Associations

“I’m Spider-Man,” Peter says, grinning an impish looking grin and shrugging a way too lax shrug. “It’s what I do.”

Barnes doesn’t outwardly react besides letting some of the surprise flicker through his features, which he quickly reigns in. The admittance isn’t what he expected, no, he could admit as much, but, he’d been expecting something. 

Besides the fact that Peter had just admitted that he had a secret, Barnes had noticed several oddities about the kid relatively quickly, both during their meetups and in other… endeavors. 

He hadn’t been completely relying on Peter’s actions being goodwill and honest at the beginning. After their second meet, Barnes had followed Peter home, steps silent on rooftops a good distance away, just barely keeping the other in sight. He’d cataloged Peter’s home address, relations, neighbors, potential contacts. And, over the next week, he’d steadily gathered information, hacking into school records - Midtown - and other potential sources. It all came clean. Straight A student, multiple academic related clubs - though some had been dropped out of in the last year or so - and no misdemeanors or other transgressions on file. 

He’d lost most of his motivations on keeping a tab on Peter’s actions pretty quick, though. The kid was just too damn good. Like was some kinda extra hyper boy scout. Or a dog. 

So Barnes stopped tailing him, and stopped digging into his life. He was content to hear it from Peter himself, and boy did he have a lot to say. He didn’t start out with all the personal details, but it quickly turned to more or less just that. He told Barnes about his home life, about his struggles in school, about his friends - Ned and MJ… He’d told him about his uncle, one night, voice quiet and somber; grief buried but ever present. 

So he told Barnes about a lot. Trusted him with the information. 

And what did Barnes give in return? The occasional mention of an odd job he’d taken? A few clipped sentences about some friend he never even names? 

Yeah, right.

So he’s still trying to figure out what the kid sees in him, cause he sure as hell can’t see it himself, and now there’s this.

In the back of his mind, tiny pieces he’d noticed but never quite grasped clicked into place. Peter’s agility, his above average perception, how his stories often have large gaps in times and occasional hesitations as if he’s avoiding a certain part.

But it’s not his focus. His focus is. 

He’s not really sure.

He’d gone down to DC, visited the museum, asked the larger than life poster of Steve what he should do like the guy was some kinda fortune teller that could still do the job while not actually being there, and, what? 

He’d come back to New York, wandered the alleys aimlessly for the better part of the afternoon, visited his apartment, sat down on the springy, too soft mattress he never used, stared at the wall for a good half hour before he got sick of it, and then went back to wandering around the alleys again till it got late enough that he could convince himself it was reasonable to sit down on the stoop to wait and see if Peter’d be back. 

And the entire time, he still hadn’t thought up a half decent plan except just packing up and leaving, the thought of which he still cringed away from.

Back to the now, though, he looked up at Peter from under his cap, eyeing the too wide and earnest eyes staring back at him, or, more accurately, his nose, since meeting his eyes still wasn’t really feasible with the brim of his hat and all. 

“You’re Spider-Man,” he repeated slowly, carefully enunciating the syllables like if he didn’t it’d somehow result in something entirely different coming out.

Peter’s smile widened, only the faintest traces of nervousness present in it. “The one and only,” he confirmed, doing the jazz hands. Because of course he did.

Barnes let out a low, heavy sigh. “Of course you are,” he muttered, somehow managing to hunch his shoulders forward and thunk his head against the brick wall behind him at the same time. 

“So that’s my big reveal,” Peter surmised. He raised a hand, cutting Barnes off when he opened his mouth to speak. “And I’m not saying you have to tell me yours, yeah, no. It’s just, I’m here, I can take care of myself, and I’m with you, Joe.”

Till the end of the line.

Barnes closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, taking several measured breaths before trusting himself to reply. “This ain’t that typa’ thing, Pete,” he started, crinkling the corners of the foil on one of the sandwich wraps. “It ain’t just about who I am, or even what I do - what I did.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, looking down.

“I know,” Peter said bluntly, finally taking a seat on the ground and unwrapping one of the Cubans. He seemed to struggle finding a way of how to get his thoughts out for a few seconds, taking a bite to mitigate the awkwardness of his pause. He swallowed heavily. “I kinda figured you were in some deep shit, to put it nicely,” he snorted, then winced. “Sorry.”

“Then what’d ya stick around for?” Barnes couldn’t stop himself from asking, looking off to the side, hair falling forward to frame his cheeks and rest down to his neckline. 

Peter shrugged, taking another small bite of his sandwich. “If I ran away from trouble, then I wouldn’t really be who I am, would I?” he reasoned, then paused. “Not to say I think you’re trouble!” he blurted, thankfully having the wherewithal to only wave his free hand around this time.  

Barnes looked down at his gloved, left hand. “I am trouble,” he disagreed. 

“Ughhhhhh,” Peter groaned, setting his wrap down and wiping his hands on his jeans. “So what, man? Ok. Alright. Not what I meant.” He reached up a hand to tug at his messy locks of hair, alternating between pulling at it and running his fingers through it. “So, it’s just that - you say you’re trouble, right? But, like, trouble how? You yourself? Or what?”

Barnes considered the question for a few moments, running his tongue along the back of his teeth. In a lot of ways, he thought. “I ain’t that good guy you think I am,” he settled on.

Peter chewed on his lip for a moment, looking down at the concrete between them. He shrugged. “Maybe I don’t know your life story or anything,” he began honestly, tilting his head in a curious way, “but you are a good guy,” he said earnestly, eyes bright with genuine emotion. Barnes grimaced, but decided to outwardly concede the point.

“I’ve got people lookin’ for me,” he disclosed.

“But they’re, like, bad guys?” Peter questioned.

“Bad guys,” Barnes confirmed dryly.

“Well, I mean then, me too,” Peter shrugged. “Lotsa bad dudes out there lookin’ for Spider-Man.”

Barnes took a moment to let himself feel surprised by the righteous protective rage that hazed his vision for a brief second before stuffing it and his own reaction back down in a box in a far corner of his brain that he hopefully would not acknowledge again anytime soon. “We’ll… get back to that… but these guys after me ain’t the type you wanna get involved with. Ain’t the type you’re gonna get involved with,” he stated, leaving no room for argument. 

“I can take a lot,” Peter immediately argued, back straightening and leaning forwards slightly. “I do take a lot,” he insisted. “I know people think I’m all just catching muggers and helping grannies but I do a lot more than that. And I’m strong,” he said, then flushed, obviously embarrassed by his own self praise.

“Doesn’t matter,” Barnes shot down.

Peter’s expression was reminiscent of a pout, but with more stubbornness. “C’mon man, if I’m not fighting one bad guy I’ll be fighting another. At least if I’m with you I’ll be helping a friend out,” he prodded. “And at least you're not, like, in trouble with the government or anything,” he said, probably trying to lighten the mood. Barnes let his mouth shut with a click. Peter made a quiet ‘ah’ sound before falling silent. It didn’t last long. “Well, that’s alright,” he decided, poking a finger into the top of his sandwich and leaving an indent. “Well, obviously that’s not alright but I mean it’s alright as in so what?” He left another divot in the bread. “Also not what I meant, what the heck man I can’t words . Just.” He looked up at Barnes. “I’m still gonna stick with you. I trust you.”

“Why,” Barnes hissed, tension bunching in his shoulders. “Why do you trust me, Pete, huh?” he questioned harshly, jaw clenching. He continued on without letting Peter speak up. “Cause I’ve been a nice fella? Huh? Cause I fuckin’ sit here an’ take yer food everyday and give ya nothin’ back? Cause I tell ya jack shit bout my life?” He clenched his hands. Peter started to say something, but Barnes beat him to the punch. “I hacked your files,” he admitted abruptly. “That first week. Know about all yer personal shit an’ where you live an’ all that.” His eyes flickered up to find Peter’s surprised gaze. “Not such a great guy, huh?” he said bitterly.

Peter wasn’t looking directly at him, instead looking deeper into the alley while seemingly subconsciously raising his hand to pinch at his bottom lip, as in habit. “The people after you, it’s a whole big organization?” he asked, a complete non sequitur. 

“...yeah, Pete. But this ain’t about that,” Barnes reminded him, feeling somewhat lost at the reaction, or lack thereof.

Peter nodded his head as if he’d received a more detailed affirmation, lowering his hand back down just to poke at the sandwich again. He looked at Barnes, and huffed, rolling his eyes. “Dude. You just said that all happened in the first week, right?” Peter checked. Barnes nodded, not really comprehending. “And you’ve got this whole crazy organization probably after you, yeah?” This time Peter didn’t wait for any agreement, just barreling on. “So I totally get why you’d make sure I’m, like, not, a part of the group? Not gonna lie, I’m kinda flattered you thought I might be a spy or something, ya know? And I mean, it’s not like you found out anything I didn’t end up telling you anyways, right? And PS I hack people all the time so can’t really judge there yeah? And I kinda already knew you followed me because I totally heard you - which! - don’t be upset because your super ninja spy skills are still totally intact, but my super super hearing is also a thing and you make… noises. Um. Yeah. And you didn’t find out about Spider-Man on your own, though, right?” Barnes shook his head mutely. Peter smiled a megawatt smile. “Awesome! So I’m pretty good with the whole secret and or secret identity stuff.” He paused, clearly waiting for a response, and let out an exaggerated sigh when he didn’t receive one. “Wink wink, nudge nudge,” he tried to spur on.

Barnes gave him a Look, still trying to catch up with all he’d said. “You don’t… care,” he surmised, deciding to leave… other stuff for later. Peter nodded along easily. He really doesn’t care, Barnes thought, a bit hysterically. Is this the opposite of trust issues? Is that a thing? He fidgeted with his glove slightly, pinching the tip of the leather over index finger and tugging minutely. It didn’t matter, though. It couldn’t matter. He couldn’t drag Peter into the mess that was HYDRA, what, with the organization still being at large and the government being neck deep in corruption from it. 

“How about an arm wrestle?” Peter suggested airily. Barnes gave him a blank stare that he knew Peter didn’t need to see in order to feel by the way the kid huffed. “I’m serious, dude! If that’s what it takes to prove to you that I can handle myself, then why not? Like, if I win, you can bring me aboard, and if I lose… well, I mean, we’ll figure that out.”

Barnes shook his head. “I ain’t gettin’ ya inta this shit.”

Peter groaned, flopping down onto his back. “What? You up against killer Nazis or something?” he whined, tossing his arms up dramatically.

Barnes stared at him, lips parting slightly. “What the fuck, Peter?” 

The teen sat up, rolling his eyes. “I was just ki-” he stopped, looking intently at Barnes, who quickly blanked his expression, but obviously not quickly enough. “Seriously?” Peter questioned disbelievingly, raising his legs so that they were bent at the knees and he was pressed forward against them. “Like, seriously seriously??”

Barnes raised both gloved palms to his face and pressed, dragging them down his cheeks and scruff exhaustedly. “You’re not droppin' this, huh, punk?” he grasped wearily. Peter shook his head vigorously, eyes alight, and Barnes sighed again, lowering his hands down to his lap and finally unwrapping one of the sandwiches, only to place it back after a heavy pause. It ain't like he’s gonna win, Barnes inwardly placated himself, sitting up a bit more and setting the food off to the side. “I’ll do that arm wrestle,” he relented, quickly raising his hand up to cut off Peter’s excited whoop, “but I’m gonna use my left hand.”