String Theory

Chapter 3

"Yeah," Peter says. "Exactly." He gives a little smile, but it fades fast. The image of the man's twisted and bloodied body in the street is still burned to the inside of his eyelids. He winces, and Bucky shifts to grip his shoulder. It's less demanding, more reassuring — he can read Peter's body language.

"You got a ride, kid?"

The drive back to upstate New York is a lengthy one, but the time passes quickly. Bucky is remarkably easy to get along with. The two trade stories about how they woke up, what they remember, and how Galahad had gotten into contact with both of them. Bucky had woken up in his mom's apartment, only to find that she no longer lives there, and hasn't for years. Peter laughs when Bucky tells him the first thing he did was get a haircut. He talks about what he does remember - a few faces, three names, and the war. He's very careful to avoid talking about the war in detail, or even mention its name. Doesn't want to talk about it, and doesn't want to scare Peter off. No way the kid'll believe him if he says he fought in World War II. Galahad had reached out to him via cell phone, and asked him to check in on Stark, who wasn't replying to their last transmission. Bucky'd been on his way to get a car when he ran into Peter.

Peter's hands stay decidedly non-tingly during the entire trip, besides one time where Bucky almost ran off the road. "Dude, this is an Audi! Be careful!" Peter had squeaked, and Bucky hadn't done anything but give a half-cocked grin. The radio proves to be a struggle for Bucky - he makes more than one comment about "what kids these days listen to." Peter ends up tuning it to an 80's hits station, and Bucky taps his foot to the beat. He had bought Peter a pretzel, and glances from the road every so often to ensure he's actually eating the damn thing.

Speaking of Peter, he's slouched in the passenger seat, watching the mile markers go by. He's chewing thoughtfully, one hand tucked under his arm, the other waving the pretzel for emphasis. "Why's your left arm so strong?" he asks, voice muffled by a mouthful of dough. "It's like it's made of metal or somethin'."

"That's 'cause it is," Bucky says, giving him a look. He lifts his hand to his mouth, pulling the single left glove off with his teeth. The hand's gunmetal grey, with light gold accenting underneath the joints. Peter's eyes snap wide open, and he sits up straight, yelping, "What!?"

He covers his mouth, because he definitely just spat some of his pretzel, and Bucky grins. When Peter swallows enough to talk properly, he leans forward to inspect what he can see of it. Despite its obvious mechanical structure, Peter can't hear its movements. Normally, he can hear that sort of thing, but the metal is completely sound-proof, rendering it inconspicuous even to Peter's advanced hearing. "That's awesome," he says, voice softening in amazement.

"Okay, enough," Bucky groans. "Major déjà vécu, kid."

"Isn't it déjà vu?"

"Well, yeah, that too, but déjà vécu is the feeling of— y'know. Already having been through something. Like you've lived it before. Maybe in a past life, or maybe in this one." He glances over at Peter, who's tilting his head a little. A smile, and then he laughs, "We don't remember anything, right? If I feel like I remember something, it probably happened."

"Oh," Peter says, and frowns thoughtfully. "That makes sense."

He goes quiet. All he can think of is the dreams he's had, both waking and sleeping. The vision of the Titan with the gauntlet dripping with blood, and the dead man in the half-destroyed armor; the voice, promising I'm gonna bring you home, kid. No matter what. It's overwhelming. He doesn't like the intrusion of thought, and doesn't like dwelling on the fact that they're way too real to be imagined, which means they happened.

"Is any more of you metal?" he asks suddenly, trying to get his mind off the subject. He bites into his pretzel and continues eagerly. "Like, who'd you get your arm from? Is that how you know Galahad? — Were you sent from the future to protect me? Is your skeleton metal? That would be so cool, dude."

"Thanks for summarizing Terminator ," Bucky replies.

Peter chokes on his pretzel and splutters, coughing up a wad of it and nearly having to spit it out.

Bucky tips his head back, laughing loudly. It's a pleasant sound, and if not for the embarrassment flushing Peter's cheeks, he'd be laughing, too. It takes a few seconds of recovery before he can muster up a giggle to save face. Bucky shakes his head as they pull into the compound's gates, then replies, "I donno if anything else is metal, but I'm guessing it's just the arm. I don't know how it happened. Couldn't tell you if I tried. And before you ask, yeah, it has feeling. Lots of it."

Peter snaps his mouth shut. That was going to be his next question. Instead, he mumbles an "oh," and climbs out of the car, which Bucky had since parked. The two make their way inside.

"Welcome home, Tony," Karen says as they walk in. Bucky almost jumps clean out of his skin, and peers up at the ceiling as Karen continues, "Who's your friend?"

"Hey, Karen." Peter tosses his backpack to the couch. "Miss me? —This is Bucky. He mugged me."

"Hey!" Bucky protests, indignant. "I didn't mug you! Ungrateful little—"

"Bucky, this is Karen," Peter continues, ignoring him. "She's my, uhh, ceiling lady. Invisible mom."

"I'm your mom?"

"Your mom is in the ceiling?" Bucky frowns, confused, a little concerned.

Peter flails a hand, searching for an explanation. "Not really my mom, just— she's nice and, uh— takes care of me, y'know?"

"...Uh huh," Bucky says, tossing a wary glance upwards.

Peter speaks over his shoulder, leading him down the hallway. "There's tons of rooms. You can have whatever one you want. All the clothes are too big, so they'll probably fit you perfect."

"Where's your computer? We should tell Galahad you made it back AOK." He snorts a laugh. "He was worried you got sniped."

"Sniped?" Peter asks, frowning. He shifts course to go down to the lab. "Who'd snipe me? Why?"

"Orthus, probably." Bucky shrugs. "Who knows what they're— up to..." He trails off when he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Peter's stopped dead, staring into the lab.

"Jesus," Bucky breathes. "What the hell is that?"

On the floor, on individual sheets of paper, two words are spelled out, letter by letter.

COME HOME.