulling out a bottle of whiskey, while at the same time turning on the coffee pot. Steve stayed where he was, simply staring at Peter. After a few moments he finally stepped forward, pulling out a chair and sitting down with a thud.
"Well?" he asked after a minute. "Do either of you care to explain to me what's the heck's going on?" His bemused eyes met Peter's. "Peter?"
"I wouldn't bother, Steve," Bucky said loudly from the kitchen as he began pouring the alcohol into a glass. "Kid's like a sealed vault. Won't say nothin' about anything."
Peter leveled a hard glare at Bucky from where he sat. "I told you what happened," he said quietly.
"Yeah, sure you did," Bucky replied, turning round as he swirled the drink in the glass. "So tell me, why exactly did this Seftis guy decide to take our memories, again? But not all our memories, just our memories of you."
Peter's glare darkened, but he said nothing.
Steve looked between the two, confusion – well, more confusion – growing on his face. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "Who… who's Seftis? Is he the one that took our… that took our –."
"Memories of Peter?" Bucky interrupted, taking a swig from his glass. "Yep. I guess he just decided one day that we didn't need them, so – poof! Gone."
Steve watched in silence for a moment as Bucky went back to his drink, before turning back to Peter. "But… why?" he asked. "Why would he do that?"
Peter struggled to find the words to say. Part of him, a big part, still believed that telling them anything would only result in suffering and death. But another part of him – a smaller, but ever-growing part – whispered that maybe Bucky was right, that maybe – just maybe – Seftis' threat wasn't as real as he'd thought.
Bucky joined in. "That's a very good question."
Peter opened his mouth, his words stuttering off his tongue as he repeated what he'd already told Bucky. "I… I, that is – S-Seftis, he… he just, he just showed up one day, and he – he started attacking the city, and Mister Stark and I, we –." Peter swallowed, then licked his lips. "When I woke up, I was alone – and everyone… everyone had forgotten who I was, and… and…."
Peter trailed off, and there was a long moment of silence.
"Okay," Steve eventually said, leaning forward. He rested his elbows against his knees as he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers running through his hair before he lifted his face back up. "All right, so you're… you're telling me, that – that some guy called Seftis, that he – he just… what, showed up one day and took our memories? That he took our memories of you? Just – just out of nowhere? With no explanation?"
His frown deepened as he shook his head. "But why? Why you? I mean, did he even fight us? Were we there when he took our memories? What the heck happened?"
Peter's words stumbled in his mouth, as he tried to figure out what to say. How much of an explanation could he possibly give, anyways? How could he possibly explain that he hadn't a clue why Seftis had chosen him, that he hadn't bothered to stop and ask him, because at the time all that mattered was keeping them and everyone else he knew, safe?
There was yet another long silence, until Steve finally realised that Peter wasn't going to give an answer. His frown settled into clenched teeth and a hard stare, and Peter could see his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. "So none of us could remember you, then? You just – you just disappeared from our lives, just like that? Just… just gone?"
"Well obviously he didn't disappear," Bucky said; he wasn't giving Peter time to speak, even if he wanted to. "He's still here. We just didn't have a fucking clue where he was, or who he was. And if you can't remember someone even existed, how the hell are you supposed to know that they're gone?" He glared into his coffee, before taking another drink.
Peter watched Steve swallow, his brows narrowed, then ask, "How long?" He turned back to Peter. "How long has it been since… since we forgot you?"
The heat in Peter's eyes was now growing, though he hadn't a clue as to why. But as he stared back into Steve's eyes, eyes that no longer saw him as a homeless kid from the streets, but as someone he'd known for three years, as someone who was a student, a teammate, a friend, he… he just couldn't help but feel –
"Two years," Bucky answered, pouring himself another cup of coffee. He threw a splash of whiskey in it before taking another drink. "Kid's been gone for two years, and none of us even so much as blinked."
"Two years," Steve repeated, his voice nearly a whisper, sounding as though he couldn't quite believe what he'd just said. Turning back to Peter, Steve was now looking at him with brows furrowed and eyes wide, looking at Peter as though he no longer quite knew who he was.
Which was ironic, really, given the circumstances. But Peter couldn't begrudge the man his share of shock and surprise. He supposed, had he been in his shoes, he'd be as equally stunned, too.
A rush of panic suddenly swept over him, and Peter sucked in a breath as he desperately tried to calm his now-racing heart as reality suddenly crashed into him.
God, Steve knew. Steve and Bucky both knew. They both remembered who he was, they both knew he was still here, they both knew he was alive, that he existed, and –
A lump had formed out of nowhere in his throat, and Peter fought desperately to swallow it back down. The heat in his eyes had morphed into stinging, and he was quite sure that if he didn't keep his mouth shut, that if he spoke a single word, the tears that were now hiding just behind his eyes would surely fall.
"Two years," Steve said again. "You've been on your own for two years." He stared at Peter for a long moment, before he continued: "And you… where have you been, during that time? Were you at least able to go back to your aunt? Even if we forgot you, you'd surely have been fine living with her, and –."
"I told you," Peter finally snapped. "My aunt's shacked up with some white-collar guy from Manhattan. You think she'd have done that if she'd still been stuck remembering she had a nephew?"
Steve blinked, realisation slowly dawning on his face. He swallowed, his jaw growing tight. "Have you really been on the streets, all this time then? Living… living in that attic, by yourself, and –."
The look on Peter's face must have been answer enough, as Steve suddenly closed his eyes and leaned forward, dropping his head once more into his hands, his voice shaking as he spoke. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Welcome to the club," Bucky said, walking over to Steve and placing his cup of whiskey and coffee in front of him. "Seems to be the most common reaction when you realise just how deep of shit you're really in."
At this, Peter's brows flickered together, and he looked up at Bucky in confusion, and the question jumped off his tongue before he even knew he was thinking it: "Why?"
Both Steve and Bucky looked over to him, their own brows furrowed in bemusement as they stared.
There was a pause, and then Bucky asked, "what do you mean, 'why'? Why do we feel sick? Because let me tell you something kid, having someone messing around in your mind isn't exactly a walk in the park –."
"No," Peter interrupted, looking between the two men. "No, I mean… I mean, why does it matter? It's been two years now, so why does… why does it matter how long it's been? It's all over now, it's – it's in the past." He looked over at Steve, who was looking at him with an expression that he couldn't quite read. He continued, "I've moved on. What's done is done. I've made a new life for myself, so why does it –."
"Living on the streets is considered a new life, now?" Steve interrupted, raising his eyebrows. He scoffed. "I'm sorry, son, but that's a load of bullshit. I know who you are, Peter; you had the gall to fight against me in Germany, you and I both fought against Thanos together, we went on missions together. And someone decided that those memories – that my knowing who you are – were better left forgotten. So excuse me if I'm more than a little pissed off."
Something inside Peter snapped, and his tongue lashed out faster than he could think. "But what does it matter?! What does it matter if you remember me or not? It won't change the last two years; it won't change the future. I'm eighteen, now – I'm an adult. It's not like I can go back to high-school, it's not like I can ever hang out with my friends again, it's not like I can go home to Aunt Ma –."
The name of his aunt cut his words short, and Peter's mouth snapped shut, a sudden anger flaring inside him that he hadn't expected.
Taking a deep breath, Peter leaned back in his chair, doing everything he could to get himself back under control.
The room was silent, neither man saying a word; Steve and Bucky were staring at Peter, as Peter determinedly stared at anything but them.
Finally, after a long minute, Steve spoke: "It matters, Peter. Whether you believe it or not, having all your friends and family forget you, matters."
Peter shook his head as he bit his lip, his vision now swimming with unshed tears as he glared at Steve. "No, Mister Rogers – it doesn't. Besides, even if you did tell everyone else who I was, it's not like they would remember. They would just call you crazy, and that's it."
"Bucky remembered," Steve refuted. "I remembered. Who's to say that no one else will?"
For this, Peter had no answer, as this was the exact question he had been wondering for the past twenty-four hours. How had Bucky remembered? How had Steve now regained his memories, as well? He hadn't told them, he hadn't spoken a word or even given a hint as to who he was, as to who he had once been. He had never once tried to get either of them to remember, he had kept his end of the deal, so why had – so how had they possibly –
"You need to tell us everything," Steve said, interrupting Peter's thoughts. "From the beginning until now. We need to know who this Seftis guy is, and what he wants. That's the only way we can defeat him, and get everyone's memories back. So tell us everything you know."
Something in Peter shifted at Steve's words – no, at Steve's command – and he frowned, his fingers twitching against his legs.
Who the fuck was Steve to tell him what to do? Peter had been on his own now for two years; he had done all the best he could to live as well as he was able, to follow Seftis' rules, to live under his threat, all for the sake of keeping the lives of his friends and family safe. He had kept his mouth shut when it had mattered most. And now Steve wanted to come in here, like the Captain of America he was, and demand he just spill all his secrets, here and now?
No – hell no. Avenger or not, the great Captain America or not – he wasn't going to tell him what to do. None of this affected him; Seftis was Peter's problem, and Peter's problem only.
Except he wasn't a problem, he was the past. He was in the goddamn past, along with everyone else that had once been in Peter's life. Peter had obeyed his rules, he had accepted that his friends and family were gone forever, so he wasn't about to go off on some ridiculous quest to try and bring their memories back when in the end it didn't matter. He had left that part of himself behind, he had left that part of himself behind for good – and he wasn't about to try and get it back.
"Peter?"
Steve was looking up at him, his brows furrowed together in concern, his eyes betraying his surprise, and it was then that Peter realised he was now standing; that at some point in the last few minutes he'd stood to his feet and pressed his fists against the table, his eyes glaring holes into Steve with a fury that took even himself off guard.
Blinking, Peter fell back, taking a breath as he tried to calm down his suddenly racing heart.
There was only one way to get their focus off of him, and that was to put it back to where it was actually important.
After a few more moments, he spoke. "Right now there's only one thing that matters. And that's getting Norman Osborn as far away from Stark Industries as you can."
Steve frowned. "What are you talking about? What does Norman Osborn have to do with Star Indus –."
Steve stopped, suddenly remembering the whole reason Peter had ended up back in the compound in the first place. After a few, long moments, Steve brought his hand to his face and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Minutes passed in silence, before Steve opened his eyes again.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered, shaking his head. Looking up at Peter, he stared at the younger man for a long moment, before finally bringing his arm down and resting it on the table. "FRIDAY," he said, "tell Tony Stark he needs to come down to our apartment, now."
"Yes, Captain."
Peter and Steve continued to stare at each other, and Peter suddenly realised that in his effort to distract Steve from prying further in to what had all happened, he had accidentally brought Tony back into the equation.
"Please," Peter said after a moment, his voice weaker than he wished. "You don't… you don't need to tell him about me. He doesn't need to know. He just needs to know that Osborn is after his company, that he's trying to break up the Avengers – that's all. He doesn't need to know about me."
"Kid," Steve said, his dark eyes never looking away from Peter once, "that option's not even on the table."
"If… if you tell him, you'll only be putting him in danger." He was a broken record, repeating what he'd already said a thousand times, because he didn't know what anything else he could say. His voice fell into a whisper. "You weren't supposed remember. None of you were."
"So you're telling me you never tried to contact us after you were attacked, not once?"
Peter swallowed, shifting his feet as he stood his ground. "Never."
"Then you've got a stronger heart than I do. If it were me waking up in that alley, I'd have and found someone as soon as I could and told them that we had just been attacked, whether they remembered it or not."
Peter's tongue moved quickly without even thinking, like a whip against his lips. "And if you had watched the people you care about die in front of you, you'd have kept your mouth shut, too."
Both Steve and Bucky frowned at this, confusion returning to their eyes.
"What are you talking about, Peter?" Steve asked.
Bucky leaned forward, setting his glass to the side. "I thought you said this guy just took our memories, told you not to tell anyone, and dropped you off in an alley. So what do you talking about 'you saw people die?'"
His heart was racing again – it had never really stopped – and Peter suddenly found the room stifling and incredibly hot.
He needed to get away from here.
Without a word, Peter pushed his chair back and walked around the table, heading towards the door.
"Peter!"
There were sounds of chairs screeching against the floor as they moved, Steve's voice calling after him, the stunned shock it had held before now replaced with anger. "You can't keep running away, Peter. Whether you like it or not, Bucky and I know now. We know what happened, and we know who you are. You need to get over it, and accept it. You need to tell us – tell everyone – what happened. That's the only way we can move forward and defeat this guy!"
He took a breath, the anger in his voice leaving with his sigh. "You're an Avenger, Peter. You're one of ours. Just let us help you, please."
Peter stood in front of the door, looking back at Steve with a hard, quiet stare. After a moment he put his hand on the doorknob, the metal cold beneath his fingers.
"I'm not one of your soldiers, Steve," he said. "And I'm not an Avenger. Not anymore."
Turning the handle, Peter opened the door and stepped outside.
And immediately collided with Tony Stark.
"Whoa, hey – where's the fire?"
Peter took a step back and looked up, his eyes meeting Tony's, which were looking at him with both slight annoyance and a raised brow of questioning curiosity.
Peter steeled himself and made to move past him. "It's nothing," he said. "I was just leaving."
Peter had expected Tony to let him leave – goodness knew Tony wasn't exactly a role model when it came to staying in unwanted conversations – but instead, he felt Tony place a hand on his shoulder and push him back inside.
"Sorry kid," he said, closing the door back shut once they were inside. "But if I have to stay for this circle of kumbaya, then you do too."
Peter bristled, wanting to get out of Tony's grasp, but he knew that unless he wanted to literally throw a tantrum and make everything worse than it already was, then he'd have to stay. For the moment, anyway.
"So, to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of all your company?" Tony asked, walking over and sitting down on one of the chairs, and setting his feet onto the table. He grinned. "Or should I say, to what do you owe the pleasure of mine?"
"We need to talk about Peter," Steve said, glancing up at the younger man. There was a hard look in his eye, one that Peter had seen many times before, one that said that there was a mission to be carried out, and he was going to go through hell or high water to see it succeed.
"Mister Parker?" Tony asked, turning round in his chair to look at Peter. He turned back to Steve. "If it's about finding him a place to live back in New York, then you should know that it will be coming out of your piggy bank. I've already offered my gratitude, and Mister Parker declined. People can only turn down the money you throw at them so many times before things start to get awkward."
Steve huffed. "Tony, this isn't about that. This is about –."
"Oh, you're wondering when Petey here can go home then? Well our agreement was two weeks, but if he really is so eager to go back, I supposed I can let him out of jail early, and –."
"I accept," Peter quickly interrupted. "Send me back to New York, please. I don't need to be here any longer."
Tony smiled. "Great! I'll get Happy to send someone to take you back tonight."
"Awesome! Thanks Mister Stark."
"No problem kid, pleasure doing business with you. Just try not to end back up in my super-important secret Avengers facility ever again, kapeesh?"
"Absolutely."
Steve blinked, his eyes growing wide for a moment, before quickly narrowing in a glare. "What? Peter, no – Tony, no – he's – he's not going back to New York," he grabbed Peter's eye, "you're not going back to New York. That's not what we wanted to talk to you about."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because I think I just solved all our problems in two seconds. I mean, having an open dialogue and conversation is wonderful and all, but at one point someone just has to make a decision, and I am always happy to be the one to step up to the plate."
"Tony."
The chair screeched as Steve stood to his feet, the annoyance and anger now clearly marked on his face. Not even Tony could ignore the fact that he was pissed off.
"All right, all right," Tony acquiesced, leaning back in his chair and raising his hands in surrender. "Fine. What is it you called me down here to talk about, Mister Rogers?"
"We need to tell you something."
"And what would that be?"
The air in the room changed, and Peter knew that in the next few moments, Steve was going to tell Tony everything. Part of Peter wanted to yell and scream, wanted to throw Steve to the ground as he had done to Bucky and force him to remain silent, force him to realise how utterly pointless telling Tony was, how dangerous it was, how wrong it was; that this was Peter's secret and his secret only, and no one else deserved to know, no one else was supposed to know, and… and….
Peter took a breath.
But it didn't matter. It didn't matter how Peter felt or what he thought; in the end, Steve would do whatever the hell he wanted – because he was a captain, and that's what captains did.
But Peter didn't need to be here when he did it.
So, doing what he did best, Peter turned round and left.
Seeing him leave, Steve quickly started to yell. "Peter, you need to stay! You need to explain what happened, you need to explain what's going on, and –."
"No, I don't," Peter replied, opening the door once more.
"Peter –."
"I'm going to get some air."
And Peter left.
He made his way down the stairs and to the bottom floor, making a beeline for the exit doors. Pressing his hands against the bars, he shoved them open and all but ran out into the open air.
The stars shone brightly in the dark night sky above him, the full moon hanging high overhead and casting its light across the ground and trees below. Everything was completely silent, not even the barest hint of a breeze disturbing the stillness.
Peter jogged out a few meters, before slowing to a stop and taking a big, deep breath. He brought his hands up to his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, no longer knowing where to go or what to do next.
He thought he'd be happy, if someone ever remembered him. He thought he'd be elated, overjoyed, ecstatic – every single word there ever was that could possibly describe joy and happiness.
But he wasn't.
For whatever reason, he wasn't happy. He wasn't ecstatic, he wasn't overjoyed. Instead he was angry, he was upset, he was scared.
It was ridiculous. Steve and Bucky both knew, they remembered him completely, and there was no way that he could turn back the clock and make them forget again, no matter how much a part of him wanted that to happen. He needed to get over it, he needed to accept it and move on, because he couldn't keep going in circles like he was. He couldn't keep fighting them, he couldn't keep trying to argue and punch his way out of what happened and into what he wished things would be. He needed to accept it.
He needed to accept it.
If only doing were so easy as needing.
Peter's fingers twitched as the sounds of footsteps on tile met his ears, and he listened as the doors were pushed open and the person – Steve or Bucky, because of course they would follow and demand he come back to complete his torturous interrogation – stepped out onto the grass.
Anger flared like a whip once more inside him, and Peter spun round, his mouth open and ready to fight. "I told you, I'm not –."
Peter stopped, his words falling from his tongue as his eyes landed on Tony Stark.
Again.
His brows twitched slightly, before furrowing into a glare. What the hell was Tony doing here? Why did he always think it was his mission to clean up after Steve's messes?
"You know, you're really starting to step on my toes, kid."
Peter fought against the urge to roll his eyes, trying to keep his anger in check. Relief managed to fall over him as he realised that they hadn't told him – not yet.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Peter turned back around. "If you'd just stay out of the way, maybe I wouldn't have to step on them."
"Touché," Tony responded, never missing a beat. "But when you start messing around with members of my team, I feel I have a right to get onto the dance floor."
Peter scoffed, shaking his head. "Hah. Yeah, right – you're team."
"Uh, yeah, that's right – my team. Unless you've forgotten, I'm the one that keeps this little band of superheroes together; do you see any one else supplying their fancy uniforms?"
"Right. And tell me again, who was it that wanted to start this whole damn Avengers Initiative in the first place?"
Tony's brows twitched and the edges of his lips slightly fell for a brief moment, before he quickly pulled his smile back on. "Tell me kid, why does Rogers take such an interest in you? And now Barnes, too. What, is it something that only hundred-year-old guys find interesting? Because they sure seem to think a lot of you." He paused. "Especially after yesterday."
He was referencing the race; he was trying to bait Peter into talking about it, into revealing whether or not there was something special about him that he should take note of, or if it was all just some fluke or momentary lapse in brain function. Peter knew Tony more than enough to know that the older man was hoping it was somehow the latter.
Well, if that's what Tony wanted to be told, then Peter sure as hell wasn't going to tell him otherwise.
Turning back round, Peter plastered a smile of his own on his face. "The race wasn't real," he said blithely. "That was just Mister Barnes being nice. He told me afterwards he just wanted to make me feel better. After all, I am just a homeless kid from New York. He wanted to make me feel special, before I went back home."
Tony squinted his eyes, as though he were judging whether or not he was lying. Which of course was exactly what he was doing. Though why he thought he needed to, Peter didn't know. He was giving him an out on a silver platter – he was giving him the perfect excuse to just turn the page in the book, and forget he'd ever come across the annoying Peter Parker and his perpetual habit of showing up where he wasn't wanted.
Tony looked at him a moment longer, before he shook his head. "You know kid, I just can't quite make you out. I mean, what is it that you want? Do you want us to help you? And what the hell do you have against us if we do? When life's dealt you a bad hand, you usually try and get the good cards when you can. We're trying to give you some good cards to play with, kid – so why the hell do you keep turning us down?I mean, we're the Avengers, for goodness sake – it's our job to help people –."
"You think I give a fucking damn whether you're the Avengers or not?!" Peter suddenly shouted. To hell with whether he kept his anger in or not, he was sick and fucking tired of Tony throwing his status around as though it were actually something important. He took a step towards Tony, shaking his head. "And don't you dare give me some complete and utter bullshit about helping people. None of you – none of you – care about people.
"You only care about the big stuff – about saving the world and the universe and all of time and fucking space. But the people? The skinny guy getting mugged, the woman getting raped, the elderly man getting beaten up in an alley? You don't care about them! You all sit here in your high-and-mighty compound, making business deals and going on tours in Europe or to fucking Asgard, while there are millions of people left to suffer here on their own, living on the streets, completely forgotten by everyone else, wishing more than anything that someone would come and save them, but they don't! They never do!"
He was breathing heavily, his chest rapidly rising and falling as the fury slowly began to leave, replaced back with an age old anger that had never really gone away. He glared at Tony a moment longer, before shaking his head.
"So no. You can say you like to save the world, you can even back it up by actually doing it. But the little people? No. Tony Stark never cared about the little people, he never gave a damn about those he couldn't be bothered to remember. So don't try and say you do now."
There was a long silence after that, and for a moment Peter wondered whether he'd actually managed to shock Tony into silence. But soon the billionaire regained his composure, and he offered a tight-lipped smile.
"Wow. That must feel good to get off your chest." He stared at Peter a moment longer, before continuing, "Look, kid – obviously we hurt you, somehow at some point we pissed you off. Okay, I get it – that's fair. But can you really –."
Tony kept on talking, but Peter had stopped listening, choosing instead to turn back round and walk away. He was no longer interested in hearing what Tony had to say.
As he walked away, he suddenly heard the call of an owl sound in the distance, and he stopped, blinking. He took a look round anda sudden realisation clicked in the back of Peter's mind, as his eyes finally took in what they were seeing.
It was night. The stars and moon hung high in the sky, and the sun was nowhere to be seen.
Except it was the afternoon. It was the early afternoon. The sun should be nearing its highest point, it should be hours away from setting again. So why –
The hairs on the back of Peter's neck rose, and his eyes widened as they began snapping left and right, searching… searching….
"Hey kid, are you even listening to me? I'm trying to impart some wisdom here, maybe help you turn your life around, but you're –."
"Shut up."
There was a beat, then, "Excuse me? I'm sorry, but did you just tell me to –."
"Shut up!"
The panic in Peter's voice must have come across, as Tony finally stopped speaking.
For the moment, anyway.
"What is it?" he asked lightly. "Do you see something boy? What's out there? Is it a big bad wolf, or –."
"It's night out."
Tony squirreled his face. "Uh, yeah, so?"
Peter looked back at Tony, fighting – and failing – against a glare. "What time is it?"
Tony scoffed. "Pssh. I've spent the last three days in the lab. You think I know what time it is –."
"Boss," FRIDAY's voice said from Tony's glasses. "It is currently one-twenty-five in the afternoon. You have a number of meetings today, the first beginning in thirty minutes. Would you like me to set another reminder?"
As Tony listened to FRIDAY's words, his smile faded from his lips, his eyes slowly hardening into a frown as understanding finally hit. He took a step back and looked around, as though seeing what was around him for the first time.
"Huh," he said after a few moments. "Well that's odd."
Nearly every hair on his body was now standing up as his spidey-senses kept getting louder and louder, practically screaming at him that something was wrong, something was wrong, something was wrong –
For a moment, Peter wondered if the Green Goblin had found him again. He wouldn't put it past him to come all the way to the compound to try and attack him again, to get back at him for what happened a the signing.
But something in the back of Peter's mind whispered that this wasn't the Green Goblin, that Norman Osborn was far away back in New York, still licking his wounds.
And besides, though Osborn could do many things, he couldn't turn day into night.
"Is there some sort of eclipse going on that I didn't know about?" Tony asked, still frowning as he looked towards the sky.
His senses suddenly shifted from danger to warning, and Peter instinctively started walking back towards Tony, continuing to look every which way around them, searching for that which he still didn't know.
"It's not an eclipse," he said quietly.
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? And I suppose you just like to read up on these things for fun, right? Are you a homeless-kid by day, astronomer by night?"
Peter was only half-listening, the rush of blood in his ears slowly turning into one massive, high-pitched ring.
Tony sighed. "Well I suppose you're probably right. The next eclipse isn't supposed to happen for another eight months, and –."
"Something's coming."
Tony's voice finally stopped, his voice one of unbelieving incredulity as he said, "I'm sorry?"
Something was coming. It was getting closer and closer, with every passing second, with every moment, and –
"Kid, have I told you how odd you are? Look, I think it's best if we go back inside and talk to Bruce – that's the Hulk, if you didn't know, also a really smart guy in his undercover life. He'd probably know what's going on, and –."
"Something's coming."
"What are you talking about?"
Something was coming.
Tony sighed. "Kid – Peter – it's Peter, right? Just come back inside with me and we'll –."
Something was here.
Like ice falling down his back, Peter was suddenly viciously cold. He watched the air a few yards away shift in front of him, a green mist bubbling and swirling around itself, until it eventually drifted away, leaving a man in its place.
Peter's heart stopped, and the world around him went deathly still.
The man smiled, revealing yellowed and rotting teeth beneath.
"Hello Peter. My, it's been an awful long time, hasn't it? How have you been, these last two years?"
Seftis.