Peter & Bucky Are Pals

Chapter 21

It became a routine. Peter got up early and sat with Bucky for fifteen minutes or so before making his way upstairs to eat breakfast. Someone would be waiting for him, usually Natasha, Clint, or Hill but sometimes Pepper, Tony, or Bruce; rarely Steve. They’d walk him to school and he’d diligently sit through his classes, eating lunch with Ned and MJ. He never accepted their invitations to hang out; luckily, they seemed to understand. Instead, he hurried home and did his homework by Bucky’s side, chattering about his day, sometimes the previous night’s patrol. That was something he did again, after dinner but before his curfew. Bucky had made him swear to be careful, because, “I won’t be there to protect you if something goes wrong.” The earnest words had made Peter bite his lip in attempt not to cry.

Crying was something Peter did more often, now, though not as much as Steve. Probably because Steve was so terrible at hiding it. There was no missing when his massive shoulders shook. Bucky would take his hand, running his thumb over Steve’s knuckles, and Steve would sob about how stupid he was being because Bucky was the one who was hurt, not him. Bucky always rolled his eyes and agreed that Steve was an idiot, but not for crying. For “apologizing so damn much, jesus fuck, shut it, Rogers.” At one point, Bucky got so fed up that he flicked Steve in the face with his metal hand, right between the eyes. It left a welt that took a solid two hours to fade. It seemed to get the point across, at least temporarily.

Finally, Bucky called Sam in; Sam took a week off of work and flew in from DC the next day, refusing to listen to Steve’s protests over the phone that he was fine and it wasn’t necessary.

“That’s bullshit if I ever heard it,” Sam had said. “Am I right, Barnes?”

“Confirm,” Bucky had grunted, and Steve let out a hiccuping laugh and buried his head in his hands.

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When Peter slipped out of Bucky’s room for the morning and took the elevator up to the common floor to eat breakfast, he really wasn’t expecting to see Sam. He knew Sam was at the tower, obviously; he just wasn’t expecting to see him in the shared kitchen making pancakes so early in the morning. Peter stood and stared for thirty seconds before Sam turned to the fridge and glimpsed him, jumping in surprise.

“Jesus! How long have you been standing there? How did you sneak up on me? Natasha does that too… is it a spider thing?”

Peter gave a short, unexpected laugh at that. “Maybe it’s a spider thing. Sorry I scared you.”

Sam waved a hand. “No worries. Do you want honey or syrup on your pancakes?”

When Peter didn’t answer, he turned to find Peter staring at him, brow wrinkled.

“Syrup or honey? Jarabe o miel? Uh… lemme try to think of it in French… Sirop ou miel? Oh hey, honey’s the same in Spanish and French. I didn’t even realize that until now. But seriously, honey or syrup?”

“You’re making me pancakes?” Peter said, bewildered.

“Well, I’m making some for me too. But yeah,” Sam replied, offering Peter a broad smile.

“Oh. Uh…Syrup, please, I guess?”

Sam nodded approvingly. “A man after my own heart.”