#in which one steve rogers is barely scraping 20 and some change when he gets pulled out of the ice

[sunderedazem]

“you don’t have to tell me. but if you do decide you want to, i’ll be here.”

For Steve and Corrain

:D you have chosen the Best Bois from the MCU/Moonrise legacy monstrosity! <3 (yay!!)

(Set during Age of Ultron)

It was...quiet. Somehow.

The porch was empty aside from himself and the crickets singing softly among the trees and tall grasses framing Clint's farmhouse, and yet the silence was deafening. Even in the midst of the soft rush of reeds in the breeze, the distant cooing of an owl, or the gentle windchimes tinkling overhead- the silence was oppressive, pinning him down. Breathing felt faraway and dim, the whisper of his own heartbeat muffled. It wasn't normal, this heavy, choking silence in his head and yet it remained in place, too heavy for even him to lift alone.

He shifted, leaning against one of the sections of railing that Clint hadn't taken apart yet. It was sturdy, groaning only a little under the weight of his grip. Absently, he traced a thumb over the chips in the white paint, trying to ground himself.

Nat was shaken badly by whatever the Maximoff girl had showed her. Very badly. He didn't know what fear could have possibly broken the Black Widow's composure like that, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he didn't want to find out. And then there was Tony, and the catastrophe that had resulted from being shown his worst fears, whatever they were. Steve had to fight back a shiver, the world still oddly muffled around him, the ground and worn wooden floorboards a dizzying drop away from him now. Neither of his teammates had wanted to share their waking nightmares, but...clearly they had both been awful. Terrifying on a scale the rest of them couldn't imagine.

And maybe he'd understood that without them needing to say anything. Felt it, somehow, like the hollow ring of his shield against Thor's Mjolnir, except...echoing and cold and prickling down his spine like the ice of the Arctic. Fear not his own, clawing at his chest.

Sending him farther and farther from the creaking porch now miles below him.

Then there was a flicker of warm rain at his back, and suddenly the puppet strings attached to his limbs were reeling in, the earth rushing closer as he fell back into himself, dazed. Suddenly the noise was loud again, ambient sound enough to keep him present - and he whipped around, heart in his throat. And the tickle of warm rain, gentle and dry against the back of his neck - it smiled kindly at him. He knew this feeling, didn't he?

He blinked at the familiar silhouette before him as Corrain stepped quietly into the porchlight, humming softly to himself, his long white braid draped casually over one shoulder. His muted eyes were fixed on Steve's face, the soft grey-blue gaze searching. He had eyes like a summer thunderstorm, Steve thought absently, again.

"You've been out here for a while," the alien man said after a moment's pause, cocking his head to one side and gazing placidly up to meet Steve's racing-heart stare. "Everything all right, Steve?"

There was another set of chirps from the crickets in the reeds, a little, encouraging song to tamp down the instinctive urge to put the shield up - to hide Steve Rogers behind Captain America. But he swallowed it, trying to take a steadying breath the way Corrain had showed him, back before SHIELD's disintegration and Hydra's fall. The smaller man had never been anything but patient with him before - he deserved more than to be shrugged off. Besides - if what he'd said about his senses of empathetic perception was all true, then he'd already know the answer to his own question. And lying had never really been Steve's style - as Nat said, he was terrible at it.

"...I don't know."

The non-answer didn't appear to faze Corrain in the slightest. Instead, he just crept closer, until he was standing at Steve's shoulder, the top of his head barely level with Steve's chin. Vaguely, Steve wondered if they'd have been the same height, should he never have touched Dr. Erskine's serum.

"You don't have to talk about it." The alien man's - Zakuulan, he was Zakuulan, a human from a distant planet on the other side of the universe - tone was steady, still impossibly kind, as if he was trying to calm a spooked animal. "But if you decide you want to - and I think you should - I'm here. And your team is here. We'll listen."

The team? It took a moment for the concept to shape itself inside his head, of Natasha and Bruce, Clint and Thor and- and Tony, all somehow listening, withholding judgement as he laid bare the old, throbbing wound of loss. Three, almost four years had passed since he'd woken up from his long slumber frozen in the arctic, and yet- the ache hadn't faded. Bucky's capture and breaking at HYDRA's hands still haunted him, and even Peggy barely recognized him now and he dreaded the day he would finally lose her too. He'd had almost four years to get used to the idea and yet...

"...I didn't see anything frightening," he said finally, the words thick in his mouth. "Not the way the others did. I...No, it's not worth sharing, really."

Corrain frowned at that, and without warning his hand came up, smacking the back of Steve's head with a surprising amount of force from someone so petite.

"Ow? Corrain, what the-"

"You tell me that whatever has you disassociating out here for thirty minutes straight 'isn't worth sharing' again and I'll outright deck your dumb ass," Corrain said flatly. Steve blinked once- twice-

"Thirty minutes?"

"Well, Natasha and Tony both went on for at least an hour, if you're trying to needlessly compare your own troubles to other people again." The grey storm of that gaze was piercing now, searing holes in his face. Steve tried his best to meet it, but could only manage for a minute.

"Look. If you don't want to share- I'm not forcing you," Corrain said, flipping his braid back over his shoulder. His voice had lost the sudden brusque edge, returning to its previous warmth. "If you're not ready to talk, that's okay. But- I think you'd feel better if you stopped stewing in it. And I think your team is probably one of the only groups of people on this planet that could have even a prayer of understanding what you're dealing with. And vice versa."

For a moment, Steve let the idea settle in his head. And then, incredulously, he turned to the short man at his side, watching as the faint smile lines on Corrain's face deepened, his mouth curling.

"You want us to all talk about what Wanda made us see, don't you?" he accused - but he couldn't bring himself to put any bite behind the words, and Corrain's smile only grew.

"Not quite, considering she didn't hit all of you," Corrain chirped out, and that odd summer-rain warmth pattered lightly across Steve's back again, like an embedded giggle in the sudden curl of comfort he felt wrapping around his shoulders. "But similar enough - and yes. You can only understand each other more by listening to what you all fear most, and it can only help you in the long run. And I think what you all fear... those fears may explain more about how you all act than you think."

"Even if mine's not- not a fear, precisely?"

The porchlight flickered then, briefly casting the smile on the Zakuulan man's face into long shadows, and by the time the light clattered back to life the grin was gone. Only a soft, tired compassion remained.

"I know," Corrain said softly. "Grieving men don't fear death - they mourn that it didn't take them too. And you haven't been scared since I met you. That's the problem."

Silence sprinkled with the windchime's tinkling music fell. Steve tried not to think about how quickly, how accurately he'd been seen through, held his tongue even in the face of that placid acknowledgement. After all- what could he say to that? He was terrible at lying.

Corrain turned, gesturing back at the warm light of the screen door behind him, and then reached back, clasping a warm hand around Steve's shoulder.

"Come on, Steve." Thunderstorm eyes flickered back towards the house, unbearably calm in the face of what had just been laid bare between them. "You don't have to say anything, but I think if you wanted to, if you found the strength to trust them enough to be vulnerable...you'd find they'd listen, and they'd understand."

[name-me-regret]

Saving Grace - Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Squished Sandwiches Summary: James Barnes meets the anomaly that is Peter Parker... Prompt 8: Candy bars; pennies; books Read it on AO3.

- - - -

”Sometimes I have these thoughts What happened to kicking back the dawn? And I've started fighting wars with myself But what's so fun about a party of one?

I stand tall When they want me to fall I don't care what my peers say I'm gonna do this my way.

My way...”

-Stand Tall - Social Repose

- - - -

James's hair had grown out in the time that he had been on the street. It was well past his shoulders, and he would be the first one to admit that it wasn't regulation length at all. Then he would shake his head and remember that he wasn't a soldier anymore. His time spent as Sergeant James Barnes was over, and he couldn't even be certain if he was Bucky either, Steve Rogers's Army buddy.

He had never really referred to himself as that, since it was a nickname he'd acquired as a child, and everyone had just called him that. He could say with certainty that he wouldn't miss the nickname, since it sounded like the nickname of a douchebag.

He might have been biased, but it wasn't too bad living on the streets, especially when it came to begging for money. As morbid as it sounded, not having one arm caused people to be a bit extra generous to him; for they pitied him.

On good days he even got enough to buy at least five hotdogs at the street vendor. And on bad days, he could barely afford one. It was a good thing that the specific vendor he bought from accepted even the pennies that he sometimes came with. The people usually tossed coins into his old beat-up, red leather suitcase he had found in the dumpster once when he'd been dumpster diving. It reminded him of those old suitcases from the 30s or forties, and he had liked it so had taken it and after fixing the latch with some difficulty due to have one arm, it had worked perfectly. It was beat up and cracked on the surface, but it was still a good suitcase and served him for carrying his meager belongings.

He was able to tear open the lining on the inside of it, and that’s where he kept the small amount of money he’d saved up for emergencies. It was stabled discreetly closed, and while he only had $22, it was something at least. James had had $17, but had found a crumpled five dollar bill. There was no one that appeared looking for it, so he’d kept it.

There was one he had actually gotten a $20. It wasn’t found on the street, since his luck wasn’t that good, in his opinion. During a particular bad day, the winter months were fast approaching and it had been drizzling freezing rain, but James had refused to move from his spot until he could at least buy a hotdog. It had been at least two days since any real bit of food, just a nibble of leftovers here and there, and the hunger seemed to claw at his stomach that he was nauseous with it.

James was sure no one would stop to give a beggar anything when it was so miserable out, and he was prepared to go find some shelter somewhere and curl up, ignoring the hunger as best as he could. Then a shadow had fallen over him as the rain stopped falling on his head. He’d looked up from his position on the sidewalk, his spine and ass hurting something fierce from having been sitting on the concrete for so long.

She had short curly hair blue-green hair and was slightly over-weight, but her face was pretty and she was smiling as she handed him a scrap of paper. “God Bless you,” she murmured, a rainbow umbrella in her hand keeping the rain off of them both. She handed him her floppy straw hat she was wearing, which went well with her white and beige strapless dress and black leather jacket over that. “It’ll keep the rain off you a bit,” she explained.

Then she turned and walked off with nothing more than a wave, James watching her as she went, her black rain boots coming up just past her calves as they splashed through the puddles on the side walk. He turned back to the scrap of paper she’d given him, using the straw hat to keep the rain off it. It was a note written in messy handwriting. ‘I’ve been there before. It will get better.’ There was the acronym F.E.A.S.T., and an address in Chinatown. ’A descent shelter.’

There had also been $20 folded up with the note.

James had thanked the young woman, even if she was long gone, used the money to get him a cheap meal, and pocketed the rest of the $15.46. Then he had gone looking for this FEAST place, and it was more than descent. That night, James slept in the first bed since he’d run away from the hospital.

He’d managed to stay there for two and a half weeks. Then his PTSD had acted up when someone had shaken him awake, shoving the other person to the floor. It could have been worse and the man hadn’t been injured besides a scrape to the hand, but he had grabbed his stuff and moved on before he hurt anyone else.

That first winter was the worse, having little experience on how to survive on the streets with little to no shelter most nights. James was sure he would die some nights as he lay shivering in a cardboard box that had likely held a refrigerator at one point and now served to keep the wind off him. His breath rattled in his throat and it was just after New Years that he stumbled into a free clinic, hoping they’d help him instead of turning him away.

They did help him, giving him a strong cocktail of medicines that would fight off the infection in his lungs. When he woke, he’d realized someone had even trimmed his facial hair and washed his hair. He also saw that they’d figured out his name somehow, likely from what he had had on him.

James had found his possessions in the drawers and his clothes in the cabinets, looking like someone had made a valiant effort to wash them. He’d put them on after unhooking himself from the mostly empty saline bag, and snuck out before Steve found him.

He was very sure that Steve was looking for him, having heard a rumor of a blonde man looking for someone in the shelters, asking questions. The people on the streets always looked suspiciously on anyone asking questions, since that usually meant cop. James had heard the description and knew immediately that it was childhood friend, and that the punk was looking for him.

James thought he should go back to his own life and leave him lost. After all, he was much too damaged to be of any good to anyone.

It was late Spring when things changed, having been months on the street by that point. The nights still got cold, so he was grateful for his large jacket, which he’d gotten from the Salvation Army. It had been missing two buttons and had a hole in one of the front pockets that was visible on the front side of it, and likely the reason it had been donated.

It was very warm, and was grateful for it during those cold winter days. However, it was starting to get warm during the daytime, and besides not having bathed in over two weeks, he was starting to add to his stench by sweating out of his coat. That’s how he wound up in the ATM kiosk on 21st street in Queens, since it was air conditioned. It was starting to get dark so there was hardly people on the street, but the sandwich place across the street looked to be open.

His stomach grumbled in hunger, not having ate at all that day, and he’d been run off by the employees of a fast food place. He’d just wanted to use the bathroom to try and wash up. The manager had stopped him and told him the bathrooms were for paying customers. When he’d gotten out his bag of pennies and other coins, intending to buy something off the dollar menu at least, since he was hungry, they’d refused him service due to his unkempt state of dress.

So, with a sigh, he’d stuffed his coins away and shuffled out of the building, some entering customers giving him a wide berth. He tried not to let their looks of disgust hurt, but he was only human. It started drizzling the moment he stepped out of the restaurant, but only lifted his face so it could soak into his scruffy beard and the little bit of his face not covered in hair.

It was late spring, practically summer already, so the water hitting the hot asphalt evaporated almost immediately, creating a bit of mist that swirled around his legs as he walked. He passed by the sandwich shop, but hurried past as the smell of meat and fresh bread cooking made him almost sick with how hungry he was.

As he wedged himself between an ATM machine and the glass wall of the bank kiosk, he took a moment to take stock of his state. His hair was longer than when he’d been at the free clinic, and his facial hair had grown all out of control again. He looked a mess, and couldn’t really blame them for having run him off. He knew he probably didn’t smell that great either.

“Hey, what’re ya doing in here, bum?” a man entering the kiosk sneered at him. The man’s face was twisted into an ugly expression that James knew very well having lived on the streets these last few months. It spoke of cruelty and enjoyment at another’s pain and suffering. So, James decided to leave.

When he tried, the man blocked his way. “People like you are a stain on society. Too lazy to work,” he growled, shoving him against the wall of the kiosk. He was shorter but stockier than James, but the veteran was use to slouching to make himself look as small as possible. Also, James was weak from no food and little sleep to fight him off. There was also his lack of an arm.

“You probably have money in there,” he said as he made a grab for his suitcase. James snarled and yanked it back, pushing at his chest with his shoulder to dislodge him but he was sturdy.

“Help!” someone yelled, and both men turned to look across the street. There were hardly any cars at the hour, rush hour having been almost two hours ago, so they saw a scrawny kid that was waving around the corner. “Over here, Officer! Someone needs help!” Now he was pointing toward them.

James’s attacker swore, shoved the one armed man once more before he left, pushing through the door and sprinting away as soon as he was outside. As for James, he slid down with a sigh of relief, but then realized that he also had to get out of here before the cop showed up and he was arrested for vagrancy.

The door opened and he tensed, thinking it was the cop, but relaxed only slightly when he saw it was the kid. He grit his teeth as he hurried over toward him, body stiffening defensively. “Oh my gosh! Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly, brown eyes wide behind his large, black framed glasses.

James was sure the kid was close enough to smell his stench, but he didn’t make a face and only looked at him with a worried expression. He was also close enough for James to see that he couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen at the most.

Instead of answering, he started to get up before that cop caught up with him. “Hey, hey, take it easy buddy,” he squeaked, much too bold for someone so tiny. James finally managed to stand up straight. “Whoa, you’re big!”

“Get lost, kid,” he grunted gruffly, wincing at how rough his voice sounded. James didn’t remember the last time he’d spoken, much less had a real conversation with someone. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken with someone without worrying that they found him disgusting, or perhaps mentally wishing he’d go away. “Before the cop shows up.”

The boy blinked in confusion before he seemed to realize what he meant. “Oh, there’s no cop,” he said with a grin on his face. “I just yelled that to get that guy to leave you alone, and it worked!” he crowed proudly, bouncing a bit in excitement. He obviously thought it was a great accomplishment.

“Thanks,” James could only mutter, moving past him. He left the cool temperature of the ATM kiosk and moved across the street, any traffic having all but vanished, and walked past the sandwich shop. James sighed as he heard the scrape of sneakers behind him and turned with a scowl, finding the stupid kid following him. “What d’you want?”

The kid had stopped as soon as James had turned to look at him, and now he shifted nervously. “So, uh... are you okay? I mean, do you need help?” James could see the concern in his bambi brown eyes, that and worry. “Oh, I know!” he suddenly exclaimed, turning and rushing off. He stopped, hurried back. “Just wait, okay? I’ll be right back,” he told him, hands lifting as if he could make James stay right there until he returned. Then he ran off again back the way they’d just come.

James rolled his eyes at the dumb kid’s request and turned to leave, but then stopped. He growled at himself as he hesitated walking away, since he didn’t know this kid. It was just... it’d been so long since anyone had willingly spoken to him without making a face of disgust, and there hadn’t even been a single indication of malicious intent in this kid’s face. Even so, he was frustrated with himself for not leaving just because he didn’t want the teenager to be disappointed to find James gone when he came back, and something told him that he would return.

So, he ducked into the alleyway next to him, plopping down on an empty crate that groaned under his weight but held fast. He leaned against the filthy wall, not at all worried about dirtying up his coat, since it was already pretty dirty. He hugged himself with his one arm and closed his eyes, his chin against his chest.

He didn’t even remember dozing off. “Mister, are you dead?” James was jerked awake by the voice, lifted his hands to ward off an attack, forgetting that he only had one arm so he probably looked crazed. Then he realized the voice was slightly familiar and he blinked a few times before turning, seeing the teen about two feet away from him, clutching two items wrapped in white paper of some kind. He was watching him with those wide doe eyes.

James was hungry enough to smell that the wrapped packages were food of some kind and his stomach growled from intense hunger, making the kid jump. “Oh, good! I thought you’d died or something,” he said with a shaky laugh, his hold tight where he was clutching the food. James was a bit baffled at how this kid could be worried someone he didn’t know had died in his sleep, which James had unfortunately seen more than once this past winter.

“You’re squishing your food, kid,” he pointed out.

He seemed confused by his words as he looked at the wrapped packages. “No, they’re already smooshed. That’s how I like my sub, and with extra pickles.” He held out what he now knew to be a squished sub to James with an earnest smile. “Here, you’re going to love it,” he chirped. His enthusiasm faded a bit as James looked up at him suspiciously instead of taking the sub.

“What d’ya want? I ain’t got anything to exchange for the food.” He’d never gotten anything for free, and didn’t trust when someone tried to give him something. It always came with strings attached and conditions of some kind. The kid’s clothes were not new or expensive, and were well worn. The jacket tied around his waist was frayed at the edges, and the sneakers looked to have seen better days. He was small for his age and thin, and looked younger due to the glasses that were too big for his face. James was well acquainted with poverty, having grown up in the poor part of Brooklyn, and he could tell this kid wasn’t exactly swimming in cash.

The kid’s head tilted in confusion. “What? I don’t want anything.” He offered the sub to him again, and it was the hunger and the close proximity of the food that made him finally take it. The boy, for whatever reason, was being earnest, so for now he would give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Listen, I gotta get home, but will you be here again tomorrow?” He’d put the second sub, wrapped in a bag, into his backpack.

James had already started to eat his, uncaring about proper manners as he tore into the sandwich. He was going for his next bite when he spoke, eyeing the other suspiciously. “Why? You gonna bring more food?” It wasn’t what he should be asking, since he should ask if he was planning on calling the cops on him. But he wanted to ask about the food because he was hungry, and if this kid was providing it, then who was he to refuse?

“Sure, if you want?” he muttered. Then he looked at his phone and panicked. “Shit, I gotta go! See you later, mister!” The teenager ran out of the alleyway, leaving James wondering what had just happened. Also, he realized that he had forgotten to ask his name.

“Weird kid,” he mumbled, biting into the surprisingly tasty smooshed sub.

- - - -

True to his word, the teen had returned with another sub, or at least, half of one. It seemed he bought one large sub (his usual order, and geez how much did this kid eat?) and had the sandwich maker cut it in half and wrap it individually. The second time he’d came with two packets of gummy words and two colas, both of which he offered to James. As for James, he had grunted a thanks and took them without hesitation, and any other time he’d have been too proud to take it. Well, hunger certainly changed his perspective on certain things, such as pride.

It had been a week now, and James hadn’t gone far from this general area since the promise of food was a strong one, even if it were once a day. Also, when it got dark, he could sneak into the bank kiosk and there were few people that entered during the night, so he had a cool place to sleep during most nights. If anyone came in, there was a light out in the furthest corner of the room, and thus most people didn’t see him. He was glad he hadn’t been seen and then have them call the cops on him, since that meant he wouldn’t be able to come back and that meant most likely not seeing the kid anymore.

He didn’t know when James had stopped minding the kids presence, who, he was not so surprised, liked to talk. The kid could go on and on most days while James listened. Thus far he’d learned that he went to a nerd school in Queens and that he would be a freshman in high school this fall. He was fourteen but already he was designing a medical webbing, and that it had landed him a summer internship at Stark Industries. It would start as soon as the school year finished, which was in a week’s time.

He’d told James that it was just him and his aunt. He’d gone strangely quiet after that statement, and James had caught him staring at the ground morosely and had decided not to ask about it. In fact, James didn’t talk much and left the talking to Peter, which he had discovered was his name; Peter Parker who lived with his aunt, May Parker.

“So, I’m not really sure if this thing-“

“Why do you keep coming here,” James cut into what he was talking about. Peter had shut up as soon as he had spoken, since it was rare for James to speak that he tended to listen more attentively when he did speak.

Peter pursed his lips as he looked down with that same look he had when he had mentioned it only being him and his aunt. The sandwich was forgotten in his hand, half eaten compared to James’s finished one, but he had been alternating a bite of it in between every few sentences. Peter shrugged at last before he spoke.

“I mean, I have Ned.. you remember I told you about Ned?” James grunted an affirmative, since with how much the kid babbled, of course he knew about Peter’s best friend. Ned was Peter’s only friend, actually. James was sure he knew more of their friendship and LEGO projects than anyone else besides the kid’s aunt. They planned on joining the Decathlon and robotics club next fall, and he had a bit of a crush on a girl named Liz.

“Well, he’s going to go on trip with his family the day after summer vacation starts, so he rushes home. Even if I’ve never left New York, I’m not jealous or anything, and I’m excited for him. He’s going to get to see the Grand Canyon and he promised to bring me some rocks from the very bottom.” He paused as he bit his bottom lip, adjusting his glasses in what Bucky had come to identify as a nervous tick. “It’s just that, my aunt’s at work and with Ned so busy, I’m mostly by myself... I don’t like being by myself, you know?”

James could certainly understand what he meant, since he hated being by himself, but it was better at times to be by himself. That way he wouldn’t hurt anyone if he had an episode, and there was less of a worry that he would be stabbed in his sleep for his things. James had learned to become a light sleeper since he’d started to live on the streets.

“That’s a lot of words just to say you’re lonely,” he pointed out, amused as Peter turned red. He crumpled his wrapper and tossed it toward the dumpster, but it was too far away and the wrapper didn’t make it in. “I’m not the best company for a kid to have. I’m a bum that could have robbed you, or worse.”

Peter squinted at him. “Bold of you to assume I have money,” he told him.

James huffed, trying not to smile in amusement. “You forgot the ‘or worse’ part.” He would never harm the kid, had even become fond of him, but he didn’t want him to go trying to befriend someone else. The next person might not be as nice as James. He’d hate to see the boy get hurt.

The teen shrugged. “I wouldn’t care either way.” His hand went immediately to his mouth, leading James to believe that he hadn’t meant to say that.

James’s eyes narrowed on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Peter jumped up. “I gotta go! Bye!” He rushed off before James could stop him, not stopping even as the one armed man called him back. Although James snorted in amausement when Peter stopped to pick up the crumpled wrapper before tossing it in the trash and then hurrying off again.

“Little shit,” he grumbled. Then he looked where he’d been sitting and noticed that he had re-wrapped his half finished sub and left it on the crate he’d been sitting on. James shook his head but took it anyways, having no qualms about eating the boy’s leftovers. He couldn’t afford to be picky these days.

- - - -

James frowned when he lifted his gaze to see the sun disappearing behind the buildings, pulling out a battered wristwatch from his pocket. It was missing one of it’s leather straps but still worked even if the face was cracked. The time read 7:45pm, and he was sure the sun would set soon. However, he hadn’t seen a single sign of the kid and he usually got there around 4pm, since he had his internship in the mornings now that summer had started, and damnit if James wasn’t worried at his absence. He had been worried since yesterday after the statement he’d made, having felt a chill at the words.

He hoped the kid wasn’t suicidal or anything, since he couldn’t even care for himself, never mind worrying for a strange kid that brought him food every day. It wasn’t even a sub every single day, since at times he came with four wrapped hotdogs from the hot dog stand that James liked. The kid had good taste.

It wasn’t even about the food by this point, since he generally enjoyed listening to Peter speak to him like he was a normal human being and not some dirty, homeless man. So, he was feeling restless the more time went by without any sign of Peter. He was contemplating going and searching for him when he heard flapping wings and the shrieking of some birds.

Peter hurried into the alleyway then, carrying a birdcage of all things. “Hey!” Peter gasped as he stopped and set the cage on the crate, doubling over to catch his breath.

“What is that?” James asked, mouth twisted in a frown. He knew what it was, since it appeared to be a bird cage with three parakeets inside. One was green, the second was a light blue that was almost white, and the third was blue.

Peter grinned, pushing back the glasses up his nose. “Oh! I found them!” He peered inside the cage as he watched the birds sort of fly from one perch to the other a bit before the green and light blue one started to groom one another. “They were sitting next to a dumpster! Can you believe it? Who’d throw birds away?”

James did believe it, since when people moved and they weren’t allowed pets, they found it easier to toss them aside instead of finding a home for them. He’d seen many dogs be left by a car, or a cat, and one time a gerbil. The poor thing had been eaten quickly by a pack of alley cats before he could even think of trying to save it. It never stood a chance.

“What’re you going to do with them?” James asked, having a bad feeling as he saw Peter give him a look. “No... there’s no way.” Peter’s lips puckered into a pout. “Hell no.”

- - - -

James grumbled as the chirping birds wouldn’t let him sleep, laying underneath his usual cardboard box. The blanket he usually used to cover himself was used as a makeshift mattress, it was a warm night and with his coat on it was almost unbearable. Although, what was unbearable right now was the chirping of the birds and how they wouldn’t let him sleep, and he was seconds away from reaching inside and killing the damn things.

Only, he knew he couldn’t do that, because Peter had seemed so excited over the birds, even if he couldn’t keep them at his apartment because they weren’t allowed. So, that’s why they were here with James, and not with Peter. He should have refused, however, but the kid had a secret weapon, the sweetest puppy dog eyes that made James melt faster than an ice cream on a hot summer day.

So, when the sky lightened, he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Peter showed up earlier than most days, since he had his internship in the mornings. Then he remembered that it was Saturday and he had the whole day free. “I got this book from the public library,” he said with a grin as he took out a book.

The cover had a color picture of a green parakeet and the title read ‘Budgies: A Guide to Caring for Your Parakeet’ and it was by a woman named Angela Davids. He sat down on his usual crate, flipping through the book which had colorful pictures of birds. “Wow, I never knew birds could be so pretty,” he said as he turned to book so he could see the page he was looking at. It was page twelve and it was a picture of five parakeets of varying colors resting on a branch, but it was hard to tell whether it was birds in the wild, or an artificial enclosure.

“Did you know they’re in the parrot family?” Peter asked, shaking his head. “I didn’t know that.” He flipped to the page that detailed their eating habits. “Let’s see, it says here they feed on ripe and ripening seeds. Well, duh. I wanna make sure nothing is poisonous to them.”

James was sure he was talking more to the book than him, but he didn’t mind as he looked at the birds to see them roosting, and his mouth twisted in distaste. He reached over and tapped the cage, startling the sleeping birds as they flapped their wings to fly up to the small swing on top of the cage.

“Stop it,” Peter laughed, “leave them alone.”

James snorted. “These little beasts didn’t let me sleep last night, and payback is a bitch,” he said as he hit the cage once more. He froze as Peter smacked him with the paperback, all his muscles tensing as if in anticipation of stopping himself from a reaction. After a moment, he realized that he was fine, and was surprised when he didn’t feel the need to lash out. As for the teen, he didn’t seem to notice as he kept flipping through the book without really reading it.

“This doesn’t say if there’s anything that’s poisonous to them,” he sighed, closing the book with a snap.

James cleared his throat when Peter looked at him curiously. “You didn’t even read it all the way through. I thought you were supposed to be smart or something, yet you can’t even read through a book properly.”

Peter made a face. “I like books... its just that I prefer science and physics books.” He flapped the book in his hand toward him. “This is boring to me.”

James rolled his eyes and snatched the book out of his hand. “Fine, I’ll read it, but you have to make sure to research what’s poisonous and bring it it’s food. I’m not exactly swimming in money here.”

The teenager grinned and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll get it and... oh, they’re probably thirsty!” He pulled off his backpack and from it he pulled a water bottle. “They have a water dish inside their cage,” he explained as he uncapped it and leaned forward, opening the small opening next to the water bowl and filling it up.

“So, have you thought of names for them?”

Peter shook his head, watching attentively as they flew down and started to drink the water. “Nah, but I’ll think of something.”

James rapped on the cage where the green one was. “You could name this one Jade,” he suggested.

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Nah, that’s too generic. There’s probably hundreds of green parakeets named Jade.”

“What about Blu for the dark blue one?”

Peter laughed. “Like the movie?” When James nodded, he shook his head. “No way, that’s too boring and unimaginative. I’ll think of something cool. Maybe research bird legends or something,” he murmured, pulling out his phone and starting the search.

As he did that, James amused himself by making them fly back and forth in the cage. They’d likely eventually trust him, but for now they seemed frightened of him. Then he realized that he assumed he’d be around the birds long enough for them to get use to him and sighed. Damn it.

After almost half and hour of silence between the two humans, the parakeets not so quiet as they chirped their song, Peter lifted his head. “I got it!” He turned his phone, the screen impossibly cracked, so James could see it.

“Avalerion is a term for a heraldic bird.” James snorted. “It says here that they were also eagles. This is no eagle, it’s a parakeet.”

Peter shrugged. “Tomato, potato... same difference.”

“It’s really not.”

“Anyways!” Peter interrupted him. “I think the green one will be Avalerion, or Ava for short. And the white—“

“Light blue,” James corrected.

“It’s practically white!” Peter defended. “It reminds me of snow, so I’m gonna name it... er...” He peered into the cage to look at the bird. “I’m gonna name her Pamolai, which is a legendary bird spirit that appears in...” he squinted at his phone screen, “Abenaki mythology. This spirit causes cold weather. Or Pam for short.”

James shook his head. “And the dark blue one?”

Oh, that’s easy,” he said with a grin. “She’ll be Linnaeus, or Linn for short.”

James frowned. “I’ve heard that before...” He took up the book and flipped through it until he found the name. “Ah yeah, Carolus Linnaeus, founder of modern systematic botany and zoology.” He tapped the book against Peter’s head after closing it. “You just can’t have simple names, can you?”

Peter shrugged. “Simple is boring,” he argued.

“I think if you became a superhero or something, you’re name would be a complicated one.”

“Well yeah, I mean, I wouldn’t have a simple name. That’d be stupid.”

James grinned, knowing the boy was afraid of spiders. “How about Spider-Man?”

Peter shuddered. “Hell no, and Spider-Man?! Who’d name themselves that?”