Just Kids | Peter Parker

14 | Walk With Me

Y/N

_

"Come here," Peter said, sitting on the floor of his living room.

I wasn't completely sure what was going on, but as soon as I woke up, he told me to take a shower and change into my school clothes. When questioned about it, he said it was a surprise.

I didn't really like surprises.

"If you're going to try and remove my arm," I sighed, sitting down in front of him, "it's not going to work."

"I'm not going to remove your arm."

"Then what are you going to do?"

His eyes lit up, as if he was waiting for me to ask that question this whole time. Lifting up a small black box beside him, he shook it around and held it up to his ear. The sounds of the objects inside hitting the metal case was loud enough to wake May, who was still sleeping in the other room.

"Whatever is in there," I sighed, "better be quick, because I don't like sitting on the floor."

"Just close your eyes."

"No thank you."

"But it's not a surprise if you don't!"

"Peter," I said, staring into his eyes, "just tell me what you're doing."

He stuck out his bottom lip in disappointment, but that quickly faded away when he flipped open the metal box in his hands. Taking out a small paintbrush, three jars of paint, and a water cup, he waved his hands around in awe.

"I'm going to paint over the star!" he exclaimed, "that way you won't have to be scared of it anymore!"

...

...

I genuinely didn't know what to say. I couldn't say anything at all. Peter dipped the paintbrush into the water, swishing it around before scooping up a dollop of white paint. I just watched in silence as he mixed around the colors to find the perfect shade of cream.

"Is it okay if I touch you for this?" he asked, glancing at my metal arm.

I nodded, "I can't feel it there, anyways."

"Okay!"

Silently, he scooted over to where I was sitting and began to get to work. Minutes passed, and he was still utterly focused on the tiny mural he was making. I had never seen him so dedicated to something.

"It's almost done," he grinned, adding a few more dots, "okay, now it's done."

Letting him blow on it, I tilted my head to get a better look. The red star was gone. I let out a sigh of relief, but froze when I realized what had taken it's place. I giant white blob was painted onto my arm, decorated with tiny sparkles on the edges.

"Is that..." I mumbled, "a snowflake?"

Peter looked incredibly proud, "yes, yes it is."

"Why?"

"Because snowflakes are for winter!" He explained, "and it's winter, because you're the winter soldier!"

I blinked, speechless for the second time. What was I supposed to say to that? Yes, I am the winter soldier. Give me snow! The snowflake didn't entirely look like a snowflake either, but I'll just blame it on Peter's mediocre art skills.

"Thank you," I said, nodding my head, "I like it."

"You're very welcome," he beamed, shutting the box closed, "now it's time to go to school."

No, I did not want to go to school. I couldn't go to school. I still wasn't sure if I could walk the halls without remembering the time where I threatened Flash.

"I'm not going to school," I stated, shaking my head.

"You have to, [y/n]."

"No, I don't."

"If you won't go," he sighed, "then your dad's might think you aren't adjusting."

He had a point. If I didn't go, Bucky would be on my back for it, and that would be another excuse for the government to put me back under. I wanted to adjust, don't get me wrong, but I never had the best opportunities to. It was hard.

"Fine," I gave in, "I'll go."

"I'll walk with you."

"I don't need you to walk me to school, Peter. Don't worry about it."

"You're usually the one worried for me," he said, standing onto his feet, "so this time I want to make sure you know I'm worried for you."

Without giving me a chance to argue, he strode off into his room to grab his backpack. Peter Parker was going to walk me to school.

Like I was a child.

I didn't like the idea of it one bit, but I didn't feel mad. Any other time I would have snapped and gone off on my own, but this time I stayed. As I waited for him to come back outside, my gaze traveled over to my arm, where the paint was still drying.

A snowflake, he said.

And suddenly I liked snowflakes.