Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter would say he was having a bad week, but it was actually pretty average relative to his objectively terrible life. 

Monday, it was storming all through the night with lightning biting at his ass, and he narrowly avoided becoming the amazing Spider-Fry (not fun). 

Wednesday, a lady who he thought was helping in some shady alleyway ended up turning the gun on him in what hindsight can only tell him was an elaborate scheme to steal his perceived riches and gold (again, not fun, and surprisingly difficult to convince alleyway thieves he was broke?).

All leading into the wreck that was the early hours of Sunday morning- arguably past witching hour, he has to add- wherein the bagel man who reads a little bit too much J Jonah Jameson found him going through the trash near his place again, called him a Spider-Menace, and tased him -  again (extremely not fun).

Suffice to say, he’s not thinking straight when it happens- he’s tired, hungry, and his hair looks all janky from being literally tased not 3 hours before, and he slips up.

Spider-Man was a surprisingly agile, slightly shorter young man who seemed to enjoy the art of splattering himself into different scenarios when the time called for it.

He had spoken with Bucky a few times, and he seemed nice enough, albeit there was definitely a forced politeness to him, almost as though he was speaking to an ex or an old commanding officer.  He tended to mutter a lot, Bucky had noticed, almost as though he wasn’t used to being around people in his day to day.  His internal monologue, and the dialogue he usually had with civilians down the street, were far less formal than the conversations he had with him. 

He was some kind of enhanced- that much was clear- but never allowed himself to be close enough to people to fully get a grasp on the extent of his abilities. 

Still, Spider-Man certainly seemed to treat Bucky better than the Falcon, who he seemed to hold the world's pettiest grudge against. In defence of Spider-Man, there was, of course, the eventful Thursday evening where Wilson had accidentally dropped Spider-Man whilst they were still flying hundreds of feet in the air, but this was months ago and yet Spider-Man only seemed to show a genuine liking to Bucky.

Bucky had, on a couple occasions, brought this politeness up to Wilson who shrugged and kept watching Criminal Minds, and even to Banner, once, who looked at him with a polite bemusement. “Maybe the guy just respects you?”

Whatever the reason, it was clear that the man (boy? He didn’t have a good read for his age) held a genuine respect for him- always addressing him as sir (or once, randomly “Sergeant Sir”)- but equally, would skitter away whenever Bucky himself would invite him for Mexican food after a particularly bad fight, or tried to get to know him in any readable way.  A solitary guy, it would seem.

By all means, Bucky could respect that.

Still. They fought well together, and since the Avengers were still in crisis mode, he would take all the help he could get. 

Bruce was the only one relatively back in business - Clint had retired “this time for good” and was God only knows where, although whispers of him being back in New York were emerging. Natasha was on a mission to find herself whatever the hell that meant. Tony was also retired, although this one felt considerably more final.  The few times they had spoken after Thanos was defeated, Tony’s eyes clouded over with a newfound coldness.  Something must have happened during his own snap, because when trying to ask him to justify what made him change his mind and want to stop Thanos, he now struggled to come up with a real answer.  

Bucky couldn’t get a real read as to if he was telling the truth. Tony seemed genuinely perplexed why he changed his mind after half a decade of grieving.  Equally, since the situation had resolved itself, there wasn’t any use in keeping the sleeping dogs awake, or however the saying went. 

Still, there were some Avengers milling around -  Sam, or Bruce or himself, for instance.  And whilst there was concern that after fighting Thanos the Avengers weren’t needed in the way they were before, Bucky had to say, after watching law enforcement try - and fail- to take down the giant Turkey currently careening down Manhattan, he felt his job security remained intact.

He wasn’t sure what exactly brought the Turkey to Manhattan, but he was in the middle of emptying rounds into the Turkeys neck (which did nothing) when the familiar red and blue webbed onto the scene. “Afternoon, Mr. Captain America Sir! Mr. Sergeant Barnes, commander!”

Wilson turned in exasperation to Bucky, who shrugged back.  

“What’s the read on this guy, Mr. Barnes, Sir?” He followed up, flying through the air, his voice drifting in and out of range.  Without a comm (which Spider-Man always refused), Wilson stood no chance of hearing him over the commotion, but Spider-Man seemed to already know about Bucky’s enhanced hearing, using it in previous fights. 

“He’s some kind of alien creature, who's bulletproof.” He responded, eyeing him out of the corner of his eye. “Not sure what his end goal is.” 

Without a comm, the only way for Spider-Man to hear him was if he too was enhanced. 

Sure enough, he heard Spider-Man laugh. “No, knowing his end goal would be too easy. Y’know something Mr Barnes? Sometimes I think the old Captain America got the better end of the deal. At least he gets to be retired on a yacht somewhere.” 

And, when the giant Turkey revealed purple tentacles that promptly clutched Bucky and began fervently braining him into a nearby Ford Focus, he couldn't help but agree.

Nearby shots from the sky indicated the Falcon was going a few rounds with the Turkey, and sure enough Bucky was mercifully released as the Turkey found a new target to bother. 

He wrenched his arm sideways, wincing at the sick scrape inside the joint. The Ford was totalled.  By all means, he felt a little squashed.

He tried to work through it, jumping around the tentacle that had held him and punching it, all for his arm to flop uselessly against the tentacle flesh. He bit back a curse.

Great.

When his arm got like this there was no use. He had tried everything - water, steam, ice, you name it. Brought the arm, detached and all, to Tony, one, who grimaced slightly, raising his own. 

There wasn’t much conversation to be had after that. Bucky had accepted that life may suck for a while with the arm, and that was that.  

Another tentacle slammed into the pavement beside him, jolting him back into Turkey hell, and showering concrete. Bucky raised his arm to block, only for the joint to lock and groan again. 

It was time to accept fate.

“Wilson, I’m down.” He muttered out into his comms.

The response was instant. “Evac?”

“No.” he tried his arm again, but it was locked up. Useless. “It’s my arm. It’s stiff. I can’t move it anymore. I’ll help the civilians get to safety but I can’t help with offence anymore.”

The comm was silent only for a couple seconds. “Understood. Good luck.”

A boom from above again, and he was dodging cars as they littered around him. He tried shooting the tentacle with his flesh arm. It had no effect. 

Out of nowhere, Spider-Man careened into view. “Vaseline!” he called, using two webs to eject himself onto the Turkey’s face.

Bucky was sure he misheard. “What?”

“The disk on the elbow! The locking!” Spider-Man rattled on, flipping over a snapping beak and yet still somehow narrowly avoiding its tentacles “Aloe kind only, the normal stuff does jack shit!”

Bucky, still on the ground, stared up ahead. “Sorry?”

“Hey don’t apologise to me,  you’re the one who’ll suffer when you’re on day 3 of a chafe neck deep in a jumbo pack of vaseline and Wilson takes another blackmail pic of you”.

Bucky squinted his eyes slightly. What the fuck?

He watched in amazement as Spider-Man seemed to jab at every inch of the Turkey, weaving his way in and out of its blasts and avoiding being hit.  It was almost artistic, the way he moved.

“…How do you know that?”

Spider-Man's tone seemed genuinely confused. “Um, I’d be a crappy friend if I didn't?” The Turkey shrieked again, and Spider-Man used the opportunity to web the inside of his mouth “Anyway, listen. I think the Turkey's only bulletproof on the outside.”

“We’re friends?”

Being that he wore a mask that completely covered his face, it was more often than not difficult to tell what The Spider-Man was feeling under the mask, but it was abundantly clear he was caught off guard, when he stopped fighting the Turkey and muttered “Shit, no, we’re not anymore, ignore me-”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that. “What are you even-“

Spider-Man isn't concentrating on the Turkey anymore, and the Turkey seems to realise this, because this time, when one of the tentacles shoots at Spider-Man, he doesn’t dodge it in time.  Instead, his foot is grabbed by a tentacle they all missed and dragged, screaming into the air before being held upside down and shaken up and down. 

Bucky doesn’t have the wherewithal to panic. He looks on, stunned and seemingly helpless.  “Spider-Man!”

“The mouth!” Spider-Man says, a bit garbled from being shaken. He sort of looks like a purple maraca. “The mouth!”

Bucky doesn’t think it’s possible to feel more genuinely bewildered, but figures Spider-Man must have something to do with the mouth and obliges, picking up his revolver and attempting to shoot the mouth area of the Turkey. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s not successful.  The Turkey roars and begins shaking him more frequently and Spider-Man starts yelling again.

“Don't shoot it!” he gasps, as though Bucky was just meant to know that. “Have the Falcon drop his bombs into the mouth of the Turkey!”

Bucky doesn’t even have the chance to defend his honour, point out that those instructions were not nearly as clear as they should have been, that “the mouth” was not enough information to go off of, when the Turkey shakes him again but instead of stopping, this time throws Spider-Man into a wall, and this time, he doesn’t web himself to safety, instead being thrown into a wall which a sickening crunch. 

“Spider-Man!” he says, almost without meaning too. He moves to check in on him, when the Turkey makes one last roar and Wilson uses that as his opportunity to follow Spider-Man’s plan.  He empties a load into the Turkey’s mouth and instantly clicks his detonator. 

There’s a colossal boom, and purple goo splatters everywhere.  Not spared is his face, and he finds himself seriously regretting not being on that damn yacht right about now.

Still, he watches in resignation as the Turkey goes down in a heap. 

Wilson lands next to him, also covered, grimacing.  “You good?”

Bucky just grunts in response. Before he could even focus into where Spider-Man is surely crumpled up and in need of immediate medical attention, he sees him drop into frame, suit battered, voice chipper.

“Nice Thanos cosplay.” He says.

Bucky scoffs.

Wilson is the one who responds. “How did you know that would work, kid?” 

“They did it in How to Train Your Dragon, once.” Spider-Man replies, like it’s obvious. 

Christ.

His mind on other things, Bucky doesn’t respond, still trying to make sense of the last 10 minutes. Spider-Man uses the lull in conversation to his advantage, slowly backing away from them (and the remnants of the Turkey). “Well,” he begins, one arm surreptitiously clutching at his side, “If that’s all there is to discuss today it looks like I’ll be going, ya know, Mr.  Congressman sir. Captain America, Captain. Sir.”

“Hey, wait!” Bucky surges forward, attempting to grab the other man. “You’re hurt, you need to sit, we can help!”

“No, no! I’m fine, seriously. I don’t need sitting. I don’t need help. I can handle myself, remember?”

“Spider-Man--” 

But the time Bucky lunged, he was already gone.

Two full bottles of aloe vera Vaseline and a couple beers later, and his arm felt better than it had in months.

Huh.

He flexed the joint again, watching the metal shift smooth where it had been catching for weeks. All that time, all that frustration, two of the most powerful tech minds in the world, and all it took was Spider-Man, some kid in spandex, to tell him the answer.  Aloe Vera Vaseline.

He almost laughed.

The fight had ended quickly enough after their little conversation. Police, army, emergency crews all flooding the street the second the Turkey went down. Perk of being an Avenger: no cleanup duty. 

So he sat in his apartment, drink in hand, searching on google for Spider-Man. Unsurprisingly, he drew blanks. 

There was nothing on the guy.  A true ghost, if you will.  Some pages about the morality of a vigilante, some forums dedicated to loving or hating him, but the common denominator within all of them was that his identity, the man behind the mask, was completely unknown.  No one even knew how he got to this point, no one knew how he was here.

Bucky’s stomach knotted tighter with every dead end.

He remembered a conversation from years back. He didn’t even know why it came to him now  - some late night, some half-empty glass, some nameless voice.

“How would I know if Hydra were keeping more experiments?” He had said.

The other voice scoffed.  “You wouldn’t.”

He put his head in his hands. Where the hell was Steve when he needed him?

Hydra never stayed buried. Every time he thought it was done, every time someone finally drove the knife in, another cockroach crawled back into the light. Different faces, same disease.

And Spider-Man?

Spider-Man knew too much.

He knew about Hydra. Knew Bucky’s history there. Knew about the arm, how it locked, how to fix it. The hearing. The strength. He fought like an enhanced, moved like one, took hits that would have flattened anyone else.

It wasn’t just the knowledge. It was the way he said it. Like it was obvious. Like they’d spoken about it before.

Like they were friends.

Were they friends?

But Bucky would remember a friend.

Wouldn’t he?

He tipped back the rest of the beer, grimacing at the taste. The thought churned in him like rot. Hydra had stolen so much from him already: his memories, his life, his choices. Could Spider-Man be just another name on the list? Another poor bastard carved up and shoved into a suit, sent out to fight without even knowing why?

The kid was enhanced. Secretive. Had holes in his story big enough to drive a tank through.

But he looked at Bucky like he should know him. Like there was history there, somewhere in the fog.

It all fit too neatly. Too damn neatly.

Refuses to let anyone help him. Refuses to let anyone close. Refuses to let anyone know who he is.

That wasn’t solitude.

That was conditioning.

Which left only one conclusion.

Spider-Man was a prisoner of Hydra’s.

And Bucky Barnes was going to break him out.

Chapter Text

There aren’t many updates for a few days after their meeting. Bucky does what he can, but as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, mundanity begins to set in, and he keeps coming up short. 

Spider-Man, for all intents and purposes, was a ghost. 

The initial plan was to start with a more intense internet search, mainly for practicality.  There was no reason to waste time busting into an old Hydra bases or taking down active leaders when surely a more extensive internet search would eventually reveal something. 

But, after four days of searching with no progress, it was time to acknowledge he wasn’t going to find anything this way.

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice the figure to his left and jumped slightly at the voice.

“What are you still doing here?”

Banner, from the doorway. The synthetic light made his hair look lighter. 

Bucky's always liked Bruce. They didn't talk much, but he was one of the few Avengers who never held him to his past actions. “Nothing. Nothing. Just - don’t worry about it.”

“It’s four in the morning, Barnes. Why are you still here?”

He sighs.  Well, here goes nothing. “How much do you know about Spider-Man?”

“From Queens?” Bruce blinked. “Not much. Enhanced, right?”

Bucky hummed his affirmation.

“Why?” Bruce prompted.

“He- we fought together recently - over that Turkey monster thing? He said the weirdest thing to me. It was -” he paused. Saying it out loud made him feel ridiculous. “My arm started locking up and out of nowhere he knew how to fix it.”

“He’s a mechanic?”

“No,” he clarified. “He told me to use Aloe Vera Vaseline.”

He watched Bruce raise an eyebrow, and continued. 

“Well, I followed his tip, and - “ he flexed his arm, “It feels better than it has in weeks, Bruce.  Then he said the reason he knew how to fix my arm was because we were friends.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

“No!” He threw his head back. “At least, not that I know of.”

“Not that you know of.” Banner repeated slowly. 

The unsaid were clear.

“Something isn’t right with him, Banner." he says instead "Something’s wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

Bucky motioned vaguely in response, watching as Bruce silently walked over to the scattered notes, eyebrows furrowing.

“I didn’t realise there was nothing on the guy.” he mutters, picking up various bits of chicken scratch.

“Yeah, well. It's like he doesn’t exist.” 

Banner didn’t respond for a few seconds, absorbing the handwritten notes sprawled around the two of them. 

Finally, he broke the silence. “You have to tell Tony.”

Bucky snapped his head over to Bruce. “What?!”

“Tony has a good read of all the enhanced people in the city--” 

Bucky didn’t let him finish, the idea so absurd in his mind. “So what? The guy hates me - he’s not going too-”

“He doesn’t hate you - he-”

“Bruce.”

“James.”

Bucky blanched slightly, mouth open, scrambling to respond in a way that didn’t make him sound like a 12 year old throwing a tantrum. “What does Tony know about Spider-Man that I don’t?”  

Bruce just shrugs. “Not sure. But if you want answers, your best bet is to start out with him.” He’s silent for a second, then: “Unless there’s something he can’t know?”

Bucky knows what Bruce is implying.The two look at one another for a few seconds, before Bucky decides on an answer. “No,” he says. “Nothing.”

Banner’s expression doesn’t change. “Well, in that case, good luck. Seems like this is really bothering you.”

“Thanks.” he says quietly, watching Bruce turn to leave.

At the last moment, Bruce turns to him, light shining overhead. “A lot’s changed since you first met Tony. And enhanced people like Spider-Man? They don’t just pop out of nowhere, James.  Someone made him.”

He was right - somewhat. Enhanced like Spider-Man don’t just pop out of nowhere.  

"Get some rest, James."

He left quickly after that, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts. He- once again- wracked his brain, trying desperately to grasp at memories that were stolen from him. Any semblance of connection he could have had with Spider-Man was long gone, filed away with the others from his old life. 

It would help if he knew who Spider-Man actually was- similar to how he remembered Steve - relying on a vague arm tip and a voice was getting him nowhere.

What would Tony have to do with Spider-Man? How on earth could Tony help him?

No. The best thing he could do was talk to Spider-Man himself - outside of a battle-zone, he could get more of a read of the guy.  Maybe the reason he couldn’t find anything on Spider-Man was because he needed to have a real- in person - conversation with him.

Besides, if Spider-Man was the product of Hydra…better no one knew until Bucky was sure.

He looked over at the clock on his wall. 

4:48am. 

Talk to Tony. 

Yeah, right. 

He had made up his mind. He was going to approach Spider-Man politely and openly - be friendly - and invite him to chat. What could go wrong?

That raggedy ass metal ass old motherfucker was following him, and gun to his head? Peter couldn’t tell you why.

Everywhere he swung, he caught a glimpse of the guy. At first it had been kinda cool, one could even say it was kinda nice to not feel the all-consuming anonymity that usually followed him like a shadow. But after 6 days, it  was getting extremely fucking aggravating. 

He couldn’t do anything without an ominous cloud of general Danger present.  Which sucked, because no one wanted to riff with him anymore! No one wanted to respond “I’m gonna crush you like a bug” to him when he politely scolded them for being crooks!  Everyone thought he was being watched by someone far scarier then him- which, for the record -  didn’t do wonders for the ol’ ego.

It all came to a head Thursday evening, when he was foiling the plan of some car jacker when, as they were going at it, he stopped and stared at a point just above Peter’s shoulder. “Um,” he had said to Peter. “Is that, like, your dad?” And, in the time it took to turn around and spot Bucky, the guy smacked him across the head with a tire iron and bolted.

“Fucking fantastic.” Peter mumbled to himself, ears ringing. Picking himself up slightly he turned to face Bucky, who at the very least had the wherewithal not to hide. “Are you like a cuck?”

He watched the other man splutter in surprise. “That’s your opener?”

“Listen buddy, you’re the one following me.” Irritation flooded his system. "What are you even doing here anyway, writing my biography? “Because spoiler alert: I get followed by weirdos a lot.”

“I wanted to thank you,” Bucky huffs instead. “For the tip with the aloe vera.”

“Noted.” he responded. “You could have just come up to me instead of ominously following me around for a week, y’know.”

“It wasn’t a week.”

“You are in no position to act all high and mighty.”

“Yeah? Well, every time I try to talk to you, you run,” Bucky pointed out flatly.

“Yeah, from creepy metal guys following me at 3am - newsflash, man, that’s not endearing.”

“You’re only out at 3am and I didn’t know how to say hi--listen, that’s not important. I’m sorry,” Bucky says, and this intrigues Peter. “I hadn’t meant to make you feel unsafe.” 

“It’s fine, man. We’re on even ground, now, anyway.” He shot out a web line and crouched like he was ready to swing off. 

“What? How?”

Peter just shakes his head. “All the times you’ve had my back in battle.” He says vaguely. 

“How’d you figure it out, anyway? You work with metal or something?”

“Call it a lucky guess.” Peter says, and now that his head isn’t pounding anymore, he’s a little more aware of what he’s saying. He hopes to God he didn’t just out himself again.

“Yeah, well listen. Maybe we could get dinner or something, so I could thank you properly?”

Wow, maybe his head injury was worse then he thought. “Um.” He started. “Are you asking me out?”

He watched the Winter Soldier choke on his spit. “No. I just wanted--”

“Wow, rude. You don’t need to have such a visceral response, man, I’m not that ugly--”

“You’re like, 12!”

“I’m 21, asshole.”

Bucky blinked at him, mouth half-open like he hadn’t expected to be corrected. He shifted his weight, clearly scrambling for a comeback, and Peter couldn’t help but enjoy watching the scariest man alive look like he’d just been handed algebra homework.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Twenty-One. Old enough to be-” He cut himself off before he finished, grimaced, then tried again. “You just… carry yourself older, is all. Smarter than most people I know.”

Peter squinted. “You sound like you’re trying to groom me. Am I so mature for my age as well?”

“I’m not--!” Bucky exhaled, frustrated, then gave up. “Look, all I’m trying to say is - you’re good. Really good. Brave. You throw yourself into fights most people twice your age wouldn’t survive, and you do it without a second thought.”

Peter cocked his head, trying to decide if he was being complimented or lectured.

Bucky shrugged helplessly. “You don’t even see it, do you? You’re smarter than half the people I fought beside. The arm thing…No one else could have come up with it. I’ve been struggling with it for the longest time.” he trailed, lips twitching like he couldn’t believe he was about to say it, “hell, I might even tell Iron Man - I think he'd probably wanna thank you himself.”

In an instant, Peter felt his body go hot, then ice-cold.

Bucky’s not even thinking when he says it- more just says it in an attempt to prolong the conversation somehow, and yeah, Tony’s on his mind, he’ll admit it, being that Bruce and he just discussed it the week prior. 

It was certainly the most they had ever spoken - that he remembered - even if he didn’t know half the things coming out of his mouth.  He wasn’t even trying to elicit a response from him, but he watched in real time as Spider-Man recoiled slightly and tensed up. It’s so slight, and perhaps someone else would never pick up on it, but years of Hydra taught him otherwise.  

“Go for it.” His voice sounded disjointed now, shoulders locking, webline going slack in his hand. He didn’t turn his head, didn’t move, just went rigid like someone had yanked a string at the base of his spine.

Bucky watches Spider-Man fold, slightly. “You good?”

“Yes.” And it’s said with bite, bite that shocks Bucky slightly, because just a second ago he had seemed so light and unbothered.

Somehow, Bucky’s hit a nerve.

Still, he knows if he doesn’t continue, he’ll lose his chance. “I get you're a solitary guy and all, it's just I figured you'd be happy - most people would jump for joy hearing that Tony Stark may want to meet them.”

Instead, Spider-Man just looks weary. “What do you want from me, man?” 

Bucky takes the loss. “Nothing- nothing. I just wanted to thank you. That’s all.”

“You want to thank me?” he repeats. He webs himself to a wall and gets ready to swing. “You can thank me by leaving me alone.”

Whatever friendship they were building to was utterly shattered now, tension thick in the air. Bucky doesn’t even have the chance to say anything else before Spider-Man jumps and swung away.

When Peter finally got back to his apartment, his stomach was growling and he was dreaming about a love affair with some Advil.

Thank God for instant noodles. For less than 3 dollars, he had at least one meal a day. 

He poured boiling water on the last pack he had left and mulled over what Bucky had said to him.

He wasn’t exactly sure why Bucky had decided to play detective, but man, was it annoying.  His spidey-sense (as he had started calling it. Sounded better than Peter Tingle, certainly) never flared when that man was hovering, which meant that whilst he didn’t have any murderous intent for Peter, (which, in this economy, was less common than he would have liked) it also meant Peter wasn’t always aware when he was being watched or not, which was not fun. 

Hopefully he had made it clear to Bucky he didn’t want to be helped. 

Sure was funny, though, what Bucky had said - that he was a “solitary guy”.  Just 5 years ago, saying that to him would have gotten you the biggest side eye a freshman in high school could produce. 

But a lot can change in 5 years.

Without a shadow of a doubt, the worst part of this whole thing was that Tony was still alive. 

At least MJ and Ned were both out of state in MIT.  May was gone. 

Whilst their losses stung, they didn’t course through his veins the way that it did with Tony. 

He couldn’t escape Tony’s face, saviour of the universe, smiling with his beautiful wife and daughter. Everywhere he went, he saw Tony’s face.  Murals, statues, graffiti, everyone was overflowing with their love and respect for the man who stopped Thanos, even sacrificing his own arm for it. 

The subsequent coma and bed rest had lasted an entire year, but now, watching Morgan turn 8 a few weeks ago, it was a staunch reminder that he had recovered enough not to be on bedrest anymore.

They were all growing up, all moving on with their lives.  No longer on bed rest, he had decided to retire the Iron Man suit entirely, devoting his life to his family, he had announced in a statement, in person to hundreds of spectators and even more adoring fans.

Peter still remembered where he was when he saw it.  He was in his suit, and webbed himself to the top of a building, away from the thousands in the crowd. His heart, thundering when Tony had stepped out of the building he was in. His breath hot against the air. His nose cold.

Even though the crowd went crazy, whooping and hollering for him, all Peter could hear was a faint buzzing in his ears and let out a shuddering breath. 

It was the only time he had seen Tony in person since they had stopped Thanos.

Christ, Thanos was so long ago. Now, at age 21, life looked so unfathomably, indisputably different, and what did he have to show for it?

There was a burn in his throat. 

What was he supposed to do? Go up to Tony, plead his case? Try and get a man who was very clearly trying to leave public life behind him to once again get involved with Peter Parker?

No. He had had enough of ruining people’s lives getting involved in his own messes.  None of this ever would have happened if he had just left well enough alone. None of them would have gotten hurt - lost their lives - if he had recognised that Spider-Man meant danger, and that it was safer for everyone if he stayed away. 

Besides, he thought as he watched the Starks on the crappy 80s TV he found dumpster diving, noting their dazzling smiles, glitzy dresses and suits, perfect teeth, opulence. 

They seemed happier without him.

Chapter Text

The Crocodile-Fox currently careening down 4th Street was making Peter’s Tuesday evening significantly more hard to enjoy. 

Because here’s the thing. One Turkey-Octopus was fun. A little dangerous, even! Who didn’t love the humble story of the Turkey monster with the fun, daring tentacles! A little whipping around, a little bopping along, and bing bong, dead Turkey. Thanksgiving came around early for everyone.

But a second Frankenstein-esque animal monster in 2 weeks meant it simply wasn’t just an accident anymore. Mr. Stark had been the one to say that to him, over one of their many nights in the lab together. Peter had been insisting that it took at least three instances of an event for it to become something of concern, but Mr. Stark had been adamant. “Kid, in this line of work, there isn’t such a thing as coincidences.” He beckoned for Peter to come take a look at what they had been working on - the new comms for the team. “If something happens more than once - it’s a pattern. Stay alert,” he flicked the comm switch on, “Stay alive.”

Yeah, well, if Mr. Stark could see him now, Peter liked to think he’d be proud.

He dodged the tail of the Crocodile-Fox, which was significantly larger than his fallen Turkey brethren, and wickedly fast, sporting a giant green tail, lined with sharp scales and what looked like spikes.

He dodged another swipe of the tail, moving to the front of the Crocodile-Fox’s face, roaring and shooting lava. Because of course it did-it couldn’t just be a Crocodile-Fox. Oh no. A Crocodile-Fox without lava was too easy.

The beast lunged again, jaws snapping. Peter fired a web, yanking himself up, feeling the wind from the teeth clashing shut behind him.

Think. Think. The Turkey-Octopus (he was considering naming them fun quirky mashed up names, such as TurkeyTopus) had a weak point. The mouth hadn’t been fireproof. Maybe Croco-Fox was as well?

In the instant he wasn’t actively keeping it in his line of sight, a swipe of the tail caught his side, knocking him hard against a building. Pain flared, his vision going white, his ribs screaming.

“Okay,” he wheezed, scrambling upright. “Definitely tougher than Thanksgiving dinner.”

The Croco-Fox (he was still unsatisfied with the name) roared, molten spit sizzling on the pavement. A little offended it was roaring to begin with, being that Crocodiles and Foxes don’t tend to make noises, Peter scanned the street desperately. He didn’t exactly carry firebombs on him to chuck in the inside of the mouth, like with the TurkeyTopus. 

Lamp posts. Gas lines. Maybe if he --

He shot two webs, yanking down a lamp and hurling it toward the creature’s open maw. It shattered, sparks flying, flames licking against the monster’s throat. The thing shrieked, stumbling back.

“Alright, Hiccup Haddock, don’t fail me now.” he muttered, pulling himself closer to the mouth (the giant mouth, the huge, unbelievably big, snapping, scary mouth), swinging closer to it. 

He landed just above a nostril, and man those things were hot.

He jumped around, feeling a little like a hot potato, trying to avoid the incredibly angry green eyes, looking for a way in. At least the Turkey had squawked whilst it roared. The Froco (he still wasn’t satisfied with the name) just screamed when he wasn’t spewing lava.

So far, he preferred the Turkey.

Out of nowhere, The Fox-odile swished up and knocked him clean of the thing, except this time he decided to hold on for dear life to the rest of the body of the beast, orange fur clashing hideously against the green body. The scales were sharp, and sliced into Peter as he tumbled down, finally landing closer to the underbelly. 

Pulling himself up, wincing at the pain, he noted dully that the Avengers must be on site, the telltale whooshing of gadgets and gizmos entering the gunfight. That was fine, he reasoned. He could just chill here, almost upside down, for a few minutes to catch his breath. Thank God for Spider powers and whatnot.

“Spider-Man, report.”

Ah, there it was.

“Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?” He answered instead. “You know school doesn’t let out for another 30 minutes.”

“We’re sorry it took so long.” This was Rhodey, ignoring his quip, which was fair. Hearing his voice let a little pang of emotion flicker within Peter. Rhodey didn’t tend to come on scene- he was semi retired, unless he was in the city. 

Maybe if he was in the city, so was Tony?

Focus, Parker. Rhodey wasn’t yelling, which meant he was aware Peter could hear him, and likely was wearing something within the suit that amplified his own. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“No. But it’s another animal hybrid - this time a crocodile, mixed with a fox. I’m thinking of combining their names for simplicity, so we can call it the Cox from now on.” 

For whatever reason, Bucky’s voice sounded rather exasperated.  “I am not calling it that.”

“I can assure you,” He attempted to defend. “The naming of the Cox had absolutely nothing to do with its phallic name-twin, however, you have to admit, it does have a certain je ne se quoi--”

“I don’t care.” This was Sam. Peter frowned at the intrusion. “Spider-Man, come out from the underbelly. We need to regroup, take a look at the whole thing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” he muttered, about to do just that, moment well and truly dead, when something glinted in the reflection of one of the lampposts. Without thinking, he squinted slightly, straining to see whatever it was on the Cox.

He brought himself closer to the glint, which was positioned directly at the bottom of the underbelly of the Cox.

It looked like some kind of a stamp, somehow?

But, no. Up close and personal, it seemed like it wasn’t so much a stamp so much as it was a branding, letters and numbers etched into the skin of the beast.

The letters and numbers made no sense. Quickly, he brought out his phone and snapped a picture of it.

Curiosity got the better of him, bringing his hand to the branding. “Wonder what would happen if I--”

As soon as his hand went to the brand, the beast shrieked, careening upwards and downwards, moving its body quickly. Instantly, Peter was flying through the air, Spider-powers be damned. 

The Cox continued to yell out, lava spewing out whilst it shook with agony. If it wasn’t trying to cook Peter alive, he would have felt bad for it.

He was eventually slammed down on the ground and, ignoring the pain radiating through his body, he gunned it, narrowly avoiding being sat on by the beast, which now seemed angrier than ever.

Bucky’s voice seemed shocked. “What did you do?”

Great. 

“Nothing!” he retorted, still in active sprint. 

“Spider-Man,” This was Rhodey’s voice, now, he sounded a little stressed, which was kind of him. “Are you alright?”

“Never better!” he said, clearly injured.

At this point he had reached where the others were regrouping, but before anyone could call out his bluff, there was a giant whoosh as the beast took one final lurch onto the ground and collapsed, unmoving. Peter’s eyes grew wide at the sudden, apparent death. 

For a moment, everyone watched in stunned silence. Then, Captain America’s voice cut through his shock “Iron Patriot, see if the monster is actually down.”

For a couple more beats there was silence, before: “It’s done, Captain.” Rhodey’s voice presumably commed through to Sam. “Not sure how or why, but it's definitely dead.”

Three heads instantly turned to look at him.

“What did you do?” Bucky asked again, voice low and sharp. Not at all the way he had been speaking to Peter recently.

Peter’s gut twisted. “Nothing!” His hands shot up. “I didn’t- I just, I didn’t even--!”

“Seems like you touched it and it died,” Bucky pressed.

Peter felt heat rising in his chest. “I didn’t - I don’t know how it happened, I--”

"Kid, we've been trying to get civilians away from the area this whole time." Rhodey was there, up close and personal, and wow, now was a bad time for him to realise this was the first time he had spoken to him since after the memory wipe. Rhodey was here - Rhodey was here - Tony's best friend -Tony - Tony--

"Are you even listening to me?" Rhodey again, jolting Peter back into reality. "Civilians almost died, kid. Do you realise how serious that is? Did you have anything to do with that thing?"

Peter was shaking slightly. He hadn't spoken to Rhodey in years - years -  and now here he was, speaking to him like Peter was some kind of a criminal. He wasn't sure why he was finding it so hard to defend himself. Stupidly, ridiculously, unbelievingly embarrassingly, he felt wetness form in his eyes. He couldn't speak. He had missed Rhodey so much. "I--"

“It’s fine.” Sam’s voice cut through the tension, calm but firm. The other men looked like they were about to argue, but Sam spoke up before they could.  He held an unreadable expression on his face. “It’s fine. No one is mad at you, Spider-Man. We’ll figure it out back at base.”

He felt his breath hot on his face. “Base?” He repeated dumbly.

“You need to debrief with us.” Sam’s voice was still so calm. When had it ever been so calm? “Whatever’s going on, it’s not a coincidence.”

“But…” he couldn’t find the right words. To be completely honest, he was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on. His mind was trying to catch up to the fact that he had touched the thing and it died. “But I don’t want to go to base.”

Sam’s expression didn’t change, but Peter felt a shift in the air, a newfound tension leaking into their so-called serendipity. Peter wasn’t looking at Sam Wilson, the sympathetic Avenger. He was at the mercy of a second Captain America -  and he knew it.

 “Sorry, Spider-Man. But I can’t have you running around New York like this. Even if it wasn’t intentional, you did something and it died. We need to debrief at the tower.”

As in, at the Avengers tower, the place where he held mountains of memories he had locked away in the before times. As in, where Mr. Stark could be.

Logically, he knew that wasn’t the case. Mr. Stark was probably out there, enjoying retirement, in his lake house he would visit whilst Mr. Stark was in his coma. Watching his unmoving face, a jungle of tubes and wires taking up every square inch of his face. 

It was surreal as it was numbing, watching him like that. He had thought it was one of the worst things he would ever have to live through. 

If only he knew.

He couldn’t go to the tower. If he had freaked out like this after seeing Rhodey...he couldn't imagine how he would be after seeing Tony.

No,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Bucky’s head tilted, sharp and suspicious. “No?”

Peter’s hands balled into fists. “I can’t- I can’t just sit in a room and let you guys dissect me like I’m some kind of experiment. Whatever’s going on, it’s mine to figure out. You don’t get to decide what happens to me.”

For a second, no one spoke.

Sam’s gaze hardened. “That’s not how this works, kid.”

“Then maybe I don’t want to work with you,” Peter shot back, heart hammering.

Sam’s expression didn’t change, but the weight of his eyes made Peter feel like a bug under glass. There was silence in the air, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He felt cornered by them all. 

It was times like this where the vulnerability of his current life made itself known - the sheer lack of community he now had. He felt the urge to cover his body with his arms for some reason. He had no source of protection anymore, no barrier away from danger. It made him feel like an open wound, the fragility of his situation obvious.

He watched Bucky murmur something in Sam's ear, before Sam closed his eyes for a moment. Then- 

“Then at least promise me you’ll check in.” Sam said, unzipping his left front pocket and retrieving a small black device - a comm. “Don’t disappear.”

Peter blinked, taking the device. He had no idea why Sam was letting him get away, but hey, he wasn’t going to stop it. He pocketed the comm and knowing this was as good a chance as any, he began walking away slowly from them all. Not knowing what else there was to say, he shot a web into one of the buildings to the right of him, pulling himself up and away from the situation quickly.

Rhodey frowned. “How could you let him run off after that?”

“He’s scared,” Sam said, his tone even. “You push someone like that, you lose them. Right now he needs space, not handcuffs.”

Rhodey shook his head, muttering, “Space isn’t gonna tell us what the hell just happened.”

Bucky stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the skyline.

If Peter could burn a whole into paper, the brand would be dust by now.

Almost immediately after climbing through to his apartment, he had grabbed his phone and written out the lettering as it was in the photo. He was vaguely aware it had been at least a few hours, judging from the fact that he had sat down whilst it was dark, but looking out the window it was definitely some time in the day now, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Bucky and the others had really rattled him. 

Had it been his fault the animal had died?

He continued to stare at the brand.

PRJ-151903-V2-HWSP

Clearly, this was someone’s code. Okay, okay. 

So, break the code, and figure out who was behind it. No big deal!

He wracked his hands through his hair.

He did feel a little petty for refusing to disclose the serial number to the others, but in fairness to him, could you blame him? Everyone treated him like he was a stranger, or a slightly less intelligent version of them, or a foot soldier. Peter was losing his mind! If he handed this - this one piece of information he had over them - to Sam and the rest of the Avengers, then he wouldn’t be able to work on it in peace. The others would get involved, start talking to him, asking him questions about his life -- and they’d start bossing him around. 

Besides, he was Peter Freaking Parker. He could break a couple codes. 

PRJ-151903-V2-HWSP

He broke it down into four parts.

V2 was probably the most obvious, it read to him automatically as “Version 2”. With that in mind, the three letters are the start could believably spell out “Project”.  Being that contextually, he was probably dealing with some random mad scientist, and the Cox was the second Frankenstein-ed animal, this made a lot of sense. 

Okay, so Project something, Version 2, something. 

He took a bite of his sandwich. 

The issue he was having was with the second and fourth section. “HWSP” was probably the hardest to decode, so he focused his efforts on the numbers.

Maybe it was a date? 15/19/03? Maybe it was in the wrong order on purpose…the year 19? 2019, or 1903?

He was grasping at straws. 

He wrote down the numbers 151903. It was possible that they corresponded with letters alphabetically. If A=1, then it would be AEAIOC.

He pulled a face. It still looked wrong.

He tapped the paper impatiently, muttering to himself.

“Okay, maybe it’s not numbers-to-letters. Maybe it’s… I dunno, ASCII?”

He scribbled it down, converting 15, 19, 03 into characters. That gave him something like ‘SI♥’ if he fudged the zero, which looked like the world’s worst Valentine’s Day card.

Peter groaned, dropping his forehead against his phone.

“Cool. Evil scientists are coding their experiments with nerd emojis. That’s definitely what’s happening here.”

He chewed his pen cap, glaring at the scrawl of failed attempts.

“Okay, genius, maybe stop thinking like Peter Freaking Parker. No evil corporation is gonna waste time with AEAIOC or, uh-” he glanced at the ASCII scribble, “romantic emoji codes. If they wanted this to mean something, they’d make it mean something clean. Efficient. Corporate.”

Project-151903-Version 2-HWSP

The decoding so far had led him to believe he was dealing with some sort of evil scientist corporation. Realistically this matched up, being that New York was being terrified by multiple Frankenstein’s of animals. A corrupt scientist made a lot of sense. 

He tapped the digits again: 151903.

What if he was overcomplicating it? What if it wasn’t six separate numbers at all, but three pairs?

15 19 03

He wrote it out slowly, and looked back at his notes. If he applied the logic about each letter corresponding with a number, A=1 and Z=26, what would the letters correspond with now?

In an instant, the letters clicked into place.

15 19 03

O   S   C

His stomach dropped.

Oscorp.

The comm was buzzing in the far corner of his shitty studio apartment,  right where his suit was- still unwashed from the day- (days?) - before. 

He was going insane. 

He knew he was. He didn't know what the time was, what day it was. His sandwich lay uneaten. He was starving, yet all he did was stare at his scrawled notes.

Oscorp.

They were the ones making the animals. Why? What could it mean? And what the hell did the last section - HWSP-  mean?

Did it have anything to do with the Spider bite?

Is that why the animal died when he touched the branding? Because they were both products of Oscorp?

Was he a product of them?

He tried to distance himself from them, had done so for years at this point. The Spider may have given him the abilities, but that didn't mean his success was purely down to them - they were like the bastard father he never had - they had given him life, but that was all.

Right?

He thought back to whenever the fight was with the Crocodile-Fox. The accusatory glare from Bucky. Disappointment from Rhodey. Sam - the new Captain America - thinking of him as a threat.

Was he a threat?

He shook his head slightly.

It didn’t matter. 

If he was involved somehow, then he was the only one who could put an end to this. It was his duty. He was involved, as Sam had said. Which meant it was his responsibility to stop this. No one else needed to be involved. No one else needed to get hurt - especially not because of him.

"People could have died. Do you have any idea how serious that is?"

Wasn't his whole thing trying to keep everyone safe? Wasn't that why he was staying solitary, staying away?

He thought back to Aunt May, an awful feeling entering his system. Her dying words, cradled in his grasp. He couldn't remember her expression, not really, his vision clouded with tears, ruining the last moments he would ever see her alive. 

"With great power, there must come great responsibility."

She was right.

This was his fight. 

People could have died today. Maybe that was because of him.

He was not going to let anyone else die because of him.

His eyes felt a little weird. He felt his hands buzzing slightly. 

He slipped into his suit, ignored his hunger, and leapt out the building. 

Bucky Barnes wasn’t a moral man, and he wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.

He knew exactly what he was doing, suggesting to Sam to offer Spider-Man a comm one last time. Further, he knew exactly what he was doing, placing a small tracking device on that comm. It had been easy-necessary. Call it insurance.

Hydra had buried triggers deep inside him once; it wasn’t hard to imagine they’d done the same to someone else. Maybe Spider-Man didn’t even know. Maybe he was walking around with someone else’s orders stitched into his veins.

Still, the thought needled him. Ever since the kid blurted out they had a past, Bucky couldn’t stop replaying the possibility. If Spider-Man really had been pulled into Hydra’s orbit, what did that mean about him? About them?

The tracker had been quiet for days.  Always pinging from the same block in Queens- presumably the kid’s residence. In and of itself this was strange; Spider-Man always patrolled at least once every other day. Three days with no patrol was already cause for concern. 

He had even tried buzzing him a few times on the third day, testing his luck slightly, to nothing. The uneasiness grew.

Then, on the fourth day, it moved.

Except as Bucky watched, it didn’t stay in Spider-Mans' usual areas. In fact, it was travelling quickly up and out of Queens entirely, gaining traction closer to Manhattan. 

Finally, after about 30 minutes, the tracker grew close to a building and eventually Bucky watched the tracker slide into a tall building.

He frowned.

The Oscorp Building.

As the hours went on, Spider-Man stayed in the tower, unmoving, Bucky’s jaw tightening gradually as the dot blinked red over the tower. One night. Then another. And another. Three days, the signal stayed there. Unmoving.

That wasn’t normal.

Spider-Man had no reason to sit inside Oscorp. He had no business there.

Either way, Bucky couldn’t shake the old familiar itch between his shoulders. Hydra had used fronts before. Corporations. Labs. Friendly façades hiding cages underneath.

His mind was made up. The solution was clear. 

He didn’t bother waking the others. He didn’t need backup. He needed answers.

And if Oscorp was hiding Hydra behind its glass walls, Bucky intended to tear them down.

With that, Bucky slipped his knife into its sheath, pulled on his jacket, and stepped out into the night.