It Wasn't Your Fault

Chapter 1

Peter stumbled through the mud, his right hand holding his left side protectively as he squinted through the downpour. He was so close. Thanks to his enhanced vision, he could make out the front entrance of the Compound. Just a little further. He shivered in the cold rain, feeling his eyes drooping.

"Peter, you have to stay awake. You're approximately 250 feet from the stairs," Karen encouraged. "Keep going. I've alerted Sergeant Barnes and he's coming down now."

"Th'nks, K'rn," he mumbled, forcing his heavy feet to move forward. He made it to the pavement, stumbling again. Through his dizziness, he saw a stocky figure sprinting down the stairs. Peter's feet got stuck underneath him, though, and he fell on his front with a groan...right into a deep puddle.

"Peter!" a voice cried.

He froze. The cold water flooded his mask. He could feel tons of concrete on his shoulders. His arms were too weak to push himself up. He was going to die.

**********

Bucky sat on the couch with a groan, settling in to watch a movie. Something about some kids, magic, and a bad guy. Peter had highly recommended it. Everyone was gone on a mission, so Bucky had the Compound to himself. Even though he'd been cleared of all charges, he was on a 90-day probationary period before he'd be allowed to participate. About ten minutes into the movie, an alarm sounded. He jumped, startled, and looked around, reaching for his pistol that he set on the coffee table.

"Sergeant Barnes, there is no threat. You can put your weapon down," FRIDAY told him. "You'll need to grab your raincoat. Karen has informed me that Peter is severely injured and requires assistance. He is almost to the stairs. Hurry."

Bucky jumped up, the movie all but forgotten, and ran to his room to get his raincoat and throw on some sneakers. He ran to the entrance and the door slid open too slowly. Pulling his hood up, he went to the top of the stairs, his eyes roving across the front yard. He saw a blur of red slowly moving toward him. The jerky movements, the scattered coordination...

"Shit," he spat, barreling down the stairs. Bucky saw Peter go down face-first into a puddle. His heart jumped into his throat. "Peter!"

The boy wasn't moving. Bucky knew he could drown in the tiniest amount of water, so he pushed himself as hard as he could to get to him. He slid to his knees and rolled Peter over onto his back, having to hold his arms to avoid getting punched in the face.

"Peter, stop! It's me!" he exclaimed, yelling over the heavy rain. He moved to straddle Peter and held his wrists with his knees, quickly pulling off his mask and shoving it in his back pocket. Peter's eyes were clenched shut, a look of desperation and pain contorting his young features, lips a deep purple-blue. He grabbed the sides of Peter's face and leaned down. "Peter! Peter, open your eyes! It's Bucky!"

Peter stopped fighting at that, opening his eyes and looking straight into Bucky's. He flinched at the water dripping from Bucky's hood onto his face, his chest heaving as he realized where he was again. Bucky pushed his wet curls off of his forehead and searched his face, looking for some type of explanation. Peter winced at the pain in his wrists and tried to pull them up.

"Ow," he croaked, and Bucky moved off of him, pulling him up with him as he stood. He tried to hurry him inside, an arm around his back and hand at his elbow, but Peter nearly fell on the stairs. His legs felt like jelly and he couldn't take more than two stairs.

"Hang on." Bucky quickly swung him up into his arms, holding him under his back and knees, and ran inside. He stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next. Peter's shivering got worse. That was his cue. "Okay, kid, let's get you cleaned up."