String Theory

Chapter 5

Tucked into Tony's bed, curled in a ball and breathing softly, Peter dreams about home.

Not the way it should be, but the way it is. Peter finds himself standing in the doorway of his apartment, and though he doesn't know where he is, he knows this is home. His dream-self tiptoes through the hallway. His room is untouched. The bunk bed in the corner is made neatly. A few schoolbooks are stacked on the end of it, and a note - "Had to leave early; enjoy your trip to MOMA, be safe! Love you lots, May" - with a little heart scribbled at the end. Peter feels a chill settle over him, and he glances to the open window. Where a vinyl would normally be playing some old pop music, there's only suffocating silence. A few unopened Lego sets rest on his desk, along with a notebook. Its blank pages flutter, turning over in the breeze from the window. The cool air washes over Peter, and he swallows, giving a little shiver.

Hesitantly, he calls out, "Hello?"

No answer. Not even an echo. The wind picks up, gusting over Peter with a sudden, paralyzing chill, and his breath catches in his throat. Instinctively, he grips at his own hands, verifying that they're still there. Still solid. Not dust. The wind caresses his cheek, and in a barely discernible whisper: come home. Peter goes very still, listening. Surprisingly, he doesn't feel much panic, or fear. Just... an uncomfortable loneliness, and a deep, unshakable cold. He hates it. He's felt cold since he woke up in the lab, and he hasn't been able to get warm.

It's this same cold that wakes Peter from the dream. He squirms a little, feeling for his blanket, and when he doesn't find it, he peels his eyes open sleepily. The blanket's on the floor, and there's goosebumps racing up and down his arms, so he leans down and yanks the blanket up, tugging it around his shoulders quickly. After taking a moment to blink the fatigue out of his eyes, Peter slips off the bed and pads over to the window. The sky is thickly overcast, keeping the sunlight from reaching the ground. Instead, fog dapples the dense treeline, and rain patters against the window quietly. Although their purpose is to keep the compound from suspicion and general public eye, the trees give everything an eerie sort of feel. Peter likes it. With everything that's going on, the old-fashioned kind of creepy actually has a calming effect. He feels like he's in the strongholds of Gondor, entrenched deep within the Lord of the Rings universe, wearing a cape. It's better than alone, in the Avengers compound, wrapped in a blanket. "Come home," he murmurs aloud, thinking of the papers, and the dream. He has no idea where home is, or how to get there.

"You good, kid?" comes a voice from the door, and Peter gives a little smile as he recalls he's not alone anymore. When he peers over his shoulder, Bucky's standing there, dressed for the day and holding a set of car keys.

Peter returns to sit on the edge of the bed, folding one leg under him. "Yeah, I'm okay," he replies, and tugs the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He glances to the car keys with concern. "Where are you going?"

"Grocery store. You're out of everything but junk." Bucky grins a little. "I can't eat teenager food."

Peter huffs a quiet laugh, and plays with the hem of his shirt nervously. The unspoken question hangs in the air for a moment, and Bucky answers it softly: " Yes , I'm coming back. Seriously, Tony, I'm just getting food. I'm not running out on you."

Bucky crosses the gap between them and sinks on to the edge of the bed. He settles a hand on Peter's shoulder gently. "I know you're stressed, but you can relax, kid. You're safe, and you're not alone, not as long as you got me." He pauses, and the words feel natural on his tongue. "I'm with you, pal, and that's 'til the end of the line, too. Not just 'til the end of the grocery run."

When he looks up, Bucky's smiling gently, and a wave of relief washes over Peter. Maybe he shouldn't be getting attached so fast, but with nobody else around, he can't help it. Yeah, Peter would like one of the adults in his dreams - the man in the suit, or his friendly aunt, but he supposes that the weird, one-armed older brother is as good as it'll get. He isn't complaining. Bucky's been nothing but a comfort so far. Peter's mouth lifts into a weak smile, and he nods a little in agreement. "Okay."