Peter was attentive enough during first period, but his worry grew worse as the day drew on. He’d forgotten to ask when they were doing the tests on Bucky… would he be home in time? Were they already doing them? Had they finished already? Did they know the results? What if it was bad news?
Peter internally slapped himself. It wasn’t going to be good news, Bruce had said as much. He felt that he should expect the worst, but how could he? It would be like giving up. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to massage the headache from his temples.
“Peter,” Ned hissed, poking his side.
Peter lifted his head fast enough to get whiplash. “Yeah?”
Ned gave a little nod to the front of the class, where Señor Alcaldo was standing, eyebrows raised.
“La respuesta?”
“Um… Puedes repetir la pregunta, por favor?”
Señor Alcaldo gave Peter a disappointed look. “Debes prestar atención en clase. Lo sabes.”
Peter’s cheeks burned. He looked at his desk. “Sí, Señor Alcaldo. Lo siento.”
“It’s not Peter’s fault!” Ned protested. The entire class turned to look at him; Señor Alcaldo frowned.
“En español por favor.”
“It’s fine, Ned,” Peter murmured urgently. “Just leave it.”
“You fight injustice on the streets, I fight injustice in the classroom,” Ned whispered to him. Then louder, “No es… culpa? De Peter,.”
“¿Sí? Por qué no?” asked Señor Alcaldo.
Ned opened his mouth, then closed it, visibly forming sentences in his head. “Él está triste porque su amigo está... herido. Eso es muy malo.”
“¿Sí? Lo siento, Peter, pero aún debes prestar atención. Lo entiendes?”
“Entiendo,” Peter said quietly.
Ned looked like he might protest more, but Peter gave him a tap with his foot.
“Voy a repetir la pregunta. ¿Cuál es el mejor lugar para ir cuando hay un terremoto?
“Debajo de una mesa. O en una ... puerta.”
“Bueno.” Señor Alcaldo turned away, and Peter exhaled. He wanted to wring his hands, but it would draw attention to him. Instead, he put on his best attentive face and let Señor Alcaldo’s voice flow over his head like a river.
----
When Peter got home, he took the elevator straight to the medbay, hurrying down the hall and dodging around one nurse before another caught his arm.
“You can’t go in yet,” she said apologetically. “They’re still testing, and the equipment’s sensitive.”
Peter’s shoulders drooped.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “They’ll be done in about half an hour.”
Peter checked the time on his phone. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks.”
The nurse smiled at him as he turned, heading back down the hall. He stepped into the elevator and tapped his foot as it ascended.
“Which floor, Mr. Parker?” JARVIS asked politely.
“Um…” Peter scrubbed a hand through his blue hair. “I don’t know.”
He expected to be taken to the common floor or maybe to his room, but the elevator came to a stop at Tony’s workshop. The door slid open, and Peter was greeted with the familiar scent of fried wires and oil. Classic rock was booming at a level that hurt his ears; JARVIS turned it down, catching Tony’s attention.
“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said, wiping the grease from his hands and striding over. “Doing okay?”
Peter shrugged, and Tony pulled him in for a one-armed hug turned hair-tussle.
“Got homework?”
“Yeah.” Peter made a little face at the thought.
Tony noticed and waved a hand. “Screw that. Want to do some real work instead?”
“Yeah,” Peter said again, relieved.
Tony nodded, heading over to a bench and scooping up a folder, managing to get grease all over it despite having cleaned his hands. He didn’t seem to notice.
“This has all the schematics and plans for Barnes’s braces. The first page has the measurements you did the other day; I need you to start building with holograms. I showed you how to use the program I created, didn’t I? Yeah, I did. Go ahead, go crazy.”
Peter dropped his backpack and took the folder. “Thanks.”
“Sure. Music, JARVIS.”
“Music at your usual levels is detrimental to Mr. Parker’s enhanced hearing,” JARVIS interjected. “I’ve told you this before, sir.”
“Right you are. How ‘bout this, I’ll pick the music, you pick the volume, Petey. Sound good?”
Peter nodded. “Sorry.”
“Are you really apologizing for your ears?”
“I…” Peter looked sheepish, and Tony lifted the corner of his mouth.
“It’s no problem. Probably good for me, so I don’t go deaf in the next ten years.”
Peter managed a wisp of laughter, opening the folder and laying it out on one of the tables by the wall. A manipulatable screen flickered on in front of him, and he took a moment to admire the technology before getting to work.
“You can pull up Rhodey’s if you want a reference,” Tony said. “They should be filed under Chicky Chick. He wanted to stick around, help out, but they called him down to DC for some emergency consultation.”
“Chicky Chick?” Peter repeated, lips twitching.
Tony waved a hand. “Rhode Island Red is a type of chicken.”
Peter laughed for real.
“Hey, don’t judge me. I came up with it on zero hours of sleep and five cups of coffee during our freshman year of college.”
“You’ve known Rhodey for that long?”
“I’ve known Rhodey for a lot longer than you’ve been alive, Pete-O.”
Peter bit his lip in a smile, pulling up the file labeled Chicky Chick with a flick of his finger. He studied the design carefully, then began to build, using Bucky’s measurements and Tony’s schematics for reference. He got so absorbed in his work that the music faded away and he lost time; his mind was blissfully anxiety-free.
Carbon fiber with metal rods for support, complex hinge-type joints at the sides of the knees, lengthening capabilities for range of motion at the hips… the neural connections, he’d leave to Bruce. But the mechanics were satisfyingly mind-numbing. He started on them after he finished the general plan; he got through finalizing the flexors in the ankles before someone tapped his back and he spun around, jumping so high he could’ve made it onto the table. Dum-E made an apologetic series of clicks, scooting back, and Peter exhaled, adrenaline flooding from him like a wave.
“Barnes’s tests are done,” Tony said, voice muffled by several screws he was holding between his teeth. “Bruce just called in. You were pretty focused there, I don’t think you heard.”
“I didn’t,” said Peter, his nerves jumping. “Did he say…”
Tony took the screws out of his mouth and swiveled in his seat to face Peter, looking unnaturally somber. “It doesn’t look good. They think his healing factor is at its limit, here.”
Peter swallowed hard, his hand drifting up towards his mouth before he forced it back down to his side. Something metal closed around it, and he looked down to find Dum-E gripping his hand awkwardly. He let out a shaky breath and Tony stood up, striding over and squeezing his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Peter.”
Peter wiped at his face with the hand that Dum-E wasn’t holding. “Can… can I go see him?”
“Yeah. Go ahead, kiddo.”
Peter pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling. Tony drew him into a strong hug, close enough that Peter could feel the Arc Reactor beneath his shirt. Tony rested his chin on the top of Peter’s head for a brief moment before releasing him so that he could go.
For all he wanted to move, Peter felt frozen; Tony placed a hand on his back and led him to the elevator, providing the momentum he lacked. Tony didn’t leave him, instead rubbing little circles on his back with his thumb as the elevator took them down to the medbay.
When the doors opened, the first thing Peter heard was Steve shouting. He flinched, and Tony’s arm snaked around him. A nurse scurried out of Bucky’s room, pale and close to tears. Tony gritted his teeth, looking pained.
“Stay here a second,” he told Peter before striding down the hall towards Steve’s voice. Peter followed, stopping two meters from the doorway.
“-wrong, he’s getting better! You said… He has to-”
“Steve,” Peter heard Tony say.
“He’s been through so much, and now-”
“Rogers,” said Tony, a little more forcefully.
“-you’re telling me it’s getting worse? It can’t… You have to fix him. You have to-”
“Cap,” Tony snapped. “Stand down.”
Steve’s voice cut off, and the silence rang so loudly in Peter’s ears that he almost missed Bucky speak.
“Stevie.” Bucky cleared his throat. “Look. I’m broke, and they can’t fix me.”
“Buck.” Steve’s voice cracked wretchedly.
Bucky’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “I’m broke. For good this time. You know what they do to broken horses, Stevie?”
“Buck, no.”
“I ain’t getting better. Put me down, Steve. It’s kinder that way.”
“No!” Steve’s voice was loud enough that Peter clapped his hands over his ears. “You don’t get to say that. You can’t… You… I can’t lose you again.”
“Steve-”
“Okay, no,” Tony interrupted. “I hate saying this, but I’m taking Cap’s side. You know Dum-E, Barnes?”
Bucky must’ve replied affirmative, because Tony continued.
“He’s broken so many times I can’t even count. Did I ever scrap him? No, I didn’t. Because I fucking love him, and if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll throw you down the garbage chute. You get me, Barnes? You understand?”
“I-”
“And you can’t just fucking ask Steve to euthanize you, Jesus Christ. Do you know how horrible that sounds? Do you know what it would do to Peter to hear you say that? Are you looking at Steve’s face right now? Look at him, Barnes, and tell me if that’s fair to him.”
“It-”
“It isn’t. End of fucking story. Would you do it? If Steve asked, would you do it?”
The pause felt like eternity before Bucky spoke, almost in a whisper. “No.”
“Exactly. Now both of you pull yourselves together, and I’m going to go get Peter. Who, by the way, would be devastated if he had the misfortune of being here for this conversation. Jesus H. Christ on a stick.”
Peter didn’t process the fact that he should probably move so Tony wouldn’t find out he was eavesdropping; Tony turned out into the hall and came to a stop at the sight of him. He lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long sigh.
“You heard that, didn’t you.”
Peter nodded, his eyes welling. Tony let out a stream of choice words, a few of which weren’t in English.
“Peter?” Bucky called, and Peter scooted into the doorway, sniffling.
Bucky’s eyes were red; tears were streaming down Steve’s cheeks. Bucky lifted the hand that Steve wasn’t holding, his metal one, and Peter stumbled forward, gripping on to it like it was the only thing keeping him from falling from a building.
“Please don’t go. Please don’t go. I don’t want you to go,” he whispered. “Please.”
Bucky looked like he’d been slapped in the face. He took in Peter’s desolate expression, then looked up at Steve, whose entire body was shaking.
“Do you get it now, Barnes?” Tony asked from the doorway.
Slowly, Bucky nodded.
“Good. I’ll leave you to deal with the mess you made, then. Excuse me while I go apologize to that poor nurse that Steve reduced to tears.”
Steve looked utterly stricken. “I… I didn’t mean-”
“God, your face. She’ll be fine. Just apologize yourself later, she’ll understand.” With that, Tony disappeared down the hall, leaving Peter perched on the bed on Bucky’s left and Steve in a chair on the right. Steve hid his face behind a huge hand, his shoulders hunching and trembling, making him look far smaller than he was. He forced down a sob; it caught in his throat and he choked on it.
“Hey,” Bucky murmured.
Steve drew in an uneven breath, then let it out. “What are we gonna do, Buck?”
“I dunno, Stevie.” The smile that Bucky tried to form came out twisted. Peter’s heart dropped; Bucky couldn’t give up.
“I. Um. I’m working on the braces,” he choked out. “Like Rhodey’s. So you can walk. I know it’s… It’s not… But it’s something.”
Bucky closed his eyes for a moment; when he reopened them, they were sad, but warm. “Thank you, Peter. I’m real grateful.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, and Bucky pulled him under his arm, burying his face in Peter’s blue hair.
“It was worth it,” he replied.
The translated conversation in Spanish:
"The answer?"
"Can you repeat the question, please?"
"You must pay attention in class. You know this."
"Yes, Mr. Alcaldo. I'm sorry."
“It’s not Peter’s fault!” Ned protested.
"In Spanish, please."
"It isn’t Peter’s… fault?"
"Yes? Why not?"
"He is sad because his friend is... injured. It is very bad."
"Yes? I'm sorry, Peter, but you must still pay attention. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"I will repeat the question. Where is the best place to go when there is an earthquake?"
"Under a table. Or in a... doorway."
"Good."
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