primowebslinger (primowebslinger) wrote in winterdale, @ 2020-07-09 00:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: bucky barnes, character: peter parker, fandom: marvel |
Who: Peter Parker and Bucky Barnes
What: Spider Monkey tries to save the day without it...really needing saving apparently.
Where: Along some alleyways along Dunwich
When: Saturday, Jul 4th, night time
Rating: TBA
Thinking about things was...not his strong suit.
Wait, no, no it was, it was his strong suit. In fact thinking about things was what he was good at. It had been the one thing he’d always been good at, way better than most people. Building things was what he was good at. Figuring out details and mechanics and impossible science, studying and working to take things apart and put them back together...he was really, really good at that. At all of that.
So when he says thinking about things was not his strong suit, it was more in the way that obsession could come and settle in and drive him up the literal wall. Where thoughts and memories and ideas were kind of something that propelled him into stupid situations and in even stupider decisions.
Mr. Stark being alive and well had led to opening up such a big can of worms from his old life, from endless piles of thoughts and feelings that he honestly couldn’t place himself in any moment outside of the mess of it, even now so many hours later. He couldn’t quite make it all work inside his head in any way where he could keep himself grounded.
One moment there he is, standing outside the Museum of Art and Sciences and the next he’s hugging Mr. Stark like he could never let go, feelings and emotions he couldn’t describe pouring over him at just the fact he was there and alive. It was pretty funny, pretty silly actually how that kind of thing could then lead to a whole new set of emotions.
Fear. Guilt. Terrible, horrible shame.
What if Mr. Stark found out he’d failed him? Because he had failed him. He’d messed up so bad, so many times over in the last two years. He felt like it was his fault Mr. Stark had died in the first place. And his fault everyone else had gotten mixed up in his life enough to die as well. And in the end, no one had been left, and that too was his responsibility.
How could he be the new Tony Stark when he was just a kid? And how could he help people when he kept letting them down?
It was funny too that for a moment there, almost, he really had seen it. Seen a window into him taking the older man's mantel, in becoming something more. For a very brief second, and then it had been gone just like that.
Moving to Winterdale really had been the new start he’d needed. A brand new start. This time he could do it right. He could keep himself distant from other people and still try and help them. He could be by himself, a loner, and devote his time in fighting crime instead. Sure, he had friends sort of here and there. People he cared for like his old neighbors the Pines but it wasn’t like before. It wasn’t as deep, it wasn’t as risky, it wasn’t as dangerous.
It wouldn’t end up like May. Or MJ. Or Happy. Or Ned. It wouldn’t end up like before. If he was found out, there would be no one but him to take vengeance on. And no one for him to tell stupid secrets to either.
So when Mr. Stark came barreling back into his life demanding he come live with him and telling him to get his stuff together all that it was met with was conflict.
Was he ready for this? Was he really ready to have Tony back in his life again? Was he ready to have someone he looked up to, that he cared so horribly about, that he loved so much that it hurt to even keep thinking about, when it could lead to losing him again? Or worse, when it could lead to him being the reason he died?
Maybe it was a defense mechanism. Maybe. Maybe all the tears and apologies had been in the spur of the moment back then, and when he’d come back to himself he’d realized he couldn’t let that door open again. So when Mr. Stark had found out he was technically without any family or friends or really money outside of what he got in his...um, “part time job,” and told him to get his shit, all that it was met with was conflict. Conflict on so many levels, too many levels, all of them running him through the ground and leaving him alone in a spare bedroom in Mr. Stark’s new place, staring at the ceiling and left to just think.
And boy was he bad at thinking.
So instead of being in that room like he was probably supposed to there he was now, swinging back through the streets in his old Spider Monkey outfit, flying from one end of a building to the next, out on his usual patrol for any crimes or criminals, hardly paying attention to his surroundings. Out escaping into the night to do something to get his head back in order, to reel on through these feelings between the huge urge to ditch Mr. Stark without a word, fly out of here, move into his old “studio apartment” and never look back and the horribly grief stricken and terrible shock of emotion that welled through him, pulling for him to land him directly on Tony’s doorstep, directly in his home, to be by his side again, under his wing, and never again leave his side. It was a war that he couldn’t seem to work his way out of and thank god for cold nights and stupid hoodies and webs from one building to another. Thank god for the super cold rush of evening air and criminals to take his mind out of that place.
Thank god too for dumb thugs in stereotypical street corners who tended to mark these specific areas with the occasional mugging. Exactly like a couple of guys were now.
“Gotchya.” He whispered as he swung up to land with an impressive silence at the top of a building overlooking the alley, crawling spiderlike closer and surveying as a duo of thugs crept hunched and ready behind some unsuspecting looking bulky guy apparently just minding his own business.
Peter had played this game long enough to see the intention. Already he was spraying a web at the opposing building, using it to hoist himself across the way, landing just behind the muggers as he glimpsed a flash of a gun.
“Uh, hey guys, I know it’s bad form but if you’d like to dance I think it’s more appropriate to go two on two.” He began conversationally. The soon to be muggers whirled around at that, a fierce look marking their faces, the gun flashing outward to shift, aiming in his direction with clear, killing intent.