Perhaps Peter should have been afraid of falling asleep. He had hoped the comfort of a real home to sleep in would ward off the nightmares, but apparently his brain had other ideas.
Seeing Steve and Bucky together sent his memories tumbling back to the final battle with Thanos. The sounds of the active battle field filled his ears, blocking out any other noise.
Tony's death replayed in his head like a broken record, his soulless eyes burning into his soul. The light in his chest slowly flickered out as the sobs, which he finally realised were coming from him, replaced the sounds of fighting.
It should have been you.
It should have been you.
It should have been you.
But it wasn't, it was never him. Even when he died, he always came back. But those who deserve to come back never did. Uncle Ben, his parents, Natasha, Vision, Mr. Stark.
Peter's life was a story told through the deaths of anyone who got close. Peter was shocked May had made it so far. His curse had yet to infect her and take her away from him. Perhaps in this world where he didn't exist her and Ben would have the life they deserved together. One where they were both alive and can have a kid that is actually theirs.
A happy life. The one they should have had in the first place.
Before Peter's thoughts could go any further, the memories of the battlefield returned. Shouting, so much shouting. Everything was loud and Peter's senses couldn't handle it, though he tried to focus on helping those around him.
An explosion knocked him off his balance and sent him tumbling to the floor. And suddenly he wasn't at the final battle anymore. He was on Titan again as his body started to disintegrate.
Piece by piece, Peter's body tore itself apart and Peter couldn't do anything but watch. Once again, completely helpless. The only difference was Tony wasn't trying to stop it like he once did. Instead he was just… watching.
A bored expression on his face as he watched Peter dying before his eyes. A single tear fell down Peter's face as he cried for help. But Tony didn't move. He didn't do anything. That was until he finally spoke.
"You deserve this."
And Peter broke. He had no tears left to cry, but he broke. The last fragments of his heart suddenly died before his body had the chance to disintegrate them. It wasn't real, but it hurt nonetheless.
Maybe he should have stayed dead.
"Peter, you need to wake up."
Maybe then he wouldn't be alone.
"Peter, c'mon kid."
Maybe everyone would be happier.
"Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real."
Maybe then Tony would still be alive.
"Peter!"
Peter shot up from his sleep. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes darted around the room he was in. The events of the day before flooded his mind as he attempted to calm himself. He was fine. He was safe. He wasn't dying. He wasn't dead.
He eventually met the eyes of the super soldier whose couch he was sleeping on. The man's eyes were glazed over with a look of concern.
"Is it ok if I touch you?" Bucky asked, his voice soft and calming as he spoke. Peter nodded after a moment's thought and Bucky wrapped his arms around him. Holding him close and rocking side to side as in an attempt to comfort him. Only then did Peter realise how long it had been since someone had hugged him.
Peter melted into the embrace, allowing himself to be weak for a moment. To be a kid and be comforted. Bucky whispered comforting words as they sat on the couch, rocking from side to side. Peter's body was still shaking, but his breathing soon regained an even flow. The pain in his chest slowly fizzled away as Bucky spoke.
It was still dark, but the moon was gone from the navy sky. Soon the sun would rise in its place. Not quite night, but not quite morning either. It was the perfect time of the day, Peter thought, for everything and nothing to happen.
"You ok, kid?" Bucky asked, his arms still wrapped around Peter. For a split second, Peter thought he heard Tony's voice in his words. It was only a few seconds later when Peter realised he had not responded, so he nodded. But then, he noticed the situation he was in and his checks turned red in embarrassment.
He tried to pull away as he spoke in a rushed panic "Oh, Mr. Sergeant Barnes sir. I'm so sorry. I woke you up and cried on your shirt, oh god I'm so sorry. You let me stay and now I'm just being a burden and I'm so sorry–"
Bucky rushed to console him, "No, Peter it's ok, don't apologise you haven't done anything wrong. I was already awake. Stay calm, your breathing only just went back to normal, let's keep it that way."
Listening to the man's words, Peter focused for a moment on his breathing. Breathing in for 4 seconds, holding it for 7 and then breathing out for 8 seconds, then repeating—just like Aunt May had shown him.
Eventually, Peter felt calm enough to stop his breathing exercises and sat up a bit more from his spot. Bucky let go of him, moving back to give him some space, but still sitting close to him on the couch.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Bucky asked.
He couldn't. "No."
He wanted to. "Are you sure?"
But he couldn't. "Yes."
"Ok, that's fine," Bucky says, he didn't seem disappointed, but calm instead. As if he didn't just comfort a 16 year old who was having a panic attack following a nightmare—after finding them getting beat up in an alley—who looked like they hadn't eaten in a few days. As if that was just another day in the life. Though Peter supposed living as a brainwashed assassin, and then as an Avenger would make you pretty desensitised to life's insanities.
"It's still early, do you want to try to go back to bed?" Bucky questioned, his hand resting comfortingly on Peter's shoulder. It kept him grounded, stuck in reality and prevented him drifting off into his mind.
Peter shook his head. He couldn't stomach the idea of being stuck in his memories again. Bucky gave a sad knowing smile at his response. He knew what it was like to wake up from nightmares like the ones Peter had just had. Sleep was never in the front of his mind after it.
"Ok, then I'm going to check on your injuries. See how they are healing, is that ok?" Bucky asked. Peter just nodded, he was doing that a lot recently. But sometimes words were not needed.
Peter yawned, before the nightmare, he had been sleeping quite well. For the first time in a while he hadn't gone to bed in the early hours of the morning from work–
shit.
Peter was supposed to work at the bar last night.
As Peter tried to stand up, Bucky walked back into the room with the medical supplies. When he saw Peter trying to stand up he said:
"Woah, woah, sit down, you're going to hurt yourself."
Peter shook his head as he spoke "No, I was supposed to be at work last night. I need to call them to tell them why I wasn't there," his voice coming out rushed. Pushing Peter gently back onto the couch, Bucky passed him his phone.
"Use my phone, but stay still. You got some busted up ribs, you can't just suddenly move."
Thanking him as he took the phone, Peter pulled out the paper with the bar's number Weasel had given him. Putting in the numbers, Peter waited for the bar owner to pick up. After a few rings, a voice can through the speaker.
"Who is this?" Weasel asked, his voice sounding confused.
"It's Peter."
"Peter! Good to know you're not dead, thought maybe the job had scared you away," Weasel laughed. Peter let out an award breathy laugh as he replied.
"No, no, I just couldn't make it last night. I forgot to call," Peter explained.
"Something more interesting than visiting me?" Weasel joked.
"No, I ah, I got beat up by some people. Busted a couple of ribs. It just completely slipped my mind that I was supposed to be at work. I'm so sorry, I promised I will make it up," Peter rushed to reassure the man.
"Beat up? Forget the shift, it doesn't matter, you ok kid?"
"Yeah, it's fine. I'll just be a little sore for a bit," Peter lied.
"Well take today and tomorrow off, don't want you getting more hurt. I'll see you on Monday, same time, yeah?" Weasel said, Peter breathed a sigh of relief. Going to work hurt would have been a pain in the ass.
"Yes, sir, thank you," After Peter spoke the phone cut out, Weasel hung up. Handing the phone back, Bucky asked:
"So what job do you have?"
Quick, think of a lie. What job would make sense that he would have to work at night? Think, think.
"Um, I'm a waiter."
Not a complete lie. Peter mentally high-fived himself when Bucky seemed to accept his answer. He didn't have to worry about that job for a couple days now. Now he just had to worry about getting through the internship today. Great.
Normally, with someone he didn't know about his powers checking his injuries, Peter would be stressed. Finding-any-excuse-to-stop-it-happening kind of stress. But for the first time Peter was happy about the small amount of food he had been eating. Though yesterday he had eaten a toastie and a pizza, it still was not enough for his metabolism. That, plus the fact that he hadn't been eating enough in prior days meant his advanced healing wasn't working at its normal speed. He was healing a little bit faster than a normal person would, but not so fast that it would be suspicious. Small wins, Peter supposed.
After Bucky checked all of Peter's injuries again, re-bandaging a few, the morning went by in a haze of normality. Something Peter was glad for. Since jumping time periods and universes, he had longed for a sense of normality again. He supposed this was the closest he was going to get.
Bucky and him ate breakfast, watched TV and just slowly passed the time after Peter's panic attack. Something the super soldier didn't bring up again. Eventually Peter saw the time on the clock. Somehow it was already 10 o'clock. He would have to be at the internship in an hour.
"I have to go soon," Peter said suddenly, surprising even himself.
Seemingly caught unprepared, Bucky replied, "What?"
Realising his sentence made no sense, Peter added, "I have my internship at SI in an hour, I have to go soon."
"No, you're hurt. Are you really going to risk getting more hurt for just one day of an internship?" Bucky questioned. He sounded, to Peter, like a big brother trying to protect their sibling.
"I can't not go, I don't know how to tell them I'm hurt and can't go. I don't want them to replace me for not going," Peter tried to justify.
Peter knew they probably wouldn't replace him from just missing one day. But he couldn't risk it. Not only was the internship a safe place, but it was also a source of food. He couldn't risk losing it.
"They aren't going to fire you for missing one day," Bucky reasoned, but Peter still looked unconvinced. With a deep breath, Bucky stood up.
"Fine, I have to quickly get some stuff from the tower anyway. I'll tell them why you aren't there if you're that worried about getting fired. Happy?" Bucky asked, grabbing his keys and phone and throwing on a jacket and hat.
"Thank you," Peter said sincerely, though he truly wanted to go to the internship, he knew it would be very suspicious for him to show up with a split lip and broken ribs. People would talk.
"Yeah, whatever punk," Bucky said jokingly, ruffling Peter's hair "You stay here, I'll be back in like 10 minutes."
"Yeah, sure," Peter lied, he had no intention of staying.
After Bucky left, Peter carefully stood up from the couch. Most of the pain had vanished overnight and now he was left with a dull ache over his body. The logical thing to do would be to stay, but Peter couldn't.
Bucky would eventually start asking about his family, Peter's lies would catch up with him and then he would probably call CPS, or Steve would. Peter couldn't risk it. Besides, he had already been a burden to Bucky by staying at his house and eating his food. He didn't want to become more of an annoyance.
Pulling on his hood, Peter walked out of the apartment.
He was better off alone anyway. Anyone who got close got hurt, and he couldn't risk hurting more people.
When Bucky would later return, he would find the apartment empty and silent. The blanket Peter had used was folded and placed where Bucky and got it from. It looked as though he hadn't been there in the first place. The only evidence of Peter's existence in the apartment was a note he had left, which read:
"Dear Mr. Barnes,
Thank you for letting me stay and for helping me. You didn't have too. I left because I didn't want to be more of a burden to you, you already helped me so much. I don't deserve it. You were very kind, thank you. Say thank you to Steve for me as well. I'm sorry for not saying goodbye.
From,
Peter.
P.S: Thank you for making me feel less alone"