Chapter 3
The shittiest part about temporarily living (squatting) on your old apartment’s roof was the unpredictable weather. Getting up there was easy enough for Peter, just a couple basic jumps on the fire escape ladder and he was home sweet home. It’s even easier if it was dark out, then he could just crawl up there undetected. The weather? Peter detested it.
“Sunny clear skies, sunny clear skies,” Peter manically repeated to himself as he frantically climbed up his building. “Good for nothing lying weatherman,” he spat out.
The downpour began immediately after his little fight with Barnes, talk about timing. That’s right, Peter’s no longer considering the metal, tin man as Bucky. It never really felt right anyways. Nicknames like that are reserved for close friends and family, and considering Steve Rogers is most definitely out of the picture and everyone from Barnes’ time is dead or about to be, Peter had to remind himself that he wasn't exactly on nickname status with Barnes.
After the last sudden storm had ruined his things, Peter was prepared for the next weather disaster. He bought a cheap plastic storage container to keep his few belongings safe: a thin blanket, an even thinner pillow, another backpack with extra clothes and coursework, a basic first aid kit, and all the money to his name, $3.33 (in loose change, obviously).
Just by looking at it from a distance, he can see that all of his few belongings safely remained in the container, completely dry. “Oh my god. Yes, yes, yes! I can’t believe that actually worked!” He chanted at the sight of it. Despite being a small victory, it means the world to him when he’s only faced losses.
Parker Luck, the sole reason that everything that can go wrong will go wrong in his life, was listening to his small celebration. Almost comically, thunder struck his plastic container just as he approached it. It was engulfed in flames within the second.
“No, no, no!” Peter scrambled to put out the fire but it was too hot even for him. He cried out from making direct contact with the hot flames, cupping his hands to catch the rain in an effort to cool it off.
By the time the rain kindly put out the fire for him, the damage was already done. The melted plastic container had fused everything together into a single brick. Looking at the burnt while simultaneously soaked blob of his items, Peter didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He opted for both.
-
The weather cleared up later on. Peter still had a lot of time to kill before he could meet with Ned. God, what is he even gonna do with the couch and dining table set now? He already told Ned about his Russian Uncle James Reilly so there was no going back. This always happens when Peter rushes into things, he goes in and digs his own grave without thinking, unprepared for the consequences. Where was he supposed to put the couch, dining table, and chairs? His old apartment roof was out of the question, that roof and all others were dead to Peter. Whatever. He’d figure this out later.
As clueless as Peter wants to believe Barnes is, he hated to admit that the guy had a point. Honestly, Peter never considered applying for grants and scholarships to pay for Midtown Tech. He walked to the public library to do some research on his eligibility. Typing proved to be difficult with his burned hands.
He had salvaged bandages from the first aid kit, wrapping it around his painfully blistered hands and hoped his enhanced healing would do the rest.
After doing research on the public library’s computer, he learned of the endless opportunities for the Queens Unfortunate and Underfunded. Stark Industries’ August Foundation, Oscorp’s Scholars of Tomorrow Fellowship, Daily Bugle’s Bailout for Kids Grant, and countless more Peter was all eligible for. In each required 500 word essay, he made sure to bring up being an orphan².
Typing everything up began slowly and torturous until his healing factor kicked in, saving him from the worst of it. Now all he had to do was print them out, costing him forty cents per document. Having dragged the glob of his melted belongings with him, it became his portable all in one medic, wardrobe, and wallet.
Peter vigorously shook it like a piggy bank, the intact coins falling out. A couple quarters, a few dimes, even fewer nickels, and a single penny clattered against the table, totaling $1.21. He tried prying off the fused in coins, but they wouldn’t be worth anything so warped.
He was left with a single penny when he finished printing out his essays. He wanted to apply to so many other scholarships to increase his chances, but three was all he could afford. He had the best chances winning the Stark, Oscorp, and Daily Bugle scholarships.
Peter finally completed the financial part of his Midtown Tech application, something he was purposefully neglecting until now. Well… While he’s already at the library, it wouldn’t hurt to check the online Spiderman forums. He wasn’t lying about people catching Spiderman fighting the same mysterious man, and losing every time. The press about him helping the man, Barnes, escape the airport is going to be just great.
He clicked on the latest thread. It was titled, Thoughts on Spiderman helping his arch nemesis escape the airport? Attached was leaked footage of their fight from an awkward angle, a standard security camera.
Okay, calling Barnes his arch nemesis was kinda much. At most Spiderman considered him a mild inconvenience.
<defaultnamexoxo> How can we trust Spiderman to protect us when he’s assisting our oppressors getaways?
Peter shook his head at this. First of all, Barnes was only taking illegal jobs outside of Queens that didn’t even hurt anyone… physically. Calling him your personal oppressor was a reach.
<cptamericalvr> both dudes are clearly enhanced. if you deadass think airport cops could handle someone Spiderman can’t then you’re delusional
<flasherman> thank you! no one else can understand that Spiderman literally saved the cops
<flasherman> crime rates are still down idiots
<flasherman> that one guy is way bigger than Spidey. probably hooked up on roids, your dad knows all about it. oh yeah, your dad left you like everyone else in your pathetic lite.
Spiderman appreciates all fans. Peter? He’d rather admire their devotion from a safe distance away, preferably while not in the suit.
Deciding that’s enough internet for the day, Peter logged out the library computer. He packed up his things (his usual backpack and the burnt mess of his melted belongings) and began walking to the storage unit facility.
Shit. All this time passed and Peter still didn’t know what to do with the furniture. Ned was going out of his way to meet up with Peter, he couldn’t just bail on him, not again. Peter had to come up with another cover story that he was so famously good at doing.
He arrived at the storage unit before Ned, giving him extra time to set his story straight. A story convincing enough to keep Ned from asking too many questions. If he did, which he was bound to do, Peter prepared answers that made sense if you didn’t think about it too much.
When Ned did show up, there was no greeting. Not even an over the top anxious interrogation, just the soft clinking from Ned’s keyring as he unlocked the storage unit. He pushed up the roll-up door, it croaked open with a metallic groan echoing in the emptiness. Ned’s sour expression told Peter everything he needed to know, Ned was pissed.
Peter, unsure of what to say to ease the tension, let the unbearable silence stretch out.
Ned stepped into the storage unit, looking back at Peter to finally say something. “What’d you need?”
“…Just the couch,” Peter timidly told Ned. Time to enact phase two of the cover. Peter took a breath and added, “I’m moving in with my uncle.”
Peter could easily handle hauling the couch with one arm, but he couldn’t let Ned know that. They lifted the couch together at opposite ends, he made sure to take the bulk of it. They lowered it onto the ground softly.
“You never told me you had an uncle,” Ned said, voice flat and almost disbelieving.
Okay, Peter, just had to say it like he rehearsed in his head. “I only found out recently. And uh, he’s not really my uncle. Technically he’s May’s cousin, so we’re first cousins once removed. No blood relation between us at all. So, uh, don’t be surprised if we don’t look alike.” That was way too much at once, Peter was supposed to space it out only if Ned had asked more questions. He just had to say that first sentence.
“Cool,” Ned simply responded, possibly to the lamest string of ‘facts’ ever. “How are you gonna get this to your Uncle’s place?”
Peter blanked for a moment, still trying to process the shift in their usual dynamic. Mere hours ago Ned was ready to give up on Midtown for Peter. “He’s bringing his truck around,” it came out a lot stiffer than Peter intended. Crap, he forgot to mention Barnes was at work first to explain why he didn’t come with Peter. Coming out like he was reading off a script, he belatedly said, “After work.”
“So it’s gonna be a while, you should go on ahead,” Peter tried to sound casual but it came out more like a desperate attempt to kick out Ned. Light ushering him away was only adding fuel to the fire.
Ned roughly detached himself from Peter’s light shoving. “No, Peter, you’re not doing this. You’re not pushing me away again. You did this last time with Ben and you’re doing it again and both times you came back looking like shit— What are you even holding right now?”
Peter looked down at his hands, just now remembering what he’s grasping. “Um. Lightning struck my stuff and everything kinda melted together,” he truthfully said. Peter couldn’t bare to lie to Ned when he’s spilling his guts.
“…Okay, that’s kinda cool,” Ned said, voice slightly softening. “But, oh my god Peter! Don’t you know I’m here for you? Lately you only seem to remember that when it’s most convenient for you. Come on, we’re supposed to be best friends. Do you think I can’t tell when you pull away? I’m not blind, Peter. I know when you try distancing yourself and… and it hurts… It hurts me …” Ned continued on his needed rant while Peter listened closely.
Peter only spoke up when Ned began repeating his sentences in slightly different wordings. “Ned. Ned, Ned, Ned?” Peter’s repetition made Ned finally take a breath. “Is our chemistry teacher still available to write recc letters?”
Ned’s face slightly brightened at the implication Peter wasn’t giving up on Midtown. “Dude, yes! Mx. Beloye has been asking me ‘bout you ‘bout Midtown ever since you pulled an Ahsoka Tano on us.”
“That’s great Ned, and um… I— I really am sorry about everything. I’ll, uh, see you at school tomorrow?” Peter extended his hand to initiate their secret handshake. He wasn’t even sure if Ned would even remember it anymore given how so many days passed between them.
Gladly, Ned grabbed his hand into his own. The handshake was a bit sloppy, but it didn't matter. This thousand layered gesture confirmed something for the both of them, they were good.
“My uncle really is not coming til later so you should go,” Peter tried again in a softer voice.
“Oh, yeah, mom wants me back by 4,” Ned hurriedly got out his keyring.
As Ned yanked down the roll-up storage unit door, Peter subtly flicked his last penny directly under it. It spun in a way that hypnotized Peter, slowing time down as he watched it. Then it came to a stop once Ned slammed down the door, the penny perfectly wedged under the door kept the storage unit slightly open, enough for Peter to stick a pinky under and pull it open. Just one more lie, Peter pushed the thought to the back of his mind.
As promised, Peter went to school the next day. He was still treated shit by his classmates (he deserved it for bringing his melted junk with him), but his teachers met him with pleasant surprise. His chemistry teacher, Mx. Beloye already had the recommendation letter written up. Part of Peter wanted to rip open the envelope and read it, his rational side knew it would invalidate the recommendation.
Ned and Peter were only awkward for a brief moment before returning to their usual selves. They helped the Robotics team solve a difficult design flaw right before their big tournament. Later, the pair spent the rest of the week in the science lab, perfecting Peter’s portfolio for Midtown. After school they volunteered at animal shelters through one of the community service clubs at school, one of the many things Peter felt like he had to give up once he donned the mask.
Being back at school wasn’t so bad
-
Bucky hasn’t made further plans to escape New York City since successfully shaking off Parker. He can only assume so when there hasn’t been a Spiderman sighting in four days. He should be seizing this opportunity before Parker could change his mind.
Money was running low, there was no way he would survive wherever he'll end up without taking a final job before vanishing for good. Not a genuine job, of course, he needed something under the books and probably illegal. Bucky walked over to the payphone Parker had used yesterday, thinking over which of his shady contacts he should call. His fingers lingered over the number pad, this moment of hesitation was all Bucky needed until a distraction came up to stop him.
“Oh! You’re James, aren’t you?” It was the elderly woman who lived above Bucky. She was walking her two Rottweilers that looked like they weighed more than her. “I don’t think I introduced myself yesterday, I’m Louise Carlton. Where’s your boy? Peter, was it?”
Bucky faltered, figuring out how to answer that question. Parker would spin up a cover story in seconds, probably something stupid like he sprung up a spontaneous game of hide and seek, making Bucky search all over town for him. Bucky ended up telling Ms. Carlton exactly that. “He told me we were playing hide and seek, but he really just wanted some space,” Bucky added on the last part. He wasn’t sure why.
This is exactly why he needed to get out of New York. Parker disappearing on him was jeopardizing Bucky’s cover. A cover he never even wanted in the first place. How was he supposed to explain to her why Parker’s gone for two weeks, a month? Bucky doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep this up.
Ms. Carlton bursted out laughing the way old people do at mildly unfunny things. “Kids these days…” she said after an elated sigh. “Well, if he ever needs extra cash, your boy is welcome to walk my Bones and Sinner any day.”
Bucky glanced down at the dogs, resisting the urge to pet them. “Those are some tough names for a couple dogs,” he commented.
“Hardass names are fitting for retired military dogs, don’t you think?” Ms. Carlton said with a proud smirk.
“Military dogs, huh?” Okay, now Bucky had to pet the dogs. Without hesitation, he got down to one knee to gently pat them with his right hand. He knew they were soldiers too, both bravely fought their own battles. In a way, Bones and Sinner were a bit like himself. The reflection suddenly had Bucky spilling out words before he could stop himself, “I was honorably discharged from the army after I lost my arm. Been hard to land a steady job since. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be living below you.”
That last part turned out to be exactly what he needed. That way, his mysterious disappearance wouldn’t raise any questions from Ms. Carlton.
Ms. Carlton nodded along as she listened with sympathy. “It’s terrible what they do to our veterans.” She glanced down at her dogs with a tender gaze, gently cupping their faces, “They were supposed to be put down, but my son, a Marine, fought for them.”
“Your son’s a great man then,” Bucky said. He admired that her son had the guts to speak out against the system, saving the dogs.
“Oh!” Ms. Carlton gasped out, as if an idea struck her. She fumbled for something in her handbag, finally digging out a business card and handing it to Bucky. “Are you looking for a job? My son is the head construction manager for Stark Industries. He’s always trying to hire veterans.”
Bucky accepted the business card out of politeness, however he had no intention to contact her son.
They ended up walking back to the apartments together. Roberta chatted about her son, Bones and Sinner, and everything else going on in her life while Bucky listened. His attention was divided between her stories and how the path from his place to the payphone has become familiar. He found himself walking without checking street signs, passing the same local shops with familiar faces, and the flowers growing in the cracks were blooming brighter everyday. Queens didn’t feel like a stranger anymore.
In unison, they stopped in their tracks at the sight of a couch being awkwardly wedged into the staircase leading to Bucky’s place. The couch was a mossy green, a sort of corduroy material by the looks of it, it was crammed in the narrow staircase like somebody was in a rush and didn’t think it through.
Bucky saw a piece of paper stuck onto a couch cushion. He walked towards it and carefully removed the sheet of lined notebook paper, feeling a bit of traction. ‘Take care of it or else!’ was written in black marker. Bucky turned the page over to see a sticky web residue left on the back.
Bucky may have scared off Peter Parker, but not Spiderman.
-
Peter needed a few more things to finish his Midtown School of Science and Technology application. A lot of stamps, guardian details, and a mailing address.
He foolishly let a potential super villain know his identity. Peter had to keep Barnes at arms length, which is why he found himself outside his apartment after school. Peter repeatedly paced up and down Barnes’ staircase, his footsteps nearly indenting the cement.
“You’re the boss, Peter. You’re the boss,” he was whispering to himself to calm his nerves as he carried himself back down the stairs. This had to be his tenth loop, and each time the door separating himself and Barnes was just as intimidating as the first loop. Handle so closely within reach, Peter couldn’t even raise his hand. He immediately retreated back upstairs. “Nope!” He sharply whispered out with a shake of his head.
Peter stared down the staircase, dark and discouraging. He decided that this will be his final descent, telling himself it was now or never. He’s either going to cowardly bolt it and never get what he needs or storm in and demand Barnes to follow his orders.
Peter bounced up and down, shaking his hands and rolling his neck. “You’re the king, Peter Parker. Kings are way stronger than bosses—“
“What are you doing?”
Peter froze. That was definitely Barnes’ voice. So much for his Spidey Sense! Peter bitterly thought. He slowly turned around to face the man.
Barnes was carrying four grocery bags with ease, having a confused and at the same time an amused expression plastered on his face.
“Uh—!” Peter stammered, his voice betrayed him. “I need a stamp,” he blurted out, mentally cursing after the words left his mouth. This was so off plan! Peter had to improvise now. Alright, improvise, he’s good at that.
“What for?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.
“To mail out my application to Midtown, what else, buddy?” He let the nickname slip. Peter only ever calls anyone ‘Buddy’ while he’s under the mask. The second he processed his own words, Peter panicked. Just now, he had switched from being awkward Peter to cool Spiderman, the mix up rattled him. Having someone who knew him as both Spiderman and Peter Parker was tripping him out. It left his brain scattered on who he was supposed to be. The nerdy and unassuming Peter or the clever and amazing Spiderman?
Peter didn’t miss the discreet way Barnes’ lips twitched upwards. He walked past Peter to go down the staircase. “You’ve been killing me here, kid. Ms. Carlton’s been inviting us for dinner and I had to come up with excuses for you.”
Peter’s eyebrows twitched up in confusion, clueless why this ‘Ms. Carlton’ would invite them to dinner.
Barnes' voice grew distant as he continued on towards his apartment. “So far you’re a hide and seek enthusiast, having slumber parties with that Ned of yours, and caught up in schoolwork.”
Peter heard the keys jingling open the door and creaking open as if it was right next to him. He was stuck in his tracks, he didn’t know if he had the right to go in after his rather dramatic storming out last week.
“Come in,” Barnes called out. “I’m sleeping on your couch, it’s the least I could do.”
Peter tentatively followed after him, holding onto the safety railing as he treaded down the stairs. It really was now or never. He further pushed open the unlocked door and stepped inside. There was little change since the last time he’s been here but it already looked completely different.
For starters, there was dish soap and a classic yellow sponge next to the sink. Peter recognized it as the same ones the older lady gave them. More importantly than dirty dishes, Peter’s green corduroy couch now dominated the room. It was pushed against the wall, a thin blanket lazily thrown over it and pillows pushed to one end. It seemed like Barnes was sleeping on the couch straight up.
Genuinely confused on why Barnes would prefer that when it’s clearly a pullout couch, Peter said, “Dude, you know it’s a pullout right?”
Barnes paused, midway through unloading his groceries to look at Peter with narrowed eyes. In a strained voice he said, “You and I must be thinking of entirely different pullouts.”
“What do you think—?” Peter started to question, then halfway through his sentence he realized what Barnes was getting at. He scrunched his face in disgust. “God! No, man. I’m talking about the pullout couch. Ned and I used it all the time for our sleepovers.”
Peter walked over to the couch, briefly looking it over to remember how it worked. It’s been too long since a sleepover. Shortly, he removed the couch cushions to reveal the folded up queen sized bed. With ease, he unfolded it altogether. The pullout bed filled out most of the living area.
“I could’ve been sleeping like a king this whole time?” Barnes said with a gaped open mouth. “Why on earth have I been sleeping like a boss?”
Peter winced at the reminder of what he does to psych himself up. “It’s actually a queen bed, your royal highness,” he gritted out with a teasing bow. Urgently wanting to change the subject, he said, “Where’s my stamps?”
“Do I seem like the type of guy who sends mail?” Barnes said as he busied himself with putting away groceries. Peter saw milk, oatmeal, canned fruits and vegetables… Wow, he really is an old man.
It was now Peter’s turn to embarrass Barnes. “Considering dozens of your private letters are displayed at the Smithsonian, yeah.” Peter resented his history teacher for forcing him to read and analyze the letters. How was he supposed to find the hidden meaning in letters to Steve Rogers? His English teacher was just as annoying, assigning his class to identify the subtext and literary devices.
Barnes groaned at the reminder his personal letters were archived and displayed for all of New York City to read. “Don’t remind me, kid.”
Peter smirked as he leant against the kitchen counter, swinging his backpack to his chest. Unzipping it, he pulled out the gigantic and thick envelope that contained his Midtown application. His completed portfolio, three recommendation letters, scholarship applications, and other various forms were inside.
Flicking through them, Peter found the guardianship form. “I kinda need one more thing besides stamps…”
Barnes snatched up the form in Peter’s hands, scanning it with an unreadable expression. It was a simple form with the basic details like guardian names, emergency contact information, and home address. Peter already had Mrs. Leeds listed as his secondary emergency contact.
What he really needed was Barnes to be the priority emergency contact. Peter needed Barnes to sign this. Not just for his sake, but for Spiderman’s! He needed to keep Barnes close by so he wouldn’t go around revealing his top secret identity across the world.
“You know I can’t sign this, kid,” Barnes said with a sigh, returning the paper to Peter.
Peter hopped off the kitchen counter, following behind Barnes as he returned to storing his groceries in the cupboards.
Peter mirrored him, mindlessly and sloppily tossing Barnes’ groceries into the cupboards as he tried to convince Barnes. “You’re the only adult I know! You don’t need to go to any parent teacher conferences or anything like that, it’s just a formality.”
Barnes took whatever food Peter haphazardly threw and returned it to the rightful shelf. Watching him ruin Peter’s fine work, he just realized Barnes was sorting it based on the food group.
“They’re gonna do background checks if this school is as prestigious as you make it seem. What do you think happens when the dead James Buchanan Barnes is posing as your guardian?” Bucky said.
“Come on, man,” Peter pleaded in a bit of a whine. “I confiscated your Stanley Bastiano from New Jersey driver's license last month. You can get a James Reilly from New York one— oh, by the way you’re technically my first cousin once removed. Make sure to add that in your forged documents.”
Peter swore that Barnes was made of fake IDS. Every time he caught him, there was a new bundle of various identification cards on him. Always the same silly headshot of him, all different names. Barnes was due for a new batch of IDS by now, might as well take on the identity of James Reilly.
Barnes remained quiet for a moment.
Wait. Holy shit, was he actually considering it? Peter carefully watched Barnes’ facial expression, though it was unreadable. Barnes’ silence was killing Peter with anticipation.
“This… guardianship, it’s required for you to get into Midtown?” He finally asked.
“Supposed to be the easiest part of the application,” Peter wanted to laugh at the irony. Building his portfolio was the real cake walk. Peter seriously expected that he had to redo his experiments ever since he lost two years worth of research over the course of three months being homeless. Thankfully, he found out his teachers had copies of his research and preserved his science fair projects
“Okay then,” Bucky said after a beat.
Peter froze. “Are you serious?” He wanted to jump up and down in celebration, but didn’t want to find out how his Parker Lucky would respond to that. Instead, he calmly handed Barnes the form back as he bit back his smile.
He watched the ink leave the pen as Barnes filled out every box. “You’re lucky this place came with a landline,” Barnes said as he hovered his hand over a question about his phone number.
When he finished up that form, Peter handed Barnes another document. He subtly covered up the header reading Dikto Middle by using an index card and paperclip. “This just asks the same things. Prestigious schools, am I right? They need lots of forms.”
Barnes snatched it up. Shaking his head as he filled out the boxes without a single suspicion.
The form was actually updating his emergency contact at Dikto Middle school. The principal didn’t care if there was only a couple weeks left in the school year, what mattered was the safety of the students and yada yada. He couldn’t list Mrs. Leeds since they would call her about his excessive absences, and Peter really, really did not want her to know that. The only option to get Peter’s principal off his back was to put down Barnes' information.
All he had to do was go to school, avoid emergencies and Barnes would never find out. Peter can do that easy peasey.