Missing You
Peter's leg jiggled as he watched the clock anxiously.
4 more hours.
Somehow, for some reason, he was dreading the end of the time. Maybe the dread was anxiety. Or the fear of what he would know in those long hours. Either his life would change forever or it would stay blissfully the same.
Peter was desperate for the latter.
The bell rang, ending his history class. He gathered his supplies, gazing wistfully at the empty notebook page. Hopefully, that wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass. He followed his classmates into the hallway and forced his way through the crowd of students. Ned appeared at his side, talking a mile a minute about something Peter couldn't focus on. Then, Ned paused as Peter grabbed a new notebook and closed his locker, "Still worried?" Ned asked carefully.
Peter nodded, not trusting himself to not burst into tears. Ned gave him a hopeful smile, "Everything's gonna be okay, Peter! They'll be fine." Peter did not take those words to heart, but nodded and tried to match Ned's smile.
The time ticked by quickly. English passed, calculus passed and then he was sitting in Spanish with 10 minutes on the clock. He watched desperately as the hand ticked, ticked, ticked. The bell rang and Peter launched from his seat, grabbing his fully packed backpack and racing out the door.
Peter sprinted the whole way home.
Maybe they're home early. Maybe everything is fine.
Much to Peter's disappointment, the apartment was empty. Nothing had moved from when Peter had left for school that morning. He set his bag in his room, then returned to the couch and sat down to wait.
And he did plenty of waiting. Sunset came and went with Peter waiting at his spot on the couch vigilantly. He did not turn on the TV or get on his phone. He feared he would only see bad news. When the clock struck midnight, anxiety swelled in Peter's chest
They're never late. He thought, picking at a loose thread on his jeans.
So he stayed at his post. His head rested against the back of the couch and he sat up eagerly when he heard footsteps. Every time they passed by the door, his heart sank.
He lay down on the couch, fighting tears. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the scent of the couch, It smells like him
Then the lock clicked. Peter sat straight up, eyes locked on the door. Had he imagined it? Wishful thinking?
The door swung open and he walked in.
Bucky was holding his blue duffel bag, wearing rumpled clothes and dark circles under his eyes. He dropped his bag by the front room and closed the door.
Peter stood, "Bucky?"
There was a pause where they stared at each other. Peter's wide, scared eyes and Bucky's kind, tired eyes meeting between the couch and the front door.
Bucky smiled weakly, "Hey, pal."
Without another word, Peter thrust himself into Bucky's arms. Bucky wrapped his arms around Peter tightly. Bucky was shaking and fell to his knees. Peter followed suit, still tucked securely in his father's arms.
Bucky and Peter separated and Bucky studied Peter's face. A soft hand brushed Peter's face, wiping tears away before settling against his tear-stained cheek, "God, it's so good to see you, Pete."
Peter slept in Bucky's bed that night. Steve was stuck in debriefing so Peter took his spot. Bucky was clearly exhausted. He had showered and changed, then collapsed into bed, his arm tucked tightly around Peter.
Peter pressed his face into Bucky's chest, inhaling the familiar smell of Bucky's soap. He nestled closer in Bucky's arms, "I got scared you weren't coming back." Peter whispered, "I thought -" His breath hitched and a sob caught in his throat.
Bucky rubbed a hand down Peter's back, "I'll always come home to you, Pete."
Under the promise of Bucky being by his side and out of exhaustion from worrying, Peter tucked his head under Bucky's chin and fell fast asleep.