Chapter Text
Bucky tossed a file onto the table during dinner, takeout chinese food litering the granite. The entire group groaned tossing chopsticks at him as he flicked them away with an annoyed hand.
"We have a new job." He flicked the file open with a metal finger. "A mutant trafficking ring, human expiremetation, bio-weapon development, so on and so forth. There could be multiple bases, most of their targets seem to be between the ages of four and seventeen. This needs to be done quietly, and very, very carefully. To start out, were looking for a man named 'Issac Williams'. No physical descriptions, been legally dead for 5 years, and we have reason to presume that hes one of the leading scientists at OSCORP."
"Oh my god, we just got back from the last one."
"Yeah, so you're still geared up." He rolled his eyes with ease. “We need someone good at tracking people, considering Issac has been living underground for years."
The majority of the group raised their hands, then immediately shot each other down with a cacophony of (valid) insults.
Bucky sighed so, so exhaustedly. Everyone here refused to shut up for two seconds. There's a reason they all left their organizations.
“Okay, well then, who do you suggest, Mr Soldier?” Yelena asked, slightly taunting.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, scrubbing a hand down his face. “We need my son.”
. . .
Dead silence.
“Your..son.” Walker broke the silence.
“Yes, my son. He’s..He’s a good kid. He’s just..a lot.”
“………Bucky, you do not sound like a good parent.” Yelena reasoned, blowing out a breath.
And, okay, what the hell was that supposed to mean? He, obviously, voiced this.
They all just shared a look, talking over each other to change the topic.
Oh, Jesus fuckin’ Christ, these people. This was worse than being waterboarded. “Whatever, I’m not taking parenting advice from..Well, frankly, any of you. Point is, he’s good at what he does. But..Just- a fair warning: he was with HYDRA for his whole life. He’s not very good with English, he's..violent, still. Unpredictable. Enhanced. A little shit. And, technically, a mercenary.”
“Okay, see? This just proved all my points.” Yelena shook her head, deadpanning.
“…Okay yeah. Shut up, we’re going.” Bucky marched out of the room, motioning for them to follow.
After a genuinely grueling drive to Queens with all the questions. Stupid, stupid questions. Seriously, ‘Does he have the arm thingy too?’ Jesus, He should have gone alone.
Despite it all, they arrived at a sketchy part in the heart of Queens. Honestly, finding out where Pyotr lived currently was a hassle in itself. And Bucky knew if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn’t be.
“…So are we gonna just..sit out here brooding or are we gonnaaa..” Ava asked, arms crossed with her head tilted.
“Zip it.” Bucky sighed the words, cursing whoever stuck him with these assholes. He walked towards the steps, checking his notepad again. Apartment 23. He took a deep breath, fist pausing for a moment before knocking on the door twice.
..After a moment, they were greeted down the barrel of a gun, a brown eye glaring through the scope.
“Nice to see you too, Pyotr.”
“.. Папа!” The rifle lowered, greeted with a fanged smile. “Why are you here?” Pyotr asked, Russian accent thick.
“We need you to track someone.”
“We.” He tilted his head to look past the door, blinking at the group on the other side. Alexi waved slightly.
“Yeah, we.”
Pyotr rolled his eyes, flinging the door open as he walked further into his apartment, gesturing for them to follow.
The apartment was, surprisingly, well lived in. The times when he had managed to track his son down, the apartments were always scarce, ready to jump out the window at a moment's notice with nothing to pack.
No, this place was warm and full of a life lived. Posters covered the walls, along with a few (stolen) works of art. A ridiculous amount of plants, not a single speck of grey or metal that they had both been chained inside for so long.
“Would text not suffice? Or e-mail? Call?”
“Would you have answered?”
Pyotr hummed for a second, never letting go of the gun. “Nope. Who are friends?” He waved the barrel of the gun at the 4 standing in the corner, letting Bucky negotiate.
“Not friends-“
“Папа, this is team? Really? Could do better.”
“No, not a team either-“
“Oohhh, what is..agh what's the word in English.. гарем.”
………….
All but Walker and Ava were silent. “What's he sayin'?” Walker asked, leaning into Ava's space. “How should I know?”
“Oh my- No.” Bucky dragged a hand down his face. He loved his son, really, he did. But Pyotr didn’t need parenting. Not in a, ‘He can take care of himself’ way, no, in a ‘Someone controlling him, even in a loving way, would be detrimental to his progress out of HYDRA’s control’ way. So, the most Bucky could do for his son was be there for him, when Pyotr allowed anyone within 5 feet of him to live.
“Ehhhhh, still do better.” Pyotr shrugged, making a so-so motion with his hand. “You just got over Rogers, no?”
“Pyotr. They speak Russian.”
“Ohhh!! Он невменяем. Вам следует уйти, пока ещё есть возможность.” Pyotr laughed, tossing the gun to the other side of the room with a clang. “The hair was mistake, by the way. Grave, grave mistake looks bad with it short. Glad you are growing it out, it was eugh, just tragic.”
“Who do you need dead?”
“Not killed, just found.”
Pyotr rolled his eyes, hissing slightly between sharp fangs and enlarged pupils. “What is your point then? Waste of my time. Leave.”
“Look, kid, we're kinda on a time crunch here; we took a long-ass way to get to Queens, least you can do is help.” Walker demanded, exasperated as he put his arms out.
In an instant, Pyotr pulled a knife from its sheath on his thigh, shoving it through Walker's shoulder to pin him to the wall. He twisted it with gloved hands, the other arm pinned to his throat with practiced, efficient ease. No one made a move to help the man. “I don't care how long you took; that was your mistake, not min- OHHH, Китти!!” Pyotr pulled away, leaving the knife in the man's collarbone to..pick up a silky-furred Bengal cat that had rubbed against his leg. Pyotr always had a liking for animals, even when he was the Wolf Spider.
Walker was attempting to shimmy the knife out of his shoulder, the blade still lodged in the hardwood.
“….You have a cat.”
“I have Китти!”
He let out a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. This kind of thing had gotten him in trouble a lot back then. Pyotr tended to get completely sidetracked in a split second, however, they somehow never managed to train it out of him. As annoying as it could be, somehow it still made Bucky fond. Like his son was still there despite the entirety of their past.
"I can pay you, if that's what this is about." He reasoned. Dissecting his apartment, it was frighteningly clear he was materialistic when he allowed himself to settle down.
"Hmmm..You don't look like you have much on you." Pyotr scoffed. "I heard you were involved with the US government for a bit, but I doubt you were paid all that well. You don't even want them dead. Are you interrogating? Hm? Need information? Because I can do that in a lot easier way." He ended on a teasing note, setting the cat down.
Bucky slid a hand down his face for the 50th time today, setting his hands out like calming a feral street cat. "It's a mutant trafficking ring related to OSCORP. This needs to be done with care and silently. They have a lot of money. If this gets out right now, the hostages could be harmed. I don't know how many bases they have. If this isn't the only one, they could be lost forever. We need a single snitch, that's it. Please, Pyotr."
"Don't call me that. Jesus fuckin' Christ." The kid snarled, lip ticking up just like Bucky's when he's trying not to bite someone. It was his own fault, really. Pyotr- whatever he was supposed to call him now- was set off with a hair trigger. Everyone in the room could feel the shift in energy practically swirling around the boy in the middle of the room. His fist clenched like he was grasping for a knife.
"Fine. BUT on my own terms. I'm doing this because I want to, not because you ordered me to or whatever that wassSSSSHIT-" Pyotr scrambled, grabbing a ratty bag and throwing on a cap on top of messy, longish hair. "Come come come, быстрый, I'm already late." And then he just. Jumped out the window.
. . .
"Bucky, your son is a little shit." Ava seethed, phasing through the wall to climb off the fire escape.
"Yeah I know that." He jumped out the window right after him, latching metal fingers into the brick to slide down. Jesus, the kid was already halfway down the sidewalk, ducking out of the way of passing people, never slowing down. Then he-
What?
What the fuck.
"We lost him." Walker seethed, panting a bit. "Where the hell did he go? He just disappeared." Alexi and Yelena had caught up, Ava flickering into existence beside them.
"How should I kno-" A flash of red swung across the rooftops, nearly falling straight into the pavement before arching back up in one smooth movement to scrape the clouds. Oh my god. Bucky was going to kill this kid. Since the Avenger days, they had been trying to catch Spiderman. He was a widely known mercenary, always just out of reach with a witty quip and a thick Queens accent, completely unlike the Russian Pyotr had sworn at them with. And here he was, with the same jacket and backpack, swinging across skyscrapers and flying with the pigeons.
Too clouded with emotions, Bucky ran, completely oblivious to his- ugh. Team following him.
The kid's movements were reckless, erratic and impulsive. Completely and entirely irresponsible with the blood of a daredevil. He had scraped his fingertips on a nearby taxi, relishing in the neon-lit night sky of New York. Every swan dive made his heart sink.
By the time he had swung into an alleyway, ducking into the dark corners to rip off his mask and zip his hoodie all the way up, the rest of them had caught up with a little less than ease. Pyotr had jumped off the fire escape he was perched on, pausing in front of them with his ratty backpack slung over his shoulder.
"When were you gonna tell me about this, Pyotr? Jesus-" Bucky couldn't help it. He had been too hands-off. He had thought this was what Pyotr needed, but he was dead wrong. Of course he was. Ugh, Steve would've been so much better at handling this. He was always good with kids.
"Never. And I swear to god, Barnes, if you call me that again, I'm selling that arm for scraps." He had completely switched accents on a flip, he sounded native to Queens. They both knew that was far from the truth.
Bucky put his hands out once more. God, he felt like he was doing this a lot today. Pyotr still had that edge about him that made everyone feel like he was about to skin someone. "Okay. What do you want me to call you?"
The kid shrugged. "I've been going by Peter for a bit. You've had thousands of names, the ones closest to truth always work best. And I'd like to stay here, so please don't blow my cover. Especially in there." Pyo- Peter jutted a thumb towards a sketchy-looking door, graffiti and stickers covering it. He pushed it open, still far too small to be healthy. Peter had always been small back then; Bucky always thought it was either a malnutrition thing or a spider thing. Maybe both. God, the kid couldn't be taller than 5' nothin', and he was 16.
Purple lights flooded the alley, loud music being blasted over the sound of glass shattering and people yelling. Peter waved for them to follow him, leading them to a booth where a man was already sitting. Red clad with knives sticking out of his arm. "OMG! You brought friends!" The man squealed, placing a non-knife-covered hand to his face.
"Not friends, I'm taking a selfish, DP." Peter slammed his hands on the table, negotiating.
"Ummm..Actually, Peter, It's my turn to take a selfish. You took the last selfish." The man- Oh god. No. No, Bucky knew who this was. He was seen with Spiderman all the time. Another headache of a mercenary, Deadpool or something like that. An idiot all the way around. God, no wonder Peter was like this. They matched each other's energy, fed off it, even.
"No, no no no, remember Czechoslovakia? It's my turn to take a selfish. I'm taking it. Fill him in." Peter shoved the group into the very small booth, Alexi taking a spot by the man and the rest forcing themselves to either stand or scooch right next to each other. Peter left for the bar.
"Soooo, what's the deal with that?" Yelena asked pointedly. "Who did you even sleep with?"
"That is none of your business and also not what we're here for. Now-"
"HOLY SHIT IT'S YOU!?!?" Deadpool screeched, lunging forward to stare at him. "OH MY JESUS FUCKIN' CHRIST I SEE IT NOW! WHO?? WHO WAS IT?"
"Stop talking." Bucky put his head in his hands. He hated these people, truly. He should have handed them over to the government when he had the chance. This, this is what hesitation cost him.
"Oh my god, just tell them so we can get this over with." Walker hissed, batting his arm with a glare received.
"It was one time, we're both gay now, leave it."
"Okay, then it won't matter if you tell us then. Unless it's someone we know." Yelena paused mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. The entire bar felt silent in his mind, despite their continuing screaming like Bucky wasn't actively dying.
"Oh my- Was it?" Walker, like the immature middle schooler he is, asked in a hushed, gossiping tone.
"Fuck this." Bucky slid out of the seat quickly, making his way to the bar and letting the rest of them relay the information. Which, knowing them, might take a bit.
Barnes slid onto one of the bar stools, meeting Peter's eyes. "Hey."
"You sick of him already?" Peter huffed, pouring a shot for a big, burly man and sliding it across the counter before making his way over to his father. Honestly, Peter's shocked they even walked inside. They did all come from the same background, but he thought they might have a bit more respect for their reputation.
Bucky huffed back. "Sick of em all. You're a topic of interest."
"Mmm, glad to hear I made a shocking impression." He quipped back, tone bored and sarcastic. He could hear them all talking about him, while entertaining, it was playground gossip, nothing more.
Barnes took a breath, scrubbing a hand over the scruff of his chin. "How've you been?"
Peter paused mid pouring another order, scoffing. Really? He wants to act as if he cares now? Not that he really expected him to. Or wanted him to. No, anyone who acted like they cared really just wanted power. It was a manipulation tactic they had learned at HYDRA. Arguably the stupidest of the bunch. Bucky did this every once in a while when they finally met up, trying to act like the supportive father role. Peter always hated it. It felt foreign, uncomfortable, and honestly? Worse than being shot. Peter would rather take a firing squad over another one of these phases. "Opening with that?"
"..Yeah. Openin' with that." Bucky answered. Like an idiot.
Peter could already see where this was going. "Fine. Busy."
"Yeah, I uh. I noticed that. The whole..Spider thing."
Peter picked up a rag, scrubbing sticky rings off the counter with a little more force than necessary. "Yeah."
Bucky held a breath in his chest, his eyes never leaving Peter. "Peter, I'm..I'm worried about you."
Peter slammed the rag down. "Wow, really?" His accent slipped just a bit. Faulty. He'd have to work on that. "Weren't worried when I was eating people at 5."
Bucky flinched back, which Peter relished in. Getting a rise out of the man was his favorite pastime. The man rarely showed emotion in front of Peter. He almost wanted to keep taunting, anything to give him a reason to pull the gun out.
"I- I know. God, I know Peter. I want to do better, I just- I don't know how to. And I see you out there, and it's like-" God, папа had grown into a stuttering mess. Peter rolled his eyes, going back to scrubbing on the same spot that would just not go away.
"Like I never left. Yeah, that isn't for you to decide. I don't care if you've gone all soft, this is different."
"Is it?" Peter clenched his jaw. Truly, he was half tempted to rip his throat out. He wasn't normally this violent, genuinely. Only on the job. He didn't know why every time Bucky found him, Peter just felt like his chest was caving in. A burning, withering thing writhing in his skull. Every time they were together, he just got hurt. Bucky didn't mean to do it, Peter reasonably knew that. But Peter wasn't ready for all of that. Bucky didn't know what he would be getting himself into, with the whole "let's be a family again". It was a lot. Peter was a lot. And he just wouldn't go away. So, Peter responded the only way he was trained to.
"Yeah, yeah it is. I kill for myself. Not for them, and definitely not for you." The revolvers chamber clicked, the sterling metal shining in the light like a diamond. Peter could see the muzzle biting into Bucky's forehead. Peter knew he wasn't going to shoot. But at the same time, what if he did? He tilted his head in consideration, watching the de-escalation gears in Barnes' head turning.
"Okay." He said calmly, but Peter could hear his heart rate tick up. He had to hand it to the man, his poker face was good.
Peter felt the trigger dip just slightly beneath his finger, ripping it away at the last second, the bullet lodging itself in the ceiling. No one even flinched at the sound. Ugh, Peter loved this place. He grabbed a drink off the side of the counter, sliding forward to Bucky, placing a small pink umbrella in it as he slid the revolver back under the counter. "Shit, I'm not that crazy. Take this to DP."
Barnes nodded after a moment, not out of shock but something…somber. It confused him, which was worse than the reactive response he was reaching for. He's supposed to know everything, that was his entire purpose, other than assassinations. Pyotr was good at reading people. Something was wrong with him. He needed fixing, rewiring- No. No, he wasn't falling back into that. People needed drinks, Peter needed money. So, he'd do the job he was now assigned.
Yelena liked the kid, for what it was worth. A smart ass, but that's what made him fun. He kind of reminded her of her sister, she noted duly with a pain in her chest. Bucky had left to go talk to him, leaving them at the table with an equally smart-ass man.
"So are you guys a hetero platonic multi-racial polycule or?" He asked, pulling one of the knives out of his arm and throwing it across the room haphazardly.
"That one's my dad." Yelena pointed at Alexi, who had run off to arm wrestle some extremely drunk man.
"Yeah, and apparently that one's his." Deadpool pointed at Peter and Bucky talking at the bar. It did not look like it was going well.
"Yep. We do kind of have more important things to worry about than an old man's love life, so." Yelena crossed her arms, Ava mirroring the action right by her, Walker following the lead a second too late like a third grader trying to fit in.
"You sure? Cause God, I wanna hear that story."
"Very absolutely sure. Now, Peter said you could help, and I trust him for the most part. There's a mutant trafficking ring going on, mostly kids. We need to find out where it is, their schedules, their plans, other rings, all of that. They're connected and/or funded by OSCORP, we need it done quickly and silently. Can you help?"
The mans energy shifted immediately. He leaned forward, one hand heavy on one of the knives remaining in his arm. "Yeah. Peter on this?"
"He said he wanted you on his team. Wanted to do this on his own terms."
Bucky sulked back to the table, setting down a drink with a little pink umbrella on the table right as Alexi won, the bar cheering. "Peter said to bring this to you."
"Ohhh, that little shit, bribery." His energy shifted once more, a whiplash of emotions.
"Is it working?" Peter sauntered up to the table, staring the man dead in the eye expectantly.
"Baby boy, you know me so well." He threw the drink across the bar, the glass shattering on impact with a small fire buring into a table. The bar roared. "Okie dokie, time to go now."
The rest of them skittered off as Yelena dragged her dad from the table, prying his fists off a mans skull to drag him out the door.
Yeah, Yelena liked the kid.