Chapter Text
When another morning dawned over NYC, it found Peter browsing the Internet in the living room. Of course, since JARVIS was basically everywhere, he didn't really need to be on the common floor, per se. But, the floor did have the advantage of all the really comfortable battered couches and chairs, plenty of junk food--and alcohol, if you looked hard enough-- so here he sat, with a coffee (spiked with vodka,) perusing the week-long music playlist Stark had given him. Sure, one would expect with nearly twenty missed years, there might be some stuff he'd missed. However, after he had come across the fifth song by a guy named Bieber, he decided Stark was screwing with him.
He heard footsteps coming down the hall and didn't look up from the tablet, assuming that if it was one of his teammates, they'd just do the usual morning routine of grumpy silence until after the second cup of coffee, and if it were one of the Avengers, it'd probably be either Banner or Romanoff. And they didn't speak unless spoken to, either.
Therefore, he was a little surprised when a cheerful "Morning," greeted him. He lowered the pad to see Steve, already dressed in jeans and a checkered shirt, getting a bowl of cereal.
...Okay, so he was willing to admit that he was more than a little unsure of how to act around the guy...after a rather prodding interrogation by the rest of his team one evening on their floor. After all, everyone had heard of Captain America. Heck, he'd had a lunchbox of the guy once. So to find out that he was back was...weird, to be sure. And yet, that annoying little voice at the back of his subconscious was snapping at him--and ever since the team, it seemed to have adopted Rocket's voice. Come on, loser. Ya got kidnapped by aliens. I think you can keep up a rational conversation with an American hero.
"Stark give you a playlist, too?" Steve sat down on the couch across from him. Peter laughed. "Yup. Enough to spend the rest of my life on."
Steve smirked, scooping his spoon out of his cereal. "I know how that goes. He gave me this huge playlist, and I'm still going through it. of course, I had about forty more years worth, but still. And some of it I just hated." Peter shrugged. "I just delete what I don't like." He frowned at the screen. "You got any idea who this Justin Bieber guy is?"
Steve choked on his coffee. When he had gotten control of himself, he started laughing. "You probably don't want to know."
"I mean, his voice could be good, if it were...."
"Lower?"
"Exactly. And the music is so pitiful."
"I don't know." Steve set his bowl down on the end table and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I thought some of the electronic stuff was interesting. I probably would have hated it when I was younger, but..." He shrugged, smiling a bit wistfully. "I've learned to adapt pretty well, I think."
"Yeah." Peter sighed, glancing out the window at the sun rising over Manhattan. "I'd never been to New York, before." he admitted.
"Really?" Steve asked, interested. "Where are you from?"
"Alabama."
"What was it like down there? Cause there were a lot of really stupid stereotypes I've heard about it. I mean, if you don't mind telling me."
"Nah, it's fine. Well...I was outside a lot. See, when I was growing up..." Peter took a thoughtful sip of his coffee, "...it was me, my mom, and my grandparents."
"No father?'
"No. Not that I ever knew. Turns out he was some form of alien, too, though. Apparently." Peter shrugged wryly. "Learn something new every day."
"Anyway, my grandparents had a farmhouse out in the country. It was about a half-hour's drive to get to the nearest town. There were gas stations and such closer, but nothing really big. I spent a lot of time with the cows and chickens, running around in the fields, playing in the barn, working on the tractor. You know, the usual. At least till Mom..." he trailed off.
There was a beat of silence for a while. "I'm sorry." Steve finally said, glancing down at his hands. "I know how that goes." Silence for a bit more. Then Peter said "Cancer," so softly and unexpectedly that he was surprised. "Pneumonia." Steve said, equally solemnly.
They were quiet for a moment, as the traffic below roared silently. "How did you do it?"
Steve shrugged. "For a while, I didn't think I could. Everyone was gone...I mean, my parents were already gone, and I lost my friends, as well, whether to death or dementia. I mean, I was grateful they were still alive, but they were...different. They had lived full lives, and I still felt like everything had just happened. There were points that I thought I would lose it....or wished that I hadn't survived. But..." he smiled a bit as he looked around the room. "I got the team, and now we're friends. I found out my best friend was still alive. And now you guys are here. But just...knowing that someone was left helped. A lot." "Huh." Peter stared down at the reflective surface of the tablet. "Actually, now that you mention it...there is someone I could look for."
***
Tony was a bit late for Official Team Pizza And Movie Night. But when he did come into the room-- currently filled with superheroes clad in anything from leather to pajamas--he went straight over to Peter and handed him a file. "Found him," he said. "71, still living in the farmhouse. Has a cell now, though."
Peter stared at the file for a few moments before murmuring "Thanks, Tony," almost inaudibly.
Tony smiled. "Anytime." He crossed over the room and grabbed a couple slices from the box of meat market, sprawling beside his teammates on the couch. Natasha started the movie, and Peter got up and went into the kitchen for the phone. Even over the opening music, the team could hear him pacing, his voice, slightly breaking, when he said "Pap...it's me. It's Peter." And the rapid, emotional conversation that followed. And if a couple of them were a bit sniffly, well...no one ever said anything.