Recessional
I’m cold.
Was the first thought the registered in Peter’s brain when he uncurled himself from around his ratty backpack. He stretched out like a cat, bones cracking. Yes, the abandoned warehouse he now called his home was not the most comfortable place to sleep. Everything was covered in a layer of dirt, the windows were cracked and let the wind in. Surely, the place was a relic from some bygone era. But it was uninhabited, and far enough from trouble for Peter to relax his hackles just a little. So, home it was. Or if not home, a resting place.
He slept in one of the containers, protected somewhat by the wind, huddling into the corner. It wasn’t the most ideal of sleeping places, and Peter missed his bed.
Peter felt his stomach growl and quickly opened his backpack. He emptied its contents on the floor beside him. A couple of wrappers, his wallet, his crumpled Spiderman suit, half a pack of gum, two travel size deodorants, a small can of dry shampoo, and a half-eaten granola bar.
“Shoot.” He mumbled. He was running low on food. There was only so much he had access to, in this area. He had raided a vending machine last week, punching through the glass and stealing all the slightly stale and expired snacks, storing them away in an empty box in his container, but he didn’t want to risk eating those so soon. Peter sighed, slumping down on the floor, reaching for the granola bar.
It had three months since the news about Spiderman had come out, but Peter was already at his wit's end. He was hungry, he was dirty, and he missed his aunt. And it was getting colder, late November was creeping into the corners of his makeshift hideaway.
Peter had thought that by now, at least things would’ve have blown over in New York City.
But his face was still plastered over media outlets, people wondering if the ‘truth’ was really the truth. People had come to his defense, sure. Students at Midtown had actually stood up for him, saying there was no way that nerdy, unassuming Peter Parker could’ve been Spiderman. But then his disappearance started to look suspicious. And that’s when doubt began to trickle in.
He wasn’t front-page news, no, that belonged to whatever current political or financial situation was occurring through the day to day. But always, the ‘Hunt for Spiderman’ would appear in the corner of news stations, politicians would go on air and talk about the dangers of unregulated supers.
Mysterio’s lies had caused a double-down in the enforcement of the Accords, which had been almost semi-forgotten during the blip.
And it was all Peter’s fault.
With not much to focus on besides his aching empty stomach and how greasy his hair felt, all that was left to do was wallow in self-pity. Peter didn’t have the energy to do much else. To pass time, he listed the things he was going to do when he was able to join the world again.
1.Hug May
He wanted nothing more than to see his aunt again. But if he focused on her too much, he’d get even more heartsick.
2. Apologize to MJ
Were they still dating? On a break? They needed to talk it out, and he doubted she would still want to be with a guy who was an accused international criminal. Or maybe, knowing MJ, that would add to his appeal.
3. Hang out with Ned.
He missed his best friend. He missed his jokes and building legos and everything else.
4. Eat a sandwich from Delmars.
Peter wanted to eat as many sandwiches he could possibly fit into his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been truly full, and he craved it. His post-spider metabolism meant he digested food at an incredibly fast rate. And not being able to eat regularly was beginning to take a toll on his body. Scrapes on his knees and nicks on his knuckles that he had received a week ago, hadn’t fully healed. Which was just another thing to add to his list of things to worry about (which was already a mile long).
5. He wanted to sleep a full night.
6. He wanted to finish High School.
7. He wanted to go to college, he wanted to graduate, he wanted a career, and he wanted to get married and live happily ever after.
He wanted everything that the past three months had denied him. Peter needed to be able to let the weight of the world roll off his shoulders.
All alone, Peter fantasized about his future life surrounded by people he loved and who he loved in return.
But he couldn’t.
In the dark part of his brain, the part he didn’t like to acknowledge but found himself listening to more and more as isolation wore on him, Peter knew that even if the world no longer hated Spiderman, that he wouldn’t be able to shake off the stain on his reputation.
No one wanted anything to do with a murderer, even an alleged one.
He would always be looking over his shoulder.
He was surprised that no one had found him yet. He didn’t know the first thing about being on the run.
He spent the first month and a half expecting Happy to find him, holing up in his warehouse, amongst the dust and debris and take him to some safe house that Tony had created just in case something like this happened.
But there was no safe house.
And there was no Happy.
There was no one.
Peter sighed, munching slowly at the granola bar, trying hard not to eat it too quickly lest he run out of food for the day. He was trying to limit his intake as much as possible. Sure, his snack pile wasn’t insignificant but there were too many variables to control, he had to make sure to keep planning ahead. Besides, he knew this place wasn’t permanent.
The warehouse was just one in a string of locations Peter had been squatting in. Rundown houses, Street alleys, the occasional rooftop, all so he outruns people he weren’t even sure were actively chasing him. But his paranoia thrummed through his veins, forcing him to never get too comfortable, to stay away from those he loved, just keep moving.
That's the way it had to be right?
All because of Quentin.
But God, he could use a May hug right about now.
May and her burnt cookies, warming up cheap apple cider and pastries from the Dunkin Donuts a few blocks down the way. May and her cheeky wink as she woke him up too early on a weekend just so they could have breakfast together before her shift.
May who tried to protect him and who he turned away.
May who he needed .
Was she okay?
Peter hadn’t been able to effectively check up on her, trying to both keep his low profile and to protect her from association with him. But it couldn’t be easy when your nephew was a supposed vigilante on the run. Anxiety was gnawing at him now, endless possibilities.
Was she questioned?
Did she have everything she needed?
Had people come after her?
Was she safe?
Was Happy with her?
What was Happy doing with her?
Peter groaned, stomping his feet on the floor in an attempt to release some of the tension growing in his body.
There was May and then was Ned and MJ, and everyone else he wasn’t able to protect. Because he couldn’t protect them from a jail cell.
But what was the point of being free if he was missing in action? If he was hiding out in a dusty hole in the middle of who-cared-where?
Coward. The voice in his head whispered at him.
And Peter agreed.
Three months alone, protecting no one but himself.
And Peter Parker wasn’t a boy built for selfishness. He had to do better, to be better.
But he should stay away. He had to.
There was no way he could win.
Damn his Parker luck.
But he had to stay firm, steadfast in his decision. Just like Mr. Stark would be.
Two days later, he broke.
Peter went home.
He peeked into his bedroom window, creeping along the fire escape. His lights were off, the door leading the living room was closed. Everything looked exactly like he had left it. Peter tested the window latch, expecting it to be locked. May hated leaving windows opened and the only reason she had abided by his bedroom one remaining unlatched was due to his Spiderman activities. If he was missing, she would’ve probably locked it. Peter jiggled it and found it open.
She was waiting for him.
His heart surged, and he quickly lifted the window and shimmed through it. Carelessly throwing it closed behind him.
Being careful didn’t matter, because May had left the window open.
May was waiting for him.
With the desperation of a child many years younger than him, he ran and swung open the door to the living room.
There she was standing in the middle of the room.
Holding a bowl of takeout, eyes wide staring back at him.
“May-” He choked out.
She dropped the bowl and crashed to the floor and clambered over the couch barrier that kept her from her nephew.
“Peter!” May took him into a tight bear hug., grasping at his hoodie, desperately clinging to him. He returned the gesture, eyes welling up. Her voice was soft, a whispered prayer that the disheveled boy who now stood in her living room. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“May-I can’t stay-I gotta stay away, but I wanted to see you. I missed you so much, oh God May-” He sobbed, releasing emotions he hadn’t been sure he was holding on to.
“No.” She said firmly, tightening her grip. “You’re staying with me.”
“May I can’t-”
“Yes. I don’t care. Peter, you’re a kid. You’re my kid. And I’m gonna protect you.”
“I’m wanted for murder!” He pushed away May, big ugly tears streaming down his face. “May, you can’t protect me, I have to not be here, I can’t be here, this-I shouldn’t have done this, Oh God, I shouldn’t have-” He was hiccuping, his voice hitching as he struggled to talk and breathe at the same time.
“Shh, Peter, baby, I’m here.” May attempted to soothe him, but Peter was too far gone into panicking. He shook his head.
“May, they could hurt you, you don’t know, I just wanna protect you guys, and I’m so selfish.” He sobbed, babbling one sorry after another until finally, May gently, placed her hands on his shaking shoulders. Peter looked up.
“I need you to breathe.” She said calmly, looking into his eyes deeply and calmly. And he did until his shuddering breaths evened out. “Peter, I love you.” She said once he had stopped shaking. “And I’ll love you no matter what bullshit they say. I need you to promise me something. Can you do that?”
Peter nodded, his eyes wide.
“Promise to not do this alone any longer, okay? Let us help you. Happy can get you someplace quiet until this all blows over. I don’t... want to know where you’ve been. I don’t have to know. You’re here now and you’re alive. And that’s all that matters to me. I need to know I’m not blaming you for anything. Okay?”
“Okay.” He said quietly, feeling suddenly smaller than he had in a longer.
“You’ll stay here tonight. I’ll call Happy and we’ll figure this out tomorrow.”
“ May .” Peter started into her, wrapping his arms around her once again. The blind desperation gone, only his love remained. The hug went on for what felt like hours and was exactly what Peter needed.
May inhaled into his hair and then almost immediately scoffed.
“Go shower, you smell like a rat. Your towel is still hanging on its peg. ”
He laughed and nodded, letting go of his aunt and trotting obediently to the bathroom.
“When you’re done, come out and help me finish this takeout! You look half-starved!” May called after his retreating form.
Peter smiled.
Maybe things would be better. Sure, everything wasn’t magically fixed and there were still a lot of unanswered questions hanging in the air. But everything felt a little less immediate.
He was home.
When Peter came out of the shower, all dressed in his coziest of PJs, May had cleaned up the bowl from the floor and made him a bowl of food. They sat on the couch, knees touching, not saying a word as they ate their food. Peter ate as much as his stomach let him, blissfully enjoying the feeling of hot food in his stomach, as opposed to the shitty granola bars and potato chips he had grown accustomed to.
They watched whatever was on TV, aimlessly just enjoying the others company, in silent intimacy. Just happy to be together. And when Peter nodded off to sleep, he curled into May and she curled back into him.
Across the street, a man staring into the Parker’s apartment loudly sighed. He watched as the two tearfully reunited in their living room, oblivious to the rest of the world.
“Fucking idiot,” Bucky mumbled to himself, adjusting his binoculars and shifting around on his perch. He had an idea that the kid would eventually crawl back home, but he had hoped that he would not have been so obvious about it. Clearly, Spiderman was no spy.
Three months, he had convinced Pierce that he was playing the long game, lulling the vigilante into a sense of security where he would come over from his hiding place and cause less of a ruckus when captured. In truth, he was giving the situation time to blow over. But just his luck, the kid had managed to stay public enemy number one.
Which, while admittedly made Bucky’s job easier, made his heart sink. He would have to rip the boy from his aunt and spirit him away someplace where they would never see each other again.
Once more, Bucky was tasked with being the villain.
He couldn’t help it, he thought of his own family. Of his mother, ever kind and quiet.
Of his father, removed emotionally, but whose love language was in firm pats on the shoulder and tickets to ball games. Of his sister, bubbly and bright, smart as a whip and twice as competent.
They were all gone now. Dead for years, natural causes or illness, he had printouts of their obituaries pinned on his kitchen’s corkboard as a reminder of who he was, and who he had left behind. Sam said it wasn’t healthy, but Sam didn’t know jack-shit about Bucky. He only knew Steve Rogers’ Bucky, painted all pretty in rose-tinted glass.
His family, locked away in some aged photograph, in the deepest reaches of his memory, something he still had trouble claiming as his own.
What he would give to get to say another goodbye. Or at least, one last look.
So as he watched the Parkers, the older woman with her hands on her nephew’s shoulders, clearly a gesture of comfort to the whimpering boy, Bucky made a decision.
He knew that he would have to bring the boy in, that much was unavoidable.
But he could give them tonight.
One last night together.
He lowered his binoculars, and took a breath of the night air, relishing in the cool dampness that came with November.
Tomorrow, he’d be the bad guy again.
He'd be the government’s bitch, he’d be Ross’ personal bounty hunter, he’d be the disgraced war hero, he’d be whatever.
But for tonight, as he closed his eyes and laid down on the rooftop, Bucky felt the euphoric rush of not needing to be anyone.