Chapter Text
Peter took one step back, then another, never breaking eye contact with Bucky. On the phone, or over coffee, Bucky wasn’t terrifying; he was the softest weapon that ever existed, all broken edges and measured restraint. But here—now—he was the Winter Soldier, and the gas had swept away the fragile scaffolding that held him together. There was no hesitation, no flicker of recognition, only raw, mechanical intent. Sam, for his part, was eerily controlled. Peter had a brief, irrational thought that the gas made him even more like Captain America: all righteous, surgical violence.
He tried anyway.
"Guys," he said, his voice more steel than he meant, "I know you’re not yourselves. Bucky, you remember me, right? I'm—"
Sam moved first, a blur, swinging a metal pipe that must have come from the wreckage. Peter barely ducked in time, the pipe swishing so close it ruffled
The first punch came in fast, a blur of blue and silver, and it was all Peter could do to twist away from the trajectory. Sam was faster than anyone gave him credit for; there was a reason Captain America had picked him. But Peter had seen the signs in the muscle tension in Sam’s neck, the way his fists clenched before the punch, the spread of his stance. He ducked. The punch hit the glass door of a bodega, which exploded into a cloud of safety shards.
"Buck, Sam," Peter said, clotheslining the second punch and snapping Sam's arm behind his back in a joint lock. "You really, really, really don't want to do this. Let's all calm down, breathe through the mind-altering aerosol, and"
Sam broke the hold, spinning and slamming an elbow straight into Peter's ribs. There was a sickening crunch. Pain lit up his side like a snare drum.
Peter crumpled, only to use the momentum to swing his foot up into Sam’s jaw. The impact should have knocked Sam out cold, but he only staggered, his lips peeling back over his teeth, a wet, animal sound coming out of him. The gas hadn’t just stripped away reason; it had turned every urge into a weapon.
Bucky was quieter, circling wide, watching for a moment as Sam advanced again. Bucky’s gaze was flat, glassy, and Peter tried not to be sick at how familiar it was. He recognized that look: the Winter Soldier, mission focused, empty of everything but killing intent. Bucky reaches for a knife, flinging it at Peter. It was a feint, but Peter couldn’t help flinching, and Bucky closed the distance with a sweep of his arm that sent Peter sprawling backward over the hood of a nearby car a sickening crunched metal meeting his ears, feeling it buckle under him. He bought himself a second, maybe two, just enough time to clock where Bucky was, where Sam would be, and, critically, where the coffee shop was. That’s when he saw Morgan and Nathaniel peering through the glass, faces pressed against the window. They looked so small and terribly exposed. Happy, still on the ground, was trying to crawl their direction. They were fish in a bowl, and Sam and Bucky were the cats stalking around them.
Meanwhile, Sam was already vaulting for the coffee shop, for Morgan, and Peter's brain finally caught up to the horror of it—Bucky and Sam weren’t here for him; they were here for the target. Morgan Stark was the most valuable hostage in the city. Even in their chemically induced state, the calculus of their violence hadn't changed.
He flung himself into the path, unraveling the arial silks from his wrists and lassoing Sam's ankle mid-air, the red silk a stark contrast to the white and blue of his supersuit. Peter tugs with all his strength and Sam comes crashing through a trash can with a sound like a dying accordion, but it barely slowed him. Peter braced, twisted, and yanked. Sam’s own momentum sent him careening through the plate-glass window of the coffee shop. The glass shuddered, but held; the suit was Stark-reinforced, after all. Sam rebounded, fists first, straight at Peter.
Peter throws a kick into Sams stomach, sending him flying back a couple paces.The moment Sam staggered back, Peter barely had time to process before Bucky charged him, moving with a fluidity and power that sent a shiver down Peter's spine.
Bucky's metal arm swung first, a blur of steel catching the light before it slammed into Peter's side, sending him crashing into the brick wall of the cafe. Pain exploded in his ribs as he gasped for air, feeling every bit of the impact reverberate through his body. But he didn't have time to dwell on the agony.
‘Get up, Pete"!’ he shouted to himself within his own mind, forcing his limbs to respond amidst the fog of pain. Bucky was already advancing again, and just as Peter staggered to his feet, Sam joined him, fists clenched and eyes wild.
“Come on!” Peter shouted desperately, using his sarcasm as self defense as he regained his footing. “This isn’t very kind and gentlemanly of you Bucky! I thought you were supposed to be a 1940’s gentleman!”
But Bucky was already lunging again, another punch aimed straight for Peter’s face. This time Peter ducked beneath it and countered with a jab of his own to Bucky’s stomach. The impact made no difference; Bucky barely flinched, muscles coiling like springs ready to unleash destruction. Sam throws a kick into Peters knee, sending a stabbing pain up his leg, but Peter doesnt let it effect him, he cant, two little kids lives depend on him right now. One of whom he’d promised to always protect.
Peter’s mind raced as the adrenaline coursed through him. He needed to gain control of the situation before anyone got seriously hurt. Bucky and Sam were both formidable fighters, driven by the gas’s influence and their own skills. He had to think fast.
Bucky lunged again, a powerful swing that Peter barely managed to sidestep. The momentum sent Bucky slightly off balance, and Peter seized the opportunity. He ducked low and swept Bucky’s legs out from under him, but the super-soldier, despite all his weight, fell gracefully and smoothly, barely impacted by the maneuver.
Peter scrambles to his feet as Bucky rolled back onto his haunches, eyes narrowing dangerously.
But it was Sam who reacted first, charging at Peter once more with an aggressive tackle. Peter twisted midair, using Sam’s momentum to vault over his shoulder, landing clumsily on the pavement behind him. He was faster, but not by much, and not enough. The gas wasn’t just pushing them into violence, it was removing fear, restraint, hesitation. The part of a person that stopped them from killing a friend, even if technically they don't even know who peter is.
“C’mon, Sam,” Peter said, breath ragged. “I get it, bad day, got it, we’ve all inhaled mystery fog. But I really need you to not kill me right now.”
Sam snarled and spun with impossible speed. His elbow caught Peter’s temple and the world stuttered sideways. For a split second, Peter forgot where he was. When it came back into focus, it was blood tinted and blurred at the edges.
He hit the ground hard, hands scraping asphalt. One of the silks snagged around his wrist tangled uselessly. Somewhere behind him, Bucky was moving again; Peter could hear the crunch of boots on glass.
Wait..glass?
He pushed up, dizzy, blinking fast.
Morgan.
The window was still intact, but barely. Morgan had gone from wide eyed to white faced, her hands now clawing at the glass, mouthing something Peter couldn’t hear. Nathaniel was behind her, tiny hands clinging to her waist. Happy was half-sitting now, blood trickling from his temple.
Bucky charged.
Peter launched upward in a burst of panic and muscle memory, just narrowly avoiding the downward arc of Bucky’s metal arm. The strike hit pavement instead, cracking the concrete like an eggshell. Peter flipped midair and landed on Bucky’s back, arms wrapping around his neck in a chokehold not to suffocate, but to stall.
“I'm sorry, man,” Peter hissed into Bucky’s ear. “I don’t want to hurt you. You taught me how to disable someone without killing them, remember? This is literally your fault.”
Bucky reared back, slamming Peter into the wall behind them like a sledgehammer. Pain erupted down Peter’s spine. His grip faltered.…but didn’t break.
He tightened his hold even as stars danced across his vision, even as he felt something tear in his shoulder. He couldn’t let go. If he let go, Morgan and Nathaniel didn’t stand a chance.
But Bucky wasn’t trying to throw him off anymore. He was trying to crush him. Again and again, Peter was driven into the wall like a nail. The brick cracked behind him, splintering under the repeated force. Peter grit his teeth, vision tunneling.
And then, finally...a pause.
It wasn’t much. A second, maybe less. But Peter felt the hesitation. Bucky’s hand twitched, his stance shifted, and in the space between violence and instinct, Peter saw something: confusion. Flickering. Like a light behind fogged glass.
Peter seized it.
He drops to the ground, wrapping one leg around Buckys ankle and the other around his hip and pulling with all his strength. Bucky goes flying into the side of a dumpster with a resounding "CLANG". Peter scrambles to his feet, taking only a beat to regain his breath, because that's all that's allowed of him before the captain america shield is being flung at his head.
"JESUS CHRISTICALS!" Peter yelps as he dodges the shield. His head snaps to where it lands... about a foot into a concrete wall where his head had just been. yikes. He tugs it out of the wall and sends it back at Sam, right into his head and surprisingly and overall helpfully into buckys next...damn he did not know his mothers training was that heavily engraved into him.
Peter stands there for a moment, not quite computing that it's over, that both Sam and Bucky are unconscious and no longer a threat.
He staggers, breath hitching, pain screaming through his ribs, shoulder, temple basically everywhere. Blood slicks the side of his face, and the copper taste in his mouth makes him nauseous. But he doesn’t move. Can’t.
He turns toward the window that Morgan is behind. The glass is spiderwebbed, nearly gone. Morgan’s eyes are red, but alive. Nathaniel is still clutching her like a life vest. Happy’s slumped against the wall now, conscious but barely.
But they're safe.
Fuck they're safe.
Peter coughs into his elbow, the fabric coming back with blood on it.... ah, they may be safe but Peter certainly isn't. Because in his books, coughing up blood isn't very good because all bleeding is supposed to be internal, not external. He stumbles to the side and down a side ally, making a speedy, sexy and mysterious getaway. Also known as a wall kissing, cursing, concussed getaway that ends up with him falling into an open manhole....sexily...