String Theory

Chapter 3

Peter's frozen, in shock at the barrage of information thrown at him. He can't bring himself to say anything. The man is inches from his face, gripping him as tight as steel - in fact, his left arm is cold, and Peter briefly wonders if it's made of metal. When the stranger's harsh gaze doesn't break, Peter swallows hard and rests his head against the wall. His voice is soft.

"I'm- I'm not Steve, dude."

The man seems taken aback by this, and his eyes wrinkle in confusion. He shakes his head after a moment. "No, come on," he starts, tone sharp. "Don't pull this memory shit on me. It's not funny, man. It's not a joke." He licks his lips and pulls away, takes a step back. The panic is evident in his wide eyes, and Peter feels a twinge of guilt when his voice breaks. "I know you. I know your face and I know your name. Come on, Steve. You're the only fucking person I remember, you can't just—"

He has to stop to breathe for a second. When he talks again, his voice is soft, almost pleading. "—You remember me? I'm Bucky. My name is Bucky."

That hangs in the air for a moment, and Peter swallows hard. The back of his neck is hot, flushed with fear, but the tingling is gone, so he speaks quietly and gently. "Bucky... look, I'm sorry, but I'm not... I'm not Steve. My name is Tony. I don't know who —"

Bucky looks up, gaze sharpening. "What did you just say?"

"I'm... not Steve?"

"No. What's your name? Your full name?"

"Tony, um. Tony Stark."

Bucky's heart skips, and his features go slack. Though he hadn't known that name before, the encrypted message he'd received this morning told him everything he needed to know about Tony Stark. He raises his eyebrows and stares at Peter for a long second. "Are you fucking kidding?"

When Peter shakes his head, Bucky presses a hand to the boy's chest, backing him into the wall again. His eyes are wide with something between panic and anger, and his voice is sharp. "What did Galahad tell you, huh? Tell me you didn't go to one of those memory clinics. Say you didn't, kid."

Peter blanches at the mention of Galahad, feeling like a child that was caught stealing candy. He swallows hard and furrows his brows. "I... didn't."

"Yeah, 'kay, don't lie, " Bucky says sharply. "What'd they do to you?"

"Nothing!" His voice pitches up in alarm, eyes widening. He talks fast, tripping over his own words. "I didn't- I mean, I didn't even make it inside, dude, nothing happened! There's — it was just - this guy came outside, and, he was, y'know, freaking out about something, and I tried to get him to calm down, but he just - he fell, and this, this - this — car, um, the car hit him, and so I - I, you know, I did what anybody would have, I — uh, ran. I ran away. Didn't go inside."

Bucky's staring at him, trying to analyze him. This kid's high strung as hell, and half of the shit that just came out of his mouth was indiscernible. "Someone got hit by a car," he repeats carefully. "So you ran away."

There's a moment of silence between the two of them, filled only with the sounds of the city in the background, and Peter can see Bucky's demeanor shift. Bucky licks his lips, thinking hard. He remembers Steve Rogers by name and feelings only - can't place his face. He just knows that Steve's the scrawny, pissy, Brooklyn-born excuse for his best friend. That's the same best friend who got beat up in every other alley in New York City. It's easy to put this kid, with a quickly-forming black eye and a sweater two sizes too big for him, in Steve's place. Whether or not he's Galahad's number one lead, Bucky mostly sees a scared teenager. His heart goes out to the punk, so after a moment, a smile ghosts at the edges of his mouth. "Let me guess," he says. "You walked into a door."