Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter came home late. Another night of patrolling. He was glad he had actually seen some action tonight, even if it was just a mugging and an attempted ATM robbery.

His eyelids could barely stay open as he practically dragged himself up to his tiny corner apartment. It always seemed to hit him at night how much he missed May…her cooking, the smell of their house.

Peter walked up to his door lazily and put the key in the lock. He began twisting it when his tingle ramped up and the hair stood up behind his neck.

Someone was in his apartment.

He placed his fingers on the trigger of his web shooters as he opened up the door, ready to attack whoever was inside.

The apartment was dark, he never left any lights on for himself on account of the fact that he was rarely home between studying for his GED at the library and going to work. He peered behind the partially opened door, using it as a shield of sorts, to see who was inside.

“Not very on top of it tonight I see…with that spidey sense of yours I figured you'd sense me from at least the elevator. Sloppy work kid.” the man said from the chair near the window.

Peter recognized the voice before the man had reached up and flipped the lamp on, illuminating his face. “...Bu-Bucky?” Peter's voice wavered and his eyes were stinging, he could feel the emotion swelling up inside of him.

“How have you been kid?” He asked while standing up from the chair.

Right then Peter lost it. The floodgates holding back his tears gave in and he couldn't hold back the emotion he was feeling. “You know who I am?” He asked between sobs.

Bucky looked at him with concern and confusion. He wasn't sure what was going on with Peter, but he could see his knees wavering. Bucky rushed over and wrapped his arms around Peter. He wasn't sure if he did it because the kid needed someone to catch him, or if he thought Peter needed the physical contact.

He pulled back enough to look at Peter's face. He could tell between the tired look in his eyes and his disheveled hair it had been a while since Peter slept. “Of course I know who you are…why wouldn't I?” he asked.

Peter took a deep breath, calming himself and slowing his breathing. He walked over to the bed and sat down.

His apartment was tiny. There was a small kitchen about three feet away from his bed and nightstand, along with a chair and a small table near a corner window. The walls were made of brick and the floor was wood. The entire apartment was old and dusty but Peter didn't seem to mind.

Bucky walked over and took a seat next to him. He was still surprised at the way Peter had reacted. “Kid… what's going on?” he asked with concern in his voice.

Peter looked at him, eyes still puffy and red. “Do you really remember me? Like everything…since the first time we met?” He asked, meeting eyes with Bucky.

Bucky nodded “Yeah…I mean..something weird did happen a few weeks ago. But I figured it was all the crap Hydra did to me. I never considered it actually had something to do with you.” He started.

Peter's eyes held his gaze as if to say ‘go on’. Bucky took the hint. “Alright..well, when I first got out of Hydra’s clutches my memory was spotty.” He explained. “I had trouble remembering things, and when I did it was hard to tell what was real and fake. So I started journaling anything and everything significant. When I got a fuzzy feeling in my brain a few weeks back I thought my brain was..’ malfunctioning’ again..since..ya know, Hydra had put it in the blender so many times.”

Peter looked away and his gaze fell to the floor. He was still so shocked at how okay Bucky seemed with everything that had happened to him.

“Anyway...I started re-reading my entries, to make sure everything was still there, in my memories…but when I came across your name it-” He paused, not sure how to explain what he was trying to say.

“It was like you didn't know who I was,” Peter said as he looked back past Bucky, not meeting his eyes.

“Yeah..exactly like that.” Bucky stopped for a second to see if Peter had anything else to add. Peter stayed silent, waiting for Bucky to continue. He took a breath and continued “Well I figured I just needed a jumpstart to remember, so I kept reading all my entries about you and sure enough, it was like my memory of you resurfaced from whatever deep pit it was buried in” He looked over at Peter, whose eyes were glued to him now.

Peter's expression turned from shocked to confused. “Wait…but you said you only write about significant things in your journal… why would you write about me?

Bucky looked down. He smiled but Peter thought he saw a hint of sadness in his eyes

“Well you see…that kid from Queens that Steve fought in that airport became really important to him..and so he's really important to me too.” He said, looking up at Peter with a glint in his eyes.

Peter looked down and smiled. Bucky watched him for a second then put his hand on Peter's knee.

“So are you waiting for me to read your damn mind or are you going to explain what the hell is going on?”

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Peter had been rambling for a while but Bucky was listening as intently as he could. He noticed the kid was extra fidgety, fumbling his fingers around and playing with the tag on his shirt as he went over everything

“...So that’s pretty much it, you’re caught up now.” Peter finished, looking up at Bucky to gauge his response to the insane amount of information he had practically just dumped into his lap.

Bucky placed his hand on Peter's shoulder and looked him in the eyes. The only thing going through Peter’s head was how good it felt to have someone to talk to again, someone who cared and hugged him and embraced him through all of this.

He had been living in this tiny apartment by himself for several weeks now. He checked in on MJ and Ned from time to time but between work, studying, and patrolling, at the end of the day, the only person he had was himself. He was struggling more than he wanted to admit and he knew Bucky could tell.

“Damn wizards. Look, Kid…Peter, that's a lot of bullshit you had to go through on your own. I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner...I heard about your aunt and I just-” He saw Peter's breath hitch in his chest.

He couldn't imagine the shit this kid has been through in the last couple of weeks. He knew Peter was going through more than he led on. He wished an eighteen-year-old kid didn't have to carry such a huge burden, especially by himself.

In the last couple of weeks. He had dealt with losing Tony, basically the only remaining father figure in his life, fought a supervillain who was basically a maniac, dealt with the aftermath of said maniac revealing his identity, fought multiple other goblins, octopuses, lizards, and…electro villains? Was he getting this right? And then had his identity completely ripped away from anyone who ever cared about him.

How was this kid not an emotional wreck balled up in a corner right now? He wasn't sure but he knew one thing for sure, he wasn't going to leave Peter all alone right now. Not when he desperately needed someone.

Bucky could tell how tired Peter was just by looking at him. The bags under his eyes spoke volumes. His curls were tangled into a mess, the smooth lines of his face appeared more jagged, and his eyes once full of life seemed dull. But the kid still squared his shoulders and stood up straight. He was shocked to see how much he had matured.

He stood up and grabbed the red backpack that he had placed next to the chair and headed to the small closet between the bed and the kitchen.

He grabbed a few blankets and started spreading them out on the dusty wooden floor.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked him, still sitting on the bed.

“You’re crazy if you think I'm leaving you alone right now.” Bucky kept working on making his “bed” as he spoke. “I've been in your shoes. Being alone and not sure where to go next. I'll stay with you for a while and we can figure it out together” Bucky smiled.

Peter felt his whole body relax a bit, releasing tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying. Having Bucky not only offer to stay with him but understand what he was going through, it was like a huge weight shifted on his chest, he still felt the weight of it but he could finally start to breathe again.

Chapter Text

Bucky woke up to the sound of heavy breathing and thrashing coming from the direction of Peter’s bed. He knew what was going on before he even opened his eyes. He knew what nightmares sounded like, he’d had plenty of his own. He sat up quickly from his makeshift bed on the ground and headed over to where the kid was, carefully and quietly. He wanted to wake Peter without scaring the shit out of him.

He gently placed his metal hand on the kid's chest “Peter” he said in almost a whisper. He knew Peter had advanced hearing just like him and figured the last thing he needed was to wake up to the Winter Soldier screaming in his ear.

Peter jolted up, wrapping a hand around Bucky’s arm. His chest was heaving and he was drenched in sweat. His eyes were darting rapidly around the room, trying to adjust to the minimal lighting.

Bucky placed his other hand on top of Peter’s. “You’re okay kid, I'm right here” He said calmly. He wasn't sure what Peter had been dreaming about but with all the shit he's been through he could only imagine.

Peter’s breathing slowed and he took a deep breath. “Sorry if I woke you, I was hoping I’d be able to sleep better tonight knowing someone was with me.”

Bucky got up and turned the lamp on. “Don't apologize, it's fine. With everything you've been through and no one to talk to about it, it's bound to come out somehow.” He knew that was true because it's exactly what he had been dealing with since everything that happened with the Flag Smashers and Karli Morgenthau.

He walked over to the tiny kitchen and rummaged through the cabinet until he found some tea bags and a kettle. “Want some tea?” he asked

Peter looked over at him and gave him a somewhat surprised look “You drink tea?” he asked, hiding the shock in his tone.

Bucky chuckled and continued to pour warm water into the kettle then set it on the stove. “I used to make it for Steve all the time when his asthma would flare up, plus it helps me sleep.”

Peter nodded. He always forgot the stories Steve used to tell from before the serum. Being a skinny sick kid from Brooklyn who suffered from asthma was not what he tended to picture when thinking about Captain America.

“Well, in that case, tea sounds great,” he answered. He often forgot that he wasn't the only one to lose someone extremely important in his life. Peter was still struggling to deal with losing Tony. he had become much more than his mentor in the past few years. It was like losing his father all over again. A piece of him was missing inside and it hurt like hell every time he thought about it. He could imagine exactly how Bucky was feeling. Losing Steve, his best friend, had to be weighing down on him too. He and Bucky had more in common than he thought. Maybe Bucky staying would be good for both of them.

Bucky sat silently waiting for the tea kettle to start whistling, indicating it was ready for the tea bag. He poured the hot water into the only two mugs in the entire kitchen and plopped a tea bag into each one. He walked over to Peter and handed him his cup.

Peter took it and looked down, staring into the reflection of his face in the tea. He sat there for several minutes, contemplating everything going through his head. He opened his mouth as if to speak but quickly decided against it.

Bucky sat, patiently. He could tell something was on the kid's mind but he didn't want to prod him with a million questions. He knew when Peter was ready he would open up.

“How do you deal with it?” he asked in almost a whisper “The nightmares, the people you have lost..?”

Every time Peter had taken a minute to stop and think about everything that had happened he would have this feeling of a weight on his chest like he couldn't breathe. He knew there had to be a better way but he was just so lost.

Bucky could see the desperate plea in his eyes as he asked. He wished he could offer him a good answer but in all honesty, he still didn't fully have a grip on his own situation. He was still working with his therapist to move forward from his own crap, and it really wasn't going well at all. “Well kid, to be honest… I'm still struggling myself,” he sighed.

He could see it wasn't the answer Peter wanted, but it was the truth. “But I do know that you don't have to go through these things alone..at least not anymore.” His words felt empty but he hoped they brought Peter some relief. Bucky wished Steve were here. He would know exactly what to say, how to help Peter better than he ever could.

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When Bucky woke up in the morning he noticed Peter had already left for the library. He decided to get up and start making some food for himself. He wandered to the kitchen to find any dishes or plates that he could use to make himself a decent breakfast.

He knew the kid had been living on his own for some time and figured his meals these days mostly consisted of takeout and microwave dinners. He was lucky to have Steve when he first moved out of his parent's place. The meals he used to make were almost as good as the ones his mother made.

Bucky yawned and stretched before reaching for a pan and half a dozen eggs to cook for himself. He brewed some fresh coffee and sat at the small kitchen table to eat his breakfast. He was glad Peter at least had some way to cook meals, though he doubted he ever did.

Peter had finished studying before work and clocked in for what seemed like the slowest shift ever. He desperately wanted to go out patrolling to get his mind off some things before going home and spending the night with Bucky again.

He had been trying to keep himself busy during the day, to keep himself out of his head. Anytime he slipped into his thoughts it was like falling deeper and deeper into the darkness. He hated that the only things he constantly remembered were all the loss and tragedy. He’d have nightmares reliving May’s last breath, or the light in Tony’s eyes going out. He would be walking home from work and think he was back on the battlefield with Thanos. For Peter, it was easier to stay out of his head and avoid all of that, so that’s what he did.

He headed out of work and slipped behind the alley of ‘Joe's Pizza’. He had been delivering pizzas for about a month now and even though It wasn't the best job it did pay the bills.

Peter webbed his backpack to the wall and swung up to the adjacent rooftop to get a good view of the city.

A few blocks over, near Hell's Kitchen, he could hear a group of men talking and swung over to see what was going on. He figured it was nothing, but he hadn't seen any action tonight so far so he figured he would check it out.

He shot a web to a nearby light pole and perched above the group of men to get a better read on the situation. He had remembered Tony teaching him that swinging into things blind could do more harm than good. Reconnaissance and gathering intel was sometimes more important than beating up the bad guys.

With the equipment these guys had and the way they were talking Peter was pretty sure he had just intervened in the middle of an arms deal. There had been reports about them across town but Hell's Kitchen seemed to be the epicenter of it all.

A large truck was pulling up to the backside of the alley. Peter knew that's where the weapons had to be stashed.

One of the guys opened up the back door to the truck to reveal crate after crate of illegal guns, launchers, and other weapons. As soon as the men started unloading the crates, Peter decided he had enough intel.

He shot a web at the top of the truck door, slamming it down before the men could remove another crate.

The group all turned on their heels in unison, facing Peter and immediately grabbing for their guns. He watched as some men quickly scurried away while others began aimlessly firing their weapons at him.

Peter quickly evaded each bullet that made it near him. He shot his webs to the adjacent building. Swinging down from his perch feet first, his heels connected with one guy's chest and another's head, sending them both flying into the alley wall.

He continued picking the remaining men off one by one, swinging down and knocking them out.

“Time to go.” one of the men said as they all began to scatter. “The boss isn't going to be happy about this!” Peter managed to hear one of them say as they ran off.

Peter decided to pursue the guy to try and gather more intel. He swung from rooftop to rooftop following him until he stopped in an alley several blocks down from where the deal took place.

The man stopped walking once he reached the alley. Peter decided that confronting him might be the best way to get the information he needed about all the arms deals going on around town. He jumped down from the rooftop, landing a couple of feet behind the guy.

“Man, I didn't expect it to be a cardio day today,” Peter said between breaths. “There's really nowhere to run dude, might as well just tell me who you're dealing for and we can all be on our way…of course, your way is in the direction of the police station.”

The guy turned on his heels and backed up quickly. His hand was resting in his pocket, presumably holding a gun, and he was standing extremely still. Peter didn't like it

“Hey man, I'm not sure what the plan is here with that gun in your pocket, but I really don't think you want my webbing all over you. It takes forever to dissolve off your skin and makes laundry a real mess, so why don't we just talk it out” He said in a somewhat joking, but mostly serious tone.

Before Peter had a chance to make a move the guy pulled out a gun and started firing. Peter managed to dodge most of the bullets, until one ricocheted off the alley wall, flying back towards him. The bullet grazed his neck, slicing the skin partly open. The wound wasn't serious but he could already feel blood trickling down his skin.

He peered down at the exposed skin and the small droplets of blood dripping down his neck “Wow, you actually got me, I'm impressed. Great and you put a rip in my suit!” He said as he looked back up to see the man had disappeared “dammit.”

Peter decided it would be better to head back to his apartment and not pursue the guy while his neck was bleeding. He really didn't feel like fighting this guy with an open-neck wound, plus he figured the guy would go back and explain to the “boss” everything that had happened. He was sure if they increased the security around wherever their operations were based out of that he’d have an easier time finding them. More people to track meant an easier job for him. Although, he would eventually have to get through all that extra security, which would suck. He swung back, grabbed his backpack, and headed home.

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Bucky had been mindlessly watching the news while cleaning the apartment up a bit. Man, there was a lot of dust in here. The kid most likely had no time for things like this and he really didn't mind helping out.

The TV was on in the background. He focused in for a bit but continued cleaning.

'Well, Folks it seems Spider-man is at it again. It's been a busy night for the web-slinger as it appears he brought down an entire arms deal operation tonight.

We don't know much about this story as it is still developing but we do know that there has been an increase in criminal activity, especially arms deals, around Hell’s Kitchen lately. Thanks to Spider-man we have a few more criminals off the streets tonight."

Bucky had fought alongside Peter. They had literally saved the world together not long ago. He knew how capable the kid was of stopping something as straightforward as an arms deal.

The lock clicked and Peter walked through the door. Bucky could tell something was wrong right away. He could smell the metallic tang of blood in the air and Peter seemed more high-strung than normal.

“You’re hurt,” He said

Peter looked up at him, confused “Yeah just a laceration. Some guy shot at me and missed but the bullet managed to graze my neck” He said flatly. How did Bucky even know he was wounded?

Peter dropped his backpack next to his nightstand and bent down to grab something underneath his bed.

He pulled out a small tin and opened it up. Inside were a few scraps of gauze and a half-full roll of tape.

Bucky eyed the tin, then looked up at Peter “Kid, that so-called first aid kit needs a serious upgrade. Come here, let me take a look.” he said as he pulled the chair out from the tiny kitchen table. He was used to patching up Steve after his “fights”...if he could even call them that. It was more like Steve being pummeled in alleyways by giant bullies.

He flushed out Peter's wound with some sterile saline from an old first aid kit he had in his bag. He had put the kit together himself a while back. It had basically everything and anything someone might need after an intense fight. He’d had to learn to patch himself up after escaping Hydra since they had normally done it for him.

Peters's wound wasn't very deep and definitely didn't need stitches, especially considering his healing factor was almost the same as Bucky’s.

“So an arms deal eh?” Bucky asked while he finished cleaning up the wound. He looked over at Peter who was fidgeting again.

“Yeah, I've been patrolling a lot more lately… it helps take my mind off of things” He explained. “And these guys, they've been arranging these arms deals all over the city. Someone has to stop them.”

Bucky understood the feeling. But needing to do something to avoid being trapped inside your mind was a great way to lose it. “Kid, you don't always need to be the hero. Not every bad thing that happens in this city is your responsibility.”

Peter looked down “I know..but May-” he paused, taking a breath “May always said that if you had the power to do something, then you had a moral obligation to do it…and that with great power comes great responsibility.”

Bucky just nodded. He understood what Peter was saying all too well. Steve had been the same way, and Bucky was trying to follow in his footsteps “Well, just promise that if things ever get intense you'll give me a call. Just because you have a responsibility to do something, it doesn't mean you have to do it alone.”

Peter nodded. Bucky had no way of knowing but his being here had lifted Peter's spirits exponentially. He was glad he had a friend again.

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Peter had obviously slept through the night because he woke up the next morning feeling fairly refreshed. He couldn't remember the last time he slept soundly. He had only woken up once earlier in the morning when Bucky left the apartment. He knew running was a way Bucky cleared his head.

He headed to the library for some studying before he had to be at work. He wanted to get as much in as he could since he knew he would be out patrolling late tonight. Finding those arms dealers again wouldn't be an easy task.

Studying for his GED was constantly being bumped down his priority list because of Spider-man, which he wasn't upset about because it was the one thing that cleared his head and made him feel somewhat normal again. He knew May wouldn't approve of putting his education on the back burner and he was trying to do better.

Peter finished studying and headed to work. He had only had about 12 deliveries all day and was eager to get out and follow the trail to whoever the ‘Boss’ was that the arms dealer had spoken about last night.

He didn't really mind work. It gave him something to do during the day. He always imagined what it would be like sitting in his dorm room at MIT with Ned and MJ, planning their future together. Work helped get his mind off everything he had lost.

When work was finally over he quickly clocked out and ran back to the same alley as before, changing into his suit and webbing his backpack to the wall behind the dumpster. He remembered all the time's May had to replace his backpacks because they got stolen during a night of patrolling. He really did need a better method for storing his clothes.

He had felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out to check.

It was a text from Bucky, He never would have guessed the soldier from the 1940s who had been in cryo on and off for the past 70 years and recently discovered what modern technology was, could send a text.

I’m a phone call away if anything happens. Having backup isn't always a bad thing, kid - B.

Peter placed his phone back into the lining of his suit “Karen, add Bucky Barnes to emergency contact protocol.” He instructed his AI.

“James Buchanan Barnes added to Emergency contact protocol.” She repeated back to him.

Peter swung over to the alley he had found the arms dealers in last night. He decided to take a look around to see if he had missed anything important from their fight. He knew it was a long shot but he was hoping one of them might come back tonight.

He looked around for a while and waited to see if any of them showed up. He was waiting for what seemed like forever when finally he heard a man walking by who was on the phone with someone. He could just barely hear their conversation from the rooftop he was perched on.

“The boss is still pissed that the arms deal got broken up last night.” Peter overheard. He decided to tail him and followed the man silently from above until he reached a large warehouse. This had to be where they were running their operation out of.

The man had walked in through the front door. Peter could hear other people inside the warehouse. He slipped in an upper window on the side of the building and flung up to the rafters. He peered down from a corner of the warehouse, listening in to what the men were saying.

“The next order needs to be shipped out by the end of this week at the latest.” One of the men said.

There were guards carrying rifles and workstations all around the warehouse made up of giant machinery. Whatever they were making was obviously heavy-grade equipment.

He could see large tubs of metal debris all around the warehouse and men were working on assembling different kinds of weapons. This was a lot of hardware for arms dealers. What type of weapons required this kind of setup?

He decided to move along the rafters to inspect the entire warehouse. He ended up on the other corner of the building. He was above some sort of container that was holding more equipment. Why was this equipment separated from the rest?

He slid down a web, hanging upside down to get a better glimpse at what was in the container. He immediately stopped when he saw the faint glow of purple coming from the crack in an opening on the container. There was only one thing that glowed like that.

It was the Chitauri technology that Toomes had stolen after the battle in New York all those years ago, but how had this group of arms dealers gotten their hands on it? And was Toomes back in play somehow?

Peter's mind was racing, How could this be happening again? Were they making more alien tech? He had so many questions, but he knew he needed to focus. Out of nowhere, his tingle ramped up.

He focused back on the men and the equipment down below to figure out what was going on. Out of nowhere, all the men started scrambling. He heard someone enter the warehouse and quickly swung his way back to the entrance of the building.

His heart began to race as he saw Adrian Toomes enter the warehouse. How was the vulture not only out of prison but running his operation again? Toomes was on the phone having what seemed to be a very heated discussion with someone.

Peter watched and waited for a second, evaluating all of his options. Toomes was distracted and he wasn't wearing his vulture suit. If there was ever a time to attack the man, now was it.

He swung down from the rafters and headed right towards Toomes, but the man stepped out of the way right before Peter reached him.

“Spider-man! I'm so glad you got my invite and actually showed up,” He said excitedly.

Shit, this was a trap. The man he had followed from the other night wanted him to overhear his conversation on the phone and was being used to bait Peter into this warehouse. He should've been smarter, remembered what Tony taught him, and not swung in blind. Dammit, he was so focused on the bad guy sometimes and it was going to get him killed someday.

Peter was still trying to process everything going on. He had really fallen into a trap set by Toomes. Toomes was out of jail and producing alien tech again. At least he didn't remember spider-mans real identity.

Suddenly something was flying towards Peter at incredible speed. The vulture suit

Before he had time to react Peter was being thrown across the warehouse by the empty vulture suit. His back slammed through the brick wall of the warehouse, kicking up dust as he landed in a pile of drywall and brick.

Peter groaned and grabbed his side. He had definitely cracked a rib and taking deep breaths was rapidly becoming more painful.

“Can't have good ole Spiderman wrecking our operation here. Not when we have so much riding on it this time around.” Toomes said and he gathered up his things. “Sorry, I can't stick around spidey, get it! stick around!” He laughed.

Peter was attempting to sit up and trying to orient himself after being knocked across the room. His left side was burning and he had resorted to taking short fast breaths to avoid any pain from his ribs.

His tingle ramped up again as the suit came around the corner, shooting an arrow out toward Peter. He quickly rolled himself to the side, just avoiding the arrow when he heard another one get fired.

He didn't fully have his feet under him. Crap, this arrow was flying right at him and he had no time to react to it. It pierced him in his right bicep and went straight through, lodging into the muscle.

Peter fell backward, trying to catch himself on the way down. He flung out a web to one of the rafters to use as traction to keep himself standing. Another arrow was coming, he heard it fire and it was moving fast, just like the last one.

He had to move, get out of the way. His right arm had an arrow through it and was shooting pain up his arm and his left side was sharp with pain, but if he wanted to avoid this arrow he would have to use both his arm and his side to swing out of the way.

He reached up with his finger on the trigger of his web shooters. He pressed the button, sending a web out to the rafters above ready to swing out of the way when the web missed the rafters. Crap. The arrow was just about to reach him and he wasn't even sure he had time to move out of its path.

Suddenly someone was in front of him with the arrow in their hand. He had caught it mid-air, preventing it from lodging into Peter's sternum.

Peter grabbed his chest, shocked that it was unscathed, and looked up to see a man dressed in all red with…were those horns on his head?

No way. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Peter was amazed that he was not only standing next to the man, but he had literally just saved his life.

“Daredevil,” He said, mostly to himself, still shocked at everything that had just happened. Peter looked up to see Toomes getting into the vulture suit.

Daredevil was already on the move toward Toomes when he took off, flying straight out of the warehouse. Clearly, something about the devil showing up had set him off

Peter looked down at the arrow protruding from his bicep. It was bleeding, not too bad, but definitely needed cleaning up. He was mad at himself for getting so in his head about seeing Toomes and getting distracted. He could have easily avoided a cracked rib and a torn bicep if he had just focused.

He carefully dislodged the arrow, which hurt like hell, and dropped it to the ground. When he looked back up he noticed the Devil of Hell's kitchen had disappeared.

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When he got back to the apartment he was surprised to see that Bucky had made some dinner and was waiting for him. He could tell the soldier seemed worried but he hid it well. Peter wasn't sure if he was in for a lecture or not. Reading Bucky was an almost impossible task for anyone who wasn’t Steve Rogers.

“I made some food since it's unclear when the last decent meal you ate was. I have stuff to clean up your wounds too, I figured you were gone for a while which means it probably didn't go as planned.” Bucky stated as he pushed a plate towards Peter and pulled out a chair.

Peter was shocked to see how calm Bucky was about his injuries and coming home so late. He was so used to Tony yelling and lecturing him for things like this that he pretty much expected it from everyone.

“Sorry I didn't call, things got a little out of hand and someone else showed up as backup unexpectedly,” he explained.

Without skipping a beat Bucky locked eyes with Peter. “Who?” he asked immediately as he started tending to the kid's right arm.

Peter winced as Bucky began sewing up the tear in his Bicep. Sure he has one metal hand but he was way gentler than Happy or Tony had ever been while stitching up his wounds. “The Devil of Hell's Kitchen” he answered.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. He didn't know much about Daredevil. His methods seemed more similar to the way the Winter Soldier used to operate minus the killing. But there were worse people out there who could’ve shown up as Peter’s backup.

Bucky knew he didn't need to tell the kid to be careful. Peter was a smart kid and if he needed help he would ask. It didn't stop him from worrying about the kid though, he had been through so much and Bucky knew what it felt like to take the world on by yourself, afraid to ask for help.

Chapter Text

Peter had been quiet for a while. He knew Bucky likely had a million questions about where he was and what had happened. In all honestly, he was still trying to process the fact that he was dealing with Toomes again. It didn't make sense that he was out of prison. Someone powerful must have pulled some strings to get him out and Peter was racking his brain trying to figure out who.

Bucky had wrapped up Peter's arm and placed another bandage across his chest. “Your ribs should heal in the next day or so with the speed healing, but I would keep it bandaged for now. It will help with the pain of the bones shifting” He explained. He knew the kid was tough, he had barely flinched when he sewed up his arm and assessed his ribs.

He could tell Peter was in his head. His eyes would move back and forth in between staring a hole through the floor. “We don't have to talk about it right now,” Bucky started “But I can help you, kid, this obviously isn't your normal neighborhood bad guy.”He knew the kid had always called himself the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Bucky wasn't so sure Peter still felt that way about himself though.

Peter glanced up at Bucky. He knew he had to explain everything he had discovered about Toomes and his operation, and everything from the past. He slipped his shirt back on and stood up, making his way toward the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and filled it up with water from the tap, then made his way back to his seat.

“Have you heard about all the arms deals going on around the city recently, specifically around Hell’s Kitchen?” He asked as he took a sip of the water. The realization that he was exhausted from his fight had just sunk in. His Muscles were rigid and tight, he could barely keep his head up it felt so heavy on his shoulders. If he hadn't been so worked up about everything he would be chugging his water right now.

Bucky nodded as he took a seat across from Peter. “Yeah. Those weapons deals have been causing issues all around the city recently…Are those the guys you've been dealing with?” He asked

“Yeah,” Peter answered “And it turns out, the guy running the operation-” He paused, remembering all the shit he had to go through when he dealt with Toomes the first time around. largely, the giant building that fell on top of him and the nightmares he had after. He hated reliving it, those nightmares had made him feel so weak. He remembered how Tony told him that every member of the Avengers had nightmares over some battle they fought, and the nightmares didn't make him weak. Peter missed his mentor and he wished more than anything that he was here to help him with this again. He was glad Bucky was here, and he knew the soldier could help, he just wasn’t used to asking for it lately.

Bucky waited for Peter to finish the sentence but he could tell the kid was lost in thought. “Hey, you okay?” He asked, trying to catch his attention and get him out of his own head

Peter snapped out of it and looked at Bucky “Yeah sorry... Anyway, the guy running the operation is… an old friend of sorts” he explained

Bucky looked at him confused “You've fought this guy before?”

“Yeah. He's called the Vulture. In the past, he was using the alien tech from the battle of New York and making some pretty nasty weapons. They are not fun to get hit with, trust me” He said, remembering the time he stopped those amateurs in Avengers masks from robbing an ATM.

“So if you've taken this guy down before, how is he now suddenly back in business?” Bucky asked.

Peter shrugged “I have no idea. He should be rotting in a jail cell somewhere, but here he is, back on the streets making more alien tech weapons. Im sure they're more advanced and upgraded this time around too.” He knew SHIELD had extensive information on the Chitauri tech and he had no doubt that someway, somehow, Toomes had gotten his hands on that data.

“Well, it's sounding more and more like having a backup would be a good idea,” Bucky said. He knew the kid probably wouldn't ever ask him directly to get involved, so he was deciding for himself. He figured the Avengers compound likely had intel on this “Vulture” guy. He would go tomorrow while Peter was at work and do some research of his own

Bucky cleaned up the first aid kit and their dinner while Peter got ready for bed. The kid look exhausted and needed rest to heal up his wounds. “Im in the loop now Peter, we can figure this one out together and take these guys down.” he had no doubt that he and Peter would take down this operation and he knew Peter needed the reassurance of knowing someone had his back again.

~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Bucky waited for Peter to leave before heading out to the compound. He knew FRIDAY would be able to access older files regarding the vulture and information that the kid just couldn't get his hands on.

It had been a while since he was here. The last time he was back here was with Sam right before everything happened and he had decided to give the shield up to the government, who then handed it over to Walker. Bucky clenched his fists even thinking about that name. He tossed the thought out of his head and made his way inside.

“Hey, welcome back pal,” a familiar voice said as he walked in the door. “The vibranium arm still treating you well?”

Bucky looked at his arm and then up at Bruce Banner. “I see you're still working on the green giant formula?” He asked, eyeing the half-Hulk half-man up and down

“Yeah, it's a work in progress, what can I say” He stated. “What brings you all this way?” Bruce asked, walking up to Bucky

“Well I'm working on something with Pe-“ He stopped himself before continuing. He had almost forgotten that no one here knew who Peter was anymore. He had to be careful with the details he shared, although he trusted Bruce, even if the man didn't remember who Spider-man was. “I've been helping Spider-man out with some arms dealers. Turns out one of the guys running the operations had a run-in with Tony a few years back when he hijacked that plane full of tech from SI.” He explained, waiting to see how Bruce responded

Bruce just nodded and began walking in the direction of his lab. “So you’re helping out the little guy then? Not really your style Barnes.” He joked as he swung the door open to his lab and took a seat in front of his desktop. “I can easily access any information Tony might have on the guy, but if Spider-man was involved the first time around, then there probably isn't much to go on. When it comes to any intel on that guy, well, there really isn't much at all.” he explained

Bucky nodded. Strange’s spell must have erased any information regarding Peter Parker, which for the Avengers, who knew who he was, was practically everything they had on Spider-man. “Well, anything I can get my hands on will be helpful”.

Bruce continued typing, accessing FRIDAY’s main frame for the data Bucky needed. “So how did the Winter Soldier get tangled up with Spider-man in the first place?” He asked, looking up at Bucky from above his glasses.

It took him a second to respond. He had to spin enough of a story to make sense but not too much detail to get Bruce fully involved “Well, uh… I kind of just stumbled on this operation he has going on. The ki-” he cleared his throat “The guy seems to have a pretty decent handle on things but I figured I'd get more information for him, give him a push in the right direction.” He explained. The truth was he had really just planned to check in on Peter after he heard about his Aunt. He knew the kid had lost too many people in too short of a time but the reality of Peter’s situation was enough to keep him around. He needed someone right now and Bucky would be that person whether Peter wanted him or not.

Bruce placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he kept working “I knew there had to be some form of a heart underneath that cold super soldier exterior” He laughed. He finished typing and pulled a flash drive out of the desktop PC. “Alright, this has everything regarding the Vulture on it. It isn't much but it has everything up til now on it.” He said as he handed it to Bucky. “You do have a laptop, right? You know how to work this?” He asked hesitantly

Bucky rolled his eyes and snatched the flash drive out of Bruce’s hands “You know I may be 70 years old but im not an idiot.” He said as he held his hand out to Bruce. “Thank you, this means a lot.” He said

Bruce shook his hand and pulled him into a half hug. “Don't be a stranger okay? And tell that Spider-guy he can swing by anytime if he wants to meet a real Avenger.” He laughed.

~~~~~~~~

Peter had been at work for 2 hours now and time was crawling by. His ribs were still fairly sore and his arm was aching but nothing he couldn't handle. He couldn't wait to get off and find out what intel Bucky had collected from the Avengers compound.

“Hey, Pete you got a delivery!” His boss yelled at him.

Peter grabbed the 2 boxes of Pizza and headed out to his moped. He strapped on his helmet. “Alright, where are we going.” He asked himself. He looked down at the address and noticed the name, Nelson & Murdock. That name rang a bell in his head but he couldn't quite place it. He started making his way to the law firm, swerving in and out of traffic to make it before the 30-minute deadline

He pulled up to the front of the building and saw the small iron sign on the side of the building that read the same name, Nelson & Murdock. Suddenly a memory of a brick flying through his window was flooding his brain

"How did you just do that?"

"Im a really good lawyer"

The man, Mr. Murdock. He had caught a brick that flew through his window. This had to be the same guy.

Peter unhooked the pizza boxes from the back of his moped and walked through the front door. Up the stairs, he could hear a woman and two men talking. One of them was heading over to the stairs, presumably to grab the delivery.

“Hey guys I’ll be back in a sec..” the man said as he walked toward the top of the stairs

Peter saw the man start heading down the stairs and recognized him immediately. It was the same lawyer, Murdock. He knew the man wouldn't have remembered him since that meeting took place before Dr. Strange’s spell. This whole thing was just some weird coincidence.

“Hey kid, thanks for bringing the pizza over. How much do I owe you?” He asked, setting his cane down and grabbing his wallet.

“It's 30 bucks even.” Peter said as the man began handing him the cash. As soon as their hands connected the man yanked him and pushed him out the door and over to the side, against the brick wall. He did it so quickly but extremely gently as well. Peter was in shock. This guy was blind, right?

“How's your arm and your ribs?” The man asked as he let go of Peter's hand

Peter was in awe. Who was this guy and how did he know about his injuries? “Who the hell are you and what are you talking about?” He blurted out.

“You definitely broke some ribs last night and I heard that first arrow go right through your flesh before I could stop it.” He explained

Peter’s eyes widened as he put the pieces together “Holy shit! Your Daredevil?” He asked. His eyes drifted to the ground and began darting back and forth “Wait…but your blind! Are you..blind?” He asked, looking back up at the man standing in front of him with red glasses covering his eyes

“In a way yes, and my name is Matt Murdock. “ He said, sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“What does that even mean man? Also, how did you find me? How did you know it even was me?” Peter asked, surprise evident in his tone. He had a million questions.

“My other senses are heightened, it's hard to explain. I followed you back to your apartment last night to make sure you were okay. When I heard the other man in your place start patching you up I figured you'd be okay and left. I found out the name on the lease, figured out where you worked and here we are. ” He explained

“So that's how you caught the brick, that makes way more sense.” Peter said under his breath

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“So you stalked me…Daredevil stalked me.” Peter said in amazement, mostly to himself

“Yeah kinda, Anyway, look kid you shouldn't be dealing with this arms deal nightmare. It's dangerous and you could get hurt…well more hurt.” Matt explained. He knew there were bigger players involved in this mess and he didn't wanna see this kid get hurt.

Peter took a deep breath and let it out before he spoke “Look Mr. Murdock… I have a lot of respect for the work you do, both in and out of the devil's suit, but I can handle myself. I've worked alongside the Avengers and this is something I know I can do.” He explained. He knew people remembered that Spider-man was an avenger, they just forgot the man underneath it all.

Matt sighed and grabbed Peter's shoulder. He knew the kid was as stubborn as he was and there was no way he was talking him out of it. He could hear the kid's heartbeat. It was fast. Not with fear but determination. “I can tell you're a good kid and I don't want to see you get hurt. Im not going to try to talk you out of this and I won't get in your way.” Matt explained as he pulled out a card with his number on it. “This is for my burner phone. If you're in a tight spot give me a call okay?”

Peter looked up at him and nodded then grabbed the card. “Oh yeah, sorry I forgot you can't see me nodding,” He said

Matt smiled “I knew”

“That's freaky dude…but also insanely cool.” he said as he strapped his helmet back on and hopped on his moped ‘I'll be seeing you around daredevil…poor choice of words..” he said, shaking his head.

“Hey, stay safe out there kid.” Matt said as he stepped back inside the building

Peter nodded and drove off. He couldn't believe his lawyer was Daredevil and he had no idea. He was glad he had another person helping out with this arms deal case now. He never would have guessed that in the last week, he'd be working with not only the Winter Soldier but now Daredevil. He was just glad he had friends again, let alone people to talk to.

Chapter Text

Bucky had been waiting for Peter to get back to the apartment so he could brief him on everything Bruce had handed over from the Avengers compound. He was both excited and nervous to be helping Peter out with the Vulture case. He knew how close the kid had been to this issue in the past and wasn't sure how well he was handling those memories. Hell, he still struggled with his own memories. He knew how it felt to be forced to remember things you wish you could forget.

The doorknob turned and Peter walked through the door. He looked better than yesterday. No fresh wounds, but the bags under his eyes and the distant stare proved he was still exhausted. He still must not have been sleeping well even with Bucky being there.

Peter let his backpack slide off his shoulder and onto the floor, then made his way over to the counter where Bucky was. He had been waiting all day to get back here and hear what Bucky had discovered. He was practically counting down the minutes at work so he could find out his next lead on the vulture. He was bouncing up and down on his toes, ripe with excitement and anxiety. “So how long are you going to make me wait before you tell me what you found out?” He asked.

Bucky rolled his eyes and laughed under his breath. “Alright alright calm down, let me pull everything out before I get started.” He grabbed his laptop from his red backpack and placed the flash drive into the USB port. He still couldn't believe Bruce thought this technology would be too confusing for him. He huffed at the thought then cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket, tossing the thought from his head. He opened up the file and turned his screen so Peter could see.

“Before we dive into this..Bruce told me there might not be much here.” He explained, “Seems like anything involving Peter Parker in any files got deleted or rather erased, so im not sure how much intel we really have to go off of here.” He said as he loaded up the documents. He slid his eyes over to Peter and noticed the kid fidgeting again. He could hear Peter's heart rate going up just now and the kid visibly appeared more stressed. “Either way, we will get the intel we need one way or another...” He added.

Peter sighed. He knew this might be the case, after all, his school records, social security records, and basically entire identity had been erased too. He didn't expect the Avengers to have some secret and safe info on him that was locked away somewhere even a magic spell couldn't touch it. It was just another consequence of his stupid decision to ask Strange for help in the first place and then completely ruin that first spell. If he had known then how much chaos and strife that first spell would have caused him, he would have never stepped foot inside that Sanctorum. Peter shoved that train of thought away as he and Bucky began going through the individual files.

There really wasn't much here that Peter didn't already know or live through during his first run-through with Toomes. The file only really went into the contents of the airplane that Toomes had tried to hijack and that Spider-man had been the one to stop the plane and land it on that beach, and Peter was there for all of that so of course he knew everything in this file already. He clenched his fists and sighed as he slumped over on one of the chairs in the kitchen. “ Well this was a waste of time and resources,” He said, defeat in his tone.

Bucky looked up from the screen. His eyes hurt from staring for so long. He raked his fingers through his hair and looked over at Peter. “Kid, we knew this might happen. It's just another bump in the road. There are other, albeit more physically involved ways of getting intel.” He explained as he rubbed his eyes.

Peter moaned in frustration as he ran his hands down his face “Ugh I know...I was just hoping for once to catch a break and maybe have all the answers laid out in front of me. But it's just more of the same I guess.”

“Well, maybe we have been ignoring our biggest clue in all of this,” Bucky said

“What's that?” Peter asked, trying not to get overly excited about the fact that there was another clue they had been ignoring this entire time

“You.”

The excitement in Peter's face suddenly disappeared, back to the drab look he had on just moments before. “I already told you everything that I know…” he said flatly, throwing his hands back down to his side

Bucky sat up “Okay well let's see…You explained about the incident with the plane and everything that came after. But you were at one point inside one his of warehouses right?”

Peter stiffened. The memory of the vulture suit taking out the warehouse pillars and then feeling stone crushing his entire body flashed in his mind. It was almost like he was back underneath the rubble of that warehouse. It felt like all the air in his lungs had disappeared and he was yet again trapped under the enormous weight of that cold, hard concrete, staring at his pathetic reflection in that puddle.

Bucky noticed the color drain from Peter's face and immediately knew he pushed too hard and too fast. These were hard and painful memories for the kid and he had to tread lightly when asking him to basically relive them for details and clues that might not even be relevant to the current situation. He snapped his fingers a few times to try and pull the kid from his thoughts. “Peter? You in there?” He asked

Peter blinked and looked up “S-sorry..what?” He asked, voice slightly shaky

“We don't have to do this right now..” Bucky said calmly, trying to help Peter relax again

Peter clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a brief second before looking up at Bucky. “Im fine. What did you say?” he asked, trying to control the emotion in his tone

Bucky had recognized everything that just went through Peter's head. He was suppressing his feelings, shoving those memories down deep, and pretending to be okay when he clearly wasn't, but who was he to judge… that's exactly how he handled his own issues. It was like staring at his own reflection. He took and breath and continued.“I asked if you had seen anything in the warehouse that could give us any ideas regarding his new operation?”

Peter began fidgeting with his fingers again, it was something he did to help displace the constant anxiety he was feeling. “No, not really. I was only in there for a minute or two before the entire thing collapsed on top of me… afterward, it was just a pile of broken concrete.”

Bucky sighed as he leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling for a minute before closing his eyes. He knew it was unlikely Peter had any information from before but there was a small chance that the kid remembered something, and if he didn't have to go all ‘Winter Soldier’ on this guy to get information, that was an added bonus. Oh well. “Okay, no worries.” He said calmly “Like I said, there are other ways to gather intel. Don't worry about it kid, we are going to get this guy.” He reassured Peter

Peter just nodded absent-mindedly.

Bucky pulled his head forward and looked over at the kid. He knew the wheels behind those eyes were turning and he figured it was pretty unlikely Peter would talk to him, but he had to try, for the kid's sake. ”You okay?” he asked. The worry was evident on his face. He didn't want to push him but it was obvious that something was really bothering him.

“Oh uh- yeah no…yeah im totally, totally fine..everything is good,” Peter said, barely sounding convincing.

The truth is he was worried about Bucky getting involved. He knew from the sheer size of the warehouse and the equipment inside that Toome’s operation was double- no triple the size it used to be, and even though there was no evidence to point to this, Peter knew there were other big players involved as well. There was no way Toomes just magically escaped a high-security prison without someone powerful helping him out. He was worried about dragging someone into his mess. He was worried he was dragging Bucky into his mess. He had just lost Steve and was no doubt still dealing with his recovery from being the Winter Soldier, plus he was currently going to therapy and dealing with his own issues, and now Peter was going to drag him into his issues? It felt selfish and it felt wrong. He didn't want to see the soldier, that had fought this hard to be okay again, crumble back into the cold empty shell he used to be…and if that meant he had to solve this issue with Toomes on his own then he would.

Bucky could tell something was up with Peter. His fists were still clenched at his sides and he had a vacant look in his eyes. He knew those signs all too well. The kid was definitely in his head, most likely blaming himself for everything under the sun right now. Peter was great at carrying the whole world on his shoulders and refusing any help. It was something he had seen from Steve too. In fact, it's why he knew that look in Peter’s eyes so well. Bucky knew it didn't matter what he said because the chances of Peter actually listening to him and reasoning beyond his own guilt were slim to none. But he tried anyway “Hey, Peter… it's going to be okay. We’re going to figure this out.”

There it was. ‘We’re’ going to figure this out. Except there is no we’re. There couldn't be a we’re if Peter was going to protect Bucky. It had to be just him. He couldn't risk losing another person who was just trying to help. His mind raced back to that horrible laugh. That smile full of crooked teeth. The man who had seemed so nice when May had found him on the street, and then the way he had turned into that monster…the Green Goblin. May had tried to help once too. Peter had let her, and look where it got her.

~~~~~~

Peter had waited for Bucky to fall asleep before leaving the apartment. He had convinced the man earlier that he was fine, even though he wasn't, and didn't feel like rehashing everything. So he waited, and when he heard the even breathing and watched the constant rise and fall of Bucky's chest, he tip-toed his way out of the apartment. He needed some fresh air to clear his head. His mind was reeling between being trapped under a pile of cement and fighting the green goblin on top of a pile of cement. Both memories were enough to drive him mad, so he headed to his new favorite coffee shop which, lucky for him, was always open late.

The little bell above the door rang out as he walked inside the shop. The strong aroma of coffee tickled his nose, as the lights above him flickered and hummed lowly.

“I'll be right there” a girl's voice called out. She was over on the other side of the shop sitting with another customer.

But to Peter, these weren't strangers. MJ and Ned sat across the shop at the far counter, presumably doing homework together. They were both going to MIT, something Peter was beyond happy about. He stood in front of the entrance staring at them, a smile creeping up on his lips. He knew they didn't recognize him. They didn't even pay him any attention as he walked into the store. But his best friends sat across the room from him, and that was enough to pull him from those horrible memories replaying in his mind.

MJ walked up to the register and looked up at him “Oh, hey. Peter Parker right?” she asked flatly

His heart rate immediately accelerated as he heard his name on her lips. He blinked and walked over to the counter “Uh..ye-yeah, how’d you know?” He asked, trying to remain calm while his hand where fidgeting in the pocket of his hoodie

“You came in once before and for some reason gave me your whole name…I guess I just remembered” She explained as she subconsciously placed her hand on her necklace and twirled the broken shard between her fingers.

“That um, that's a nice necklace..really unique,” Peter said, remembering how he ran through half of Europe trying to keep the black dahlia safe, just for it to get crushed moments before he gifted it to her. He was still beyond glad that she had preferred the broken version over the original.

She looked down at it and smiled “Thanks. I've had it a while, I actually can't even remember where it originally came from. It's supposed to be a flower from my favorite Murder movie…”

“Black Dahlia,” They said in unison

MJ’s eyes snapped up at him in surprise “Yeah…uh, wow im surprised you know it.” She said, shock in her tone. She just stared at Peter, a familiar look in her eyes as she glanced back and forth between his eyes.

Peter rubbed the back of his head and smiled awkwardly. He had noticed her staring and even though he loved looking at those beautiful brown eyes, he tore his gaze away before answering. “Yeah uh, I guess im familiar with it..” he explained. the truth was he knew how much MJ loved that murder and before their class trip to Europe he tried to learn everything he could about it to impress her. He had spent the tail end of their senior year learning everything he could about her before that trip. She might not remember him, but he still remembered every little detail about her. Like how she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, or how she preferred reading books over watching movies or even talking to people. He knew her sarcastic and guarded demeanor was really a front she put on after her dad had left. It was the same reason she preferred being called Jones and not Watson. He also knew how much she hated small talk and he didn't want to force her to keep partaking in it. “Um, so…could I just get uh, one black coffee please?” He asked, still smiling up at her

“Oh yeah, of course. Sure thing Peter Parker. One black coffee coming up.” She announced as she rang the coffee into the computer system and began brewing the pot. “It should be ready in just a minute.” She explained. She started walking towards the back to grab a cup and stopped before turning back to him mid-stride “My name is MJ by the way…Nice to meet you, Peter.” she smiled as she continued walking towards the back

“MJ” Peter repeated, then nodded and smiled. He couldn't help how fascinated he was by every little thing she did. He was madly in love with her and all her quirks. The woman he had planned his whole life with was just across the counter and she only remembered his name. His stomach churned but he shoved those thoughts aside. He could drown in them later. For now, he wanted to live in the warm glow radiating off of her, stretch these few minutes in her presence into a never-ending memory, and never let it fade.

She walked back over to the counter and placed the coffee cup down. “It’ll be Five dollars and twenty-seven cents…” She said, smiling up at him

He handed her the cash and grabbed the coffee cup, turning to leave the shop. He had wanted to stay and eavesdrop on what his friends were up to. He missed talking to Ned about Star Wars and having debates with MJ about whatever her interest of the week was. But he also knew they were doing well without him, and he couldn't just barge back into their lives and screw everything up again.

“Hey, uh..” MJ started to say.

Her cheeks turned bright red and she had tucked her hair behind her ear.

“If you ever want to talk more about the Black Dahlia, I’d love to maybe get some coffee sometime,” she said, getting all flustered and ducking her head a little, obviously shy.

Peter stared at her for a long moment. Was his girlfriend really asking him out on a first date? His mouth started to open but he had no idea what to say. His heart was aching to say yes so much it hurt, but his mind kept going back to the now-healed scar on her right temple. A scar that, even though was healed, would forever remain, a scar that he had caused. He was at an impasse. He wasn't sure if he should listen to his head or his heart.

The look in MJ’s eyes pulled him out of his head and before he even knew it he was giving her an answer

“I would love to.”

Chapter Text

He was back in that loud, dark bar in Madripoor. The smell of sweat and alcohol filled his nose, the crowd of people in the dark stretched out as far as he could see.  Zeemo had just instructed him to attack and before he realized it he was moving across the bar. His metal hand latching onto a man's throat, tossing him across the bar, then immediately turning to knock two other guys on their asses. All this while keeping any emotion he was feeling off his face. He was a weapon, a tool. Not a human with emotions, wants, or needs. He felt the cold settle over him like an old friend – no, not a friend, something familiar yet twisted. He didn't like this feeling at all but he couldn't escape it. 

Next thing he knew he was in a back room, standing in a corner. This room was somehow darker than the loud bar he had just vacated. He was to be seen and not heard. A weapon, a tool, nothing more. He kept repeating those words in his head, remembering his role, his place.  Then Zeemo was there, stroking his face, offering him up as part of a deal along with the words to control him. Those words, the ones that had taken so much from him. The words that locked his real self somewhere so deep down from the surface that he forgot who he was. He tried to run but his feet wouldn't move. He was trapped here, in his own mind, his own body. But they didn't belong to him, not really. This was all just a memory. He remembered playing this role in this bar with Zeemo and Sam. It was all just an act, but it felt so real. It was just a memory, right?

And all of a sudden he was back in the bank vault, Alexander Pierce staring down at him like he really was just a weapon, just a tool. Those cruel eyes assessed him up and down as he sat in that chair, the chair that took everything from him. This was really happening. The panic settled in his chest, quickly spreading throughout his entire body as the cold steel restraints wrapped around his arms and his legs. He couldn't move. He couldn't even scream. His own body had betrayed him and he had no control. The restraints came down and caressed his head, pushing it back against the seat. He immediately braced for the pain, the shock that he knew was coming. It would reverberate throughout his whole being and then his mind would go blank. His own sense of self would wash away and he would be that thing again. 

He didn't want this, he couldn't take being that monster again. The Winter Soldier. The name was perfectly fitting since he was nothing but a hollow frigid shell of the man he used to be. A weapon. A tool. Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to fall down his cheeks. The machine whirred to life and he shut his eyes as tight as he could and braced his entire body, clenching his fists and tightening every single muscle fiber in his being. It would be over soon, he kept telling himself. 

And then a hand was grabbing his shoulder. Whose hand was grabbing his shoulder? Was it Hydra? Had to be. Suddenly his hands were free and he was grabbing the hand and the arm attached to it and flipping that person over his shoulder onto the ground in front of him. His hand instinctually wrapped around their throat. His victim was whimpering but he couldn't make it out. He shook his head. This was not part of the original memory. What was happening to him? 

“B-Buck-...p-ple-”

The soldier's eyes immediately flew open to see his vibranium hand wrapped around a figure's throat. No-not a figure. It was Peter . Bucky immediately let go and threw himself up and backward, slamming his back against the apartment wall. His chest was heaving and his eyes were dilated, darting back and forth, sweat dripping down his brow. How had he let this happen? 

Peter coughed and cleared his throat then sat up, keeping his eyes locked on Bucky the entire time. He slowly got up into a crouched stance, extending one arm toward the man, slowly. “Hey man…are you..are you okay?” He asked in a very calm and low tone, trying as hard as possible not to trigger any sort of flight response. He noticed the pure fear in Bucky's eyes and the light trembling his entire body seemed to be doing. Whatever he had been dreaming about had scared him straight to his core. He had never seen the man this frightened before. 

Bucky’s eyes eventually landed on Peter and his breathing began to calm. The panic slowly fizzled from his chest, and his muscles began to relax, one by one. He was in the kid's apartment, not the bank vault, not the bar. It had just been a nightmare, that's all it was, and yet it felt so real, to the point that he actually attacked Peter. He took a few deep breaths. His back was still pressed up to the wall and his hands were down at his sides, bracing him against that wall. He released the tension from his shoulders and closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall for a brief moment. He put his hand to the back of his neck and walked over to where Peter was, sitting down on the floor next to his makeshift bed. He noticed he was still only wearing his pajamas, which consisted of just shorts and his dog tags, so he grabbed a shirt and slipped it over his head.

He wasn't even sure what to say to the kid, he was embarrassed and angry at himself.  “Peter…im-im so sorry.” He said, keeping his head down towards the floor. He couldn't look at the kid. He couldn't look in his eyes and risk seeing the judgment on his face or the sad look of pity in his eyes. He had seen them before, from Sam and from Steve and he couldn't take any more of it. This is who he was. These memories would always be here and no matter how hard he tried to forget them or process them they always – always – came back. 

Peter lowered himself down and sat next to Bucky. He remained quiet for a few minutes, fidgeting his fingers and keeping his gaze forward. “I shouldn't have grabbed you. It's my fault, and I'm fine really. I promise.” He explained. He hadn't really realized until now how much Bucky had been keeping to himself. Maybe the soldier wasn't as put together as he made himself seem. Peter glanced over at him but stayed silent. The tension in the air was almost tangible, and he wasn't sure what else to say.

Bucky felt his eyes on him. He took a breath and then looked up at Peter. His eyes appeared lighter and a hint of a smile was forced onto his face. “Sorry kid. Just a bad dream.” was all he said before he rolled back over to his bed and started getting back under the blankets. The last thing he wanted to do right now was pick apart that shitshow with the kid he just had in a chokehold. A part of him felt more broken, knowing he put his own hands on Peter like that. He tried not to think about it as he drifted back off to sleep.

Peter stayed next to him for a few more minutes, not saying anything. He eventually got up and walked over to his own bed, crawling under his own covers. He waited to fall asleep until he finally heard Bucky's heart rate become slow and steady. He rolled over and closed his eyes. 

Both the broken soldier and the lonely spider drifted off to sleep. 

~~~~~~

The vibration of his phone was what woke him up the second time. He rolled over on his makeshift bed on the floor and grabbed the device from on top of a pile of folded clothes. He clicked the screen on and immediately closed his eyes shut from the brightness. He swiped down on the screen and lowered it quickly before it woke up Peter just a few feet away. He was glad the kid had shown him how to do that a few days earlier. He saw a new message from Sam.

Hey man just checking in - S

He sighed and huffed a bit before placing the phone back onto the piles of clothes, then rolled over and closed his eyes. A few minutes later his phone began nonstop vibrating. He looked over to see an incoming call from Sam. He rubbed his face, pressed the answer key, and brought the phone up to his ear.

“Sam, it is four in the morning,” he said with a low groggy tone.

“Yeah man, and you just ignored my text. You do know it tells me when you read them, right?” he asked.

Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes “Well I know now. What do you want?” He asked. It came out harsher than he meant it to. 

“Meet me at that coffee shop on 4th Street in an hour.” He said before hanging up the phone. He knew if he let Bucky respond that would leave an opening for negotiations about this meeting and Sam wasn't having that.

Bucky threw the phone to the end of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling for a few moments before dragging himself up and out of bed. He knew if he didn't go to this meet-up, Sam would somehow find him and he would never hear the end of it. He made sure to be as quiet as possible as he threw some clothes on, grabbed a few things, and slid out the door. 

He hopped on his motorcycle and made his way towards 4th Street. He arrived at the coffee shop and saw a man in a leather jacket and a red baseball hat sitting at a table in the far corner. Sam. He made his way over and sat down across from him. “What can I do for you, Sam?” He asked in an obviously annoyed tone. 

Sam looked up at him and rolled his eyes. “So, you gonna tell me why you haven't been home in several days?” He asked as he sipped a cup of coffee and looked up at Bucky. 

Bucky stared at him for several seconds “How…how the hell do you even know I haven't been home?” He asked, getting somewhat defensive. 

“Dude, after everything we just been through, you really think I'm not going to check up on you?” Sam began explaining. “I swung by your place about a week and a half ago and you weren't there. I figured you were out doing whatever you cyborgs do during the day, so I thought I'd come back later. Swung by a few days later and still nothing. Your mail was starting to pile up too, so I got…concerned. Where the hell have you been man?”

Bucky sighed. He knew he couldn't just explain everything going on with him and especially not with Peter and the Vulture. Sam didn't even remember who Peter was, and he wasn't about to give up the kid's secret identity, even if he did trust Sam with his life. It wasn't his secret to tell. He also knew that Sam was relentless and wouldn't give up until he got a satisfactory amount of information from Bucky on his recent whereabouts. He decided to keep the information plain and simple, hoping to wing it as he went. 

“Well…I've been helping out Spider-man..” he said flatly, staring at Sam. 

Sam blinked, obviously not the answer he was expecting. “Hold on, hold on…you mean to tell me you’re helping out that web-slinger that we fought at the airport in Germany? That annoying guy in the red and white spandex?” He asked, his voice getting slightly higher pitched as he spoke. 

Bucky looked down and laughed, remembering all the witty remarks the kid had made during that fight, before looking back up at Sam. “Yeah, he's in a bind and he needs help. I figured I've done enough damage in my life, might as well help out the little guy when I get the chance, and currently, the little guy happens to be Spider-man.” The truth was, he felt selfish for helping Peter. He knew the kid needed help and he was giving it to him, but he also knew that helping Peter was another way to make amends for all the shit he had done for Hydra. 

Sam could see the vacant look in Bucky's eyes starting to settle “Hey man I get it, and I think it's great you're helping this guy out, but you need to look out for yourself too. I know you're still struggling with Steve and everything that happened with Karli. I also know your cyborg half doesn't like talking about your emotions and shit but seriously Buck, you can't keep it all bottled up inside.” He said, looking his friend up and down. Sam was concerned about Him. He constantly replayed that phone conversation Bucky had with Karli in his head. Bucky's words had resonated so deeply with him and it wasn't until then that he truly understood a fraction of what Bucky had felt as the Winter Soldier. 

“Karli?” 

“Aren't you tired of fighting for the wrong side Mr. Barnes?”

“I’ve done this before kid, I know how it ends.”

“It doesn't matter if I don't survive this. Im fighting for something bigger than myself, and with all the bodies you've collected have you ever been able to say the same?”

“You don't think I’ve ever fought for something bigger than myself? Thats all I ever try to do and I failed twice. It justifies all this death but in the end, the nightmares won't go away. You're going to remember all the ones you killed, trust me. Don't do this. Don't go down this path.”

“Im managing” Bucky lied.

Sam saw right through it. “Really? How are the nightmares then?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at the soldier.

A pained expression washed across Bucky, and as quickly as it displayed across his face it was gone. Back to the rough, steel blue eyes and blank expression. “I’m fine. You're not my therapist you know..” he said in a forcibly light tone. 

Sam sighed “Look man, I'm not trying to get on your ass I’m just worried. I hope you know I'm only ever a call away. Literally man all you gotta do is dial the number, you know how to do that right?” Sam joked. He didn't want to push Bucky too hard. He knew that was a one-way ticket to never hearing from him again. “So what exactly is the situation you two are in?”

Bucky spent the next hour or so explaining the entire situation to Sam without revealing Peter's identity or the fact that Dr. Strange had basically wiped his entire identity off the face of the earth. He didn't really feel like getting into an argument with Sam about wizards and sorcerers and ‘The Big Three’ whatever that meant. 

“Well if you guys need backup of any kind I’m around. I'll be helping Sara with the finishing touches of the boat repairs and some other boring stuff, so If anything exciting happens I expect an invite.” Sam said as he stood up and grabbed his jacket, throwing some cash down on the table for his coffee.

Bucky nodded, stood up, and actually hugged Sam. He didn't express it and he probably never would because Sam would never live it down, but he was grateful to have someone to lean on, especially after Steve. Having someone to help navigate the 21st century was a huge weight off his shoulders. He still had so much to learn.

Sam embraced Bucky and then stood back in amazement “So that just happened.” He said sarcastically. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, turned his back to Sam, and began heading toward the exit. “It was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, don't get used to it,” he said as he threw a hand in the air to wave goodbye without turning back around. 

He walked out of the restaurant and made his way back to Peter’s apartment. 

Chapter Text

Bucky had been gone pretty much the entire day, and Peter was experiencing a tremendous amount of anxiety about his ‘date’ with MJ later. He was also concerned about Bucky. He had left early this morning without telling Peter where he was headed, and that was a few hours ago. He got out of his head before insane scenarios started forming and got dressed. He threw on some dark jeans, a collared shirt, and a sweater on top, and of course, underneath it all was his spidey suit. He could never be too careful. 

He showed up at the coffee shop a little earlier than he and MJ had agreed on. He did not, under any circumstances, want to be late. He had to make his best impression for his previous girlfriend, who he was technically still dating because even though she had completely forgotten he existed, they never actually broke up, and prior to the spell, she had said she loved him and that she would remember him, but she didn't, and here they were, and he was in his head, stalling. 

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open, walking inside as the little bell above his head rang. He immediately noticed MJ behind the counter. Her curly hair was half up and half down, and her big brown eyes met his as he stepped foot inside the shop. He glanced over to see Ned sitting across the store in his usual spot—their usual spot, well, old spot anyway. 

“Hey, Peter. I'll be out in a minute. Just going to clock out for my break.” She said with a smile. 

Peter nodded, trying not to get lost in her bright smile and warm presence. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and let it drop to the floor next to the chair he had pulled out. He took another deep breath and sat down. This was fine. He was just meeting her for coffee, not telling her his entire life story, although he ached to tell her everything. But he couldn't. He didn't want to overwhelm her and insert himself back into the center of her life. Not when everything was going so well for her right now. He was one giant, dangerous distraction that she didn't even need. 

MJ walked over with two cups of coffee in her hands. “Here you go, just the way you like it,” she said, handing it to Peter and taking a seat next to him. 

So she had now remembered his name and his coffee order. He had only been in twice. He smiled at that thought and sipped the steaming cup of coffee. “Thank you..tastes great, like always.” 

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “It's horrible. The owners refuse to buy decent quality coffee and settle for cheap crap. They really only care about the profit they are making from their customers and could care less about their actual satisfaction.” she explained as she sipped her cup.

Peter chuckled. He had missed this, missed her so much. Her presence was like a breath of fresh air, and he couldn't get enough of it. “Can't be too bad, though, if you still drink it.” he pointed out with a smile.  

She smiled back at him, cheeks turning red,  and tucked her bangs behind her ears. “So Peter, what's in the backpack?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Peter glanced at the backpack and then looked down at the table, fidgeting with his coffee cup “Just uh, just study materials..” He said quietly. 

“What are you studying for?” She asked, sitting up straight. She was obviously very curious about it.

Peter could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and immediately tried to hide his embarrassment. “Well, uh..just my GED,” He explained.

MJ leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “You never went to high school? Or just didn't finish?” she asked. 

This is exactly what Peter wanted to avoid. He hated that he was still trying to pass his GED, and he had no idea what he would even do if he passed since he didn't have the appropriate documents to get into any colleges, thanks to Dr. Strange, but really it was thanks to himself. “I was going to high school, but…uh, well, I was staying with my aunt-” He swallowed before continuing, “and uh…it was just a lot, so I dropped out. Now I'm studying for the GED and hoping to get into college…if I pass.” He said, picking at the loose thread on his jeans.

MJ could tell he seemed nervous, but she wanted to know more about him. She felt like she had a connection with him in the past, and she had to figure out why. Something about him seemed so familiar like she had met him before, and it was driving her crazy “So you live with your aunt then?” She asked. 

Peter flinched and closed his eyes for a second. He composed himself quickly. He was not about to break down in the middle of this coffee shop, but he also didn't want to lie to MJ. He obviously wouldn't tell her about Spider-Man and all associated activities, but he felt she deserved to know about May. She might not remember May, but they had a close relationship in the weeks before her death. “No…she uh…well, she died a few months back, so… I've been on my own.” He looked up and forced a small smile on his face. The last thing he needed was MJ worrying about him. He had been managing on his own for the past several months, and now he had Bucky. He didn't need to drag her into this too. 

MJ stared at Peter for several seconds before extending her hand across the table and resting it on top of his. His skin was so warm, but his eyes appeared so cold. “Peter, I'm... I'm so sorry to hear that.” She said, gently squeezing his hand. She could tell by his body language that it wasn't something he wanted to get into or dwell on, so she decided to change the subject. “So, what do you plan to study once you pass your GED.” She asked. 

Peter perked up immediately. “Well, uh, I mostly have a large interest in Physics and engineering.” He explained, easing the tension in his shoulders that he didn't even realize he was carrying. Talking to MJ was always easy and relaxing for him. She might not remember him, but she still understood him. 

MJ’s eyes lit up. “That's what Ned and I are planning to study!” she said very excitedly. “We both just got into MIT and started up classes not too long ago. Maybe we could all study together sometime?” she proposed. “Hey Ned, get over here!” she shouted across the shop. 

Ned scurried over to the table Peter and MJ were sitting at and plopped down in the empty chair between them, dumping all of his papers on the table in front of him. “Hey, I’m Ned. Nice to officially meet you. Peter, right?” he asked, extending his hand.

Peter grabbed his hand and shook it. “Uh yeah, nice to meet you too, Ned,” he said with a convincing, welcoming smile that said: nice to meet you, but not in like a, we know each other, you just don't remember, type of way. 

The three of them talked about MIT, physics, engineering, and Peter’s GED for the rest of MJ’s break. MJ hadn't even realized what time it was until her boss popped his head out of the office to yell at her to get back to work. 

“Guess I better get going too, lots of studying to do,” Peter said as he stood up and grabbed his backpack, slinging it back over his shoulder. 

“Well, hey, we should form like..like a study group or something. We could even have a cool name for it, like the Science Squad!” Ned suggested.

MJ stood up and laughed, patting Ned on the back. “Great idea, I love it,” she said, and she whipped her phone out, tapped a few keys, then hit send. 

Both Peter and Neds phone’s dinged at the same time. 

Peter looked to see the group chat ‘Science Squad’ on his phone with MJ and Ned as members. 

“Cool! We can plan study sessions at my place. My Lola is out a lot with her friends playing Mahjong. It's the perfect base of operations.” Ned explained, getting all giddy.

They all agreed, and Peter made his way towards the exit as MJ got back to work and Ned returned to their usual old spot. He was happy he had them both back. It wasn’t in the way it was before and was still a very open wound, but he could slowly feel it beginning to mend. 

~~~~~~~~~

Bucky had been headed back to Peter’s apartment when he remembered Sam mentioning the mail that was piling up back at his place. He decided to turn around and head toward his apartment instead. If he was being perfectly honest, he hated his apartment. The bed was too soft, and he always ended up sleeping on the floor, an arrangement he was glad he’d made at Peter's place even though the kid had practically forced him into taking the actual bed. 

He stepped foot inside his apartment, a pile of mail in hand. The place was dark, cold, and frankly just lonely. He hated it. It was so quiet, the perfect place for him to slip into his thoughts and let them consume him. His own personal hell. 

Sure, Peter’s place was messier, smaller, and rundown, but it felt more like home. The truth is, Peter’s apartment reminded him of the place he and Steve used to share after Steve’s mom had passed and Bucky had decided to move in with him. It had sprinkled personality woven into the furniture, the walls, and the floor, and Bucky loved that. It felt lived in, something he couldn't transfer to his place. In his mind, his apartment was barely a step up from the cold, concrete cell in Siberia. 

He had walked over to his table and dropped the mail down, not taking the time to go through it. It was all nonsense anyway. He had walked past the blankets and pillow he had left on the hardwood floor, his bed most nights when he actually slept. As he walked into his actual bedroom, he spotted an old photo of him, Steve, and their old team, the Howling Commandos. 

It was like his mind was transported back to that old pub in England that Steve had brought them all to. Dugan was playing the piano while Jones and Falsworth sang off-key, and he and Steve were sitting up at the bar top, throwing back shots of whiskey and telling old war stories like the time Bucky had saved his ass from a sniper across enemy lines. He remembered Steve turning around and saluting him from below the hilltop he had been sniping from. 

Bucky laughed quietly to himself as he picked up the photo and stared at it for a while. Sitting next to that photo was another one. He placed the Howling Commandos down and exchanged it for one of him and Steve right after he had enlisted, and Steve was still a tiny runt. It shocked him to see how happy they both looked. He sat on the edge of the bed and traced the edge of the frame with his fingers.

“What the hell happened to us, pal?” he asked out loud, taking a deep breath. He had missed how easy everything was before the war. Since that day he enlisted, it had been one nightmare after another. And Steve, god, he looked so innocent in this picture. Funny enough, the look in tiny Steve’s eyes reminded him of Peter. The kid had some milage behind his own eyes and obviously hadn't had it easy, but still, there was innocence behind them, just like Steve’s.

Bucky placed the photo down and stood up. Reality slammed into him like a truck at full speed. He remembered the conversation he had with the kid a few days ago.

“There are other, albeit more physically involved, ways of getting intel.”  he had said.

 He couldn't let Peter deal with interrogating Vulture’s men for this intel. The kid’s hands were clean, and no way would he let them get dirty, not on his watch. Peter did have an innocence about him, and Bucky would protect that at all costs. He had to do this on his own. He had done it plenty of times before and was practically an expert at extracting information. As much as he hated it, he would slip right back into character if it meant keeping the kid safe. 

He grabbed a bag and stuffed it full of clothes, then headed out the door and back to his motorcycle. He would swing by Peter’s place and then make his way to that warehouse.

Tonight, he would get all the intel they needed to take down the vulture. 

No matter what.  

~~~~~~~~

Peter heard the knob turn and waited anxiously for Bucky to walk through the front door. Where the hell had he been? The last interaction they had was when Bucky had his nightmare, and it had practically been radio silent between the two of them since. 

As soon as his foot crossed the threshold, the kid was on him like white on rice. 

“Hey, so uh..where have you been? Everything all...you know, you good?” Peter asked, unsure exactly how to approach the situation. There was a look in the soldier's eyes that he couldn't quite place, but it did not sit well with him. He stayed on the man's heels as he walked over to his makeshift bed on the ground. 

Bucky rolled his shoulders back, crouched down to reach his red backpack on the floor, dropped his new bag full of clothes, and began rummaging through his stuff. “Hey, kid. Sorry for disappearing on you yesterday. I had to meet with someone and run by my apartment for some things.”

Peter carefully watched Bucky paw through his bags with that distant look in his eyes and the rough tone in his voice. He didn't think Bucky was lying to him about where he was, but he wasn't sure he was being entirely truthful either. “So…who did you meet with?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light but curious. 

Bucky barely registered what Peter was saying as he sorted out some clothes and other equipment for his ‘mission’ tonight. He briefly peered up at Peter when the room went silent. The kid had clearly just asked him something. “Uh..what?” 

“Who. Did. You. Meet. With?” Peter asked, clearly and slowly, enunciating each word. Now he was really getting concerned. A super soldier with advanced hearing, and he missed a simple question? The man appeared distracted, and he wanted to know why. 

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line and continued sorting his things. “Uh..just Sam. He wanted to check in, make sure everything was okay.”

He heard Peter’s breath shift slightly before adding, “Don't worry, I didn't tell him anything. Just that I'm helping Spider-man.” 

Peter sighed and exhaled the small breath he was holding. His shoulders seemed to relax a bit as well. “Oh okay…good, that's…good,” he said, eyeing the man as he worked. “Are you sure everything is okay?” He asked, concern creeping into his tone. 

Bucky stopped what he was doing and looked up at Peter. He could see the genuine concern in the kid's eyes. “Im good, I promise. I wouldn't lie to you, kid, ever.” He said, adding emphasis to the word ‘ever’.

Peter looked down and began fidgeting with the loose thread on his jeans. “I know…” He began but then stopped. He wasn't sure what exactly had happened with Bucky, but he was concerned this thing they had going was about to shatter into a million pieces. He couldn't even blame the man because anyone and everyone that got close to him ended up hurt or worse. In the end, everyone left, one way or another. 

Bucky squinted his eyes and tilted his head, trying to pry his way into Peter’s thoughts. The look that was currently plastered on the kid's face was one he had seen in the mirror plenty of times before. He immediately shot up and walked over to Peter, placing each hand on Peter’s shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes. “Whatever is going on in that brain of yours, cut it out. Those thoughts running through your head are wrong. The lies your brain is feeding you right now aren't true.” he started.

Peter’s eyes darted between Buckys, and his breathing quickened. How had he known what he was thinking? Bucky squeezed his shoulders and jolted him out of his thoughts. 

“I just have a few things to take care of. Some loose ends to tie up. That's all this is. Promise.” Bucky said, really looking at Peter now, making sure he understood this was his problem and had absolutely nothing to do with the kid. 

Peter blinked a few times and nodded. He still felt like Bucky was hiding something, but he believed if it was something important, the soldier would have told him.

Bucky pulled him into a quick hug and patted his back before pushing him back to arm's length. “I’ll be back in the morning. If you need me, give me a call.” He said, smiling down at the kid. 

Then the soldier grabbed his bag and headed back out the door. 

Peter had watched him walk out the door and then made his way over to his bed, throwing himself down on the rough mattress. A nap sounded exactly like what he needed before going out on patrol tonight. 

His head hit the pillow, and within a few minutes, he was fast asleep. 

Chapter Text

Bucky had been on the roof adjacent to the warehouse for at least an hour now. He was carefully watching the men going in and out and observing any possible patterns with the movement of the weapons. So far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary other than, of course, the alien tech they were making. 

The warehouse itself was fairly large and sat at the edge of the dockyard, right near the water. The roof was made mostly of glass window panels, and the side of the building was all brick. From what he could tell, the inside was an open space with equipment littered everywhere and a few work desks in the far right corner of the building. There were steel beams that ran from across the ceiling and down to the floor along the entire layout. Inside he could see about 20 men working with the equipment and a few at the desks as well. 

His plan was pretty simple. Men had been slowly filtering out of the warehouse for the past hour. They didn't seem to be armed, but there were quite a few when he first arrived. From the sheer size of this operation, and the boxes of unfinished weapons, there had to be other locations where they finished the products. There was also no doubt that they had multiple shipping locations, but this building seemed like the main base that Toomes worked out of.  

He noticed a man at a desk in the far corner of the warehouse who seemed to be in charge of the design specs. From the amount of work piled up on the desk, Bucky assumed he would be there for a while. That was his target. He would wait until the majority of the men left, pick off the remaining few, and corner the target. After that, it would just depend on how much motivation the guy needed to talk.

The remaining spec of sunlight vanished below the horizon. Most of the men had left for the night. He had to move now if this was going to work. 

He began standing up and made his way towards the edge of the roof when suddenly he heard the air around him move. His hand jutted out behind him out of instinct, catching a baton before the rest of his body could completely turn around. 

Ten feet in front of him stood what looked to be a ninja. He was wearing all black, had ropes wrapped around his hands, and a hood covering his eyes down to the tip of his nose. Bucky hadn't even heard the man get on the roof, and he still couldn't hear his breath or his heartbeat. Who the hell was this guy? Bucky quickly spun the baton around in his hand and flung it directly back at the ninja. 

The baton shot straight out with force, twisting with the spin Bucky had put on it, making it a giant missile headed toward the man. Before Bucky could even start making his way toward the guy, he had caught the baton like it was nothing. 

Now Bucky was getting concerned. This guy had almost supernatural abilities. Bucky slipped his hand down and quickly snatched the Chinese ring dagger from his boot, spinning it in his hand until the ring of the handle was around his pointer finger and the blade faced out from his palm, ready for an attack. 

He launched himself toward the man in black, quickly closing the distance between the two. 

The ninja shifted his weight and began running towards Bucky, ready for the soldier to attack. 

Right as Bucky reached the man, he dropped down to his knees, sliding just under the Ninja's thigh, slicing upward with the dagger. The man had anticipated it and shifted his weight to his other foot, twisting out of the way from Bucky's attack. 

Luckily for Bucky, he had moved so fast, and unpredictably he still caught the ninja's flesh, leaving blood behind on the blade. He stood up and wiped the blade off with his pant leg, getting ready for the next attack. 

The ninja was making his way toward Bucky fairly fast. He shot himself toward the man, fists ready to go. He saw the ninja shift the weight from his feet upward, and before he could react, the man's legs were wrapped around Bucky’s neck, and momentum was driving them both toward the ground. 

Bucky spun out and used the vibranium hand to catch himself on the concrete, sliding and pushing himself back up. He used the other hand to grab the ninja's shirt, holding the man as his legs remained around Bucky’s neck. He threw both of them towards the edge of the roof, tossing his weight forward and slamming the man's back into the roof's edge. He had to be careful to hold back his strength. He didn't need more blood on his crimson-soaked hands. 

The Ninja let go, and Bucky immediately backed up. They both faced each other and immediately drove forward. Bucky was watching the man's weight to see where it would shift so he could predict the next movement. 

The ninja must have caught on because he shifted his weight down, and the man noticed as Bucky followed the movement because as quickly as Bucky went down, the ninja shifted his weight back up, and they both headed right toward each other on different levels. 

As the distance between them closed, the ninja's foot met with Bucky’s temple at the same time that the soldier grabbed the man's other leg, slamming him back down from the air, his head meeting the concrete of the roof. 

For a brief moment, the two men both lay sprawled out on the rooftop. Bucky got to his feet fast after their brief break. The ninja took a little longer to recover. 

“Who are you?” Bucky asked with a serious bite in his tone. 

The ninja slowly made his way to his feet and steadied himself against one of the turbines on the roof. He adjusted the ropes on his hands but didn't answer Bucky. 

“I asked you a question,” Bucky stated. “You the guy in charge of this operation?” 

The ninja’s head moved up towards Bucky and tilted slightly to the side. “You think I work with these assholes?” He asked before letting out a small, low-pitched laugh. 

Bucky blinked and then stared at the ninja. “So you don't work for them…then who are you, and what are you doing here?” He asked with the same stern tone in his voice. 

“It's none of your business. I should be asking you the same thing.” the man bit back. 

Bucky clenched his fists. He had had enough of this guy. “Look, you’re either working for them, or you're not. At this point, I don't care which one it is because you're still in my way.” 

“I'm not working with them. I'm here to shut down this operation, but instead, I'm dealing with you.” the ninja quipped. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. They both had the same goal here, and fighting each other was a waste of everyone's time. He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders, easing the tension he had been carrying. “My name is Bucky. We’re both trying to stop these guys, so…” he grit his teeth and huffed before speaking his next lines. “...Maybe we help each other out…just this once.” He said eyebrows furrowed. 

The man took a second before responding. “What's your goal here?” He asked, raising his voice.

Bucky grunted. He was getting frustrated. “I'm trying to get intel on the operation here. There is obviously some larger player involved, and I want names and answers. The guy in there has those answers.” he said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder to point at the guy behind the desk. “Look, you either help or leave, ninja man.” 

The guy laughed under his breath. “Ninja man.. that's a new one.” 

“Well, you haven't given me your name, so what else am I supposed to call you?” he asked, annoyance very clear in his tone. 

“It's Daredevil…and that's all you're getting,” he said strictly. He wasn't about to tell a member of the Avengers his real identity, not when he knew nothing about this guy. 

Bucky’s eyes widened a bit. “You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen? A damn ninja?” he asked, surprised.

Daredevil just nodded in response. “Look, this isn't something you want to get involved in. If I'm right about the person behind this, then the fewer people he can get to, the better,” he said, turning his back to Bucky to head toward the edge of the roof closest to the warehouse entrance. 

Bucky turned on his heels and followed him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do you have some knowledge you’d like to share with the class here?” the anger now evident in his tone.

Matt kept walking, ignoring the soldier’s remarks. 

“This isn't even your territory. It's literally in the name Devil of Hell's Kitchen ! Go home if you're not going to help.”  

Matt continued to ignore him. 

Bucky reached his hand out to grab Daredevil’s shoulder, and before he knew it, the man was turning around, grabbing Bucky’s wrist. 

“Like I said, this isn't a situation you want to involve yourself with.” He said. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and yanked his hand away. This guy was seriously annoying to deal with. If he only knew the actual strength coursing through Bucky’s veins right now. He could lay him out flat if he really wanted. He pushed the thought from his head and quickly pushed himself up and over the ledge, falling down the side of the building. He landed with one foot and one knee on the ground, three stories down. “If you're not going to help me, that's fine. I'm more equipped to work alone anyway. Later Red,” he said as he saluted the man with his pointer and middle finger and turned to head towards the warehouse. 

Matt sighed and huffed, turning his back to lean on the edge. He hated the nickname Red. It was originally something he heard from Frank Castle, and he wasn’t accustomed to it. The Soldier was almost as stubborn as he was. He decided to cut his losses for the evening. If this guy wanted to tangle in a giant mess like this, then he could reap the consequences later down the road. With that, he flung himself to the next roof and headed back to Hell's Kitchen. 

Bucky made his way into the warehouse. By now, there were only about three men on the outskirts of the warehouse. He was able to drop two of them by sneaking up behind them and wrapping his arms around them until they went limp. They wouldn't wake up for a while. 

The third one was around the side, leaning up against the building. Bucky pulled his hood up and stuck his hands in his pockets, walking right by the guy. The man looked up from his phone and eyed Bucky. 

Bucky slowed down and stopped right in front of the man, keeping his head down and hands in his pockets. “Got a cigarette I can bum?” he asked the man. 

The guy looked Bucky up and down, unable to see his face past the hood. “Uh, yeah, sure thing.” He said, turning and reaching for his bag.

Bucky quickly whipped his hands out of his pockets and grabbed the guy, shoving him against the building and smashing his head against the brick wall. He would be fine, but he’d definitely have a concussion after that. 

He pulled off the hood and made his way toward the entrance of the warehouse. His target was still at his desk, unaware that his men outside had been taken care of. 

Bucky decided to walk right in and head directly toward the guy. He had a gun in one hand, and he moved his ring daggers to his belt for easier access, just in case. 

The man had heard the footsteps approaching. “Hey boss, I'll be done with the newest mod in just a few-” he looked up at the sound of a gun being loaded, and panic immediately settled in his chest. He jumped back from his desk, throwing his hands directly in the air. “Oh my god..yo-you’re him…the Winter Soldier,” he said, fear edging into his tone. 

Bucky calmly walked over to him and stood directly in front of him; gun pointed towards the man. He quickly assessed the man's desk and workspace. Random sheets of paper were spread across the surface and blueprints were rolled up in the corner, but no weapons. He set the gun on the desk in front of him and got close to the man behind the desk. He saw a few pieces of mail addressed to Mr. Phineas Mason—presumably the man's name. 

“So, Mr. Mason, you're going to tell me what I need to know, and then I’ll be out of your hair…got it?” Bucky asked with a strict yet calm demeanor. 

The guy swallowed hard and nodded.

Bucky smiled. “Good.” He got up and walked to the other side of the desk, slowly sliding his gun with him across the surface of the wood. The gun scratched across the desk, leaving a scuff mark in its wake. Thanks to Hydra, Bucky had been trained in all sorts of interrogation tactics. He knew the physical aspect, of course, but sometimes all that was needed was a psychological push, some fear. 

 “Who is running this operation?” He asked in a low, monotone voice. 

The guy immediately began shaking his head, and his eyes widened with what Bucky assumed was panic. 

“I-I don't know; I swear!” he shouted, fear now evident in his voice. 

“I don't believe you,” Bucky said, quickly leaning forward, closing the gap between the two. He left just enough distance between them that the man could barely feel Bucky’s breath on his face. 

The man immediately shut his eyes and flinched. “I swear! Not even Mr. Toomes knows his name. He's an unknown entity! His men come and give us direction. The only thing they ever call him is their employer! That's the truth, I swear!” He continued shouting. “Please, I don't know anything else!” he begged. 

Bucky looked the man up and down. He felt terrible about scaring this guy, even if he was doing highly illegal shit right now. He slowly backed up and took a brief moment to assess the area, looking for any other hints or signs. He heard something whirr from underneath the desk and snapped his attention back to the man behind it.  

Mason was holding a silver gun that had a purple light emanating from it. Before he knew it, he was being catapulted across the room by some shock wave from the weapon. He was thrown down to the ground, but the momentum dragged him across the cement. He shot the vibranium arm out and dug his fingertips into the cement to slow himself, the plates on the arm adjusting from the pressure. 

He came to a stop and whipped his head up, small strands of hair dangling in front of his eyes. He shot up to his feet and stomped toward the man behind the desk, anger quickly spreading in his core. If this man was expecting the Winter Soldier, then that's who he was going to get. 

He made his way over to the desk insanely fast, grabbing the weapon from the man's hand and tossing it behind himself. His vibranium hand came up and met with the man's throat. He shoved Mason back against the wall and lifted him several inches off the ground, the plates in his arm adjusting again. His stone-cold eyes settled on the man in front of him, not showing any kind of emotion. He set his jaw and tightened the grip around the man’s neck, leaning in closer. 

The man looked absolutely terrified now. Bucky didn't want to resort to this, but he’d had no other choice. He was going to get this information no matter what. He had tried the nice way without getting the soldier inside involved, but this man had forced him to change tactics. 

“What's the endgame here?” He asked, cold and forceful. 

Mason was almost too terrified to speak, but he managed to squeak out a few words. “All..th-they said,” he began, trying to push his words past the metal structure on his throat. 

Bucky slightly loosened his grip. 

“Some p-plan to cleanse Hell's Kitchen and then the..the r-rest of the city after that. Something a-about a campaign. That's all they told us…” he finished. 

Bucky looked into the man's eyes. He was telling the truth. He let go of Mason and watched him crash down to the floor. The man stayed down as Bucky turned to exit, quickly making his way back to the same roof he started on. 

He got to the top and pressed his back against the edge, sliding down to a sitting position. He hadn't gotten much out of the guy, but it was enough to truly start digging. 

He raked his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face. To see how easily he’d fallen back into that role had scared him to his core. Twice now, he’d been forced to play the part of the Winter Soldier. He just wanted to be free of that part of him, but deep down, he knew how impossible that sounded, like the chains holding his two selves together could never be undone. 

He put his hands up to his temple to ease the pain of the headache forming behind his eyes. 

Truly the only thing he longed for right now was his bed and a good night’s sleep. He dragged himself up off the roof and made the long walk back to Peter’s apartment.

Chapter Text

Peter had been patrolling for the last several hours. He had been bored at the apartment and decided to go do some good in Queens while waiting for Bucky to get back. It was the best way he knew to manage all the unease bubbling up inside of him. When he was out swinging through the city was the only time he truly felt free. Spider-man was someone people could look up to, someone they were excited to see. Peter Parker just messed everything up, got people hurt, and destroyed everything he touched. These days, the less time he could spend as Peter, the better. 

It had been a pretty busy night. He stopped a handful of car thieves and small robberies, but he felt like he could be doing more. He had always looked out for the little guy. The Avengers weren't always able to provide necessary resources to every single community, like Queens, and that's where Peter came in. Sure, he wouldn't be stopping any world-ending threats on his own, but if he could clean up the streets even a little, then he was doing his job, and that made him content. Still, he did have reservations about it at times, especially when he knew the bad guys were out there gradually evolving into an Avengers-level threat. 

He decided to swing by the warehouse where Toomes’s operation was. It couldn’t hurt to see what was going on, plus Bucky had said they needed more intel. Maybe tonight was the night he finally got some. 

He pivoted up to the top of the warehouse and snuck through the window on the roof. 

Maybe Bucky was wrong. Maybe he could get intel without putting his hands on someone. He never liked violence. Funny coming from a superhero, but it was the truth. It's why he was so witty with criminals. Sometimes all people need is someone to hold them accountable. He had almost crossed the line once, after May, and it scared him to see the person he had become. He didn't want that. He wanted to be the Friendly neighborhood Spider-man that people trusted, and after everything with Mysterio, people were just starting to trust him again. His current struggle came in the form of him not being able to trust himself. It was something he was learning to do, albeit very slowly.

Peter clung upside down to the ceiling and made his way into the main area of the warehouse, peering down to see if anyone was inside. He heard distinct voices that were growing louder and louder. He attached a web to the ceiling and slid down a few feet to get a better view. 

Directly below him was Adrian Toomes, in his full Vulture suit, which had clearly been upgraded, and another man he had recognized from the first time he had taken down Toomes. What was his name again?

“Mason! What the hell are you doing? We have bigger issues to worry about right now!” Adrian shouted.

Oh yeah, Phineas Mason, that was his name. He had been the guy to design the high-altitude seal for Toomes when they hijacked Mr. Stark’s plane. So he was back in play too. 

“Sorry sir, I-I’m just…I’m trying to figure out how he made it past an entire security team and got inside.” The man explained.

Peter wasn't sure what they were talking about, but it sounded like someone had broken into the facility. Who the hell would break into a random warehouse down by the docks? Maybe a homeless person looking for shelter? Doesnt explain what happened to the security team.

Peter was jolted out of his thoughts when the argument below him began getting heated. 

“Shit, The Boss is calling. He’s going to have questions about what happened! One of us is going to end up dead in a ditch, Mason, and it won't be me!” Toomes practically screamed. The man was pacing in a circle, rubbing the thinning bald spot on the top of his head. 

To Peter, he appeared extremely stressed. He had been pacing back and forth, constantly checking his phone. Peter could practically see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead from here, his heart rate seemed steady but elevated, and the circles under his eyes spoke volumes. Whatever this operation was, it had him in way over his head. He tried descending farther down to get a glimpse of the facility, scoping out the rest of the security team, although he didn't sense anyone else in the near vicinity. 

Next thing Peter knew, he was crashing down several feet, his back slamming into the cement floor of the warehouse, dust flying all around him. He quickly pointed his wrists up to the ceiling and pressed down the trigger for his web shooters. Nothing. 

SHIT! 

Bucky had plopped himself down on the tiny chair in front of the window, carefully watching as the kid made repairs to his suit and web shooters. 

“So, do those webs come naturally, or do you have to, like…make them?” Up to this point, Bucky didn't have the slightest idea about Peter's abilities other than the same enhanced features they shared. 

Peter continued working on his suit, trying to add some additional coding to the AI. “Nah, I have to make the webbing myself. I started out doing it in chemistry class, then Mr. Stark gave me some space in his lab. Now I just destroy my kitchen sink to make it. But I did work with this other version of me who made it himself…like…in his body!” he explained, excitement in his tone. 

Bucky looked at the kid, dumbfounded. “Must be nice to never run out of the stuff.”

“Yeah, you're telling me, especially when you don't have a lab to work in.”

Dammit. He knew he was forgetting something. He didn't have a fancy lab to make his webbing in anymore, and with Bucky home cooking all the time, he never had time to make up a batch in the sink. Damn, super soldier metabolism. 

Great, so he had to fight off a flying villain with no webbing. 

Toomes and Mason stared at the Red and Blue superhero for a brief minute. “You have GOT to be kidding. Of course, YOU would be behind this.” Toomes said with venom in his tone and pure rage behind his eyes. “You know Spider-Man ,” he said, adding some flare to the name. “I'm getting real tired of you messing with my work. You got me in a real hot seat with the boss right now…and you know what? I think it's time you pay for that,” he said as his vulture mask slipped down into place, his wings and talons spreading out. 

Peter shot to his feet and began sprinting towards the door. Fighting an angry psychopath with wings while remaining grounded was a suicide mission. It would be hard enough to catch up to the man if he was constantly hovering off the ground. Not having webbing sucked. 

He must not have been fast enough because the next thing he knew, there was white sizzling pain in both of his shoulder blades, and he was being lifted off the ground.

Toomes had flown feet first towards Peter, drilling his talons into his back. “You like these bad boys? They're a special gift from your friends in Wakanda. Well, not so much a gift, I would say.” He quipped as he dragged the spider higher. 

Peter only responded with a grunt, contorting himself to try and get free of the talons’ grasp, but the blades were deep into him, curved upward. He felt like a fish snared on a line with no escape. 

He could feel the hard metal against his flesh, pulling through each layer as his weight dragged him down. 

Toomes continued his ascent, putting more distance between Peter and the ground. Suddenly small shards of glass were falling all around him, slicing small cuts throughout his body. Toomes had crashed through the window in the ceiling, soaring straight toward the sky.  

And then, abruptly, they stopped in mid-air. 

Peter’s senses dialed up to 11, and he began twisting and fighting to get free. His chest was heaving, and his eyes were dilated. He knew without webbing, this fall would be destructive. Genuinely for the first time since the Green Goblin, he was scared. He had no escape, and even if he did, it was a one-way ticket to the pavement below them. 

They both rotated through the air and then suddenly, his stomach was in his chest. He was falling–no, This was faster than falling, and Peter was helpless in stopping his descent. Toomes was driving down and forward towards the docks, talons still latched into Peter's shoulder as he flew down from the sky. 

And then, for a brief moment, it was dark and quiet. He didn't remember where he was. Had he been patrolling? Was he going to be late to dinner with May…wait, there was no more May. 

And then water was rushing up his nose, covering his ears until all he heard was the rush of the waves. His eyes fluttered open, and above him, the vulture was hovering, but everything was fuzzy. Why wouldn't his eyes focus? 

The sizzling pain returned, this time in his chest. And all of a sudden, he was flying, only for his back to meet up with the dock again, the hardwood of the structure slamming into his spine. He heard muffled voices but couldn't make them out. 

Then again, sizzling pain, flying, hardwood. The sound of waves was droning on in his head. Where was he? What was going on?  

Once more, sizzling pain, flying–but the waves stopped. He could hear again. 

“Not much of a hero now, huh? Im going to squash you like the bug you are.”

His mind immediately snapped back into focus, eyes steadying on the man above him. Talons grappled his chest, and he was above the water. That explained why he could hear again. 

“Mysterio was right, you're not even a hero. Your nothing.” The vulture above him screamed, slamming Peter back into the dock again.

Red-hot fury covered Peter’s vision as he pushed the vulture off of himself. The man began hovering again, getting ready to crash back into Peter. 

As Toomes made his way back down, Peter shot his hands up into the air, allowing the talons to impale through his hands. He immediately gripped his hands tightly around the weapons. Now he had leverage over the bird. 

He ignored the pain as he yanked his hands in opposite directions as hard as he could. The suit whirred, and sparks from the middle of the wings began igniting. 

Toomes tried twisting out of Peter’s grasp, which only made Peter hold on tighter. With all the strength he could muster, he stood up and pulled the talons in his hand down, separating them from the suit. 

Toomes must have caught onto his plan because he immediately attempted turning to flee, but Peter was faster. With the free talon in his hand, he wound his arm up and directed the sharp vibranium weapon straight toward the suit's operating mechanism.  

The entire suit lit up with sparks as Toomes flew straight toward the warehouse. The vulture crashed right through the side wall and into the structure, quickly vacating the suit before the flames caught. 

Peter could see the wrath painted across Toome’s face as he stomped back in his direction. 

Then suddenly a car was in front of the man, the passenger door flying open. “Sir, we have to go. The police are on their way,” Mason yelled. 

Toomes peered over to Peter. “This is far from over.” he threatened as he ducked into the car, and they sped off. 

Peter’s chest was heaving as he let his arms dangle back to his sides. He was still standing on the dock, which was about four inches underwater now. His knees buckled underneath him, and he could feel himself losing balance. 

The space around him seemed quiet, and his breathing finally began to slow. He could just barely make out the sirens in the distance before the entire world began fading away, the black haze around his vision slowly eating away at the view in front of him. All he felt next was a splash of cold and then nothing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky had gotten home a little over an hour ago and had plopped down in his favorite chair by the window. Something about the ambiance and the view calmed him. He had been napping when an alert on his phone pulled him from his sleep. 

He rubbed his eyes and took in his surroundings. He looked over to Peter’s bed. It was empty.

“Must be a busy night out there.” He said, stretching his arms out behind his back and leaning his head back on the chair. 

His phone continued to chime. 

Reluctantly he walked over to the device. He was not a fan of the rectangular machine that never seemed to stop, no matter the time of day. 

He picked it up and noticed an alert message from Karen, Peter’s AI.

!! Emergency Alert !!

That was all the message said, but the AI had also pinned Peter’s location. 

“No, no, that's the docks…the warehouse! What is he doing there?” He asked no one in particular, fear very present in his tone. His breathing picked up considerably and all he could hear was his heartbeat droning in his ears. Had Vulture figured out who Peter was? Had he remembered Spider-man’s identity–no–that's impossible…right? His mind was spinning and with his shaky breathing, he could feel himself getting dizzy. He placed his hand out onto the cold hard countertop, trying to reel his thoughts back in. He had to get over there as fast as possible. 

Bucky’s heart was still pounding in his chest, and his hands began to shake. “Kid, what the hell have you gotten yourself into.” He asked himself, voice unsteady and wavering. 

He grabbed his jacket and flew out the door, tracking the location to Peter on his phone. Another thing he was grateful someone had shown him. “Don't worry, kid; I'm on my way.” 

The brisk air bit his face as he dashed down the back alleys of Queens, racing toward the docks, toward that warehouse. His hands and feet were numb, but he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the adrenaline. 

Bucky arrived at the warehouse, seeing the giant hole in the side of the building, and rushed inside. Was the kid stuck under concrete again? He remembered the fear in the kid's voice as he told that story. If he was stuck under another building…Bucky tossed the thought from his head and quickly surveyed the entire warehouse. No sign of Peter. In the middle of the warehouse was a charred suit with wings—the vulture. 

“Oh no…Kid!” He shouted out, hoping Peter would hear him and give any indication of where he was. Nothing. 

He had searched the inside and outside of the entire building. If Toomes had grabbed him, he could have flown Peter anywhere in this dockyard, making it almost impossible to find the kid. His kid. 

Bucky decided to climb back up to the roof he had been on earlier that same night, hoping–praying– to get a good vantage point and see where Peter might be. He scanned the perimeter of the dockyard, being careful to check every detail. 

He noticed a break in the water near one of the loading docks, and the dock itself had been destroyed, lying half sunken in the water. It was made up of wood and half of the paneling was sitting in the water, the waves rushing back and forth across the half-destroyed structure. It had been a bitterly cold night, and the dense white fog coming off the surface of the water made it hard to see far away. He walked over to the edge of the roof, climbing up on top of the lip of the edge of the building and straining to peer down at the dock. Just at the edge of the sunken dock, he noticed a reflection of red through the mist. He couldn't tell if something was in the water or if it was a reflection of the dock itself. He leaned over the edge of the roof to obtain a better look, carefully distributing his weight evenly on his back foot to avoid falling.  As the waves danced over the wood he noticed deep crimson whirls blooming throughout the waves, spreading out to create brighter shades of red that all swirled into each other with the motion of the waves. Bucky's heart sank and a lump formed in his throat. Peter. 

Bucky quickly jumped off the roof, using his vibranium hand to dig into the brick and slow his descent on the way down. As soon as his feet hit the pavement, he was sprinting to the broken dock.

He rushed over and noticed a hand floating in the water, the kid's nose and mouth just barely above the surface. He ran through the ice-cold water, grabbing the base of Peter’s head and bringing it above the surface. There was still blood in the water, which meant his wounds were still fairly fresh. Peter’s AI had wasted no time in alerting him. 

A small whimper came from the kid's throat, but he wasn't fully with it yet. 

“Peter, if you can hear me, I'm sorry…this is going to hurt. We need to get you out of this water,” he explained, trying to keep a calm and steady voice.  

Bucky stood up and carefully wrapped his arms under Peter's chest. He could feel the tearing in the kid's suit and the lacerations on his skin. He braced himself, then fully shifted Peter’s weight into his arms. Dragging him out of the water as carefully as he could. 

A sharp hollow breath escaped from Peter’s lips, and his eyes shot open just as Bucky had pulled him from the waves. He quickly slammed his eyes shut and tensed his entire body, trying to push away the pain. 

Bucky had laid him down on the pavement just in front of the dock, now fully assessing all of the kid's wounds. He had several lacerations on his arms and legs, very minor, however. The main concern was the deep cuts on his chest and his back. Something had dug down deep into him several times. “What the hell happened to you kid?” 

Peter pried his eyes open at the sound of Bucky’s voice, relaxing his muscles slightly. He sucked in a breath and tried pushing his arms underneath him. “B-bucky.” he smiled weakly before closing his eyes again. 

Bucky’s eyes lit up at the sound of the kid’s voice but quickly washed away. “Hey, keep your eyes on me. Peter! Don't your dare close those eyes!” 

Peter obeyed, trying once again to force his eyes open. “T-thanks…fo..for c-coming.” He said before the darkness carried him away again. 

Bucky had caught the kid's head before it hit the pavement. 

“Don't worry, kid, I got you. Let's go home.”

Chapter Text

“Mr. Stark? I don’t feel so good.”

“You're alright.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what's happening I don’t know…I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go, sir. Please. Please, I don't wanna go, I don’t wanna go….I'm sorry.”

The darkness and the cold embraced Peter, trapping him in the depth of nothingness. The cold pierced his skin, sinking deep into his core. The silence in his head was deafening. His eyelids felt glued shut, forced into the darkness, and his chest felt heavy like a stack of weights were on top of him. 

Something reached out its hand and grabbed hold of him, the touch soft, tender, and warm, oh so warm. He embraced the touch and fell into it. Truly it felt like an escape. Escape from the pain, the cold, the misery that he had been thrown into after losing so much. After Ben, after Tony, May…and this feeling of warmth encapsulated him. 

The ringing of nothingness in his ears fell away as small sounds started to fill his head. What had happened? Where was he? He yanked his hand away from the warm touch. Escape was what he wanted but it was not something he was ready for, not yet. He could hear something in his head, a sound pushing its way to the front of his senses. 

“..er!” 

His body began to ache and throb. Where exactly was he? 

“eter!”

The cold sank back into his core, spreading throughout his entire body. 

“PETER!” 

He forced his eyes open, an almost impossible task, to see a man standing above him. His arm was shining in the moonlight. Wait, Bucky. It was Bucky. He quickly remembered the events that led him here and the pain returned just as fast. His chest burned, his hands stung, and his back ached.

“B-Bucky? Wh-” He groaned as his chest shifted with each breath he took. 

Bucky was right next to him, applying pressure to the wounds, making them sting even more than they already were.

“Kid, thank god. We're almost at the car and I need you to keep your eyes open for me okay?” He practically begged. 

 Bucky had lied. He hadn’t brought a car but he desperately needed one to get Peter back to the apartment quickly. He had seen one near the warehouse entrance and planned to hotwire it. He grabbed Peter's arms and hauled him up carefully over his shoulder. 

Peter could feel his body moving, almost floating again. The burning in his chest caused his eyes to close tight and he hissed as hands moved underneath him. He could barely feel the touch, everything was practically numb from the cold, which seemed to be helping the pain. He could feel the air moving around his face. He was moving quickly, but to where? The fog of darkness crept around him again. 

Bucky moved his legs as fast as he could. He had scooped Peter up into his arms, not caring about the blood stains the kid was leaving behind. He pumped his legs faster and faster to get to the car. He needed to get Peter back to the apartment, back to his medical kit.  Hospitals were not in the cards for either of them, not with their advanced abilities and healing factor. He could tell being in the cold water for so long was causing Peter’s healing factor to reduce to a crawling speed, or maybe it stopped healing the wounds altogether just to keep the kid's core warm enough for basic function. He wasn't sure but Peter was fading fast and he had to move. 

He swung the door to the back seat of the car open, placing Peter down as gently as he could. His heart almost shattered at the small groan the kid let out when he placed him down across the seats. 

“Peter, stay with me kid…please, just a little longer.” His heart was racing. He hadn't been this scared since Steve had come to his rescue back during the war. He remembered the steel beam on the ceiling he had walked across, fire roaring below him as he made it to the other side. Just as his feet had made it to the platform on the other side the beam had collapsed to the ground, leaving Steve stranded on the other side. 

“There’s gotta be a rope or something!” He remembered shouting at Steve 

“Just go! Get out of here!”

“No! Not without you!” He had screamed back, the fear evident in his tone. 

It was exactly how he felt now, looking back at Peter, slumped over and bleeding in the back seat of this car. Because the truth was, after Steve left, Bucky had felt alone again. He had Sam and the other Avengers, but Peter was different. He meant something different than the others. The way he looked at Peter was the same way he looked at Steve, before everything. The person he had jumped in front of a tesseract weapon and fallen off that train for. Peter was no different than that person, and he would do everything he could to protect this kid, his kid.  

Peter could feel the cold seep down into his bones. It took hold of him and wouldn't let go. His mind reeled, sending him to any other place than the present. He begged for that warm touch to return, but It never did. The quiet in his mind returned, enveloping all of his senses. His entire body went numb and suddenly he was back on Titan, his hands and legs turning to dust. 

“I-Im… I'm sorry, Mr. Stark.” He mumbled, again and again.

Bucky peered at him through the rearview mirror. The kid had been shivering but it seemed to stop. Deep in his gut Bucky knew it was bad, and only getting worse. He stomped his foot all the way down on the gas pedal and sped back to the apartment as fast as he could. Thank god it was the middle of the night and the streets were nearly empty. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Bucky managed to gently throw Peter over his left shoulder and carry him up to the apartment. He practically kicked down the door to get inside, something he would fix later. He carefully walked over to the couch and gently placed Peter down, noticing the grimace on the kid's face as his hands slid out from underneath him. He quickly grabbed his medical bag and got to work. 

He watched Peter's chest rise and fall as he went to work cutting him out of the wet spider-man suit. He would have to sneak back into the Avengers compound and make a new one for Peter after all of this was over. Bucky dug through his bag to get equipment for an IV, something his Hydra training had taught him to do for himself and his handlers in case they were ever injured. He’d hated Hydra for everything they did to him–the invasion of his own mind…but right now, at this moment, he was glad he had that knowledge and training. At least he was able to turn that evil inside him into something good for once, something helpful for the people he loved and cared about. This was no mission, this was so much more. 

Peter's skin was ice cold and he had started shivering again. Bucky had finished placing the IV and went to work on the deeper wounds. He was glad the kid was still unconscious since this wouldn't be too pleasant. The more minor cuts would heal on their own even with the slow rate of his healing factor. He also has some bruising along his temple, most likely some head trauma. There were a few deep lacerations and puncture marks on his chest and two prominent ones on his back. Bucky had no doubt it was where Toomes grabbed him with those damn talons. 

His mind reeled with the images of the Vulture picking Peter up and slamming him back into that pavement, over and over again. It's almost exactly the way he pictured it when Peter had explained his fight with Toomes the first time around. How had he let this happen? How had he let Peter get into this situation? He clenched his fists and set his jaw, trying to work through the grim thoughts flooding his brain. He was all Peter had and he allowed this to happen. What the hell kind of protector does that? He took a deep breath and refocused his mind back on the task at hand. His priority right now was helping Peter and his biggest concern at the moment was warming the kid up. 

He had noticed in the past that the kid's body temperature wasn't like a normal person, or even his. It took him a while to stabilize back to normal and right now he was very far below what was considered normal. He wasn't exactly sure how long Peter had been in the lake, but it was ice cold and the middle of winter. 

Bucky was almost certain that if Peter hadn't had his form of super soldier serum or spider venom–whatever the kid called it– running through his veins, he would have succumbed to hypothermia by now. 

He had placed a thick blanket on top of Peter and made sure to warm the fluid before priming his IV, allowing the solution to warm him as it entered his veins, watching as some tension drained from the kid's face. He had quickly finished flushing, packing, and bandaging the wounds on Peter’s chest and back, and now he just had to wait. He decided to hold off on suturing the wounds. They were deep and they would need to drain plus he wanted to check them to make sure the kids' advanced healing was working again. He knew how much of a toll the healing factor takes on one's body. Peter would be out of it for a while, but slowly, surely, his body would hopefully begin to heal. 

Still, the anxiety and unease stirred in Bucky's chest. He pulled up a chair and sat right next to the couch. He would be right there for the kid when he woke up. He watched Peter's chest continue to rise and fall to an even, steady rhythm. Listening to the kid's breathing had helped put him a bit at ease. He continued listening, watching his kid. 

~~~~~~~~~~

His ears were ringing and everything was blurry, and then Suddenly everything came into focus. The building around him was mostly rubble, dust still settling. His eyes slowly adjusted and everything went quiet. All he could hear was the sound of May’s voice. 

she grabbed his shoulder “Let's get the…out of here.”

“Okay, let's go,” he said, walking forward

“Let me just catch my…” 

May looked down at her trembling hands then suddenly back up at Peter. All of a sudden she was falling backward and his hands were there immediately, catching the back of her head and her hand, slowly easing her to the ground. The panic fizzled up from his chest and he grabbed both her hands. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice wavering. He took his hand and carefully brushed the hair away from May’s eyes. 

“I'm okay.” She responded softly

“Yeah you’re okay, what happened?”

May smiled up at him, eyes beaming “Just have to…catch my breath” She said weakly 

“Okay, well, catch your breath. I'm right here. We’re gonna take our time. You catch your breath. Then we’ll take you to a doctor, okay?” he said as he continued to stroke her hair.

 He could see her eyes begin to glaze over and they drifted off to the wall behind him, not looking at anything in particular. His breathing accelerated as he looked down at May’s side, slowly placing his hand behind her back. The fear bubbled up in his chest at the wetness he felt on his hand. He slowly pulled it back to see the dark red blood. Quickly, he looked up at May between the tears in his eyes. 

May looked up at him “Are you okay?”

Peter began looking around frantically, trying to appear calm while the panic took over from the inside. “Somebody help! I need an ambulance, please! Somebody!” He shouted, his voice breaking between screams. 

“What happened?” May asked breathily 

“Nothing happened,” Peter responded, grabbing her face gently with both of his hands and stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

May looked into his eyes “Let me just– let me catch my breath.”

Peter continued stroking her cheeks “Okay, I'm right here. I'm right here.” He whispered to her, running his hands along her face. “I'm right here.”  He ducked his head into his shoulder, holding back sobs before bringing his eyes back to May. 

She smiled up at him and drifted back off to the wall behind him 

“You’re okay. It’s just me and you.” He said, smiling back down at her. 

May's smile slowly faded and Peter could see the light draining from behind her warm brown eyes. “May?” he asked, furrowing his brows. “May?” His lip began to quiver and his eyes welled back up with tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks. “Will you look at me, May, please?” he asked, shaking her gently. He gently brushed the hair away from her face again. “May? May!” He asked, his voice shaky and tears streaming down his face. He gently shook her shoulders again. “What are you doing May, please, will you just wake up and talk to me?” he begged, blinking the tears away.

He could hear the footsteps of the police just outside the building and a car driving up to the front. He peered up through his tears to see Happy in the car looking back at him, before quickly looking back down at May. He could hear Happy screaming at him to Run but Peter didn't have it in him to tear his eyes away from his aunt, his protector, his only family. 

He cradled her head, stroking her hair. “It’s just me and you, okay?” He said as his tears fell onto May’s chin. 

“Oh, May, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” he said, gently touching her forehead. “I'm so, so, so sorry. I Love you.” He said, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. He pulled himself back and looked her right in the eyes as his heart shattered to pieces. 

He slowly stood up, closing his eyes as he turned away. 

When he opened them again he was surrounded by nothing. He looked up to see several figures standing in front of him. All he could see were their eyes. Cold, lifeless eyes. His breath hitched as he slowly inched away, terrified for the figures to reveal themselves. Slowly, one by one, they did. 

The first was Ben. He could see the blood dripping down his shirt from the bullet wound in his chest. His eyes appeared hollow and distant. 

And then Tony had appeared, taking Ben’s place. The side of his face was almost nonexistent behind the burns and ash from the snap, His dark, bloodshot eyes stared right up at Peter with a look of disappointment…distrust. 

Peter’s heart was thundering in his chest and he continued backing away, tears streaming down his face. 

He had expected the last figure to be May, the death he had just witnessed. His heart dropped when the figure stepped out of the shadows. 

Bucky was looming over him, the same distant look in his eyes. His hands and shirt were covered in blood. 

Peter quickly squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed his head. “This is not real…it's not real!” He shouted at himself as he smacked his palm to his temple, trying to snap out of it. 

“Not yet it isn't, but soon..” Bucky stated. 

His eyes thrust open and his chest was heaving. He could feel the wetness on his cheeks from the vision he had just seen, and the memory of May he had been forced to relive, A memory he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried to push it into the deep, dark depth of himself. He could feel the void inside him beginning to spread, taking him over and swallowing him up like a black hole.

 He took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, pushing the nightmare away and orienting himself, trying to remember what had happened. He could feel the ache in his body down to his bones. His muscles screamed at him to stay still and the dull ache of his chest and back made itself known. He slid his hand up to the bandages covering his chest, peeling them back to see how severe his wounds really were. He had just replaced the bandage when he heard shuffling beside him. He carefully turned his head and glanced over to see Bucky asleep in one of the wooden kitchen chairs right beside the couch he was laying on. His clothes were covered in what Peter presumed was his own blood and his hair was a mess. His mind began to race when he saw the blood-covered soldier, thoughts reeling back to the nightmare. He quickly shoved them aside and assessed the man. He looked exhausted. He had both his arms wrapped around his torso and his head rested on his right shoulder, lopped to the side a bit. 

Suddenly the images of last night slid between Peter’s thoughts. He had remembered going out on patrol and swinging by the warehouse. He remembered peering down at Toomes and Mason and crashing down between the two. The fight with the Vulture, the ice-cold bitterness of the lake, and waking up to see Bucky standing above him. Everything else was still fuzzy. He couldn't remember getting out of the dockyard and he certainly didn't remember getting back to the apartment. He stared at Bucky, looking him up and down. 

The soldier really did look tired, and his face was strained. Something stirred in Peter’s chest and his thoughts raced, filled with images of Tony and Ben glaring at him, and Bucky. Bucky, who had been covered in blood, with those same cold, lifeless eyes. Images of May, lying in that rubble…except it wasn't May anymore, but Bucky. He saw the man who had sworn to protect him, help him, lying helplessly, motionless…in the exact same place he had left May.  It was the future he was certain he was leading the soldier towards.

 His breathing picked up and his hands trembled slightly. Panic quickly flared in his chest, consuming him. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn’t put Bucky in danger, not again. 

He clutched his side and slowly sat up, being as quiet as possible. His back roared at the movement and he flinched, stifling any sound he might have made as he pushed himself off of the couch. He slinked over to his bed, bracing himself along the wall as he bent down to grab a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. 

He carefully slipped the pants on and tossed the shirt over his head, wincing as his arms moved upward. He leaned back against the bed for a moment, allowing the pain to subside before moving again. He closed his eyes for a minute, trying to reel in his thoughts. If he really was going to protect Bucky he had to leave, it was the only option. The only surefire way to make sure Bucky didn't end up like everyone in his life who was ‘just trying to help’. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He had allowed Bucky to get in, get close, and now he had to rip that all away. 

He tried to push away those thoughts and keep his mind focused. He was doing this for Bucky, he kept telling himself. 

He crouched down, grabbed a bag from underneath his bed, and slowly began placing clothes inside. His head was pounding and with each movement his muscles burned, but he pushed on. He had to get out now before Bucky woke up. 

He had zipped up the bag and quickly shot back up, heading towards the door. As soon as he reached his feet he stumbled backward and everything began spinning for a minute. He felt a hand reach for his shirt, grabbing the center of it and pulling him back to his feet. 

Bucky was standing in front of him, hand still grabbing his now wrinkly shirt. He let go of the material but kept his hand firmly placed on Peter’s chest, giving him something to ground himself as he regained his balance. 

“And just where the hell do you think you're going?” Bucky asked, trying to keep his tone light. He looked into Peter’s eyes and could see the wheels turning. Something was up but he wasn't sure what had happened since the kid had regained consciousness. He knew falling asleep was a bad idea. 

Peter dropped the bag at his feet and pushed it backward, moving to stand in front of it. “Uh, no- I was just putting on some clothes,” He stuttered

Bucky looked Peter up and down before his eyes landed on the bag behind his legs. He sighed and dropped his hand back to his side. He had a pretty good idea of the thoughts going through Peter’s head. He relaxed his shoulders and looked back up. “Peter… don't do this,” he said softly. 

A muscle in Peter's jaw twitched as he looked down at his feet. “Bucky–I just–I can't do this.” He said sharply, his hands still trembling. 

Bucky noticed the apprehension in his tone and the fear coursing through the kid's entire body. What the hell had gotten him so rattled that he seriously thought his only option was to leave? He reached out to grab Peter's hand before the kid yanked it away. 

“Don't!” He shouted at Bucky as he pulled his hand into his chest. “Please..” The truth was, leaving Bucky hurt…a lot, but it was better than losing another person. He wanted to smack himself for letting the soldier fully in, getting so close to him, and actually relying on him. It all made this so much harder. 

Bucky’s breath hitched as he brought his own hand back down to his side “Kid…what’s going on, what happened?” he asked, the concern very apparent in his tone.

Peter looked up at Bucky through the tears that flooded his eyes. “I can't do this” He started before looking back down.

“Do what?” Bucky asked, leaning in closer.

“This!” He shouted, looking back up at Bucky as the tears rolled down his face.  “I can't put you in these situations and then just–just pretend like everything is fine! I can't Bucky, I won't. I won't lose you too. I won't do that to you…not like how I did to them..” He said, clenching his fists and looking away from the soldier. 

Bucky’s heart sank. He looked at Peter, really looked at him. The dread in his eyes, the pain in his heart, the huge weight on his shoulders. It was too much for someone so young, so innocent to have to carry. This burden Peter carried and the fact that he felt he had to carry it alone made Bucky’s stomach churn. He clenched his fists before bringing his arms forward to connect with Peter’s shoulders. He grabbed them hard and looked Peter directly in the eyes. 

“I know what you’ve lost. I know what that feels like, that pain that grabs hold of you and doesn't let up. It consumes you and it changes you whether you want it to or not. It makes you think that you can't depend on anyone, you can't lean on people even when your whole world is turning upside down. It isolates you and you tell yourself you're better off, but trust me, kid, you’re not, and you're not alone either-”

“You don’t understand…” He cut Bucky off, keeping his head bowed.

“Peter, I'm probably the only one who does understand.” He said, clenching his shoulders until their eyes met. “And I'll be damned if you think you can leave and go out there on your own again. It's not happening. I know you think pushing me away is the only way you can protect me, but then who the hell is protecting you?!” He said, his tone rising. “You're afraid of losing me, I get it. You can't take losing someone else and feeling like it's all your fault, but dammit if I let you walk out that door and something happens and it’s me that loses you…” His voice cracked as he stared at Peter. Every time he looked at him, he saw a part of Steve. The part that chased away bullies, and rubbed ice along his bruised knuckles, the best parts from before the war. The parts that he would do anything to protect. 

Peter looked up at Bucky and just stared at the steel blue eyes staring back at him. He could feel the soldier's hands pressing into his shoulders. His mind quieted and his thoughts went blank as he heard…really heard what Bucky was saying. He felt selfish and stupid for thinking he was the only one afraid of losing something. He knew what Bucky had lost, but he had never really thought about it. There was a reason Bucky always knew exactly what to say to him, how to make him feel better, and Peter kicked himself mentally for taking all of it for granted. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. 

Bucky took a deep breath. He could see the wheels in Peter's head start turning again. Before the kid had a chance to say anything he pulled him in, gently, and wrapped his arms around him. “I don't care what happens, I'll always come back to you kid, I promise.” He said, hoping it was enough for Peter to stay.

Peter hesitated for a brief moment before fully relaxing in Bucky’s arms. He took a deep breath, sighing into Bucky’s shoulder. He wasn't exactly sure what to say but he knew that he needed Bucky as much as Bucky needed him, and they were both terrified of losing the other.

Bucky held on a moment longer before pulling himself back to give Peter some space. He walked back over to his chair and grabbed his kit. “Let's take a look at those bandages, they most likely need changing,” he explained, changing the topic. 

Peter stayed still for a moment before walking over to the couch. He stood just in front of Bucky, looking down at the man as he rummaged through his first aid kit. “Hey, Bucky..” 

“Yeah?” he asked as he continued grabbing the materials he needed 

“Thanks..” Peter said softly 

“No worries, it's really not a big deal. Just changing the bandage and-”

“No…” Peter said, still staring at him “Thanks..”

Bucky looked up to see Peter looking directly at him. 

He smiled before answering. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

Peter woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs tickling his nose and the light blaring in through the blinds. He turned over on the couch, yanking the blanket Bucky had placed on him up to his head. His stomach grumbled in protest. Man, that food smelled good, but he was exhausted and a few more hours of shut-eye sounded good. Eventually, his stomach won that battle and he got up to join Bucky in the kitchen. 

His chest and shoulder blades still ached, but slowly they were healing. His other minor cuts and bruises were either mostly healed or almost completely faded. 

“Morning sunshine,” Bucky said as he grabbed a plate and started loading it up for Peter. He turned around and pushed the plate in front of him. The kid's hair was a mess and his eyes still looked tired, but overall he looked pretty good all things considered.  

Peter tousled his curls and pulled out a chair, plopping down in front of the plate. Man, it did smell good, and it looked even better.  “Thanks…how long did you let me sleep?” he asked through a yawn. 

Bucky began loading his own plate as he answered, “You’ve been out for probably twenty-two hours or so I’d say”.

Peter looked up from his plate at Bucky “No way…seriously?” He asked, sounding surprised. “I can't believe I slept that long…I guess it makes sense but-”.

“Yeah well, those injuries needed to heal, and when’s the last time you had a good night's sleep anyway..?” He said, not expecting an answer. 

Peter was about to dig into his food when his phone started vibrating. He pulled it out of his pocket to see MJ calling and picked it up right away.

 “Hey MJ,” He said, his tone lightening up immediately. 

“Hey Peter, how have you been? We haven’t seen you in the shop for a few days…just wanted to make sure you were still alive and all” She said, jokingly. 

He laughed nervously, standing up from his seat and pacing in front of the kitchen table. “Yeah, sorry, it's been a little busy the past few days..” he said, hoping she bought that crappy excuse. 

“Well, I was uh-I was wondering if…maybe you'd want to come over tomorrow?” She asked nervously. 

Peter smiled from ear to ear at those words, although a small pang of guilt rose from his stomach. He wanted MJ back in his life but his mind kept going back to the bandaid across her forehead. He had caused that pain, letting her back in felt selfish. It quickly settled when Bucky walked over, flicking him on the shoulder. He winced as he looked up at the man.

Bucky mouthed the words ‘eat’ to him as he pointed at Peter’s plate. 

“You okay Peter?” MJ asked quickly.

Peter snapped his attention back to the conversation in his ear. “Uh yeah, just…stubbed my toe.” He lied. 

“So uh…about my question..” MJ started.

“Yeah, uh, yes…I would love to” He quickly answered, practically cutting her off. He could almost hear her smile through the phone as she responded. 

“Cool, I’ll text you the details. Can't wait!” She said before hanging up. 

Peter walked back over to the kitchen table and sat back down, the butterflies slowly rising in his stomach. He felt like such a child getting excited over his girlfriend–who was already his girlfriend– asking him out…again. His head was in the clouds and he had a stupid grin on his face. 

Bucky eyed him and his lips curled upward. “That your girlfriend?” he asked mockingly as he waggled his eyebrows.  

Peter could feel the heat rising in his cheeks from embarrassment as he looked over at Bucky. “Shut up.” He laughed “What the hell was that flick for?” He asked, gesturing to his shoulder. 

Bucky pushed the plate closer to Peter “You need to eat to heal, so get to it.” he said as he began cleaning up the kitchen. 

Peter focused back down on his plate, finally realizing how hungry he was. He practically shoveled the food into his mouth, finishing the entire plate in a couple of seconds. 

Bucky just stared at him “Did…did you want seconds?” he asked

Peter just nodded as Bucky piled more food onto his plate. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter’s hands felt incredibly sweaty as he walked up to the front door and pressed the button for MJ’s apartment. He had been here a hundred times before, why was he so nervous? In all fairness, he hadn't been here since before everything happened, and the carefree, easy-going, openness of their relationship was gone. Being around MJ still felt like a breath of fresh air, but he would never feel like he was being honest with her or feel that she would ever trust him if he had to keep lying about who he was. And yet he couldn't tell her who he was without putting her in danger, again. It was maddening having all these thoughts rolling around in his brain whenever he thought of her. He quickly shoved the thoughts aside and waited for MJ to answer. 

He heard her answer and buzz him up. He walked up a few flights of stairs until he reached her apartment, and gently knocked on the door. 

He was greeted by his favorite pair of big brown eyes and the warmest smile he had ever seen. Peter pulled out a single black dahlia from behind his back and handed it to her, watching in amazement as her smile grew from ear to ear and she peered up at him with a soft look in her eyes. 

“Peter, you remembered…A black dahlia, it's my favorite.” she said, surprise evident in her tone. 

“How could I forget,” he chuckled nervously. 

She was genuinely amazed. They had only spoken a few times at a coffee shop in between orders, other than the time she invited him for coffee. But he had remembered. She had told him something about her and he remembered. She clutched the flower close to her chest. It was like they had known each other forever. 

She brought her attention back up to Peter and pushed the door open, leaning her back against it so he could walk past her. “Come on in.”

He smiled up at her and walked inside. Her apartment was much nicer than his dump. It was warm, homey, and felt lived in. He could tell she and her mom were happy here. His apartment felt dark and cold. There was nothing there that tied him to the place. No memories or mementos of the ones he loved. It was a constant reminder of everything and everyone he had lost. MJ’s place was full of life. Pictures were hanging on the walls, rugs were spread across the wood flooring, and random items were thrown all over the place. It reminded him so much of home. Life with May and Ben before everything. He felt a pit in his stomach. He ached for a life like that again, something that now seemed so far out of reach. He shoved the thought aside as MJ guided him to the kitchen. 

“So I figured, since it's cold and gloomy outside, we could stay in and watch movies today. And I cooked some dinner for us too. I'm not normally the type of person to conform to gender roles and stereotypes, like a woman slaving away in the kitchen all day to cook a meal for her hardworking husband, which connotes that men have a more important role in society and that women were merely created to wait on them hand and foot until the end of time.” she cleared her throat, realizing she was rambling. “Anyway, I made chicken parm for us to dig into later,” she explained as her cheeks turned flush. 

She walked through the kitchen and grabbed a small glass vase from one of the cabinets, filling it with cool water. She placed the dahlia inside and put it on the counter in front of the window, then stepped back to admire it for a minute, tilting her head. “Perfect.” she grinned. 

Peter smiled, feeling something warm at the center of his chest rising and spreading throughout his body. He loved the way MJ rambled and explained things. He loved the way she saw the world. But mostly, he missed her, and he was so damn glad to finally have her back. 

MJ turned away from the flower and looked up at Peter. “I hope that plan is okay..” she said awkwardly, sweeping her foot in front of her back and forth and tucking her hair behind her ears. 

Peter realized he hadn’t answered her since she began rambling. “Oh, yeah of course. Watching movies is one of my favorite activities! And my aunt used to make chicken parm for me all the time. It sounds like a perfect date, MJ.” he said, smiling up at her as they strolled to the other room and plopped down on the couch. 

“I knew you’d love it,” she said, meeting his eyes. 

Something in Peter’s chest bubbled up as he peered up at her. “You did? How?” He asked, the butterflies growing out of control in his stomach. Had MJ remembered something about him? He tried not to get his hopes up but he just couldn't help it. 

She blinked and looked up at him “Well, uh…I don't know. I just…did.” She explained. “It's weird huh?” she asked, laughing awkwardly. 

His smile somehow grew as he looked into those beautiful eyes staring back at him, eyes that he could easily get lost in forever. She had remembered, somehow. His heart skipped a beat as he thought about it. He took her hand in his and they cuddled up together as she started the first of many movies. 

For the next few hours, they watched movie after movie, talking about everything and nothing as they ate their dinner. Peter had made MJ watch the first Star Wars movie after they finished their meals. Except it wasn't the first one, it was the fourth one…something about the storyline being out of order and it not making sense any other way? She wasn't exactly sure but she enjoyed watching Peter geek out as he explained it to her. She had protested a bit but he had promised she would like it, and she did, somewhat. She enjoyed watching Peter as he watched the movie. As she watched him she could feel something scratching the back of her skull, fighting to get forward. She wasn't sure why but everything about Peter felt so damn familiar to her, but she couldn't place why. 

She stared at him, watching as he became entrapped in the storyline of the movie. Something about him made her feel warm, safe–like a hug. But there was another part of him, the part he tried to hide from her, that felt dark and mysterious. It was something that always seemed to loom over him–over them. It evoked fear in her, not of Peter, but for him. She wasn't sure why but that part of him pulled her in more, like a magnet. She was sure it was the part he was desperately trying to hide, to push away, and she had no idea why. She wanted Peter to let her in fully and let her be a part of every single piece of his world. Because the truth was, when she was around Peter, she could breathe. When she was around Peter the world melted away and it was just them. She felt lighter, warmer, and she just hoped he felt the same. 

He looked over at her, sensing her watching him. “You okay?” he asked, placing his hand on top of hers, gently stroking her fingers with his. 

She smiled up at him before nudging her head into the crook of his neck and flipping her hand up to interlock her fingers with his. A warm smile flashed across her face before she answered. “I’m perfect.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky had made his way to the Avengers Compound after Peter had left for his date with MJ. He was glad the kid had decided to go out, he needed some normalcy in his life with everything else going on. He felt like a hypocrite, literally nothing in his own life was normal. He tossed the thought out of his head and pulled up to the front gate, alerting the AI of his arrival. He parked his bike and walked in the door. 

“Well look at that, a walking fossil ladies and gentlemen.” A voice called from up the hallway. 

Bucky looked up and rolled his eyes when he saw Sam wandering towards him. 

“Sam. What are you doing here?” He asked as the captain continued his way forward. He forgot Sam was a full-time resident at the compound now with the responsibility of taking on the shield, Steve’s shield. 

It was odd to see Sam with the shield, the thing that was always draped across Steve’s back, no matter if they were fighting or not. Steve carried that shield around like a kid carrying around a blanket. He knew how much his best friend had wanted to pass the shield onto Bucky but he had told Steve he wasn't ready, and he didn't regret that choice. He’d spent seventy years in captivity, not able to make any choices for himself. All he had known was missions, cryostasis, and pain. Bucky had gone from one battle to the next ever since enlisting back in the 40s and he needed a break, time to find himself. He laughed dryly on the inside at that last thought. Since Steve had broken him out of his conditioning, he had maybe 12 months total–non-consecutively–without fighting, without missions, without battles. And now he was right back to it.  He was glad the shield ended up in Sam’s hands, even after everything with Walker.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Sam stopped right in front of him. 

“It’s good to see you too.” Sam quipped as he clapped Bucky on the shoulder.  He could tell the soldier looked exhausted and his shoulders carried a little more tension than normal. It looked like Bucky hadn’t slept in several days, his eyes were filled with exhaust, and his features, in general, appeared more dark and broody than usual. He knew if he asked what was wrong he would get a sarcastic comment in return, so instead, he followed the soldier as he strolled through the compound. 

Bucky quickly caught on to Sam trailing him like a lost puppy. He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Did you need something?” he asked, trying his best to keep the annoyance out of his tone. He did care for Sam and he missed their back-and-forth banter, it just wasn't the best timing. 

Sam looked up at the steel blue eyes staring back into his soul, sending a small shudder down his spine. “C’mon man, we talked about the staring thing, it’s super creepy…I'm just seeing what you're up to. It’s not like I have any missions to be on right now.” He said, keeping in step with Bucky.  

Bucky sighed as he continued walking with Sam right on his heels. “Fine. I’m just redesigning a suit for Spiderman. His got trashed. If you keep the talking to a minimum…I guess you can come.” He said flatly. 

Sam silently cheered as he followed behind the grumpy soldier. Bucky could have been taking out the trash and he still would have offered to come with him. He was worried about the man and he wanted to keep a close eye on him while he was here, to make sure everything was okay. He could tell Bucky was hiding something from him and that made the panic well up inside of him. Bucky was normally pretty reserved with anyone who wasn’t Steve, but Steve was gone. He needed someone he could trust and rely on and Sam had already begun slowly breaking down the stone walls the soldier had built up around himself.

“So what’s the deal with you and the spider guy? You two besties or something now?” he asked in a light tone. 

Bucky turned and entered the design lab. This would be a quick errand, something to lift Peter’s spirits. He knew the kid had been blaming himself for everything that happened. He clenched his fists thinking about the night at the docks. Sam must have noticed because he walked up to Bucky, concern written all over his face. He quickly relaxed and took a deep breath. “He’s a good dude, he just needs some help. I know what that feels like..” he explained, keeping his eyes trained on the machine in front of him. He had never designed a suit, as his were all made for him, but he was sure the AI would be able to assist. 

Sam noted the way Bucky talked about the Spider dude. He was obviously growing attached to the new hero and Sam was glad he had someone else in his corner when he wasn't around. He watched as the soldier fidgeted with the design machine, looking more and more flustered. His face was knotted into a look of frustration and his brows were tightly pinched together. Sam could tell he needed help but he knew the soldier would never ask for it. 

“Hey FRIDAY, can you help us out? We need to design a suit for Spiderman.” Sam finally said after watching Bucky struggle for several seconds. 

The AI took a few seconds before responding. “There are several design options available for Spiderman’s suit needs under the file labeled ‘Underoos’. Would you like me to pull them up for you?”

Sam walked up to the machine and scrolled through the display. What the hell was “underoos” and why was there a file of random Spiderman suits? “FRIDAY, who created this file, and when?” He asked, slight concern slipping into his tone. 

“The file was created in 2016 by Mr. Stark” The AI responded.

Bucky visibly tensed up as FRIDAY displayed the information onscreen. The date read two months after the fight at the airport in Germany with Tony and Steve. FRIDAY had kept this file locked away and somehow it wasn't erased by Dr. Strange’s spell. But Sam didn't know any of that, how the hell was he supposed to explain all of this to him? 

Sam was scrolling through the entire file, which was just several suit designs. He carefully assessed each design and it was clear that Stark was the inventor of these suits and the tech in them. “Dude,” he said, still staring at the screen. “Do you think Spiderman knew Tony?” he asked, looking over at Bucky. He could see something flash across Bucky’s face, and it wasn't confusion. He turned fully toward the soldier, eyes wide, “Wait, did you know?” He asked, his voice rising. 

Bucky avoided Sam's gaze as he thought of literally any explanation that would make sense. Should he risk telling him the truth? Would Sam even believe him? Would Peter be mad if he told Sam his identity? But would Sam believe any other bullshit story he was about to whip up?

“Buck! I asked you a question!” 

His head shot up immediately. Sam’s eyes stared holes into him. They could have leveled the whole building with the anger evident behind them. He clenched his jaw and then leaned back against the machine. “Look, Sam, it's not that simple,” he began. 

“Oh yeah? Well, you better start explaining why a file from 2016 created by Tony has Spiderman suit designs in FRIDAY's database, yet none of us have ever heard of this dude before. He helped Stark in one fight and the dude has an entire file of suits? It doesn't add up.”

“That’s because your information is wrong. We have heard of him before, hell, you even know who he is…you just can’t remember.” Bucky started. This was Sam he was talking to. If he lied the man would see right through him and it would be a waste of everyone's time. So fuck it, he might as well spill all the beans at this point, sorry Peter. 

Sam furrowed his brows as a wave of confusion washed over his face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Buck, you're not making any sense, I wouldn't forget someone I've met, it's just not possible..my brain hasn't been in the blender like-” He stopped himself immediately. What a stupid fucking thing to say, Sam. He mentally kicked himself. That was a low blow, even for him. 

Bucky quickly hid the pain that swept across his face and squeezed the bridge of his nose before continuing. “If magic was involved you would have no issue forgetting someone, which is exactly what happened,” he said. He spent the next twenty minutes explaining everything that Peter had told him about Dr. Strange, Mysterio, the elementals, and everything that happened afterward: May, the other Spidermen, their villains that appeared here, and of course the spell itself. He had left out Peter’s name, not wanting to completely give up his identity. 

After he finished his spiel he looked up at Sam. His eyes were huge, and his jaw slack, almost gaping open. “Wait, so you're telling me that a kid almost broke the multiverse because of a spell to hide his identity, which he caused Dr. Strange to mess up, and then had to fix that spell with another spell to erase his identity?” he asked, confusion very clear in his voice.

Bucky raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Well, yeah…pretty much,” he said

“And now you're helping him?”

Bucky sighed and looked down “Yeah, he doesn't have anyone so…” He and Peter were alike in that way. The only friend he had ever really known was lost to him in the 40s, and for seventy years he was alone, forced to be someone–something–he wasn't. And just when he had gotten himself and his friend back, he left again. This time for good. He had Sam and the other Avengers, but none of them knew him, James Buchanan Barnes. They didn't know the real him at least. The only person who knew him was Steve, and he had tried to remember his life from before. But the last remaining piece of that life was gone, and the person he saw staring back in the mirror these days was a stranger.  He knew what it was to be alone, and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. 

Sam sighed as he looked up at Bucky. He could see the pain written all over his face. Of course, he would help the kid, especially if he had no one else. “Steve would be proud of you,” he said as he pulled his hand to the back of his neck, nursing the headache that was rapidly forming. The pressure behind his eyes became unbearable. 

Bucky looked up to see the discomfort on Sam’s face. He quickly pushed himself off the machine and was next to Sam in a second. “Hey man, you okay? What's going on, talk to me.” He said as Sam crumpled to the ground next to him. Bucky caught his arm and helped lower him the rest of the way to the ground. 

Sam doubled over, his chest over his knees that were underneath him. He grabbed the sides of his head as the pressure built. Flashes of images and sounds assaulted his vision. He shut his eyes tight, hoping it would all stop. Suddenly everything was coming back, memories flooding his brain.

“Hey, it's nice to officially meet you outside the mask. I'm Peter. Parker.” The scrawny, short kid with brown curls said as he outstretched his hand. His suit was still covered in dirt and blood after the battle and the fresh tear streaks on the kid's face were evident below his red-rimmed eyes. 

Sam looked him up and down before looking over at Bucky. “This kid has to be like twelve...” He whispered to the soldier before shaking Peter’s hand. 

“Yeah, but he sure helped kick that titan's ass.” Bucky had whispered back.

Sam nodded. Bucky was right, that kid had held his own against freaking Thanos. 

“It’s good to have you on the team, Peter.” the Falcon said as he patted the kid on the back.

 Sam slowly sat back up and peered up at Bucky who was kneeling beside him, holding his arm to keep him balanced.

“Peter…that’s his name.” 

Bucky looked down at Sam, his eyes wide with shock “Y-you remembered?” 

Sam held a hand up to his temple as he stood back up. Bucky kept his hand close to Sam, helping him keep his balance on his way up. “Yeah, it’s like all the memories of him were just shoved back into my brain all at once,” he explained before meeting the steel-blue eyes of the soldier next to him. 

“Is this what it was like for you?” he asked. 

Bucky could see the sympathetic look in Sam’s eyes. In truth, his memories coming back had hurt almost as bad as when they were taken away, and the emotional response that came with them was even worse. It was something he had never told Steve. He had already blamed himself for Bucky losing them in the first place and for not being there when they returned. If he had learned that the pain of them returning was that bad and that Bucky had to go through that alone? He pushed the thought from his head and just nodded at Sam. “Yeah, something like that...”

Sam dropped his gaze to the floor “I'm sorry Buck, about what I said before.” 

Bucky patted Sam on the back and walked them both over to the design machine. “Make it up to me by helping me design a damn suit for this kid, he deserves it,” he said, smiling at the new Captain. 

Sam swung his arm over Bucky's shoulder and started fidgeting with the machine. “Sure thing Buck.”

Chapter Text

Bucky decided to head back to Peter’s apartment after making sure Sam was alright back at the compound. He had stayed a while after his memories returned to make sure there were no lingering effects. If he was being perfectly honest, Sam’s memories returning was a huge relief. He had never felt good about hiding things from people, especially someone as close as Sam. He hurried back to the apartment to check on Peter. The kid’s wounds were still healing and he wanted to make sure he got home safely from his date. Bucky leaned up against the wall of the building, lost in thought while he waited for the elevator to arrive. It had practically been an entire lifetime since his last date.

He and Steve trotted down the large concrete staircase leading toward the stage at the brand-new Stark Expo. Fireworks exploded behind them, illuminating the sky with all kinds of brilliant colors. Behind them, a giant globe spun in the center of the courtyard. The entire place was magical in Bucky’s eyes. He stopped for a moment to take in the view around him. It really did feel like stepping into the future. Science had always interested him but he never imagined it being as advanced as flying cars. He was beyond excited to see what Howard Stark’s presentation would mean for the scientific community. Bucky picked up the pace and caught up to Steve. 

“I don't see what the problem is. You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York. You know there are three and a half million women here?” Bucky had stated, shooting a playful look over at Steve. 

“Well, I'd settle for just one,” Steve replied with a rough tone, raising an eyebrow at his best friend. 

“Good thing I took care of that,” Bucky said as he shot his hand up in the air and started waving at a pair of women. 

Two girls stood in the distance. One was tall and brunette, the other slightly shorter and blonde. They both turned to meet Bucky’s gaze and smiled together up at the Soldier, decorated in his army uniform. 

The brunette turned fully to face the pair and started jumping up as she waved back. “Hey, Bucky!”

The heat in Bucky’s cheeks rose as he continued waving at the girl and his smile grew. 

Steve eyed the blonde girl staring at him, a shy smile spread across her face. “What’d you tell her about me?” He asked nervously as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

Bucky could see the apprehension in his best friend and smiled down at him.

“Only the good stuff,” he said, nudging Steve’s shoulder with his own. 

Bucky smiled to himself as he got into the elevator and pressed the button for Peter’s floor. That had been the last time he’d had a proper date. Sure he went out with that girl at the sushi bar–what was her name–but he had left so abruptly that he didn't think it counted. He longed for the simple days of making Steve ride the cyclone at Coney Island or finding them a double date for the county fair. Those memories were seventy years old but to Bucky, they felt like just yesterday. God he missed Steve.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the elevator dinged and the doors were parting open. He stepped out and walked down the hallway, opening the door to see Peter sprawled out on the couch. He tried to be quiet as he set his things down on the counter, but the kid must have picked up on it and shot up from his sleep. 

Bucky gave him a soft smile. “That’s some hearing you got there kid.” 

Peter yawned and stretched before rubbing at his eyes. “Where were you?” 

Bucky pulled the suit from the brown paper bag he was carrying and tossed it over to Peter. “Had to run an errand to fix up the suit I cut apart.” 

Peter caught it and examined it. The fabric was the same as before, soft latex with breathable fabric sewn in between. The colors were more vibrant than his previous suit, which he had made himself.  It still had that fiery red from all the other suits with the black webbing running along the entire thing. The blue was bright and shiny, just like his homemade version. He was glad Bucky had left that in since he had taken the idea from the suits his counterparts wore during their battle on the Statue of Liberty. It was his way of always carrying them with him, Peter 2 and Peter 3. He smiled at the thought and could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. His eyes became blurry from the tears welling up. “Bucky I-”

Bucky could see the awe in Peter’s eyes as he ran his fingers along every inch of the suit. “No need, just wanted to make sure you had what you needed before going back out there.” He said as he tossed him a few vials of web fluid as well. “Next time, don't run out,” he said, winking at Peter. 

Peter smiled up at the Soldier, a glint in his eyes. He couldn't believe the man had designed a new suit for him and refilled his web fluid. 

Bucky smiled back before a look of uncertainty flashed across his face. Peter could see the shift and the anxiety rose from the pit in his stomach. 

 “Did something happen at the compound?”

Bucky hesitated a moment before answering. He was worried that Peter would get up into his head again. He had to hand it to the kid, he was great at internalizing everything. His brain was also fairly skilled at convincing him that every bad thing that happened was somehow his fault. He sighed before opening his mouth to speak, “Yeah, so it turns out FRIDAY still has the old files that Stark used for your suit designs and webbing...” He started. 

Peter looked up at him confused. “I mean that’s great, but not bad…right?” he asked, unaware that his hands had begun picking at the loose thread on his jeans. 

Bucky shook his head “No, not at all. It's just that…Sam was helping me when I discovered the files. I couldn’t lie to him, he’s like a freaking walking polygraph. I told him everything except your name but he just kind of, like, remembered everything.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Peter’s eyes grew huge as he leaped off the couch towards Bucky. “Wait, wait, you’re saying you told him everything, and the memories, just like, came back?” 

“Yeah basically.” 

“This is amazing, that means other people could remember too, right?” Peter asked, mostly to himself. Could he have a chance at getting MJ and Ned to remember the way things used to be? He pushed the thought away and shoved the feeling of hope back down. There was no way he could do that to them, put them back in that danger. Not when they both just got their lives back. 

Bucky could see the wheels turning in the kid's head, and his nails were digging into his palms. He gently placed a hand on top of Peter’s fist. “Hey, we don't even know how this works yet. No need to get worked up over it right now,” he said, trying to pry him away from his thoughts. 

Peter looked back up at Bucky and forced a smile. “Yeah, your right...”

Bucky sighed. There he was again, taking on the weight of the world without asking for help. It really was like looking at Steve. He decided to change the subject. “Hey, about the suit. You should take it easy for a few more days, at least until your chest and shoulders are fully healed.” He explained. He wouldn't force Peter to stay in from patrolling. He wasn't fond of controlling people and the kid had to make those choices on his own. 

Peter nodded. “Yeah, you're probably right. Don't want to make anything worse,” he said as he watched Bucky plop down on the chair by the window. 

“Thanks, Bucky.” 

“Anytime kid,” he answered with a smile.

Bucky had pulled out his laptop to do some research while Peter sank back into the couch. 

The soldier was still seated on his favorite chair, overlooking the crowded streets of Queens. The sky outside was a deep shade of blue, the last sliver of sunlight spread across the tops of the buildings, sinking slowly into the horizon. Bucky typed away at his keyboard, trying to find any information on Toomes. He peered over at Peter who was dead asleep. He smiled softly at the kid before focusing back on his laptop.  

There was no way in hell the Vulture would just get away with almost killing Peter. He had another thing coming if he thought he could just walk away from that fight and go on about his business. No way. He deserved to be locked up on the raft, far from humanity. Now he had to deal with the Winter Soldier. Bucky flinched at the thought. He hated being called that, it wasn't who he was anymore. But he would become the Soldier once more if it meant protecting Peter.

He wanted to hurt Toomes the way he hurt Peter. He wanted to put an end to the man for the torment he had put this kid through not once but twice now. It made his blood boil. He wanted the Vulture dead, and that scared the crap out of him. He wasn't the Winter Soldier, he had let that part of him go–or so he thought. He scrubbed his face and pushed the thought aside as he continued his research. 

His eyes were beginning to burn and a headache was creeping into his temples. He had been scrolling for what felt like hours and all he had come across was a random deed to a property in Hell’s Kitchen under Toomes’s name. “Well, I guess it's a start..”. He said to himself, keeping quiet enough to let Peter sleep. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and looked up the address on the deed. It was a nice-looking Penthouse on 11th Street. 

“How in the hell does a guy like Toomes, who somehow just got out of jail, have a fancy penthouse in his name?” He whispered to himself. Maybe it was worth taking a look. There was no other property in the man's name, so the chances of him being there were high. 

This was his opportunity to take down that asshole once and for all, especially after what he did to Peter. He clenched his Fists as he thought about the kid laying in that water, riddled with holes and lacerations. The vulture had no idea what was coming. Bucky closed his laptop and headed over to his makeshift bed, grabbing the red backpack. He grabbed a handgun, a few knives, and ring daggers just in case he ran into extra trouble. 

He slipped his boots on and was heading for his jacket when he heard Peter stirring on the couch. The kid sat up and rubbed his eyes before looking over at Bucky. “You’re leaving?” he said, slight concern in his tone. “It's getting late...”

Bucked sighed. “I'm just going to look into something, I'll be back in a couple of hours, promise.” He said, forcing a smile. 

Peter released some of the tension in his shoulders. He trusted Bucky, but he couldn't help the automatic pit that made itself known in his stomach anytime the soldier left. “Okay…be safe,” he said before mentally kicking himself. ‘Be safe’ How dumb Peter. 

Bucky smiled and nodded. “Be back soon,” he said, shooting a wink at Peter to ease the kid's worrying, and then slipped out the door.

~~~~

The outside of the penthouse was breathtaking. It stood high above the city with windows extending from the floor to the ceiling. There were plants hanging down off the side rails and It had a huge balcony that wrapped around the entire floor. There was a giant wall of windows leading into the main room. There were only a few lights on that Bucky could see from street level. Not enough to get a good look inside. His best way to see if Toomes was in there or not, would be to break in. He scouted the perimeter to identify and take out any guards around the building but there were none on the street level. Bucky pried open the door handle to the entrance of the building and climbed several flights of stairs up to the floor underneath the penthouse. 

It looked like the main way to get into the penthouse was a specific elevator requiring authorized access. Luckily, Bucky had found the fire exit staircase that led up to the back. He shuffled through the staircase, his head on a swivel in case guards were in the stairwell. He made it to the back door and pushed it open quietly, stepping into the dark room near the balcony. 

There were no guards in sight and all the lights had been turned off except for a bright lamp near the seating area. He carefully ventured over, seeing if anything in the room indicated that Toomes was there. The place had several rooms that branched off the main seating area. Searching them all would take a while but he would do it if it meant finding the Vulture. 

He spotted a dark figure standing near the wall of windows. Bucky crept closer, grabbing the knife from his shoe in case the Vulture tried to attack. 

“Mr. Barnes, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I assure you no violence is necessary here.”  a deep voice said as the figure stepped forward.

Bucky gripped the knife tighter in his hands, trying to get a better look at the man standing a few feet away. The voice was too deep to be Toomes and the silhouette indicated this guy was way bigger than the Vulture. The dim lighting of the lamp was not enough to illuminate the man's face, but he could see the white suit and black leather Oxford shoes that he was wearing. Definitely not one of Toomes’s men. 

“Who are you?” Bucky asked in a steely tone. 

The man stepped slightly closer. “Who I am is not important. Now you, you are what’s important here Mr. Barnes. I truly cannot believe I'm in the presence of the great Winter Soldier.” The man said proudly. 

The hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stood up as a muscle in his jaw feathered and he clenched the knife tightly. “That’s not who I am anymore” He bit out.

The man stepped closer into view and Bucky could just barely see his face. His presence was despotic,  and he towered over the Soldier. His face portrayed no emotion and his eyes looked almost lifeless. It made a chill run down Bucky’s spine. 

“Ah, but it is, deep down. You were the Soldier for nearly seventy years, much longer than you were ever James Barnes. And the work you did for mankind lives on today. You really did– how did they put it–shape the future.” The man said as he adjusted the sleeves on his suit before running his fingers along the cufflink at the bottom.

Bucky could feel the tension rising through his shoulders and the pit in his stomach was growing. Who the hell was this guy and how did he know so much about the Winter Soldier? He shoved the thought aside as he focused back on the threat in front of him. “I'm not him anymore!” He practically shouted at the man as he advanced closer. 

The man hummed in response and turned to grab something on the table behind him as he began speaking. His voice remained calm and steady. “Wilhelm Hauser, Cal Collins, Truett Hudson, Cal Henriksen, Andre Rostov...”

Bucky's blood ran cold and a lump formed in the back of his throat. “H-how do you know those names?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice steady and failing. 

The man turned around slowly, holding a folder in his hands. “When I asked for intel on the Hydra program detailing the specifics of the Winter Soldier, I never imagined they would bring back this.” 

He flashed a sinister smile to Bucky and his hands were moving toward the folder, grabbing something from the inside. The man pulled out a red notebook. The red notebook. He flipped it over to showcase the black star on the front, running his fingers along the spine of the book, inspecting every inch of it with that sadistic grin on his lips. 

Bucky froze in his tracks, the fear consuming his entire body, taking over his limbs. The panic flared up in his chest like a raging wildfire. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe and his heart was thundering in his chest because the man had the notebook. His notebook. He could feel the bile creeping up in the back of his throat. His flesh hand began sweating around the hilt of the knife. He tried to hide the trembling in his fingertips as he gripped the weapon harder, his knuckles turning white from the strain. 

His breathing was now rapid and shallow, his mind reeling with the possible scenarios. Steve had promised. He promised that he gave it to agent Ross–Everett Ross. A trusted shield agent who had helped the Avengers multiple times. Steve had trusted the guy, hell even T’challa and Shuri spoke highly of him during his recovery in Wakanda…So how the hell did someone else have the Winter Soldier book now? 

The man inched closer to Bucky as he stood there, silently panicking. His eyes were wide and fixed on the floor. 

Get a grip Bucky, this is no time for a mental break. Identify the threat, and eliminate it before they have a chance to attack. He kept repeating the phrase, trying to get himself out of panic mode.  

“You see, I've had interests in the Winter Soldier program for a while, and when I heard that the deadly assassin himself had interrogated my men at the docs the other night, I simply had to learn more about you.” He explained, his tone still eerily calm. 

The alarm bell in Bucky’s brain went off at the words “Interest” and “Winter Soldier Program.” Does this guy want to rebuild the program from the ground up? Make new super soldiers for whatever twisted scheme he had going? He had practically just admitted to controlling the weapon's operation with Toomes and somehow gained access to classified SHIELD files. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest and his nerves were through the roof. There was no way this guy–whoever he was–was getting away with that intel. Bucky shifted his weight to his back foot before launching himself forward, his vibranium fist headed straight for the man's face. If he had to, he would pry the notebook from this guy's cold dead hands. 

The man anticipated the move and stepped around before sending a fist into the corner of Bucky’s jaw. 

Bucky stumbled back for a moment before righting himself. He turned his head to the side to spit out the blood that was pooling in his mouth and faced the man again. Suddenly the man's foot was connecting with Bucky’s chest, knocking all the air from his lungs and sending him flying backward into the table, crushing the wooden structure beneath him. He gasped for a breath, and then another, coughing as the air rushed into his lungs. His head spun as he took in a few more steadying breaths, spurting out small droplets of blood as each cough rattled his chest. 

The man sighed in disappointment. “For a highly trained Soviet assassin, I expected better.” He said as he took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood off his knuckles. 

Bucky slowly sat up, brushing the dust and splintered wood off of him as he braced his hands under him and picked himself up off the floor. He was shocked at how strong the man was, it had taken him by surprise. “That notebook doesn't belong to you.” He said with an angry grunt. He knew it didn't matter much anyway. The intel he stood to gain from the book was still problematic, but Shuri had erased the trigger words from his brain, they no longer worked. He was waiting for the guy to say them, and then annihilate him once he figured out they were useless. He steadied himself, readying for another advance at the colossal enemy in front of him. 

“It’s funny, Soldier, how they wiped your mind, your personality, your very essence, for years. They tore you down to nothing and rebuilt you from the ground up. They had the perfect weapon, the asset, for seventy years, yet in the span of a few months, you think you can just erase it from existence. The trigger words may be ineffective at this time, but you are still, very much, their asset…and that, Soldier, cannot be erased.”

Bucky flinched at the words asset and soldier , plummeting his mind back into the cold, dark, hell that was his Siberian prison. He could feel the pain bubbling up in his head, behind his jaw, like he was right back in that chair. His chair. 

The constant pulse of the electricity from the halo came in rapid succession, with no beginning and no end. 

“Zhelaniya” - Longing

The current kept coming, pain flaring in his skull as he focused in on the words 

“Rzhavvy” - Rusted 

Another volt coursing through his skull 

“Pech” - Furnace 

He clenches the chair and bites down on the guard in his mouth 

“Rassvet” - Daybreak 

A scream tears from his throat as the current rips through his body. White hot pain flashes through him as several more currents pulse down through the halo. Slowly, with each word, the current dies down a bit, and after the next few words it even becomes somewhat bearable. 

“Devyat” -  nine

The current causes him to flinch, but he feels his breath coming back to his lungs. 

“Vozvrashcheniye na rodinv” - Homecoming 

His eyes slowly peel open and the pain in his head begins to subside. 

“Odin” - one 

He can barely feel the pulse of the electricity from the halo. 

“Gruzovoy vagon” - freight car

The pain completely subsides and his muscles relax back into the chair, the halo revolving back up above him. A man slowly drags the rubber guard out of his mouth as Colonel Karpov moves to stand above him. 

“Sodat.” 

He knows the words they want to hear, but something inside of him screams beneath the surface to fight it, fight the command. He takes longer than they want and the halo is moving back down across his head. 

The current starts back up and his whole world is on fire again. 

Bucky is pulled from his memory with a loud bang and a ringing in his ears. It takes him a moment to register the searing pain ripping through his abdomen. His hand is pulled to his stomach without thought and he instantly applies pressure to the wound, the Hydra conditioning taking over, telling his brain to identify the wound and stop the bleeding subconsciously, preventing serious blood loss during combat. He looks up to see several other faces in the room, one of them still pointing the gun they just fired at him. He had let that damn man get into his head and play with his thoughts. He hadn't even noticed the extra guards enter. 

His feet are moving before he even has a chance to register the number of men in the room. He jolts forward toward the man in the white suit, grabbing a ring dagger from his side pocket and launching it forward. 

The blade embeds itself into the meaty flesh of the man's upper arm, coating his white suit with crimson red. 

The man watches as the Soldier sprints toward him. 

Bucky launches ahead when the butt of a gun comes at him from the side, hitting him in the corner of his eye. He flinches and stumbles backward, pushing his weight forward to stay on his feet. He steps his weight forward on his front foot when his back leg lights up in pain. He looks back to see three I.C.E.R bullets lodged into his hamstring. 

He quickly spins his upper half around and rips each bullet out of his flesh, but he can already feel the effects. His head is beginning to spin and the whole world feels like it's tilting. He stumbles backward and catches himself on an end table, using it to hold himself up. 

The man in white walks closer to him and Bucky pushes himself up between the wall of windows and the table. His breathing becomes rapid and shallow and the corners of his vision begin fading to black. He can feel the blood leaking around his hand as he presses down harder on his wound, wincing at the pain it brings. 

The man in white pulls open the notebook, that eerie grin curling up on his lips again. “Another wonderful bit of knowledge this book has brought me. Incapacitating Cartridge Emiting Railguns, or as you know them I.C.E.R bullets. Very helpful in subduing a Super Soldier.” The man explains as he shuts the books. 

Bucky growls at the man as he pushes himself up further. He reaches for the knife in his other pocket just as the man throws a fist toward Bucky’s face, splitting his lip. He doesn't bother turning his head this time and he spits the blood from his mouth directly on the white suit in front of him.  

“I'm g-going to kill you.” Bucky snarls at the man between sharp breaths. 

The man smiles down at him. “There’s that fighting spirit I've read so much about.” He exclaims, raising the notebook at Bucky. 

And then the world is tumbling into black and he feels himself losing the grip on the table behind him, fumbling to try and stay on his feet. 

Bucky falls to his knees, trying to catch himself on the way down but failing. He fights to keep the darkness from taking over his mind completely but the drugs are coursing through him now and the blood from his abdomen is flowing past his hand, failing to keep constant pressure on the bullet wound. 

Suddenly there's glass on the floor next to him and a cold breeze on his face. He peers over at the curtains flowing in the wind. The wall of windows is gone, replaced with shattered pieces along the tile, and someone is grabbing his waist, hoisting him up under his shoulders. His abdomen screams at him from the movement and his vision flashes white with pain for a moment. 

He can see the hands wrapped around him and moves his eyes to follow the arms up to the person grabbing him. 

A man dressed in black is standing there, halfway out of the building, grabbing Bucky with all his strength. He turns his head to say something but his eyes are covered with a mask. 

“Brace yourself.” the familiar voice says. 

Wait, he's seen this man before. On the roof across from the warehouse. Daredevil…right? His mind starts tumbling towards the darkness again before he can feel a sharp breeze on his face and his stomach is leaping into his chest. They're falling. 

Daredevil grabbed Bucky as fast as he could, launching himself out the window before the guards could get a shot off at them, not thinking out the rest of the plan since they were free-falling against the side of the building. 

Bucky could feel the sensation of the building along his left shoulder and jutted his vibranium hand out, forcing it into the brick and flexing the plates to carry the strain as it slowed their ascent to the pavement below. Next thing he knew his feet were touching the street as the rest of his body weight crashed down on top of himself. 

Just as he felt the hands around his chest and waist grip at him to pull him up, the darkness consumed his mind completely and he slipped into the bliss of unconsciousness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The clinking of the chains and the bitter feeling around his wrists were what brought him back to reality.  His shoulders had gone numb and the pain searing from his left arm was almost unbearable. He could barely see through the swelling in his left eye and his nose was crusted over with dried blood. 

He could feel the edge of his toes scraping across the cold concrete flooring as he dangled from the ceiling, arms stuck above his head. His head dangled down as far as it could past the thick collar on his neck, cutting off circulation if he dropped his head too low. The soaked strands of hair dangled in from of his eyes as he peered open to see the dimly lit cell around him. 

He tried standing up on his tiptoes, wincing as the weight shifted from his shoulders. Most of his flesh arm had gone numb but his shoulder and chest where flesh met metal on his left side were burning.  

His vision swam as he tried to focus, urging his metabolism to burn off whatever drugs they had given him before stringing him up to the ceiling. 

He could hear shuffling outside and then the heavy metal door to his cell was flung open. One of the generals dragged a chair into the room, scrapping the back feet along the floor as he pulled it over. He turned the chair to face Bucky. 

Bucky’s heart sank at what he saw. A young blonde woman, around thirty, was strapped into the chair, her mouth taped shut. She was sobbing as the makeup drooped down her eyes. She looked up at Bucky, silently begging for any kind of assistance. 

And then General Karpov was in the room standing next to Bucky. He waved his hand at the other man, indicating for him to let Bucky down. The man unhooked the chains and Bucky crashed down to the ground, choking out a slight wince as his knees pounded into the cement below. He stayed down on his knees, hair still danging in his face. 

Karpov walked up behind him, stroking his hair and yanking his flesh hand out in front of him. He slapped a gun down in Bucky’s hand. 

“Soldat, execute the prisoner.” He ordered forcefully. 

The bile rose in Bucky's throat as he peered back up at the lady through the tendrils of hair. He was being ordered to shoot and kill this woman. He immediately dropped the gun and began scooting back toward the corner of the cell. 

Karpov kicked his stomach, sending him reeling down to his knees. 

“Soldat, you are to do as you are told, or expect punishment.” 

Bucky shot a leveling glare at Karpov before pushing his numb hands underneath him in an attempt to stand. 

Karpov waved his hand at his men again, and this time Bucky’s entire neck lit up, causing an electric fire to rage through his head, his chest, and his entire body. He writhed on the floor for what felt like forever before the pain finally stopped. 

“On your knees.” 

Without thinking Bucky pushed himself up onto his knees, lowering his head again. Eye contact from the asset was not allowed and would require punishment. 

And then Karpov was shoving the gun back into his hand. The men behind him pointed cattle prods out towards his back, preventing him from retreating to his corner. 

“Eliminate the prisoner,” Karpov demanded again. 

Bucky was trembling. There was no way he could kill this woman. She looked so young, so terrified. He knew disobeying would bring more punishment and pain but he didn't care. He just couldn't kill her. He dropped the gun again, pushing it away to the back of the cell. 

Before Karpov even had a chance to speak his collar was lighting up again, sending pain shooting through his entire being. His vision went white and he fell backward on the floor, his back arching up with each electric current. 

This cycle continued for hours before Bucky was at his limit. He could barely lift his head off the floor and his body twitched, even after the collar was shut off. That’s when it got infinitely worse. 

Every time he had refused after that, the men would torture the woman instead, slicing through her bare skin, undressing her down to nothing, and shoving the cattle prod into her abdomen until she nearly passed out on the floor. Then they would help her back onto the chair and begin again. 

Every day they would drag some poor prisoner into his cell, taking turns torturing him, then switching to the prisoner when he would not comply. At the end of each session, Karpov would order one of his men to shoot the prisoner directly in front of the asset and then leave the body there for several days. 

This game of his went on for months, or even years. Time was lost to Bucky down there, it was something they deprived him of. 

After his conditioning began to harden, they would order him to kill the prisoner and he would instead, turn the gun on himself. But Karpov’s men were always faster. They had started using more specific terms for who they wanted the asset to assassinate: The woman, the man in front of you, and so on. 

Bucky was tired of the constant torture and pain, but he never gave in to Karpov games, until the day they brought a child to his cell. 

The soldier kneeled, tears streaming down his face as they beat the crap out of the kid in front of him. He couldn't have been more than twelve. He had helped deliver intel from Hydra to an agent of SHIELD, trying to get Hydra’s presence to leave his town and release his family back to him. Karpov’s men had caught the kid in one of the general’s offices stealing paperwork and brought him here, to the deep, hidden bowels of their Siberian prison. 

The kid was on the ground, both eyes nearly swollen shut, gasping for breath. He looked up at Bucky with tears in his eyes. 

Karpov again, handed him the gun. “Eliminate the boy prisoner in front of you.” He commanded. 

Bucky held tightly onto the gun and stared at the boy on the ground.  A bloody heap, nearly lifeless. He looked up at the boy, meeting his eyes. 

The boy's eyes welled up, pleading at Bucky. He mouthed the words ‘it's okay’ at the soldier before closing his eyes. 

Bucky sobbed and shut his eyes as he finally pulled the trigger, hearing the heartbeat of the boy fade into silence. 

The sobs that wracked the soldier's body were interrupted by a sharp pain in his neck. It lit up for a brief moment before stopping. And then Karpov was in front of him, towing over him.

Karpov cupped Bucky’s chin in his hand, smiling down at the soldier. “Good work soldat,” he said as he ran a hand along Bucky's head, calmly running the base of his neck. 

Bucky almost backed away as the bile rose in his throat. He wanted to back away from the touch but he was so tired, and it felt nice. 

And then Karpov's men were scooping him up under his arms, hooking him back to the restraints from the ceiling. As he dangled there they shut the lights out, leaving the image of the boy's face burned into his mind.

His heart was thundering in his chest at the thought of that boy's face, and then his lifeless body on the ground in front of him, staring up at him for days. 

He could hear shuffling around him and suddenly he was falling to the floor, the pain searing into his abdomen. He grunted and shot his eyes open. Hands were wrapped under his shoulder and around his chest, dragging him upward. He willed his feet to support the weight underneath him but they refused to obey, dragging limply behind him. The walls were spinning and he could barely make out the black mask staring at him. He heard muffled sounds but they got lost in the haze before he could decipher them. 

Daredevil made it up to the office and plopped the Soldier down on a desk, sending paperwork flying across the room. 

“Hey, I need you to calm down.” Daredevil said “Your heart is pounding, it's making the bleeding worse. Calm down.” He said in a low, steady tone. 

Bucky’s abdomen screamed at him as he tried to move his torso. His head still spun from the drugs coursing through him. And then hands were on his chest and torso, shoving him back onto the table. His mind reeled back to the memory of the restraints and his body automatically reacted, sending his vibranium fist up, latching onto Daredevil's throat.  

The man brought both arms down, banging them onto the vibranium arm to try and break free. The grip on him was way too strong and there was no way he could pry the metal fist off of him. He had to think quickly. 

His hands were moving before he had time to comprehend what he was doing as he ripped the black mask off his face and lifted his hands in the air in an ‘I surrender’ position. “H-hey…I'm j-just trying t-to help.” he choked out.

Bucky looked into the man's eyes. They weren't making direct contact with his eyes but there was no hint of malice or violence behind them. He immediately let go, bringing his hand back down to his abdomen. The blood was still oozing steadily out of the wound. That, on top of the drugs, was making him dizzy and lightheaded beyond belief. 

He tried sitting up before he was hit with another wave of vertigo, feeling the whole world start tumbling to black again. And then Daredevil's hands were on his chest, gently pushing him back down to the table. 

“Take it easy, you've lost a lot of blood.” 

Bucky looked up at him, trying to steady his gaze on the man. His hair was a mess from the mask being ripped off, and the guy's brown eyes seemed to be floating around the room, not focusing on anything specific. “W-who..” he grunted “Who are y-you?”

“I'm Daredevil…” He began before hesitating. “But you can call me Matt.” 

Matt walked over and pulled up Bucky’s shirt. The Soldier flinched and instantly backed away from the touch, wincing at the sharp pain. His flesh hand flew up to his forehead, trying to hold the dizziness at bay. 

“I just want to take a look,” Matt explained before slowly attempting to lift the shirt again. He ran his hand along the abdomen, lightly brushing his fingers across the wound. He could feel the heat from the injury and the warm blood oozing down Bucky’s side. Matt moved his head closer to the bullet wound, trying to hear if any structures on the inside were bleeding or cracked. He couldn't hear anything specific, which lifted a small weight off his shoulders. 

Matt slowly inched his hand between Bucky and the desk, feeling the soldier's back for an exit wound. His heart jumped into his throat when we didn't feel one. Dammit. 

Bucky lept up from the pain, arching his back and hips off the table, sending another wave of pain down his abdomen. He slowly relaxed back onto the table as Matt withdrew his hands. 

“The bullet is still inside. I'm going to have to remove it myself…or take you to the hospital.”

Bucky flinched and grabbed Matt’s wrist. “No! No hospital.” he shot out. 

Matt could hear his heart thundering in his chest. 

“T-they can't treat Super Soldiers, they d-don’t...don’t understand how my metabolism works. They only ever make things worse.” He said with a shudder. 

Matt placed a hand on Bucky’s chest. “Okay, no hospitals, but I need you to calm down. Your heart rate is too high.” He explained. The Super Soldier comment explained why his blood had smelled so different than a normal person's. It also explained why his body wasn't currently in the end stages of decompensated shock right now, another small weight lifted off Matt’s shoulders. 

Bucky looked up at the guy through his cloudy vision. How the hell could he hear his heartbeat? He looked at Matt, whose eyes were still floating around the room. “H-have you done-...done this before?” he asked through stifled grunts as he studied Matt. He had no idea who this guy was and now he was supposed to let him fish through his gut for a bullet? The hesitation grew as he watched Matt cock his head to the side, ignoring his question. “A-are you sure you can r-remove it?” he reiterated through sharp, shallow breaths. His head was really spinning now and he had to lean it back against the table. 

Matt hesitated for a moment. Theoretically yes, he could remove the bullet. If he could hear and sense where it was and picture a clear escape path in his head for getting it out of the flesh, then he could do it. 

“Yeah, I have all the equipment I need here so I should be fine. I have a nurse I can call if things get dicey, but she's on shift right now so I'm hoping it doesn't come to that.” He explained. He hated involving Claire in his bullshit again. She had so much on her plate already, and he was sure the last thing she wanted to do tonight was patch up the damn Winter Soldier. 

“Karen is going to kill me for getting blood on the desk…” Matt told himself as he scrubbed at his face. 

It took him a few minutes to gather everything and throw an old curtain underneath Bucky to avoid blood splattering all over, something Foggy and Karen wouldn't be happy about when they came into work the next morning. “I have some painkillers that might help the discomfort, but I can't knock you out completely.”

“D-don't even bother. Those pain k-killers won't do anything for me, besides, this won't…b-be the first surgery I've been awake for anyway,” he said with a weak, lop-sided smile, trying to ease the tension. 

Matt’s heart skipped a beat at that comment. Jesus. He could hear the heartbeat in Bucky’s chest grow slightly more rapidly. He was losing too much blood and they had to do this now. 

Bucky’s head spun violently, throwing him back toward the darkness. Passing out right now would be great for him, and it would help Matt to remove the bullet without his squirming. He reached out for the darkness but stopped himself. 

“Wait…o-one last thing..” Bucky began asking, trying to prop up on his elbows briefly, hissing at the sharp pain. 

Matt kept his gaze a few inches above Bucky’s eyes, clearly listening to see what the Soldier wanted. 

It was apparent to Bucky that this guy was either completely blind or most of the way there, but he was about to bleed out so he didn't really have many options here. 

“H-how did you know,” he winced “I'd be there tonight?” He asked, his breathing becoming shallow and erratic. 

“I've been keeping tabs on that building for a while now, spying on the man who works there,” Matt said, gritting his teeth as he spoke. He gently pushed Bucy back down on the table and started washing away the debris around the wound. 

Bucky could hear the anger rising in Matt’s voice as he spoke. There was clearly a history there. He flickered at the pain as Matt began digging around for the bullet, trying to keep his mind focused on the information Matt was saying. 

Matt slowly inched the forceps into the wound, listening for the skin and tissue around the bullet as it moved, using the vibrations to find his target. He could feel Bucky tense up as his vibranium fist clenched the desk, straining the wood underneath. 

A wail escaped Bucky’s lips as he tried to keep his mind in the present. “W-who..w-who is-is..that guy?” He asked through strained grunts. He only heard a muffled sound before his eyes rolled back in his head and his mind tumbled back towards the darkness. 

“His name,” Matt began, grabbing the bullet with his forceps and slowly guiding it out. 

“Is Wilson Fisk.” 

Chapter Text

The sound of voices off in the distance pulled Bucky from the darkness, slowly bringing his mind back to the present and the pain. The searing discomfort from his abdomen simmered to something more tolerable. He pulled his eyes open slowly, feeling his muscles fight against him. 

Matt was aware Bucky was coming to. He could hear the Soldier’s breathing pattern change and his heartbeat picked up slightly. He was sure the pain in his abdomen played a role. Karen and Foggy had been by briefly, he wondered if their voices woke the man. Karen had practically thrown a fit at the mess, however, that anger quickly subsided when she saw the man with the vibranium arm sprawled out on their waiting room couch. She had tried her best to convince Matt to let her wake Bucky–something about an interview for the bulletin, growing up with Captain America and where he is now type crap.  Foggy practically had to drag her out of the room. Matt squeezed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head just thinking about it. He carefully made his way over to Bucky, silently observing the man’s physiological changes as he returned to consciousness. 

Bucky pulled in a deep breath, hissing as his abdomen expanded with the movement. He could tell the tissue was healing already, but it still hurt. It wasn't so bad now, similar to a dull headache, annoying and constant. He could feel a bandage encasing the bullet wound making itself known in his abdomen, along with the sutures scratching up against his skin and the gauze pad. He surveyed the room, quickly taking in his surroundings and examining the closest exits and escape routes. Was he…was he in an office space? The space was clean but looked worn, and old. He saw a sign hanging on the door that read Nelson & Murdock: Attorneys At Law. There were two offices with a reception area in between and the blinds behind the desk were partially twisted open, letting the slightest amount of sunlight in.

Must be morning.

He was in what he assumed was the waiting area. The armchairs near the wall were brown and tattered. They sat across from a similar-looking couch that he was currently occupying. A large mahogany coffee table sat in between the furniture. He was pulled from his thoughts by the light patter of footsteps heading his way.  Bucky observed as Matt advanced towards him, weaving in and out of the furniture spread around the office. He was still wearing his black shirt and tactical pants. Bucky could see what he assumed was his blood staining the man's outfit. 

Oh right, this guy. 

“Mind telling me how a blind man can do surgery-” He looked down at his abdomen, “-and quite successfully at that?” His throat was dry, making his voice scratch out as he spoke. 

He was amazed by how clean the sutures looked. Perfectly aligned and not too tight, leaving the perfect amount of space for inflamed tissue to spread out. This guy had clearly done this before. He looked back up at Matt, his head was slightly cocked to the side. Bucky noticed it was something the lawyer did often and it creeped him out slightly. 

Matt walked closer, handing a water bottle to Bucky then took a few steps back, giving the man some space.

Slowly, he pulled his vibranium arm out from between his side and the couch, placing it under him and gently pushing his body into a seated position, watching as the wheels turned in Matt’s head. He grabbed the water bottle and twisted the top off, gulping down several sips before focusing his attention back up to the lawyer. 

Matt stood a few inches away from the couch, listening for a few seconds. He could hear the skin and sutures rub together. The sutures made a slight scratchy sound when they brushed up against each other. The sound was slightly softer when they rubbed against bare skin. They sounded smooth, even. They didn't screech when they collided like they would if one was torn. There was no break in the sound with each movement. He could tell they were together, all in place. 

“Your sutures are still together, and your wound seems to be healing quickly,” Matt stated, completely ignoring the previous question.  

Bucky huffed and sat up further. How the hell did he know all that from across the room? Maybe this guy was part of the –dare he say it– “big three”. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the thought, and mindlessly brushed his fingertips across the wound lightly, silently admiring the work. He would never tell the guy, but he was pretty impressed with his handy work.

Matt twisted around a coffee table and sat down on an armchair across from Bucky. He could tell the Soldier wanted to say something but was holding back. He could hear the man's breathing increase and lips part before a whispered grumble took over and pushed the words back down. 

He sighed “What?” 

Bucky snapped his head up, eyes squinting at Matt. “I didn't say-”

“But you want to, and it's annoying me, so just say it.” He demanded, cutting the Soldier off. 

Bucky glared at him, clenching the blanket wrapped around his waist. This guy was starting to get on his nerves, acting like a prick.

Matt sighed and put both his hands up “Okay, I'm sorry…that was a little defensive I admit.”

“W-wh-..” Bucky stared at him, unsure what to say. “How are you doing that?” 

“Doing what?” 

“Reading my thoughts! I haven't said a single word and yet you’re answering me like I have!” he said sternly. It was freaking him out, he didn't like the idea of this guy getting into his head, his thoughts. Suddenly the idea of this guy being part of the big three didn’t seem so insane. The pit in his stomach was making itself known.   

Matt could sense the tension. Bucky was upset but he picked up on the anxiety too. He was worried, but why? He could hear the Soldier's heart rate picking up again. 

Bucky pulled himself off the couch, pushing up to his feet and crashing back down to his knees the second he stood up. He was still relatively dizzy and couldn't get his bearings. Get up Bucky– focus on getting out of here . The idea that this guy could play with his thoughts didn't sit well with him. His heart began thundering in his chest at the idea. 

Matt was on his feet in a second, rushing over and scooping Bucky up underneath his arms. He slowly pushed the Soldier back onto the couch, quickly backing away as soon as he was seated again. The last thing he wanted to do was add to the tension and anxiety. He gave Bucky some space, staying close enough to catch the man if he got back up. 

“Hey, calm down, your heart rate is too high.” He began, noticing the rate pick up yet again. Why would he tell him that he could hear his heart rate right now–Stupid Matt–he backed up again, giving Bucky more space. 

“Look, I can't read your thoughts okay, I can just…sense things..” The anxiety inside the Soldier continued to rise. Honesty was his best play right now.  

Bucky’s attention shot back to Matt, the man’s voice pulling him from his thoughts. “What do you mean, sense things?” he asked skeptically. 

Matt sighed, he’d had this exact same conversation so many times in the past, and it never got any easier to explain. Most people didn't understand or got upset with him for lying to them. 

Wait, are you telling me that since I’ve known you, anytime I wasn’t telling the truth, you knew? And what, you just played along? Was anything ever real with us? 

He could still hear the heartbreak in Foggy’s voice, remembered the sound of his best friend's trust in him shattering, right before his unseeing eyes. 

Matt pushed the thought from his head, focusing back on the current conversation.“When I lost my sight, my other senses got heightened. I can see, hear, smell, and feel things that others can't.”

Bucky squinted at Matt, trying to wrap his head around the idea. “Like what?” 

Matt took a deep breath before speaking. “I can smell the dust on your shoes from your penthouse, I can hear your ribs shifting when you breathe, and the sutures when you move. I can taste the blood in the air from your wound. I can feel the shift from your shoulders and core when your stress rises. I can tell that the more I say the faster your heart rate rises…”

Bucky was practically gaping at him, shocked at what he was saying. He refocused himself, trying to understand it all. “So you can’t read minds,” He exhaled a breath of relief at that realization “You just, interpret the signs to predict the behavior,” He explained, primarily to himself, furrowing his brows at the idea. Sure, the guy couldn't see, but that was a lie. He could see, just not in the way most people are used to. The truth was, he could probably see more of the world than most people ever would. 

Matt sat up, surprised at Bucky’s response “Uh, well..yeah essentially.” This guy understood it? He was amazed the Soldier hadn’t had a million questions like everyone else. Although it made sense, he had learned a decent bit about the guy when the Black Widow had leaked those files to the internet a few years back. He was apparently like a hundred and six years old or something. From what he remembered, Bucky was once a highly skilled assassin for the Russians. He probably had a similar skill set, just not nearly as advanced. 

Bucky clenched the blanket harder, trying to focus back on the details from last night. He remembered Matt diving through the windows, plunging them both towards the ground. He remembered the lawyer picking him up off the floor after he had gotten distracted and shot. He, unfortunately, remembered the man in white and the notebook. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to push the thoughts and memories away.

Bucky hadn't thought about that damn book in over a year. He had let himself get complacent and allowed himself to put his trust in the wrong people. He should have told Steve to keep the book and lock it away somewhere no one could ever find it. He clenched his jaw, trying to prevent his mind from falling down the rabbit hole of despair. 

“Hey, Bucky!” Matt had shouted, trying to get the man's attention. He could tell the soldier's heart rate was rising again. 

Bucky snapped his attention back up to Matt, unsure how many times the man had called his name before he was brought back to the present. He blinked and met Matt’s eyes, even as they floated around the room. 

‘Who was that guy...last night?” he asked bitterly, his mind reeling back to that white suit, the fancy shoes, and those eerily dead eyes.

Matt sat back on the armchair across from Bucky, folding his hands in on each other as he leaned back. “He’s the reason I warned you not to get involved back at the docks,” A muscle in his jaw feathered. “His name is Wilson Fisk.” he spit out. 

“You didn't even know I would be there last night then, you’ve just been following this guy around?” Bucky asked, trying to analyze everything he remembered about this Fisk guy. 

“For the last week or so, yeah. But I’ve been tracking his movements with this operation for much longer. As soon as I noticed these new weapons showing up in Hell’s kitchen I tracked them back to that warehouse, which is how I found out about this Toomes guy. Apparently, after the blip, he was legally released from prison with absolutely no stipulations. There is only one person I know who is capable of pulling that off. I assumed Fisk was involved and I tried following a paper trail–But he’s fucking invisible” He bit out. “He never leaves evidence of things. It's why I've stopped pursuing him legally…” 

His mind wandered back to the night in Fisk’s penthouse. The bloody Mau Tai ropes, Vanessa’s white gown splattered in red, The rage that filled his entire body. It had taken everything in him to stop himself that night, and now people were suffering–no, dying– again because of his stupid internal conflict. 

“Hey, red, you in there?” Bucky said with a few snaps of his fingers. 

Matt shook his head, clearing the train of thought. “Yeah…sorry.”

“He must be getting involved with Toomes for a reason. There has to be an explanation for why he got The Vulture out of prison and is rebuilding that operation…but he doesn't want his name involved” Bucky said, walking his way through any scenario that might make sense. “What the hell is this guy's endgame?”

“When me and my…associates, were looking into everything, we came across a call to action plan called A Better Tomorrow . It had Fisk's name on it, so clearly he wanted it to be public knowledge that he was involved.” Matt stiffened before he continued. “The plan states a platform where vigilantes are declared criminals of law. Under that jurisdiction…Fisk would control all vigilantes that tried to operate in Hell's kitchen. The larger plan is intended to cover the entire city.” 

Bucky could read the concern all over Matt’s face, and the tension radiating off him was practically tangible. “I take it you have a history with this guy then.”

Matt clenched his jaw, his fists following the same movement. “Yeah, you could say that. His plan won't stop with getting rid of the vigilantes. He will destroy Hell’s Kitchen, and then the rest of New York. He thinks it's some moral mission, to cleanse the city.” Matt hissed.

“So, you’ve fought him before…how do we stop him?” Bucky asked, leaning forward. 

Matt’s entire body stiffened as he pointed his head in Bucky’s direction. There was only one way he knew to stop Wilson Fisk. For good. 

“We kill him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter had planted himself on the chair by the window, watching the sun come up, the anxiety in his stomach rising with it. It had been hours since Bucky left, almost an entire day had gone by, and something was wrong.

 “I'm just going to look into something, I'll be back in a couple of hours, promise.” 

It had been well over a couple of hours and he hadn't heard anything from the man. Radio silence. Peter was doing his best to stay calm, to not let the train of thought in the back of his head completely take over, which was becoming increasingly more difficult as the minutes passed by. He was absent-mindedly peeling every possible layer of skin off of his nail beds. He had checked his phone over a hundred times in the last minute. Bucky’s phone kept going to voicemail and the pit in Peter’s stomach grew deeper every time the dial tone trilled on the other end. 

He had tried to get his mind off of it after the first few hours, even thought about going on patrol but remembered what Bucky had said. He needed to rest and heal before getting back out there. He couldn't focus enough to study and waiting around was making him stir crazy. He had thought about texting MJ and Ned, but they were probably sleeping, and the last thing he wanted to do was get them involved. 

His mind began to reel, back to Ben and Tony. Back to May. He flinched at the thought of her body lying in the rubble. No matter how he tried to spin it, the fact remained: Everyone he had loved had left him–one way or another. Bucky had told him he would never do that, he had made a promise to Peter. 

 “I don't care what happens, I'll always come back to you kid, I promise.”

He could feel the wave of panic rising in him, taking his mind to the dark place he was fighting so hard to avoid going to. Bucky had promised to come back, always. He had promised this trip would only take a couple of hours. It had been almost an entire day. 

Peter could feel his heart thundering in his chest and his thoughts continued to spiral because Bucky had promised and he knew that the soldier wouldn't break that promise. He clenched his fists and screwed his eyes shut, trying to fling the thoughts from his head. He took a deep breath, trying his best to steady his mind. 

“It's fine, Peter, calm down.” He told himself. His hands began shaking. 

He took another deep breath, focused on trying to rationalize everything…Bucky probably just lost track of time, or turned off his phone, or dropped it somewhere, or fell and lost it, or fell in general, or got hurt, or got–he shot up from the chair bringing his hands to his head, squeezing each side of his temples. His feet were moving without knowing where they were going, making absent-minded circles around the room as his thoughts plunged into the endless possibilities. What If Hydra found him, what if Toomes wanted payback after everything? What if he ran into someone from his time during the Winter Soldier, what if-

He was hyperventilating and he couldn't move his fingers. He could feel his knees going weak, his heart racing in his chest, the anxiety bubbling up from his core. Bucky wouldn't break his promise. That only left one other possibility–the soldier was hurt somewhere. He was hurt and Peter had no idea where to even look for him. He set his jaw and ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to tame the anxiety that threatened to take over completely.

“Dammit!” Peter yelled as he threw a chair across the floor. He heard it crash into the table and something shattered, he didn't care enough to see what he had broken in his fit. He had to focus on Bucky now. He wasn't going to lose anyone else, he refused to continue letting that pattern ruin his life. This was it, he would put a stop to it. He let that determination carry him out of his panicked thinking and onto the task of finding Bucky. 

He was out there somewhere, hurt – alone. He began pacing back and forth coming up with something, any clue of where Bucky might have gone. His eyes landed on the newly crafted Spidey suit in the corner of the room.  

He thought about the Avengers compound, asking Pepper to let him in and track the Soldier, use FRIDAY's operating system to follow any movement that could be his. Find Bruce and ask him to formulate any information regarding Toomes and use it to predict where the man might be now. 

He grunted in frustration at his ideas. They wouldn't help a pathetic kid they didn't even remember anyway– His breath caught in his throat as he peered back at the suit. The suit Bucky had help creating. The suit that had sparked a memory in another Avenger, another friend. 

Sam. 

~~~~~~~~~

Bucky had remained silent for several minutes after Matt had basically proclaimed that the only way to get rid of Fisk for good was to kill him. He could feel the tension in Matt rising to a boiling point. This Fisk guy was bad news and the Daredevil had a deep-rooted history with him. He didn't, so much, have a problem with killing the guy, but the persona that went along with those specific tactics wasn't one he was very fond of. Wilson Fisk had already succeeded once at getting into his head and playing around, he couldn't let it happen again. 

The damn words were still rattling around in his head, stuck like a permanent mark. 

They had the perfect weapon, the asset, for seventy years, yet in the span of a few months, you think you can just erase it from existence. The trigger words may be ineffective at this time, but you are still, very much, their asset…and that, Soldier, cannot be erased.”

He flinched at the words just thinking about them and tried pushing them far beneath the surface just for them to immediately float back to the top. The man in white–Fisk–had a point, one that racked Bucky’s brain often. He was the soldier, the asset, far longer than he was ever James Barnes, and sometimes he wondered who James Barnes even was. He hadn't been that man for decades, since before Zola poisoned him with that serum and forced him into that chair. At times James Barnes seemed like a dream, a faraway memory that, no matter how far he reached for, he could never fully grasp. But the asset was only ever just beneath the surface, and no matter how hard he tried to forget him, the Winter Soldier remained. 

The realization of it all scared the hell out of him. He had let himself get carried away with working alongside Steve and Earth’s mightiest heroes, going from one battle to the next, never stopping to think about the fact that he never really did let go of the Soldier. Maybe Steve was wrong, maybe he couldn't change, go back to being that same Sargeant who led the strongest unit of men into the fray. He could barely keep his mind together, even without the influence of those damn words. The thought of the Soldier taking over sat in the back of his mind, always. It made the blood in his veins run icy cold. 

The faintest touch of someone's fingertips running along his shoulder jerked him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Matt, the look of concern and understanding written all over his face. 

“That’s his superpower…getting in your thoughts” Matt explained, bringing his hand up to his head and tapping the side of his temple. 

He could hear the sharp breath Bucky sucked in. The unspoken words he wanted to say but wouldn't let go of hung in the air. 

“You have to block him out. You have to…” Matt pushed “Otherwise, he wins.” 

Bucky clenched the cushion of the couch he was sitting on. 

“What if he’s right?” Bucky said, his voice small. He eased his grip on the couch, bringing his elbows to his knees and resting his head in his hands. The image of that damn book made its way to the front of Bucky’s mind, planting its roots there. His heart began thundering in his chest again and he could feel a headache pushing its way forward in his brain. 

Matt cocked his head to the side, staring through the Soldier with his unseeing eyes. He could tell something had shifted in the man sitting across from him. Something deep, something dark and broken was rising to the surface. It was something he had seen before, in himself when Fisk had brought him to the edge. When he had almost let go of Matt Murdock completely and latched onto the Devil with everything he had. He could sense that same conflict from the presence directly across from him. Bucky was an unknown to Matt, but at this moment, he understood and could feel the internal war between the two halves of the same coin.  

“That’s the thing. Fisk is never right, he just knows the right things to say...He has this way of almost making people lose themselves, forgetting who they are and everything they stand for, the ones they love.” 

Bucky could hear the venom rising in Matt’s tone. 

“It’s why you–you have to find the strength to hold on tighter.” 

Bucky’s attention shot up to the lawyer, his eyes fixed on the ones across from him floating around the room. He furrowed his brows and lifted his head out of his hands. He hadn’t expected Matt to go that route. He half expected the guy to say they needed to find Fisk first, destroy everything he knew and loved, and yet here he was, telling him to hold on tighter to the things that grounded him. It took Bucky by surprise. 

And then it hit him. 

Peter.

Chapter Text

The sun was shining through the slit in his curtains, a beam of light illuminating a small strip of the otherwise dark room. Something was pulling him from sleep, a low, constant drone coming from the table just above his head. A buzzing–a phone–his phone. 

His fingers lazily crawled up to the nightstand, dragging the vibrating device to his ear as he clicked ‘answer’ without ever checking to see who might be calling at this ungodly hour in the morning. His alarm wouldn’t even be going off for another hour or so–whoever was on the other line was in for a rude awakening when his groggy, yet stern, morning tone filtered through the phone. 

“Who is this?” His voice came out more wispy than he expected, defeating the harshness he was hoping to stress onto the voice at the other end. 

He waited, listening for a response–nothing. He could feel the frustration bubbling up in his chest, almost smashing the button to hang up on whoever the hell had decided to bother him this early, but stopped at the sound of broken hyperventilating on the other end. He opened his mouth to speak again but was cut off. 

“S-Sam?” He heard a small, squeaky, yet concerned voice whisper through the device. 

Sam’s heart lept into his throat. He hadn’t heard that small voice in what felt like forever, but he knew immediately who it belonged to. 

“Peter?” he answered, listening to the sound of relief on the other end–which was short-lived since the breathing almost immediately picked back up. 

Sam could feel the panic slowly rising in him, unsure what was even going on. The tension he could feel through the phone was silently screaming at him. “What's going on?” 

He could hear the breathing pick up again, but no answer came through. He grabbed his armband with the controls to redwing immediately, programming the robot to track the signal of the call. It only took a few seconds to triangulate the location. 

“Stay right there kid, I’m on my way.” 

And then he was up on his feet, grabbing his things, and rushing out the door in the direction of the panicked teammate he had once forgotten. 

~~~~~

Peter’s heart rate spiked at each trill, waiting for the new Captain to pick up. He knew it was early, knew Sam was most likely still asleep. That didn't change the fact that Bucky was missing, was out there–alone. 

The line clicked after a few seconds and an oh-so-familiar voice was resonating in his ear, the morning still very present in his tone as he responded. 

“Who is this?” 

Peter’s stomach sank, he hadn't realized–until this very moment–how much he had missed his teammates, the people he fought beside, saving the world countless times together. A wave of sadness, grief, and something else washed over him. He pulled himself back to the task at hand and opened his mouth to respond. 

His throat felt like sandpaper, his lips sticking to his teeth as he rasped out the name on his tongue. “S-Sam?”

He knew it was Sam. He knew who he was calling when he typed in the numbers on his phone–but still–he needed the confirmation, something to tell him this was real, that someone else had remembered him. He needed to know this wasn't a dream–or a nightmare really–that he was trapped in, that he wouldn’t wake up and be alone again. 

Peter was hit with a sense of calm and relief when the voice answered him. 

“Peter?” Sam had said his name–his freaking name. Peter felt the emotions swelling inside. His eyes began to sting. 

And then the overwhelming sense of dread drowned everything else out. The panic flared up in Peter’s chest, grabbing hold of everything else and taking over, and he suddenly couldn't catch his breath. His sharp inhales had begun making him dizzy as he tried to focus his thoughts. How was he supposed to tell Sam–how was he–how–Peter sucked in a deep breath as he heard sounds coming through the phone that he couldn’t quite comprehend. 

It was becoming increasingly clear that he would have to explain to Sam that Bucky was gone. His best friend since losing Steve…was just…gone, and Peter had no clue where to even start looking. He screwed his eyes shut as the thoughts began flooding in–Bucky lying helpless somewhere, screaming for help. What if–What if he’s–a fresh wave of horror settled in, spreading over everything else. His hands were shaking and his breathing had picked up yet again. His vision tunneled and his heart began thundering in his chest. 

Peter stood up and grabbed his head, trying to steady his reeling thoughts. He refused to believe Bucky was–

He stopped before finishing that thought, it wasn’t something he could handle right now. He shoved even the faint possibility of it back down to the deep pit it came from, praying it wouldn’t resurface. 

Peter took a few steadying breaths and focused back on the phone. The line had gone eerily silent. He checked it and he was still connected, like a tether, a lifeline to pull him out of his darkness. He reminded himself of the man on the other end, the one who he had fought in an empty airport, the one who had welcomed him to the team after they defeated Thanos. A faint fuzzy feeling washed away some of the panic, and for a moment, he let himself fall into it. 

“Sam?” he asked, his voice more clear this time, but couldn't stop the cracking in his tone. 

All he was met with was a loud rushing in his ear. He wasn't sure but Peter thought it was wind, whipping through the speaker into his ear. He had missed something in his panic and wasn't sure where Sam was or what was going on. 

He swallowed and began parting his lips to speak again before He heard shuffling in the hall, dragging his attention away from the device in his hands. 

His head snapped up from the phone to a knock on the door. 

~~~~~~~~~

Sam could hear the muffled footsteps growing closer as a shadow appeared underneath the door. His heart was racing as he waited for the kid to answer the door. 

He was immediately taken aback by the presence standing in the doorway. He had imagined that curly-haired, loud, bouncy kid from the airport greeting him. Instead, he was met with unkempt curls drooping in front of bleary, dark eyes. He blinked, trying to make sure this wasn't a mirage because the kid in front of him was…well…not a kid.

He stared up at Peter, seeing the mileage behind the worn expression on his face, and something inside of Sam made itself known. The kid looked eerily like a stubborn soldier he knew–a soldier who buried everything far beneath the surface, silently drowning in his thoughts, his past traumas, refusing to reach for a lifeline. 

He could see the tears welling up in Peter’s eyes and the panic burning behind them. Sam slowly stepped into the doorway, gently putting his hands up to Peter’s shoulders. 

Peter had opened the door, shocked that Sam was standing across from him. He stared at the man dressed in his falcon–no Captain America uniform–for what felt like far too long, and suddenly arms were reaching for him, grabbing his shoulders, grounding him back to reality. 

Something in Peter cracked, his guard fell and he could feel the hot tears spilling from his cheeks as he was pulled into Sam’s chest. He could hear the thumping of the man's heart as his head rested on his chest. 

Peter pulled away and met Sam’s gaze, the concern beaming in his eyes. 

“Peter..” Sam said, finally breaking the silence between the two, “What’s going on kid?”

Peter could hear the edge in Sam’s tone. His gaze fell, staring into the worn tiles spread across the floor. 

“I...I don’t..” I lost Bucky “He’s–he just-” He’s gone, I let him walk out that door  “Something–something isn't–” I didn't try to stop him, and now he is gone. Peter tripped over his words, clenching his fists and setting his jaw. This was his fault. He had to tell Sam. 

Peter took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a brief second–as if to reset his thoughts. Get it together Peter. Sam deserves to know, he needs to know what happened–needs to know to find him. 

Sam stared at Peter, growing more and more anxious with each passing second. 

Peter dragged his head up, forcing his eyes to meet Sam’s as he held the tears at bay. 

“He’s…gone, a-and I dont know…I dont know where he went.” He could feel his voice wavering, his breaths coming faster and faster. “And he-he wouldn’t just–He wouldn’t…he promised.”

Peter’s gaze dropped back to the floor as a few stray tears dripped down his face, onto the hard, cold tiles. 

Sam clenched his jaw and took a deep breath before leaning beside Peter, trying to swoop his gaze in to meet the kids. He could feel the tension rising in him at the thought of Bucky being lost, but quickly settled the feeling. 

“Peter..” He began, taking a steadying breath of his own. 

“Bucky is–Bucky is a strong dude, in case you haven’t noticed.” He explained, keeping his tone as light as he could. 

“Wherever he is, whoever he is caught up with–well–I feel bad for the other guy,” Sam said, forcing a light chuckle. 

Peter furrowed his brow as he focused his gaze back upon Sam. 

Sam could see the red-rimmed eyes and tear-soaked cheeks peering back up at him. He hadn’t realized how close the two of them had become–Peter and Bucky. It shocked Sam for a brief moment before that shock turned to something warmer. Bucky had somehow remembered this kid after that damn spell–that annoying kid from the airport–and Bucky had become almost a father figure to him. Sam silently grinned at the thought. He was glad Bucky had found that, a purpose. 

Sam focused his attention back on Peter. “Wherever he is, we will find him.” He promised. Sam could visibly see the stress and tension drain slightly from Peter's shoulders, and his face relaxed from the crinkled mess it was before. 

“What if–what if he–” Peter’s eyes went wide again as he slid down toward the ground, that deep dark fear came back to the light. He was gulping for air, trying to get in a breath as his lungs burned from the panic. 

Sam knelt down and grabbed Peter’s chin, forcing the kid's eyes onto his own. 

“He’s not.” He said, more aggressive than he wanted. 

“He’s not…This is Bucky we are talking about. This is the same man who helped fight off Nazis and their crazed scientists. The same guy who took on an army of super soldiers.” He took a breath. “The same guy who fought off the damn code words and conditioning. He’s a strong motherfucker and it would take probably multiple nuclear strikes to even put a dent in that damn cyborg.” He said–that last part more for himself than the kid. 

Peter stared up at him, his eyes locked onto Sam’s with unwavering focus. He was right, Bucky had been to hell, but he had also made his way back–more than once. Peter clenched his jaw, bringing the heels of his palms up to his eyes, rubbing away the stray tears that streaked down his face.

Sam could see the tension slowly ease out of Peter as they both stood up together. He quickly looked around the small apartment, taking in any indications of where the Soldier might have gone. 

“Did he say anything to you before he left?” Sam asked as he wandered around the cramped space, over to the pile of blankets on the floor. 

Of course, Bucky would be sleeping on the floor. It was something Sam understood well, falling onto a fluffy, marshmallow mattress after being cramped into a tent full of cots for several months was a difficult adjustment. For Bucky–he was sure– it was more difficult. He was sure Hydra had never provided him anything comforting in the seventy years he was there. Sam cringed at the idea and tossed the thought out of his head, focusing back on the squirrely, sleep-deprived mess in front of him.

“He just mentioned he wanted to check something out–that he would be back in a couple of hours. That was last night..” Peter said, going back to mindlessly picking at his fingernails. 

Sam frowned, knitting his brows tightly together. “Why would he leave you behind? You’re both working on this case right?” 

Peter's gaze dropped to the floor and Sam could see the tension rise in his shoulder, spreading down his entire body. 

“I-well...I was hurt. He didn't want me out there, not until I was closer to being fully healed,” 

Sam could tell something in Peter had shifted, he had slinked back into himself–almost like he was hurt, disappointed in himself for getting injured. 

“Hey,” Sam placed a hand gently on Peter’s shoulder. 

Peter flinched slightly when Sam touched him but quickly relaxed himself, hoping Sam didn’t notice. If he did he kept quiet about it. 

“We will find Bucky. Dont blame yourself. You needed to heal, Buck was right about that. Just because you didn't go with him..it doesn't mean this is your fault.” 

Peter looked up at Sam as the pit in his stomach grew and his shoulders hunched up. Was he that easy to read? He tried to clear whatever expression that Sam had seen off his face. He did blame himself, for going on that patrol, for getting hurt…for not being there when Bucky needed him. He glanced back down to the floor, continuing his staring contest with the bland white tiles. 

“You and him are more alike than you think,” Sam said, shifting his gaze from Peter,  staring at the mess of blankets on the floor. 

“I bet he’s blaming himself right now for not getting back here, to you.” Sam started. A light chuckle escaped his lips. 

Peter looked quizically at Sam as he stared at Bucky’s bed, tilting his head slightly. What was so amusing? 

“It’s funny, the way you both jump to take the full weight of everything, put the fault on your own shoulders. Hell, I’m sure if a judge and jury were to tell you both you were innocent you’d still find a reason to contradict them, evidence be damned.” Sam laughed, running a hand over his head, resting it on the back of his neck. 

Judge and Jury

Something in Peter’s eyes lit up as Sam focused back in on him and the kid was rushing over to his bed, rummaging through a pile of sweatshirts and jackets. 

“Hey, Pete?”

No response. 

Sam inched closer to him. “What's going on right now?” Concern slipped from his tone. 

Peter kept his focus on what he was doing. He reached his hands through multiple jacket pockets until he felt the crisp, textured paper along his fingertips. He grabbed the document, pulled it out, and inspected it before turning to look up at Sam. 

Sam stared down at him, a puzzled look across his face. He had no idea what was going on as he grabbed the card out of Peter’s hand. It appeared to be a sort of business card–except it was just a number scratched onto the front of an otherwise blank piece of paper. 

“And this is…?”

“A phone number,”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No shit. Who's it for?” he asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his tone. It was like playing twenty questions with a brick wall.

“He’s–well–a lawyer…” Peter started. 

Sam's confusion sank deeper into his features as he raised an eyebrow and peered back up at Peter. 

“And a lawyer is going to help us how?”

Peter fumbled his fingers into each other, fiddling them around as he tried to find the right words. He knew giving up someone's secret identity was frowned upon, and Matt had seemed fairly adamant on keeping his circle as small as possible, but if it would help Bucky–

“He–he isn't just a lawyer,”

Sam huffed and stared, waiting impatiently. He leaned in slightly closer and raised his eyebrows even higher. 

“Kid, are you waiting for an engraved invitation, or like-”

“He’s a vigilante–well, actually, he’s Daredevil,” 

Sam's look of confusion twisted into something more like astonishment. 

“You know who Daredevil is? And he just–what, gave you his business card?” He said, flicking the piece of paper for emphasis. 

Peter huffed “No, he knew about this case me and Bucky have been working on. He–he warned me to stay out of it actually,” He said, fidgeting his fingers again. “He has to know something, Maybe he can help find Bucky?” 

Sam looked from the card back up to Peter. He could hear the faint, frail essence of hope returning to his tone as he spoke. He glanced back at the card for a moment. It was a lead, not much of one–but better than nothing. 

“Alright, show me the way,” Sam said, gesturing towards the door. 

~~~~~~~~~~

They had practically broken every speed limit and ran every red light on the way to the law office. Sam had suggested that flying them there would be faster, but the kid had a point about that drawing too much attention. Driving it was. Sam’s stomach twisted and flipped the entire ride there. For some god-forsaken reason, he let the kid drive…his mistake. 

Peter trekked up the stairs to the familiar brick building, glancing at the same iron sign he had noticed the day he delivered the pizza. Sam trailed closely behind him, keeping his eyes on the street surrounding them. 

Something in Peter’s core lit up as a wave of anxiety coursed through him. He could feel his palms getting sweaty as he twisted the handle to the front door. He was grasping onto the last straw of hope, praying that Matt knew something, had any clue as to where Bucky might be. He stepped past the threshold of the entrance, the warm air from the heater above his head flowing across his face. He could hear loud voices coming from just up the stairs, echoing down and around the entrance. He glanced back at Sam and they both rushed up the steps. 

Peter reached the top of the stairs and froze, Sam coming to an abrupt stop right next to him. They both stared at the scene in front of them. 

Matt was standing next to someone on the couch, leaning over the shirtless figure–no, man. The lawyer had a hand pressed firmly onto the man's chest, clearly forcing him back onto the couch. 

Peter sucked in a deep breath, causing Matt to swing his head toward him and Sam, stepping around the couch to reveal the face of the man. 

Peter’s heart sank, the anxiety flowing out of him as his gaze landed on Bucky. His shirt was off and there was a bandage across his abdomen, accompanied by dried flakes of blood all around his torso. His eyes drifted up and down the soldier's frame. There was dark purple bruising along his rib cage that had already started turning yellow. Peter could tell that whatever was covered by the bandage on Bucky’s abdomen was causing pain since the man was hunched over, his arm draping lightly over the area. He had small cuts along his arms and hands that already looked scabbed over. Peter flicked his eyes back up to Bucky’s, noticing for the first time the dark droopy circles that covered his lids. He could see the relief flooding Bucky’s face, yet it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Sam assessed his gaze up and down Bucky’s body before landing on his eyes. Bucky was staring at Peter, glancing briefly up at Sam. His eyes stayed locked onto the Soldiers for a moment before Bucky tore his off Sam, sweeping them back to Peter. He could see the tension drain from his friend's entire body as his vision trailed Peter from head to toe. 

Sam saw a shadow rush past him, sailing toward the couch. He turned to where Peter had just been standing. Noticing the void, he turned back to see the kid wrapping his arms gently around Bucky. He could see the warm light spreading in Bucky’s eyes as his lips turned upward. 

“Hey, kid.”

Chapter Text

Bucky could feel his heart thumping in his chest. How the hell had he forgotten about Peter? He glanced at the window, registering again that it really was morning. He had been gone for an entire night after he promised the kid it would only take a few hours. Fingers scrubbed at his face before raking through his hair, tugging at the roots before steadying his hands under him, muscles tensing as he began pushing off the couch. 

Matt was over next to him within a fraction of a second, placing his hands across Bucky’s chest. Matt could feel the muscles strain as he pushed against them, his hand sliding across the jagged metal plate surrounded by thick scar tissue between his chest and shoulder. Matt winced slightly at the feel of the tough leather skin, brushing his fingers over to the cold plate before easing up on his grip. 

Bucky huffed and backed away from Matt’s touch, ducking around his hands as he shifted his weight to push up and forward. He focused on getting his balance steady, shuffling his feet up as they adjusted to his weight. The dull throb in his abdomen made itself known as he contorted the rest of his body to ease up from the sofa. 

“Hey, hey ! You're going to rip your stitches, Lay back down,” Matt urged. His face contorted into scrunched-up lines as he heard the sutures stretching from the strain. He had spent years patching his dad’s wounds up and, believe it or not, that man was more stubborn than most. Matt knew what sutures about to burst sounded like.  

Bucky exhaled sharply and shoved Matt away as he regained some balance. “I-I’ll be careful, red. I have to go,” He could feel the panic rising in his chest. If he had expected Peter home last night and the kid pulled this little stunt he would have been out stripping the entire city. Bucky pulled his focus back to the task at hand–evading the blind, yet all-seeing lawyer that was currently trying to shove him back toward the couch. 

There was a sense of urgency that Matt picked up in his tone, but something small was underneath it that he noticed too, faint, but there all the same. The thrumming of Bucky’s heart picked up to a bounding speed. Matt had missed something, whatever piece of the puzzle that was now causing panic from his counterpart. 

“Buck, hey talk to me-”

“ Don’t call me that,” He bit back, flicking his eyes up at Matt. He inched forward, stumbling toward the coffee table, nearly tripping over his own feet. He wasn’t sure why a wave of anger rushed through him, but it gave him just enough energy to push himself back up. Of course, he didn’t miss the helping hand of Mother Matty, who was currently latched onto him. 

Matt fastened his grip around the vibranium bicep, lightly tugging Bucky back toward the couch. He tried to ignore the venom in the man’s tone as he snapped. 

“I'm fine!” 

“Yeah, sure, because that poor sense of balance resonates perfectly with someone who is fine, ” Matt muttered. If he could roll his eyes, he would–although he was fairly certain the thick sarcasm in his tone was enough for the Soldier to pick up on. 

Bucky grunted before turning his head back to the lawyer. “I-just, I have to get back to someone,” he shifted, pressing his mouth into a tight line and closing his eyes for a moment. “God, he’s probably freaking out…” He whispered to himself. 

Matt tilted his head to the side as he listened to the man speak before it hit him. “The kid…uh, Peter, right?” he asked, his voice soft and light. He had remembered going to that old apartment building after the fight with Toomes, hearing Bucky console him and patch up his wounds. Clearly, the two were close. He quickly registered the thumping in Bucky’s chest that picked up as Peter’s name rolled off his tongue. “He’s going to be okay, he is a tough kid from what I saw–and the farther he is from this mess with Fisk…” 

Bucky snapped his eyes open, glancing over at the lawyer. He had forgotten that Peter had met Daredevil, that the man actually saved the kid’s life a few weeks ago. He should be relieved at the thought but instead he felt the anger swell inside of him. His fists clenched, the tension rising through his core. He knew Peter was tough, but he also knew the kid was stubborn. There was no way he would just give up this case, not after everything. Panic flared in his chest as his breath hitched. He could feel the air getting stuck in his lungs. He couldn’t fucking breathe because Peter was already on The Vulture’s radar. If Toomes was working with Fisk, and Fisk knew about Bucky, then did he also know about– 

Matt shot his focus to Bucky, all of his senses screaming at him. The pounding echoing through the Soldier's chest sounded like a hammer hitting steel and his breathing had picked up significantly as well. He flinched as the plates across Bucky’s arm flexed, sending enough force into Matt to plow him backward onto the couch that the Soldier had just been sprawled out on. 

Matt could feel the rage buzzing in his head, tingling down his neck. He sucked in a sharp breath and set his jaw, grimacing as he turned himself over on the couch to face Bucky. The Soldier was still facing away from him, focused on pressing forward. Matt wasn't sure if the man was dizzy or trying to formulate a plan, but he wasn’t advancing forward. He took the opportunity to get the upper hand. 

Matt shot both of his legs out with force, connecting with the back of Bucky’s knees, sending him reeling backward. He felt the shift in the air and pounced up off the couch, throwing his hands under each of Bucky’s arms to stop the momentum of the fall. All of the Soldier’s weight collapsed into his arms as he dragged the man, turning on his heels to throw the rest of his weight back onto the couch with the remaining momentum. 

Bucky sputtered as he landed, eyes wide as he blinked up at Matt. What the fuck just happened? 

Matt’s hand came crashing down onto Bucky’s chest, propelling the air out of his lungs as his own weight pressed inward, carefully constricting the Soldier to the confines of the sofa. 

Bucky coughed, gasping for a moment before putting his hands up. “O-okay okay!” he said, releasing the tension from his body as he sunk back down onto the leather cushions. 

Matt released some of his weight off the man, keeping enough pressure so he wouldn’t move. He opened his mouth to speak but something from the corner of the room near the stairs drew his attention away. He whipped his head up, trying to figure out who had just entered the office, who had trudged up the stairs without making a sound. It wasn’t an easy task to sneak up on him, whoever was at the door had to have prior knowledge of his enhanced senses. He pulled every bit of focus to the entryway, letting go of the Soldier to twist around the couch towards the table so he could read the two heartbeats in front of him. He knew immediately that the one on the left sounded familiar–the kid. A breeze whirred by him, over toward the direction Bucky currently was. 

Bucky’s eyes shifted from Matt up to the figure sprinting his way, and suddenly he was enveloped in swooping arms, wrapping around his neck and pulling him forward. He grunted out a breath as Peter squeezed him gently. Something warm in his chest bubbled up as the kid pressed his weight down on top of him. Peter was safe. His kid was safe and he was here and he…brought Sam? His eyes flicked up to the man in the doorway, staring at him. He could see the worry plastered across his face as his gaze swept up and down Bucky’s body. He quickly averted his attention, bringing his focus back to Peter. “Hey kid,”

Peter pulled back, staring up at the steel-blue eyes across from him. Something in his chest lurched at the sight of Bucky. He could see a fresh patch of blood seeping through the gauze stretched across the Soldier’s abdomen, his hair was all over the place, and those once fierce eyes seemed enveloped in fatigue. His gaze flashed back over to Sam briefly, conveying an unspoken message of uncertainty. 

The concern in Sam’s eyes was clear as day, and Peter wasn't the only one who noticed. 

Bucky could feel the captain's stare boring into him, felt him peeling off the layers and looking at what was underneath. He squirmed slightly on the couch, wincing at the shift of his ribs. He stifled the sound as quickly as it came but it hadn’t gone unnoticed from his previous partner or the kid. He felt like an artifact on display, helpless as they stood there deciphering the things he wasn’t saying, things he most likely wouldn’t be telling them. His stomach tumbled as he glanced down at himself, aware of how alarming this situation probably appeared. The dried clumps of blood flaking off his skin, the dirt and dried sweat greasing up his hair, the general lack of sleep emanating from his entire being. He admitted it was enough to be slightly concerning.

They both shot another glance of unease at each other. Bucky just rolled his eyes, propping himself up further. He was irritated that he couldn't get a good read on them, what with the private conversation they were clearly having about him just between their damn eyes. He groaned as the frustration rose in his chest, trying his best to keep the anger from seeping into his tone as he spoke. “Before either of you get up my ass about this, I'm fine,” Sarcasm laced thickly in between each word. 

Sam stepped towards the couch, raising an eyebrow at Bucky. “You're fine?” He asked, skeptically. “There's literally blood coming out of you right now, and you look like you went toe to toe with a bear…”

“That’s basically what it felt like,” Bucky mumbled under his breath, bringing his hand up to hold pressure over the wound. That wave of anger washed over him again, and dammit he wasn’t sure where it was coming from but it sat there festering. 

Matt sighed as he grabbed the first-aid kit, the metallic tang of blood hitting his nose. “This is why I told you to stay still,” He explained, irritation seeping out as he spoke. He maneuvered past Sam and carefully displaced Peter from Bucky’s side, not missing the small puff of breath the kid let out when he took his place. “This should only take a minute,” Matt explained as he pried the first aid kit open and got to work. 

Peter and Sam watched the man as he undressed the wound, each peering over him to get a better sense of the injury. 

Bucky shifted his attention up from watching Matt’s hands to see two heads above the lawyer's shoulders, spying intently on the procedure. He rolled his eyes, reigning in the bitterness that threatened to spill out before saying “I got shot,” in such a dry tone, that it almost seemed like a normal statement.  He could see discontent written all over Sam’s face but Bucky was taken aback at the alarming expression sprawled across Peter’s. The anger fizzled immediately, replaced with guilt, because he was the reason that both of them were even here in the first place, the reason they were so worried to begin with. He suddenly felt stupid for being so angry. It was them who should be upset, not the other way around. He was the one who went off half-cocked and got himself shot. He had no right to be pissed off unless it was directed at himself. Bucky took a steadying breath before opening his mouth to reply, unsure of what exactly he could say to ease the kid's mind. Matt cut him off before he got the chance.

“Alright, you should be good,” he began, cleaning up the remaining supplies, “But I'm serious, keep still, or I’ll give you a reason to.” He challenged.

“No offense red, but I’d pummel you without breaking a sweat,” Bucky quipped, trying to cut the tension.

Matt turned back, a grin spread across his face “Oh really? Who was it that laid you on your ass on that rooftop again?”

Bucky opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out. 

“I can’t hear you, and I have excellent hearing,” 

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled, rolling his shoulders forward as he knit his eyebrows tightly together. “Why don’t you go do whatever it is you blind lawyers do all day, huh?” 

Matt pushed a breath of air out his nose before heading to the office kitchen to wash his hands. 

Sam’s gaze snapped up, following the man to the kitchen “Wait,” He began, trying to contain the shock in his tone “You’re BLIND?” 

“Yeah, and your shoes are untied,” Matt replied, unimpressed as he dunked his hands under the cool tap water. 

“My shoes are not-” Sam stopped as he glanced at his laces, which were, in fact, untied. His mouth practically dropped to the floor as he processed the information. Bucky had decided to give him the short version of Matt’s “ I can hear and feel things others can’t” speech and then went on to explain how he patched up his abdomen almost flawlessly. 

Peter ducked down in the torn armchair across from them, silently listening to everything that was being said. He couldn’t help but notice that there was still a giant elephant in the room that was going unnoticed. “So,” He began, fiddling with the zipper on his hoodie. 

Bucky, Sam, and now Matt, who had slowly made his way back into the room, all shifted their attention to Peter… who now, apparently, had the spotlight. 

He immediately felt self-conscious, shrinking himself further into the cushions. If he was being completely honest with himself he felt out of place, like he didn’t belong. He was just a kid who, most of the time, had no idea what he was even doing. Meanwhile, Captain America, The Winter Soldier, and Daredevil himself stood across the room, staring at him. Other than Matt, who was just trying his best. He couldn’t help feeling like a fraud, a false hero in the presence of those who were constantly putting things on the line to help others. He winced, thinking about the last time he had tried to be helpful, to play hero, and the chaos that followed. Peter clenched his jaw and shoved the thought down, trying his best to muster up any shred of self-confidence before opening his mouth. 

“All I was going to say–well ask really–” He fumbled, bunching his jacket up in his fist as he tried to get his mind to focus. “What happened?” he finally asked, the words practically spilling out of his mouth. His shoulders relaxed and he slunk back down into the seat as the main attention turned to Bucky and Matt.  

Bucky shifted his weight, kicking his feet out from under him and placing them on the floor so he could sit upright. He moved carefully to not rip any more stitches–Matt would not be happy about that. He leaned his weight against the smooth leather back of the couch, easing the tension from his abdomen and soothing the dull ache from the wound. He watched as Matt wandered through the furniture, plopping onto the side of the couch next to him. Sam and Peter had taken up both armchairs across the room and were staring at him, waiting. He ran his hand through his hair, then continued the movement towards his face, scrubbing away at the exhaustion that was, with no doubt, reflected in his gaze. His hand lazily floated down towards his lap, picking at the tape that held a thick gauze square to his side. He shifted his focus over to Matt, who was just sitting there. He wondered if he could hear the heartbeat hammering away in his chest as he recalled the events from last night. If Matt did notice, he didn’t let it show. 

Bucky placed a steadying hand on his knee, trying to ease the anxiety coursing through his veins. The longer he waited and stalled, the worse it would be to get out. He cleared his throat just before speaking, drawing everyone's eyes towards him, Matt displaying his signature head tilt.  “Well, last night, I stumbled on a lead…to Toomes. I figured I’d go scope it out,” which wasn’t necessarily a lie, he just left out the part about what he would have done if Toomes had actually been there. He also left out the part about him intentionally looking up any and all possible known whereabouts of the Vulture. It probably wouldn’t sit well with at least half the people in this room.  Bucky didn't miss the flicker in Peter’s eyes as he mentioned Toomes. He knew telling the kid ahead of time would have ruined any chance he had of going through with his plan. 

“And…?” Sam asked, clearly waiting for the part of the story where Bucky somehow got his ass handed to him. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and pressed on “And I was met with some asshole who claims to be running this entire operation…he–he caught me off guard,” he said, his voice low and quiet. He did his best to keep the mental image of that goddamn book out of his head. He wasn’t so much embarrassed by the fact that Fisk had gotten into his head, but it did light a nice warm fire under his butt. He pulled his focus back to the conversation. Playing out half-baked scenarios in his head wouldn’t do anyone any good right now. 

“Wait, wait,” Peter started, unfolding himself from the ridiculous origami position he was slouched in. “You went to find Toomes, but found the big bad instead?”

Bucky blinked up at him, confusion written all over his face. “Big bad?”

“Yeah, like the boss man, the guy in charge, the Big Bad,” Peter explained, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. 

“Oh…well then yeah, at least that’s what he implied. He all but admitted that the men at the docks were his, and the Scarlet Swashbuckler over there pretty much confirmed it,” he said, flicking his gaze over to Matt.

Matt grunted, promptly ignoring the new nickname that would not be sticking. “His name is Wilson Fisk,” He announced for what felt like the millionth time, trying to reign in the distaste in his tone as the name rolled off of his tongue. “and his agenda only starts with putting these weapons out on the street,” He continued. “With the streets of New York in chaos over these weapons, he can use the anarchy as a distraction, allowing the perfect opportunity to launch his ‘ A Better Tomorrow’ campaign and convince the city that he is the only hope, placing the real blame on people like us…He will get rid of the vigilantes, the heroes, hell even the Avengers,” he explained, venom laced throughout his tone. The revolving door that was the public opinion of Wilson Fisk was becoming old, and frankly, Matt was exhausted. Maybe this time around they would open all the eyes that seemed so blind to Fisk and his antics. There was still one thing that didn’t make sense to Matt, a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. But maybe someone else knew. “I'm not sure where that red book you mentioned fits in,” He said, turning his head towards the direction Bucky was sitting in. 

Bucky swallowed the lump forming in his throat as his eyes met with Sam’s. The man had a look on his face that exceeded concern, causing Bucky’s heart to lurch in his chest, a wave of dread crashing through him. He was hoping to keep that bit of information from the Captain for a little while, just until he could figure it out for himself without someone breathing down his neck. 

“Red book?” Sam asked sternly, keeping his eyes locked on Bucky. He could feel the unease bubbling up inside of him as he stared at the steely eyes across from him, trying to read past the mask the soldier constantly had plastered across his face. 

Matt could sense the tension radiating through the room accompanied by the sound of heartbeats pounding in chests. There was obviously some unspoken conversation that needed to be had and he wasn’t really in the mood to be a part of it. He pushed himself up off the couch, making his way toward his office. “Pete, care to give me a hand for a minute?” He asked, hoping the excuse wasn’t completely obvious. He wasn't entirely sure if Bucky wanted Peter to know about the book, but considering the way he and Sam were currently staring holes into each other, he figured keeping the kid out of it for now couldn’t hurt. 

Sam waited patiently as Peter pounced off the couch, he and Matt heading into the office and shutting the door behind them. He scraped in a steadying breath before shifting his attention back to Bucky, that stupid emotionless mask still glued onto his face. “So this red book, is it what I think it is?” Sam prodded, trying to keep a lid on the alarm edged in his voice. 

Bucky kept his gaze on Sam, trying to read him, figure out where he was going with his questioning. The consternation was expected, but not to this degree. He could see the agitation brewing behind the Captain's stare, stirring up something in Bucky. He didn't like it. “Yes.” he kept his tone flat, even. 

Sam sighed, dropping his shoulders slightly as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on top of each knee. “That’s why you’re so involved in this case, why you’ve been so keen on helping Peter and, this other guy?” He asked, a small hint of defeat in his tone. 

Bucky furrowed his brows, confusion making an appearance across his face. “What? No. I didn’t even know that this guy had it before last night…he- that's not why I'm doing this…” He explained. It was true, Bucky had much bigger reasons for getting involved with this case. That didn’t mean that this couldn’t take a slightly higher priority than some of those other reasons. If Hydra was involved then Bucky would be too, because no way would he let that monster rise up from the grave he buried it in. He had reasons for stopping Fisk before, but now, it had now become his mission. But he also had the sense to understand what things came first, the importance of keeping a personal vendetta out of it. 

“Look Buck, I’m not going to stop you and I won't try to talk you out of it, I know you too well to think that would ever work,” Sam started, his tone soft and low, “but-” He folded his hands in on themselves, twisting them as the anxiety churned inside of him. He was worried about pushing Bucky too hard, forcing him to put the walls back up that they had worked so hard to bring down together. 

“The last time Hydra was involved, you put everything into bringing them down, you and Steve…and then he left, and you pushed everyone out, isolated yourself,” he explained, dropping his arms to his side. “I can see the difference in you, and I'm scared it will go away, that you’ll go back to locking yourself away from the world…”

Bucky glanced down at the ground, unable to meet Sam’s eyes. He knew it was a valid concern because the same thought had been rolling around in the back of his mind. He had hated who he was, hated the way he saw the world and how the world saw him. Steve had been his rock and Hydra had been his mission, and he had lost both in a matter of months. He was glad to wash his hands of Hydra and settle down into a life, but it hadn't hit him until Steve was gone that he had no one to share that life with–and he was well aware that no one wanted to anyway. He wasn’t necessarily okay with it, but he had accepted it. The universe didn't need anything from Bucky Barnes, and Bucky Barnes didn’t need anything from the universe. He was fine with being isolated, living out his life as an empty shell until he was needed again …if he was needed again. That was, of course, until a specific curly-headed hyperactive spider kid began filling the cold empty hole in his chest. He just wasn’t sure that he could ever be enough for Peter. His eyes burned and his heart sank in his chest as he attempted to push the thought away, clenching his jaw to hold back the emotion as he dragged his attention back up to Sam. “That won’t happen this time,”

“Buck,”

“It won't,” He pressed

Sam hunched his shoulders, sighing before replying, “How?… How can you be so sure?” He stared into his friend's eyes, past the rough shield he had up, past the numbing mask he always wore. He wanted to believe that Bucky could do this, complete this mission of taking down Hydra without getting swept up in the current of it. He wasn’t sure he could watch that again, watch his best friend drown while he stood at the surface wishing he was the lifeline that could pull him back. Only one person had managed to be that for Bucky, and Sam was a fool if he thought just because he wore the stars and stripes that made him an adequate replacement. 

Bucky pulled his thoughts forward, focusing on the man across from him as he shifted forward in his seat. “Because, this time I have a reason to stay, a reason to keep my head on straight.” He explained, his voice low yet raw, emotion slipping in through his words. He threw a glance over to the office door that stood closed.

Sam followed the soldier’s eyes to the thick timber structure, staring for a moment before it hit him. Something warm bloomed in his core, replacing the unease that stirred inside of him. “The kid.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, the ghost of a smile dancing across his face. He could feel the tension slipping out of his muscles as he leaned back into the leather couch. He knew he might never be enough for Peter, especially following in Tony’s footsteps. He had a lot to prove to Stark , especiall y when it came to the kid. They might not be the most cohesive pair, and it might take more effort than they were both prepared for, but somehow, he knew they would figure it out together, just like he and Steve had. 

“It's funny…he reminds me of Steve in more ways than one. But–.” Bucky paused, pulling his hand up to rest at the base of his neck. “I see a lot of myself in him,” and he had to stop himself before explaining that it wasn't the bad broken parts of himself he saw mirrored in the kid, but rather the driven, ambitious parts of him before James Barnes even knew what war was. Peter was a strong kid, but he was also a kid who had seen things, and been through things that no teenager ever should. It made something in Bucky’s chest ache, for the kid that probably never got to have that sense of normalcy. He couldn’t take back the things that had happened, but he did have a say in their futures, and no mission was worth destroying that.

Sam didn't miss the light airiness of Bucky’s tone as he spoke about Peter, causing his own lips to curl upward. The last sliver of anxiety dissipated as he watched the tension drain out of the soldier's body, eyes still locked onto the door. He brushed a hand over his head, leaning back into the crunchy leather chair. 

“Alright, so what’s the plan?”

Chapter Text

It hadn’t really occurred to Matt until the latch of the office door closed that there wasn’t anything in particular he had needed Peter’s help with. He just wanted to give Bucky and Sam some space. He could feel the awkwardness floating through the air, the quiet tension building between him and the kid. 

“So…uh,” Peter started, wringing his hands together while rocking his feet back and forth. He was waiting for the lawyer to point in a direction and tell him to get to work…but that hadn’t happened yet. 

Matt stood there dumbly, trying to rack his brain for any excuse as to why he dragged Peter in here. Nothing. 

“Look, I'm not dumb, okay?” Peter began, irritation slithering into his tone. “I know Bucky and Sam need space…” Peter was used to being shoved out of rooms when the ‘adults’ had wanted to talk. He found that pattern more and more frustrating as time went on because he didn't feel like a kid anymore. Sure, everyone called him that, and he really didn’t mind. But he had seen his fair share of violence, blood, all the other things they were afraid to bring up around him. He was sick of being treated like some fragile adolescent. And yet, after everything he had done, all the damage created by his own hands, maybe this is what he deserved.

Matt faintly picked up on the increased fluttering of Peter’s heart, the hands at his sides that were balled into fists. “I never said you were,” He responded, his tone light and low. 

“Yeah, you didn't have to…” Peter muttered under his breath, slouching further down the wall.

“Peter–”

No fair. Matt wasn’t allowed to butt in after hearing something he wasn’t supposed to just because he had superhuman senses. If anything, he should be using his skills to eavesdrop on whatever those two were whispering about out there. Peter could feel the anger rising in his gut as it snaked up his spine. He pulled in a steadying breath, leaning his shoulder back against the frame of the doorway. 

Peter was used to being an afterthought, a voice that usually got buried under the group, a face that often got lost in the crowd. Mr. Stark had been good about including him, getting him involved. But even Ironman put limits in place when it came to a teenager fighting crime. He had fought half the Avengers, been to space, and saved the entire planet. Yet, he still felt like an incompetent child being shoved into daycare anytime the adults needed to handle anything even remotely dangerous. All he wanted to do was help, and maybe asking for another chance at that was too much. But it didn’t feel selfish. It didn’t feel like his chance to right his wrongs despite the harm he had brought to others. It was his responsibility. He had the power to help, and sitting back while the world burned was no different than lighting the match. 

“Look, I don’t think they want to keep you out of it because they believe you can’t handle it…” Matt tried explaining, keeping his tone calm. He knew Bucky trusted the kid, what with the way he tried bulldozing out off the couch in the state he was in. It was obvious he cared for Peter, wanted only the best for the kid. But what if he was going about it all wrong? He could feel the fire in Peter’s tone, the determination in his heart to do the right thing. It reminded him of himself in a way. 

It didn’t seem to matter much to Peter, because whatever the reason, they had still isolated him. It made him feel less than useful. He had been trying to prove to anyone he could that he was better. That he had changed since his last Major Disaster. Peter wasn’t fooling himself, he knew the world didn’t trust him after the mess with Dr. Strange. Hell he didn’t even trust himself, he was stupid to ever think the Winter Soldier, Daredevil, or Captain America would. 

“It’s fine, Mr. Murdock, really,” and it wasn’t necessarily a lie. Because it was fine, it was what he was used to. He didn’t like it, and he most likely would never fully let go of that anger, but it’s the way things were. 

Matt sighed, bringing his hand up halfway before stopping himself, second-guessing if the embrace would cut the tension or only add to it. He could tell the kid wasn’t in a sharing mood, but the things he was saying and his body language were on completely different ends of the spectrum. The kid was saying it was fine, but the thrumming in his chest, the sweat dripping down his forehead, and the overall bounciness…it didn’t add up. Clearly, there was something he preferred to keep to himself. Matt understood the feeling. He didn’t want to push the kid further, but he couldn’t help feeling that leaving it here would do no one any good. 

“Okay,” He began, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Peter, just–you have people in your corner that want to help you. Maybe try letting them once in a while? Hm?” 

Peter kept his gaze on his shoes. He knew Matt couldn’t see him but he didn’t want to look up and risk seeing that look on his face, on everyone's face when they told him things like that. It wasn’t pity, but it danced along that line and he was sick of seeing it. He nodded before replying “Yeah, maybe…” 

Matt sighed, his shoulders dropping at the response. There weren't voices filtering through the outside room and he could tell the conversation between him and the kid had hit a dead end.  He decided to drop it and waltzed back over to the office door. 

~~~~~~

The car ride back to Peter’s apartment was more awkward than it should have been. Bucky could tell something was off with the kid as he sat quietly in the back seat, and Sam insisted on going with them. Bucky knew Peter’s ribs were still healing and his bullet wound hadn’t fully closed, but he’d like to think they would’ve been fine on their own. 

Peter had plopped down on the chair by the window when they finally made it up to the apartment. The exhaustion from worrying about Bucky had finally hit him, sinking deep into his bones. He caught the soldier glancing over at him now and again, Peter just didn’t have the energy to say anything about it. He didn't necessarily think the frustration was outright displayed on his face, but he also wasn’t doing much to hide it either. He leaned his head back as his eyes drifted closed. It had been a long day, week, month, he wasn’t even sure the last time he had a decent night's sleep. It had been all-consuming, taking on this case. Once he learned about Toomes’s involvement he knew he had to give it his all. He couldn't mess it up like last time, not with another Avenger watching him. He was on thin ice at his job after disappearing for a week and studying for his GED had been shoved so far down on his list of priorities that he was sure May was rolling in her grave. He flinched at the thought and tried clearing his head. What he needed now was a nap. 

Bucky made his way to the tattered couch shoved in the corner of Peter’s apartment, directly behind and across from the chair at the window. He wouldn’t force the kid into any kind of conversation right now, especially not with Sam hovering. Bucky’s abdomen was still sore with any strenuous movement, but he was completely fine, in no need of a babysitter. There was no doubt that Sam still had things he wanted to say. About Steve, Hydra, the kid…who knows. After these past twenty-four hours, what they all needed right now was rest. 

~~~~~~~

Peter had almost fully drifted off, listening to Sam and Bucky bicker in the background about wizards and sorcerers. It was oddly relaxing, until the rushed sounds of footsteps pulled him from his daydreaming. They seemed to be coming from the stairwell, and by the looks of it, neither Sam nor Bucky had picked up on it. He pulled himself up from the chair, waltzing lazily towards the door to ensure it was locked. Whoever was running around the hallways wasn’t someone Peter felt like concerning himself with right now. He had just reached the door when that oh-so-familiar rose-scented perfume filtered through the gaps. His hand stopped halfway towards grabbing the handle, seconds before there was a brisk knocking on the door. 

Sam and Bucky both shot their heads up, attention fully on whoever was knocking. Peter could see the attentiveness in Bucky. The man seemed prepared to jump right in if Fisk or Toomes had decided to make a house call. Sam was already on his way towards the door when Peter turned on his heels putting his hand up. 

“I got it don’t worry!” he said, too nervous, too fast, because now both men had similar looks of unease settling on their faces. Peter opened the door to greet those big brown eyes he loved so much. They were staring at him, a mixture of relief and anger wavering behind them.

“MJ..” He said, the tension draining from his shoulders as soon as he laid eyes on her. 

She met his gaze, doing her best to peek around the small crack in the door. “Peter, where the hell have you been?” she asked, concern laced between her words. 

“I–I’ve…um–”

Before the words even had a chance to fully form in his mind she was shoving past him gently, squeezing herself halfway into the apartment. Peter could feel her body tense, freezing as soon as her gaze flitted to the two men in his apartment. 

“P-Peter…why is Captain American and…is that the Winter Soldier? Why, what–”

“MJ…MJ, stop,” And it was all he could do to remove her from the door frame, closing the entrance behind him before looking directly at her, her eyes wide and full of questions. He sighed before dropping his head. “Look, I promise I will explain everything…just, not here. Okay?” 

~~~~~~~~

Peter had somehow managed to get MJ out of the apartment complex and down to street level. They were both walking but he had no idea where. He just kept going, trying to pull out any excuse as to why two Avengers were sitting up in his apartment right now. He had to be Peter Parker–civilian, nerd, pizza delivery boy. Not Spider-Man. Under no circumstances would he tell MJ he was Spider-Man. But he wasn’t sure he had answers to the questions she likely had, and MJ deserved answers. He had pushed himself back into her life, and he felt like a fraud for lying to her. MJ might find out he was Spider-Man, and like the rest of the city, she would turn her back on him too and–

“Peter…”

Peter snapped his head up from the curb he had been staring at. He had to stop winding himself up, it was a dangerous habit to pull his focus away from the current situation. He looked over at MJ before locking his gaze back on the sidewalk. He wasn’t sure he could look her in the eyes for this conversation. 

“What’s going on? You’ve been silent for the last several days, and–and I show up to find two Avengers in your apartment?” 

He could hear the concern etched into her tone. He had been radio silent for the past several days, but it wasn’t like he could tell her why.

  Hey MJ, sorry I haven't been answering your calls and texts. My good friend, who happens to be the Winter Soldier–yes the reformed assassin– was missing and badly injured so I had to work with the new Captain America and Daredevil to go find him. Oh but dont worry because I'm fine even though my ribs were crushed by The Vulture a few days prior. 

He sighed and shoved the idea from his mind, trying to focus on any information he could use to explain away this impossible situation. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, the anxiety flushing his cheeks and cramping up his hands. Focus Peter, now is not the time for a freaking panic attack. That would make this entire situation look way worse. 

 He settled on “It’s not what it looks like…” hoping it eased some of her concern.

Without missing a beat, MJ stopped in her tracks and shot her attention up to Peter, forcing his eyes to meet hers. “Oh really? And what does it look like huh?”

Peter wanted to kick himself. He was an idiot to think avoidance was the best tactic with her. She was literally amazing at analyzing and picking apart conversations. He was shocked she hadn’t already figured out his secret on her own…again! 

“I’m just…I’m helping them with a case is all,” He spilled out, barely forming the words before they left his mouth. Rushing for an explanation probably didn’t help him look less suspicious. “They’re working with Spider-Man and I’m–” and it was too late to take back because the words had already left his mouth. He wanted to scream. He could already see her expression morph into one of shock. Okay, he could explain this away, he could–if he’d just pull his focus together for half a second. 

MJ’s eyes had a new fire in them, one Peter had remembered the first time. When they had found out Mysterio was playing them and he’d had no choice but to accept her help. Nope, he wasn’t doing this to her again. Crushing her hope and excitement now was far better than finding her crushed under a slab of cement just like–

“--Friends!” He practically shouted, drawing in a deep breath to calm down before continuing. “I’m Friends with uh, with Spider-Man, so…yeah.” He could feel himself let go of the air he didn't realize he was holding in, a rush of sweet relief flooding his lungs. He didn’t want to look into her eyes right now, but Peter made himself peer up at MJ, seeing the look of defeat there as clear as day. Something inside of him fractured, watching her hope deflate ever so slightly. It crushed him, but he knew in the end, it would keep her safe. 

“Oh…so, why do they need help from a friend of Spider-man...and not the bug himself?” She asked, the wheels behind her eyes turning to figure out any sense behind Peter’s so-called story. He had to admit, it wasn’t a question he was expecting, but if he was being fair, this entire conversation was unexpected and unplanned. Just another obstacle to climb over here.  

“The city…they still don’t fully trust Spider-Man, so I’ve been acting as, like, the middle man…” He continued walking forward. The people of Brooklyn had been less than happy to continue stepping around them, it was at least one part of this conversation he had control of. “The less the Avengers are seen with him…the uh, the better for their image,” He explained, placing a hand behind his neck. 

It wasn’t necessarily a lie. The Avengers were better off keeping their distance from him, they just had a few members who were too stubborn to see that. The city hadn’t trusted Peter since the incident with Mysterio. He had fought tooth and nail to show them he was still their friendly-neighborhood superhero. But even with all the good he had done, he was still met with foul words and hurdling objects being thrown his way. 

MJ stepped in line alongside him, wandering close enough towards him that their hands bumped every now and again. It sent a wave of warmth through Peter, his hand tingling with each passive swipe. 

“Well…the city is stupid,” she retorted. 

Peter almost stopped in his tracks, pushing forward through sheer will. He swept his gaze over to MJ as she spoke, a new kind of fire sparking in her eyes. “It’s obvious that all Spider-Man has been trying to do is help, but they’d rather believe a random guy with a fishbowl on his head, who literally calls himself Mysterio, than the guy who has fought alongside the Avengers.” She explained, anger flaring in her tone. 

And it was all Peter could do to duck his head and suppress the smile that crept up on his lips. He could feel a small weight being lifted off his shoulders. The idea that MJ might not hate him if she ever found out his secret was like a breath of fresh air after being trapped underwater forever. He quickly composed himself, placing that mask of neutrality across his face. “Yeah well, try explaining that to the whole of New York,”

He was sure the people of New York would never fully trust him again. He was positive that things would never go back to the way they were, swinging through kids as they cheered him on in the streets, finding insane murals of himself plastered across the city. But somehow none of that seemed to matter, because MJ still trusted him, or his alter ego per se. The one person whose opinion he valued over all else, she still believed in him, even when it seemed he had lost that within himself. 

“I don’t need to. The city is twisted and their morals are beyond messed up. But I know what I believe, and it’s clear to me who the good guy here is.” She explained, flashing that glowing smile up at Peter. 

His heart practically melted at the gesture and he grabbed her hand as they continued walking to their endless destination. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, break the silence that they had both become so comfortable in. Just two people strolling down the streets of Brooklyn together. Normal. 

His curiosity got the better of him and he found himself talking before he even registered it happening. “How…how did you know where to find me, MJ?” His tone was light, a hint of skepticism in between. 

He could see the way her cheeks flushed as she pulled her hand away to rest on the back of her neck. “Ned…may, or may not have, hacked your phone…and sort of tracked your location…” She explained, guilt spreading across her face. 

Peter could feel a smile tugging at his lips, that same warm feeling flooding through him. “Oh, so now you're stalking me?” He joked. 

MJ furrowed her brows “What? No!” She retorted, tucking a piece of hair behind her ears before saying “I…I was just worried.”

 She had really been that worried about him. It was dumb to feel giddy over it, Peter couldn’t help it. She was adorable. He snatched up her hand, interlocking their fingers as they continued on.

They fell back into pace with each other, that same quiet engulfing them. With anyone else, he was sure it would feel awkward, that he would feel out of place. But with MJ he only ever felt right. 

It was MJ who broke the silence this time. “So…Captain American and the Winter Soldier huh?” She asked, whistling for dramatic effect. 

“Yeah…” He said, an awkward laugh escaping his lips. 

The quiet resumed as they moved in rhythm, stepping side by side as one. The smell of garbage and filth wafted through the air, debris littering the streets they walked along, and yet Peter didn’t seem to notice. When he was next to MJ, the rest of the world fell away, his worries along with it. It was the first time in a while he had felt truly relaxed. He smiled up at her, gently squeezing her hand before looking back ahead. He could feel the fluttering of his heart as the tender hand within his lightly squeezed back. 

Chapter Text

Matt had just plopped down onto his sofa, his muscles relaxing into the soft fabric. His mind flitted between conscious and unconscious, begging for several solid hours of nice, uninterrupted sleep. After that circus shitshow he just dealt with, sleep was exactly what he needed. 

The soft whispering voices pulled his focus towards the door, adrenaline spiking before he could place who they belonged to. He pushed up from the couch, wandering over to the door and unlatching the knob before his visitors even had a chance to knock. He carefully swung the door open, leaving it ajar as he waltzed back inside, grabbing a handful of drinks. 

“Matt,” Foggy started as he walked through the entryway. “You look….like shit,” He said. 

Matt placed the drinks on the counter, sliding one to Foggy and the other to Karen. “Thanks, Fogg, I really appreciate it,” He said dryly. He backed up into the crevice of the counter, leaning his hip against the cabinet. 

Karen reached for the drink, catching it as it slid across the marble top. She assessed Matt carefully, trying to keep him from catching on. She could tell he was exhausted, what with the way he was practically slumped over the counter. He had left his glasses on the table near the sofa. The circles under his eyes spoke volumes.

 “So…I take it your guests made it home okay?” She asked, dancing around the subject. 

Matt yawned, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. Caring for a cranky, stubborn assassin wouldn’t make his list of top ten best evenings, that’s for sure.  “Yeah, they’re a little banged up but they’ll be fine..” Bucky and Peter were tough, and they both had advanced healing. Unfair if you asked him. 

“So…we’re really doing this for a third time? Taking down Fisk?” Foggy asks, the distaste for the subject apparent in his tone. He fuddled with the label on his beer, trying to hide the ever-present anxiety rushing through him. The last time he had dealt with Fisk, the man had gotten his family involved. It wasn’t something one simply let go of. He wasn’t sure if he ever would, but seeing the crime lord behind bars would surely help.

They were all tired of catching a man who seemed practically invincible. They would take a step forward and Fisk would shove them fifteen steps back. It was frustrating, fighting in a losing battle. Matt had had enough, and with more people being brought into the fold now, they may have a chance. He figured he had been quiet for too long when he heard Karen’s breathing change, her mouth opening to speak. 

“Matt?” She asked, her voice light and calm. 

The way her tone felt practiced, her presence withdrawn and cold, Matt could tell Karen was avoiding a touchy subject, beating around the bush. It wasn’t something she typically did, which is why he was almost sure they had caught on to his plan… great.

Foggy groans, seemingly catching on.. “oh no…not this this again…”

Something inside of Matt makes itself known, the fury twisting his insides like a wet rag. “Look Foggy…you just said it yourself. Three times…three times we have tried to catch Fisk. He’s unstoppable…” And they all know it's true. Not a single one of them can deny it because they were all there. They had all lost something…someone to that monster, and Matt will be damned if he lets it happen again. He pulls in a deep breath, trying his best to reign in the wrath. 

Silence. No one speaks up. Matt can hear the pounding of heartbeats in chests, the adrenaline that’s spiked throughout the room. It leaves an eerie feeling in the air and a bad taste in his mouth. He can hear Karen draw in a breath as she shifts on her feet, her pulse jumping as she opens her mouth. “Unless…unless you kill him?”

Matt’s sure his knuckles go white as his nails press into his palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks behind. His mind reels back to Father Lantom, to sister Maggie. They had both warned him about this path, the choices that led to it, and the consequences that followed. But this was Fisk they were talking about. There was no alternative, not that would keep the man caged. 

“Matt, this whole internal moral debate almost destroyed you the first time, there has to be another way!” Karen says sternly, her tone rising as her pulse thrums in her veins. She can see the frustration all over his face, the war he is waging within himself, and all she can think about is what it would do to him. To take a life. Because a part of her already knows, that when you take a life away, a part of yourself goes with it. It’s not something she would ever wish upon Matt Murdock, no matter how much of the Devil he sees within himself…he is blind after all. She can see Foggy from the corner of her eye, that stupid hopeful look plastered across his face, and she couldn’t be more grateful for it. 

“Yeah, I mean especially if we’re involving Avengers this time!” Foggy chimes in, stepping closer to the counter. “we could have a real chance here Matty!”

“Fogg…” Matt says quietly.

“I mean…what if they have a super secret base where they collect evidence? Maybe they have a bunch of dirt on Fisk that we could never get…” Fggy starts.

“Foggy…” Matt pushes, the tension rising up his spine. 

“Oh! Or what if they have some crazy underground prison where he could never possibly escape from?” 

“Foggy!” Matt yells. He can hear the small wince that slips from his best friend's lips. A wave of guilt crashed over him. There was a reason he didn’t want to involve them. Pushing them away the last time hadn’t been purely because of Fisk…he didn’t want them to see the person he would have to become. It was happening all over again. “Look…I’m sorry to disappoint you…the both of you.” he sighed, tugging his hand through his hair. “ This is Wilson Fisk we’re talking about….there is no other way…” 

They both stare at him for what feels like an eternity, neither one saying a word. The silence feels deafening to Matt’s ears, and he can feel his own heartbeat thundering away as he waits for…something. 

“No…” Karen spits out, fire in her tone. 

“Karen,” 

“No Matt! I refuse to believe that! There is another way, we just have to find it.” Her voice booms, looming over everything Matt had just declared. 

The pit in Matt’s stomach sank, fear radiating through him before he could get a hold of it. “We?” There was no ‘we’, not when it came to Fisk. He knew them now…he knew their weaknesses, their strength. There wasn't a single advantage to their attack this time, and Matt knew he would be going out into the open. No way would he drag Karen and Foggy with…not again. 

“Yeah, you heard her right. We.” Foggy retorted, flashing a glance over at Karen.

His pulse was rushing in his ears, the heat radiating to his face. “No, you guys…this is too dangerous, he’s already injured the freaking Winter Soldier..” Matt seethed, trying to get control of the anger flooding through him. He hated the way that man made him feel, the control he had over him just by mentioning his name. 

“Yeah well from how you explained it, that guy got caught off guard b for a good reason…I don’t think I’d handle seeing my brainwashing manual again that well either…” Foggy states, leaning back and twisting open his beer. 

He was calm, they both were. Too calm. This was Fisk dammit and Matt needed them to be taking this seriously. He moved away from the counter, pacing alongside the entrance hallway. He could feel the sweat building in his palms, the flash of adrenaline that spiked through him. 

Karen could see the turmoil that was already tearing Matt apart, the way Fisk was already getting in his head. They weren't just going to stand idly by and watch Matt destroy himself, not this time. “Foggy is right. Matt, whether you like it or not we’re involved in this, and we are helping take Fisk down…for good this time. Heart beating and all.”  

“Yeah…the three amigos are back!” Foggy added.

Matt stopped and turned his head in their direction, their hearts still pounding in their chests, and it hit him. It wasn’t fear…it was anger, determination. Because they were all there, they had all lived through the torment Fisk put them through. And still, a seed of doubt remained in his mind, because Wilson Fisk was a monster, with no leash, no boundaries, and this was definitely not an even playing field. “And if we can’t stop him?” 

Karen walked up next to him, placing her hand gently on Matt’s shoulder, calming the anxiety that was buzzing off of him. “Well…we will cross that bridge when we get to it,” She said, her voice soft and light. Calming. 

Matt leaned into the touch, the churning in his stomach settling ever so slightly. She had always kept his mind clear, helped guide him back to reality. But right now, he needed to be that same guide for her. “Karen…there is no bridge. I don’t think you two understand this. The bridge is gone..it’s a giant pit…one that if you climb down into, you may not be able to get back out again…” Matt backed away from her slightly, his mind racing with a million thoughts, all surrounding Fisk. 

“Yikes…that was vaguely philosophical,” Foggy quipped, looking between Matt and Karen, the frowns very clearly plastered across their faces.

“Fogg, I’m not kidding. He’s out for blood this time…we need to be too, otherwise we will lose.” Matt urged, trying to hide the frustration creeping in between his words. 

“Alright…” Karen aquicised , nodding towards Matt. 

Matt and Foggy both froze, turning their attention fully to Karen. Matt was sure he just imagined the words that slipped from her lips, because no way would she just openly agree to this.

“Karen wha-“Foggy started, the surprise spilling onto his face

Karen shot a look at Foggy before stepping back towards the kitchen.“Foggy…it’s fine.” She grabbed her drink, turning back to Matt, looking directly at him. She could tell he was keyed in, the way his head  was tilted, his eyes floating, yet focused. “We will help, and if it comes down to getting our hands dirty…we will do it.” She explained, hearing the smallest protest from Foggy. “But…we’re going to try everything we can before it gets to that. We can talk to the Avengers, see what resources they have. You owe it to yourself to try everything you can, before we result to that. ” 

Matt’s mind raced, reeling back to past scenarios. He couldn’t risk seeing Karen or Foggy hurt again. But he also couldn’t’t  push them away, not like last time. He knew he was stuck, at an impasse. The dread seeped into his gut, making its home there. Fisk won't fight fair, he never has, and as long as he’s breathing, he never will. The only person who seemed to understand that was the Soldier, the man who had been through hell. And yet, he couldn’t ignore what Karen had said…he owed it to himself. Matt didn’t feel like he owed himself anything, not after failing twice to put Fisk away, after watching both of his friends get hurt. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to Bucky, to see what options the Avengers had, and if it came down to it, he knew the soldier would help him do what was needed. 

Matt walked back over to the corner cabinet, pressing back into the corner. He spun the unopened bottle between his hands. He pulled in a deep breath before drawing his focus back up to his best friends. 

“Okay.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky could hear the door latch gently before Sam turned back around,  the ghost of a smile forming on the man's face as he spoke. 

“So, that’s the girl he’s been talking so much about huh?” Sam asked jokingly. 

Bucky smiled at the comment. Peter often spoke about MJ whenever he could, finding any opportune time to bring her up. Bucky was almost sure that the kid wasn’t always aware he was doing it. “Yeah, her name is MJ.” He explained, leaning back on the sofa. “I haven’t met her directly, but they seem to be good for each other…and Peter really cares about her.” That much was obvious. Bucky was sure he hadn’t seen a relationship like that since the forties. Steve had tried to hide his feelings for Peggy, not let them get in the way of the Howling Commandos and their mission. The only one he was fooling was himself. Bucky and the rest of the gang could see right through his horse-shit excuses. He was fully, head to toe, in love with the woman. Bucky still remembered her walking into that bar with that brilliant red dress–the way he had asked her to dance and was completely ignored, unseen. It really had been a first for him. Honestly, Bucky was just grateful at the time that Steve had found someone– if only things hadn’t gotten so messed up. 

“Ahh to be young and in love” Sam quipped, plopping down onto the couch next to Bucky. He could almost see the wheels in the soldier's brain spinning, winding up thought after thought, spitting out scenarios, memories, who knows what. He lightly nudged his elbow into Bucky’s side, careful to avoid any tender spots. “Alright, what’s going on in that cyborg head of yours, huh?” 

It took everything in Bucky to suppress the urge to roll his eyes right out of his head. Of course, Sam would be able to pick up on the slightest hint that something was off. It was starting to get annoying. “Its noth-”

“Ah ah! Dont you dare say it's nothing. I'm sick of hearing that, especially from you. Last time you said it was nothing I found you staying with a kid I didn’t even remember existed, hunting down flying birds and purple glowing guns…” Sam started, the smallest amount of irritation seeping into his tone. 

He sort of had a point there. Bucky did drop the ball with that one, albeit mostly for Peter’s sake. But this was different, this was his own problem, and he didn’t need Sam inserting himself in the middle of it. 

“Besides, I can see the way you're hiding behind that dumb mask you always put up…something is bothering you,” He finished, rolling his eyes to really drive the point home. 

Bucky huffed, drawing in a deep breath to keep himself calm. He shouldn’t be angry at Sam for checking in on him, but Bucky never really did have a good handle on his emotions. The only thing he could do was–how did Sam put it–wear that “dumb mask”. He wouldn’t deny it, Sam was right. That mask was the only thing he knew, the only surefire way to hide his true feelings, because even though he hated those Hydra assholes, they were right about one thing…operating without emotions getting in the way was just…easier. “I'm fine…” 

Sam leaned back, staring at the soldier for a second before letting out a defeated breath. He knew Bucky wasn’t good with sharing. Clearly, he missed the day of kindergarten when they taught that lesson. He wasn’t going to pretend to understand the things that Bucky was going through, the things he had already gone through. But he refused to stand idly by, watching his friend push people away and build those iron walls back up. Around and around they would go. Sam asking if he was okay, Bucky deflecting and changing the topic. It never went anywhere, and nothing ever changed. It was time to put an end to that charade.

 Sam fidgeted for a moment, unsure if what he was about to say would piss his friend off more, or finally break down that barrier. Fuck it, it was worth a shot. “If–If Steve were here…” Sam started, immediately regretting opening his big fat mouth when he saw the look on Bucky’s face. He had already started, no going back now. “You’d tell him…you would let him in, man…” He kept his eyes down, staring a hole through the beaten-down coffee table in front of them. 

Bucky let the mask slip for a fraction of a second, shock taking over before he slid that simple neutral look back over his face. Sam wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t matter. Bringing up ghosts was a waste of everyone's time. “Yeah, well…he’s not,” Bucky snapped. He could see the hurt wash over Sam’s face.

They both sat there quietly, neither one finding the right words to say. Bucky sighed gently, trying to ease some of the tension before finally speaking up. “He’s not…he’s….he’s off somewhere, living an actual life,” 

Sam looked up at him, stunned by the flat expression plastered across the soldier's face. How Bucky could stay calm and collected when talking about this baffled him, to say the least. “Yeah, and he just–he left you here Buck.” His mind reeled back to that day, the way his world got flipped upsideown. Sam hated thinking about it, hated remembering that sinking feeling he felt when his friend didn’t return to the platform. He remembered seeing Steve on that bench and the look on Bucky’s face. It hadn’t been surprise, it hadn’t even been anger, and still to this day, Sam didn’t understand. 

“No, Sam…he didn’t.” Bucky started, the tension settling in his shoulders. “I…I trapped him here.” The truth was, he knew. He knew that Steve wouldn’t be there forever, not for him. He wasn’t enough to keep his best friend in this shithole, constantly fighting wars that weren’t his, constantly picking up the broken pieces of someone that had been lost decades ago. He had become the very shackles that bound Steve, and letting him go might’ve been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do…but seeing the look on Steve’s face when he spoke of Peggy, had made it all worth it. Bucky knew Steve had gone back and forth about the idea of leaving. He knew his best friend had been riddled with doubt and guilt, all because of him. The day Steve told him that he wasn’t coming back…it had hurt like hell. He could still feel it, that hole that was there, the emptiness that Sam was trying so hard to fill. But he knew he couldn’t live with himself if he’d told Steve to stay, no matter how much he wanted it. 

Bucky had already seen what the back and forth was doing to Steve…how it was ripping him apart. And god he wished he could’ve made it easier for the man, allowed him to live that comfortable life with Peggy without the guilt eating at him in the background, because he knew it was there. Bucky knew his best friend had lived that life with a seed of doubt planted in the back of his mind, one that he had planted there. 

“Sometimes…I think of how much easier it would have been, if Steve never saw my face…” He wasn’t sure why he said it, almost like the words had just slipped out. He could see the look on Sam’s face before turning away. It was the same look Steve always gave him when he’d wake up screaming, or have a flashback that seemed too real. 

The words got stuck in Sam’s throat, his thoughts tumbling around in his head because no way he heard that right. He stared at the man, not even trying to hide the obvious shock he was feeling. Steve and Bucky…anytime he thought of one, the other would immediately pop into his brain. The two best friends who would sacrifice everything for each other—hell—Bucky had sacrificed himself for Steve. There was no way James Buchanan Barnes was better off without Steve Rogers…but maybe Bucky had thought Steve Rogers was better without— “Easier for you….or him?”

Bucky looked down, avoiding Sam’s analytical gaze. He could feel his skin crawling, like ants burrowing into his flesh. Sitting still was becoming a herculean task alongside trying to convey his portrayal of ‘being fine’ to the man sitting next to him. Bucky stood quickly from the couch, brushing his hands down his pants before making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water.  

He knew Sam had some weird way of being able to read him. It reminded him of Steve in a way. But this wasn’t something Sam, or even Steve, would understand. For the first twenty-some years of his life, he was normal. He had family dinners, nights out on the town, fights with his sisters…all the things he missed. They were gone, a distant memory that came and went. Bucky wasn’t sure he knew who that person was anymore. All he had known for the past seventy years of his life were three simple things. Mission. Report. Cryo. Repeat. How could he even begin to explain to Sam that he didn’t know how to just…be a person?

 “...Forget it…”

“Buck…” Sam turned, fully facing his counterpart. He was trying his best to put any looks of unease and concern away, to keep that careful neutrality Bucky was so used to, spread across himself. It wasn’t an easy task, especially with the shit spewing out of Bucky’s mouth right now. He could see the way Bucky gripped the counter tighter, the tension blazing through him like a raging wildfire. What he wouldn’t give to get up into that cyborg brain, and yet, that same idea terrified the crap out of him. One thing was for certain…the things Bucky was saying…the man really, truly believed them, with every ounce of his being. 

“You really think that’s true…don’t you?” Sam asked sadness deep in his tone. 

Bucky stood there, hands wrapped tightly around the lip of the counter, head hanging low. He couldn’t risk looking at Sam. Not right now. 

Sam stood from where he was sitting, twisting his way around the couch to come face to face with Bucky, leaving a fair bit of distance between them. “So what, you think living as a weapon…a sword that they could just store away in some freezer when not needed…you think that would have been…easier? Buck, they sent you out to do things…things that–hell I can't even imagine…and when they were done with you…they’d throw you back in that cramped metal box for god knows how long…” Sam said, anger rising in his tone. He could feel the heat rushing to his face, the muscle in his shoulder hunching forward as he spoke. “You cannot seriously believe that that is easier!”

Something inside of Bucky snapped, rage crashing into him like a tidal wave. He could feel the marble counter strain under his tight grasp. “Yeah well, it was! Because at least then I was only hurting people under their control, not my own!” He couldn’t stop the words as they flew out of his mouth, instant regret washing over him, dulling the anger. He swore he could feel the prickling sensation of ice splintering across his skin, the cold flooding his senses. Hydra had done terrible things to him, and sometimes, he was sure he deserved it. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, hoping, wishing that when they opened he would be in bed…that this was all some messy dream. 

Bucky scrubbed a hand down his face before opening his eyes. He could see Sam staring at him, like a deer in headlights. So…not a dream then… ”Dammit,” He whispered, mostly to himself. He released his grip on the counter, flexing his fingers to ease some of the strain.  Slowly he leaned back, pressing his shoulder into the corner of the kitchen, slouching into the wall, and allowing his weight to rest against it. 

This is not how he saw this conversation going. He was waiting patiently for Sam to piece together his thoughts, which he was sure just got thrown all over the place. In all honesty, this wasn’t something he ever wanted the Falcon–Captain–to know…it was just more baggage for Sam to insist he help carry, the same way Steve had, and now Peter. It was too much, these things were too heavy and he wouldn’t rely on these people, good people, to hold onto his own burdens. 

“Buck…You’re not hurting anyone…” Sam started, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. He treaded carefully, inching slightly closer as he spoke, like calming a spooked horse. “where is this all coming from?” 

“Don’t do that,” Bucky bit out. 

“Do what?”

“Don’t patronize me…give me that holier than thou crap,” Bucky said dryly, his eyes shifting to Sam as he came closer.  “Steve was wrong about me, and I've been fooling myself,  thinking I could ever do this. Be normal, have a life…” It was taking everything in him to reign in the anger, the fear, the hurt. He was sure his voice was wavering, but if Sam noticed, he didn't show it. He hated this. He hated bringing all of this up, unearthing it from the very deep grave he had buried it in, but the words were coming, and he couldn’t stop them. “...a-and I know…I know it's what he wanted for me, but…” He stuttered scrunching his face while drawing in a deep breath, hoping to god Sam couldn’t see the tears stinging in his eyes. “I-I dont know how…” He said, clenching his fists, his knuckles going white from the strain. 

Sam stopped, lowering himself slightly before looking directly into those steely blue eyes, even if they refused to meet his own. “You dont know how to what?” 

“To live,” Bucky said, looking up at Sam to meet the man’s gaze as his vision wavers behind the sea threatening to burst from his eyes. 

Every fiber in Sam’s being wanted to rush the man, wrap his arms around him, and push away the hurt, even if it meant sustaining a broken neck from the soldier. He could feel a small wave of anger rising from the pit of his stomach, the resentment he had for himself. Bucky was hurting, had been hurting for probably a while now, and he had missed it. He had to tell himself he had missed it even when he knew he saw the signs, because even when he saw the way Bucky isolated himself, the excuses he would make, it hadn’t been enough to wake him up to how much pain Bucky was in. He had to tell himself he missed it, because otherwise he couldn't live with himself, for allowing things to get this far. Sam stood up straight, stepping closer to Bucky and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“You dont have to know Buck, you just need to be willing to let others in, let them help. When you’re lost and stumblin’ around in the dark, you gotta look for the light…let it guide you back home.” He had remembered Steve telling him that phrase. It was something his mom had said when she had fallen ill. He wasn’t sure if Bucky knew the words belonged to her, he just hoped that the message got through. “You think Peter knew how to live again? After everything?” Sam began, seeing something flicker behind Bucky’s eyes. “I guarantee you, that kid was as lost as someone could be…but he found you, and he grabbed on tight, hell–he may never let you go…” a faint smile slipped across his lips at the thought.. “You’re that kid's light, Buck.”

Bucky could still see the look on Peter’s face when he recognized the stranger sitting in his apartment, the hope that flared behind those eyes. But he had never planned to stay, to plant himself into the kid’s life. Because eventually, he would uproot Peter’s life, leaving a colossal mess in his wake. He sighed, his head rolling back down, eyes glued back to the cold, hard tile. “Yeah…but instead of bringing him home…all I brought was more pain.” 

The images rushed his mind all at once. The docks. The kid’s almost lifeless body wading in icy water. The blood swirling through the stream. He remembered his hands, the thick crimson dripping off of them. And no matter how much he tried, those stains never went away. He brought his hands up, flipping them over as he stared at his calloused palms. Bucky swore he could feel the sticky red liquid spread between his fingers. His hands weren’t meant for comfort. They weren’t made for reaching out when someone needed them. All they had known was violence and death.  

Bucky jerked away from Sam, leaning out from his touch. “Steve didn’t ask to be stuck with me, torn between the love of his life and some broken shell of a man who happens to look like his best friend.” His breathing became shallow, faster with every inhale. “ I’d given anything to go back to that day and walk the other way.”

It was a lie. He knew and so did Sam, but he couldn’t stop himself, Sam had asked for this conversation, and Bucky was done holding back. “All I've done for the past few years is remind Steve of what he lost, letting him blame himself for something that was my own fault.” He pressed, the cold indifference in his tone meeting the blank mask he slipped back over his face. “ I won't do that to the kid Sam, I won't…And it doesn’t matter anyway.” He dropped his arms back to his side, letting them hang limply as he shook his head. “This person I'm pretending to be, he won't last. In the end, it'll all come crashing down and all of this…” He says, gesturing to the apartment around him. To this life he fooled himself into believing was real, that it was something a person like him could have. “...It will all go away.”

The flicker of grief behind Bucky’s eyes was gone before Sam could fully read it. Part of him wanted to punch Bucky square in the jaw, knock some sense into the man for telling himself these lies, for believing these delusions. But he knew who he was talking to. Bucky didn’t open up, not like this. Something was wrong and the realization of that fact only made the pit in Sam's stomach grow deeper. He took another small step forward, careful not to set the soldier off completely. That vapid cold expression Bucky always wore was back. 

The wheels behind Sam’s eyes were turning, probably grasping at anything he could find to try and talk Bucky down. They didn’t have time for it. The important thing right now was the war on vigilantes, not the feelings of a man who had all but been forgotten by the world.  “The important thing right now is taking care of Fisk…that’s it,” Bucky stated, his tone flat and even. 

Sam sighed, taking a careful step back. Bucky was back to deflecting, which in the soldier’s mind, meant they were done with this talk. It wasn’t something Sam planned to let go, but it was apparent that Fisk was quickly evolving into a substantial threat. He could see the dark heavy circles under Bucky’s eyes, the exhaustion that slipped through the cracks of the man's shield. He saw the signs, and this time, he would be there to light the way when Bucky was ready. 

Chapter Text

Walking MJ home was a nice break between all the fighting, the anxiety, and the wondering if your new partner was dead in a ditch somewhere. It gave Peter time to clear his head and step into that sweet rose perfume that made his entire body tingle and sent electricity up his spine. He had promised to tell her everything once the dust settled and Fisk was no longer a threat. Right now, it was too big of a risk.

His walk home took twice as long. He had the option of swinging there, but something about his feet hitting the cement along with the other eight million mundane pedestrians felt so normal he wasn’t quite ready to let it go. Everything was changing so fast, it had an eerily similar cadence as the last time. A fight was coming, and Peter wasn’t entirely sure who would come out on top, not anymore. 

He shook the thoughts from his head as he strolled the streets of his old hometown, taking inventory of all the old cracks and dents in the houses, the fences, and even the sidewalks. It made that lonely pang in his chest grow deeper. The same one that longed for late-night kitchen talks with May and fishing things off the top shelf of the shed for Ben. 

He tried to quiet the deep craving for that old life as he continued down his path back to his apartment. That place would never really be home, but the company waiting for him wasn’t so bad. Peter focused his mind, trying to plan out the best course of action to take against this unmovable mountain named Wilson Fisk. Mr. Murdock had been clear that he was unbeatable, but there was a way, there always had been…if they searched hard enough. 

He had a half-baked plan, a half-cocked strategy, and almost no confidence that any of it would even work.

The tension was almost palpable when Peter walked through the door. Sam had that look on his face that oozed concern, and Bucky was practically pouting on the couch. He had missed something. It didn’t seem like the best of times to bring up his plan-not plan, but the window to take down Fisk was closing, and Peter didn’t have time to play moderator between these two. 

He cleared his throat before speaking, hoping to cut through some of the tension in the air. “So uh…about Fisk,” 

Both Bucky and Sam shot their heads up to Peter, Sam’s brow furrowed with confusion as Bucky tried his best to hide his concern. 

Bucky could see the anxiety rippling through Peter at the mention of Wilson Fisk. He wasn’t sure why the kid decided to bring him up, but something inside of him began to twist. He could see Peter’s mouth moving and his brain connected that there were definitely words coming out, but all he could hear was the buzzing in his head, the thrumming in his veins. His eyes were open but all he saw was the kid in a pool of blood, those stupid black oxfords standing just at the edge of the crimson lake spreading all around. 

His heart felt like it was leaping out of his rib cage, threatening to escape and tear into a million pieces. The heat rose in his core as a wave of panic washed over him. His mouth was moving before his brain even had time to catch up. 

“Peter, enough!”

The guttural growl that escaped from Bucky’s throat barely sounded human and Sam was sure it was pure, primal fear, masked underneath all the anger. He could visibly see the kid's shoulders tense, the hurt that washed across his too-young face. Sam stayed quiet, unsure what either Bucky or Peter would say. Suddenly the paint peeling off the wall became the most interesting thing in the world. Sam preoccupied himself with picking the small strip clean off the painted structure. 

Peter stood there, eyes wide, like a deer in headlights. Bucky felt bad for the kid, but a lifetime of anger towards him was better than dying at the hands of a maniac. He drew in a deep, steadying breath before continuing. 

“Kid…listen…” he drew his fingers through his hair, keeping his tone soft and light. “It’s not safe…dealing with Fisk. Me and Murdock have it handled. It’s better… if you stay out of it.” He couldn’t help the guilt that crawled up his chest as the words left his lips, because Bucky knew how much Peter hated being seen as a kid. He knew how much the kid beat himself up over not being enough. But he also knew this wasn’t that. If Daredevil couldn’t bring the crime lord down…he wasn’t sure their odds were all that good, and the fewer casualties the better. Peter would be pissed at him for a long time, but he would be alive. 

All Peter saw was red through the flash of anger that washed over him, his fingernails dug into his flesh as Bucky spoke. He expected this from everyone else, but something about hearing the words from Bucky made the cold thing twist deep inside of Peter's chest, his heart sank deeper with each word that crossed Bucky’s lips, each patronizing gaze he sent Peter’s way. It was enough to send him into a fit of rage, but May had taught him better than that. Deep down Peter knew where it was all coming from, that need for Bucky to protect, to shield, and yet, Peter couldn't put a lid on the anger, the hurt that roiled inside him. All he could think to do was turn around and leave.

Peter lept towards the window without a moment's hesitation, slipping past the sill without a word, the hurt stained clear across his face. It pained Bucky more than he thought a big blowout fight would have. The kid would come around eventually, it didn’t make it sting any less. Bucky dropped his hands to his side, a deep sigh escaping his chest as he threw himself down on the couch. 

“What the hell was that man?” Sam asked, sidestepping the table to lean over Bucky. If the defeated look on Bucky’s face was any indication, that conversation did not go as planned. 

He never was any good at this part, the way that sometimes, to protect someone, you needed to hurt them. It had never made much sense to him, and yet, this wasn’t the first time, and he would be a fool to assume it was anywhere near the last time he’d have to do it. Bucky sighed and he pulled his head into his hands, scrubbing down his face before pushing back from the cushions. The footsteps making their way towards the front door were a good distraction. He didn’t feel like having another big discussion with Sam right now. Between Sam and Peter, he was sure he’d had enough today to last a lifetime.

~~~~~~~~~

Matt could hear the thundering of a young heart, presumably Peter’s, as it slowly drifted out into the world. Whatever was going on had clearly left the kid upset. Matt always knew he had impeccable timing, he just hoped he had missed whatever conversation had caused that reaction. He just needed some intel from Bucky, then he could get on with his mission. 

He made his way to the door, noticing the footsteps on the other side meeting him there. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the door as it swung open. Bucky stood in the doorway to meet him. “Hi..”

“Hi,” Bucky echoed back, opening the door enough to allow Matt to enter. He was dressed in regular clothes for once, and not those tattered black rags he called a suit. How anyone could fight crime in that and not be absolutely shredded was beyond Bucky. 

They slowly made their way toward the couch as Matt halted just short of the coffee table. Bucky could see the way he gripped his cane, mindlessly wrapping his hands so tightly around that his knuckles turned white. Was everyone having some sort of episode today? Matt did his best to contain the anxiety radiating off him, but Bucky could practically feel the shift as he went to speak. 

Matt dragged his fingers through his hair. It felt greasy on top of his head. He needed a shower and a beer. “Here’s the thing…My uh…my partners…well let's just say they urged me to reach out to you..” 

Sam waltzed towards the chair, slumping down between Bucky and Matt as they towered above him. “You have more partners?” He asked incredulously. He couldn’t really believe Bucky was partnering with him. Matt gave off “doesn't play well with others” vibes even more than the Winter Soldier ever did. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, huffing as he waited for Matt to elaborate. The silence of waiting for an explanation was getting annoying.  “About what?” He finally bit out.

“Fisk.” 

Sam and Bucky threw glances at each other before settling back on Matt. Fisk seemed to be the topic of conversation today, Bucky needed a break from that bald egg-headed freak. They both waited for Matt to go on. Talking to the devil was nothing short of frustrating. He only gave bits and pieces and extracting any information was a fool's errand. 

“Well, not really Fisk per se, but more surrounding any alternative methods to taking him down.” Matt continued as he listened to the responses. Sam didn’t seem to care either way. To him, Fisk was probably just another big bad that had to be taken down. He could hear Bucky’s heart as it blazed in his chest, and Matt was sure it wasn’t fear that set it off. 

“You mean one that doesn't involve him being six feet under…” Bucky grit his teeth, trying to calm his breathing as Matt spoke. He didn't have a problem with sparing Fisk. In fact, it's the way he preferred to deal with the situation, but based on all the intel Matt had given, this guy had a way to escape every prison they could throw him in. That, coupled with the fact that he had access to the Winter Soldier program files, didn't sit well with Bucky.

Sam could see the wheels turning in Bucky’s brain, the concern etched onto his face. He wasn’t really doing much to hide it right now, Sam wasn't entirely sure why but it made something inside of him lurch. Bucky wasn’t typically this easy to read, and Sam liked to believe he was getting better at it, but this was something else. He seemed off, on edge for some reason, and he either didn’t have enough energy to hide it, or he didn’t care. Whatever it was, it made Sam's heart race. If Bucky had a bad feeling about this, he needed to know why. “Didn’t you say this guy was a master manipulator? Won't he just buy his way out of every jail cell in the country?” 

Matt sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he spoke.“Yeah, exactly. Look…I'm not here because I expect there to be a better answer. That doesn’t mean I can't hold out a shred of hope.” It was true, Matt didn’t think there was another solution for taking Fisk down, not one that he could accept. Any chance that Fisk ends up on the street again was game over, and Matt wouldn’t risk it…not anymore, and yet, there was a tiny glimmer of hope inside of him that he couldn’t let go. Some sliver of light that he held onto, because if he didn't have to take a life, no matter how shitty it was, he wouldn’t. Hell, he still wasn’t entirely sure that he could end Fisk if it came to that. 

“Wow…the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen having hope…who would have thought?” Bucky quipped, trying his best to cool the festering anger as it boiled inside of him. Fisk didn’t deserve to live, but that wasn’t the kind of thinking Bucky Barnes dealt in anymore. If there was a non-lethal way to take Fisk down, he was game. 

Matt ignored the comment, gripping his cane impossibly tighter. “I'm not… a fan… of offing people, even if they are sadistic assholes like Fisk…I figured we could try every outlet before sinking to that…” 

Bucky could see the sincerity behind it, the internal struggle Matt was having with himself about it all, about taking a life. It was something Bucky had never experienced. He had never really been given an option. As a sniper in the army, he never felt close enough to the victim on the end of his scope to feel remorse. Sure it stung, but he got past it. But he could still feel the bones crushing under his grip from his days as the Soldier. There was no internal conflict, no remorse, no guilt. Just an order and an action. The nightmares came later, along with the tidal wave of emotions. Hell, he still wouldn’t allow himself to fully feel them, it would consume him. He never wanted to go through that again, and yet if Matt was sure Fisk had to be taken down, he knew he wouldn’t hesitate. Not if it meant sparing someone else from those same nightmares, from the feeling of looking down at your hands and wondering if they belonged to you. 

Sam had somehow ended up next to Bucky, lightly bumping his shoulder, acting as the refresh button on the top of a browser page. The man eyed him, a silent plea asking if he was okay. Bucky sent him a sideways glance before giving a slight nod. He could see the tension drain from Sam’s face, their shoulders remaining together, grounding him back to the present. 

“Well…I don’t know about any government security sites that don’t run the risk of being compromised…but there is one place...” Sam explained, the disgust clear in his tone as the strain rippled up his body. 

The anger Steve had for Tony and Ross. The way they had locked up half the Avengers for going against their word. Bucky had remembered being the center of it all. At the time, he didn’t think he was worth it, Sam and Clint leaving their families behind, Wanda and Scott being shoved back into a jail cell. He knew he wasn’t worth it then, and he certainly wasn’t now. 

Steve had tried breaking them out. It had taken a while, and their plan was practically bulletproof, but they had gotten them out. It was a near-impossible mission, one Bucky knew would have failed without Captain America himself. Fisk had no chance of getting out of there. Those guards didn’t care that the Avengers, the heroes who saved the world, were locked away. A low-life like Fisk didn’t stand a chance. “The raft…” 

“The raft? What the hell is that?” 

Sam bristled, leaning slightly further into Bucky's shoulder as he clenched his hands into fists. He had to let go of it, Steve had gotten them out, and yet, It still pissed him off. “It's a maximum security prison in the middle of the North Sea. Run by what used to be SHIELD. Trust me…getting out of there is impossible, and those security guards don’t mess around. They won't be kind to someone offering them a bribe, no matter what the price is.” 

Matt hesitated, he could practically feel the wave of guilt, anger, and resentment radiating off of both Sam and Bucky. Clearly, there was a story here. They didn’t have the time for any of that. His top priority had to be locking Fisk away somewhere he could never escape. “And you’re sure about this?”

 Sam nodded, digging his nails deeper into his palms until they stung.  “As someone with firsthand experience there…I’m positive.”

~~~~~~~

The brisk air that bit at his bare skin was a nice reminder of just how alone Peter really was. It made his blood boil. He was used to blending in, slinking into some corner during a conversation. He was more of the seen and not heard variety, and yet, he couldn't escape the feeling they had left him with. The small, useless, smothering feeling that always accompanied him when he went on missions with the Avengers. He understood it from Tony, and he tolerated it from Cap, but somewhere along the line, he stopped accepting it from everyone else. Bucky had his head in a wrapped-up mess of confusion. He didn’t want to tell Peter what he could or couldn’t do, and yet he shielded him from practically everything. It was exhausting to juggle, all the back and forth. 

Peter swung up to the edge of his favorite building. The views above the high school were mediocre at best, especially compared to the normal perching spots of his spider companions. But something about the way the light reflected off the trees as it dipped below the horizon was surreal. It always made something blossom in Peter’s chest. Maybe that was because of the people he used to share this view with. He missed having partners who viewed him as equal, who supported his decisions no matter how dangerous they seemed. 

He tried clearing the thought from his head, focusing on anything else. No more. No more would he be the scared little kid that everyone felt the need to protect and shield from the world. This was Peter’s case and he was taking it back. He slid his backpack off his shoulder, discarding his civilian clothes and pulling on the bright red mask. He knew where Fisk ran his business, he knew where he could find intel that would put them back on top, and Peter needed a win right now. He hid his backpack under the railing of the roof entry, hoping it wouldn’t be stolen this time. Luckily the only other people who frequented this hideout had no memory of it being their meeting spot–ouch, nice one Peter. 

He headed towards the business district, hoping beyond hope that Fisk was still at his campaign office. Any intel would help, and he didn’t have to engage with anyone to get it. Perks of super hearing. Matt had told him about difficult clients. How sometimes the best intel was shady personal stuff. Even if there was no solid evidence, it could still sway a jury. Well, in this case, the jury was the court of public opinion, and Fisk was already on shaky ground when it came to that. Peter just needed something, anything to tip the scale in their favor.  

Swinging through the city at dusk was a different kind of magic. The lights bled through the streets, reflecting off buildings as the moon shone down on everything, casting an eerily comforting shadow. The cold wind snapped through his suit. It consumed him as he swung towards his destination, getting lost between high rises and twinkling lights. His fight with Bucky, this war with Fisk, nothing could take this moment away from him as he lept between buildings. Peter could see the bright white building off in the distance. Fisk's campaign office. 

He landed directly across from the main window bay, keeping just enough distance to use the shadows as a cover. He crept closer at the lack of sound coming from the office. There didn’t seem to be anyone there. It was pretty late for office hours. Alright, this was fine. He just had to change up his plan. 

Peter lept across to the giant windows, finding a latch near the top bay. He stuck his hands above the window ledge, using his foot to slide the window down just enough to squeeze through it. He crawled through, latching onto the ceiling as he snaked his way inside. He used the same foot to slide the window back closed, leaving just a crack open, before silently dropping to the floor. He paused, listening for any movement. Silence.

If he couldn’t find someone to get his intel from, he'd have to resort to finding anything around the offices. There had to be hundreds of files in each cabinet, he just had to find the right information. Peter crept his way around the desk, pawing carefully through each drawer to find something, anything that could be used against Fisk. He made his way down the hallway of offices, methodically going through each desk, each drawer, each filing cabinet. So far he had come up with nothing, and his search was taking too long. 

The remaining offices down the hall shared much of the same useless information, and Peter was starting to feel that crushing weight of hopelessness sink deeper into his chest. He had already been here too long with nothing to show for it. He thought about bolting, trying again tomorrow, but he’d kick himself if he didn’t check the last office and there was something juicy there. 

He flung himself over to the desk seated behind a large display of windows. Why anyone running for office would sit in front of a giant window that practically painted a target on their back was beyond him. He pulled the first drawer open, fishing through each file as they slipped past his fingertips to get to the next. He could tell the information in each file was slightly off, altered to hide the funds going toward Fisk’s warehouse operations. Only someone who knew the ins and outs of the analytics would be able to catch the errors. Peter stashed the documents aside, flitting through a few more files. 

The sound that came from the hallway sounded vaguely familiar to footsteps sneaking around. That, along with the tingled chill sent down Peter’s spine, had him on edge. Someone was here and somehow he had missed it until they were just barely at the threshold of the office he was currently occupying. He scooped up the files he had collected and made his way for the giant windows. 

He slid his mask up slightly, placing the manilla folder between his lips as he fiddled with the window latch. The thing wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard he tried. He quickly jumped over to the next set of windows, trying that latch. Same thing. 

Shit. 

The door to the office creaked open as the source of the footsteps came into view. Two men the size of the Punisher stood in the doorway, their faces covered in hoods and masks, dressed head to toe in black. They both wielded katanas.

Double shit!

A fight was the last thing Peter wanted right now. It had only been a few days since Toomes took him for a swim in that lake, and his body was still recovering. If he ever went on a solo mission that didn’t end up in some ridiculous scenario he’d be astounded. 

“Spiderman…Not the vigilante we expected, but still manageable,” One of the goons said, swinging his katana between his fingers. 

Peter lept down, sending a web just above their heads to swing out. One of the goons twisted his katana before slicing it upward, shredding the webbing in one hit. 

Okay, so those things were extremely sharp. Avoid at all costs. These guys were clearly trained. Of course, Fisk would have katana-wielding ninjas as a security detail. The windows were locked, and his only escape route was down the hall. Didn’t really leave him with many options here. He tucked the folder under his arm, pulling his mask back down over his face. One of the goons advanced, rushing towards Peter. He threw two webs toward the doorframe, slingshotting himself at the guy advancing his way. He landed, feet first into the guy's chest, sending him flying towards the corner of the room. His webbing dropped, sliced from the side of the door. Goon number two was on his heels. 

Peter grabbed the file into his hands, flipping backward into a handspring as his foot connected with the goon's chin. The folder slipped his grip, sliding across the marble floor. He went to grab it with a web, a katana coming down just as fast to clip it before it reached the file. Peter sprung up, twisting past the goon as he swiped and flung his katana at him. He carefully bent and flipped out of the way of each strike, slowly inching his way toward the folder. 

His fingertips barely grazed the folder as he reached for it. Peter could hear the first goon coming back at him as the second began to recover. He had to move fast before things got ugly. He turned slightly, eyeing the folder as he grabbed hold of it. His hand wrapped around it as a blinding pain ripped through his shoulder. He turned around, kicking back as a katana cut through his flesh like butter. The goon backed up, hands scrambling at his face as a web landed over his eyes. 

Peter carefully removed the katana from his shoulder, blood trickling down his side as the weapon moved out of place. He carefully layered webbing on top to staunch the blood flow for now. Goon number one was panicking with the webbing over his face, and goon number two had barely just recovered. Peter sprinted out, running down the hall towards the original office, towards the cracked window. 

He climbed up the wall, ignoring the searing hot pain from his shoulder. The wound was deep, there was no doubt, but he didn't have time to worry about it right now. He yanked the window down, tumbling outside and leaping to the building across the street. He missed, falling down each story. He knew he couldn't catch himself with the busted shoulder. He didn't have the time, he was falling. Always falling. 

He discarded the file, watching as it fell towards the street. He shoved his hand out, catching himself on another highrise, swinging up and out, far away from the business district. He could feel the ache settle deep into his side, the blood slowly dripping past his makeshift bandage. If his body weren’t still healing, the wound would have stopped bleeding by now. He really couldn’t catch a break. 

Going to his apartment right now wasn't an option he would willingly choose. Sam and Bucky would take one look at him and that would be it. Walking back in after that last altercation would be equivalent to holding up a neon sign that said “You were right” and that was the last thing Peter wanted to hear right now. 

The throbbing pain had dulled to more of an ache, but the spinning in his head made the edges of the world slightly fuzzy as he swung through the city, not entirely sure where he was headed. The lack of blood in his body as the cold tore across his flesh made him tremble like a scared chihuahua. He landed on top of a building, taking in his surroundings. Peter wasn’t sure how long he had been swinging but he knew immediately where he was. He looked across the street to the worn-down brownstone building. He could see movement on the top floor, in the same window he used to sneak into. 

He swung over, perching on the edge of the balcony, just out of sight. He could see MJ sitting at her desk, working on what he assumed was homework. Her dark brown curls bounced in front of her face as she erased something on the page. Something warm blossomed in his chest and he closed his eyes. For a brief moment, he forgot about the pain rippling through his shoulder. He let himself relax into the feeling, the memory of her. 

The wind picked up, sending a chill down his spine. He went to push away from the ledge. He wouldn’t drag MJ into this just to avoid a stern talking-to from the Winter Solider. It wouldn’t be fair. He went to move, forgetting the drips of blood splayed out on the railing. His foot slipped, sending his head forward with a loud thunk as it made contact with the window. 

MJ was up, already moving towards him. There was no time to get away. Dammit, what was he even thinking in the first place? His shoulder lit up in pain as he went to grab above the ledge. Maybe he had time to crawl away, unlikely with his blood sprawled all over the balcony. He could hear the window slide open as he caught a drift of that sweet rose, the one that encapsulated all of his senses, sending a wildfire through his gut. 

“Spiderman?!” 

Peter shifted his body weight, trying to pull himself up the building but his shoulder wouldn’t allow it. He tumbled down, into MJ as they both somersaulted into the bedroom. Peter lay there for a few moments, his back pressed against the cool wooden floor as he stared up, lost in those deep brown eyes staring back at him. 

“S-Spider-Man? Are you okay?” MJ asked, the panic flaring in her chest as he jumped off of him. She had noticed the trail of blood coming from his suit, although she wasn’t exactly sure where it was coming from. 

Those big brown eyes full of sheer panic stared back at him, and Peter froze. He had done exactly what he promised not to do. There was no way he was getting out of this without MJ getting involved. Peter could feel his heart banging against his chest, the dread bubbling up inside. Fisk would find her, he would. And all he could picture was Bucky on that couch, a bloody, tattered mess. And that couldn’t be MJ, that couldn’t be how this played out, except that it could. He had walked right into her bedroom. 

Peter pushed his arms underneath him, pulling himself up off the floor. He could feel the blood sticking to him through his suit, the fresh river rushing down his side. If only his damn healing factor was working properly, if only he hadn’t allowed Toomes to get the upper hand and beat the living shit out of him. Maybe Bucky was right…maybe it really was better if he just stayed out of it. All he seemed to bring to these situations was chaos and pain. 

MJ's hand briefly brushed his shoulder, jolting him back to reality... She must have said something, but he was too deep in his thoughts to hear. He stared up at her, her hand extended out to him. Peter stared at it for a while, unsure whether to take it or not…to ask for help or bolt. He wasn’t sure what the right move was anymore, and he doubted himself too much to trust his gut. 

“I won’t hurt you…I just-I wanna help. You look pretty banged up,” MJ started softly, just barely keeping eye contact between them. 

She was clearly nervous, and Peter felt like an ass for putting her in this situation. There was no use fighting it. His shoulder was burning and trying to swing out of there right now would only cause more damage. He grabbed her hand gently, using his strength to push himself off the ground. 

MJ directed him to a chair, had practically pushed him down into it after demanding that he “sit down.” 

He still hadn’t said a word, unsure what it was he could even say. So he let her direct him, tell him where to go and what to do, his mind slightly drifting as she soaked up the blood leaking through his suit.

“We have to stop the bleeding…and, uh..well…” MJ started, her hand dropping at the base of her neck awkwardly. Convincing Spider-Man to undress in her bedroom sounded like the plot of some horrible, cheesy, novel…but it was really the only way she could think to get to the wound and stop the never-ending crimson river dribbling all over her floor. Explaining that one to her mom would be fun—

The blank stare, or at least she assumed was a blank stare looking up at her from the chair, didn’t make it any easier. He had to know this would come down to removing that mask, undressing at least enough to see the wound that, from the looks of it, went from the base of this guy's neck to his shoulder at least. There wasn’t really a scenario where the mask didn’t come off. With the superhero types, MJ figured it was better to get to the cut and dry of it, no sugar coating, just ripping off the Bandaid.

“So, you need to take your clothes off now,” she deadpanned.

Peter almost choked, coughing to cover up the embarrassment. There was absolutely no way he was taking his suit off, he had already put MJ in a world of danger just stumbling into her apartment, but connecting Peter to Spider-Man would only ensure her involvement. 

“Look, I went to a very public high school…I’ve seen everything..and I mean everything . You’re clearly hurt and need help…and besides, I doubt you can swing home on a bum shoulder,” MJ noted, crossing her arms across her chest as she waited. 

Peter wrestled in his head for what felt like ages. He was in deep here, and MJ wasn’t the type to just let these things go. There was a less than one percent chance that he would make it out that window without her grabbing him first. He was too slow, too hurt—damn healing factor. 

Peter sighed before reaching his fingers up to his mask, brushing them lightly between the fabrics to get a hold of the material. He gently pulled upwards, moving carefully to ease the pain in his shoulder. He stopped, just as the mask moved above his chin. 

“Before I take this off…just know that I’m sorry.” 

MJ lifted a brow in confusion, unsure of exactly what the superhero was apologizing for. He obviously wasn’t the type to ask for help, maybe he felt the need to apologize along the way. She was just glad he had actually agreed to it, and had allowed a civilian to help him, much less a random college student. Why of all places the superhero would turn up here baffled her, but here he was, and deep down MJ knew he was one of the good ones. If he really needed help and was asking, she’d provide it. 

Peter slipped the mask up slowly, wincing as his shoulder jolted with the upright movement. He could see MJ lifting her arm to help, concern written all over her face as the blood oozed down his suit. He ripped the mask off, watching as those chocolate eyes settled on his. He could see the wheels spinning behind her eyes, the facts setting into place. Shit. He must’ve made the wrong call. He couldn’t lose her again, not like this. 

MJ cupped his chin, her thumb running across his cheek as she brushed the hair out of his face. Her eyes refused to leave him, even though she knew she’d have to check his wound. But she couldn’t tear them away, not yet, because she couldn’t believe…could it really be…

“Peter?”

“MJ, I know how this looks and it’s not good and I’m sorry I didn’t mean to come crashing through your window and, but, I couldn’t go back there I…but I never meant to drag you in-“ 

Her arms gently wrapped around him, the warmth radiating down to his core. Peter froze, unexpecting. MJ was really hugging him. It took him a second before he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing back. All he felt right now was safe. He couldn’t find it in himself to think about Fisk, or Bucky, or Matt. Not when MJ was holding him again. 

MJ held on for a while, feeling the hardened muscles gently relax beneath her. Peter was Spider-Man…the crime-fighting vigilante. And he had chosen to come to her instead of his team. He was hurting, in more ways than one, and she wanted to help. She needed to help, because it was clear that no one else had. She hadn’t known Peter for long, but he didn’t seem like the kind to ask for help, he barely accepted it when it was pushed upon him. That would have to change with her. She could be what he needed, at least right now. She didn’t want to let go, to break free of this feeling between them, until it became apparent that the bleeding wouldn’t be stopping on its own. She gently pulled away from him, glancing between his neck and shoulder.

“It’s okay Peter…I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you..” she whispered, brushing her hand under his chin. Her eyes met his as she spoke, lingering there for just a moment. He looked worried, scared, and sad all at the same time. But somewhere deep behind all of that, he seemed happy, at least in the moment, and for her that was enough. 

“Let’s get you out of that suit, just enough to check that wound okay?” She asked gently, trying to keep her tone light and low. 

Peter nodded and slipped the suit below his chest, resting it on his hips. He could still feel blood flowing slowly down his side, but it seemed to be slowing down. 

MJ had been careful, lightly dabbing the wound with a clean towel, soaking up the blood that trailed down his body. The wound had been deep, but it already seemed to be healing on its own. 

Peter had explained the healing factor, the reason it wasn’t working at full strength right now. He tried to catch MJ up on as much as he could with Fisk, not that he had much…what with the file being lost and all. He wanted to make sure she understood the danger, the severity of who they were dealing with. He wanted to keep her as far away from it all as possible. 

Peter eventually dozed off in the chair, his legs hung over one side as his head rested against the other. It didn’t really look like the most comfortable position. MJ was just glad he was okay. She had been worried about him. She sat there, brushing waves through his thick curls as he slept. Watching the rise and fall of his chest, keeping an eye on his shoulder. She was content to watch him for hours. The way his fingers twitched while he slept, his curls bounced every time he moved in the slightest. It was all so...Peter.

MJ stood up, glancing down at Peter from above, her head just over his as she stood behind him and looked, really looked. Because something inside her had shifted into place. Something had clicked. She couldn’t stop the tears as they rolled down her face. MJ didn’t care that Peter was asleep, because he was there. He was finally there. She gently cupped the sides of his face, sliding her thumb across his lips before leaning down and planting a kiss. 

Peter could feel something brushing against his face, his eyes opening just as MJ leaned down, her lips meeting his own. He could smell that sweet rose, the shampoo from her curls. Her lips crashed into his and Peter could feel the electricity run through him. He pushed up, kissing her back, feeling her hands run along the side of his face. He could feel her tears dripping down his cheek. But why was she crying? He carefully pulled away, it was the last thing he wanted to do, leave that warm touch. 

He lifted his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb as he wiped away the stray tears. He pulled himself up, twisting to his knees to fully face her. He couldn’t read her, couldn’t tell what happened, why she was upset. He gently cupped her chin, drawing her eyes up to meet his own as he brushed the hair gently out of her face. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. What happened?” He asked gently, stroking the side of her face gently with his fingers.

She looked up at him, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“You came back…” she said, blinking a few tears away.

“MJ…”

“You promised…and, it took you some time but you came back to me, Peter,” she smiled through the tears as they leaked down. 

“Y-you..you remember?” He asked, his tone impossibly high as his eyes spread open. He could see her nodding through the tears, that soft smile spread across her lips as she pressed her forehead into his. He grabbed her tight, pulling her in. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe that he had MJ back. His MJ. 

He pulled her in tighter, their lips crashing once again, and this time, Peter swore…he would never let her go. 

Chapter Text

The pure excitement that washed over Peter’s face dissipated quickly, replaced with fear. MJ knew the look, she had memorized it from all the times before. She squeezed him tighter, hoping whatever thoughts tumbling around in his head would be displaced, that she would never have to let him go. MJ could feel his muscles strain underneath her, the sound of his heartbeat picking up as her head leaned up against his chest.

 “Peter…dont,” 

She could feel him pushing her away, locking himself back behind the iron-clad walls he had put up. MJ knew something was different about Peter…that he was off. It didn’t take a genius to see that the last few months hadn’t been kind to him. She wanted him to open up, to fully give himself to her. It would be a lot to carry, but they would do it together. She wanted to hug him, to hold him until the whole world disappeared, until the pain faded into nothing, until all he felt was her breath against his, her heart beating alongside his own, in sync, like it was meant to. He had been alone, achingly, painfully alone. Lost from the mentor he held so close, to his friends who guided him, to his family, his rock in life who had taken him in when his parents had gone away. It had all been ripped away, leaving a hole that a bandaid could never hope to cover. MJ wanted to fill that hole, become the beating foundation of it if he would let her. If he would open just a crack, enough for her to slip through. 

MJ held on tight, afraid that if she let go, he would fall farther away, down into the dark, deep, bone-chilling cold. Into nothingness. She knew how easy it was to slip into it, to wrap it around you like a shield. Cutting yourself off from feeling, because sometimes it was better to feel nothing over the soul-crushing pain. The kind that made you wonder how you could move forward, go beyond the fractures in the foundation. 

Peter’s breath hitched, his chest moving rapidly as he drew breath in and out at a frantic speed. She could see the blank stare, the glaze settling over his eyes as his fists curled underneath her, nails digging painfully into flesh. She gently released the fabric from Peter’s shirt that she’d been clutching onto and slid her fingers up to his face, cupping his cheek.

“Peter?” 

The cold of MJ’s fingers sent a jolt of electricity rippling through his skin, his senses briefly coming to life. He wanted to freeze time, to live in this moment forever. He felt safe in her arms, her warmth radiating up his chest as he took in that sweet perfume he could never seem to get enough of. And yet, even the feeling of her pressed up against him couldn't stop the thoughts from pounding in his head, the images flooding his vision. A body hitting the floor, dull, vacant eyes staring through his soul, promises he couldn’t keep.

He tried to push them away, to shut his eyes against the barrage of bloody, mutilated thoughts knocking their way through him, each one crashing into him like a freight car. He knew MJ was speaking, was reaching out to him, but all of it faded to the background, like he was trapped underwater, unable to make out the sound.

 A memory danced at the edge of his consciousness, a swift reminder of the dangers this life brought to the ones he cared for. A sharp crack, a swift fall, the aching in his heart at the sight…the blood. And he couldn’t breathe, and oh god, the blood. 

The blood…

His lungs seized, the air refusing to move in or out

And blood

But god he couldn't breathe

Just blood

Blood blood blood blood-

No, no–not again. He couldn’t do this again.

No

NO

NO –

Steady hands gripped his forearm, pressing down harder and harder, cool fingers rubbing circles into his rough skin. Deep brown eyes stared up into his, the worry fading into something lighter, softer. A low hum came from the sweet lips parting across from him, reaching up to meet with his own. He closed his eyes, letting himself fall into the touch, the familiar feeling that he had craved so much, the one he wished to drown in. The warmth crashed into him like the sea raging towards the shore, wrapping around him like a blanket, protecting him from all the threats that tried to seep through. He leaned further into it, begging to hold onto it forever. Greedy, and longing, and all his. 

“Peter, look at me,” MJ whispered, her fingers brushing under his chin as she gently lifted until his warm golden eyes finally met hers. Her other hand moved down, grabbing his wrist lightly, bringing it to sit just above her chest, her heart thundering beneath his fingertips. “Feel that? I am right here…my heart is beating right here, just for you,” she said, squeezing his hand gently as his eyes bore into her like he was really assessing if her words rang true, that she was right there with him. 

“I'm not going anywhere…I promise you. I won't leave again. I dont care what we have to do, who we have to fight. This will end, because we will be the ones to do it. You’re strong Peter, don’t let him get inside your head and play,” she said, running her fingers through his thick curls, her nails gently scratching his scalp as she pressed her forehead into his, their eyes closing together as they breathed each other in. “I can't lose you…not again. Please, Peter, don't push me away. Not me,” MJ practically begged, her hand squeezing tighter around his own as her heart bounded and leaped in her chest. 

Peter could feel his own heart, racing to meet the speed of MJ’s, her forehead pressing warmth into him, seeping in and clearing out the dark clouds that had fogged his mind. It was an undeniable fact that they worked better together. They were a perfect match, something that was meant to be, and he knew, deep down, that one wouldn't work without the other. There was no light without the darkness, no happiness without the pain. No before without the after, no universe without the stars–and there was no Peter without MJ. 

He pulled her in, his arms cradling gently around her, pushing her up and into his embrace. He felt complete, whole, like he had found the missing puzzle piece he had been searching for. He breathed her in, his body relaxing with each passing second. He could feel her own body start to sag into him, letting him hold her up into him like she was afraid to ever pull away. “I'm right here MJ, and I'm not going anywhere. I promise,” he whispered, his lips brushing the soft top of her ear as he spoke. 

He held MJ for  as long as he could, feeling the air rushing back into his lungs. Ignoring the pain flaring in his side as he leaned into her. He could feel the fuzz that filled his mind as he nuzzled his head against the top of her own, the butterflies that filled his stomach with each breath MJ let out that tickled against his neck. He couldn’t remember the last time the world felt this still, the sounds were this quiet. It engulfed him fully, pushing everything else away for a fleeting moment of safety, of hope.  

MJ coaxed herself gently away from Peter's body, the warm drip of blood spreading between them. She gently placed her hand over the reopened wound as it wept ever so slightly. She carefully slid down to the bed, bringing Peter along with her as she grabbed her small medical kit. She draped a small gauze square over the opening, collecting any stray droplets that threatened to escape the wound. 

“Your healing factor has really slowed down…” she noticed, carefully cleaning the area around the gash. 

Peter hung his head back, falling into the gentle touch of MJ's nimble fingers as they lightly danced around the aching in his abdomen. The coolness of her touch soothing the ever-present sting. His eyes slid closed as his muscles eased up. “That fight with Toomes really did me in…and the goons at Fisk's office tonight didn't help,”

Truth was, his body was pretty much fully healed from his fight with Toomes, but it had been non-stop since then, and his healing factor hadn’t really had time to catch up. He was exhausted, more than he wanted to admit, and more than he would let on. Bucky and Sam wouldn’t let him leave the couch if they knew the toll he was putting on himself for constantly going. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night's rest. It had been a while. The more time he wasted resting, the more time Fisk had to plan, to get ahead. Peter would rest after, once Fisk was finally locked away.

If only he hadn’t dropped that damn file…except he would have fallen if he didn’t so there wasn’t much of a choice. Going back for it now would be useless, Fisk’s goons most definitely got their hands back on it by now, likely hiding any evidence and burning the rest of the file just in case. If he would have been paying attention to his surroundings in that damn building, maybe he could have–

He could have stopped the goons, avoided being attacked, and actually grabbed what he had come for. Could have avoided adding another slash to his still-healing body, could have–  

Gentled fingers squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. He pulled his head forward as her hand carefully pushed up to meet his chin, cupping it as she forced their eyes to meet. 

“Peter, stop beating yourself up, stop thinking back to things that we can't change. The past happened, and nothing we can do will rewrite it,” she began, her thumb brushing lightly against his cheek. “ We will find a way to get to Fisk. We can go searching for that file, or we could hack into his system, or...” 

Peter could hear MJ speaking, but her voice faded to the background, because something from the back of his mind had sprung forward. MJ’s words lingered in his head. They could hack into Fisk's database. Something in the file had caught his attention when he found it, a piece of information locked behind a firewall. Something titled “A better tomorrow”...the same name Bucky and Matt had mentioned. He just needed someone skilled enough to hack into a server that big, likely heavily guarded, with several fail safes, and decrypt the file without destroying it. Luckily Peter knew just the person. 

~~~~~~~~~

MJ was all for bringing Ned into the loop, she just wasn't sure how they were going to explain everything that had happened. Luckily the initial shock has dissipated and Ned had actually been pretty cool about the insane story they were peddling. Surely enough, small memories had begun leaking through the cracks. A Spider-Man mission here, a day of Lego building there.

Peter was thankful that Ned had anything to grab onto that linked them together. It was slowly starting to feel like old times again. Maybe one day, after Fisk was gone, and the city started to accept Spider-man again, could he fall back into the relationship with his friends. Get back to semi-normal. Something that had seemed so far out of possibility for a while now. 

They pulled their focus, keeping their target on priority. Ned was almost sure he could at least break through Fisk’s firewall. Decrypting the file was proving to be more difficult than he originally thought, and they could all feel themselves getting frustrated. The potential key to taking down Fisk was right here at their fingertips, and yet it was a scrambled mess that none of them could figure out. Peter's skin was crawling. He wanted intel so he could move, could start putting the pieces into motion, and put this damn nightmare behind him once and for all. It was stupid to think this would be as easy as getting the answers handed to them on a silver platter. 

MJ had been pacing for the last thirty minutes, Peter was trying to fix up his suit. His web fluid was just about empty. Without the refills that Bucky had managed to snag, Peter knew he would be in another sticky, or rather unsticky, situation. He didn’t want to admit it, but having Bucky in his corner was a huge plus. He knew it was the truth, and he was beyond grateful for it. He just wasn’t sure he was ready to climb that mountain right now. Bucky did what he did, and no matter how much he wanted to protect Peter, he had done exactly what he promised not to. 

MJ brushed her shoulder against his as she plopped down onto her bed, her knees knocking into Peter’s as her weight shifted. Ned was sitting at MJ’s desk, meticulously reading the code on the screen as his fingers flew across the keyboard. The focus plastered across his face was unlike anything Peter had ever seen before. He peered over at MJ as he scooped her hands up into his own, rubbing small circles into her palms. 

“Hey night monkey, I think I'm gonna grab us a pick me up,” MJ smiled up at him, bumping her shoulder playfully into his as she rocked backward. 

Peter squeezed her palms, rolling his eyes. “For the record, Ned came up with that name…not me.” He replied, lightly tossing his shoulder back into hers as they tumbled to the side, their limbs tangling into each other.

MJ rolled over him, her legs straddling over him as she looked down between the locks of hair dangling in her face. Her eyes met the soft brown eyes of Peter’s as they stared into each other. Peter reached up, his hand gently tucking her long curly bangs behind her ears as he leaned up. His hand cupped her cheek as the other slid around the base of her neck, his lips crashing into hers. 

Something about MJ drove Peter mad, in the best kind of way. It was like drowning, and no matter how hard he tried, each breath was never enough. He craved it, couldn’t live without it. Always overflowing, yet never enough. A golden hour that never faded into the darkness, like a path that led to nowhere and everywhere. It was like the universe was knitted into their bones, like galaxies glowing in their eyes when they met. A whole world between them, all theirs. 

He stared into the stars that were her eyes for what felt like an eternity, time around him slowing to a crawl as he brushed the hair from her porcelain face. He curled his arm under her, sitting them back up and drawing her into him. His fingers caressed her forehead, his thumbs rubbing lazy patterns across her velvet skin. “Do you want me to go with you?” 

MJ peered over at Ned, oblivious to anything that was going on behind him. A small giggle escaped her lips before turning back to Peter. “No, I’ll be okay. It’s just down the street. Stay with Ned, just in case he needs help. I'll be back soon,” she said, standing from the bed to slip her boots on. “And don't worry…I remember your order,” she said with a wink as she strolled towards the door. 

Peter shot a web out, catching her hand as he twirled her body back into his, his arms catching her as her face spun up into his. Shock flooded her for a moment before she settled, her heart skipping as she leaned into Peter's touch. “Be safe, please,” he whispered into her ear as his arms wrapped around her. 

“Always.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MJ had walked these streets hundreds of times.  On her way to work, on her way home, grabbing something for her mom, picking up some food for dinner, you name it. Everyone knew this part of Queens could be dangerous if you didn’t know the right spots, but luckily for MJ, she did. She knew which alleyways to avoid, which dark corners to stay away from.

Her parents had been pretty serious about it when she was younger, the understanding that some places were dangerous, that some people just wanted to hurt others, whether they had a reason to or not. Her dad had been a drunk, and an abusive one at that. But he had his moments, however rare they might have been. The fact was, he taught her some useful things from time to time before he inevitably left her and her mom, something she wasn’t all that cut up about. 

Phillip Watson was a college professor who could never hold a job and dreamed of becoming a writer, however his wife and daughter became his favorite outlet for rage when his writing was constantly refused. The truth was, he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t dedicated enough to it. If he had spent a fraction of his time writing instead of drinking in pubs, he could have been a halfway decent author. MJ knew he’d never give up the booze, it was as much a part of this family as she was. Half the time she was sure he cared more about his alcohol than he did his own wife and daughter. 

But Phillip had some knowledge of these streets, what with how much he walked around them at odd hours of the morning after going on a night-long bender at Jones’s Bar. He had learned a few things, skills that he passed on to MJ. She wasn’t altogether sure that her father had wanted to protect her from harm, or if it was just something he wouldn’t want to deal with should anything have ever happened to her. The point was, she knew how to spot a tail, and she was sure that the same Black Honda CRV had passed her at least twice now. 

Her fingers moved to her phone in her pocket as she kept moving forward, eyes on the coffee shop about a block up the street. She just had to make it there, then she could call Peter and get the hell out of dodge. Her fingers hovered over the dial button, Peter’s number already pulled up and ready to go. 

She felt paranoid, skeptical that what her gut was telling her wasn’t what was actually happening. No one had followed Peter to her apartment, and as far as the world knew, MJ Watson and Peter Parker had no connection. The chances of someone finding them were so small, infinitesimal, but it was there. She had listened to Peter talk about Fisk. The way his hands trembled slightly, the fear in his voice that he had tried to mask. It was obvious that this guy wasn’t the usual big bad they typically went after, and with their share of villains, that thought terrified her. 

The edge of the CRV peeked around the corner, the headlights off as it slowly rolled up toward the curb. MJ could feel her heart pounding against her chest, her nerves screaming at her to run. She picked up the pace as the doors of the car flung open, several tall men in dark jackets casually strolling out. The coffee shop was close, but the more she walked the further away it seemed to get, like a mirage in the desert. She could sense the men following closely behind, keeping just enough distance between her and them to not draw any specific attention. 

She had been to the same coffee shop almost every single day since high school, knew all the surrounding streets and alleyways. There wasn't a good way to go. Each alleyway led to either a dead end or a worse part of town. The thought of passing through to a different area had crossed her mind, but the chance of a stranger in a worse part of Queens stopping to help was almost non-existent. New Yorkers tended to mind their own business, no matter what was going on around them, especially if it would put them out in any way. What a city. 

In the end, MJ decided the best course of action was to make it to the coffee shop or go out kicking and screaming. Hopefully, the security camera outside the shop would catch something if they got their hands on her. She knew she had to keep it together, focus her senses on her surroundings. Getting caught was the worst-case scenario, especially if she thought about how it would affect Peter. She knew he would blame himself, would rest the burden on his own shoulders. MJ tossed the thought away, trying to stay as focused as she could, her head on a swivel to find someone, anyone around who might help. 

A homeless man stood against the alleyway wall just ahead, a lit cigarette limply hanging from his fingers. MJ knew she had to remain calm, to act casual if she had a prayer of getting through this. It was clear that these men were following her, targeting her. She hoped getting close enough to the homeless guy would at least put a witness at the scene if they did grab her. It was inevitable. If these really were Fisk’s men, they would capture her. No doubt. They had to have found the connection to Peter. She was merely a pawn, and it lit a fire in her core, the anger festering inside her. 

MJ picked up the pace slightly, hugging her free arm around her as if she were cold, trying to sell it, that she wanted to walk faster to get out of the cold. If this was going to happen, she would at least make it as close to that camera as she could, get something for Peter to work off of, some way to find these guys again before Fisk demanded whatever he wanted, using her as leverage against Peter. She stepped across the mouth of the alleyway, her eyes meeting the homeless man before flicking directly in front of her again.

The guy seemed to move before she had a chance to register it, his cigarette flicking down to her feet. She stopped in her tracks, surprised at the sudden flying object landing just before her. She knew she had made the mistake as soon as her eyes drifted towards the cigarette. A distraction. Her fingers quickly pressed the dial button, the line trilling as rough hands grabbed around her shoulders. The homeless man sidestepped in front of her, corralling her back into the alley, into the cover of the shadows. 

She threw her arms behind her, finding any purchase to grab onto and pull. Her legs flailed underneath her as she swung her head backward, hoping to connect with something, anything. She could feel a rough calloused palm slide over her mouth as she started to yell. They were quick and effective. MJ tried to keep a level head, to stop herself from completely freaking out. That wouldn’t help. But she was alone, and she wasn’t sure if Peter had answered the phone. No one knew where she had gone, and she certainly had no idea who had grabbed her. And she knew the statistics of kidnappings, and how often they didn’t end happily. 

She tried once more, mustering all the strength she could find to get away, scrambling beneath the hands gripping at her, but to no avail. They had just added more hands, more men to drag her away into the dark confines of the alleyway. She tried to feel for her phone, to see if her call had made it through. 

One of the men grabbed her wrist as it moved down her pocket, his hands reaching in and yanking the phone out, tossing it across the street before she had a chance to see if Peter had picked it up. She opened her mouth to yell, the hand clamping down further. As a last attempt, she pressed her head forward, her teeth meeting with the warm flesh surrounding her mouth as she bit down hard. She could taste the deep metallic liquid as it spread across her tongue. She tried her best to hold back the gag as her eyes began to water. The man screamed, his hand briefly retreating from her face. Now was her chance. 

“PETER! PETER THEY’VE GOT ME, IT’S FI-” A fist came swooping up, connecting with her jaw as her whole body was thrust sideways, her head making contact with the cold, hard brick. The world around her swam, her vision slowly tumbling away as her legs buckled underneath her, those same rough hands scooping her up. MJ thought she heard someone shouting her name. A voice as familiar as a warm hug, as comforting as a warm blanket. She tried to listen for it as the world faded away completely. 

“MJ?! MJ ARE YOU THERE?” the small voice rang out from the phone as it lay between the curb and the gutter. 

‘MJ!”

Chapter Text

“Kid…listen…It’s not safe…dealing with Fisk. Me and Murdock have it handled. It’s better… if you stay out of it.” 

Bucky sighed, running his fingers through his hair before fixing his stance, his fists flying at the half-empty bag in front of him. Peter wouldn’t be happy about the mess, but somehow that seemed like the lowest concern on his list of problems right now. 

His fists came up, striking the bag again and again, the rage burning up inside until all he could see was red. He had done this, he had pushed the kid away. It had been almost a full day, and they hadn’t heard a word from Peter. Radio silence. Sam figured he would come around eventually, with open arms and forgiveness in his heart, that he just needed some time. He probably wasn’t wrong. The kid didn’t know how to hold a grudge, no matter how deserving the other person was, and he’d say he was pretty deserving. Bucky knew it was his own fault, that he had gone too far. 

The promises he’d made to Peter weren’t shallow. They ran deep, came from something that was carved from far within. Bucky knew what it was like to be shoved to the back, to be seen and not heard. Being a tool had its perks. Not having to feel, not caring. It was something he was still getting used to, having all of that back, yet he struggled when it came to Peter. He cared too much, got too close to the flame that he had been so scared of for so long, and with close proximity came a burn. It was inevitable, Bucky just didn’t expect to be the one inflicting it upon himself. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Karpov had told him plenty of times–the only thing he was capable of doing was bringing pain, and he consistently proved the man right. 

His stomach churned, bile burning in the back of his throat. He grabbed the bag, his shoulder leaning into it as he sucked in a breath, trying his best to push the feeling back down. His hair flopped down into his face, dangling between his eyes as the sweat dripped down the strands. He moved, back into the same pace as before. His feet danced across the cold hardwood floor as his fists collided with the leather, the world fading around him. He had to move, to keep his mind focused on something. 

He couldn’t think about Peter right now. About the freezing lake, the blooms of the kid's blood everywhere. The silence between every text and phone call. How Fisk likely knew about them now, had probably gone searching for Spider-man and the Winter Soldier. He threw himself back, ready to throw another punch, to clear his mind. His arm moved, the bolts twisting as his weight shifted. He could feel it seconds before it happened, the metal getting caught between a mechanism. The arm spasmed, dropping to his side like a dead weight. He lurched forward, surprised by the lack of movement, the shift in the vibranium that had his balance off. The same strand of hair dipped in front of his vision again as his body slumped against the punching bag once more. 

It was all too much, reminded him of a cold sterile room, a limb that he willed to move as it hung by his side, disobeying every order he gave it. His stomach roiled, and he couldn’t hold it back this time. He threw himself to the bathroom, his stomach emptying just as he reached the bowl. He slumped back against the wall, his legs coming up to his chest. He stared down at the arm through thick strands of hair, the sight becoming unbearable as his stomach flipped again. He shut his eyes as his other hand rolled up to cover his face, his palm resting against his head. He wanted the damn thing off, wanted to throw it through the wall, across the room. Get it off, off off off off–

“--ucky….Buck?”

Soft hands reached out for his, a figure kneeling in front of him, pressing his weight into him. He let his hand drop down, his eyes snapping up to meet the concern in Sam’s.

“Hey…you here with me now?” Sam asked, his hand moving to support the vibranium arm. He could tell Bucky was okay with the touch, but he wanted to move slow, not throw him back into whatever state he had just crawled out of. He moved to pull Bucky up, the soldier pressing his weight into Sam as they slid up the wall together. They made it out to the main room, Sam carefully guiding Bucky to the kitchen table. 

He could see the trembling in Bucky’s hand, how hard he was trying to keep it together in front of him. God how he just wanted to take all that pain and throw it out the window. Bucky deserved to be happy, to live his life without the weight he constantly carried over himself. It had been hanging on a string all this time, waiting to crash down onto him fully. Sam could see it plain as day, Bucky doing all he could to hold it up, keep it at bay. But he couldn’t deny that it was slipping. 

He gently placed the vibranium arm across Bucky’s lap, careful not to jostle the shoulder too much. It certainly didn’t look comfortable, but how comfortable could a metal arm really even be? He sat on a chair next to Bucky, rubbing his hand up and down the soldier’s back, feeling as his weight slowly shifted further into Sam. They sat there for a while, quiet, content with each other’s company. Sam didn’t want to push, didn’t want to give Bucky any reason to retreat further into himself. But he still wasn’t sure what had set the man off, to the point of him spilling his guts out in the bathroom. He wasn’t sure the last time he saw Bucky that upset, if ever. Even in Madripor, when he reprised his role as the soldier, he had kept it together. So what had changed? What had happened to set off that reaction? He could see Bucky stir, his back moving as he rolled his shoulder to displace the vibranium arm. Sam caught the flash of pain that briefly washed across the man’s face. It had come and gone so fast that Sam was half sure he hallucinated it. 

“It hurts?” He asked sheepishly, trying to stir up any conversation between them. The quiet felt wrong, stiff, but bringing up the arm was a tough call too. 

Bucky huffed, his focus shifting to the metal plates as he tried to flex his arm, to no avail. The damn thing hung by his side, like a piece of scrap metal that no longer had a use. He was half tempted to rip the thing off and throw it off the balcony, however, the Dora Milajei wouldn’t be too fond of that, and they certainly wouldn’t replace it with a new one. He could feel Sam’s eyes tracing every movement as he worked. The frustration crawled its way up his gut, a hot flash of anger accompanying it. He let out a sigh before slumping back in his chair, his fingers running roughly through his hair, trying to soothe the fire building inside of him. 

“It doesn’t feel good, ” He bit out, watching the hurt flash across Sam’s face before it was replaced with the careful neutrality that the man had up most of the time. He could feel the guilt seeping back in, an emotion he’d had plenty of in the past twenty-four hours. Adding to his list wasn’t something he was interested in, and yet, he still found it incredibly difficult to just talk.

“Sorry…It– yes it hurts…” He watched Sam as he answered. The man just nodded, his eyes wandering down to the floor. Dammit! Why was this so hard?

“I–I think the weather has been playing a role…the cold with the metal it…it doesn’t mix well…” He spoke, fidgeting with the arm and avoiding any eye contact. The metal and cold don't mix? Seriously? Sam’s eyes hadn’t moved, staring at the ground like he could care less about the conversation, and yet, he remained in the chair directly next to him. He was patient, Bucky had to give him that. Most people would see a psychotic, reserved ex-assassin and call it a day, walking as far in the opposite direction as quickly as possible. But Sam had a way of knowing when to approach him and when he needed his space. He knew when there were words unspoken, begging to break through. Sam would wait as the layers slowly peeled back, until whatever was hoping to escape finally reached the surface. 

Bucky steadied himself, leaning his chair back to grab some tools from a kitchen drawer before settling back in at the table. His fingers moved around the vibranium carefully, slowly deconstructing each piece to find the problem. He kept his hands busy as his mind swam, his eyes locking into focus before he began. 

“...They…they used a bone saw to slice through the torn muscle tissue. The bone had been mostly intact after the fall…but the surrounding tissue had a similar feature to meat that had just been through the grinder…. Heh, it really looked like something from a horror movie…” He continued disfiguring the arm in front of him, vaguely aware of Sam’s attention shifting directly to him as he worked, his own eyes drilling holes through each piece of metal.

“But the uh…the bone at the joint wasn’t strong enough to withstand the plate fixture. It kept crumbling every time they set it. So they went back in…slicing piece after piece away until they found a perfect fit... Karpov made jokes…that my joint was like Cinderella's foot and that metal arm the glass slipper.” He bit out, placing each individual piece of vibranium across the kitchen table in a careful array. Sam’s eyes were glued on him now. Bucky kept his eyes down, watching as each screw slowly rolled out of its home in the base of the arm. 

“I…I guess the plate still had problems because after that they hacked into my shoulder…that damn bone saw cut all the way through to my collarbone…I–I actually came out of that fall with most of my shoulder… but it's pretty much all gone now, replaced with a metal connection port…They drilled it into my flesh, stabilizing it to the remaining bone…I think Karpov actually enjoyed watching the whole thing…That sadistic asshole was thrilled that drugs didn’t work on me–got a sick thrill from the screaming.” He shut his eyes for a brief moment, trying his best to stave away the images brewing inside his head. Why the hell was he telling Sam all of this in the first place?

The contents in Sam’s stomach flipped and turned, begging to crawl their way up his throat. But he stayed still, calm. Steve had never spoken about Bucky’s time with Hydra, and he never imagined Bucky would ever open up about it. Something about him sharing it felt wrong. Like he was never supposed to see this side of his partner. He’d imagined the horrors the man had gone through in his seventy years of captivity, but this was far from the picture his mind tended to paint. His eyes flicked from Bucky back to the arm and he suddenly felt bad for every cyborg joke he had ever made. He itched to leap out of his chair and grab Bucky, hold him tight, and tell him it was okay. He remained seated, carefully watching as Bucky went on, noticing the glaze settle over the man’s eyes as he recounted one of the many terrors he had been forced to live through. 

 “...It hurts all the time, less now that I have the vibranium, but still always there…like…” Like a constant reminder of the drilling, the screaming…his goddamn face…that crooked–ugly smile staring at me…the smell of flesh burning through the blades of the saw, the sound it made when it connected with bone…the smoke trail… all the blood, and the pain. The sounds that tore from my throat--scream...screaming– he hadn’t even noticed that Sam had moved until his hand was resting gently against his arm, squeezing lightly to pull him back to the present. He could feel the tears slowly leak from his eyes as they focused on Sam, his brown eyes staring deep into him like he could see all the way down to the bad, the ugly. 

Sam’s stray hand wandered up to Bucky’s cheek, gently wiping the tears as they fell, his hand resting on the side of the man's face as the sobs wracked his body. He stayed close, his arm bracing against Bucky’s with constant weight, doing his best to keep the man grounded. It was no wonder why he had never let anyone in, had never let somebody see through the cracks. The nightmares made sense. The mask he wore, Sam could see why he had put it on each day. It wasn’t for himself, it was never for himself. It was for everyone else. Bucky didn’t want the world to know his story, because he didn’t want the world to share the horrors, the nightmares that he had lived through for seventy long years. He had never told a soul, not even Steve, about it. Any of it. And here he was, finally letting some of it go. Finally giving away some of the control he’d allowed the past to have over him.

 Sam grabbed him, pulling him in as his hand cradled the back of Bucky’s neck. He could feel the man relax into his touch, pushing himself further into the embrace as his once tense muscles finally eased underneath him. He wasn’t sure how long they would be there, but he would hold Bucky as long as he needed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had sat at the kitchen table for a while, disassembling and reconstructing the vibranium arm until finally, they figured out what was wrong and put it back together. Bucky had been somewhat out of it for the entire process. Sam was sure that’s why it took so long, but he didn’t blame the man for any of it. They had moved to the couch after, throwing on some mindless TV as Bucky slowly slumped over and fell asleep, his head still resting on Sam’s shoulder. 

It had been a long week, between the news about Fisk, finding Bucky bloody and beaten at Matt’s, and now Peter going solo for a bit. It was a lot, he didn’t blame Bucky for being exhausted. Sam was sure that they were all equally eager to get everything squared away on the raft, where no one would ever have to deal with Wilson Fisk again. It was crazy to think that just last week, he had been working on the boat with Sarah. And here they were, dragged into another insane mission with another insane, egotistical, maniac. 

Sam carefully reached his hand up, rubbing his eyes before resting his head against the back of the couch. A nap sounded heavenly right now. Between worrying about the kid and fighting off Fisk, Sam needed the rest. Who knew when his next night of good sleep would be once they started this inevitable war? He let his eyelids slide closed, his mind slowly drifting towards unconsciousness. All until his damn cell phone lit up from his pocket, the endless vibrating drawing him back to the present. He pulled the device from his pocket, bringing it up to his ear without ever opening his eyes. 

“Yeah?” 

Sam had to pull the phone away from his ear for a split second, the fumbling on the other end grating loudly through the speaker. He opened his eyes to see the caller ID, flicking his eyes to a sleeping Bucky before bringing the phone to his ear. “Kid, you better get back here before Bucky completely loses it..” 

“Sam, I–Please–They grabbed her and I don’t know where or how–She just–she went to get coffee–please–I know you’re mad–but I–I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious, please I–I dont–”

The panic in Peter’s voice lit every nerve of Sam’s on fire, like a livewire flowing through him. He lurched forward, ignoring the absence of Bucky’s head on his shoulder as he pressed the phone as close to his ear as possible.

“Woah, woah, kid slow down. What happened?” he asked, trying his absolute best to keep the fear from radiating through the phone. He couldn’t help the way his stomach flipped inside, a fresh wave of panic washing through him as he peered over at Bucky. The man was fully alert, his eyes as wide as they could go as he stared at Sam, waiting. Sam pressed a button and then dragged the phone from his ear. Bucky needed to hear this too, speakerphone was the best option here.

“Fisk–he grabbed MJ! She’s gone–I can't find her!”

Bucky could hear the quivering in Peter’s voice, the sheer horror in his tone between each sob. He wanted so badly to reach through the device and hold Peter. He knew what the kid was going through, the feelings that were tearing his way through Peter at this exact moment. He could practically imagine the hot tears streaming down the kid's face. Bucky’s heart shattered as the next words escaped Peter’s lips, the pleading in his words tore at him through the phone. 

“I can’t lose her, please…I–I need your help…both of you.”

~~~~~~~~~

Peter had flung himself back over the bed, hovering over Ned as he typed endless lines of codes into the database. He really had no idea what the numbers and letters meant, but it was giving them access to Fisk’s files and that’s all he cared about. He tried not to think about MJ. About her warm smile, her soft lips, her fragrant hair. She would be back soon, caffeine in tow. Peter had a feeling it would be a long night. Cracking this file was becoming an impossible mission. He eventually flopped back down onto the bed, his head hanging over the side as he fiddled with his web shooters, reloading the cartridges and making a few adjustments. 

“How’s it coming along Ned,” Peter asked, his eyes wandering over to the screen. It didn’t look like Ned had made much progress, but in all fairness, he had no clue what he was looking at. Ned had just grunted in response, his eyes not leaving the screen for even a second. Peter could feel his mind drifting, slipping into the dark as his eyelids hung low. He couldn’t deny how exhausted he was. That coffee was much needed. 

He had only closed his eyes for what felt like a brief second, his mind wandering in the haze between awake and asleep. He wouldn’t let himself fully drift, just in case, but it did feel good to rest his eyes. They would get the intel from Fisk’s database, hopefully discovering where his operations ran through, and give them enough evidence to take the kingpin down. He knew the three of them could do it. They had done it before with Mysterio, and the other spider villains. Peter would prove himself useful, no matter what it took. 

Maybe after they brought Fisk to his knees he could confront Bucky, prove the man wrong. He knew the concerns came from something other than misplaced trust. Bucky, like himself, had lost almost everyone he had become close with, which wasn’t that big of a list if he was being honest. It didn’t feel right, holding this anger over the man. His intentions had been pure, honest. Bucky only wanted to protect Peter, he knew that, but he wasn’t a kid. He could handle himself, and moreover, he knew he could keep up with them in this fight. He could be that extra hand that Matt, Bucky, and Sam needed. If only they would open their eyes and see it. 

“Every time I get close this code throws a wrench in my algorithm,” Ned bit out, his hands rubbing at his temples as the frustration seeped through his tone. “This fisk guy must have had some top-notch encoder put this security system in place…it’s giving me a run for my money” 

Peter sat up, rubbing the fatigue from his eyes as he stared at the screen in front of them. He wanted more than anything to help Ned figure the puzzle out, but he was sure he’d only get in the way. He clapped Ned on the shoulder, watching as he crackled his knuckles over the keys and dove right back in. 

“You’re doing great Ned…I think,” he tried. Any encouragement was better than none right? 

Ned nodded in response, his eyes glued back to the numbers and letters that littered his device. “So like…we used to go on missions and stuff together right? I was like…your guy in the chair?” 

The small smile that grew on Peter’s face erupted as a chuckle escaped his lips. He had missed having Ned in his ear during “missions”, it had always made going after the bad guys easier. It wasn’t something he had really stopped to think about until just now. The nostalgia crept up on him, something stirring in his gut. It felt good to have both Ned and MJ back on his team. 

“Yeah man, exactly like my guy in the chair!” Peter exclaimed, leaning back onto the bed as his head rested in his interlocked fingers. “There was this one mission where I stole Flash’s car from the homecoming dance…you had to help me figure out the controls and the headlights,” he laughed. Remembering the look on Flash’s face was priceless, even better when he’d found out who Spider-Man really was. 

Ned’s fingers had stopped moving, his head snapping up to meet Peter’s gaze, shock clearly evident all over his face. “No way dude…you–you stole Flash Thompson's car?”He asked, his chair fully turning to meet Peter. “What happened after that?” 

Peter couldn’t help the excitement that crawled up his chest as he recalled old stories of his friendly neighborhood days, especially ones involving Ned. Things had really been different back then, and he was reminded so often of how much he missed it. “Well…I crashed the car and took down the bad guy…and Mrs. Warren caught you in the computer lab during the dance…You uh–you told her you were looking at…porn..” He explained, sitting up to face Ned as his hand rested on the base of his neck. 

They both stared at each other for a minute before erupting into laughter, Peter falling back on the bed and Ned leaning over in his chair. He could swear they were both crying with how hard they were laughing, his stomach cramping up with each fit. They both eventually quieted down, wiping the tears from their face as they sat back up in their respective positions. 

“Man…that sounds…epic! I wish I could remember it... All of it,” Ned had said, his tone slipping to a whisper as he turned his chair back around to the keyboard. 

Peter sighed, his fingers numbly picking at the skin near his nails. He wanted Ned to remember. With time, he was hoping they would come back, just like MJ’s had, then they could truly bring back the FOS–Friends of Spider-man.

 “They’ll come back eventually…I know they will…just–just be patient, Ned,” It felt like an empty promise, something you said to get someone to feel better in the moment, except he knew it hadn’t worked. Ned’s memories would return, Peter would do whatever he had to to spark the cascade. 

~~~~~~~

Ned had eventually taken a break, stopping to throw Star Wars on in the background while his fingers recovered from the nonstop typing that Peter had failed to keep up with. Having Ned back on the Team had been a bonus. Peter had almost fully fallen asleep when his phone began vibrating on the bed next to him, MJ’s picture lighting up his screen as he accepted the call. It had been such a long day, she had probably forgotten Ned’s order or something. She should have been on the way home by now. 

Peter brought the phone to his ear, waiting for that familiar sweet voice to radiate through the speaker. “Hey MJ, what’s up? Everything okay?” He asked, his fingers tracing lazy circles through a thick blanket thrown across MJ’s bedspread.

All he was met with was the soft sound of scuffling, like a phone sliding around in someone's pocket. Maybe she had accidentally dialed him. He waited, listening to see if he could pick out any sounds. He could hear feet moving around, scraping and–

His body shot up from the mattress, his heart leaping into his throat. He could hear the muffled cries through the speaker just barely. He had to train his ears on the sound, but it was there. And it was, without a doubt, MJ. Someone had her, and they were covering her mouth. He knew the sound, the strangled cry that escaped between a hand being held over someone as they screamed. His stomach rolled as he tried to listen closer, digging out clues to who had her. He could hear the sound of gravel dragging, someone's legs being pulled backward. He tried his best not to picture it, not to imagine her being taken away, being handled against her will.

He heard a sharp cry followed by a steep inhale…and then a piercing scream filtered through, sending a chill down his spine. 

“PETER! PETER THEY’VE GOT ME, IT’S FI-”

The sound had cut out, followed by a crack and a thud. His heart thundered in his chest, his feet becoming unstable as his knees threatened to buckle underneath him. What could he do? He had to get to her, had to stop them before they got away. The phone had pinged the location, luckily. He was already moving, grabbing his mask and his web shooters. The sound of tires screeching on pavement stopped him in his tracks, the hum of a car engine disappeared from the phone. 

“MJ?! MJ ARE YOU THERE? MJ!” He screamed through the phone, praying, begging that she would answer, even when he knew she was gone. His vision blurred as his head began to swim. Ned was already grabbing him, steadying his shoulders as they fell back to the bed. 

Every nerve was wired, the hairs standing on the back of his neck. His senses dialed up to eleven as he tried to reel in the panic that erupted in his chest, threatening to explode and completely take over. He couldn’t handle it, the idea that Fisk had his hands on her, on MJ. He grabbed his head, trying to steady his thoughts. To think. 

Think

Just think of something 

Useless

Stupid

Think dammit 

Think 

THINK

Peter knew he had no choice, and now wasn’t the time to wrestle with the feelings he had about it. He grabbed his phone, his fingers flying across the keys as he punched in the number. This wasn’t something he could do on his own, Bucky had been right. He needed help. 

The phone rang for a few seconds before Sam's voice rang through. Peter barely registered the voice on the other end through the buzzing in his head. His fingers were numb, the feeling, or lack thereof, rapidly spreading through him as he scraped in a breath. His lungs burned, seizing as the air tried rushing through. He couldn’t breathe, and Sam had said something, and MJ was gone, and he needed to say something, to speak, dammit speak!

“Sam, I–Please–They grabbed her and I don’t know where or how–She just–she went to get coffee–please–I know you’re mad–but I–I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious, please I–I don't–”

His whole body shook, the tears spilling from his eyes as he blinked them away, trying to regain vision through the never-ending stream. He had to calm down, had to be rational if he had a chance in hell of saving her. Breathe. He told himself again and again as he sucked in more air, the feeling hitting him like a ton of bricks as his lungs finally gave in and opened. 

“Woah, woah, kid slow down. What happened?” 

“Fisk–he grabbed MJ! She’s gone–I can't find her!” His voice croaked and shook, the emotion pouring into each word. He didn’t care. He had to get it out, had to will himself to form the words and say them clearly. 

“I can’t lose her, please…I–I need your help…both of you.”

It had been a fraction of a second, but to Peter, the silence had lasted forever, dragging on and on, waiting, agonizing over a response. It was Bucky who finally spoke up, his voice soothing and calm. He spoke slow and clear, cool and collected. It sent a wave of relief through Peter, drowning out some of the panic and the fear that had taken its hold. 

“We’re on our way kid. Sit tight. We will get her back, don't worry.” 

Help was coming, they were on the way. They would get to her, they would find MJ before anything happened. They had to. 

Chapter Text

“You're going to forget who I am…” Peter had said. 

MJ had almost missed it, her eyes fixated on the cuts and bruises that riddled his skin, his suit torn top to bottom from all the fighting. 

“What?” Ned gaped, stumbling closer between the three of them.

The strain in Ned’s voice had been enough to pull MJ out of her head, crashing back to the nightmare playing out before her very eyes. She looked over to see the unease on his face. Her stomach nearly dropped when she looked back at Peter, the look of sheer concern weaved throughout his entire being. His shoulder drew up tightly as he flexed his hands at his sides. His eyebrows pulled slightly together as the edges of his eyes crinkled down. They were all such minor changes, micro-expressions that she had learned to read over time, but she was sure she knew exactly what they meant. It made that dark thing inside her chest grow even larger, threatening to take over completely. He was staring directly at her, his eyes full of something MJ couldn’t place, or rather, wasn't ready to. It stirred the icy wave churning through her gut, her knees going weak as Peter’s words began to fully settle over her…they would forget who he was…

“Y-yeah…what are you talking about?” The shakiness in her voice was obvious, but neither Peter nor Ned made it obvious that they had noticed, not with everything else going on. She could see the careful mask Peter placed over his face, trying to hide the obvious pain he was feeling, not from any injuries, but the situation they had found themselves in. Against all the odds, they had saved everyone, had sent them all home, and this was the fate they were forced to face…It wasn’t fair…this wasn’t fair. 

“It's okay, I'm gonna come find you and I’ll explain everything. I’ll make you remember me…and it will be like none of this ever happened.” 

MJ could feel the fear snaking up her gut, crawling its way into her chest as Peter spoke. He was leaving them, and they would have nothing to remember him by. The panic flared, shooting its way up and out, spreading through her like wildfire. “Okay but what if that doesn’t work…w-what if that doesn’t work? What if we can’t remember? I don’t wanna do that..I-I don’t wanna do that!”

The small flash behind Peter’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed, but it was there and gone so fast MJ had almost missed it completely. It sent a cold shiver up her spine. For a brief moment, her lungs stopped altogether, the air becoming stale as it stilled between movements. All she could feel was ice crawling through her veins, the numbness overshadowing the rest. But that same warm, safe look slid back into place as Peter took another small step between them, instantly thawing the frost running through her, his fingers like a burning ember spreading through her. “I know MJ…I know,” he whispered, his thumb brushing up against her wrist. Peter’s eyes never left her as he spoke. Not once. 

“There’s not something we can do? W-we can come up with like a plan or something? There’s always something we can do..” she whispered, the tears welling up in her eyes almost obstructing her view completely. 

Peter looked down, his head shaking gently back and forth as he took another careful step towards her, the gap between them almost nonexistent now. “There's nothing we can do…” 

And MJ almost shattered at the despair in his voice alone. She watched the jolt that ran through his entire body, each muscle firing as it moved. He seemed impossibly stiff, his shoulders pushing up towards his ears as his hands bawled up at his sides. She wanted to reach out, to hold him like he had done to her so many times before. He took a tentative step back, his gaze lingering towards the ground as the silence washed over them.  It truly had felt like the end, like there was nothing more to be done. They had lost…that once bright ray of hope blazing through them had been snuffed out, leaving them in pure darkness.

Peter took a deep breath, squaring his shoulder as he peered up at them, his eyes solely fixed on MJ. 

“But it’ll be okay…” 

Something in the way he said it, the way his voice didn’t waver, how he held his head high, despite the crushing weight mounted on his shoulders…It made something warm blossom in the center of MJ's chest, something to grasp onto and hold tight. She had to believe that she would see him again. The alternative terrified her….was too scary to dwell on for even a brief moment. 

“You promise?” Ned almost whispered, tears rolling down his cheek. 

“Yeah, I promise.” Peter returned as he leaned in, he and Ned shaking hands before Peter pulled him into a hug. “I’ll come find you okay?”

“I know you will.” Ned cried, his hand clapping Peter’s shoulder before he finally pulled back. 

MJ had stood there, the thoughts racing through her head as she tried to comprehend it all. It wasn’t real…this couldn’t be real. She couldn’t lose Peter…not after everything. She trusted him fully, and a promise was a promise, no matter how much it stung. “You better..” she felt the way her lips quivered, the hot tears spilling down her face as she finally met Peter’s gaze. “If you don't, I'm just gonna figure it out. I've done it before, I can do it again…”

‘I promise I’ll fix this..” 

There it was again. That word. Promise . It sent a wave of calm crashing through MJ. Quieted the scream inside that begged to escape and grab onto Peter and never let go. He stepped closer to her, closing any gap between them as his eyes locked onto hers. And she swam in them, got lost, praying to anyone who would listen that she could drown there, trapped in this quiet space between time and reality. Hoping beyond hope that it could all stand still for just a moment longer, to memorize every crack, crevice, and line, before the universe cruelly stole it away from her. 

“I really hate magic” 

The smallest hint of a smile ghosted across Peter’s lips at her words, and the lack of malice behind them. “Yeah…me too.”

MJ’s hands moved of their own accord, her nimble fingers brushing across the scrapes on Peter’s face, and she grabbed hold, cradling his head in her hands. She never wanted to let go, couldn’t even imagine the idea of it. Not now. Not as she gazed into the same deep brown eyes staring back at her, the sadness that overtook them as the tears steadily flowed down his cheeks. She could feel his body relax as he leaned into the touch, the rough lines around his eyes softening ever so slightly. 

“I love you..” she whispered, ignoring her own tears as they roamed freely. 

“I lov-” 

“Just wait…wait and tell me when you see me again?”

Another silent promise, one that would bind it fully, ensure that no matter what, he would come back to her and do everything in his power to sew back the fabric the world was about to tear apart. 

Peter smiled up at her, his hands gently resting on top of her own.

“Sure,”

The muffled voices around the room seemed to pull MJ from the void of unconsciousness back to the present. She was quickly made aware that her hands were bound, the ropes cutting into her skin every time she tried to move. Her ankles knocked against the chair legs they were pulled up against, the cold wood pressing deep into her. She could feel the pounding in her head, the pain radiating down her neck each time she moved against the restraints. That’s right, they had bashed her head in before throwing her into that car. She had remembered calling Peter, screaming into the device with any details that might've been helpful, but all the rest was fuzzy, like a dream she could just barely remember. She had to escape, get the hell out of here as fast as she could…especially if her gut feeling was right. That the Kingpin himself had been the one they ordered to take her. Even with her wrists being as small as they were, there was no hope of wiggling out of these restraints. These guys knew what they were doing.

MJ wasn’t quite ready to give up the fact that she was awake, wanting to gather as much info as possible before these goons made their demands, anything to help out Peter when he inevitably swooped in and kicked their asses. She had no doubt he’d show up, the only question that remained was when. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but the small drops of blood trickling down her face indicated it couldn’t have been too long. The wound was still open, it had to have been under an hour since they dragged her off the streets. 

She listened carefully, aware of how the voices echoed, they were clearly in a large room. There was almost no doubt that Fisk was behind this, and from what Peter had told her, the man had warehouse locations all along the docks. It was highly probable that she was in one of them. That also meant there were most likely weapons here.

Those stupid purple alien weapons, the same ones that almost killed the entire academic decathlon team in DC. Why Fisk wanted to manufacture more of them baffled her, but something in her stomach twisted at the idea of Peter being dragged into it. Fisk wanted him to come get her, to swoop in and be the hero. But the question remained, why? Why would they purposefully lure an Avenger to their hideout, especially if they really were manufacturing weapons here? These guys didn’t stand a chance in hell taking Peter on by themselves. Something was off about it. This all felt wrong. 

MJ could have sworn she heard something about the docks, a location, or potentially a meeting…her gut was telling her she was right. They had brought her to one of his manufacturing plants. Was Fisk on his way? Would she meet the Kingpin…the man hellbent on tearing the rest of the Avengers apart? It was difficult to make out what the men were saying, but the sense of urgency in their voices had MJ on edge. They had to know help was on the way, yet they made no effort to prepare…as if they had no intentions of fighting back. 

Slowly, she peeled one eye open, just enough to assess her surroundings and get her bearings. The two men occupied a corner across the room from her, their faces covered below the eyes with masks, and dressed head to toe in black. Typical bad guy getups–of course. One was significantly taller than the other, his broad shoulders almost half the size of the guy standing next to him. It was the casual sway of their body language, the way their shoulders slumped as they leaned up against the wall that sent a spike of anxiety rippling through her. They carried themselves in a way that didn’t quite meet the consternation in their tone. The dark pit inside MJ’s stomach grew and twisted into something eerily similar to fear, nerves lighting up like a livewire in her chest. They wanted Peter to come, but they didn’t seem worried about it. No, they were ready for it, like Peter was the prey, blindly crawling into the spider’s web.

 The heavy thump of footsteps slamming into cement sent a jolt up her spine, the sound carrying closer and closer to her with each passing second. Her heart slammed in her chest with each stomp across the ground, but she refused to give into it, to give these assholes the satisfaction of knowing they scared her even just a little. She shut her eyes back closed, allowing her head to roll slightly to her left side. A poor illusion, at best, that she was still out cold 

“Hey, little lady…I know you're awake…your breathing changed,” a deep voice rumbled, inches in front of her, his foot tapping the outside of her own. She could feel the presence of him, a behemoth towering over her as she debated what to do. There was no hiding it, now that her damn cover was blown, she wasn’t just going to sit here and take it. Fighting it was. In one swift movement, MJ swept her foot back, her heel shooting into the man’s ankle as her other foot aimed for his knees. He immediately buckled, his entire body shifting backward into the other, much smaller goon. The anger that washed across his face sent a wave of panic through MJ. The smaller man shoved forward, pushing the other’s weight off of him as he brushed himself off, his ice-cold glare piercing through the taller man. She smirked to herself, proud of the reaction she elicited. She was sure she could play these guys like a fiddle. 

The goon stood up straight, his hand lightly dusting off his shoulder as he planted his feet over MJ's legs. He leaned down, his face meeting the same level as hers as his hand landed on top of the chair arm. “Think you're tough eh?” 

MJ just glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of responding, playing into his hand like he had intended. Bad guys always had an air about them, a confidence that never reached their skill level. She had seen it plenty of times before. This guy was no different, even if he was working for Fisk. He was disposable, and he was big. Those were the only reasons he excelled in his field–if one could even call it that. They would try to get a rise out of her, get her to play along with them until she cracked. That was when they would make their demands. That was when they would call Peter. The thought of it pissed MJ off, but she could sit here and be strong, not crack. She knew they’d ask questions, that they’d demand answers to secrets that weren’t hers to tell. And she could be strong…she could. But that small seed of doubt made itself known in the back of her head. What if this time, he didn’t make it to her? What if Fisk got there first? MJ refused to be the bait, to let someone use her like a piece of meat at the end of a line, reeling in their true prey. 

The goon gripped the chair harder, his knuckles going white under the strain. A smarter person would most likely answer their questions, get them to back off. Luckily MJ had more skills than just her intelligence. She had her moments, and yeah she was captain of the decathlon team, but when it came to interrogation tactics, her knowledge was a bit rusty. But she never underestimated her own ability to come up with a plan. 

Both men sized her up, smirking at each other as they walked circles around her. MJ did her best to keep her expressions neutral, to place that firm mask over her face, the same one she had seen Peter don so many times before. It was her turn now. She had to be the one to remain strong, to shoulder the weight as it came crashing down. And she would gladly do it, if it meant she got to see Peter again, to wrap him up in her arms. If it kept him safe. MJ had no idea what was in store for her, but no way would she be a part of providing Fisk any intel.     

“Your boyfriend isn’t comin' sweetheart, at least not yet…he has no idea where we swept you off to,” The wry smirk that danced across his lips made MJ’s stomach churn. She could feel the anger brewing in her, slowly kindling with each passing moment. The sound of boots pacing closer pulled her focus back to the first goon creeping closer toward her. He towered over her, his features overshadowing everything else. MJ kept her head low, refusing to meet his stare. She could hold it together until help arrived…it was coming… he was coming. Her fingernails dug into her palms as she counted the seconds, inhaling in and out, anything to keep her emotions at bay. They could ridicule her all they wanted, but she refused to let it get to her. 

Fingers swept under her chin, bile crawling up in her throat at the touch. She snarled at the man, her steel gaze meeting his. She felt cold, stiff fingers tracing across her brow, gliding down her cheek, and brushing through her hair. She wanted to yell, kick, and scream, anything to get him away, get him off. She schooled her expression, shoving the anger and disgust far beneath the surface and slapping on a careful mask of neutrality. No satisfaction of a reaction from her. 

MJ was sure he knew it was a trap, but it was Peter, and nothing would stop him. He was an unstoppable force to be reckoned with, the spear that was fashioned to pierce through anything…but Fisk was the unmovable object. A shield that could withstand anything. Both seemingly indestructible, never yielding from their paths, begging the question MJ feared most. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? She couldn’t help the fear that trickled through her, the small ripples growing more and more. MJ tried her best to look past it, ignore the doubt that was festering, but nothing could stop the images, the flashes of memory that danced through her mind. Streams dyed red by the hands of a monster, the only thing she truly cared for, slipping through her fingers, darkness that threatened to spill over and spread through her like ink running on a page, no forgiveness in its wake. Fisk was a raging wildfire compared to the uncontrolled flame that was Adrian Toomes, and he was ready and waiting for Peter. 

“You see, we followed your boy, Mr. Spiderman, to that cute little apartment in Queens, where he met up with you. We hoped he'd come back out eventually, but when you walked out we changed the plans a bit,” MJ felt those same cold fingers glide under her chin, lifting her face to meet his, that same evil grin still plastered on his face. She could feel the hand grip tighter, curling deeper into her skin. “Now you’re gonna tell us who he is, and we’re gonna call him up…let him swoop in and save you before we lay him out.” 

The swirling pit in her stomach threatened to swallow MJ whole. They wanted his identity… Fisk wanted his identity. There had to be a reason. The Kingpin had a reason for everything, every tiny little detail of his plan…and this time, Peter was a part of it. She didn’t like it, one bit. They would get nothing out of her, no matter how hard they tried. She could do this if it meant keeping Peter’s identity his own. If it meant keeping him safe. 

She glared up, staring straight into the cold steel eyes piercing through her. There was no way out of this stupid chair, the binds against her wrist just cut deeper into her flesh with each pull. Her feet were pinned under the goon, unable to fight back. She reared her head back, but he must have caught on, backing away briefly before adjusting his grip on her face impossibly tighter. She shook her head, trying to break free, to no avail. The panic rising in her chest slowly bloomed, spreading throughout her arms and limbs, making everything numb. She had to get out, had to fight. She had to do something. MJ pulled back slightly, tilting her head up before spitting directly into the man's face, his hands retreating immediately to shield himself from anything else. Small victories . 

Pure rage washed across the man's face as he stared holes through MJ, his body leaning heavily over hers as he regained his hold on her face once more. She could feel his fingers digging into the sides of her cheeks, pulling at her skin. The shaking in his fingertips didn’t go unnoticed, but she doubted it was from nerves. 

It happened so fast, his arm rearing up as his calloused hand swiftly connected with the side of her cheek. Her vision swam, everything fading out for a brief moment as her head slumped down to her chest, the blood rolling forward down her face with the movement. He had finally let go of her face, just fast enough for the force of his other hand to send her almost tumbling over. And in an instant her face was mere inches away from the goons, his breath slamming into her with each exhale. MJ could feel the legs of the chair tipping back off the ground, her body swaying backward with the movement. Fingers snaked through her hair before yanking her head backward, the wound on her head screaming in protest. 

“Oh sweetheart, you’re a naughty little thing.” 

The hand grappling her hair tightened as her eyes slammed shut. MJ tried her best to breathe through it, to prepare for whatever the hell this guy was about to do. And then suddenly, her chair was slamming back to the ground, his fingers withdrawing from her scalp as she slowly slid her eyes back open. 

The other goon had grabbed the guy's wrist, dragging him into a corner and whispering something to him. They both looked pissed, albeit for different reasons. MJ released the breath she didn't realize she was holding, her shoulders sagging slightly as she leaned back into the chair. They threw glances her way every now and then but never fully approached her after that. She had time to breathe, to think. Finally, MJ could devise a plan to get out of here, without Peter falling into Fisk's hands. 

Chapter Text

The tension running through Peter’s shoulders was clear as day, even to a blind man. Matt could feel the electricity running through the air, like a livewire between them. The kid was on edge, and anything he were to say would likely just add to it. He didn’t mind staying behind, keeping an eye on Peter, and going over intel. Sam and Bucky had the harder job anyway, going after Toomes for information. Matt only wished he could be there to tell if that scumbag was telling the truth or not, but those two had foolproof methods of figuring that out on their own. 

The intel Peter’s friend–Ned was it? was able to decode was more than helpful. It gave them an inside scoop to the way Fisk had been running some of his operations. But it was mostly bare bones and dead ends. Empty leads that didn't get them very far. 

Matt knew how frustrating going after Fisk was. He had done it one too many times now. It was a game he was sick of playing. He only hoped the team he was with now could finally end it. Put Fisk away once and for all. And yet, something in his gut churned at the thought of Fisk behind bars. In Matt’s head, the only cage that could hold him was a pine box six feet below. He shook the thought from his head, focusing back on the stream of intel coming through his earbud. Ned had figured out a way to input the coding into software that would read the intel to Matt. That kid really was quite clever, he had a bright future ahead of him. Peter too. 

They were both so young, had so much of their lives ahead of them. But Matt didn’t miss the void in Peter’s voice when he spoke, the heaviness that spread over him like a blanket anytime things got too quiet. It pulled at his heart, tugged at feelings he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since his father had poured whiskey over open wounds that shaky young hands had to tend to. He felt for Peter, truly. Wished he could pluck him away from this world, the one that had no forgiveness, no matter how old you were. This kid was still in school, still figuring out what he wanted out of life, what to do with himself. There was no room for fighting and heroes and bad guys like Fisk, and yet, here they were. 

A faint shuffle pulled him from his thoughts, the first movement he had heard from Peter in over an hour. The kid had zoned into the intel, flipping through page after page for something, anything to find Fisk, to find out where MJ was. 

“Find anything good?” He schooled his tone, trying to keep it light. The kid didn’t need more disappointment piled on top of everything else he was likely feeling right now. 

A heavy sigh escaped Peter’s lips before he slumped back into his chair. “Just more of the same really…” 

The despair in his tone was enough to almost shatter Matt completely. It had been hours since Ned had handed them the decrypted file, and yet their hands were still empty. It hurt, knowing exactly how Peter felt and not being able to do anything about it. They were helpless, weak with a lack of knowledge, and it made Matt’s blood boil. 

Through all the years, all the terrible things Fisk had done, the pile of bodies that never quite growing, and this might be the worst one yet. Fisk knew what he was doing, knew the nerves to strike to bring the kid to his knees. But Peter was strong, he couldn’t deny it. He could feel the tenacity radiating off of him, the determination to do whatever he could. But he could also hear the sharp inhales, the quick shuffle of paper, his heart screaming louder through his chest with each page. Nobody knew how much he could take, hell, even Peter probably wasn’t sure. Matt could tell he was at his limit, that he was almost at the end of his rope with nothing but emptiness to catch his fall. 

Peter was sure his eyes were fried by the time he had finished scanning Ned’s intel for the umpteenth time. There was solid information that could help build a case against Fisk, but nothing that gave any clue to where he might be holding MJ. He could feel the frustration creeping up his spine, the fire burning in his chest steadily growing as each minute ticked by. He tried not to let his mind wander, to think about where MJ was, what they were doing to her, what had already been done–

A hand on his bicep pulled Peter back to the present, out of the turmoil of images and scenarios his brain had been cooking up for him. Matt must have heard his heart rate. It was unfair really, the superhuman hearing, except it wasn’t really superhuman. Peter shook his head, his hand gliding through his hair as he leveled a stare at the lawyer. “Sorry I…I just can't stop thinking about it…about her.” 

The look that flashed across Matt’s face was something similar to understanding. He knew Daredevil had gone several rounds with Fisk in the past. It had been all over the news the first time, when he had broken into the penthouse prison, to–as the news speculated–put an end to the crime boss. Peter wasn’t sure what Matt’s true intentions had been, and he didn’t think it was really his place to ask. But it didn’t change the fact that he clearly had a history with the man. The anger that seeped into his tone, the tension that crept up his shoulders anytime Fisk was mentioned, it hadn’t gone unnoticed. It made the pit in Peter’s stomach sink impossibly low. If the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen couldn’t defeat him, what chance in hell did he have?

The man without fear, the Devil himself, and Fisk had still won. He’d still had the upper hand against Matt, right up until the end, and Peter still wasn’t sure that the lawyer had ended up on top. How could he if he was right back to square one? The odds were stacked impossibly high, and Peter had already failed once. He’d already lost everything, and it had nearly killed him. He wasn’t sure he could handle it a second time. 

Daredevil wasn’t like Spider-Man. He didn’t cower in fear at the prospect of being defeated. He faced the odds and fought like hell to prove them wrong. All Spider-Man had managed to do was add to the strife, ensure more chaos, and get people hurt—More trouble than he was worth. 

Matt could tell Peter was working himself up, with the way his heart was hammering in his chest, sweat beading down his forehead. The kid was clearly on edge, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. It made sense–Fisk had taken the one thing that he knew would hurt the kid the most, and Matt still wasn’t sure how in the hell he even achieved it. With Wilson Fisk, anything was possible, it was one of the reasons he was hesitant about this prison… the raft , Sam had called it. 

He gripped Peter’s arm harder, using the pressure mixed with the pain of fingernails digging into flesh to ground him back to reality. It’s what worked for him, he might as well give it a go. Comforting people wasn’t really a strong suit of his. He was much more accustomed to throwing thugs off buildings and beating them within an inch of their lives. This was…new. “We’re going to find her Peter…Fisk wouldn’t have killed her before getting what he wants..” 

“And what is it…what do you think he wants?” 

Matt froze, his breath hitching in his chest at the question. The truth was, he had no idea. “At the moment…it seems his eyes are set firmly on you…but I couldn’t tell you why.” It wasn’t really something Matt had thought about, but whatever the true answer was couldn’t be good. It didn’t change the fact that Fisk was set on getting what he wanted, and right now, what he wanted was Peter.

The stiff silence that lapsed between them was deafening. They both had questions that they knew there weren’t answers for. The loss of control was frustrating, it was something Matt hated to admit to. Fisk had always been ahead of them, but lately, it felt like they were stumbling around in the dark with no clue how to get out. Fisk was worlds ahead of them, and they were playing catch up, poorly at that . 

Matt knew what was coming before the kid even opened his mouth. His breath caught every time he was about to speak, his fingers thrumming against the chair as his heart fluttered. It was an uneasy feeling, being stuck…feeling like you made the wrong choice. Matt was all too familiar with it. 

“I should have kept my distance… shouldn’t have gotten close again..” 

The kid had practically whispered it. Matt wasn’t even sure if he was meant to hear it, but it broke his heart all the same. Memories of his own flooded through, back when he had thought the exact same thing. He had almost lost everything, everyone he cared about, all because of that same thinking. It’s why he lept at the chance to try and save the kid from himself.

“Peter,” He began, shuffling around to the front of the chair as he sat on the coffee table directly across from him. He brought his other hand up, both firmly gripping the kid's shoulders. 

“You can't–don't think that way, Peter…”

God, Matt couldn't believe he was giving someone the same speech that he had needed to hear not that long ago himself. Full circle and all that. 

“I'd rather die as the devil than live as Matt Murdock.” The words still bounced around his head every now and again, the conversation with his mo– with The Sister, replaying over and over again.

 At one time in his life, he had believed it, hell, there were still days he was sure he did. But he had changed, the people around him had changed him. They had helped , and slowly, bit by bit, he was learning to live again, to step back into Matt Murdock and leave the devil to work in the shadows. Peter didn’t need that, he didn’t need to know what that was like. The loneliness that had surrounded Matt, like a cold, dark embrace, slowly pulling him under until he couldn't hear the sound of his own screams. It had terrified him, the loneliness, because it was comfortable. And Matt would do everything he could to shield the kid from it. 

“Your friends needed you more than you probably know….and you need them too,” He said slowly, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the kid's shoulders as he spoke.

“They're safer with you in their corner, and you're stronger with them standing behind you. You can only get so far by yourself.” He should know. His one-man crusade would have ended as a suicide mission if his friends hadn’t pulled him back up from the deep, dark hole he buried himself in along the way. 

“From what I’ve heard…the three of you have a better chance together than any one of you would have standing alone, especially against an opponent like Fisk.” Matt knew it was the truth. He knew because he lived it. And in the end, he had been stronger with Karen and Foggy standing by his side. He was lucky, to have people who held on so tightly when he was trying his best to push them away. Peter’s friends were the same, the kid was lucky to have them. Matt just had to help him see that. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Working with literal teenagers wasn’t something Bucky ever thought he would be doing, and yet, it had proven to be fairly useful up to this point. Ned had hacked the security info from Fisk’s campaign office and gotten them a lead. Turns out, Toomes had an old abandoned piece of property out in the countryside that wasn’t listed on any previous documents. Fisk must have found the address and wiped it from every other database. It had to be where the Vulture was lying low.

The look of surprise on Toomes face when they kicked in the heavy wooden door sent a thrill of adrenaline thrumming through Bucky’s veins. His feet were moving as soon as his eyes landed on the man, his fists curling tightly, nails digging into his flesh hand. 

“Alright, Ned found a location upstate that we can check out…it’s registered under Toomes name, so there’s a good chance he’s there,” Sam said, his eyes lingering on Bucky for a little longer than he thought necessary.

 He raised an eyebrow back at Sam. “What…you think I'm going to tear him apart?” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you…I saw what he did to Peter, and I know what that kid means to you,”

Bucky had always admired how straightforward Sam was. He wasn’t afraid of him, didn’t treat him like he was going to break. And he had a point. He had been pissed at what Toomes did to Peter. Sam had practically begged him at the time to leave it, reminded him that he didn’t do that anymore. He wanted to bend those rules for Toomes.

“Just…promise to keep your cool, okay?” 

Turns out just seeing the asshole's face had thrown all that resolve out the window, because all he could see right now was red. Peter lying in a pool of his own blood, freezing and hurt…so hurt. And his feet were moving of their own volition, towards the source of that pain. 

“Buck”

He had made a promise to Sam, and as much as his hands begged to tear into Toomes, he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk losing this source of intel over a wave of anger, not if it meant helping Peter. He shifted, his hands gripping the collar of the man's shirt and hoisting him upward, slamming his back against the wall. He could hear the crack in the drywall as it made contact. 

“A-aren’t you gonna ask me questions before throwing me around?” Toomes asked, his voice wavering under the guise of his straight face. 

“Did you ask Spiderman any questions before you threw him around?” Bucky pushed back, the venom in his tone clear as day. He could feel his grip getting tighter, his strength pushing Toomes further into the crumbling heap of drywall. 

The color in Toomes face practically drained, his eyes bulging out of his head. “Look…listen I was just–ungh!” 

Bucky heard the air leaving Toome’s lungs as his fist drove deeper into his gut, the satisfaction washing through him as the man crumpled onto the floor. He reached down, yanking him up by a handful of hair. “Now, you’re going to tell me where Fisk is keeping the girl,” he started, gripping one of Toomes fingers in his vibranium hand “or you're not going to have functioning limbs.”

Sam could audibly hear the crack of Toome’s fingers, one by one as Bucky worked his way down. It made the contents of his stomach leap up his throat ever so slightly. The Vulture didn’t seem like the type to freely give up information, especially with a boss like Fisk. From what Murdock had said, that was a one-way ticket to an early grave. But he hated seeing Bucky like this. He hated how easy it was for the man to flip the switch and slide back into the role. It filled his veins with ice. Bucky wasn’t the soldier anymore, he had seen the change himself. But he was holding onto pieces of his past, that much was clear. 

He’d seen Bucky work before, when Zeemo had dragged them to Madripoor. He’d had to play the part of the assassin again. The loyal Winter Soldier. Even thinking about it made Sam's stomach churn. Bucky was good at extracting information, and even better at scaring people, threatening them until they finally cracked. Most times he never even had to lay a finger on them. It was actually kind of impressive. But Sam could tell when it had gone too far, and Bucky was close to that edge with Toomes. He knew he had to step in. 

He moved closer behind them, keeping his footsteps loud to let Bucky know he was approaching. “Hey, back off for a second,” he started, his hand gently resting on Bucky’s bicep and pulling him back. Toomes had collapsed into a heap on the ground, heaving for air between sharp breaths. His face was swollen, blood oozed out of his mouth and several of his fingers were bent in unnatural positions. 

They stepped over to the side for a moment, Bucky’s eyes lingering on Toomes, not flicking away for even a second. 

“Man, you really worked one over on him…” Sam started, his eyes trailing the pool of blood seeping underneath The Vulture. He could see Bucky stiffen from the corner of his eyes, his shoulders just slightly tensing at the comment. 

“Yeah, well…he wouldn’t talk. I had to get persuasive,” Bucky bit back defensively, his eyes still glued to the mess of a man over on the ground. 

The headache settling in behind his eyes was starting to drive Sam insane. He ran a hand down his face, trying to come up with the next best solution to the immediate problem. “I don’t think he’s going to talk…not with whatever Fisk is likely holding over his head,” the thing was, they had another plan. It was just one Sam felt slimy about. But desperate times called for desperate measures. 

They lingered there for a brief moment, the anxiety crawling through Sam’s gut as he made up his mind. They were out of time and out of options, and Bucky looked tired, like—bone-deep exhausted. This was their last chance. 

Sam stepped forward, his face back to neutral as he squared his shoulders in front of Toomes. It was his turn now. 

“Alright, enough of the games man. You’re gonna tell us where the girl is, then the big guy right here is gonna drag your ass to the nearest prison. Go it?” he said, his gaze shifting over to Bucky’s briefly. The man was staring right at him, his eyes finally off of Toomes. 

The guy laughed. He actually laughed as he slowly sat himself up against the wall, wiping off the trail of blood dribbling out of his mouth. “Oh yeah?’ he chuckled “You seem pretty confident that’s how this is gonna go.” 

Sam wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, but clearly, physical pain wasn’t getting them anywhere. He glanced back over at Bucky, receiving a quick nod from the man before turning back to Toomes. Sam reached his hand into his back pocket to retrieve what he was looking for. Here goes nothing. 

“Yeah well, that’s because I am,” Sam said as he threw several photos down at Toomes feet. They had been prepared for the man to keep everything locked up inside. Even with Bucky’s techniques, he wasn’t sure that Toomes would talk.

The Vulture wasn’t like the regular thugs for hire on the street. Fisk had chosen to work with him for a reason, and he was already an enemy of the Avengers. He didn’t feel good about it, but getting intel on Toomes and his family proved to be easier than he expected. He can thank Fisk’s intel for that. Once they got the location to his family's current address, Redwing was there within a few hours, getting live audio and visuals for them. All it took was a few pictures and rattling the man up a bit and Sam was hoping he would open right up. 

Watching all the blood drain from Toomes face gave Sam a sick feeling of satisfaction. This might just work. They may actually get the intel they need to rescue MJ and finally get the upper hand on Fisk. 

“wher–how did you get these?” Toomes had practically shouted. His messed up fingers hovering over the pictures of his wife and daughter. 

“You can thank Redwing for that one,” Sam said, an air of pride in his voice. 

“Yeah…cuz Red Wing did all the work to find them…oh wait, that's right. He didn't,” Bucky whispered to himself, his eyes rolling before he could stop them.

Sam leaned over slightly, his gaze fully locked on Toomes. “Shh, it's my turn,” he said, winking over at Bucky before returning his attention back to the man bleeding all over the floor. “You have thirty seconds to tell us where the girl is. We have a truckload of agents waiting at the perimeter of your family’s house…the choice is yours.”

Sam watched as the second hand on his watch slowly ticked past the three and then the four. Toomes was almost out of time, and Sam and Bucky were almost shit out of luck. He finally looked over at Bucky, trying to keep the mask up. If Toomes caught their lie, they were finished. 

 “Give em a call,” 

Panic washed over Toomes’ face as he considered his options, his gaze flickering between the photos strewn across the floor and Sam and Bucky staring down at him. Sam had almost decided to give up when the man finally opened his mouth to speak. “Wait, wait! Okay…fine, you win,” He conceded, slumping back down to the ground. 

Sam tried to hide the cocky grin that spread across his face as he peered over at Bucky, his arms going out to the side as he spoke. “I always do,” he chuckled. 

Bucky rolled his eyes as he stepped in front of Sam, his feet landing directly in front of Toomes as the man slowly pulled his chin up to make eye contact. 

“The location,” Bucky demanded

Toomes gulped as he sat up straighter. “Grab a pen,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dragging Toomes back to the compound was fairly easy after the state Bucky had left him in. Sam had made sure to keep a close eye on his partner during the flight home. He seemed fine, but he was sure it was just a front the man was putting up. Bucky was great at hiding behind that mask, pretending like nothing bothered him. It must have been something he picked up from Steve. The two of them were more alike than he cared to admit. Bucky just had a little extra spice to him. Sam would get through that tough exterior one day, however long it would take. 

They left Toomes in the hands of the Avengers on site. They would make sure he got to the raft safely. He would be safe from Fisk there, and his wife and daughter had around-the-clock protection until Fisk was out of the picture. It was sheer luck that Toomes gave up the intel so easily, good thing too, the man didn’t seem to catch their bluff. 

“Good thing I didn’t have to make a call to our “agents” on standby” Bucky huffed, plopping back into the passenger seat of the quinjet. He pulled his arms to the side, stretching out as his feet found their home next to the control panel. The ride back to New York City would be short, but any shut-eye was better than none. 

Sam followed closely behind, flicking on a few switches before readjusting the controls on the panel, moving carefully around Bucky’s feet. He looked pretty comfortable, and Sam was sure he would pass out for the thirty-minute ride they had back to the city. “Yeah well…Redwing technically is an “agent” if you think about it.” 

“He’s a hunk of metal Sam…” Bucky protested as he leaned his head back, resting in his hands as his eyes slowly drifted close. 

“Whatever, you’re just jealous you dont have a cool partner that can fly across the country for you in just a few hours to help you blackmail a bad guy into giving up important intel,” Sam breathed “Wow…That was a mouthful..” 

Bucky sat up slightly, his eyes catching that ridiculous grin spread across Sam’s face. He couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes, Sam’s shoulders shaking with laughter at the gesture. “Yeah well…I don't know about all of that extra crap,” he started, his fist coming out to playfully bash the man's shoulder,“ but I do have a pretty cool partner when he shows up,”

The dramatic gasp that escaped Sam’s lips had Bucky almost rolling his eyes all over again, the man’s hand landing on his chest as he feigned being shocked. 

“Decides to show up? Are you kidding Buck? I had to track you down!” Sam teased, easing himself back into the pilot seat. 

Bucky watched as Sam got himself oriented behind the control panel, his seatbelt sliding into place as he flipped the ignition switch and tested all the controls. Something about the way the man's fingers danced over every button, carefully flicking up each switch relaxed him. He could feel his eyelids slowly drooping as the sweet promise of sleep overtook him.  

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Let’s get going, punk.” 

Sam’s hand froze over the throttle, his eyes snapping over to Bucky. The man had already passed out, his mouth hanging wide open as he sprawled across the co-pilot seat. He stared at him for a few seconds before turning back to the controls. He shook his head as his hand returned to the throttle, steadily pushing it forward for their ascent. 

As they coasted past the vast green fields of upstate New York, he tried not to think too hard about the fact that the only other person he had referred to as punk, was Steve himself. 

Chapter Text

Matt needed some time away from the office. Sam and Bucky had just gotten back and they would have time to go over that intel once they met up, but a shower and a fresh change of clothes sounded heavenly right about now. They had practically been living at the firm, camping out as they planned the rescue and the inevitable takedown of the Kingpin. 

The cab ride back to his apartment was quiet but he didn’t mind it, not after the non-stop craziness that seemed to be following him around. He should have known that Karen would be waiting for him at his apartment, and lately, Foggy seemed to follow wherever Karen went. 

He could practically hear their heartbeats from a mile away, still in the cab. I took everything in him not to beg the cab driver to turn around. He wasn’t avoiding his friends—he wasn’t. He just…didn’t have the time. Karen and Foggy had a right to know what was going on. As much as Matt didn’t want them to be, they were involved. That didn’t make it any easier. 

Slowly he turned the key in the lock, taking in a steadying breath before he walked into whatever lecture they had in store for him this time. It wasn’t like he had been trying to avoid them, not like in the past. Matt had just been so preoccupied with Peter, making sure the kid was okay that it just sort of…slipped his mind.

A cold world was one Matt understood the most. Lacking the ability to trust people, shielding yourself behind thick, impenetrable walls. Those were all things he’d grown accustomed to…all things he’d started seeing in Peter, not seeing per se. The kid was becoming too much like him, and if Matt had any say in it, he couldn’t let it continue. 

Good people were hard to come by. Matt had gotten lucky Time and again with both Karen and Foggy. Peter was another. He’d just fallen into the right circumstances to create the wrong scenarios. He could feel how much Bucky and Sam cared about the kid. It was the same for him. 

The kid was hurting, blaming himself. Matt didn’t have time to stick around and play twenty questions. 

He inched between the door, carefully setting down his keys as he closed the door. Matt honed his ears, listening for the whispers from the couch. “Not that it matters much, but you know it doesn’t matter if you whisper right?” 

Matt sidesteps the couch easily, noticing the sudden stop in whispers as he makes his way over to his closet, his father's old boxing chest sitting under a pile of junk, waiting for him.  

“Matt–” Foggy says carefully, and Matt can hear his heart rate pick up, feel the nerves running through him as he leans forward on the couch, the tension thick in the air. 

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t want to hear what you have to say, but I really don‘t have the time,” he gets out, practically visualizing the wave of anger that washes over Karen's face, what with the way her whole body tenses over on the couch as Matt moves to riffle through his old chest, grabbing for the things he knows he will need in this fight.

The idea of a shower died pretty quickly, with the time he didn’t have already dwindling trying to navigate around this conversation, around avoiding whatever it was his friends had to say about it this time. He wants to take the time, to explain it all to them. But someone's life is on the line right now. MJ is waiting and Peter…he has to get back for Peter.

The sharp intake of breath from the other side of the room stops Matt’s fingers for a second, his hand already grasped tightly around his mask. 

“And why’s that?” Karen asks, frustration leaking into her tone as she carefully crosses her arms over her chest, knowing the gesture doesn't go unseen from Matt, no matter how blind he is. She knows he’s doing that thing again–the one where he heads off on his own, right in the direction of trouble, of danger. 

Matt sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Karen–” 

Fisk had put him at the top of his hit list, a permanent spot, Matt thinks. But it’s not that– it’s not .  

“You’re going after him…” Karen says, and he can practically hear the disappointment dripping in her tone, her body language screaming it from across the room. 

But he can’t find the words to explain it, can’t make promises that he’s not entirely sure he can keep, because as much as Foggy and Karen side with the law, Fisk is completely lawless.

“Matt you can’t just–” 

“I'm not going alone, Karen…” He cuts her off, his tone desperately trying to portray how important this all is, the time he is currently wasting. “And the priority is MJ…not Fisk. He may not even be there,” Which is the truth. The main purpose of this mission is for Peter, and if that means they let Fisk slip through their fingers again then so be it. It doesn’t change the fact that if Fisk is there, and MJ is safe…that if all the things play in their favor, they can pursue Fisk.

“But you’re hoping he is… aren't you?” Foggy chimes in, clearly just as fed up with this as Karen. 

If Matt’s being honest, he's scared…terrified of what Fisk is going to do to all of them. Not even Fisk himself, but the idea of Fisk, the fact that they don’t see eye to eye. And Matt knows Foggy is too stubborn to change his views, but so is he. So rock, meet hard place.  

“That prison won't hold him…and we don‘t even know if we can get him there…” Matt tries to explain, and they have to know it’s true, if the way Foggy sighs and Karen deflates is any indication. They both know the power he holds.

“No. No, you said we would try everything else first Matt.” Karen practically pleads, standing as she watches him fumble through his dad's old chest. His hand already gripping the black mask of the Daredevil. Something lurches in her chest, and it takes everything in her to not go over and grab him, shake him out of his head, show him the damn control Fisk has over him. Show him how his anger for that monster always comes between them.

Foggy’s already standing next to her, both of them eyeing each other. They know once Matt has a plan in place it’s practically impossible to stop him. “Karen’s right, there has to be another way, anything to expose him…the public court of opinion means more than any judge or jury these days.” 

Matt’s hands seem to stop again, his head turning to the side before he’s up and moving. Karen shoots another look at Foggy who looks just as lost as her. 

“That could work…” Matt mutters under his breath, his feet moving across the room with a clear destination in mind. Karen isn’t sure what’s going on, and by the look plastered on Foggy’s face neither is he. Foggy shrugs at her, his mouth agape as they both wait for an answer, which with Matt, unless you ask, you aren't likely to get.

“And what exactly is that?” 

Matt makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing the recorded intel from Ned. All the dirt they currently have on Fisk. He walks it back over to Karen and hesitates, worried about asking her to do this for him, putting her directly in Fisk’s line of sight, not that she hasn’t been there before. Logically he knows, is aware that Karen, and even Foggy, can both handle themselves. They’ve proven it time and again, especially to Fisk. But it doesn’t stop the pit from forming deep within him, the swirling mass that consumes him at the thought of losing either of them. 

It takes a moment, but he finally gives up the drive, handing it off to Karen, her soft hands brushing against his, and it sends a wave of calm through him. Reminds him that they’ve gone against Fisk before and come out on top. They can do it again. 

The drive that Matt hands over to her looks ordinary, but the way his hands slightly tremble as he hands it to her makes Karen think it's much, much more. “What’s this?” 

Matt’s fingers linger on the drive before he fully lets it go. His nerves light up as his brain screams at him to take it back, hide it away….hide them away. But his heart knows this is the right choice, putting his faith in his friends. It’s how they win. “This…” He starts, indicating to the drive, “...is everything we have on Fisk from his campaign office. If we can’t keep him locked away, maybe we can strip him of some of his power…court of public opinion, like you said Fog.” 

Both Karen and Foggy stare at the drive. Karen, for one, is extremely curious how they ended up not only getting, but keeping intel from Fisk. Foggy must think the same, his hands already pawing for it. But she understands what Matt is asking. The risk he is asking her to take, because there is more than one way to take the Kingpin down. Last time, Fisk turned the city on Daredevil. It was time the city turned on him…the true devil. 

“An expose…” she can't quite hide the optimism in her tone, glad that for once, they seem to be ahead of the titan. “That, I can do, gladly.” 

“Don‘t hold back.” 

Karen doesn't miss the small smirk curling up the side of his lips. “Never…Matt.”

For once, Matt doesn’t think the thundering in Karen's chest is from fear. It sends a wave of confidence coursing through him as he turns to leave, securing the mask over his head. 

“Matt wait! Just–” 

He can hear the way her breath hitches, her muscles shifting for him as he heads for the door, and he freezes, his own heart jumping into his throat. 

“Just…don’t let a building fall on you this time…”

It had been long enough that he knows she’s joking…but he knows Karen, knows that a part of her is serious, still hurting over what happened at Midland Circle. He moves slowly, turning his head up at her before he nods. Once. Final.  A promise that he intends to keep. To come back this time.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the looks of the outside of the warehouse, nobody would ever know there was a girl trapped inside, but Bucky was sure this was the right place. 

The dimly lit yard, the fluorescents smashed apart to bits, the worn metal of the outside paneling. It looked…empty. Bare.  

To any normal person, it appeared as a regular scrap yard building. But the way the door was deadbolted, the cameras in each corner of the exterior, and the trip wires set up at each door–it was all a dead giveaway.

 This was the place. 

Ned had found a way to disable the security measures and loop the security feed. Bucky wasn't sure if it’s because it was just that easy or if Fisk made it that easy. It was clear this entire rescue was all a setup.

A trap.

A trap.

He ignored the incessant buzzing in the back of his head telling him to grab the kid and run, that it wasn’t worth it.

Sam and Matt had decided to take the roof, stake out the exterior in case anyone else came along. With Matt’s super-not super-hearing and Sam’s ability to monitor the warehouse from the sky, they could cover more ground, get ahead of an ambush if it came down to that. Ned would remain on comms, tracking activity through the security feed. He’d even given himself a code name..called himself the man in the chair. Bucky was still trying not to roll his eyes every time he thought about that. The Kid–Ned was here to help. If it got them into the warehouse without alerting security, he didn’t care what the kid called himself. 

Peter would breach through the roof, weaving in and out of the rafters until he found where MJ was being kept. Bucky would take the front door, eliminating each threat he came across so Peter and MJ would be able to walk right out without trouble. 

It was a solid plan, almost foolproof. But it all felt too easy to Bucky. He’d heard the way Matt and his friends had spoken about Fisk, and after his encounter with the man, he was sure there were layers to his plan. They were missing key information. He’d just have to let it play out and roll with the punches. 

Bucky worked his way through the warehouse, listening on comms for any updates. Matt and Sam seemed to be handling outside just fine. No alerts from Ned either. 

His footsteps remained silent as Bucky slowly maneuvered through the warehouse, weaving in and out as he disarmed the guards, incapacitating them enough to keep them out for a while. He slithered up behind a guard, his hands carefully crushing between the man’s windpipe, occluding the blood to his brain. It was a careful and quick, yet effective maneuver. The man dropped within seconds, his body flopping like a fish as his face went lax. It was like a dance, falling back into the rhythm of his stealth work. 

The howling commandos had never been big fans of sneaking, per se, but Bucky always enjoyed it. The delicate way you’d have to move your body, aware of each object and sound. Any slight change in your movements. It was a lot more work, but he’d always preferred it. 

It was easier, he thinks, as the soldier–to be silent as you approached your target. They never saw him coming, could never react. It was a stark difference to the faces etched into his brains of the ones who saw him attack, who knew they were going to die. With the stealth kills, he at least took peace in the fact that they were gone before they knew what had hit them. 

Bucky turned his attention, bringing his focus back to the kid currently stuck to the ceiling. He watched Peter crawl up on the rafters, making his way to the only interior room. The guards around that door were heavy–solidly built because of course they were. Something in his chest calms with the fact that Peter can bypass them, can sneak through the vents without being seen. It was his responsibility to deal with the behemoth guards. He’d make sure to have a clear path for Peter and MJ.

~~~~

Peter crawls above on the rafters, watching Bucky work from below with a stealth that sends shivers up his own spine. Seeing the Winter Soldier melt out of the shadows and materialize before wrapping his arms around your neck is a terror he never wants to experience, but he’s grateful for Bucky and his skills, for getting him here, helping him get MJ back. 

He darts swiftly across the rafters, moving to the interior room where they have to be keeping her, if the giant guards outside the door are any indication. He slips through the vent, webbing the cover to the wall before slowly sliding it back into place. 

The vents are small, his own body heat reflecting back at him as he crawls through the tiny metal space, carefully keeping his weight off the warped parts. The last thing he wants to do right now is alert a bunch of guards to his position in the ceiling, trapped in a tiny metal tube with nowhere to run. 

He peeks below at the next vent and his heart almost leaps out of his chest. In the corner, just out of sight, he sees her…his MJ, her hands bound to the wooden chair, duct tape secured tightly around her mouth. She looks bruised, shaken up, but nothing too severe, thank the gods. 

Peter carefully removes the vent cover, sliding down a web into the darkly lit room. Why they hadn't thought to put guards inside the room, Peter’s not sure, but it makes something deep in his stomach churn, unsettling. 

His feet are light on the ground, dashing over to MJ as soon as he lands, his hands trembling just over her bruised face. He can feel the heat radiating off her, the wounds weeping as his feather-light fingertips ghost over each one. 

“MJ…” He whispers, his hands already working to remove the duct tape with ease as he drags it off her lips carefully. The small wince that leaves her lips as the sticky substance is pulled from her skin nearly shatters his heart in two. He tries not to think about how they ended up here…MJ… tied to a chair…in Fisk’s hands and–

“P-Peter?” she says weakly, her head tilting up to see him, her big brown eyes peering at him through her thick, dirty curls. 

He can see the spark behind her tired gaze, the way she perks up slightly as he moves in front of her, her eyes tracking him with every tiny movement. Peter gently pulls off the mask and he can feel a weight in his shoulders evaporate as her hand gently squeezes against his own . MJ…

“Hey…hey it’s okay…it’s okay..” He repeats, his voice low and calm as he works to untie her wrists. The ropes bite into her flesh, making Peter wince in sympathy as he slowly unravels them, his hands sliding behind her back to shift her weight. 

Carefully, he settles her into his arms, her body trembling as her hands grab at the suit. Peter can hear her breath hitch, a low hiss escaping her as he shifts her body weight into his arms, carefully cradling her legs. MJ’s head falls to rest on his shoulder, her lashes blinking against his bare neck. 

It hits him suddenly, how much his heart clenches as he peers down at her, her fragile, damaged body resting in his arms. The way she trusts him…has always trusted him, so much. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of her head as he grabs the mask and slides it back on. 

The room goes eerily quiet, lights flickering as he steadies himself, MJ firmly secured in his arms. He can feel the unease riding up his spine, his tingle making itself known as his comm buzzes to life.

“Hey guys…” Sam's voice drones in his ear, the concern in his tone leaking through the small device. “We have company…like…a lot of it, coming fast,” His voice is strained, hesitation leaking through the comm. Peter can hear the wings of his suit engaging. 

Time seems to freeze. Everything around him stands still as the hair on the back of his neck stands up completely, his tingle running like a livewire through his veins. He can feel each shallow breath pull in and out of his lungs as his eyes dart around quickly, the shadows around the room moving eerily as everything blurs, time moving in slow motion. 

He forced himself to move, his hand curling tight around MJ’s waist as he pulls her in close, shielding her from whatever unknown danger his body is trying to alert him to. His ears ring, his body moving like molasses as he takes a careful step forward, his senses ramped up, his brain trying to filter all the input.

It’s all overwhelming, his tingle and other senses practically screaming at him now. His head buzzes, the sensation crashing through him as his entire body turns on its heels. He can pinpoint the threat, even if he can’t yet see it, completely make it out. His body knows, and reacts when it knows something is coming. He can barely make out the shadow that seems out of place a second before it moves, creeping forward, a foreboding presence sweeping across the dim room. 

“Mr. Parker…I’m so…happy you could make it,” 

There's ice in his veins as the sound of the voice connects to the picture in his head, and he’s already moving, dropping MJ to her feet and shuffling her behind him, putting himself between her and the threat right now. He can feel his heart thundering, the wave of anger crashing through him as he steps closer, trying to maneuver them to the door. A way out. Anything–just..

Get out…

Get out!

Peter practically growls as the figure steps from the shadows, a looming presence shrouding both him and MJ. 

“Fisk.” 

Chapter Text

The world around Peter begins to buzz, the air electric against his skin as his hair stands on end—his senses screaming at him, all alight like a live wire.

This was wrong. 

This was all wrong. 

“Mr. Parker, I'm so happy you could make it.” 

The deep timbre of that voice sends the pit in Peter’s stomach into a swirl, his mind on full alert as a shiver races up his spine. His senses were practically screaming at him, his eyes focused forward on the threat. He could feel MJ’s breath on his back, her body pressed tightly between him and the wall. 

He didn’t even remember setting her down, but he could feel the heat radiating off her as he stayed close, using himself as a shield. He didn't dare look back at her, didn't dare turn his eyes away from the current threat, even for a second. He’d seen the footage and heard the stories from Matt. Fisk wasn't like other enemies. He had rhyme and reason for what he was doing. There was purpose behind his motives. What the man lacked were morals–a line that he refused to cross. To Fisk, anything was fair game, and that terrified Peter to no end. 

“Fisk.” There was no doubt in his mind who this was. The man was huge, bigger even than Bucky, towering over both him and MJ. His suit was entirely white, the inner vest a deep, slate black to contrast. His presence was domineering, seeming to cast the entire room in a vast shadow. 

All Peter could hear was the sound of MJ's heart thundering in her chest, her hand grabbing tightly onto his wrist as she stayed corralled behind him. He’d never meant to drag her this deep, never meant to put her right in the middle of oncoming danger. 

His adrenaline surged through him as Fisk approached, his careful steps seeming to pound across the concrete floors of the building as he slowly made his way, that pit in Peter’s stomach sinking impossibly deeper. 

But nothing seemed to send that icy pang of fear throughout his veins the way Fisk’s heartbeat did. 

Calm and steady.

“Mr. Parker” 

No…

No…

Nothing made sense. Fisk knew who he was. That was impossible, it had to be. His own friends hadn't even recognized him, not after everything. Not after the spell. And yet. The knowledge that a man like Fisk somehow knew Peter’s identity did nothing to calm his nerves. 

He’s just a man

Peter reminded himself over and over. No matter how many times his mind and his senses told him otherwise. He knew Fisk had no powers, no special abilities. He wasn’t a mutant, and he certainly wasn't a hero, let alone a vigilante. But he was one thing. Wilson Fisk was tenacious, and Peter knew he’d be a fool to underestimate him. 

“How do you know my name?”

The sinister smile that slowly creeps upon the man's face only adds to the dread slowly filling inside Peter. 

“Ah, so I am right then, Mr. Parker. It is you under that mask,” he says, that deep voice vibrating through all the tension slowly building in the room. 

Muscles ripple under the spandex, his nerves on fire as the words roll through his head. He feels MJ’s grip on his wrist become impossibly tight for her nimble fingers, and that same apprehension floods him entirely. He’d just given himself away, unintentionally and entirely. If Fisk hadn’t been sure before, he definitely knew now. His only edge, and Peter had basically handed it to Fisk with a bow right on top. 

There were no loopholes in Strange's spell–at least, not that he was aware of. Fisk didn't strike him as the type to prepare for magic spell and ways to counteract that, and yet. He was the only person besides Bucky to remember Peter on his own. Except there shouldn't be anything to remember. Peter had never had a history with the Kingpin. But it was clear that Fisk had a history with him.

The way Fisk squared his shoulders as his hands folded in front of him, cufflinks clinking together, sent a chill racing through Peter, his senses attuned to every single movement the man made.

 “Were you aware, Mr. Parker, that there was a woman, contacted by a school by the name of Midtown High, back in the fall of 2016? There’s even written evidence. A call about a student who, apparently, does not exist,” Fisk says, his voice so smooth, the cadence so tranquil, but the words–anything but. 

Peter didn't like where this was going.

“I'm sure you can guess her name.”

He can feel the bile crawling up the back of his throat, his heart racing in his chest as his hands crumple at his sides. The small smirk spreading across Fisk’s face sends adrenaline surging through Peter, and it takes everything in him to hold himself back. 

May

“May Parker. No living relatives. No record of a high school student.” His fingers brush across each of his cuff links, those black eyes focused on the metal pinned to each sleeve. “Rather…odd.” 

Peter swallows, letting the anger roll through him. He feels MJ flick her fingers between the space of his suit on his wrist, her thumb brushing gently against the skin of his pulse point. It sends an instant wave of calm through him, his shoulders dropping slightly, but still on high alert. She’s keeping him grounded; he knows it. But if Fisk keeps going, he’s not sure how much longer he will be able to hold back. 

“Your first mistake was using the same last name,” Fisk starts, his hands unfurling as he slowly navigates around one of the warehouse tables, his black oxfords slowly carrying him closer and closer to Peter and MJ. “Parker may be a common surname, but finding someone–a boy no less–with that name, and no other ties to, really anything–it raises heads, Mr. Parker.” 

“That’s–” 

“Impossible? … I’d like to know how you managed to eradicate yourself from existence?” Fisk draws closer, his shadow overpowering Peter, making him feel smaller and smaller as his presence only grows. “No records, no birth certificate, no evidence that you're even here…how does a boy achieve such a feat?” 

Peter’s sure his lungs stop working, the breath leaving him in a matter of seconds. He can feel the cold sinking down between his bones, and yet, a small ember inside of him grows. Fisk can’t know about Strange. He cannot know about the spell, the possibility of power like that. “Why? So you can run and hide once your plan fails?” Peter growls, his shoulders squaring as he tries to stand up to the level of the giant towering before him. “Heroes won’t be governed. It’s been tried before, and it failed.”

The secretary had tried the same thing and devised a way to control vigilantes and heroes. A way to keep track of them all, no matter who they were. All Ross had succeeded in was tearing the Avengers apart. He had seen how easily a plan like that failed. Crashed and burned, leaving nothing but a wreck in the wake. What made Fisk think his plan would be any better?

 “And when your plan does fail, and you inevitably lose..” Peter warns, his voice not sounding like his own. “Just know, there isn't anywhere you can go that I won't find you.” He feels the fire burn deep in his chest, the flames slowly stoking as his vision narrows on the one true threat. Standing between everything he knows, and the man who wishes nothing more than to tear it all to the ground.  

The sinister laugh seeping from Fisk is what sets Peter completely on edge. Electricity surges through his veins as his mind screams at him, pleading to grab MJ and run.

“I'm glad you’ve done your research on me. It appears your time with Mr. Murdock has given you somewhat of a confidence that I can…admire.” His eyes roam over Peter, something almost akin to pride in them. It makes Peter’s stomach churn.

 “As fun as this contending has been, Mr. Parker, I'm not here to play games with the likes of a child. Give me what I want, and I will let you go. I'm sure Ms. Watson would like to get that nasty cut taken care of… wouldn’t you?” 

Peter feels a piece of his resolve crack as those soulless black eyes sweep behind him to MJ. He presses her in tighter, his muscles going taut under the suit as he stands taller. “Don’t talk to her.” His voice grates as the words scrape out, anger blazing in each one. 

Fisk’s smirk grows once more, those crooked teeth making an appearance as his hands move and he steps forward once more, his presence a constant, foreboding nightmare. “It’s very admirable, your need to protect.” He effortlessly winds through another set of tables as his feet inch closer and closer. 

The energy humming under Peter’s skin thrums as he feels his power take over, his entire body ready to spring at any moment. The only tether holding him back are the cold, tiny fingers snaked gently around his wrist, keeping his last shred of control in check. 

“I can assure you, Mr. Parker, if you do not give me what I want…” Those cold, lifeless eyes slide back to MJ. “There will be nothing left to protect.” 

Black fills Peter’s vision as he feels his body move, rushing forward with a speed that makes his head rush. His ears ring as blood pounds through them, only the faint cry of someone screaming his name whispers through his head before he feels his fist connect with something hard. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The area around the warehouse had been quiet for some time, long enough for something uneasy to settle within Sam. His  mind began spiraling at the endless scenarios and possibilities that usually accompanied a quiet evening…and none of them were good. If MJ really was inside, because the kid had yet to inform anyone if that was a fact, then Fisk had grabbed her for a reason. But the amount of security for a man like Fisk didn’t make sense. Sam was sure he could disarm these guys by himself if it came to that.

It wasn’t rocket science, noticing how shaken Matt had been when he briefed them on the Kingpin. This was a threat far outside the league of friendly neighbourhood, or whatever Peter had called himself once upon a time. These were the big leagues, and Sam was only kidding himself if he denied the pit of worry stirring deep inside himself at the thought of a literal teenager fighting off a man of that level. He didn't even want to begin to think about Bucky facing off with him. 

If any of them were smart, they’d run for the hills, lock Peter far and deep into the safest room they could find, and call for backup…but this was him and Bucky…and the damn devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Smart wasn’t really the first word that came to mind with this trio.

Sam risked a quick glance over at Matt, his telltale black ninja mask in place as his head moved back and forth across the rooftop. Echolocation, or whatever he used, obviously at work. Sam rolled his eyes. Any ordinary person would believe the devil was calm, level-headed, ready for a threat. But Sam could see the tension riding underneath all of that. The way his head snapped back and forth, his ear toward the ground as he listened, waiting for whatever was about to spring upon them, because lets face it, Sam’s gut was telling him it would all go to shit eventually…and his gut was almost never wrong. 

“You think Fisk is really behind this…that he really took an innocent teenage girl right off the streets?” He knew the odds were more than likely that the intel was correct. The kid had a sixth sense about these kinds of things. Sam, as much as he hated to admit it, couldn’t really recall a time when Peter’s intuition was wrong.

Matt kept his head low, ear to the ground. Anyone else would think he was ignoring Sam, not paying attention to what he was saying, or simply brushing him off. But Sam knew. The man refused to stop listening for even a moment, because with Fisk, that's all it took.

“It fits his M.O., as much as I hate to say it. Fisk grabbed her for a reason…we’re still missing some pieces.” Matt paced across the rooftop, his feet barely making a sound as he zeroed in for a couple of seconds at each corner. 

The small growl of frustration that rose from Matt’s throat didn't go unnoticed by Sam. They were all feeling it. The tension, frustration. Fisk was gambling with the lives of teenagers, and for what? The not knowing pissed him off more than anything else. “...So you think we're playing his game?” 

Matt’s non-answer was answer enough for Sam. Every two steps forward was somehow another step back. But two steps forward, and one step back, was still one step ahead. Matt had talked about how Fisk set up his board, the other players blind until the very end, until the outcome was inevitable. They needed to stop before it got to that point, before whatever Fisk had planned couldn't be undone. 

The sound of the wind through the empty warehouses, shutters rustling from the force, filled the air. The eerie cadence of the water sloshing up and down the docks as the buoys bobbed not too far out. All those sounds, and Matt was more concerned with what he wasn’t hearing. The loading of a clip, the rumbling of an engine. The sound of voices coming toward them. It was all missing. Something was missing. 

“If we’re somehow a part of Fisk getting what he wants…a stepping stone towards his goal…” Matt started, his fingers twitching in a way that Sam knew meant he was anxious, that same energy rising within himself. 

“Yeah…no need to spell it out, man…it’s bad.” Which felt like a gross understatement, because the last time Matt had told them about people playing into Fisk’s hand, the man had gained control of the FBI, and it was clear he wanted more now. 

“Bad is a bit of an understatement,” Matt huffed, turning to face Sam. He could hear the man's heart thundering in his chest, the tension only growing as it rippled through the air. His skin felt electric, every sound, every feeling vibrating through him. He hated it. Matt’s ears could still hear the faint buzzing of the warehouse lighting just below their feet, nothing else to accompany that sound. He still couldn't pinpoint MJ’s location, which meant Fisk likely put safeguards in place to block out his raised senses…because, of course, he did. That also meant Peter likely couldn’t hear them, couldn’t listen without his own comms being switched on. Matt just prayed the kid had left them on and in place. It was their only means of communication now.  “...It’s more like…catastrophic Sam…I mean, we still don’t know the extent of his plan and how he–”

It wasn’t new for Matt to just…stop talking. Anytime he’d pick up a sound or a scent, he generally just gave up mid-sentence. It didn’t stop the flare of frustration that washed through Sam. God, he’d only known the guy for a few days at most, and he already couldn’t wait for this B-team pairing to be over with. He threw his hands up, knowing Matt couldn’t see it but not caring enough to abandon the gesture. “...how he what?” 

“Shh”

The red that railed Sam’s vision took a moment to snuff back down. He was learning anger management with Matt faster than he’d ever had to with Bucky. “Don’t tell me to shh..” 

“Sam, shut up.” Matt snapped, already moving toward the very edge of the roof as he leaned himself down. It was muffled from up here, but there was no mistake about what he was hearing. “They're approaching…from all sides.” 

The shred of worry that slipped from Matt’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by Sam, his own flicker of unease rising as he made his way over to the other ledge, eyes peering out below. The distance was hidden by the shadows of the evening, no light but the moon and a few faint lanterns throughout the docks to help. “How many?” Sam wasn’t sure he truly wanted an answer to that question.

Matt almost–almost pulled the mask up to shoot a glance in Sam’s direction. “Do you want me to sit here and count the number of boots I hear on the ground…it’s a lot.” 

“Great…just great.” Sam could already faintly pick up the sound himself, so they had to be close. The purple hum of the weapons illuminated the dim sky slowly, like an approaching storm cloud surrounding them. 

Hands were already moving, Matt grabbing his billy clubs as Sam flicked the comms to life, static ringing in his ear before it evened out. “Heads up, we have company…like, a lot of it, and it's coming in hot.” 

The comms chirped back almost immediately, Bucky’s deep voice ringing through. “Talk to me, Sam.” 

The tension that was erupting within him gave way to that familiar voice, a small beacon cutting through the immense dark. “They're coming from every side, Buck.” 

Sam could already see bodies shuffling down below, each carrying a neon purple weapon, his stomach almost sinking as Matt dives off the roof, his wings already out as he gets ready to jump into the fray. “Where’s Peter?”

The voice crackles back through the comms once more. “He’s just up ahead. Keep as many as you can outside, I'm going after him.”

Sam grunts as he sweeps down, taking out as many men as he can with the first dive, like pins and a bowling ball. Wave after wave of men rush forward, a sea of purple below him. He's up again, wings carrying him high before he slices back down below, his feet ramming through another rush of men, rinse and repeat. Sam’s wings wrap him, a careful cocoon as he shields each neon blast. “Make it quick, Buck! I'm not sure I can keep all of ‘em from getting inside!” 

The comm crackles once more, the voice muffled, but Sam just barely picks up that familiar voice before it fizzles away. 

“Hang on, kid… I'm coming–”