Chapter 2
Bucky’s apartment was in the basement level of a standard townhouse that lined the street. Hidden and tucked away from the busy city just like himself. Right past the stairway that elevated the townhouse was the cracked cement stairway leading down Bucky’s humble abode. The doorway was just as unassuming as Bucky. He unlocked the door and waited for Peter to enter before closing it.
The first thing Peter thought to say upon entering Bucky’s apartment was, “Wow, your place is empty!” His voice literally echoed. There was truly nothing in there besides the built-in kitchenette and a few blankets laid haphazardly on the floor for a makeshift bed.
Parker did a double take around the small complex. He peered into an open door and saw the bathroom, and into another room which was just as bare as the rest of the apartment. There were a few windows near the ceiling, one of them cracked open for airflow. His enhanced hearing amplified the buzz coming from the overhead light that struggled to stay on.
“I wasn’t exactly planning on staying,” Bucky responded with a glare.
Peter avoided eye contact, knowing his alter ego was primarily responsible for Bucky’s prolonged stay.
“Hey, I got a spare couch lying around. I could bring it over if you’d like?” Peter offered up (offered, but really, he’s gonna bring it over either way). Said spare couch was safely locked away in Ned’s mom’s storage unit along with all of May’s valuables. Peter was on the brink of losing it all after her death. His merciless landlord would normally dump out a tenant's belongings the second they miss rent, but it was the Parker’s. His landlord, usually cold and indifferent, allowed Peter to keep his apartment for two more weeks until he could get his shit together; call some relatives, take some time to pack up, his landlord advised.
Peter in fact, did not get his shit together. He spent every possible moment being out all day and night as Spiderman. On the rare times he did go home, he expected May on their ratty couch waiting for him. Probably winding up a lecture for how late he stayed out. It got to a point where Peter couldn’t stand being home anymore. It stopped being a home when May died. Every move he made disrupted the memory of Aunt May. He had to leave everything the way May left it.
He didn’t think it was that big a deal since his landlord ended up giving him another week. Eventually, the additional week passed by and his landlord warned him that he wasn’t a charity case: Peter had one week before his landlord threw everything out on the street (this warning was about two months ago).
Parker Luck, famously helpful at the most unconventional times, has a way of working out for Peter when he least expects it. Peter gave Ned an update, then Ned of course told his mom, leading up to Ned’s mom letting him use her storage unit. Of course, Parker Luck never overextends itself. Not everything could fit in the tight storage unit and Peter had to sell a few of their belongings. Peter gave up most of his stuff to save May’s. He sold most of his (figuratively) priceless collectibles (toys, Aunt May had called his figurines with affection), the ones he knew Ned would love were given to the fellow nerd. Turns out, most of the stuff he dumpster dived and modified became pretty valuable. He sold every one of his hard worked on electrical projects to his classmates for some pretty pennies.
“I do not need a couch,” Bucky insisted, crossing his arms.
Peter spread out his arms, looking around the barren room. “What are we supposed to eat on?” Bucky’s place resembled a squatter’s home more than anything.
At the insinuation a couch is a proper place to have a meal, Bucky began speaking. “Where I come from—“
Predicting the lecture coming from a mile away, Peter was quick to cut him off. “When,” he said in a correcting tone. The same tone he uses whenever teachers doubted his intelligence or his classmates belittled him. Though there was more cheekiness to it when talking to Bucky. “According to my calculations, you’re supposed to be, like, a hundred years old, but you look young enough to get my Aunt’s attention. How?” He leaned in slightly.
Peter was certain he and Bucky had at least one thing in common, they were both damn good at avoiding questions.
Bucky stared at him with a deadpan expression, the kind that only made Peter’s grin grow. “So you already know that the polite etiquette from my time is to have a meal on a table.”
Peter clapped his hands together. “You’re in luck!” It just so happens that his old dining table is crammed in Mrs. Leeds’ storage unit. Before Bucky could question him, Peter was already walking out the apartment to find the nearest pay phone. Hearing Bucky’s footsteps following after him, Peter swiveled around. “Think we can knock out a couch and dining table set in one day?”
Bucky remained silent, maintaining that goofy serious look on his face that Peter, for the life of him, cannot take seriously. Peter chose to interpret his face as an enthusiastic yes!
Seeing a phone call costed fifty cents, Peter looked over at Bucky. He used the last of his pocket money buying sandwiches at Delmar’s so it was the least Bucky could’ve done.
“Are you serious? You don’t have fifty cents on you?” Bucky asked.
“Would I be giving you these puppy dog eyes if I didn't?” Peter tried his best attempt at a pout. He didn’t want to know how ridiculous his ‘begging’ face looked.
“You look plain stupid,” Bucky said, voice flat. He then tightened his jaw and coughed up two quarters. Peter wasted no time slipping them into the coin slot and punching in Ned’s number. Since he couldn’t pay his phone bill anymore, Peter has his number memorized.
It rang twice before he answered. “Hello?” God, Peter hadn’t spoken to Ned in a solid minute. It’s been a while since he heard that familiar voice.
“Hey, Ned, it’s me.” Peter tried to keep his voice collected in front of Bucky. He shot a glance at Bucky, he was leaning against the wall the telephone machine was connected to.
Instantly, Ned’s words were spilling out from the receiver, full of worry. “Oh my god, Peter! Where have you been? Midtown applications are due soon and I know we wanted to do that whole thing where we mail them in together and get ice cream after but my dad didn’t want me to wait too long so I already submitted mine. I’m really, really, really sorry I didn’t wait for you but seriously, Peter where the heck are you?”
Peter winced, not realizing how much his absence affected Ned until now. “Ned, I’m fine… just, a little busy. And don’t worry about Midtown. I don’t think I’m even applying anymore.” The tuition alone was enough to scare off Peter.
“Dude,” Ned said, voice unnaturally calm. He then exploded. “What?! This is what we’ve been dreaming of since fourth grade. We can finally get away from those idiots and be surrounded by likeminded people. You know what — if you’re not going, neither am I.” Ned’s voice was abnormally stern. Peter knew he was being serious.
Peter admired Ned’s loyalty, but he couldn’t allow him to make that sacrifice. “Dude, you’re crazy if you think I’ll let you do that,” this time, Peter really was begging.
“Peter, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna leave you alone with those shitheads,” Ned insisted.
“You wouldn’t, Ned… but I did,” Peter had to admit. He hasn’t been regularly attending school for four months already, only popping in to collect and submit the coursework. He left Ned to face their bullies alone.
There was a beat of silence. Softly, Ned said, “That’s different, dude. You’ve got stuff going on— Holy cow, have you found a place to stay yet? I’ve been so worried, man.”
Too caught up in catching up with Ned, Peter completely forgot Bucky was there listening to Peter’s side of his depressing heart to heart with Ned. “Oh, uh, yeah! My Uncle James… James Reilly,” he quickly thought to use Aunt May’s maiden name for Bucky’s last name. Bucky shot Peter an incredulous look, prompting Peter to cover the speaker of the telephone with his hand to urgently whisper, “It’s for the cover. The cover!”
Bucky, clearly confused, furrowed his eyebrows and mouthed, “What cover?!”
While appreciating the discretion, Peter pretended to not understand how to lip read, instead he uncovered the speaker to continue. “So my Uncle James moved to Queens and I’ve been lending a hand. I was in, uh…” he looked over at Bucky to help out. “The cover!” he reminded Bucky with a hiss when his exasperated expression deepened.
“…Russia,” he begrudgingly said.
Peter instantly repeated it into the speaker, “Russia! Helping him pack. So can you meet me at the storage unit?”
“You’ve been in Russia this entire time?!” Ned exclaimed.
“Yeah…” Peter felt guilty about how many lies he was feeding his best friend. “Just got back last night— Anyways, the storage unit?”
“Yeah of course,” Ned enthusiastically agreed. Peter heard the faint sound of the school bell ringing that normally sends his enhanced hearing into a frenzy. “…But third period just started, dude.”
Right. Peter was supposed to be in school at the moment. “Oh! That’s cool. See you in a couple hours?”
“Yeah— Just a second, Mrs. Botello!” Peter heard Ned say to their Spanish teacher. “Look, I really gotta go, Later, Peter.”
Peter didn’t get to finish his goodbye before Ned hurriedly hung up. He gently pushed the telephone back onto the hook. Snapping back to his current situation, Peter looked over at Bucky. “We got some time to kill before we can get the furniture,” he shrugged with less of his usual pizazz.
“I don’t need furniture for a place I won’t be in by the end of the month,” Bucky snapped back.
Peter honestly thinks Bucky is trying to convince himself at this point. From how often he mentions leaving New York, you’d think he’d be out of here by now. …Not that Peter has anything to do with it, of course not. Nope. That’s all Spider-Man’s doing!
“My place is a mess anyways,” Bucky said with indifference.
Peter saw an opportunity. Flashing a toothy grin and tilting his head, he said, “We should tidy up then, huh?”
Bucky’s head snapped back to him. “Parker,” he warned tentatively.
-
Somehow Parker convinced Bucky into talking to the upstairs neighbor to borrow some cleaning supplies. Both on their last penny, neither could purchase the basics.
“Fine, but I’ll do the talking,” Bucky grumbled when he finally relented. He was only doing it to stop Parker’s whining. Side by side, they climbed up the steps to their neighbor's door. “Not a word,” he reminded Parker before knocking on the door.
Bucky plastered on his all-American smile once an elderly woman answered the door. Seeing it was a woman from his time was a relief, making his job of putting on his charm easier. “Afternoon, ma’am, I’m James Reilly and this is my nephew Pa— Peter.” Bucky wrapped an arm around Parker roughy. He made the mistake of standing on Bucky's left side, the side with the metal arm.
He heard Parker stifle a painful grunt from the gloved metal hand squeezing his shoulder, this was Bucky’s payback for that ridiculous, unnecessary ‘cover story’ Parker came up with. And somehow, Bucky was actually going along with it — it was just convenient to use at the moment.
The old lady pushed up her glasses, squinting at them. For a moment, Bucky did the same. He knew his identity as the Winter Soldier hadn’t been made public, but he couldn’t yet shake off the feeling of being watched. After a few tense seconds, she finally opened her mouth and croaked out, “Ahh, yes! You must be who Chris rented out the basement unit to.” Chris is the landlord who Bucky had a loose, strictly off the books agreement with. “What can I do for you boys?”
Bucky let out a discreet sigh of relief. “This airhead,” he finally released the iron grip on Parker’s shoulder, at the cost of a smack over the head. Parker could only innocently nod along through the pain with a tight lipped smile. “packed the cleaning supplies up and the truck’s not coming here ‘til tomorrow. We were hoping you can lend us some of the basics. We really just need a broom and a couple rags, maybe a few screwdrivers.” He flashed the smile that made women in the 1940s swoon for him.
The elderly woman lightly blushed. She ended up giving them more than what they asked for, a broom and dustpan, a variety of soap that all had different purposes, sponges, gloves, a few small towels, trash bags, and a toolbox
As they returned to his apartment, Parker playfully bumped shoulders with Bucky. “What’d I tell you?” He hollered, lifting up the broom and dustpan triumphantly.
Bucky glanced over at Parker. “You told me that you got hit by a train and your neighbor kindly gave you an ibuprofen.” It was one of the many arguments Parker gave Bucky when he wanted to ask the above neighbor for the supplies.
“Yes,” Parker bitterly admitted, not needing a reminder of what he told Bucky in confidence. “But before that I said being neighborly gets you neighbors.”
Bucky narrowed his eyes, “What the hell does that even mean?”
Parker barked out laughter. “Like, okay so say you need a cup of milk for a recipe but you’re a milliliter off from what you need. You go next door and your neighbor kindly gives you those extra few drops. Then she’ll know that she can go to you if she ever needs a small favor. It builds trust overtime, buddy.”
Bucky tried to make sense of Peter's analogy. “And what am I supposed to give that woman if she ever needs anything? Look around, Parker,” Bucky waved a hand around his apartment that can rival a desert.
“Not everything has to be materialistic. My, uh…” Parker hesitated. His voice softened the same way he did with his contact on the telephone, “A nurse in my building would always offer her expertise without expecting anything back. Hospitals aren’t cheap, y’know?” Bucky actively avoided them so he wouldn’t know. “It doesn’t have to be anything big, anything’ll help. Just show them that you’re there for them, that’s the only thing that matters. You get it?”
“Sorta,” he admitted, Bucky was starting to understand a bit of Parker’s point. Spiderman growing up in a generous community only made sense. Moving on, Bucky said, “You sweep up the floor, I’ll fix the lighting.” He used a stool that the previous tenant left behind to reach the ceiling.
Parker, picking up the broom, teased Bucky as he unscrewed the overhead lamp’s cover. “They had electricity when you come from?”
“Believe it or not, but we did,” Bucky grumbled out. After removing the cover completely, he took one look at the electrical wiring mess and sighed. He stopped right there before he could electrocute himself, partly because he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing and partly because of something Parker had said on the telephone.
Something from Parker’s conversation earlier was gnawing at Bucky. He had mentioned something about an application. Thinking about it further, Bucky realized the kid should be in school right now. Children in school wasn’t a common thing in the few early memories Bucky can remember, not when they were being shipped off to fight a war.
Kids these days should have better chances than Bucky did.
Bucky was practically forced into eavesdropping into Peter’s conversation with ‘Ned’ when he decided to have it a foot away from him. “Who’s Ned?” He asked, not bothering to mask the curiosity in his voice.
Parker didn’t hesitate to answer. “My best friend of all time, the Han Solo to my Chewbacca,” Parker brightened up when talking about Ned.
Convinced Parker was making up words, that comparison meant nothing to Bucky. What really mattered was the sincerity in Parker’s voice before he went on a nonsensical tangent about a cover. The only tone he’s heard from the kid is sarcasm and snark, the genuine tone caught Bucky off guard. Then he heard how Parker can lie, and it came out so naturally for him. Bucky’s been fed those same lies whenever Steve was trying to hide another fight he lost.
Spending time with Parker was dredging up so many memories Bucky didn’t realize were still buried.
“What was that about Downtown? Some program he got accepted to and you didn’t?” Bucky assumed from the bits of the phone call he could hear.
“Midtown. It’s a STEM high school a couple blocks from here. Tuitions too expensive, can’t go,” Parker simply said, voice void of his usual charisma.
“You’re definitely not going if you’re skipping school and wasting time here,” Bucky huffed with a noticeable tone of disappointment. He wasn’t sure if it was aimed towards himself for unintentionally dragging Parker away from school so he could keep him in New York. Or towards Parker who was throwing away his education for his devotion to being the hero his city needed.
Parker roughly dropped the broom, it rattled against the floor for a moment. “Wasting time?” He sharply exhaled, “If anything, I wasted more time at school than being Spiderman. It’s my responsibility.”
“Look, kid—“ Bucky began.
Parker swiftly attached a web to the stool Bucky was standing on, snatching it up from under his feet. Just as quick as the spider, Bucky managed to land on his feet without a stumble. In a single jump, Parker attached one sticky hand to the ceiling and pulled the rest of himself onto it. He was crawling towards the overhead light.
As he tinkered with the wiring, using his webs to pull up various tools from the toolbox, Bucky simply let the silence stretch. He wanted Parker to finish whatever point he was trying to prove before speaking again.
With a slight buzz, the dim apartment was bathed by a warm illumining light. He back flipped off the ceiling and landed in front of Bucky. “I’m smart,” Peter shot back, not a trace of his usual snarky humor in his voice. It was almost defensive, like he didn’t need anyone else to tell him otherwise. “I could get in Midtown if I felt like it, just ‘cause I’m poor doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
Bucky knew better than anyone that potential shouldn’t define you. For the longest time, Bucky had the potential of becoming the greatest asset Hydra has ever created if it wasn’t for his memories resurfacing. It didn’t matter how much they trained him to become deadly or molded him into what they needed, Bucky was merely their pawn. It was never about what you could do, but what you chose to do with it. Bucky chose freedom.
“I never said you were stupid, kid,” Bucky kept his voice steady, wary that the kid wasn’t the biggest fan of lectures. This time Parker didn’t interrupt Bucky, though Bucky could still feel the thick tension. “I’m trying to say you’re going about this stupidly. Come on, you’re not even gonna try applying? There’s gotta be grants or scholarships.”
“Whatever,” Parker gruffly muttered with a shake of his head, bitterness evident in his voice. Nearly sprinting out of Bucky’s apartment, he said, “You don’t know anything, ugly fossil.”
Bucky listened to Parker’s retreating footsteps fade into silence. This wasn’t his first time being called a fossil by the kid, hell he’s been called worse by Parker. Tourist being the most hurtful for starters. For some reason, this stung more than being called a tourist in his own city.
Letting out a shaky breath, Bucky ran a hand through his hair. He stared at the pile of debris and trash Parker swept up. He wasn’t sure where he went wrong, all he wanted to do was encourage Parker to continue his education. He didn’t think it could lead to Parker storming out the way he did.
Bucky should’ve been glad that he finally managed to push Parker away. For weeks his attempts of beating him away were unsuccessful, Parker kept cornering him in that stupid costume rambling on about anything and everything as they fought. Yet all it took was giving him the classic stay in school talk to get Parker off his back. If anything, this only meant leaving New York would be easier without Parker weighing him down.
Parker was a hell of a fighter now. He didn’t need Bucky’s training anymore. He wasn’t the slow and stupid kid Bucky met in that alleyway two months ago. Parker can disarm a gunman in seconds, he sharpened his insane reflexes, and can handle men triple his size without breaking a sweat. Parker found his own rhythm, his own fighting style that mixed his acrobatics and webbing with Bucky’s old school soldier techniques.
Bucky had to admit they had a bit of a cat and mouse relationship. In some stories it’s a quick mouse who taunts the cat. Others, the cat is depicted as a calculating prey that toys with the mouse’s life. In both scenarios, Bucky realized he was neither the cat nor the mouse. Bucky doesn’t know who he is. He doesn’t know if he will ever know. Not when he’s been torn apart and put together over and over.
He silently stared at the sandwich Parker bought him. It wouldn’t be his first meal alone.