Metal Arm Guy
"Who are you?" Peter blurts out.
The man doesn't acknowledge him, but he gets right to work. Peter accepts that he's probably not going to get an immediate answer and follows Metal Arm Guy's lead. Peter easily webs up multiple men at a time. He subtly watches the other guy punch, block, and kick. His fighting pattern is straightforward—he doesn't waste time, every move is simple yet calculated. No wasted effort. He acts like this is just an average Saturday night for him.
Together, they dodge fists, taking down men quickly. As one man rushes Metal Arm Guy, he doesn’t hesitate—his metal fist slams straight into the guy’s face. Something about that punch—it sparks a memory.
"You have a metal arm? That is awesome, dude!"
Peter cringes. Oh God.
"Wait—you’re the guy from the airport! You tried to kill me in Germany!" Peter says more to himself then to the man. Before he can process it, a sharp metallic clang rings out. Peter jerks his head up just in time to see Metal Arm Guy standing rigid in front of him, his vibranium arm raised—deflecting a bullet that would have hit Peter square in the chest. "Kid, you shouldn't be here right now." Is the only thing the man says before brutally attacking the final guy.
"You. Were. Really. Gonna. Shoot. A. Kid?"
Metal Arm Guy says, each word separated by a punch or dodge. His metal arm finally makes contact with the gunman's gut, sending him flying to the ground. "Wow." Is all Peter can muster.
Metal Arm Guy presses in on his earpiece, "Chief, weapons are secured. I left a mess, but you guys can come clean it up." With that, he begins to walk toward the exit without another word to Peter. Reluctantly, Peter follows. The man flexes his metallic fingers, clearly trying to shake off old memories or a malfunction.
"Sir?" Peter says, catching up to him.
"Go home, kid." The man grumbles.
They slowly walk through an old Brooklyn alleyway. Peter exhales sharply before pulling off his mask. "I'm Peter Parker, sir." The words feel heavier than they should. This man—out of everyone—knows who he is. Grief and guilt overwhelm him as the words come out of his mouth. This is the only guy in the world that knows Peter Parker is Spiderman.
"Barnes. James Barnes." Metal Arm Guy mumbles. He stops, taking a moment to size up Peter. Though his face is numb, there's a slight mix of annoyance and concern washed upon his face. "Oh cool, Mr. Barnes." Peter pauses for a moment, awkwardly at a loss for words. "So what do we do now?" He eventually asks. James touches the brim of his nose and shakes his head. "Kid, I’m going home. You should do the same." Peter slightly slouches at the word home. Sure, his apartment is a shelter, but a home? His home was with May, or even Mr. Stark occasionally. The man seems to take note of Peter's tenseness with his use of the word. James glances at him, brow furrowing slightly. "You got people looking after you?" He asks gruffly. "No sir. I'm fine. I'll be going into college next year." Peter straightens up, attempting to look less exhausted then he truly is. "Alright." He nods, walking on.
They walk in silence, Peter still wanting to pry a bit more. "Sir, what did you mean by 'weapons secured'? What were those guys doing back there?" James seems to contemplate on how to answer this question, most likely asking himself how much does he truly trust this kid. "It was an illegal arms deal, kid. Those men were smuggling Stark tech and old HYDRA stuff." He shrugs, clearly unfazed.
Stark tech.
Those are the only words that resonate with Peter. "Stark tech, Mr. Barnes?" His voice slightly falters, how, when, why? The questions begin to pile up. Pepper and Morgan had no idea, he was sure of it. That thought alone makes his hands curl into fists. James looks at him, somehow sensing Peter's dependence on an answer. "Yeah. From that uh—" He snaps his right fingers, trying to remember. "Toby. No—Tony Stark. That guy." He shrugs, like the name is just another in a long list of ghosts. "Someone hijacked a truck carrying some of his company's old stuff while on some highway upstate. I gotta lead on it and went for it..." James voice trails off as he meets Peter's eyes and realizes just how angry the kid is. He shifts uncomfortably, then—almost reluctantly—rests a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
"Look—uh, I’ll handle it. I’ll find the source, the buyer, all of it. But you? Stay out of it, kid." He stops and lightly pats Peter's shoulder. Peter can tell this has to be James' first time interacting with a kid under eighteen in a while. Peter can tell he is only trying to reassure him, to keep him safe. In a way, Mr. Barnes reminds Peter of Tony—always more worried about 'the kid' getting hurt than the fight itself. The way he says "kid" just gives him a sort of comfort he hadn't felt since Mr. Stark died. Peter glances down—his knuckles are white. He exhales and forces his fingers to uncurl, one by one.
They reach an old rustic building. "Well, this is my place..." He glances at Peter, a subtle look of apprehension on his face. "Look—just go home. I got this covered." Without another look, James begins to walk up the apartment complex's fire escape. "Let it go, kid," he calls out before Peter hears a door shut abruptly from directly above him. Peter lingers, the emotions of the situation washing over him. He hesitates, debating whether he should march up the stairs and pester Mr. Barnes for more answers. He eventually decides against it, still feeling the anger and anxiety that he knows there's more James isn't telling him. He sighs, pulling his mask back on. "What the hell," he mutters, a web launching from his wrist as he swings into the night.
By midnight, Peter has successfully hacked into the NYPD's database. Tony had shown him how to do this once, when Thunderbolt Ross had pissed him off to the verge of losing his shit.
He sits alone on his dusty couch, the traffic of Queens raging right outside his snowy window. Traffic lights blur red and green across his walls; he doesn't bother wasting electricity on a lamp. Horns honk rhythmically, slightly reminding him of his and May's old apartment. May had loved the hum of the city, and eventually it grew on Peter as well. His mind briefly wanders to what Ned and MJ are doing right now. Probably asleep, like a normal person, he tells himself.
Peter isn’t exactly looking for anything in particular—just proof that James actually has the case 'handled.' Maybe he would need someone with a deeper understanding of Mr. Stark? Or, Peter tells himself, maybe you just want an excuse to be associated with Mr. Stark again.
Peter never really had a guy in the house to look up to. His parents had died in a plane crash when he was five, leaving May to raise him on her own. His Uncle Ben wasn’t part of the equation—he had passed before Peter was even born. Peter had only ever heard stories about him from May. She had liked talking about her high school sweetheart, and Peter didn't mind listening. It had always been just him and May.
No one except for the genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist had ever stepped in as a father figure. Sure, Mr. Stark was obnoxious, self-centered, and an egomaniac sometimes. But had he been almost like a dad to Peter? Totally.
Peter sighs, scrolling across files about court hearings, grand theft auto, and—weapons theft. Peter immediately pulls up the report, scanning for anything Mr. Barnes didn’t mention. The words Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes catch his eye in an unopened record. Peter rapidly clicks, pulling up multiple pictures of Mr. Barnes—some appearing more threatening than others. In one, he's laughing carelessly with the Captain America. It's an old, vintage photo, probably taken overseas... during a war? Steve Rogers hadn’t fought in any war—except against Thanos.
And World War II.
The sudden realization hits Peter like a brick. He had read about James Barnes on a class trip in eighth grade, during a ‘real-world’ history lesson in Washington, D.C. Each student had to pick a Smithsonian exhibit and write an essay on it. Being complete Avengers dorks, Peter and Ned both had chosen The Life and History of Captain America. There, he’d learned about James ‘Bucky’ Barnes—Cap’s best friend since kindergarten, believed to have died fighting in Nazi Germany during World War II.
As he scans the other photos, the puzzle pieces start clicking into place. One picture shows Mr. Barnes with a Soviet soldier who is holding a red notebook, a star stamped in the middle. But something is off. This doesn't look like the Mr. Barnes Peter had met tonight. His stare is cold, eyes sunken, jaw clenched. A chill crawls up Peter’s spine when he notices the metal arm—it’s different. Silver, with a bold red star. The one Peter had caught in Germany.
Peter soon goes down a rabbit hole. He finds unclassified documents, surveillance footage, and even news articles of 'Mr. Barnes'. He quickly learns that James 'Bucky' Barnes isn't his only persona. He is also known as the Winter Soldier. He had heard that name before—on the news and in Mr. Stark’s old phone calls. He remembered hearing about the terrorist bombing in Vienna. He had also murdered over 2,000 people, including Mr. Stark's parents. He had been wanted in over 100 countries (according to Google). But Peter also remembers hearing in school and on TV that Captain America's best friend had been pardoned. The court had ruled that Mr. Barnes hadn’t been acting of his own free will, but under HYDRA’s brainwashing.
A wave of nausea rolls over him, feeling as if he had invaded something extremely personal. Mr. Barnes had been through hell. Guilt swallows him as the weight of the situation sets in. The man he met tonight—the man who had saved his life—had been tortured and brainwashed for seventy years. His anger isn’t aimed at Mr. Barnes, but at the pieces of shit in HYDRA. He can easily grasp that the assassinations weren't James' call, but that he simply had no control. His anger grows at HYDRA for making Mr. Stark an orphan.
He had always known the fight in Germany was about the Sokovia Accords, but now he realized it was just as much about protecting Mr. Barnes.
Peter spends until 2:36 a.m researching and trying to grasp the depth of Mr. Barnes' past. The overwhelming guilt in his chest never quite goes away, but he needs to know more about James' history. His fingers occasionally hesitate over the mouse before clicking an unopened document, but in the end, desperation to understand Mr. Barnes always wins. Watching old surveillance footage of the Winter Soldier reminds Peter of what he was originally trying to accomplish. He regroups and scans city footage from the previous night, searching for any potential lead. He knows Mr. Barnes most likely does have the case handled, but the weight of responsibility still presses on his chest—he has to deal with it himself.
It's at 2:37 when Peter finds himself curled up on his ratty old couch, under the one warm-enough blanket he could find at the Goodwill store for a reasonable price. It's nights like this when he misses his long calls with MJ, or gaming into all hours of the night in Ned's room for a sleepover. You screwed yourself over, is all he can say to himself. You couldn't just let them forgot you were Spiderman. The thought hasn't left Peter's head for a second since the moment he accidentally messed up Dr. Strange's spell. He had no one to blame but himself. Peter eventually falls asleep to the loud lull of Queens' never-sleeping cars, thinking about how not a soul he loves is either alive or remembers him, but he knows its for the better.