Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peters luck had struck again. Seriously, he should be put in a museum or something because the amount of things he could get thrown into was truly staggering.

Being a omega was bad enough, not many people got that shitty privilege. But to be a male omega? That was the kind of sick hell special for people as unlucky as him.

He didn't really understand the fascination. Regular omegas got enough attention as is, but for some reason any alpha within a mile radius was constantly hounding after him. It had gotten to the point now that he was older where he almost refused to go outside unless he was with MJ and Ned.

Really is was with MJ, she was an alpha; Ned was just a beta. If Peter was out with her, people seemed to assume he belonged to her and would keep a mostly respectable distance. She was maybe the only alpha in all of New York who could keep a conversation with him without trying to get in his pants. He'd asked her what made him so special compared to most other omegas, and she'd just shrugged, saying she didn't get the appeal.

Peter had known her long enough to know that she was hiding something but didn't want to tell him.

All the unwanted attention, the occasional alphas not-so-subtly flexing their scent on him like it was suppose to impress him, and the 'accidental' bumps in crowded subways was all stuff he could deal with. He wasn't happy about it, but it was manageable.

What he could not handle, was the letter he'd received this morning.

For: Peter Parker

- We are excited to announce that you have been selected to take part in the omega compatibility matching process. We see that you've had some trouble finding a mate; and that's OK! It can be hard for omegas to make a decision like this. Our department is here to help facilitate that process. Please fill out the enclosed paperwork and return it to the nearest Public Relations Center within the next (6 days). If you need help completing this task, we have agents available to assist you.

We look forward to finding your perfect match.

*Department of Public Relations /// (248) 434-5508

He flipped the page over, seeing a massive packet of forms and official documents. He kept rereading the letter, again and again and again.

Of course this was all a possibility, especially after May had died last year and he was officially living on his own, the DPR did not like self sustaining omegas. Peter had just never thought this would actually happen to him.

May had told him that as long as he stayed clear of any DRP buildings and didn't make any requests of them, they wouldn't even know about him. They were a government branch after all, their agents had more important things to do than hunt down every single unbonded omega over a certain age, especially in such a massive place like New York.

Peter left that letter and paperwork on his kitchen counter for the next couple days. He couldn't bring himself to fill it out and sell himself to some strange alpha. He'd heard more than his fair share of horror stories that came from the so called 'perfect match' the DPR guaranteed.

On day three, the official half way point of how many days of freedom he had left, when he stepped out of his building elevator he say a familiar and unwelcome alpha waiting at his apartment door, Quintin.

This guy was his downstairs neighbor and was persistent in a way that was seriously fraying at Peter's nerves. He had this horrible scent that made Peter lean back away when they spoke and he was convinced that Peter should belong to him.

"Hey Pete!" Quintin said when he saw him, "I was wanting to talk to you." He smiled warmly but Peter could see the sharpness in his eyes.

"It's really not a good time, I've got a lot going on right now." Peter responded, hoping he could push past him without too much of an issue.

"I bet. Heard you're getting matched. That's gotta be exciting, right? I cant imagine how lonely you are without an alpha to take care of you." Quintin said

"I do more than fine on my own. And I don't want to talk about that." Peter said while he pulled his keys from his pocket.

"Hold on now." Quintin said as he kind of stepped in front of Peter. "I came up here to let you know that I know how to get you out of this whole match making situation you've found yourself in."

"How's that?" Peter asked, as much as he hated this guy, he'd take any advice he could get.

"Well if you say, found your own match, the department would have to recognize it and pull you from the program." Quintin said with a grin. "We could come to a little arrangement. We could get bonded and I'd let you keep your independence, it would just be a formality thing really. I just can't bear the thought of you being matched with some aggressive alpha and you getting yourself hurt. It happens to most omegas who go through the program. I mean, think about the kind of alphas who submit themselves to be matched up, they're the ones no other omega wanted and I'm sure it's for good reason."

Peter just stared at him for a long moment, things started falling into place and he didn't like the picture it was making.

"Hold on, how did you know I was being put in the program?" He asked, his voice strained

"Hmm? Just from others in the building." Quintin said, "But is that really important? We've got to find a way to keep you safe now that it's happened." He reach a hand out like he was going to put it on Peter shoulder.

"Quintin . . Did you fucking report me?" Peter asked, chest heaving as he stepped out of reach.

For a split second Peter saw the expression of sadistic glee that crossed Quintin's face, before it got polished into a innocent look of shock.

"Of course not! I would never do anything to hurt you. Come on, I'm a good guy." Quintin said, taking a step forward.

Peter backed up, raising a hand in front of him. "Stay the hell away from me." He said, trying to keep his voice firm but it came out shaky and weak.

"Pete, wait-" He started but Peter turned and fled. If Quintin was able to report him to blackmail him into bonding with him, he didn't want to know what else that sick alpha was capable of. As he left his apartment building, he went to the only place he could think of. If his options were between Quintin forcing himself onto him, and some random alpha, he'd take the gamble.

--

Three and a half hours.

That's exactly how long it took for him to walk into that building, fill out the paperwork, and for them to come back saying they'd found his 'Perfect match!'.

He honestly had no idea what the process was going to be like, but he'd hoped a little more thought went into it than under four hours of work.

The questions he'd been asked were borderline hamulating. Treating him more like a pup than a grown man. That's just how life went when you were an omega.

Questions like : How safe does being around an alpha make you feel? During times a stress, would it be easier for your alpha to make decisions for you? Do you have nesting behaviors and if so, please describe them.

The whole thing left a sour taste in his mouth, but it's not like he could walk out now. He made his choice and he was going to have to live with it.

"Peter?" A voice called into the waiting room, pulling him from his thoughts. It was a beta woman with a clipboard and the highest ponytail Peter had ever seen.

He stood, walking over to her. There were a few other omega in the room with him, some smiled at him as he passed, others gave looks of sympathy. He wasn't sure which was more appropriate.

He was led through the building and stopped before they went through one final door.

"Before we go in, here is our card and number as well as a some information you might find helpful." The woman started, "If you have any questions, feel free to give us a call."

He took the small pamphlets nodding as he folded them and shoved them into his jeans pocket.

"Thank you so much for participating in our match making process, we're so excited to match you to your alpha!" She said with a mix a real excitement and cooperate staleness.

She stepped aside, letting him go to the door they were in front of. Peter took a breath, telling himself over and over and over that this is what he wanted. Even if it wasn't it was easier to lie to himself.

He stepped though, his heartbeat so loud in his own ears.

On the of the room, sitting in one of the chairs with his arms on his knees and looking down at his phone, was maybe the physically largest alpha Peter had ever seen. Clean cut blond hair and a shaved face, square jaw and bright eyes. He filled out his shirt in a way that had Peter staring for more than a second. He had this clean and bright scent that was so different than other alphas Peter had seen.

The alpha looked up as Peter enter, smiling as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

"Peter?" He asked

"Yeah, you must be James?" He asked, that was the name they'd told him. James Buchanan Barnes. It was a nice name.

"Unfortunately James couldn't make it to pick you up. He didn't want you waiting here for too long so he asked me to come get you." The alpha said. "My name's Steve. Steve Rogers."

"Oh." Was all Peter could say. He was more than a little disappointed and he hoped it didn't show too plainly. He would not complain if this guy had been his match.

"Come on, I'll tell you about him on the way." Steve said.

Peter had been raised to not go with stranger alphas, especially to not get in their cars, but that's just the situation he was in now.

Steve had a nice car. It was kept clean with only a messenger bag in the back seat. Peter stared out the window as they drove through New York.

"Did you want to stop and pick your stuff up?" Steve asked

Right. He did kind of need that. He'd have Ned and MJ take care of most of it while he got everything figured out, but he at least needed the essentials.

"Yeah, if we can stop that'd be great." Peter said

"For sure, put your old address in and we'll swing by." Steve said while nodding.

Old address. The phrasing of that settled awkwardly on his shoulders.

Thankfully Quintin was no where to be seen when Peter ran upstairs. He quickly threw everything he thought he'd need for the next couple weeks into his one suitcase. Steve carried it downstairs even with Peter insisting he could carry it.

When they were finally back in the car, Peter noticed they were mostly driving away from the city. He never really considered that he would be moving out of New York.

"So how do you know James?" Peter asked, hoping to get a little out about his new alpha.

"We grew up together in Brooklyn. I've know him my whole life." Steve said. "Everyone calls him Bucky by the way. Haven't heard 'James' in a while."

"Bucky." Peter tried the name, it was a funny sounding nickname. "What's he like?"

"He's a good guy, real good guy." Steve started, "When we were pups he was always bailing me out of the trouble I got myself into."

"Why did he enter the matching program?" Peter asked. As much as he tried to push it aside, the warning Quintin had given about these alphas being the ones no one wanted was still in the back of his mind.

Steve hesitated. "That's really his story to tell. I can say he's in it for good reasons, if that's what you're worried about."

Peter nodded, but didn't feel all that assured.

"Are you bonded?" Peter wasn't sure what made him ask but he did before he could stop himself.

"I am. His name is Tony." Steve said.

"What's it like? To be bonded I mean." Peter asked

"Kinda a big question." Steve chuckled. "It's . . . calm. Like you don't have to carry everything yourself. At the end of the day, no matter what, I know everything will be fine because of him."

"That sounds nice." Peter said, picking at his nails.

Steve glanced at him. "Why did you join the program?" Steve asked gently.

"Personal reasons." Peter replied quickly. Steve looked at him for a second, then dropped the subject. They drove in silence for a few more minutes.

Steve didn't have any directions up and Peter was starting to get a litter nervous with how far out of the city they were going.

"Where, um, does Bucky live?" Peter asked

"Right now, Hudson Valley. We've got about another forty minutes. Do you need a rest stop?" Steve asked

"No, I'm all set. Just curious." Peter replied

"He's got a real nice set up, you'll like it." Steve said while nodding

"You said he lived there 'right now'. Does Bucky move a lot?" Peter asked

"Oh, he's owns a place in the city too. He bounces back and forth between the two. Stays about half the year in each." Steve replied casually.

"Wait. He has a place in Hudson Valley and owns a spot in New York? Why does he need that? How does he have that?" Peter asked a little shocked, thinking back to the shitty apartment he'd been living in the past few years.

"For work. He spends part of the year working in the city and when he's off he's out here." Steve said

"Sounds like a good gig." Peter said

Steve nodded.

The rest of the drive was spent with quieter small talk and the ever increasing greenery as a view. Peter had spent his entire life inside New York City, and being this far away from it felt . . . weird.

It was beautiful out here, he couldn't deny that. And he found himself getting maybe even excited to meet this Bucky. Steve had only good things to say about him and Steve was the kind of guy you just kind of trusted.

When they pulled into down a long driveway, Peter realized they were here.

A cabin type building sat wide and solid against the backdrop of the trees, built from stained timber that looked like a painting. The roof sloped steeply, black shingles and a deep front porch stretched the entire length of the house. Off to the side in a shed-like building was a mountain of firewood that was clearly hand chopped.

Parked in front of the closed garage was a dark red pickup truck.

"I thought you said Bucky wasn't here yet?" Peter asked, glancing at the truck

"He's not." Steve said as he parked. "He'll be here in a few hours."

It seemed like Steve was waiting for him to get out, and Peter almost didn't want to. Getting out of the car made this situation very real.

Peter nodded. "I'm not sure what I'm suppose to do right now."

Steve laughed, "Come on, I'll get you inside so you can start settling in."

Steve unlocked the front door with a key that was attached to the rest of his, like he always carried it with him.

Lights flicked on and Peter stepped in, feeling so out of his element.

Steve walked past him, opening a drawer and pulling out a pad of paper and scribbled something onto it.

“Here,” he said, tearing off a page. “My number. Call if you need anything at any time. I put Bucky's on there as well."

Peter took it, staring at the neat handwriting. “Thanks.”

Steve scribbled something else on the page. “Could you put yours in my phone? I'll make sure Buck gets it in case he needs to get ahold of you before he gets back."

Peter nodded. "For sure." He said, typing it in. "Feels wrong that you're just leaving me alone here."

“Feel free to explore. There’s a cat running around here somewhere if you want to try and find her, named Alpine. Fair warning though, she's a handful.”

Peter nodded slowly, still feeling a little overwhelmed by how fast everything was moving. “Alright. Thanks, Steve.”

Steve gave him one last soft smile. “You’re welcome. I'm sure I'll be seeing you sooner than later. Take care, Peter.”

And with that, Steve walked back to the car. Peter watched him go, listening to the crunch of gravel under the tires until the car disappeared down the long driveway, leaving him alone with the cabin, the forest, with a cat.

Chapter Text

It took Peter longer than he'd like to admit to actually start looking around the place. He still felt like an intruder, snooping around some strangers home while they were out.

He did find the cat though, or, the cat found him. When he walked past the kitchen she jumped up on the counter and meowed loud enough to make him jump. Alpine is what Steve called her and she was this overly fluffy white cat who had no problem telling Peter what was on her mind.

"Hey girl." Peter said with a smile. He held his hand out to her, praying she wasn't about to bite him.

Alpine looked down her nose at his outstretched hand, like she was considering her options. Then, leaned forward and rubbed the top of her head against his knuckles.

He spent a while with her, and when he left to continue his exploration she insisted on following him. Every once in a while she would weave in between his legs making him stumble or roll on her back right in front of him.

Peter poked his head through a door that led to the garage. Inside were no cars, instead it was filled with well used tools and in the center suspended up in the air on a rig was a disassembled motorcycle.

The garage smelled different from the rest of the house. It was warmer, heavier somehow. Not unpleasant, just lived in. Like pine and cedarwood, maybe a hint of something earthy, more distinctly alpha beneath it. Peter paused at the threshold, not quite sure why his pulse stuttered.

The presence wasn't strong, not obvious, but it clung to the air in a way that told him this was where Bucky spent most of his time. There was oddly a comfort in that. He stepped inside, fingers trailing along the edge of the workbench, and tried not to think too hard about why he felt this way.

What pulled him from his train of thought was Alpine yowling at him like the worlds smallest guard dog, telling him this wasn't his space. The cat herself was sat at the doorway, not walking inside the garage.

"Alright, alright. Not allowed." He mumbled as he forced himself to leave.

Fine. No garage.

As he walked back towards the main parts of the house, he passed through the kitchen again. Out of curiosity he opened the fridge. It was stacked with maybe a dozen meal-prep containers all in neat rows, perfectly portioned out. Chicken, rice, greens. A couple protein shakes. Some beer shoved in the side, some sliced fruits in a drawer. No junk food, no takeout boxes.

The living room told the a similar story.

Against the center wall was a stone fireplace with a TV mounted on the back. An L-shaped couch framed the space. On the far side of the room was a bookshelf. Mostly filled with older history history type books, although, he did clock The Hobbit with a very worn out spine. It made him smile, he hoped this Bucky guy had more of a personality than most of the alphas Peter had interacted with in the past.

Upstairs, Alpine led the way into an office space. It looked boring and official, but he did see a framed photo on the desk. He walked over to it, turning it over in is hands hoping for a look at what his new alpha even looked like.

He instantly recognized Steve in the center. To Steve's right was a shorter man with brown hair that looked like it had once been a mohawk and then just grown out. He had a cocky tilt to his grin, like the kind of guy who always had something smart to say.

On the other side of Steve was another man. Shorter than Steve, but that didn't mean much, with massively wide shoulders and long dark hair pushed back from his face, dark eyes that stood out even in the photographic print. His smile was smaller, one side of his mouth pulled up into a smirk.

The far left was another man, brown skin and shoulders squared with perfect posture. His expression was more serious, steady, it almost looked like he was looking past the camera at someone else off screen.

The far left was a woman with hair so red it almost didn't look real, tied back in a tight bun. Even in the stiff uniform she looked sharp. Peter was intimidated just by looking at her image.

He wondered which of the them was Bucky. Part of him wanted to send a text to Steve asking for which one was him, but Peter wasn't bold enough for that.

Peter put the photo back, making sure it was in the same spot as before and to close the door behind him as he left.

Just as he was deciding where to go next, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Unknown number. He hesitated a second before swiping to answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Peter. It's Bucky."

The voice on the other end was deep, steady, but worn-out in a way that made Peter think of hard work and long days. Just plain exhausted.

"Oh! Um. . . hi?" Peter stammered before he caught himself, forcing his tone back toward normal. "It's good to hear from you." He said genuinely. Bucky voice was smooth and it rolled over him in the most soothing way.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to pick you up," Bucky said, quiet but firm. "They called me in with no warning this morning. Hopefully Steve got you settled okay."

Peter started pacing without even meaning to. "Yeah, no, it's fine. Steve was great. And I figured you were just busy. This was all kind of out of the blue for me too."

"If I could've been there, I would've." The words came quick, almost too quick, like Bucky needed Peter to believe it. "But listen, I'm gonna be a while yet."

"Sure.' Peter said, trying for casual. "I've got no problem waiting."

"It'll be real late when I get back. There's food in the fridge for dinner, take whatever you want. And. . . " Bucky paused, like he just realized something. "Shit, I don't know what omegas eat. If nothing in there works, text me what you want and I'll pick it up tonight. Or I'll have something delivered there."

It was then Peter realized that Bucky was just as nervous as he was. It made him relax a little and it felt like a lot of the pressure was taken from his shoulders.

"I'm sure I'll find something." Peter said, a smile tugging at his mouth despite himself. "Place is amazing, by the way. Nice cat too."

"Careful, she's a killer." There was a low laugh, Peter was really starting to like the sound of his laugh. "She's probably already pissed I'm late. Er' food's in the closet next to the bathroom if she gives you the look."

"Noted." Peter said, glancing toward where Alpine had last disappeared. Then, tentatively he asked "You said you'll get in late. Too late for us to meet properly, or. . . ?"

"Don't try to stay up for me," Bucky said. His voice softened, a touch of regret threading through it. "They really picked the worst day for an emergency. We'll start fresh in the morning."

Peter hummed, leaning against the banister. "Alright. I'll keep myself entertained."

"TV's got all the streaming shit on it, there's books and stuff too, home gym in the basement if you want. Wish I was there to show you around." Bucky offered. Then, quieter, almost to himself "This is not how I wanted day one to go."

Peter blinked, caught off guard by that. "Well," he said carefully, "guess you'll have to make it up to me tomorrow."

There was silence, then the faint sound of Bucky huffing a laugh. "Yeah. Guess I will."

In the background, voices shouted something sharp and urgent. Bucky swore under his breath. "Fuckin' hell. I gotta go. I'll see you in the mornin', Peter."

"See you then." Peter said, still grinning as the line clicked dead.

The rest of the night went by slowly. Peter scoped out the rest of the house, except for the room that was Bucky's bedroom. It felt too personal and intense.

He fed Alpine, who was much nicer after, watched some stupid sci-fi movie, and rummaged through Bucky's fridge. He didn't eat much although he did find a bowl of chopped watermelon which he stole instantly.

It was now dark out, Peter sat in the living room as Raiders of the Lost Arch played on the TV. Alpine was sitting on his lap but apparently he wasn't allowed to pet her. It was getting late and while he did want to go to bed, he wasn't sure where 'his' bed even was.

He considered Bucky's room, but that felt like an insane thing to do without talking to Bucky first and quickly threw that idea away. The spare bedroom was a good contender, but he didn't know if that would be insulting in any way to Bucky. He'd spent most of his like staying as far way from alphas as he could. Peter didn't know the protocol for living with one in this way.

Eventually, the decision was made for him. As he laid back on the couch as the movie finished, Alpine comfortable on his stomach, and a long, weird day behind him, Peter fell asleep.

---

A sound stirred him. The creak of the front door, boots on wood. Alpine stretched, her claws flexing just enough to almost pull him into fully waking. Peter’s head swam up toward consciousness, but not all the way. Hazy, weightless.

A voice, low and steady, cut through. “Easy, go back to sleep. You’re alright.”

Something inside him unclenched at the sound. Peter drifted, caught between awareness and dreaming. Alpine meowed, a small complaint.

“Shh.” The same voice quieted the cat, it sounded closer now. “Stay with him. He needs you more.”

Alpine settled, pressing her chin back down onto Peter’s shirt.

There was movement, someone walking away then coming back just a minute later. The weight of Alpine lifted from his chest for a beat. The air cold until warmth came again as a thick wool blanket was tucked around him. It smelled rich and heady, pine and something else threaded through it. Alpha. His body responded before his brain could argue, melting into the scent, into the weight.

Alpine was set gently back on his chest, purring like nothing had changed.

For a second, there was silence. Then the floor creaked again, fading footsteps pulling away. Peter curled deeper into the blanket without meaning to, chasing the scent like it was the only safe thing in the room.

Before he could think too much about it, sleep dragged him back under completely.

Chapter Text

Quiet sounds of movement coming from a nearby room woke Peter up slowly. Alpine was gone but he was still warm and comfortable. He shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. Peter paused . . . he hadn't fallen asleep with a blanket.

Realization and the flood of memories from last night had him sitting up with a surge of panic. Bucky was here.

Peter rolled off the couch in a movement that was anything but graceful. He tried to not make any noise but that plan was quickly dispatched when he backed awkwardly into the coffee table causing it to screech on the hardwood floor.

He froze in place, blanket clutched around his shoulders like a shield. For a second he debated staying put, but the smell of coffee and his own curiosity about the alpha now in the house got the best of him and his feet started moving before his brain had caught up.

The kitchen light spilled into the hall, warm and golden. He hovered in the doorway blinking against the brightness.

Bucky stood at the stove, broad shoulders filling out a worn sweatshirt, hair pulled back and looked slightly damp like he'd showered this morning. On one of his hands was a glove. Peter glanced at it for a second before his attention was pulled to Bucky plating up something that smelled way better than anything Peter had expected from all those neat meal-prep containers.

Bucky turned, spatula still in hand. His gaze landed on Peter, and stayed there. The quiet stretched, but his expression softened in a way Peter didn't know how to place.

Peter tugged the blanket tighter, suddenly self-conscious. "Uh. Morning?"

"Mornin'." Bucky said, voice low and rough around the edges but warmer than it had been over the phone. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a softer grin. His eyes flicked to the blanket, then back to Peter's face. "You sleep okay?"

Peter shifted from foot to foot. "Yeah. Couch was fine. . . Thanks for the blanket."

"You looked cold." Bucky said simply. Peter was just starting to feel the weight of his dark eyes when he turned back to the stove, sliding eggs onto a plate. "Figured you'd be hungry. Sit. I'll get you a plate."

Peter hesitated, then crossed the room and slid onto a stool at the counter. His stomach betrayed him with a low growl that he hoped Bucky didn't hear.

Peter cleared his throat. "You didn't have to cook for me." He said, then hastily, "But thank you."

Bucky frowned, like the idea of him making breakfast for Peter was something he didn't expect to be thanked for. "Of course, besides I like cooking. Normally don't have time for myself though." Bucky paused then turned back to add as he slid a plate to him, "Don't worry though, I'll make time to do it for you."

The words snagged. It sounded like Bucky was already building a future in his head. Peter's chest went tight, and he took a bite of the food in front of him to avoid responding.

The kitchen smelled like strong coffee and butter and something warmer underneath, the same scent that clung to the blanket still draped around his shoulders. Alpha. His alpha. He tried not to think about that part too much.

The quiet wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it wasn't easy either. It pressed at him, made him want to fill it. It seemed Bucky was feeling the same thing.

"So, tell me bout' yourself. You grew up in New York?" Bucky asked, it seemed he was looking anywhere but Peter.

"Yeah. Queens, best spot in the world." Peter said, "There's uh, not a ton to tell. I guess when I was a kid, I thought I'd go to MIT." He stabbed at a piece of egg, not meeting Bucky's eyes. "Like. . . that was the dream, y'know? Build cool stuff. Change the world. All of that."

All of Bucky's attention was on him, it made Peter shift in his seat. "What stopped you?" Bucky asked

Peter let out a breath through his nose, short and sharp. "They don't take omegas." The words landed heavier than he meant, his fork clinking against the plate. "So. That was that."

Bucky's brow furrowed, jaw tightening just enough for Peter to notice. "I'm sorry."

Peter gave a half-shrug, trying for nonchalance. "Don't be. Just the way it is." But his voice betrayed him, thinner than he wanted, the old sting of it still raw in places.

Bucky didn't push, and Peter was grateful. Instead, the alpha's attention flicked back to his own food, giving him room to breathe.

Peter felt like he'd brought the mood down in a weird way. He grasped at another thread. "What about you?" Peter said

"Well, grew up in New York, Brooklyn. Which for the record, is the real best place in the world." Bucky said and grinned when Peter rolled his eyes at him.

Bucky continued, "Didn't have much growin' up. I'm sure Steve had plenty of stories of the hell we got each other into as pups. Joined the army at eighteen. Well, Steve joined and I had to go with to make sure he didn't do nothin' stupid. Spent a lot of years there and met some great guys."

Peter remembered the picture he saw in Bucky's office, and once again his eyes flicked to that gloved hand. He wondered if his time in the army had something to do with it.

"What do you do for work now?" Peter asked

Bucky's posture shifted, shoulders straightening as if bracing. He set down his fork, wiped his hand on his pants, and crossed to the counter. From a stack of paper on a table, he pulled a thin folder and set it on the counter between them.

Peter frowned at it, then at him. "Uh. . .?"

"It's an NDA." Bucky said, voice even, almost apologetic. "Only way I can tell you what I do is if you sign it. I know that's not," he hesitated, searching for the right word, "normal. But I want to be honest with you. Just has to go this way first."

Peter drew the folder closer, flipping through without really reading. Legal jargon, dense paragraphs, official seals. His pulse ticked up. He looked up, meeting Bucky's steady gaze. "Do you think it's a good idea if I sign this?"

"Yes." No hesitation. Bucky's tone was low, sure, like he'd already weighed every possible risk. "I wouldn't put this in front of you if I didn't."

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek, then grabbed the pen resting in the folder and signed. "Alright. I trust you."

For the first time, something like surprise cracked Bucky's composure. Then it softened into something warmer before he blinked it away. He pulled the folder back, sliding it aside. "I'm a Special Tactical Consultant for International Security. I work for a classified government agency called S.H.E.I.L.D."

Peter blinked, leaning back on his stool. "Sounds fake. Is it like James Bond and M16?"

That earned him a short laugh, the kind that rumbled low in Bucky's chest. "Not far off," Bucky admitted, shaking his head. "I handle high-risk operations, coordinate teams, make sure things stay under control before anyone notices," Bucky said, shrugging lightly. "Think of it like fixing problems before they become total shit."

"So should I call you double-O seven from now on or . . ." Peter joked because he didn't know how to respond sincerely to that.

Bucky groaned performatively, "God, please don't. You would not believe the amount of nicknames Steve's mate comes up for us. I can't take if from you too."

"Tony, right?" Peter confirmed, remembering what Steve had told him on the drive here.

"Yeah. He's a real smart guy and thinks he's the shit." Bucky said with a grin. "Bet you two would get along real nice."

"I bet we would." Peter said, feeling more comfortable and relaxed joking around with Bucky than he has felt in a long time.

"He's an engineer of sorts. He, um, built something I need to show you and I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable or anything." Bucky said, looking suddenly nervous.

"Ok?" Peter said. What could an engineer have made that would make him uncomfortable? Peter's imagination was starting to run a little rampant until he was cut from his train of thought as Bucky pulled the glove he was wearing off.

In place of a hand, was the single most intricate prosthesis that Peter had ever seen. Gleaming silver with overlapping plates and tiny pieces working in ways that should be impossible.

"Whoa." Peter breathed, eyes stuck on it.

Bucky rolled up his sleeve, reveling the entirety of his forearm was that same metal. Peter wondered how far up it went.

Unable to stop himself, Peter reached across the kitchen island and gently grabbed Bucky's hand, turning it over and feeling the slight click as mechanisms inside worked.

"I know it's strange and if it freaks you out too much I can -" Bucky started before Peter cut him off

"It's amazing." Peter said, eyes glued on it. "How did he make it? Is it... like, magnetically powered? Hydraulic? Pneumatic?" Peter asked, looking up at Bucky who had an expression of shock an immense relief.

"I'm not sure how he made it, Tony's got a mind like no other. I don't really know how it runs either, but it's hooked to my nervous system, I can feel pressure with it but that's about it."

"You can feel?" Peter asked, wide-eyed. "That's amazing."

He looked back at Bucky and realized he might be acting rudely. "Sorry." He winced, wondering if he'd overstepped some boundary asking about someone prosthetic device.

"No, don't apologize." Bucky said, "I'm glad you like it. I'm rather fond of it too." Bucky said with a soft smile. "Most of the time." He added.

"I'd love to see how it got built. I've never even heard of something like that." Peter wondered out loud

"I'll take you to Tony's lab one day, he loves bragging and I'm sure he'd tell you all about it." Bucky said

"That'd be awesome." Peter said appreciatively

By the time the sun had shifted low in the sky, Peter realized the day had slipped past him almost without notice. He and Bucky had moved through the house and the yard in a new rhythm they were inventing as they went. Bucky showed him the rough edges of the property. Peter teased him about the ancient music record collection he had displayed on a shelf.

Later, they'd wandered into the garage, where Bucky was elbow-deep in the frame of a motorcycle he was building from scratch. Peter had been practically vibrating with questions, circling the bike, touching the gleaming chrome parts, asking what torque ratios he planned to run, how he calculated suspension angles, and Bucky had answered every one with that half-smile, half-smirk of his that made Peter's chest tighten.

Back inside, they spent time watching Alpine as she stalked birds through the window, tail flicking, ears pricked, completely absorbed in her own little world.

By the time evening rolled in, Peter caught himself realizing just how much he'd enjoyed being around Bucky, following his lead, laughing with him, even just watching him move through the day.

The alpha's presence wasn't as overbearing as he feared it would be. He still felt it tug at him with every casual touch, every shared grin, but Peter had to admit he didn't mind it all that much.

Chapter Text

Peter had been at Bucky's for a few days now, and the strangest thing was how natural it felt. Not easy exactly because his nerves still twisted themselves up whenever Bucky got too close, or whenever Peter caught himself staring too long at the way his shoulders filled out a shirt.

He'd moved into the guest room after the first night. Bucky hadn't even blinked at it when Peter suggested it, just offered to carry Peter's things down the hall like it was the most normal decision in the world. It was a huge relief because he wasn't sure what Bucky had been expecting from him and it was nice to not feel that pressure. The man had given him space, never pushing, never crowding, always hovering at the edges in this steady, grounding way.

Alpine was starting to get a little territorial, batting at Peter whenever he passed by. Some gentle coaxing from Bucky had her a little more willing to share with him.

Peter had found himself laughing more in these last few days than he had in months. Bucky was funny in a dry, unexpected way, dropping comments that left Peter choking on his own breath while the alpha only smirked.

They'd spent afternoons out in the yard, evenings sprawled on the couch with old movies, whole stretches of time doing nothing at all except existing in the same space. And it was nice.

Too nice, if Peter let himself think about it for too long. He wasn't someone who got to have nice things.

So when Bucky came into the kitchen Thursday morning with a folded jacket over his arm and said, "I've gotta head into the city for work." Peter's stomach did a weird swoop.

"Oh." He tried to sound casual, stabbing at his food. "For how long?"

"Couple days. Thursday, Friday. Might be late comin' back Saturday, depending." Bucky's voice was easy, but his eyes never left Peter's face. "You don't have to stay here alone though. You could come with me. I'll get you into the lab, let you see the apartment."

Peter blinked. "The lab?"

Bucky gave the faintest grin. "Tony's. You wanted to know how he built the arm, right? He'd love to talk your ear off about it. Saves me from listenin' to him brag."

Something lit up sharp and fast in Peter's chest, a excitement he hadn't felt since high school robotics club. The chance to actually step into a place like Stark's lab? To see real cutting-edge engineering, not just from textbooks or YouTube clips but up close? His brain went into overdrive just imagining it.

"Wait, you're serious?"

"Of course." Bucky leaned one hip against the counter, studying him with that unreadable look again. "You'll need clearance to come onto base. Easiest way is if you're tagged as my mate."

Peter froze, fork halfway to his mouth. "Uh. Tagged?"

"Don't panic." Bucky held up a hand, like he could see the way Peter's pulse jumped. "I don't mean a collar. I hate that shit. Not puttin' one on you, not unless you asked. And even then. . . ." He shook his head, grimacing. "Don't sit right with me."

Relief poured through Peter so fast it made him dizzy. He'd seen omegas in New York with collars, flashy leather things buckled tight around their throats, like permanent signs screaming owned. It had always made his skin crawl.

Instead, Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out a long chain of cool, worn metal. Dog tags.

"Wear these." He held them out, voice low, careful. "It'll get you through security without a fight. People'll know you're with me."

Peter stared at them, throat tight. The tags were heavy when he took them, the letters stamped deep into the surface. Barnes, James B. and a serial code. The weight of them was more intimate than a collar ever could be.

"You sure?" Peter asked, fingers curling around the chain. Even as he asked, he didn't think he'd be able to give them back if Bucky changed his mind.

Bucky's gaze softened, a warmth flickering in the blue. "They suit you."

Peter slid them over his head before he could overthink it, the chain cool against his skin. He resisted the urge to fidget, though his hand kept drifting up to touch the tags like they might vanish.

"How do they look?" Peter asked as he fidgeted with the cold metal.

Bucky just stared for a long second before swallowing. "Looks good. Really good." Bucky cleared his throat. "You should, uh, get a bag together. Wheels up in ten."

Peter smiled, finished eating quickly then rushed upstairs to get ready for the trip.

 

The drive back into New York was long but went by relatively quick. Bucky kept one hand on the wheel, the other draped loose on the console. Close enough that Peter had to keep reminding himself not to stare. They talked some, but fell into stretches of quiet too.

And then the skyline appeared. Glass and steel rising out of the horizon, bridges arching over the water, traffic threading the streets below. Peter's chest pulled tight with something like longing. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it until it was right there again, his city.

"Whatcha thinkin?" Bucky's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Just realized how much I like New York. Felt weird being away."

"We'll have to spend more time up here then." Bucky said, "No way in hell I'm livin' in Queens though."

 

The S.H.I.E.L.D. compound was nothing like Peter expected. From the outside it looked like any other secure government building, concrete, fences, guards. But once they were through, everything hummed with energy. People in uniforms, people in suits, people moving with a purpose. Peter found himself clinging to Bucky as people gave him a wide berth.

Peter tried to not to get too much attention on him, but he felt eyes on him immediately. Some curious, some skeptical. He was acutely aware of the tags against his chest and made sure they weren't covered by his shirt.

Bucky stayed close, hand at the small of his back just for a second as they passed through a checkpoint.

When they finally reached a set of double doors, Bucky tapped a code and pushed them open. The smell of oil, metal, and ozone hit Peter instantly.

Tony Stark's lab was chaos. Glorious, brilliant chaos.

Machines half-built sprawled across workbenches. Blueprints littered the floor. Holographic displays glowed midair, equations shifting with a swipe of a hand. There was what looked suspiciously like a tesla coil in the corner and something that Peter was positive was a rocket launcher on the other.

"Barnes!" A voice rang out from behind a tower of computer screens. Then a man appeared, dark hair, sharp goatee, sunglasses perched on his head. He was a beta but the confidence that flowed off him rivaled most alphas. "You brought a guest. And he's cute. How'd that happen?"

Peter nearly choked, but Tony only grinned, looking back and forth between Bucky and him waiting to be introduced.

"Tony." Bucky's tone was flat. "This is Peter. He's going to help out in the lab today."

"Oh, sure. I've got nothing but time to train a newbie." Tony turned to Peter, eyes sharp, catching the dog tags but saying nothing. He turned to Peter. "You know anything bout working in a lab?"

Peter blinked, then blurted, "I know enough to see that those schematics are wrong." He said, pointing one of the holographic blueprints

Tony's eyebrows rose. "Okay, points for sass. Come on, I'll show you around before we get to work."

And just like that, he was able to get one glance at Bucky before getting swept up into Tony's chaotic orbit.

They fell into conversation like they'd known each other years. Tony threw out questions like no other; what alloys Peter thought best for heat dissipation, how he'd approach stabilizing a machine under combat conditions, what he'd tweak on a newer design.

Peter stammered at first, but then the words just . . . came. Equations he hadn't touched in years rolled off his tongue. His hands itched to grab a pencil, sketching designs in the air as Tony smirked and poked holes in his logic.

At one point Tony shoved a prototype across the table. "Tell me what's wrong with it."

Peter blinked at the mess of wires, then frowned. "You've got feedback interference between the power source and the stabilizer coil. It'll short if you put it under sustained load."

Tony grinned. "Not bad, Queens."

 

It was only when Peter slipped out to grab coffee down the hall that things went wrong.

He didn't make it far before two alphas blocked his path. Big, broad-shouldered, both in uniform. The kind of men who didn't move aside for anyone.

"Well, what do we have here?" The taller one drawled, eyes raking Peter from head to toe. "Haven't seen you around before."

Peter's chest tightened. "I'm just . . . visiting." He said tentatively, taking a small step back.

The second one stepped closer, smirk sharp. "Visiting, huh? Cute omega like you doesn't just wander in here. Who you here for?"

Peter's throat went dry. He shifted back another step. "That's none of your business."

The first alpha's eyes darkened with amusement. "Feisty. I like that. Maybe you're unclaimed, yeah? Just waiting for someone to show you a good time."

The second leaned in, voice dropping. "Bet your alpha wouldn't mind sharing even if you are."

Peter's breath stuttered. His instincts screamed to bare his teeth, to fight, but fear locked his tongue. He hated how familiar this felt to Quentin's shadow pressing down, that same helpless, cornered heat.

"back off." He tried, but it came out too soft, barely above a whisper.

The taller one grinned, reaching as if to brush Peter's shoulder.

And then

"Step away."

Bucky's voice cracked through the hall like a gunshot.

The alphas jerked back instantly, color draining from their faces.

"Sir, we didn't-"

"I said, step away." Bucky's eyes were ice, his whole body coiled tight. He moved into Peter's space without hesitation, hand heavy and grounding on his shoulder. "Names. Identification. Now."

"Sir, we didn't know he was yours." One tried again but Bucky ignored him, extending his metallic hand waiting for their ID's.

The two scrambled, fumbling for IDs. They handed them over with shaking hands.

Bucky didn't glance at the cards, just tucked them into his pocket. "You'll hear from your COs. Get out of my sight."

They bolted.

Silence pressed in heavy. Bucky turned immediately, hands bracketing Peter's arms, scanning him head to toe. "Did they touch you?"

Peter shook his head, voice barely working. "No. I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

"I'm fine," Peter repeated, too fast. Because if he wasn't fine, if he admitted the fear clawing at his chest, he didn't know what else might spill out.

Bucky's jaw flexed. His hand rose, brushed Peter's cheek, then dropped quickly. "They won't come near you again. I promise."

"Can we go home?" Peter asked, hating how small his voice sounded.

"Yeah, we can. I just need to finish something up here. I'll put you in my office office till I'm done. Shouldn't be more than a half hour. That alright?" Bucky asked

Peter nodded.

"Alright, come on." Bucky said, putting a hand between his shoulders and leading him down a hall.

Peter could feel the fury radiating off Bucky. It made him less scared, knowing his alpha was there protecting him.

 

That night, in the guest room of Bucky's New York apartment, Peter couldn't sleep. His mind spun too fast. Images of Tony's lab, the thrill of creating, the sour memory of the alphas' grins.

But mostly those alphas. Mostly about Quintin.

The way those alphas looked at him today, hungry, mocking, certain he couldn't fight back. It was the same way Quentin always had. That same suffocating helplessness, like no matter what Peter did, he'd never be more than small and breakable and cornered.

He curled tight under the blanket, but it didn't help. His heart thudded too loud and chest ached.

Before he could stop himself, he slipped out of bed. Bare feet padded quietly down the hallway.

He stopped outside Bucky's door, heart hammering. His knuckles hovered, then knocked softly against the wood.

The door opened almost before Peter's knuckles dropped away.

Bucky stood there, hair mussed from sleep, shoulders broad in the dim glow of the hallway light. His gaze swept over Peter immediately, sharp and assessing, like he expected to find blood or bruises.

"Pete?" His voice was quiet.

Peter's eyes darted to the floor. His bare toes curled against the wood, shame prickling hot across his skin. He felt small, like some scared pup who couldn't manage to keep it together. "I, uh. . ." His throat caught. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

For a moment, silence stretched. Then Bucky's tone softened. "Yeah. 'Course you can."

He stepped back, opening the door wider. Peter padded inside, still staring down at the floor, fingers knotted in the hem of his shirt.

Bucky shut the door behind them with a quiet click, then stepped closer. "You alright?" he asked, voice low.

Peter's shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. "Yeah."

Bucky didn't look convinced. He reached out, slow, like he was giving Peter the chance to move away, then touched his chin. With the gentlest pressure, he tipped Peter's face upward until their eyes met.

"Pete." Bucky's voice was soft enough it almost hurt. "Are you okay?"

Peter swallowed hard, throat tight. The truth stuck, but when he finally forced himself to move, he shook his head. No.

Something in Bucky's expression broke. Then his arms were around Peter, pulling him in, solid and pressing. One hand cradled the back of his head, tucking it firmly against his chest. The other rubbed slow circles over his back.

Peter stiffened for a breath, then collapsed into him, sagging against the heat of his body. Bucky smelled like soap and something darker underneath, something Peter's bones recognized.

"I've got you." Bucky murmured, his lips brushing Peter's hair. "You're okay. Let's go to bed, huh?"

Peter just nodded against his chest.

Bucky guided him gently across the room, never loosening his hold more than necessary. He pulled back the blankets, motioned Peter in first. Peter climbed onto the mattress hesitantly, then a second later Bucky joined him.

Peter tucked himself into Bucky's chest like he belonged there, pressing his face against the solid muscle, breathing him in. His hands fisted tight in the fabric of Bucky's shirt, letting go wasn't an option.

Bucky didn't seem to mind. He wrapped his arms around him fully, protective and steady. His palm rubbed slow, grounding lines over Peter's back. His face pressed into Peter's hair, warm breath against him.

Chapter Text

Peter woke slowly, heavy with the kind of sleep that sank all the way into his bones. No nightmares. No jerking awake in the dark. Just warmth and the lingering feeling of safety. His cheek was pressed against a broad chest, and beneath him, a steady heartbeat thumped. It was so much louder than his own.

It almost covered up the sound of Alpine nearby. Peter could hear her purring loudly.

Then it hit him.

They were not at Bucky's home. Alpine wasn't here. That low, steady rumble filling the room wasn't coming from the cat. The purring was coming from him.

Heat climbed the back of his neck from embarrassment. He needed to get out of here before Bucky woke up and realized what he was doing.

And worse of all, he was sprawled half on top of him like a lazy pup who didn't know better. He'd actually run to Bucky last night, some scared omega who couldn't calm himself down. And instead of pushing him away, Bucky had just took him in, leaving Peter purring all over him like an idiot.

Peter lifted himself inch by inch, carefully sliding one leg off Bucky's hip, trying not to breathe too loud. He'd just about made it when Bucky shifted.

Too late.

An arm came around his waist, strong and sure, and hauled him right back where he'd been. Bucky grumbled something incoherent in his sleep as he rolled onto his side without even waking fully, tucking Peter against his chest and fitting their bodies together like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand slid up Peter's back, fingers spread just hitting the nedges of his hairline at the back of his neck.

Trapped. Peter was thoroughly trapped.

Peter swallowed hard. His purring spiked louder.

He squirmed a little, testing if there was any way out. Nope. Bucky's grip only tightened in response, even in sleep. Peter's breath caught, tangled somewhere between mortification and . . . something else. Something warm and dizzy in his stomach that Peter couldn't think about.

Minutes ticked by. Five. Ten. Maybe more than that. Just the steady rhythm of Bucky's breathing and Peter's humiliating purr filling the silence.

Then an alarm blared from Bucky's phone on the bedside table.

Bucky startled, jerking upright and leaning across Peter to shut it off. The way Bucky woke was almost with a jolt, like his body was used to being ready the instant he was awake. The movement of him turning off the alarm pressed Peter down into the mattress for a second before the noise cut out.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. For some reason, he'd decided to fake being asleep, and now that he had, he couldn't back out. He forced his breathing even, but his chest still buzzed. It made sense in that he wouldn't have to have an awkward conversation with Bucky, but he will have made his situation so much worse if Bucky realized he was awake and pretending.

He could feel it. The weight of Bucky's gaze. Then a hand, gentle but certain, rested over Peter's sternum. Pressing like he wanted to physically feel the purr Peter was desperately trying to stop. His thumb idly traced against him making nonsense shapes into his skin.

Peter wanted to disappear.

Bucky didn't say anything. Peter could still feel his gaze, for a long time Bucky stayed like that. Until he quietly got up. Peter listened to him walk across the room, open up the door Peter knew led to the bathroom. He stayed still till the bathroom door clicked shut behind him.

Peter bolted.

He rolled out of bed and padded down the hall, nearly tripping over himself, ducking into the guest room. His shirt and sweats were saturated with Bucky's scent, soaked deep into the fabric. It clung to his skin too, faint but there. Somehow it felt more like a claim than the dog tags he wore around his neck.

Changing out of the clothes felt wrong. Some selfish omega part of him wanted to go crawl back into Bucky's bed and soak up even more of the alphas attention. He peeled them off anyway, tugging on a hoodie and jeans that smelled like nothing more than laundry soap. For a second, he was almost sad when the scent wasn't as strong.

He lingered a bit, more than a bit actually. It took a long time for him to gather his thoughts and put himself back together. Then he finally went to the main room.

Bucky was already there, coffee in hand, dressed in work clothes. He looked up right away when Peter padded in.

"Mornin'." Bucky said. He was staring at Peter, and he had to intentionally make sure not to stare back, no matter how much he wanted to.

Peter swallowed, suddenly too warm. "Morning."

Bucky's mouth curved faintly. He looked lighter than usual, in a good mood.

"How'd you sleep?"

Peter's face heated. "Good," he said quickly. Then softer, "Thanks. For . . . y'know. Letting me stay last night."

"Of course." Bucky said like it like it was nothing, but he answered quickly, as though he wanted to make sure Peter knew he could do it again. "Anytime. For any reason."

Peter ducked his head, fiddling with his shirt's hem.

"You wanna head back to the lab today?" Bucky asked.

The sudden change in topic was welcome. Going to the lab would make for a great distraction.

Peter brightened instantly. "Can I?"

Bucky chuckled. "Yeah. You liked it yesterday, right?"

Peter nodded.

Bucky shook his head, still smiling as he opened the fridge. "Alright. Let me make you some breakfast here then we can head out."

 

The lab was loud and active the second Peter walked in. Horrible 80's music blasted from speakers. There were more lab techs in here than yesterday and Peter was pretty sure Tony was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, like he'd never left the lab.

Tony was in the middle of everything, coffee in one hand, fingers of the other sketching holograms midair. He barley glanced up when Peter entered, just pointed vaguely toward a workbench. "Queens, you're late. Grab the soldering kit. And don't touch that prototype yet. It's working and I'm not sure how yet."

Peter grinned, rolling up his sleeves. Within minutes, he was in rhythm, twisting wires, checking circuits, offering suggestions that Tony only shot down half the time.

Hours slipped by. It felt good, like his brain was firing on all cylinders again.

 

By late morning, Bucky reappeared, leaning in the doorway. "Lunch."

Peter blinked up from a half-assembled coil. "What?"

"I've got food." Bucky repeated. "Come on."

Peter glanced over to Tony, making sure he wasn't needed.

Tony waved him off. "Go. Get outta here before you set something on fire."

Peter followed Bucky down the hall to his office. The smell of takeout hit him before he even stepped in, something savory, warm. Bucky set the bag on his desk, moving a stack of paperwork aside.

"Thanks." Peter said, sitting in the chair on the other side of Bucky's desk.

Peter dug in, He hadn't realized how starved he was. It was quiet for a few minutes, just the sound of Bucky's pen scratching and Peter chewing.

"Do you always eat in here?" Peter asked finally.

"Most days."

Peter twirled a fry between his fingers. "Doesn't it get boring? Just paperwork and food?"

Bucky glanced up, faint smile tugging at his mouth. "Not today."

Peter's ears went hot. He shoved a fry in his mouth to avoid answering.

They ate like that, Peter making little offhand comments about the food, Bucky giving dry replies, the kind that were simple but weirdly reassuring. By the time Peter set his empty container aside, he'd almost forgotten he wasn't supposed to feel this comfortable.

"You done?" Bucky asked. "You can have some of mine if you're still hungry.

"Oh, I'm good."

Bucky nodded, and Peter realized he had been eating a lot slower than Peter had. He wondered if it was intentional, in case Peter had wanted more. "Great, you might want to get back to Stark before he gets too lost without you." Bucky said

Peter hesitated. "Mind if hang here for a little while longer?"

Bucky looked at him, blinking once looking a little stunned. "Course."

Peter watched Bucky work for a few long minutes. It was oddly comfortable.

"Was talkin' to Steve earlier today." Bucky said eventually

"Yeah?"

"He likes gettin' the group together for dinners and stuff. He's havin' one on Saturday. Figured it'd be a good time for you to meet them. They've been dying to get to know you." Peter could tell Bucky was tense when he asked, like he was maybe nervous.

"Sounds like fun." Peter replied

"Really? You're sure?" Bucky was visibly excited

"Yeah, I'd love to meet em'". Peter said

"Great! I'll let Stevie know when I see him." Bucky grinned

The office stayed quiet except for the occasional rustle of papers and the sound of Bucky’s pen scratching against a form.

Peter was sitting almost sideways in his chair, toying with the stings of his hoodie. He’d been there long enough to stop pretending he was doing anything productive. Part of him wanted to go back to the lab and work with Tony, but the other half really like just sitting with Bucky while he worked.

"You know," Peter said, staring at the ceiling, "you're pretty quiet when you're working." He joked

Bucky didn’t look up, just scoffed in a half-laugh. “Called work for a reason.”

"Well, it's thrilling for sure."

That earned him a glance, short but amused, before Bucky went back to his forms.

For a while, the silence settled again. Comfortable. Peter didn’t even realize he’d been watching Bucky work until Bucky reached for a different pen and Peter’s gaze jerked away, suddenly self-conscious.

Peter sat up and stretched, bones popping. “I should head back. Tony’s probably deep in something explosive by now.”

“Alright,” Bucky said without looking up. “Don’t let him rope you into anything dangerous.”

“No promises.”

 

“Where’ve you been?” Tony asked the second Peter walked in, voice loud over the whine of a nearby drill. He was hunched over a mess of wires and a half-assembled chassis, goggles perched on his head.

Peter shrugged. “Sorry. Got distracted.”

Tony didn’t look up. “Barnes . . . stealing my best worker. What's he got that I don't anyways?”

Peter grinned, ignoring the joke. “Where we at?”

Tony gestured to the bench. “Grab the micro-solder. We’re building a guidance rig. Mess it up, the drone crashes into a wall. Or me.”

“No pressure.”

“Exactly.”

They fell into rhythm fast. No second-guessing. Peter kept pace with Tony like they’d been doing this for months, not two days. When Peter reached for a tool, Tony was already sliding it toward him. When Tony needed a second set of hands, Peter was there without being asked. The music changed three times and the sun shifted across the windows, and Peter was so wrapped he didn’t notice any of it.

At some point, Tony leaned back, watching Peter sketch something on the tablet they were working off of.

“You ever think about doing this full-time?” Tony asked casually

Peter blinked. “Huh?”

“This.” Tony gestured at the table between them. “You’ve got good instincts. You think fast. You don’t ask dumb questions. That’s rare.”

Peter’s mouth opened, then closed.

Tony tilted his head. “Just saying. If you wanted a spot down here, you could have it.”

Peter stared at him. The offer hit harder than he expected. Omegas didn’t get this kind of opportunity.

“I’d love that,” Peter said, and he meant it. But some uncertainty twisted in his gut. “I just don’t know if I can. Bucky’s only in the city part-time. I stay with him, and . . . yeah. I wouldn’t be able to be here like every day probably.”

Tony waved a hand, already turning back to the drone. “Then don’t. You come when you’re here.”

Peter blinked again.

Tony glanced over his shoulder. “Seriously, It’s rare to meet someone whose brain’s already moving before I finish talking. I like that. Doesn’t happen often.”

Peter felt himself flush a little, straightening up, the weight in his chest replaced by something lighter.

The last few hours of the day passed like that, music in the background, sparks flying, hands full. Peter didn’t even notice how late it was until the lights in the hallway dimmed slightly, the building shifting into evening mode.

He only noticed when he felt a familiar weight across his shoulders.

Peter didn’t have to look. Bucky’s hand slid across the back of his hoodie, thumb brushing against the curve of his neck.

Peter leaned back into it instinctively, before he realized what he was doing. Then froze.

But Bucky didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. Peter murmured “Time to go?”

“In a minute. Gotta talk to Stark.” Bucky replied

Peter nodded, and Bucky’s hand slipped away.

He watched as Bucky crossed the lab, stepping over cords and ducking under a dangling monitor to reach Tony. The two of them started talking immediately in lower voices, businesslike. Peter really couldn’t hear a word.

Then Bucky sat down on one of the stools, facing slightly away. Reached for the hem of his shirt.

Peter’s breath caught.

The fabric lifted over his head, and suddenly Peter was staring at Bucky’s bare back, all lean muscle and too many scars. He looked away, fast, cheeks burning.

But then he looked back.

He couldn’t help it.

Bucky was solid, thick muscle along his shoulders and spine, but what really stuck with Peter were the scars. Especially around the base of the metal arm, where it met skin. The tissue there was tight and pale, pulled thin and crisscrossed like it had been torn apart and put back together too many times. Some of it looked almost raw. Peter swallowed hard.

Tony had a panel open on the arm now, wires exposed, his hands moving with practiced precision. Whatever they were doing, it felt private.

Peter dropped his gaze, heart fluttering. He didn’t watch again until Bucky was back beside him, tugging his hoodie back over his head.

“You ready?” Bucky asked like nothing had happened.

Peter nodded. “Yeah.” He turned to Tony. “Thanks. For. ya'know.”

Tony waved him off without looking up. “Don’t mention it Queens. I’ll see you next time.”

Peter smiled and followed Bucky out, something buzzing under his skin that hadn’t been there this morning.

Chapter Text

Peter stood in front of the mirror, tugging at his shirt for the fifth time. He smoothed the fabric down, pulled at the hem, adjusted the collar, then stepped back, frowned, and repeated the process.

His reflection wasn’t helping. His hair kept falling the wrong way. His jaw looked too sharp, then not sharp enough, depending on the lighting. He pressed his lips together, then practiced a smile. Too forced. Too awkward. He sighed and tried again.

Behind him, he heard Bucky walk into the room. In the mirrors reflection he watched Bucky leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “You keep starin’ at yourself like that, you’re gonna burn a hole in the glass.”

“I just. . . ” Peter twisted, catching his alpha’s reflection over his shoulder. “What if they don’t like me?”

“Course they will.” Bucky said it without hesitation, like it was fact.

Peter turned back, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. “You don’t know that. Maybe they’ll think I’m, I don’t know, weird. Or too quiet. Or that I don’t belong with you.”

“They already know you belong with me.” Bucky said. “Steve’s practically my brother. Clint, Sam, Nat, kind of like family too. They’ll like you because I like you.”

Peter huffed. “That’s not how it works.”

Bucky pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer. He didn’t argue, just reached out, catching Peter’s wrists gently to still the nervous fiddling. “You look good.” he said, low and certain. Then he tipped his head, faint smirk playing under the edge of his stubble. “Better than good.”

Peter felt his ears heat. He ducked, muttering, “You’re just saying that.”

“Nope.” Bucky reached past him to tug the collar straight. His knuckles brushed Peter’s throat, warm and solid, grounding. “There. Perfect.”

Peter swallowed. He still didn’t feel perfect. But he let himself lean into the steadiness of Bucky was offering and after one last outfit change, they headed out the door.

 

The elevator to Steve and Tony’s penthouse was too smooth, too fast. Peter kept silently praying that it would stall or break so they would be stuck and Peter wouldn't have to do this.

Peter’s stomach lurched when it stopped. He wiped his palms on his pants, wishing for a distraction. Bucky didn’t look fazed, of course he didn’t. He never looked fazed.

The doors opened to warm light and the low hum of music. The place smelled like roasted garlic and herbs and something buttery.

“Buck!” Steve’s voice carried from the kitchen before they’d even stepped in. “You’re late.”

Bucky grunted. “Traffic.”

Steve appeared, dish towel slung over his shoulder. He looked the same as last time, calm, steady, confident in an easy way. His eyes landed on Peter and softened. “Glad you made it, Peter.”

Peter’s throat was dry. He managed a small, “Thanks for having me.” before Clint popped his head around the corner.

“Well, well, well, Barnes finally brought the new guy home.” Clint drawled. His hearing aids glinted in the light as he stepped closer, grinning like he’d been waiting for this.

“Clint.” Steve warned, but he was smiling too.

“What?” Clint shrugged. “Didn't even say anything, yet."

Sam emerged next, carrying a bottle of wine. He handed the bottle toward Steve, then clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Good to see you, man.” His gaze flicked to Peter. “And you must be Parker. Nice to finally meet you.”

Peter nodded quickly, words tangling in his mouth. “Yeah. Hi. It’s, uh . . . nice to meet you too.”

And then Nat was there. She didn’t make an entrance so much as appear, glass of water in hand. Her eyes flicked over Peter once, unreadable. “Heard a lot about you." Was all she said

"All good things?" Peter tried joking lightly, it didn't seem to land with Nat.

"From what Barnes has said." She replied, walking off before Peter could get a follow up question in.

Dinner was loud. Louder than Peter expected. He sat tucked beside Bucky, shoulders pressed against his alpha’s arm, while the rest of them talked over each other. Steve told a story about a mission gone sideways, Sam interrupted with his version of events, Clint heckled them both, and Nat cut in when all of them were wrong about the details.

At first, Peter stayed quiet, picking at his food, trying to keep up. His head turned back and forth like he was watching a tennis match.

Then Clint leaned across the table, eyes twinkling. “So, Parker. What’s your deal? I heard you’re some kinda genius.”

Peter’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “I, I’m not -”

“Tony doesn’t give out compliments often.” Steve added, tone light. "He told me you held your own in the lab. Made it sound like he wanted to keep you around.”

Peter’s ears burned. He ducked his head, muttering, “I just like building things.”

"He's pretty damn good at it too." Bucky added

"I'm sure." Steve said sincerely. "It takes a lot for Tony to get interested in someone new."

Bucky’s hand brushed against Peter’s thigh under the table, subtle reassurance.

The night wore on. The food was good, apparently Steve had made most of it and Peter was pleasantly surprised with the quality of everything. Peter wasn’t a big drinker, but after the second glass, the tightness in his chest eased. After the third, he found himself chiming in with little comments, adding to jokes, even teasing Clint back once or twice.

At one point Peter, distracted, picked up Bucky’s beer instead. He took a sip before realizing, eyes widening. “Oh, sorry.”

"Don't mind sharin'." Was all Bucky said, but Peter could see something else behind his eyes, just wasn't sure what it meant.

By the time dessert came out, Clint was well into his drinks and leaning heavily against Sam, laughing too loud. Steve was shaking his head fondly. Nat hadn’t let up her watchfulness, but she looked less cold.

The rest of the night passed quickly and lightly. More quiet softer jokes and longer conversation. Clint was trying to tell some story but he kept getting lost in the details. Eventual, Sam stood, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Alright, lightweight,” Sam said, amused, “I can't spend all night listening to you stutter your way through a story. I’ve gotta be up at six tomarrow.”

“Six? Not possible.” Clint let his head drop dramatically into his hands.

“Yeah, well, some of us are responsible adults.” Sam pulled his jacket from the back of his chair. “Thanks for dinner, Steve. You outdid yourself.”

Steve smiled, small and easy. “Safe drive, Sam.”

Nat stood smoothly, setting her glass aside. “I’ll take him.” She nudged Clint’s chair with her knee. “Up. Let’s go.”

Clint groaned but didn’t argue, letting her haul him to his feet. His grin was sloppy but content. “Night, new kid. Don’t let Barnes scare you off. I like you”

Peter managed a laugh. “Goodnight.”

They shuffled out, Clint still muttering something about karaoke bars, Nat steering him with an efficiency that made Peter she did this very often.

The apartment quieted after the door shut behind them.

Bucky pushed back from his chair. “C’mon, I’ll help with the dishes.”

“I got it.” Steve said automatically, but Bucky was already stacking plates.

“I said I’ll help.”

Bucky stacked a few plates, heading for the sink without waiting to be asked. Steve followed, rolling up his sleeves.

Peter hovered with a half-full glass, unsure if he should sit or pitch in. He grabbed a handful of partially filled food platters and carried them to the counter. “I don’t know where anything goes.”

“That’s alright,” Steve said, taking them. “I'll grab some tupperware and you can package up what you want to take home with you."

Peter watched them work together to clean up, pitching in where he could. The rhythm stayed easy. Steve dried, Bucky rinsed, Peter ferried things from place to place where he was told.

By the time the kitchen was clear, the tension Peter had carried into the night was gone. He found himself perched on a stool while Steve and Bucky bickered lightly about the best field rations, who had it worse on some ret-con mission, and generally bricking about whatever they could.

"You know I had a meeting with Fury today." Steve said after a minute of silence passed

Bucky snorted, "Yeah, what'd he want?"

"Tried to tell me he had a mission I'd be good for. Said he 'missed my skill set'." Steve said, laughing a little and shaking his head

"I bet he fuckin' does." Bucky replied, Peter could see Bucky's mood shift. He could feel a mix of anger and . . . nervousness?

"You told him no. Right?" Bucky asked

Steve hesitated. "I told him I'd think about it."

"Stevie." Bucky said, his voice dropping. "You can't."

"Who else? I don't want to but Fury told me that - " Steve started but Bucky cut him off

"I don't give a damn what he said. Fury would say anything to get you back." Bucky replied

"I know. I know." Steve said defensively. "Would you believe me if I told you he asked if I'd try and get you on board?"

"Course I believe you. That man has no shame." Bucky said

Peter watched them talk back and forth, feeling like he was watching a conversation he had no business hearing.

"It would be my last mission. I wouldn't do any more after." Steve offered, saying it like it was a compromise.

"You're right, it would be your last. Wanna know why?" Bucky asked "Cause you'd be fuckin' killed."

"You don't know that."

"Steve, look at me. Yes I do."

"It'd just . . . it'd just be nice to do some good again. That's all." Steve said, dejected

A lot of the anger diffused off Bucky. "I hear you. Feel that way myself to sometimes. But if you really wanna do something good, don't do it under Fury."

"I think you're right." Steve said

"Course I am." Bucky replied, "You join up with Fury and I'd have to go as well to protect you. That's why Fury went to you. He knows if he can convince you he gets both of us."

Steve looked up, alarmed. "I wouldn't let you do that again."

"Fat fuckin' chance stopping me." Bucky said. "Remember that next time Fury's knockin' at your door."

"You win." Steve replied, "I'll tell him no."

"Thank fuck." Bucky said as he ran a hand down his face and let out a quiet sigh. “Alright, I think that’s enough doom-and-gloom for one night.”

Steve chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah, you gotta head out?"

Bucky gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah.”

"Well I'm glad you made it." Steve said, "It was nice seeing you again Peter. Hopefully you're settling in nicely."

"Good seeing you to." Peter replied, "Thanks for inviting me, I had fun."

"Course." Steve smiled, turning back to Bucky. "You staying in the city much longer?" Steve asked

"Not sure yet. Need to talk to Peter bout' that still." Bucky replied

"Well, keep me in the loop." Steve said. "Don't leave without saying bye."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Have a good night. Give Tony my best when you see him." Bucky said

"Oh, he's at a conference. Won't be back till later tomorrow, but will do."

After a lot more talking about how they were going to leave, Bucky finally gave his last goodbye and they left.

 

"So, what'd you think?" Bucky asked on the way home

"It was nice meeting everyone. Kind of a handful but I had a good time." Peter replied

"Wasn't too much, was it?" Bucky asked, glancing at him as he drove.

Peter shook his head, "Not too much." He echoed

"Good."

The city lights blurred past in streaks. The hum of the tires against the asphalt was the only sound for a long stretch, and Peter felt the quiet press in around him, filling the space between his thoughts. He stared out the window, but really wasn’t looking at anything.

"Can I ask something. You don't have to answer." Peter suddenly blurted

"Of course." Bucky asked

"Is working with Fury how you lost your arm?" Peter asked, cringing at his word choice and wondering if he over stepped.

Bucky took a long time to answer, taking a deep breath before he finally did. "In a way, yes. He didn't give me all the information for a mission when I agreed. Found out it was a lot more dangerous than I had planned for."

"Why does Steve want to work with him then?" Peter asked

"Fury is a bad guy. He does a lot of shit I don't like and doesn't think twice bout it. But he gets a lot done. Me and Steve had some good missions with him. But it's just not worth it anymore and I don't know if Steve is ready to accept that yet."

Peter nodded. "Sorry for asking." He apologized

"It's alright."

The city was mostly dark, the roads empty. Peter let his hand rest near Bucky’s on the console, not daring to move it closer no matter how much he wanted to. Neither of them spoke for a while.

"Bucky?"

"Hm?"

"Can I sleep with you again tonight?" Peter asked

"Yeah, I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

Chapter Text

Peter drifted in and out of sleep, pressed into the solid rise and fall of Bucky's chest. The steady thump of a heartbeat and the heavy warmth wrapped around him should have been enough to keep him under. But something gnawed in his stomach, sharp and low, tugging him awake.

He lay still, waiting for it to pass. It didn't. The twist spread, tight and sour, until it had him swallowing against the urge to gag. Careful not to wake Bucky, he eased out of the circle of his arms.

"Mm?" Bucky's voice was muffled, thick with sleep. "Peter?"

"Yeah," Peter whispered quickly. "Just the bathroom. Go back to sleep."

The floor was cold under his feet. Too cold. Or maybe he was too hot . His skin prickled, damp with sweat by the time he made it to the sink.

The mirror showed someone pale and hollow-eyed, hair stuck to his forehead. He braced himself on the counter, chest heaving as he sucked in gasps of air. Each breath came short, shallow, like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room.

Another cramp twisted through him, bending him in half. He pressed a fist to his stomach, teeth bared, willing it away. It only knifed deeper.

Water. He fumbled the faucet on, thrusting his hands under the stream. The shock of cold bit into his skin, grounding him for a heartbeat. Then the heat surged again, thick and suffocating.

His vision blurred. His throat closed. He barely managed to lean over the sink before bile burned its way up and he vomited. The sound echoed harsh off the tile, leaving him shaking, spit stringing from his lips.

A knock rattled the door. "Pete? You alright in there?"

He tried to answer, but all that came was a low, strangled noise.

The handle jostled. "Peter." More urgent now. "Unlock the door."

When Peter didn't respond there was a loud crack as something heavy collided with the door.

The lock gave, and Bucky was there in the doorway, hair mussed, eyes wide. He crossed the room fast, crouching beside him. A calloused hand pressed to the back of Peter's neck, steadying. Then it stilled.

"You're burnin' up," Bucky muttered, voice low, tight.

Peter tried to shake his head, to say something, anything, but the words slid slow and slurred from his mouth. His gaze met Bucky's, desperate to explain, before the floor tilted violently.

Heat. Too much heat.

Hands, steady, familiar, sliding under him, hauling him up like he weighed nothing. Peter wanted to protest, to say he could walk, but his mouth wouldn't work right. Only a sound came out, small and broken. Involuntarily an omega sound of distress escaped him.

"Got you. I got you." Bucky's voice. Close to his ear, strained.

Peter's head lolled against a shoulder. The world shifted, tilted. Each step jostled his stomach. He pressed his face harder into Bucky's chest, searching for steadiness, for air.

Cool night air hit him next, sharp and biting against skin that felt fever-hot. Too bright out here. Streetlights smeared into long streaks of white.

"Stay with me, Pete." The words cut through the haze. A car door groaned open. Then leather under his back, the click of a seatbelt tugging across him.

The engine roared alive. Vibrations rattled through the seat, through him. Each frantic turn of the wheels thrummed through the seat.

Peter blinked, trying to focus. The dashboard lights blurred, green and red bleeding together. He caught flashes, Bucky's hands gripping the wheel tight, the blur of passing headlights outside.

"Almost there."

His stomach twisted again. He groaned, curling instinctively, only half-aware of a hand reaching from the driver's side to steady him, palm pressing firm against his knee.

Every sound was too loud. Tires on asphalt. The thud of his pulse in his ears. Bucky's voice, low but urgent, a constant thread he couldn't hold onto long enough to make sense of the words.

Cold air again. The door yanked open. Strong arms scooped him back up. Peter clung weakly, fingers brushing leather and metal, too heavy to hold on.

Lights overhead now, harsh and white, cutting across his closed lids. Voices, quick and sharp, too many at once.

But all he caught, before the heat surged, before everything went black, was Bucky's voice again, rough and certain.

"Help him. Now."

 

Peter woke to light. Too much of it, sharp and white, cutting into his eyes even before they opened fully. His head pounded. His body felt heavy, wrong.

The sheets under him were stiff, tucked too tight. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and metal. Machines hummed low around him.

He shifted, feeling his hand held in someone else's. Peter squeezed weakly.

The reaction was instant. The chair beside him creaked, Bucky's head snapping up. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression heavier than before. Relief broke across his face.

"Hey," Bucky said, rough with exhaustion, but softer than Peter had ever heard him. "There you are."

Peter's voice was scratchy. "Sorry."

Bucky huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head. "Nothin' to be sorry for."

Peter blinked, tried to focus on him. "What. . . what happened?"

Bucky's thumb brushed the back of his hand. "Don't know yet. Doc did some tests. We're waitin' to hear."

"Oh." Peter nodded faintly, too tired to push for more. He curled onto his side, facing Bucky fully, drawing comfort just from seeing him there. He pulled Bucky's hand up close to his chest, pressing it against him as the contact made some of the tension ease out of him.

Bucky shifted closer in his chair, his metal hand rising, surprisingly gentle as it threaded through Peter's hair. "It'll be alright." he murmured.

Peter let his eyes close, trusting that voice more than the words and turning his face into the metal hand.

The door opened then, hinges soft but enough to pull Peter's attention.

"Well, good to see you awake."

The man who entered was tall, calm, his glasses slipping a little as he adjusted the chart in his hands. His smile was kind but serious.

"I'm Dr. Banner," he said, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. "I've been overseeing your care tonight."

Peter swallowed. "Hi."

"Before we go further, I need to ask a couple questions. Have your heats been difficult in the past or have you ever experienced a painful one?"

Peter shook his head. "I haven't . . . had one yet."

Dr. Banner nodded like that confirmed something. "Mr. Barnes mentioned you're twenty-four. That correct?"

Peter nodded again.

"Normally, omegas your age will have experienced several by now. That discrepancy helps explain what we saw on your scans." He flipped the chart, his expression careful. "You've got some internal damage in your uterus. Nothing we can't address, but something we'll need to treat."

Peter's stomach turned. His fingers tightened in Bucky's.

Banner continued, his tone even. "Your hormone levels are abnormal. Essentially, it seems your body has a hormonal imbalance that appears to have been suppressing your heats. That suppression has, over time, caused bodily stress and some damage internally."

Peter's throat was dry. "What happened tonight?"

"Something, some event, triggered your body to try to enter heat. But because the hormones weren't balanced the heat failed to take and instead of a normal cycle, you experienced the distressing symptoms that brought you here."

Silence stretched until Bucky cleared his throat. His voice was low but firm. "What can we do about it? How do we make him better?"

Banner met his eyes, then Peter's. "I've treated this condition before. The most effective approach is a hormone stimulant. It will reset your cycle, kickstarts the right balance. After that, your body should be able to synthesize the necessary hormones on its own."

He set the chart aside. "The internal damage will heal naturally, with time, several weeks to a month. But long-term, you'll be just fine."

Peter exhaled shakily. Relief and fear tangled together in his chest.

Bucky's hand slid from his hair to his cheek, steadying. "You hear that? You're gonna be fine."

Peter nodded, leaning faintly into the touch. "Okay."

Banner gave a small smile, adjusting his glasses again. "I'll get the medication together. You'll stay here for the rest of the night tonight, and we'll monitor you closely. We'll walk through the administration process in the morning when you're stronger."

He left quietly, and the room settled again into the hum of machines and the soft weight of Bucky's hand in his.

 

By morning, Peter felt wrung out. Not sick, just hollow, like someone had rung him dry. The hospital had kept him for a few more hours for observation, Banner checking in once or twice, but nothing more dramatic had happened.

Now Bucky was at his side again, steady as ever, a thick paper bag clutched in his metal hand. Inside the bag was a batch of vials, syringes and neat instructions folded in half.

"Discharge packet." Bucky had said simply, but the crease in his brow betrayed how serious he was taking it. "Banner walked me through it. Nothin' we can't handle."

Peter only nodded, too tired to argue.

The trip home blurred, the ride in the car, the quiet city still hazy in early light, the sound of tires on pavement. Peter pressed his forehead against the glass, dozing in and out, while Bucky's presence anchored him with every turn, his hand never leaving Peter's thigh.

By the time they got to the apartment, all Peter wanted was his bed. He collapsed onto it with a sigh, curling on his side, watching Bucky set the bag on the dresser through half closed eyes.

"Banner said it's subcutaneous." Bucky muttered, pulling the first syringe from its sterile wrap. His metal fingers were deft, precise, but his jaw was tight. "Small needle. You won't feel much."

Peter rolled onto his back, blinking at him. "You're nervous."

Bucky's mouth twitched, like he wanted to deny it but couldn't. "Just don't like the idea of hurting you."

Peter swallowed, then scooted closer to the edge of the bed. "It's fine. Just. . . do it quick, yeah?"

Bucky nodded, drawing the dose carefully into the syringe. He tapped it once, watching the faint bubble escape, then came to sit beside Peter.

"Arm." he said gently.

Peter lifted his arm, but halfway through he hesitated, nerves prickling through his exhaustion. He turned instead, pressing his face against Bucky's chest, hiding there like a pup.

Bucky froze, then softened. "Alright, sweetheart. You stay there."

Peter felt the cold swipe of an alcohol pad, smelled the sting of it, then the smallest pinch at his bicep.

Over in seconds.

"There. All done."

Peter peeked up, doubtful. "That's it?"

Bucky gave him a crooked smile, setting the capped syringe aside. "That's it. So brave for me."

Peter made a muffled noise and shoved his face back into Bucky's shirt, his relief easing into bone-deep fatigue.

Bucky's hand curved protectively over the back of his head, holding him close. "Get some sleep."

Peter hummed against him, already drifting, the warmth of Bucky's chest under his cheek more effective than any medicine.

Peter drifted, never sure how long he was under. The hormone shot left him heavy-limbed and thick-headed, dragging him down every time he tried to surface. Sometimes he blinked against the dim light of the bedroom, sometimes he sank back into the pillow without even opening his eyes.

Every so often, Bucky came in. Peter felt the mattress dip, heard the low murmur of his voice, a hand brushing his hair back. “You need anything? Water? Blanket?” Sometimes Peter managed a sound in answer. Sometimes he didn’t. He was happiest when Bucky would stay for a while, it made him sleep better.

The next time Peter blinked awake, Bucky was leaning down close, thumb brushing along his temple. “You gotta eat something.” he said gently. “If I make you food, you’ll eat for me?”

Peter blinked up at him, slow, muddled. Food? He wasn’t hungry. But if his alpha made it of course he'd eat it. His head tipped in a sluggish nod.

Bucky gave him a small smile, hand still in his hair. “Good. I’ll make you some soup. That’ll sit easy, help you feel better.” His fingers threaded through Peter’s hair once more before he straightened.

The loss of Bucky walking away him made Peter’s chest pinch in a small sad ache. But the pillow smelled like Bucky, and that helped. He curled tighter around it, letting the scent wrap around him until sleep pulled him under again.

When he woke next, the room was quiet. The sheets warm and rumpled. The bed smelled like Bucky everywhere. It made Peter feel cocooned, safe in a way his own apartment bed would never be able to. He buried his face in the blanket, breathing deep, until his stomach gave an uneasy twist. Not with hunger exactly, but something pulling him upright.

His feet touched the tile and he shivered, padding out toward the light spilling from the kitchen.

Bucky stood at the stove, sleeves pushed up, stirring a pot. His hair was pulled back loose at the nape of his neck. He turned at the sound of Peter’s bare feet and his eyes widened. “You’re up? You should be in bed, sweetheart.”

Peter didn’t answer. He just crossed the space and pressed his forehead against Bucky’s chest with a soft hum. The warmth and scent there were better than the pillow, he liked it better than the bed.

Bucky’s arms came around him without hesitation, one warm and one cool against his back. “How you feelin’?”

Peter didn’t want to talk, he'd answer for his alpha. He leaned back just enough to mumble, “Tired.”

Bucky nodded. “Thought so. How ‘bout we eat a little, then go back to bed? How's that sound?”

Peter’s wasn't really paying much attention, but he nodded still. He was distracted with one of the belt loops on Bucky's jeans. He tugged at the loop lazily, holding on to anchor himself to his alpha.

“Hey.” Bucky said softly, prying his hand away with a small huff of amusement. “Sit. I’ll get you a bowl.”

 

The couch was soft under him, but Bucky’s presence beside him was better. Peter let himself lean until their sides touched, and when Bucky set the warm bowl in his hands, Peter ate just enough because Bucky had made it. The taste didn’t matter. Though it was nice.

His eyelids drooped halfway through. Bucky slid the bowl away before it slipped, setting it on the table. His arm settled around Peter’s shoulders, steady and solid.

“C’mon, back to bed I think.” Bucky murmured.

Peter made a low, unhappy sound. He shifted, curling down instead, head finding Bucky’s lap. His nose pressed toward the warmth of Bucky’s stomach through his shirt.

Bucky stilled. Then his hand found Peter’s hair again, slow strokes that made something deep in Peter’s chest vibrate. He could stay like this forever.

Almost. Not quite. He tossed once, then again, trying to settle. Something wasn’t right. He was just on the edge of being comfortable and he couldn't find what he was missing.

After a few minutes he found it, sitting up, shifting, swinging one leg across until he was straddling Bucky’s thighs, arms looping around his neck. His head found that perfect hollow at Bucky’s throat, where scent was strongest.

Bucky swallowed. “Peter. . .”

But Peter only tucked tighter, breathing him in, the warmth of a big hand rubbing circles against his back. The vibration in Peter’s chest deepened until he realized, faintly, he was purring.

He mumbled against Bucky’s skin. “S’nice.”

And then, still purring, he went slack with sleep.