Boys like Boys|| Peter Parker

.4.

March, 2015

Oliver was laying on an operation table. He still remembered that day clearly. The doctors around him were drawing on his face, the marker's surface was rough against his skin, the restraints around his hands scratched his wrists. Though he struggled, yelled and sobbed looking at the plain white ceiling, they wouldn't let him out, they wouldn't let him go.

He was a trembling mess, tears flowing out of his eyes. He was scared, so scared. He just wanted to be okay for once. He didn't want to be in the red room anymore. He wanted to be... he wanted to be himself.

The scene changed, like a ripple through a still lake. He was trapped, as he had been his whole life. The walls of the cell were clear, through them, he could see a team of scientists looking at him like he was an animal at a zoo. He felt sick. Then his eyes landed on that damn stone and the pain hit. He still remembered what it was like— thousands of needles piercing through his skin but also as If his skin was melting off. He wanted it to stop. He wanted all of it to stop.

The change in scenery was harsher now. He would have taken the scientists and the stone over the woman in front of him any day. Everything about her was sharp, her jaw, he gaze, her anger. But right then, he had thought she looked proud of him. He never wanted to think about that day again.

Red is the color of blood. 

It covered the walls. It covered Oliver. It was sticky, but in a satisfying way. 

He'd done the impossible. He had made Madam Petrova proud; she was smiling now. But on her features, it looked grotesque and unnatural.

Red is the color of blood. 

It was everywhere, on the walls, covering Oliver. The smell was overwhelming, but over time, Oliver had gotten used to it. He could almost even taste it, or maybe blood had gotten into his mouth.

The knife clattered to the ground, the sound echoing in his head. What had he done? Why had he done that?

"I knew I could count on you" Madam Petrova was never one to show affection, but she had placed her hand on his shoulder and in that moment, Oliver felt he could conquer the world. "But you are not done proving yourself. Complete your mission."

The mission that she had sent him to die on. He had been foolish to think he was irreplaceable.

There were only two of them. Oliver and a girl a few years older than him, seventeen or eighteen at best. He had actually thought he had made Petrova proud, how could he have been so stupid? She was a monster, and he was her puppet.

A secret found deep in one of the widows' minds- Tests- Dreykov would not be happy. We must take care of the problem- Prove- she needs to prove-

The words he had overheard made sense now. He was the problem and he had been sent on a suicide mission- to "prove himself" what bullshit was that? A top security government transport without any prep time or any inside agents? Oliver should have been dead. But that was the fate of the other widow.

The first bullet hit her in the gap between her eyebrows. Dead within seconds. The next few bullets were quick, and aimed for Oliver. He did what he could. He had never experimented with his powers, but he managed to stop some bullets mid-air. But then, like a coward, he ran. He ran and ran until he felt like he was dying. He should have died, that's what he told himself. He would be better off dead anyways.

Breaking your own nose sound more fun than it actually is. But he knew it had to be done to remove the chip implanted in him. He was shaking and crying and it was hard to tell if it was blood or tears covering his hands. But he managed it, he hit himself in the face as many times as he could with the back of his gun. He broke his nose and just like that... he was free.

Or was he? That's when the memories turned into a nightmare.

"You are a failure, Alyssa" Madam Petrova sneered in the dark room, "Pathetic, weak, useless. And this was the last time you will disappoint me"

A gun had materialized in her hands, pointed straight at the target— Him. She spat at his feet and pulled the trigger.

Even awake, the gunshot seemed to echo in the dark room. Oliver didn't move for what seemed like ages. He was still in shock from his nightmare. It happened often, nearly once or twice every week, he would find himself awake at an ungodly hour and then slowly he would cry himself to sleep. But that was not an option this time.

"Nightmare?"

"What the fuck?" He got to his feet; his fingers instantly wrapped around the knife he always kept under his pillow. The kitchen light switched on, bathing the room in bright white light and causing Oliver to grunt and shield his eyes. He could only make out Bucky's silhouette leaning against the doorframe. He took some time to comprehend what the man had said before nodding slightly.

"You too?"

Bucky licked his lips and nodded too, "What was it about?"

"Stuff" Oliver answered vaguely. He wasn't ready to open up about that part of his life yet. Hesitantly, he put down the knife and started to walk towards the kitchen, "You?"

"HYDRA... mostly"

"I'm... I'm sorry" Oliver tried for the appropriate response.

"In my dream, I was back there. It was horrible" He looked down, his brown hair falling over his face and restricting it from view. He paused a little, but went on. "There was this chair... where they would put me so I would forget everything that had happened on the mission"

Oliver knew about the machine, he couldn't imagine what it would be like to have your brain forcibly wiped.

"That's why... even now sometimes, I have a hard time remembering things. In— in my dream, my handler— Alexander Pierce, he was standing in front of me. He called me names" Bucky looked up finally, his voice was soft now and trembling slightly. "And the part that hurt the most was that I couldn't do anything. It was all up to them; they could do anything they liked with me"

Oliver wanted to say something, but Bucky beat him to it, "I know we're not exactly best friends, but we've been through some similar things. And I just want you to know that it's okay... it hurts but maybe we could go through it together..."

Oliver froze as he reached for a glass of water. What the fuck did he just say? Together? How delusional was this Bucky Barnes to think Oliver wanted to stay around? He only stayed because staying had more advantages than disadvantages.

But he didn't want to make the man sad so he pressed his lips into a straight line and nodded.

"I think I've lost my ability to differentiate between nightmares and real life..." Oliver paused to drink. "Both worlds are just as bad as each other..."

"Hey," Bucky stepped closer. "Don't say that, you're free now. You can do whatever you like. You're never going to go back to the red room again... I'll make sure of it"

A familiar prickling sensation behind his eyes made Oliver want to throw up. How could Bucky possibly say that? Was he really that stupid? Oliver's mind was racing but his body was tired, he just wanted to sleep.

"Good night, Bing Bong" Is what Oliver decided on saying. He wished he had the guts to say what he really wanted to and thank Bucky... but he simply walked past the man and lowered himself onto his mattress.

"Who the fuck is Bing Bong?"