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Steve collapses against the concrete wall, sliding down until he hits the floor. His chest heaves. His hands are still shaking. He brings them to his face, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. The shame is worse than the physical sensation. A Captain. An Avenger. Brought to his knees.
“Get it together, Rogers”, he whispers.
His body betrays him again. Steve curls forward, forehead pressing against his knees, hiding his face in the darkness of his cell. His enhanced healing already works aggressively on his frayed nerves, knitting the damaged muscles back together, but it can’t erase the memory. It can’t stop his hands from trembling. It can’t make his body forget what it has just endured. Every muscle feels like jelly, liquid and unresponsive.
Steve flinches at the sound of the door opening, his body bracing instinctively for another session. Instead, something hits the concrete beside him with a heavy thud. Then something else.
Steve lifts his head. He squints through the dimness.
Bucky. And a kid. Both are sprawled against the floor, groaning weakly.
“Buck?” Steve drags himself across the concrete. His fingers find Bucky’s cold hand, gripping it hard. His friend squeezes back — weak, but present.
Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realise he’s been holding.
Then he hears something else. A muffled, uneven sound from the other side of the cell. Steve’s head snaps towards the sound.
A teenager is curled against the wall, knees pulled tightly to his chest. His hands are clamped over his mouth, trapping whatever sounds are trying to escape. His whole body is shaking violently. His wide, unfocused eyes dart around the room, never settling for more than a second. Door. Ceiling. Corners. Steve. Door again.
He forces himself up and crawls towards him, ignoring the screaming protest of his muscles.
“Hey.”
The boy’s eyes snap to him.
Steve freezes. Those brown eyes. Blown wide. Dilated. Terrified. The kid can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen. He’s skinny, dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, face pale beneath the dim fluorescent light. There are marks around his wrists. His clothes are filthy, torn in places, and Steve can see the faint tremour running through his fingers even where they’re pressed against his mouth.
Steve keeps his distance. He knows what it feels like to have someone approach you when you’re helpless.
“It's okay.” His voice comes out rough. He clears his throat and tries again, slipping automatically into the calm, steady tone he uses when everything around him is falling apart. “You okay, son?”
The boy doesn’t answer. He watches Steve’s hand instead. Steve hasn’t even noticed he’s moved it. Slowly, he extends it, palm up. The kid’s gaze flicks from his face to his hand and back again. He doesn’t reach for it.
That’s fine.
“I’m Steve.” He keeps his voice soft. “That’s Bucky. We’re not gonna hurt you.” A pause. “You got a name, kid?”
The boy swallows. “Peter, sir.” The kid’s voice is barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of whatever they did to him.
Steve’s chest tightens.
“Peter”, he repeats gently. There is something familiar about that voice. “Okay.”
The kid’s breathing remains shallow and frantic. Every few seconds, his body jerks involuntarily. He keeps looking at the door. Steve glances at Bucky. His friend is watching the kid through heavy-lidded eyes.
“How old are you, Peter?”
The boy swallows again. “Fifteen.”
Fifteen. Steve feels sick. They put a child through this.
He looks at the boy again, really looks. There’s something horribly young about his face beneath the exhaustion. His features haven’t settled yet. His limbs are too thin, his shoulders narrow. Still young enough that Steve instinctively wants to get between him and whatever did this. Steve has seen plenty of soldiers who look young. This isn’t that.
This is a kid.
Bucky makes a strangled noise beside him. Peter’s gaze flickers towards the sound, then immediately returns to Steve. “How long have you been here, Captain Rogers, sir?”
Steve’s throat tightens at the formal address. The kid’s voice is shaking apart, and he’s still calling him sir.
“Few days.” Steve glances towards the ceiling, then the walls. “Hard to tell. They don’t exactly give us windows.” He looks back at Peter, meets those wide brown eyes, trying to project a steadiness he doesn’t quite feel. “What about you?”
The kid doesn’t answer. Instead, his attention shifts to Bucky. “And you, Sergeant Barnes, sir?”
Bucky lets out a rasping laugh. It’s bitter and hollow. “Longer than I’d like to count, kid.”
He tilts his head back against the wall, jaw tight. He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t need to. Steve knows what those words mean. Hydra. Pierce. The Chair. Bucky’s flesh hand clenches and unclenches against the concrete floor. His metal arm is nowhere to be seen.
“Same as him”, Bucky says. “They took us together.” His eyes settle on Peter. “You don’t gotta call me sir, kid. Bucky works fine.” Peter doesn't react. Bucky shifts, a pained grimace crossing his face. “How they treating you in here, Peter?”
Again, the kid ignores the question. “Anyone see you get taken?”
Bucky’s hand tightens. The boy’s eyes drop to the floor. Then, he goes still. Not frozen. Almost focused. The kid’s head tilts almost imperceptibly towards the door. Then he looks back at the floor, shoulders loosening. Bucky’s hand clenches tighter.
“Peter.” Bucky’s voice hardens. Not cruel. Just tired. “Look at me.”
Peter’s head snaps up. His eyes meet Bucky’s for half a second before darting away. “Just answer, sir.”
Bucky’s jaw works, teeth grinding. He knows the kid is scared — terrified, probably — but that stubborn refusal to answer questions is setting his nerves on edge. Steve places a hand on his friend’s shoulder, a silent warning.
“Buck”, he murmurs.
Bucky takes a slow, deliberate breath. “No”, he says finally, voice flat. “No one saw.”
“How long until someone would notice you two gone?”
Steve and Bucky exchange a glance. The unspoken agreement passes between them immediately. Don’t provoke the kid.
Steve answers instead, voice steady despite the underlying tension. “About a week.” Peter’s gaze flicks towards him. “They don’t do roll calls where we were. No one misses us.” Steve pauses. “No one’s coming looking.”
Something changes in Peter’s expression. It’s gone almost immediately. Not fear. Something harder to name. He looks down, thinking. “Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “The Accords thing’s gotta have messed up a lot.”
Steve studies him.
“Good thing I’m here, then.” Peter’s mouth twitches. “They’d’ve noticed me missing by now.”
There is something strange about the way he says it. Too matter-of-fact. As though he’s already worked out what his absence means to the people outside.
“Peter.” The kid looks at him. “Who are you?” Peter’s jaw tightens. Steve waits. “Really?”
The boy looks away. For a moment, Steve thinks he’s going to refuse again. Instead, Peter gives him a single word.
“Queens.”
Steve freezes.
Queens.
The one word hits him like a bullet. The word shouldn’t mean anything. It shouldn’t. Except it does. His mind supplies the memory before he can stop it. A sleek red-and-blue suit. A voice that sounds far too young for the confidence behind it. A blur of movement across the airport. A kid who talks too much. A kid who moves too fast. A kid who —
You have heart, kid. Where are you from? Queens.
“Brooklyn.” Steve’s breath catches.
No.
His gaze moves over the boy again. The skinny frame. The dark hair. The brown eyes.
Steve stares.
The child in front of him looks nothing like the shrouded figure he remembers from the airport. And somehow he looks exactly like him.
That’s the problem.
At the airport, Spider-Man has been impossible to pin down. Steve has tried. He’s watched the kid's movements, adjusted his stance, changed his approach.
It hadn’t mattered.
The kid had been stronger than he looked. Faster than he should have been. He’d moved with a confidence that had seemed almost reckless. Steve remembers his shield being ripped clean from his grip. The shock of it. The ridiculous voice coming through the mask. The enthusiasm.
Steve had thought he was fighting some kind of enhanced operative. A weapon. A young one, perhaps, but still a combatant.
Now he looks at Peter. Fifteen. Shaking so badly he can barely keep his hands still. There are tears drying on his cheeks. His wrists are bruised. He keeps checking the door.
Steve’s stomach turns.
That kid?
His eyes return to Peter’s face. The resemblance is suddenly unbearable.
Steve remembers the airport again, but differently this time. The narrow shoulders beneath the suit. The youthful voice. The way Spider-Man had bounced on his feet before every exchange as though he was barely containing his excitement.
Steve has heard a kid.
He just hasn’t let himself believe it.
“Spider-Man.” The name leaves him almost soundlessly. Peter goes very still.
Bucky’s head turns sharply. “Wait.”
Steve barely hears him. He’s staring at the boy. Peter’s expression has changed. A flicker of apprehension, as though he isn’t sure what Steve remembering him means now.
“I remember you.” Steve’s chest tightens. “The airport.”
“Yeah.” Peter gives the smallest, most exhausted smile. “So... they took your metal arm?”
Bucky’s gaze drops to his shoulder. Heavy leather straps bind the stump where the vibranium arm should be. The connection port is exposed, stripped of its primary weapon and left raw beneath the bandages.
“Yeah.” Bucky’s voice stays gruff. “They took it. Can’t have the Winter Soldier armed in a cell.”
“Armed”, the kid chuckles faintly, breathlessly. “Hm... makes sense...” His eyes flick towards Bucky’s empty shoulder. “We’ll get it back.”
Steve looks at Peter — really looks at him. The kid is sitting a little straighter now, although exhaustion still weighs heavily on him. Some of the violent trembling has eased, leaving only an occasional shudder running through his arms. Something else is returning to his face. That spark. That irritating, impossible confidence.
“You’re right.” Steve forces conviction into his voice. “We will.”
Bucky scoffs, but there’s no heat behind it. “Kid’s got more fight left than I do.”
Peter glances between them. “Let’s just say we’ll be out of here today.”
Bucky snorts. Steve simply stares. The shaking hasn’t stopped entirely, but the kid’s attention has sharpened. He looks exhausted enough to collapse and somehow completely certain of himself at the same time. The kid has either got balls the size of the moon or absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. Steve isn’t sure which is worse.
“Confident”, Bucky mutters.
Steve keeps watching Peter. The confidence is startling coming from someone who can barely keep his hands still. Peter looks exhausted, pale beneath the sweat and grime, but there is something almost matter-of-fact in the way he says it. The confidence — it doesn’t look like bravado. Not entirely. Peter’s eyes keep moving. Door. Vent. Wall panel. Bucky’s missing arm.
“So...”, Peter whispers, shrugging. “Survive until then?”
Steve nods. “Survive. Don’t engage. Don’t provoke. Don’t give them anything to work with.” He looks at Bucky, then back at the boy. “That’s the plan. You hear me?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Bucky shifts against the wall. “Kid.”
Peter looks over.
“You got a plan you’re not sharing?”
Peter’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile. “Telling you would be sharing now, wouldn’t it?”
Bucky grunts. “Smart mouth. Reminds me of someone.” He gestures vaguely towards Steve.
Steve ignores the jab. He’s still studying Peter. The kid is too calm for someone who was dragged into this cell half-conscious. The trembling is still there, but his eyes are clearer now, moving constantly over the room. Almost — calculating?
“Funny how you disliked my mouth back in Germany, Mr Barnes, sir.” Peter’s still watching them, his attention moving between the two of them with quick little flicks of his eyes before settling again. Even exhausted, he seems to notice everything.
Bucky’s expression darkens. He remembers the kid’s mouth — the constant smart remarks, the attitude. The irritating enthusiasm. A pain in the arse during a fight that should have been far more serious than the kid seemed to realise. Steve catches the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. He suppresses a smirk. “Because you never shut it, kid.”
“Sorry.” Peter’s smile grows faintly. “It was the coolest thing that ever happened to me. I was excited.”
Steve blinks. Fighting Captain America and the Winter Soldier — two of the most dangerous men on the planet — and the kid had enjoyed it.
“Excited”, Bucky repeats flatly. “You were punching me in the face and cracking jokes, and you were excited.”
“I caught your metal fist, Mr Barnes.” Peter’s eyes brighten despite everything. “And disabled Mr Falcon’s wings and stole your shield, Mr Rogers, and took down that huge man.” He pauses. “It was awesome.”
Steve cannot help it. His mouth twitches. He remembers. The shield disappearing from Steve’s grip. The impossible strength behind every movement. Remembers being hauled off his feet by a kid who had sounded so young beneath all that confidence. At the time, Steve had thought Peter was simply another young enhanced combatant, the kid’s enthusiasm infectious even now, in a concrete cell, surrounded by HYDRA doctors. He reminded him of Scott. He hadn’t understood just how young he was.
Bucky shakes his head slowly. “You stole Cap's shield. From him. In front of everyone.”
“Best day of my life”, Peter confirms.
Bucky barks out a laugh. “You took Cap's shield, and you're sitting here acting like it was a field trip.”
Steve rubs a hand over his face.
Peter shrugs. “Nobody told me what was going on. To me, it was a field trip. Training. Whatever.”
“Peter.” Steve keeps his voice careful. The boy has no idea what he’d actually accomplished. He’d fought Steve. Stolen his shield. Taken down Sam. Helped bring down Scott. And somehow he’d come away from it thinking he’d just been given the world’s most dangerous training exercise. “That wasn’t training.”
Bucky nods grimly.
“Yeah, I know.” Peter's gaze drops. “But Mr Stark only had fifteen minutes to explain.” He rubs his thumb against his palm. “He was kinda more focused on telling me how to stay safe fighting you guys and giving me the rundown than explaining anything about why there was a fight to begin with.”
Steve’s jaw tightens. Tony had thrown this kid — this fifteen-year-old kid — into a battlefield against the Avengers with a half-explained mission and a slick new suit.
“You fought Captain America on fifteen minutes of briefing,” Bucky mutters, disbelief creeping into his voice.
Peter considers that. “He had thirty-six hours from the first thing.”
Steve frowns. “What?”
Peter ticks the details off on his fingers. “He had to organise everything, get me a passport, make me a suit, then the flight itself...” Peter sounds almost apologetic. He shrugs. “It was kinda tight.”
“That isn’t tight, Peter.” Steve keeps his voice quiet, disbelief warring with sympathy. “That’s reckless.”
“Maybe.” Peter picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. “He explained everything afterwards.” A beat. “Plus, it’s not like I wasn’t doing more dangerous things before he came along.”
Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “What were you doing before Stark?”
Peter’s expression changes. Barely. His eyes move towards the door. Then back.
“Kid.” Bucky leans forward. “What did you do before Stark?”
Peter doesn’t answer. His head tilts. He listens. Steve follows his gaze automatically. He almost takes it for a deflection, another dodge. He hears nothing.
Peter's head snaps towards the corridor. He goes completely still. “They’re coming.”
A beat later, Steve hears it too. Footsteps. Several sets. Heavy. Deliberate. Steve hauls himself upright, muscles howling. Bucky follows instinctively, pressing his back against the wall.
“Down.” Steve catches Peter by the shoulder and pulls him low beside him.
The footsteps grow louder.
The door buzzes.
Steve braces.
It opens.
Two guards enter. One carries a tray of food. The other carries a case of sedatives.
“Get the kid”, the taller one orders.
The shorter guard drops the tray and seizes Peter by the upper arms. Peter doesn’t fight. Not properly. He stumbles as the man hauls him to his feet, his earlier confidence vanishing so completely that Steve almost doubts he’s seen it. His breath catches. The colour drains from his face as the guard drags him towards the door.
“Hey!” Steve lunges forward.
The taller guard swings his rifle towards him. Steve freezes.
The kid struggles weakly in the other man’s grip.
“Don’t!” Bucky pushes himself away from the wall. “Take me instead.”
The guard’s eyes settle on Bucky. A muscle twitches in his jaw. The kid’s lips part. No smart comeback. No sarcasm. Just fear. Raw and visible. “Stay down.”
Bucky’s lip curls. “It’s us you want”, he growls. He steps forward, the empty shoulder leading like an offering.
The rifle doesn’t so much as flicker in his direction.
“Why would we want you over him?”
The question lands like a dropped weight. Bucky stops. The colour drains from his face. Steve feels something cold settle in his stomach.
“What do you want with him?” The rifle remains trained on him. “He’s a kid.”
The guard smiles. “He’s Tony Stark’s enhanced super-kid.”
Bucky makes a low, dangerous sound. “You’re going to use him to get to Stark.”
The guard’s smile widens. “Smart man.”
Peter’s breathing quickens. “You should see how much Stark cares.” The guard holding him tightens his grip. “He’ll break immediately.”
“Fuck you.” Bucky’s voice cracks like a whip. “Over my dead body.”
Peter's lips move. Steve almost misses it.
Three.
Bucky catches it. The kid's eyes flick towards the wall panel. Then the door. Then Bucky.
The guard drags Peter closer to the doorway, the kid following obediently. “You want to watch the Winter Soldier bleed out on this floor, Parker?” Peter’s gaze drops as the guard looks at him. He bites his lip. “Or do you come quietly?”
The man’s eyes return to the super soldiers. Peter’s eyes flick towards the wall panel again. Then to Steve’s clenched fists. Neither guard notices.
Two.
Bucky shifts his weight. Steve’s muscles coil. The guards have eyes only for their prize, perfectly meek. They think two drained prisoners pose no threat. They are wrong.
The guard’s grip tightens. “Time to go, kid.”
One.
Peter looks at Steve. Just for a heartbeat. There is no fear in his eyes now. Only certainty.
The guard hauls him over the threshold, the kid following easily. “Come on, Stark’s little bitch —”
The kid’s gaze lands briefly on the wall panel, Peter stepping closer. Then his eyes snap to Steve. Then the door. The guard doesn’t notice.
“NOW!”
Peter explodes into motion. One hand wrenches a length of pipe from the wall while the other fist connects with the guard’s jaw. The man folds.
The second guard’s rifle swings up.
Bucky slams into him bare-armed, hooking an elbow around his neck. They hit the floor together.
“Buck!”
The pipe spins through the air. Bucky catches it one-handed without looking.
The guard beneath him stops moving.
Peter grabs the cell door. Metal shrieks. He tears it from its hinges and folds it into a rough disc. A strap from a fallen vest, threaded through two punched holes, turns it into something Steve can actually hold. The kid shoves it into Steve’s hands. “Captain.”
Steve stares at him.
“Peter, I —”
“Move!” Peter is already at the wall panel, prising it loose.
Bucky wraps his fist around the pipe like a club. He is grinning.
Actually grinning.
“Kid’s got a plan.”
“Throw me their communicator!”
Steve unclips it from the nearest guard’s belt and tosses it. Peter catches it without turning, trembling significantly reduced. But not gone. His fingers fly across the controls. Text scrolls across the screen faster than Steve can follow.
“Bucky, cover the door”, Steve orders.
A fourth guard stumbles through. Bucky slams the pipe against his helmet, knocking him out cold. “Covering.”
The boy barely glances up. “Your powers are back in ten minutes”, Peter mutters, eyes on the screen.
Steve frowns. “How do you know that?”
“It’s all in their log.” Peter’s fingers keep moving. “Plus, mine wore off like twenty minutes ago. They thought your dosage was enough for me.” A tiny smile. “They miscalculated.”
Twenty minutes. Steve replays the cell. The shaking. The hands clamped over the boy’s mouth. The stammered sir. He cannot tell which parts were real. “How do you —”
“Don’t ask”, Bucky grunts. He kicks another guard back through the doorway. The kid is already moving towards the next panel, ripping it off like paper.
Peter looks up. “Left. Three guards coming.” He glances between Steve and Bucky. “Can you manage?”
Three of them round the corner, rifles raised. Steve has a dented door for a shield and half his strength. But he is still Captain America. “Three?” He smirks. “I can manage.”
“Cap takes three.” Bucky raises the pipe. “I take six.”
“Overconfident.” Peter is back at the screen. “Two have stun batons. One has a taser net.”
Steve checks. Two batons. One net launcher. Exactly as described. “Bucky, you take the batons. I’ve got the net.”
“Kid”, Bucky calls.
“Almost done!” Peter’s fingers blur. “Give me a sec!”
They move together. Steve charges the net guard, the makeshift shield rattling under a burst of gunfire. Behind him, Bucky’s pipe cracks against a helmet. Once. Twice.
“Two down.”
“Almost...”
The net launcher coughs. The mesh unfolds, crackling, and arcs straight towards Steve. His reflexes are sluggish. His strength is still compromised. He knows he cannot dodge it. He braces.
Behind him, metal shrieks.
Something tears free.
“Done.”
The blast rolls through the corridor.
Concrete shudders.
Dust and debris cascade from the ceiling.
The shockwave slaps the net out of the air.
Steve gets the shield up just as the world turns to fire and grit.
“Peter!” Bucky coughs, waving smoke away.
The kid emerges from the haze. Unscathed. He climbs onto the rubble and looks down the corridor. “I left us the path on the left.”
Steve stares. “You blew up the facility.”
“You ducked!”
“You almost killed us.”
“But I didn’t!”, the kid argues. “Explosions are not my best, okay? I underestimated a little!”
He ought to be furious.
Bucky is grinning like a madman. “I like this kid.”
Steve takes in the left-hand corridor. Clear. Every other approach has collapsed. Guard posts buried beneath concrete. The way out stands untouched. Surgical.
“How did you —”, Bucky starts.
“Structural analysis. Hydra builds to a pattern.” Peter hops down. “Your powers back yet, sir?”
Steve flexes his fingers. Something shifts beneath the ache. A click, almost like a lock turning. His shoulders loosen. His vision sharpens. “Not yet.”
Peter nods and checks the device again. “Four minutes.”
Bucky slouches against a pillar. “You’ve been planning this since we sat down in that cell.”
“Since they grabbed me.” Peter stretches his fingers. “Felt them approach.” The boy’s hand trembles stronger again, muscles stiff. “Mr Stark is landing on the West Roof. We have to be there.” Peter points. “Stairs.”
The route is almost absurdly clear. Every turn reveals another neutralised threat — guard stations collapsed, reinforcements blocked, corridors wiped clean.
Bucky jogs alongside them. “How far?”
“Stairs. Three floors up.” Peter steps over a fallen pipe. “Mr Stark lands on the roof in like five or ten minutes. We should be there in four.”
“How do you know that?”
“I put a message on the tracker before I dropped it back in Queens, the rest is just arithmetic.” Steve lends Bucky a hand over the pipe. “I pinged him through their comm while you two were busy.”
“You’re insane”, Steve mutters. There’s no bite to it. Something nearer to awe.
Bucky snorts. “Insane is what gets us out of HYDRA cells, Steve.”
“I prefer ‘calculated’, sir”, Peter mutters, eyes still on the device.
They reach the stairwell. Peter takes the steps three at a time, silent as smoke, and Steve follows, his legs steadier with every flight.
“Incoming!”
Six Hydra agents burst onto the landing above. Rifles up. Heavy armour. Peter doesn’t slow. He launches himself upwards, hits the lead man before his finger reaches the trigger, and sends three others crashing backwards into the rest.
Steve recognizes the move. Spider-Man. Not the frightened kid from the cell. The one from the videos, with Tony. Unhinged. Unleashed.
“That’s more like it!”, Peter woops.
Bucky barks out a laugh. A sharp, delighted sound. “You held back that whole time?”
“You don’t actually think I catch your fist like that and then barely tap you, Mr Barnes?” Peter ducks a rifle butt, twists the weapon free and sends it clattering down the stairs. “I didn’t actually intend to kill any of you!”
Bucky’s swing stalls. He remembers his metal fist disappearing into those small hands. The kid hadn’t struggled. Hadn’t even looked worried. He’d simply caught it. You got a metal arm? That is awesome, dude! Had the kid meant it —
“Kid, we could have used that!” The lock in Steve’s shoulders finally gives. Strength floods down his arms. The dented door in his grip suddenly weighs nothing. He wades in.
“Sorry!”
The guards fall back, fear overriding orders. Peter blurs between them, dropping each man without breaking a bone. Then —
“Woah!” Peter’s fist goes through the first concrete wall. The wall gives with a deafening crack and slams into the second. Both collapse in a roar of dust and debris. Peter stands in the new opening, staring at his own hand. Then he grins. “Never knew it would be so fun not to hold back as much!”
Bucky whistles. “Remind me never to get on his bad side.”
“Peter…” Steve shakes his head. “Those walls were reinforced concrete.”
“They were”, Peter confirms cheerfully. “Move it, sirs!”
“Peter.”
The kid looks over, running through the fresh path. “What?”
Steve gestures vaguely at the collapsed concrete behind them. “How much of this did you actually need us for?”
Peter pauses. “Um.”
Bucky immediately starts laughing. “Kid.”
“What?”
“Answer the question.”
Peter looks between them. “I needed you to fight the guards, sir.”
Steve narrows his eyes. “Which guards?”
Peter points behind them. “Those three by the cell.”
“Three guards?”
“I just needed you to keep my back free while I was hacking the system.” He lifts Bucky over a chunk of debris as though the hundred-kilo supersoldier weighs nothing. “I kinda needed focus. Ned and Mr Stark taught me some, but that was hard! I’m not a hacker!” He turns and helps Steve over. “And distract them enough so I could position myself by the pipes. So... yeah, thanks?"
“Wait”, Bucky says slowly, pulling the boy up. “You played frail so we’d get protective, so we’d distract them?”
Peter’s eyebrows pull together. “I didn’t play frail.”
“You were shaking.”
“I was shaking.”
“You were crying.”
“I was also crying.”
Bucky points at him. “That is not helping your case.”
Peter shrugs.
“Were there even cameras?” Steve hits an agent with the shield, knocking him out.
Peter pauses. “I don’t know!”
Bucky’s mouth falls open. “You don’t know?”
“No, sir.”
“So, you had no idea whether HYDRA was watching you.”
“Nope, Mr Captain, sir.”
“And you decided to manipulate us into protecting you?”
Peter considers this. “I mean... it worked.” Steve closes his eyes. “There was a chance they were”, Peter adds quickly. “And I couldn’t risk telling you, sir!”
Bucky looks at him. “Menace.”
Peter’s mouth twitches. “You’re welcome.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Still counts, sir.”
Steve exhales through his nose, fighting a smile. “Tony’s going to have his hands full with you.”
Peter beams. “Yeah.”
“God”, Steve mumbles. The kid wasn’t a threat. He was a goddamned catastrophe.
Bucky’s grin widens. “So we’re the hired muscle.”
Peter looks genuinely confused. “No. You’re Captain America and the Winter Soldier.”
“That’s not better, kid.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
Bucky shakes his head. “I feel far less bad about how easily he won against us in Germany.”
“Kid”, Steve manages. Peter looks up. “You're going to give them nightmares.”
“Good —” Peter’s head tilts. Somewhere above, the stairwell groans. His expression changes. “Damn it.”
A flight of steps peels away from the wall.
He vaults towards the ceiling. “Get over here! Sirs!”
Steve and Bucky scramble up the rubble. They emerge onto a broken ledge.
Night air rushes over them. Cold. Clean. Glorious. The West Roof looms above. A familiar mechanical whine grows louder. A streak of red and gold tears through the clouds.
“Stark”, Bucky breathes.
Peter checks the device. “Forty seconds early.” He looks towards the empty space where the stairs used to be. “He’s excited.”
Steve looks at him. “What happened to the stairs?”
“I-” Peter blushes. “I brought the rest of them down.” A pause. “By accident. I told you, explosions are hard!”
“So we clim-”, Steve begins.
Peter crouches and laces his fingers. “I need to throw you up.”
Steve looks at Bucky. Bucky looks at Steve. Between them they have survived one war and every catastrophe since, and none of it prepared them for this.
“You heard the kid.” Bucky steps towards Peter’s cupped hands.
Steve follows, setting a boot in the cradle. “Don’t break us.”
Peter grins. “No promises.”
The launch steals Steve’s breath. The night rushes past. The roof arrives in a blur. Peter lands like a dropped feather, barely making a sound. Steve and Bucky hit a heartbeat later and tumble into rolls. “Ow!”
“You guys good?”
Steve sits up, rubbing his shoulder. Unharmed. Bucky is staring at the cracks their landing left in the roof, then at Peter. The kid is already standing, dusting off his hands.
“You’re kidding me”, Bucky exclaims.
“What?” Peter looks genuinely lost.
Before either of them can answer, Tony lands hard and immediately hauls Peter into his arms. “You hurt? You okay? Any limbs missing?”
The suit peels back, revealing a man who looks as though he hasn’t stopped moving since Peter vanished. His hands hover over the boy’s shoulders. His hands hover over the boy’s shoulders, then tilt Peter’s face towards the light, checking for bruises.
“I’m fine!” Peter grins. “That was fun!” Tony's expression tightens. “And these two helped a lot.”
Tony’s hands go still. Over Peter’s shoulder, he finds Steve and Bucky. Panic gives way to suspicion, then something like gratitude, all within two seconds.
“You two.” He points. “You looked after my —” His eyes flick to Peter. “— the kid?”
“Kid looked after us”, Bucky corrects, getting to his feet. “He blew up the facility. Tore a door off its hinges.”
Tony looks at Peter. Then back at Bucky. “He says you helped.” His voice softens by a fraction. “Peter doesn’t lie.”
The words seem to cost him. The Iron Man suit retracts fully, revealing a man who looks like he’s been carrying the weight of the world and just watched that weight nearly crush his kid.
Tony clears his throat and steps between Steve and Peter like a shield. “Yeah, well.” He looks at Steve. “Thanks. I guess.”
“Mr Stark, that was awesome!” The kid grins ear to ear.
Tony's face softens despite himself. He ruffles Peter's hair roughly.
“Awesome”, he repeats. “You — you got yourself captured by HYDRA, blew up a facility, and threw Captain America twenty feet in the air —”
“Thirty.”
“Thirty”, Tony echoes, eye twitching. “And it was awesome.”
Steve catches Bucky’s eye.
“Yes!” Peter is practically glowing. “And I punched through concrete, sir!” He looks up at Tony. “Can I go again?”
Tony’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “No.” Peter’s smile falters. “No, you cannot. No more blowing up facilities. No more punching through concrete.”
Peter pouts. A full, wounded pout, aimed squarely at Iron Man.
Bucky lets out a strangled noise. “Kid’s got spirit.”
“Kid’s got a death wish.” Tony pulls Peter closer. “You’re grounded. Indefinitely. Possibly forever. I’m considering a permanent ankle monitor. Or a cage. A cage would work.”
Peter’s face falls. “But Mr Stark —”
“No buts, Underoos.”
“Mr Stark!”
“And no more Spider-Man!”
“Really? We’re doing this again?” The kid raises an eyebrow. “You know that’s not how it works.”
“I’ll find a way to stop you!”
“What? Disable the suit again? I still have my homemade one!”
“Kid!”
Peter thinks for a moment. “Can I at least get back in and get the shield, his arm and my backpack?”
Steve shifts uncomfortably. “Actually, my shield’s not here, kid.”
Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “You want to go back in?” He gestures towards the facility. “The place you just blew up?” Peter nods. “You want to go back inside for a backpack and some tech?”
“Did Tony know what he was getting into?”, Steve whispers into Bucky’s ear.
“It has my homework in it.” Peter’s voice is earnest.
“Homework”, Tony repeats flatly.
“No”, Bucky whispers back.
Steve looks at him. “No?”
“And Mr Barnes needs his arm!” Peter's expression turns solemn. “I promised, Sir.”
“Nobody knows what they’re getting into with that kid”, Bucky continues.
Tony rubs his forehead. “You promised. The Winter Soldier. His arm.” Peter nods solemnly. “How did I end up with a kid like you?!”
Peter shrugs, still grinning. Are his hands still trembling? “Lucky?”
Tony makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. He looks up at the sky as though asking whatever deity is listening for patience.
“Lucky”, Tony echoes. “Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
Steve finally stands, brushing dust off his uniform.
Tony pulls Peter back against him. “Yeah. Lucky.” His voice softens. “Your aunt’s gonna kill me.”
Peter goes still. For the first time since Tony landed, the grin disappears. Then his arms come up and he hugs Tony back, hard. Concrete dust clings to his clothes, but he holds on as though Tony might vanish.
Steve watches quietly. Beside him, Bucky tenses.
“She won’t find out”, Peter mumbles into Tony’s shoulder. “Right?”
Tony's arms tighten around him. “I have to tell her.”
Peter gulps. Then, somehow, he smiles again and burrows deeper into Tony’s shoulder. “May loves you.”
“She does until I tell her you got captured by HYDRA, blew up a base and punched your way out.” Tony’s voice is muffled against Peter's hair.
Bucky leans towards Steve. “Is this what parenting is?” Steve glances at him. “Constant cardiac arrest?”
“Looks like it”, Steve whispers back.
Bucky watches Tony.
“It’s worse.” A pause. “And I am not his parent.”
Steve glances at Bucky, then back at the pair — Tony holding the kid like he’s made of glass, Peter clinging on like Tony’s the only anchor in the world.
“Looks like a parent to me”, Bucky murmurs.
Steve shakes his head. “That’s not parenting.” He watches Tony’s hand settle protectively against the back of Peter’s head. “That’s hostage negotiation.”
Tony snorts, still holding Peter.
Peter laughs softly against his shoulder. Then his fingers twitch. Once. Twice. Tony feels it. His expression changes immediately.
“Hey.” His hand slides to the back of Peter’s neck. “Kid?”
“I’m fine, Sir.” The answer comes too quickly.
The brightness in Peter’s voice is gone. His shoulders have gone rigid beneath Tony’s hands, and his breathing has become strangely shallow.
Tony pulls back enough to look at him. Peter smiles. It is a terrible smile.
“Seriously. I’m okay.”
Tony studies his face. “You haven’t blinked in about thirty seconds.”
Peter blinks. Once. “Oh.”
His knees buckle.
Tony catches him before he hits the concrete. “Peter!”
Steve takes an instinctive step forward, but Tony already lowers the boy carefully against his chest. Peter’s hands clutch at the front of Tony’s shirt, fingers shaking violently now that there is nothing left for them to do.
“Easy”, Tony murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m okay.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I am.”
“You just collapsed.”
“Strategic collapsing.”
Tony closes his eyes. “Of course it was.”
Peter gives a weak laugh. Then his face crumples.
It happens so suddenly that Steve barely has time to register it. One second Peter is trying to smile, the next his forehead is pressed against Tony’s chest and he’s shaking hard enough that Tony has to wrap both arms around him.
“I didn’t —” Peter’s voice catches. “I didn’t know if you’d come.”
Tony goes completely still. Steve’s chest tightens. Peter’s fingers curl tighter into Tony’s shirt.
“I knew you would”, he whispers. “Eventually. I just —” His breathing stutters. “I didn’t know if I’d be okay until then.” The boy takes a shaky breath. “If I’d get them out.”
Tony’s face breaks. “Oh, kid.”
Peter finally stops fighting it. The sob that leaves him is small and strangled, almost embarrassed, as though even now he’s trying not to make too much noise.
Tony pulls him closer. “You don’t have to be okay anymore.”
Peter shakes his head against him. “I had to.”
“I know.”
“They were going to take me again.”
“I know.”
“They were hurting them.”
“I know.”
“I couldn’t let them.”
“I know.”
“I had to get them out.”
“That wasn’t your job, kid”, Steve mumbles.
“I had to”, Peter disagrees.
“It’s okay, kiddo”, Tony whispers. “You’re fine. I would have been there soon.”
“They have Bucky’s arm.”
Tony’s eyes flick briefly towards Bucky. Bucky looks away.
Peter’s voice drops to a whisper. “I promised I’d get it back.”
Tony swallows. “Don’t worry about it.”
Peter gives a tiny, exhausted nod. Steve's throat tightens.
“Don’t worry about my arm, kid”, Bucky croaks.
Peter looks at him. His eyes are red-rimmed now, face pale beneath the dust. “But I promised.”
Steve crouches beside them. “You got us out. That’s enough.”
Peter stares at him for several seconds. Then his head drops back against Tony’s chest. “Okay.”
“Way more than enough.” Tony presses a hand gently against the back of his head. “That’s it. No more promises tonight.”
Peter’s eyes flutter. “No more explosions?”
“Especially no more explosions.”
“Punching concrete?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Throwing Captain America?”
Steve raises an eyebrow.
Tony points at him. “Especially that.”
Peter’s mouth twitches. “Thirty feet.”
“Peter.”
“Sorry.”
Tony exhales. For the first time since landing on the roof, his shoulders loosen. Peter’s breathing gradually evens out. And then, finally, the fifteen-year-old goes limp in his arms.
Tony freezes. “Peter?”
Steve checks the boy’s chest. “Sleeping.”
Tony stares down at him. The relief that crosses his face is almost painful to look at.
“He’s asleep”, Steve repeats quietly.
Tony nods. “I know.”
Bucky looks at the unconscious kid. Then at Tony. “You know, for someone who spent the last ten minutes threatening to put him in a cage, you’re looking pretty terrified.”
Tony doesn’t look up. “Yeah.” His hand gently brushes the dust from Peter’s hair. “I am.” He looks towards the ruined facility. “Let’s get out of here before there are any survivors coming.”