Peter & Bucky Are Pals

Chapter 24

Natasha and Sam were already in the kitchen when Peter got up for school the next morning; he wasn’t surprised to see them but he was surprised that they didn’t notice him. They were talking quietly but quickly, and the glimpse that Peter had caught of Natasha’s face before ducking back behind the corner looked unnaturally worried. He trained his ear on their voices and managed to make out what they were saying.

“...fine on the outside, but it’s killing him, being stuck in bed. I would hate it, and he’s even more…” Natasha was drowned out by the clatter of a fork.

“...not much we can do,” Sam replied. “Just keep him hopeful, bring life to him so he doesn’t feel so much like he’s missing out.”

“I just don’t see this panning out well, and I feel like there’s nothing I can do about it. I hate feeling helpless, Sam. I hate it,” Natasha said fiercely.

“I know.” Sam’s voice was low, barely audible. “Just keep going to see him. It helps him, I promise. I know Rhodey is coming in a few days after I’m back in DC. I don’t know if it’ll help, but I don’t think it would hurt. It’ll show him that people can still function, even with paralysis. I’m not saying it won’t be tough; I’m worried too. We just need to support him the best we can.”

Natasha sighed. “Thanks, Sam. Peter, you can come out now.”

Peter jumped, then guiltily slid out of his hiding place and slunk into the kitchen, eyes down. He should’ve known better than to think that Natasha didn’t know he was there.

“How much of that did you hear?” Sam asked, a hint of scolding in his voice.

“Just the last bit,” Natasha answered in Peter’s turn. “If you’re going to eavesdrop, do it right next time.”

“Sorry,” Peter murmured, red-cheeked. Sam offered him a small, forgiving smile. Natasha exhaled tiredly but squeezed him around the shoulders.

“Eat your breakfast,” she said. “You only have seven minutes before you have to leave for school.”

Peter scurried off to make himself a bowl of cereal, thinking over the conversation he’d overheard. Natasha was worried. Earlier, she’d said she thought Bucky would recover. Had she been lying? Had she changed her mind? Peter shuddered. At least Sam was optimistic, however cautiously.

“Is there coffee?” someone asked, zombie-like, and Peter turned to find Clint ambling sleepily through the doorway.

“Yeah, it’s on the counter,” Sam said, waving his hand.

“Thank fuck. I didn’t sleep last night. Oh hey, morning Petey-Pie.”

“Morning,” Peter replied, moving over so Clint could grab the coffee pot. He moved to get Clint a mug, but Clint started gulping right out of the pot, earning a swat over the head form Natasha.

“Ow!” Clint yelped, sloshing coffee on his shirt.

“Serves you right,” Natasha reprimanded. “Don’t drink from the pot.”

“I’m almost done,” Clint wheedled, inhaling the rest of the coffee and ducking away from Natasha’s palm. He set the pot in the sink, reaching up for a granola bar from the cabinets over the counter. He followed Peter to the table and took a seat.