Just Kids | Peter Parker

13 | Back To The Past

Y/N

_

I would say I hated my life, but I didn't really have one.

Most of it I couldn't remember, since I was stuck in a cryo-chamber for 70 years. Now Bucky and Steve wanted to put me back under. Just for a month, they said. But what happens when that month turns into a year, and then forever?

Who would fight for me then?

And I knew they were only doing it for my safety, but I didn't want that. I didn't care about safety when my life was on the line either way.

"Hey," a voice said, snapping me out of my thoughts, "you okay?"

I was sitting in my room, staring at the blank ceiling. Peter was hovering in the doorway, his hands clutched behind his back.

"I'm fine," I nodded, "just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing."

He let out a soft grunt, removing his hands from behind him, and holding out a tiny sliver of paper. I sat up, narrowing my eyes to get a better look.

"What?" I said, tilting my head, "what is that?"

Peter smiled, "I thought you'd want to experience some of the past, since it's been hard to adjust to the future."

"What do you mean?"

He walked across the room, handing me the sheet. I realized now that it was a ticket stub, that read:

Star Wars: Return of the Jedi
Drive-in ticket
7:00pm

Seeing this ticket brought back memories that I had totally forgotten about.

Bucky took me to my first drive-in movie. I was 14, he was 16, and we were both idiots. We met at the pharmacy a couple blocks from my house, and his friends dared him to ask me on a date.

But as soon as we pulled into the parking lot, we realized it was far from a date. The car ride there was filled with jokes and laughter, and it was clear we were going to best friends from there on. That's how I met Bucky. I met Steve after that.

Good times.

"Yeah," I nodded, staring at the floor, "thank you."

Peter tilted his head, "do you want to go with me?"

"To the drive in?"

"Yep."

"Peter, do you even know how to drive?" I asked.

"Kind-of."

"That's not assuring at all," I said, standing up, "I'll drive instead."

I had never seen Star Wars, and I was honestly a little scared to be sitting on the roof of a car with Peter. Unlike with Bucky, Peter and I weren't best friends. If the movie got boring, I wasn't completely confident in my ability to make small talk with him.

And if he touched me, I might accidentally throw him off of the car.

An hour later, I pulled into the grassy field a couple miles out of the city, leaning back into the driver's seat. Peter turned his head, staring at me with those puppy dog eyes.

"What?" I frowned, "what do you want?"

He smiled, "what makes you think I want something?"

"You only make that face when you want something."

"I've just never seen you drive a car before," he explained, "it was cool."

I pursed my lips, popping open the car door and climbing onto the roof in a single motion. Peter had an easier time, since his hands were naturally sticky. Crossing my legs, I stared at the blank projector screen, waiting for the movie to start.

We had a couple minutes before it did, and I felt like I needed to do something. I didn't really know when the right time was, but this seemed to work.

"Peter?" I said, grabbing the boy's attention. He snapped his head to look at me almost instantaneously, "thank you for standing up for me."

Even though I knew it didn't mean anything to Steve and Bucky, it meant something to me. I saw him in a slightly different light.

"You're welcome," he beamed, "That's what friends do."

"You think I'm your friend?"

"Am I not yours?"

I paused, clearing my throat. I didn't really know anything about him, other than the fact that he was a touchy-feely person, got bitten by a radioactive spider, and had a strange obsession with puppy dog eyes. I doubted he knew anything about me.

"I..." I started, "I just don't think we know each other that well."

He looked a little disappointed hearing me say that, "what do you mean?"

"You don't know me, Peter."

"Yes, I do, [y/n]."

I blinked, waiting for him to explain. I had generally lived a closed off life, and it was hard for someone to get to know me without me letting them. I never let Peter. It didn't make any sense that he knew me.

"You do?" I said, turning to face me. "How?"

"I know you like the smell of freshly baked bread."

How did he know that? I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, scratching the back of my neck.

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Every time May makes it, you keep your door cracked open a little."

"Oh."

"I also know your favorite color is green."

"I never told you that."

"You didn't have to," he sighed, "you hate the color red, and since green is its opposite, you take comfort in it."

How did he know that too? How did he know I hated the color red? It was like he was reading my mind, but that was impossible.

"How did you know I hate the color red?" I questioned, leaning forward in interest.

"I notice things," he said, "like when I noticed you covered up all my red posters in your room."

"It just reminds me of..." I started, before stopping myself, "...things."

"What things?"

Swallowing my spit in nervousness, I unzipped my sweater, and moved aside the fabric to show him the star. The red star. The star that made me hate everything red.

When Peter saw the marking on my metal arm, his breath hitched a little. I never really showed it off willingly, so this was new. I expected him to cower in fear, or judge me, but he didn't.

Instead he smiled at me.

"I can fix it for you," he said, "but only if you want me to."

"How would you fix it?"

The boy ran his hand through his hair, showing off his cheeky grin.

"Don't worry about it," he said, "you'll find out later."