thirty-six.
Peter was curled up in Steve's bed still, and he knew he didn't have a fever, so he wasn't sure what it was that was making him so sick. His Spider-sense was bouncing off of the fucking walls so much you'd think it downed 17 cans of Redbull. It was making Peter paranoid, and he couldn't stop shaking it was so bad.
Bucky was beginning to worry, even more so than he was before. He'd been leaning in the door for the last two hours watching this boy, his son, shake so violently and uncontrolled. It reminded him of a much harsher time in his own life, and he hoped to god that this was nothing like that.
Bucky swears to god that if HYDRA ever got their hands on Peter, no matter what it'd take, he'd mow down every single one of those fuckers. He'd rip them limb from goddamn limb for putting a single finger on his boy.
Bucky Barnes was a relatively gentle person, but when it came to his family, he would go to the ends of the Earth to protect them, even if it meant his very own life. Even now, he knew that HYDRA would be back, he could feel it in his bones. The whole, cut off one head and two more grow back, ordeal, wasn't entirely inaccurate. They were always two steps ahead, but not of Bucky.
He spent too many years inside of HYDRA for them to ever pull one over on him. They'd have to have some serious new tricks to even be able to get as far as one step ahead of him. He'd be damned if he let anything happened to his family.
Thinking maybe that Peter was cold, he looked for another blanket. He wouldn't find one of course, not a good one. He touched Peter's neck and felt that he wasn't cold, but hot, and that worried him more.
Peter was dead asleep, curled up in the smallest ball he could manage to contort himself into. One of his earbuds fell out, so Bucky carefully replaced it. He knew that Peter couldn't sleep without some kind of noise, and Bucky didn't make enough noise on his own to replace Peter's music in the slightest.
He sat down in a chair in the corner of the room and started reading one of the old paperbacks from the basket by the door. The letters were fading and the paper was turning a yellow color, but it was still legible. This was the first book he'd read in a long time, but he'd read this one before, and somehow he still remembered bits and pieces of it, in the same way, he remembered bits and pieces of himself.
He remembers an old button up that stayed tucked in because the last couple of buttons were missing. He remembers a pair of shoes that he used to shine religiously. He remembers making Steve breakfast in the mornings and holding him through the cold nights. He remembers Sarah and her hair falling out when he brushed it for her. He remembers the panic rising up in his throat like bile when he thought he would have to tell Steve that she was dying.
He remembers a day in the middle of the spring that he called his birthday. He remembers a family that once belonged to him but was now long gone. He remembers younger siblings that looked up to him, and how he left them to fight for their lives... He remembers that he never came back to them. He remembers that once upon a time he made a promise to do just that and that the girl he made it to probably wasn't around anymore.
He remembers the trauma of the beatings, of the needles. He remembers the fear bubbling inside of him like boiling water. He remembers how it felt to be tied down and helpless, having countless people touch his previously unmarked skin and turning it into something else entirely. He remembers the air. The soul freeing relief when it was Steve who stood over him to take him from that God awful place.
He remembers the fall. He remembers the heartbreaking fear that was worse than any he'd ever previously encountered. He remembers the soul-crushing weight of the fact that not only was he going to die but that his Stevie was going to blame himself for it no matter what. He knew that Steve would think about the what-ifs. What if he was faster, what if their places had been switched, what if, what if what if.
And what if, Bucky thought, as he looked to Peter's sleeping, shaking form... What if this was just a simple sickness? What if this would pass in a couple of days and Peter would be brand new? But then, he thought, what if it wasn't?
When Steve got home everything was quiet. The silence didn't faze him anymore, he was used to Bucky being pretty quiet as is. He knew that the trauma made him even quieter. Bucky had yet to come all the way out of that shell, but that was okay. Everyone heals differently.
When he walked into the bedroom and saw Bucky curled up in his favorite old ratty chair, he smiled but frowned when he followed Bucky's trained gaze to their bed. "Buck? What's going on?"
Bucky didn't take his eyes off of the mound of blankets and their gentle rise and fall. "I had to pick Peter up from school today."
Steve furrowed his brows as he took off his coat. "Another fight?"
Bucky shook his head and sighed. "Sick."
This caught Steve's attention pretty quickly. "I've seen his school papers, he's never taken a sick day in his life." That doesn't mean he's never been sick, no Peter used to be sick plenty. He always just sucked it up and went to school, usually with one of those paper surgeons masks. For Peter to actually leave school had to mean it was something big.
"Fever?" Steve put his jacket down and Bucky shook his head.
"Not at all... He was throwin' up when he called. Was sleepin' when I picked him up." Bucky shifted in his chair and tucked his feet beneath him like a bird on a nest. "No fever, n' he's been fine ever since."
Steve frowned and walked around the bed to pull the blankets away from Peter's face and tuck them beneath his drool-covered chin and he chuckled at the sight of this young boy asleep in their bed. And he reminded him of the innocence that these two boys both once held inside of them. He saw the boys unruly hair sprawled across his forehead and took a moment to brush it back. In his sleep, he looked so peaceful... It hurt Steve to think of the chaos he may feel once he wakes. So he backed away to give Peter the space to sleep in the burrito of blankets that he'd made for himself.
Steve leaned against the wall next to Bucky's chair. "I guess we'll see how he feels in the morning."
Bucky just nods before finally standing. His knees crack as a clear sign that they haven't carried Bucky anywhere in a few hours at least. They make their way to the living room where they both plopped down on the couch. It groans under the quick application of their weight and they both stilled to let their weight settle. They were gonna go out to look for new furniture tomorrow. They had a minimalist design plan, but they wanted a little to look like a lot.
They basically wanted to make the apartment look the same, but better, newer, cleaner... With Peter sick though, they didn't wanna go anywhere.
They'd been curled up on the couch for a couple of hours when a cold front moved in, and you could feel it through the whole apartment. Peter came out of the bedroom around that time, wrapped in blankets but still shivering like the devil, watch vibrating on his wrist. They both stood then, encapsulating the smaller boy in their arms. Their bodies produced enough heat now that the cold wouldn't bother them nearly as much as it bothered Peter.
The boy was somehow still tired and falling asleep while standing upright between them, so they took him back to bed. It was difficult for the two bigger men trying to fit in the minuscule bed, but they made it work, and when they were comfortable enough, they managed to fit Peter into the bed as well. The blankets trapped the heat and Peter was no longer shivering, and his watch was no longer vibrating.
And Peter was safe, and right now he knew it. Not only was he safe... But he was loved.