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He didn't want to be here. He would rather be anywhere else right now. Anywhere.
But when The Winter Soldier, The Falcon, and Captain freaking America decide they want to teach him how to survive in the middle of the woods for three days, Peter can't exactly say no. Besides, Bucky's metal arm is cool.
And he could still beat them all in a fight.
So really, is was all good.
Unfortunately, super human abilities didn't help much when you're in a muddy clearing, fifty miles away from the nearest other person, and one hundred miles away from the nearest town.
Whatever.
He'd use them as much as he could to gain the advantage against mother nature.
Because apparently, mother nature hates him.
Every single time Peter tried to go camping or hiking or something like that, mother nature liked to fuck with him. Every. Single. Time.
It was really unfair, too. Peter had never done anything to Her to make Her angry with him. He picked up litter whenever he saw it, volunteered at city cleaning events, didn't have a car to muddy up the air. He didn't even spit on the ground, thank you very much.
But still, Peter never got along with nature. It felt like something always wanted to kill him. Going camping was almost as dangerous as going on a patrol. Almost. Because Mr. Stark won't ever shut up about the time when Peter had just so happened to maybe walk into the Compound completely calm with a knife embedded into his stomach. But seriously, the way Mr. Stark had shouted, it was almost as if Peter was about to die.
Okay, maybe dying was more in the realm of possibility than he was comfortable with at the time, but whatever.
Besides. Peter's relationship with that knife was so toxic. Like, damn, Peter had to live for the knife to have a home. That weapon was such a freeloader. Like can't it pay rent or whatever to stay there? It was almost like math. Math was so toxic. It presented to you these horribly elaborate problems and you had to solve all of them for it. It didn't even say thank you! And then, it just keeps piling more and more of its own problems onto you, never solving your problems in return.
It was such a toxic relationship.
Peter would break up with math if he could, but math was like that clingy ex-girlfriend. Never really over you. It just kept coming back to wreak havoc on your life.
Like damn, at least be honest about your feelings, right? Was that too much to ask?
Anyways, two days after Peter had accepted their offer, Sam fired up the Quinjet and took off from the ground. Those two days in between were filled with Peter banging his head against the wall of his bedroom, wishing he could take back his acceptance.
After a half an hour flight, they landed. Peter had never been great with planes. He had mild claustrophobia and being stuck in a metal bird in the air with no ground supports wasn't great. Plus, his parents had died in a plane crash, too.
But this time, the ride was his last bit of technology for the next three days, and he relished in it.
When they hit the ground, Peter waited for Sam to open the door, and then he swung out of it, landing on the ground swiftly.
"Hey, kid!" Bucky yelled after him as he stood up. "Give me your phone!"
His hand drifted to the pocket of his jeans. The newest StarkPhone resided in there. So new that it wasn't even out to the public yet.
"I can't accept this, Mr. Stark."
"Just take it, kid. I reinforced this one with double paneled glass so when you 'thwip thwip' out there and drop your phone, you can't use that as an excuse to not call me when you literally get stabbed."
"It was one time, Mr. Stark."
"One time was enough."
"Fine... Thank you."
"Yeah, kid."
Reluctantly, Peter brought out his phone and Bucky took it from him with his awesome metal arm. He was turning around when something gave a faint click. Peter only heard it with his enhanced hearing. He figured out where it was coming from half a second too late.
"Mr. Barnes! Don't-"
Too late.
Bucky's metal arm jerked, and his hand gave an involuntary squeeze. He opened it back up again to see that Peter's brand new phone was crushed into several pieces.
They all stared at it for a few seconds.
"I- umm..."
"Oh my god, Mr. Stark is gonna kill me," Peter groaned. This trip was already off to a bad start. "Do any of you have a phone? I need to call him."
Sam shrugged. "Not with us. Besides, why do you need to call Stark right now? Can't it wait? No electronics once we got off the plane, we agreed on that."
He sighed. "I guess so."
"Good. Now come on, Peter. Three things you're gonna need when you're out in the wild like this," Steve began, using his "I'm Captain America PSA voice" that Peter had heard too many times for it not to be annoying at this point. "One: water. Two: food. Three: shelter. Repeat that, Peter."
This is stupid, his brain screamed.
Shut up, Peter told it back.
So stupid... I am not repeating that like a child.
"One: water. Two: food. Three: shelter," he repeated dutifully, feeling like he was stuck in first grade again.
"Good. Now first and foremost, water."
Peter waited, but no more was said.
Steve looked at him expectantly. "Come on, Peter. Where would you find water?"
Oh. He wanted him to answer. Huh.
Peter scratched the back of his neck uncertainly. "Uhh, I mean, I hear a stream near by? Or it could be a river with how fast the water is moving."
Steve scrunched up his eyebrows. "I can't hear anything."
Oops. They had said no powers... but then again, he couldn't really turn off his enhanced senses. If he could then he'd have far less sensory overload episodes.
"I mean, can't you?"
Bucky walked a little ways off into the trees. He came back about five minutes later. "The kid's right. There's a river about 10 miles north of here."
"How on earth did you find that out?" Sam asked incredulously.
Bucky shrugged. "Climbed a tree. Saw a little sliver of the water."
Steve turned to Peter. "You can hear that far?"
He nodded, uncertain with himself all of a sudden.
But Steve only shrugged. "Huh. Pretty insane senses you got there, Peter."
Peter turned his head away. It felt weird being complimented by his childhood hero (behind Iron Man, of course.)
"Okay," Steve snapped himself back into PSA mode. Bummer. Peter had enjoyed not hearing that god awful patriotic tone. "so you found water. How do you get to it?"
Peter sucked in a breath to keep himself calm. "Walk, I guess?"
Sam looked at him incredulously and looked to be trying very hard to not say anything.
"Or... not walk? You could... I don't know, Mr. Wilson could fly?"
This time, Sam and Bucky both face palmed. It was barely ten minutes in and Peter already wanted to bail and go home. Unfortunately, he'd get hungry on the way back that far.
And he probably wouldn't make it past the fiftieth mile.
But who really knows? Maybe he could run one hundred miles and not get tired. He'd never really tested the superhuman endurance before. Maybe now was a good time to try...
No. That was stupid. Bucky would probably kill him and Sam could just fly and catch up to him in no time flat.
Besides, maybe being under a shelter was better than walking the how many miles they had taken to get here.
"Peter," Steve sighed, "you wouldn't have carbon fiber wings out in the wilderness. And you can't walk ten miles just for water. You have to conserve your energy before you find a stable source of food. Besides, you'd never make the ten mile walk without water."
Just watch me, Peter wanted to say. But that was probably rude.
Instead, he just nodded. "Yes, sir."
Sam gave him a smug look and Bucky smirked at him. He was starting to think the only reason they asked him on this trip was so they could make fun of him while Steve did all the actual "teaching."
"So... how are you gonna get the water, Peter?"
Back to square one. That was just great.
Peter was pretty sure he would be able to walk the ten miles and back to get the water without dying, but he wasn't in the mood to die just yet. Maybe tomorrow. Ooooh but Ned had planned to finish the lego death star the next Wednesday... maybe he'd die on Thursday.
Anyway, that wasn't important.
How would he get the water...
He had an idea...
"Peter! Watch it!"
"Sorry, Mr. Barnes! I didn't mean to."
Whelp! This isn't working very well.
Peter's idea had been to create a sort of human conveyer belt like in the movie. One person went down to the river and collected a bucket of water, then he walked to the next man about half a mile south from them and hand them the bucket, once more turning around to get more water while the other person hands the bucket to the next person, all the way to "camp."
He'd vocalized it and everyone besides Steve rolled their eyes and groaned quietly. But Peter still heard it. Damn enhanced hearing.
Long story short, it didn't work. They were left with four soaking wet humans, a sprained ankle (Sam), and no water.
Peter was just about ready to cancel Ned's plans with an untimely death.
Would falling from a tree be cooler than drowning, or... no. Falling from a tree if he was Spider-Man... Ned would never let him live it down... death it down? Whatever. Point proven. Drowning was cooler. Maybe the story could be he drowned after saving Captain America from the river- no. Bucky already did that. Besides the drowning part. Maybe he could drown by a monster grabbing hold of his foot and keeping him down while he bravely fought and killed it while holding his breath but in the end, right after it died, Peter ran out of oxygen. Sure. That would have to do for now.
"Damn it, Peter!" Sam yelled in pain as his ankle twisted again.
He winced in sympathy. He'd suffered several a sprained ankle and knew exactly how it felt.
"I'm really sorry, Mr. Wilson. Is there anything I can do to help?"
Sam shot him a dirty look. Then it deflated. "It's alright, Pete. Maybe pull up a log to the camp so I can elevate it. We're lucky it wasn't anything worse."
Peter nodded. He helped Sam climb the rest of the way back to camp, tripping only a few times, earning a few pained grunts from the knock off Blue Angel.
They caught up to Steve and Bucky a few miles later. Peter was almost carrying Sam at this point. Seriously, the man was heavy.
Steve cringed at the sight of Sam's swollen injury.
"We need to get some ice on that, Sam. Maybe you should sit the rest of the trip out."
Hey! No way that's fair, Peter thought. You all asked me here and then Sam gets to sit the whole trip out? Ain't no way I'm supporting that.
But Sam just sighed. "No. I have to stay. If the kid gets hurt like this in the wild, he needs to know how to deal with it."
"I mean, I have enhanced healing...?" Peter piped up, rather unhelpfully, he realized.
Sam only grunted in response.
"Enhanced healing or no," Bucky said, clearing a path with his metal arm. "You need to still be able to know how to fix it."
"Okay."
Peter was getting fed up with the repetitiveness. Sure they wanted to teach him how to survive in the wild, but when would he ever be stranded in the wild without any help at all? And if he could still use his powers (they hadn't failed him yet, so it seemed like a pretty solid bet that he would be able to) then he'd be out of that situation in a few hours. Twenty four at most.
Still though, he supposed this was more useful than the pythagorean theorem and scientific notation. Math was so useless after the fourth grade.
It was still a weak argument though.
"Peter! Watch where you're going!"
Too late. His face smacked into a low hanging tree. One that happened to have several thorns in its branches. Because of course it did.
"Ow," he muttered.
He felt several pricks in his face. Luckily, none had gotten in his eyes, but damn, they still fucking hurt.
He felt Sam shake with barely suppressed laughter against him.
All I have to do is drop you, Peter thought with annoyance.
"Are you alright, Mr. Wilson?" he asked instead.
"F-fine, Pete," Sam choked out between laughter.
"Uh huh."
God, how much longer? Twenty four times two, plus twenty one is... sixty nine. Heh, sixty nine....
OH SHIT. There are still sixty nine hours out here before I can go home.
Fuck.
"What's happening after we get back to the campsite?" Peter asked.
Steve glanced back at him. "We'll have to get our stuff and move it down to the river so we have a constant source of water."
Peter blanched. They were hiking the ten miles to the campsite only to grab everything and hiking back ten miles to be near the water.
Huh.
He supposed this was what Steve actually wanted him to answer when he asked Peter how they would get water to the campsite. In reality, the answer wasn't bringing water to camp, it was bringing camp to the water.
Well that was dumb. Just lay out the question straight forwardly, why don't you?
But why did he have to try Peter's idea first before correcting him and wasting time?
Fuck everything.
The falling from the tree idea didn't seem so bad now. At least Ned would have to grieve a little bit before making fun of his death relentlessly.
"Oh," was all he said in response. "Why didn't Mr. Wilson just stay back by the water? If we're just going back, he shouldn't be walking too much..." he regretted his words the second they came out of his mouth. Sam glared at him.
"If you were to sprain your ankle in the wild, you'd have to walk on it and use it still. We're teaching you what to do, no matter the situation," Bucky grumbled back.
Hey, you guys asked me on this hell of a trip. You aren't allowed to be annoyed at how it's going.
"Yes, sir."
Damn. This politeness is getting harder and harder to pull off.
Bucky was covered from head to foot in mud. Peter swore he didn't mean to. He didn't know that Bucky was standing right there. He was told by Steve to filter out the water in the river using a clean cloth. Bucky, skeptical that Peter could do it properly, climbed down to the bank of the river to supervise him.
Peter hadn't known exactly what he was doing- okay he didn't know what he was doing at all. He'd taken the cloth and placed it over a makeshift bowl constructed with large leaves. He cupped his hand and scooped some water onto the cloth, waiting for something to happen.
Bucky had sighed very audibly next to him and Peter had to resist the very sudden, very strong urge to throw a glob of mud in the super soldier's face.
"You're supposed to-"
Peter never heard what he was "supposed" to do. In that moment, his foot slipped in the very mud he had pictured on Bucky's face only thirty seconds ago. His hands flailed wildly around, trying to grab onto something. He found something, but the thing was unstable and fell to the ground. Fortunately, Peter managed to regain his footing, planting a shoe in the mud and bracing against the force of gravity. Unfortunately, the thing he had used to stable himself was Bucky. The same Bucky who was buried in the mud.
"Are you serious, Peter?" Bucky grumbled.
Peter felt heat rise in his cheeks. "I- uhh- I thought you were- I thought you could- I'm so sorry, Mr. Barnes... is there anything I can do to help?"
"Just get me out of this."
He reached a hand out, grasping the metal arm and pulled.
Bucky came to the surface, coughing and spitting mud out of his mouth.
"I'm really sorry, Mr. Barnes," Peter muttered quietly.
The annoyed and irritated expression softened on Bucky's face, though Peter didn't know why.
Bucky stood up, flicking mud off of his hand and wiping it off his face. "It's alright, Pete. How about I just show you how to filter water..."
He sat down heavily on a rock with minimal mud on it. "That would be great, sir."
The man smirked, bringing the "bowl" and cloth closer to him, sitting full on in the mud. Guess he figured he couldn't get any muddier than he already was.
This trip can only go down. Why has God doomed me to this fate?
"What the hell happened to you?" Steve asked when Bucky and Peter had come back to camp, one of them still drenched with mud.
"Language," Sam mocked from behind the fire.
"It was one time, Sam!"
Peter smirked. That would never get old, just like Steve Rogers, apparently. Dude still looked the same after almost seventy years.
Bucky walked over to the fire and sat down in front of it. "I don't want to talk about it."
Steve shrugged. He went down to the river and came back with a large leaf bowl of water. Walking back to the log where Bucky sat, he drenched the man.
Bucky sputtered. "What the fuck was that for, Rogers?"
"Oh hush, you big baby," Steve said. Peter was almost surprised. Steve never spoke to anyone with that level of sass before. He guessed that being best friend with someone for seventy years warranted a different personality around that person. A true personality.
"Look, the mud is washing off of-"
Steve paused. Peter looked over to see what was happening and his eyes widened in horror.
"What?" Bucky grumbled, wringing his long hair out.
"Uhhhh, Buck, you've got- ummm, there are-"
"Spit it out already, Steve."
Sam chose that moment to walk out to where they were all sitting. He took one look at Bucky and shrieked like a child. He jumped back, tripping over a log in his haste to get away. He tilted back dangerously, and instinctively put a foot down to stop his fall.
His injured foot.
"Argh! Motherfucker! Holy fucking mother fucking demon from hell. What the fucking fuck, holy shit, oh my fucking god!"
Peter was slightly impressed. Even some kids at his school made more sense than Sam did, and they used even stranger language.
"Sam!" Steve ran over to his friend. "Oh my god, are you okay?"
"Do I look okay, Cap? Holy fuck!"
Steve cringed, but Peter didn't know if it was from the language or at the injury.
"Looks like you fractured it. My god, Sam, are you sure you don't want to sit this out?"
"How would I get back to the jet, Steve?" Sam demanded. "It's ten miles away. And no, you are not carrying me. I will never live it down."
"But Sam," Steve protested, "you're hurt."
"Man, my pride will hurt more than my ankle if I let one of ya'll actually carry me," Sam argued defiantly.
Steve looked like he wanted to argue, but Bucky called out to him.
"Steve! Can you tell me what you saw on me that freaked all of you out! I'm still sitting right here and haven't moved a muscle and I"m going to freak if ya'll don't fucking tell me!"
Huh. The Earth's mightiest heroes were pretty wimpy when it came down to it. Peter nearly grinned.
Steve turned around, grimacing at Bucky's situation. "Okay, don't freak out, Buck-"
"Just give it to me straight, Rogers!"
"You, uhhhh-"
"Leeches," Peter blurted out, tired of the hesitance. "There are about fifteen leeches on you."
Now, Peter didn't think it'd be a big deal. Bucky had been through far worse than a few lot of leeches. But apparently, the ex-assassin had a big problem with leeches. He jumped up, flapping his arms and kicking his legs out wildly, all common sense abandoned. He let out a few girlish shrieks as he trampled through the camp.
His still wet clothes were dripping everywhere, and his kicking put out the very small fire they had going for them.
Steve was trying to calm him down while Sam sat in the back trying to ease the pain in his ankle, still swearing under his breath.
It looked so much like a scene from a Diary of a Wimpy Kid book, that Peter wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
"Buck! Calm down so I can get them off of you!"
That finally got the man to sit down, though he still fidgeted restlessly, eyes squeezed tight, refusing to look at the blood sucking slugs all over his body.
Steve sat down next to him and pried off the leeches one by one.
Peter had to look away as his stomach threatened to make him see his breakfast again. But he still heard every shout of pain and fear that Bucky was letting out as the animals were pulled off.
Once all of them were off, and Bucky was calmed down, Steve turned around to Peter.
"Number two: Food."
Oh my god, he could not be serious.
"I can't believe I killed it," Peter cried, shaking hands holding the dead bunny in disbelief.
Steve slapped him on the back. "Nice shot, Peter."
The makeshift knife fell out of his weak hands and landed on the ground.
"I just- he just- just jumped in front of me like he had a death wish! I reacted without thinking and I- oh my god, I killed him."
Steve crouched down to look Peter in the eye. His face was sympathetic yet defiant.
"Hey, things like this happen in the wild. You have to sacrifice things to keep yourself alive."
His mind briefly flashed to Uncle Ben.
"I can't, Mr. Rogers. I can't."
Steve leaned down next to him. "Peter, you have to eat. You have enhanced metabolism and you haven't eaten anything for hours. You're going to lose all your energy soon. When you don't have energy in the wild, you don't know what will happen."
Oh my- deep breaths, Peter. Deep. Breaths. Don't punch Captain America in the face.
"I just- I can't."
Steve sighed. "Listen, Pete. You don't have to eat the bunny, okay?"
Peter lifted his head up. It seemed too good to be true.
"I can teach you how to figure out which plants are safe to eat, so you can have a... uhh... salad."
He grimaced, thinking of how gross some plants could be. But if it meant he didn't have to eat the bunny he just killed, then Peter was willing to do anything.
"You would do that?" he asked hopefully.
Steve nodded with a small smile on his face.
"Can we... maybe... bury the bunny?"
Steve let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "Sure, Pete. Get digging."
"Yes, sir."
"Ugh," Peter gagged as he put a scoopful of leaves into his mouth. They were clean (somewhat) and safe (he thought) but they tasted awful.
He couldn't look over at Steve, Bucky, and Sam, who were all eating rabbits and frogs that they had hunted. He knew they were laughing at him, but Peter didn't care. He wasn't a vegetarian. He was actually fine with eating meat, but that was only when they were cut, cooked, or already dead. If he could see the body of the animal though, he couldn't do it. He'd never killed anything before, human or animal, so killing the little, defenseless bunny and then having to eat it, no. Just no.
After they were all done eating (Peter didn't eat much), Steve came over and sat on his log.
"Number three: shelter," he said. "It's getting dark. We need to build a shelter."
"Okay," Peter replied tiredly.
"Up you get, Pete. We need foundations, roof, stability, and base. Leaves, sticks, and mud. Come on, let's go."
God, there was no break, was there?
"Okay."
Peter stood up, almost sad to leave the pathetic little fire they had made.
"Oh my god, Mr. Rogers, are you okay?"
It seemed like he was asking that a lot these past few hours.
"Fine, Pete. I'm fine," Steve muttered from where he was on the ground.
"Are you sure? That was a hard fall..."
"I jumped from a plane without a parachute, Parker, I'm fine."
Peter realized he was now "Parker", not "Peter." That was fair.
"Okay... I mean... if- yeah, okay."
Steve had been looking for large leaves to act as the roof of their shelter. He'd slammed into Peter when he had stopped suddenly, not wanting to run into a large spiderweb. He may be Spider-Man, but spiders were just- eugh.
Steve had fallen backwards from the momentum and landed in a large tangled bush of vines.
There was something familiar about those vines...
"Oh my god, Mr. Rogers, you need to get up," he said urgently.
"What, why?" Steve asked, suddenly alert.
"That's poison ivy. I remember it from when I ran into it."
That got Steve moving faster than if Peter had said there was an alien attack. But it was too late. The rash was already spreading on his arms and neck.
"Alright," Steve muttered in a resigned sort of way. "Let's go back. It's not supposed to rain tonight, we can sleep under the stars."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Rogers," Peter muttered, his head drooping.
There was a pause. "It's alright, Pete."
So he was back to "Pete" now, huh?
Weird.
The night sucked. Peter slept restlessly. He kept feeling bugs all over him, sleeping on the ground.
But he didn't have it as bad as everyone else. Bucky was still shaking from his leeches experience, and Sam was complaining about his ankle all night.
Steve had it the worst, though.
Peter heard him scratching all over through the whole night.
It was a relief when the sun came up in the morning. He was tired of pretending to sleep. Sitting up, he looked around and realized his fellow wilderness survivors were doing about the same thing he was. They all started sitting up after they saw him awake.
Peter got a good look at them and winced. Sam was very pale, and sweat was beading down his forehead, no doubt from the pain in his ankle. Steve's poison ivy rash had only gotten worse, and he looked like a giant, blond tomato. But Bucky was the worst and most surprising.
"Uhh, Buck, do you feel okay?" Steve asked uncertainly.
"Do I look okay, Steve?" Bucky demanded.
"Must be an allergic reaction to something. Maybe something bit you last night," Peter chimed in, his voice raspy from lack of use.
Bucky scowled he was covered in spots and hives. "That's just wonderful. You know, the only person here who is not absolutely miserable is Peter."
Peter scoffed without thinking. He looked up and met three questioning and irritated pairs of eyes.
"You think I'm not absolutely miserable? You guys dragged me out here to teach me how to 'survive in the wilderness,'" he used air quotes, "and didn't tell me the right way to do anything. It's not my fault you guys wanted to come out to the middle of nowhere in the literal jungle to survive. I've tried being polite, I've tried putting up with it all, but if you saw inside my head, Mr. Rogers, you would be so horrified. I just want to go home."
Oops.
He hadn't meant to say all of that.
Then again, it felt good to finally tell them.
"I think this is all reasonable payback," he finished, gesturing to their various injuries.
They stared at him for a few minutes, but Peter held his ground, something he didn't know he could do against three Avengers.
Suddenly, the bushes next to them were pushed apart and Tony Stark came walking through the gap, shaking with silent laughter.
"Mr. Stark?"
"Tony?"
Peter's eyebrows shot into his hairline. Was he there the whole time?
"Yes, yes, Tony Stark here, you can all bow down," the billionaire said once he had stopped laughing.
No one said anything. They were still shocked into silence.
"Harsh. Anyway, you didn't think I would want to tag along? You all were taking my- the kid out in the middle of a jungle and didn't expect me to come with? You're lucky I didn't intervene about twenty two hours ago when you made the kid walk ten miles to the river. But you guys look so miserable right now, and Peter, your speech was perfection. I was waiting so long for you to say something. The way they were treating you was shit."
"Stark-" Sam tried to say.
"Ah ah, I'm not done," Tony silenced him with a hand. "Yeah yeah, so now I'm here, and I'm taking over this little 'retreat'."
He walked into the trees and came out a few seconds later with a box. Everyone else stared at it without a clue but Peter gasped, his face lighting up.
"Is that the-"
"Sure is, Pete. Come check it out!"
He ran over to the box eagerly.
"Wait, what's this-"
Bucky never finished his question.
Peter pressed a button on the top of the box and in clicked open. He typed in some architectural formulas into the computer and nanotech started fluidly forming a shelter. Within seconds, a strong, tall shelter stood in front of them.
"What the fuck?"
"Language."
"Mr. Stark and I have been working on this for a while. It's nanotech, you can create whatever you want. Of sustenance, of course," Peter explained.
Steve and the others only stared open mouthed at the new structure.
"Come on, Capsicle, Manchurian Candidate, Rocket Man. I have first aid. You need it."
"Oh, and Weiner Soldier,"
"I won't answer to that, Stark," Bucky grumbled, begrudgingly following them into the tent, scratching at his neck.
Tony ignored him. "You owe Peter a new phone."