Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bucky isn’t entirely sure how he got here. 

When he was just shy of eighteen and preparing to enlist in the army, he imagined what his future would look like. They’d win the war, of course, and maybe Bucky would be a little traumatized and war torn, but he’d finally be back home in Brooklyn. He and Steve would settle down in the city for a while, at least until they found women (or men, neither of them had a preference) to live out the rest of their days with. They’d travel across the country to beaches and cities they’d dreamed of seeing since they were kids. They’d get old and decrepit together, just like Bucky promised Steve they would.

But they didn’t and they never would. Steve made his choice. He died just over a year ago at age 105. A little older than a regular human, but Steve was never regular. Bucky placed some blue bell flowers over his casket and left the service before anyone could see his tears fall. 

In a messed up series of bad choices and ill-timed coincidences, Bucky found himself working for the government (Steve is rolling in his grave, he knows it) and then immediately breaking hundreds of laws and essentially blackmailing the director of the CIA. 

Great. 

And now, here he is, mere months after Bob’s breakdown and over seventy years out of time, following in the cavernous footsteps his best friend left behind. There’s no de facto leader of what they’ve internally dubbed The Thunderbolts, not in a group full of hyper independent and asocial antiheroes, but the rest of the team generally turns to him when it’s necessary. 

He’s older than all of them, at least mentally. He’s committed the most atrocities of all of them by far (nobody can beat out assassinating the president, as hard as they try). His little stint playing congressman is very much dead, so why not have him lead a group of heavily traumatized, superpowered assassins? 

He’s getting flack from all sides. The public wants to see more appearances, but none of the team has been media trained to a point where they can get through an interview without insulting someone important or causing an international incident. Valentina’s been a pain in the ass, her puppet strings still hanging off them, if not as tight. Sam won’t stop calling him about the New Avengers title, which Bucky can’t even begin to deal with at the moment. To top it off, his nightmares have been coming back, the shame rooms having dug up issues Bucky thought he’d already worked through. 

Bucky stuffs his face in his pillow, groaning. 

It’s not as if he doesn’t like them. He gets along with most of them nicely enough. They’re all about as chummy and talkative as one would expect a group of assassins with isolative tendencies to be. Yelena is the most level-headed, and she knew Natasha like he knew Steve, so he ends up talking to her the most. 

Bucky still wants to punch John Walker as hard as he possibly can with his metal arm, but whatever. 

They’d been living in the tower together since the incident, walking through it like ghosts (Bucky can hear Ava chuckling from his room). Oddly enough, they do work well together as a group, so Bucky insists on training a few times a week. Small spats and sneering insults are never ending, and Bucky really just doesn’t have the energy to try and stop it.

Is this what Steve went through when the rogues came back to the tower post-accords? Having to work through his own guilt and trauma while keeping together a group of skittish, high-tempered people is incredibly difficult. 

They’ve been doing better, though. Dinner’s used to be filled with tense silences, but now, one of them will goad another into a heated debate, prompting the rest of the table to join. Occasionally, they’ll sit together and watch something on the TV during quiet moments. The other day, Bucky even  heard Walker laugh at something Yelena said. 

They’re not holding hands and singing Kumbaya, but it’s certainly a start.

He peels himself out of bed, pulling his arm off the nightstand and attaching it to his shoulder. Ava’s taken to hiding it sometimes, much to his chagrin, so he keeps it in his locked room (that Ava has wisely chosen not to pick).

The team is spread around the kitchenette and living room by the time Bucky makes his way to the penthouse floor. It’s much too early for anybody to be willing to speak to one another, so they all go about their routines in relative silence. 

Walker and Alexei are side by side at the stove, cooking eggs and some oddly textured soup, respectively. Bob’s at the counter, shoving cereal into his mouth, eyes locked on a book as he chews. Ava’s stretching behind the couch, half-asleep as she reaches forward with her legs straddled on the ground. Yelena is curled on the loveseat, remote held loosely in her hand as she switches channels on the TV. 

Bucky goes about his own routine, grabbing the creamer from the cupboard before moving to the coffee machine. It’s a peaceful quiet as they all move around, almost domestic. The TV blares loudly, causing Bob to startle and spill milk down his front. Alexei yelps, bumping hard into Walker, who hisses as his hand bumps into the hot pan. 

“Jesus!” John yells, shaking out his burnt hand, sending a dirty look to Alexei, who only shrugs. 

Bucky turns to the source of the noise, grabbing his cup of coffee and moving to the living room. Ava has also gotten up, bracing her hands on the back of the couch as they watch the news. 

“It’s the spider-person.” Ava comments when Bucky arrives. 

Sure enough, when he looks at the TV, Spider-man’s iconic red and blue is swinging rapidly around an apartment complex on fire. He watches Spider-man land, speak to a few firemen, then enter the building.

It’s dark outside on screen, so this must have happened last night. There’s no sign of Spider-man for several minutes, only the occasional web holding people as they’re flung out of the building. The reporter on sight looks extremely distressed as the wooden support beams of the complex begin to splinter and crumble. 

Eventually, Spider-man flies out of a lower level window, child in tow, mere seconds before the entire building collapses. The news anchor smiles at the camera, reporting only minor injuries, no deaths. 

Bucky… knows Spider-man. Not personally or anything, but he knows he’s met the guy once or twice. He and Sam got the beat down of their lives in the middle of that airport, and Spider-man had even caught his metal arm, a feat even Steve struggled with. He remembers seeing flashes of blue and red in both battles with Thanos. 

He thinks Spider-man was around the tower, occasionally. Bucky knows Steve talked about him sometimes, telling him about Tony’s protégé. He’d seen the guy at a few small scale battles in New York, but never really spoke to him. 

Every time he tries to remember if he’d seen Spider-man outside of the mask, his brain fogs up and he loses his train of thought.

“Risky.” Walker comments. The rest of the team had made their way over to the living room as the newscaster reported. 

Yelena rolls her eyes, “He saved all of them.”

“The firemen were already handling it. He could’ve made it worse.” Walker says. 

Far too experienced with John Walker’s infuriating opinions, Yelena just turns back to the TV silently. 

“You knew him, right?” Ava asks, turning to Bucky, “Y’know, before everything.”

Everything meaning half the universe disappearing and then subsequently losing about 85% of Earth’s greatest heroes in the ensuing battle.

“I- yeah, kind of. Not, like, personally or anything, but I know he and Tony were close.” Bucky says.

There’s a brief flash of a memory of a tawny haired boy kneeling by Tony’s burnt body, crying and apologizing, but it’s gone before he can even register it. 

“He operates mostly in Queens.” Bucky informs them.

Walker scoffs, “Could’a used him during Bob’s breakdown, eh? Wonder where he was then.”

“Probably locked in a shame room, like everybody else in New York.” Ava says, hands on her hips.

That comment sets off an argument, which isn’t surprisingly in the slightest. Ignoring it, Bucky keeps his gaze on the screen, watching Spider-man give a small nod to a fireman before swinging away. There’s something different about the guy, Bucky notices. He remembers watching Spider-man interact happily with the people on the streets, posing for pictures and signing hats and pieces of paper.

Now, though, the most Spider-man gives is a half-hearted wave. He rarely ever stops to talk to people. Bucky’s seen a few videos of Spider-man sitting on top of a skyscraper, legs swinging over the edge. He looks comfortable, like he’s completely at peace. 

It might be because he knows he could catch himself if he falls, but there’s something about the guy’s body language that puts a bad taste in Bucky’s mouth. He and Sam hadn’t really thought twice about the guy, but he’s starting to think that he should’ve. 

There’s a distinct sense of wrongness in Bucky’s chest when he thinks about Spider-man. His brain knows what it is, but the neurons are lost as they try to make the connection. Maybe he should talk to Sam. 

Bucky sighs as he tunes back into the argument, which by now has escalated into seething remarks and dirty looks all around. He pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering why in the world Valentina thought this was a good idea.

“Alright, alright,” he says, “enough. Let's go downstairs. Maybe you can all get your anger out by sparring with each other.”

Luckily, the promise of beating the shit out of each other soothes the group enough to act civilly as they make their way to the gym. Bucky knows tensions will only rise again later, when they have to do a group press conference with Valentina.

He sighs again, glancing back at the scrappy group making their way to the sparring mats. Just another day, he supposes.

—--

Bucky really meant to do something about Spider-man, he did.

He just… completely forgot because another one of their team’s transgressions had arisen during an interview- Ava apparently murdered some important congressman from Spain- and the internet blew up again.

He was honestly getting tired of it. What did they expect from an entire group of lethal assassins, to miss? It’s not even like they chose this, they were never meant to be a group. Nobody really wants a team of vicious antiheroes to be the world's saviors, but there is, quite literally, nobody else to take the job. 

They want the original Avengers? Three of them are dead, one rarely comes back to Earth, one is retired and grieving, and the other is the Hulk, who most people barely trust anyway.

They want better, non-corrupt Avengers? They never asked for this. They’re trying to be better, to be heroes.

They want new superhumans? Bob. Enough said. 

And now, they have to put up a united front like they’re not arguing every other day. They have to stand tall and proud in front of cameras like they’re not pretending to be heroes, pretending like their efforts are even an eighth of the original Avengers. 

Pretending like they’re non-lethal. Pretending like they should be inspirations for kids. Pretending to be good and righteous. Pretending like they have any right to call themselves heroes.

It’s late at night when Bucky decides he can’t take it anymore. They’ve been holed up in the tower for nearly a week while their PR team soothes the masses. Everyone is cranky and annoyed and completely unable to get away from one another. There’ve been more fights in this one week than the entire time they’ve lived together. Tensions are high, tempers are volatile, and Bucky is so done. 

After a particularly brutal fight that led to more than one bloody nose, Bucky decides to go for a walk. He needs to get out of the tower, if only for a few hours. With a hood over his head and gloves on his hands, he makes his way down the Manhattan streets. 

He thinks for a moment about going to Brooklyn, but his stomach twists at the thought and he decides against it. Instead, he takes the train to Queens. His chest still tightens at the thought of Spider-man, in the same kind of way like when he’s out of the house and pats his pockets only to realize his phone isn’t in any of them. 

Something’s off. He’s missing something vital, but he can’t quite grasp what. 

When he emerges onto the streets of Queens, he keeps his eyes on the stars, looking out for the telltale red and blue. Bucky doesn’t know Spider-man’s schedule, he has no idea how often the guy patrols, but he’s hoping he picked a lucky day. 

So lost in thought, he nearly misses the lithe figure on top of a dilapidated apartment building. It’s not as tall as some of the other buildings in this borough, but it’s definitely high enough to cause some fall damage. Bucky watches from the ground as Spider-man’s legs swing back and forth, his white lenses locked on the city in front of him. 

Bucky circles the building, finding a wobbly ladder to heave himself up to the roof from. As quietly as he can- he thinks he remembers something about Spider-man having enhanced senses- he makes his way up and over the ledge of the roof, the vigilante’s back facing him.

Spider-man looks… calm. Really calm. The guy was so talkative and quippy during his fight at the airport, much to his and Sam’s annoyance. To see him so quiet is a little unnerving. Spider-man leans over a little, jolting Bucky forward a bit. 

Spider-man gazes down at the ground, body lax and breathing slow. 

He gets the feeling that he was right. That if Spider-man were to fall from this skyscraper, there’s not much the guy would do to catch himself.

“I know you’re there.” Spider-man says.

Bucky doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. He makes his way over to Spider-man’s side, looking out at the horizon in front of them. It’s beautiful, really, with all the lights and the wind whipping at their faces. 

Bucky clears his throat, “Pretty good hearing then, huh?”

Spider-man snorts softly, turning to look up at him. The whites of his lenses widen in shock and the guy nearly falls off the roof from the way he scrambles back. Bucky catches him by the arm, pulling him back from the edge. 

“Mr.- Mr. Barnes sir, um, oh god- what are- can I help you?” Spider-man stutters out. God, he sounds young, Bucky thinks. No older than twenty-five. 

Bucky opens his palms in a placating gesture, “Didn’t mean to scare you, and no, I don’t need anything.”

Spider-man relaxes minutely, nodding. The lenses- which are a little creepy if Bucky’s being honest- remain locked on him, like the kid is afraid he’ll disappear. 

“You just finish patrol?” Bucky asks after an awkward beat. 

Spider-man nods, looking back out towards the city, “Yeah, yeah, not a lot of crime tonight.” 

Bucky huffs a laugh, “That might be our fault.”

Spider-man looks confused for a moment, tilting his head towards Bucky, before he nods understandingly, “Ah, right, with the- the whole New Avengers thing.”

Bucky hums, “Not many people want to commit crimes with people like us running around.” 

Spider-man shrugs, “I mean, it’s not like you guys are dealing with the small stuff. The Avengers deal with big time issues. I take care of the little guy.” 

True enough, Bucky supposes. It’s not like they’re out every night dealing with petty crimes. They don’t really have the time- or the public status- for that kind of heroism. It’s also a territory issue, Bucky knows a lot of the vigilantes in New York don’t appreciate outsiders trying to help. He knows for a fact that the original Avengers didn’t take care of the small stuff either. 

“You do, it’s good work,” Bucky says, “but you’ve also done big stuff too.”

Spider-man sighs, leaning back on his hands, “Only because I forced my way in.”

“Right, right,” Bucky chuckles, “bet Tony wasn’t a fan of that, huh?” 

Spider-man freezes and Bucky curses himself internally. Who just casually mentions someone’s dead mentor only a few years after they’ve died? Bucky, apparently, because he’s got shit for brains. 

Bucky’s about to start apologizing profusely when Spider-man scoffs, nodding slightly.

“Yeah, and look at where it got him.” He mutters. 

That’s not really what he was expecting. He was expecting tears, maybe some anger. Not…that. Bucky knows all about guilt, he feels it every single day. That one little sentence sets off blaring alarms in his brain. He doesn’t know the true extent of Tony’s and Spider-man’s relationship, but he can tell that the kid feels guilty about his mentor’s death regardless.

“It wasn’t your fault, Spider-man.” Bucky says.

He hears Spider-man scoff lightly, taking a breath like he’s about to deny it. The kid turns to Bucky, a retort on his tongue, when he stops dead, almost like he’s just now noticing who he’s speaking to. 

A few seconds pass where Bucky expects Spider-man is rebooting his brain to come up with a response when the kid finally shakes his head.

“Right,” Spider-man mumbles not at all convincingly, “Yeah, sometimes I just- I don’t know.”

He won’t be getting anything out of the kid tonight, Bucky knows that. Spider-man barely knows him, it’s not like he’s going to spill all of his secrets right after they just met. 

“I get it.” Bucky says instead, “I feel guilty too.”

Immediately, Spider-man stands up on the ledge, looking out at the city. He decidedly does not look at Bucky as he prepares to launch away.

“Right, yeah- um y’know, it’s getting kind of late, and I have school- I mean work - tomorrow, so I’m- um, I’m gonna head out.” Spider-man rambles.

Bucky pretends he missed the slip up, but it only confirms that Spider-man is young, especially if he’s in college. He nods, stepping away from the edge, watching the kid get tenser by the second. 

“Yeah, of course, sorry I kept you,” Bucky says, backing away, “and hey, if you need anything, come by the tower. I know it’s not what it used to be, but I’m here if you need help.” 

Spider-man looks at him for a long moment before nodding. He sends a quick salute to Bucky and shoots off on a web, swinging away from the building. Bucky watches until the kid is a speck in the distance, the pit in his stomach growing the longer he sits in silence. 

Something is wrong. Bucky doesn’t know what or how, but he knows Spider-man is at the center of it and he’s going to find out why. 

For now though, get the team to stop trying to kill each other. 

Chapter Text

Peter knows exactly how he got here. 

Well, he knows how he found himself lying in the back of an alley, bleeding all over the spider-suit he literally just sewed together last night. 

How the whole crime fighting vigilante, everyone forgetting Peter’s entire existence, and losing everything and everyone he’s ever loved came about, isn’t nearly as clear. He could say it started with the spider bite, but Parker luck reared its ugly head long before that when his parents’ plane nose dived into the atlantic.

He can’t even say it was Parker luck that gifted him the spider powers. Peter’s always been too curious for his own good. If he hadn’t snuck away from the tour group on the field trip, he certainly wouldn’t be here.

If he really thinks about it- and he has no other choice because every twist of his torso sends bolts of lightning through his stomach where a knife has embedded itself- every major event in Peter’s life is his own doing. 

He walked into the containment room at Oscorp that read ‘Do Not Enter’, he twisted Uncle Ben’s parting words to force himself into a vigilante life, he agreed to join Iron Man on a trip to Germany and then subsequently got too attached to the man. And while it may not have been his fault he was dusted away on the Titan, Peter is the reason Tony decided to bring everyone back, resulting in the man’s sacrifice and death. 

He was too slow to figure out Green Goblin’s plan, killing May. He fucked up Doctor Strange’s spell, bringing two Peter’s from different universes- and their own enemies- into a battle that wasn’t theirs. For the same reason, he lost MJ and Ned for good. 

Everything he’s ever touched or loved, has died or left or become unrecognizable. 

It’s not Parker luck. It never has been. It’s him. Peter’s here, sitting in this alley alone and broken, because of his own decisions. His home is a rundown, disgusting, cheap apartment with creepy tenants and leering landlords because he can’t keep his nose in his own business. 

He’s studying biomedical engineering at a local community college instead of MIT because they don’t look close enough to notice the forged high school transcripts. He works himself to the bone bartending at a sketchy dive bar whose manager didn’t look twice at his fake ID. 

He’s thinner and paler. Every cent goes towards rent, bills, and the bare minimum of food. It’s only due to his enhancements that he’s still winning fights when he patrols, and he’s only winning them by the skin of his teeth. His accelerated healing works on current wounds, but they do nothing for scars. His body is marred with white or pink lacerations, healed over again and again. 

His brown eyes are dull and lifeless, bruised with lack of sleep. Peter can barely look at himself in the mirror anymore, nausea swirling in his stomach at the sight of his exhausted state.

Nightmares keep him up, despite every remedy he’s tried. Any medicine he takes is burned within the hour, and he’s starting to believe that meditation is a pseudoscience. His brain offers a rotating carousel of trauma, the ghosts of his parental figures taunting him while he sleeps. 

But he deserves it, does he not? It’s his fault. He got Ben, May, and Tony killed. He’s the reason MJ and Ned don’t remember him. Peter is alone and it’s entirely his own doing. The guilt eats at him, clinging to his very being like an overgrown leech.

But that’s what Spider-man is for. Atoning for those mistakes, or at least trying to. Peter doesn’t think there’s anything that can make up for his transgressions, but he tries anyway. When he’s not in class or herding drunkards out of the bar, he’s on the city streets. He sweeps the alleys for criminals, engaging in fights when necessary (sometimes inviting them, but he won’t admit that out loud). He rarely speaks in the mask, mostly out of lack of energy, but also because he feels like he’s lost that part of himself. 

Peter was stripped of his innocence and naivety long ago, but now it’s been beaten and burned and buried. There’s no point in talking because he has nothing to say to these people. He still soothes scared children, talks down folks from panic attacks, and politely converses with rescue personnel, but he doesn’t stick around. 

He just… can’t. He feels so heavy, but so hollow at the same time. The grief feels physical, tangible. It eats at his brain, fogging his memory and deteriorating his cognitive functions. Sure, Peter operates like normal, he has stellar grades, but it’s a fight to do just about anything else. 

His spider-sense is a constant hum at the back of his neck, even when there’s no danger around. Peter won’t acknowledge that he is the danger. He doesn’t register a fist flying towards his face until it’s too late, his fingers press the trigger of his web shooters mere seconds before he hits the ground, and he doesn’t dodge knives traveling straight towards his gut. 

The grief peels back his skin and chips away at his bones. His hands are constantly shaking and sometimes his legs completely give out on him. He spends some days sinking into his mattress, waiting for it to swallow him whole. 

Peter finds comfort on rooftops. It used to be exhilarating, when he first started the whole Spider-man gig. Flying across skyscrapers, watching ant-size cars pass under him below. The novelty of it has worn off, but it never fails to take his breath away. 

When he’s sitting on the edge, Peter is in complete control. If he keeps his feet on the rooftop or falls over it is entirely his decision. If he chooses to catch himself or lets himself go is in his hands. He doesn’t want to die, or he doesn’t think he does, but there’s something comforting about it being an option . 

Peter was shocked when Bucky Barnes sidled up next to him on a secluded rooftop a few weeks ago. They weren’t close before everything went down, but Bucky made him breakfast once or twice when they were at the tower at the same time. Bucky knew his name, his civilian name. Even though he barely knew the man, it still hurt when Bucky didn’t recognize him. 

The last he heard, Bucky started up a new group of heroes. The New Avengers. That stung a little bit to see, but Peter knows somebody has to take up the mantle. He thought Sam Wilson would spearhead the movement, considering Steve handed the shield to him, but what does Peter know?

This news came immediately after the darkness took over New York. It’s, by far, one of the worst things he’s ever had to experience in his life. Peter didn’t even have a chance to register the threat before he was dropped onto a sidewalk, just outside of the gas station. 

Peter opens his eyes, grunting from where he landed on the road. It’s dark outside, which was odd, because last he checked it was almost mid-afternoon. He sits up slowly, looking around at the city before him. He freezes when his eyes catch on the gas station sign, lighting up the street.

This is the gas station where Ben died. Peter stands up, legs shaking, looking around. How did he get here? He doesn’t remember passing out. The sound of hurried footsteps catches his attention, and Peter balks at the sight of a boy running down the street.

That’s…him. That’s Peter when he was 13. And just behind him, a block away, is Ben, chasing after him. He swings his attention to the gas station doors where a man- Flint Marko, Peter realizes- stands, eyeing young Peter as he nears the station. 

Oh God, Peter thinks. How is this possible? How is he here? Peter’s stuck frozen on the street, mouth agape and heart pounding. Young Peter slows down as he approaches the gas station, breath heaving. In less than a second, Marko is on him, pulling Peter back by his hood, a gun held loosely against Peter’s stomach. 

“Just give me your wallet, nobody’s gotta get hurt.” Marko murmurs.

Young Peter shakes, “I- I don’t have it on me.” 

Marko presses the barrel closer to him for just a second before he’s ripped off Peter. Uncle Ben is red faced with anger, pulling his nephew behind him in a protective stance. 

Peter knows exactly what’s about to happen. His breath stops, tears filling his eyes. He tries to move forward, to get in between the gun and his uncle, but his feet are glued to the floor. Ben holds Marko’s gaze.

“Get the hell away from my kid.” Ben seethes. 

Marko glances around nervously, “I just- just gimme any money you got. I won’t hurt you.”

Uncle Ben continues to keep Peter behind him as Marko gets more and more frantic. The gun shakes in the man’s hand as it’s aimed at his uncle’s stomach. Peter watches in agony as Marko’s finger barely grazes the trigger. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

The gun goes off with a deafening bang. 

Young Peter starts screaming. 

And then everything stops. The screaming, the crying, the sound of footsteps fading away. Peter’s eyes remain shut, the sound of his labored breathing echoing in his ears.

The smell of fire, dirt, and blood fills his nostrils. When he opens his eyes again, he finds himself on a battlefield. Peter’s stomach twists with dread when he realizes where he is. There’s no fighting, no sign of any enemies. 

There’s shuffling and sniffling when Peter turns his head. Surrounded by a semi circle of people is a dying Tony Stark. Peter’s stomach lurches with realization. He walks closer, a pit in his stomach forming at the sight of his mentor’s burnt and blackened arm. 

“Oh, Tony…” Colonel Rhodes whispers mournfully. Tony gives his friend a small, tired smile. A goodbye. Colonel Rhodes cups Tony’s cheek, cradling his friend’s face one more time before pulling away.

And then it’s Peter’s turn. He watches himself kneel before Tony, whose eyes lock on him. Tony’s eyes are fond and sad, but fading slowly. 

Suddenly Peter can’t take it anymore. He pushes through the group, eyes turned away from his mentor’s dying form. He crouches in front of his younger self, using his body to shield him from Tony. Younger Peter’s shoulders still shake, tears still spill over his eyes as fast as apologies leave his mouth, but Peter stays where he is. 

He presses younger Peter’s forehead to his chest, knowing it will do nothing to alter the outcome. 

Then Peter blinks, and he finds himself holding air. He’s no longer in the ruins of the Avenger’s compound. The Avenger’s- and Tony- are no longer around him. His heart is pounding with fear and confusion, the gnawing grief in his chest growing larger. 

He nearly sobs outright when he finds himself amongst the rubble in the same building where May died. He can’t do this anymore. He doesn’t want to be here. The guilt fills every vein and crevice in his body, spilling out of his tear ducts. He drops to his knees as he watches himself, beaten, broken, and bloody, crouch in front of May.

“May? May?” Younger Peter whispers. 

May is confused, her breathy voice echoing in the empty room. He hears himself call out for medical attention, holding onto May’s cheeks like it’ll hold her together, like he can force life back into her. May tries to reassure him, but it’s not enough. Her breaths slow, her eyes unfocusing. 

Younger Peter holds her face tighter, eyes desperate, “It’s just you and me.”

May takes her final breath and all Peter can do is watch. His younger self begs May to wake up only to be forced to leave her still warm body before the police catch up to him. 

May lies there, blood seeping out of her shirt. If she weren’t unnaturally still, if she wasn’t dirty and bleeding, it might look like she was just sleeping. And worse, Peter knows what’s going to happen next. 

Maybe it’s better that May died. Peter doesn’t think he would’ve been able to handle his aunt being alive, but unable to remember him. To wonder why she has an extra room in her house full of things meant for a teenage boy. To look him in the face and show no recognition at all. 

Peter chokes on a sob, the grief filling every nook and cranny of his body. He drops to his hands and knees, tears streaming down his cheeks and hitting the wooden floor. In his mind’s eye, he sees them. A bloody Ben, a burnt Tony, a confused May. He sees the blank looks of his best friend and girlfriend. 

He sees the people of New York, hateful and spitting, choosing to believe a madman over the person who’s protected them for years. He sees the other two Spider-men, fearful and so, so understanding in his final battle against Green Goblin. 

The weight of grief is as heavy as the warehouse that was dropped on him. It’s ripping him apart just like Thanos’s snap did, taking pieces of his soul away molecule by molecule. Peter is broken and tired and guilty and if everything stopped, if he threw himself off of a rooftop, maybe it would be better for everyone and nobody would be hurt by his existence anymore-

And then Peter found himself back in his apartment. 

Later, news stations will call it ‘the darkness’, and people will hesitantly talk about their own experiences and memories. But Peter spends the next week hiding away, not eating or talking. He misses several assignments and feels unending guilt about the criminals he didn’t stop during his impromptu break.

The nightmares return tenfold. Quentin Beck taunts and jeers at him as his parental figures crawl out of their graves to glare at him disappointedly. MJ and Ned never appear, and that’s because Peter’s already living his worst nightmare.

Every time he passes by the coffee shop, and their eyes don’t light up in recognition, a piece of him chips away. 

He throws himself into work. He studies, he takes more hours at the bar, he patrols every night until his body gives out. He lets criminals land hits, he’s more reckless with his swinging, he balances precariously on the edges of rooftops. It’s not sustainable, Peter knows that. He knows if he keeps going like this, he’s going to crash and burn and he might not get up again. 

But, God, would that be so bad?

It’s why he’s sitting in this alley, contemplating his life, instead of finding medical help. The knife is still fully inside of his body, and knows well enough not to take it out, lest he bleeds out. Yet, his hand hovers over the hilt anyway. 

Peter’s tired. He’s so tired. He wants the pain to stop. He wants to smile and laugh again. He wants to do his handshake with Ned. He wants to kiss MJ. He wants Aunt May to card her fingers through his hair. He wants Uncle Ben to press a firm kiss to his temple. He wants Tony. 

He wants to want to live again.

But the only reason he keeps the dagger in his body is because he’s too afraid to leave New York behind. The city needs Spider-man, now more than ever. Sure, there’s the New Avengers, but someone still needs to look out for the little guy. 

He promised he would use his powers for good. Who is Peter to throw it all away?

Unfortunately, he’s out of gauze at his apartment. He meant to go on a pharmacy run this afternoon, but a particularly irksome math assignment kept him. He could technically go now, but Peter doesn’t think the kind cashier would appreciate so much blood over their floors.

He leans his head back against the brick, trying to figure out what to do. He can’t just sit here, no matter how badly he wants to. He shuffles through options in his mind, each one more dangerous and outlandish than the next. 

He’s considering the merits of pretending he’s a Spider-man cosplayer and going to the hospital when he remembers Bucky’s offer.

Peter… really shouldn’t go to the tower. That’s a panic attack in the making. And he’s pretty sure the other New Avengers live there as well. It’s a team of well known assassins- not that he’s judging- but he’s not sure they’ll take someone breaking in very well. 

But there’s nothing else. And really, he just needs the med bay. Doctor Cho no longer works there, but he’s sure they’ve got the supplies needed to stitch up a stab wound. 

Peter sighs, leaning hard against the building to stand up. He winces as the movement pulls on the wound. If he were a regular person, there’s no way a trip that far would be feasible, but he’s not regular. 

With much effort, he sends a web up and flings himself into the sky. Every movement sends bolts of electricity through his body, making his eyes sting. He takes breaks every few roofs, curling around himself until the burning feeling subsides. 

He just hopes they don’t shoot on sight. He’s not very optimistic about it. 

He nearly cries with relief when the tower comes into view. He swings himself to one of the windows, his shaky hand sticking to it as he climbs up. He looks onto every floor, trying to find a medical room or maybe Bucky. 

Everything looks different. He used to know what exact window to land on if he wanted to enter the penthouse, his room, or medical. He swallows the lump in his throat at the thought of his room being torn down. 

Eventually, he crawls to a window where people reside inside. It looks like a living room connected to a kitchen. He peeks closer, pressing his hands on the window to get a better look. His heart jolts when he spots the gleam of metal attached to a man. Relief floods his body and he knocks frantically on the window.

All heads swing in his direction, but Peter’s only focus is on the man sitting on the couch. Bucky’s eyes widen in recognition, closely followed by horror as his eyes catch on the whole knife in stomach thing. 

Peter’s not sure if they still have an AI in the ceiling, but the window next to his opens soon after Bucky stands up. He waddles his way to the opening, painfully pulling himself over the edge and landing heavily on the other side. 

“Spider-man?” Bucky asks, one hand on his shoulder. 

Peter straightens, breathing strained, “Mr. Barnes, sir, sorry to drop in unannounced.” 

Bucky’s mouth gapes like a fish as his eyes dart between Peter’s face and the blood dripping from his stomach.

“Oh, this?” Peter asks, gesturing towards the wound, “Psh, nothing, just a little stab. If you had gauze, though, that would be very much appreciated.” 

The silence that follows is awkward and heavy. It’s only then that Peter notices the other occupants in the room. Yelena Belova is standing just behind Bucky, eyes concerned but calculating, eyeing the blood pooling on the floor. Ghost has her mask on, probably prepped for an intruder, so he can’t get a good read on her.

Both John Walker and a really old man with a scruffy beard are wide eyed, staring at Peter like he has three heads. There’s a younger man on a bar stool only a few feet away, eyebrows raised and gaze darting between all of them.

“You need medical.” Bucky says.

Peter shrugs, “Just some gauze and maybe some sutures, if you have it.”

Bucky shakes his head in shock for a moment before guiding Peter by the shoulder towards what he assumes is the medical bay. As he exits the room, he hears a very distant, “What the fuck?”

Bucky sits him down on one of the cots, rummaging through one of the cupboards, pulling out sutures and antiseptic. He turns back to Peter, pulling on some gloves and bending over to get a better look at the injury. 

“I can do it myself,” Peter says, “I just ran out of stuff at my place.”

Bucky blanches, “How often do you do this?”

“As often as any other vigilante.” Peter defends. Bucky scoffs, grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting his suit around the wound, much to Peter’s annoyance. Now he has to make a trip to the fabric store. That’s going to be at least thirty bucks. He can pick up another shift.

“-kay?” Bucky says.

Peter blinks at the man, “What?”

Bucky looks at him concernedly, “I said this might sting a little. Did you hit your head?” 

He shakes his head, gesturing for Bucky to go on. It hurts, it always does, but Bucky at least seems a little impressed with how well he’s taking unmedicated stitches. It’s much easier to deal with when he’s not the one doing them. 

“What the hell happened?” Bucky asks when he ties the final knot.

Peter licks his lips, “Mugger had a knife. Didn’t dodge in time.”

Bucky furrows his brow, tongue pressing in the inside of his cheek, “That doesn’t sound like you.”

Peter shrugs, looking down at the floor, “Off day.” 

Bucky seems unconvinced, but doesn’t push the issue. He helps Peter to his feet, guiding him out into the common area. They stop by a room on the way there, and Bucky re-enters the hallway holding some clothes in his arms.

“Put these on, yeah? We can try and fix up that suit of yours.” He says.

Peter takes the offered clothes slowly, “You don’t- you don’t have to do that. I just needed the stitches, that’s all. I don’t wanna impose.” 

Bucky shakes his head, “I think you should stay here, just for a bit. Make sure that wound doesn’t get infected.” 

Peter’s pushed into a bathroom before he can protest. Pointedly not looking at his reflection, Peter sighs and pulls on the clothes. They're obviously Bucky’s, and they hang off his skinny frame. He has to roll up the pants and cuff the sleeves.

When he exits the bathroom, Bucky is conversing quietly with Yelena, whose eyes snap to his form. He freezes, feeling almost exactly the same way as when he first met Natasha. It’s a little uncanny, the iciness in their eyes. 

“Miss. Belova.” Peter murmurs.

Yelena’s face remains stony, but her eyes soften slightly. “Spider-man.” She greets. 

“Sorry for intruding like this.” Peter says.

She tilts her head, considering him. Her eyes bore into his, like she can see right through him. “Come,” she says, ignoring Peter’s comment, “Bucky will make you food.” 

She turns and walks down the hallway. Bucky sighs, shrugging, and guides Peter along. They enter the kitchen again, where the rest of the team has gathered around. Eyes swing to him and Peter feels immensely grateful for the mask on his face.

Bucky clears his throat, “This is Spider-man. He’s gonna stick with us for a few hours until he’s in the clear.”

“I’m fine ,” Peter insists, “I have enhanced healing.”

Bucky squeezes his shoulder in warning, “You’re staying. At least to eat.”

Ghost, who’s removed her mask (Ana? Peter thinks. Ava?), eyes him suspiciously, staring intently at his stomach for a long moment. “He looks like he weighs ten pounds.” She comments.

“Hence, dinner.” Bucky says dryly as he opens up the fridge. 

Cautiously, Peter steps around the island, sliding onto a bar seat a few stools away from the younger man who Peter definitely does not know the name of. 

He looks at Peter warily, so he relaxes his body to make the guy feel more comfortable. He’s about to ask for the guy’s name when the Santa-looking man approaches him. 

“Spider-man, huh?” The man says, “How do you do all that? The webs and the climbing.”

Peter hunches over at the curious eyes on him. He’s not popular outside of New York, so his origins aren’t really common knowledge 

“Radioactive spider.” Peter says shortly. 

Dead silence. The Santa man blinks in shock, before nodding like that makes complete sense. Ghost and the squirrely man both reel back, eyes wide. John Walker barks a small laugh, “You’re kidding?”

Peter shakes his head, “Oscorp. I was thirteen.”

Yelena leans over the bar, “Is that why it got shut down?” 

“Not because of me,” Peter says, “A lot of their practices were unethical… and they couldn’t keep their subjects maintained.”

Walker scoffs, “Clearly.” 

Ghost rolls her eyes at him. “So, how much of you is spider? Like… do those webs come out of you?” 

Bucky chuckles from where he’s stirring pasta in a pot, “No, he makes the webs on his own using chemicals.”

Peter stops short and Bucky freezes. Bucky… shouldn’t have known that. Spider-man never told anyone that, but Peter did. Bucky whirls around, eyes locked on Peter, who stares back at him in shock.

Unaware of their inner turmoil, the rest of the team nods in understanding. The skittish man finally speaks up, voice small and hoarse, “Thirteen? That’s pretty young.”

Prying his eyes away from Bucky, Peter turns to him. “Yeah, yeah, it was, um, it was an adjustment.” 

The man nods. Quietly, he asks, “How did you deal with it?”

Peter laughs, “I became an illegal vigilante.” 

That pulls a laugh out of most of the group, but Yelena and the man don’t join in. Their eyes are piercing, like they’re trying to read his mind. Luckily, Bucky cuts in, placing a bowl of pasta in front of him.

“Alright, Bob, enough questions. Let the kid eat. Everyone grab a bowl.” Bucky says. 

Dinner is quiet and a little uncomfortable. Whether it’s his presence or a normal occasion, Peter doesn’t know. He finds out that the Santa man is Alexei, Yelena’s father. 

Walker speaks up after a few beats of silence and clinking glasses, “So, Spider-man, where were you during Bob’s breakdown?”

Peter looks up confusedly, glancing at Bob, “Bob’s- what?” 

“Y’know, when New York went dark?” Walker clarifies.

Peter shakes his head in shock, turning to Bob, “That was you ?”

Looking distinctly awkward, Bob just shrugs. With a sharp glare towards Walker, Yelena turns to Peter, “It wasn’t Bob. It was- well it’s complicated. It was a part of him.”

Nodding slowly, Peter pries his eyes away from Bob. He doesn’t know what happened, but the guy looks so sad and guilty, Peter just feels kind of bad for him. 

He turns to Walker, “I was taken to a- a place, before I even knew what was going on.”

“Shame room.” Ghost- Ava- says. 

Peter quirks a brow, “What?”

“That’s what we call them,” Ava says, “Shame rooms.”

That… is pretty accurate, actually. Peter wonders how they defeated a literal void, but Bob looks like he’d rather disappear than talk about it any longer.

“Oh… that’s- um- okay.” Peter says awkwardly. 

Dinner finishes in silence, glances exchanged across the table and at him. Bucky takes a breath, prompting the team to look up. He has a silent conversation with Yelena, who nods minutely. 

“Maybe you should spend the night, Spider-man.” He says casually.

He really shouldn’t. He should be heading back to his apartment where he can complete his assignments and have his nightmares alone. 

“I don’t know…” Peter responds hesitantly.

“Just tonight,” Yelena says, “To make sure you don’t die from sepsis or something.”

Avenger’s tower is closer to his college and he has a 9 A.M. tomorrow. It would make the trip a hell of a lot easier. And it just started raining outside. He’d only make his condition worse by swinging outside in this weather.

Peter sighs, “Okay. Just tonight.”

Bucky nods, “Just tonight.”

The small, rational part of Peter tells him this is a bad idea. It warns him that he’ll get attached and that’s never a good thing. 

But the bigger, lizard portion of Peter’s brain says otherwise. A warm place to sleep for a night is practically nothing . He’ll leave in the morning and never make contact with any of these people again.

He’s sure of it. 

Chapter Text

Spider-man wasn’t there the next morning, to nobody’s surprise. 

The room he was given for the night was spotless, the bed made and bathroom clear of any sign of the kid. He had left a small note that said ‘Thank you’ on the fitted bedsheet, and that was the only evidence that Spider-man was ever there. 

When Bucky broke the news, most of the team shrugged, expecting it. Yelena’s and Bob’s eyes lingered on him for an extra moment before they turned back to their breakfasts. 

There was no contact with Spider-man for the next several weeks. Bucky tracked the kid through the news, concerned to find how often the vigilante is faced with the worst humanity has to offer. Spider-man is consistently in the headlines for taking down trafficking rings, assisting police and firemen in rescue operations, and stopping rape and murder attempts.

Bucky doesn’t remember seeing Spider-man in the news nearly as much before the snap. In fact, there’s about a one month period after the snap where Spider-man isn’t mentioned at all before his appearances rocket .

It doesn’t seem like he’s necessarily avoiding the team either, but he’s been sticking strictly to Queens as of late. Yelena, who loves to hog the TV, seems interested in Spider-man, as much as she tries to hide it. 

“You seem… oddly invested in him.” Bucky had commented one night. 

Yelena shrugged, leaning forward on the couch to get a better look at the screen. “He reminds me of Bob,” She said, “Sad aura.” 

Bob, who was also sitting on the couch that night, looked mildly affronted. Bucky had caught the guy scrolling through Spider-man forums occasionally, so he suspects Bob is just as invested. 

Bucky takes trips to Queens at least twice a week. Spider-man’s patrol schedules are erratic, but more often than not, you could count on him being out there. He doesn’t strike up a conversation with the kid like he did the night on the roof, he just watches from below. He watches Spider-man swing his feet like a child at the doctor’s office, leaning dangerously over the edge without a care in the world. 

He’s not sure why he cares so much. It’s just some random kid trying to make the city safer, and he can obviously hold his own in a fight. There’s just something about him. There’s this pull in his chest that lurches every time he sees Spider-man balance precariously on skyscrapers. Bucky sticks to the shadows, but Spider-man always seems to know when someone is near him. 

One night, Bucky was following Spider-man as he swung through alleyways. The kid was fast on those webs, thwipping down the city streets like a bullet. When he lost the vigilante after being slowed down by the crowds, he tuned into his hearing. It’s hard to pick out around the people, cars, and honking, but there’s a telltale sound of a fist hitting flesh about a block away.

Bucky found himself in a deserted alleyway. He peeked around the brick wall to find Spider-man engaged with a buff, masked man. Spider-man always gives as good as he gets, even visibly reigning in some strength, so Bucky was horrified to see the situation in front of him.

The bigger man absolutely wails on the kid, large fists whamming into every body part he can reach. But the worst part is that Spider-man wasn’t even trying to fight back. His fists were held up in a sorry attempt at a defensive stance, but not once did he return a punch. 

Alight with fury, Bucky stormed into the alley, knocking the lights out of the man with his metal fist. The guy went down hard, hitting his head on the brick wall and landing on the dirt, unmoving. When Bucky turned to Spider-man, the kid seemed dazed and confused. 

“What the hell was that?” Bucky had asked. 

Spider-man’s white lenses were mere slits, indicating how out of it he was. Bucky placed his hands on his shoulders, refraining from shaking him. 

“Spider-man!” Bucky said forcefully. 

“Wha’?” The kid slurs. The mask on his face covered what Bucky assumed was a mass of bruises and cuts. Warring with his mind, Bucky slowly moved his fingers to the edge of the mask, on the base of Spider-man’s neck.

Snapping out of his reverie, Spider-man hisses , pulling away and smacking his back on the wall. Bucky raised his hands in surrender. 

“Get away from me.” Spider-man said more clearly, his lenses opening more. 

Bucky scoffed, “Absolutely not.”

He reached out, grabbing Spider-man’s wrist to keep the boy from webbing away. Spider-man huffed, wriggling his arm weakly. “What’s your problem?” He asked.

“My problem is that you let a man use you as his personal punching bag.” Bucky said flatly. 

Spider-man wriggled harder as blood began to seep through his mask. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said defiantly.

Bucky clamped down harder, staring sternly into the lenses until the kid went limp. He was breathing heavily, shoulders dropping with exertion.

“You did,” Bucky said, “You didn’t even try to fight back.”

“He’s huge.” Spider-man defended, gesturing down to the still-unconscious man. 

Bucky glared at him, “You went toe to toe with Thanos, and you’re telling me you can’t take down some two bit nobody?” 

If the white lenses of a mask could roll its eyes, that’s exactly what happened. Weakly trying to pull away, Spider-man huffed, “It’s not that big of a deal. I was handling it.”

Even angrier, Bucky pressed on a dark red spot on Spider-man’s mask, watching the boy suck in a pained breath. “Handling it?” Bucky asked darkly, “If that’s handling it, you need to be off the streets.”

Spider-man clenched his jaw, “Fuck you.” 

“You’re different, Spider-man,” Bucky seethed, “Letting yourself get jumped, running into burning buildings-”

“You’re wrong-” Spider-man said.

“-Getting shot and stabbed, swinging around like you have all the webs in the world-” Bucky continued.

Energy renewed, Spider-man tried bucking him off again, “You don’t understand -”

“-Leaning over the edges of buildings like you want to jump off them-”

“That’s not true!” Spider-man shouted.

Enraged, Bucky shouted back, “It’s suicidal !”

“ Why do you care! ?” Spider-man screamed, chest heaving. 

All that could be heard in the alley was the sound of harsh breathing. Bucky stared down at Spider-man, who finally ripped his wrist out of his hold. 

“Why the fuck do you care?” Spider-man said, “You don’t know me.” 

Bucky shook his head in astonishment, “Because you’re gonna kill yourself if you keep going like this.” 

Body trembling, Spider-man takes a few steps back. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said quietly.

“I think I do.” Bucky responded. 

Spider-man swallowed heavily, visibly hesitating before his body stiffened. The man on the ground groaned loudly, eyes scrunched in pain.

The kid turned to him, “Look, I’m thankful you helped me out a few weeks ago, but that was a one time thing.”

Bucky sighed, “Kid, if you need help-”

“I’m not a goddamn kid. And I don’t need anyone’s help.” Spider-man said coldly. 

“This isn’t sustainable, Spider-man.” Bucky tried to reason. The man below them shifted slightly, eyes fluttering. 

Spider-man shook his head, shaking out his arms. “Go back to your babysitting duties and leave me alone .” He said.

That was two weeks ago. Bucky was left in the desolate alley with some drunk crook, who he dumped on the steps of the police station. After that, whenever Bucky followed Spider-man on patrol, the kid sent him a middle finger and swung off.

He told the team what happened. They try really hard to remain aloof, but Bucky can see the thinly veiled concern or interest in their eyes. Most nights, the team comes together in the living room to watch Spider-man’s latest feat. Funnily enough, or maybe not, it’s been the most effective form of team bonding since they came together. 

This morning, Bucky walked into the kitchen, an odd pit in his stomach. 

“I’m just saying-” Alexei says boisterously, too loud for the early hour.

The rest of the team groans, a resounding ‘no’ sounding about the room. John buries his head in his arms, leaning on Bob’s propped up leg. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, “What’s going on?”

Bob rolls his eyes, shoveling cereal into his mouth. Yelena turns to him, “Alexei has this opinion -”

“It is so much better !” Alexei yells, prompting Ava to clap her hands over her ears.

“What is?” Bucky asks.

“Our cereal!” Alexei says, turning to him, “I think we should get rid of these ‘Frosted Flakes’ to promote the New Avengers Cereal! ” 

Rubbing his temples, John rests the side of his head on his arms to stare at Alexei, “It’s not even good. It’s like- it’s like a knock off Special K.” 

Alexei grins widely, pointing at himself on the New Avengers cereal box, “But it’s us! The Thunderbolts! We can promote it!”

Yelena groans again, one hand resting on a half-asleep Ava’s hair, “Dad, we don’t get royalties for it.” 

“I will get us royals!” Alexei says, “Our cereal is best!”

John bonks his head on Bob’s knee repeatedly, muttering underneath his breath. Bucky sighs, trying his best not to laugh at the whole situation. It’s nice to see the team all together, only mildly annoyed at one another instead of borderline murderous.

“I’m going on a few errands,” Bucky says, “Text if you need something. Don’t burn down the kitchen.”

All eyes swing to Bob, who pouts. “I put foil in the microwave one time .”

Bucky lets the argument ensue behind him, walking to the elevator. Not his circus, not his monkeys. Most of the time, at least.

Initially, he was planning on going to Queens, but Spider-man is rarely out during the daytime. Instead, he turns to Brooklyn to do some shopping. The entire team knows how to cook to some extent- except for Bob, the guy lives off cereal and pasta- but they all eat different things. 

Usually, they get groceries delivered, but if Bucky doesn’t get out of the tower at least once a day, he’ll go insane.

He finds a farmers market, taking his time as he walks around the produce sections. It’s a simple and mindless task, something he finds peaceful. He and Steve used to run around shops when they were younger, using their meager money to get candy, much to Sarah Rogers’ exasperation. 

It’s nostalgic in a way. It’s a way to remember his life before HYDRA and his life with Steve. He squeezes watermelons and pears like an old woman, strolling down the aisles without a care in the world.

He should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last. His phone buzzes in his pocket.

pee wee soccer team

Ava: bucky there's a problem

Bucky groans when he reads the notification, one hand reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t even been gone an hour. His circus, his monkeys. He walks out of the market with a single bottle of water, looks around the street and finds a patch of shade to get away from the heat.

pee wee soccer team

Bucky: What happened?

Yelena: it was none of our faults

Bucky: I don’t believe you in the slightest.

Yelena: rude

John Walker: There’s robots in Manhattan.

Bucky spits out the water he was sipping, looking up. There’s no portal in the sky and nobody is panicking on the street, but he’s not in the same borough as them. He books it down the sidewalk, nearly ramming into several disgruntled New Yorkers.

pee wee soccer team

Bucky: What????

Bob: yeah, like full robot invasion

Ava: how fast can you get here

Bob: i always knew this is how humanity would end

John Walker: Robot invasion?

Bob : that or like, aliens. which happened already

Bucky: I’m omw. ETA 5 min. Suit up. Bob stays on comms. 

Alexei: THUNDERBOLTS GO NOW!!!!

Yelena: engage?

Bob: do you guys think the robots would be affected by the void

Ava: lets not use this as a chance to find out

Bucky: If absolutely necessary. I’m almost there. Get off your phones.

John Walker: I’ve been off my phone.

Ava: shut up walker

Yelena: shut up walker

Bucky: Off. 

As Bucky approached the tower, he could see masses of people running in the opposite direction. In the distance, hoards of metal robots march through the street. He reaches the base of the tower, where the rest of the team is waiting.

“Have they said anything?” Bucky asks.

John shakes his head, “You know as much as we do.” 

The first line of the robots halts in front of them, silent and eerie. The team spreads out around him in defensive positions, crouched and tense in preparation for a fight. Feeling distinctly awkward, Bucky speaks up, “Who are you?”

There’s no response. The robots remain quiet, their cold, metal eyes boring into them. The team shifts uncomfortably at the silence, exchanging glances. 

Bucky clears his throat, “Can we help you?”

He hears a soft snort from his left. Ava covers her mouth when Bucky sends her a dirty look. One of the robots finally steps forward, startling them. Warily, Bucky remains still while the robot approaches them.

“Surrender now and there will be mercy.” The robot states.

That’s… not good. He puts a hand behind his back, opening his palm and spreading his fingers to signal his team to wait. In his peripherals, he can see them all tense, coiling tight with anticipation.

“That won’t be happening,” Bucky says, “What are you here for?”

“Surrender now. The mother demands it.” The robot responds. 

“The mother?” John mutters. 

Bucky looks around. The street is deserted, New Yorkers well prepared for these types of situations. There’s no robot that looks different or has any visible power, so the mother may be in a separate location. 

“We won’t surrender.” Bucky says.

The robot remains silent for a moment, the tension in the air growing. Alexei shifts on his feet, waiting anxiously for the go signal.

“Then we will make you.” The robot states, eyes turning a glowing red. 

Bucky closes his fist, prompting the team into action. It’s just in time too, as the rest of the robots are activated when the first one sends a beam of light through its eyes straight at Bucky’s chest. He dodges, ducking under the next blast and sending his metal fist straight into the robot’s body. 

The rest of the team spreads out, taking on the robots one by one. The guns they own prove to be useful, as it only takes a single headshot to deactivate one of them. Ava phases through the air, using the robots less than stellar reaction times to catch them off guard. 

“Bob, do you see anything?” Bucky asks through his comm.

“There’s a concentrated signature a few blocks from where you guys are at. It’s a deserted building.” Bob says tensely. 

Ava grunts, taking a hit to the gut, “The mother?”

“Deal with these guys, then we’ll check it out.” Bucky says.

The sounds of fighting and gunshots ring in the air. Bucky always tries to keep surrounding damage to a minimum but the blasts of plasma from the robots soar through the air, finding homes on various buildings. 

Distracted with fighting several robots at once, Bucky almost misses the telltale sound of webs sticking and unsticking. 

“Spider-man!” Alexei shouts with a grin. 

Sure enough, the red and blue blur swings into the field, sticking to one of the buildings. A robot sends a blast straight at him, but quick as a bullet, Spider-man shoots away from the building and launches himself at it. He sends a fist to its head, punching straight through it.

“Jesus Christ.” John says, watching Spider-man rip the wires out of the robot’s head. 

“What’s the deal with these guys?” Spider-man asks, except Bucky can hear him through the comm in his ear.

“How are you in our comms?” John asks.

Spider-man sweeps the feet of a robot, stomping on its head, “I’m really smart.” 

“They didn’t tell us why they’re here,” Bucky informs him, “but there’s a mother that might be a few blocks from here.” 

Spider-man nods, webbing several robots at once and swinging them into the ground. With the kid’s help, they finish out the remaining robots relatively quickly. Bucky sends a bullet through the final one, breathing heavily. He’s really getting too old for this. 

None of them are hurt too badly, to Bucky’s delight. Ava wraps some gauze over a scrape on her arm, tossing the medical tape to John, who does the same. “Bob, anything new?” He asks.

“I’ve got eyes on the signature. The house looks normal, but you should check it out. Sending coordinates.” Bob says. 

Bucky looks at Spider-man, who shrugs. He sends a web towards a building, shooting off in the direction of the house. Bucky nods towards the rest of the team, who follows him as he sprints off. 

“The web thing seems so convenient,” Yelena pants once they get eyes on the house, “He just goes thwip thwip and then, boom, he’s there.” 

“Learn how to use a grapple.” John suggests.

“Batman style!” Bob chimes in.

Spider-man is waiting for them once they reach the house, hands on his hips. It’s secluded, or as much as it can be in the outskirts of the city. It’s a brick house, creaking and swaying slightly with the wind. Even in mid afternoon, there’s something creepy about the house, setting Bucky on edge. The rest of the team seems to feel the same, eyeing the house warily. 

“Talk about a horror movie house.” Spider-man quips.

Bucky nods, gesturing for the team to move in. They climb the steps slowly, looking through the windows as they approach. Bucky turns the doorknob slowly, wincing at the squeak of the door opening.

They file in, weapons raised. It’s a typical suburban home, fit with a living room and kitchen. It’s dusty and moldy, and there’s no personal items, indicating the house has been abandoned for some time. 

“Be careful.” Spider-man says out of the blue.

Ava looks at him oddly, “There’s nothing here.”

The kid shakes his head, looking upstairs cautiously, “Spider-sense is ringing. There’s something here.”

Ava mouths spider-sense , sending a confused look towards Bucky, who waves her off. “Threat?” Bucky asks him.

Spider-man nods, beginning the ascent up the steps. The rest of the team follows, significantly more freaked out by the boy’s ominous comments.

The second floor has been completely cleared of separate rooms. It’s an open space with one large window in the back. When they all reach the landing, Spider-man stops in place, head snapping towards the furthest corner away from them.

“You fight admirably.” A feminine voice echoes in the space. 

Bucky steps in front of the group, putting Spider-man behind him. He ignores the annoyed huff from the boy, focusing on the thing in front of him.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Bucky asks.

The voice steps into the light. It’s a robot, similar to the ones they fought an hour ago. She’s bigger, though, and appears more human. She has a face, but her eyes are still blank and pupil-less.

“I want what many have tried. To see the end of the Avengers.” She says.

Countless times, other alien races have attempted to destroy the Avengers or take over the Earth. It’s truly shocking that the human race stands as firm as it does. Humanity persists. 

“The Avengers are disbanded.” Bucky says carefully. 

Unamused, The Mother tuts, “Ah, but you have taken over, no? News travels quickly, you know.”

Bucky curses mentally. He was hoping they hadn’t known about the switch. Spider-man peeks out from behind Bucky’s back, “Why do you want us dead?”

“Why did many want the original Avengers dead?” The Mother asks, “Power. Glory. Control.”

“You think the human race will just sit down and take it? All these years, and not one of you have succeeded. Not even Thanos’s actions stuck forever.” Spider-man says. 

Bucky places a protective hand across Spider-man’s body, blocking the boy from going any closer to The Mother. 

“With the original Avengers, maybe. But you?” She says, eyeing their group jeeringly, “No fight at all.” 

The house creaks ominously, and Bucky looks at the structural supports. They’re hanging on by a thread. Spider-man notices it too, exchanging an alarmed look with him when they realize the same thing. This is a trap. 

“Taking down the house will kill you too, y’know.” Spider-man says suddenly, alerting the rest of the team to the situation. John sucks in a breath at the dilapidated support beams. 

The mother seems unperturbed, uncaring of her own likely demise. Yelena murmurs under her breath, talking to Bob through a private comm. Her eyes flick from the mother to the rest of the team anxiously. 

Ava exchanges a glance with Bucky, who nods. His chest is tight with dread, waiting apprehensively for a sign to move. 

“If it eliminates the Avengers in the process, then my mission is complete.” The mother says airily.

The Mother isn’t working for herself, Bucky realizes. There’s someone controlling her as well. Spider-man takes a step back, signalling the rest of them to do the same. If there’s one thing Bucky knows about Spider-man, it’s to trust the kid when he senses something wrong. 

“And if it doesn’t,” The mother says darkly, “I won’t be around for the consequences.”

The lenses of Spider-man's mask widen and he turns towards the group. The mother sends blasts towards the pillars of the house in quick succession, a victorious smile on her face. 

“Downstairs, go downstairs now! ” Spider-man yells, shooing them all through the hallway. 

Immediately, Alexei turns and rushes to the landing. Ava clamps a hand on John’s arm, pulling him towards the stairs. Bucky does the same for Yelena, trusting Spider-man to follow them. They rush back down the steps, nearly tripping over one another. Spider-man sends a web bomb at the stairway, blocking the mother robot from following them. 

“We gotta go, we gotta go!” Spider-man says, rushing towards the door, but it’s too late. 

The house screams as it begins to crumble on top of them. Pieces of brick begin to rain down on them as they sprint back towards the entrance. The doorway seems so far away, too far for how little time they have.

“ Out, out, out !” Yelena shouts. 

The mother robot cackles from the second floor. Spider-man freezes in place, white lenses wide with shock and possibly fear. Less than a second later, the roof above them gives way and hurtles towards them. 

The last thing Bucky hears are the frightened shouts of his teammates before his vision is bathed in black. 

Chapter Text

Bucky’s ears are ringing when he comes to awareness. 

His HYDRA training kicks in instinctually, forcing him to pry open his dry eyes. It’s nearly pitch black all around him, save for the sliver of light shining through the cracks in the walls from the sun. Bucky coughs as he turns his head to look around, dust coating his lungs and mouth. 

Memories come back to him slowly as he finds the unconscious form of his friends on the ground. Ava groans, face pulling in pain. Yelena and John are close by, both covered in dirt and dust, but relatively unharmed. Alexei is closest to where the exit used to be, in the same state as everyone else.

As Bucky systematically checks himself over for injuries, he goes through what he knows. He and the team were attacked by robots. Bob notified them of the original source, which was this rickety house. The Mother robot executed a trap that would end in their- and her- demise. The house, tons and tons of brick, had fallen directly on them.

So why are they not dead? 

“Bucky?” A small, thready voice reaches his ears.

He turns to the source, stomach dropping in horror at the sight. Spider-man, just as dusty and torn up as the rest of them, has one foot planted on the ground and the other kneeling on the floor, his arms stretched high above him as he holds the ceiling up .

Like a modern day Atlas, Spider-man stopped the weight of the house from crushing them. He’s shaking with effort, his entire body trembling under the strain. 

“Holy shit-” John’s voice echoes in the room. Bucky swivels around, taking in the sight of John’s horror and shock. The others have begun to awake as well, taking in their situation and, one by one, realizing why they’re not dead.

Shaking out of his reverie, Bucky hauls himself to his feet, wincing at the pull of his sore muscles. He has to crouch, but he makes his way to Spider-man and adopts the same position as him, doing his best to take some of the weight. It’s nothing, practically miniscule, but the breath of relief Spider-man lets out is completely worth it.

“Thanks,” Spider-man says breathlessly. 

Bucky eyes the boy concernedly, looking at the parts of his suit that are darker red than they should be. His breathing is labored, and Bucky can imagine there’s sweat pouring down the kid’s face, soaking into the mask. 

“Would it be easier to breathe without the mask?” Bucky asks.

“I won’t take it off.” Spider-man says firmly, the crack in his voice betraying his fear and exhaustion. 

Bucky shakes his head, “I just mean lifting it up to your nose so you can breathe.”

Spider-man relaxes, as much as he can, at the reassurance. Unable to muster the energy to speak, the boy just nods. 

“Walker!” Bucky barks, startling the man who has begun to help Yelena up, “come lift his mask.”

Yelena waves John away, picking herself up and moving over to her father, who wheezes painfully. Ava made her way over to Bucky silently, bracing her hands against the ceiling. The gesture is nice, but Spider-man is still bearing 90% of the weight. 

“How is he doing this?” Ava whispers. Bucky shrugs, letting out a harsh breath.

John crawls over, rising to his knees in front of Spider-man. He fumbles a little, the shakiness of his hands and the dark not doing him any favors, but he gets his fingers under the mask and begins to pull.

“Just above his nose.” Bucky mutters. 

The last of their group made their way over, taking some more weight off the ceiling. Alexei is likely taking the most off, but even he can’t match Spider-man’s strength. Yelena’s brows are creased in worry as she eyes Spider-man’s form. 

“Spider is strong.” Alexei coughs, nodding approvingly.

The mask rises, revealing pale skin and chapped lips. The edge of the mask rests on the bridge of Spider-man’s nose, leaving his identity a secret. He breathes more clearly, thanking John, who positions himself besides Yelena. 

“Okay, what now?” Ava asks.

Bucky looks around the space for anything that could help them. There’s a small gap in the wall, big enough that Alexei might be able to fit through it, but someone would have to keep the building up while everyone gets out. And then what?

Thinking on the same lines, Spider-man nods, “The gap. Everyone go through the gap.”

“What about the last person?” Yelena asks.

Spider-man’s lenses shutter for a moment, like he’s rolling his eyes, “It’ll be me, and trust me, I have an idea.” 

“I really don’t like the sound of that.” John murmurs. 

Bucky glances around again, but there truly is no other option. There’s tons of brick and metal on top of them. Nobody else can handle the weight of it alone besides Bob, who, if the comms are as staticky as they sound, they can’t get into contact with.

And Bucky isn’t sure Bob’s ready to try out his Sentry powers in the general public yet, anyway. 

“Okay, okay,” Bucky says, “Yelena, you go first. Try to get in contact with Bob.”

“He’s probably freaking out. Or making his way here,” John says, and then after a beat, “I don’t know which one’s worse.” 

Yelena nods, glancing once more at Spider-man, who nods reassuringly, and makes her way through the crawlspace, climbing through the hole. Bucky wants to keep as many super-strength individuals in the room for as long as possible, so Ava goes next, followed by John. 

Alexei sends them a salute and makes his way out of the space as well. The moment he lets go, Spider-man grunts, teeth gritting as more weight comes back down on him. They must’ve been helping more than Bucky thought. Alexei’s back end gets caught in the hole for a moment, forcing him to wiggle around, pulling a hoarse laugh out of Spider-man. 

Despite the situation, Bucky holds back a small smile at the sound. From what he’s seen and heard of Spider-man over the past few months, he doesn’t think the boy makes that particular sound much anymore.

When it’s just the two of them, Spider-man looks at him expectantly. Bucky sighs, “What’s your plan?”

Spider-man licks his lips, grimacing at the dust covering them. “Just, trust me. I know I’ve been kind of an ass the past few weeks, but I know what I’m doing.”

Reluctantly, Bucky nods, slowly lowering his hands from the ceiling. With the entire strain of the house bearing down on Spider-man again, the kid begins to tremble harder. He doesn’t feel great leaving him here, but it’d be an insult to Spider-man to not trust him. 

“Just,” Spider-man says strainingly, “get everybody away from the house, like far away. I’ll wait five minutes before I do it.” 

“Far away? What are you gonna do?” Bucky asks.

Spider-man groans in pain, or maybe exasperation. Bucky can sense the glare even in the pitch black and through the mask. “Just trust me .” The boy emphasizes.

Bucky huffs, crawling the rest of the way out of the house, squinting hard against the harsh sunlight. John pulls him up when he gets through the hole. They’re all standing near the exit, dusty and tired. The house is a wreck, caved in and falling apart. 

“No way that mother robot survived.” Ava mumbles.

Yelena walks up to him, “What about the Spider boy? How is he getting out?”

Bucky shakes his head, tongue in his cheek, “He said that he’s got a plan. Told me to get everyone far away from the house. He’s gonna do whatever it is in five minutes so we have a chance to move.”

“Get away?” John asks incredulously. 

Pulling on Yelena’s arm, Bucky begins to walk away from the house. The others loudly protest behind him. 

“Look, I don’t like it either,” Bucky says, whirling around, “But I know what that kid is capable of. I’ve seen it.”

“He is small. He will be crushed by it.” Alexei says. 

Bucky throws out his hands, “He wasn’t when he originally caught it. He wasn’t the entire time we were unconscious. The house is still standing right now.” 

The others remain unconvinced. Bucky is reminded that these people don’t know Spider-man. They might’ve seen footage of his fights and spent one measly, awkward family dinner together, but they have no idea who he is. Bucky doesn’t really, either, but he’s been in battle with the kid. He’s been in battle against the kid. 

Spider-man has never taken anything lying down. And he doubts it’ll start with a house collapsing on him. 

“I trust him,” Bucky says finality in his tone, “And you trust me. So let’s get out of range before it’s too late.”

That seems to strike home. High-stress, intense, life-threatening situations bring people together, whether they like it or not. Bucky trusts every single one of them to save his hide if need be, even if he doesn’t care for their company all the time. And he knows that feeling is reciprocated.

Slowly, the others begin to trail behind him, glancing back at the silent house every so often. Bucky was never intending to go too far in the first place, so he stops about 500 feet from the house. 

The other turned around as well, looking at it silently. There’s been no noise inside, nothing to indicate Spider-man is crushed. Two minutes pass, three, then four, and just when they begin to send hesitant glances at one another, a loud cracking sound fills the air.

Their heads whip to the house, which has begun shifting and creaking, loose bricks falling to the ground. For one terrifying moment, Bucky thinks that Spider-man couldn’t hold the weight any longer. He thinks he made the wrong decision, that he should’ve found another way out. He thinks that Spider-man is going to be crushed under the weight of tons of bricks, squashed like a bug.

And then the remains of the house begin to go up . Shocked still, Bucky watches as the house is lifted and thrown backwards. He doesn’t have to look around him to know his team is just as stunned as him, their silence revealing everything.

When the dust settles, all that’s left is a panting, exhausted, alive Spider-man. Spider-man, lanky and thin and a little scrawny, who just threw an entire house like it was a baseball. The boy sways slightly, jolting Bucky into action. He sprints towards the rubble, hopping over swathes of brick and metal, just in time for Spider-man to pass out.

Bucky catches him, laying the boy down slowly. He presses his fingers to Spider-man’s neck, sighing in relief at the quick thumping of his heart. His breathing is a little unsteady, which is understandable, considering what he just did.

“Is he alive?” Yelena asks once they’ve made it to him.

Bucky nods, “Just unconscious.”

They all stand there silently, not quite accepting the spectacle they’ve just seen. John looks from Spider-man to the crumbled house behind them, “What the fuck just happened?”

Ava nods in agreement, staring at the remains of the house. “The Mother has to be dead, right? She couldn’t have survived that.”

“Spider is very strong.” Alexei says. 

Bucky checks Spider-man over for injuries, pulling the boy into his arms when he clears him. The kid’s head lolls onto his chest when he stands, turning to face the team.

“Can someone check through the house to make sure she’s dead? Spider-man needs the med-bay.” He says.

John volunteers to look around, as does Alexei. As they head towards the house, Bucky and the girls walk in the opposite direction towards the tower. Unfortunately, it’s several blocks away, and Bucky won’t allow them to steal a car. 

“Didn’t the original Avengers have a plane?” Yelena says, scuffing her foot against a rock.

“I wish we had a plane.” Ava mutters. 

Yelena huffs a laugh under her breath, “Or a batmobile.”

Bucky shakes his head, hefting Spider-man higher, “I’ll put it in the budget.”

—--

Peter wakes slowly, a stark contrast to the harsh, breathtaking nightmares that have him shooting out of bed in the middle of the night.

The first thing he notices is a soft beeping from his left, and the croon of a television a little further away. There’s a quiet conversation occurring on his right, accompanied by the shuffling of feet and clothing. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted by the muted tones of the environment given by his specialized lenses. Did he fall asleep wearing the suit? It wouldn’t be the first time. 

The bottom half of his face is uncovered, the smell of antiseptic permeating in the air. When Peter glances around, he realizes he’s not in his apartment, but in a hospital room. Next to him are Bucky and Yelena, engaging in a tense, but near silent argument. 

If he listens carefully, the sounds of people milling about a few rooms over can be heard. Peter’s head throbs as he tries to think back to what could have possibly occurred to land him here.

He’d worked hard to keep himself away from Bucky and the team, unwillingly to put himself in a position to get hurt again. Luckily, there weren’t many large-scale battles that reached Queens, so Peter didn’t have to intervene. He’d kept watch on them though, cringing at their sorry attempts at press conferences, especially ones spearheaded by an older, fierce looking woman.

It’s not as though he’s afraid of them finding out who he is under the mask. Peter assumes that a group of antiheroes with a grocery list of kill counts know how to keep a secret. He worries they’ll find out what he did and try to recruit him. After what happened the last time he joined the Avengers, Peter thinks it’s best if he stays away. He knows exactly how he gets. If he joins, he’ll get attached, and people attached to him always leave or die. Peter’s on the edge enough as is, the guilty thoughts of Ben and May and Tony and MJ and Ned and-

Whatever. If he loses anyone else, he’ll tumble straight over the edge. That can’t happen because people still need him. New York City still needs Spider-man.

He’s always been alright on his own anyway, he doesn’t need anybody to take care of him. 

“Spider-man?” Bucky’s gruff voice pulls Peter from his thoughts, “We know you’re awake.” 

Peter licks his lips, coughing slightly. A straw is pressed to them and he sips greedily. When it’s pulled away, he sits up, delighted that there’s no telltale sting of pain aside from the soreness that wracks his entire body. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Bucky asks.

The last thing he remembers is watching TV and nearly choking on a piece of mango when he saw the horde of robots marching through the streets of Manhattan. He remembers swinging into the fight, joining the comm system- which is much quieter than the original Avengers ever were- and then-

Oh. The house. And the Mother robot. And then the Mother robot crashing the house on top of them, leaving Peter to hold up a building again.

Peter shrugs, “Bits and pieces.”

Bucky nods, “That tracks. Probably not the best memory to retain.”

Peter remembers it. Not the initial fall of the ceiling, but catching it. It’s different to the warehouse with Toomes in that Peter was holding it up the entire time. That sucked. Throwing it off was much harder after he’d already pushed the limits of his energy reserves by keeping the weight of several tons on his shoulders. 

“Yeah, it sucked.” Peter says bluntly, pulling a chuckle from Yelena. 

“Well, in any case, the mother robot is dead.” Yelena says. Oh good, Peter thinks, he caught the house for a good reason.

Bucky looks up from his phone, “The rest of the team is outside. They’re asking if they can come in.”

Peter furrows his brow, “Why would they want to?”

Bucky stares at him like he has three heads. “Because… they’re worried?” He says slowly. 

“They don’t know me.” Peter states matter of factly. 

Yelena scoffs, “You held up several tons of brick for who knows how long while the rest of us did jack shit. You look like a small wind could knock you over, so forgive us for being a bit concerned.”

Not wanting to face the wrath of a Black Widow any longer, Peter just nods, gesturing towards the door. It slides open, revealing the rest of the Avengers, who file in, standing around his bed. He feels a bit like a zoo animal.

“Spider is not dead !” Alexei yells with a fist pump, “Threw house like it was nothing!” 

Peter smiles awkwardly, glancing at Bucky who shakes his head. John leans against the wall, arms crossed. “That was… not normal.” He says mildly.

“Nothing about me is normal. I’m part spider.” Peter responds bluntly. 

“And, y’know, that comes with, lifting houses off of yourself?” Ava asks.

“Funnily enough, not the first time a building’s been dropped on me,” Spider-man laughs, “I’m a pro.” 

Silence fills the room, the team staring at him incredulously. 

“What does that mean?” Bucky asks, “When did a building drop on you?”

Peter turns to him, “I’m not sure if you were in the city when it happened, but this guy dropped a warehouse on me and then I crashed Mr. Stark’s plane.”

Mouth gaping like a fish, Bucky shakes his head in disbelief. “A warehouse? A full warehouse?”

Peter hums, ignoring the horrified looks of the people around him, “Yeah, and I didn’t even have my suit at the time, which sucked so bad.” 

He’s not entirely sure why they all seem so perturbed by it. This is a group of people who’ve experienced much worse situations than him. Bucky was literally tortured for seventy years straight, and yet here he is, burying his face in his hands. 

“It’s not that big of a deal.” Peter says. 

“It kind of is,” Ava says, “Most people don’t get two buildings dropped on them and survive.”

“Most people born in the 1910’s are dead but here we are.” Peter retorts, shooting a look at Bucky. 

“Most people aren’t injected with super soldier serum or are exposed to Quantum energy or grow up in an assassin organization, but here we are.” Peter continues. 

“Spider-man-”

“Most people don’t undergo mysterious experiments that lead to questionable powers they can’t control.” Peter says, eyeing Bob, who’s yet to say anything from his chair a few feet from Peter’s head.

Bucky shuffles closer, “Spider-man, enough-”

“Everything about all of us is strange and most likely illegal. We all do dangerous and life-threatening activities, and just because I’m a little bit younger or inexperienced doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get the same credit as the rest of you,” Peter rambles.

“Spider-man, please-”

Peter plows right through, “I go out every night, and I put in the work to make the city safer. I save lives every night. I shouldn’t be treated like I’m incapable because I struggle sometimes.”

“We don’t think that, we were just worried-” Yelena starts.

It becomes glaringly obvious to everyone in the room, including Peter, that this has nothing to do with the house, but Peter continues on. “I have to go out, it’s my duty. So what if I get hurt? At least it’s not somebody else. You don’t get to tell me that I can’t do it anymore because these people need me and I have no right to stop when I’ve already failed them so horribly. If I’m not out there helping people, then I shouldn’t be here at all -”

Peter’s voice cracks, and Bob reaches out to touch his hand. 

Peter’s back on the roof. Startled, he looks around, stomach dropping at the sight of MJ and Ned. 

Peter, a younger Peter, drops in, engulfing MJ and Ned in a hug. They’re bruised and bleeding, but relieved to see each other.

“You’re okay?” young Peter asks, laughing slightly in relief when his friends nod. 

Young Peter notices a cut on MJ’s forehead, reaching to cup her face worriedly, “Oh my God, you’re bleeding.”

Peter’s heart clenches at the sight of MJ gripping his younger self’s wrists, assuring him that she’s okay. Even bleeding and exhausted, she’s still so beautiful. After a few moments of younger Peter staring at his friends, he sighs.

“You’re gonna forget who I am.” young Peter says.

Ned shakes his head confusedly, “What?”

“W-what are you talking about?” MJ asks.

“It’s okay,” Young Peter assures them, “I’m gonna come and find you. And I’ll explain everything. I’ll make you remember me.”

Peter feels his eyes begin to sting with tears. If only his younger self knew what was to come. That, in only a few days, he’d be completely and utterly alone.

“What if that doesn’t work? What if we can’t remember you? I- I don’t wanna do that. Is- Is there something we could do, like, like a plan or something?” MJ says, sounding close to tears.

“There’s nothing we can do.” Young Peter says quietly. MJ and Peter stare at each other dejectedly, and after a few beats, “It’ll be okay.”

Ned speaks up, voice somber, “You promise?”

Hearing his best friend’s voice nearly sends Peter stumbling, tears tracking down his cheeks. He misses them so much it feels like a limb has been ripped off his body.

“I promise.” Peter says.

Ned nods at him, bringing him in for their signature handshake. When it ends, they embrace tightly, tears streaking down both of their faces. “I’ll come find you, okay?” Peter mumbles.

“I know you will.” Ned says, choking on a sob.

“You better.” MJ tells him, eyes wet, “If you don’t, I’m just gonna figure it out. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.”

“I promise I’ll fix this.” Young Peter says reverently.

MJ nods, “I really hate magic.” 

Young Peter smiles, laughing wetly, “Yeah, me too.”

After a beat, MJ pulls him in, “I love you,” she says.

Peter can only watch in agony as MJ tells his younger self to wait to respond, not knowing she’ll never get the chance to hear those words leave his lips. He watches as Peter pulls her into a kiss, their last one. MJ strokes his hair lovingly, keeping her forehead pressed to his for a few moments after.

He watches himself walk to the ledge, taking one last look at the last family he had left. He watches MJ mouth to Peter before his younger self flies off on a web, never to be recognized by them again.

“-man?” 

Peter snaps out of the memory, breathing erratically. Bucky has a hand on his shoulder, shaking it slightly, eyes concerned. He turns his head to Bob, who stares at him cryptically, pulling his hand away.

“Spider-man?” Yelena asks.

Peter turns to her, “Yeah? Sorry, sorry, I just…” he trails off.

“You’re crying.” Ava comments.

Sure enough, when Peter reaches up to pat his exposed cheeks, the salty tears soak into the fabric covering his fingers. He glances at Bob once more, but the man just stares at the floor. 

“I… It’s nothing,” Peter says, “just remembered something.”

“Doesn’t really look like it was nothing. Neither was that little… outburst of yours.” Yelena says. 

Cheeks burning in embarrassment, Peter breaks eye contact, fiddling with the threads of the blanket. God, he really just let everything loose, didn’t he? Now they definitely think he’s incapable of his job.

“Do you really think that after watching you hold up a building, a little emotional moment is going to make us doubt your abilities?” Yelena asks dryly. 

“It wasn’t an emotional moment. I just woke up, I wasn’t of sound mind.” Peter defends.

“It sounds like you need therapy.” John drawls.

Peter shoots a glare at him, “Pot kettle.”

John raises his arms in surrender. The team stands around awkwardly, not quite sure where to go from here. Peter wouldn’t mind taking a walk off the Statue of Liberty, thank you very much.

“Well…” Bucky says, “Valentina texted about an hour ago. We have a meeting with her and some news stations tomorrow morning.”

The group groans. Peter looks at Bucky, “Who’s Valentina?”

“The devil.” Alexei says.

“The bane of our existence.” Ava comments.

“A complete and utter bitch-” John starts.

Bucky cuts in, sending a sharp look to the three, “She… oversees the New Avengers.”

“Oh! The old lady that’s usually with you guys on TV?” Peter asks.

Yelena snorts at the comment. 

“Yes…” Bucky says, a small smile on his face. He turns to the team, “She won’t tell me what for, so be prepared for anything. And please, please don’t blow anything up.” 

Peter chuckles, “I guess the media training isn’t sticking?”

“You have no idea.” Bucky sighs, mere moments before the team starts arguing.

The older man leans closer to Peter to block out the noise. “Would you mind staying in the tower for the night? I know you’re quick to heal and all, but just for our peace of mind.”

Peter rolls his eyes, “It’s really not necessary.”

“I’m making lasagna.” Bucky says.

Peter stops in his tracks. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t have last time, and he definitely shouldn’t now. But he doesn’t have any food in his fridge and he doesn’t have the money to go shopping for another three days. 

It’s purely a strategic move. He saves money, he gets a good meal and a good night’s sleep. That’s all there is to it. No ulterior motive. He’s not friends with these people, let alone on the team. As long as he keeps his emotional distance, everything will be fine. 

And besides, they have a meeting tomorrow morning. He won’t even see any of them when he leaves. He’ll be back in his apartment, laughing at the team’s lack of media training on the TV before he knows it.

It’s fine .

Chapter Text

True to his word, Peter leaves the tower before anyone else wakes up. He spoke hesitantly with the team at dinner and spent the rest of the night in his room. Nobody knocked on his door the rest of the evening, which is both entirely predictable and very much appreciated.

He heads back to his apartment in the early hours of the morning, foregoing a shower and brushing his teeth to burrow into his own sheets until he’s ready to face the world again. His home is tiny and in a sketchy part of the city, but it’s his . There are people who have it much worse than him.

Later, when the sun is much higher in the sky, Peter wakes up again. He stretches, yawns, and peels himself out of the bed. It’s Saturday, so he has no school, and in a stroke of pure luck, he’s not scheduled to work tonight. An entire day off only comes once in a blue moon these days, and Peter plans to take full advantage of it.

He trudges to the bathroom, running his tongue over his fuzzy teeth in disgust and picks up his toothbrush. He brushes slowly, staring at himself in the mirror. He looks awful . His cheeks are gaunt, his skin a sickly pale, and his dark circles could rival a raccoon’s. There’s a bruise marring his cheek where a brick hit his skin yesterday afternoon. It speaks a lot about his state of health that his healing factor hasn’t dealt with it yet.

Peter spends far too long in the shower, letting the lukewarm water soothe his aching muscles. His healing factor may work on superficial wounds- if not as well as it used to- but it does nothing for soreness, and holding up a building has certainly caused some discomfort. 

He makes his way to the kitchen and slides a few pieces of bread into the toaster. It’s nearly 10 o’clock, the time the New Avengers are supposed to go live for the press conference. Peter snorts at the thought, chuckling to himself at the idea of watching that particular shit show. He spreads peanut butter over the toast, walking towards his small living area. 

He turns on the TV, sitting down and switching to the news channel. On screen are the Avengers sitting at a table. An older woman- Valentina, his mind fills- stands in front of the panel, a toothy grin on her face. She’s introducing herself and the Avengers, who stare at her scornfully the longer she speaks. Yelena looks like she’s about three seconds away from launching herself at the woman, held back only by a small nudge from Ava. 

Peter’s gaze slides to the rest of the team, laughing loudly at the sight of John Walker sitting disgruntledly next to an excited Alexei, who’s waving at a few reporters. 

“Give it up for your New Avengers!” Valentina says, gesturing to the team. There’s clapping from behind the camera, not well received by the team, who sit there awkwardly, sending each other uncomfortable glances. Bob is there as well, half hidden by Bucky’s larger frame, which he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Once the ruckus calms down, Valentina smiles again, and it’s entirely shark-like. Peter feels dread pool in his stomach, sitting up slightly to listen. On screen, the others seem to notice the change in demeanor as well, straightening in anticipation.

“Now, you may all be wondering why I called this conference so abruptly,” Valentina says smoothly, “I’m sure you all know about the small robot invasion that occurred yesterday.”

There’s a few murmurs from the crowd. Peter feels his heart beginning to race as the faces of the team go carefully blank. Even Alexei and Bob seem coiled tight, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“The Avengers worked together to not only take down the hoard of robots attacking Manhattan, but located and eliminated the puppeteer, as you might say,” Valentina says with a laugh. 

A reporter stands. “Where did that happen?” She shouts.

Valentina smiles placatingly at her, “In a small, secluded house a few blocks from the tower.”

There’s a bit of mumbling throughout the crowd, before another speaks up, “It was destroyed, almost completely displaced from where it originally stood. How is that possible?”

Valentina’s lips curl into a secretive smile, like she was waiting for that exact question. She gestures behind her, where a screen comes to life. Choking on his toast, Peter’s eyes bug out at the sight of him fighting off several robots at one time. The other reporters gasp, cameras aiming towards the screen. 

The camera follows the Avengers as they enter the house, sitting just out of sight. There’s a cut in the video, and only a few seconds later the house comes down. Another cut and Yelena crawls out of a hole in the house, followed by all the Avengers aside from Spider-man.

The video doesn’t pick up on any audio, but it’s very obvious that Bucky is fighting- or scolding- the team. It takes a minute, but he wins them over, and Peter watches as they jog a few hundred feet away. He rolls his eyes as they take cover behind some rubble. 

The camera cuts once more, aimed at the Avengers who stare at the house. There’s a loud creaking noise and the video swings towards the building. Peter watches himself lift the house over his head and throw it behind him. It lands with a loud crash, brick and asphalt crumbling onto the ground.

Seconds later, the camera catches Bucky sprinting towards the rubble where Peter sways, catching him just before he tips over. Bucky picks him up like a baby, walking over the rubble with Ava and Yelena in tow, leaving John and Alexei to look over the remains of the house.

The camera cuts out after that, leaving everyone in the room in silence. A reporter stands, “Spider-man helped the Avengers?”

Valentina smiles, nodding, “Although Spider-man works primarily in Queens, he’s been in close contact with the Avengers. They’ve come to trust him, especially after holding up a building to save them.”

It’s only a half-truth, and suddenly Peter realizes why the team hates this woman so much. She’s more so exaggerating the truth than outright lying, which makes her dangerous. Peter can’t really deny anything she said. 

“Is Spider-man okay?” Someone from the crowd asks.

“Perfectly fine,” Valentina says, and Peter knows she’s lying this time, “The tower’s medical bay only hires the very best.” 

“What does that mean? Does Spider-man live with the Avengers?” A reporter asks.

Valentina takes to the question like a moth to a flame, her eyes flaring in excitement. She clasps her fingers together, but Peter can see how they shake ever so slightly.

“Over the past few weeks, I’ve been keeping an eye on the Avengers and Spider-man,” Valentina says, “I’ve watched how well they work together, how much trust they have for him, and how integral he was in the fight against the robots. With all that being said…” she trails off. 

All eyes are on Valentina, the room stilling as they await her next words. She’s building up the tension for entertainment, Peter thinks. People all across the world are watching this, leaning forwards in their seats in anticipation. Unexpectedly, Peter thinks that this will be his last moment of peace for a long time. 

“Spider-man will be joining the Avengers!” Valentina says cheerfully. 

The crowd is quiet. All of the Avenger’s faces drop in shock. There’s a few beats of tense, unsure silence. And then, it erupts . There’s shouting and questions and reporters yelling at Valentina and the team, vying for answers. 

Peter sits there, toast hanging half out of his mouth.

Fuck.

—--

Bucky can only stare in shock as the reporters jump out of their seats, microphones waving in the air and cameras flashing. He knew Valentina was up to something, but he wasn’t expecting something quite like this.

He glances over at the team, who seem just as blindsided as him. Ava has a firm grip on Yelena’s wrist, preventing her from tearing Valentina to shreds.

Valentina holds up a hand, silencing the crowd. Bucky can only imagine the reaction of people watching this. He’ll be getting a call from Sam later, that’s for sure. Spider-man will most definitely make an appearance at the tower too. 

“I know you have many questions,” Valentina says, an infuriating grin on her face, “and I’ll try my best to answer them now.”

“Where is Spider-man?” One reporter asks.

Valentina turns to the man, “Oh, he’s still resting up in the tower. He did hold up an entire building after all.”

The crowd coos, Valentina wielding their adoration and worry for their neighborhood vigilante like a knife. She’s got them, and the rest of the world, hook, line, and sinker. And there’s not a thing Bucky can do to stop her. For all that they’ve tried to keep Valentina in check, she still holds power over the team.

“Will it be permanent?” Another asks.

Valentina nods, her hands threading together in front of her, “You can count on Spider-man to show up to an Avengers level threat.”

People nod happily, like it’s only right that Spider-man be an Avenger. And maybe he should, Bucky thinks. Maybe it would be better to keep the kid close, if only for his own peace of mind, Bucky knows Spider-man is struggling, that he’s more similar to the rest of them than he thinks. Maybe it’d be better to give the boy a support system, as dysfunctional as theirs is.

“Is Spider-man only a part of the New Avengers because he’s keeping them in check?” A woman asks.

Valentina freezes. She wasn’t expecting that kind of question. She turns to the woman, licking her lips in a false sense of calm, “Can you clarify what you mean?”

The woman shrugs, her eyes icy and sharp, “Spider-man is known for his good deeds for this city. He never kills. He never falters. He always gets back up. The New Avengers are a team of well known assassins. How do we know that Spider-man isn’t just a mediator? How can we trust that he’s safe with these people?”

It’s a testament to how much the community loves Spider-man. The reporter isn’t necessarily worried about getting a good scoop, she wants to know that their neighborhood hero won’t come to harm with them. 

Valentina visibly hesitates, and the crowd notices. Murmurs sound about the room. Now, Bucky knows Spider-man won’t be happy about this. He knows the kid wants nothing to do with them. But he also saved them and they need to save face desperately. Bucky wants to curse out Valentina for putting them, and Spider-man in this position.

He needs to make a decision. Either way, someone is going to be angry. But Spider-man will always be the lesser of two evils. Bucky stands, capturing the attention of the entire crowd. His friends stare up at him wide-eyed, silently asking what the hell he’s doing. He knows Spider-man is watching, and hopes he knows there was no other choice.

“This team came together in an odd series of unprecedented coincidences. We’ve all done terrible things, things many of you would see us condemned for. We’ve all killed, whether we wanted to or not,” Bucky says, “Spider-man hasn’t. He fights with the resolve not to kill.”

The crowd is silent, enraptured by Bucky’s impromptu speech. He was never good at dealing with the press when he played Congressman, but the words come easily now.

“The kid saved us yesterday. End of story. And we don’t take things like that lightly. I know many of you are worried that we’ll harm Spider-man, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Spider-man is kind, clever and brave. He never backs down from a fight and I think we’d all be a bit better off if we were like him.” Bucky continues.

He looks around the room, at his silent, gobsmacked teammates, and takes a deep breath, “We’re incredibly lucky to have Spider-man on our team. He’ll be the best of us, I can promise you that.”

Bucky sits back down, making direct eye contact with Valentina, who flinches minutely at the white hot rage reflected in his eyes. Nonetheless, she looks annoyingly pleased, soothing the crowds applause and yelling. 

Eventually, they’re allowed to leave, and they exit into the wings of the stage. Immediately, Yelena whirls on him. 

“What the hell was that?” She asks. 

Bucky sighs, “Damage control.”

“Damage control?” She scoffs, “You agreed with Valentina!”

Bucky throws his hands in the air, “What else were we going to do? Say no? Tell the public, who adore Spider-man, that we won’t let him on the team?”

“We would have figured something out.” Yelena insists.

“Valentina was scrambling, she had no ground to walk on. Anything she said would’ve looked suspicious.” Bucky argues.

“Spider-man will hate us even more than he does now -” Yelena starts, ripping her hand out of John’s grip when he goes to get between them.

“Enough,” He says, “Bucky’s right. There was nothing else we could do. We can deal with Spider-man. He’s not the type to go rogue.” 

Alexei grins, “The Thunderbolts are growing ! The spider is great addition!”

“You didn’t have to wax poetic about him, I doubt it’ll get us in his good graces.” Ava mutters.

“He’s gonna be pissed .” John agrees. 

Bob wrings his hands together worriedly, “He’s never been hostile before.”

“No,” Yelena says, “he just doesn’t like us. He doesn’t trust us in the slightest and now we're uprooting his entire life. Anybody would be angry about that.”

They make their way to the car, avoiding cameras and dreading the confrontation to come. Bucky stands by his decision, even if it may not have been entirely for saving face. He still feels strange around Spider-man, like his brain is yelling that something is amiss, but he can’t figure out what. It may be better to keep the kid close so Bucky can figure it out.

When they arrive in the tower, the receptionist winces at the sight of them. Bucky hears John curse next to him. Spider-man is already here.

The elevator climbs too quickly for their liking, reaching the penthouse floor in a matter of seconds. When the doors open, Bucky walks through, looking around for red and blue. He finds it by one of the windows. Spider-man’s arms are crossed, his foot bouncing in agitation and anxiety.

He turns at the sound of their footsteps, the lenses of his eyes narrowing. 

“What the fuck?” Spider-man seethes. Bucky can’t remember ever hearing the boy sound like that, even when fighting Thanos. 

He puts up his arms placatingly, “It wasn’t our choice-”

Spider-man scoffs, “Oh, it wasn’t your choice? Oh, how relieving! That makes everything better, doesn't it?”

“We didn’t know Valentina would do that-” Yelena tries.

“So you decided to keep going with it?” Spider-man asks, “Lovely little speech you had, Bucky, I hope I live up to the Avenger title!” 

“Spider-man, if you’d just listen-”

“I explicitly said I wanted nothing to do with you. We worked together once , and now I’m supposed to do this full time? I have a life ! I have a home and responsibilities. I can’t just drop everything to be an Avenger.” He says.

“We know, we know,” Bucky says, “We were just as blindsided as you. We want to make this easier for you.”

“You can make it easier by leaving me the hell alone. I became an Avenger once and I lost everything and everyone I love. I won’t make that mistake again.” Spider-man says lowly.

That’s worrying, Bucky thinks. He knows Tony meant a lot to the kid, but it feels like more than that. A few glances at his friends tells him they’re thinking the same thing.

“You’re safe here,” Yelena says, “You can keep doing things your way, but you’re not in any danger around us.” 

Spider-man barks a laugh, “I’m not worried about you hurting me. I’m worried about getting too close-”

He stops dead, teeth clacking shut. He’s quiet in the same way he was on the roof, like he knows he’s nearly said too much. It’s tense for a moment, a silent staredown between Spider-man and them. 

“I know this isn’t ideal,” Bucky says quietly, “but we would genuinely be happy to have you on the team. I wasn’t lying when I was up there. I’m not sure why you don’t like us, but none of us will push if you don’t want it.”

After a few beats of those creepy white lenses boring into Bucky’s soul, Spider-man relaxes slightly. It’s a tiny movement, but the relief is palpable in the air. It’s ruined by Valentina’s loud arrival. Spider-man’s lenses turn into slits as she walks through the elevator, and the tension in the room skyrockets.

“The New Avengers!” She says cheerfully, eyeing Spider-man.

“You’re out of your mind, Val.” John grits out. 

Valentina waves him away, “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, this is good. It’s wonderful PR!” 

“You never told us about it. You never even asked Spider-man.” Bucky says.

Valentina rolls her eyes, “Who wouldn’t want to be an Avenger?”

They all point at Spider-man, who looks angry . If he was mad at them, he looks like he’s ready to tear Valentina apart. She stumbles back a bit at the boy’s demeanor, her smile dropping slightly. 

“Spider-man,” she says, “how lovely to see you! Congratulations!”

Spider-man remains deathly silent, his stance threatening and tense. He takes a few steps forward, startling the woman. He doesn’t say a word as he flicks his wrist, sending webbing to her mouth and feet. 

He walks up to her swiftly, bending down to get in her face. Valentina’s eyes are wide as she glances around for help, something she won’t get. 

“I am not a puppet,” Spider-man growls, “I won’t let you treat me like one.”

He straightens, looking down at her. If the mask were off, Bucky’s sure the force of his glare would send Valentina to her grave.

“You think you have power with me?” Spider-man says, laughing coldly, “New Yorkers love me. If you so much as breathe wrong around me, it’ll be your head they want on a stake.” 

He pulls back completely, taking a few steps away from Valentina, who’s breathing has picked up. Bucky isn’t entirely surprised by his reaction. He watched how vicious Spider-man could be with Thanos, how cutting his quips could be when he was truly pissed off. 

Spider-man looks at all of them, lenses widening a bit as they run over Bob, who stares back at the boy calculatingly. His eyes land on Bucky.

“You don’t question why or when I leave. I’m entitled to privacy if I’m being forced to stay here. I’ll do whatever training you have and I’ll join in fights. That’s it .” Spider-man says. 

And he storms out of the room.

pee wee soccer team:

Bucky: I’ve added Spider-man to the group chat.

John Walker: What if he spills all our secrets

Bob: this isn’t fight club

Ava: what secrets? there’s nothing secretive about this chat

Bucky: If you abuse the chat privileges, you get muted.

Yelena: he says that but he never follows through so

Alexei: The Thunderbolts need a new logo for Spider-man!!!!!!!

Ava: alexei should’ve been banned ages ago

Spidey: hey

Spidey: fuck you guys

John Walker: Alrighty

Chapter Text

Peter doesn’t let his guard down until he’s safely tucked into the side bathroom of the bedroom he’s taken up in the tower. He loathes to call it ‘his room’ because it would imply familiarity, which is the one thing he didn’t want. 

This absolutely cannot be happening. Peter vowed, days after Tony’s death, that he would never put himself in such a position to be hurt like that again. He followed every self-imposed rule, fortified the walls around his heart, and dodged every question or comment about being brought back to the New Avengers, but it still wasn’t enough. 

And he can’t get out of it. The people of New York love Spider-man and very hesitantly tolerate the New Avengers. He can’t back down from this agreement- even if it wasn’t his in the first place- because it would be incredibly suspicious. New Yorkers would assume it was a problem with the people on the team and lose all the tentative trust that the New Avengers has built. As much as he doesn’t want to be here, he also doesn’t want to see this team be dissolved so quickly. The world needs the Avengers, and Peter won’t be the reason they don’t have it. 

But that means he’s an Avenger again, which means living in the tower. And living in close quarters with these people means he’ll inevitably come to enjoy their company. And that would mean becoming attached to them. The only possible outcome of being attached to people is the heartbreaking agony of losing them. And it will happen. Peter’s five for five, he knows how this works. 

He doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until his brain starts to go fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. He rips the mask off his face, wincing at the bright overhead lights burning his eyes. His lungs stutter as he attempts to take in another breath, forcing harsh coughs out of his mouth. Peter hangs his head between his knees, chest heaving with panic.

It’s not even that he hates them. He really doesn’t. Peter’s self aware enough to know that his anger towards them is an extension of his fear of abandonment. He doesn’t need therapy to know that pushing them away before they can even get close is a trauma response. He should really work through it but, funnily enough, he doesn’t have the money to do that. 

Under all the fear and anger and lashing out is a distinct sense of longing. Peter won’t acknowledge it consciously, but it’s there. The New Avengers aren’t the friendliest group of people, but there’s a loose camaraderie between them that echoes the original Avengers. Peter’s pretty attuned to body language, and even when they’re arguing with each other, there’s no real animosity. There’s confident smirks, unimpressed eyebrows, and cutting words, but nothing truthfully threatening. 

And really, for a bunch of lethal recluses, they hang off one another like koalas. 

Peter’s not really angry. He’s not as furious as he acted or as aloof towards the team as he’s been in the past. He likes Bucky, the man had been nothing but kind when Peter came to the tower in the past. Being caught with his guard down by him had been as alarming as it was embarrassing. He’s terrified . He feels like a trapped animal waiting for the hunter to come back and finish the job. He wants to bare his teeth and hiss and claw and hide away so nobody ever hurts him again. 

It’s a war going on in his mind. The desire for love and closeness clashing with the fear of being abandoned and left alone again. He’s teetering on the edge of one of his beloved roofs, deciding whether the abyss below is worth the jump. 

Peter gasps, leaning his head on the back of the bathroom wall as his heart returns to its normal pace. He’s not scared of them, not at all. He’s scared of liking them too much. He’s scared that he’ll come to love them like he loved Tony and May, only to be left entirely alone.

Shakily, he stands, peeling off the spider suit. He’s not entirely sure what the security is these days, but there’s no Jarvis or Friday, so he thinks he’s in the clear. Every step into his bedroom is a monumental effort, the physical and mental strain of the past few weeks taking their toll. 

Peter flops face first onto the bed, unable to summon the energy to pull the covers over his body. He’s so exhausted he could sleep for days, but he’s not dumb enough to think that nightmares won’t wake him in the next hour or so. 

Even with that thought, all the anxiety and indecision warring his mind isn’t enough to overcome his exhaustion, and he quickly tumbles into slumber.

—--

Things around the tower have been… tense since Spider-man began living there. Bucky can tell that the whole team is on guard, preparing to see the disgruntled vigilante and his scathing looks (that are somehow communicated through his white lenses).

The kid’s little stunt with Valentina had stunned them all. They’d never seen- or expected-  that amount of animosity from New York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-man™. He hadn’t shown that level of aggression to the rest of them, even in training, so Bucky figures he understands who the real villain is. 

True to their word, they don’t comment on Spider-man’s coming and goings, only checking to see what time he’ll return. The boy’s schedule is pretty consistent. Bucky assumes he’s going to his classes during the day and patrolling at night. 

Spider-man is relatively silent while in the tower, grunting or giving one word answers when asked questions. He sticks around for training and seems to genuinely enjoy hand to hand combat with the team, but besides the occasional dinner, the boy spends most of his time in his room or on the roof overlooking Manhattan.

Privately, Bucky thinks Spider-man isn’t really angry with them. He shrugs them off and shoots scathing retorts, but there’s an undercurrent of hesitation in everything he does. He freezes in place for a moment when he walks into a room and finds one of them already occupying it. He coughs when someone makes a joke to cover up his laughter. He always, always lets someone know he’s leaving, even if he told them all not to question him. 

And Bucky hates to admit it, but adding Spider-man to the team has improved public ratings by a mile. The people love to see him included in press conferences and battles. He maneuvers through questions with as much ease as he does murderous robots. Bucky knows The Daily Bugle likes to paint Spider-man in a bad light, but he still wonders where the kid learned to speak so confidently under pressure.

Valentina wields his popularity like a whip, forcing Spider-man into the spotlight when he so obviously hates it. 

The kid’s been getting reckless again, coming home with more scrapes and bruises than ever before. Each of them have patched Spider-man up at least once and know full well how cagey he gets when he’s confronted about it. 

Bucky’s honestly just worried. Spider-man is young, though not inexperienced, and he shouldn’t have to put up with their bandwagon of trauma or Valentina’s insane ideas. It’s times like this that he wishes Steve were here. The man always knew how to handle these kinds of things. 

It’s a quiet night in the tower, no world ending threats or Valentina shoving them at cameras. Spider-man even came down from his room, tucking himself into the corner of the couch with his phone. He’s been more amicable with them as of late, which was a nice change of pace. The team agreed to tread carefully, offering companionship but not forcing it on him. It seems to have worked at least a little bit. 

“Dinner.” Bucky calls. 

The team sits down around the table, dishing out portions of chicken and pasta. On a team of super soldiers and one genetically enhanced spider-kid, they eat a lot . The meal is spent mostly in comfortable silence aside from the occasional side conversation.

Bucky thinks it’s the best part of working with a bunch of introverts. They don’t need to fill every silence. 

Which is why he nearly slams his head on the table when Walker speaks up.

“So, Spider-man,” he says casually, “I heard you got in the middle of a bank robbery last night.”

Spider-man looks up from his plate, his white lenses widening at being called out. He looks around the table for a moment before nodding. 

“Yeah, and he came home with a nasty gash on his side.” Ava piped up, sending Spider-man a stern look.

“It was just a scrape.” Spider-man mumbles, shifting his fork around in the pasta.

Ava rolls her eyes, “You had a hole in your stomach. You passed out when I put antiseptic on it.”

“Only for a couple seconds!” Spider-man defends, face reddening, “I could’ve done it myself.”

“You do everything yourself, don’t you?” Yelena asks dryly.

The air in the room shifts, tension replacing the domestic calm that once rested there. Bucky straightens a little, preparing for an argument.

Spider-man narrows his eyes at her, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yelena shrugs, popping a piece of chicken in her mouth, “You take care of Queens every night, you patch yourself up, you don’t ask for help, the list goes on.”

Spider-man scoffs, “So what? I’m independent.”

“You obviously shouldn’t be if you’re getting hurt every night.” Yelena argues. 

Spider-man's fingers tighten around the fork he’s holding, his exposed jaw clenching in anger. Bucky shifts a little closer, eyeing the boy warily.

“Yelena, that’s enough-” Alexei says.

“No, no, I wanna hear what she has to say,” Spider-man spits, “What do you really think, huh?”

Yelena sets her jaw, her eyes hard. Bucky can still see the clear concern in them. He tries to shake his head at her, to tell her that pushing the kid like this won’t get them anywhere, but she doesn’t seem to notice. 

“I think you want to hurt. I think you believe you deserve the pain. I think you go out every night inviting a fight, and you purposefully let them hit you.” Yelena says.

The room goes quiet, eyes darting between her and Spider-man. Bucky agrees with her, but Spider-man will not react well to being called out, he never has. Bob has an odd look on his face, his eyebrows furrowed as he analyzes Spider-man.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spider-man says quietly.

Yelena shakes her head, “You feel better when you hurt, right? Makes the guilt go away?”

“Shut up-” Spider-man says.

“We sparred several weeks ago, I know how good you are at dodging.” Yelena says heatedly.

“Yelena, enough-” Bucky tries.

“You think doing that will help ? What will the people of New York do when Spider-man is found dead in a ditch after allowing a man to beat him bloody?” Yelena asks.

Spider-man seethes, standing up from the table, “ That won’t happen! ”

“Won’t it?” Yelena asks, standing up as well, “You may be strong, Spider, but you are not invincible. You aren’t helping anyone if you are hurt.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” Spider-man says, his voice deathly cold. He looks around the table, dropping the fork he was holding. 

“Being told by a group of killers that I’m the one making things worse. I’m out there saving people every night.” Spider-man says. 

A few of them recoil at his tone, eyes darkening. Bucky can’t feel insulted over the all encompassing worry about this kid. 

“Were you helping people when you killed innocents? Were you saving lives by murdering others?” He asks. 

Yelena has gone silent, her eyes clouded with pain and anger. The rest of the team looks similar, fists balled and white with tension. Bucky sees the Spider-man for what he is, a terrified kid lashing out. 

“It’s no wonder nobody trusts the Avengers. You’ll never be like the originals, no matter how hard you try.” Spider-man says.

Bucky sucks in a breath, wincing at the animosity in the boy’s tone. Spider-man turns on his heel, exiting the common room. 

Shit. 

—--

Peter finds the first empty hallway he can and immediately slides down to the floor, sitting against the wall. He buries his face in his knees, groaning. How could he lose his cool like that? They were just trying to make conversation. 

And there was no reason he needed to insult them like that. They’re all going to hate him. They’re all going to leave . It’s then that Peter realizes he’s already in too deep. He already cares about them too much, he fears them leaving him behind. 

Even after all of his attempts to keep them away, the Avengers remained incredibly persistent in reaching out to him. Peter had assumed that at the first sign of rejection, they wouldn’t want to try again, but over the course of the past few weeks, each Avenger had somehow gotten through to him. 

It started with John Walker, oddly enough. Peter had only been in the tower a couple weeks and he was still brooding about it wherever he could, which just so happened to be the kitchen. John’s eyes widened at the sight of him, but he didn’t stop walking. 

Peter didn’t say a thing to him, just narrowed his eyes and stuck his head into his arms. Seemingly unperturbed, he could hear the sound of pots and pans banging as time passed. The smell of something sweet filled the air the longer he laid there. Eventually, things went silent, until there was a loud thunk a few inches from his head.

He jolted, head springing up from its place on the counter. When he looked around, John was nowhere to be found. Ahead of him, though, was a vanilla cake with white frosting. On it, in tiny red icing read: We’re sorry Valentina forced you on the team please don’t kill us I hope you like this cake. 

Peter stared at the cake for several moments, dumbfounded by what just occurred. He didn’t think he’d even been laying there long enough for a cake to be made, but the evidence was right in front of him. He grabbed a fork- which was conveniently placed right next to the cake- and took a bite. 

It was honestly the best bite of cake he’d ever had. And the message made him snort. But bribery would not be enough to get Peter to let it guard down, even if he did hide the cake away in his own personal fridge. 

The next person to come to him was Yelena. She was a woman of few words, her eyes following him whenever he walked into the room. She seemed calculating, curious even. She’d caught him alone outside of the training room one night. 

Peter had jumped nearly ten feet in the air when he rounded the corner and saw her. Her eyes were filled with mirth, so similar to Natasha it nearly gave him whiplash. 

“Training?” Yelena had asked.

Peter hummed, fiddling with the cloth of his T-shirt. It was an odd combination, street clothes and his Spider-man mask, but there were no other options. Yelena’s eyes were piercing, as if looking directly into his mind. Despite being taller than her, he felt like the size of an ant in her presence. 

She looked him up and down, “Did you… know my sister?” She asked.

Peter had startled, head snapping to look up at her. He knew that Natasha was a touchy subject with Yelena, if the right hook John got to the cheek days before said anything about it.

“I- sort of,” Peter stuttered, “I fought with her, but I only spoke to her a handful of times.”

As Spider-man and as Peter. He was just as intimidated by her in the mask than without it, much to Natasha’s amusement. She’d caught him and Tony in the lab at odd hours multiple times, sliding energy drinks and coffee, respectively, their way. 

Peter didn’t know her well, but he still misses her. 

“Were you scared of her?” Yelena asked.

Peter had huffed a little, “Not scared. Intimidated. She could’ve killed me in less than a second if she wanted to.”

Yelena smirked, “And you think I can’t?”

Peter had waved his hands frantically, dropping his act of nonchalance quickly, “No, no! You could totally kill me that quick. I’m as intimidated by you as I was Ms. Romanoff.” 

Yelena’s lips had tilted upwards slightly as Peter rambled, her head cocked to the side. She looked him up and down once more before nodding slightly.

“Come. I’ll teach you how to dodge properly.” Yelena said, turning and walking through the doors without a word.

And really, Peter couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. One, because Peter wasn’t entirely sure Yelena wouldn’t kill him if he didn’t, and two, because there is not a world out there where Peter would turn down a fighting lesson from a Black Widow. 

After Yelena was Ava, who had found Peter stretching on one of the mats in the training room. She glanced down at him, looking quickly around the room before sitting down in front of him. 

“You’re flexible.” She commented.

Peter had nodded, “Comes with the whole spider thing.”

Ava tucked one leg in, reaching for the other that was outstretched. Almost every night that Peter happened to be in the common room, he found Ava doing some kind of stretching.

“You do this a lot.” He said to her.

She hummed, switching legs. He saw her wince in pain slightly. She looked up at him, “You know how I got my powers.”

Peter had nodded. Ava sighed, “It… caused me a lot of pain, for a long time. It still does.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter said sincerely, watching Ava wave him away.

“I stretch because it loosens my muscles. They don’t twitch and contract as much when they’re relaxed. If I go days without stretching, I’d be in constant pain.” 

Peter nodded because that’s all he could do. He couldn’t really relate to her, the spider bite had taken away all of his ailments. No more shitty eyesight, no more asthma. 

“You scare me a little.” Peter had said quietly, hoping the humor in his voice reached her.

She snorted a little, the sides of her lips lifting slightly. “Good,” she had said, “You should be.”

Peter wasn’t really expecting anymore heart to hearts with anyone else, if the past few interactions could’ve been called heart to hearts. Alexei was a bit of a loose cannon and had no reservations whatsoever talking to Peter. He liked to ask questions about his genetics and how he came to be a vigilante, which Peter assumed was his attempts to bond with him.

The man was weird, but so were the rest of them.

He really didn’t expect to be found on the deck on the 91st floor. It was a few weeks after his conversation with Ava and he really wanted to be alone. He was too exhausted to go anywhere, but he was tired of being locked inside his room.

Peter had been staring at the sunset the way he and Tony used to. Whenever things got too stressful or they’d been cooped up in the lab too long, the pair would go onto the deck and watch the city below. It was grounding, the breeze hit his exposed arms and legs. Tony’s death day was coming up soon, and Peter could feel the ever present grief growing as the date loomed closer. He knows Yelena is tense as well, Natasha’s death weighing heavily on her conscience.

Similarly to their first meeting on that roof, Peter felt Bucky’s presence behind him before the man had made a noise.

Bucky came up behind him without hesitation, swinging his legs over the ledge and sitting down next to him, a mirror of how they met (at least, in Bucky’s memories). They sat in silence for a while, Peter’s brain filled with memories of him and Tony. Through his peripherals, he watched Bucky close his eyes, looking completely at peace. It stirred such an intense emotion inside him, he barely thought before he spoke.

“Aren’t you ever mad?” Peter had asked.

Bucky’s eyes opened, turning to look at him. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. “Mad at what?” He asked.

Peter hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to bring up bad memories, but he also wanted to know. 

“Steve. Aren’t you ever mad at him?” Peter clarified.

If Bucky was affected by Steve’s name, he didn’t show it. His face went oddly blank, his eyes a kaleidoscope of emotions. 

“Depends how you mean,” Bucky said, “I got mad at him all the time, the punk.”

Peter shook his head, “I mean, like, do you ever- how are you not- don’t you wish-” He cut himself off.

Bucky looked at him concernedly, head tilting in confusion. Peter sighed heavily, hanging his head, staring down at the street below him.

“Don’t you ever,” Peter said quietly, half hoping the rush of cars was too loud for Bucky to hear, “Don’t you get mad that he left ?” 

He doesn’t watch Bucky for a reaction, but the man shifts slightly, hesitating to respond. After a few beats of silence, he let out a harsh breath.

“Is this about Tony?” Bucky asked.

Peter brought his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them. He was more obvious than he thought. Bucky sighed again, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. 

“I was mad at Steve for a while.” Bucky admitted.

Peter turned to look at him. Bucky kept his eyes on the skyline, licking his lips in thought. Peter mimicked the position, looking out at the orange sun in front of them.

“You’re not anymore?” Peter asked.

Bucky shrugged, “Once Steve sets his mind on something, there’s nothing you can do to change it.”

“But you were, at one point.” Peter said.

Bucky sighed, nodding, “Yeah, at one point. I… a part of me expected that if we were gonna be out of time, we were gonna do it together, but…” 

“I don’t get it.” Peter said, shaking his head.

Bucky had turned to him, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t get how he could leave you. He spent years searching for you, fighting for you, just to turn around and abandon you in the end.” Peter said angrily. 

Bucky didn’t respond to him, not at first. Peter understood that he was projecting, and Bucky obviously knew it as well.

“You think Stark abandoned you.” He said. It’s not a question.

“Not- not even me, really,” Peter said, “I mean- he had Pepper and Morgan and Rhodey and- and Happy. I- I wasn’t even-”

“You two were close. He died right after he brought you back. That’s a lot.” Bucky said.

Peter buried his face in his hands, shoulders dropping. He felt tears sting in his eyes, thankful for the mask holding them back. 

“I just- I-” Peter exhaled sharply, “At the funeral, Pepper pulled me aside.”

Peter watched Bucky’s face scrunch in confusion. Probably wondering where Peter was at the funeral if not in red and blue. 

“She told me that for five years, Mr. Stark never considered trying to bring us back. And even after Scott came to him, he didn’t want to do it.” Peter said.

Bucky nodded. Peter closed his eyes and tried to will down the lump in his throat. “She said that he found a picture of me and him together at my internship. Said that he started the first attempt that same day.”

“Oh…” Bucky’s voice had trailed off in realization.

“Pepper said I’m the reason Mr. Stark brought everyone back.” Peter said. 

Bucky nodded understandingly, “And he did all that work, all that time and energy spent trying to bring you back, just to leave in the end.”

Peter knocked his forehead on his knees, “Is that selfish of me?”

Bucky’s hand squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, “You can’t control how you feel, Spider-man. I used to feel angry that Steve left, you’re right. Is it so selfish of me to wish that he had stayed?”

Peter shook his head, “No-no, he was your best friend, and you thought- oh.”

Bucky smiled wryly, patting him on the back, “It’s not wrong for you to feel abandoned. Just know that there are people here who want to help you.” 

Peter nodded, swallowing a few times to lessen the lump in his throat. Bucky had kept a hand on his back, his thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly. Quickly, it had become too much for him, too similar to Tony, and he couldn’t keep the tears down.

Peter had scampered away before he really got emotional. A heart to heart with Bucky was enough, he didn’t need to cry in front of the guy.

Which brings him here. Sitting in a dark hallway, wallowing in self pity. As hard as he’s tried, he’s begun to like these people, to think of them as friends. And he’s gone and messed it up completely. 

Peter’s head snaps up to the sound of soft footsteps. Bob rounds the corner, head on a swivel. He stops in his tracks at the sight of Peter sitting on the floor. Cautiously, Bob inches closer.

“Mind if I sit?” He asks.

Peter gestures towards the ground as an invitation, avoiding eye contact as Bob places himself directly in front of him. Bob doesn’t say anything immediately, just allows Peter to feel comfortable with another person present.

“That was a lot, huh?” Bob asks with a small chuckle.

Peter nods slightly, “I- I didn’t mean what I said.”

Bob waves him off, a small smile on his face. Peter doesn’t know much about him. The guy’s pretty quiet, he likes to read, and he’s got enough mental health issues to last several lifetimes. 

“We know,” Bob says, “Yelena’s gonna come and apologize once you’ve cooled down. She was kind of out of line.”

Peter shrugs, “Maybe, but she’s not entirely wrong.”

Bob looks at him, eyes sad and understanding, “About the self-harm?”

Peter sputters, “It’s not self-harm!”

Bob tilts his head, unimpressed. “Look who you’re talking to. I can see destructive tendencies a mile away, and you’ve got it in spades.”

Peter sighs, curling up against the wall. He wishes he could hide away forever and grieve by himself peacefully. It’s only then that he remembers what Bob did while Peter was in the medical bay. 

“Can you see what happens when you use your powers?” Peter asks.

Bob nods, “And feel a little bit of what you feel.”

“So…” Peter trails off.

“I saw what happened. With your friends.” Bob clarifies.

Peter leans his head back against the wall, sighing heavily. It wasn’t nice to remember that day. He lost everything. 

“You’ve… suffered much.” Bob says. 

Peter scoffs, “I have it better than a lot of people.”

Bob rolls his eyes, “You’ve still suffered. You’ve experienced things no one else should have to go through.”

“Haven’t we all?” Peter asks tiredly. 

Bob shifts, sitting criss-cross applesauce. He looks at Peter like he understands what he’s going through, and he probably does.

“My family was abusive,” Bob says lightly, “I was homeless and a drug addict, and I made some really bad decisions.” 

Peter stares down at the floor. All the Avengers have tragic backstories. Is that a requirement to be a hero or something?

“I was like you. I never asked for help, I felt guilty about everything and anything. I thought I deserved all the pain coming my way. Sometimes I still do.” Bob admits. 

Peter swallows heavily, heart clenching. “How do you get it to stop?” He asks thickly. 

Bob leans closer, eyes soft, “We’re not defined by our mistakes, Spider-man. It’s okay to hurt, to feel guilty, to hide away. But eventually, you have to crawl out of that hole. It’s hard and painful, but it’s the only way.”

“How do you do it?” Peter asks.

Bob smiles, “I let other people help me. I used to think everyone was better without me, but I’ve learned that that’s not true.” 

Peter shakes his head, “How can I trust that it’ll end up okay?”

Bob leans back, an easy smile on his face, “That’s just it, isn’t it? You have to jump and know that there will be people below you to catch you.”

Peter looks up at him, tears soaking into his mask. His heart longs and yearns and pulls, begging him to accept the offer that’s right in front of him. His mind screams at him to stop, to pull away, to close himself off. 

“Let us be those people, Spider-man.” Bob says softly. 

It’s a war happening right inside his body, but he knows one side is winning when he feels his chest warm at Bob’s words.

Chapter Text

Peter settled into somewhat of a routine. He apologized for his outburst at dinner, to which the rest of the team- who were very uncomfortable at the prospect of an emotionally mature conversation- waved him off. They also threw a fair amount of insults at one another, it was only natural for him to have snapped eventually. 

It was peaceful, almost. Peter went to class, he patrolled, he trained, and he reluctantly started spending more time with the Avengers. Most days, he could be found sitting on the couch adjacent to Bob, who didn’t mind silence. He’d scroll on his phone or take apart the kitchen toaster while Bob stuck his nose in a book. 

It’s like parallel play for emotionally stunted, traumatized adults.

He’d also grown annoyingly attached to Ava, who didn’t mind him hanging around while she trained by herself in the gym. She’d roll his eyes when he swung around on the ceiling, but Peter could see the tiny smile on her face as he- literally- bounced off the walls. 

After the cake incident, John took the kitchen by storm, turning it into his own personal bakery. It was ironic, because the man can’t cook for shit. He’d burn pasta, but give him a few hours and there’d be several different flavored muffins sitting in the fridge. They didn’t speak often, but occasionally, Peter would find a tupperware container of toffee waiting for him in a small corner of the fridge. 

Alexei was as loud as usual, praising Peter for his work when it came on the TV. He was happy his mask covered the way his cheeks turned cherry red at the barrage of compliments. It would ruin his broody reputation, otherwise. 

His relationship with Bucky was strained, and it was mostly due to him. Every time Bucky didn’t call him by his real name, it felt like a stab to the chest. They weren’t close before everything, but Bucky’s the last connection he has to his old life. It hurts to watch Bucky not recognize him, and as hard as Peter tries, it doesn’t get any easier to interact with him. 

Truthfully, he’s really intimidated by Yelena. She’s incredibly similar to Natasha, but she stares at him like she knows everything. Like she knows his every insecurity, every secret, every mistake. It’s incredibly unsettling, even if she acts completely normal around him.

All to say, he’d betrayed his own rules and come to care- at least a little bit- for all of them. It’s terrifying. Every inch of his being screams at him to pull back, to unstick, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s been all alone since the multiverse incident, it’s nice to just have some companionship.

Except for today.

Today, he doesn’t want to be near anyone. It’s officially been four years since Tony died. Four years of pain and suffering and completely avoidable incidents if Peter had his mentor to help him. The grief is as poignant as it always has been. It ebbs and flows, but today it pierces his chest and threatens to swallow him whole.  

He wakes up on his cushy bed, body heavy but chest hollow. He stares up at the white ceiling and remembers a time when waking up in the tower was something to look forward to. He remembers throwing himself out of bed with eager abandon, not even changing out of his pajamas before sprinting to the common room where Tony would be waiting, an amused smirk on his face and a sassy comment on his tongue. 

He remembers Tony throwing an arm around his shoulder as they ventured down to the lab, where they’d spend hours giggling and tinkering and blowing things up. 

They only renovated the top few floors and the foyer. The R&D departments and Tony’s personal lab shouldn’t have been touched. 

Peter sighs, peeling himself out of bed. He picks up his mask from the floor and tugs it on his face, missing when he could just leave his room unmasked. Missing when he could go to the common room kitchen and none of the Avengers would even blink at the teenager in their presence. 

He trudges out of his bedroom, walking down the hall and completely skipping the kitchen. There’s pots banging, so somebody- probably John, considering how early he gets up- is already occupying it. He would rather eat glass than talk to someone today, so he heads for the elevator. 

His first thought is the roof. It’s a comfort space for him and nobody would find him up there. His eyes find the 87th floor, where Tony’s lab is located. His heart tightens at the idea, but his body moves for him. His finger presses the button before he can even think twice about it. 

Peter is hit with a wave of horrible nostalgia when the elevator doors open. There’s a first entrance and hallway that acts as a decontamination room, which Peter only used once, before the door to the actual lab itself.

He inches through the hallway, noting the various dents and burn marks from Tony’s experiments gone wrong. There’s a large circle shaped indent where Peter banged his head, prompting Tony to laugh harder than he’d ever heard it. 

His stomach turns as he approaches the door, taking a few seconds to gather his courage. Would Tony want him in there? Peter pretty much had free reign of the place, but Tony’s not here to watch over him anymore. 

Peter presses his hand on the scanner, half expecting it not to work. To his surprise, the door slides open. They must’ve kept the security codes during renovation. Half of him wants to turn around now, spare him this torture. But he knows this is something he needs to do, something he finally has access to do. 

He takes a deep breath, stepping through the doorway. The lab is exactly like he remembers, even four- or, well nine- years removed from it. The silence is loud, bouncing off the cavernous walls of the lab. Peter walks closer to where he used to work, dragging his fingertips across the desk. When he pulls away, there’s dust covering his fingers. 

The desk is cleared of his work, which isn’t surprising. There’s no evidence that Peter Parker ever worked side by side with Tony. Maybe it was too painful for Mr. Stark to keep it out. It’s a little jarring, the stillness of the room. In his memories, the lab was always loud, whether from his and Tony’s bantering or the banging and whirring of various chemical experiments and tools. 

There’s no DUM-E to be found. Peter doesn’t want to know what happened to his friend. Would he have forgotten Peter too? 

Reluctantly, he walks over to Tony’s workstation. There’s various writing utensils and tools laying around, shoved hastily out of the way. He knows Tony didn’t do much work at the tower after he moved out of the city, but he doesn’t know the Starks well enough as Spider-man to justify going to their country home. 

Against his better judgement, Peter begins to rifle through some of the desk drawers, not entirely sure what he’s looking for. There’s schematics, various scratched out notes, and the occasional stale granola bar. He reaches the bottom drawer, pulling it open and freezing immediately. 

His own handwriting stares back at him, his signature at the bottom of one of the papers. Peter’s hands shake as they lift up the stack of papers, laying them on the desk. He files through them. Some of them are his own chemical experiments, a few school exams, some schematics. Tony’s red pen marks many of them, small comments in the corners that weren’t there before. 

One piece of looseleaf falls out amidst it all, floating to the floor. Peter picks it up, heart leaping to his throat when he recognizes Tony’s chicken scratch.

Underoos,

I don’t know if you’ll ever see this letter, hopefully you’ll never have to. If you have, something has happened to me and I can’t tell you in person.

There’s a harddrive in the same desk drawer this letter is in, it’ll tell you everything you need to know. I’m writing this at the tower because I needed a few things, but I’m returning back to the country house soon- I’ll show you it when you come back, there’s a room waiting for you. 

And I will get you back, by the way. I’m a genius, of course I will. But, just in case I’m not here, listen to the harddrive. 

I miss you more than anything.

T.S.

Shakily, Peter puts down the letter, bending over to dig through the drawer once more. He comes out with the harddrive, which he stares at for a few moments. This is a bad idea, Peter thinks. But Tony wanted him to see this, and made something specifically for him. 

He boots up Tony’s computer, inputting the only password he remembers being given. Unsurprisingly, ‘honeybear’ still works. 

Swallowing roughly, Peter plugs the harddrive into the computer, waiting with bated breath for what will appear. A few seconds later, a black screen pops up with a play button in the middle. Peter pulls up a chair from behind him, sitting on it heavily.

He presses play before he can think too much about it. His breath stops at the sight of Tony- graying, tired, but a determined glint in his eye- sitting down in the very chair he just plopped himself in. 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says fondly.

Immediately, tears fill his eyes. He looks behind him, despite knowing nobody will come down here to look for him, and rips the mask off his face. 

“If you’re watching this, you got my note in the drawer, which means I’m not here to tell you all this directly. Or, maybe, we’re watching this together, laughing about how cynical I am.” Tony laughs. 

Peter presses a hand to his mouth, desperately trying to stop a sob from escaping. Tony hasn’t even said anything and he’s already been reduced to tears. He’s not with Tony. He’ll never be with Tony again. 

“But, just in case, I’m making this video, because there’s some things you need to know.” Tony says, voice sobering. 

Tony leans forward, elbows resting on the desk in front of him, staring into the camera. “It’s been nearly five years since everything went to shit, and now it seems there could be a way to reverse the damage,” Tony takes a long breath, fingers rubbing at the stubble on his chin, “and, to tell you the truth, Pete, I didn’t want to take the risk at first.”

“I was afraid. Of losing everything I built. With Pepper. With Morgan, who you’re gonna love, I know it. She loves tinkering with things just like you.” Tony laughs, shaking his head, “But then I found that picture of us, and I saw the smile on your face, and I knew.” 

“I knew there was nothing that would stop me from getting you back. These past few years have… humbled me, to say the least. Never would’ve thought I’d be a family man, but here I am.” Tony says.

He looks up into the camera, eyes tired and sad. His eyes have a slight sheen to them when he speaks again,  “But it’s not family without you, bug.”

“I thought I’d felt grief when I lost my mom. Thought I’d never feel anything worse than that. But losing you hurts like nothing else. Like losing a child. I keep your things in the drawer because I can’t look at them without wanting to cry.” Tony says quietly.

He leans back, sighing, “Your room at the country home is filled with your lego sets and trinkets. There’s Star Wars posters on the walls. But it’s nothing without you there, just an empty room.”

“I’m getting you back, Pete. It’s not looking great right now, but I am a master of defying odds. I’m bringing you home so you can go Spider-manning, graduate high school, go to MIT, and come home to blow things up with me.” Tony says. 

He smiles into the camera, “If I’m not there to tell you this directly, then know this: I love you very much, Underoos. I never got the opportunity to tell you when you were here, but I do. Missing you feels like losing a limb.” 

Tony’s eyes flash with resolution, a small smirk on his face, “I’m not a genius for nothing. I’ll see you again soon, Pete, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.”

And the screen goes black. 

Peter hunches over on the chair, loud sobs escaping his mouth. Tears stream down his cheeks in waves, dripping onto the floor. He trembles and breaks apart in the middle of the silent lab, waiting for Tony to walk in and wipe his tears away. 

“But he’s dead.” Peter whispers to himself, throat tight. Tony’s dead, and he’ll never come back. Tony loved him. Tony missed him so much, he invented time travel for him. Tony promised him a room in his country home.

Is it still there? Does Pepper walk past and wonder why this room is set up for a teenage boy? Does Morgan walk in and look around, searching for an older brother she’ll never have?

They switched places. Tony spent years grieving for him, and now Peter must do the same, but for the rest of his life. There is no bringing him back, no time travel, no alien intervention. Peter swipes his hand across his nose, grimacing at the mucus covering his sleeve. 

He rips the harddrive out of the computer, stuffing it into his pocket. He feels like he might suffocate if he stays in this lab any longer, so he tugs the mask back on and hurries to the elevator. 

Tears soak into the mask, the lump in his throat growing larger and larger. It’s all consuming, a growing mass that threatens to choke him. He’s so caught up in his misery, he doesn’t see Yelena until he’s crashing into her. 

They fall into a tangle of limbs on the floor. Yelena groans, one hand cradling her head where she banged it. Peter himself rubs his knee where it hit the floor, turning to the woman.

“Sorry- sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Peter apologizes.

Yelena hums, “I can see that. Don’t you have a sixth sense for this stuff?”

“Only for danger.” Peter says.

Yelena stops, looking at him strangely. She looks him up and down, and while Peter knows he doesn’t look great under the mask, she certainly can’t see that. He’s wearing jeans and a band t-shirt, nothing out of the ordinary.

Still, Yelena narrows her eyes in thought, though they soften once she’s come to a conclusion. 

“Are you… okay?” Yelena asks hesitantly.

Peter sniffs, trying to hide the thickness of his voice, “Fine, I’m fine, all good!”

Yelena only raises an unimpressed eyebrow, taking Peter by the elbow and dragging him into a secluded hallway. She sits on the floor, gesturing next to her. Confused, Peter follows so they’re sitting side by side. 

For a few minutes, neither of them speak. Yelena seems content to let Peter stew in his thoughts. If Peter looks close, and he tries not to make it obvious, her eyes are a little red, her cheeks slightly blotchy. 

“My sister’s death anniversary was a few months ago,” Yelena says out of the blue, “But for some reason, it hurts a little more today.” 

Peter nods slowly, “I… guess that makes sense. Her sacrifice meant everything for the Avengers during the final battle.” 

Yelena turns, tilting her head as she considers him. She looks at him for a few moments before sighing, shaking her head, “Today is hard for us all. Bucky hasn’t left his room. You’ve been missing all day.”

Peter shrugs, “Just… thinking.”

“In Tony’s old lab?” Yelena asks.

Peter snaps to her, eyes wide. She cuts him off before he can ask the question, “I didn’t see your identity. I heard the elevator call the number before you went down.”

Peter breathes a sigh of relief. Yelena chuckles, stretching her legs out in front of her. 

“You miss him.” Yelena says. 

Peter looks at her, and realizes that she knows. She lost a sister in the battle against Thanos, just how Peter lost his father figure. She knows the grief and the guilt. 

“Yes,” Peter says quietly, “I do.”

“You feel like you should’ve- could’ve done more to keep him alive.” Yelena says.

“I do.” Peter responds. 

“You blame yourself.” Yelena states.

“I do.”

“You wanted revenge.”

“I did.”

Yelena stares at him longer, her blue eyes boring into his soul. He’s giving this information because she already knows. She knows because she’s felt the same way. She turns her head to face the wall in front of them, leaning her head back.

“I tried to kill Clint Barton when I sought revenge.” Yelena says, her voice echoing in the hallway.

Peter’s glad he’s wearing a mask because he has a terrible poker face. His eyebrows shoot up in shock and he just barely manages to keep his head facing forward. She doesn’t elaborate and Peter doesn’t expect her to. He only gives what he’s received.

“I tried to hurt many people when I wanted revenge, even if I didn’t realize it.” Peter admits.

With Mr. Mysterio, Peter was trying to survive. At the same time, his hits were harder, his maneuvers more deadly. There was a small voice in the back of his mind screaming for retribution for the staining of Tony’s name.

With Green Goblin, he knew what he was doing. The lingering grief of Tony and the fresh, raw pain of Aunt May fueled him. He punched with reckless abandon, and probably would’ve killed the man if not for his spidery counterpart. 

“What made you stop?” Peter asks.

Yelena sighs, looking tired and worn, “Clint. He knew Natasha. He loved Natasha. It took me too long to realize it.” 

She turns to him, “You?”

Peter shrugs, “Extenuating circumstances, mostly. I couldn’t stop on my own account.”

“And you have never killed?” Yelena asks.

“No, thankfully,” Peter says, “I realized, after, how close I had come. Scared me a little.”

When he had come to his senses, hours, days after, he nearly drove himself into a panic attack. He’d nearly murdered someone. And, though it didn’t matter anymore, what would his friends have thought? What would May and Tony have thought? 

“You are… alone in that stance, I believe.” Yelena comments.

Peter chuckles sardonically, “Not the only way I’m alone, trust me.”

Yelena raises an eyebrow at him, her lips pursing, “And what do you mean by that, Spider-man?” 

Too late, Peter realizes the implications of what he said. Damn his lack of a filter. 

“I mean- I just, y’know, I’ve… lost people.” Peter stutters out awkwardly. 

If anything, Yelena seems more suspicious, and if Peter knows one thing about Black Widow’s, it’s that they can sniff out information before he can even blink. As quick as a bullet, Peter stands, swaying a little on shaky feet,

“Um, well- it was nice talking to you! I’m just gonna- I’m gonna go patrol. See you later!” Peter squeaks, darting away before Yelena has a chance to respond.

He only lets his guard down once he reaches his room, covering his masked face in embarrassment. He pulls on the rest of his suit, trying to wave away thoughts of Tony and his conversation with Yelena. 

Peter stopped a few robberies, handed some crooks over to the police, and was fully prepared to head home for the night when a loud scream pierced the air. Smoke began to rise from just a few blocks away and Peter swung towards it.

He dropped down on the gravel, where a woman stands, covered in soot as tear tracks make their way down her face. She turns to him, her fear melting into relief at the sight. She latches onto him, “Spider-man, thank God! My sister is still in there! She was right behind me, I swear, but when I got out here, she- she was just gone! And the firefighters are still ten minutes out-”

“Okay, okay, it’s gonna be alright. What’s your sisters name and where did you last leave her?” Peter asks.

The woman sniffs, “Bella. She was just behind me in the kitchen when we ran out. Please…”

“Okay, I’ll be back. Don’t come closer, alright?” Peter assures her, running towards the burning building.

Smoke hits his face the second he enters the house. He’s got a ventilation system in his mask, but even it can’t fight against house fires. He races through the first floor, keeping his eyes peeled.

“Bella! Bella, it’s Spider-man! I need you to call out so I can get to you!” Peter yells. 

He waits a few seconds, straining his ears for anything over the sound of the roaring fire. He coughs, smoke filling his lungs. Just when he’s about to call out again, a tiny screech echoes in his ears. He sprints towards the sound, rounding a corner to a small bathroom where a girl has tucked herself under the sink.

He crouches down, forgoing introductions to haul her into his arms, booking it back out of the house. Peter sighs, relieved at the sight of police and ambulances. He carries Bella to one of them, beckoning over the older woman, who cries into his arms.

“Thank you, thank you…” She says. 

Bella coughs, her eyes watery and tired. “ My dog! ” She cries. 

Peter looks at her, “Your dog?”

“I want my dog! ” Bella screeches, arms clawing at the woman who tries to hold her. Did they have a dog inside there? 

“We can’t get your stuffed animal, sweetheart.” The woman soothes. Bella only cries harder, coughing as it irritates her lungs. Peter looks at her, then back at the house. It’s still burning, but it doesn’t look close to collapsing. 

God, Tony’s rolling in his grave, Peter knows it. 

“Where is it?” Peter asks.

The woman stares at him disbelievingly, sputtering slightly. Bella only perks up, her eyes shining, “My bedroom! On my bed, please Spider-man!” 

He takes one last look at her before sprinting back into the house, ignoring the calls of the policemen and firemen. He knows this is a bad idea. It’s entirely unreasonable. He’s playing with fire- ha!- and chances are, he will get burned. 

Peter books it up the stairs, which are thankfully still intact, peeking into various bedrooms. The fire hasn’t lessened, but it also hasn’t gotten any bigger. He finally finds a room where a little girl might sleep, finding a floppy dog sitting in the middle of the bed. 

The house creaks, the support pillars standing on shaky, burning legs. Peter snatches up the dog before wrenching open the window, throwing himself out of it. He throws a web at the neighbor’s house, lowering himself slowly. 

The firemen are distracted with their hoses, not noticing as Peter slinks by. He strolls to where the two girls are, the older woman breathing a sigh of relief when she spots him. He hands the toy to the girl, who screeches thankfully and squeezes the dog to her chest. 

“Thank you, Spider-man.” The woman says. He salutes her with a smile, launching himself back into the sky before the police can question him. 

He lands on a roof a few blocks away, lifting his mask above his nose to cough. He spits out some black phlegm, grimacing disgustedly. He’s not too badly hurt, all things considered. A few minor burns on his arms and back, but nothing that won’t be healed in a day or so. 

All in a day's work, Peter thinks, as he shoots himself back towards the tower. It was, admittedly, a little insane for him to back into a burning building for a stuffed animal, but who cares? He did it, nobody got hurt. 

His heart pangs at the thought of what Tony and May would think. Tony would’ve given him the lecture of a lifetime, maybe even taken away the suit. May would agree, throwing up her hands and rubbing her temples out of stress. 

He caused them a lot of stress. 

But he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore. Nobody’s there to care what he does. Nobody’s going to ground him or lecture him or make sure that he never does something as stupid as that again. Nobody cares. 

With that depressing thought, he arrives back at the tower, crawling in through the window and fully preparing to fling himself into bed and sleep for a solid week. He isn’t expecting a calvary to greet him, especially one with a very pissed off Bucky Barnes.

He’s got his hands on his hips like a mom, while the others flank him, sitting in various seats around the lounge. None of them look very happy.

Peter jumps off the windowsill, landing in a crouch. When he straightens, there’s no smirks, no greeting like he’d normally get. “Who died?” He asks, half joking. 

He tenses further when nobody laughs. He shifts uncomfortably under the scrutinizing gaze of five deadly assassins and Bob.

“You were on the news,” Bucky says casually, tongue in cheek, “another burning building, huh?”

Peter laughs, but it’s entirely fake. The tension in the room would require a military grade chainsaw to cut through. “Yeah… gas ovens, y’know?”

Bucky hums, nodding. “Y’know what’s even crazier?” He asks. He doesn’t allow Peter to respond. “Going into a burning building for a stuffed dog.”

And then Peter realizes what this is about. He didn’t think he saw any news cameras, but maybe they were just sneaky. Maybe he’s a little off his game. He looks around the room at the rest of the team, who seem as pleased with Peter as Bucky is. Ava’s tapping her foot on the floor, her tell of impatience. 

“I had time. I knew what I was doing.” Peter defends. 

“Oh, you had time? Oh, that makes it all better, then, yeah?” Bucky says sarcastically. 

“It was stupid,” Yelena says, “And unnecessarily dangerous.” 

“But you know all about recklessness, don’t you Spider-man?” Bucky adds, his eyes hard as they pierce through Peter. 

Peter scoffs, “If this is about-”

“You ran into a burning building for a stuffed toy!” Bucky shouts, “Of course this is about that!”

“It’s not a big deal.” Peter insists.

“If it were a person, or an actual animal, I might believe you. But a toy?” Bucky asks dangerously. 

Bucky doesn’t listen to Peter as he tries to defend himself. He turns around, one hand moving the hair out of his face. The others don’t seem keen on stopping Bucky from scolding him, much to his annoyance. 

“Of all the idiotic things-” Bucky cuts himself off with a frustrated yell. 

Peter rolls his eyes, “I did what I had to do.”

Bucky throws his hands in the air in exasperation, “Oh, did you have to run into a burning building for a stuffed animal? Did you have to do that, I mean-” Bucky laughs, it’s high pitched and disbelieving and the rest of the team winces when they hear it. 

“- Jesus Christ, Peter! ”

Time freezes. Peter freezes. Bucky freezes. The team freezes. 

Bucky turns around slowly, eyes wide and mouth agape. Peter feels his heart in his throat, beating so hard it might fall out of his mouth. Peter barely has the breath in his lungs to make noise when he speaks.

“What did you just call me?”

Chapter Text

“I don't want to argue about this right now, Sam.” Bucky said, one hand rubbing circles into his temples. 

There was an audible sigh from the other end of the phone, exasperated. Nearly all of his phone calls with Sam went this direction these days. “I know it’s a bad time, Buck, but we need to figure this out.” 

“It is a bad time. You’re struggling just as much as me. Can’t we table this for another time?” Bucky asked. 

They’d been arguing over the Avengers schtick for weeks. Sam and Joaquin spent most of their time in D.C., and neither of them wanted to make the trip up to New York. Bucky gets it, he really does, but for them to have this argument on the anniversary date of the final battle with Thanos is bound to cause unnecessary issues.

“When?” Sam argues, “We’ve been tabling it for weeks. I don’t like fighting with you, Bucky.”

Bucky sighs, shaking his head. He’s got a raging migraine, his arm socket is flaring up, and the gaping hole in his chest that Steve left threatens to tear him apart. He wants to bury himself under the covers, blinds drawn shut in his room, and not come out until the day is over. 

“If we have this conversation right now, we’re going to say things we don’t mean,” Bucky says patiently, “This is a bad day for both of us.”

“But, Spider-man , Bucky- I mean, really?” Sam asks incredulously. 

Bucky takes a deep breath, centering himself so he doesn’t lash out at his friend. He doesn’t know how to explain that this wasn’t his choice. That none of them ever wanted to be in the spotlight, but now they are. That Spider-man never wanted to be a part of the Avengers again, but Valentina’s puppet strings grow tighter with every passing day.

“I told you, it wasn’t my decision, and it wasn’t his either. Can I call you tomorrow, Sam?” Bucky asks. 

There’s a long beat of silence where Bucky imagines Sam is closing his eyes in frustration. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to fight with Sam on this. He doesn’t have the brain power to figure out the logistics of the Avengers title.

“Fine.” Sam says shortly, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Bucky breathes a silent sigh of relief, “Thank you, Sam. Stay safe, okay?”

A longer beat. “You too, Buck. Try to get outside.” 

The phone beeps as Sam hangs up. Bucky sits heavily down on the bed, stuffing his face in his hands. God, he wishes Steve were here. He wishes Tony were here. None of this would be happening. But they’re not here, and Bucky is, so he has to deal with it. 

For once, he takes the day off. He has no anger left, no grievances. He spends the day sleeping or reading, trying not to let the maw of grief pull him under. He knows Spider-man and Yelena are most likely feeling similar today, even if Natasha didn’t die during battle. 

Without realizing it, most of the day had passed. Bucky hadn’t eaten, nor had he felt the desire to. The nausea swirling in his stomach was only exacerbated by the nightmares he had during his catnaps. 

There’s a soft knock at his door at around 11 P.M.. Bucky groans silently, padding over and opening it a crack. Ava stands there, more solemn and worried than normal. Immediately, Bucky’s on guard, her odd demeanor setting him on edge. 

“You okay?” Bucky asks.

She nods, looking back for a moment, “Spider-man’s on the news. House fire. Thought you might wanna come look.”

Bucky nods, opening the door fully and exiting to the hallway. They walked to the lounge in silence, footsteps echoing on the linoleum floor. The TV is blaring when they arrive, the team sat on various couches as the reporter stands in front of a burning building.

“If you’re just joining us now, Spider-man is currently in this house and has been for about two minutes. Firemen are unsure of his whereabouts.” The woman says. 

Almost immediately after she finishes her sentence, Spider-man races out of the house carrying a coughing little girl. He brings her to the closest ambulance, which happens to be near the reporter, setting her down. Another woman races into frame, thanking Spider-man profusely. The mic just barely catches their conversation.

“ My dog! ” The little girl cries.

Both the woman and Spider-man look at her. “ Your dog? ” Spider-man repeats.

“ I want my dog! ” The girl screeches again, wriggling in the other woman’s arms.

“ We can’t get your stuffed animal, sweetheart. ” The woman soothes. The little girl cries harder, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Spider-man is silent, looking between the house and the girl.

“He’s not…” John says.

“ Where is it?” Spider-man asks.

“Oh my god, he is.” Ava says disbelievingly. Bucky can hardly believe it himself. Spider-man isn’t dumb enough to go back inside a burning building for a toy, right?

The girl perks up, a stark contrast to her previous state, “My bedroom! On my bed, please Spider-man!”

Spider-man takes another moment to look between them, and for a second, Bucky thinks he won’t go. Then he’s off like a shot, sprinting back into the burning house.

“Bad idea, bad idea.” Bob chants quietly.

Yelena shakes her head, scoffing, “Idiot.”

The reporter seems shocked herself, looking back at the cameraman, wondering what to say. The camera focuses on the house. Seconds go by agonizingly slowly, with no sign of Spider-man. After what could have only been a minute and a half, Spider-man throws himself out of the second story window, grappling himself to the ground. 

Bucky misses the rest of the story because of the white hot rage filling his body. Is he asking for a death wish? Bucky had known the kid had issues with recklessness, but this goes far beyond anything he could’ve imagined. What if the building had come down? What if he breathed in too much smoke? What if he had been burnt alive?

Spider-man has spent the last several months playing with his life, and Bucky will stand it no more. 

“That’s not good, look at his face,” Yelena stage whispers, leaning into Ava, who snickers.

John chuckles from his place on the couch, flopping over onto Bob’s outstretched legs, “Spidey’s in for it.”

“Are you not mad at him?” Bucky asks them.

Yelena shrugs, “Of course we are. What he did was unnecessary and stupid. But we don’t lecture, you do.” 

“You’re kinda scary, if you didn’t notice.” Bob comments, wincing when Bucky’s unimpressed glare meets his face.

“Can we ground a superhuman adult?” John asks. 

“If I can’t ground you, I can’t ground him,” Bucky growls, “But he won’t get away with this any longer.” 

“It’s practically suicidal, at this point.” Ava agrees.

They’d been keeping an eye on Spider-man since he joined them. And while the kid does a remarkable job at keeping things close to his chest, some things just slip through. They’ve been in enough fights with him to know his fighting style up close and personal.

Which makes it much easier to tell when he’s not trying on purpose. When he’s being reckless for no reason. When he’s borderline passively suicidal. 

They wait in tense silence for Spider-man to arrive home, broken only by the occasional mother-hen joke that Bucky refuses to acknowledge. When the kid finally crawls up the window, everybody in the room turns to watch. They make no noise as he hauls himself over the edge, landing delicately on the ground.

Noticing the stiffness of the room, but choosing to ignore it, Spider-man chuckles, “Who died?”

Anger boils in his stomach at the sight of Spider-man’s casual demeanor. Bucky clicks his tongue, just barely holding himself back from yelling. 

“You were on the news,” Bucky says casually, tongue in cheek, “another burning building, huh?”

Spider-man freezes slightly, before relaxing in mock-casualty, Yeah… gas ovens, y’know?”

Bucky hums, nodding. “Y’know what’s even crazier?” He asks, “Going into a burning building for a stuffed dog.”

Spider-man looks around the room, obviously noting how tense everyone else seems. Bucky gets the feeling that the kid thought he could get away with it. 

“I had time. I knew what I was doing.” Spider-man defends. 

“Oh, you had time? Oh, that makes it all better, then, yeah?” Bucky says sarcastically. Just like Steve, he thinks. Running into stupid situations for no reason. 

“It was stupid,” Yelena says, “And unnecessarily dangerous.” 

Bucky refrains from nodding, but he can’t help snark back, the worry he had previously felt turning into pure frustration.

“But you know all about recklessness, don’t you Spider-man?” Bucky adds, staring directly at him.

Spider-man scoffs, “If this is about-”

“You ran into a burning building for a stuffed toy!” Bucky shouts, “Of course this is about that!”

Too often. The boy chooses to jump off roofs and get too close to the ground. He allows thugs to land hits. He runs back into burning buildings for stuffed toys worth five dollars. And he’s gotten away with it for too long.

“It’s not a big deal.” Spider-man insists.

“If it were a person, or an actual animal, I might believe you. But a toy?” Bucky asks dangerously. 

In his frustration, Bucky turns away, nearly pulling his hair out. How could he be so stupid? Doesn’t he know he could’ve died? And for a stuffed animal of all things. 

“Of all the idiotic things-” Bucky cuts himself off with a frustrated yell.. 

Spider-man rolls his eyes, “I did what I had to do.”

Bucky throws his hands in the air in exasperation, “Oh, did you have to run into a burning building for a stuffed animal? Did you have to do that, I mean-” Bucky laughs.

In a moment, in a millisecond, things click into place. In a dangerously similar way to the way his memories returned after his sleep in Wakanda, a face forms in Bucky’s mind. 

“- Jesus Christ, Peter! ”

Bucky freezes in place. Peter . Spider-man’s name is Peter. Peter Parker. Peter Parker who had mousy brown hair and doe-brown eyes. Peter Parker who got his powers when he was 13 and then subsequently lost his uncle. Peter Parker who loved omelettes and couldn’t even look at peppermint without sneezing. Peter Parker whose genius rivaled Tony’s. Peter Parker, who kneeled in front of his dying father figure, and apologized. 

Peter Parker, who should be at MIT. Who should be living with his aunt. 

The fog finally lifts, and clarity is a black hole of questions. Bucky turns slowly, eyes bulging. Spider-man- Peter- is just as frozen as everyone else. His voice is cracky and small when he speaks.

“What did you just call me?”

The team around them is dead silent, looking between them like a tennis match. It’s jarring, all of these memories returning to his brain all at once. 

Peter, pasta smeared over his cheeks during a team dinner after a three day long mission. Tony with his arm around Peter, pressing a kiss to his hair as they walk to the elevator. Bucky ruffling Peter’s hair as he trudged down to the kitchen on a Sunday morning. Steve putting Peter in a headlock on the training mats, laughing at the kid's cherry red cheeks. 

“Peter,” Bucky breathes, stepping closer to the boy, “Oh, God. Peter.”

Peter shakes his head, the horror hidden under the mask evident in the way he trembles. “No-no, you shouldn’t, nobody should’ve-” 

“Peter- Peter, what-” Bucky stutters. He’s not usually one to lose his words, but he’s so utterly lost and Peter seems so terrified. 

Finally fed up with being left out, John cuts in, “What the hell is going on right now?” 

Peter steps back, white lenses wide and locked on Bucky. Spider-man and Peter Parker merge in his mind, forming a horrible picture. Peter, taking hit after hit from a man three times his size. Peter, bleeding profusely from a knife to the stomach. Peter, holding up an entire house.

Peter, sitting on a ledge, staring at the street below like it’s the answer to all his problems. 

Bucky’s reeling from this massive influx of input to his brain, he nearly misses when Peter spins on his heel, darting out of the room, heading for the stairs. It’s only when Yelena puts a soft hand on his shoulder that Bucky realizes he’s nearly hyperventilating. 

“Bucky?” She asks, eyes furrowed in blatant worry, “Are you okay? What was that?”

“Who’s Peter?” Bob asks. 

Bucky shakes his head, his throat tight. He doesn’t know how to explain to them that for some reason, he knew who Spider-man was for many years, and just completely forgot. That Peter Parker used to walk these very halls with a giant grin on his face. 

“He’s- he’s Peter. Spider-man is Peter.” Bucky says.

There’s shuffling around him, glances thrown that he doesn’t pay attention to. He can only think of the boy on the roof, and how he’s so starkly different to the Spider-man he knows now. Darker, sadder, changed . 

“He revealed his identity to you?” Ava asks incredulously. 

Bucky shakes his head, “No, no, I’ve- I’ve known, but I didn’t- I forgot.” 

John scoffs, “You forgot? ”

“I didn’t know I forgot until now.” Bucky says. John looks absolutely bewildered and the others aren’t far behind. 

Bucky lets out a harsh breath, “I can’t explain it, I don’t even know what happened. I’m going after him.” 

He turns on his heel, speed-walking in the same direction Peter went. He knows the kid well enough to know his hiding spots. The others protest, but Bucky doesn’t hear them.

He’s had his mind fucked with before. For seventy years straight, his memories were suppressed painfully and replaced. He was a shell of a man, a mindless killer. He can tell when something isn’t right. And he knew it, he knew something was wrong whenever he looked at Spider-man and now he knows why. 

Bucky tries to put together the pieces, where Peter Parker stopped and Spider-man began. There’s no set moment, no place where Peter Parker became a blurred face. It was almost like he’s always been that way, but Bucky knows that’s not true. 

He opens the door to the rooftop, eyes finding Peter immediately. Peter’s facing the city, but the mask is off. His curly brown hair is overgrown, nearly reaching his neck. Slowly, Bucky makes his way behind him, announcing himself with loud footsteps. Peter tenses, jaw tightening and back hunching over. 

“Peter…” Bucky starts, not entirely sure of what to say. 

Slowly, so slowly, Peter uncurls. Bucky waits patiently as Peter gathers the courage to face him. When he finally does, Bucky feels his heart start to pound, his knees shaking. Ignoring the tear tracks running down his face, Peter looks gaunt and pale. His face is worn and exhausted, his bangs plastered to his face from sweat.

It’s a far cry from the cheerful little boy Bucky met all those years ago. God, how old is he now? He must be college aged. He was getting ready to apply for colleges before the snap. 

“Peter,” Bucky repeats, mournful and confused. 

Immediately, Peter’s face crumples, a soft sob escaping his mouth. Bucky had only heard that come from him once, when he was saying goodbye to Tony. 

Now, Peter looks up at him, eyes red and wet, face pulled in a miserable grimace. “I fucked up, Bucky,” He says brokenly. 

Bucky hauls himself over the edge, settling inches away from Peter. It’s easier to look at his face now. Peter’s jaw is sharper, his cheekbones more defined. Whether it’s from losing his baby fat or lack of nutrition is up in the air. There’s stubble growing on his chin. His eyes are sadder, clouded over with trauma, naivety and innocence long faded. 

He’s not the bubbly 16-year-old Bucky knew. He’s hardened, battle worn. A kid who's seen too much, been cared for too little. Bucky no longer sees Steve when he looks Peter in the eye.

He sees himself. 

“Oh, Peter…” Bucky whispers, pulling Peter to his chest by the back of his head. Peter goes willingly, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder as he cries. Bucky cards his fingers through Peter’s tangled curls, looking out onto the horizon and wondering what in the world could’ve happened to change him so drastically. 

Peter doesn’t seem to have the energy to even return the hug, his arms hanging limply in his lap. His shoulders shake as he sobs, tears dripping onto Bucky’s shirt. Bucky only holds him closer, rubbing his back in soothing circles. 

Bucky remembers finding Peter after the battle, when they’d all made it home. Tony was brought to the med bay, where he’d stay until Pepper figured out what to do. Peter was sitting just outside of his room, dirty and bloody. Pepper had walked out of the room, eyes puffy, and sat right next to him, pulling Peter into a tight hug. Bucky had walked away out of respect, but he remembers thinking that no kid should ever look like that. 

And yet here he is, taking over what should be Pepper’s place- what should be Tony’s place. When Peter’s tears finally slow, he pulls away, sniffling and wiping his eyes. Bucky keeps a soft hand on his back, waiting for the kid to pull himself together.

When he finally does, the tale is as horrifying as one would imagine it. A man taking advantage of a grieving child, using his guilt against him. The entire world discovering Peter’s most kept secret. The world calling Peter a liar, hating him for a crime he didn’t commit. Peter, desperate and alone and sad, doing anything to retain some sense of normalcy. The multiverse and its plethora of issues that Bucky can’t even begin to touch. 

Losing May. Losing Happy. Losing MJ and Ned and Pepper and Morgan. Losing everything he’d ever known in one fell swoop. 

His chances of MIT, gone, given up so his friends could go instead. Everything that makes Peter Parker, Peter Parker, erased. No birth records, no high school transcripts, no diploma. It’s only because of Peter’s hacking skills that he managed to get into a community college. 

It’s enough to make a grown man go crazy. It’s enough for Bucky to understand why Peter spends so much time on ledges. Bucky thought he had lost everything when he arrived in the 21st century, but he didn’t. Steve followed him there, clearing him of his HYDRA programming. Sam continued it, setting him up with a shrink and a job, giving him some semblance of living again.

Peter sucks in a shaky breath, tears spilling over his cheeks, “I’m so alone, Bucky. I have nothing.”

Nobody remembered Peter Parker. He thinks about Peter walking past the coffee shop where MJ works, looking in and knowing there’s nothing he can do to change the outcome. He thinks about his first meeting with Spider-man, and how much it must have hurt for Bucky to not have remembered him. 

He thinks, morbidly, that it’s better that Tony and May died. At least they went remembering their kid. 

But then again, maybe if Tony had been here, none of this would have happened in the first place. They’ll never know. Bucky’s here now, and he remembers, and there’s no way in hell he’s letting go of this kid now. 

“You have me.” Bucky says softly, “And the rest of the team.”

“I can’t-” A dry sob leaves Peter’s mouth, “I can’t be left behind again. I won’t survive it another time.” 

Bucky wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. He’d rather they not do this on the ledge, but he won’t take away Peter’s safe space right now. 

“We’re not leaving. These are the most stubborn people I know and I grew up with Captain America. I promise, we're right here with you.” Bucky says.

“I miss them so much.” Peter whispers. He sounds so young. 

“I know, I know,” Bucky says, rubbing his back, “I do too.” 

“And- and I don’t really want to die, but sometimes- sometimes-” Peter says, cutting himself off with a hitched breath.

This is where Bucky is supposed to comfort him, to support him, but for a moment, all he can feel is overwhelming grief. He knows Peter isn’t one for sympathy, but of all people, he deserves it the most. To go through all this at such a young age makes Bucky’s stomach turn.

Bucky pulls him closer, squeezing tight, “I understand. We’ve all felt that way, every single one of us. The grief, the guilt, the pain, we feel it too.”

“How do you live with it?” Peter asks, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“You can’t keep it inside. As much as I hate to admit it, my therapist helped me. So did these guys.” Bucky says.

Peter rolls his eyes, a hint of his normal sass coming out, “That’s because you all have shared trauma.”

Bucky chuckles, “Look who’s talking. You might not be a killer- and you never will be- but you’ve got the tragic backstory and the moody demeanor. You fit right in.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure they’ll all be thrilled to have a kid on the team.” Peter says wryly.

Bucky shrugs, “Not so much a kid anymore, though, eh? We like you, Peter, and we want you around.”

Peter looks up at him confusedly, “What?”

“We don’t want you on the team just because of your powers and the fact that you’ve saved our asses more times than we can count. We want Peter too. And I’m sure the others want to meet the kid under the mask as well.” Bucky says, nudging him. 

Peter nods. “... I’m afraid.” He admits. 

“So was I. Letting new people in is rough, especially in a group like this. They might not be the best at showing it, but they all really like you, Pete.” Bucky says. 

Peter’s been all alone, for so long, allowing his civilian self to fade into nonexistence so Spider-man can live on. He may not be a kid anymore, but he certainly still needs someone to look out for him. He needs a shoulder to lean on, like they all do. 

It grieves Bucky to know how long he was ignorant to Peter’s pain, even if it wasn’t his own fault. He has half a mind to march into Strange’s sanctum and give him a piece of his mind, but he won’t. But Peter would probably kill him for that, so he won’t.

He’ll help the kid from here. He’ll get the others to join in. They’ll help him like they help each other. A bunch of misfits banded together to save the world. And if that doesn’t describe the Avengers- past and present- then what does?

“Will you let us in?” Bucky asks. 

Peter looks at him for a long moment, his brown eyes clearing. The pain is still there, but the hope underneath it shines like it used to. He doesn’t respond verbally, just places his head back on Bucky’s shoulder, looking out into the horizon. Bucky follows suit, resting his head on Peter’s hair. 

They need to talk to the team. And they need to figure out why Bucky remembered. 

But that’s a task for another day.

Chapter Text

Bucky’s phone buzzes.

pee wee soccer team

John Walker: Bucky ???? Dude it’s been like half an hour what’s going on

Ava: are you with spiderman? what happened?

Yelena: spiderman is getting these too you know

Ava: spiderman are you okay also is your name peter by chance

John Walker: Subtle

Bob: is anyone else freaking out a little bit

Yelena: you two need to come back down now or else bob is gonna start floating

Spidey: its spider-man. with the hyphen. show some respect

Ava: oh we're so sorry spider-man-also-probably-peter

Yelena: what are you gonna send a bunch of daddy long legs at us

Spidey: it could happen. sleep with one eye open.

Bob: and mouths closed 

John Walker: Can y'all please just come back downstairs. I’m so confused.

Peter snorts from his place on Bucky’s shoulder, phone held loosely in his hand. Bucky shakes his head at his own phone, swiping Peter lightly over the head. 

Bucky swings his legs back over the ledge, standing up and pretending his joints didn’t crack from the movement. Peter muffles a laugh, earning a pointed glare. Bucky places his hands on his hips, looking down at the boy. 

He still can’t believe it. He remembers meeting Peter a few months after Steve and Tony made up. He must’ve been fifteen, eyes bright and shining. Despite Bucky’s reputation, Peter never put it against him. He didn’t walk on eggshells around him like everyone else in the tower. Peter was animated and energetic.

The shine is still there, if Bucky looks close enough. It’s clouded by years of pain and loneliness, but his occasional laughs still echo the vivacious boy that was once there. There’s a bone deep tiredness to his movements, like there’s a physical weight holding him down. 

“Do you want to tell them?” Bucky asks. 

Peter sighs, and it’s exhausted and pained, sounding much older than he is. In this light, his eye bags are more prominent, his slow movements betraying his weariness. This is a boy who has endured more than most kids his age will experience in their lifetimes. Who’s had more people ripped away from him than those that have stayed. Who, despite it all, has never faltered, never slowed, when he has absolutely every right to. 

Peter, Bucky thinks, is exactly the type of person Tony Stark would want to leave his legacy for. 

Peter’s lips quirk up in a small smile, “I mean, considering you blurted out my government name to them, I don’t really think I have a choice.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Just your first name. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Nobody’s gonna go looking through every Peter in New York City.” 

Peter swings his legs over the ledge, moving to stand in front of Bucky. He wrings his hands together, biting his lip anxiously. 

“Hey, you really don’t have to. We can find a way to get you out of it.” Bucky says.

Peter shakes his head. “I want to tell them, really, I just-” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. “Everyone that I’ve told has either died or forgotten or left.”

Bucky tilts his head consideringly, “The circumstances that everyone forgot were extremely specific, I really don’t think that can happen again.”

“But it could ,” Peter stresses, “We live in a world with aliens and magic, Bucky. I don’t want to risk losing everyone again.” 

“So you choose not to have anyone at all?” Bucky asks.

“I never said that. I like you guys a lot, but it’s just easier if you only know me as Spider-man.” Peter says.

“Why is that?” Bucky asks.

Peter looks at him frustratedly, “It just is. You don’t have to worry about me outside of the mask.”

“We already do, Peter,” Bucky says, “You said it yourself, you like us. We like you. We’ve already made that connection. Losing us, or us losing you, would hurt regardless of whether or not we know your civilian identity.” 

Peter remains silent after that, looking at the ground determinedly. He’s smaller like this, curled around himself in an attempt to protect his heart. Spider-man takes up space, he’s loud and commanding and boisterous. Peter is quiet and guilty, hidden away in his own twisted version of protection. Bucky places a soft hand on the back of his neck, forcing him to look up. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Bucky says. 

Peter doesn’t ask him to clarify because he doesn’t need to. His eyes fill with tears, but they don’t spill over. He shakes his head, “It is.” 

“Did you put that gauntlet on Tony’s hand? Did you put a bomb in the building with May?” Bucky asks.

Peter snaps his head up angrily, shaking Bucky’s hand off, “I’m the reason there was a second war. I’m the reason May was in that building in the first place!” 

“So it’s my fault that Steve chose to stay in the past?” Bucky asks.

“What? No!” Peter responds.

“But if I hadn’t fallen off that train, then he wouldn’t have crashed the plane.” Bucky says flippantly.

“That’s stupid.” Peter says.

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky says, staring at him pointedly, “You can’t have it both ways, Pete.” 

Peter stares at him defeatedly, shoulders drooping. “I just don’t want you guys getting hurt because of me.” He says. 

“There’s nothing you can personally do to hurt us short of taking a knife to one of our throats,” Bucky says, “And you would never do that. You didn’t kill Tony or May. You didn’t kill your uncle. You didn’t make everyone forget about you.”

“I did, though, I asked Strange-” 

“And Strange has some explaining to do,” Bucky cuts him off, “He shouldn’t have agreed to that. The point is, you don’t have to be scared about hurting us because of your civilian identity. We’re gonna be a part of your life, with or without the mask.”

Peter looks at him, tongue in his cheek as he thinks it over. Eventually, he lets out a harsh breath, shaking his head. “Fine. I want them to know.” He says.

Bucky smiles at him. “I think that’s a good choice. And besides,” Bucky says wryly, “Those guys should’ve kicked the bucket ages ago with their line of work. I highly doubt a twerpy teenager is gonna bring them to their knees.”

Peter scoffs mock-offendedly, “I’m almost twenty!” 

“Practically a baby.” Bucky teases.

Peter shakes his head, a small smile on his face. He doesn’t put the mask back on. As they walk towards the rooftop door, Peter looks up at him, “I’m just saying, it was-”

“If you say it was your fault one more time, I’m going to rip my arm off and throw it over this building.” Bucky says.

Peter stares at him for a long moment, eyes darting between his face and his arms. “Which one?” He asks.

Bucky rolls his eyes, hooking an arm around Peter’s shoulders, his metal knuckles rubbing knots into the kid’s hair. Peter laughs and it rings in Bucky’s ears. As they get closer to the common room, Peter tenses up, steps slowing in hesitation. It’s only the firm arm around his shoulders that keeps him moving forwards. 

When they arrive in the lounge, the rest of the team is sitting around waiting. John, who has the best hearing of that group, turns first, eyes bulging in surprise at the sight of Peter. 

“Oh my God,” John says, capturing the attention of the group, “Yelena, look.”

They all turn to Peter, who turns red under their scrutiny. Bucky chuckles, shaking his head fondly. Yelena’s mouth drops open when she sees Peter’s face, her head snapping towards Bob, who tilts his head as he stares Peter down.

“Mini Bob.” Yelena whispers.

“Spider-man!” Ava says, “You look… different than we thought.”

Peter scrunches his nose, “What did you think I looked like?”

“Older?” Ava suggests.

“Bearded.” John says disappointedly. 

“I thought you were blond.” Yelena shrugs.

Alexei, who’d remained mostly quiet throughout the whole interaction, leaps out of his seat. Without saying a word, he races up to Peter and drags him by the arm until he’s side by side with Bob. 

“ Twins! ” Alexei shouts.

Bucky looks between the two. If not for the slight differences in hair and face shape, they do look remarkably similar. The two stare at each other, a little confused, before Peter just shrugs and bumps his shoulder with Bob.

“Anyway,” Bucky says, turning back to the rest of the team, “This is Peter Parker.”

“Right, and you know that, how?” John asks.

Bucky grimaces, looking towards Peter, who nods. “It’s a long story.” He says.

“None of us have day jobs,” Yelena says bluntly, “We sit around here and wait for a world ending threat.”

What ensued over the next two hours was the most headache-inducing conversation in Bucky’s life. If he had known the kid was so awful at telling stories, he would’ve just given the team the Sparknotes version of it. Peter skips around, tells side stories, and has to clarify things every three seconds.

Not to mention how the team was no help at all during it, crowded around Peter like they’re sitting by a campfire. Someone would cut in to ask a question, prompting an entirely different story and derailing the entire conversation altogether. 

They only became quiet and somber when Peter tearfully choked out the deaths of Tony and May, and his final conversation with his friends. There's righteous anger from all of them regarding all the adults in Peter’s life. He may be an adult now, but he was just a kid when all of it went down.

By the time he’s done explaining things, the group seems just as angry as Bucky was when he first heard the story. 

It’s easy to forget that there’s a person under the mask. Spider-man is a huge figurehead in New York, a guiding light. People see what they want to see, and that’s a man who never stops giving, who never stops fighting, who stands up for those who can’t.

People forget that the person under the mask has problems too. And if they did know the sheer loss that Peter has experienced, they’d be a lot more thankful for the person protecting them on the streets. Peter could’ve chosen a different route. He could’ve killed the man that murdered his uncle. He could’ve chosen revenge instead of forgiveness for Green Goblin. 

Every night, Peter makes a decision. Instead of wallowing, instead of sinking in his anger and guilt and grief, he uses it to make the city a safer place. He goes out with the resolve not to kill, and that makes him a hell of a lot braver than most of the vigilante scene. 

When Bucky tells Peter as much, his face goes beet red. 

“It’s true, Peter,” Yelena says, “You’ll be the best of us soon enough”

“Eh-” John starts, earning a hard smack to the back of the head from Ava.

“We’ve all been through horrible things. We understand how it tears you apart from the inside. How lonely you must have been all this time.” Yelena says. 

Bob shifts slightly, visibly uncomfortable but wanting to help. “I was like you only a few months ago,” he says quietly, “Alone, desperate for a change, but too afraid to ask for it. I made the wrong decision at first, but it led me here.”

Peter looks at him, eyes wide. Bob fumbles a bit under the intensity of the stare, but he merely clears his throat, “I would probably be dead if it weren’t for these guys.”

As the emotionally unavailable group of people they are, the team can only awkwardly smile, avoiding eye contact. Bucky watches Peter smile amusedly at them. It softens slightly as he looks around the room, then to Bucky. 

“I think you guys make pretty good Avengers.” Peter says quietly. 

Multiple heads snap up in shock. That’s not a sentence that’s normally said. Even their supporters online think they can’t hold a candle to the original Avengers. Most of them are openly gaping at him, but Bucky can only stare with a smile on his face. He feels a physical ache in his chest when he remembers how much time he lost with Peter. The kid deserves someone, anyone in his corner, and Bucky will do his best to be that person. And he knows the others will follow suit. 

A long, awkward beat follows. 

“Alrighty!” John stands up abruptly, clapping his hands, “Let’s go watch Bucky scold an extremely powerful wizard!”

“Sorcerer.” Peter corrects with a small smile.

“Tomato, To-mah-to.” John says flippantly. 

As they all get up to leave the room, Peter stops in his tracks. He picks up his mask from the couch and pulls it over his head.

“I understand you guys think he made the wrong decision, but we didn’t really have much of a choice. It was kind of life or death.” Peter says.

“He’s an all powerful sorcerer,” Ava says, rolling her eyes, “I’m sure he could’ve come up with something .”

“ He doesn’t even remember he did the spell. He won’t even know what we’re talking about.” Peter argues. 

Yelena flicks him on the forehead, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him towards the elevator as the others pile in. “He might not remember doing it, but he knows the spell exists. Maybe we can find a way to fix it.” She says.

The trip to the sanctum takes a little less than an hour and more than one wrong turn. Bucky gazes up at the non imposing building, wondering how a sorcerer’s home could’ve gone so long unnoticed. 

The door creaks as it opens, and they all walk in slowly. Their steps echo in the cavernous entryway. It’s the kind of place that feels like talking loudly is a crime, so only harsh whispers are exchanged.

“This is kinda sketchy.” John comments, legs bent slightly like he’s in the middle of a battlefield. 

Yelena silently points this out to Ava, who snickers. 

“Seriously, it doesn’t look like anyone lives here, Spidey.” Yelena says.

“Oh, they do,” Peter says, “They’ll pop out when you least expect it.”

“Like this?” A loud, commanding voice says from behind them. Bucky whirls around, arms up in defense, only to loosen when he spots Dr. Strange floating down from the upper terrace. 

The others seem to have reacted similarly, various weaponry in hands. Peter’s the only one who seems mildly relaxed, if a little reluctant to be in the sorcerer’s company. 

“Bucky Barnes,” Strange says once he lands, “And… others.”

“Doctor Strange.” Bucky greets.

Peter looks down at his feet, shuffling uncomfortably. Bucky can’t help but feel bad for him, knowing the man in front of them was yet another person who used to know Peter, but just doesn’t anymore. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Strange asks.

They all turn to Peter, whose lenses widen under the scrutiny. Strange obviously notices, and turns towards the masked vigilante as well. Peter seems to curl in on himself before looking up at Bucky desperately.

“A few years ago, you put a spell on everyone in the world that made them forget about Spider-man’s identity,” Bucky says, “It went wrong, and eventually you decided to make it so everybody forgot his civilian identity.”

Strange falters, eyes furrowing, “What?”

“My identity got revealed to the world,” Peter cuts in, “You helped me out and made a spell so everyone forgot what happened, but it went wrong. We had some issues with the multiverse, and eventually you put a spell on everyone so they’d forget who I was as a civilian. Nobody remembers me under the mask. I have no social security card, no valid ID, no birth certificate.” 

Peter’s voice cracks a few times as he explains himself. Bucky walks up next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Strange takes a few seconds to process this, one eyebrow quirked in thought.

“I see,” He says, “So why are you here? To reverse it?”

“Well…” Peter says.

“Bucky remembered.” Ava cuts in.

Strange turns to him, and he nods in confirmation. “And… you want to know why? You want to know if it can happen to anybody else?” 

Peter looks up at Strange, and the gleam of hope in his eyes is prominent even through the mask. “Maybe, if it’s possible.” He says.

Strange sighs, “Tell me what happened.”

Bucky explains, to the best of his ability, his side of the story. He was furious with Peter, worried out of his mind for his safety. To see him act so nonchalantly after doing something so reckless enraged him. How, in a moment, it all came flooding back, settling in the back of his mind like it never left. 

Strange nods throughout all of it, humming in response to some details. Peter looks between them, lenses wide and curious. When Bucky finally finishes, Strange goes quiet. 

“Given your history, Bucky, I’m not entirely surprised you remembered,” He says, “After your mind was altered for so many years, it built an immunity to forceful changes. You spent so much time in Spider-man’s presence, thinking about him in a way that you did before, the barriers that blocked those memories were broken.” 

That doesn’t sound like great news, and the faces of his teammates reflect that. There’s nobody who lived a life like Bucky’s, whose mind was played around with like his. Much like the spider that bit Peter, there’s a uniqueness to Bucky’s situation.

“Can anyone else break through them?” Peter asks, his voice small.

Strange has the decency to look sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Spider-man. The circumstances for which Bucky remembered are extremely specific. A spell that strong would take only a mind like his to break through. Any attempt with a normal mind wouldn’t yield the same results.” 

Peter nods silently, fists clenched. Slowly, Yelena walks up next to him. She doesn’t touch or reassure him, just stands like a pillar next to him. 

“You couldn’t have come up with a better solution?” John asks. 

Strange scoffs, “Are you telling me how to do my job?”

“You’re an all powerful sorcerer-” Bob begins, stepping up beside John.

“There are limits to everything,” Strange says, “If I used that spell, it would’ve been in a time of desperation, when there were no options left. Am I right?”

Strange turns to Peter, who nods despondently. “I told you, life or death.” He says. 

“Not one person remembered him! How would you like it if everybody forgot you existed?” Ava argues, stepping forwards. 

“Even so, there’s nothing I can do now. There’s no reversing that kind of spell. I’m sorry, Spider-man.” Strange says, before he’s floating back up to the second floor and walking away. 

They’re left in only silence. Peter curls around himself, arms clutching his stomach. Bucky shakes his head, pulling the kid to his chest. Peter wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, burying his head in his chest.

“What an asshole.” John says. 

“He’s a practical guy,” Bucky says, “He’s gonna say it how it is.” 

Peter doesn’t make any noise, but there’s no doubt tears running down his face. Nobody mentions it, only looking away respectively. 

“What do we do now?” Bob asks.

Bucky sighs, hand rubbing soothing circles on Peter’s back, “Go home. It’s been a long day.”

And it has, it’s two o’clock in the morning. Why Strange was up and willing to meet them uninvited is a mystery.

Peter pulls away, letting no sniffles or sobs escape his mouth. His shoulders are dropped, though, along with the shakiness of his legs. Yelena puts a hand on his shoulder, a secretive smile on her face.

“I will forge a birth certificate for you,” Yelena says, “Social security will be harder, but we will make Peter Parker a real person again, you will see.” 

Peter lets out a wet laugh, nodding, dropping his head on her shoulder. She freezes for a moment, looking up at Bucky, who shrugs. She places a tentative hand on his head, patting lightly. 

As they exit the sanctum into the night, Bucky looks at Peter. He looks weary and disheartened, steps slow and sluggish. He swings an arm over the boy’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna figure it out.”

Peter nods, leaning his head on Bucky’s shoulder as they turn down the street. Ahead of them, the others are arguing and bantering. Yelena bumps her shoulders with Bob, who lets out a light laugh. Ava tries desperately to mess with John’s hair, but he’s having none of it, dodging and weaving around the rest of the group. 

Bucky watches from the back of the group as Peter laughs when John uses him as a human shield, nearly toppling over when Ava phases through the air and tackles them both. 

Maybe nobody but Bucky will ever remember the Peter Parker from before. But that doesn’t mean Peter Parker has to stop existing. Peter has a whole life to live, and Bucky is determined to give him the best one possible. 

“As long as there aren't any alien invasions for the next couple of days, I’ll be happy.” John says as Bucky is catching up with them. There’s a few scattered laughs and nods, their voices echoing into the night.

So it really should’ve been no surprise to anyone when the screaming started. A spaceship appeared in the night sky, huge and imposing. All eyes swing to John, deadpan and annoyed.

He huffs, “I’m an asshole, I got it.”

Chapter Text

Screams echo across the street, people pushing and shoving each other to find safety. It’s nearly three A.M., but the city never sleeps. Bucky hooks an arm around Peter to keep him from being pulled away after a near fall. The ship looms closer, covering the night sky.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky asks.

“You just had to jinx it.” Ava drawls, glaring at John, who puts his hands up. 

As a group, they shuffle to the middle of the road, which has mostly been abandoned. From afar, a large hatch at the bottom of the ship opens, deploying several bots that begin attacking New York. From another exit, white, metallic robots are systematically flown to the ground, where they begin to wreak havoc.

“These guys again!?” Peter shouts.

A red laser beam just barely misses the top of Yelena’s head. John shoves her head down, pushing them all behind a pile of rubble. 

“What do we do, what do we do?” Bob asks frantically.

“I thought we got rid of them!” Ava says.

Bucky shakes his head. “Don’t you remember?” He asks, “That mother robot said if her plan failed, she wouldn’t be around to deal with the consequences.”

“These are the consequences.” John catches on.

“Start taking out the minions,” Bucky says, “hopefully whoever’s in charge of this whole thing is on that ship too.” 

Bucky gives out quadrants, wincing at the sound of another blast hitting the side of a window. Bob peeks his head over the rubble, “What do I do?”

Bucky stares at him. “You know how to use a gun?” 

A grin spreads over Bob’s face as he nods. Bucky throws two handguns his way, launching himself away from their cover. 

With that, they all spread out. Peter gets lost in the battle, punching through robot heads and webbing down flying bots. They’re entirely outnumbered, but like before, the minions go down with one or two hits. 

He sees his teammates occasionally, watching Ava phase through the air, only to put a bullet through a robot’s skull a second later. Yelena uses Bucky as a trampoline, flying through the air and knocking out four bots at once. John leaps over a car, sending his shield through the robot's chests. Alexei is shouting, not entirely unusual. 

Bob is scarily accurate with the gun, something Peter doesn’t want to think about why. 

The issue is, they keep coming . There seems to be an endless supply of minions in that ship with no sign of stopping. After a couple hours of fighting, the team begins to flag. Peter catches up with Bucky, chest heaving.

“This isn’t working,” he pants, “we’re gonna lose if we keep fighting this way.”

Bucky nods, wiping sweat from his face. The sun has begun to rise, but the ship covering the sky keeps them in relative darkness. “What do you suggest?” Bucky asks.

Peter looks around, watching Yelena get a right hook to the face. Ava snarls, shooting the robot point blank before hauling the other woman back up. Bob and John are tucked in a corner, the former wrapping John’s bloody arm with shaking hands. Alexei remains strong, but his endurance seems to be slowing down, even with his enhancements. 

He looks back up to the ship, where another wave of robots have begun to fly out of the hatch. He licks his lips in thought. 

“We can’t stop them like this. We need to go to the source.” Peter says.

Bucky nods, “How do we do that?”

Peter looks around at the massacre of robots covering the street. He can’t swing that far up, it’s impossible. But maybe he can hitch a ride. 

“I have an idea. Cover me.” Peter tells Bucky, who nods without question. 

Peter ignores the warmth in his chest at the pure show of trust and pops out of his hiding place. He aims a web at a lone bot, trapping it. Behind him, Bucky shoots out a few robots who have aimed their way. Peter jumps over a stray blast, capturing the bot in his arms and rolling out of the way. 

It beeps incessantly, hot beams of red light forcing their way through the webbing. He aims his shooters at the exit hole and webs it a few times, hoping it’ll buy him some time. He rips the remaining webbing off the body of the robot, looking around for an opening.

Bucky stands in front of him, holding guard. “Are you disassembling it?” He asks.

Peter nods, smiling when the latch on the back of it pops off, revealing a complex motherboard. “Gonna try and get it on our side.” Peter says. 

Through his comms, he can hear the grunts and commands of his friends, who seem to be holding their own despite the fatigue. He forces himself to work faster, fingers flying over wires and naturally crossing them. He’s half using the knowledge he built up with Tony and half completely winging it, but the light emitting from the robot turns green seconds after he shuts the latch.

“Holy shit.” Bucky says, looking down at him with wide eyes.

Peter grins, pulling the remaining webbing off the bot and allowing it to float in front of him. It doesn’t attack, only tilting its body curiously. 

“Now what?” Bucky asks.

Peter takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna fly it up there.” 

Bucky stares between Peter and the bot, his eyebrows raising in surprise. Eventually he just huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re out of your mind.” He says.

“I’m an innovator,” Peter says, clamoring on top of the bot, “A genius.”

“That you are. Be safe.” Bucky says.

He salutes Bucky, guiding the robot up and over the buildings. It’s not the most stable way he’s flown, but he just sticks his hands to it and hopes for the best.

“ Is Peter flying one of those robots or have I finally gone mad? ” Ava asks through the comms. There’s a beat of silence before a few gasps come through.

“ Peter, oh my God. ” Bob says.

Bucky chuckles, “ He trained it himself, somehow. ”

“ Clever boy. ” Yelena says. 

“ Literally what the hell? ” John asks.

“I’m gonna find out what these guys want,” Peter says, “I’ll update you.”

“ Please don’t fall .” John says.

“ Nobody wants a flat spider. ” Ava agrees.

“ Most people do, actually,” Yelena says, grunting as she throws a punch, “ Nobody wants a flat Peter. ”

Bucky cuts in, “ Chatter. Let Peter focus. ”

Peter chuckles under his breath, trying to slow his erratic heartbeat. He doesn’t mind heights at all, but flying hundreds of meters over the tallest skyscraper is a bit much for even him. He manages to stay out of view of the bots right up until he reaches the back of the ship.

He forces the bot he’s riding to move faster, flicking his wrist to web down assailants and dodging wayward blasts. Peter notices the back hatch where the bots are being released has a lag time, a mere minute in between send offs.

That’s his opening. 

He waits just out of sight as the next grouping of bots fly out of the hatch, heading down towards where the rest of the team is still fighting. The second the last bot exits, Peter, races for the opening, diving through it. He lands on the hangar floor with a crash, sliding a few feet before stopping. Immediately he’s on his feet, eyes scanning for hostiles. 

The inside of the hangar is empty, the next batch of bots that should’ve been preparing to exit nowhere to be found. His spider sense hums, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Peter inches through the hangar, head on a swivel as he shuffles towards a ladder at the very back. 

The next floor is much of the same. No signs of life, no robots. Just the loud whirring of the ship’s engines and the dull hum of the overhead lights. Peter makes his way through the craft, searching for the cockpit.

“ Peter, come in. ” Bucky’s voice comes through the comms, making him jump.

He touches his finger to his ear, “Here.”

“ You’ve been dark for a while. What’s going on? ” Bucky asks.

“Made it on the ship,” Peter whispers, “Haven’t come across anything.”

“ There’s no more hostiles. ” John says.

“They stopped once I got on board.” Peter agrees. 

“ That doesn’t sound good. ” Yelena’s voice comes in.

Peter peeks around a corner, finally spotting the hallway leading to the front of the ship. He walks down it cautiously, heart thrumming as his spider sense hums louder. 

When he reaches the end of the hallway, he hides behind a small alcove. The cockpit is a large room with a war table in the middle, plans scattered on it in a language Peter doesn’t recognize. In the pilot's seat is a tall, white robot with a gleaming purple and gold cape hanging over the chair. 

Peter inches closer, careful to make his steps imperceptible. He reaches the middle table, scanning over the documents, glancing over at the pilot every few moments. It’s a bunch of gibberish, but there’s a crude drawing of the Avengers with a harsh line running through it, so he gets the idea.

“I know you’re there, young spider.” The pilot says out of the blue. Peter nearly jumps to the ceiling in surprise, yelping.

“ What? What happened? Peter? ” Ava asks.

Silently, Peter touches a button on his comm, allowing the others to hear his surroundings. He stays where he is, watching the pilot like a hawk. Slowly, like in a cheesy horror movie, the chair turns around. The robot looks almost identical to all the rest, if not for the gold embellishments on their face and shoulders. 

“Hi,” Peter says dumbly. There’s cursing from the other side of the line. 

“You must be wondering what we’re doing here.” The robot says.

Peter nods, “That would be nice. Also a name would be cool.”

“ Is this how you deal with all of your opponents? How are you alive? ” John asks.

Bucky snorts, “ Spite .”

The robot, oblivious to the peanut gallery in Peter’s ears, threads her metal fingers together like a comic supervillain. Peter’s immensely thankful that his teammates can’t read minds.

“I am the mother.” The robot says.

“ Wait, what? ” John asks.

Peter frowns. “The other robot said she was the mother,” he says.

“Trusting Mother Zaleena with this task was a foolish choice, one I will not make again. I decided to take this matter in my own hands.” The robot says.

Peter nods slowly. “So are you, like, also a mother? Like, what’s the ranking here, I’m confused,” He says.

The robot, despite not having any real facial features, looks annoyed. “I control all the mothers. They answer to me.” She says.

“So you’re the mother’s mother.” Peter clarifies.

Bob gasps. “ The grandmother, ” He says. 

There’s snickering in Peter’s ear, which makes him smile a bit. Bucky scolds them, making Peter grin wider, incredibly thankful for the mask covering his face. He turns back to the robot, “So, do you have a name I can call you? Just so this doesn’t get confusing?” 

The robot stands from the chair, cape billowing behind her. If she were human, she’d look like a queen. She’s tall and imposing, her height surpassing Peter’s by a fair few feet. Her metal eyes flash red as she stalks to the war table separating them. 

“I am Mother Sariphine of planet Arthia. Our aim is to destroy the Avengers and take over Earth.” She says.

Peter rolls his eyes, sighing, “Unoriginal. Also, we got this whole spiel from the other mother, so- by the way,” he says, popping a hip, “If you’re like the leader, why don’t you have a different title? And why mothers? Is a kid born on your planet automatically a mother or do they have to also have a kid?” 

“ Oh my God, we’re doomed. ” Yelena groans. 

The Grandmother bangs her fists on the table, her eyes flashing dangerously, “ Quiet , you insolent child. You dare comment on our traditions?”

Peter waves his hands frantically, “No, no, no! I’m just genuinely curious!” 

“It matters not where we come from,” The Mother seethes, “Only that we will be the last faces you see.” 

Peter puffs out his cheeks, “How about no?” 

Instinctively, he dodges, and a red blast passes right where his forehead used to be, and Peter backs up, “No? Okay, just asking.”

“ Peter, Peter what’s happening? ” Bucky asks.

“Running, that’s what’s happening. Shut up.” Peter pants. 

He turns and books it down the hallway, his spider sense ringing in his ears. Peter can hear Mother Seraphine cackling behind him, her gait relaxed. He dodges around beams of light, climbing on the walls and ceilings. 

“Neat trick, spider, you missed your calling at the circus.” The mother goads.

Peter grunts, “Not my scene, I prefer the city streets.”

He continues down the hallway, going back the way he came. The bot he hitched a ride on up to the ship is long gone, but maybe he can find another one. A wayward blast lands on his calf, burning through the suit and the skin. Peter shouts in pain, tripping over and landing hard on the ground. 

“ Peter? Are you okay? ” Ava asks.

Peter groans in pain, scrambling back up and sprinting for the nearest door. The wound slows him down considerably, so it isn’t surprising when another blast makes a home on his right shoulder. He curses loudly, hand hovering over the burnt flesh.

It’s hard to think over the pain, even harder to breathe. The Mother is right on his heels as he enters the room right above the hangar. Peter’s spider sense blares loudly, but he has no time to react before the robot is right on top of him. 

The Mother sends him flying back down to the first floor, where the hatch has since closed. Peter pulls himself to his feet, body aching. She climbs down herself, eyes locking on him. He launches himself at her, trying his best to, at the very least, disarm the laser beams. 

But she’s strong and completely made of metal. No punching or kicking is getting through her, unlike the other robots. Any webs he sends are immediately thrown off, like a pesky bug. 

“You cannot defeat me, spider.” She says. 

Peter looks around, chest heaving. He needs help. The Mother stalks closer, sending him scrambling back. He trips over his feet, his backside landing on a control panel. Immediately, an idea forms in his head, and it only takes a few seconds of considering the buttons before he presses on a large red one.

“ Hatch opening in 10, 9, 8… ” A robotic voice echoes from above them.

The Mother glares at him, red blasts of light aimed straight at his head. He dodges them, weaving around crates and boxes. 

“Sorry, grandma, if I’m going skydiving, you’re coming with me!” Peter says, wrapping his arms around her neck as the hatch opens, dropping them into open skies.

The force of the wind immediately presses on him, separating Peter from Mother Sariphine, who curses him loudly. He hadn’t realized how far they were off the ground until this moment, watching as the hard, unforgiving asphalt looms closer and closer. 

The Mother’s mechanical body might survive this kind of fall, but Peter’s very much human body would not. He looks around, desperately searching for an out. Any webs he sends will be too long, unable to break his fall before he hits the ground. Even if he were able to send a web, the speed at which he’s falling would surely tear off his arm if he tried.

“Falling! Falling spider!” Peter calls through the comms, shouting over the wind.

“ Oh shit! Peter! ” Bucky says.

Yelena gasps, “ What do we do!? ”

500 meters. 400. 350. 300. He can see people shouting, pointing up at him. He can read the bill boards clearly. Peter realizes something in terrifying clarity.

He doesn’t want to die. 

It’s a horrible, gut wrenching realization because, in a few seconds, that will be his reality. All this time, all these years since he lost everything, death seemed like a friend. Someone he could rely on. A soft end to a sharp, painful life. 

He would see his parents again. He would see Uncle Ben and Aunt May. He would see Tony. They’d welcome him with open arms, cupping his face and kissing his cheeks. He’d get to smell their comforting scents after so long of being depraved. After years of suffering, he’d finally get a chance to rest. 

But he’s not ready yet. He wants to graduate college and become a scientist. He wants to be Spider-man and protect the people of New York. He wants to stay with the Avengers. He wants to travel the world and laugh and breathe and live .

He’s only just started rebuilding everything he’s lost. He can’t die yet, not when he’s just started to look at his future and see something bright, something worth staying for. Not when the people just meters below him care so much , more than they ever needed to. 

Not when he knows that Tony and May would never want this for him. That his family would want to see him happy and healthy, moving forward with his life. 

He can’t die when he’s just begun to live again. 

“Please, please, I’m not ready,” Peter whispers, his voice lost to the wind, “I want to live, please .”

200 meters. 150. 100. Peter closes his eyes, tears beading at the edges of them. He waits for the pain, waits for it all to end, and mentally apologizes to his friends. 

The breath is taken from his lungs when he’s swooped upwards. The change in direction is jarring, jostling Peter’s already tender bones. He gasps, eyes popping open. Hauling Peter upwards is Bob, whose grip is unyielding under Peter’s armpits. 

“Got you, got you.” Bob says, gritting his teeth.

Peter latches on, clawing his hands around Bob’s shoulders. They’re less than 100 meters from the ground. Peter wheezes, heart pounding. He almost died. A few more seconds and he’d be a pancake on the ground. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want that at all .

He lets out a dry sob, tightening his arms around Bob’s shoulders as they float towards the ground. The sound of cheering greets them as they touch down, and Peter shakily detaches from Bob, but the man holds his elbow in a vice-like grip. His ears are muffled, his eyes blurring with tears as the adrenaline drains from his body.

“Are you okay? Pet- Spider-man, can you hear me?” Bob asks, bending over slightly to look at him.

Peter nods, swallowing heavily. His entire body is trembling, and he barely registers the buzz of his spider sense. Sluggishly, he turns his head, eyes widening at the sight of Mother Sariphine pulling herself back up. Her wiring is exposed at her head and she’s missing an arm, but she’s still kicking.

“Shit.” Bob whispers, pulling Peter behind him. 

Peter tries to protest, but his body nearly gives out on him when he tries to take a step. Bob has one arm holding him back protectively, but they’re completely defenseless. Bob still isn’t able to control his powers without mass destruction, so even him flying is quite the feat. He can’t go one on one with the Mother.

Before Peter can say any of that, a barrage of bullets cut through the air, loud bangs echoing in the street. People scream and scatter, but when Peter peeks his head over Bob’s shoulder, Mother Sariphine is twitching and sparking on the ground. 

A few meters to their left stands the rest of their team, lined up like a firing squad. Bucky lowers his smoking gun, eyes locked on Peter and Bob. Peter nearly cries with relief, letting go of Bob and limping towards the man. Bucky’s eyes widen and he drops the gun, rushing towards him. 

Peter collides with a hard chest, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist. Bucky holds nearly all of his weight, cradling his head closely. Peter turns his head so his ear is pressed against Bucky’s chest, a comforting thump-thump in his head. It’s not mechanical like Tony’s or quick like May’s, but the rush of calm he feels is the same. 

“-man? Spider-man?” Bucky asks. 

Peter pulls away slightly, noticing the rest of the team has gathered around, looking tense or worried. Yelena has a soft hand on his shoulder, eyes roving over his injuries. 

“Are you okay?” Ava asks quietly. 

Peter swallows, taking a shaky breath in. “I- I almost, I didn’t- I- oh God, I almost-” he stutters. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pinch in sympathy, bringing Peter back to his chest, rubbing circles on his back. The others don’t say anything, and Peter doesn’t expect them to. They stay, though, and that’s enough. 

“You didn’t, Peter,” Bucky whispers, “Bob got to you.”

Peter nods silently into his chest, his tears soaking into the mask. He never thought he’d be so thankful to be alive. 

“How did you do that?” John asks Bob, who shrugs.

“He was falling,” Bob says, “I just, I don’t know… someone needed to save him.” 

Peter snakes a hand away from Bucky’s waist, gripping onto Bob’s hand tightly. He doesn’t look away from where he smashed his face into Bucky’s chest, but Bob’s hand freezes for only a moment before squeezing back.

Eventually, Peter is able to peel himself off of Bucky, using him and Yelena as a crutch to walk around. Now that the adrenaline of the battle is gone, the burns and bruises sting on his skin. He hisses as Ava applies bandages to it. She pats him on the head once she’s finished, turning to John who’s scratching his head.

“What do we do with her?” He asks, pointing to Mother Sariphina, who’s still sparking on the ground. 

Bucky sighs, shaking his head, “I’ll call someone to come pick her up. Then we can take Pete home.” 

They guide Peter to the sidewalk, setting him down carefully and sitting beside him. Exhausted, he rests his head on Yelena’s shoulder, watching Bucky make the call. 

“You’re alive.” Yelena says softly. 

Peter nods, “I’m alive.” 

Yelena stares at him, her eyes piercing through his mask. He knows her well enough to know she’s asking him a question without using her words. 

“When you get my social security back, do you think you guys can help me transfer to NYU?” Peter asks quietly.

Yelena’s face breaks out into a small grin, her eyes sparkling. In his peripherals, he can see Ava and John smile at each other as well. 

“If you help me get your social security back,” Yelena says secretively, “I will get you into any college you want.” 

Peter laughs, and it sounds like sunny days swinging through the city. Bucky comes back, raising an eyebrow at them, which only makes him laugh harder. He sees Bucky’s face soften, his lips tilting upwards. 

John, ever prepared, fishes his credit card out of his pocket and buys them smoothies from a block down. They wait on the sidewalk, watching people walk past on their way to work and stare at them like zoo animals. 

There’s a lightness to Peter’s chest that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The sun peeks further over the city line, bathing everything in soft oranges and yellows, signalling a new day. He’s still hurt and entirely too exhausted, but it's the best he’s felt in years. 

He waits with his friends, legs mushed between Bucky and Yelena, and a smile comes over his lips. 

Not the worst morning he’s had.

Chapter Text

“Back by two, alright? You have an 8 A.M. tomorrow.” Bucky calls from where he lounges on the couch.

Peter rolls his eyes, pulling his T-shirt over his head and dodging the finger Yelena tries to dig into his ribs, “Whatever, dad .” He drawls.

John shakes his head, tutting, “Have some respect for your elders, Peter.” 

“Yeah, Pete, he’s 110, give him a break.” Ava teases, pursing her lips at Bucky.

Peter digs around in his pockets, frowning when he can’t feel his phone. It’s not on the island table or at the bar. He walks towards the lounge area, feeling around in the couches. He bodily hauls Bucky up, who growls.

Unsuccessful in his search, Peter puts his hands on his hips, “Has anyone seen my-”

His phone is then launched at his stomach going Mach 5. He barely catches it, sending a dirty look to Bob, who shrugs. 

“I mean it, kid, two sharp.” Bucky says.

Peter groans, “I’m twenty years old, I don’t need a curfew.” 

“But Peter,” Yelena says dramatically, “Bucky worries .”

“Yeah, he won’t go to sleep unless you’re home.” Ava chimes in. 

John smirks, “And you know how he gets without his beauty sleep.”

Bucky drops his head onto the couch cushion, shutting his eyes, “I hate all of you.” 

Peter started his fall semester of his junior year at NYU a few months ago, and he’d been invited to a party by one of his classmates last week. It’s his first college party, since community colleges don’t really lend themselves to those. 

He’d very tentatively made some friends since starting the semester. His therapist told him it was good to ‘come out of his shell’, like it’s easy, like he hadn’t been hiding in it for the past several years. But, nonetheless, he did his homework, and has the numbers of a few classmates he sees regularly. 

It’s nice to have people his age again. Not that the Avengers aren’t fun and all, but they’re so old . Even Bob, the youngest of the oldest, is hard to relate to sometimes. Occasionally, he thinks about Ned and MJ, and the guilt bubbles up and threatens to drown him, but the sheer relief of connecting with others overpowers it. He thinks that if Ned and MJ knew what was going on, they’d support him. 

Maybe one day he’ll gather the courage to walk into that coffee shop and befriend them once more. 

Regardless, he’s heading to a house party hosted by one of his ultra-rich classmates. Bucky absolutely forbade him from swinging there, so he had to hail a taxi. Peter won’t admit it, but he’s incredibly nervous. The last party he went to was a complete disaster. 

“And don’t forget your appointment at two tomorrow.” Bucky reminds him.

If Peter had known just how much of a mother hen Bucky Barnes was going to be, he’d have run while he still had the chance. Peter asked him about it once, and Bucky’s only answer was ‘Steve’. 

“I know, I know,” Peter says airily, grabbing his wallet- which holds an actual, questionably-legal-but-totally-useful ID! Yelena is truly a lifesaver. 

“I know you know, I’m just saying,” Bucky says, flipping the page of his book.

Peter sniffs, “When have I ever been late to anything?”

There’s a large intake of breath from everyone in the room. Bob puts his finger up matter-of-factly.

“Don’t answer that.” Peter grumbles. 

He pats over his jeans once more to make sure everything is in there before waving to his friends. He jogs towards the elevators, pressing the ground floor button.

“Don’t be dumb!” Bucky calls. 

“If you end up in a holding cell, we will come to get you, but we will laugh about it first.” Yelena says, steepling her fingers. 

“If the police come, run.” John says.

Ava smacks him over the head, “You’re a government agent.”

“I also went to college.” John mutters, rubbing his scalp. 

The doors close over the sound of their encouragement and arguing, making him smile. He never thought he’d be so grateful to have a bunch of ex-assassins on his side. 

The taxi ride doesn’t take long, and by 10:30, he’s pulling up to the place. The music is muffled from the outside and strobe lights flash in the windows. He thanks the driver, taking his time walking up to the door to settle his nerves. Luckily, he doesn’t have to worry about going by himself, because his classmate is outside with a group of people. 

“Peter, you made it!” Dan says enthusiastically, pulling him in for a handshake. 

Peter smiles, “Hey, yeah, ‘course!” 

Dan wraps an arm around his shoulder, leading him inside. It’s loud and hot and stuffy. The music is trashy and everyone around him is sweaty. Dan pulls him into the kitchen, flipping open a cooler lid and spooning out a portion of what appears to be three different types of alcohol, capri-suns, gatorade, and sour candies. 

Dan hands him the cup, raising his eyebrows, “You goin’ to your 8 A.M. tomorrow?” 

Peter stares down at the toxic concoction, a truly shocking shade of blue, and chuckles, “Absolutely not.”

And he downs the cup in one gulp. 

—--

“I crave death.” Peter says thinly. 

“Talk to your therapist about it.” Bucky mutters distractedly, pouring over a recipe book on the counter. 

“The light. I see it.” Peter groans, “Take me.” 

“Okay, drama queen.” Ava says, walking into the common room. She laughs at his prone form on the couch, ruffling his hair. It does nothing to help his raging migraine.

The others filter in as the morning goes by, brought out of their rooms by the smell of breakfast- a smell that has Peter holding back vomit. They all give their fair amount of teasing once they see his decrepit body. 

“Aw, baby’s first hangover.” John pouts, mimicking pinching his cheeks.

Peter presses the meat of his palms into his eyes, “If you think this is my first hangover, you’re out of your mind.”

“I thought you couldn’t get drunk, with your metabolism and all.” Yelena says, sitting down next to him.

“No idea,” Peter says, “I shouldn’t, but here we are.” 

Bucky walks around the couch, pushing a plate of buttered toast into his hands. He nearly yacks all over the man when he catches the smell, but he chokes it down anyway. 

“Any word from Valentina?” John asks Bucky, who rolls his eyes.

“It should be against the law to talk about her this early in the morning.” Bob says, face pressed into the corner of the couch. 

Bucky shoves Bob’s feet off the couch, sitting in their place. “I managed to push back the press conference until next week, but we still have to go.” He says, waving off the loud groans around the room.

Valentina had been all over them after the incident with the Mothers. It was all over the news. Peter’s quick thinking with the bot, his subsequent fall and Bob’s heroic moment. Much to his distaste, Bob was thrust into the spotlight on Valentina’s orders.

She played it up as much as she could, turning Bob from the sentry who forced everyone to relive their worst memories to savior of New York City’s most treasured hero. Their ratings went through the roof, but Valentina also got away with her original experimentation. 

On the bright side, they’ve begun to figure out a way for Bob to use his powers without causing total annihilation. Small things, like flying and basic telekinesis, but it’s a start. It’s certainly more fun for Peter to spar with someone who can join him on the ceiling. 

“You talking about her is making my headache worse.” Peter mumbles.

Bucky looks up, “You’d better hope it gets better ‘cause we’re not cancelling that appointment.”

“I don’t wanna cancel it, I’m just saying.” Peter argues. 

John perks up, “Do you know what you’re gonna get?”

They all turn to him and he nods, wincing at the throbbing in his head. “It’s a surprise.” Peter says. 

A few months ago, Peter decided he wanted to get a tattoo. The team had teased him a bit about it being a late act of teenage rebellion, but it wasn’t. His life had been such a whirlwind of chaos the past few years, he decided he wanted something permanent.

Not anything complex, just something he could look at to remind himself how far he’d come. That all the pain and hurt and fear had turned into life as he knows it now- content and hopeful. That everyone he’d lost is still around him, showing their support however they can.

His therapist agreed it might be something cathartic. The therapy is good too, as much as Peter loathes to admit it. That, and the Prozac. He’s not sitting on ledges, wondering what the ground tastes like anymore, which is the good part. 

It definitely helped lower Bucky’s blood pressure. 

That’s not to say there aren’t bad days. Recovery isn’t linear. In a team like his, there’s bad days™ at least twice a week, as a group. Peter visit’s his family's graves and he sits in Tony’s lab. He can’t quite bring himself to do any work there, so he’s taken up the neighboring one for his own space. 

He created his own A.I., one that combines Karen and Friday. Amy is confined to his lab for the moment, but he wants to branch her out to at least his suit. It’s progress, it’s getting closer to the light at the end of the tunnel, which is something Peter never thought he’d see. 

So…tattoo. As a treat.

They’d consulted the tower doctor first, to see if Peter could even get a tattoo. His accelerated healing might reject it completely. They ran some tests and decided that, since the needle dug down deep enough, it should be permanent. 

After that, Peter looked around online, deciding on an artist a few blocks from the tower. The entire team wanted to come with him, but he shut that down immediately, opting just for Bucky to join him. The thought of the entire Avengers team going down to a tiny tattoo shop is laughable. 

“You’re gonna have to be more careful, you know.” Bucky warns him as they walk down the street. They catch a few eyes, but Bucky is much better at concealing his identity than the original Avengers, so nobody comes up to them.

“What are the chances my suit rips right where the tattoo is?” Peter asks, snorting.

“With your luck?” Bucky says, “Incredibly likely.”

And, yeah. Fair. Peter will just wear a bandage over the tattoo. Yelena has a few small ones, as well as John, but their identities aren’t a secret. The rest of the team doesn’t have any. 

“Will you get one, eventually?” Peter asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know what I’d get.” 

Peter has a few ideas, which he voices. They chat amicably as they walk down the city streets. Peter’s practically bouncing on his toes by the time they reach the shop. The bell chimes above them as they walk through the door. 

Peter gives the guy at the front his name and ID, looking around the shop. There’s art everywhere. Peter’s eye catches on a cityscape, skyscrapers and cars illuminated by the moon.

“Steve used to draw like that.” Bucky murmurs. 

Peter looks up at him, recognizing the foggy look in his eyes. They all look like that when they’re recalling memories. Peter chooses not to say anything, patting Bucky on the upper arm.

The artist looks between him and Bucky, eyebrow raised. He points towards the older man, “Aren’t you-”

“I will pay you double if you shut up.” Bucky says, snapping out of his reverie.

The man behind the counter snaps his jaw shut, nodding shortly. He gestures for Peter to follow, leaving Bucky in the waiting room. He leads Peter to one of the stations, sitting down on a stool while Peter gets comfortable on the chair.

“You nervous?” The man asks.

Peter shrugs, “Not too much.”

And he’s not, really. His pain tolerance is considerably higher than most. He’s had buildings fall on him, no way could a tiny tattoo cause him that much strife.

The artist nods at him appraisingly, setting up his station and lining up the stencil. Thirty minutes later, Peter has his first tattoo. 

“All done.” The man says.

Peter hums, “Felt like a bunch of cat scratches.”

And he would know that because cats don’t seem to like him at all, even when he’s saving them from trees. The artist chuckles, pointing towards the mirror. He heads over, pulling up his shirt and looking at his skin. 

Etched on his ribs, from letters picked out of Tony’s note, is the word Persevere.

Peter smiles when he looks at it in the mirror, nodding in thanks towards the artist. He walks over to Bucky in the waiting room, who nods approvingly when he lifts his shirt. 

They walk out of the shop, Bucky’s arm swung over his shoulder. Peter looks up, closing his eyes and smiling as the sun washes over his skin. His mind clears, his stomach settles, and the gaping maw of grief that’s been so present over the last few years is quiet. 

It’s a good day.