Boys like Boys|| Peter Parker

.22.

August, 2016

America was nothing like he expected and everything he needed. 

It was loud and big. It was colorful and dark, friendly and rude, scary and freeing. It was everything all at once. It was overwhelming. Which was exactly what Oliver needed. For once in his life— to just stop thinking.

He didn't have a plan exactly. He never seemed to have a plan these days. He was free and he didn't know what to do with that freedom. 

Sure he had been free before— with Bucky. But this was a new sort of freedom. 

He'd received word recently, from Natasha Romanoff. Nothing fancy like a meeting, just a piece of paper. It couldn't even be classified as a letter. Four words.

He's dead. It's destroyed. 

Four words. Four words that meant so much. Four words that sent relief coursing through him.

He's dead. It's destroyed. He's dead. It's destroyed. He's dead. It's destroyed.

The words had a way of repeating in his head until he couldn't think of anything else. The words repeated and repeated, until they twisted into words spoken sarcastically, or even as a joke. He would start doubting it again, how could one woman accomplish that? There was just no way it was possible. Surely she was lying. 

Had she really sent the message? Or was it all a trick of his mind? Had he imagined everything? He'd tell himself— No. She did send that message. 

But then a voice at the back of his mind would ask, What if it wasn't her? What if you're losing your mind? What if—

He hated that spiral of what if. It went on for hours, for days... 

Eventually he would get up and look at the small piece of paper again to calm his nerves. That's why he liked America. There was no room to think about the spirals in his mind. There was so much to see, so much to hear, so much to do. 

Other times, he would've been annoyed by it. Too many colors, too many noises, too many people. But he was grateful for the distraction. 

"Um... Are you gonna pay?"

The voice interrupted his train of thought. Oliver mentally cursed himself for getting lost in his thoughts again, right at the checkout that too, how inconvenient. 

"Yes. Right" He blinked a few times, trying not to show his embarrassment. He handed the man at the counter a few bills and waited for the change. Thankfully, it seemed the cashier had seen worse than just Oliver spacing out, since he ignored it without any further conversation. 

The shop wasn't anything great, just a general store near to where he currently lived. He had visited a couple times before and the current cashier seemed to be the only employee. 

Jared. Oliver had found out. 

He didn't like to think of it as stalking, just taking care of himself. Background checks, really. He knew he was being paranoid. Hydra was dead or dying and the red room was destroyed. He had nothing to worry about. 

But old habits die hard. 

From the corner of his eye, Oliver could make out two other customers- an old woman, maybe sixty or so and a kid behind him in line, a chocolate bar in hand. He knew they were there together, the woman— possibly his grandmother, had called him by name several times and seemed to be the one going to pay. 

Oliver took the change, thankful that Jared was a very no nonsense person who didn't like to talk very much.  

Oliver grabbed the energy drink, tampons and chips, hoping for no further conversation. But of course, when does he get what he want? 

"I haven't seen you here before" 

The boy cringed, but turned around to face the old woman nonetheless. "We just moved" He started to move to leave, but the woman wasn't finished. 

"I'm Abigail, and this is my grandson— Aiden"

"Oliver" 

Again, the conversation didn't end there. 

"We live a block away, never seen you with your parents" Abigail was getting on Oliver's nerves now. Oliver had no obligation to stay and talk with her. "Can't say they're good parents either, looking at the state of you. And what sort of mother sends her son for.."

It was clear Abigail was referring to the box of tampons he had shoved in the bag. Oliver almost rolled his eyes. Old people. 

"My dad's dead and my mother is sick" Oliver managed to get that out of gritted teeth. He'd gone over the lie so many times that providing Abigail with a backstory came naturally to him. For a moment he wanted to imagine his life as he was lying to everyone about. 

A single mother and her son, moved from Europe— where in Europe? they would ask, Oh Netherlands, Amsterdam. He adored his mother, but she fell sick last year and the doctors advised them to move to America for better treatment. Oh you poor thing, what happened to her? Cancer— liver cancer. He would then look to the ground, and they'd feel uncomfortable, thankfully letting the conversation go. 

"You have no right to speak about her, she's the most wonderful mother in the world" He tried to sound as immature and childish as possible. 

"Oh, of course, I was only—"

Oliver was tired, you could see it in the darkening bags under his eyes, the slump of his shoulders, the downturn of his lips. He had no energy left for that conversation. He didn't want to put conscious effort to lie right now. 

He left before he could say some very unkind things.