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The first thing Peter realizes when he wakes up is the usual heavy coolness of dog tags against his chest is gone.
His hand immediately flies to his clothed chest, patting frantically for the tags. His breathing starts to get quicker when he can’t find them, throwing the covers of the bed he’s in off to try and find them.
His now exposed arm has an IV in it and Peter knows better not to rip it out.
It’s not until a door slams open that he takes the time to asses his surroundings.
He looks around in awe at the room as 2 women rush in, one going to the craziest thing Peter’s ever seen, floating charts and graphs. The other woman kneels down next to him.
“Mister Parker. Can you hear me?” She asks with an accent he’s never heard before.
He nods wordlessly, mouth parted slightly.
“Ma’am? Is-Is this a hospital?” He croaks, words barely audible.
What the hell? What’s with my voice?
“Yes, but I’d say it’s a bit nicer than your average hospital.”
She smiles and Peter manages to smile back.
“Vitals are good, Nanwih.” The other woman, most likely another nurse, says from behind the floating pictures.
“Could you go find Doctor Khumve? I will notify the King and Princess of his awakening.”
The women rush away.
Peter sits in a stunned silence, brain foggy. He’s not able to process anything that’s going on. He’s never been this confused in his entire life.
In a split second the door opens again, the nurse from earlier, Nanwih, and a tall, dark skinned man entering.
“Mister Parker! I’m Doctor Amwa Khumve, a psychiatrist here at Wakanda Medical Center. I’m going to help you, um, process some information.”
Wakanda?
“H-Hi.” He manages to stutter out, the doctor taking a seat in the sleek white chair next to his bed.
There’s weird markings on his work uniform, which doesn’t look like something any doctor would wear.
“Mr. Parker, what is the last memory you have?” The doctor asks quietly, leaning forward in his chair.
“Um, I-“ Peter tries, shaking his head to try and clear his memory.
“Do you remember anything about being put on ice?”
Peter visibly flinches as everything comes flooding back to him.
The letter with the dog tags. The days of mourning. The visit from Steve. The visit to Government Medical Warehouse #14. The long talks with the supposed doctor. Being taken against his will. And then-
Peter lets out a sob, hands shaking wildly.
“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now.” Doctor Khumve reassures him, placing a hand on his forearm.
“What’s the year?” Peter asks through his tears.
“2017.”
No way. Absolutely not.
“Where are my tags?” He manages to asks, slowly turning to face the doctor.
He smiles.
“Someone has them for safekeeping.” He tells Peter, heart dropping.
“Doctor Khumve? The Princess and the White Wolf are on their way.” The nameless nurse calls out from behind the floating pictures.
Peter guesses she just stands there all day.
“You’ll get the tags back soon.”
The doctor and the nurse run a few tests, with medical supplies he’s never even seen. And soon, a young girl walks in with odd markings on her face.
What even is this place?
“Mister Parker! How wonderful that you are awake. The white man has told me all about you.” She exclaims, moving towards the floating pictures.
“I sure have.” An extremely familiar Brooklyn accent says from the corner of the room.
The man is dangling Bucky’s dog tags from his fingers, and he looks so familiar, but he can’t recall who he would know with an unkempt beard and long hair with a make-shift sling and-
“Hey, doll. Long time no see, eh?”
It’s Bucky.
“Bucky?”
All he wants to do is launch himself at the older man and shower him with kisses but he knows he can’t do that, he’d be beat up on the spot.
Bucky quickly strides over to him and Peter’s heart spikes in fear because he’s leaning in to kiss him but-
Their lips collide and Peter can’t help but cry as he kisses Bucky back, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him close.
“Buck, babe, that was a dumb idea.” He whispers when they pull away.
“Darlin’, we won’t get in trouble. Not anymore.” He utters back, taking his dog tags and draping them around Peter’s neck.
Not anymore .
“What?” Peter asks, barely a whisper, as he rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder. His new beard scrapes against Peter’s soft skin, a new but welcome feeling.
“We’re allowed to be together now. By law.”
Peter hugs him.
“Um, Bucky? Where’s your other arm?” He asks frantically, pulling away when he can’t feel the limb on his right side.
He chuckles and Peter melts because oh god , he missed that laugh.
“There’s a lot of things I need to catch you up on. Like how you can send a letter instantly, and get a reply back with a small machine.”
“That’s killer-diller.” Peter gasps, dainty hand grasping Bucky’s shoulder.
“Yeah, no one says that anymore.” Bucky teases, poking Peter in the side.
“Hey! You’re being mean .” Peter pouts, but presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek.
Bucky leans in for another kiss and Peter is more than happy to accept.
“Thought you were dead.” He mutters against Bucky’s lips, playing with the ends of his hair.
“Put me on ice too. Long story. But I wrote to you saying I’d come back, right?”
Peter nods, remembering the first letter he got from Bucky while he was out for war.
“And I did. Nothing to worry about, baby.”
“Nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Peter repeats, squeezing him tighter than he ever has.
In that moment, Peter makes a promise as well.
I’m never letting you go .
***
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
-The More Loving One , W. H. Auden