Sam Wilson
Peter’s life had not gotten any better since his interaction with Tony Stark.
In fact, it’s arguably worse.
After losing his job at Jameson’s, he searched around Queens for another job that would pay him under the table. His search has thus far been for naught. His twenty-five bucks lasted him a week, and only a week.
Peter’s on day three of no food. He’s managed to get water from public fountains, so that’s not something he has to worry about, but the pain in his stomach is getting overbearing.
It growls and pangs and begs for anything other than water. Peter is close to resorting to dumpster diving. His metabolism isn’t meant to go for two hours without food, let alone three days.
It’s affecting his Spider-manning. Last night, his vision had gone so blurry, he slammed straight into a brick wall going 60 miles per hour. He could only find the energy to take off his suit and wipe the blood from his face before crashing in an alley.
So here he sits, against a wall on a busy street in the middle of Queens. Pedestrians pass by, barely passing him a glance before continuing on their way. He’s got his babyface on his side, getting him a few coins from worried mothers.
The hunger eats at him, like his stomach is trying to devour itself. Peter takes a sip from his water bottle, hoping it will put his stomach at ease for a bit, but it doesn’t help. The pain centers around his middle, but he feels it in his abdomen and his chest.
He curls in around himself, massaging his stomach. He was never the biggest kid to begin with, but the mix of his abnormally high metabolism and the lack of food has him looking like skin and bones. He can feel every individual rib and the concave of his stomach.
It’s getting colder outside too. His winter jacket was stolen a few months ago, so he’s working with a thin hoodie. His lack of meat on his bones will only make winter worse.
He curls further into his ball, pulling his legs up to his chest. Peter lays his chin on his knees, looking out onto the busy street in front of him. The sound of the city and the dull, constant pain in his stomach lulls him into a small doze.
“You doin’ alright, kid?” A voice in front of him has his eyes snapping open.
Peter looks up blearily, focusing on the man in front of him. He’s got dark skin, brown eyes, a grey jacket and blue jeans, and a worried look on his face.
“Huh?” Peter says, oh so eloquently.
The man’s face scrunches further, “I asked if you’re doing alright.”
“Oh,” Peter responds, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
The man doesn’t look like he believes Peter. He looks around at both sides of the street before turning back to him.
“You looked like you were in pain.” The man says, walking closer and crouching in front of Peter.
Oh. Peter didn’t know his face was giving anything away. He’s been so fuzzy on everything lately, he’s not surprised he wasn’t keeping himself in check.
“Oh, no, I’m- I’m just kinda hungry, I guess.” Peter mutters, burying half of his face in his arms. He doesn’t want to see the pity on the man’s face at the admission.
There’s silence from the man before he lets out a short sigh, “Well, I could go for lunch. Wanna come with?”
Peter’s eyes snap up, “Go… with you?”
The man smiles and Peter feels all the more warm because of it. People don’t usually smile at him anymore unless he’s in the suit.
“Yeah kid,” The man laughs, “You’re too skinny. Let me buy you lunch.”
Peter, still a little shell shocked, nods. Nobody has ever been nice enough to give him more than a dollar, let alone take him out for lunch. He stands up on wobbly legs, careening slightly into the wall when black spots cover his vision.
He feels a hand on his back and one on his shoulder. His ears clear enough for a voice to filter through again, “-kay? Kid? Are you okay?”
Peter nods, swallowing heavily. That’s been happening a lot recently. He’d nearly passed out while fighting a mugger the other night.
“Yeah, yeah,” Peter mumbles, “Just- need a sec.”
The man keeps his steadying grip on Peter, preparing to catch him if he falls. When his vision clears, the man is closer to him, looking at him concernedly.
“You back with me?” He asks.
“Yeah.” Peter responds, pushing off the wall, “Sorry.”
The man shakes his head, “It’s alright. You just scared me a little. C’mon, the place isn’t too far from here.”
Peter walks next to the man on shaky legs. He never realized how much his lack of energy was affecting him until now. The man keeps a hand on his upper back, guiding him through the streets.
“I’m Sam, by the way.” The man- Sam- says. Hey, that rhymed.
Sam. That’s a nice name. It rhymes with so many things: Man, am, lamb, clam, scam… blam. Wow, Peter’s so tired.
“Peter.” Peter responds shortly. He doesn’t have the energy for more than three syllables.
Sam nods, steering Peter into a small shop in downtown Queens. He sits him down in the booth across from him, shoving a menu into Peter’s hands.
“Pick anything you want.” Sam says.
The words on the menu blur and jump around, but he spots a cheeseburger and fries and nearly slobbers over the plastic picture of it.
They order the food, and Peter gets a glass of lemonade in front of him. He takes the whole thing down within a minute. For the sugar, at the very least.
“So, kid, how’d you end up here?” Sam asks.
Like, here-here? Like the restaurant? Or just in general, like homeless? Using his incredible deductive skills, Peter assumes it’s the latter because Sam knows exactly how Peter got to the restaurant.
“My aunt kicked me out.” Peter says shortly.
Sam sighs, tilting his head in sympathy, “That sucks.”
Peter snorts, “You’re tellin’ me.”
The waitress comes by holding the holy grail in her hands. A large cheeseburger and fries lands in front of him. It’s gone in five minutes. When he looks up, Sam is staring at him in a mix of surprise, amusement, and sadness.
“Jesus, kid, when was the last time you ate?” Sam asks.
“Like three days ago.” Peter answers, wiping his face with a napkin.
Sam swears under his breath, shifting half of his sandwich onto Peter’s plate. Normally, Peter would deny the food, but his stomach is screaming at him for more sustenance, so he just inhales the sandwich at the same rate.
“And you’ve been on the streets for how long?” Sam asks.
What is this, an interrogation? Well, the man is providing food, so Peter couldn’t really care less. It’s not like Sam is going to convince May to take him back in.
“Almost two years.” Peter answers.
Sam nods, “So, how’ve you been getting food then?”
Peter takes a sip of his drink, “I used to take pictures of Spider-man for J. Jonah Jameson because he could pay me in cash, but like a week and a half ago I accidentally woke up late, then I ran over Tony Stark so I was extra late, and when I got to Jameson’s he was like ‘you’ve been late once so I have to fire you’ so now I’m looking around for jobs again.” He says in one breath.
Obviously the food has recovered his yapping tendencies.
Sam stares at him, eyes wide. He must not have expected such a fast, detailed explanation.
“You were the kid that spilled coffee over Tony?” Sam says incredulously.
Peter furrows his brow, looking up at Sam. “Yeah? How did you know it was coffee? And why did you say his name like you know him-” Peter cuts himself off in realization.
Sam. Samuel Wilson. The Falcon. Peter is an idiot.
“I’m an idiot.” Peter says, covering his face with his hands.
Sam laughs, “He walked into the lounge covered in the stuff. He said that you just apologized a lot.”
Peter groans, burying his face in his arms on the table.
“He’s not mad or anything, by the way.” Sam adds.
“I nearly knocked him over!” Peter stresses, throwing out his arms, “I felt so bad. His suit looked so expensive.”
Sam rolls his eyes, “He’s got enough money to get a new suit, trust me, Pete. He’ll live.”
Peter’s shoulders slump, looking at Sam flatly, making the man chuckle again. He pays the bill and they leave the restaurant, headed back to where Sam initially found Peter.
When they arrive, Peter turns to Sam.
“Thanks for lunch, Sam.” He says.
Sam smiles at him, “Any time, kid. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
Peter chuckles, “Yeah, like anyone would believe me if I said The Falcon took me out to lunch. Your wings are super cool by the way. Carbon fiber? That rigidity-flexibility ratio is awesome.”
Sam looks at him strangely. Almost impressed, but also like he’s searching Peter for answers just using his eyes.
“Yeah,” Sam says, “Good eye.”
Peter nods, walking over to his little corner.
“Well, I’ll see you around.” He says, looking at Sam.
The man nods, giving him a wave, “Yeah, it was nice meeting you Peter.”
Sam walks away, checking his shoulder every so often. Peter sits down on the cold sidewalk, leaning up against a building. His body is going to burn through the food within a couple hours, but it’s nice to feel full for once.
Sam was super nice. He never thought he’d meet another avenger, especially after what happened with Tony Stark.
He’s never really had contact with any of the Avengers aside from occasional comments during battles located in Queens. Mr. Stark had offered him an updated suit, which Peter agreed to, obviously, but he never revealed his identity to the man.
(He took off the tracker immediately once he left the tower.)
He just sticks to small time and civilian evac, and lets them do their thing. That’s the dynamic and it works perfectly. He never expected to meet the Avengers as a civilian, but what are the chances of meeting a third avenger?
The hunger pangs have calmed to a point where it doesn’t feel like anything to Peter. He lays his head back against the wall, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.
—------------
Sam is in his own world on the walk back to the tower.
Initially, when he saw the small, skinny boy sitting against the wall of a warehouse, he only intended to make sure the kid was alive and safe.
But when Peter said he hadn’t eaten in multiple days, alarms rang in Sam’s head. He offered the boy lunch if only to give himself some peace of mind.
And finding out it’s the same kid that rammed into Tony last week was a shock. He fit the description: Small, bony, dirty, apologizes a lot.
Peter is smart too. The way he casually commented on the structure of his wings, like it was nothing. The boy has a calculating gaze, like his mind is always moving a mile a minute.
Suffice to say, Sam is interested.
He enters the lounge to see Clint and Bucky in the midst of an intense game of Mario Kart. Bucky is literally just mashing buttons, but somehow he’s winning.
Sam spots Tony sitting on one of the kitchen stools on the counter while Steve stirs something in a pot by the stove.
“I met your little bull today Tony.” Sam says, clapping the man on the shoulder.
“Bull?” Steve says, turning around.
“The kid who rammed into Tony the other day.” Sam clarifies.
The game going on in the living room ends with Bucky chucking Clint’s controller out of reach, prompting a slew of curses and yells.
“Yeah?” Tony asks, “How’s that?”
“He was sitting alone in the street and I took him to lunch.” Sam says.
Clint sits up from where he was sprawled on the floor, “You just… took some random kid out to lunch?”
Sam rolls his eyes, “His name is Peter. He hadn’t eaten in three days, so yeah, I took him out to eat.”
“Three days?” Steve says incredulously, his brow furrowed in worry.
“Yeah,” Sam sighs, “Apparently, the kid got kicked out by his Aunt. He’s been on his own for almost two years, he said.”
“Jesus.” Tony says.
“He says he’s sorry again, by the way.” Sam turns back to Tony, smiling.
The man smiles back, scoffing, “He does know I’m a billionaire, right?”
Sam shrugs, “He just feels bad. He’s a good kid. Smart, too.”
Tony perks up, “Smart?”
Natasha laughs, “Ooh, Sam watch what you say, Tony might try to adopt the kid if he’s a genius.”
“Well, I don’t know about genius, but he knew my wings were carbon fiber. He also said something about rigidity and flexibility, just by watching from afar.” Sam says.
Tony’s eyes light up, “I’ll look more into this kid. Peter, you said?”
Sam nods, walking to the couch and plopping down next to a fully recovered Clint. He can’t help but think about how skinny the kid was, how gaunt his face looked. He seemed happy and chirpy once he had food in him, but his eyes betrayed something sadder, older.
Maybe they should keep an eye on this kid.