Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

How Bucky ended up in politics, he couldn’t tell you. That doesn’t change the fact that he is currently sitting in his shithole apartment, somewhere on the border of Queens and Brooklyn, trying to figure out how to make the best out of his political campaign. Maybe he can do something good with his life, help people without killing people. He’s tired of fighting, he will never stop fighting, but maybe this can help push him towards better things.

It’s this line of thinking that leaves thinking about his past. Not about the Winter Soldier, no, he thinks about that enough, he can’t seem to stop thinking about it. Instead he thinks about the fight with Thanos, and how truly devastating it was to everyone. The loss of Steve, though it was Steve’s choice, hit him the worst. He’s angry at Steve, but he understands his actions. The man deserved to stop fighting, god knows he’s been doing it his whole life. However, Bucky refuses to dwell on that tonight, and he finds himself thinking about the loss of Stark. He always wanted to do right by Stark, apologize for what he did, make it better than it could have been. He feels deeply for everyone he has killed, and everyone who has lost their family because of him. He doesn’t blame Stark for his actions, he believes he would react in a similar fashion if information like that was thrown at him in addition to all the turmoil Stark was already dealing with.

It is this line of thinking that leads Bucky to think about Stark’s protégé, the spider-kid. Before he left, Steve said Stark did everything for the kid. Stark basically gave his life for that kid, and he’ll never know. He hopes the kid never finds out, he can only imagine how someone that young would carry the guilt. Bucky, however, was not a fan of the fact that someone that young was fighting in a war like that. He hated the fact that the kid had to fight him the first time they met.

He knew why they were fighting all those years ago, he knew they were fighting for more than him and his freedom. They were fighting for the freedom of the entire Avengers, and Stark couldn’t seem to understand that, clearly carrying some emotional turmoil of his own. During the big fight, he met the kid. The chatty, energetic, joyful kid. For the first time he felt anger towards Stark, forcing the kid to fight like that. The kid was enhanced, sure, but he was up against the best of the best. Bucky wasn’t mad the kid overpowered him, he was only fighting defense after all. He didn’t see the kid again until the end. He was running around, just as hyper as before. He didn’t have a mask on, Bucky remembered that much, but for the life of him he could not remember what the kid looked like. It hurts to remember. Every time he tries to remember, the image shows up blurry in his mind. The rest of the battle is burned in his brain, like most things. He was supposed to be getting better. He was supposed to be better. He can’t picture the kid. Why can’t he picture the kid? Fucking Hydra.

—

Becoming a politician isn't easy, anyone could tell you that. Bucky just didn’t expect it to be so draining. He was by no means media trained, or used to all the social interaction involved with it. On his particularly busy days, he finds himself coming home exhausted, with no energy to do anything really. He tries to get whatever sleep he can get, if any at all, before the nightmares roll in. Some nights he can’t get any sleep, no matter how deep exhaustion falls within his bones. He’s a super soldier, sure, but at the end of the day he is still human.

It’s on one of these sleepless nights when he hears a loud bang in the apartment above him. In reality, he heard the window being slammed open, and the loud bang following after the fact. Bucky tells himself he is going upstairs to make sure no one is breaking in, not that he is worried for his neighbor. He pushes away the thought of hoping someone would break in, just so he can get into a fight to tire him out.

Reaching his neighbors door, Bucky knocks softly. He doesn’t want to disturb anyone. He listens intently, trying to filter out any noise not coming from the apartment. He knocks again, louder this time, wondering if he made the sound up. He hears another loud thud, followed by a groan that sounded a lot like someone was in pain. Without a second thought, Bucky steps back and kicks the door open. He stumbles into his neighbor's apartment and is almost shocked by what he finds.

—

No one knows who Peter Parker is. He isn’t real. He never was real. He might as well be a ghost. There is no trace of him in the world. Not in New York, not in Germany, not even in Oregon or in space. No one remembers him, no one will ever look for him again. No one will notice if, when he’s missing. No one cares about him. He has nowhere to be. He has nowhere to go.

With no memory of him, no evidence of his existence, he has to find a place to live. He can’t live in Aunt May’s apartment, which was sold quickly after she died because no one knew if she had any next of kin. He finds himself in a shitty apartment just outside of Queens. Part of him wanted to stay in Queens, but he couldn’t. It’s not his home anymore. Maybe he could find a home in Brooklyn.

Patrol is the one thing he couldn’t give up. Between working consistently for a nearby mechanic, and doing vague jobs around town, Peter didn’t really have anything to do, so, naturally, he put all his energy into patrolling as Spider-Man. It was the only thing he could have. May died because he was Spider-Man. He lost everything because he was Spider-Man. He couldn’t give it up, not now, not ever. It provided his life with some sort of meaning. That being said, however, he was patrolling more often than ever before. Patrolling more often, and for longer periods of time. He was also being reckless, not caring much about his own safety. He let himself get hurt more often, he almost wanted to get hurt more often. Crime doesn’t stop, neither does he.

Peter has a healing factor, but it isn't as strong or effective as most other healing factors. He doesn’t ever give it enough time to properly heal him before he’s back out on patrol. He isn’t a super soldier by any means, but he shares some similarities with them. His healing factor is one of those similarities. The other one, the one that Peter feels the effects of the most, is his metabolism. It is significantly faster than the average person’s. He used to be able to keep satiated, before May knew he was Spider-Man his intense hunger was chalked up to growth. Afterwards, she understood he needed to eat more than the average person, so she did her best to provide. She had help, of course. Now that it’s just Peter, he can’t afford to keep his hunger satisfied. There are more demanding things that his funds go towards, like his shit apartment, which means his healing factor is especially lacking, and his powers are a little weaker. All that combined with Peter’s recklessness and carelessness were bound to lead to disaster sooner or later. Peter just wishes it would have been the latter.

It is a particularly busy night in New York when it happens. Peter was exhausted. He knew he was bound to collapse soon, but he kept fighting. He had been getting increasingly injured the past few days, but that didn’t stop him. If anything it encouraged him to keep going. He would stop before he died, he knew he would, but that didn’t stop him from saying ‘one more’. Break up one more fight. Prevent one more robbery. Stop one more crime. Save one more person. Save one more life.

He was nearly out of web fluid when he heard it. A sign to end the night soon, a sign to go home and maybe get an hour of restless sleep before his shift in the morning. He didn't want to. He knew the nightmares would start. That’s why he always said one more.

It was a bank robbery. It was right around the corner from his apartment. He would call it the last stop for the night. The robbery was typical, there was nothing special about it. No super humans, no mutants, and no special weaponry. That makes the mistake all the more embarrassing when it happens. He was doing well. Okay, not really, he was barely holding his ground, but he was holding it nonetheless!!! He was still talking, throwing quips around, being sarcastic, acting as if he wasn't nearly dead on his feet. He almost had one guy down. There were only two, it should’ve been easy. The other guy hit his head pretty hard, so Peter assumed that he was in the clear for a second. That was his second mistake.

He had just finished webbing one hand of his current opponent when he heard a gun cocking behind him. Then his spider sense went off. It had been taking too long to work as of recently, likely due to the aforementioned lack of nutrition. He turned around and grabbed the wrist of the attacker and shifted his arm to be pointing the gun towards the ceiling. The attacker fired two shots. However, he seemed ready for that notion, because without Peter noticing until it was far too late, the attacker had pulled a knife from somewhere, and stuck it deep in Peter's lower abdomen and sliced it. Peter had to bite back a scream as he was cut open. It was a deep wound. He threw the guy off him the best he could, before hearing a gunshot from his other forgotten attacker.

This time he did scream. The bullet ripped through his left shoulder. Using the last of his strength. Peter shot his webs at the attacker behind him, making sure he would not be able to use his gun again, and then turned to web the attacker that stabbed him.

He stumbled out of the bank with a death grip on his abdomen. He stumbles down the street, to the alleyway where he keeps his clothes. He suffered through the pain and webbed himself home with his left arm. He was bleeding significantly through both wounds, but slightly less so from his shoulder than his abdomen.
By the time he makes it to the alley by his apartment, Peter was losing consciousness from blood loss. This doesn’t stop him from slipping into the alleyway and changing his clothes. Every movement is painful. Peter barely has enough strength to keep himself standing. That doesn’t mean he will enter his apartment as Spider-Man. He never knows who is watching, and when. He will not put anyone in this building in danger. Once changed, Peter grabs his bag and makes his way up the fire escape.

He snuck in through the window, just like always, except this time he more fell inside his apartment rather than sneaking into it. He was gasping for air by the time he entered, the bag falling from his hands. He couldn’t seem to get enough. Every breath felt less and less fulfilling than the one before. Peter kept stumbling around, being not at all quiet. He hoped his downstairs neighbor was a heavy sleeper, or didn't mind the noise. He thinks he hears someone knocking, he is not in the mood for hallucinations right now.

Less than a few steps into his apartment, he collapsed on the ground, groaning in pain. Okay. Cool. No bed tonight. Maybe he could just sleep here for a bit. His eye lids are feeling very heavy. His body is limp. Sleep will help. Just enough so he can patch himself up before work in the morning. The last thing Peter remembers before losing any sort of consciousness he has left is an image of his door breaking open and then peace.

—

“What the hell,” Bucky tries not to shout at the display before him. The display is not at all what is expected. There is a trail of blood coming from the window, but it doesn’t seem as if the man on the ground is an intruder. Even if he is, he is about to die, and Bucky really does not want that happening. Partially because, selfishly, he does not want him to be found at a ‘murder’ scene, and partially because this man, even if he is an intruder, likely meant no harm.

He reaches the man and notices the growing puddle of blood below him. Bucky is trying his best to stay calm. This is nothing he hasn’t seen before, but he hasn’t had to do medical care like this since the 40s, if that. The man has fallen on his stomach, so Bucky rolls him over to assess the injuries. The most notable one is a gash across his stomach that has his shirt soaked with blood. Another one is clearly a bullet wound in his shoulder, adding to the increasing amount of blood staining his shirt.

Another thing Bucky notices is the fact that this isn’t a man. Well, by all definitions he is, but, this is clearly a kid. He can’t be older than twenty, even that might be pushing it. Nonetheless this is someone too young to be breaking into apartments, and definitely too young to be bleeding out at four in the morning.

He needs a first aid kit. Since this apartment is above his, Bucky assumes it has a similar layout, if not the exact same one. He, personally, keeps a first aid kit in every room of his apartment. However, Bucky knew that most normal people kept generic first aid kits in the bathroom, so that’s where he checked first. Thankfully, the first aid kit was located below the sink. If the apartment actually belongs to this kid, then clearly this isn’t his first experience with severe injuries. His first aid kit is almost as good as Bucky’s, if not better. Bucky doesn’t spend too much time dwelling on that, not now, so he rushes back to the living room.

The kid’s shirt is now almost completely saturated with blood. Bucky has no choice but to remove it if he is going to effectively clean the wound. Bucky takes a pair of gloves from the first aid kit and slips them onto both his hands, metal and flesh. The gloves don’t truly serve a purpose in protecting him, he is immune to any sort of bloodborne pathogens, but he doesn’t want any bacteria on his hands to infect the wound worse than it already might.

Bucky quickly realizes that the kid’ll still be losing blood far too quickly no matter which wound gets sewn up first. Spotting a tourniquet kit in the first aid kit, Bucky decides it's a better idea than any. The tourniquet will, if nothing else, slow the bleeding coming from the kid's shoulder while the wound on his abdomen gets sewn up.

Tourniquet in place, Bucky can finally start working on the abdomen, and pray that the kid hasn’t lost too much blood. The wound covers most of the abdomen, Bucky does his best to wipe away all the blood, but he can't get everything cleared. He will finish the job later, when the kid isn’t dying.

Sewing the kid up was proving to be the easiest part of this whole charade so far. Bucky kept a close eye on the kid as he worked on the abdomen wound. The bullet wound seemed to stop bleeding for now, and the kid seemed to be actually breathing, instead of taking shallow breaths. He was recovering fairly quickly all things considered. Bucky also noticed how the kid was practically skin and bone. He had muscle definition where it mattered, sure, but his ribs were protruding from his body. His biceps looked like they were going to fall off the bone at any moment. Bucky couldn’t stop the worry that spread throughout his body, at some point even deciding that he would take care of this kid after he was patched up, and well after he was healed.

Bucky finished sewing up the kid’s abdomen, and opted to disinfect and clean the area once more before wrapping the wound in gauze. His attention shifted to the kid’s shoulder. A quick inspection of the wound implies that no bullet fragments were left behind, but the shoulder blade was likely shattered. Bucky didn’t waste time, and started cleaning the wound. He was a little more careful, considering how the gunshot wound was not actively bleeding. There was time to be careful, and, if he wasn’t, Bucky could do more damage than help.

The shoulder had some heavy padding wrapped in bandages by the time it was patched up. After the two major wounds were taken care of, Bucky did a once over, just to make sure there were no severe injuries that were missed. The kid would need a sling for his shoulder, Bucky had one in his apartment that he bought before he got the vibranium arm. His first arm was extremely heavy and painful, so he would carry it in a sling rather than lug it around all day as dead weight against his shoulder. He kept the sling because he figured it would be good to have. He just isn’t too keen on leaving the kid alone right now, but he’s unconscious. He isn’t going anywhere.

One day, in the far future, someone will ask Bucky why he didn’t take the kid to the hospital. Someone will ask why he didn’t call anyone to help. He could have called Sam, so why didn’t he? Each time Bucky claims he didn’t think of it, that adrenaline took over and he acted without thinking. However, Bucky truly believes that a part of him knew the kid was special, that there was something different about him. If he believed in that kind of thing, then maybe he would tell people that he met the kid that night for a reason. Maybe it was the fact that the kid wasn’t dead on the floor, like he should’ve been. Maybe it was the fact that the kid didn’t go to the hospital himself. Maybe it was the fact that the kid seemed so prepared to die on that floor at night, something Bucky could find himself relating to, that he couldn’t help but feel pulled towards the kid.

He keeps most of that a secret, maybe he will tell a detail or two to Sam if he presses particularly hard, but a lot of that night he keeps to himself. The one thing that Bucky has never told anyone was what happened when he returned to the apartment after retrieving the sling.

The kid was standing, clutching his abdomen again, in the middle of the apartment. Bucky was cautious, not out of fear but out of concern. He added some weight to his footsteps, just enough to make a little noise, as to not startle the kid. The kid picked up on it pretty quickly and turned, no, stumbled in Bucky’s direction. He had seen the expression on the kids face before, but mostly in soldiers that suffered with PTSD, not in teenagers.

“May?” The kid asked, christ he sounded young.

“No, I’m James,” Bucky replied, not knowing why he chose his first name when everyone called him Bucky, “Do you know where you are?” Bucky asked, trying to gauge how aware the kid was.

“‘M in m’partment,” his speech was slurred, but Bucky could kind of make out what he was saying. He was grateful to hear that, at least, this was actually the kid’s apartment.

“You were hurt, pretty bad, do you remember what happened?” Bucky asks, slowly approaching the kid.

“Was reckless, ‘m sorry May,” The kid nearly sobbed.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Bucky reassured, not knowing who this ‘May’ was, “I have a sling for your shoulder, I’m gonna put it on for you, and then we’re gonna get you some rest,” Bucky said, hoping explaining his actions actually got through to the kid.

“M’kay” is all the kid mumbles in reply. Bucky tries to be careful with the kid’s arm, but moving it was gonna hurt nonetheless. However, the kid barely reacted when Bucky practically manhandled his arm into the proper position.

“Do you have a name?” Bucky asked as he adjusted the sling, figuring he might as well ask.

“Peter-man,” The kid slurred.

“Okay kid,” Bucky sighs, realizing the kid, Peter? Peter is done making sense, “ let’s get you to bed,” he turned Peter to his bedroom, walking by his side in case something happened. He gently guided him towards where, at least in his apartment, the only bedroom was located.

Bucky didn’t look around much, just made sure Peter got into his bed and left the room. He closed the door behind him and let out a deep exhale, opting to not think too hard about the interaction he just had with the kid because what the fuck with that. How the fuck was that kid almost competent after losing that much blood?

Leaving Peter to sleep, Bucky decided he would clean up the blood so no one had to deal with it in the morning. He probably wasn’t going to sleep to begin with, now he definitely was not intending on sleeping. Assuming Peter would be starving when he woke up, Bucky checked the kitchen for possible food to prepare. It was empty. The only sign that someone might live here was the molded bread on the counter.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Bucky mumbled, already turning for the door so he could go to his apartment to get all the cleaning supplies, tools, and food he could find.

Chapter Text

Waking in the morning is, quite frankly, an assault on Peter's senses. Before even opening his eyes, Peter can feel his head spinning. Nausea immediately hit him like a train. Except he’s been hit by a train, and honestly prefers that. Peter can hear everything currently going on in his apartment building and down the street with perfect clarity. The couple down the hall is laughing over breakfast. The barista at the coffee shop across the street is trying to keep calm as they get screamed at for the long wait. The vendor on the corner is giving his customer some change. The rustle of the clothes as his neighbor gets out of bed. The blood flowing through his body. In addition to hearing everything ever, Peter is also extremely aware of everything currently in contact with his body, and how it moves against his skin. Right now his clothes feel like sandpaper already 5 layers of skin deep. Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe it.

As Peter is weighing his options of actually opening his eyes or walking to work with his eyes closed, his hearing picks up on something that seems significantly louder than everything else. The softer whirring of something mechanical, not like a sound anything in his apartment would make, but something familiar, cuts through the air like winds from a tornado. The movement of a ceramic dish like a building collapsing in on itself. It’s coming from inside his apartment.

Without thinking — like most things he does — Peter jumps up, opening his eyes in the process, and starts rushing towards the noise. He gets as far as slamming open his door when the adrenaline abandons him and his legs give out. He has to catch himself on the door frame to keep from falling.

Everything rushes back to him at once. Every sound. Every feeling. Now his vision. Every sensation he doesn’t want to feel. He is now extremely aware of every injury he has sustained in the past week, and to top it all off the nausea somehow got worse. He has to tighten his grip to keep from falling right there. The wood cracks. The world is spinning around him. All the lights are too bright and have too many colors. He feels as if he’s seeing sound waves.

He tries to keep moving through his apartment. He pushes himself off the doorframe, stumbles once, and promptly collapses on the ground. The movement is sudden and the nausea from it overwhelms him. Peter throws up, or he would’ve. He would’ve if he’d eaten anything recently. In all honesty, he can’t even remember the last time he’s eaten, which leaves him on the ground dry heaving the non-existent contents of his stomach.

Peter wants to do nothing but curl up into a ball and sob, but he can’t. He can’t do that because someone is inside his home. Someone who he doesn’t know, who he can’t know, is inside his home. Which is a fact he is promptly reminded of when he hears footsteps thunder towards him. Before Peter can react — which shows how truly out of it he is — he sees a figure enter his vision, continuing to approach him. Every bone in his body is telling him to jump into action, to fight the intruder, but any attempt he makes to get up is met with the worst wave of nausea he’s ever experienced, followed by more dry heaving. Needless to say Peter stays on the ground.

The person eventually reaches him, but Peter scrambles away. Granted he can’t go far, it is only a matter of seconds before his back hits the wall. He doesn’t have any webs on him, which is odd considering how he always does, no matter what. He’s panicking now because he has no way to defend himself against this intruder. His breathing is growing rapid, blood is rushing to his ears. It’s deafening. A hand rests on Peter’s knee and on instinct Peter grabs it and twists it. It’s then that he realizes the arm isn’t human, or at least isn’t flesh. He looks up and is met with the worried gaze of someone he hasn’t seen in years. James Barnes. James Barnes is crouching in front of Peter. They fought against each other in Germany. There is no way this interaction can be good. Barnes’ other hand is up in a surrender position, and Peter realizes that he is talking. He doesn’t catch much of being said, he can’t really hear past all the blood rushing through his body. One thing, however, that Peter does catch is Barnes saying his name. He doesn’t hear it, per se, but he reads as it falls from his lips. The sight of that alone makes Peter’s blood run cold.

“How do you know who I am?” Peter demands, still panting, not bothering to listen to what Barnes was just saying. A billion emotions play through his voice when he makes that demand: fear, anger, shock, helplessness. However it doesn’t escape him that one of those emotions is hope.

—

Bucky spends the night. He tells himself it’s due to the fact that it’s already basically morning, and that he wasn’t going to get much sleep anyways. Anyone who knew Bucky would be able to know that was a lie, that he was staying because he was worried about the kid. And he was. The kid is clearly young. Maybe old enough to live on his own, but not old enough to provide for himself on his own. He could very easily be tied up somewhere that no kid has a place being considering how he returned to his apartment. Bucky can’t shake the image that the kid seemed so complacent to die.

Clearly Bucky spent the rest of the night deep cleaning the kid’s apartment because he simply wasn’t tired. He was careful not to use harsh products because the kid might be concussed, and will be sensitive to many things in the morning, simply because the sun wasn’t up. He started to make the kid breakfast because he literally had nothing better to do. Everything he did was for reasons that were purely selfish. Clearly.

Bucky only hears the kid wake up because he is listening intently for it. He is in the middle of preparing something to head when he does. He was listening for the kid to wake up, which is why he hears him when he does, and why he hears when the kid jumps out of his bed and starts running. He also hears the kid crack his doorframe when he almost falls. Bucky just assumes he doesn’t remember much of the night before, and therefore thinks he can bounce back just fine. However, he decides to intervene when he hears the kid, once again, try to push forwards but ends up collapsing on the ground.

Keeping his footsteps audible seems to be the best thing to do. Bucky isn’t sure if the kid even remembers the previous night, so he tries to make some sort of noise as he approaches in case the kid believes he’s an intruder. Bucky finally sees the kid and, compared to the previous night, he doesn’t look too bad. However the sight of the kid trying to throw up at the same time as he is trying to stand up hurts Bucky in a way he can’t even describe. The kid eventually gives up and scrambles away from Bucky until his back hits a wall. Bucky inches closer and crouches down to get on the kids' level. He thinks — hopes — that it will get the kid to look at him and realize that he isn’t a threat because, of course, Bucky didn’t fully consider that the kid would have no memory of him entering the apartment last night.

The kid still doesn’t look at him, and continues to panic. Before he can decide against it, Bucky reaches his hand out to rest it on the kid's knee. Without missing a beat the kid grabs it, takes it off his knee, and twists it. It takes a lot in Bucky not to immediately react and fight back. Instead he opts to raise the hand that is not currently in a death grip as a sign of surrender, and try to tell the kid he is safe. At some point he throws the kids name in the mix, Peter if he remembers right, which he isn't sure he does, because he read somewhere that in times of trouble it gets people to remain human. He’s pretty sure that study was about prisoners, but it’s all the same to him. As he is doing this, murmuring affirmations in a low voice, and trying to look as unintimidating as possible, he tries to remove his hand from the grip. A soft pull shows his hand isn’t going anywhere. In a normal situation Bucky would be concerned about the amount of strength this kid has especially after the injuries he sustained yesterday, but honestly that is the least of his concerns.

Peter is looking at him, Bucky realizes, and the kid looks genuinely terrified. His eyes flash down to his lips, apparently just now realizing that he’s being spoken to. Bucky is still saying the affirmations and saying the kid’s name. The kid seems to process something of what was being said to him because a wide array of emotions cross his face just before he says something.

“How do you know who I am?” The kid asks between gasps of air. There is a lot of emotion in his voice, a lot of them seem to be negative.

“I don’t,” Bucky admits, trying to keep his replies short until the kid is no longer panicking. The kid’s expression falls, which is shocking. His posture sags, seemingly with both relief and disappointment. However, the grip on his hand remains strong. “You need to relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” Bucky reaffirms, hoping that it actually gets through to him. He really doesn’t know what to do in this situation. He didn’t even expect the kid to be able to get out of bed in the morning, much less have the energy to keep his death grip on Bucky’s hand.

Time passes. Seconds, minutes, hours, neither of them are entirely sure, but Bucky does his best to remain as non threatening as possible. He keeps both hands in view of the kid. At some point he wonders if the kid is frightened of him because he recognized the Winter Soldier, but then again, Bucky isn’t sure the kid is exactly old enough to be aware of his past whenever it was happening. Eventually the kid relaxes enough to stop hyperventilating. His breathing still isn’t even, but he is not as frantic as he was when Bucky first approached him. The kid’s eyes seem more focused as well. And eventually, he speaks up.

“Why are you- What- How did you get in here?” The kid stutters. His words come out raspy, but it’s better than the slurring from last night and the demands from earlier.

“I broke down your door,” Bucky admits. He decides that it’ll be best if he’s just honest from the beginning. Especially because the door was still broken, since he didn’t fix it in fear of waking the kid.

“What?!” The kids' eyes grow wide as dinner plates, “Why did you do that?”

“I heard the window being opened from my apartment, I came up here in case someone was in danger,” Bucky explains, “I broke down the door because I heard someone, you, in pain,” He tries not to cringe at the memory of seeing the kid covered in blood. It’s still fresh, but for some reason Bucky imagines he won’t be able to reflect on that without reaction for a long time. He’s suffered a lot, He’s caused a lot of suffering, but he still doesn’t like the experience of seeing others hurt. Especially those who don’t deserve it, which he doesn’t believe the kid does. The kid studies him, looking for any signs of lying. He’s smart for that, considering how he returned home last night. Bucky wants to know what happened to the kid, in case he is potentially putting himself in danger here, but he chooses not to ask just yet.

“How did you know my name?” The kid questions. Which, thankfully, confirms that the kid told him his actual name last night.

“You told me last night,” Bucky replies.

“I don’t remember doing that,” Peter, skepticism clear in his tone. He’s smart to question him, Bucky thinks.

“You lost a lot of blood.” The kid still looks skeptical, but less so. Bucky chooses to change the topic, “When was the last time you ate something?” A look of shock, and embarrassment, crosses Peter’s expression.

“Recently,” he answers, after a moment of silence. Bucky doubts that.

“If you let go of my arm, I can finish making breakfast for you.” Peter searches his face again. When he, presumably, finds nothing worthy of distrust, he reluctantly lets go of Bucky’s arm. Bucky stands up slowly, aware that the kid still has no trust in him. Not that he’s expected to. The kid stumbles to his feet, able to at least hold himself up now. Bucky turns his back to the kid, intending it as a sign of trust more than anything, and walks towards the kitchen. He hears the kid stumble behind him, likely still fighting whatever he was dealing with this morning.

They make it to the kitchen without incident, thankfully, and Bucky returns to the stove. He was making oatmeal before the kid woke up. It’s filling. Bucky needs to eat more than the average human by a lot. Oatmeal helps with that. He still needs to eat double the average than a normal person, but it’s still not as much as usual. He figures, since he has no idea the last time the kid ate, oatmeal would be the best option. It’s filling in small portions. If the kid eats too much too fast then he will just get sick. The last thing Bucky wants is for this kid to suffer any more than he already has.

—

The pair eats in silence. Peter considers that the meal might be poisoned, but he’s too hungry to care. He knows with the portion he’s been given, he will be far from full, but it’s food. He also knows that the chance of it being poisoned is slim to none, which doesn’t erase the chances completely, but still.

He tries to go through everything he knows about James Barnes in his head. He knows he fought him in Germany. He won that battle, but then lost against the Falcon. He knows he was one of the people who ‘blipped’— Peter always hated that term — but he doesn’t know where he was when that happened. Peter knows he fought alongside the Avengers in the war against Thanos. Peter knows he lost Steve Rogers somehow. No one knows, really, what happened to Steve. He assumes Barnes does, and the Falcon, the New Captain America, does as well. All things considered, Peter doesn’t know anything about Barnes. However, a part of him believes that Barnes has no reason to hurt him or want him dead. Peter never did any research on the guy after they fought, but he knows he fought defensively instead of offensively in Germany. On the other hand, he was brutal during the second war against Thanos. Peter concludes that if Barnes wanted him dead, then he would be dead already.

“Do you remember my name?” Barnes asks when they finish eating. The question feels almost clinical. Peter freezes. Barnes told him his name last night, but which one? Peter knows he has a nickname that everyone calls him, but he isn’t sure what it is.

“James?” Peter asks, drawling it out. That seems to be the right answer because Barnes, or, well, James nods.

“I told you last night, I wasn’t sure if you remembered, you kept calling me a different name,” he states. Peter has a feeling he knows what he called James, so he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t think he can handle knowing. “Here’s the thing kid,” James sighs, “I don’t know what you remember last night but you came home with both feet in the grave.” James looks at Peter and he tries not to look defensive.

“I’m not gonna stop,” James makes a gesture waving around his hands, “whatever it is you’re doing, but you can’t keep doing it like this,” He gestures to the apartment, “You could’ve died last night and I’m not going to sit around and let that happen again. Let me help you out kid.” Peter stares at him. What is he supposed to say? James has no idea what he is involved in, but is here offering to help Peter anyways?

“What’s the catch?” Peter asks. There has to be one.

“I get some peace of mind,” James sighs again, “I’m not asking to be in your line of business, or whatever it is you were doing that almost got you killed, I’m just asking you don’t come home and die on your floor.”

He isn’t entirely sure what James is offering, he’s not sure what to expect. He wants to accept. Whatever it is he wants to accept, but also everyone who has ever helped him is either dead or has no memory of him. He’s pretty sure James is enhanced somehow, but that doesn't make him invincible. He could die all the same. What happens? Peter accepts his offer. They get close. Someone finds out he has a weak spot. They destroy that weak spot. Or James finds out what he does and tries to help him, and he gets killed in the process. Like May. Or maybe the death isn’t related to him at all. It’s for the greater good. Like Mr. Stark.
“No,” Peter chokes out. He can’t. He can’t lose anyone anymore. James just sighs.

“At least let me stay around your apartment until you’re healed, and then take my phone number in case you change your mind. Just so I can have some peace of mind about it.” Peter weighs the options. He figures there’s no harm in having James stay. He can pretend like there’s someone that cares about him, even if it’s just for a few days. Peter nods and hands his phone to James.

James returns the phone and Peter has an unfortunate realization. There is no way he will be able to go out on patrol while James is here. He was blinded by the enjoyment of having some, at the very least pretending to, care about him that Peter didn’t even consider patrolling. He’ll have to figure out how he’ll manage that. He doesn’t need a break from patrolling, he doesn’t deserve it, he can’t afford that. He’ll have to figure out how to get on patrol tonight without James noticing. Thankfully, he has all day to think about that.

Chapter Text

Peter, no longer blinded by selfishness, is cautious of James. Based on the conclusion he came to that morning, Peter knows that James is not going to kill him. At least he hopes so. On the other hand, Peter doesn’t fully trust his own conclusion. Of course, he remembers the last time he trusted someone, and he remembers how that went. It cost him everything. Beck tried to kill Peter in the same breath that he told Peter he deserved to live a normal life in. Peter trusted him. And look where that got him. All this to say, Peter remains extremely cautious around James.

Peter decides he will not go on patrol sometime after breakfast. He does not want to leave James alone, and possibly give him the opportunity to do any damage. He finds himself certain that if James was going to do anything, such as bugging the apartment, then he would have been able to do that already. A bug isn’t a problem, though. It is not like he has anyone to tell about anything he does, spider related or otherwise.

Most of his day with James is spent trying to find out if the ex-soldier is actually up to something or if Peter is simply paranoid. By lunch, he had yet to do anything that confirmed Peter’s suspicions. When Peter freaked out because he realized he no-called no-showed for work, James offered to speak with his boss and explain the situation. Peter declined, but it was mostly due to the fact that he had no idea what he was going to tell his boss at the time (he ended up saying he was mugged). At some point James remembered that he sent Peter to bed with a sling – how he forgot that continues to elude Peter – and offers to go retrieve it from him so there is no risk that Peter will tear his stitches. Peter says no because the last thing he needs right now is James in his personal space (Not that there is anything personal about Peter’s apartment, but that is besides the point).

James doesn’t even question it when Peter absolutely insists on being in the kitchen with him as he prepares lunch. It shocks Peter that James seems to know exactly why he wants to be in the same room as him as he cooks. He seems to go as far as to keep his hands very clearly in Peter’s line of sight the entire time he does cook. That doesn’t stop Peter from being wary as he eats the most divine chicken noodle soup he has ever had. They even do the same routine for dinner, which ends up being chicken with a side of oven baked potatoes and rice.

Never once does James question the way Peter behaves. Part of Peter wonders if James has experienced this before, but on the other end of the spectrum. Instead of caring for someone broken and paranoid, he was the one being cared for. Not that Peter would typically describe himself as broken but, hey, he owns a mirror. James doesn’t even try to fight against Peter’s behavior until later that night.

“You need to let me change your gauze and check your stitches so uh,” James waves his hands around, as if he was pulling the words out of the air, “So they don’t get infected.”

“No,” Peter says too quickly, “I can check them myself.”

“You should really let someone else do that, so you don’t hurt yourself worse,” James explains, using a cautious tone.

“I’ve done it myself plenty of times before, I can do it again,” Peter replies, getting defensive. In all honesty, he doesn’t know how his healing factor is holding up but he is certain that, especially since he’s actually eaten three meals today, he will be healing faster than the average person. The last thing he needs is James seeing that and realizing there is something different about Peter.

“It shouldn’t have to be that way,” James practically snaps. Peter stands up from his sitting position on his – quite frankly – shitty couch.

“Well it is, and there is nothing you can do about it,” Peter retorts as he leaves the room, heading towards the bathroom, not even wincing at the pain that shoots through him as a reaction to the sudden movement.

The second James is out of his sight, guilt consumes Peter. He knows that James likely means no harm, and just wants to help him. He’s been nothing but kind to Peter, and there is no reason why Peter should have snapped at him like that. Peter can’t forget, however, that he trusted Beck. He was nothing but kind to Peter as well. And then he almost killed him. And his friends. And everyone else he trusted. And he outed his identity to the world. Which inadvertently killed May. And caused him to lose everything. So sue him if he can’t find it in himself to trust James, considering how everyone he’s ever trusted has either died, betrayed him, or suffered because of him. Peter just hopes that James, if his intentions aren’t terrible, can forgive Peter and his complicated relationship with trust. Because he truly does want to trust James, one of his core beliefs is that everyone can be good, but he can’t risk being betrayed again, and he certainly doesn’t believe he’ll be able to handle losing someone important to him again.

When Peter removes the gauze from his torso he realizes that he, probably, had nothing to worry about. Then again, he doesn't know how fast the average person heals from being gutted and shot. The only thing his healing factor seems to be doing is keeping him alive. He quickly recovered from the blood loss of the previous night, and the nausea of the morning, but that seems to be it. Peter swiftly cleans the wounds on his torso and shoulder before covering them with gauze again. He, begrudgingly, does a once over of himself in the mirror. He’s looked worse, honestly. He notes that he should change the gauze on his shoulder more often, but other than that he seems fine.

As the night goes on, Peter realizes that James actually seems to make good on his promise, and stay with Peter until he is “healed.” Peter wants to go to bed. He’s tired. He’s been on alert all day waiting. He still expects James to do something. He can’t go to bed, and trust James in his apartment, even if he doesn't sleep. Even if he spends the whole night awake, listening intently to James’ every movement. That’s exhausting. It would waste his energy. It would waste the energy that he needs to heal to get James out of his apartment faster. Peter is just so tired.

“Are you going to kill me?” Peter finally asks when he can’t take it anymore. James looks up from whatever he’s doing, but he doesn't look startled. He kind of just stares at Peter, seeming as if he is processing what he was just asked, as if he is considering the implication of every word. He’s silent for a long time before he finally answers.

“Why would I be staying here if I was planning to kill you?” James asks, sounding genuinely curious, like he couldn’t fathom that situation.

“I don’t know man, you were the one who broke into my apartment last night,” Peter replies.

“I heard you collapse from my apartment downstairs,” Peter winces remembering how hard he hit the floor, “When I came upstairs to check on the situation, you sounded like you were dying. I couldn’t not do something. If I wanted you dead then I would have just left you on your own.”

“People have tried to kill me after claiming they were helping me, maybe you’re in it for the long game. I don’t know, maybe you’re waiting until I’m healed so you can get some satisfaction in killing me. I don’t know you,” Peter realizes he accidentally revealed too much about himself in that statement, but it’s clear someone tried to kill him last night, so there’s not much he’s really hiding in that aspect.

“Why would I put effort into killing you when you seem to be doing a pretty damn good job at killing yourself?” James sighs, “Listen, kid, I’m not saying that you have to tell me everything you’re involved with, or why you came home like that last night, but I don’t want to kill you. I don’t even want to hurt you. I’m not planning on it either. I just want to make sure you survive. I know what it’s like to try to recover alone,” James explains. Peter weighs his options. He knows how quickly, and efficiently, James can fight. He also knows that it’s best to kick someone while they’re down. He will never fully trust James, not after everything, but maybe, maybe, he can trust him enough to put some energy in actually recovering instead of constantly being in fight or flight.

“I’m going to bed,” Peter sighs, hoping James will see it for what it is. Not a declaration of war. Not an olive branch. But a cautious acceptance.

Chapter Text

Peter gets James to leave about a week into his recovery. He’s healed enough that he can start going back on patrol, telling James that he’s going for walks to keep his strength up, and he is due to return to work soon anyways. Considering how he didn’t tell his boss the extent of his injuries to avoid raising suspicion, Peter only got a week off from work.

He recovered quickly, all things considered. It was likely due to the fact that he was actually eating three meals a day. He didn’t eat enough to satisfy his hunger, he didn’t want to get used to it after all, but he still ate something. Which was more than he could say for most days. Not to mention, this was the longest break he’s taken from being Spider-Man since he disappeared for five years. It’s safe to say his body was grateful for the break.

Honestly, he only risked going out on patrol while James was there because he was going stir crazy. While he did still have the bone deep exhaustion that hasn’t left his bones since, well, everything, he was still enhanced. He wasn’t built to sit around and do nothing for days on end. He needed to do something before he lost it, but he couldn’t really reveal that to James.

In reality, he spent only a few days away from patrol. It was enough time that his wounds were (mostly) closed. (He reopened the one on his lower abdomen his first night back). But he wasn’t doing anything too dangerous, he swears! Just a poorly timed backflip! That is not to say he did nothing while away from Spider-Man-ing. He picked up the GED study book he bought for the first time since he moved into the apartment. He did want to go to college one day, if he could afford it. However, that was proven a waste of time because he knew most of, if not everything, in that book. It’s not like he can afford to take the test anyways.

Today is Peter’s first day back at work, and away from James. After their first day, Peter and James were able to coexist. Peter still observed as James prepared meals. He still looked for deceit in his actions. He denied almost every attempt to help. But he slept at night without every sense on alert. He ate his food without wondering in the back of his mind if it was poison. At the end of the day, however, Peter is happy to have the apartment empty again.

When Peter walks into work, he’s appreciative that his boss asks no questions (not that Peter expected him to). His boss is the type of guy to never ask questions, as long as work gets done, which suits Peter just fine. It means there are no sideways looks or stammered explanations when he comes into work looking less than ideal, which is more often than not. Peter is good at what he does, he’s always been good with technical things. He made his first spider suit and web shooters after all. So as long as he’s good at what he does, and doesn't bring any of his problems to work, his boss will keep him on the schedule.

Work is, by Peter’s standards, pretty easy. He is, basically, a car mechanic. He dealt with more complicated technology in high school. It doesn’t cause much physical strain on his enhanced body, which he is eternally thankful for on most days, today especially. It is a slow day by his standards.

When he returns home, Peter is excited at the prospect of going patrol without having to worry about sneaking out. His wounds are healed enough that they won’t tear open to be worse than before (that hasn’t stopped him before, but he is still thrilled nonetheless). He knows soon enough, they will just be more scars to add to the collection. His energy is up from going stir crazy the past few days of healing and shortened patrol. He feels almost as excited to go on patrol as he did when he first started.

That realization makes Peter stumble over himself, but he immediately bounces back, opting, instead, not to think about it.

He chooses to opt out of a shower until after patrol. He doesn’t have hot water in his apartment, and the cold water makes him feel drowsy. He wants to keep up this energy as long as possible, so he runs straight to his room and grabs the bag from under his bed that contains his suit. He checks to make sure there is nothing that could easily reveal his identity on his person, and he makes sure he will have enough web fluid to get him through the night. When he is clear, he practically runs towards the window. He carefully opens the window to prevent it from breaking – it's been on its last leg since Peter moved in and he is (usually) very careful not to break it – and practically jumps out.

It’s not uncommon for people to leave through the fire escape, it’s not exactly common either, but no one is going to look sideways at a teenager leaving this way. He leaves this way because it is a more direct path to his apartment, and because he is less likely to be seen overall.

Peter, for lack of better word, scrambles down the fire escape and walks hastily to the nearby alleyway. He is particularly fond of changing in this alleyway because it has a giant blind spot, where he can move freely as he changes without getting caught. It is also uncommon that people actually use this alley, for whatever reason, so his bag is less likely to get stolen. He’s also gotten better at hiding it, since he doesn’t have anyone to ask to buy him a new one whenever it does get stolen.
A web shoots from his palm the second he’s got his suit on. It attaches itself to the building that currently towers over him, and he’s off. He is swinging through the streets, listening for any crime, and almost feeling carefree. Almost.

It used to be that he never took the suit off, in the early days after everything. It was the last tie he had to a normal life. It was the last tie he had to anyone. He made it with Mr. Stark’s technology. Happy gave him the material. It was the last thing May, Mj, and Ned saw him in. He stopped wearing it shortly after he got a regular job, opting to just carry it on his person instead. He still does, most days, but he is leaving it behind in his apartment more often. Not because he can live without it, but because he still has that fear instilled in him of people finding out his identity. Realistically he knows it doesn’t matter, he is quite literally nobody, but he can’t shake the feeling. He does, however, always have his webshooters on him. The only time he takes them off is when he needs to refill the web fluid, or to tinker with them. He feels wrong without them on his wrist. They provide him the same security the suit did.

There is still an hour or so left in the work day for New York, so there is really nothing much going on. The streets are still crowded, but there is not much crime during the day. That’s fine. Peter is more than happy to just swing around for a while. Maybe it’ll give him some peace of mind.

—

As grateful – and surprised – as Bucky was to clear his calendar for a week to deal with the kid, he would trade it all to never experience a day as busy as today ever again. Meetings, public appearances, financing, strategizing, fundraising, and what feels like a million other things take over Bucky’s calendar. He’s left wondering, not for the first time, how the hell he ended up and politics. He’s so busy that he doesn’t even have time to think about the past week he just experienced.

His day is exhausting. Most of his energy is spent trying to keep up with everything around him. Bucky’s mind is quick, but only in fight-or-flight situations. When his team is strategizing for whatever it is that they are strategizing for, he feels ten steps behind. His team will ask him something, and look at him expectantly, meanwhile he’s trying to process what was said five minutes ago. His team is patient with him, they are always ready to repeat anything when needed, which he is truly thankful for. It just doesn’t make taking in the information any less exhausting.

By the end of the day, Bucky’s mind is left reeling. He is sure he missed a decent amount of information today, but he can’t quite bring himself to care. He is once again left absolutely confused on how he ended up in politics. He thinks his thought process was somewhere along the lines of helping people. Helping people without using his fists to solve problems, maybe even make up for the harm he caused as the Winter Soldier, that’s what he thinks his thought process was. Which apparently translated to becoming a congressman. Bucky can only hope that some of the exhaustion will go away if he actually gets elected, which he hopes he does. If he didn’t, it means he would have to start from scratch, and he truly doesn't believe he has the strength to do that. Not anymore. Not again.

It’s after ten by the time Bucky gets home, which is late by his standards. He finds himself grateful that one of the many events that took up his schedule provided food, which means he doesn’t have to worry about putting effort into feeding himself tonight.

The serum he was given makes him experience exhaustion in different ways than the average population. He doesn’t feel the pressure behind his eyes that most people do. His bones don’t typically feel heavy. When he is tired, Bucky’s mind feels as if it turns to static. He doesn’t need to sleep, per say, to get over the exhaustion. He didn’t sleep when he was with Hydra. They froze him, and that was enough. He sleeps now, and it’s as effective as cryo was in erasing the exhaustion. Though he won’t admit it, he sleeps now because it's a privilege he hasn’t experienced in over a hundred years.

All that to say: Bucky is tired. He takes a quick, albeit cold, shower as some attempt to wash away the day's tension. He isn’t particularly fond of the cold, mainly because it hosts bad memories, but it’s what he can afford. On a purely physical level, it doesn’t bother him, so he copes.

Before he makes an attempt to sleep, Bucky does a safety check of the apartment. What can he say? Old habits die hard. His door is locked. He double checks. He triple checks. The window in the bedroom is securely shut and locked. As he checks the window in his living room, he notices a figure crawling up the fire escape, just barely passing his apartment. It doesn’t immediately register as a threat, it isn’t exactly rare that someone used the fire escape to get in and out of the building. Nonetheless, he tunes in his hearing.

The window opens upstairs, but it isn’t with the same aggression and fervor as the previous week. He can barely hear the gentle footsteps landing on the floor, entering the room. It is such a stark contrast to the week before that it almost shocks Bucky. He almost wonders how many times the kid has entered the apartment with such tranquility that he never noticed.

Deeming his apartment secure, Bucky concludes that it is safe to go to bed. As of late he has been trying to sleep in an actual bed, rather than on the floor. Some nights that trek causes more problems than solutions, on those nights he opts to sleep on the couch. He refuses to sleep on the floor anymore, no matter how appealing he seems, and no matter how undeserving he feels he is of comfort.

Despite his exhaustion, despite everything his mind went through today, he finds himself thinking in bed rather than sleeping. Though he can’t find it in himself to complain, because the topic on his mind could be significantly worse. He thinks about what he just saw outside his window. He thinks about the kid. He wonders about the kid.

At the end of their first day together, they came to some sort of truce, or understanding. The kid – Peter, Bucky reminds himself – begrudgingly accepted his presence, and Bucky did whatever he could to make the kid feel some amount of security in his presence. Peter was cautious of him during his entire stay, it wasn’t that Bucky blamed it, no, it was the fact that it was so clear that caution didn’t stem from the fact that Bucky used to be the Winter Soldier. Maybe initially, sure, but then it didn’t go away when he clarified he had no intent to kill, or even harm, the kid.

Bucky did everything in that power to make the kid feel safe, even if it wasn’t entirely conscious. He realizes, as he is thinking, he told the kid his first name in some hope of separating himself from the Winter Soldier. Maybe he wouldn’t realize, in his blood-loss haze, that the James sewing up his wounds wasn't the same James that was once the most skilled assassin in the world.

The kid is young, that much Bucky can tell. Even if it wasn’t obvious just by looking at him, the kid was studying for his GED, which makes Bucky believe he is supposed to be in high school, or was at least supposed to graduate recently. Peter, despite all his reservations, was nice enough. Which makes Bucky wonder, what was this kid so caught up in that he would get hurt like that and so readily refuse any help offered? It doesn’t add up. The kid seems smart enough, and clearly he is cautious enough of his surroundings, what hurt him? Bucky can’t seem to wrap his head around it.

Two hours pass before Bucky inevitably attempts to fall asleep. He wonders absent mindedly if he should go check on the kid, remembering the empty state of the apartment above. He tunes in his hearing, just to check in. When he hears no movement, Bucky assumes the kid is asleep, so he just opts to do the same, making a mental note to check on the kid tomorrow.

—

New York is quiet. Well, not quiet, but there isn’t a lot of crime going on, much to Peter’s dismay. Now that he thinks, the past few days have been relatively peaceful by New York standards. That’s not to say there isn’t anything going on. It’s still New York. There’s still robberies, muggings, and a bunch of other small scale crimes for Peter to stop. At some point, he stops hearing sounds of distress, there’s no police sirens, and there’s no bank robbers. He chooses to stay out a little longer, just in case.

After an hour of hearing nothing, he opts to go home. It’s clearly a peaceful night for New York, which is a boring night for him, so he might as well just leave. Part of him feels a little guilty, wondering if he should stay out just in case something does happen, but he has plenty of experience with nights like these, if something big is going to happen, it won’t happen on a quiet night.

Peter is entering his apartment window around eleven, which is a new record for him honestly. He, much to his genuine surprise, feels a pang of disappointment at finding the apartment empty. He mentally kicks himself for that. He wasn’t supposed to get attached to anything from the preceding week. He knows better than to do so, especially getting attached to a person of all things. He reminds himself that he is happy to have his own space again.

He walks through the apartment without making a sound, a habit he picked up when he was sneaking out of May’s apartment back when he first started, and makes his way to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, Peter does a once-over of his body to make sure he didn’t sustain any new injuries. Satisfied to see nothing more than a few bruises, he walks to his bedroom. Upon entering, he not-so-gracefully tosses and webs his bag containing his suit under his bed and flops down on his mattress. Whenever he wasn’t fighting crime, he was swinging around to tire himself out. Which was, thankfully, successful. Now that he is no longer on alert from patrol, he can feel exhaustion seeping into his bones.

As he starts to fall asleep, his mind drifts to the past week for the second time that day. It comes up with a lot of what-if scenarios. They mostly beg the question, What if he accepted James’ offer? Peter allows best-case scenarios to dance in his head. He won’t lie, he almost enjoyed having someone take care of him again. However, it was an unwelcome reminder that he was still a kid, and he still needed help. He also enjoyed actually having food to eat, but he knew he couldn’t get used to it.

Yet he can’t help but wonder, maybe he could’ve gotten used to it. Peter could’ve let himself care about something, and be cared for again. If something were to happen, he can imagine a million scenarios where James were to leave him or die, sure, but part of him knew none of them were realistic. James, Peter knows, is a super soldier. He’s strong and can hold his ground. He can protect himself. Even if he can’t, James publicly has friends in high places. It would’ve been nice.

It was in everyone's best interest to deny James of his offer. He’s protecting James, and he’s protecting himself. He’s lived like this long enough, he can continue to do so. That doesn’t mean that, at the end of the day, he can’t think about what it could’ve been like to matter to someone again – to have someone know him again.

Chapter Text

Despite the state of chaos that Bucky is constantly experiencing in his life, he still finds time to think about that kid. Any time he gets any semblance of peace in his life, his mind always trails back to the kid. He tries not to, he really does. At the end of the day the kid can control his life. He’s survived this long without Bucky, and he clearly doesn’t want Bucky’s help. However, it’s at the end of the day that Bucky is wondering if the kid needs his help, even if he doesn’t want it.

Bucky decides he will stay out of it. The kid doesn’t want his help, and Bucky can’t force him to accept it.

He fails, of course.

Bucky starts taking note of the kid’s schedule. By the time he realizes he’s doing it, he has the whole thing memorized. He gets out of bed at six every morning, which is before Bucky himself even wakes up. During the week he leaves the building at six-thirty. He returns home twelve hours later. Bucky can only assume that’s when the kid goes to work, or do whatever he does to afford rent. The kid leaves again around nightfall. Sometimes he leaves before then. His return is inconsistent, though. However, most of the time he comes home too early, or too late, depending on how you look at it. He returns home closer to four in the morning than ten at night most nights. All his coming and going are through the fire escape. The only reason why Bucky hears the kid come home most of the time is because of the window. More often than not the kid moves silently around his apartment. Just the odd, uncontrollable creak of the old floorboards giving him away, or, when he is particularly tired, Bucky hears the kid stumble out of bed.

Some nights, Bucky can tell the kid had a rough night doing whatever it is he does. Bucky can hear him stumble in through the window, rather than carefully step on the ground before him. Occasionally he can hear the kid wheezing, or maybe a grunt of pain. These are the nights Bucky struggles the most to respect the kid’s decision. He wants to do nothing more than check on him, to make sure he survives through the night. Granted, nothing ever sounds as bad as the first night Bucky found the kid, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying, from fighting the urge to bolt out of bed and just check. He does his best to keep himself in check, partially out of respect for the kid’s decision, partially because part of him knows that what he is doing is wrong. He is practically stalking the kid.

The worst part is, however, that Bucky doesn't have a single clue as to why he is stalking the kid. Not fully anyway. He worries for the kid’s wellbeing, but he has never worried about anyone this much. He didn’t even worry about Steve this much when he was five foot nothing and could’ve been blown away if you blinked at him too hard. This kid isn’t Steve, though. This kid is clearly strong, and he can clearly handle himself. However, Bucky still finds himself drawn to him, and for the life of him he can’t figure out why, which bothers him and therefore causes him to think about the kid significantly more. He wants to know, to understand why he feels the need to protect this kid. It bothers him.

Eventually, much to his dismay, the thoughts of the kid start to fully take over his brain. The more time that passes from their last interaction, the more Bucky worries about him. His team starts to notice his withdrawal. It’s bad enough that they even ask him about it. He plays it off, eventually, just stating that he is stressed. Whether or not they believe him doesn’t matter because they stop asking. Bucky continues to worry.

Another week passes.

Bucky is still worrying.

At some point his brain hit him with the realization that he hasn’t actually seen the kid alive since they last interacted. He’s just been assuming he is alive based on the sounds in the apartment above. Bucky doesn’t like this thought.

He calls Sam.

He didn’t particularly want to call Sam, especially since he is busy being Captain America and training his Falcon protege. It’s a lot of work being Captain America, not to mention Bucky knows the backlash Sam is facing on top of everything. It feels wrong to come to him about something so small, so trivial in comparison, but he can’t handle it anymore. Bucky isn’t required to go to therapy anymore, even if he was, he wouldn’t tell her about this situation. He would be too scared that she would report the kid. This isn’t exactly the right situation for Ayo, or anyone in Wakanda for that matter. It’s not like he is currently welcomed by them anyways. They are still holding a mild grudge against him, which he can’t exactly blame them for. At the end of the day, Sam is his only option. He is Bucky’s best, only, friend, and he is the person Bucky trusts most in the world for the time being.

Sam picks up after only two rings.

“Hey, Buck,” He greets, “Haven’t heard from you in a while, was starting to think you were forgetting about me.”

“I could never forget about you, but here I was thinking you forgot about me. Figured all the fame of being Captain America finally got to you, and you didn’t have time for your friends anymore,” Bucky quips.

“I figured you were too busy being an important politician for me. How is that by the way?” Sam asks.

“It’s everything I thought it would be. People tell me what to do all day long, and I constantly feel ten steps behind,” Bucky admits, although with a joking tone, “How’s your family? How’s Sarah? She miss me?”

“Yea you think you’re funny,” Sam laughs.

“No, no, I’m serious, how is everything?”

“They’re fine. Everything is fine. How ‘bout you Buck? Something tells me this isn’t a social
call,” Sam is always good about knowing Bucky’s moods, although he does actually care about Sam, and cares about his life, Sam is right. One day soon, Bucky promises himself, he will actually call Sam to actually talk about him.

“Something happened a couple weeks ago,” Bucky starts. He explains the situation to Sam, he sugar coats enough of it to keep Sam’s worrying to a minimum. He doesn’t admit the extent of the kid’s injury. He explains that it was bad, and that’s as far as he will let himself go. He admits that he stayed with the kid for the week he was permitted to recover, and that he hasn’t seen him since. He goes as far to indulge Sam with the accidental stalking and the paranoid thoughts that simply refuse to leave his brain, “I don’t know what to do, Sam, I’m at a loss,” He admits after finishing this explanation, “I barely knew him a week but I can’t stop worrying about him.”

“Buck,” Sam sighs whenever he finishes, “Go check on the kid.”

“You say it like it’s that simple,” Bucky rubs at his temples, hoping that it will relieve some of the stress he’s been experiencing.
“Because it is,” Sam laughs, though not mocking, “Make up an excuse to check in on him. If he was as injured as you’re making him out to be, which, knowing you, he was probably worse than you’re saying, then it would make sense that you go check up on him.” Bucky just sighs in response. He should’ve known Sam was going to see through his sugar coating.

“I’ll see what I can think of.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Sam quips. Bucky smiles in response.

“Thanks Sam,” Bucky says.

“Hey, I’m always here for you man,” Sam replies. It helps to ease Bucky’s nerves a bit knowing that Sam is on his side after everything. They both bid each other farewell, with promises to actually talk soon, and they each go about their lives. Now, though, Bucky is thinking of a course of action to see the kid again.

Another couple of days go by before Bucky can properly put his plan into action. He has a weekday off, which is shocking in itself, so Bucky takes the opportunity to fine tune his plan and check on the kid. Granted, everything in itself truly relies on the kid letting Bucky into his home again, which he has doubts about. Nonetheless, Bucky knows his nerves will be relieved just seeing the kid alive again, even if they don’t properly speak again.
This is how Buck finds himself at the grocery store early one morning. It’s a weekday before eleven, meaning the store itself won’t be busy, and Bucky will be able to properly think. He’s walking around the aisles searching for the most filling foods he can think of. Something tells him that the kid only eats enough food to survive, and likely has barely eaten a thing since Bucky saw him last.

As he is pacing the aisles, he develops a plan on what, exactly, he is going to make of the kid. Carbohydrates seem to help with his super soldier metabolism, even if it is just a little bit. Part of him remembers the kid restricting himself from eating more whenever Bucky was staying with him, so the more filling the food is, the better. He just assumes that the kid didn't want to get used to eating, or was trying to be careful since he never ate much to begin with. Bucky can sympathize with that, remembering how challenging it was to build a relationship with food after not properly eating for over seventy years.

Satisfied with the ingredients he has procured, Bucky pays for the food and returns home. He properly stores the food, so it won’t spoil before the evening, and goes over his plan in his head again. Unfortunately, because he went shopping so early, he still has a few hours to wait until the kid returns home. The only thing he can do is wait.

He was going to try to be productive, he really was, but then the ringing in his ears started. He doesn’t have the energy to fight it today, not when he already has so much planned, and so much going on in his head already. It happens sometimes, the doctors he is forced to see remind him of that fact. No super soldier serum, no amount of therapy, no healing factor, and no amount of time can properly undo what Hydra did to his brain. So when the ringing starts, he lets it happen. He lets his brain turn off. Part of him hopes that the state of dissociation helps ease some of his nerves.

Thankfully, like he hoped it would, his brain comes back online when he hears the familiar sound of the window opening. Not his window, of course, but the one upstairs. He doesn’t want to immediately bombard the kid when he returns home, no, he waits. He waits an appropriate amount of time before he grabs his ingredients from his fridge.

On his way up to the apartment, Bucky practices his cover story one more time. He just hopes it's believable, and he hopes that the kid lets him in. He didn’t even prepare the meal beforehand, that way the kid can watch him cook like he prefers to do. Bucky understands it comes from a state of paranoia, but he can’t understand why the kid is so paranoid at such a young age. Nonetheless, he is ready to do just about anything to get the kid to let him into his life.

He reaches the door above his own, takes a deep breath, and knocks.

—

Peter’s life, mostly to his dismay, has returned to the same chaos that he experienced before his short sabbatical. New York was kind for him for a total of three days before violently ramping up crime rates. It is nothing Peter can’t handle, but the change was so jarring to Peter that it genuinely caught him off guard. The crime is so bad some nights that Peter finds himself in territory that is otherwise claimed by other vigilantes. The most problematic, of course, being Hell’s Kitchen.

It’s not that Peter doesn’t like working with Daredevil. It’s that Daredevil doesn’t like working with people in general. Usually, they don’t work together at all, ever, mainly because Daredevil works alone and chases Spider-Man out of his territory any chance he gets. Peter has tried to build a relationship with the man, like, they are both controversial, masked vigilantes that are hated by prominent figures, they could be a team! However, Daredevil never lets Peter explain that to him.

With the crime increase within the entirety of New York, Daredevil doesn’t have the time to chase Peter out of Hell’s Kitchen. On one occasion they even worked together before Daredevil chased him out. Peter thinks that is progress. It’s not like they would actually get close, both of them would never let that happen, but if they worked together then maybe crime in New York would decrease a bit. And maybe Peter wants someone to confide in about having to balance being a vigilante with normal life! Sue him!

All that to say, Peter is tired. The increase in crime has him staying out later and later every night. He is stretching himself thin again. It’s not like he can find it in himself to care, part of him is almost thankful for it because it means he doesn’t have time to think, but another part of him almost enjoyed the peace he experienced on the short crime decrease. He enjoyed feeling happy to be Spider-Man again.

Exhaustion is not something that Peter is unfamiliar with. It is something that he has spent the last period of his life getting closely acquainted with. He can survive being exhausted. He can survive being hungry. He can survive the crime rates of his New York. Something he can’t survive, apparently, is the thought of someone offering to take care of him. Whenever his brain isn’t overrun with exhaustion or intently focused at the task at hand, Peter finds himself thinking about James. It isn’t often, due to the fact that he is so busy, but it is enough for him to notice.

Spiders are solitary animals. Humans are social animals. Peter is both at the same time. Peter is also tired of having the same debate with himself over and over again. He is tired of debating whether or not he should let someone into his life in a way that they know every part of him. Peter’s attempts to befriend other vigilantes, he justifies, is different. They would never truly know him. They would never get properly close. He could hide under the mask of Spider-Man. They have people to protect, and they would be under the assumption that Spider-Man has people to protect as well. At the end of the day it would be superficial.

Someone getting to know Peter Parker is different. They would inevitably find out he is Spider-Man. That would put them in danger. Peter couldn’t do that to someone, ex assassin or not, but, on the other hand, Peter is so tired of being alone.

It all comes to a head one night when Spider-Man is working alongside a reluctant Daredevil. Most of the crime that particular night took place in Hell's Kitchen. It is too much for Daredevil to handle, so he accepts Spider-Man into his territory under the strict circumstance that they stay separate, and Spider-Man does not interfere with his work.

This is the case most of the night, until, much to the Devil’s dismay, they end up fighting the same group of people. Peter believes he could take everyone down just fine, but he eases up and lets Daredevil do most of the work. Which, unfortunately, gives Peter’s mind the perfect opportunity to wander. Much to Peter’s dismay, his mind wanders to the offer James presented him with weeks ago. So much so, he doesn’t even realize when the fight ends.

“Alright, spit it out, what’s on your mind, kid,” Daredevil demands, pulling Peter from his thoughts, mostly out of shock that he is willingly talking with him.

“I’m not- I’m an- I’m not a kid,” Peter stutters out, mostly out of surprise and out of a need to preserve his identity. Daredevil doesn’t even reward that with a response, and gives him a sideways glance. Peter sighs, and starts to explain his thoughts. He withholds as much information as possible, as not to give the Devil something to hold over his head, and to, once again, preserve his identity. Not that it would matter if Daredevil knew, but old habits die hard.
Ultimately he tells the devil that someone wants to be a part of his life, but he doesn’t want to let that happen because it would put them in danger, and he can’t stand to lose someone just because of his hobby.

“Listen kid,” he sighs, “Having no one in your life will slowly kill you. You’re young, too young for all of this even, but you’re like me, you feel the need to help if you can. If you’re going to do that you need to let someone, anyone, in. You’re going to lose yourself if you don’t.”

“I don’t know if I can lose anyone again,” Peter admits before he can think better of it. He watches some sort of emotion pass through Daredevil’s face, something akin to understanding.

“The risk of losing someone will always be there for people like us, but you can’t keep doing this alone. I’ve tried to, and I almost lost everything, you can’t make the same mistake,” Peter lets the words wash over him. Peter doesn’t know who Daredevil is under the mask, but he knows how he acts as a person, he knows the kind of people he helps, he knows his moral code, and he knows he would never want to see what would happen if he changed who he was.

“I’ll think about it,” Peter says, and he will.

“Good,” Daredevil says after a short pause, “Now get out of my territory.”

“Come on man,” Peter whines, “I thought we were bonding here.”

“Out,” is all he gets in response.

“Whatever, I’ll make a teammate out of you yet,” Peter mumbles to himself.

“No you won’t,” Daredevil calls back. Peter just sighs, opting to swing home rather than listening out for more crime. It is getting late, and he has work tomorrow.
It’s another few days before Peter can properly think about his conversation with Daredevil. It’s a slow day at work when he decides that maybe he will give James another chance. He can’t promise himself that he will ever actually trust him, or that he will ever confide in him, but he can tell himself that he will speak to him if he ever sees him again.

A few hours later, Peter decides that maybe he will make an excuse to see James again. Maybe just say thank you to him for helping out all those weeks ago, and for dealing with his paranoia. He decides he will save up to get James a thank you gift. If he goes an extra week without food, then he should be able to get one sooner rather than later. He can go longer than the average human without food anyways.

He gets home from work that day with a vague plan in his mind to see James again. He decides to think more about it later. Right now he is considering going out on patrol early so he doesn’t have to think about it anymore, fearing that if he does he will talk himself out of it.

Just as he was going to his room to get his bag with his suit in it, Peter hears a knock on his door. This immediately puts him in fight-or-flight and his senses go on high alert. He isn’t expecting any visitors, so, by that logic, his landlord is about to evict him, or someone he fought found out who he is and is here to kill him, or kidnap him, or do something terrible in general.

As quietly as he can, Peter jumps to the ceiling. He makes his way to the front door like this just to ensure he doesn’t step on an old floorboard and make noise, which would alert whoever is knocking on his door. Once he reaches the door, he carefully lowers himself from the ceiling, leaving one hand attached so he doesn’t land on the floor, and he looks through the peephole on his door. Much to his surprise, he sees James standing outside his door with a bag on his arm. About every single emotion known to man crosses Peter’s mind before he, quietly, drops from the ceiling and opens the door.

Chapter Text

Sometime between Peter looking through the peephole and opening his door, James’ expression changed from nervous to deeply confused. However, it seems that once he notices Peter, he schools his expression back to something neutral. Well, he is clearly attempting to be neutral, but Peter can still see the tightness of nerves in his expression. They both stare at each other, not sure as to what to say, and waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Hey man,” Peter elegantly states when the silence becomes too exhausting. This seems to knock James out of whatever confused daze he was experiencing.

“Hey,” James says, “I, um, I brought some,” He gestures to the bag in his hand, and then shakes his head as if resetting his thoughts, “My friend, Sam, was supposed to come over to have dinner with me. He cancelled at the last minute. I figured since,” He sighs, “There’s a lot of food that will go to waste since he won’t be here to eat it. I was thinking and I figured I could come up to check in and make it for you instead, so it doesn’t go to waste,” James offers.

“Um,” Peter replies, ever the articulate one. He has no reason to say no to James, truly. They accepted each other's presence the whole week they spent together. Peter has been thinking about James, and James clearly has been thinking about Peter. He wants to let James into his life, even if it is just as a neighbor that acknowledges him whenever they see him. However, this is just another thing that Peter will have to thank him for. On the other hand, maybe this was the plan all along. He gains Peter’s trust, and now is going to hurt him. However, he said he wasn’t going to. On a secret third hand, someone has done this to him before. Someone has gone out of the way to gain Peter’s trust just to get something from him. Maybe it’s Peter’s fault for trusting so easily, but he is nothing if not a kind person, even if now he’s paranoid on top of it. He wants to trust James, he truly does, but he doesn’t know if he can. Sure it’s erasing all the work they put in during that one was but what if-

“Everything is still packaged,” James says, interrupting Peter’s thoughts, “He cancelled before I had the chance to prepare anything.”

Peter stares. An emotion fills his bones that he doesn’t want to identify too closely, terrified of what he’ll find if he does. The thought of James remembering something so minute, so trivial, shocks Peter to his core. Sure, he noticed that James noticed his habit of needing to see his food prepared, but the fact that he remembered it after the weeks that have passed. The fact that he is openly acknowledging it without making it seem like a problem makes Peter almost feel seen.

It’s a feeling, being seen, that Peter hasn’t felt in so long. He has almost forgotten what it feels like to have someone remember the smallest things about him. It makes him realize that maybe Daredevil was right, maybe having no one is slowly killing him. It’s killing him in a way that he hasn’t noticed up until now. He doesn’t trust James, not now, maybe not ever, but suddenly letting him in a little bit doesn’t strike the same level of fear in his bones that it did just an hour before.

“I can leave,” James shifts his weight around uncomfortably, “You don’t have to say yes, I don’t want you to feel forced. If you say no, I will leave without a fight,” James states.

“No it’s,” Peter clears his throat, “Come in, sorry,” He steps out of the way to give James ample room to enter. James walks past Peter to enter the apartment, before stopping and effectively standing uncomfortably in the entryway. “You know where the kitchen is,” Peter says after he closes the door.

“Right, yeah,” James replies, walking towards the kitchen. Upon entering the kitchen, James immediately starts working. He pulls out pots that Peter didn’t even realize he’d left behind. He mentally slaps himself for not noticing it, but it’s not like he’s ever actually in his kitchen. James fills the pot with water.

“What are you making?” Peter asks, attempting small talk rather than just sitting in silence.

“Pasta,” James answers simply, and then adds on after a minute, “With chicken and broccoli, because my friend works a physically demanding job, and I heard that all these,” He gestures to the bag on the island behind him, “Are good for energy or something,” He explains, turning to Peter, “I guess I should’ve asked if that was okay with you instead of just assuming,” James says sheepishly.

“My aunt,” Peter pauses, realizing the information he was about to share. He doesn’t trust James with that, not yet, “I was raised in an Italian household, liking pasta wasn’t a choice,” Peter attempts to joke. It seemingly lands well because James lets out a huff of air that could be taken as a laugh.

“Yea,” James says, seemingly reminiscing something, “Is there anything you don’t eat?” He asks after a few minutes.

“Peppermint,” Peter says before he can even think, “It’s more the smell than anything. I can’t stand it,” In reality it makes him extremely nauseous and causes him to feel sick for hours, but he won’t admit that, “Vinegar too. When I told my family about my hatred for it, I thought they were going to kill me with looks alone,” Peter laughs, remembering the shock on May’s face after she made one successful meal.

“Well,” James laughs shakily, “I'll make sure to keep that in mind for next time.”

The conversation seems to reach a natural end, and not wanting to force anything, Peter stays silent. He simply nods in response, to make sure James knows he was heard, and allows him to continue his work. Peter is also trying to not lose his mind at the hint of James wanting to be around him again. It’s something similar to the feeling he has when Mr. Stark was in his room questioning him about his Spider-Hobby. A part of him is happy with the thought of letting someone in, another part of him is drowning in fear. He does his best to ignore the fear, to let this good thing happen, just this once.

—

This silence is acceptable. The discomfort between the two still hangs in the air, but it is no longer suffocating. The two were able to coexist that week Bucky stayed, but the tension in the air was thick with discomfort from both parties. Bucky is satisfied to see Peter trusts him enough to let him back into his home, but he is also aware of the work that will have to be put in to get Peter to open up to him anymore. He is very aware of the fact that Peter might never trust him, not fully anyways, but that doesn’t mean Bucky can’t try.

The kid is cautious with his words – cautious with everything – that much Bucky can tell. He noticed the way Peter said something about his aunt, before going silent and ultimately rephrasing the statement that was made. Bucky safely assumes that the topic of family is not a light one for the kid, he could say the same about his own life, but it is clearly different for Peter.

On the other hand, Bucky was able to witness an emotion from the kid other than caution, panic, or pain. He is ecstatic about that fact. Bucky wants the kid to trust him, and for that to happen he has to get to know the kid. He can’t truly know the kid if all he sees is paranoia or misery. This kid used to be someone. He had family, maybe he still does, but is no longer connected to them. He used to be a happy person. He has life experiences before he ended up in his current situation. That much Bucky can tell about the kid, and it pains him that he sees himself in this kid.

It’s not hard to notice the similarities, not once someone starts looking for them. Now that Bucky isn’t worrying for the kid’s life, he takes in the apartment as he cooks. It’s, for the most part, empty. It’s mostly void of personality. It reminds Bucky of his apartments when he was fresh out of Hydra. Any personal items that matter to the kid, Bucky would bet, are kept close in the comfort of the kids room. There are a few pieces of personality around the apartment, but it wouldn’t be unbelievable if someone said no one lived here. There’s barely any necessities, not even food. Bucky isn’t sure if the kid is prepared to leave at a moment's notice, or if he’s scared of growing attached to anything, or a combination of both.

When the food is finished, Bucky takes out two plates and fills them equally. Something he remembered about his time with the kid before is that can eat. Bucky chalks that up to the fact that the kid is young and starving. Realistically, it’s not wise to let him eat as much as he wants, especially since there’s no telling the last time the kid had proper nutrition, but on the other hand, there’s no telling when the kid will be able to afford to eat again. Bucky is walking entirely in unknown territory – a fact that terrifies him to the core for some reason – he has no idea if the kid will ever let him back into this apartment ever again. For all he knows, the kid could leave tonight and Bucky would be none the wiser. He believes it’s his responsibility to give this kid whatever he can, while he can, because he will never know when, or if, he’ll see him again.

When the food is served, Peter mumbles a quiet ‘thanks,’ but other than that the pair eats in silence. The silence is not particularly unexpected, it’s how they behaved when Bucky spent the week with the kid anyway. However, he wants to know more about the kid. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know what topics are ‘safe’ for the kid, and he doesn’t want to say something that’ll make the kid distrust him. Thankfully, the kid eventually beats him to a conversation.

“You’re like,” The kid pauses, clearly thinking about what he wants to say, “a real adult, but you seem to spend a lot of time around me lately. What kind of job allows you to do that?” He asks.

“A real adult?” Bucky laughs, partially at the statement, partially at the seriousness in the kids tone.

“Well, yea. Like I’m an adult,” He gestures to himself, “but not a real one. The only upgrades I got when I turned eighteen was the ability to vote and the ability to get drafted into the military. I couldn’t even book a hotel if I could afford one,” Peter explains.

“Alright,” Bucky nods after taking a moment to chew on his words, “I’m an ex assassin turned politician, I am actively running for congress,” He says with the most sincere and serious tone he could muster. He might as well lay out all his cards while he’s here. He doesn’t want to let the kid get close, find out who he is, and think their entire friendship was built on false grounds.

“Why politics?” The kid asks with a mouthful of food, genuinely curious, “I had a,” the kid pauses, “I had a friend once who had a lot of sociological knowledge, well a lot of knowledge in general, but she was especially informed about sociology. She was very observational, too. Whenever she would talk about politics, it just all seemed,” He makes a gesture with his hands, “I dunno, I guess I could never really understand that choice,” He stops rambling abruptly, seemingly realizing how much he was talking with the way he shoves his fork into his mouth, but Bucky is too dumbfounded to properly reply in the moment. Peter doesn’t seem to notice Bucky’s reaction, and Bucky needs to make sure he’s heard. He can’t possibly handle meeting another person that he inadvertently hurt because of his past.

“Did you not hear what I said?” Bucky asks. If he wasn't so desperate to avoid making the same mistakes as his past, he wouldn't have even mentioned it again, his therapist would be proud, part of him shudders at that thought.

“The ex-assassin thing?” Peter asks, genuinely curious, “Either you’re telling the truth or you’re lying. If you’re telling the truth, then my whole thing is believing people can be redeemed and rehabilitated, and I don’t trust you, but I don’t trust anyone, that’s more of a personal thing than a you thing, though. Sorry. Clearly you’re telling me that for a reason. If you were going to use that against me, and if you were going to be evil, then you probably wouldn’t bring it up,” He explains. Bucky remains dumbfounded.

“Okay,” Is all he can bring himself to say. An embarrassing part of him is relishing in the fact that this is the most the kid has talked to him ever, another, bigger, part of him just can’t wrap his head around that fact that someone who doesn’t know him would accept his past so easily. The kid may be cautious on a personal level, but he clearly wants to believe the best in people despite anything he’s been through.

“You ignored me,” The kid says, dragging Bucky back into the conversation.

“What?” He asked, wondering what he possibly missed while lost in thought.

“I asked why you chose politics? It’s a strange pipeline, to say the least,” The kid pauses, “But it makes sense, I guess,” He adds on.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, rhetorically of course, “I’ve seen a lot of corruption in my day. I guess a part of me wanted to do what I could to counter that, make right by my past in a way, and I wanted to help people without fighting,” He answers honestly.

“Fighting is exhausting,” Peter replies, with more honest weight than Bucky was expecting or prepared for.

“Especially when you’ve been doing it as long as I have,” He desperately wants to change the topic, “You need to eat more,” he says when he notices the kids plate is empty. Peter seems almost taken aback.

“No no no no,” He says in quick succession, “It’s fine.”

“Kid, if you’re hungry you should eat,” Bucky says, taking the plate from in front of him and refilling it despite Peter’s protests. He sighs, but accepts the second plate of food Bucky gives him, and Bucky refills his own plate so the kid doesn’t have to eat alone. They sit in silence for a few more minutes. Each stretch of silence seemingly gets less uncomfortable as time goes on. Bucky finds himself not bothered by this silence as much as he’s been bothered beforehand. Not that silence bothers him, but the discomfort with Peter can be a lot to handle, to no one's fault.

“I work as a mechanic,” Peter offers up after a while of sitting in silence.

“How’d you end up with that job?” Bucky asks.

“I’ve always liked engineering and tinkering, and the shop owner was desperate enough to hire me, before that I just did odd jobs around the city,” he explains. Bucky just nods along, remembering the necessity of working every possible job to stay functional.

Bucky says as much. For the rest of the evening the paid compare the jobs they’ve done. Clearly, Bucky has different experiences than Peter, but once again he can’t help but notice their similarities. He tries not to dwell on that fact anymore than he already has, instead accepting whatever information the kid is willing to share. The topic of work seems to be safe, especially since it isn’t overly revealing any personal information about the kid, but it was more than he was willing to share. Bucky is appreciative of the progress he has made nonetheless. He wants to believe he can see the kid trying to accept the company, but he can’t be sure.

After the pair finish their food, Bucky opts to leave, not wanting to overstay his welcome and undo any progress that might have been made. He insists that Peter keeps the leftover food, though. This is the one situation where he won’t take no for an answer. This way he can know the kid will have something to eat, and he can save any money on other necessities.

“Thank you for the food, James,” Peter says as Bucky is leaving.

“You can,” Bucky sighs, “You can call me Bucky, it’s what all my friends call me.”

“Okay,” Peter nods, “Thank you for the food, Bucky, I,” Peter sighs, “I appreciate it, a lot.” With that, Bucky leaves the apartment.

He feels satisfied with the evening, to say the least. It went better than he could’ve imagined, actually. He isn’t sure why he felt the need to tell the kid his nickname, but he assumes it’s a sign of trust. He is trusting the kid with who is, maybe the kid will do the same.

Upon returning to his apartment, Bucky listens out for the kid, more out of habit than anything. He hears the familiar sound of the window opening, and the kid slipping out. Maybe one day the kid will open up about his night time activities, but Bucky isn’t going to get his hopes up too far, not yet.