Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Time is a funny thing. It’s continually moving along, and everything in the universe has no choice except to just be here for the ride.

Peter’s key slides into the lock on 513’s door and unlocks it, without difficulty for once. He has been living in this dingy little apartment for 5 months now. It somehow feels like just yesterday when he scraped enough money together to rent it, and like he’s been here for an eternity. It still doesn’t feel like a home, and Peter doubts it ever will. The lack of decorations and warmth doesn’t help with his mind’s time tricks either. It looks the same as the day he moved in. The door swings shut behind him. He sighs as he slowly sinks onto the wooden floor.

There are many fond memories that are tied to the idea of being at home, not just in physical places, but also with people. Recalling these memories is still difficult. It’ll start out comforting, remembering the happiness and safety he felt in these places and people. His pseudo family. The comfort never lasts long because he then gets plunged into all the bad. He never knows which memories will show up, or when. Or how they get triggered. But each time he falls down into the black hole in his brain it destroys him in new ways.

His parents. Ben. Ned. MJ. Tony.. May…

That’s why he just doesn’t think about the past. Or his home. Or people at all. Is it healthy? Most definitely not. But that’s what allows him to function. Even if he is functioning just enough to survive. If May or Tony could see him now they’d be so disappointed. There's no one left to tell him off though, so it doesn’t matter anyways. He doesn’t think he’ll ever call somewhere home again.

Sleeping is the hardest. During the day he can throw himself into his work repairing tech, even if it is mind numbing. In the evenings he can swing around New York and save people. He can make a difference. Unfortunately, he can’t continue forever. Eventually his body becomes entirely worn out and he physically can’t stay out. Some nights he just doesn’t sleep. He reads, or researches, or watches trashy tv. He runs himself into the ground until he is too exhausted to keep his eyes open.

The nightmares always greet him. Either like an old acquaintance or a nasty coworker. He has his usual rotation of terrors, which includes Beck revealing his identity, him failing MJ and Ned, May’s last moments, and the whirlwind of the snap and subsequent final battle with Thanos. On particularly bad nights he’ll dream of Ben. On terrible nights he’ll dream of Tony.

Absentmindedly Peter reaches for the tv remote and switches it on. “In other words, it’s going to be a cold one out there tomorrow folks!” Peter groans. He loves New York, but the weather lately has not been it. “God I hate New York already” The new news anchor huffs. Peter chuckles, and pulls himself up from the floor. “Don’t we all? You’ll get used to it eventually Neil.” The weather person responds cherrily. Peter ravages through his pantry, looking for something at least a fraction edible to fuel him before his patrol “Oh I hope so. Thank you Reily for an excellent weather report as always. Now moving on, an exciting development in Captain America’s next-” Peter reaches for the remote and abruptly turns the tv off.

He can’t find anything he wants to eat before patrol. Oh well. That’s a problem for future Peter. Ignoring the twinging in his stomach, he suits up and swings out the fire escape and into the brisk evening.

He finds himself in a familiar pattern, swinging fast through the city. His patrol runs on autopilot, and time blurs again. He really wished it would stop doing that. He helps an older gentleman with his groceries, scares off a bully, apprehends a petty thief, and assists a lost child find her mother.

Maybe it was his absent mind, or his racing heart. Or the fact he hasn’t eaten in 2 days and hasn’t had a proper meal in 10. Maybe it was just a fatal mistake. Because when he walks into a dark alley to find out what the commotion coming from within is about, he ignores the anxious pricking of his spidey sense.

“Hey dudes! What are you doing suspiciously hanging around in an alley?” The two burly men who were making the commotion turn to look at him. One has horribly disguised fury written all over his face, and the other’s face slips into a sly smile when he spots Spider-Man. “Now don’t get me wrong I love dank alleys just as much as the next person,” He continues, “but things here seem to be-” His senses blare, and a moment later he’s attacked from behind. Ambush, Shit. Shit. Shit. Stupid Peter.

There are six tough looking men all closing in around him, each holding an identical gun of some sort. They are wearing identical black gear, an embroidered logo with the design of a skull and the letters N.M.M written under present on their shoulders. He doesn’t have a good feeling about his chances of winning this fight. His eyes desperately search for an escape route, but before he can figure one out, the first gun is fired. He dodges the strange beam of energy and rolls over to knock out one of the men. He falls to the ground and Peter webs the hand holding the weapon to the ground.

The other five start to advance, and open fire. Multiple of the beams graze him as he jumps up onto a large garbage can and shoots another web. The grazes burn like hell. “What the heck are those?” He yells. He doesn’t wait for a response, he probably wouldn’t have gotten one anyway. He flips off the garbage and kicks one man’s face and lands on the shoulders of another. He swivels and dodges two more rays, only to run straight into the most competent man there. The man grabs ahold of Peter’s arm and squeezes. “Woah there Goldie, get to know a man first.” Peter quips, and yanks his arm back, hearing a pop. He isn’t able to dodge the blow that is aimed at his face, and gets knocked back into a grimey wall. “Oh come on! I just cleaned this.”

A beam hits him directly in the chest and he screams. The blast left him gasping for breath and clutching at his front. It feels like his whole body is on fire. Definitely the worst gun. Or whatever that is. His shock leaves an opening for someone to advance and punch him. He climbs up the wall behind him and plops down behind them. The guy closest to him swings his gun around and starts firing. “Man, why do you all have those freaking guns?! Couldn’t one of you at least be different and use, like, a knife or something?”

Another man signals something to the group and they all fall back. Goldie, who seems to be the leader, moves forward. He’s holding a jagged blade in his hand, a smug look on his face.. “Oh no I was joking Goldie, I didn’t actually mean pull out a knife… FUCK!” Goldie digs the knife into Peter’s gut. He falls back against the wall and braces himself, trying to get back into a fighting position. The knife is still sticking out of him, and he is slowly losing hope. What do these guys even want with me? They’re just beating me senseless.

A large figure appears in the opening of the alley. “Party’s over. Leave now or I will hurt you. Worse than Spider-Man already has.” He speaks low, and with authority. Peter recognizes that voice. The man comes into view, and is holding a gun out. The hand holding that gun is metal.

Sergeant Barnes?

Chapter Text

Bucky was having a perfectly normal day, and he would have loved to keep it that way. He and Sam had parted ways that morning, with Sam going off to do something or other Captain America related. Bucky had forgotten what it was, but he was sure he’d hear all about it when he returned home later. He was now out running some errands, and was having a perfectly normal day, thank you very much.

But, as luck would have it, –and looking back, well, it was very lucky he happened to be there– something had to go wrong. It always does. As he was walking he heard something that closely resembled a fight. It sounded pretty intense, and was coming from a dimly lit alleyway. He continued moving along, minding his own business. He assumed it was thugs fighting amongst themselves. Then he heard a voice, and something about it made him pause.

The voice sounded pinched and in pain, and vaguely familiar. “Man, why do you all have those freaking guns?! Couldn’t one of you at least be different and use, like, a knife or something?” The person, who sounded way too young to be dealing with thugs with guns, yelped. “Oh no I was joking Goldie, I didn’t actually mean pull out a knife… FUCK!” 

It’s that damn spider-kid.

Bucky rushes into the alley. Ending this quickly would be ideal. Pulling out one of the guns hidden in his jacket, he lets his metal arm catch in the last bits of sunlight. “Party’s over. Leave now or I will hurt you. Worse than Spider-Man already has.” Bucky states, narrowing his eyes to stare down the leader of the group. The guy is not the largest in the group, but Bucky can tell from the way he holds himself. How the other five thugs instinctively look over to him and wait for instruction. 

They’re all in a ragged semi-circle around Spider-Man. And Spider-Man, well, he looks like he should be dead. Leaning on a wall, he’s holding only one arm out in a defensive position. The other is crumpled at his side, in a way that is definitely not okay. Even with whatever freaky spider powers the guy has. His suit is ripped and bloodied in so many places, and several patches are smoldering. Most concerningly, there’s a knife sticking out of his gut.

“We should probably head out,” one man whispers to the leader. “Yeah.. Dude, that's the Winter Soldier.” Another chimes in. “He might call in Captain America. The spider’s not worth it.” Bucky is getting impatient, and by the looks of it, their leader is too. Spider-Man winces again, but from what Bucky can decipher, he seems to be amused. The leader makes a step towards Spider-Man. Wrong move . Bucky springs into action.

The man quickly lunges and roughly grabs the knife out of Spider-Man’s body. Bucky diverts his focus from the thugs towards Spider-Man, and can only watch as he silently topples to the ground. Laying on the ground gasping, he struggles to get back up. Bucky bolts over and starts to apply pressure to the wound. 

“Wha’.. M’ Barnes..” Spider-Man struggles.

“Don’t talk. No need to waste energy. Just try and stay awake for me, okay?” He’s contemplating how to get the kid to a hospital. What would Sam do in this situation? Come on James. Think. 

“The, the.. Bad guys.. M’..” 

“What did I just say?” Bucky responds, “Geeze, how hard did they hit you? They’re long gone. Fled as soon as the leader got his knife back.”

“Figures, Goldie’s a.. meanie.” Bucky barks out a laugh at Spider-Man’s words.

“Did ya know him? What’d you do to piss them off?”

“Nope-” He doesn’t get to finish whatever he was saying, as he starts violently coughing. 

Awesome. So awesome. Just what we needed, Bucky thinks to himself. Outwardly, he curses and subconsciously puts more pressure on the wound. “You need to get to a hospital or something. Maybe.” 

“No hospitals.” Spider-Man stresses. “Freaky blood.” cough “I heal fast.” hack “Just need.. Juice. Or maybe a first aid kit.” He sputters a bit and Bucky contemplates pulling his mask off to help him breathe better. “I can patch myself up fine. Just not here” He looks delirious and Bucky doubts his ability to properly care for himself in this condition. 

Okay. Okay. I can figure this out. Bucky tears off a piece of his shirt and wraps it around the man’s torso. “Okay man, I’m just going to pick you up. Is that alright? My apartment is only a couple blocks from here. I’ll call Sam when we get there, and you can rest as well.” He moves to pick Spider-Man up and the other violently flinches back. “Oh. Shit I’m sorry. Are you alright? I probably should have waited for an answer. Um…”

“No-no I’m sorry Mr. Barnes. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m… you’re fine. Sorry.” Spider-Man stutters out. Jesus this kid.

Bucky tries to smile, but he’s not sure how well it came across. Spider-Man might not have even seen it. He’s rapidly losing consciousness. “Shit. Kid. You’ve gotta stay with me.” Bucky picks him up and tries to keep pressure on the wound with one hand. The kid is light. Way too light. Bucky just adds it to his mental list of things to tell Sam, and starts walking towards their apartment. Bucky tries to keep Spider-Man awake by talking non-stop. About anything, but really nothing. It doesn’t work, and by the time he reaches the door of his apartment, Spider-Man is fully passed out.

“Hey Buck! Mission ended early, and Joaqin is taking care of all the files so I figured I’d just- Holy shit.” Sam stops in his tracks when he sees Bucky standing in the doorway with the un-moving figure of Spider-Man in his arms. 

“Hey…” Bucky says dumbly.

Sam curses under his breath, and then out loud. “Fucking hell man.” He searches Bucky’s eyes, probably trying to figure out what’s going on. Bucky wishes he knew what to tell the other man. “Damn. Okay he’s in bad shape.”

“No duh Sam.” Bucky retorts. The absurdity of the past 15 minutes finally catching up to him. “What should we do?”

Sam squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head. “Damn spider-kid.”

Chapter Text

“...with the blood loss… he’s lucky…”

“...anything… we can… help…”

“…just a kid…”

Words swirl around Peter’s head as he swims through the darkness. Something is wrong, he can feel it. He knows he was injured, badly, during a fight of some kind. But… he’s not sure how he ended up wherever this is. He’s not outside anymore, stuck in an alleyway. He’s sure of that, as he is engulfed in warmth and laying on a soft material. The voices are puzzling, but he isn’t sensing imminent danger. 

Lights waft in and out, beckoning him to open his eyes, to escape the emptiness of his mind. He sinks further through the void. Not quite ready to emerge and face the brutalness of the injuries he’s sure he has. The voices will have to wait.

Peter falls back into the comfort of unconsciousness.

{}

Sam is pacing.

Back and forth, side to side. Bucky glances over to the man every so often, but his gaze is stuck on the broken form sprawled out on his couch. Sure, Spider-Man was definitely young in Germany, but surely he wasn’t this small. Bucky lowers his approximation for the vigilante’s age during that battle. There’s no way that the person in front of him was in his twenties in 2016. 

A teenager caught his vibranium arm.

{}

Bucky is staring.

Eyes trained expertly, as if he expects the boy to run off somewhere. Sam can’t sit still like that. He’s sure that if it were carpeted, there would be a track from his anxious treds. Spider-Man lies, dead to the world, on his couch. Spider-Man. Sam tries not to think about how horrible the situation is. How underweight the man is, and how bad he had to have been struggling to get taken down by some low-life thugs. He single handedly took on Sam and Bucky …and won. Sam begrudgingly admits to himself. 

“Can you tell me what happened again?” Sam questions.

Bucky rolls his eyes, finally taking them off the boy. “How many times do you need to hear it? It’s not going to change the fifth time.” He points out.

Sam just glares, and resumes his pacing. “I don’t know man. Just trying to be helpful.”

“Well, grilling me won't help Spider-Man. Just give it a rest.” Bucky snaps back, and returns to staring at the spider.

Sam paces. And paces. And paces. 

“Any idea of when he’ll wake up?” Bucky relents, breaking the silence.

“Well… with the blood loss… he’s lucky to be alive, Bucky.” Sam sighs “And I’m no doctor.”

“Is there anything more we can do to help him?” The other croaked, a helpless look setting in his eyes. 

“Taking him to a hospital, a doctor. Something Bucky.” Sam practically begs his partner.

“No hospital. Spidey made that very clear.” Bucky counters. “We don’t want to break the trust he has placed in us. Well me , but I mentioned you and he didn’t react the way he did to the mention of a hospital. I don’t know about you, but I’m not in the business of going against an unconscious man’s request.”

“But B-”

“No. Sam. I’m putting my foot down. If it were me in this position what would you do? You know I hate hospitals, and doctors. I know you would never put me through that. We don’t know his story. We don’t know what he’s gone through. I’m not putting him through that.” Bucky’s voice breaks, and Sam understands now. 

“Okay. It’s alright. We’ll just watch him. He’ll wake up. He will. In the meantime, I’ll… I’ll research that logo you mentioned. N.M.M. The fuckers who beat up Spider-Man.” Sam motions vaguely over to… somewhere. Gah. Pull yourself together Wilson. 

“He’s just a kid Sam. He was just. a. Kid.” Bucky whispers. Ah. So that’s what was going through his mind. 

“I know.” … “Oh my god. I threw a teenager through a window.” And that statement is so absurd, and awful, that all he can do is laugh.

“Well, I mean technically it was that stupid-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence bud.”

And for the first time that night, Bucky cracks a smile. 

{}

Peter cracks his eyes open, carefully scanning the room he’s been brought to. His eye catches on… Oh. My. God. Captain America!? The man is out cold, sleeping with his head in a position that looks rather uncomfortable. A  laptop is open on the coffee table in front of him. Peter’s eyes fall on the figure the captain is leaning on. He’s staring directly at Peter with some strange mixture of fear, relief, and exasperation. Sergeant Barnes, his brain supplies.

Just like that, Peter’s memories of what happened slot into place. He finally fully comprehends what’s going on, and bolts upright. Urgh. I should not have done that. God how bad did those guys screw me up?

“Whoa, buddy calm down. It’s alright. You’re safe. Do you remember what happened? Do you know who I am?” Mr. Barnes reaches over to stabilize him, but Peter sinks further away from the man. Desperately, he reaches up to his face, and is relieved when his fingers find the familiar fabric of his mask. The other man’s eyes flash, but he doesn’t move to reach for him again. “I figured you’d want to keep the suit on. Even if it’s practically in pieces.” He shrugs. 

“Thank you.” Peter mumbles. Having to be rescued by someone is bad enough, but if they found out he was only eighteen, they’d never let him leave. 

His suit is in tatters, but it’s nothing he can’t fix. He bought extra fabric for times just like this, he’s already had to repair the suit four times. I see an all nighter in my near future, he thinks to himself. They sit in awkward silence, and Peter debates with himself how to get out of there without being rude or, y’know, dying. 

The older man remembers something and takes a breath, before starting: “Sam has some questions he wanted me to ask you, if he wasn’t awake when you woke up.” The man pauses for a second before correcting himself, “Well, he said to wake him up if you did, but he needs his beauty sleep. And I know all the questions he was going to ask anyway. I also have a few of my own.”

Mr. Barnes stops, and tilts his head, as if to silently ask ‘is that okay?’ Peter nods and grimaces as he tries to move into a better sitting position. He gets straight into the questions once Peter gets himself situated. “Firstly, are you okay? I know you’re up now, so clearly you’re better than before, and your freaky spider powers have started kicking in, but still. Are you okay? Is there anything Sam or I can do?”

Peter is more than a little confused by the amount of care in the man’s voice. He’s just faking it to get close to you. Just like Beck. A voice, from the aching wound deep inside Peter, whispers. He forces the intrusive thoughts away.

“You okay Spidey?” Mr. Barnes asks quietly.

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about something. I’m alright Mr. Barnes, really.” Peter responds, trying not to let his voice shake.

“Good. That’s good. Oh and kid, there’s no need to call me Mr. Barnes. That makes me feel my age. Just Bucky is good.” He smiles good naturedly and once Peter gives a small nod, continues. “Okay the next thing, do you know anything about those guys who attacked you? Sam here was doing research into them, but couldn’t find anything from just regular googling. I think he’s gonna check some top secret government files or something tomorrow.” 

Peter gulps and really debates just swinging out the window right then and there. Instead, he plays it off. “Nah. They were really sucky though. No respect for the vigilante trying to apprehend them, the usual. I called that leader guy Goldie as a joke, that’s not actually his name. It would be awesome if it were though, right? Low-life criminal who enjoys picking fights, named Goldie. I’m sure all his minions would respect him. I mean, I sure would.” Peter rambles on. Mr. Barnes narrows his eyes and sends him a skeptical look. Yikes. Too much Parker. Control your ramblings.

“So nothing really then?” Mr. Barnes responds.

“Nope.”

I’m… not lying. Entirely. I know a tiny bit. A tiny bit. And even then, I’m not sure if it’s anything they’d even want to know. Just how many times they’ve made a mess in Queens, looking for me. How much they hate Spider-Man. Just withholding the truth. 

Peter massages his forehead, trying to figure out how to get out of here. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the help, per say, but that he doesn’t want to burden them more. Or get too attached. Mr. Wilson and Mr. Barnes are just helping out a fellow former Avenger. He doesn’t want them to get wrapped up in this whole debacle with the N.M.M.

“Hey Bucky… Thanks again for helping me out.” He voices his gratitude again, ignoring his heart’s plea to stay . “Do you think I could get some water? I’m feeling a bit parched.” Peter tries his best to give a normal smile.

“Yeah, no problem Spider-Man.” Mr. Barnes says, with a caring smile, that looks just a touch out of place on his face. Peter tries not to grimace.

As soon as the man leaves the room, Peter bolts. Straight down the hall, towards where he hopes the door is, he ignores the full body pain. Breathing in the brisk night air, he shoots a web out the open door. Away I go. Alone again.

As his web slings him away into the night, he can hear Mr. Barnes rushing after him. Out into the starless sky he goes, leaving the comfort and hope behind.

“Spider-Man!” Mr. Barnes yells desperately after him, but it’s too late.

It’s better off this way. I’m sorry Bucky.

Chapter Text

Spider-Man is gone . Bolted the second he physically could.

Bucky stands on his balcony, just staring at the place in the sky where Spider-Man disappeared. The wind is biting, howling between buildings and sending shivers down his spine. 

Rationally, Bucky knows it’s not his fault. 

Yet, he feels responsible for the kid, for some strange reason. Almost like instinct. Like something somewhere deep down knew that this kid was special. Bucky couldn’t place what the ache was before, but now he thinks it was that he had been missing something. Spider-Man slotted right into that hole in his heart. 

He reminds me of Steve. Probably a little too much.  

It’s not just Steve though. The kid reminds Bucky of someone else, that he just can’t place. It’s almost as if there’s a wall in his subconscious, preventing him from reaching the memory he’s searching for. It’s there though, in his brain. Tugging his thoughts in circles, desperately waiting to be released. But Bucky just. Can’t. Remember. 

Goddamn it. Bucky thinks, wandering back inside, closing the door behind him, but not locking it. He contemplates everything he knows about the mysterious vigilante, and tries to come up with conclusions on anything. He’s really grasping at straws here, but even then, there’s not enough to paint more of a picture than an over eager vigilante who is ridiculously strong. He sinks back down onto the couch next to Sam, and rests his head against him. Letting the rhythmic rise and fall of the other man’s shoulders comfort him, Bucky drifts off.

What is up with you Spider-Man?

________

Bucky jolts awake to Sam frantically shaking him. He blinks, pouts, then bolts up.

“Spider-Man’s gone,” he states. “Sam, he just left. I was watching him, but then he wanted water and the next thing I know, he’s gone .”

Sam stops shaking his shoulders, and looks solemnly at him. He takes a breath, then slowly pieces his sentence together. “Oh. Okay. I mean at least you saw him leave. He didn’t just drop out of the sky. Right?” Fear laces Sam’s voice. He looks rattled. And disappointed. Strange emotions to be seen on his face, especially directed at Spider-Man. Sam hasn’t mentioned it recently, but Bucky knows he’s not too fond of the masked vigilante. He still has bitter feelings from the fight in Germany. 

“No, but-” Bucky begins, but Sam cuts him off.

Sam’s face has settled on a grim frown. “There’s not much we can do now, Bucky. I don’t like it, especially with his injuries, but clearly he is doing fine enough to at least make it home. I’m sure he’s had injuries like this before,” Sam says firmly. “There must be a reason he ran, and I think we should respect that decision. Just like the no hospitals thing.” He backs up a little, turning away to the kitchen. “God I need some coffee.”

Bucky agrees. He really does. Especially about the coffee, but he still wishes there was something more he could have done for Spider-Man. Sam sure is an expert at this. Even with his lack of trust for the younger man, Sam still felt a duty to help, and seems to care. It’s nice to know that, even if he’s getting soft, Sam is right there with him. Sighing, he follows Sam into the kitchen, trying to put his worries aside for the moment. 

They fall into their typical routine. After the whole Flag Smashers debacle, and their subsequent becoming a couple and moving in together, they naturally fell into a morning routine. It was clunky at first, both having their own ways of approaching the day ahead, but eventually as they got used to their relationship, their routines slotted together. It was just instinct now. They talk about the news, politics, the day ahead, and really anything.

This morning is a little slower, both men feeling slightly worn out from the excitement of their brief guest/patient. The conversation doesn’t come as naturally, as Sam is on edge and Bucky is actively steering the subject away from anything remotely to do with the events of last night. Once their coffee and breakfast are acquired, they sit down at the island. Bucky glances over at Sam, and silently locks eyes with him. Sam tries for a reassuring smile, but Bucky’s gaze shifts away back to his plate. 

“I’ll go out today. Scout around Queens, see if I can spot the kid. I mean hopefully he’s taking it easy, but I just want to make sure. Maybe I can convince him to come check in with us every once in a while. I mean if he’s out.” Bucky explains. “Just some piece of mind, that y’know, he’s not dead in a dumpster halfway between Brooklyn and Queens.”

Sam fixes him with a meaningful look, but doesn’t argue. “I would offer to come, hell, I mean a nice long walk could do me some good. But there’s some things I need to take care of with Torres, and I also said I’d look into that group you mentioned.” He grimaces and continues, his voice becoming a bit softer, “Don’t stay out too long, okay Buck? I know you need to do this, and I get it, I’m worried too. Most likely though, the punk crashed safely in his probably shitty apartment in Queens, and is regretting ever leaving because stab wounds are ass. He’ll live. Trust me, I know.”

Bucky smirks, leaning his head against Sam’s shoulder. “I love you”

Sam just smiles back and slyly says, “I know you do, ya old softie.” And then quietly under his breath he mutters “I love you too man.”

They share a familiar, tender moment, before it’s back to the hustle and bustle of the morning. As if it’s just another day. Because, in the grand scheme of things, that’s all it is. Just another day, another week, another month. Like how they always do, they can get through it. Together.