Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Delacroix in April is nicer than in the heights of summer. Bucky is grateful not to be sweating through his suit in 90-degree weather. Born and raised on the east coast, Bucky always forgets about the stifling heat of Louisiana until he steps out of the airport and it hits him like a freight train. Then it takes him half a week to get used to it, but by that point, the trip’s almost over and he’s back on the plane to New York to forget about it until the next year.

Rinse and repeat.

He’s never been here at the blossoming peak of spring. Sam never told him how nice it was; it’s the perfect time of year to have a wedding.

Even so, Bucky has been anxious all day. He hates weddings at the best of times, and he’s tired of having to make polite conversation with distant relatives of Sam’s that he vaguely knows, but who seemingly know a lot about him.

The actual ceremony wasn’t the part he had been dreading the most, it was the speeches. More specifically, Peter’s speech. Bucky had spent snatches of time looking over the speech for Peter, trying to help him find the right words and listening to approximately twelve different versions of them — from terrible puns, to sincere best wishes, to very specific in-jokes that no-one else but their family would get — until they’d settled on a short and touching final one.

His son may be sixteen now and frighteningly almost as tall as him, but Peter still clams up when it comes to public speaking, and he’s more prone to Bucky’s introvertness than Sam’s extrovert counterpart. Bucky generally likes that Peter’s temperament is closer to his, but tonight he wishes for Sam's easy confidence.

Even so, Peter seems to be faring better than Bucky would have. Bucky’s eyes don’t drift from where Peter stands in front of a marquee full of guests with his printed speech (that Bucky had to frantically run around the hotel’s business center to print out for him this very morning).

“I first met my dad, Sam, when I was four years old. I don’t really remember a lot because it was during a time where my life had been uprooted. What I do remember is that he would always tell me a new joke whenever we hung out. Uh, PG ones, obviously.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief when soft laughter ripples through the audience. Peter glances over at him, the microphone clutched tightly in one shaky hand and his suit looking slightly too small on his growing teenage frame. Bucky sends him an encouraging smile and a subtle nod, and Peter offers a small grin back before continuing with his speech.

“For the last twelve years, Sam has been there with me every step of the way. He taught me how to ride a bike and took me to my Little League games. He helped me with my homework and even grounded me if he had to. And even though things between my dads ended, he made sure that I knew he would always be there for me. When he introduced me to Riley, it expanded my world. I have three dads now.”

The smile on Bucky’s face freezes and he puts all his strength into keeping it fixed as long as he can. He knew that line was coming — he helped Peter edit his speech, after all — but it still stings.

“I just figured… since my biological dad is gone and I call you and Sam ‘dad’ or ‘other dad’ anyway, what’s one more? Riley is kinda my step-dad, I guess. Or maybe ‘other other dad’?”

The next part of the speech is Peter's memories of Riley over the last two years, and Bucky allows himself a moment to zone out. Today was an expectedly tough day; he knew that it would be. When your ex-partner of nine years gets married to someone else, invites you to watch, and then asks your adopted son to make a speech…

Bucky debated coming at all. Peter could have flown to Delacroix on his own, but he’s still only sixteen and everyone would be busy all weekend, especially the Wilsons. Plus, Bucky is happy for Sam and Riley. After almost a decade together, Sam would always be a vital part of Bucky and Peter’s lives. That much was clear even when Sam moved out that blustery April three years ago. Bucky hadn’t cried; he’d mourned the end of the relationship in slow increments over time before they had finally agreed to part. Bucky stayed in the apartment with Peter, while Sam moved six subway stops away with Peter’s school in between them.

Still, when Bucky had received the invitation, he’d hesitated. What is the etiquette when you’ve ended things and say you’re friends but you know you’re not really? Lately, their conversations are mostly about Peter or small talk about the neighbors to fill air. Bucky can count the amount of times he’s seen Sam for more than five minutes in the past year on one hand.

When they had freshly broken up, they were giving each other space, trying to let the wounds heal while keeping Peter’s life consistent (and there was that summer where they hung out a lot and Sam came over for dinner a few times and Bucky thought maybe…)

Then came Riley with his blonde hair, Navy-build, and dimpled cheeks that matched Sam’s, and that was that.

Applause rings out across the room and Bucky claps along, allowing his smile to finally drop as he takes a belated gulp of champagne, the bubbles hurting as they’re forced down his throat. The band strikes up behind them, signaling the end of the speeches, and normal service resumes.

Sam and Riley move from behind the grooms’ table to hug Peter after his speech; Bucky averts his eyes as the photographer excitedly snaps a series of photographs of the trio that will no doubt have a proud place on Sam and Riley’s mantlepiece. The pictures on Bucky’s mantlepiece had been taken down years ago, replaced by a singular photo of Peter’s biological parents and one of Peter in fourth grade.

“There’s my favorite New Yorker!”

Sarah Wilson’s voice rings clear in Bucky’s ears and he stands to greet her, admiring her beautiful navy evening gown. He kisses both of her cheeks and tries to avoid smudging her makeup.

“Having fun?”

“Yeah!” His voice comes out a touch too cheery to truly sound sincere; he clears his throat before continuing. “The service was beautiful. You did a wonderful job on the flowers.”

He knows Sarah would have worked on the flowers because she had worked part-time as a florist before she had the boys. AJ and Cass still call him ’Uncle Bucky’, which warms his heart. He hasn’t seen them in over three years and they’re almost unrecognizable now that they’re twelve and ten. Bucky had laughed when they complained about their suits, but the moment they’d seen Peter in the same outfit, they’d suddenly changed their minds and followed Peter around like little ducklings. That hadn’t changed at least.

“Have you spoken to the grooms?”

Bucky nods even though he’s only said ‘hi’ and let them move on quickly through the receiving line. Sam had hugged him tightly and Riley shook his hand a little too eagerly, and Bucky had felt out of place the entire time.

Sarah settles in the seat beside him and Bucky tries his hardest to not let it irritate him. She swore she’d be cool today in the texts they’d exchanged a few weeks prior.

“I’m fine, Sarah.” He gestures towards the dance floor where so many people he knows, and who know him too, are flashing him pitying glances and whispering to one another in between their celebrations.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” Sarah starts slowly. Her nails are painted gold and her index finger catches the lights as she runs small circles over the white tablecloth. “We understood if you couldn’t.”

“Ah, it was important to Peter. For Sam too.” Bucky shuffles in his seat, pushing himself up from a slouch into an upright position. “It’s been three years. It’s not like it was a surprise.”

That dumb sympathetic look is still across her features. After the breakup there were no sides, but Sam got his family, of course; there's no more holidays for Bucky to share with them.

It’s been an adjustment, just like everything has. Just like it’d been thirteen years ago when Peter showed up permanently in his life because Bucky’s best friend was dead.

“No date?”

“I’m Pete’s date,” he jokes even though he was invited and even had an opitmistic ‘plus one’ next to his and Peter’s names.

Sarah gives him a look, but blessedly moves on. “We missed you at the rehearsal dinner last night.”

Bucky can tell when someone is coaxing him for information. Peter is a blabbermouth when he’s nervous, keeping his mouth shut has always been a challenge for him but not Bucky.

“I had to work so I stayed back at the hotel.”

This time Sarah doesn’t tell him that he could have stayed at the Wilson family home as usual, or even at her place with Peter and the boys. This whole situation is weird and everybody knows it. The ex-partner doesn’t typically show up to the wedding even if politely invited.

“You seen my folks yet?” she prompts. Code for you should have already.

“Your dad this morning, but not Darlene yet. I’ll make sure to say hello. They’ve both been busy; it’s their day as well as Sam’s.”

He’s avoided Darlene because he’s sure she still blames him for the end of his and Sam’s relationship. After the breakup, Sam came back to Delacroix for two weeks, and aside from a tense intercepted phone call, Bucky hasn’t spoken to Darlene since.

Sarah pats his arm briefly in comfort.

“Thanks for sending Pete down for the summer. You know the boys love having him around.”

“He’s been coming here every summer since he was seven.” Bucky shrugs in the easy way he tries to do ever since the breakup. He’s been keeping things as consistent as possible for Peter’s benefit, but knowing that he has to exclude himself from their old traditions feels like reliving it every time.

Peter gets summers in Delacroix and every other weekend with Sam and Riley. Bucky is back to being a single parent because — legally — Sam isn’t Peter’s guardian. Those adoption papers were drafted but never signed, now stuffed into the back of a drawer along with an engagement ring that Bucky should have sold by now. There was no yelling or dramatic exits; just the slow death of a love that fizzled out until they finally called it.

The only thing they agreed on was that Peter shouldn’t suffer and lose out just because his dads were no longer together. Co-parenting has been challenging, but no harder than when a three-year old Peter came into Bucky’s life at the age of twenty-five and upended everything.

“You know you’re welcome here too, right?” Sarah asks in that grating gentle way that so many of Sam’s family treat him with.

“I know.” Bucky puts his hand on top of hers and decides to leave it at that because he can only hear those polite platitudes so many times. He hopes that she can still read him well enough to understand that he wants the subject changed.

“Do you need anything?”

“You can ask your cousins to stop giving me those looks,” Bucky tells her with a raised eyebrow. He pulls his lips into a smile even if it’s hard to. “Hector especially.”

“You got it!” She grins as she gets up, a parting pinch to his cheek because Sarah was always Bucky’s favorite Wilson. She knew exactly the best way to get under Sam’s skin and they had spent many visits as co-conspirators. Not so much anymore, but he knows she has his back against her prying family members. She turns sharply in her heels and heads towards Hector. “Hey cuz! What are you lookin’ at?”

Across the dance floor, Darlene has her family pearls on and is laughing along with two of Riley’s relatives. She is glowing, like she’s waited for the day she could finally send one of her children down the aisle. Sarah and her boyfriend broke up shortly after AJ was born and he’s in Mississippi these days. Darlene would frequently hint that Sam and Bucky should make things ‘steady’ for Peter, and Sam would make jokes while Bucky kept his mouth shut because it was a conversation they spent most of their time avoiding back home.

Instead of greeting her like he’d promised Sarah, Bucky snakes through the crowd and decides to take a walk through the country club grounds to get some air. The humidity clings, and he misses the Atlantic breeze back home. He bites back a groan; he can’t help but compare Delacroix to Queens. Sam hated it when he did that, but Bucky couldn’t deal with the bugs or the heat or the fact that he felt so out of place in Delacroix whenever they used to visit.

(Riley loves Delacroix.)

By the time he’s taken a walk around the gardens, music fading in and out from the party as he tries to kill time before he can feasibly leave without it being rude, he’s pretty sure he feels worse than he did before the wedding started. He heads back inside to say goodnight to Peter and seek out Sam to wish him well, when the latter practically barrels into him and grabs his shoulder.

“Bucky!” Sam’s voice is loud, not loud enough to drown out the music, but loud enough that it feels jarring from his usual soft-spoken tone. He’s drunk and judging by the two undone buttons of his shirt and missing bowtie, Bucky would guess Sam is four drinks deep. Sam’s eyes look over Bucky’s jacket slung over his arm. “You leavin’?”

“Yeah, I’m beat.” To stave off the disappointment and the inevitable cajoling to stay, Bucky feigns a yawn. “I can’t keep up with the wild Wilsons. Never have.”

Sam chuckles lightly and wraps him into a side hug, a friendly arm slung over Bucky’s shoulders to pull him close to hear each other over the music.

“I’m glad you came,” he says into Bucky’s ear. “It means a lot to me. To Riley too. Especially Peter.”

Bucky slides out of Sam’s hold and pats the shoulder of his suit, there’s confetti stuck underneath the collar but Bucky resists the urge to pick it out.

“It was important to Peter. You know that. He wasn’t going to miss your wedding.”

For a moment, Bucky thinks that’s that, and he readies himself to say his goodbyes — hopefully able to avoid having to find the other groom — and escape back to his hotel room, but Sam puts his hands on Bucky’s shirt, gripping it tightly. Sam’s eyes search his, which unnerves Bucky, before he swallows thickly.

“We never…”

Bucky braces himself. They never what? They never got this far despite conversations about it? They never seemed to be on the same page by the end? They never should have gone on for as long as they did if they hadn’t had Peter to think about?

“We never did anything before the breakup, y’know?”

At first Bucky frowns because he doesn’t understand. Then Sam glances over at Riley who is talking to Darlene and Bucky realizes what he’s trying to say. There’s probably a lot they should have discussed about the end of their relationship; now really isn’t the time or place.

“Sam, it’s okay.”

“No, Bucky…” Sam exhales and Bucky can smell the beer and champagne on his breath; he wishes he had some too. “We were just friends, I swear. For a really long time. I never thought of him like that when I was with you.”

Bucky doesn’t want to know any of this right now. Today was hard enough without reopening old wounds. Had Bucky been jealous of Sam’s coworker? Yes. Had he wondered if he’d been a factor in their breakup? Sure, especially in the worst of his grief. It had seemed quick for them to go from coworkers to boyfriends, but it had actually been eight months later. Not that Bucky had been ready to move on himself quite then.

“I never looked at him, I promise. It was at the Christmas party and it just was like… clarity.”

Now Bucky definitely doesn’t want to hear anymore about it.

“I get it, Sam. I do. You don’t need to convince me. I’m happy for you. I like him. Peter likes him too.”

At the mention of their son, Sam’s eyes light up. “Thanks for letting Peter spend time with us. I know you don’t have to, but Riley’s like another dad… like Peter said.”

The anger bubbles up inside Bucky’s chest and he untangles out of Sam’s grip, removing himself from the orbit and puts a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping them an appropriate distance apart for a freshly married man with his ex-partner.

He is Peter’s dad, legally. Biologically, Peter’s dad is buried in a plot next to his mom back in Queens. But in the eyes of the law, Bucky is Peter’s guardian. While they were together, Sam was unofficially a caregiver as Bucky’s life partner and Peter called them both ‘dad’. Bucky is happy to continue that as long as Peter needs it, but Riley isn’t his dad.

Not that Bucky can say any of this right now (or maybe not ever) because it’s Sam’s wedding day and it’s Peter’s choice to call Riley whatever the hell he wants.

“I’m gonna call it a night, and I think you should go back to your husband. You have most of the night left to celebrate. Enjoy it!” He pats Sam’s cheek and sends him on his way before straightening his jacket and looking for Peter.

Peter is, predictably, with AJ and Cass hanging off his tux. His younger cousins adore Peter and the feeling is mutual. They only get some holidays and a summer each year, and sometimes Bucky felt bad that Peter was an only child. He and Sam never talked about adding to their family — they couldn’t even get over the hump of discussing marriage — but he knows how good of an older brother Peter would have been. Just like Richard Parker was for Ben and, by proxy, Bucky.

“Uncle Bucky!” Cass is the first to spot him, practically falling over his own feet to reach him. Bucky grabs him before he tumbles and lifts Cass into a tight hug. “I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“Yeah, buddy. Sorry about that. Having fun though?”

Cass rubs a hand over Bucky’s hair, brushed back for the occasion, but with the humidity, he knows the ends are curling. “You grew your hair!”

“So did you,” Bucky ruffles Cass’ hair in return. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Uncle Riley told me I can stay up because it’s his wedding. We’re going to have a sleepover with Peter.”

“I heard about that,” Bucky replies, putting Cass back on the floor and wondering just when he got so big. AJ hugs him next, already growing like a weed, and Bucky knows he’ll probably be taller than Peter soon. “Hey AJ.”

“Hey Unc,” AJ greets before wincing. “I can still call you that, right?”

“You can call me whatever you want.” Bucky offers his brightest grin before looking between the two. “Wow, you boys have grown so much.”

“Dad, are you gonna be all sappy?” Peter’s voice calls as he approaches. His tux is askew from wrestling with his cousins and Bucky reaches out to straighten it. Peter groans about it but lets Bucky fix his boutonniere nevertheless.

“It’s a wedding. Aren’t we all supposed to be a little sappy?” Bucky counters with a grin. “I’m taking off. You good or do you wanna come too?”

“I’m staying with the boys. Aunt Sarah is taking us back at midnight.” Peter tilts his head to read the time on Bucky’s watch with a frown. “It’s not even 10 yet.”

“I’m pretty tired, bud. I’m old now, remember?” Bucky makes a show of pretending his back is sore and it earns him an eye roll from his son.

“You’re lame,” he says, already turning back to where the boys are eyeing the cupcakes. “Night dad.”

Bucky lets Peter walk off, glad at least that he could briefly talk to AJ and Cass, and holding back from wanting to tell them all not to eat too much sugar or reminding Peter to hang up his suit properly when he gets back.

The buzz of the reception party fades the further Bucky gets from the hubbub. He’s sure his absence isn’t missed and he still didn’t get a chance to speak to Darlene, but he reasons that it’s fine. It’s not about him, and truly he’s probably doing everybody a kindness by getting out of there early.

His hotel room is quiet when Bucky closes the door. As he tugs off his suit jacket under the persistent hum of the air conditioner, that unease that has been following him around for the past few months makes itself known yet again. He’s not sure which feeling is the one that is making his stomach ache: grief, anger… loneliness. It’s been years since they ended things; he’s had more than enough time to get used to the idea of Riley in Sam’s life. And in Peter’s.

Delacroix used to be an adventure, but tonight has been a reminder that he no longer belongs here. Sam has moved on and taken everything of his away just like he had from their — no, Bucky’s — home. Peter and his decades of summers belong here, and now so does Riley, but Bucky’s place setting has been quietly pushed away.

He lies face down on his bed, still dressed in his white shirt and dress pants, and ignores the itch of the over-starched pillowcase on his skin.

He wishes he’d never come.

***

Peter is acting weird. Well, weirder than usual. Bucky has read all the books about raising kids and managing them through their adolescence, so he’s aware that teenagers are their own breed of insanity. Peter’s always had a healthy appetite, but now that he’s sixteen, Bucky is finding himself constantly at the grocery store, marveling how the two of them can somehow eat more than when there were three people in the house.

(No, he’s not going to think about that. Sam is on his honeymoon so Bucky isn’t going to ask him if he’s noticed a change in Peter while he’s scuba diving with Riley.)

Peter is acting weird, is all. Teenagers lie and sneak around. They hide things and roll their eyes and scoff at whatever their parents say. Bucky is expecting all of that and, for the most part, Peter has been pretty chilled until very recently.

Maybe Bucky should have noticed it earlier but he’d been entrenched in work, having dived into it during The Change as Peter has taken to calling the break up. Now that work is drying up, Bucky feels like their apartment is a whole different world. He wonders what he missed or if this is just a coincidental change in Peter.

“I have a late client meeting across town so can you feed Alpine tonight? I’ll bring takeout.”

Peter’s hunched over his phone, attention focused on whatever video is playing on the screen. Bucky waits a beat and then calls Peter’s name again to no response.

Taking a steadying breath, Bucky approaches the counter and moves to knock on the worktop, but Peter suddenly snaps his head up and scoops his phone out of Bucky’s reach. Bucky briefly catches a blur of red and blue on the screen and figures that Peter is watching the Spider-vigilante’s latest escapade.

“What?” Peter demands as he pulls out his headphones, like it’s his time that is being wasted.

“I…” Stunned and confused by Peter’s reaction and incredible reflex, Bucky brushes through his irritation and tries to focus on what he needs from Peter. “I’m working late tonight. Feed Alpine?”

Peter shrugs. “Okay.”

“I’ll bring our usual from Little Dumpling too.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“We can have a movie night. I can’t remember the last time we did that.” Bucky studies Peter’s expression to gauge his interest. “You can pick.”

“I’m studying with Ned tonight.”

Buck chews the inside of his cheek for a moment, trying to decide whether to let it go or keep trying.

“Why don’t you and Ned study here?”

“Because,” Peter says, and Bucky waits for the end of that sentence but receives a shrug instead. Before Bucky can press further, Peter’s phone chimes and he hastily glances at it before stuffing it into his pocket.

Maybe it’s a girl? Who was it that he’d been talking about last month? MJ-something. Maybe he’s dating? Bucky doesn’t know, but he hopes that if it was the case, Peter would have at least told him. Bucky had kind of wanted to help Peter prepare for his first date, just like Richie had done for him when Bucky was young.

“Okay, well, will you still feed Alpine? Get home by 7,” Bucky prompts, even as Peter’s fussing with grabbing his backpack and pulling out his keys.

“Sure,” Peter waves, half-dismissal and half in passing as he disappears through the door.

In the silence, Bucky lets out a measured breath. Living with a teenager is not for the weak. Peter was — is — a good kid; he’s kind and he’s funny, serious about school, and has friends who are good influences. Bucky never really worries about the type of person that Peter is going to grow into.

But lately? If Bucky had to pinpoint when things changed, it was probably over the last handful of months. Peter spent a few weeks of the summer in Delacroix, showed up for his first day of sophomore year a little more confident than he’d been before, but he was also cagier about his days, frequently heading off to bed early and without complaint. And since he started that Stark Internship a couple of months ago, he’s been out of the apartment more often than he’s been home.

Bucky is sure that Peter looks a little more built too. There’s muscles now that weren’t there before, some definition in Peter’s jaw and a new strength. Maybe Peter joined that baseball team that he was thinking about in freshman year, but Bucky recalls that Peter wanted to focus more on Robotics Club and there’s been no baseball equipment in the apartment. The only thing Peter has is the catcher’s mitt Richie owned; he treats his dad’s mitt like a prized possession so Bucky would have noticed if it had gone.

Wouldn’t he?

He feels like a terrible dad.

The frustration from this morning has Bucky on his third coffee by lunch and aimlessly scrolling through his phone, squinting through news articles that tell him how millennials are buying avocados instead of houses, and how high avocado demands are contributing to deforestation therefore making you a bad person. By the time Bucky hits an article about how to make avocado ice cream, he feels the start of a tension headache coming on. Instead of putting his phone down, he swipes to another article from a parenting blog.

“Do I need to know what Vine is?” Bucky asks aloud. His assistant, Mel, sighs dramatically from her desk. Technically it’s half a desk where Bucky’s shuffled some files over and made some space for her; there’s just enough room for a laptop and a tiny cactus that Bucky suspects might be fake.

“Bucky, you’re one of the cooler dads I know… but you absolutely do not need to know what Vine is.”

“Okay, good. This blog acts like it’s the second coming of Lucifer.” Bucky sighs and rubs his eyes, his phone finally abandoned. “Can I ask for a favor?”

“Doing you favors is literally my job,” Mel grins.

“It’s not a work favor.”

“You want me to check in on Peter tonight.” She says it mildly but Bucky feels bad about it anyway.

Mel used to live with her parents two floors above them in their building before she moved out for college. He’s seen her grow up just as long as he’s been raising Peter. She’s almost five years older and Peter thinks she’s one of the coolest people in the world. She used to babysit when Peter was younger, but since he no longer needs babysitting, Bucky offered her a part-time job as his assistant a couple of years ago, and now she’s his go-to for teen trends.

Her eyes narrow at him. “I’m happy to, but please tell me that you’re asking me because you have a date.”

“I have a date,” Bucky replies dryly. Mel brightens, her eyes widening with glee and hands raised as if she’s about to celebrate.

“Really?”

“No. I’m working late.” He waves around his phone. “Late client meeting.”

With a pout, Mel tilts her head as if she’s diagnosing him. “You need to start dating again.”

Oh, chronic loneliness. The usual diagnosis.

“I have been on dates.”

“Not since Sam got married!”

“He got married a week ago,” he counters, aware that his tone may be turning defensive.

“Eh. Still. Aren’t you bored?”

“I’m tired,” Buck says. “I don’t have the energy to go on dates between work and looking after my child.”

“Peter barely needs looking after. I don’t even know why you need me. He’s sixteen!”

“I just feel bad not being around when he gets home. I feel like we hardly see each other anymore.”

“He’s sixteen,” Mel reiterates. “Most teenagers don’t want to be hanging around their parents. Believe me, he’s probably glad for the space.”

Bucky grumbles to himself but doesn’t complain. He supposes he should trust her about what teenagers need.

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s studying with Ned. How much trouble can he get into?”

“You never know, they might be,” — a mock gasp from Mel — “building Legos!”

That earns a laugh from Bucky and then a soft groan because there is rapidly less and less space in the apartment for all the elaborate Lego sets that Peter and Ned have been saving up their allowances for.

Mel is right. Peter has a good head on his shoulders and is responsible. He may have been in a mood this morning, but he always cheers up after hanging out with Ned.

He’s just being a kid.

***

It’s past 8pm when Bucky returns home with their usual order from Lucky Dumpling in hand. The apartment is dark and he fumbles for the light switch, immediately being accosted by Alpine. Before Bucky can say anything, Alpine hisses at him, whining at his ankles and staring up at the bags in hand.

“Pete?” Bucky calls out as he tries to urge Alpine back down the hall so that he can put down his bags. “Pete!”

Alpine continues her whining and trots along towards the kitchen, Bucky following along as he turns on the lights in the apartment as he goes. The kitchen is dark, save for the floor lamp that they leave on for Alpine near her food bowl. Her empty food bowl. Bucky groans as he dumps the takeout bags on the counter.

“Peter!”

But it’s futile. Bucky already knows Peter is not home despite promising to be. Usually, evidence of his son is all over the apartment: a half-empty glass of orange juice on the coffee table, shoes left in the middle of the hallway, a jacket on the back of a kitchen chair. The apartment has been picked up a little — it’s not perfect, but it’s their version of clean — but Cyclone Peter hasn’t made an appearance.

Before he checks Peter’s bedroom, Bucky feeds Alpine, giving her small pets on the head in apology as she lunges for her food. His heart aches at the thought of Alpine being on her own all day. They really need to get one of those automated feeders, but Alpine isn’t technically their cat. She belonged to Aunt May from the floor below, but since her death last year, Alpine has temporarily become theirs. At least until one of Aunt May’s grown kids can take her in. Buying an automated feeder seems like a permanent step that Bucky doesn’t quite feel ready for.

The bombsite that is Peter’s room marks the return of Bucky’s headache. He gets it. He understands he’s raising a teenager, but between Alpine’s empty bowl and the piles of clothes scattered around the room, Bucky is at his limit.

He opens up Find My Friends and looks for Peter’s pin, unsurprised that it’s flashing at Ned’s house. It’s usually not a problem, but it’s a school night and Peter promised he’d be home to feed Alpine. Bucky tries once more to call Peter before he pulls out the big guns when he receives no response.

He scrolls to the contact he knows will get Peter to finally respond and get him home in the next thirty minutes.

Ned’s grandmother picks up after three rings. She doesn’t speak much English, but over the years, Bucky has found that all he needs to say is his name and then he’ll be connected to Peter.

That’s not what happens tonight.

“No Peter,” Lola is telling him. Bucky will never call Lola Leeds a liar, but it wasn’t even a minute ago that he’d seen Peter’s pin locating him there. Bucky is trying to figure out how to explain that, when he hears some frantic voices on the other end. Lola is talking to Ned, her voice picking up in annoyed Tagalog before the phone is handed over.

“Bucky? Uh, Mr Barnes, sir?”

“Bucky is fine, Ned,” he assures as his headache presses against his skull. “I haven’t heard from Peter in a while. Can you put him on the phone?”

The silence on the other end is too long to be comforting before he gets a tentative: “...No?”

Ned has never refused to do anything on the rare occasion Bucky’s asked him, which is why Bucky lets out an incredulous, “No?!”

“He’s in the shower.”

“Why is he in the shower?”

Ned fumbles over his words, mentioning something about Peter spilling soup over his lap and how Peter’s phone doesn’t receive calls or texts anymore either. And Bucky — who has known Ned since he was ten years old — is aware that he is a very bad liar.

“Ned, where is Peter?” He hopes the exasperation is clear in his tone because it’s been a long day, his son is missing, and he has two bags of Chinese food getting cold on the counter. Whereas he was tired and annoyed before, now he’s concerned and very alert.

“He’s in Midtown,” Ned admits, defeated but apologetic.

“What the hell is he doing in Midtown? Why does his location say he’s at yours?”

“We spoofed the location.”

Bucky didn’t even know that was even a thing teenagers could do. Back in Bucky’s day, they would have airtight alibis and an elaborate system of covers whenever they were somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. He supposes there’s a reason why Ned and Peter are in Robotics Club though.

“So where is he really?”

“He’s doing the, uh… the Stark Internship.”

Bucky lets out a scoff. “That’s only supposed to be Tuesdays and Thursdays. And he’s supposed to be done by six on both days.”

“He’s… doing a special project?” The hesitance is back in Ned’s tone and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. “He doesn’t always have his phone on when he’s there. Confidentiality reasons.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky rubs the bridge of his nose, still determining how to proceed with this new information. “I’m not happy the two of you have been lying to me, but thank you for telling me. Is he still there?”

“Yeah, he said he’d probably be there until nine. I was supposed to cover for him.”

“I’m heading to Stark Tower. If you hear from Peter, tell him to stay there,” Bucky orders as he walks into the kitchen to put their abandoned takeout in the fridge. Alpine — now done with her dinner — is already getting ready to settle down for a nap, pointedly refusing to look in Bucky’s direction.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, Mr Barnes.” Ned is falling over himself with apologies. Bucky is angry at being lied to, but it’s not his place to discipline Ned or even direct his anger towards him. Once he hears Peter’s side of it, he’ll focus on him. Right now, he needs to get to him.

When Bucky lets a very relieved Ned go, he grabs his keys, realizing that he hadn’t even had time to take off his shoes or his jacket when he’d come in, and hopes that no-one has blocked his car in.

Peter is going to be so grounded.

***

Despite it being the evening, Stark Tower is still buzzing with activity, and Bucky is currently trying to make his case in front of a very unimpressed receptionist.

“I’m afraid we can’t tell you where Mr Parker is. His security clearance is too high,” she tells him, courteous and professional. From the look on her face, she expects Bucky to understand and leave.

Too high? For an intern? The receptionist — Carolyn, it reads on her shiny badge — must have looked up the wrong employee.

“No, no, Peter Benjamin Parker,” Bucky clarifies. There must be countless Peter Parkers across the state so maybe more than one works here. He very much wants his Peter Parker to be sought.

“That is the name I’m looking at, sir, but unfortunately there’s nothing more I can do. You’re welcome to wait until he contacts you.”

“I’ve been calling him, but he’s not answering.”

There’s a rising panic beginning to build inside Bucky’s body, the kind that makes him pull out the parental card where he’s laser focused on getting to his son, no matter what. Carolyn could be the nicest person in the world who rescues strays and helps the elderly on her off-time, but right now, she’s the one standing between him and Peter.

He knows he’s giving off a frantic energy so he attempts to school his emotions into something more intimidating.

“He’s sixteen. I’m his dad. I demand to know where he is.”

Carolyn looks down at her screen and her frown deepens, but it seems like his insistence has made her resolve waver.

“It’s just that… according to the system…” Her fingers hover over the keyboard, a tooth pressing down on her bottom lip in conflict. “Give me a moment to speak to my supervisor.”

Carolyn’s chair rolls back smoothly despite the clear concern that Bucky can feel radiating off of her, which does nothing to reassure him of his own. He tries leaning over the counter to peer at her screen but she has one of those dumb privacy protectors that prevent him from, well, looking at it.

He’s not usually an impatient person, truly, he never even gets frustrated at long lines in grocery stores, but today he’s vibrating with it. He needs to see Peter and it’s not something he’s going to be brushed aside for.

Carolyn finally returns, her hair neatly tucked back into her hair clip and her straightened posture emits a ‘be professional and courteous’ aura to get rid of Bucky.

“My supervisor confirmed that you’re listed as Mr Parker’s guardian in our records. May I see some ID, please?”

Bucky fishes out his wallet, pushing his driver’s licence towards Carolyn. She looks at the details, draws her eyes up to scrutinize Bucky’s face — older now, with crows’ feet and shorter hair with greys creeping in — before she clicks on her computer with her other hand and seemingly approves.

“Take the elevator to the eightieth floor and follow the map,” she says, sliding Bucky’s ID across the counter along with a Visitor pass and a post-it with a hastily drawn route.

Bucky glances around and can only find banks of elevators grouped into 1-20, 21-45, 46-60…

“Where—”

Carolyn gestures to a nearby security guard, whispers something to him and then Bucky is being led towards a hidden corner of the lobby, where he briefly thinks he is going to be kicked out.

“I just need to find my son,” he attempts. Maybe he’d been too rude to Carolyn.

The security guard says nothing but presses Bucky’s pass to an inconspicuous panel and a soft ding is heard above their heads. The security guard has a soft wheeze to his breathing and it’s the only sound Bucky can hear until the elevator arrives and opens in front of him.

The panels inside are lit up from 76 to 90. The security guard presses 80 and then Bucky is alone in an elevator that hurtles him eighty floors above the city. He holds onto the post-it as if it’s his lifeline, unsure of what he’s about to face. What he hopes is that he’ll see Peter hunched over at a lab bench staring at a test tube or something, bored out of his mind and safe. Right now he’ll even accept Peter being embarrassed at his presence if it means that he’s okay. If it means that he’ll start answering Bucky’s messages and being more responsible, because Bucky’s not sure if he has the fortitude to withstand a couple more years of this teenage attitude.

Bucky was probably a handful as a teen himself, but he’s sure he wasn’t that bad. If he spoke to his parents more, maybe they’d be able to tell him, but that’s a can of worms he’s not going to open right now.

The map is helpful even down the corridors with big steel doors and minimal signage. It’s well-lit at least so Bucky doesn’t feel like something is going to jump out at him. He comes to a door that reads ‘LAB’ and he pauses to look at the map, but he apparently is still a few doors away. He moves on and turns the last corner, and stops at the mark on the post-it.

‘TRAINING CENTER #1’

Oh, okay. This must be the place. It’s an internship, Peter is training. Peter is probably learning how to log experiments or help the engineers with whatever it is Stark Industries does here. He’s fine, totally fine. Bucky will go in, talk to Peter about responsibility, maybe embarrass him a little. It’ll be fine. Peter needs a tiny attitude-check, Bucky needs reassurance that Peter isn’t slipping away from him.

It’ll be fine.

They’ll be fine.

Except…

Except when the door slides open, he’s faced with six feet-something and a broad chest spilling out of a workout shirt. That broad chest belongs to Steve Rogers — recognizable even without the bold stars and stripes uniform and shiny shield that have been plastered over the news since the Battle of New York four years ago.

And he is staring at Bucky.

“Can I help you?” The voice is softer than Bucky expects, although he’s not exactly sure what he expected because he never thought he’d run into an Avenger today.

Or ever, really.

“I— I think I’m in the wrong place,” Bucky says finally. “I’m looking for the Stark Internship, but the receptionist downstairs told me to come up here.”

“The Stark Internship?” Steve Rogers’ eyebrows knit together in a frown, but there’s a slight tick of his lips, like Bucky has told him a joke.

“My son, Peter, is an intern here. Not here, I guess. Somewhere in this building.”

Bucky is aware that he’s babbling a little as he steps backwards, wondering if he should apologize again for disturbing Captain America.

“I should go and find him.”

“No, wait, please.” Steve Rogers’ big hands are reaching for him and Bucky stumbles a little over his own foot in his hurry. “Let me explain! I’m just—”

There’s a clatter as a door to their right bursts open and a blur of red and blue hurtles towards Steve, whose attention is immediately drawn from Bucky.

“Holy shit, Steve! That new simulation you ran was incredible. I can’t wait to see my scores!”

Bucky takes in the familiar figure. He’s known about the new superhero Spiderman swinging around Queens for the last couple of months after he’d been spotted with the Avengers in Berlin shortly after the Sovokia mess.

And if he thought that coming face-to-face with Captain America was the most surprising part of his day, well the universe just decided to throw him one more curveball.

Because Spiderman isn’t wearing a mask, and the person inside the suit — the kid — is Bucky’s own.

“Peter?”

Chapter Text

Maybe Bucky is getting sick. He’s skipped dinner so perhaps he’s delirious with hunger. Maybe aliens came back down again. Because there has to be a logical explanation for why Bucky is looking at his son apparently dressed as Spiderman right now.

His eyes study Peter’s face. That is his son, with wide brown eyes and a flush on his cheeks from exertion and surprise, but it still doesn’t make any sense.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Bucky asks. “Is this— is this part of the internship?”

That must be it! Peter said something about a simulation and this is a testing room. Peter is just helping! Maybe something for the real Spiderman because his son is a kid — and it’s Spiderman, not Spiderboy.

“This is the internship,” Peter says, tugging nervously at the collar of his costume. Outfit. Uniform?

Bucky’s lungs are devoid of air and he’s too warm all of a sudden. One of his knees wobbles, daring to knock him off balance, but he manages to hold onto the wall to steady himself.

“Can I get you some water?” Steve asks, eyebrows knitted together in a frown that makes him look so human. Bucky shakes his head and looks around the room.

When Peter said ‘internship’, Bucky expected him to be fetching coffees and making copies of reports, maybe helping with some science experiments or data entry. He expected Peter to be sitting at a desk and counting paperclips, bored out of his mind. Not this.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

The familiar voice in the unfamiliar suit brings Bucky forcefully back down to reality. His surprise gives way to his frustration from earlier when he returned to an empty house and a son hiding things from him.

“I came looking for you. Ned told me where you were, which we will be talking about once…” Bucky gestures around the room, trying to convey the magnitude of his discovery and of Peter’s lie. “Why are you dressed like that?”

At the repeated question, Peter looks down at his suit, tugging again at the tight spandex and looking far too comfortable in it, even if his cheeks are still pink.

“It’s my suit.”

No.

“I’m… I’m Spiderman.”

No, no. Absolutely not. This is not something that is happening right now.

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, willing himself to wake up from this horrible nightmare. He's lightheaded with the force of shaking his head, but no words seem to be coming out.

“Why don’t we all take a seat?” A deep voice suggests, herding Bucky towards a nearby bench. Steve Rogers is here and that is already crazy enough for Bucky to handle, let alone his teenage son telling him he’s a superhero too.

“I don’t want to sit down,” Bucky says, even as his body takes a heavy seat on the bench.

It’s hard and uncomfortable, but sitting is helping with the wave of nausea that’s taken hold, and at least that’s one less thing to worry about. Throwing up over Captain America’s shoes is not what anybody needs right now.

Steve perches on the edge of the bench that Bucky is sitting on; he swears he can feel Steve’s body heat radiating even with a foot of space between them and it makes Bucky feel too warm again. He puts his head in his hands, rubbing at his temples to stave off the panic that bubbles in his gut. Peter sits on the bench opposite, his knee bouncing up and down with nerves, and fingers clasped over his mask. Bile begins to creep up Bucky’s throat at the sight.

“Did they—” Bucky pauses when Peter doesn’t say anything. “Did they do this to you?”

The idea of it is frightening. Of course he knows how the Avengers got their powers: Thor was born into it, Iron Man built it, the Hulk had an accident replicating the science experiment that transformed Steve. If anyone touched Peter…

“No, I already had powers when Tony found me.”

“Found you?” Bucky squeaks out, as if Peter was abandoned in a box behind an alley somewhere.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning, Peter?” Steve’s voice is calm and measured, much like a therapist’s. At least one of them is taking the news better than Bucky is.

“Do you remember last summer when I was in Delacroix with Dad and Riley?” Peter begins. His leg is still bouncing up and down and Bucky tries not to let it distract from Peter’s words.

“Yeah.”

“One day I was outside hanging with AJ and Cass and, well, I guess something bit me. A spider. I got pretty sick, remember?”

Bucky nods slowly, recalling the phone call from Sam one evening about a fever that Peter had suddenly come down with. Bucky had been out on a date, it began half-promising but the sparks had already begun fizzling out by the time he’d gotten the phone call from Sam, so it had been a good excuse to call it an early night, ready to fly out to Delacroix if needed.

“The next day, I woke up and I was totally fine!” Peter’s voice pitches up enthusiastically, clearly trying to inject reassurance into his story. “Uh, except for the part where I, y’know, had superpowers.”

Bucky’s headache returns, that nausea beginning to build back up again as Peter confirms his biggest fear.

“What does that mean?”

Bucky looks between Peter and Steve, hoping one of them has an answer for him. Hoping maybe one of them will say temporary or until we can reverse it.

“Peter is stronger than average. He runs fast, doesn’t get tired as quickly or hurt as much,” Steve supplies, still in that calm and steady voice. “Everything is generally around forty percent enhanced.”

“Forty-two point three! And I can do backflips!” Peter interjects, the nerves in his voice disappear as true enthusiasm takes over.

“You’ve always been able to do a backflip,” Bucky says.

“Backflips,” he clarifies, emphasising the plural. “And higher jumps, and oh!”

Peter stands suddenly, heading towards a wall. He turns to make sure Bucky is watching before launching himself at the wall. Bucky flinches for a moment, a hand coming up to cover his eyes before he lowers it and looks at where Peter is scaling the wall. And not stopping.

“What the— get down!”

“It’s safe! I’m fine,” Peter assures as he continues climbing up.

As he approaches the corner where the wall meets the extremely high ceiling, Bucky winces and watches Peter crawl around. Bucky’s head is tipped backwards to an uncomfortable angle. He tears his eyes away from his son to look over at Steve, whose brows are furrowed slightly but otherwise doesn’t look very concerned.

“I’m not kidding, Pete. Get down,” Bucky says again.

“Okay, okay,” Peter relents.

Instead of coming down the way he went up, Peter suddenly drops several feet before coming to a stop just above Bucky’s head. Bucky’s eyes follow the rope — no, not rope, web — that’s extended from the ceiling to Peter’s wrist.

“Is that coming out of you?” Bucky questions, but directs his gaze towards Steve for confirmation, mostly because he can’t keep watching Peter dangle. Peter slowly lowers himself to the floor, finally with his feet on the ground, and reveals a device on his wrist.

“They’re part of the suit,” Steve assures, although Bucky isn’t quite sure if he feels very reassured. “We just leaned into the whole spider thing.”

Steve and Peter are giving him smiles as if it makes total sense. As if Peter being bitten by a spider and having his entire DNA mutated is something to joke about. As if Peter shouldn’t be in therapy right about now.

“We?” Bucky scoffs and gestures to the room. “How did he end up here?”

“Tony brought him to a mission.”

“A mission?! Why wasn’t I told? He’s a minor,” Bucky presses.

“But you… you signed the release?” Steve’s frown causes a divot between his eyebrows. It’s far from the airbrushed photos of Captain America that Bucky has seen in magazines.

“I signed the internship permission slip.”

Bucky is sure of that. He remembers Peter’s beaming face in their living room, the TV glowing over his face as he thrust a pen and paper into Bucky’s hand. Bucky’s not exactly sure how the opportunity came around, but Peter had been so excited about it, practically talking his ear off about how good it would look on his transcripts and how rare it was that Stark Industries even offered internships. Bucky had signed the slip having gotten home late after an exhausting day, Peter with leftovers already warming in the oven for him. It had felt settling. Peter was talking so fast, saying the word ‘scholarship’ repeatedly and Bucky’s brain jumped to the bills piling up on his desk, and how hard it was to support a college student on a single income.

That’s the only thing he’s signed regarding the internship in the last few months.

“I can get Pepper to verify the release,” Steve is saying, but one glance at Peter tells Bucky everything he needs to know.

Ever since he was little, Peter has blushed when confronted with a fib. He can’t help it. Well… the superpowers didn’t stop that because there’s a dusting of pink over Peter’s cheeks and he’s clearly trying his best to shrink into the background so he’s not interrogated.

“Peter Benjamin Parker…”

Bucky’s voice sounds stronger than he feels considering the events of the last ten minutes. He’s grateful because it does the trick. Steve turns to Peter too, and between their pressing gazes, Peter breaks.

“Imayhaveforgeditsorry.” The confession comes out in a rush and half mumbled through the fist against Peter’s mouth.

“You wanna try that again?” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, feeling more at home now that he’s back on solidifying ground as ‘dad’. “Hand away from your mouth, please.”

Peter huffs but he straightens, hands tucked regretfully in front of him and gripping onto his mask.

“I may have, uh… forged your signature. Sorry.”

There’s a disappointed sigh from Bucky’s left as Steve shakes his head and rubs the divot away from between his brows. “Oh, Peter.”

It’s nice to have some support. Bucky was momentarily afraid that he’d be the only one trying to convince everyone what an awful turn of events this was, but Steve’s there with a similarly annoyed expression and Peter has the decency to look chastened.

“I’m sorry, I panicked!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky questions, but he knows the answer.

Peter is sixteen and entitled to privacy and secrets. Lying is part of it. But this isn’t a typical teenage situation. The books didn’t prepare him for this.

“Let me give you both a moment,” Steve suggests.

“No, we’re going home,” Bucky decides. “It’s a school night.”

He can’t seem to shake the awful feeling in his chest at the enormity of the situation. Peter stands — looking all of his sixteen young years — in a set of colors that Bucky suddenly hates. He wants Peter out of that costume, he wants him home where it’s safe.

“I can call a car to take you both back to Queens,” Steve says.

“I have a car.” Bucky taps the keys in his pocket.

Steve considers for a bear, but then shakes his head and focuses his gaze on Bucky. “With all due respect, you’ve had a pretty decent bombshell tonight. Let us get you a driver to get you both home safe. We’ll get your car dropped off to you in the morning.”

As much as he is reluctant to leave his car here, the concept of driving back to Queens in his current state seems impossible to Bucky right now. He nods, fishing out his keys and handing them over to Steve. One of the keychains hanging off of it is a photo of Bucky and Peter on his fourth birthday; it was the first year they were together, a month before they met Sam. Steve looks at it for a moment before tucking his fingers protectively over the keys.

“I’ll make sure it’s looked after,” he assures, and Bucky isn’t sure if he’s talking about the keychain, the car, or Peter himself.

Steve instructs Peter to get his stuff together before excusing himself to arrange their travel back home. Bucky stays rooted to the spot, brain still trying to take in the magnitude of tonight’s events.

Within the hour, Bucky and Peter are on the other side of the Queensboro Bridge and entering their neighborhood, listening to a jazz station coming through the driver’s radio. Neither of them have said a word since leaving Avengers Tower. Peter’s back in his hoodie, his costume — uniform — packed into his backpack, and if it wasn’t for the lanyard clipped to the handle (PETER B. PARKER, INTERN. LEVEL 8A ACCESS), Bucky would have thought he’d imagined the whole thing.

The apartment is dark save for the warm glow coming from the kitchen. The blinds in the apartment are still up, but the thought of going around to close them all seems too onerous. Bucky’s brain feels like it’s working overtime while his body is exhausted, barely having the energy to keep him upright. He stands by the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Dad, can we talk?” Peter pleads.

“I can’t right now.”

“But—”

“I love you, Pete, and we will talk about this, but I can’t have this conversation tonight. I’m too—”

He doesn’t want to say mad, he can’t say disappointed. He’s sad, he’s anxious, he’s weirdly proud and excited. He’s confused as all hell.

The rule in their house is that they don’t have important conversations when they’re tired or angry. That only leads to disagreements, and Bucky is so done with arguing these days. Everything has felt like an uphill battle lately, and this is just another item on his very long list of things he can’t deal with. Not on his own.

“You promise?” Peter questions.

“Yeah, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“No, I meant…” Peter pauses, his hands anxiously twisting and one foot rubbing against his calf, looking like he’s six rather than sixteen. “You still love me?”

Peter is so small and far away suddenly — his eyes shining with worry, bottom lip pulled between his teeth to stop himself from letting tears fall. It takes less than three strides for Bucky to reach him, pulling him into a tight hug and ruffling his hair.

“Of course. Nothing will change that.”

Peter’s arms surround Bucky’s waist and he squeezes, tighter than Bucky has ever felt before. Uncomfortably so, actually. That must be the new strength he’s developed.

“I love you too. I’m sorry.” Peter’s words are muffled as he buries his face against Bucky’s chest. His kid is still short enough to feel that small, and Bucky presses a kiss to his hair that Peter would normally complain that he’s far too old for, feeling awful that his son ever doubted his love.

“Tomorrow,” he promises. “Go to bed.”

Bucky waits for Peter’s door to shut before he heads into the bathroom and locks it behind him. The first thing he does is splash cold water over his face, hoping the shock to his senses will help them return. There’s a heavy lump in his throat that seems to have grown over the past few hours.

It’s been a couple of years since Bucky’s had the urge to cry, but he’s close now. The water dripping down his face, onto the edge of the sink and over the tile, does little to cool the heat all over his skin. He presses a flannel against his eyes to stop himself from breaking that seal; once he starts, he fears he may not be able to stop. This entire day feels like… well, it feels like the Battle of New York. The surreality, the panic, the aching weight in his stomach that told him that everything has now changed. There’s no way to go back — there’s only forward — and Bucky wasn’t prepared for that at 10:30 on a Wednesday night.

Another three minutes pass before Bucky feels steady enough to escape the bathroom. His appetite is completely gone and he’s overcome with a wave of exhaustion that has him wanting to crawl under his covers and hide from the world. Bucky slips into his bedroom, Alpine is already snoozing soundly on the other side of his bed and he tries his best not to disturb her. One of them should at least get good sleep tonight.

He can hear Peter shuffle around in his own room, music playing low, and— god, what if he’s crawling on the ceiling? Bucky squeezes his eyes shut as he lies on top of his covers, breathing in and out in counts of seven to try and stop anxiety from spreading through his entire body. There’s sweat forming on his brow and upper lip already and it’s only been two hours since his entire world shifted.

He cannot do this. Nothing in the stacks of parenting books that he’s read over the years prepared him for this.

Bucky reaches for his phone and scrolls to Sam’s name, hovering over their chat thread full of bland and transactional messages — P left his chem textbook here and PTA meeting Mon @ 6 — and remembers where Sam is. He’s not going to ruin the honeymoon unless Peter is actively in trouble.

Okay, but Peter is in trouble, right? Does this count as a medical emergency? Is he supposed to inform Sam that their son is a superhero now? Sam and Riley come back in two days, maybe Bucky can get a handle on it by then. Bucky tosses his phone beside him and lifts his hands to his hair, running his fingers over his scalp in an attempt to calm down. It’s not just anxiety and confusion that’s coursing through his veins and making him sweat.

He is so scared.

***

Peter is up before Bucky the next morning judging from the thumping sound from the kitchen. Bucky couldn’t sleep at all, the entire night spent in a haze of it was a dream then my son is a superhero and at least it’s not drugs and can you get college scholarships for this?

The tossing and turning has also played havoc on his bad shoulder; it aches something fierce this morning, as if he needed something else on his plate. He ventures out in his pajamas, rubbing at his left shoulder joint to find that Peter has a simple breakfast consisting of toast with peanut butter and honey ready for him in a clear attempt at smoothing things over.

“Morning, dad. I fed Alpine already,” Peter says mildly before taking in Bucky’s outfit. “You’re not going to work?”

“I’ll work from here.” Bucky’s voice is rough, even to his own ears, and he can see how Peter’s shoulders hunch in defeat. “It’s an admin day. Plus, I need to do laundry.”

Peter nods but Bucky can’t tell if he believes him. He’s not sure if he should try to spare Peter’s feelings and pretend he’s fine about being lied to for nine months and finding out the way he did. He forces himself to loosen his fists and relax his posture to keep his frustration from Peter.

Maybe he is still more upset than he let on. Bucky fixes a smile on his face, hoping that Peter won’t notice that he is struggling to wrap his head around the turn of events.

“Is your shoulder bothering you?” Peter asks next. “Maybe I can stay home—”

“No.”

Peter’s eyebrows slope unhappily. Last night he had been worried that this revelation would mean that Bucky’s feelings towards him had changed, and while nothing would ever change the unconditional love Bucky has for his son, things are different. He’s been blindsided, lied to and left out of this monumental change in Peter’s life.

He wants to yell, but he’s trying his hardest to take it in and not overreact because he doesn’t want this to negatively impact their relationship. Bucky used to think that he and Peter had a solid trust between them — he had trusted Peter to study at Ned’s and get home when he was asked to — Peter broke that. Bucky wishes it had been that simple. He longs for that moment last night where he had just thought Peter had lost track of time.

When Bucky had come out to his parents at eighteen, it hadn’t gone well. His dad had yelled and his mom had cried, and he’d known in that instant that their relationship had irrevocably broken. Even twenty years later, Bucky doesn’t know whether it was how they found out or simply that they did. In that time, they’ve met Peter a total of five times, and Sam only twice. Bucky still sends them a Christmas card every year, despite swearing he won’t, and he usually receives one back.

Sometimes. Not lately, actually.

They had issues with his ‘lifestyle’, and when Peter came into Bucky’s life, they’d pressured him to give him up. To a real family, as if Bucky alone wouldn’t have been enough. He knew what they meant by ‘real’ and he hated them for it. He’s sure Peter knows why he doesn’t see his grandparents, and not just because they live in Indiana; he stopped asking about them years ago.

In twenty years’ time, Bucky doesn’t want to be someone Peter reluctantly sends a greeting card to. He doesn’t want to be cut out of Peter’s life because of something he doesn’t understand. If what Steve said is true, that it permanently altered Peter’s DNA, well that just means it’s part of him now. He’s still the same Peter — the fact that he had barely noticed something was different for nine months is proof of that — and Bucky would accept all of Peter even if it scares him.

Bucky glances at the clock on the wall. “You’re going to miss the bus.”

“I’ll make it on time,” Peter says, before confessing: “I haven’t actually taken the bus in weeks.”

Now Bucky turns to look at him, a questioning frown on his face. Did Peter learn to drive too? But then Peter pulls back the sleeve of his hoodie and Bucky sees the small device cuffed to his wrist.

“It’s faster when I swing,” he says.

“Oh.”

There’s not much Bucky can say about that, despite him having a dozen questions about it swimming in his head. Is that safe? How high can you go? Have you ever fallen? What happens if you run out? What if someone sees you?

Maybe his reaction isn’t comforting because Peter’s sad sloping eyebrows are back.

“Does Ned know?” Bucky questions.

“Yeah. Nobody else except the Avengers,” Peter says.

That means it’s likely Sam doesn’t know either, which is somewhat comforting to Bucky. He’s not sure if he’d be able to take Sam and Riley knowing before him. That would have been a deeper cut, and he feels bad for even thinking it. He and Sam aren’t supposed to be competing for Peter’s affections, but sometimes Bucky can’t help it. Not now when Sam’s life looks like a more stable place for Peter, and Bucky is… floundering.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just stares down at his toast and wills himself to take a bite. He hasn’t eaten since lunchtime the day before and their Chinese takeout is still untouched in the fridge; his stomach churns at the thought of it.

“I should get to school,” Peter says finally. “I can catch the bus and Ned will be on it.”

“Straight home after school today.”

“It’s Thursday. I have the internship.”

Bucky shoots Peter a look, one that he rarely gives unless he’s absolutely serious. It’s effective for a reason.

“Not tonight you don’t. I’ll talk to Captain Rogers myself.”

Peter bites back his protest and gives a nod. “Okay.”

It’s silent in the kitchen as Peter grabs his backpack. He looks around for his headphones and Bucky reaches across the table for them.

“I love you, bud,” he tells Peter warmly as he hands them over, wanting to ensure their last interaction of the morning is positive. “We’ll talk tonight.”

Peter’s eyes soften and he offers a relieved smile. “Love you too, dad. Sorry for lying.”

Bucky can practically hear Peter bounce down the hall to the front door. Within moments, the door shuts and Bucky is alone again.

He pushes the plate away from him and buries his head in his hands. He wishes Richie was around, wonders what he would have said, how he and Mary would have dealt with this. Maybe Peter wouldn’t have lied to them, or maybe he would have asked Bucky for help breaking the news. Perhaps Bucky would be assuring Richie and Mary that Peter was more mature than he looked.

Bucky wishes he just didn’t feel so alone in this.

Now that his appetite is well and truly gone, Bucky cleans up the kitchen, tossing the toast out onto the fire escape for the pigeons to fight over despite knowing he’s not supposed to. It’s okay if he breaks a rule or two — someone may as well eat it.

Despite taking a shower, Bucky is still thrumming with anxious energy. He spends exactly forty-two minutes clicking around his email inbox, trying to pretend he’s being productive but nothing gets his mind off of one thing: Spiderman. The pile of laundry is the next task he tackles, and while the spin cycle is running, sounding exactly like the thousands of thoughts in his brain, he decides to do his least favorite chore.

Bucky is three-quarters of the way through dusting every surface and knick-knack in the apartment when he walks into Peter’s room and pauses. It looks so normal. It is normal. But apparently Peter has costumes and gadgets and maybe even weapons stashed in places. He doesn’t want to snoop, and he promised himself he never would, but the temptation is all too real as he stands among his son’s belongings.

It takes Bucky three deep breaths to decide that it’s not technically snooping if he’s just picking up clothes for the next load of laundry and dusting around the bedroom. A crumpled hoodie on the floor with seven discarded socks and a pair of jeans with a rip on the knee. Bucky examines it and decides it’s meant to be like that; the shirt with a rip at the sleeve is definitely not, however.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices movement at the end of the room. Bucky’s gaze travels up past the posters of video game characters and sci-fi movies to stare at a small black circle with eight legs in the corner. He’s never been particularly fond of spiders, but he can’t help himself from staring now.

The spider stares back at him.

“Peter?” Bucky tries before grimacing at himself. This is dumb; he would know if Peter could turn into a spider. That’s the first thing Peter would have told him yesterday, even if Bucky doesn’t quite understand the advantages of transforming into an arachnid as a superpower.

But still.

“I don’t want to kill you if you’re my son so… I’m just going to leave you alone, okay?”

The spider twitches and Bucky momentarily thinks maybe he’ll hear Peter’s voice, and then that will have to be another thing he needs to deal with right now.

Instead, the spider lazily spins in a circle before presumably falling asleep in the corner of the room.

That doesn’t necessarily disprove the Peter-is-now-a-spider theory.

The doorbell buzzes, releasing Bucky from his staring contest and he heads to the intercom.

“Barnes-Parker residence,” he says.

“Hi, it’s me. Steve. Rogers. We met yesterday?” Bucky almost wants to laugh at the tone, as if he could forget the circumstances in which they met, let alone meeting Captain America. “I brought your car back. Can I come up?”

Bucky had completely forgotten that he’d left the car back in Manhattan. He manages to mutter out an agreement and buzzes him in, taking the two minutes or so that it’ll take to reach the fourth floor, to stuff the dirty clothes into the hamper and away from a guest’s eyeline. His hair is unbrushed, having settled for running a hand quickly through it after his shower instead of brushing it back, and wearing a pair of sweatpants with two different coffee stains and claw marks on the knee from when Alpine freaked out at some pigeons. He’s searching for his other sock when there’s a knock at the door.

Captain Rogers stands on the other side, looking far more put together and like he’s actually had a full night’s sleep. Not like Bucky and the bags under his eyes that carry a decade of worry.

“Captain,” Bucky greets, his hand automatically held out for a handshake. He doesn’t remember if he offered his yesterday. Everything feels like a blur; he would have believed it was all a bizarre dream if Captain America wasn’t standing at his doorstep right this minute.

“Call me Steve.”

The reciprocated hand is warm and firm, and Bucky realizes that they hadn’t shaken hands when they first met as he’d have remembered this. The weight is steady and calming, almost a balm to Bucky’s fraying nerves.

“Thank you for making the trip, but I thought you’d send an assistant or something,” Bucky says as Steve hands back the keys, the photo keychain still safely attached.

“It’s no trouble. I wanted to drop by anyway.”

There’s a pause and Steve looks expectantly past Bucky’s shoulder.

“Peter’s at school.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I came to talk to you.” Steve is clearly giving Bucky his gentlest smile, eyebrows raised in a ’I come in peace’ kind of way.

Bucky moves aside, feeling a multitude of emotions brewing inside him — confusion, frustration, discomfort, the strange laughter that seems to want to burst out of his chest — ever since yesterday evening.

Steve crosses the threshold, hands politely by his sides as he steps into the apartment, casting his eyes over the premises.

“Sorry for the mess,” Bucky apologizes, not really knowing why. Steve is the one who dropped in unannounced twelve hours after they last saw each other.

“You’re fine.” Steve stops at the edge of the living area, standing next to the couch and waiting for Bucky’s permission.

“Coffee?” Bucky offers, finally remembering his manners. Steve is just a regular guy; there’s no uniform or shield, but Bucky’s still wary of why Steve wanted to see him.

Would they just take Peter from me? The thought has been pushing its way into his brain all night. Would Peter want to go?

“Ah, it’s… it’s not any of that fancy frothy stuff, is it?” Steve looks over, slightly pained, at the kitchen area.

“It’s just black with milk, if you want it,” Bucky explains, finding the look on Steve’s face extremely endearing. “There’s also decaf.”

“A black coffee would be great, thanks.” Steve nods. “The machines in the Tower… let’s just say it’ll make whatever drink you want except a simple black coffee. Half the time I swear I end up with a cup of just frothed milk.”

Bucky can’t help but chuckle because he hates that kind of thing too. Out on construction sites, he only ever had black coffee, but now it seems impossible to find when he ventures to most cafes.

Silence settles over the kitchen as Bucky sets the coffee to brew and pulls out two mugs. His favorite mug is already in the sink from this morning, but he likes drinking with his guests when they come over. With Steve in his space, clearly wanting to have a serious discussion, it’ll be good for Bucky to have something to do with his hands. The mug he hands out to Steve has the emblem for Midtown School of Science and Technology. It’s probably the most professional looking one they own as Peter has a habit of picking out fun, nerdy ones whenever they go anywhere. Bucky chooses the one with the chemistry molecule diagram of caffeine for himself.

He places Steve’s cup of coffee in front of him and nudges the sugar canister towards him… then proceeds to watch in horror as Steve puts three heaped teaspoons of sugar into his black coffee and stirs it through his drink without comment.

Bucky’s instinct is to do what he does with Peter — to remind him of how expensive cavities are and how Peter didn’t endure braces for eighteen months just to rot away his teeth — but he presses his lips together instead. Steve Rogers is an adult, older than Bucky. Maybe he doesn’t know about cavities. Did they even have dental care in the 1930s?

Steve clears his throat, taking a sip of his coffee and barely flinching at what Bucky assumes is now a mountain of sugar with a dribble of coffee running through it.

“First of all, I want to apologize for the confusion yesterday. I can imagine it was a shock, and I know that’s not how you should have found out. I’m sure Peter wouldn’t have done it intentionally,” Steve begins.

“He forged my signature and lied to me.”

“I agree. He should have been honest, but he’s still a good kid,” Steve offers diplomatically.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods, straightening his spine and looking Steve in the eye, the over-sugared coffee forgotten. “He’s just a kid.”

Steve sighs, deep in the way that Bucky can see his chest rise and fall even under his jacket. The apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of the fridge and the soft clink of Steve’s mug against the counter. He doesn’t quite fit in the space; too broad for the narrow kitchen, too careful with his movements, like he’s trying not to disturb anything. Bucky stands nearby, arms folded, the weight of his discovery pressing in around them.

“When Tony first brought him in, I honestly didn’t know how young he was. We were in the middle of a mission and suddenly someone is swinging past my face and throwing a car at an alien. I was too caught up in what he could do to realize. Then I heard his voice and… I was so mad at Tony for bringing a kid to a fight like that,” Steve explains.

“Yet, you’re still using him.”

“The moment I found out Peter’s age, I took over his training. I made it very clear to Tony that Peter’s safety was non-negotiable. Tony’s heart is in the right place, but he gets carried away. I didn’t trust him to remember that Peter has limits.” Steve looks at Bucky, his expression sincere and open. “What Peter can do is incredible. I would be lying if I said we didn’t need him, but he is also a liability. He’s inexperienced and over enthusiastic, but part of my job is helping him develop his powers and those skills. I know he’ll say he doesn’t need it—”

“Because he’s a teenager,” Bucky cuts in. “It’s what they do.”

Steve doesn’t seem upset about Bucky’s interruption. He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes falling on the pictures and notes adorning the fridge. “I don’t know much about raising a kid, so maybe we can help each other out. I’m sure you’ve got questions. I’ll answer all of them.”

Bucky’s next words come out before he can stop them. “Has he killed anyone?”

The question lands harder than he expected. His voice sounds strange in the stillness of the apartment. He hates that he has to ask, hates that it’s even a possibility, but after the last twelve hours, he’s not ruling anything out.

“Aliens? Yes,” Steve confirms. His voice is steady and calm. It helps. “People? No. He’s careful.”

“Has he been hurt?” He looks at Steve, making sure that his eyes still look honest. “I’ll ask him too, but right now, I need to hear it from you.”

Steve straightens his spine, looking serious. “Three weeks ago he bruised his ribs. A mild concussion two months ago. That’s the worst. Otherwise, just bruises and small grazes. He’s never been hurt by a weapon.”

Bucky isn’t entirely sure that’s alleviated the worry he’s holding in his chest. It’s tight and heavy, making every breath feel like he’s fighting for it. Since Peter came into his life, that weight has always been there for him to carry, and he’s carried it willingly. Right now, it feels crushing. They’re leaping into the unknown and Bucky isn’t sure if he’s supposed to fly with Peter or be his safety net.

He doubts he can do either right now.

“I haven’t asked Peter yet about why he didn’t tell you, but I know it’s not because he never wanted you to know. It’s overwhelming to wake up one day and your body being yours but also not. It’s important that he had time to get used to everything and accept it. That’s part of the reason Tony wanted him with us, so that we could help him and he didn’t feel alone in this.”

“But I’m his father.” Bucky’s voice is more fragile than he’d like it to sound. He swallows that lump down. “How am I supposed to help him with something I don’t understand?”

“You’re not alone either.”

Steve offers up a smile, it’s a touch lopsided and it makes him look so much younger too. It reminds Bucky a little of Peter’s when he’s being earnest. Genuine. Bucky never knows how to respond when he sees it, usually he ends up just giving Peter a hug, but he can’t do the same here.

Maybe Steve mistakes Bucky’s hesitance for disbelief, so he continues.

“I’ve only known Peter for a few months, but he’s intelligent and brave. God, at his age I was fury and recklessness bottled up into a five foot package; I wish I had an ounce of his self-restraint. Sometimes.”

Bucky twists his lips, studying the man that he’d read about in his history books and in documentaries on the Discovery Channel.

“How did it feel when you got your powers?” he questions. Steve briefly looks taken aback, but it flickers away and he puts his hands on the kitchen island to steady himself.

“I was scared. The difference is that I put myself forward for the experiment. I knew what I was getting into — at least parts of it. No-one knew if it would work or what it would be like if it did. I was…” Steve takes a deep breath. “I wanted to help in whatever way I could, even if it meant the experiment not succeeding. I know Peter didn’t have a choice in this, but he’s taken to it like a champ. He’s seen what’s out there. He wants to help too.”

Bucky’s coffee is cold now and he pushes it away. Steve’s sweet sludge is almost empty so Bucky gestures to the pot in case he’d like a refill. Steve shakes his head and Bucky clears the mugs to the sink, using the dishes as an opportunity to take a break from this conversation.

He knows what the experiment Steve undertook was like; it had been explained in pretty gruesome detail in several of the documentaries Bucky had seen. At least Peter didn’t go through that.

“I understand wanting to help. The Battle of New York wasn’t that long ago,” he reminds Steve, not that he really needs to. The city has only just recovered from the damage, but the long lasting effects remain. The twinge in Bucky’s shoulder is a reminder of that. “Sometimes people wade into trouble that they aren’t prepared for,” he finishes.

“Peter told me about his Uncle Ben. He said that he was your best friend.”

A shiver runs through Bucky’s spine at Steve’s words.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods, not looking back at Steve. “We grew up together, lived down the street, went to the same schools; we were more like brothers. Peter’s dad Richie was Ben’s older brother. I knew both of them.”

“Peter also told me Ben died pretty young. A shooting?”

“He was, uh… sixteen,” Bucky pushes past the lump that threatens to form in his throat whenever he thinks about Ben Parker. “He was in a convenience store one night when it got robbed and he tried to stop it. Wrong place, wrong time kind of thing.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. Peter said you don’t talk about it much.”

“It was a long time ago,” Bucky replies, an edge to his voice he doesn’t quite like. He’s met Steve for all of an hour collectively. He doesn’t know why he wants to talk about it, but his brain keeps sending him warning signals to shut it down. That lid needs to stay permanently shut.

“Does it make you worry more for Peter?” Steve wonders as Bucky turns around.

“Wouldn’t you? Ben tried to be a hero and he got hurt. Now Peter is swinging around the city looking for trouble.”

“We’re looking out for him. We’re not letting him become some vigilante, despite what the press says. He’s patrolling certain areas that we have monitors on, and he calls in every incident so we can keep track.”

Bucky scoffs at how insane that sounds. Peter isn’t supposed to be patrolling. Most kids have a newspaper route or a part-time job stocking shelves. Steve is talking like this is a regular gig for a teenager.

“Steve, he’s only sixteen but he’s lost so much. He already feels like he’s not the same as most of the kids at his school. I just want him to have something that’s nor—” Bucky pauses because their family therapist always said that he can’t frame things as ‘normal’ and ‘abnormal’. “Not too different that he can’t find his place in the world.”

“I understand that, Bucky.” Steve speaks so gently, empathetic and measured. “But what if this is what gives Peter a place in the world?”

“A purpose.” Bucky says it more like a statement than a question, but Steve nods anyway.

Bucky buries his head in his hands. He’s been looking for a path all his life and never really found it. Here’s Peter, being presented with one as a teenager before he’s even figured himself out, but the path is unknown, thorny and foggy. Bucky has always tried to walk a few steps ahead to clear it for Peter, but now he has no idea if that’s the right thing to do.

“You’re his father. He trusts you the most. If you don’t come on board, he’ll just do it anyway. Isn’t it better to be part of that journey?”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “You’re a real sweet talker. Is that why they sent you to talk me into it?”

“Nobody sent me. I thought maybe you might need someone to talk to. As someone who woke up with superpowers, I know how scary it can be. That’s why I wanted to make sure Peter knew it was safe to come to me. From my perspective, I think he wants to do the same with you.”

Bucky bristles slightly and he wants to argue that Peter’s always been able to talk to him, but the truth is that Peter kept this big thing from him for months. Almost a year. That’s not something that Bucky is sure he can get over. Not yet.

“Talk to Peter and if you need to see what we’ve been doing as part of his training, then the Tower is always open. Just ask for me.”

Steve pulls out a business card and grabs a pen off of Bucky’s desk, scribbling something on the back of it.

“This is my personal number. The one on the front just goes to the press office. If you have any questions, feel free to call.”

Bucky takes the card, looking over the Avengers emblem and the ‘Captain America’ printed in black ink on the front, before turning it over and inspecting the cursive set of numbers written in blue biro. ‘Steve’ is written below it.

“I’ll let you get back to your… work?” Steve asks politely. Bucky looks down at the outfit he’s wearing: the ratty sweatpants and a threadbare tee that has two holes in it, and he’s still only wearing one sock. Shit.

“I don’t usually dress like this,” Bucky says, his mouth moving with the words before he can stop himself. “It’s laundry day.”

Steve simply gives him a polite nod, but there’s the ghost of amusement across his face. It’s cute the way that Steve’s lips curl up.

“I hope to see you soon, Bucky. And I mean it — call anytime.”

***

To his credit, Peter comes home right on time after school. Earlier, even. Usually he drops by a deli or bodega for a post-school snack, sometimes walks Ned home first, other times they’re stuck in traffic on the bus. But Bucky hears a thump come from Peter’s room, and there he is. In the same outfit he went to school in, backpack hanging off his shoulder, and climbing in through his bedroom window.

“Hi.”

Peter gives a sheepish smile, a touch uneven, and his blue eyes bright with youth. The frustration Bucky woke up with is no longer there this afternoon, even if his worry is.

“I thought you were taking the bus,” Bucky says, but he keeps his tone light to indicate that his anger has ebbed.

“Swinging is faster in traffic,” Peter explains. “Sorry.”

“It’s safe, right?”

Peter nods. “Yeah, totally safe. We’ve tested the webs in so many conditions. It’ll only break if it’s way below freezing conditions. Like, sub-zero.”

“Good to know. Nobody saw you?” Bucky presses.

“I know the routes to avoid being seen and I’m pretty fast.”

Bucky can’t say much more about that, despite still not liking the idea of Peter swinging through the city at an insane height.

“Get changed and then come into the kitchen. We’re gonna have a talk, okay?” Peter nods in agreement and Bucky glances at the mess in Peter’s room. “And clothes in the hamper, bud.”

Bucky has a sandwich ready for Peter when he finally emerges, pulling a hoodie over his head and sliding onto the stool by the kitchen island so he can eat his snack.

“How was school?”

“Fine. I have a lab report due next week.”

Peter takes a big bite of his sandwich, and Bucky realizes exactly why Peter’s appetite has been so large lately. He must burn a lot of calories in his extra curriculars.

“H’ws eur daw?”

Bucky groans at the sight of Peter’s food rolling around in his mouth. “Eat, then talk. Who taught you manners?”

Peter takes a big gulp of his orange juice and swallows down the bite.

“You did.” He burps for added effect and grins at Bucky, who throws a carrot slice towards Peter. He doesn’t attempt to catch it as he hates carrots, but before the piece reaches the floor, a shot of web grabs it and Peter puts it back on the table.

“Fancy,” Bucky mumbles.

“I guess it’s time for my lecture?” Peter asks. At least he seems ready for it; that’s a good sign. Bucky puts his knife down on the chopping board.

“First of all, you’re going to apologise to Ned and his grandma for using them. You’re also never going to hide your location from me ever again.”

“Spoofing my location was Ned’s idea!”

“You still went along with it. You still put him in a position where he felt he needed to lie for you. That’s not okay with me, Pete.”

Bucky is giving Peter his most intense stare; the kind he used to be on the receiving end from his own father. The type that means no arguments.

“You should have told me when it happened.”

“Well, what was I supposed to say? It happened right after Dad and Riley got engaged and I— I felt fine anyway. Better than fine! It’s not exactly easy to explain.” Peter pouts in return, crossing his arms over his chest in a mirror of Bucky’s stance.

“You could have tried. You had plenty of opportunities, but you decided to keep it a secret for nine months. Steve told me you had a concussion two months ago. What if that had been worse?”

Peter wrenches his eyes away, staring at a spot on the ground instead and muttering angrily under his breath. Bucky clicks his tongue.

“What was that? Anything you have to say should be said to me or not at all. We’re having a discussion.”

“I said that the Avengers had my back anyway.”

“And what about the vigilante stuff? The muggings and the break ins and sneaking out at night doing dangerous things in places you shouldn’t be in.”

“This is my neighborhood, dad. I know it like the back of my hand. I’m the best person to help.”

“You’re also my kid and if I think you’re safe and asleep, that’s where you should be. You understand why I’m concerned, right?”

Peter mumbles again, but this time Bucky catches it: I’m not Uncle Ben.

Instead of fighting him on it, Bucky forces himself to take a breath and exhale it slowly. He uncrosses his arms and lets them dangle by his sides because all the books told him to be open with his body language and non-combative during difficult discussions.

“Okay, Pete. I know this internship means a lot to you and I don’t want to take it away without serious consideration. You are unique, and if the Avengers want to help you develop or control what you can do, then maybe they should.”

Peter’s eyes light up and Bucky is simultaneously relieved to see it and determined not to show his hand too much. He wants to manage Peter’s expectations.

“You’re still my responsibility, so I’m going to be involved too. I’ll speak to Steve and we’ll work something out. But this is only going to work if we’re honest with each other. No secrets anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agrees. “No secrets.”

“So, that means you need to tell Sam,” Bucky says finally. He can tell from the way that Peter’s mouth clamps shut that he doesn’t want to. Bucky reaches over to ruffle Peter’s hair. “Bud, he needs to know.”

“Yeah…” There’s a soft whine in his voice. Bucky wonders if Peter ever intended to tell either of his fathers if he hadn’t been found out. Well, he’d been successful for months.

“You spend time with him and Riley. They should know exactly what is going on so they can protect themselves and you.” The words feel like sludge in his mouth. Protection.

God. Bucky isn’t naive, the Avengers are beacons for trouble and now his son is a beacon himself. The more people Bucky trusts to know, the better, surely. Bucky can’t be everywhere (god knows Peter already hates him hovering as much as he is), but it doesn’t mean he can’t have eyes everywhere.

Peter nods silently; unhappy but reluctantly willing. He pulls out his phone, which used to be a no-no during family dinner, but since Sam left, Bucky and Peter couldn’t help themselves and that rule swiftly went out of the window in recent years.

“I could text—”

“You’re not doing it over a text message.” Bucky’s voice comes out with a hard edge. Unintentionally, but he still feels bad about it when Peter’s eyebrows draw together in that sad way. “You should tell them in person and soon. It’s your weekend with them” — Bucky glances at the wall calendar to confirm — “and they’re back from their honeymoon tomorrow morning.”

“We should give them a couple of days to recover.”

“I don’t think this is something that can wait,” Bucky tries with a touch more sympathy. “Rip it off like a band-aid.”

“Can you tell them?”

And Bucky would do anything to protect Peter, truly. He thinks about those parents who can pick up cars off their kids, and he knows that strength is within him too. But this is not the same thing. This is a conversation that will be difficult but not impossible.

Sam has compassion coming out of his pores. It’s what attracted Bucky to him in the first place, but it’s also what also tore them apart; Bucky hated feeling like Sam was constantly waiting for him to open up, and disappointing him when he couldn’t.

“If you’re old enough to be swinging around the city fighting crime, you’re old enough to talk to them. You’ll have the entire weekend, but you better tell them at the first opportunity. Not ten minutes before you’re leaving to come back home.”

Peter blushes and Bucky lightly rolls his eyes, a gentle nudge of Peter’s shoulder to let him know that he’s got him. That he’s here and he’s not mad.

“Will you come with me?”

At that, Bucky’s smile drops. The shared custody has very carefully been arranged for Peter to be the one going between their places. Sam does drop by their apartment on occasion but rarely comes in. Bucky has only seen Sam and Riley’s home from the outside when he picked up Peter last summer after his trip to Delacroix. The four of them have dinners in a neutral place for anything to celebrate Peter with like his birthday or school achievements.

This is not exactly a conversation they could have in a public setting.

Bucky is about to decline, come up with another excuse for Peter being old enough now, but then Peter’s eyebrows draw together and he busts out the pout that he’s been perfecting since he was three years old, and Bucky knows he’s done for.

“I’ll drop you off on Friday night,” Bucky states, “but you have to tell them in the first ten minutes.”

Peter’s pout doesn’t totally disappear but he does agree to the terms.

“The Korean grocery store you like is a block away from their place,” he says. “We can stock up on kimchi.”

Bucky rolls his eyes again, delighting in the sound of Peter’s smug giggle at being able to easily bribe him.

Maybe they’ll be okay.

Chapter Text

Sam and Riley’s townhouse is a thirty-five minute drive from Bucky’s apartment. It’s situated on a tree-lined street in a leafy suburban neighborhood with neat patches of grass on their front lawns. Theirs has a small porch with a hanging plant that swings gently in the breeze, and placed next to the welcome mat is a small alligator gnome with ‘Delacroix’ written on its ceramic fishing hat. In the window is a child’s crayon drawing of a rainbow, likely from one of their elementary school students.

Every other Friday after school, Peter stays for the weekend or drops in whenever he wants in between. They’re used to Peter’s comings and goings, letting himself in and treating the place as his bonus home. So when the doorbell rings on Friday afternoon, his presence is expected.

Bucky’s isn’t.

“Lost your key, champ?” Riley asks as he pulls open the front door and stares right at Bucky. “Oh… hey!”

Against a pale yellow tropical shirt, Riley’s tan is golden, his blond hair sufficiently sunkissed, and he has the glow of a man back from a wonderful Caribbean honeymoon. The smile on his face wavers and Bucky can only offer up a small wave as Peter stands next to him on the stoop.

“Hi, can we come in?” Bucky prompts. Riley seems to look out behind Bucky’s shoulder as if he’s concealing something, but he must only see the car parked outside. “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Sure. Is Peter still staying over?” Riley questions, allowing them both to step inside.

“Yeah! Is dad here?” Peter takes over, glancing around the hall. He tucks himself into a brief hug with Riley. “Welcome back, by the way!”

“He’s just doing the laundry,” Riley replies through a frown, clearly still confused by Bucky’s presence.

Bucky and Riley have never spent more than five minutes in each others’ company without a buffer between them. It’s nothing against him; in Bucky’s mind, Riley is constantly trying too hard to not be seen as Sam’s partner — the person who replaced Bucky in his life — but at the same time he is Sam’s partner now. Bucky wishes Riley would just accept it. He has no idea what Riley might think of him in return. Maybe he doesn’t need to know.

“Is everything okay?” Riley questions when Peter leaves to seek out Sam, leaving him and Bucky alone.

“Uh, it’s Pete’s thing. It’s…” Bucky falters because it’s not anything horrible, but it’s not exactly news he enjoyed hearing either. “It’s nothing awful. Everyone is safe and healthy.”

That seems to appease Riley and Bucky is led towards the kitchen where he can hear Sam’s booming voice from the attached laundry room.

“Petey, you would not believe the size of the fish I—”

Sam stops short when he emerges and sees Bucky standing there. His eyes widen with worry as he glances between Bucky and Riley.

“Is everything…?”

“We’re fine,” Bucky says at the same time Riley reaches for Sam’s shoulder in a calming manner, fingers rubbing soothingly against the garish blue tropical shirt Sam is wearing. Oh — Bucky realizes it matches Riley’s yellow one. He’s pretty sure there must be another for Peter somewhere. Sam always did like matching family outfits.

“Peter has an announcement,” Riley fills in when nobody else says anything. “Why don’t we go into the living room? Are you staying for dinner, Bucky?”

Bucky shakes his head, perhaps a tad too strongly. “No, I’m just here for Pete and then… he’s all yours for the weekend.”

Then all eyes move to Peter, who takes a half step back towards Bucky. There’s something in that motion that causes Bucky’s heart to swell and break in one fell swoop. How can his shy and sweet kid be an Avenger fighting on the streets? It doesn’t make sense.

It’s Bucky’s turn now to put a steadying hand on Peter’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze of support.

In the living room, Bucky and Peter share the couch and Sam sits on the loveseat opposite them while they wait for Riley to fix drinks in the kitchen, the East Coast not diminishing his Southern manners. Their living room is full of pictures — Sam’s family, Riley’s family, photos of nieces and nephews, and of Peter. Bucky’s eyes land on one from seven years ago that he had taken of Sam and Peter completely drenched after a downpour, matching toothy grins. It’s one of his favorites and it used to be on their wall before.

Bucky hates every moment of this. At least at Peter’s celebration dinners, they have wait staff and background noise to fill the silences, people and things to distract them from any awkwardness. Sam looks uncomfortable in his own home, and Peter’s nerves are radiating off of him, knee bobbing up and down.

“How was your… trip?” Bucky questions to break the silence.

Sam makes a vague agreement that it was fun and good without going into details. His hands rub nervously over his knees, the gold band sitting on his finger still gleaming like it did at the wedding.

“You’re both looking well. Refreshed.”

“Yeah, we needed a break. Wedding planning, y’know?” Sam says.

No, Bucky doesn’t know. Bucky has never proposed or been proposed to. He’s never had to plan a wedding.

At least it breaks some of the tension. They make small talk over when Sam is returning to work, and hear a story about the kid on the plane that had a complete meltdown and her poor mom practically in tears trying to calm her. Until Riley stepped in and managed to resolve the situation by using the diffusion method he uses with his students.

Riley returns with a tray of drinks and a small gift bag. He looks to Sam, who gives a small nod, and then hands it over to Bucky.

“We got you a souvenir. We were going to send it back with Pete, but since you’re here.”

Inside is a heavy bag of ground Dominican coffee, a little bow on top and Bucky’s name written in neat letters on the tag.

“It’s supposed to be the best. Sam and I— well, we really liked it while we were out there, and Sam said you love dark roasts so we thought you’d like it.” Riley is babbling, nervous as he attempts to explain the thought process behind the gift. “I know it’s only coffee, but…”

“Thank you.” Bucky cuts in to save Riley, but mostly all of them. He tucks the coffee back into the gift bag and then realizes that the awkwardness will only grow if they don’t focus on the subject at hand.

He throws Peter a meaningful look to indicate that it’s now or never.

“Pete, start talking.”

For an instant, Peter is eight again: missing teeth and floppy hair falling into his eyes, sleeves pulled halfway up his palm and chewing at his lip because he broke Sam’s tablet.

Bucky’s heart is heavy, too big for his chest. There’s a frown on Sam’s face, eyebrows creased with worry and leaning forward as if ready to catch Peter. Out of the corner of Bucky’s eye, he can see Riley place a hand over Sam’s. Good, because they’re going to need it. In a few moments, everything they knew about Peter is going to change. At least they have the grace for the news to be broken gently, and not the crash bang that Bucky had.

(Not a phone call at 2am from Richie either.)

“So remember last summer in Delacroix when Aunt Sarah took us camping and I got bit?” Peter begins, making an effort of injecting reassurance into his voice.

“The weird bug bite?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, and I got super sick for a few hours? Well…” Peter glances over at Bucky, who schools his expression into one of encouragement. “Turns out I’m still sick.”

Sam’s face instantly falls, panicked eyes immediately searching over Peter’s body for clues, and Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Pete, don’t say it like that!”

Peter stammers, trying to explain himself as both Sam and Riley launch into questions.

“Wait, wait!” Bucky finally calls. “He’s fine. Peter is fine!”

“What do you mean you’re sick?” Sam pushes.

To his credit, Peter doesn’t back down. He clears his throat and announces: “So, I’m Spiderman.”

It’s not exactly the way Bucky would have gone about it, but it gets to the point. There’s momentary confusion — probably because Riley and Sam have to remember who Spiderman is — but then there’s a sudden roar of noise in the form of questions.

“What do you mean you’re Spiderman?”

“The leotard swinging around the city?”

“Since when?”

“I thought that guy was in college!”

“If this is your idea of a joke—”

“Am I having a heat stroke?”

Sam is out of his seat, hands on his head as he tries to parse the information. Bucky keeps his mouth shut, hands clasped in front of him as Peter’s eyes dart between Sam and Riley and stutters through trying to answer any of the questions being thrown at him.

Feeling too sorry for him, Bucky decides he can diffuse a situation too and puts a supportive hand on Peter’s shoulder, gesturing for Sam and Riley to calm down.

“Okay, okay. Let’s all take a breath. We will explain everything, but we need to go from the beginning.”

Bucky nudges Peter and encourages him to explain everything properly and with as much information as he’s able to include without the need for follow-up questions. What Peter misses, Bucky tries to fill in, or mentally files away to ask Steve about another time.

Sam’s frown doesn’t completely disappear, and Riley’s hand is laid over Sam’s arm like he’s trying to ground them both. Their bright matching shirts look comical against their bewildered expressions, and Bucky genuinely feels sorry that their newly-wedded bliss has been cut short like this.

Sam looks over at Bucky and stands up, Riley’s hand falling off of his arm as he does. He’s on the verge of panicking; it’s not a trait Sam often displays, but Bucky still recognizes it.

“Bucky… can you come help me in the laundry room?”

Everyone knows it’s code for Sam and Bucky to have a private conversation, but no-one says anything about it, letting the two of them disappear to the laundry room — which ironically, is the only other room in the house that Bucky has ever seen.

He also knows that Sam will be interrogating him so he readies himself for the onslaught of questions.

“Sam—”

“Before you say anything else, please tell me that this is real.”

“It’s real. He’s healthy. He’s enhanced. He’s okay.”

“How are you not freaking out about this?”

“I am,” Bucky admits, “but there’s not much I can do. Peter wasn’t going to tell you yet, but you needed to know.”

“Know that our son is a superhero?” Sam hisses. “Shit, Bucky, this is insane!”

Good. Finally. Someone else who is freaking out as much as Bucky is.

“At least he told you.”

“How’d you find out?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and tells him about the evening in Stark Industries, including the lies and the location spoofing, which Peter had left out of his retelling.

“That’s what the internship was? All this time, he’s just been keeping this to himself and fighting crime?” Sam questions.

“Sneaking out,” Bucky confirms. There must be something in his tone that trips Sam up because their momentary alliance suddenly fractures.

“From the apartment?”

“From here too,” Bucky says, sharper now. “Mostly from here actually, since you’re closer to the city.”

Sam blinks and frowns at him. “Hey, when Peter is here, we’re here too. It’s not like we’re letting him roam the city. He still has a curfew.”

“I didn’t say he didn’t. But he does go to parties.”

“Like other sixteen year olds. He’s always home before curfew, so we had no reason to suspect he was sneaking out.” Sam scrubs a hand over his face, shaking his head. “You know, when you turned up, I thought it was going to be bad news.”

I’m not entirely sure it’s not, Bucky wants to say, swallowing his regret for pushing Sam.

“I don’t like this any more than you do. I actually hate this.” Bucky bites his lip at the admission, but if he can’t tell Sam, who can he tell? “We can’t do anything about it now.”

“He’s actually… fighting?”

“Apparently. But I’ve been speaking to Captain Rogers since he’s the one training Peter, and he said he’s pulled Peter out from a lot of stuff Tony Stark had him doing. Steve said we can talk to him, figure all of this out.”

“I guess saying ‘no’ to Peter isn’t going to fly.”

“Not really. It’s not like space camp from seventh grade. He has a unique gift, so what’s the responsible thing to do?” Sam looks at him, waiting. “I’m asking, Sam. I don’t know what to do.”

Here, now in the Wilsons’ laundry room, Bucky can hear the naked panic in his voice. He’s always been honest with Sam when it comes to Peter; it’s still the same even three years after their breakup. He and Sam shared all of the highs and lows of raising a child — training wheels on and off, a broken arm from the playground, the first science fair win, chicken pox — he doesn’t think that will ever change. Sam is probably the only other person who loves Peter as fiercely as Bucky does.

Sam’s frowning at him. Logically, Bucky knows it’s not at him, but it still irks. Sam used to look at him like that a lot near the end of their relationship. It’s not a welcome sight and his defenses slip in.

“It’s not my fault.”

“I… I didn’t say it was.” Sam sounds surprised that Bucky would even think that, and Bucky immediately feels bad for voicing it out. “Whatever happened, happened. He doesn’t seem worried. He wants to do it.”

“Of course he wants to do it. Have you met him?” Bucky breathes out an annoyed sigh.

The laundry room smells like lemons and bleach, and Bucky wonders if Sam uses the same fabric softener that they used in their home. Before his eyes can look around the room for it, Sam sighs and clicks his tongue.

“You said Captain America would help; do you believe him?”

“Yeah, I do.” And Bucky realizes how steady his voice sounds coming out. The first time he hasn’t felt that jolt of panic. “I trust Steve.”

Sam rubs a hand over his face as if he could scrub away all of his anxiety too. “Okay, so we talk to Captain America and Iron Man,” — the words spit out in disbelief — “and we figure it out from there.”

Bucky nods along. “Sure. Thanks, Sam. I know this isn’t anything we ever expected, but I don’t think I could do this on my own.”

“Hey, c’mon. We said that we’d always stick together when it came to Peter. That hasn’t changed and it won’t. I love that kid.”

Bucky swallows the lump down in his throat, focusing away from the sincere expression on Sam’s face, all big brown eyes and a tight set jaw. He appreciates Sam’s unwavering loyalty to Peter. It means a lot that despite Bucky’s inability to give Sam what he needed to stay, Sam is still steadfast in his commitment.

“Let’s go tell him,” Sam prompts, opening the door to the laundry room.

Bucky leaves first, and as he does, he spies a brand of organic fabric softener that he’s never heard of sitting on the shelf.

Fancy.

***

Monday rolls around unwanted. Bucky has had a pounding headache since Friday night after deciding to actually go and do something on his free evening. He ended up spending two hours wandering the aisles of the big grocery store, the fluorescent lights and soft rock music allowing him to lose himself in his head for a while as his brain tried to parse the information overload from the past week.

He found himself spending way too long in the children’s clothing section, tearing up over how small the toddler shoes were and how, once upon a time, Peter used to fit in those. With Peter’s recent growth spurt, he bought him three pairs of pants, two t-shirts, and a nice sweater. Then he bought himself a six-pack of beer and went home to look at the photo albums. And if Bucky spent the entirety of Saturday in his bed longing for the days where Peter was attached to his hip, that’s his business.

Look, Bucky is no stranger to sneaking out; he did a handful of times as a teenager, but he had his parents. That was a different time, they were… difficult people. He’d like to think that Peter doesn’t feel that way about him. Bucky may have had fatherhood thrust upon him before he was ready, but he really thought that he and Peter had a good relationship. However, nine months is a long time to keep a secret, and Peter didn’t breathe a word to Bucky. For all he knows, if it hadn’t been for the series of events last week, Bucky still might not have known anything.

“Good weekend?” Mel asks when she sees Bucky massaging his temples. “I’m hoping that’s a hangover and not a tension headache.”

“It’s a my son is a teenager headache,” Bucky jokes. When Mel arches an inquisitive eyebrow, he waves his hand. “Never mind, it’s fine. He… snuck out.”

“Ah,” Mel nods and looks almost wistful, “I remember sneaking out. It’s not as much fun when you’re in college. Tell him to enjoy it!”

“I won’t, but thank you.”

Bucky actually feels better at Mel’s words. While it doesn’t change the superhero element, Peter is still doing dumb teenage shit. Hell, Bucky probably should have done it more when he was Peter’s age.

(At least, he wishes he’d snuck out that night and met up with Ben like he’d asked… maybe then he’d still—)

“Uh, this is weird,” Mel frowns at her screen. “Tony Stark emailed you. Do you think it’s spam?”

Bucky peers over at her shoulder. That is indeed an email from Tony Stark with a calendar attachment. Mel’s cursor hovers the bold subject line, and for a second, Bucky forgets why Tony would be emailing him.

And why it would be bad if Mel opened it.

“I can take this,” he says. “It’s a review for Peter’s internship tomorrow afternoon, so cancel my appointments.” Mel looks at Bucky’s sparse calendar and glances at him. “Never mind.”

“I guess if you’re not going to be here… can I have tomorrow off?”

“Sure, I think we can swing that.”

“Paid?”

Bucky pauses. Mel not working a day would really help with their finances — at least until some of their invoices get paid. But he also knows she’s a student who needs to pay rent and food, and those textbooks can’t be cheap.

“Half pay?” he offers as a compromise, and she pouts at him, crinkling up her nose as if he waved a tuna sub in front of her face.

“You know he’s Iron Man, right?” she says. Bucky looks at her with raised eyebrows. “Of course you know, everyone knows! I’m just saying… maybe you could see if they’re hiring. They’ve been reconstructing half of Midtown because they caused it—”

“Saved the world,” Bucky interjects. Mel gives an ‘eh’ before continuing.

“I’m sure they have plenty of buildings that need consultants.” Her eyes flick down at his left shoulder. “It’s the least they can do after you got hurt helping.”

The mention of it sets off a familiar throb in his shoulder, as if it was waiting for its cue. It’s one thing when Bucky knows about it — the dull aches never quite leave him — but it’s another when the people in his life mention it. The limitations of his injury changed his life, but he can’t say it was for the worst. On the bad days, he hates that it happened and affected his ability to do the manual labor he’d spent almost a decade doing. On the better days, he looks around his office and the business he built by himself, and can’t imagine ever spending another day breaking his back on a construction site.

Maybe it was worth it. Staying on site to make sure his entire team evacuated during the Battle. Shoving his coworker out of the path of a falling pillar when a Chitauri blasted into the side of the building. Enduring three surgeries to salvage what range of motion he could in his left shoulder.

The months of physio and the insurance red tape after the disaster weren’t as fun, neither were the winters that made the pain flare up and massaging heat rub into his shoulder every other night so that he could get some sleep.

Without full use of his left arm, Bucky refocused on getting his safety engineering certifications. JBB Consulting was born out of the chaos against the backdrop of a construction boom, and — for a while — Bucky’s extensive experience on construction sites as a laborer gave him an edge and enough clients that he had a waiting list.

It was good work post-Battle, but four years down the line, nobody is really looking for consultants anymore.

“I’m fine, Mel. Gave me a chance to work for myself and hire a very tenacious assistant, didn’t it?” He flicks her ear and she bats it away, giving him such a glare that she suddenly morphs back into the ten-year-old that used to ask if Peter could come out and play.

“I still think it’s worth enquiring,” she says. They don’t look at the pile of bills sitting on Bucky’s desk, but they both know that things haven’t been going very well lately. “Don’t worry about paying me for tomorrow.”

“I can pay you.”

She gives him a look, her brown eyes rolling lightly before she accepts the meeting invite from Tony and it solidifies in Bucky’s calendar.

“You can pay me back by asking.”

***

The next afternoon, Bucky is led to a conference room with Riley and Sam. Peter is already swiveling around in a chair while Tony sips on a coffee and Steve stares unhappily at his. The frown on Steve’s face is replaced by a smile when he sees Bucky, Sam and Riley. Whatever he was annoyed about seems to disappear as he stands to shake the hands of the guests. There’s a round of introductions and Sam and Riley take the seats on the other side of the table, while Bucky hovers nearest to the door. His attention is caught by Steve pulling out the chair between him and Peter, and gesturing for him to sit down, which he does.

“Hi,” Steve says to him. Sam and Tony are already in conversation, while Riley ruffles Peter’s hair in greeting.

“Hey.” Bucky nods towards Steve’s coffee, three empty sachets of sugar discarded around the cup. “Why are you trying to explode the drink with your mind?”

Steve pokes at his cup, barely a quarter drunk from it. “I tried using the machine again, but whatever it spit out is undrinkable.”

“I would have thought the coffee machines here would be incredible.”

“I swear Tony’s programmed it not to do a black coffee. For me. Specifically.”

The pout on Steve’s face is so endearingly funny that Bucky barely manages to hold in his laugh just as Tony calls for their attention.

“Welcome, Dad and Dad and… Dad?”

Tony tilts his head and looks between Bucky, Sam and Riley questioningly. The focus brings heat to Bucky’s cheeks but he does his best to avoid making any eye contact with anything except the blank legal pad in front of him. Mercifully, Tony moves on before anyone feels the need to explain.

“Well, welcome guardians of Peter. As you all know, we’re here because Webs over there got bit and got superpowers. Thanks to yours truly, I was able to track him down and bring him into the fold.”

He tips his head forward like a ringleader, a consummate showman; Bucky does his best not to roll his eyes, and a glance over at Peter — with glittery eyes fixed onto the show — does little to alleviate his cynicism.

“But enough from me. It’s showtime!”

Tony claps his hands at the ceiling. The lights dim and the window blinds automatically draw from top to bottom, the conference room slowly plunging into darkness as a big projector screen lowers from above them.

To Bucky’s left, Peter stands up in front of the projector while Tony moves to stand on the sidelines. Peter looks at his small audience. “I worked really hard on this.”

‘So your son is a superhero’ is displayed on the projector screen. A little animated doodle of Spiderman bounces across the screen in a loop.

“Wait, when did you have time to do this?” Bucky frowns at the screen. “You did your History paper, right?”

“It’s… pretty much… almost… already done,” Peter says with a dismissive shrug. Bucky makes a mental note to ask again when they get home. “I thought this would be the best way to bring you all up to speed over what’s happened since I became Spiderman.”

Peter clicks through the Powerpoint; it’s funny, it’s informative, it’s absolutely not what he should have been focusing on, but Bucky can’t help but find it endearing. Peter’s excitement has always been contagious, he carries such a glow around him that Bucky never wants to dull it. Peter is Bucky’s favorite person. Everything that he does is for Peter or about Peter, and he would never change that.

Bucky is still terrified and concerned, but it does seem like whatever this Stark Internship entailed has been good for him. Excluding the lying, Peter has become more confident and vocal about things he wants to do. Presentations terrify Peter usually, but he’s standing proudly in front of his — jesus — forty-five slides and grinning like a loon. The room may be filled with five people he is comfortable with, but Bucky is still proud.

“As far as the tests show, Peter has a sensitivity when danger is around,” Steve explains as the slide above them reads ‘spider-sense/tingles (name tbc)’.

“Someone throw a knife at me,” Peter suggests brightly. “Cap, throw your shield!”

“How about we don’t do that? I just had new windows put in,” Tony says, pushing himself away from the wall and gesturing to the presentation screen. “According to our tests, there’s an average of 4.3 seconds that Peter can sense trouble ahead. Sometimes it’s much earlier. It came in useful when we were in Berlin.”

Bucky’s smile drops instantly, his muscles relaxing so fast that his face hurts as the tension bleeds out, to be replaced by something heavy and unwanted in his gut.

In the avalanche of revelations this past week, Bucky had completely forgotten that Spiderman was in Berlin a few months ago, and that means that Peter was too. He catches Sam glance his way but he ignores it, focusing instead on Peter.

“You went to Berlin? You don’t even have a passport!”

Bucky’s attempts to keep the hurt from his voice might not be successful but he does his best. His mind flashes to the savings account for a graduation trip for him and Peter around Europe — twelve cities, inter-railing, a duffel each — the way they’d discussed when he started high school. A way for them to make new memories post-break up and to give them something to look forward to as Peter transitioned into a teenager.

It was supposed to be their trip, but apparently Peter already left the country for the first time in his life without telling Bucky.

Tony waves his hand. “You don’t need passports when you’re saving the world.”

“It was just a quick trip. I don’t think I was there longer than six hours,” Peter tries to explain.

Still. Peter crossed the Atlantic Ocean and Bucky wasn’t there to share it with him.

“Peter shouldn’t be leaving the country,” Sam says to Tony. “That is actually a breach of your safeguarding contract.”

“That’s when I found out how old Peter was,” Steve pipes up, a steady and reassuring voice amongst them, mostly addressing Bucky. “We haven’t taken him out of the country since.”

“We need to decide on how this is going to work. Bucky and I are his parents but we’re already several steps behind because we didn’t know about any of this,” Sam huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest, a deep divot between his eyebrows. “We shouldn’t be finding out about these things after they happen.”

“A quick zip across the Atlantic isn’t a big deal,” Tony says even though Sam glares at him.

“We’re all here because we care about Peter and we want him to have a fair shot, but it won’t work if we’re coming at it from different angles.”

“I guess the fairest way of doing it is by voting,” Bucky proposes to the room.

There’s a pause of silence, the air-con humming away mindlessly even if Bucky feels warm from everyone’s attention on him.

“A committee,” Sam says with a slow nod, less of a question and more of a statement. Considering. Agreeing. Backing Bucky up. “Everyone gets a vote.”

“Even me?” Peter questions.

“Of course you,” Bucky says. “It’s your life.”

“I’m in!” Tony taps his palm on the table.

“Well, hold on, are you sure?” Steve looks over at Bucky for agreement. “Tony and I aren’t—”

“You understand the superhero stuff. Tony knows the technical stuff. We need all sides of this represented.”

“We all get a vote, and if there’s a tie, then Bucky is the deciding vote since he actually has legal rights over Peter,” Sam concludes.

Bucky stares over at Riley, wanting to bring up that maybe not everybody gets an equal vote. Something in his expression must trigger Sam’s instincts because he clears his throat.

“Maybe this is a good time for a coffee break before we start discussing topics to vote on,” he says, outwardly measured and calm, but Bucky can sense that he’s not done. “Bucky, can I talk to you outside for a minute about logistics?”

Bucky slides out of his seat, following Sam outside the room as Tony insists they all use his fancy coffee machine. He vaguely hears Steve complain about the machine before the door shuts behind them and he’s alone with his ex-boyfriend.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Sam questions.

“I suggested it, didn’t I?”

Immediately, Bucky knows that he’s already shown his hand. The familiar frustrated tone from their old fights emerging, trying to shut down the argument instead of talking it out the way Sam insisted they do.

Those conversations were always so exhausting. Sam stares him down undeterred.

“You did. You also said it only works if we’re all on the same page, so I want to make sure that you and I especially are on the same side of this. Riley and I haven’t had as much time as you or the others, but we’ll follow your lead. Riley thinks—”

“Riley isn’t Peter’s dad,” Bucky cuts in, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

Sam opens his mouth but then presses his lips together. After a few tense moments, he allows a steady exhale through his nose before he opens his mouth again. Bucky knows that look: I’m annoyed, but I don’t want to fight.

“Legally, Peter is your responsibility and everyone understands that. But when we ended our relationship, you told me that I still have a say for as long as Peter wants me to. Riley spends as much time with him as I do and we’re a unit now. I think he should at least be able to have an opinion. What affects me, affects him, affects Peter.”

Bucky sighs quietly and unhappily nods. “He doesn’t get a vote though. He’ll only ever side with you.”

“You don’t know that. Riley will do what he thinks is best for Peter, just like you’re trusting Tony and Steve to do, who — by the way — have known Peter for a much shorter time than Riley has.”

Through the unfrosted parts of the door, Bucky can see the tops of three heads gathering around the coffee machine. Tony has an arm slung over Peter’s shoulders and Bucky inwardly groans because he knows Peter has a coffee in his hand right now, and Peter knows that he’s not allowed coffee until college.

“I can’t do this on my own, but I also don’t think it’s fair if I’m one against two of you,” he says.

“Riley is his own person. I love him and I trust him to do what he thinks is best for Peter.”

Sam crosses his arms again, his new wedding ring catching the glare of the overhead lights as he does. Taunting. Bucky swallows the frustration down.

They’re a team, and that now includes Riley.

“Okay. Everyone gets a vote.” Bucky sighs quietly and Sam’s jaw finally untenses.

The two of them take a step, breaking the tension between them and slip back into the room, the smell of coffee overwhelming their senses.

Riley hands Sam a cappuccino, wordlessly exchanging some kind of conversation about whatever happened outside, while Bucky steals away Peter’s cup, ignoring his squawk of protest when it’s replaced by a bottle of orange juice.

Before Peter can voice his argument, Tony flicks the lights down and a new presentation appears on the screen.

“We’re creating a new operating program: the Training Wheels Protocol. It’ll include more oversight with limited weapons and missions based on our discussions.”

“I’m not a fan of this name. Can we take a vote to change it?” Peter asks, hand already in the air.

Tony sighs. “Alright. Votes in favor of keeping this name, say ‘aye’.”

Five hands fly in the air and a chorus of ayes resound through the room as Peter pulls his own down. He frowns at them all and Bucky shares an amused smile with Steve beside him.

“Great, this committee is working out wonderfully.” Tony moves into the next slide. “Let’s talk about operations.”

***

A hundred and eleven minutes later, and they’ve made good progress, having made decisions on a myriad of issues (nothing international, nothing extinction level, and nothing that requires space travel), and weapons (knife? okay, but no machetes or guns. Taser? questionable).

They’ve agreed that Peter will continue training under the ‘internship’ on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the Tower as he has been, undertaking assessments and training with gadgets that his parents will have approval over. Three nights out of the week, Peter will be allowed to patrol the approved areas of Queens where air support will be available and his location can be tracked down to the street.

The rest of his time, Peter gets to be a kid. A kid who is grounded for two weeks for lying.

“Peter doesn’t get taken out of the state,” Bucky suggests, tone firm.

“Oh, c’mon, he can’t go to Connecticut? He goes on field trips with school. This is like an extended field trip!” Tony argues. Peter is looking pleadingly towards Bucky.

“New York state only. Peter doesn’t leave the country without permission. All in favor?”

Three other hands go up alongside Bucky’s: Sam, Riley and Steve’s.

“But dad, what if the world is in trouble and they need me?” Peter ventures to Bucky.

“If that ever happens, we’ll discuss it then. As it stands, you’re not leaving the city without me knowing about it.”

Peter huffs in frustration and Bucky does his best to ignore it and not react. Peter isn’t one for tantrums, but Bucky won’t back down on this restriction. Honestly, Peter should be grateful that he gets so much freedom. Used to get — he’s somewhat grounded for his recent escapades.

“I guess the next question is, how much of a secret are we keeping this?” Steve ventures. “So far, everyone in this room knows that Peter is Spiderman. Add in our team: Nat, Clint, Rhodey, Wanda…” Steve counts off on his fingers and in his head, eyes squinting in thought and mouthing the numbers. “Well, that makes thirteen people.”

“And Ned!” Peter interjects. “Make sure you count Ned.” Steve smiles to confirm that he did.

“Now that his fathers are all looped in, we could announce him to the press by the end of the week,” Tony shrugs. “Everyone knows who we are, the city feels safe, Peter gets the Gen Z vote.”

There’s unease in the bottom of Bucky’s gut at the thought of Peter being known. Not just in the public eye, but as a superhero. It’s one thing having Spiderman swinging around the city and helping others, but it’s a whole different can of worms when they know who he is. A vision of insistent reporters outside their door flashes in his mind, digging into Peter’s past, his parents’ death, Bucky’s life… he can’t imagine his own parents being too thrilled about it either.

“I don’t know, Peter’s too young for that.” It’s Riley’s voice that pipes up. He looks towards Sam with a frown. “How’s he going to get through school if everyone knows? They’ll look into his grades and talk to his friends. He’ll never have privacy again.”

“If people know Peter is Spiderman, so will the people who want to hurt him.” Bucky manages to keep his voice steady as he says what the others won’t. “If anyone goes after Peter, then that also puts all those students and teachers in danger too. It’s not fair, it’s too risky.”

There’s silence around the table, and for once, Peter doesn’t even try to argue back. The idea of being famous like Tony and Steve is appealing for someone in Peter’s shoes, when it’s teasingly within reach. It’s scary how close it is; one wrong move and then Peter’s life will change once more. Irretrievably so.

At sixteen, Bucky’s life changed. He stopped being part of BenAndBucky and became Bucky whose best friend died. Then his parents moved them to Small And Ignorant Town, Indiana, where he spent two miserable years being Bucky the city boy until he got his college acceptance letter and hightailed it back to New York to live his life freely, trying on as many hats as he could because he never really ever was just Bucky.

That can’t happen to Peter. He was already Peter the orphan then Peter with the single gay dad, then Peter with two gay dads. Bucky can’t be sure but he hopes his son now isn’t Peter with the three dads because that would just be miserable.

Peter should be able to forge his own identity in the world, and he might have an alter ego now, but he’s still Peter, and Bucky would like that to stick for as long as possible.

For the first time in a while, he exchanges a look with Sam, a telepathic link that they used to be really good at when they were raising Peter in the same house. That they’re still good at, it seems, because Bucky knows within seconds that Sam is on the same wavelength.

It’s dangerous, too many variables to truly feel safe despite Tony’s promises.

“He’s still a minor. When he turns 18, he can decide,” Bucky says definitively. “Until then, I think we should do what we can to keep it between the smallest number of people.”

“And gods,” Steve says with a tilt of his head. “Thor knows.”

“Thor knows?!” Peter’s eyes light up. “I can’t wait to tell Ned that a god knows my name! Can we meet him?”

“You’re not allowed to involve Ned anymore,” Bucky says. Peter looks confused, his excitement dissolving at the new restriction.

“But he loves this stuff! He’s been helping me.”

“I get that it’s exciting for you both, but he’s not our responsibility. It’s not fair on his family or him.”

“Can we vote on this?” Peter pleads, but one look around the room tells him everything.

“Your dad is right, Spider-boy. We really shouldn’t have involved him in the first place.” Tony swipes at something on his tablet. “We can put more eyes on you instead. There’s nothing Ned can do for you that one of us can’t. I’m sure with a few modifications, I can get something like JARVIS up and running for you.”

“You can keep him informed,” Bucky says, “but he can’t be involved.”

“Talking about information, I think that we need to keep track of what’s going on,” Sam suggests, “and I don’t think that we can keep coming up to Manhattan all the time between our jobs.”

“I can have JARVIS send automated reports every day about his activity,” Tony suggests.

Bucky frowns and is about to say something in protest but Steve, still next to him, pipes up instead.

“That feels too impersonal. As Peter’s supervisor, I would be more than happy to provide reports to his guardians.” Steve glances over at Bucky. “If it’s not an imposition.”

“No, I think that’s a good idea.”

Bucky gives him a grateful smile, for the offer and for understanding the desire to have something more substantial when it comes to Peter’s progress and well-being. He’s grateful for the protectiveness that Steve seems to have over Peter. It helps to know that Peter — and Bucky — have someone who will take the time to give them that reassurance.

“I do too,” Sam says from the other end of the table. Beside him, Riley stifles a yawn. “And I also think that’s our cue to wrap up for the day.”

Tony knocks on the table, startling everybody. “Excellent! Well, I think we’ve made good progress. I’ll get JARVIS to circulate the decisions, and maybe we can do this again in a couple of weeks?”

There’s mumblings of agreements as the others stretch and roll out their aching limbs. Peter, young and spry, is already eager to follow Steve to the training floor for this afternoon’s internship. Bucky only just manages to remind Peter to come straight home after. Sam and Riley are next to leave, making plans to catch an early dinner and take advantage of being in Manhattan.

Bucky idles, waiting for them to go so he’s not roped into a pity invite, when he realizes that Tony is still in the office and not making much effort to leave either.

“You’re a safety engineer, right? JBB Consulting.”

“It’s in the name,” Bucky says with a wary smile.

“Must have been lucrative after the Battle of New York. At least for a while there. Peter tells me you were pretty busy most of the time.”

Bucky pauses, half his arm in his jacket sleeve as he tries to parse out what Tony is getting at. “Not too busy that I didn’t show up for Pete when he needed me.”

Tony nods along, but something tells Bucky that it’s not exactly what was on Tony’s mind.

“Slowing down some though now, right? Now that the city is rebuilt.”

Bucky doesn’t really get a chance to answer. Not that he knows how to answer a person he’s only met for the first time today, who is a billionaire and the reason that the city needed to be rebuilt in the first place.

“I’m doing okay.”

“How much longer can you afford to operate?” Tony questions. “By my calculations, it can’t be much longer than eleven months. Thirteen, maybe.”

Those numbers have been in his head for weeks, but now it solidifies in a way Bucky had been avoiding. Tony is the reason why JBB Consulting started at all… and now Tony is the one calculating its expiration date.

Bucky’s chest feels tight. “I— I’m working it out.”

“College education is expensive, huh? Especially for someone with aspirations like Peter. He’d probably want to go to grad school, get a PhD.”

“It’s under control,” Bucky tells him, ignoring the hot prickle of shame that runs through his spine. He’s a provider; he hates when that gets called into question.

Richie and Mary had a decent life insurance policy and they’d begun saving for Peter’s college fund, but they were barely in their late twenties and still at the beginnings of their own careers. The house deposit had eaten up much of their savings. The majority of what they left, Bucky put some into the apartment until he could afford the mortgage payments himself, and the rest into continuing Peter’s college fund. It’s just… college keeps getting more expensive. Bucky has been hoping that a scholarship could alleviate most of those worries, but Peter is still a little way from that yet. Even if he can do incredible things, he still needs to keep his grades up.

Tony fiddles with the watch on his wrist — Bucky doesn’t even need to ask to know that it probably costs the same as Peter’s entire college fees.

Like a mind reader, Tony continues, “Peter is likely to get a scholarship. Even if he doesn’t, I can help.”

Bucky’s jaw tenses. “I’m fine. It’s being handled.”

It’s not hard to miss the eye roll from Tony; Bucky doubts he’s even trying to hide it.

“I’m just trying to help you out, Barnes. The construction industry is fickle, and it’s not like you can go back to manual labor. Not with the shoulder the way it is.”

How did Tony know about that? His shoulder injury changed Bucky’s life — between the shitty insurance company stiffing him on the medical bills and the flare ups that he suffers with — it hasn’t been fun for the past four years, but it’s been his private business.

“Hey, look, I get it. You have your pride and Peter probably doesn’t need to know that your business is probably going to have to fold next year. Knowing him, he’d probably try to defer college or something. You don’t want that for him. I know you’re a good parent.”

Bucky doesn’t like the tone that he’s hearing. The same pitying one he used to get when people found out he was raising his dead best friend’s son. The same one his parents used to encourage him to give up Peter, or to convince him his sexuality was just a phase.

He hates that tone. It doesn’t matter if it’s coming from a billionaire.

“Maybe he doesn’t need to know. Maybe a new job opportunity presents itself. I have a consultation division. I’m building a new HQ somewhere upstate — that’s confidential, don’t tell Pepper I told you — and I could use a consultant or whatever else you want to be. You probably won’t even need to work more than three days a week and still earn twice as much as you’re making now. Perks of being friends with the boss.” Tony grins at him like they’re in on the same joke.

When Mel pitched the idea yesterday afternoon, Bucky had actually considered it. He needs the work, the business is barely surviving with the slow trickles of clients he’s just managing to secure, if they’re not going elsewhere entirely.

But standing here now, Bucky can’t think of anything worse than working for Tony Stark, or even asking for his help. He already has his claws in Peter, that much is obvious from the moony-eyed way Peter keeps looking at him.

And the longer Bucky stands in this office, the more those walls he spent a decade building around Peter start to buckle.

“I’ve worked with people like you, Mr Stark. There’s always a catch.”

Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, no catch! We both want what’s best for Peter, and I’m offering to relieve some of the financial burden. And if you want to keep your business, then there are ways of keeping it afloat.”

“In return for what? Handing Peter over to you so you get to pull my strings and I agree to whatever you want?” Bucky shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Look, this whole committee vote deal is sweet and very kumbaya, but you and I both know that we’re the only ones with any real power in this situation. I’m just proposing that we come to some kind of… alliance.”

“Peter is not the prize cow at a county fair,” Bucky finds himself saying, aghast at the proposal Tony is putting in front of him. “He’s my son and he’s just a normal kid—”

“He stopped being a normal kid nine months ago,” Tony interrupts. “Yeah, you want him to go to prom and have crushes and go out on dates. And he can! But he is also extraordinary and you need to accept the fact that there’s only so much left you can do. The only real power you have is until he turns 18, and then he can do whatever he wants. Why don’t we just help him get there now? So he’s prepared for the real world.”

Bucky tears his eyes away from Tony, glaring at the obnoxiously high windows and out at the city below them. The real world is out there, not in this rebuilt skyscraper that now has a beacon on it aching for trouble.

“You don’t need to worry about Peter. We’re here to protect him from the bad guys.”

“Sure,” Bucky nods, “and I’m here to protect him from people like you.”

Chapter Text

“And you’ve got everything?” Bucky prompts from the doorway of Peter’s room. There’s a thread of tension running through his body as Peter gathers the equipment laid out on his desk: gadgets and weapons with Stark’s fingerprints all over it. Bucky’s stomach roils at the view of him in uniform. Without the mask, Peter looks impossibly young: hair pushed back with his fingers, a dimple on the side of his cheek, the thin wisp of a chin hair. 

Peter’s blue eyes roll at him. “Yeah, you asked me two whole minutes ago.”

“You’re always forgetting something: homework, keys, headphones…”

“Mr Stark built headphones for me in my suit,” Peter preens, “and I climb through windows now.”

To prove his point, he sticks a leg through his open window; another churn in Bucky’s stomach.

“Be safe.”

“I always am.”

“Home by 11.”

“Okay, dad. I’ll make sure the criminals know I have a curfew.” 

The jibe comes with another set of rolled eyes but Peter’s smile doesn’t waver. Clearly, he’s thrilled to finally be doing this without sneaking out. Bucky would much rather he used the front door, but keeping Peter’s identity a secret is a priority, and Peter insists it’s easier to come and go via the windows due to the proximity to the rooftops. 

None of this is easy to hear.

“That’s not as funny as you think it is,” Bucky replies. He knows he’s idling, trying to keep Peter safe as if he can convince him to stay home. 

“I’ll be fine. I did this for months without you noticing” — another roll in Bucky’s stomach — “so I’m pretty much an expert now. Plus, you have the GPS.”

Bucky’s phone flashes: P’s location: Home. It’s accurate to 100m, although Tony is working on getting it even closer. Bucky, Riley, Sam, Steve and Tony all have access to his location as well as to a secure channel to Peter’s comms. Any operational channels are locked to Avengers access only. 

Bucky doesn’t know how to feel about that, but he has to try. It’s not like he can go with Peter, although…

Peter slips his mask on and Bucky hates it. Hates how that’s not Peter anymore. That Spiderman is in his place instead, and it doesn’t matter that Peter and Spiderman are one and the same, to Bucky they’re not. 

Spiderman didn’t have nightmares about giant sheep with laser eyes chasing him. Spiderman didn’t beg to come along to construction sites on weekends, happily wearing Bucky’s oversized helmet, and proclaiming he wanted to build stuff too. Spiderman didn’t cry for months after his parents’ deaths, not understanding why they weren’t coming back. 

“See ya later, alligator!” Peter says with a happy salute.

Bucky can’t resist the smile as he replies, “In a while, crocodile.”

Then Peter is gone, swinging around the neighborhood and scaling rooftops as part of his guardianship of the city, and Bucky is left looking at the empty space of Peter’s bedroom. A mess, as usual. He tugs the window down a little and throws himself into the task of restoring Peter’s room to a state of order. 

He checks the GPS after five minutes, promising himself to only look once an hour. P’s location: Metropolitan Ave & 70th Dr. Bucky lets out a huff of a laugh as he realizes that it’s the 7/11 with the big slurpies that Peter loves — and if that’s the worst that Peter gets up to tonight, then that’s something Bucky can live with. 

Maybe it’s okay to keep close tabs on the first night, Bucky reasons. He can ween himself off, just like when Peter started in pre-school and was terrified that Bucky would disappear like his parents did. It’s an adjustment, and all the parenting books say that big life changes should always begin with baby steps, but it’s difficult to do that when Peter has had months to settle and Bucky is barely a week in. 

He busies himself again with cleaning Peter’s room to feel useful and serve as a distraction, but all it does is emphasize how Peter isn’t home. Prior to last week, that would have been disappointing but he could have believed that Peter was at the internship or with Ned or after school groups, but now he knows where he is and that isn’t much of a reassurance. 

His phone beeps and Bucky hates how quickly he scrambles for it. Instead of Peter’s name, it shows Steve’s.

Steve: Hello! I hope you don’t mind but I know it’s a big night for Peter and you too. Just wanted to let you know I have eyes on him all night. He’ll be fine. I’ve got him.

Bucky: Thanks. I appreciate it

Then Bucky adds: It’s hard to let him go now that I know what’s really going on

Steve: Understandable. He’s your kid. I don’t think that will ever change.
This is supposed to be reassuring! Sorry if it makes you worry more. I just want you to know that your feelings are valid even if he’s as safe as possible.

Bucky: Got it. Thank you

He starts typing out another message but worries that Steve probably doesn’t need to know every thought in his head. Besides, Steve is working. He probably can’t do his job of protecting Peter if Bucky is bombarding him with all his anxieties. 

After ten minutes of picking up clothes, sniff-testing and untangling so that he can actually see the hardwood underneath it, he opens Peter’s closet and a jumble of sweats falls out. With an exasperated sigh, Bucky surveys the bombsite of clothes piled and crammed into the compartments. He should just make Peter figure it out this weekend, but he doesn’t need the inevitable argument that will ensue. Sleep is pointless until Peter’s home and safe, so Bucky’s only other option is to distract himself by doing it on his own. He begins by pulling out the offending clothes to untangle them too. With Peter’s recent growth spurt, this is an opportunity to donate items and make the closet more manageable. 

As he digs deeper through the closet, he finds a balled-up red hoodie stuffed at the bottom. It was originally one of Bucky’s that Peter stole and wore almost constantly in the months after the breakup. Bucky didn’t mind giving it up; it used to make him feel connected, knowing Peter had chosen something of his for comfort.  

They don't share blood or genetics, and Bucky knows more than anyone that doesn’t automatically mean unconditional love, but Peter and Bucky are family in the ways that count.

The hoodie used to be big on Peter, engulfing his body and almost swallowing him up. Peter grew into it a little but it had still been too big on him, and it occurs to Bucky that he hasn’t actually seen it in a while. He figured Peter left it at Sam’s or Ned’s, or even lost it and was too scared to tell him.

The truth is far worse. Bucky unfurls the hoodie where the sleeves have been torn off and the front has what looks like a crudely drawn spider. Inside the pouch is a makeshift mask, eye-holes roughly cut out and black fabric stapled to it. His heart sinks like lead as he sees something that looks suspiciously like dried blood across the hem. 

He recalls a few blurry images of Spiderman when he was first spotted. Bucky hadn’t paid that much attention to it, not beyond finding it vaguely amusing or silly, but now Peter’s weird attitude to it makes sense… secretive and avoidant, but also trying to eek out Bucky’s opinion. 

The thought of Peter running around the city in this hoodie, a long-sleeve tee, and a thin mask is sickening. He did this for months on his own until Tony found him, whatever that means. 

Bucky has seen the new suit — sleek and threatening — but he barely understands the technology behind it. Peter used some big words, Tony used even bigger ones. It was supposed to be reassuring. 

Bucky: What is his suit made out of again?

Nanites, is Steve’s swift reply. It’s really strong. Kind of like Kevlar?

Then Bucky receives a couple of links. One of them leads to a very complicated mechanical diagram that he can’t decipher and the other is restricted.

Steve’s name appears on screen as the phone rings in Bucky’s hand. Panic instantly floods his body as he answers.

“Is Pete okay?” he asks immediately, forgoing any pleasantries. 

“Huh? Oh, oh no. No, he’s fine. Sorry, I figured it might be easier to explain on the phone.” Steve’s voice is apologetic, and Bucky regrets panicking first. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have— it’s okay.” Bucky forces himself to blow out a steadying breath; he seems to be doing that a lot these days. “I appreciate the call. I’m not distracting you, am I?”

“You’re good. I can see him on the screen. He’s at a bodega on Austin.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, there’s two cats there that he loves to spoil.” 

His body begins to come down from the adrenaline spike, and he leans his back against Peter’s bed, drawing up his knees to his chest so that he can talk to Steve comfortably. 

“See, perfectly fine,” Steve assures before clearing his throat. “So, Tony left notes about the suit tech but it’s incredibly detailed. The key component is the upgraded environmental regulation technology and the integrated AI.”

“Wait, what do you mean it’s got artificial intelligence in it?” Bucky scowls at the torn-up hoodie on his lap, unable to stop the worry pulling urgently at his gut.

“It’s to help respond to Peter’s body. If he’s too warm, it’ll cool him down. If he finds himself in Siberia, it’ll keep him warm.”

“Why would he find himself in Siberia?” Bucky knows that he probably sounds incredibly rude, but Steve chuckles on the other end of the phone.

“It was a hypothetical.”

“Oh.” Bucky’s skin prickles with heat, a blush beginning to rise at his cheeks, and he wishes he could cool himself down. “Well, what if it turns sentient and goes evil?” he questions instead. 

He’s hoping for immediate reassurance, but Steve pauses a beat too long. 

“Uh, well, I guess in theory something like that could happen in the worst of circumstances, but I’m sure Tony would have built a failsafe in it so it doesn’t happen again— uh, at all.”

Well, that doesn’t comfort Bucky much. 

“This is how episodes of The X-Files start,” he mutters.

Another pause. “What’s that?” 

“Um, a show I used to watch as a kid about aliens and whether they really existed. Turns out, they do. Who knew?”

“Not me,” Steve breathes out in a sigh. “For me a flying car was the most incredible thing in the world. I didn’t consider what was out of this world. The stuff Tony’s created alone is baffling.”

“So maybe I should learn how to help Peter take it off or disable it in case it turns evil,” Bucky suggests. “I want him to have the best technology possible, but not if it’s going to go rogue and hurt him, or someone else.”

“I’ll talk to Tony, make sure that it has a manual override.” Steve’s voice is softer now, the kind of reassurance that Bucky is beginning to feel familiar with whenever he speaks to Steve. “Do you feel better now?”

Bucky hums before letting out a low exhale and stroking the material of his old hoodie. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever be possible to feel at ease with any of this. 

“Why couldn’t he have just gotten a tattoo like a regular teenager? I could have dealt with that. I don’t know if I’m angrier about the powers or that he lied.”

“If he had told you from the start, would you have felt better about it?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky replies honestly, “but it wouldn’t have hurt any worse.”

Steve doesn’t laugh, just lets Bucky sit with it for a few moments. It might be twenty seconds, but the silence doesn’t feel isolating. Bucky’s loneliness, the shadow that tends to follow him around these days, doesn’t engulf him in this moment. Not when there’s a person softly breathing on the other end.

“So tell me about The X-Files,” Steve says eventually. “It sounds like a good show.”

***

Avengers Tower is no less foreboding on his fourth visit, but Bucky does his best to not let a building intimidate him. His shoes squeak across the polished tile floors, coffee threatening to spill over the flimsy lids as he makes his way across to Steve’s office on his way from another client that he knows he’s already lost out on.

“You got here fast,” Steve greets, letting him in. “Glad you could stop by at short notice.”

“I was already in the neighborhood. I figured I’d treat you to a coffee.” Bucky holds it out. “Black, three sugars.”

“My hero.” 

The smile that Steve gives Bucky sends a jolt of something pleasing down his spine. Steve takes the cup from Bucky’s hands. Their fingers brush against one another’s and Bucky forces himself to breathe; it comes out in a stutter, a little like his heart. Steve is in workout gear: a pair of shorts and a compression tank that looks a size too small. Bucky does his best to keep his gaze on Steve’s face. 

Steve’s eyes catch onto the Visitor badge pinned on Bucky’s lapel and frowns. He looks up at the ceiling and Bucky follows his gaze upwards. 

“JARVIS, please add Bucky’s biometrics to my account.”

“James Buchanan Barnes’s biometrics have been added to your account, Captain Rogers.” 

Bucky’s face flushes at the mention of his middle name, but all Steve does is raise an eyebrow briefly and quirk his lips. He doesn’t make fun or question it, thankfully, but it does apparently seem to make his nickname make sense. 

Instead, Steve leans against the wall and levels his gaze at him. 

“So, I never do this, but if you’re here or ever want to just drop by,” — Bucky swears he sees Steve’s eyelashes flutter — “you can just walk in and go straight to the executive elevators. There’s a panel on the side that will scan your face and let you in.”

“Just like that?”

Steve nods, taking a sip of his coffee. “Just like that.” 

“You’re really just giving me access to your office?” 

“We have mutual interests.” When Bucky squints at him, Steve clarifies: “Peter.”

There’s no concern or confusion over Steve’s face. He’s happily sipping his disgustingly sweet coffee. Bucky takes a gulp of his own, wincing slightly as he burns his tongue. Steve didn’t even flinch. 

Bucky takes the opportunity to look around the office. It’s a large space consisting of a spacious desk with a computer, an impressive bookshelf, a couch and an Eames chair facing a large television. There’s even a small bar section with a gramophone on the sideboard and vinyl records stacked neatly underneath.

“Do you live here?” he asks Steve.

“No, I have an apartment a couple of floors up. This is just for show and to keep Tony out of my apartment. He can bother me here, and I’ve always preferred not to work where I sleep. Everyone else is upstate at the compound.”

“You don’t go there?”

“A few days every couple of weeks, but I miss the city. Too quiet up there.”

Steve has an arm propped up against a bookshelf and Bucky can see the lines of his muscles practically popping out through the shirt. It’s not just the shirt, it’s how comfortable Steve looks in this place, in his body — nothing like the first months after his rediscovery when he’d been thrust back into the spotlight. 

Bucky involuntarily stands straighter and sucks in his stomach, reminding himself to get back into the gym now that he is no longer doing manual labor. Between his shoulder injury and breakup, Bucky’s approach to working out fluctuated, but now he misses the routine of it.

“I wanted to thank you for talking to me the last few nights when Peter’s been on patrol. It’s been helpful,” Bucky tells him. 

Steve has the audacity to look humble, shrugging it off with an ’aw shucks’ motion as if talking down anxious parents is just par for the course. 

“It’s no trouble. How are you doing with it?” Steve asks.

“It’s not my favorite,” Bucky admits, “but then he comes back and he’s so excited to tell me about his night. It’s hard with teenagers. I never know if I should pry or give him privacy, and the last few months have been a minefield, but now I understand why he’d been so withdrawn.”

Bucky bites down on the lip of his coffee cup. It’s a relief when Peter returns and his little GPS dot on Bucky’s phone confirms his arrival home. Peter is talkative and exuberant, bringing a sparkling energy to their conversations that had been missing lately. 

“We have so much more to talk about, and I like that he’s talking to me.”

“That’s great!” 

Steve gives him a sunny smile, warm and happy, and Bucky knows that his enthusiasm isn’t false; he’s truly happy for Bucky and Peter. 

“That’s actually why I asked you to drop by. Tony’s new simulation rig has been upgraded and ready for testing.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise. “You’re testing it on Peter?”

“It’s pretty much made for him. It’s a smaller version of the one we have at the compound, but bigger than the pod that Peter’s currently been training in.”

Maybe Steve can sense the trepidation bleeding through Bucky’s veins; his coffee leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. 

“I think it’ll be good for you to see it, Bucky. To see what he can do. I know you worry about him.”

He doesn’t like the accompanying tone that always comes with those words. Sam, Peter’s teachers, Mel, Aunt May… they’ve all told him that before: that he worries too much about Peter. But wouldn’t they? Peter came to him too young with so much loss in his life already — Bucky had no time to prepare for anything except worry about keeping him safe, happy and loved.

Steve says the words and there’s the hint of that pitying tone, but Bucky forces himself to bite his tongue, trying to give Steve the less frantic version of his parenting. He finds himself drawn to the balcony, the bright, early summer sunshine streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and calling to him. As if he can read his mind, Steve walks to the door and slides it open. 

“How about we get some air while we wait for Peter? The view is pretty nice.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice, he follows Steve through the balcony door and exhales quietly at the burst of fresh air and the impressive view over Manhattan. There’s a rush of wind from this high up, and he blinks away a tear when his bangs hit one of his eyes, hoping that Steve didn’t see.

Steve gestures to a small picnic-style bench and silently offers Bucky to pick his preferred side. Bucky opts for the one facing away from the sun, just so that he doesn’t have to deal with squinting up at Steve the entire time. Steve settles opposite him and the two of them sip at their coffees, a reasonable temperature now. 

Even so, “This is good coffee, Bucky.”

“I mean, it’s mostly sugar.” Bucky makes a face unwillingly. He’s a father — he has concerns. “Have you always taken your coffee insanely sweet?”

Steve’s lips pull up into a wistful grin, considering his coffee for a moment before answering. 

“Didn’t really get much sugar in the Depression or during the War. Feels like a luxury to have access to it all the time.”

“What about rotting your teeth?”

“I figure the serum takes care of that. I actually hate the taste of coffee, and the caffeine doesn’t really do much for me either.”

“So why do you drink it?”

“Habit, mostly. It’s either this or a cigarette, but those are bad for you.” Steve’s eyebrows are raised as if he’s imparting some new information to Bucky too. 

Distantly, Bucky remembers seeing a picture of the Howling Commandos with cigars hanging out of their mouths in his History textbook back when he was in high school. He doesn’t remember seeing if Steve had one.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, bud, but coffee ain’t exactly good for you either.”

“I guess it’s more socially acceptable, especially when it’s gifted.” Steve’s smile is buried in his cup, but Bucky feels it radiate towards him anyway. 

Maybe it’s just the sun on his back, maybe it’s the way the light hits Steve’s eyes, revealing the green amongst the blue, or maybe it’s summer knocking at the city’s door, but Bucky has never felt more warm in his life. It’s not the uncomfortable humidity of Delacroix, nor the sweat when the AC goes out in the apartment, but rather a steady and calm reassurance rarely felt. 

Steve is still grinning, glowing with amusement at his own joke, and drawing out a smile from Bucky too.

There’s nothing like summer in New York. 

*

An hour later, they’re back in Steve’s office, sharing opposite ends of the loveseat while they discuss their favorite places around the city. The office door opens behind them and Peter steps through, jacket half-zipped, earbuds leaking music that’s turned up too loud. He stops short when he sees Bucky, eyebrows lifting in surprise and eyes flicking between them.

“Dad,” he says, polite but edged. “What are you doing here?”

Before Bucky can answer, Steve steps in, voice calm and practiced.

“I asked him to come and watch a simulation run. I’m sure he wants to see you in action,” Steve says, knocking against Peter’s shoulder. 

“The rig is ready?” Peter’s mood lifts at the news, though he does slide his eyes towards Bucky to check.

“I’d love to see it,” Bucky confirms as he and Steve stand up from the loveseat. 

“For safety reasons, you won’t be able to be in the simulation rig with him, but we have cameras,” Steve explains. 

“A webcam!” Bucky pipes up, the joke popping out of his mouth before he can think better of it. Peter’s eyes widen urgently at him but there’s a loud laugh from Steve, which earns him a betrayed look from Peter. 

“Don’t encourage him. My dad’s jokes are always bad.” Peter’s head whips back towards Bucky as he says it, his own plea for Bucky to stop embarrassing him. 

“I thought it was funny,” Steve says with a small shrug before he gestures to the door. “Peter, go get ready and meet us in the training room.”

He opens the door for them, Peter heading out first to lead the way, and Bucky following behind with Steve.

“Sorry, he thinks I embarrass him,” Bucky whispers as Peter hurries down the hallway. “Thanks for the pity laugh, but he might think you’re deeply uncool now.”

“It wasn’t pity,” Steve assures, his shoulder almost knocking into Bucky’s. “I really did think it was funny.”

The lights in the training room are bright, bouncing off the polished floor and metal framings. It’s nothing like the natural light from the afternoon sun on Steve’s balcony. Bucky walks in with his hands in his pockets, scanning the space like he’s expecting something to jump out at him. It’s too quiet and the low buzz from the simulation rig is the only thing keeping the room from feeling sterile.

Bucky slowly steps closer, eyes narrowing at the setup. Everything is brand new and shiny. It’s clean, efficient, and just impersonal enough to make him uneasy. It screams ’untested’ at him. The simulation flickers to life and a scroll of coding and text flutters past. Terrain rendering. Parameters loading. Threat level… 

He forces himself to look away, but Peter’s eyes light up the second he sees the simulation rig in all its glory. He’s in his suit, nanites and all, and there’s nothing but excitement thrumming through his body. Peter bounces on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with anticipation. 

“Did Tony fit it with the adaptive neural feedback loop? It’s supposed to mimic real-time stress environments and recalibrate based on your heart rate and—”

“Breathe, Pete,” Steve says gently, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let it boot up first.”

“Is it a combat scenario? Rescue? Please tell me that it’s the train derailment because I have a ricochet web I want to try.”

“Peter,” Steve says again, firm like he’s training a puppy. “Let’s start simple with a baseline run today. Go ahead and get in.”

Bucky watches from the sidelines, arms crossed and jaw tensed as Peter clambers into the rig without hesitation. There’s something about the way Peter moves in this space that makes Bucky’s chest tighten, too confident and eager. His ease makes Bucky uncomfortable.

The rig hisses softly as it seals Peter inside, and then his voice crackles through the speakers, bright and breathless. “Okay, I’m ready! Give me what you’ve got.”

Steve glances at Bucky again, voice low. “We’ll keep it light. We’re in full control here.”

A loud clank sounds around the room and the lights in the control room dim while the ones inside the rig brighten. The holographic targets appear on screen: floating purple discs that shift at varying speeds, changing shape and charging through what Bucky recognises as a reconstruction of Greenwich Village. 

Peter’s webs fly fast and precise, each flick of his wrist followed by a satisfying hit. He’s chattering through the comms like he does when playing video games online with Ned, and Bucky can’t help but notice how natural it all seems. Not just the aim, but the joy. It’s easy to forget how young Peter is when he moves so confidently through the simulation in his uniform.

Steve leans over the console with a look of quiet concentration and gaze steady on the screen. “He’s got it under control,” he assures, almost to himself. 

Bucky doesn’t respond, eyes still locked on Peter as the targets speed up and shift angles to test his reflexes. Peter groans and laughs when he misses one, adjusts and focuses on getting the next target. It’s basic, but it’s enough for Bucky to feel something settle in his chest. Not relief exactly, but the bubbling pride when he used to watch Peter in his elementary school plays, nailing the lines that they’d rehearsed at home for weeks.

Peter’s laughter almost drowns out the humming of the rig, but Steve and Bucky stand in silence at the control panel. Steve gives Bucky a sidelong glance but doesn’t say anything else. Bucky thinks that this is what Steve wanted him to see — Peter excited and joyous, fully in his element and completely undeterred by this monumental change in his life. And while Bucky truly doesn’t feel completely at ease, he can’t help but share a fraction of that joy at seeing his son excel. 

The simulation comes to an end, Peter backflipping in the air and landing gracefully onto the floor of the rig as it powers down and a score flashes at the top. It’s just like a video game, Bucky tells himself. Peter isn’t in danger here.

Peter grins back at them, waving at the camera and asking immediately to go again. Steve laughs beside Bucky, stepping back from the console and folding his arms triumphantly over his chest as he gives Bucky an encouraging grin. 

“Okay,” Bucky agrees. “Run it again.”

***

Sunlight streams through the living room window, dust billowing in the air as Bucky shoves a heavy box across the hardwood floor. He leans against it with a puff when it reaches the corner with the others. 

“Tell me again why we couldn’t hire movers to do all this,” Peter says behind him, carrying a box of books like he’s merely holding a box of donuts. Bucky wipes the sweat from his brow, trying not to feel envious of Peter’s ease.

“Because we can do it ourselves.”

“But it’s Saturday.” Peter looks forlornly out at the sunny weather outside of their apartment window to emphasize his complaint. 

“I’ve gotta be out of the office by Monday, which means we have to get my set-up here ready or we’ll be climbing over boxes for the next few weeks.”

Peter sighs and reluctantly nods. “Okay, but surely we could have had some help. Dad and Riley aren’t doing anything today.”

“I’m not going to bug them on the weekend, c’mon.” 

The thought of his ex-boyfriend and his new husband in his space makes Bucky shudder. It was hard enough to detangle his and Sam’s joint life after the breakup, he doesn’t need a redux of it with an audience. He already found a strip of photobooth photos from a date at Brooklyn Zoo eight years ago, which he stuffed into a box along with that ache for the simpler times. Out of sight, out of mind works wonders, even three years later. 

There’s already a sting of failure in his gut at giving up his office space. After the conversation with Tony, if it can even be called that, Bucky had gone home and crunched the numbers over and over again. Trying to make everything work and stretch his finances as far as possible despite how clients and projects were drying up, just like they had been for months. The figures he’d been trying to ignore were now in giant red writing and sirens buzzed around his head.

Well, who needs a real office anyway? Bucky had a break clause in his lease as long as he could be out by the end of the month, and there’s just enough space in the apartment to fit a desk in the corner of the living room with some strategic thinking. 

The 'strategic thinking' is getting rid of the huge bookshelf in the back corner and downsizing the amount of books they’re keeping, which is the reason why his back and knees are currently killing him.

“That box of children’s books is going to FEAST tomorrow,” Bucky tells Peter. 

“Yeah, I marked it already.” The black ink on the cardboard is in a small scribble and Bucky has to squint to make it out. 

“Pete, did you write this for spiders to read? I can barely make it out.”

“It’s legible to me!” Peter pouts, defensive about his cramped scrawl, until his attention is pulled by the books that Bucky’s packed in the next box. “Wait, you’re getting rid of the encyclopedias?”

Bucky swallows, focusing on his next task instead of what he knows to be the disappointed look on his son’s face. 

“Yeah, they take up a lot of space. We don’t really need them, what with the internet and all.”

“I need them.” The whine in Peter’s voice is joined by a pout.

“Bud, you haven’t touched them since you were twelve.” He says it as gently as he can, despite the fact that the same knowledge had knocked him the same way not even thirty minutes ago. The layer of dust over the pages told the story more than he could ever explain. 

“Yeah, but…” Peter picks up a volume, running his fingers over the cover. “I had fun collecting them.”

Sam and Bucky had bought the set for him when he was eight, but they had rationed each volume, gifting them on special occasions like a stellar report card or when Peter had earned enough allowance from his chores that he could exchange. It took Peter two and a half years to complete the collection and he’d pored over each page like the mysteries of the universe were being revealed to him every time.

But they’ve sat untouched for the last four years with Peter losing interest once the internet gave him answers that he could find with the tap of keys. Even Bucky hadn’t looked at them in a long time. 

“Maybe Sam might want them,” he suggests instead. 

“No.” Peter puts the volume back in the box. “Riley has the Encyclopedia Britannica collection. I guess I can borrow those.”

Guilt curdles in Bucky’s gut from the prospect of having hurt his son’s feelings. He should have asked first, maybe, but they take up so much space and nobody looks twice at them. Realistically, he didn’t think Peter would even notice nor care that they were being donated. 

A thwip from Peter has Bucky looking back to find webbing all over the box to seal it. 

“Pete, the packing tape is on the third shelf. Don’t use your webs!”

“But they’re strong.”

“How are we supposed to explain why there’s webbing all over the boxes when we drop them off? It’s a fun party trick, I guess."

“Oh, speaking of parties…”

The enthusiasm is back in Peter’s voice, disappointment from the encyclopedias dissolving now that he needs something. 

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask! It’s tonight and it’s really, really close by. And it’s the end of the school year and I’m not grounded anymore. And I’ve been super helpful today.” Peter gestures proudly to the boxes, as if he hadn’t just been complaining five minutes ago. 

Bucky clicks his tongue. “How close?”

“Four blocks left and three up.”

“Whose party?”

“Betty’s! You know her. You hate her for correcting you at the science fair.”

“I don’t hate her.” Bucky clears his throat, trying to rid the haunting memory of a five foot-something blonde teenager fact-checking him in front of the school last winter. “Will there be supervision?” 

At the question, Peter raises his eyebrows. “Do you want the truth? Dad, c’mon. Don’t make me lie to you when we’re not supposed to be keeping secrets.”

“You can at least pretend so I feel like I’m parenting.” Bucky rolls his eyes. Parties have always been something he doesn’t mind Peter attending because his son has always had a good head on his shoulders, and knows how to keep out of trouble. Well, teenage trouble, anyways. They have bigger things to worry about than an unsupervised party.

“I’ll be back by midnight.”

“Ten.”

“It’s Saturday! I’m out way later when I sneak out.”

“Do you want me to make it nine?”

Peter sighs heavily, making another show of gesturing to how much he’s been helping today. 

Bucky relents with a sigh. “Finish helping me move all of these boxes and clean up, and then we can settle on eleven.”

“...thirty?” Peter adds optimistically. 

“Only if you promise to check in every hour until you get home.”

“Ugh, dad!” Peter groans before realizing that it’s in his own interest to just agree so he can get favorable options. “Alright, fine.”

Peter holds out his hand, and as Bucky moves his own to shake it, Peter’s wrist twitches and a shot of webbing covers Bucky’s.

“Pete!” he exclaims even through his own laugh and Peter’s glee at the successful prank. “It’s not funny. You’re on thin ice. Get me out of this!”

Peter’s already backing out of the room, shrugging like he can’t hear the protests. Bucky stares at the webbing, flexing his hand and marveling at how rigid and strong it is. God, his kid built this? It was impressive when Bucky had seen it before, but now he can feel it. 

Peter reappears a few moments later, a small canister in his hand, still wildly amused at his trick. He shakes the can and sprays at where Bucky’s hands are trapped. The webs begin to slowly dissolve, leaving Bucky’s skin tingling and smelling a little like peppermint. 

“Mr Stark helped me develop this solvent. I, uh… got myself stuck a few times, so he helped me figure out the chemistry. Neat, right?”

Bucky looks at Peter and really looks. He might be taller than the last height marker on the kitchen door frame, more sure of himself, but Peter is still the same kid who used to fall asleep on the couch with science magazines spread across his chest.

“And I’ll be back by eleven-thirty. Promise.”

“Good,” Bucky says, freeing his hands from the disappearing webbing with a satisfying shake. “Because if you break curfew, I’m picking you up. In my pajamas.”

Peter’s face twists in horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

Peter groans and disappears again, muttering something about cruel and unusual punishment, and whether it’s too late to get emancipated. 

Yeah, he’s the same kid. 

***

The office space that Bucky used to occupy for the last three years is twenty minutes away from the apartment. He walks there if the weather is nice because the cold occasionally causes his shoulder to ache. If he has client meetings, then he drives, but often the traffic means it takes him almost as long as it would if he walked. 

It’s not exactly an executive office; a glorified broom closet with two desks, a filing cabinet and a basic coffee machine. It’s all that he could afford at the time, and he had planned to be with clients and on building sites for most of the time, so it had never felt important.  

Telling Mel that he was closing the office to work from home also came with the announcement that he had to cut down her hours working for him. Maybe entirely. 

“Bucky,” she had told him, a hand on his shoulder. “I get it. I do your accounts, remember?”

Mel’s desk had been piled with blueprints and folders, leaving her only a small space just big enough to fit her laptop. She worked on her college papers, taught Bucky how to decipher emojis, and he listened to her complain about school, gossip about her friends, or gush about whoever she had fallen in love with that month. 

As she packed away her belongings — two sweaters, a pair of boots she thought she’d lost, way too many claw clips — she revealed that she had been planning to pull back from her part-time gig with Bucky anyway in favor of her second job. 

It could have been a lie to reassure Bucky, but he appreciated it nonetheless. 

There’s a knock at the door, and Bucky groans, hoping it’s not another complaint about his rented U-Haul blocking the street. He stands straight, his back complaining as he does, and opens to the door to find Steve on the other side. 

“I was dropping by to give you Peter’s weekly report,” Steve says. “He told me you were moving offices, so I figured I’d stop by and see if you needed any help.”

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“Well, I want to.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

Steve steps through the doorway like he’s been here a hundred times before, as if the chaos of half-packed boxes doesn’t faze him at all. 

“You have to be out of here today?” he asks. 

“If I can get everything into the U-Haul.”

Peter had almost convinced Bucky to let him ditch school to help with the heavier office furniture, but Bucky insisted he would be fine to work alone until Peter got out, thinking he could manage. Famous last words. There’s more boxes than he thought, and the filing cabinets and desks need to go into the U-Haul first, and as it stands, he’s having to work around them which is slowing his progress. It would be good to have an extra pair of hands. 

“Maybe you can get those chairs into the truck?” he suggests, picking something smaller on purpose. He doesn’t want to take advantage of Steve’s strength or his willingness to help. 

Bucky tries shifting a desk but it doesn’t budge, and to add insult to injury — literally — his shoulder betrays him by twinging. He swallows down the discomfort with a quiet groan.

“Need help?” Steve asks, his hand is already on the edge of the desk but he must think better of it because he pulls away. 

And Bucky could refuse, he has it on the tip of his tongue. His injury doesn’t preclude him from doing much these days, but for a while after the Battle of New York and the surgeries he underwent, he had been frustrated with feeling like he was helpless. Everyone was so eager to do things for him; he still cringes sometimes at how he’d snap at Sam about it. Bucky may have most of his strength back, but when he’s overworked his shoulder like this past weekend, he has to know when to stop. 

“Yes, thank you,” he says, dropping his head but reminding himself that it’s not a defeat to ask for help. 

Bucky stands straight and gently massages his shoulder, allowing Steve room to step forward and pull out the desk. It moves easily, far easier than it would have for Bucky even without his injury, but there’s mostly relief because he doesn’t need to do it on his own.

Once they load both desks and the rolling chairs into the U-Haul, Steve’s eyes land on the boxes of books for donations next.

“Do you need help with these boxes?” 

“Sure, that would be great. Pete used his webs to seal some of them but failed to remember that they dissolve after a few hours.” Bucky waves the packing tape around. “Gotta seal ’em back up.”

“Happy to do that.” 

He holds out his hand, and Bucky relinquishes the packing tape, placing the roll into Steve’s large palm. Steve’s fingernails look for the end of the roll as he assesses the boxes and reads the labels. 

“Oh wow, these are a lot of books.”

“Yeah, we’re kinda terrible at getting rid of stuff until we need to. We’re donating it to FEAST. It’s a community center downtown and they’re always looking for donations. Figured lots more people would get more use out of them rather than gathering dust on our shelf.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Steve says, peeling back one of the flaps and tilting his head to read the titles. “There’s a lot of parenting books.”

Bucky sighs, giving a small shrug. “I needed all the help I could get.” He tries not to focus on the fact that the book Steve is looking at is about navigating a child’s grief journey. The one underneath is about co-parenting; Bucky wonders whether that one was too early to get rid of. Of all the boxes Steve could have looked in… 

“Oh hey, encyclopedias!” Steve’s glee is clear, the box of parenting books now pushed away with Bucky’s insecurities sealed inside. “Is this a complete collection?”

“They were Peter’s, but he’s outgrown them. The internet, y’know?”

“Yeah, so helpful,” Steve replies, but his focus is on flipping through the pages of Volume D: dinosaurs, Denmark, and Dickens. Eventually, he pulls his attention away, sheepishly tucking the volume back into the box. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I used to read encyclopedias like these at the library when I was a kid,” Steve says eventually, pressing the tape down. “Didn’t have much else. They made the world feel bigger for a kid sick all the time.”

Bucky nods. “Peter used to sit on the floor and flip through them like they were treasure maps.”

“The internet is great, but it’s a lot,” Steve admits through a tight smile, and his thumbnail tries looking for the end of the packing tape. “Sometimes it’s too much and I don’t know where to start. And then there’s more links to click, and it makes it all so...”

Overwhelming. Bucky knows how encompassing that is when the heaviness of the world burrows deep, sometimes he thinks that he’s never fully been able to shake it off, especially now with things so new all over again: new superpowers, a new co-parent, new… friends?

And if it’s hard for Bucky, then it must be harder for Steve even four years out of the ice. He’s still the Man out of Time, there’s still decades of history that he needs to learn and understand. Bucky looks at the box of encyclopedias and then back at Steve.

“Take them.”

Steve’s head whips towards him, the end of the packing tape still elusive. His forehead crinkles as he studies the box in front of him. Peter’s tiny Encyclopedias is scrawled on top with a misspelled attempt crossed out above. 

“No, no, I wasn’t asking.”

“I know, but I want you to have them.”

“They’re for a charity. I can’t take them from somebody who might need them.”

“You need them.” Bucky crouches down onto his haunches so that he’s on Steve’s level. “Besides, I kinda like the idea they’re going to someone who’d look after them.”

Steve runs his thumb along the edge of the box, slow and deliberate as if he’s considering it, still not looking at Bucky. 

“Thank you. People have given me stuff since I was found, but it’s never been…” he sighs. “It’s different when someone gives you something that means something to them. Not just stuff to fill a space.”

Bucky nods, unsure what to say to that. So instead, he stands, brushing his hands on his jeans and gesturing toward the remaining boxes. “We’ve got three more to seal. You still up for helping?”

Steve finally turns to Bucky, smiling soft and a little crooked. “Always.”

The silence between them isn’t awkward, just light and comfortable. Bucky watches Steve carefully place the encyclopedia box to the side, separate from the donation pile. It’s a small thing, but it seals a crack in Bucky’s chest, knowing that it’s going to the right place. 

To the right person.

Chapter Text

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Bucky wakes disoriented to a looping DVD menu screen flickering through grainy stills of Mulder and Scully on his TV. He rubs at his eyes, pushing the weight of sleep aside so he can focus on gathering the information he needs. The top notification on his phone reads, P’s location: home. A few blinks and a squint to be sure it’s real, and the tightness in his chest eases. There’s another notification below it.

Steve: I guess you fell asleep, but he’s home. See you on Monday!

Bucky rubs at his eyes again, doing his best to ignore the growing awareness that this is becoming far too familiar over the past two weeks. On his planned patrol days, Peter will head out after dinner, and Bucky will spend his evening working away his anxiety by cleaning or — increasingly — texting with Steve as they both make their way through The X-Files until Peter gets home. Bucky will watch the little GPS dot on the screen get closer and closer, fighting away sleep and listening out for the sound of Peter pulling up his window.

A clatter from down the hall prompts him to get up and check with his own eyes to be sure, so he drags himself out of his warm bed and pads down the hallway towards the soft glow of the kitchen.

Peter is leaning over the counter, scrolling on his phone and stuffing big bites of a sandwich into his mouth like he doesn’t have time to stop and breathe, let alone chew. He’s still in uniform, but the mask has been discarded to the dining table, Alpine already curled up on top like she owns it.

Bucky leans against the doorframe, arms across his chest as he takes in the view of his two favorite housemates while their attentions are elsewhere. All of his anxieties and the disorientation melt away instantly knowing that they’re here. Home. Safe. Where they should always be.

Peter is still chewing as he dumps his plate and empty glass of milk into the sink and turns towards the doorway, where he finally spots Bucky.

“Hey dad!” he greets, surprised but not upset to see him. “What’re you doing up late?”

“Wanted to see what he cat dragged in,” Bucky says before nodding towards the counter. “Forget something, bud?”

Peter frowns as he turns to look at what Bucky is focusing on: the jar of peanut butter still left out, the butter knife dripping jelly onto the counter, and the half-finished loaf of bread next to the bread bin. Bucky is just lucky Peter remembered to put the milk back in the fridge.

“Sorry, I thought it might wake you.”

“I’m awake anyway.”

With an apologetic grin, Peter dumps the knife into the sink and it clinks against the plate already inside. He packs away the bread, and then scoops a teaspoon of peanut butter before popping the jar in the fridge. That explains why they’ve been running out of peanut butter so much lately.

When Peter tries to leave, Bucky shakes his head. “C’mon, Pete, what’s the rule?”

Peter looks back at the dishes in the sink and whines, peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth. “But it’s laaaaate.”

“It’ll take five minutes. An empty sink every night. Go on, I’ll even dry.”

His son is still grumbling about it as he pulls rubber gloves on over his spidersuit and squeezes an obscene amount of dish soap onto the sponge for the handful of dishes. Bucky keeps his mouth shut about it, running a hand over the counter to collect the crumbs and shaking them over the trash can.

“You know,” Peter starts, “Tony has a machine for this.”

“Does he now?” Bucky takes the opportunity to rub Alpine’s head and she purrs happily, a contrast to the complaints coming from Peter.

“Yeah, it’s called a dishwasher.” Peter mock gasps as he looks down. “Oh look, we have one right here!”

Bucky bites his lip to stop himself from laughing at Peter’s tone. “It’ll take five minutes to do it yourself. I’m not having dirty dishes pile up just so I can run the dishwasher twice a week.”

“Just say you don’t know how to load it,” Peter mumbles as he places the overly-soaped glass onto the dish rack. Bucky shakes his head as he picks it up to dry, ignoring the amount of suds still left on it.

“How was patrol?” It’s an attempt to reroute the complaint, but Bucky also wants to know. Peter shrugs.

“Kinda boring. There’s, like, no crime.”

This time Bucky gasps dramatically and takes on the same mocking tone Peter used. “Oh no, there’s not enough criminals on the street! We should complain to the mayor in the morning.”

“Daaad,” Peter whines again as he puts an extremely sudsy plate on the rack; this time Bucky does make him rinse it out properly. “I’m serious. I need to expand my boundaries. What if all the criminals are going to Astoria or even Brooklyn?”

“Then the local PD will deal with them. You know the rules.”

“Brooklyn is practically down the street! Can’t we at least discuss it? Steve said I’m doing really well and you promised that we can vote on everything!”

Bucky presses his lips together, focusing on the plate in his hand rather than what he knows is Peter’s patented doe eyes.

“We’ll talk about it at dinner on Friday night with Sam and Riley,” Bucky reminds him instead, knowing he’s buying himself time rather than committing. Hopefully Sam will see things from his perspective. “Unless you want to postpone.”

“Postpone my dinner? But it’s the end of the school year. We always go out to celebrate,” Peter pouts, seemingly having decided that Bucky’s offer is good enough to put the subject to bed for now.

“Alright, well, remind Ned about Friday.”

“Actually, I was thinking of inviting Steve instead,” Peter says. “So that he can give an impartial opinion.”

What Peter means to say is: so you don’t freak everyone out with your hovering.

Bucky is the one who reluctantly agrees this time. Dinners with Sam and Riley aren’t exactly his favorite thing in the world, but he makes an effort for Peter and he’ll do it again for him now. At least Steve can be a buffer and distraction from the usual awkwardness. Ned usually keeps the conversation flowing, but too many things have happened since the last dinner — the wedding and Spiderman — so maybe it’s good to have someone new. Though he’s not sure Steve should bear witness to how awkward their family is.

“How was your night?” Peter asks.

Not expecting the question, Bucky shrugs and turns away to slide the cutlery back into their rightful places in the drawer, not even mentioning how many spoons Peter seems to use for a basic snack.

“Same old, same old. Watched some X-Files.”

“That’s funny, Steve said he just started watching that too. I told him to watch something a little more current but he said someone recommended it to him.”

Bucky makes another non-committal noise despite knowing his cheeks are warming up. Well, if Steve didn't mention his name, then Bucky surely isn’t going to offer it up either.

“Any injuries?” Bucky questions. “How’s the wrist?”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s fine. How did you know about that?”

“It’s in Steve’s training report,” Bucky says truthfully. The emails are in his inbox and Bucky pores over every single word every single time he receives one, mostly in the ‘Injuries and medical care’ subsection. Steve’s reports are very organized and detailed.

“It was barely anything. Steve is a little too worried these days. Tony said he would even report a paper cut!”

“I'm sure Steve is just being cautious. Your principal would do the same if you got hurt on school grounds.”

Peter's healing abilities may be fast, second only to Steve's super soldier serum, but injuries pile up, and Bucky knows all too well that sometimes you can't just shake them off if you don’t recover properly; the sharp pull in his shoulder is a reminder of that.

Peter yawns as he pulls off the rubber gloves, loud enough for Alpine to stir and glare.

“Bed. You still have school until the end of the week. Then you can stay up as late as you want all summer,” Bucky instructs.

Peter is too tired to argue, dragging his feet towards his bedroom, his mask abandoned under Alpine's body. Bucky decides not to disturb her further, but allows himself to give her another quick pet before he turns out the kitchen light and follows Peter down the hallway.

When he gets back into bed, there’s a post-patrol brief from Steve in his inbox. Bucky clicks on it and reads every word carefully.

***

Peter always picks a restaurant in Brooklyn for his celebration dinners. It’s easier than deciding who should host, and Peter deserves to choose where he wants to go; a neutral ground away from Queens is the ideal option. Bucky is sure that Riley doesn’t want to be in the apartment that Sam and Bucky lived together in for years raising Peter, and Bucky doesn’t particularly want to spend an evening at Sam and Riley’s home either.

At least at a restaurant, there’s less awkwardness and a time limit. He’s never been so glad for overzealous servers trying to urge them along. Except, today they seem to be happy for the patrons to take their time. They’re tucked away at a circular table with tablecloths and moody lighting in an Indian restaurant in Fort Greene; Bucky looks over his menu, sitting between Peter and Steve with Riley and Sam completing the rotation, while they wait for their server. With Steve at their table, it’s obvious that everyone is trying to be on their best behavior for him.

“Do you want to get the saag paneer and I’ll get the prawn biriyani for us to share?” Riley offers, leaning to Sam’s space as they share a menu, chairs pulled close. Bucky’s eyes remain trained on his own menu even if his ears are unwillingly keyed into the conversation across the table.

“Sure, hon,” Sam agrees. Easy. The way he would when Bucky would offer to split his entree.

“You guys are teachers, right? Is that how you met?” Steve asks, before suddenly clarifying. “Peter talks about you guys a lot. He was excited about the wedding. Congrats on that, by the way.”

Riley grins, patting Sam’s hand. “Thank you. Yeah, we teach at the elementary school over in Forest Hills. Sam teaches fifth grade, I teach sixth. Our rooms were across the hall from one another.”

“How long have you been together?”

“Two and a half years. Feels like forever in some ways.” Riley’s face glows with pride as he explains, looking at Sam as if he can see their entire future written out for them in his eyes.

Blessedly, they’re interrupted by the server coming to finally take their orders. Bucky picks butter chicken because Peter has ordered a lamb curry that Bucky knows he won’t like and will want to swap. Steve has ordered three dishes and enough chapatis to comfortably feed them for a week.

“Um, I eat a lot,” he explains, a soft blush creeping up his face even under the lowlighting. “And this is on Tony’s tab. He wanted to treat Peter for finishing his sophomore year. Besides, I rarely go out to eat so this is a treat for me too.”

“The Tower gets any food you want!” Peter's continual awe of the facilities at Avengers Tower is evident.

“Yeah, it has everything you need,” Steve shrugs, a glaze of something in his eyes, a stark contrast to the awe in Peter’s. Except decent coffee, Bucky wants to say, but he holds his tongue.

“Four years out of the ice. Do you feel caught up?” Riley questions gently.

“I have a notebook that I write stuff in,” Steve admits, he’s answering Riley’s question, but he takes the chance to glance over at Bucky. The gesture forces Bucky to avert his eyes, caught watching Steve when there’s others at the table too.

“Marvin Gaye, 1972, Trouble Man soundtrack!” Sam says loudly from across the table. He points his finger urgently, trying to convey how much he loves it. “Everything you missed jammed into one album.”

“I’ll put it on the list.”

Steve pulls out a small notebook from his back pocket and flips through the pages. Bucky tries not to look over at the list, a twist in his gut that he wasn’t aware of the notebook before tonight. He had thought he and Steve were getting to know each other, that Steve might have confided in him, and not to everyone else at the same time.

It’s dumb and stupidly possessive, but Sam having suggested something that piques Steve’s interest enough that he writes it down immediately somehow cracks a chasm between Bucky and everybody else. Bucky wonders if The X-Files is in it.

He hasn't really said much at the table for some time, allowing the others to take the lead, and now he’s unsure of how to participate.

“Bucky didn’t like it,” Sam says. Bucky’s attention pulls back to the table, the chasm somehow growing and shrinking at the same time as Steve turns to look at him.

“I liked it,” Bucky offers sheepishly. “I just… I prefer other music.”

“All the good music is from my dad,” Peter says, gesturing to Sam. “If you want anything cool, ask him!”

Bucky’s protested ‘hey’ doesn’t even make it out of his throat. He likes music too, it’s just a different kind. He’s always been more into movie soundtracks and dance music from his younger days when he spent more time in clubs. Bucky has never had a good head for lyrics, preferring melodies and instruments over vocals.

“I like 40s music, so…” Steve trails off and gives a shrug. “I’ll try anything. It has to be better than whatever Tony plays around the tower. Aksa-Daksa or whoever.”

The table are united in a frown until Steve hums the tune to one of the songs as an example.

“Do you mean AC/DC?” Riley questions as recognition hits. The table erupts into laughter and Steve blushes — eyelashes catching shadows under the restaurant lights — and smiles over at Bucky, as if it was a secret just for them to share.

The chasm doesn’t feel so big all of a sudden.

Once their dinner is served, the group continue to make small talk, avoiding any serious topics and keeping it pleasant for Steve’s sake, but Peter draws the conversation to the subject he really wants to discuss midway through dinner.

“Brooklyn is so easy to navigate, it’s like Queens,” Peter says in an attempt to sound casual, but subtlety has never been one of his strengths. “Steve, you grew up here.”

Steve nods slowly, like he’s also caught onto what Peter is trying to do. “I did. It’s changed a lot, but pretty much the same.”

“So it wouldn’t be a total stretch for me to expand my patrol routes.”

“Peter…” Bucky begins. “At least wait until we’ve finished dinner.”

Peter pouts, a drip of curry from his spoon falling onto the white tablecloth and staining an orange bloom of oil. As predicted, Peter took two bites of his lamb curry before swapping it for Bucky's butter chicken. Bucky isn’t a fan of lamb either but Steve had offered to share his curries, the two of them sampling from each others’ orders, and Steve favoring the lamb. It all worked out in the end between the three of them.

“We said we’d discuss it! School’s out so I’ve got a lot more time to train and patrol and stuff.”

Sam chuckles. “What happened to getting a job? Weren’t you complaining last summer that you wanted one?”

“That was before this,” Peter shoots back, gesturing to himself with a dramatic movement that drops another glob of sauce onto the table. Bucky bites back a groan; he’s sure he’s raised Peter with better manners than that.

Peter keeps pushing, undeterred. “Come on, I can spend my summer doing something useful instead of standing behind a cash register at a Sephora.”

“Well, maybe Tony can start paying you for the internship.” Bucky says it smug and casual, an idea spun out of his head because he’s caught up in the familiar back-and-forth that they used to have in their apartment years ago. Sam will joke along and they’ll both rib Peter a little bit and—

“I don't know if that's necessarily the right track,” Sam shakes his head, frowning across the table. “Maybe he should get a regular job.”

“On top of training?” Bucky questions incredulously, eyebrows raising at his ex. “Because he’s still going to want to patrol.”

Bucky already barely sees Peter enough as it is, let alone with a part-time job added in.

“I agree with Bucky.” Riley’s voice announces.

“I, uh, what?” Bucky blinks back, aware that the table has fallen into silence. In contrast, Riley’s face is calm and confident.

“I agree with you. I think Peter should be paid.” Riley clears his throat and focuses on Steve, pointedly avoiding the way that Peter is grinning at him. “Peter’s putting his life on the line, taking risks and sacrificing his childhood to work. You get paid for what you do, Captain. Train Peter, but if he’s saving the world, or even his neighborhood, pay him.”

Peter’s smile is brilliant and wide, eyes brightly aimed at Steve for his response.

“I’ll bring it up with Tony,” Steve promises.

“At least minimum wage,” Riley finishes. “He’s still a teenager. Can’t give him too much freedom.”

“Hey—”

“Oh, he’s terrible with money,” Sam agrees, a hand landing on Riley’s on the table, giving it a loving squeeze, apparently having sided with Riley.

“Can’t budget to save his life,” Riley adds, beaming at his husband and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Bucky looks down at his plate and fiddles with the napkin on his lap, appetite lost.

*

Dinner finally comes to an end and Steve insists on paying the check with Tony’s black card from a bank that Bucky has never heard of. They all skip dessert, the long service eating up most of their evening, and both Sam and Bucky yawning within minutes of each other.

“Don’t forget your backpack,” Bucky reminds Peter ahead of his weekend at Sam’s. Peter rolls his eyes, picking off rice that had fallen from his plate and onto his lap.

“Are you getting a cab with us or swinging home?” Sam questions, doing a dorky impression of Peter swinging. Peter hits him with the Why Are You Embarrassing Me? eyes.

“I’ll get in the cab if you stop that,” Peter hisses. He gives Steve a high five and another to Bucky, and still allows Bucky to pull him in close enough to kiss the top of his head, even if he feigns annoyance.

“Are you coming with us, Bucky? We can drop you off.” The offer from Riley is polite, but they all know that it’ll be refused. Riley is just infuriatingly nice all the time.

“I’m good, thanks. Have a nice weekend. Be good, Pete.”

Sam, Riley and Peter shuffle out of the restaurant and into the darkening late May sky, good spirits all around. Bucky watches them disappear through the restaurant window.

“Getting a cab too?” Steve questions.

“I was going to walk to the subway.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Steve offers easily, sliding on his jacket and giving Bucky a reassuring smile. “Gotta walk off dinner.”

They head outside and Steve inhales a deep breath before starting off down the street. It’s easy to fall into step with one another. Bucky isn’t that familiar with this area, but Steve seems to be able to navigate his way around. There’s no conversation for the first block, seemingly enjoying the silence after an evening of conversation and the bustle of a busy restaurant.

Besides, Bucky’s thoughts are entrenched elsewhere.

“What do you think he meant?” he begins. “Riley. When he agreed with me.”

“I think he was agreeing with you,” Steve replies. “I don’t think he was trying to do anything else. Do you not get along?”

“We're civil, but we don’t talk to each other. When I talk to Sam, Riley leaves us alone. I don’t know if he feels uncomfortable or whatever. I don’t dislike him, but I don’t really want to spend time with him either. I just— he agreed with me and gave you his opinion and…”

“Did you expect him to undermine you or back up Sam? Or is it that he had his own opinion?”

“I’m used to sharing Peter with Sam. I didn’t realise I had to share him with Riley too. I guess I assumed Riley would just agree with whatever Sam chose.”

Steve doesn’t reply to that, and Bucky doesn’t really want a response. Sometimes he just needs to say something out loud — either to process it or realize how silly it sounds. To his credit, Steve keeps walking beside him as they continue down the street, past brownstones Bucky will never be able to afford and couples enjoying their Friday night.

“I want ice cream,” Steve announces when they reach the end of the block. “Do you want ice cream?”

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes but doesn’t shrink under the weight of Steve’s glance. “Ice cream?”

“Spicy food always makes me crave something sweet. What about you?”

There’s a tiny, light smile on Steve’s lips that makes Bucky feel light too. The question that he’s asking isn’t demanding of Bucky.

It’s only ice cream.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods slowly, stomach longing for something sweet in a way it hasn’t in a while. “I could do ice cream.”

“Great! There’s a place down the street I’ve walked past a dozen times and always wanted to try.”

Bucky doesn't say much, simply lets his feet continue to tread alongside Steve's, following him to a small ice cream shop tucked away on a side street. They're still open, and the couple ahead of them are finishing up their orders. As they squeeze past, the first woman immediately dips her spoon into her partner's and steals a bite. Their giggles disappear out of the door with them, and an ache of want echoes through Bucky’s chest.

Behind the counter, the young employee’s eyes widen when he sees Steve walk in behind Bucky. “Are you—?”

“Only during business hours and emergencies,” Steve cuts in, but it sounds pleasant and kind. The employee stutters only a little before smiling back, posture straightening in Steve's presence.

“What do you want?”

It takes Bucky a moment to realize that Steve's question is directed at him and he squints up at the menu.

“I'll take dark chocolate.”

“And?” Steve prompts. “It's always better with two scoops.”

“Coconut,” Bucky says finally. Peter hates coconut, always makes a gagging sound when Bucky orders, even as he picks flavors which never seem to go together (mango sorbet and mint chocolate chip? Gross).

Steve nods and orders hazelnut and banana for himself. The two of them watch the employee work, his hands slightly shaking as he carefully places the scoops onto the fragile cones. Bucky tries not to laugh when Steve gets an extra wafer in his, busying himself with pulling out his wallet instead.

“I've got this,” Steve says, a hand flying out to stop Bucky’s as the employee drizzles way too much chocolate sauce over Steve's ice cream.

“You had to suffer an entire dinner with my family. I can at least pay.”

“I invited you for ice cream. It's my treat.”

“I insist.”

“No, honestly, I—”

“It's on the house!” The employee tells them, clearly unsure of what the etiquette is when two adults are fighting over the bill, and eyes gazing at Steve. “It's an honor to scoop your ice cream, Captain Rogers.”

The employee salutes for good measure and Bucky chokes at how sincere he is, and at how concerned Steve looks.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Steve reaches to shake the employee’s hand, and it seems as if the kid has found his courage because he grabs Steve's hand with both of his and shakes enthusiastically.

“And I appreciate you, Captain!”

Steve and Bucky finally escape the store, a faint frown still on Steve's face.

“Does that happen often?”

“Not as often as before, but still more often than I'd like. Sorry.”

Bucky snorts and takes a small lick of his ice cream. “Don't apologize. You saved the world twice, in two different centuries. I think you've earned a free ice cream or two.”

“Is it good?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, but I wish I had gotten the tiramisu.”

Bucky winces at how ungrateful it sounds. He just received free ice cream and he's complaining. Ugh.

“This is really good though. How's yours?” He hopes that it diverts Steve's attention enough.

“Mine is good too. Want to try?”

Steve's cone appears in front of Bucky’s face. They've come to a stop, Steve clearly waiting for a response. Without spoons, Bucky only has one option. He tentatively leans in, taking a polite lick of the hazelnut and catching a taste of chocolate sauce.

“Mmmm,” he says, hopefully with the appropriate level of encouragement.

Steve clicks his tongue. “You barely even tried it. C'mon, take a proper taste of both flavors. It's kinda like a banana split. I don't have germs — I can't catch anything.”

“You should try mine too,” Bucky says, and they swap ice cream cones.

Bucky takes a better lick, the banana’s creaminess contrasting with the earthy crunch of hazelnut. It’s not as bad as he thought it would be, and it does kind of taste like a banana split with the chocolate sauce. He’s about to tell Steve the same, but when he glances over, Steve’s pink tongue is licking up the tower of dark chocolate and coconut scoops, and he swallows it down with a lick of his lips. Bucky’s grip tightens on the cone he’s holding, almost cracking through the waffle.

“Wow, great choices. This is delicious,” Steve says happily. He moves to exchange the cones again but frowns. “What?”

Like a tipped snowglobe, Bucky is shaken back into himself, and he stutters, hoping that his face hasn’t completely betrayed him. The ice cream has started to dribble down the sides of his fingers, pools of pale yellow and brown forming in the crook of his hand. A look at Steve’s hand confirms the same is happening to him in the summer evening.

“I have napkins!” Bucky announces, scrambling for his back pocket where he’d stashed a handful of napkins while in the store. He pulls them out, handing over a few to Steve and then taking some too. They clean up their fingers, unable to rid themselves completely of the stickiness but doing their best in the circumstances. Bucky throws his napkins in the trash as he and Steve exchange cones again.

“Good?” Steve prompts.

“Yeah, I…” God, Bucky hasn’t had this awful fluttering feeling in his stomach for so long.

The evening has been so strange, feeling so outside of himself at the restaurant and now having this intense focus from Steve. Steve is being so nice, so patient and kind. So willing to listen to Bucky’s concerns and complaints about his family. Steve deserves to have a good night too.

Bucky stands and salutes him, watching Steve’s eyes widen in surprise.

“It was an honor to taste your ice cream, Captain!”

Steve snorts with a laugh, it’s not unattractive. That should be unfair but Bucky can’t help but grin back, pleased he made Steve laugh.

“God, I think I can never go back there again,” says Steve as they begin walking again. Bucky has no idea where exactly they’re headed, but he’s happy to fall into step regardless.

“You probably made his entire life.”

With the ice cream melting, they mostly walk in silence as they try to keep up with their desserts before they end up with sticky hands again.

“You know, you’ve got ice cream on your face?” Steve says. Bucky’s entire face grows warm.

“Where?” He asks, scrambling for a napkin and thankfully finding the last one. He scrubs at his chin with the rough paper as Steve tries to point out where it is.

“Ah, yeah. You’ve got it.” Steve somehow sounds disappointed. Weird.

The subway entrance comes into view and Bucky comes to a stop, hoping to finish his ice cream before he has to travel.

“Which line are you taking?”

Steve shrugs. “I’m not taking the subway. I brought my bike.”

Bucky looks around. “Where did you park it?”

“It’s back at the restaurant.”

Bucky blinks at him. They’re at least twenty minutes from the restaurant, and his stomach twists with guilt for Steve having to walk back.

“Steve, I’m sorry. I should have asked.”

But Steve doesn’t seem so bothered by it, he’s happily eating his ice cream even as it drips everywhere.

“It’s okay, I liked the walk. I got ice cream.”

Bucky decides he doesn’t need to say much more than that, and the two of them finish their ice creams in comfortable silence underneath the May moonlight.

***

When Bucky pulls open the door the following Wednesday night, the first thing he sees is Steve wrangling a familiar white cat in his arms. Steve manages to subdue Alpine long enough to greet Bucky, but his hair is out of place and there's a blush of exertion across Steve's cheeks.

“Hi. Do you know this cat?” Steve asks.

Alpine wriggles unhappily and there's a hiss — Bucky can't be sure if it's from Alpine or Steve. Deciding to save him, Bucky holds out his hands and Alpine jumps into his arms, much to Steve's relief.

“This is Alpine.” Bucky takes one of her front paws and uses it to wave at Steve, reminding himself not to use the usual baby voice he does whenever he speaks to Alpine. He's not entirely insane.

Alpine is still unhappy so Bucky puts her down, and they watch as she trots away towards the kitchen for her food.

“You have a cat,” Steve says as Bucky steps back and gestures for him to come inside. “She was sitting outside your door. I thought she was lost but she ran when I tried to get her.”

“Technically, she’s the building cat, but she usually spends her time here. She belonged to Aunt May, but when she passed, we kind of took her in. Only until one of her kids can come get her.”

Like Peter, Bucky thinks but doesn’t say. It’s not lost on him that he’s taken guardianship twice after residents have passed — and that, one day, he might have to give them up.

“She’ll roam the hallways and sit outside someone’s door until they let her in. Except Hank downstairs in 1C. He has a big dog that she hates.”

“And she likes that? Just going door to door?”

“She’s used to it, even when May was around. Seems pointless to stop her now. She’s only just started to feel comfortable sleeping here.”

Bucky doesn't admit that some mornings he might wake up to Alpine sleeping in Sam’s old space in his bed; it’s comforting to have something warm to wake up to. He thinks maybe Alpine feels the same way, now no longer having Aunt May’s apartment to return to.

“Do you like cats?” Bucky asks.

“I'm not really a cat person,” Steve admits as if he's confessed to a crime. “I think she can tell.”

“I think you did just fine. She's just fussy.”

As if Alpine can hear them, there's the sound of a bowl being turned upside down in the kitchen. Bucky gestures for Steve to come into the apartment and shuts the door behind him.

“I guess maybe she's in a mood. She doesn't always like being picked up.”

“Good to know,” Steve smiles as he hangs his jacket up on the peg next to Bucky’s. “I used to be allergic to cats back before… all this.” He gestures over his body and Bucky tries to do his best not to make it obvious that he had already been looking.

“The serum cured it?”

“I guess, it seemed to have cured everything else. It's not like they tested it when I got out of the ice.”

“Can I get you a drink?” Bucky asks as he leads him to the kitchen. Alpine mewls unhappily when Bucky doesn't automatically get her dinner.

“Just water is fine.”

Steve is considering Alpine and he attempts to click his tongue to get her attention. Alpine, in her dramatic way, simply turns away and lays down next to her empty food bowl.

“She knows she doesn't get fed until seven. She's being bratty today. It's not you,” Bucky hurries to explain, somehow feeling responsible for Alpine's poor attitude.

Bucky passes a glass of water to Steve and waits for more; he hadn’t expected Steve’s visit this evening.

“Peter’s out with Ned and MJ, but he should be back soon,” he says, even though Steve has access to Peter's location too.

“That’s okay. I, uh, I wanted to come by.” Steve hand wraps around the glass of water but he doesn’t lift it off the counter. “About the vote yesterday.”

“You mean when everyone outvoted me about Brooklyn?” Bucky asks through a sigh.

The topic of Peter’s expansion into Brooklyn had been on the table, and Bucky was the singular ‘nay’ vote. He can admit that it’s been eating him up a little since. It was one thing that Steve, Riley and Tony voted in favor, but Sam did too.

Steve tenses his jaw. “I didn’t vote against you, Bucky — I voted for Peter. I’ve seen what he’s capable of and how much he’s developed even in these short few weeks. I think it’s worth letting him take on more. Not everything, not all at once, but if we give him more room to stretch, I know he can prove himself.”

“I’m not trying to stop him from learning,” Bucky defends. “I just see the risks.”

“And I see the growth.” Steve replies. “Maybe we both can be right. I’m certain Peter can handle it, but I also don’t want you to think that we’re not just as concerned for his safety. We are. I am.”

Steve says it kindly; he’s not judging Bucky for worrying or trying to win an argument, but simply wanting to be understood. There’s a steady sort of patience that comes with Steve’s presence in the kitchen. It’s not intimidating or frustrating having him here, but the atmosphere is thick with something.

Something Bucky doesn’t want to run away from, at least.

Bucky knows he could argue, continue pushing back and advocating further for Peter’s safety, but maybe Peter should have a chance to prove himself first. The silence stretches for a moment until Bucky’s phone beeps. He glances down and reads the message.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” The question tumbles out of Bucky’s mouth before he can overthink the invite. “Peter’s going to the movies.”

“I eat a lot…” Steve starts, though it’s not a refusal.

Bucky chuckles softly. “I have a teenager. There’s plenty. I made a chicken hash brown casserole.”

“I like casserole.” Steve offers up a smile, the tension he’d been carrying when he walked in dissolving with the invitation.

Bucky gestures for Steve to sit down at the kitchen table as he turns towards the oven, pulling out the casserole dish that had been keeping warm. The scent of roast chicken and crispy potatoes wafts into the air, rich and familiar from countless evenings at Aunt May’s. Bucky lifts the foil gently, as steam curls up in wisps. Steve waits patiently as Bucky starts plating up, who takes care to keep the chipped one for himself.

Within ten minutes, they’re both tucking into the casserole, two bottles of beer and a comfortable silence over their small table.

“This is great,” Steve says through a mouthful. “I don’t think I’ve had a home cooked meal in a long time. Is it a family recipe?”

“It is, but not mine. I was a terrible cook at first but Aunt May took pity and taught me. She helped me figure out how to look after a toddler, kept me from panicking every time Peter got sick. Before she passed, she gave me her box of family recipes. I try to make something at least once a week, but Pete’s hardly around these days. At least they freeze well.” He looks over at Steve’s plate with two helpings, and he wonders if Steve would want more. “You should take some with you. There’s plenty.”

“I couldn’t ask you for that,” Steve says, though his eyes linger on the casserole dish.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” Bucky replies.

They finish their dinner quietly. It’s not entirely comfortable; Bucky is too aware that Steve Rogers is eating something he cooked in his kitchen, but Steve seems to be enjoying it, so he allows himself to settle into the warmth of a homecooked meal and companionship.

Once finished, Bucky is halfway to standing and reaching for their empty plates when Steve takes them instead, piling them into his broad arms.

“Hey, you cooked, I’ll clean.”

“No, you’re a guest. I invited you.”

Bucky takes the dishes from Steve's hands and walks towards the sink, but the pile is heavier than it looked under Steve's easy strength. Bucky's left shoulder twinges and he only just manages to land the dishes on the counter. Steve frowns and waits, perhaps to see if he will mention it, but Bucky clears his throat and busies himself with getting his rubber gloves.

After a beat, Steve turns to pick up the dish cloth and grips it in his hands. “It's only fair if I dry then. To be a good guest.”

There's no point in arguing, and the smug grin on Steve's face tells Bucky just as much.

“If you insist. Thank you.”

Steve waits patiently for the first few dishes to appear, looking around the kitchen as if he's trying to soak it all in: the chemical element magnets on the fridge holding up grocery lists and reminders. There's an appointment letter from his doctor about his shoulder and Bucky wishes he had taken it down. Steve's eyes don't linger on the fridge for long — instead he stares at the counter unit.

“You have a dishwasher.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Is it broken?”

Bucky rinses off a plate and puts it on the dish rack, steam rising between him and Steve as rivulets of water fall onto the bottom, running rivers back into the sink.

“No, I just don't use it.”

Another beat.

“The first one we had was loud and it used to bother Peter when he was little. I didn't use it unless he was at daycare. Then when he got older and Sam moved in, we got a new one. Sam was the one who used it the most. It was his thing, y'know? Like mine was laundry and we split the cooking, but he'd do the dishwasher. Since it's just me and Pete now, it doesn't make a lot of sense.”

Steve considers that. “I use mine. Probably the best invention of the twenty-first century.”

“The dishwasher?” Bucky raises an eyebrow and grins, happily teasing Steve for choosing that appliance. “Over the internet? Vaccines? Cars?”

“Hey, we had cars in the 30s!”

“Okay, old man.”

Steve rolls his eyes and nudges Bucky's shoulder — the good one — before picking up a wet bowl to dry.

“I used to help my ma with the dishes,” he says, quiet now. There's still a smile on his face but it's less amused, more nostalgic. “It was her favorite chore too.”

“There's something soothing about it, I guess,” Bucky agrees. “I cook but I find it stressful trying to balance the timings and measuring quantities out. Peter loves that because it's a science so he's a good sous chef, but he rushes and doesn't always have the patience.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“Doing the dishes gives me thirty minutes to really decompress and get out of my own head for a while. I like the routine and not having to rush. Something about loading a machine and pressing a button feels disrespectful sometimes.”

As he talks, he runs the sponge over another plate, the soap suds covering the dark blue ceramic in white and dripping onto the dishes below.

“My ma used to sing.” Bucky hears the thickness in the back of Steve's throat. They both keep their eyes focused on the tasks in front of them.

There's something intimate about doing dishes with someone, Bucky thinks. He's missed this a lot. He lives for the moments with Peter in the kitchen, carrying on conversations from dinner or laughing together. Bucky wonders if things really started to go wrong with Sam after the new dishwasher. There was no need to hang around in the kitchen after dinner. There would be rinsing and Sam loading the dishwasher in the system he liked that almost no one else could replicate. Half the time Sam told the others to just head out of the kitchen anyway.

Bucky thinks conversations had by the sink are almost as intimate as conversations late into the night. Sam never understood the need to hand wash anything more than a couple of pots or non-machine items, glad to let the dishes pile up to run a full load. Ten minutes after dinner, they'd be on the couch unable to decide what to watch and eventually one of them would retreat to the bedroom while the other watched on their own.

Perhaps there was more to it than that, but maybe the dishwasher was where it started.

*

It seems silly to shuffle Steve out right after dinner so Bucky gives him a tour of the apartment since Steve’s previous visits had been limited. Besides, he figures it gives enough time for the leftover casserole to cool before he can make sure that Steve takes some.

“You lived here long?”

“It was Peter’s parents’ place. I was living with five roommates over in Brooklyn when they died. There was no way I could raise a toddler there. I figured Peter would need something familiar so I moved in and took it over. Peter was born here — I wanted him to have something from his parents.”

“Five roommates?”

“I was in my twenties. It felt like the right move at the time. Doing whatever jobs we could find, partying all night, sleeping most of the day, getting fired almost every other month for being hungover or still drunk.” Bucky looks at him with a grimace. “I was kind of a mess back then.”

Steve holds his hands up. “I'm not judging. When I was in my twenties I lived in a tenement with a shared bathroom down the hall and I had a black eye pretty much every other week.”

“So you made some pretty dumb decisions too?”

He gestures to himself. “I gave my body up to the government so I could go fight in a war. I ended up in tights… then seventy years in the future. I wish I just showed up to work drunk.”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head a little. “I still think I got you beat. The stories I could tell about being in back alleys… and I wasn't getting punched.”

“Me either. Not in every back alley anyway.”

Bucky snorts, amused and slightly scandalized as he tries not to wonder if Steve was really doing what he is implying. He doesn’t ask; if Steve wanted to say something more, he would. It’s not Bucky’s place to push and, honestly, he’s afraid of the answer. Sometimes silence says more than either of them ever could, and at least this way, Bucky can let himself believe whatever he needs to to keep this friendship building.

He could use a few more friends.

They’re in the living room, Steve studying a gallery wall of photos from Peter’s childhood. There’s a photo of Bucky with Peter when he was three months old at Thanksgiving; one of the few times he’d met Peter before he suddenly had guardianship over him. Bucky practically had Peter in his arms all night, even throughout dinner where he’d tried eating everything with one hand as his other was occupied with a snoozing Peter.

(You’re a natural with him, Richie had said, exhausted from several sleepless nights. Can you stay forever?

Bucky had laughed and said I would in a heartbeat, man. He’s too cute, because one of Bucky’s fingers was clutched by Peter’s entire baby hand, and something flipped happily in his chest.

He regrets ever making that wish.)

“Wow, this is probably the only time I’ve seen him quiet,” Steve jokes.

“Pete actually threw up on me ten seconds afterwards. I had to throw out that shirt.”

“Your hair is longer here,” Steve states, looking between the photo and Bucky’s current hair.

“Ah, yeah. I used to have long hair when I was younger. It was kind of a trademark?” He laughs softly, a little embarrassed by the photo of himself fifteen years younger where there’s no faint crow’s feet or grays beginning to peek through. “But you try raising a toddler in their grabby phase. His grip was insanely strong; I had to cut it.”

Steve’s eyes find the photos where Bucky’s hair had been shorter, more conservative. It’s what he wore for the majority of his relationship with Sam. It was easier to maintain and Sam seemed to like it. Bucky had felt more adult, like he fit the part of a parent, of a partner, of someone the world would take seriously.

Not the screw-up that his parents thought he was with his ’lifestyle’ choices. They still think, he wonders. He hasn’t spoken to them in a while.

Steve’s no longer looking at the photographs, but he seems to be studying Bucky’s hair. A hand reaches out and— Steve aborts the motion, retracting his hand back and running it through his own instead.

“Looks like you’re growing it out again.”

Bucky’s fingers fly up to tug at a strand. It’s not as long as it used to be — Bucky honestly thinks he’ll never have it reach below his ears ever again, not at his age anyway — but it’s also not as short and severe as his old hairstyle. He likes the mid-length he’s been growing out, and hopes that it marks this new stage of his life. Whatever that turns out to be.

“It looks good,” Steve says.

Bucky looks back at the photograph of himself when he was a decade younger, but this time he misses youth like an ache.

“Sometimes I just feel so old,” he says. “You ever—” He stops himself and blushes at the inconsiderate question to his audience of one. “Sorry.”

Steve snorts. “I sometimes feel my age when I don't understand something or see something new or different. I'm almost a hundred, technically.”

“So, how old are you? Really.”

“Thirty-two.”

A sickening punch hits against Bucky‘s stomach. 32. Jesus, he feels like he barely remembers that and it was only six years ago. Peter was ten and on the baseball team even though he was bad at it. That was the year Peter started getting more into robotics and he met Ned. That was the year he and Sam had their biggest fight, the one that was the first fracture in their eventual breakup.

Six years feels like an entirely different lifetime.

Bucky has never felt more aged.

“I don't think of myself that age nor my technical age. I guess some days I wake up feeling one or the other. I don't really think about it until it comes and slaps me in the face,” Steve says before leaning in with a grin. “Usually it’s an alien.”

The joke does its job to lift the mood. It’s not that Bucky doesn’t want to get into deep conversations, but he knows Steve is doing the same thing he does when things venture too far into vulnerability; he deflects.

“I can tell you that living with a teenager is also like being slapped with my age on a daily basis. I’m 38, but I swear Peter looks at me like I’m 90 most days.” Steve raises his eyebrows and Bucky stutters. “Not that being 90 is bad.”

“Don’t worry. I hang around with Stark enough and that’s pretty much like living with a teenager. I think I’ve been called every name under the sun and then some.” Steve drains the last of his beer and then sighs. “Speaking of, I think this senior citizen should head back home.”

Bucky takes the empty beer bottle to the kitchen and returns with two containers of casserole.

“One for tomorrow, the other for your freezer,” he instructs. “And come by any time if you ever want a home cooked meal. I’d be more than happy for the company.”

Steve gives him a nod and an easy salute. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll be sure to bring these back to you soon.”

“Any time, Steve.”

Chapter Text

The thing about routines is that Bucky really likes them. It was the only way he and Peter managed to survive those first years together. Peter, too young to grasp so many changes in his life, settled once Bucky had implemented habits and provided certainties: pre-school twice a week, Aunt May on Wednesdays and Fridays, grocery shopping on Monday afternoons, and Sunday morning pancakes.

Maybe the reason why Bucky’s life prior to Peter was such a mess was because nothing was settled: his jobs were reliant on any shifts he could get, his apartment was a rotation of roommates coming and going, his love life was even more unstable. There were some days Bucky completely slept through, messages he ignored from Richie, appointments he missed.

People he let down.

Once Bucky worked himself into a system, everything got better. Peter still cried for his parents, but knowing that Bucky was his constant gave him something to hold on to. When Sam entered the fold, it took some reworking, but Peter was slightly older then and more amenable to change. He trusted Bucky, which helped them both.

So — routines. Bucky is trying not to acknowledge that a new one is beginning to take root. Steve has been coming around a lot lately, mostly when Peter isn’t home, ostensibly to provide a report on Peter’s activities.

He stays for dinner. Usually.

Alpine will be even fussier than normal, and Steve still looks apprehensive, but he’s trying his best. It helps that Bucky lets Alpine have a lot of treats whenever Steve is over.

And just because it’s a habit doesn’t mean it means anything.

Steve emails Sam and Riley the training and patrol reports, it’s not necessary for him to drop by, but now they’re watching The X-Files together and they’re doing dishes side-by-side, and Steve knows how Bucky likes to stack the glasses, and it doesn’t mean anything.

Except…

Except one Wednesday night Peter is going to a concert with his friends, so Steve has been invited over and even tells Bucky he’s bringing dessert.

And everything is fine. It’s a normal night for them, and Bucky feels settled and full in a way that isn’t just the eggplant parmigiana he made from Aunt May’s recipe box. But tonight Steve made tiramisu because Bucky told him it was his favorite dessert last week, and Steve wanted to do something nice since Bucky never lets him cook.

It’s one of the best nights Bucky has had in a while, and he’s working so hard not to notice the way Steve’s knee is bumping against his that he doesn’t hear the key turn in the lock.

Steve does.

But it doesn’t really matter who hears it first, because what Bucky hears next is the familiar sound of his ex-assistant and her footsteps reaching them within seconds.

“Bucky, I can smell May’s eggplant parm—”

Mel stands in the archway that separates the hallway from the living room. She’s come straight from her new job by the look of her outfit: a pencil skirt, a white blouse and a pair of shiny flats. It’s a hot day, even at eight in the evening, and her hair has curled in the humidity.

She stands and she stares, a folder gripped in her hand along with her phone.

Mel’s eyes flick between Bucky and Steve, finally settling on Bucky and accompanied by an eyebrow raise.

“Hiiiii.” The word is drawn out and she gives a feeble wave.

“Mel,” Bucky says, slowly sliding away from Steve on the couch and trying to create a reasonable distance between them. “What are you doing here?”

She holds up a folder of files. “Invoices! You asked me to print them.”

“Thanks, but you could have given them to me another time. During business hours, perhaps?” He subtly tips his head towards Steve, eyes widening in warning towards Mel.

“I don’t… technically… work… for you… anymore,” she says slowly, giving Steve a polite grin as she attempts to understand the scene that she’s stumbled upon. “You needed a working printer— hey, is that tiramisu?”

Steve follows the spot on the coffee table where her finger is pointing and nods.

“Yes. Would you like some?”

Bucky wants the earth to swallow him up. These private whatevers they’ve been doing suddenly feel so… wrong. No, not wrong. Exposed. The panic of trying to explain this away, of providing a reasonable scenario why he and Steve were drinking wine and eating tiramisu late into the evening, is clawing his way out of his throat.

“I would love some,” Mel says.

Momentarily, nothing else exists except her and that tiramisu. She watches eagerly as Steve cuts a generous piece and pauses when there’s no container. Bucky is certain that she would happily just take bites from the serving spoon, but she roots through her tote — invoices abandoned on the sideboard — and pulls out a dirty tupperware that housed her lunch. There’s still a stray pea inside.

Steve hesitates, but adds the piece inside for Mel.

“Thank you! Sorry for disturbing… whatever this is.” She’s already retreating, walking backwards out of the living room to get out as quickly as possible, clutching her dessert like it's made of gold. “Bucky, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for the tiramisu!”

And then she’s gone.

Bucky has never felt more mortified. There’s a beat of silence between them — soft music from the kitchen filtering in — before Steve grins at him.

“So, that was—”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, that was funny. She’s very sweet to drop off your invoices for you.”

“She’s a menace,” Bucky grumbles, no heat behind it, “but she’s got her heart in the right place. She’s going to work in politics.”

Steve is still looking at him and Bucky feels like he should explain that Mel is smart and kind, and just a little dramatic.

“Oh yeah?” Steve settles back against the couch, and the thread of tension relaxes as easily as anything. Bucky exhales and allows himself to relax too.

“Yeah, and I think she’ll be great at it. When she was 12 she organised a petition to request a residents garden on the rooftop.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise. “Did she get it?”

“Yeah, it was in the local paper and everything. Aunt May bought a stack of ‘em. Peter even got in it too. I should dig it out.”

It’s framed somewhere, tucked in a storage closet because Peter hated his gap-toothed smile and it got moved when they redecorated Peter’s room from the baseball theme to something more mature.

“Is the garden still up there? I’d like to see it.”

A smile pulls at Bucky’s lips. It’s too dark out there now, but he’d like to show Steve the garden and point out the pieces of history within it.

“Sure, I’ll take you up one day. The view is incredible, especially at sunrise.”

This time it’s Steve’s warm grin that forms and is directed at him. “I’d like that.”

While their evening was disrupted, it doesn’t feel ruined. There’s still tiramisu left and half an episode of The X-Files to watch.

It’s absolutely fine.

***

“Knock knock, are there any Avengers in here?” Mel’s voice announces through the apartment as she lets herself in. Honestly, Bucky should have taken her keys before last night, but he knows that he has more pressing matters to deal with.

“It’s just me, Mel,” he tells her as she comes into the living room to seek him out. He’s at his desk in an intense game of Minesweeper (because he actually knows how to play it and doesn’t just mindlessly tap at the grey squares).

“Okay, I have given you exactly a twelve hour grace period, but now you need to explain everything to me,” Mel says, plopping herself down on the wingback chair that Peter never likes to share.

“Don’t you have work?”

“I don’t work for you anymore.”

“At your real job. The one you left this one for, and thus any access to my personal life?”

“Ah ha! So it’s personal, not professional. That’s one question off my list.” She’s smug. Bucky hates it when she’s smug. “Tell me more. What time did he leave this morning?”

Bucky glares but his cheeks are warm and he’s pretty certain Mel can see the flush on his face.

“We’re just friends. He left last night at a reasonable hour.”

She pouts, but remains undeterred.

“How do you even know Captain America?”

“Peter’s internship.” Bucky decides to keep the details to a minimum, trying his best to act casual about the fact a superhero was having dinner at his place. “We just started talking.”

“Bumping into him at Avengers Tower, I get. But he was at your apartment late at night, and I saw wine glasses.” She gives him a significant look, like she’s expecting something more from Bucky, before she looks beyond him towards the kitchen. “By the way, that tiramisu was awesome. Where did you get it from and is there more?”

Bucky winces as he admits, “Steve made it himself.”

Mel’s eyes grow comically wide as she grabs his arm and squeals.

“He made your favorite dessert? Oh, come on, that was a date!” She says urgently.

Bucky’s face must do something because Mel rolls her eyes at him, her hand still gripping his arm as if she could squeeze the information out of him.

“Bucky.”

“I— he—” There’s nothing that comes to Bucky’s mind, because the concept is insane. Ludicrous. “It’s not like that.”

Mel hums, a grin still on her lips and Bucky knows he’s not going to hear the end of this.

“Where was Peter?”

“A concert. He slept at Sam’s.”

“Convenient.” Her eyebrows wiggle.

“We’re friends. I had plenty of food to go around and he was being nice by bringing dessert.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Regular stuff. Brooklyn, Queens… the best places to get a hot dog.”

“You’re blushing,” Mel announces, her ponytail swishing triumphantly.

“I’m being interrogated. How else do you want me to respond?”

“You could just admit it… oh wait, does that mean Captain America is gay?”

“I don’t know. We’re just friends.”

She groans loudly, like Peter does when he’s asked to do a chore. “Ugh, you’re so annoying and boring.”

“Well, I’m sorry my lack of love life is such torture for you. Maybe you should stop asking and find something more interesting to do. Like your job?”

Mel ignores him as she turns her body in the chair and swings her legs over one of the armrests. She's not moving.

“Does Peter know?”

“That we’re friends? Yes.”

Mel rolls her eyes and Bucky can’t help but smile to himself. Despite the interrogation endurance that could make the CIA cave, Mel is like the little sister Bucky never had. She sometimes makes Bucky feel like he’s in his twenties again: full of enthusiasm and tenacity. Never taking no for an answer if there’s something he wants to know.

“I have friends I can ask—”

“I’m not dating anyone under the age of 30!” Bucky cuts in with a shudder.

“First of all, gross ew! No, I wasn’t going to suggest any of my friends. Second of all, I was going to say that some of my friends know single, queer men who are old… er. Who are older.” Bucky doesn’t even have it in him to roll his eyes at her correction. “You know, like uncles and bosses and whatever.”

“I don’t want to be set up,” he insists, although he is the tiniest bit intrigued.

It’s been months since he last went on a date (Doug, who had three dogs and extremely large feet, and talked about both of those things throughout their excruciatingly long dinner). Since meeting Steve, that desire to spend an evening over a glass of wine and good food, to talk to someone about life and experiences, to learn about their interests… well, it’s all come flooding back. Hungry and wanting.

“I don’t know why you’re even interested in who I date, Mel. I’m almost twice your age. You’ve known me forever.”

“Yeah, I’ve known you forever, Bucky. That’s why I want you to be happy and find a best friend who isn’t in college.”

“You are not my best friend,” he says. She grins at him and tilts her head, absolutely thrilled to tell him how wrong he is.

“I think I am, which is extremely sad for you. We need to fix this so you’re not a lonely old man when Peter leaves for college.”

Buck puts his hands over the left side of his chest and pretends to have been wounded, even if that reminder does ache. “Ouch! You got me. C’mon, help me with these invoices you thought were so important to deliver last night.”

Mel shoves his shoulder and sighs heavily, like fixing Bucky’s love life is a burden she’s been given.

It’s blissfully silent for the next minute, enough that Bucky doesn’t feel that horrible void in his stomach when he thinks about Peter leaving. Mel gets his attention again, a hand gentle on his arm.

“For what it’s worth, Steve would be really lucky to have you. You’d make a cute couple.”

***

For someone who is very adamant that his relationship with Steve is platonic and very professional, Bucky spends half of an afternoon digging through his closet for an outfit that, a) Steve hasn’t seen before, b) fits him in the right places, and c) makes him feel good too.

Bucky needs to go shopping. Many of the items in his wardrobe are outdated, purchased during his big post-breakup shopping spree because he hated the big space left in the closet when Sam moved out. That, or they just don’t feel right. At least not for a hangout with Steve in public.

Steve is taking him out on his motorcycle, which thrills the part of Bucky that is still a fifteen year old who desperately wanted one, and the twenty year old who had a crush on every single guy who had one.

And, as much as Bucky hates it, Mel has gotten in his head and spoken out loud the thing that Bucky was trying not to think about.

(He might have a crush on Steve.)

The jury is still out; he’s aware that tonight might skew the results because of the aforementioned appeal of guys with motorcycles, but he’s had a growing itch in his gut for a couple of weeks now. It started off so small, like Steve’s insanely sweet coffee habit which is incredibly endearing. Then it kind of grew the more Bucky saw how seriously Steve was taking his mentorship of Peter, and how diligent and patient he was about filling Bucky in on their work.

It’s clear to Bucky that Steve doesn’t need to make social calls to the apartment to do any of this, but it is a choice that Steve is making.

He is choosing to spend time with Bucky and get to know him, and have dinner together, and now they’re going to a place Steve likes together.

It’s a little intimidating to think about.

It’s Thursday, which means that Peter has finished his training session with Steve, and then he’ll probably come home for dinner and play video games all night. Bucky told Peter that he’s meeting some of his old construction crew tonight over in Brooklyn, which doesn’t happen often but it does happen, so it’s not inconceivable.

Bucky doesn’t talk about his dating life with Peter; there’s no point until there’s someone that he’d like Peter to meet. Steve already knows Peter, but there’s still something about this situation that forces Bucky to clamp his mouth shut and keep everything inside. It’s better than knowing how Peter feels about it when it might be innocent. Considering how upset Peter had been when Sam introduced him to Riley — and Bucky had to deal with that aftermath and try to placate both Peter and Sam — so there really is no point in ruffling feathers that don’t need to be.

Honestly, Bucky is doing the right thing because there’s nothing happening.

He adds the final touches to his outfit: he’s settled for a slate-blue Henley, his favorite pair of dark wash jeans, and a leather jacket that might be too heavy for a summer night but it is motorcycle-ready and he won’t regret bringing it.

The front door shuts harder than usual, and Bucky startles for a moment, not used to Peter using the door these days. Alpine scurries into his bedroom, disappearing under the bed as heavy footsteps move through the apartment without their usual bounce. Bucky is about to call out when Peter’s door closes, firm enough to state that he doesn’t want company.

Okay.

Bucky exhales and activates his Dad-mode, his nerves about his outfit now forgotten. He checks under the bed first, coaxing Alpine out with gentle hands. She protests unhappily until he sets her on his bed, where she promptly curls up on an ironed shirt that felt too formal for tonight.

He gives Peter a few minutes to cool off. Bucky has learned how to wait and watch for the small signs that clue him in on Peter’s mood. He could be frustrated or upset, but he could equally just be hungry or ready for a shower. Bucky won’t leave it too long, but he’s supposed to leave in ten minutes and he wants to check on Peter before he does.

Peter’s bedroom door opens and doesn’t slam again (progress), but the heavy footsteps head towards the living room, fading as he walks there.

Bucky gives himself a final look in the mirror before heading towards his son, curled up on the wingback chair and chewing on the string of his oversized hoodie, mindlessly watching a baseball game. Usually, Peter can’t wait to tell Bucky all about his training sessions, which means something has happened.

“There you are. How was training?” Bucky asks, attempting for casual so as not to presume something is wrong.

“Fine,” Peter bites out.

“Do anything fun today?”

Peter’s jaw tenses. Okay, not the right question. Bucky feels like he’s playing a real-life version of Minesweeper. He mentally plants a flag and moves along to another square.

“I’m heading out soon. There’s leftovers in the fridge, but if you feel like takeout, then there’s cash in the cookie jar.” Bucky waits for anything, acknowledgement or teasing. “You good?”

There’s only a nod, and something in the back of Bucky’s mind is screaming to get to the bottom of it.

“You look nice,” Peter finally says, eyes squinting as he assesses the outfit. Bucky tries not to feel self-conscious. “This is for the old gang?”

“Yeah, I wanted to make an effort. Falsworth turned 50 last month… and, uh, Dum-Dum is gonna be a grandfather.”

Peter attempts an encouraging nod, but it’s clear the wind has been taken out of him. Whatever happened today clipped his wings and sent him back here with his tail between his legs.

It hurts seeing him so downtrodden.

“Are you sure you’re okay, bud?”

“Yeah…” Peter hesitates, as if he’s deciding how much he wants to share, “just wanted to be home. You go and have fun.”

Bucky has been through a lot with Peter. He knows when he’s pretending to be sick, he knows when he actually is, he can tell when he’s holding back, and he can tell when he’s been crying.

He has this awful knowledge weighing on his chest that Peter has been crying.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Peter bites out, but it sounds like he’s more frustrated at himself rather than Bucky.

A bomb goes off in Bucky’s mental Minesweeper grid. He better retreat before he loses the entire game. He checks his watch and steps back to put on his shoes, making it clear that he’s leaving the issue and Peter alone.

Bucky makes it outside to the stoop before he pulls out his phone and dials Steve’s number, determined to find out what’s going on.

“Hey, I’m just finishing up here and I can meet you—”

“What happened to Peter today?” Bucky interrupts.

Steve sighs on the other end. “I was going to discuss it when we met. Wasn’t sure if Peter would have told you.”

“Told me what?” Bucky demands. “He hasn’t said anything to me except that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Is he hurt?”

“No, no. Maybe a little bruised, but nothing major. He’s had worse.”

“Steve…”

“I was in a strategy meeting that overran. Peter was supposed to just do warm ups. He wasn’t supposed to go into the rig at all.”

The image of that simulation rig — the mechanics and the metal and potential dangers — flash wildly in Bucky’s mind. Dread coils in his stomach as Steve continues his explanation.

“He messed with the settings and ran a scenario he wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t get hurt, but he activated a program on his suit that he couldn’t control and ended up damaging the rig. Severed a cable and jammed one of the mechanisms.”

“Jeez, didn’t anyone pull him out?”

“We got there as soon as possible. Tony had to blast through the rig door to get him out.”

Bucky’s stomach lurches and he doesn’t think it’s just because he’s standing by the sidewalk where someone has recently vomited.

To get him out. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and forces himself to breathe. Steve said he wasn’t badly injured, and he’s seen Peter who looks fine, if only upset.

“You can be mad at me,” Steve tells him. “I should have been there.”

Ordinarily, Bucky would be mad. This is exactly what he didn’t want. Peter’s supposed to be safe in the Tower and Bucky hated the look of that rig. But these aren’t ordinary circumstances; Peter made the choice to ignore protocol and bypass safety measures. It could have been much worse than some scrapes and a bruised ego.

“He’s old enough to follow instructions,” Bucky replies. “How much—”

Steve clicks his tongue. “Don’t even worry about paying for it. It can be fixed.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Okay, but Tony pretty much reamed him out. I was going to be the bad cop, but Tony was already in a mood so I think Peter ended up being unfortunate.”

“You’re telling me to be the good cop?”

“I can’t tell you that. I just think he needs someone on his side today.”

Bucky leans against the brick wall of his apartment building where a few floors up sits his son in low spirits. And here is Bucky who is supposed to be having a night out. For the first time in a long time, he was excited to go somewhere.

“About tonight… I think…”

As if he was already expecting it, Steve says, “You want to cancel.”

“Sorry, I just— he looked so sad. I can’t stand it when he gives me those big cow eyes,” Bucky explains. The throaty chuckle that erupts from Steve’s mouth lands somewhere warm in Bucky’s chest.

“I know exactly what you mean.” There’s a soft sigh, comfortable and understanding, before Steve speaks again. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t want to bail, but it’s… um, do you want to come over?”

Bucky can almost hear Steve shaking his head on the other end of the phone. “I don’t think I should because he’s kinda mad at me too. I would have been too at his age. It’s okay.”

“I’ll call you later?”

“Sure. Go be a dad.”

Steve's kindness and reassurance radiates even through a phone line. Bucky swallows down that familiar warmth.

“You’re kind of good at this, y’know?” Bucky says it without really thinking. “Parenting. You’re good.”

Within a handful of minutes, he’s back in his hallway and unlocking the front door, anxious to get to his son.

“You’re back already?” Peter asks. There’s a curious look on his face, wondering if something happened. He’s still curled up on the wingback, the hood over his head and looking so small and helpless.

Bucky drops the tension in his left shoulder and makes a show of massaging it as he shuffles in, even going as far as to groan in mild pain as he approaches.

“My shoulder has been pretty sore today and it started getting worse before I got to the subway. Besides, Walker is coming tonight, and you know how I can’t stand him and that government contract he keeps yapping on about.” Bucky pulls at the cord of Peter’s hoodie. “I was looking for this.”

“Sorry. It was warm, and you never wear it anyway.” Peter readjusts the hood.

“Keep it.”

“Are you sure?”

Bucky shrugs easily. “Yeah, like you said, I never wear it anyway.”

“No, about staying home tonight.”

That’s how Bucky knows that Peter needs him. There’s no encouragement for Bucky to leave, or insistence that he’s fine, or suspicion that Bucky is checking on him. The sad cow eyes are back and Alpine is snoozing on the end of the sectional, where she never sleeps unless Peter has dropped her there to be close to him.

“Yeah, I’m not in the mood. I’m gonna go change and rub in some Deep Heat. Wanna order in some pizza? I think it’s been a long time since we went to Gino’s.”

Bucky is already walking down the hall to his bedroom, nonchalantly trying to act like Peter’s mood didn’t pull him back here.

“Gino’s is terrible!” Peter’s indignant reply follows Bucky down the hallway. “God, dad, you have the worst taste. Everyone knows Antonella’s is so much better.”

Bucky gets changed to the noise of Peter reading out the pizza options and talking about combo deals. Bucky easily says yes to everything: extra large, extra olives, even agreeing to get garlic knots. They’ll be eating for days, but it’s worth it to cheer Peter up.

It’s there in their living room — with picked-off olives on the side of Bucky’s plate and napkins smeared with greasy fingerprints — where Peter tells him about the simulation error and Bucky gives him a sympathetic ear and reassures him. And by the end of the evening, Peter’s hoodie is discarded in a heap and Bucky’s sides hurt from laughing so much.

It’s the first time in a while when it feels like it used to. Where their house is fun and light — and normal.

***

Bucky tells Steve as much two nights later, while they’re clearing up after dinner. Steve is at the sink with a dish towel in hand, drying as Bucky rinses them off. Tonight is meant as an apology from Bucky for bailing on their plans, but also as a thank you for giving him a heads up about Peter.

“It was nice just to spend time at home with him,” Bucky says, sliding a pan into the suds. “He wants to be anywhere but here, it seems like. A few years ago we’d hang out most evenings, but now ‘home’ is just a place for him to sleep and shower.”

He sighs, stacking the pan onto the rack. The smell of Aunt May’s ‘Marry Me’ steak lingers in the air as the leftovers cool on the counter — two portions for Steve, the rest for Bucky and Peter. Bucky loves cooking this dish even if he doesn’t do it very often. It’s the closest he feels to Aunt May, the familiar scents of garlic, rosemary and butter filling the kitchen with the memory of her presence. He hasn’t mentioned it to Steve, out of fear he might read into the recipe name. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a really incredible recipe and Steve deserves it for helping him.

“I guess I get it. I was the same at his age,” Bucky continues.

As much as he hated home, his social life hadn’t been as active as Peter’s. His childhood had mostly been spent with the Parkers until Ben’s murder, and then his dad dragged them to a small Indiana town with nothing to do. Without his best friend, Bucky withdrew, counting down the minutes until he got his college acceptance letter and could run back to New York.

“I don’t think he hates being here,” Steve offers, picking up the pan and running the dish cloth over it in his big hands. “He’s excited. I don’t know if he’s always had as much energy; he probably just wants to get it out. I was the same.”

“I just miss him sometimes,” Bucky admits quietly, mostly to himself, though he knows Steve can hear. He clears his throat, focusing on finishing the last remaining dishes.

They fall back into the rhythm of cleaning: Bucky rinsing out the sink, Steve drying the final few dishes, moving with practiced ease. Conversation is getting easier too. Steve feels less and less like a guest, learning where to put the clean dishes and where the tupperware is kept.

(Bucky tries not to think too hard about how normal it feels to have Steve here like this. Like maybe he could belong too.)

As he busies himself with measuring out coffee grounds for the French press and Steve slices two portions of the chocolate cake he brought, Alpine trots into the kitchen, her curiosity overcoming her wariness of Steve. Despite him being a frequent guest, she’s obvious in her avoidance of him whenever he’s here. It doesn’t matter how many toys or treats he brings, she still considers him with suspicion and makes her displeasure clear.

Last week he had even brought gourmet cat treats from an organic pet store, but Alpine refused to even acknowledge them. Steve watches her now with the saddest eyes Bucky has ever seen. He’s really trying — it’s incredibly endearing.

“Can I feed her something?” he asks.

Bucky nudges the bowl of leftover salad towards him. “Go ahead. She loves cucumbers.”

Steve turns his attention to Alpine with a determined focus; almost with the same intensity as when he watches Peter in the simulation rig. Telegraphing his movements, Steve shows Alpine the cube of cucumber in his hand and cautiously lowers it toward her. She sniffs, hesitates, then takes it with a quick nip before retreating a step to chew. Steve’s face lights up and he lets out a triumphant laugh.

It’s too much, too sudden, because in a second Alpine flicks her tail and bolts from the room. Steve’s hand is still outstretched, his expression crumpling so quickly that Bucky has to bite back a grin. Steve turns back to him, concerned and forlorn.

“She took it,” Bucky encourages gently, pouring hot water over the grounds. “That’s a big step. You’ll wear her down eventually.”

“I don’t want to wear her down,” Steve pouts, leaning against the counter and looking at the empty space she left.

Once the coffee is ready, Bucky carries the cups into the living room and Steve follows with the plates of cake. The warmth of the kitchen follows them into the cozy atmosphere of the living room. Two lamps provide a soft glow, the rest of the living room is lit by the lights outside on the street. Bucky loves how summer stretches on so late into the evening. He’s sad he missed the sunset — too distracted with Steve in the kitchen — but twilight lingers at the edges of the living room window. Almost within his grasp.

They balance the dessert plates on their knees, practiced from several similar evenings like this of late. The cake is decadent enough for Bucky to hold back a moan as he bites into it, catching Steve’s eyes and making him blush.

“Natasha recommended this bakery. Said it was the best kept secret in Manhattan. Swore me to secrecy,” Steve says, swallowing down a bite.

“Swore you to secrecy, huh? Guess I should feel honored you’re breaking protocol for me.”

Steve buries his smile into his coffee and then he’s the one moaning and licking his lips.

“Wow, this coffee is incredible,” he marvels. “Where did you get it?”

“Well, uh, Sam and Riley brought it back from their honeymoon.”

Steve’s face falls. “I mean it’s not that great. A little too bitter maybe.”

Bucky snorts, though he’s touched that Steve’s siding with him. “You don’t need to do that, Steve. It’s fine. It’s nice of them. I’m not bitter, and neither is that coffee.”

“No, it’s really amazing. I was trying to—” he clears his throat. “It’s good coffee.”

Steve swallows, chewing at his lip as if he’s trying to consume his thoughts instead of letting them free. Bucky takes pity on him. He knows he’s not very forthcoming about his relationships, he rarely talks to Peter about any of them either.

“You can ask,” he says gently. “I know my situation isn’t very common.”

Steve considers it for a moment, as if he’s weighing up the opportunity. “You were with Sam a long time?”

“Nine years,” Bucky says. “We’ve been broken up for three, so it’s not a fresh wound or anything. I’m over it.”

For the first time in a long time, it sounds like he’s not trying to convince himself. That’s progress.

“So Pete was young when he met Sam.”

“He was four and having a meltdown in a grocery store. It was one of those bad days where nothing was going right, and then Sam showed up and talked him down while I tried not to cry in the cereal aisle. He was being nice but I was exhausted and snapped at him. A couple of weeks later, we ran into him at the park and I apologized. It kinda grew from there. Peter loved him instantly. Sam is easy to love.”

Despite his exploits when he was younger, Bucky hadn’t been looking for love when he met Sam. He was busy trying to keep his and Peter’s heads above water. But Sam came into their lives when he was needed, and in the process handed Bucky a lifeline.

Their first dates were with Peter tagging along because Bucky hated leaving Peter if he didn’t have to, and Peter had been struggling through a phase of not sleeping well. Sam’s patience and compassion, however, came in spades and he had nothing but time for both of them.

Bucky knows he took that for granted many times. He kept putting off defining things, kept pushing away his feelings and used Peter as an excuse for why things couldn’t get serious, even as Sam spent more with them and took on caretaking responsibilities.

They loved each other, but Bucky knows that it alone would never have been enough because Sam deserved more than half of Bucky’s attention.

“It took me a long time to accept that Sam was sticking around. I’m talking two years before he sat me down and told me he was all in. Peter had already lost so much, and I had barely adjusted to having him when Sam came into our lives, and I didn’t want to have to do it all over again. If I have one regret, it was not believing in Sam from the beginning.”

“And now?”

“And now…” Bucky tips his head back and sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck in regret. “I got complacent. Took everything for granted because it was easier. We were a unit and I had someone who could do half of everything. Peter was taken care of so I focused on work and growing my business. We used to have so much to talk about because Pete was going on playdates or he had a science project, but then…”

“It became about Pete?” Steve correctly surmises.

Bucky moves the plate of cake off his lap, shifting on the couch and rubbing his fingers nervously on his thigh. He hates talking about the ways he let Sam down because he knows how much of it was down to his own hesitance. Steve puts his plate onto the coffee table too, leaning forward slightly to give Bucky his full attention.

“Yeah. It’s not like Sam and I were at each other’s throats, but we had less to say to each other that wasn’t about trading off parenting or work. Sam is a communicator, likes to talk things out. He wanted more commitment, wanted us to spend time together, and mentioned wanting to adopt Peter. It felt too big. I said I needed to think about it and it was okay for a while.”

“Until it wasn’t.”

Bucky winces slightly at Steve’s astuteness and takes a long sip of his coffee to give himself a moment. He stretches out a leg, swirls the coffee in his cup and lets the ceramic warm his hands.

“I would have married him but it would have been wrong to. By then, we were back to being distant and he’d started a new job with new people to talk to. He liked to spend time with them, and my business was growing anyway, and Pete had extracurriculars and friends. It wasn’t a big fight when it ended. I don’t think it even surprised us.” He takes a breath. “It was the right choice for both of us. That’s undeniable.”

“How did Peter take it?”

Bucky’s gaze drops to his hands, knuckles pale where he’s gripping his coffee cup. “Ah, that was different. He was twelve, thirteen then? He took it hard so we tried to make the transition as smooth as we could. Sam and I were still friends and we were co-parenting. I made sure both Sam and Peter knew that they could see each other whenever they wanted.”

“Do you miss him?”

“I miss… the stability. Sam’s a great father, and Riley is a nice guy. He really is. It hurt when Sam told me they were getting married. They’d only been together eighteen months then. I guess I was envious that Sam got his life together so quickly. That his life was better without—”

His voice trails off, the unfinished thought hanging between them.

“I was mostly hurt because Sam flourished after the split while I stood still. Now I’m staring down forty, Peter’s going to college in a couple years, and I have no idea who I am outside of that. I guess that’s what hurts more than anything — feeling like I focused on the wrong things at the wrong time.”

There’s a long pause and Bucky watches Steve’s lips twist in thought.

“So, do you date much?” Steve asks after a few moments.

“A little, over the last year or so. Pete spends every other weekend with Sam so… sometimes I have a date then.”

He risks a glance up at Steve to find him still watching his expression carefully. Bucky’s cheeks warm at the admission of something he hasn’t told anyone. It feels embarrassing for people to know he’s looking for someone.

“No-one special?”

“No-one that stuck. When most guys find out that I have a teenager, it’s pretty much a dealbreaker. One guy even told me to call him when Peter was no longer my responsibility, can you believe that?”

Steve’s eyes widen with disbelief. That conversation still horrifies Bucky when he thinks about Fred — with his meticulous goatee and cyclist calves — acting as if Bucky would let Peter blow out his 18th birthday candles and boot him out of the apartment for a guy.

“As if I could ever choose a boyfriend over my son. I would choose Peter every time; it’s not even a hard decision.”

“It’s their loss. Peter’s a great kid. How does he feel about you dating?”

“He doesn’t know. The first few months, Sam and I were trying to be friends and maybe it was confusing for Peter. He didn’t take it well when Sam told us about Riley, but he eventually came around. I don’t want to disrupt things again for him.”

“He’s older now. I think he’d understand.”

Bucky shakes his head. “So much of his life has changed, Steve. Not just being a teenager, but this whole Avengers business. He puts so much pressure on himself to do everything. I want one thing in his life to be steady.”

“Doesn’t mean that your life has to stop,” Steve says with an easy shrug, though it drops something heavy between them.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but the thought gnaws at him all the same: Peter’s already been hurt once, and the idea of him going through that kind of heartbreak again twists something sharp in Bucky’s chest. He knows how breakups can hollow someone out and make even the safest places feel unsteady. If keeping his own life quiet and uncomplicated — even lonely — means sparing Peter that kind of pain, Bucky will take it without hesitation. He survived it once in the rural emptiness of a town in Indiana, he can do it again.

It’s better for Bucky to carry the silence than watch Peter stumble under the weight of it.

“I was in love with my best friend.” Steve says it reverently, almost as if he might be saying it out loud for the first time in decades. “His name was Arnie. We even lived together.”

Bucky can’t stop the way his eyebrows shoot up remembering the period Steve grew up in, though he does his best to correct it as quickly as he can.

“Oh, was that— did you get in trouble?”

“It wasn’t too out of the ordinary, really. Hard enough to rub two nickels together to get a room let alone an apartment to yourself. Lots of boarding houses, y’know? When everyone else was at war, it was harder to stay inconspicuous.”

“Did he die in the war?”

Steve shakes his head. “Arnie and I had different ideas about how to help. I wanted to go out and fight, but he thought we could help more at home. Neither of us could enlist, no one wanted us, which suited him just fine. He wore glasses anyway, his eyesight was shit. We’d fight a lot about it — enlisting, I mean. He was pretty pissed when I signed up to Erskine’s project. By then, we were mostly broken up anyway, but he wrote me while I was out there.”

“And now?” Bucky prompts. “What happened to him?”

“He was still alive when I got out of the ice. Once I got over the shock, I looked him up. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing when we reunited!” Steve grins, his face splitting wide with a laugh. “His eyesight is still shit.”

“Wow, that’s incredible that you got to see him again.”

“Yeah, he’s 96 now and lives over in Oregon. Four kids, can you believe? Two from his husband’s first marriage and two adopted. They have ten grandchildren. One of them even lives in Philadelphia with her wife.”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he takes in Steve’s clear joy. Steve doesn’t look upset, at least not outwardly. There’s pride in his eyes, something warm in the way he talks about Arnie’s life now.

“Are you upset?”

Steve sighs, the grin dimming slightly but the warmth remaining. “I’m happy for him. He got everything he wanted and deserved. It wasn’t easy for him at all, especially for a long time. He had to hide who he was for decades, and he lost a lot of people. But he kept fighting and changing the landscape for the better, so maybe he did the right thing fighting at home. I don’t regret going off to fight; we both made our choices. I think either way, we probably made the right ones. We ended up where we were supposed to be.”

“Even if you missed decades of each other’s lives?”

“Even then. See, Arnie fought in my memory. He loved me enough to eventually stop hiding who he was and make sure people in future generations didn’t have to.”

Bucky swallows thickly, as if the time he spent hiding from his own self have bottlenecked in his throat.

“And he loves his husband and his life, and I’m so proud of him. He had so many opportunities to tell people who he was to me, but he didn’t. Even if I was gone, he never exploited our relationship. I’m not exactly out publicly; only the people close to me know. I wouldn’t deny it if I was asked, but I don’t think it’s anyone’s business either.”

He shrugs, as if to shake off the weight of it, but his eyes linger on Bucky. There’s no need for Steve to explain further because Bucky already understands.

Outside, twilight has transformed into night, the streetlamps and store signs vibrant with life and filtering through the living room windows. The heavy conversation between them softens, morphs into something else.

Something electric.

Something that only seems to emerge when he is with Steve like this.

“So… we’ve had the exes talk.”

Steve leans back, stretching out comfortably against the couch cushions, his thigh nudging against Bucky’s. He watches Steve’s fingers dance their way to the back of the couch cushion and rest behind his head.

“Uh, I guess we have.”

“And dinner was really nice. The coffee and the dessert.”

“The dessert you brought,” Bucky reminds him.

Steve nods absently because his gaze is fixed on Bucky. Though intense, it doesn’t make Bucky shrink or feel pressured. There’s something grounding about having Steve’s blue eyes set on him.

“Feels like we’ve kinda had a couple of dates, which is weird because I don’t recall asking. Or being asked.”

Bucky manages a nervous laugh as he breaks from Steve’s gaze and focuses on the chipped edge of the coffee table to give himself a moment to breathe.

“You’ve got to tell me now if I’ve been reading this wrong, Bucky.” Steve’s voice is low, hypnotic, but laced with the faintest edge of worry.

Bucky’s hands are fixed to his lap, almost careful not to breathe as he feels Steve’s hand drag closer to the back of his neck from the couch.

“Bucky?” Steve prompts in a half-whisper, so quiet that Bucky almost misses it on account of his heartbeat racing.

“You’re not reading it wrong.” Bucky finally braces himself to look at Steve, seeing relief shine through the glint in his eyes. So blue, so bright. “I… I think I was afraid to ask in case I’d misread things.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m thinking that maybe I should have asked.”

Steve’s thumb softly brushes against the nape of Bucky’s neck, running under his hair. Anticipation buzzes between them, the atmosphere alive with something Bucky can’t define yet, but feels right.

Expected.

Inevitable.

Bucky’s eyes move to behind Steve’s shoulder where he sees a photograph of Peter at 12 — holding up his science fair ribbon with his arm around Bucky’s neck. Sam took the photo, one of the last good family days before the breakup — and he shudders.

He can’t do that to Peter again.

“I have a son,” Bucky says. Steve’s eyes go from focused to confused in seconds.

“Another one?”

Bucky shakes his head and forces out a thready chuckle.

“No, just the one, but… it’s not been easy between us lately and I can’t help but think that he needs me more than ever. I like you so much, Steve, but I think maybe I should focus on Peter for a while. I’m sorry.”

Steve’s hand retracts like a shot, and the distance between them on the couch becomes a gulf, breaking the tension with an unsatisfying twang. Shit.

“I understand,” Steve says, like the saint that he is.

Bucky knows how this goes. He’s been here before with a date with flirty touches and suggestive tones. And sometimes it works because Bucky knows it’s a two-date situation and some fun under the covers when he has the apartment to himself.

Other times, he thinks it might be more, but then Bucky brings up his teenage son and his hopes are dashed when the flirting stops and his date makes excuses because that’s not the kind of ‘Daddy’ role they were interested in.

Steve knew Peter before he knew Bucky. Bucky doesn’t have to worry about dropping the P-bomb. In fact, Bucky is pretty sure that Peter is the reason why Steve’s interested — they talk about other stuff, sure, but Peter’s always their touchstone.

But Bucky ruins every relationship that he’s in, and sometimes he can still feel Peter’s underlying blame for Sam leaving them.

(Sam left Bucky — mutually — but Peter was the one that got left, and Bucky is pretty sure he’s not forgiven for that.)

He’s not going to do that to him again.

It’s just that he got caught up in this fantasy of being wanted again. Steve makes him feel more than just Peter’s disappointing father. Steve saw past all Bucky’s failures and it has been so easy to forget about why they met. Especially in moments like this when they are two adults who feel a spark ignite between them.

It’s been so long since Bucky felt one of those. Steve has a way of putting Bucky’s anxieties to rest. He listened to Bucky talk about his mistakes in parenting and his relationship, and he assured him that he wasn’t ruining Peter’s life.

It’s nice to hear that.

Steve’s too far away on the couch, Bucky misses him immediately but he knows he’s doing the right thing. Shutting it down before they can name it. Before it becomes something that they can’t run away from.

“I should go,” Steve says, getting up from the couch.

“Steve—”

“You’re right. Peter comes first. He should. He comes first for me too.”

Steve moves toward the front door, the weight of the evening hanging in the room. Bucky follows, words catching in his throat until he forces them out, low and rough.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hovering just behind him. “I didn’t mean to shut you down like that. I just… I can’t.”

Steve pauses with his fingers on the doorknob, turning back.

“You’re fine, Bucky. It’s okay. You’re a good dad. I understand. I should have read the room.”

“You read it right,” Bucky assures, his hand flexing uselessly at his side. “I want it too.”

He may as well admit it because they got close, but the timing just isn’t right.

The timing is never right.

Bucky steps forward, needing Steve to truly understand just how much he was wanted. God, Bucky wants all the time.

The space between them shrinks, the hallway light spilling over their shoulders, halo-like over Steve’s hair and casting him in a glow, while everything else is swallowed into the shadows.

Steve steps closer too, his gaze steady and unyielding. Every inch between them buzzes like a live wire, Bucky’s heartbeat pounding in his ears as static thrums in the air.

“We’re not going to give in… because…” Bucky’s voice falters, the words trailing off as the distance between them becomes unbearable. Steve’s lips are right there. So close and Bucky can’t stop staring at them. “Because…”

“Of Peter,” Steve’s lips move and it takes a few seconds for it to register in Bucky’s ears.

“Peter… yeah.”

“So, I’m going to go.” Steve says, still standing by the door. Not gone yet.

Bucky is too caught up in Steve’s eyes, in the smell of his cologne, the tinge of coffee on his lips to do anything more than stare. Finally, Steve takes half a step back.

The door is not close enough. Bucky is closer. Steve is going to leave and they’ve agreed they’re not going to do anything stupid, but Bucky thinks maybe they can have both things. Hasn’t he tried so hard to be a good dad? Peter is growing up; he doesn’t need Bucky anymore but Bucky needs… Bucky wants…

“I’m gonna go,” Steve repeats dumbly.

“Okay.”

Bucky reaches but it’s not for the doorknob, it’s Steve’s shirt and suddenly there is no distance between them. The halo around Steve’s head breaks with the movement. Now the coffee is something that Bucky can taste from Steve’s tongue, all dark and rich.

The back of his head hits the wall behind him at the same time that Steve nips at his bottom lip, and his brain explodes with the two sensations. Steve’s body is warm against his as he crowds Bucky’s space, hands coming up around his neck to pull him in closer and voice muttering a soft ‘sorry’ for either the bite or the wall.

Bucky doesn’t care.

He just wants Steve to keep doing what he’s doing. He doesn’t want even a millimeter between them. Now that he has him close, Bucky is desperate to keep him there. Knowing that Steve has been wanting this too — this line that they’d faintly drawn between them — makes everything feel right. Maybe Bucky has been waiting for this for a while.

Maybe this is how it is supposed to be.

“I, um,” Bucky starts as he finally pulls away, but he doesn’t know what he wants to say. He just wants to keep kissing.

Steve looks at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips. There’s a small frown, like maybe Bucky thinks it’s a mistake, but Bucky shakes his head and pulls him back into his orbit to reassure him that he doesn’t want to stop.

“This okay?” Steve asks through a kiss to Bucky’s jaw. Bucky can only nod.

“Please don’t stop,” he mumbles, his head hitting the wall once again. Steve huffs a laugh and rubs the back of Bucky’s head.

“Couch?” he suggests.

The couch is good. The couch was where they were ten minutes ago where they laughed and flirted and Bucky told him about his dating life, and Steve’s thigh kept touching his, and was telling him he understood. The couch was where they drank coffee and ate dessert.

The couch is also where Peter threw up once when he was eleven. It’s where Sam sat Bucky down and told him that they should end things. Bucky is far too old for make outs on the damn couch.

“Bedroom,” he decides.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up a little but his eyes glint in desire. “Yeah?”

Bucky nods before he can change his mind. Not that he wants to change his mind. He wants Steve. Steve wants him. They’re adults. They’ve been heading this way even if they’ve only just acknowledged it.

It feels inevitable.

What about Peter? His brain reminds him. But Peter’s old enough to understand, and importantly, he already likes Steve. It’s not some random guy that Bucky met and is trying to bring into his life.

Peter will just be glad it’s not on the couch.

“Yeah.” Bucky says, already tugging Steve towards his bedroom, where the mattress was replaced two years ago so it doesn’t hold memories anymore.

This is Bucky’s room and Bucky can do whatever he wants in here with whoever he wants.

Steve kicks the door closed behind them.

Chapter Text

When Bucky wakes early the next morning, there’s an unfamiliar weight next to him and he’s too warm. He kicks out a leg from under the covers and slowly turns to look to his right.

Steve is lying beside him, frozen on his back as Alpine stands on his chest staring down at him with suspicion.

“Good morning,” Steve says slowly, as if they’re dealing with a dangerous creature.

Bucky sits up, gently shooing Alpine away. She hisses and purposely treads over Bucky’s legs as she jumps off the bed, waiting at the threshold of the open door instead.

“Uh, are you okay?” Bucky asks Steve, voice rougher than he's used to.

“It’s my fault. She got in when I went to the bathroom. I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“She’s just mad that you’re on her side,” Bucky assures. Alpine makes a whine from the doorway as if to argue back. “Was she bothering you for long?”

“Just twenty minutes.”

“I’m sorry. She’s not usually like this.”

Steve’s face falls, and Bucky feels awful. Well, he feels a lot of things right now. He hadn’t given much thought about what he and Steve might say after last night, but apologizing for his cat’s bad manners was low on the list.

He rubs his eyes in an attempt to fully wake up and figure out if he’s supposed to reassure his bedmate or his cat first.

“I think she’s hungry so I’ll go feed her and let you…” he trails off.

How is he supposed to finish that sentence?

Let you sleep? Well, that implies Bucky wants Steve to stay, but what if Steve doesn’t want to?

Let you get up? That implies that Bucky wants Steve to leave, which he isn’t sure he does.

Bucky asks Alpine this very question in the safety of their kitchen. She’s in a better mood now that she’s getting her breakfast a whole hour earlier, and Bucky reminds himself not to give her a treat for her rude behavior.

He collects the cups and dessert plates left in the living room and dumps them in the kitchen sink, as if he could also rinse off the events from last night. He sets up the coffee maker, even though he could happily go back to bed. Maybe he can; he’ll take two fresh cups of coffee into the bedroom and then he and Steve can talk.

Bucky desperately needs a shower. He breathes into the cup of his hand to smell his breath and crinkles his nose — coffee and chocolate cake are not good combinations for the morning. The coffee maker clicks off, but before he can serve it, footsteps appear at the threshold of the kitchen.

Steve is dressed in last night’s clothes, creases from where they were discarded in a heap. His hair has been pushed back with wet fingers in a hurried attempt to style it back into place, but there’s a stubborn cowlick that refuses to obey. Despite how his fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans look so good on him even at five-thirty in the morning, he clearly looks like someone who hasn’t been home yet.

“Um, are you leaving?” Bucky wonders if Steve can hear the disappointment in his voice. Stay, had apparently been what he’d wanted.

“Yeah, I need to get back. Tony left a bunch of messages for me. He was up all night working on something so he’s over-caffinated and overworked, which is a bad combination if I don’t get back before he crashes.”

Steve looks at Bucky, well, no. He’s looking in Bucky’s direction, but he’s not looking at Bucky.

“Do you want coffee?”

“I would, but I really need to go.” Steve’s eyes land on his jacket, bent over the back of a dining chair. “Thank you for last night. I had fun, and I think we should talk about it. About this. Us. Can you come by the Tower later, maybe at lunch?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, yes. I can do that.”

Steve steps forward, hesitates a moment, but presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek before picking up his jacket.

“I’ll see you later.”

Bucky doesn’t walk Steve out. He’s left standing in the kitchen in his boxers, with an ache in his jaw and a horrible case of bedhead. Alpine jumps onto the counter and he doesn’t even have the energy to tell her off or complain about her awful breath.

He looks at the pile of dishes in the sink, thinks about the laundry he has to do now, and wonders how exactly his life got so complicated.

***

Bucky seriously contemplates cancelling on Steve four times before noon. A made-up client meeting, an emergency car service, a flooded kitchen… he keeps dreaming up scenarios that could conceivably give him an out so he can postpone the ‘what we did’ conversation a few more hours or days even. He wants to crawl back under his covers and hide away from the world, but he can’t because they’re in the washing machine, no longer smelling like Steve.

Look, Bucky is no stranger to these conversations. They suck every single time, especially lately when it’s clear the relationship — dalliance, hook-up, whatever — has a short shelf life, and he doesn’t want to waste anyone’s time on trying. He’s barely young enough to still have casual fun without it being sad or pathetic, but he doesn’t want the same outlook he did in his youth, nor the regrets or lost time that came with it.

There are responsibilities in his life, and he thought he would have settled down forever by now, but that went out the window a few years back.

It wasn’t exactly like this with Sam. There was a clear date offered, dinner and a movie, and there wasn’t even any sex until the fourth date. It was romantic and it felt how all the movies told Bucky it would feel. There were markers of milestones and stages, even if Bucky had hesitated and not picked up on all the clues, Sam had sat him down and had most of those conversations with him.

Steve… god, Bucky doesn’t even know where to begin. He likes Steve a lot. There’s no point in denying that Bucky isn’t attracted or hasn’t been enjoying the past few weeks. He just didn’t say anything because it was Steve. The man has been through so much already, and he has kindness radiating out of his body; he doesn’t deserve Bucky’s mess of a life. There’s a webbing of grief that surrounds everything Bucky touches — too many losses, too many memories, too many things left unsaid.

And yet.

Steve looked at him last night like he only saw the Bucky free of those. He had dusted away cobwebs with kisses and, for a night, Bucky hadn’t thought about anything else aside from what Steve wanted to give him. Bucky would be lying if he said he hadn’t already been thinking about it in the back of his mind, shoved somewhere between his mounting bills and Peter’s college fund. It was something Bucky tried not to allow himself to seriously consider because Steve didn’t need the baggage that Bucky comes with: a teenager he shares with his ex, parents he doesn’t speak to, and a failing business.

But Bucky doesn’t quit easily even if he’d like to most days. And today is definitely a day he wants to.

Instead, Bucky is standing outside Steve’s office door trying to gather the courage to knock. He takes a steadying breath, braces himself for an awkward conversation — then the door opens with Steve on the other side of it before Bucky’s knuckles can even touch the door.

“JARVIS told me you were outside.”

Steve plasters a grin and Bucky hates that he knows that it’s his media smile. He steps inside when Steve lets him in, and follows Steve to the small seating area.

They stand, hovering beside the loveseat. Steve is gnawing at his bottom lip, red and bitten just like this morning. Bucky swallows.

Six hours ago, Steve's lips were swollen because of Bucky. They're still because of Bucky now, but for different reasons.

“Thanks for coming, Bucky. I know we didn't get a chance to talk this morning,” Steve is stumbling over his words, clearly trying to find the right phrasing.

“You had a meeting,” Bucky supplies as an out. Steve bites his lip again.

“I’m sorry for leaving without talking to you. Tony has been insufferable since the rig broke, and I—”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, hands fidgeting. Bucky braces himself for the rejection.

“I’ve been out of the ice for four years, and sometimes when I wake up in a place I’m not familiar with…” He sighs, but it comes out more as a frustrated groan. “Sometimes when I wake up, I think that it’s happened again.”

It takes Bucky a moment to understand what Steve is saying.

“You mean… you think you’ve gone into the future?”

“I know that it’s unlikely, but my brain doesn’t know that. I wake up and panic, and I hate it.”

“And that happened to you this morning?” Bucky follows.

Steve nods, swallows something down and answers, voice thick. “I just didn’t know where I was for a few seconds.”

“Is it because we slept together?”

“Stress, not enough sleep, too warm,” Steve lists off, “or my brain just flipped on me. It hasn’t happened in a while.”

“Steve, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not you. I needed to tell you because I didn’t want you to think that I regretted it. I don’t. Tony gave me a good excuse to clear my head and remind myself that I’m here. That you’re here too. It sounds so dumb.”

“It’s not dumb. Brains can be weird sometimes.”

Bucky hesitates, wonders if he should tell Steve that sometimes he dreams of stopping Ben from sneaking out that night. Or maybe that he talks to Richie in his dreams: apologizes for what he said in their final conversation, regrets the way he refused to talk to him for only telling the truth.

But this is about Steve and his troubles.

“Thanks for telling me. I slept through it but you can wake me up next time—”

They both look up at the same time, staring at one another at Bucky’s words. Bucky stutters for a moment, but Steve lifts an eyebrow in interest.

“Next time?”

“Yeah.” Bucky shakes out the tightness in his chest, his body loosening in a good way as he thinks about it. Confirms what his subconscious apparently knew all along.

And how he does want a next time.

Silence stretches out between them, both unsure exactly what happens next. Whose move it is.

Bucky can't stand long silences.

“I’m not in love with Sam,” he blurts out before he can think better of it.

Steve’s mouth opens, then shuts again. He swallows hard, eyes flicking away before he gives a small nod.

“Yesterday, you said you missed the stability… I wasn’t sure if it meant you still—”

Bucky shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s just awkward when I’m around them. Sam and I were never really friends the way he and Riley were before. We knew each other for two weeks before our first date, so I don’t know how to be friends with him. But I want to be. Not just for Pete, but for me too.”

He presses his lips together. Talking about his ex is probably not what Steve wants to hear right now. There’s a flicker of discomfort in Steve’s posture, his hands are tucked tightly into the pocket of his jeans, a light frown on his face as he tries to follow along.

“It’s been three years, Steve,” Bucky continues, softer now. “I’ve moved on, he’s moved on. There’s nothing there except memories.”

Steve studies him for a beat, then asks, “So, you’re not jealous of Riley?”

“Yes and no.” Bucky replies with a shrug. “I’m jealous that he fits with Sam better than I ever did. I’m jealous that they already look like the perfect family. I’m glad that I got the years with Sam and Peter that I did, but that’s in the past.”

“You can’t go back.”

“I wouldn’t want to.” Bucky meets Steve’s eyes. Certain. “I want what’s in front of me.”

“I would like that.” Steve catches his bottom lip in his teeth for a moment, before breaking out into a faint smile. The uneasy expression is no longer there on his face, he almost looks shy beneath the admission. “If you’re looking for a relationship.”

Well. Now that they know where they stand, Bucky lets himself bask in the warmth of Steve’s words, of what last night sparked between them. For a moment it’s tempting to simply lean in and let himself fall.

But this is not the beginning of something just for them; Peter’s heart is tied to his, and Bucky needs to protect them both. He doesn’t want to rush into anything that he’ll have to walk back if it goes sideways. If this fizzles out and turns out to be nothing.

“I think maybe we should keep this… between us. For now,” he hastens to add. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Steve nods but his hands are still stuck inside his pockets, as if he’s forcing them there to hold himself back.

“You know it’s nothing to do with you, right? It’s not you.”

“Bucky, I understand. You have Peter to think about, and I have considerations too. That being said, I guess I should be honest with you too about what I want from this.”

Bucky’s pulse hammers. He had spent so much time thinking about his conditions, that he never even stopped to consider that maybe Steve had his own. He swallows hard, waiting for whatever Steve will say next.

“I’m happy to keep this quiet until you’re ready to tell Peter, but it’s important that you know that I want to date you. If we’re going to see each other, I want it to be for real. I know what you said about guys not sticking around because you have a son, but I already know him. Peter’s great, and I’d like to think that he’d like me to stick around. I want you to want me to stick around.”

“You want to date me?”

Bucky’s heart feels caught in his throat. He would have taken a casual fling if it was what Steve wanted; he didn’t want to ask for more from someone who was already giving him and Peter so much of his attention.

At that, Steve smiles; the real one that Bucky knows. “Well, I really like you.”

“You do?”

And Bucky knows he’s fishing a little, testing the waters and wanting to hear it from Steve’s mouth again and again and again. As many times as he can.

“Really really,” Steve repeats, standing up straight and pulling his hands out of his pockets to extend one hand towards Bucky. “I’ve had an insane crush on you since you walked through the door that day.”

“Oh, when I could barely say a word because I’d met an Avenger and found out my son was lying to me?” Bucky keeps his voice light as he walks into Steve’s space, adds a pout for good measure because they’re not talking about that. Not really.

It works; Steve’s cheeks are pink and he’s so much closer than he was a moment ago, blue eyes trained on Bucky’s lips. Slowly, his fingers grab hold of Bucky’s belt loop to pull him closer. Bucky barely has time to register the ease at which Steve’s able to pull him in before Steve’s lips are on his, kissing that pout away and making Bucky forget how anxious he’d been for this conversation. Steve’s hands are warm from his pockets, leaving heat where he touches over Bucky’s neck and jaw as he brings their lips together. Bucky could easily get so addicted to the feeling.

Kissing Steve doesn’t feel the same as kissing Sam used to. Obviously. For the most part, kissing Sam had felt steady.

Steve isn’t like that. It’s the crest of a rollercoaster, when Bucky feels suspended for a breathless second as the world tilts and anything feels possible. Then the plunge: air rushing, pulse racing, a freeing and exhilarating release.

Maybe Bucky had been holding his breath for years, and a kiss from Steve knocked it out of him in a dizzying gulp, reminding him that he’s alive.

No, not just alive — like he’s finally living.

Bucky hadn’t noticed before, but Steve is smiling into the kiss, as if kissing Bucky is the best thing he’s done all day.

Steve pushes them backwards until the edge of the loveseat brushes against the backs of his legs. Bucky lets himself sink down, pulling Steve with him so their mouths never break apart. Steve follows easily, the cushion dipping as he settles and deepens their kiss.

Minutes slip by in the hush of the office. A phone buzzes once on Steve’s desk, ignored. The office hums quietly around them, the buzz of the city forgotten far below them. For a while, neither of them moves, content to sit in the warmth they’ve created.

Bucky laughs under his breath, the sound muffled against Steve’s shoulder as he leans back into the loveseat. Steve stretches his legs out, one arm draped casually along the back of the couch, fingers brushing against Bucky’s hair every so often like he can’t help himself. Bucky lets the silence linger, tracing the seam of Steve’s shirt with idle fingers.

“So… are we still young enough to call each other ‘boyfriend’ or is there an age limit?” Steve asks.

Bucky fights through his blushing at the endearment. He’s never had someone want to commit to him after one date. And a half, if this one counts.

He’s about to say ‘partner’, but then that does sound too committed and he stops himself from falling too fast. He can’t forget he has responsibilities, even if he is essentially showing up for a booty call during his lunch hour.

Are booty calls only at night? Maybe this is an afternoon delight. Do people still say that?

“I can hear you thinking,” Steve interrupts, and Bucky realises with some shame that he hasn’t responded to Steve’s question, and now he’s wincing at him. “Did I move too fast?”

“No, no.” Bucky puts a reassuring hand over Steve’s chest. “I was just trying to think. I think ‘boyfriends’ is great. I’d love to be your boyfriend.”

The goddamn blushing is back; it just happens now that his feelings are returned. An automatic response that he wants to indulge in.

“So I can come over?” Steve grins, toothy and adorable. Bucky’s heart grows another size at the sight. “Climb through your window like Rapunzel?”

“Ah, but Rapunzel was inside. The prince was outside,” Bucky corrects, enjoying the way Steve’s eyes shine back at him. “You’re the prince if you’re climbing in.”

“Guess that makes you Rapunzel,” — Steve teases and tugs on Bucky’s hair — “for good reason.”

“You’re very funny.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Any other jokes you’ve got in that mouth of yours?”

Bucky can’t help it. It doesn’t make sense, it’s not the smoothest of lines, and he’s probably very bad at disguising what he really wants… but from the glint in Steve’s eye, it’s working. And, really, that’s all that Bucky cares about right this second.

“Not jokes,” Steve says, eyes locked on Bucky’s, a hand running intentionally down Bucky’s chest as if they’re not in his office at noon on a weekday.

Steve presses another kiss to Bucky’s lips and then against the shell of his ear. Maybe he says something cheesy or maybe it’s something filthy that Bucky will recall later and blush over, but there’s just electricity buzzing in Bucky’s brain, firing throughout the circuits of his body and making him come back to life.

He never wants anyone else.

***

For the next few days, Bucky can’t stop smiling. It’s ridiculous — insane, really. He’s thirty-eight years old with a mortgage, but he feels like a teenager all over again. He’s constantly about fifteen seconds away from doodling Bucky hearts Steve all over his notepad. His emails are full of invoices and reminders, he needs to get groceries tonight, and yet…

And yet, he doesn’t care at all. He only cares about the next time he’s going to see Steve. It’s been a long time since Bucky has had a crush, and boy, is it a crush. He’s alive with it from the tips of his fingers all the way to the ends of his toes, there’s a current crackling through his body, sparking thoughts of only stevestevesteve.

“What’s wrong with you?” Peter’s voice is dripping with adolescent disdain, which is his default these days.

“Hm?” Bucky rolls his head towards his son, who stands with his backpack hanging off one shoulder, which he’s been told not to do so many times because it may look cool, but back pain by the time you’re 30 is not.

“You’re being weird.”

Bucky straightens a little and shrugs. “I’m just in a good mood.”

Momentarily, he worries that it’ll invite more questioning, but Peter has lost interest (or at least lost his headphones, which he loudly complains about). Bucky doesn’t want to hide things from his son, but treading carefully is the only way he can navigate this change. Yet another in such a short space of time.

It had gone so badly when Sam first introduced Riley, who’d come in too strong, trying too hard, acting too familiar with Peter. Peter had refused to give anything more than clipped answers, deciding to only communicate through scowls and complaints. The entire thing had been a disaster, even if it wasn’t really about disliking Riley himself.

He doesn't want Steve to go through that too.

A shot of webbing breaks Bucky’s immersion as it latches onto a small box on the table and then snaps towards Peter by the door.

“They were on the table the whole time,” Peter grumbles. “Right in front of you.”

Bucky sighs unhappily. The past week has been one of the best of Bucky’s life, but Peter’s been struggling since Tony ripped into him after the rig. Even plans with his friends are doing little to improve his mood, though Bucky hopes it’ll at least be a distraction from the incident with the simulation rig.

The thing is, Bucky hates that thing. He doesn’t like watching Peter cycle through scenarios that could conceivably happen. If Bucky has learned one thing in the past four years — especially the last few weeks — it’s that there are infinite unknowns that he can’t possibly prepare for. Peter is preparing to fight whatever comes; Bucky can’t help with that.

That’s why Bucky finds himself standing outside Tony’s office at the Tower in the early afternoon with a last minute appointment squeezed in. Steve stands in silence beside him with his arms folded. Their shoulders brush lightly, just enough contact to ground Bucky while they wait to be called in.

“Five minutes, Barnes,” Tony beckons as his office door opens. Bucky walks in and drops into the chair opposite Tony’s desk. Steve stands a few feet behind them, hanging back in silent support as an arbitrator, waiting to gauge the temperature of the conversation.

There’s a pinched look on Tony’s face, annoyance reverberating through his entire being. Bucky can sympathize, he doesn’t want to be here either. Tony isn’t hiding his irritation; it’s probably the purest emotion Bucky has ever seen him wear. The issue with Peter has clearly cut him deep too.

“If this is about the rig, Barnes, save it. I don’t have time for another lecture. Your kid wanted to play supersoldier and he got a taste of reality. I’m the one with the bill and at least a month’s worth of repairs. End of story.”

He waves a dismissive hand, refusing to look up from his computer. Bucky stiffens but he forces himself to stay calm.

“I’m sorry about the rig, but this is about the way you’ve been freezing him out all week. My kid is miserable; I’m not going to let that continue.”

Tony finally glances up, eyes narrowing. “Miserable? Congratulations, he’s officially a teenager.”

“Peter crossed a line, but he owned up and he accepted the blame. Now it’s your turn to let him off the mat.”

“Well, I’m all out of gold stars today. I’ll print him off a certificate for ‘Played Nice’.” Tony swivels in his chair, eyes flicking back to his screen as if the conversation is already over. “Kid screws up, says sorry, and suddenly everything’s sunshine and rainbows again? That’s not how the world works. Trust me.”

The words are sharp, dismissive, but underneath the barb there’s the faintest edge of discomfort. Bucky can tell that Tony’s masking his own hurt and taking it out on Bucky, pushing him away with sarcastic jabs instead.

“Tony,” Bucky bites out, “he’s only sixteen. He made a mistake, a very big one, but he also apologized. I know you aren’t a parent and I have no idea what you were like as a teenager so I can only imagine. But in my house, if someone says ‘sorry’, you forgive them. I don’t like seeing my kid hurting or being unfairly punished.”

“He disobeyed specific instructions.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you. He could’ve hurt himself, but if you don’t see that he’s trying to make amends, then what’s the lesson here? He won’t learn anything by being shut out. If this is about money—”

Tony makes a tsking sound, rolling his eyes. “It’s not about money. I built that rig to give him something he can use because of the restrictions other people were insisting on. You won’t let him train at the compound, you won’t let him patrol around Manhattan or come on missions. This was supposed to give him something as close to real, but he blew it.”

“So let him make it up to you. Ask him to help fix the rig. Give him a chance to prove himself. Freezing him out won’t do anything except make me resent the hell out of you.”

Tony smirks. “What? You’re going to pull him out if I don’t play nice?”

“In a heartbeat. I won’t let anyone make him feel like this. Shit, if I have to train him myself, I will.”

He expects the condescending look that Tony gives, but Bucky doesn’t back down. As much as he hates Peter being Spiderman, he won’t hesitate to help if Peter needs him.

It’s what a parent does.

“God, I can’t think of anything worse,” Tony mutters before exhaling hard. “Fine. He can help me fix it. Maybe he can learn something along the way.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says, sincerely. “But this needs to come from you so he knows you’ve forgiven him. He doesn’t need to know I got involved.”

Tony shakes his head, half a smile on his lips but otherwise simply looking exhausted.

“You hover too much, Barnes. But I’ll give you this… the kid is lucky you care this hard.”

That’s that. Tony dismisses them with a sharp wave, and Bucky doesn’t waste time leaving. Steve falls into step beside him, the two walking silently down the hallway away from Tony’s office.

The familiar sight of Steve’s office is welcoming after the chill of Tony’s. Inside, Steve moves to lean against the edge of his desk, eyes tracking Bucky carefully. Bucky stands in front of him, shoulders slowly relaxing as the breath he’s been holding finally escapes in a rush. Frustration and anxiety bleed out with it, leaving him raw and exhausted.

“Do you think that was okay?” he asks, eyes flicking up to Steve and bracing for his judgment.

“It went well,” Steve agrees, encouraging. “You did the right thing.”

“I hope Peter sees it that way.” Bucky leans his head on Steve’s shoulder, then pauses, lifting it back up. “Is this okay?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, it’s fine. I like it.”

Bucky leans his head again and, this time, Steve’s hand runs up and down his back soothingly. It’s warm and exactly what Bucky needs right now.

“Come home with me?”

The question is muffled between their bodies; somehow, it’s braver for Bucky to ask like this. Because, despite the fact they’ve slept together twice and are boyfriends, it’s still very new. He’s still trying to figure out what parts of Steve he can ask for.

“I got called to the compound for a few days,” Steve says, apologetic. “Back on Friday.”

“Pete’s having a Lord of the Rings marathon at Ned’s this weekend.”

“Well, then I know where I’m going when I get back in town.” He presses a kiss to the side of Bucky’s head, so casually affectionate that Bucky’s chest aches with the absence of it these past few years.

“When do you leave?” he reluctantly pulls back to look at Steve.

“In a coupla hours,” Steve tells him, leaning back and bracing his arms on the desk. “I don’t want to go.”

“Can’t you stay?”

“I wish I could, but I haven’t gone up in a while. Natasha’s getting a little antsy. She keeps calling herself a single mom.”

“Who else is up there?”

“The twins, Vision, and Clint, so you can see how she might be going crazy. Nat’s my second in command, and she’s usually got it, but I’ve been pretty distracted lately.” Bucky grins at him, dopey and pleased. “The compound is gonna suck a little more now I know I have you waiting in Queens for me.”

Steve’s hand finds itself in Bucky’s hair. In response, Bucky tentatively reaches for Steve’s waist, questioning. Steve clicks his tongue fondly.

“You don’t need to ask to touch me, Buck.”

Buck. Something warm lands in Bucky’s chest at the way Steve says it — like it’s always been his to use. To keep. It’s amazing how quickly Steve can find the cold spots of Bucky’s life and fill them so effortlessly. Steve is the sun pulling him into his orbit and radiating warmth until Bucky feels like it’s spilling out of him too.

Bucky puts his hands where he wants them, at the narrowing curve of Steve’s waist that’s a marvel all on its own, and squeezes softly in want. Steve drags him closer so that Bucky’s legs are bracketed by his open ones against the desk.

It’s a shame that Steve has to leave so soon at the start of this relationship they’re still shaping, but maybe it’s a good thing. Bucky craves Steve now that knows he can have him, and he can feel himself sinking deep into it.

A few days to breathe would be good for both of them.

Steve’s hot breath ghosts over Bucky’s jaw, nipping at the skin there in teasing not-kisses. It might leave a mark. Reluctantly, Bucky pulls his face back so he can kiss Steve properly.

Two hours before Steve spends two days away. They’ll have to make it count.

***

After her previous transgression, Bucky would have assumed that Mel had learned to knock before entering. However, the front door swings open and she breezes in with the confidence of someone who stopped asking for permission long ago.

It’s Thursday afternoon. Peter is with Tony, happily rebuilding the rig, apparently more of a perk than a punishment. For Bucky, it means hours alone with nothing to do but miss the people he wants to spend time with the most. Summer used to mean Peter was the one sprawled across the couch in his worst outfits seeking the breeze of the open window and watching TV. Even Alpine has abandoned Bucky to sleep on the cool bathroom tile instead of her favored place on his lap.

Bucky is on the couch, not even bothering to pretend to be working today — Steve is due back tomorrow and the hours are stretching on in these endless summer days. He’s wearing his oldest pair of basketball shorts, the ones he never lets anyone but Peter and Alpine see.

Mel swans in, unannounced and unexpected, with a set of files under her arm.

“These were mixed in with my stuff,” she tells him, plopping the folder down on his desk without even a ‘hello’. She looks at him and then at his outfit. “You look relaxed.”

“It’s summer.”

Her eyes dart around the quiet apartment. “Where’s Pete?”

“Out.”

Mel pauses, eyes narrowing like she’s working something out. Bucky tries to push it away before she starts chasing her suspicion.

“You’re too calm,” she says slowly. “Summer makes you cranky.”

“No, it doesn’t!” he lies.

(He absolutely hates the summer.)

“Usually you’re grumpy about something.” Bucky rolls his eyes at her, but feels her still assessing him.

“You’re imagining things,” he says.

Her stare feels suffocating, oppressive in the same way that Bucky hates about the summer. She’s still working him out, trying to see what’s different. He shifts under the weight of it, wishing she’d let it go. Then her eyes suddenly widen, her finger stabbing the air at him urgently.

“You’re seeing somebody!” Mel accuses. Bucky blinks back at her, his cheeks already heating up at her accusation.

“Uh— what? No?”

“Don’t lie to me, Bucky. I’m in college, I absolutely know what that dopey look on your face means.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re smitten,” she diagnoses with a satisfied nod. “I’ve known you for years! I’ve read all the romance books and seen all those Hallmark holiday movies. My friend… you. are. smitten.” She punctuates each word with a tap on his arm.

Bucky scoffs. Smitten?

“That’s not a thing. That’s for gir—” He cuts himself off, “for kids! Adults don’t get smitten.”

“Then why are you so red? I bet you even had imaginary hearts coming off your head and birds singing in your ears.”

The birds were very chirpy today but Bucky isn’t going to tell Mel that.

“Is it Steve?” She prods. Bucky knows there’s no point in trying to lie because his face flushes and Mel’s chocolate brown eyes are narrowed in on him. “It is!”

“Look, it’s new…”

Mel is already pulling out her phone. “Oh my god, Peter must be thrilled. I gotta ask him. I bet he—”

“Wait, Mel, hey!” Bucky lunges forward, managing to snatch her phone out of her grasp. “Peter doesn’t know.”

Mel tilts her head curiously at him, unbothered about having lost her phone. Bucky’s cheeks are still warm, but this time it’s with something else. Shame, maybe, that the person who means the most in the world to him doesn’t know this.

“It’s complicated. Steve is someone Peter looks up to, and it’s still really early. I don’t want to rush it. Plus, Steve is,” — he makes a gesture in the air, Mel seems to understand what it means — “so it’s a lot.”

“But you will?” Bucky hands back her phone and she tucks it away with a frown on her face.

“When there’s something to tell. We’ve been on two actual dates.” He thinks, then amends, “Two and a half.”

“I mean… you’ve spent a lot of time with him. Surely Peter would have noticed if I’ve noticed.”

Looking away from her, Bucky shrugs. “He doesn’t exactly know how much time we’ve been spending together.”

The only thing nearly as bad as Peter’s disappointed face, is Mel’s. Her eyebrows are more expressive and eyes even bigger. She looks like a Pixar character when she gives him the most cartoonishly pitiful look.

“Bucky,” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest, “you’re already in it. Stop pretending you’re not.”

Bucky shakes his head. He knows Peter. He’s not going to wreck this relationship before it’s even begun. Sam made that mistake a few years ago, but now Peter loves Riley. And sure, Steve has a headstart with Peter, but it doesn’t mean that Bucky should rush things.

He has an actual boyfriend for the first time in three years. He’d like to keep it that way.

“Peter is adjusting to a lot of things right now. The internship is taking up a lot of his summer; I just want him to focus for a while.”

“And then you’ll tell him? Because Peter is pretty sensitive about stuff like this.”

“He had a tough week so I’m letting things settle before I bring it up.” Mel arches a brow at him. “I will bring it up. I’m also trying to figure stuff out with Steve.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to keep it quiet, but you know how I can’t always keep my mouth shut around Peter.” Mel pouts at Bucky. “It would be nice if you could sweeten the deal.”

“I’m not paying you, Mel.”

“Who said anything about money? There’s only one thing I want and only one person who can provide it,” she says with a knowing look.

Bucky sighs but can’t help his fondness for her. “I’ll ask Steve if he can make the tiramisu again.”

Mel grins, happy and placated. That sweet tooth gets her in trouble, but it also gets her out of it. She assesses him again, kinder this time, and then puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You deserve this, Bucky. Peter’s gonna be so happy for you too. I just know it.”

Bucky smiles at her, but the weight of the secret drags down the corners of it. He wishes he could believe it as easily as Mel can.

***

“Hey, wake up.” Bucky opens an eye as Steve puts a reassuring hand on his arm, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

Sharing his bed again is something Bucky will have to get used to, but he doesn’t find it as much of an imposition when it’s Steve. The addition of someone else next to him, their body heat, legs tangled, and soft snores in his ear — all things Bucky had gotten used to living without. He hadn’t realized just how quiet his nights were until recently.

Steve is leaning over, waiting for him to wake up properly. In the dim light of the dark room, Bucky can make out the shadows of a smile.

“You okay? Need anything?” He asks.

“It’s almost five in the morning,” Steve tells him. “C’mon, let’s go to the roof.”

At the suggestion, Bucky frowns. He’s tired and he only got to sleep maybe three hours ago. True to his word, Steve had come straight to Bucky’s apartment where there was lasagna and a lot of romance waiting for their third official date.

“Why do you want to go to the roof now?” The end of Bucky’s sentence is eaten up by a yawn. “We can go later. Get back to sleep.”

Steve presses another kiss to his shoulder before resting his chin on top and giving Bucky what can only be described as Prince Charming eyes. Fuck, he’s in so much danger.

“Because someone told me that I should see the roof garden at sunrise. Kinda had the feeling he was dropping a hint by talking it up so much.”

Bucky can’t hide his smile despite his exhaustion. “I’ve actually never seen it. I was just trying to flirt with you,” he admits.

“Well, it worked,” Steve replies easily, a hand pulling at the bedcovers. “Let’s go. It’s supposed to be a nice day today.”

Bucky rubs his eyes, watching Steve slip into a pair of shorts. It’s so early.

“Can we come back to bed straight after?”

“Sure. I have to leave at eight, but we can nap for a bit. I’ll even make you coffee.”

Steve leans over, pressing another kiss to Bucky’s lips and then a pair of shorts into his hands for him to wear. Bucky doesn’t really have much choice after that.

It’s been too long since Bucky last came up to the rooftop. He’s used to ringing in the New Year with everyone bundled in heavy coats against the cold as they toast glasses and watch the fireworks. Bucky knows this garden in the bite of winter, warmed by string lights across the rooftop, champagne bubbles and potluck dishes in his stomach.

Now, pressed shoulder to ankle with Steve as they share a sunlounger, the warmth comes from the person next to him and the morning air as the city wakes up. Bucky’s hands are tucked under his shirt, sleepily watching the sunlight illuminate the planters arranged carefully around the garden. He’s memorised the layouts, having helped Mel and the residents’ committee plot each planter meticulously: lavender and rosemary in the middle, marigolds and petunias brightening the edges, tall grasses at the back.

“What’s that one?” Steve points.

“Geraniums,” Bucky replies through a yawn.

“Are you lying?”

“No, I helped Mel research. They help keep bugs away so we planted them near the herbs. They’re my favorite.”

Bucky studies the bright colours of the geraniums. Mel jokes that they’re only Bucky’s favorite because they’re low-maintenance, and maybe she’s not totally wrong. They’re steady, like he tries to be. Practical. They do their best with what they have.

He points to another planter. “And there used to be begonias in that patch but they were too hard to manage so we brought in more lavender. We wanted flowers that the bees would love.”

Steve hums beside him, eyes half-closed, looking peaceful and at ease as the pinky-orange hues of the sun soften his expression. His eyelashes look long under the shadows and Bucky lets himself settle against his side, relishing the quiet.

“Thank you for bringing me up here. I liked watching the sunrise with you.”

“I did too.” Bucky yawns. “We don’t have to do this again, do we?”

Steve laughs, the vibrations deep in Bucky’s ear. “No, sleepyhead. We can go back down.”

When Bucky wakes up next, it’s almost ten and Steve is gone. His heart sinks at the empty space in his bed and the lack of goodbye. He regrets making such a fuss about being woken up earlier, because he would have wanted to see Steve before he left.

He turns and sees a thermos of coffee on his bedside table with an accompanying note.

Watching you sleep is better than the sunrise. Coffee in the thermos for you. Have a great week. See you soon - S

PS: I fed Alpine

The grin that grows on Bucky’s face takes over and he has that giddy rush again that only comes from being around Steve. He reads the note again, fingers tracing over the final ‘S’ before placing it back gently on the table and turning over, pulling Steve’s pillow against his chest.

Bucky buries his nose into the fabric and swears it’s like Steve is still here. He lets himself drift back off to sleep, unwilling to get up and face the day without Steve in it.

Before he can fully fall back asleep, there’s a slam of the front door, the sound of a backpack hitting the floor, and the unmistakable footsteps of a teenager running down the hall. With a groan, Bucky kicks off the bedcovers and drags himself out of bed, heading towards the kitchen to seek out his son and adjusting his t-shirt to hide the mark at his collar.

“Hey, you were still in bed?” Peter asks, casting his eyes over Bucky’s outfit and glancing at the time. “Ned’s family went to church like an hour ago.”

“It’s Sunday, the universal day of rest. How was the sleepover?”

Peter shrugs. “Fine. The usual.”

“What did you do?” Another shrug. “Come on, at least give me something.”

“Teenage stuff, I don’t know.” Peter busies himself with poking around in the fridge. He pulls out a container. “Is this lasagna?”

“Yeah.”

“You had lasagna without me?”

“There’s plenty left,” Bucky points out. “We have enough for dinner.”

Peter is pouting, lifting up the lid of the Tupperware until Bucky shakes his head and takes it away.

“You’re not having lasagna for breakfast.”

“But I’m hungry,” he whines. “I’ve been up all night.”

“What did you eat at Ned’s?”

Peter just shrugs again and this time Bucky doesn’t hide his annoyance. “Okay, well, there’s bread and there’s cereal. I think some eggs.”

His son slides into a dining chair instead, chin propped up on his hand and eyebrows sloped pitifully.

“It’s Sunday — can we have pancakes?”

Bucky sighs. Usually they would have a back and forth about it and maybe thirty percent of the time, he would win, but Peter looks exhausted and in need of a pick-me-up, and Bucky, though tired too, has actually had a great morning.

“If you make up the batter while I shower, I’ll make pancakes.”

And Bucky knows he’ll come back to flour over the counters, probably in Peter’s hair and in Alpine’s fur, but he’s relaxed and happy and his son wants to spend time making breakfast with him.

What’s the point in refusing him anything?

***

The air conditioner in the conference room hums along happily. Bucky taps his pen against the legal pad in front of him as Tony goes through the specifics of the repairs needed for the rig. Peter sits next to Bucky, his expression carefully schooled into looking chastened, though Bucky can sense the underlying excitement under it from both being out of Tony’s doghouse and getting his hands on the engineering of the rig. He’s leaning forward, eagerly listening to all of Tony’s ramblings, while Sam and Riley try to keep up on the opposite side of the table. Steve’s chair is on Bucky’s other side, not close enough for his liking, but they’re doing their best to avoid too much eye contact.

It’s a secret, after all.

Bucky lets himself relax. Usually these meetings make him feel so tense, but today something heavy has lifted off of him. Peter is happy, Sam and Riley are happy, he knows Steve is happy. Even Tony isn’t as grating as usual. Even the constant mentions of the rig don’t worry him too much.

For once, holding things together doesn’t feel so hard.

“Moving on. Can we discuss Peter staying at the compound for a week at the end of July?” Tony asks. “It’s just upstate so within our agreed remit of travel. It’s completely secure, he’ll be safe there.”

“We’ll be in Delacroix last week of July and first week of August,” Sam informs the room. “Can he go another time?”

Tony frowns. “Ah, Thor is only on Earth that week. We’d really like Peter to get a chance to train with him.”

“Thor is coming?” Peter’s glee is evident, turning to Sam and Riley with pleading eyes. “Can I go, please?”

“We always go then. It’s tradition. The flights are already booked.”

Bucky doesn’t miss the edge in Sam’s clipped words and the tense line of his jaw. He’s attuned to his moods, and it’s clear how hard Sam is working to keep his tone measured, even if his face betrays him.

Peter tries anyway. “Well, maybe I can come later?”

“You’ll miss AJ’s birthday.” Sam tilts his head sharply at Peter, as if he’s trying to convince Peter to drop the argument through his eyes alone.

Peter has been at every single one of AJ’s birthdays. He was in Delacroix when AJ was born, Bucky remembers holding Peter’s hand as they walked through the hospital to Aunt Sarah’s room with balloons. AJ was the first baby that Peter ever held.

“Dad?” Peter’s pleading eyes — and that of everyone else in the room — turn to Bucky for the final word on the matter.

He looks around, at Riley who is clutching Sam’s hand on the table, at Tony’s folded arms, at Peter’s big doe eyes, and Steve’s steady gaze. He avoids looking directly at Sam.

For a moment, Bucky feels the ground slant beneath him, caught between his loyalty to both of them. Sam tries to hide it, but Bucky knows that he’s feeling hurt; family is important to the Wilsons, almost as important as keeping promises. Peter’s hopeful expression tugs Bucky the other way.

The room feels too warm now, the air conditioning too loud in his ears, the sun glaring through the tall windows and bouncing off the glass table to make Bucky squint. He swallows, wishing that someone else could make the call because there’s no easy compromise here.

One of them will be hurt.

“I think that it’s too good of an opportunity for Peter to miss,” he says. Sam lets out a disappointed huff. “Peter can join you and Riley in Delacroix in August.”

“We’ll even send the quinjet,” Tony offers, but Bucky shakes his head.

“Commercial will be fine. We don’t want to draw attention.”

“Peter will need parental supervision,” Steve says, purposely not looking in Bucky’s direction and focusing on Sam. “There’s plenty of rooms, and maybe it’ll be good for you to see what kind of facility we have.”

“We’ll be in Delacroix,” Sam replies stiffly. He’s not going to bend, and Bucky can feel Sam’s disappointment that Bucky did.

Bucky clears his throat and addresses Sam. “I can go. Then I’ll take Peter to the airport for his flight.”

Tony nods. “Then it’s settled. Peter and Bucky will be at the compound for a week and then go ahead to Delacroix.”

Bucky opens his mouth to clarify that he won’t be going onto Delacroix, but Steve scratches his head and shrugs.

“I’ll be heading back to the city after, so I could take you guys to the airport. I can drive Bucky back to Queens. I don’t mind.”

“Alright, I guess Steve is there for the week too. Anyone else want to tell us their travel commitments?” Tony rolls his eyes and moves on. Bucky tries not to smile at the offer of company.

The meeting finishes soon after. Bucky avoids looking across the table at Sam as much as possible. Peter is thrilled — he has the rig repairs and now a week at the compound to look forward to. The sulking from the other week is gone and replaced by his usual enthusiasm.

Tony beckons Peter to join him with the rig repairs, while Steve bids them a good afternoon and leaves Bucky with Sam and Riley in the conference room. Riley stands against the wall as Sam approaches Bucky.

Bucky knew it would happen the moment he voiced his vote for the compound.

“Are you sure about this, Bucky?” Sam asks.

“He’s not going on his own. I’ll be there.” Bucky injects as much reassurance as he can muster for Sam’s benefit.

“I know, but— I don’t know. I thought you’d be on my side.”

“We all vote in what we think is in Peter’s interests. You saw how he lit up.”

Sam tenses his jaw. “I thought we wanted to keep things normal for him. He loves Delacroix.”

“Yes,” Bucky replies firmly, “and he’s still going.”

“That’s not the point. Since when did Avengers stuff come before family stuff? You’ve already let Tony rope him into fixing the rig, and now this?”

Sam and Riley don’t know exactly why Tony offered Peter the opportunity to fix the rig, they don’t know it has Bucky’s fingerprints all over it, and he hopes that they never do. It’s between him, Tony and Steve.

“Sam, what do you want me to do? You heard them: Thor is only around for a week. Pete goes back to school in a month. You get him for two full weeks in the summer. Even I don’t get him for that long these days.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“No, I’m just making a point. He’ll still be there with you guys as planned, but it’s clear this is something he wants to do so I’m going to let him do it.”

Sam exhales sharply, nostrils flaring with annoyance, but trying not to let it boil over because Sam hates when his frustrations get the better of him; Bucky hates that he’s the reason for him feeling this way at all.

“Fine, if you’re saying that it’s in Peter’s best interests, then I’ll accept it. Don’t expect me to be happy about it though.”

Bucky nods once, more to reassure himself than to answer. The air in the conference room between him and Sam feels thick. Bucky can feel Riley’s eyes watching them from across the room, giving them the space to talk but silently supporting his husband. Bucky is used to navigating this alone, he is, but he’s also acutely aware that he isn’t really on his own. Steve is there too. In a few minutes, when all of this is over, Bucky is going to go back to his apartment and, in an hour, so will Steve.

Most of all, they’re doing this for Peter. Bucky is certain he’s making the right decisions.

Chapter Text

If Bucky ever misses having an office, he only has to remind himself of the perks of working from home. For one, no commute means more time to cook and get on top of his chores. Second, he can wear shorts and walk around shirtless when the AC gets knocked out. Third, Alpine makes a pretty good co-worker even if her job mostly consists of sleeping when Bucky wants a distraction.

The newest perk, however, is that Bucky can invite his boyfriend over in the middle of the day. Steve’s hours are flexible like Bucky’s, and he’s quick to escape the Tower to spend his time with Bucky instead.

With Peter indisposed these days with helping repair the rig, patrolling, or hanging out with his friends, he’s more often out of the apartment this summer than at home. And Bucky would miss him — he does miss him — but he can’t be too lonely when he has Steve in his space to distract him.

(Alpine, on the other hand, makes her thoughts about it very clear. The coffee knocked into Steve’s lap was targeted.)

Bucky wakes to Alpine skittering outside the bathroom and Steve’s quiet voice pleading with her. Bucky shifts his leg and finds only the warm, empty space where Steve had been a few minutes ago. A breeze from the window brushes over his bare skin, goosebumps rising on his arms, but then Steve is back in bed within moments, close enough that Bucky can feel his warmth again.

“She stole my sock,” Steve tells him, but he sounds amused. “Tried to dump it in the toilet.”

“Theft is her love language. She’s warming up to you.” Bucky murmurs, not quite ready to move when he can stay tangled with his boyfriend for the afternoon.

He thinks they can squeeze in a nap before lunch, but Steve props himself up on an elbow and nudges Bucky’s shoulder, a hand dancing across his skin as he speaks.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he begins. Bucky hopes that Steve isn’t going to suggest they actually go for the run they had initially planned. “At tonight’s meeting, Tony’s gonna suggest Peter comes on a recon mission with us to Phoenix.”

Bucky snorts softly. “Well, that’s an easy no. Thanks for giving me a heads up.” He lets his eyes drift closed again, but when Steve’s thumb stops tracing circles over his shoulder, he looks up.

“I’m telling you now because I’m going to vote in favor.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow as he sits up, pushing away the covers and Steve’s hand. The words land heavy. It feels… transactional. His chest tightens, suspicion souring the lazy afternoon that he thought he would be sharing. As if the tenderness Steve had shown him earlier was simply a set-up to this.

“Is that why you told me after we had sex? So I’d be more agreeable?”

It comes out accusatory. Bucky can’t help it. Not when fear is beginning to scratch at his throat, begging to come out. He can’t shake the thought that Steve had planned it like this — coming over before their run, kissing Bucky into bed, softening him up before dropping this landmine between them. The idea gnaws at him, curdling in his gut and sinking the chill from the open window down into his bones.

“Hey, hey, that’s not what this is. I didn’t want—” Steve exhales softly, pushing Bucky back to the bed when he tries to get out. “Sweetheart, that is not what’s happening. Can you just hear me out?”

Bucky’s jaw tightens as he resists, palms pressing against the mattress as he pushes himself back up. He draws his knees protectively against his chest instead.

“I’ve made it very clear that I don’t want Peter going on any missions, particularly across the country.”

“I know you did. I completely understand why and I respect that, but it’ll be good for him. He’s getting bored and restless. There’s only so many simulations we can run, and Peter needs more real world experience.”

“That’s what the patrols are for. That’s why you’re taking him to the compound!”

“Stopping petty crimes and saving cats are different to a real mission and being on a team. He has to work on his stealth skills. In case you haven’t noticed, he talks a lot.”

Bucky doesn’t laugh, but Steve reaches out anyway, his thumb brushing along Bucky’s chin before giving it a gentle lift and coaxing his gaze back. His voice comes out softer.

“Come on, I’m telling you now because I think it’s important for both of you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah, because I think you should let him go.”

“Because I’ll be outvoted,” Bucky determines.

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know about Sam and Riley, but Peter, Tony and I will be voting, and I really think Peter would appreciate you trusting him.”

Bucky’s mouth twists unhappily, the unease creeping back in. He doesn’t feel as blindsided as earlier, but the timing still nags. There’s a long pause where all Bucky can hear is the noise from the street outside and the sound of his fingernail scratching at the sheets. Sheets that the two of them just had carefree midday sex in — all the while Steve knew he was going to ask this.

It rankles.

“I’m sorry that I told you after we slept together,” Steve apologizes, like he can read Bucky’s mind. “I didn’t mean for it to work out that way. I wanted to tell you when I got here, but you were looking so good in your running shorts…” Steve runs a gentle hand over Bucky’s bad shoulder down to his elbow.

What unsettles Bucky most is the thought of Peter being dragged into something he isn’t ready for. He was mentally preparing for their week at the compound — still a few weeks away — not this.

But Steve seems to think Peter is ready.

“Do you really think I should vote in favor?”

Steve’s hand slides to cover Bucky’s, steady and reassuring.

“I do. Patrols aren’t enough anymore. He needs to learn how to work with a team. I think he’s ready for it and he’ll have enough back up. It’ll be good practice before Thor comes to the compound.”

Bucky wants to have the same belief as Steve does; he sounds so confident about it, but Bucky’s instinct has always been to be cautious when it comes to Peter. Sharing responsibility for Peter’s well-being with one person was hard enough, but sharing it with four others is a completely different monster.

Peter is growing up. He has his own opinions now, his own desires and secrets, and Bucky just wants to keep up. Letting go and learning how to be on the sidelines, he knew he’d have to do that eventually, but he thought he still had a couple more years left.

He can’t deny that Steve is right, though; putting his faith in Peter would mean a lot for their relationship. Steve didn’t need to warn him, but he did, because he believed it mattered, and that has to count for something, right? Bucky’s really trying to understand Peter in this new stage of independence, but there’s so much he doesn’t get. The last thing he wants is for that gap to grow into a wedge.

Bucky has been on the other side of a disagreement for almost two decades.

Disagreement.

It’s laughable to act as if it was simply a petty argument between him and his parents. It was his parents rejecting a fundamental part of Bucky’s being. It was their constant derision at his ‘choices’, as if his sexuality was something he just decided upon one day, instead of a slow discovery that helped him understand himself. More than that, he loves who he is.

He loves being a father. Bucky had never imagined himself with kids, not really. His parents were hard enough work, and he was only beginning to come into his own when the accident happened. Peter was another decision that his parents hated — but he was Bucky’s choice. He could have given him up, sent him away to a distant aunt of Mary’s who hadn’t even come to the wedding, and he had pressure from his parents and his friends. No-one thought a 25-year-old who couldn’t hold down a job and liked to party could raise a kid.

Bucky proved them wrong, making choice after choice on behalf of Peter, and he’s proud to say he has done a pretty decent job of it.

And now he has another choice to make.

“He already thinks you won’t go for it, which is why I think you should surprise him. I think he would appreciate your support.” Steve’s voice remains cool and calm, steady in all the ways that Bucky has craved. It helps that Steve’s fingers have resumed running across Bucky’s arm, warm and loving.

Steve’s eyes are still locked on him, a crease in his forehead as he waits for Bucky’s reaction. He is so patient, Bucky thinks. He feels awful for his earlier reaction, the instinct to suspect Steve’s intentions and place blame where there was none. The least Bucky can do is trust Steve, rather than let his own fears spoil something that they’re building.

He forces himself to take a deep breath, all that anxiety and hurt finding its way out of his body and into the air where it can dissipate. Things are changing and change is good, he reminds himself. He’s said that to Peter once or twice — it’s time he started believing it for himself.

“I’ll think about it,” he promises, genuine. Steve softens, pressing his lips against Bucky’s as a reward.

This, too, is a good decision that Bucky has made.

“Are you sure you weren’t just sweetening me up?” Bucky asks, brushing the side of Steve’s hip in an attempt for forgiveness.

“You’re plenty sweet already,” Steve grins into another kiss, relief washing over his features and smoothing over his frown.

“Sweeter than your god awful coffee?”

Steve pouts at him in mock hurt. Bucky takes the opportunity to push Steve's hair back so he can see his face clearly. Shiny and dark blue look back at him. Bucky is so glad to be spending his afternoon like this — to see Steve so vulnerable and honest.

“I thought you liked that about me. You said it was endearing!”

“It is, but a guy can't worry about his boyfriend's cavities?”

He's trying to think of more teasing things to say, but it seems that Steve has run out of patience from the way his hand finds Bucky's thighs and parts them so he can settle his own in between.

Bucky doesn’t think about much after that.

***

That night, after the vote, Peter practically barrels into Bucky, knocking him into the table as he thanks him profusely. Sam and Riley voted against the mission, and were clearly surprised when Bucky voted in favor instead of sending them to a tie-break and ultimately voting no.

It kind of makes Bucky feel smug, like gifting the best present on Christmas.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” Peter chants as he squeezes Bucky so tightly that he might actually have bruised a rib.

“You listen to whatever Steve says, okay? You check in after. No vlogging, no distractions, you’re not allowed to tell Ned until you’re back home. And you do your chores before you go.”

Peter nods, still squeezing, still grinning like it’s Christmas morning. Riley is muttering something to Sam, soothing him with a touch to his arm. Bucky stays where he is, ribs aching but heart lighter than it’s been in weeks. He watches Peter bounce with restless energy and joy, and feels the weight of his decision settle into something steadier.

Steve was right — he needed to do this.

That’s when Steve’s hand finds his, warm and certain. It’s so familiar now but it thrills Bucky still.

“I’ve got him,” Steve assures, squeezing Bucky’s hand and running a thumb over his knuckles, careful that no one else can see. “I promise.”

Despite this, Bucky can’t stop himself from the anxiety crawling over his body as Peter prepares to go the next afternoon. He’s confined to the edges of it all: Peter heads off into a briefing, still bouncing on his toes, then Bucky watches the quinjet arrive with a few Avengers spilling out of the doors, giving Bucky a curious glance but saying nothing. The mission involves a small team made up of Steve, Peter, Wanda, Clint and Natasha.

Without giving him too many details, Steve explains that it’s simple recon, so low-stakes that Peter will mostly be away from the main action. Routine, is the word that’s used a lot. Tony isn’t even going, which Bucky is horrified to find is actually not that reassuring after all.

It’s an overnight mission, back by dawn, radio silence until they’re on their way home, not even GPS available. It’s almost enough to make Bucky regret voting in favor, but then he sees how Peter glows with anticipation and he hasn’t felt this close to Peter since the night the rig broke.

It’s just like camp, Bucky tries to assure himself, even as he spends the evening pacing in the apartment, Alpine trailing after him knowing that he’s restless. She finds it difficult to settle too when he’s like this, but her presence helps more than she knows.

Peter isn’t the only one out there, it’s Steve too. Steve’s been away before, but that was before they were them, and Bucky’s chest aches at the thought of both of them out there facing the same danger.

He eventually settles in Peter’s wingback chair, Alpine taking the opportunity to jump onto his lap as if she can pin him in place with her tiny body. It helps. She’s warm and her soft nuzzling gives him something to focus on that isn’t what could be happening in Phoenix.

The waiting drags, stretching hours and Bucky fights sleep until he finally gets word that they’re on the way back.

The mission is a success. For a stealth mission, Peter seems to have stored up all of his energy for talking Bucky’s ear off as he recounts the details over cups of hot cocoa. It may be summer, but Bucky’s too relieved to have him home to refuse an old favorite recipe of Aunt May’s.

“And then Wanda did something with her hands and the guards fell asleep, like all the people in Sleeping Beauty. Just like this!” Peter does some sort of finger ballet as he attempts an impression of Wanda.

“So what was your job?”

“I had her back! I used my webs to distract the other guards so she could work, and I managed to grab some keys that Natasha needed. It was so cool!” he drags out the ‘so’ to emphasize his point.

“And Steve?” Bucky clears his throat, tries to smooth out the question. “What was he doing?”

“Well, Cap had my back. He was running the mission and he made sure I was doing okay. I think Natasha even got annoyed about it because she swore at him in Russian. I would have been fine without him, but it was nice to know he was there. Don’t tell him that though! I want him to let me go again next time.”

“Your secret is safe with me, bud. I’m glad he was there too.”

When Peter is already on the phone to Ned, recounting the entire story again in precise detail, Bucky settles on the couch and sends a message to Steve.

Bucky: Thank you

Steve: He did well! I barely needed to do anything

Bucky: Not just that. Thanks for talking me into it. You were right

Steve sends a grinning emoji followed by a heart, and Bucky’s own heart swells at the sight of it. He hasn’t felt this content in a long time. Between Peter’s happiness, his growing relationship with Steve, and feeling more comfortable around Sam and Riley, he is grateful that everything is working itself out. It wasn’t that long ago that he was adrift in everything. He still has to figure out his business situation, but now that his personal life is settling, he’s confident that will follow too.

More than anything else, he’s glad that he and Peter trust each other again. It’s enough for him to suggest something bold.

Bucky: Come over for pizza with me and Pete?

He sends the message out with a grin, already mentally planning an afternoon with the three of them. Something that they haven’t really done before, especially not since he and Steve started dating. Peter showers and goes for a nap, and it’s a distraction enough that Bucky doesn’t check his phone for at least thirty minutes.

Steve: Sorry, stuck in debriefing

Bucky: That’s okay. Later tonight?

Steve types, then stops. Types again. Stops. Bucky begins regretting asking.

Steve: Rain check? We have to analyse the data we got. The others are here too so I can’t get away easily

Despite the way that Bucky’s gut is insisting something doesn’t completely feel right, he has no other choice. He has been monopolizing Steve’s time lately, and if the other Avengers are around, then maybe Steve can’t find an excuse to avoid them.

He sets his phone aside, pushing away the disappointment of an imagined evening with both Peter and Steve together in this home. It’s still early though; Bucky should wait until the dust of the mission has settled.

Bucky peeks in on Peter, already sprawled over his bed and fast asleep. He tugs the blanket higher over Peter’s shoulders and brushes a damp lock of hair back from his forehead, relieved that he’s here. The mission is behind them and his kid is back in one piece.

For tonight, that’s more than enough.

***

Everything seems to feel lighter over the next week. The Avengers head back to the compound, there are no further missions for Peter on the horizon, everything seems to be back to normal. Even the tension with Sam seems to have cooled, or at least evened out since the success of the mission. There’s still the compound week approaching, and Bucky knows Sam is still stung about that, but that’s trouble for another day.

Friday nights are fast becoming Bucky’s favorites. If Peter isn’t at Sam’s, like now, then he’s usually at Ned’s for a sleepover. This being one of Sam’s weekends, means that a Friday night date with Steve can easily roll into Sunday.

They’re walking back from dinner in the city — a sushi place that Bucky hadn’t heard of before, but now thinks might be his new favorite. Steve is insistent on paying for everything, which works out well for Bucky because as good as the food was, the prices were not to Bucky’s taste, nor to his wallet’s.

So, it’s one of Steve’s dates and they’re walking hand-in-hand through Washington Square Park like any other couple, full of delicious food and in good moods from the high of a successful week.

“How…” Steve begins, focusing on fixing the edge of Bucky’s collar rather than looking at him. He’s nervous and stumbling over his words. It’s kinda cute. “How would you feel about coming back to my place? For the night.”

“Your place?” Bucky repeats. “As in, Avengers Tower?”

“That’s what they’re calling it these days.” Steve finally makes eye contact, his cheeks faintly pink. “I have my own apartment there. It’s… nice.”

“I think you might be underselling it. It’s in Stark’s building. I know it’ll be fancy.”

Steve groans a little in embarrassment, but when Bucky laughs and presses a quick kiss to the hinge of his jaw, he smiles.

“It’s a little much, but it’s close by. And you’ve never really visited my apartment.”

“For the night, huh? What will we be doing tonight?” It’s not a real question, but Bucky asks it anyway, allowing himself the indulgence of flirting with his boyfriend out in the open.

Steve’s hands run down Bucky’s arms, resting at his waist and pulling him closer.

“Well…” Steve bites his lip, all coy and suggestive. “I’ve got a bunch of dishes in my sink that could use a good scrub.”

Bucky groans at the joke and, when Steve leans in with a laugh, he playfully pushes his face away. “I know you’re teasing me, but it’s annoyingly kinda working for me too. I must really like you.”

His hand finds Steve’s chin and he pulls it towards him to press a quick kiss to his lips. Steve goes in for a real kiss and then another, grin sobered up and something softer there instead.

Bucky can’t help but marvel at how much of everything he feels when he’s around Steve, like his heart is too big for his body sometimes. So much, so soon. It’s only been a little under four weeks, but the high is neverending.

The look on Steve’s face, reverent and grateful as if he’s the one in awe, makes Bucky float even higher.

“I thought I would really like to wake up with my boyfriend tomorrow. I’d like to cook him breakfast, maybe even lunch too.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment. A real adult date. No rushing back for Peter, no worrying about erasing all signs of Steve from the apartment. He’s already envisioning a lazy Saturday morning in Steve’s bed, legs linked together, hands clasped, probably an incredible view from the window.

Maybe Steve mistakes the silence for refusal because he starts rambling a little, trying to give Bucky an out.

“I just thought since Peter’s at Sam’s this weekend, and I know how we spend time at your place usually, but—”

“I’d love to sleep over,” Bucky interrupts, calming Steve’s nerves. He tilts his head so he can look at Steve before kissing his lips. Lips he’s getting so used to kissing in the very best way.

Steve says there’s a private entrance with a private elevator, tells him that the other Avengers are away at the compound and Tony’s got his own private elevator that services his floor anyway.

“Not that I’m trying to sneak you in,” Steve assures as they walk down the hallway, hand-in-hand. Bucky squeezes it in support.

“It’s okay, Steve. I know I’ve been careful about us at my place, so I have no right to be offended if you want to keep it quiet here too.”

“It’s just that they’re nosy, or spies…or Stark.” Steve presses his thumb against a reader and the door slides open. “Just remember this is Stark’s building, and his taste is questionable.”

Bucky steps into Steve’s apartment with a low whistle. The place is as big as he expected — wide windows, polished floors, and the city glittering beneath them. Unlike most of the Tower, it’s unmistakably Steve. There are sketches spilling out of folders, and books stacked neatly on a shelf next to a soundsystem, just like the one in Steve’s office.

But Tony’s fingerprints are everywhere too. The sleek leather couch looks like it was chosen more for style than comfort, and the glass coffee table is the perfect height for knees to bang into. On one wall, a giant TV disguised as a modern abstract painting dominates the space, clashing with the softer art pieces that Steve has put up. The kitchen counters are pristine white marble, the kind that makes Bucky raise an eyebrow because he knows Steve would’ve been fine with plain wood.

Bucky lingers by the window, taking it all in. Steve grins, leaning against the doorframe, watching him with a steady gaze. For all the sleek edges and Tony‑approved upgrades, there’s a comfort here too — personal touches that creep across the apartment as Steve claims it as a home.

“You’ve been here four years?” Bucky asks, running his hand over the marble counter. It’s cold. Nothing like Steve.

“More or less. I had a stint down in DC for a while, but I can’t stay away from New York for too long. Though, if it were up to me, I’d be down in Brooklyn.”

“So, why aren’t you?”

Steve shrugs. Bucky waits for him to say something about it but Steve’s lips press shut, seemingly content just to watch Bucky move around his space. Bucky keeps looking, marveling at the expensive gadgets dotted around the kitchen that most would dream about, but he struggles to imagine Steve using them.

His eyes land on the three dishes in the sink, and he snorts. That’s when he feels Steve move behind him, chin hooking over his shoulder.

“I wasn’t kidding about the dishes,” Steve says against his ear, his hands sliding down Bucky’s sides with deliberate slowness. “I thought you could wear a little apron while you did them.”

“I don’t think it goes with this outfit,” Bucky replies, spinning around in Steve’s hold so he can nip at his lips.

“I wasn’t imagining you in this outfit,” Steve says, voice rough as he squeezes Bucky’s ass, earning a small yelp of surprise. He begins walking them both away from the kitchen and down towards a small hallway; Bucky follows easily.

“Is this how you treat all your overnight guests?” he teases.

“Only the ones I like.”

“Hmm, your hospitality could use a little more work.”

“Noted. The good news is that I’m much better at my bedside manner.”

Bucky’s back hits the wall and he’s faced with six foot three inches of supersoldier in his space, crowding against him in the best way.

Steve presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and then lifts his chin so he can kiss him properly. He breaks away too soon, leaving Bucky to chase his lips in protest. There’s a small chuckle and a click, and Bucky looks over to see that Steve’s opened the door to his bedroom — neat and tidy, lights turned down low and inviting.

This space feels more like Steve. The bed is made up with almost military precision, but there’s a large quilt folded at the foot. The vintage-style lamps glow softly on the flanking bedside tables, two books piled next to an analog alarm clock on one, a small sketchbook and pencil sitting on the other. A small trunk, worn at the edges but well-loved, rests beside an armchair by a window covered with heavy curtains instead of the sleek blinds elsewhere around the building. It’s private — Bucky can tell that this space in particular is Steve’s alone.

Steve kisses Bucky’s palm then wrist as he clasps it, and Bucky lets himself be led inside for a proper demonstration of those bedside manners.

***

Bucky doesn't often dream. He prefers it that way, honestly. His dreams are apt to be awful, leaving him anxious and exhausted when he wakes up.

Tonight, he dreams.

It’s Ben, sixteen-years-old with a mop of curly hair and a dimple at his cheek. He grins at Bucky, urging him to sneak out. Bucky refuses. Ben sighs and walks away even when Bucky tries calling him back in his dream.

Then Peter takes his place. Sixteen with a mop of curly hair and a dimple on his cheek. He’s in Ben’s clothes: blue jeans and a red shirt, but then it’s not clothes — it’s a uniform. A black spider adorning his chest. Bucky blinks in his dream, turns away from the sight.

When Bucky looks up, it’s Richie now. Thirty and dressed in a button down and slacks like he just came in from work.

“You’ve gotta grow up sometime,” Richie is telling him. “You rant and rave about how your parents only live for the church, but it’s like you’re just living to spite them. What if you actually lived your life for yourself?”

A voice replies in a dream version of Bucky’s body. “Just because you got married and had a kid, it doesn’t give you the right to tell me how to live my life!”

The dream version of Bucky is angry, mean. He glares at Richie with a fire that real Bucky doesn’t recognize.

“I can’t keep watching you run on this hamster wheel and pass up good opportunities just because you're trying to prove a point. You’re not a grieving teenager anymore.”

“Why do you even care? You’re not even my brother!”

Bucky tries to speak but it’s as if there’s a muzzle over his mouth, tight and suffocating. He hears the next words echo around him, unable to stop them. Words he has wished he could take back for thirteen years.

“Ben would hate seeing you waste your potential. If he was here—”

“Drop dead, Richie!”

The dream version of him slams a door and he can hear a baby crying, shocked awake by the noise.

Something shakes Bucky awake.

He’s already stirring anyway, the shift from deep sleep to drowsy to awake and alert happening at speed; the same way it would when Peter would wake Bucky up in the middle of the night when he was sick.

Peter.

Bucky’s eyes snap open and he blinks around the unfamiliar room. The voice he hears isn’t though and Bucky turns to see Steve sitting up in bed beside him, shaking his shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

“The Avengers alarm went off,” Steve says, getting out of bed now that Bucky is awake. “I don’t know why but I’ll find out when I get to the hangar. Wheels up in ten.”

Bucky rubs sleep from his eyes, half-watching Steve’s naked form being covered up by clothing in rushed fashion. Steve seems practiced at getting dressed in record time.

“Do you want me to leave?” Bucky asks, already shuffling out of the bed too despite still being able to feel the lingering warmth of Steve’s body. His underwear is at the foot of the bed so he steps into them before looking around for his other clothes.

“No. I don’t know,” Steve admits. His face falls and he stops dressing for a moment, taking two large strides away from his dresser and coming up beside Bucky. He cups Bucky’s face with his hands and pulls him in for a sweet, apologetic kiss. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to be called in.”

“It’s okay. It’s your job,” Bucky tells him.

“You can stay if you want. It’s not even 4am yet. I just— I don’t know how long it could be. It might be a couple of hours, it might be a couple of days.”

“I’ll go home.”

“I wanted to make you breakfast.”

The disappointment is evident in Steve’s voice, and Bucky would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. He was looking forward to waking up with Steve too, watching him in his kitchen, kissing him as he cooked.

“Next time,” Bucky promises and presses a quick kiss to the side of Steve’s mouth as he continues looking for his clothes.

“I’ll get a car to drop you off.”

“I can get a cab.”

“It’s late; I’d rather you let me get you a car. I can have JARVIS get one downstairs in five minutes.”

“Okay, yeah. I’ll get my stuff and you go save the world.”

“JARVIS, get a car ready to take Bucky back to Queens,” Steve says to the ceiling, which will never fail to awe Bucky.

They continue getting ready for the next few minutes, exchanging little jokes and bumping shoulders, and it’s so absurdly domestic despite the circumstances that Bucky gets caught up in the dance. This could be their future. Maybe he won’t need to rush off. Maybe soon he could spend a few hours lazing around in Steve’s bed and waiting for him to get back. He could cook something for after he gets home. Run a bath. Help him get out of his uniform…

It could work. This could work.

Bucky fetches Steve’s shield and hands it off, earning himself a solid kiss for his efforts.

Steve’s smart watch buzzes with a notification as he unlocks the door and steps out first. “Perfect timing, wheels up in five—”

“It’s not like you to dawdle, Rogers.”

Steve turns at the sound of Tony’s voice, an arm protectively out towards Bucky, shielding him from view, but it’s too late.

“I was—” Steve begins, but he stutters and Bucky can feel something else is wrong. His stomach knots, instincts prickling, still unable to completely shake off his disorientation from his nightmare.

He peers over Steve’s shoulder to see an extremely smug Tony looking at them, and beside him stands Peter.

In Avengers Tower.

At four in the morning.

The sight knocks the breath out of him, half-convinced he’s still dreaming. That any moment, Peter will disappear and Bucky will wake up in Steve’s bed again.

But he knows that this is real. The last five minutes were real.

This, now, is horribly and dreadfully real.

“Well, well. I gotta say I wasn’t expecting this. Did Rogers sneak you in? He doesn’t do that very often. Explains why JARVIS didn’t alert him if he turned access off to the apartment. You’ve got a little…” Tony gestures to the hinge of Steve’s jaw with a smirk. “Guess your mighty healing didn’t get to it yet. Unless you snuck in a quickie—”

“What’s going on, Tony?” Steve’s irritation is clear and he changes the subject in warning, a hand pulling up his collar in a futile attempt to cover up the mark on his jaw.

“Movement in the north east so we thought we’d better strike while our intel is still legit.” Tony runs his eyes over Bucky, who didn’t have time to do much more than throw his clothes back on, so he definitely has bedhead and probably a beard burn. “Didn’t realize you had evening plans of your own.”

He’s smirking at them, clearly having the time of his life despite the surprise and the urgency. Bucky can’t even look at him, eyes stuck on Peter’s unexpected presence. Peter’s face is thunderclouds, jaw tight, eyes burning with betrayal.

“Wheels up in four. Steve, we better go… that is if you’ve still got the energy.”

“Tony,” Steve warns, exasperated already.

Peter is staring daggers at Bucky, all his teenage insolence mustered up and finding his sole target. Bucky shrinks under the weight of it.

“You’re supposed to be at Sam’s.”

“I…” Peter huffs out an annoyed breath. “I have a room here. They think I’m at Ned’s.”

“You know that’s not allowed.”

Before Peter can respond, Tony waves his hands. “Look, as much as I’m enjoying seeing Steve mortified, we really do have to go so—” He clicks his tongue and points to the other end of the hallway.

Peter steps forward, but Bucky shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Dad!”

The anger in the word cuts sharp. Bucky’s gut twists, but he doesn’t falter. Peter is not leaving his sight.

“No way, Peter. First of all you lied to me and you lied to Sam and Riley. I don’t think Ned even knows he’s being used.”

“Guys, we really need to go,” Tony urges.

“Yeah, go ahead. Peter is staying here.”

Peter, honest to god, stamps his foot. He hasn’t done that since he was six. “That’s not fair!”

“He’ll be in good hands,” Tony starts, putting one of those good hands on Peter’s shoulder. It doesn’t do anything to convince Bucky. His fists clench at his sides, protective instinct kicking in, overcoming his embarrassment.

“He’s a minor. I don’t know what you’re heading into, but whatever it is, he’s not going.”

“It’s just off the coast of Nova Scotia—”

“He’s not going out of the country. I’m his guardian and I say no.”

Tony apparently decides it’s not a battle worth fighting and nods at Bucky, patting Peter’s shoulder in condolence and gesturing towards the elevators.

“Pete, maybe you should stay back,” Steve offers, but Peter’s daggers aim towards him and he flinches the tiniest amount.

Steve’s attention then turns to Bucky, but in light of the revelations, he simply gives a supportive squeeze to Bucky’s elbow instead of anything more intimate.

“Stay safe,” Bucky murmurs, trying to convey his apologies for the drama the Avengers have had to witness. He really could use a kiss, and from the worried look on Steve's face, he thinks he could too.

“I’ll call when I get back. The car should take you and Peter back home.”

Peter doesn’t look at either of them as Steve and Tony rush off, and then it’s just Bucky left with his son. There’s an awful tense silence that passes, only the hum of the air conditioning above them and the fading footsteps of the two Avengers.

Bucky glances at the top notification on his phone, indicating that Peter is supposedly at Ned’s house.

“You’re grounded. Two weeks.”

“The world might be in danger and you’re grounding me?” Peter scoffs, already stalking off in the opposite direction, as if he’s trying to get as far from Bucky as possible. Bucky follows, but his left shoe is loosely tied and he feels unsteady as he chases after Peter.

In a way, Bucky is grateful that they were caught. The alternative being that Peter ended up on the quinjet before Bucky or Steve could stop him. It’s clear Tony wouldn’t have stopped him.

“What were you going to do? Just go off to Nova Scotia and hope we didn’t notice? This isn’t the deal. You lied to us. What would have happened if you got hurt out there? What happens if what they’re running into goes wrong and you’re alone?”

Peter finally comes to a stop and spins around to face him. The sudden movement makes Bucky halt short, heartbeat hammering at the unprecedented fury in his son’s eyes.

“Right now I don’t think you have any right to lecture me about anything — especially lying.” Bucky opens his mouth, but Peter’s eyes narrow, cutting him off before he can speak. “No, you’ll probably call it an ‘omission’ or something else because you never do anything wrong. You give me all these rules and then go and break them yourself.”

The words hit harder than Bucky expects, shame crawling under his skin under Peter’s glare. He straightens, defensive despite the guilt beginning to prickle.

“I’m an adult! It’s…”

“It’s not different,” Peter snaps. “Promises are still promises.”

“I didn’t promise you anything about who I date.”

“Mr Barnes, Mr Parker, your car is ready downstairs,” JARVIS’ voice calls above their heads.

The interruption does nothing to soften the argument between them. It’s silent for a blissful five seconds. Bucky swallows hard, forcing his voice steady and authoritative.

“We should talk about this at home.”

His son scoffs loudly at him, practically spitting out, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Peter!” The name comes out more as a plea than a command.

“Were you even going to tell me?”

“Yes, Pete. Of course I would have told you when the time was right. Anyone I want to date will be introduced to you when I feel comfortable—” This time Peter’s scoff echoes down the empty hallway, returning back to Bucky’s ears like a slap.

“Until then, you’re just sneaking around.”

Bucky’s stomach twists. He hates the word sneaking, hates how it makes it sound like he’s been betraying Peter instead of protecting him.

“I was going to tell you soon, but you’re never at home. How am I supposed to talk to you about stuff like this?”

“What happened to ‘no more secrets between us’? You made me promise that I’d be honest, and you’ve totally betrayed that! You broke our deal!”

The accusation lands heavy, unflinching in the truth of it. Bucky knows that Peter has a right to feel betrayed, even if he has done his own lying too.

“I was waiting to figure out what it was first! I didn’t want to move too fast. That’s what happens in adult relationships. It’s only been a little while.”

“How long?”

“Three and a half weeks,” Bucky says, not sure why that ‘half’ is important but it feels like it is. Like Peter should know those extra four days. “God, Pete, it’s still so early. This is the first time I even saw his apartment. It’s not like we’re moving in.”

“No, I’m sure I’ll just turn up one day and Steve’s gym equipment will be in my bedroom!”

“Hey, that’s not— stop it!” Bucky’s voice cracks, frustration and fear tangled together. He doesn’t understand why Peter’s first instinct is that he would be usurped, that his place in their home would no longer exist. “That’s not what I meant. Can we go home and talk about this like rational adults?”

“I’m not an adult, remember?” Peter snipes. “I’m still a kid whenever it suits you. You keep tabs on me, I have people watching me all the time, I have to listen to what you say or Dad or Tony or Steve. I don’t get to choose anything.”

Bucky feels the heat crawl up his neck, shame and defensiveness competing for space. He wants to argue, to shut it down, but Peter’s glare pins him in place.

“The rules are there to keep you safe, Pete. They’re there so you can go on missions, which I voted for. You went to Phoenix and I let you go. I didn’t have to.”

“What Steve didn’t tell you is that he messed up the last mission. I overheard Tony and Natasha discussing it because she was complaining. He was so focused on me that he got caught and they had to scramble to get out of there. I saved them, but they were so worried about you freaking out, that they kept it a secret.”

“I didn’t know that.” His voice is low, almost strangled. The idea of Steve hiding something, of Peter being in danger without him knowing, twists his gut.

“Why would you? You’re just ruining my life and calling it ‘protection’, meanwhile dating Steve so he can do your bidding.”

“He’s the one who convinced me to let you go in the first place. I haven’t asked Steve to stop you from doing anything.”

“Well, he’s doing it anyway.”

Peter steps closer, anger radiating off him. Bucky’s chest tightens. He wants to reach for him, to calm him down, but Peter’s fury is an exposed nerve, ready to strike at any time.

“You wanna know why I’m here so late? Because Tony has been helping me develop my powers while we fix the rig. All Steve ever has me do is run simulations and go on patrol. I’m not learning anything because he doesn’t trust me. You don’t trust me.”

Bucky shakes his head. He keeps himself as steady as he can, voice firm.

“Don’t talk to me about trust. You got Ned to spoof your location again.”

Peter narrows his eyes, jaw tensing and nostrils flaring. “It wasn’t him. Tony did it.”

“That wasn’t the agreement!” Bucky bursts, voice cracking with frustration. He hates how desperate he sounds, but the thought of Peter slipping further out of his control terrifies him. The fact that Tony helped it happen brings a new wave of betrayal.

He takes a step forward, but Peter jerks back, shoulders squared like he’s bracing for a fight. The distance between them feels wider than the hallway itself.

“Peter, let’s just go home and talk.”

His son stands in the hallway, hands in fists by his sides. Bucky can feel it creeping closer; every minute that they stand in this godforsaken place, he’s losing Peter.

“JARVIS,” Peter looks up at the ceiling, and Bucky is horrified to see tears in his eyes. Peter drags his sleeve across his nose and sniffs. “Call me a car to take me to Dad and Riley’s.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Peter…” Bucky tries, but it’s too late. Peter’s expression shutters, falling flat. Putting up walls that Bucky can’t hope to break through.

“I’m going home,” Peter says, not looking at him. “You should go to yours too.”

Chapter Text

Voicemail received @ 5:17am

“Hey, it’s Sam. Uh, you probably know already, but Pete’s here. He said he’s staying with us for a while. I just wanted to let you know that he’s safe. Uh, shit… look, I don’t want to talk to your voicemail but if you wanna talk about it, then call me anytime. Pete’s not saying much, but it’s obvious you guys got into something. I’m just checking that you’re okay too. I know how much you hate it when you guys fight.”

There’s a fierce headache pressing against Bucky’s skull, but it’s nothing compared to the ache heavy in his chest. Bucky barely slept, his entire night disrupted by his stupid nightmare, the mission alarm, and then his argument with Peter. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep with the plates he’d tried to keep spinning now smashed at his feet instead.

Steve’s mission. Their relationship revealed in the worst circumstances. Peter being in the Tower. Tony helping him conceal his whereabouts.

Despite his lack of sleep, Bucky waits until the reasonable hour of 7am to call Sam back. As much as Bucky wants Peter home, if he’s with Sam then that’s one less thing to worry about. At least Peter is safe, not in Nova Scotia dealing with whatever Steve and the rest of the Avengers are. He has no idea what it is — it’s radio silence.

It’s not like Peter is messaging him back either, each one unread and ignored.

Bucky takes in a deep breath before calling Sam, unsure of what he knows. Sam picks up on the second ring.

“He’s okay?” Bucky asks in lieu of a greeting. He knows Sam won’t be concerned about that; it’s a crisis. Sam is always good in a crisis.

“Yeah, he’s up in his room. He’s sleeping right now.”

A door slides in the background with a click. Bucky wonders where Sam is right now to shut a door behind him, clearly ready to give Bucky his full attention.

“He got here really early, Bucky. We thought he was at Ned’s.”

The frustrations from last night bubble up on Bucky’s tongue, from the nightmare to the ruined date to Tony being snarky and Peter’s presence in the Tower. He wants to blame Sam, demand why they didn’t know Peter was lying to them either. But Peter often sleeps over at Ned’s even when it’s Sam’s weekend so it’s not out of the norm. They’ve always wanted to show they trust Peter and they do.

They did.

Bucky lets out a deep sigh, bites back the accusation because he can’t fight with another person. Not right now.

“He was at the Tower last night. Apparently, he has a room there now.”

“Yeah, we managed to get a little out of him about that. We had no idea either. I’m pissed and will be talking to Tony the minute he gets back.”

There’s something heavy in the way Sam says it, like there’s something else Peter might have told them about last night too.

“Did you talk to him this morning?”

“A little, when I went to check on him. Made him eat something and shower before he went back to sleep. He’s been up half the night.”

Bucky thinks about the restless night he had too, and nods. They don’t say anything for a moment, the weight of their fallout building.

“Is it true?” Sam finally asks. There’s a strange tone to the question. Like he’s already had time to make up his mind about it.

“Sam, don’t— not right now.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“You’re judging.”

“I am not judging!” Sam insists, tone clearly in the ‘this isn’t a fight’ territory. Bucky forces himself to take a breath. “You up to talking about it? I’m impartial on this one, I swear. As someone who knows both of you.”

Bucky swallows past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know how much of the fight he really wants to relive, but this is Sam. No one else on the planet could understand better.

“What did Peter tell you?”

“That you’re dating Steve. Said he caught you sneaking out of his room and then you got mad about it.”

“He makes it sound… I wasn’t sneaking. I was leaving because Steve got called to a mission. Peter wasn’t even supposed to be there.”

“Which is a conversation I’ll be having with him when he’s calmed down. I just wanted to know from you because teenagers can be dramatic. And, honestly, it didn’t sound much like you.”

How does anyone respond to that? Bucky doesn’t think he’s changed — outwardly, at least — with anyone else. He still feels like the old Bucky when he talks to people, but he can’t deny that when he’s around Steve, he does feel different.

Or did.

“Wait, sorry. That came out wrong. Peter was angry and getting that squeaky voice he gets when he’s upset. I thought he was making it sound worse than it was.”

Bucky can practically hear Sam thinking on the other end; he presses the phone to his forehead in regret. Maybe he shouldn’t have talked to Sam about this. Then Sam lets out a soft breath, as if he’s reminding himself of his promise to be impartial.

“Is it serious?” is Sam’s next question: patient and kind, and only a little prying.

“I don’t know.” It even feels like a lie as Bucky swallows it down. He can’t tell if Sam believes him or not, but after a pause, Sam sighs.

“Okay.”

That doesn’t really tell Bucky much of anything about how Sam feels about the situation.

“I just need to talk to Peter.”

“Maybe give him a couple of hours to cool off first. He hasn’t said much to me except about you and Steve, and the mission you didn’t let him go on. I can be there if you need me, and he knows I’m there for him too. We can fix this but only when Peter is in a space to listen. Riley said he’d help too.”

Sam pauses, letting his words hang between them — a phone line stretched all the way from where Peter is to where he’s supposed to be; Bucky’s only line to him. Sam waits, always patient when it comes to hard discussions. Willing to let the silence fill the space until Bucky squirms under the weight of it.

It’s annoyingly effective.

“Do you like Steve?” Bucky asks.

Sam huffs out a surprised chuckle in response. “I asked you the same question when you met Riley. You said you didn’t know enough about him, but you trusted me. Remember?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know enough about him, Bucky. But I trust you — and that’s more than enough for me.” Sam clears his throat, drops his voice lower, more serious. “Though I’ve gotta ask, were you and Steve intentionally voting the same way? Because you agreeing to the compound felt like it came out of nowhere and then the Phoenix mission just…”

Bucky bites his lip. It’s easy to deny it, to say that he and Steve never discussed any of it. But they had spoken about the Phoenix mission; Steve had forewarned him and encouraged him to think about it, giving him extra time that Sam and Riley didn’t have.

“We talked about Phoenix before the vote. He wanted me to be ready for it and trust that Peter was ready too.” Bucky’s hand grips his phone. He can’t fall out with Sam too. “It wasn’t some plan to outvote you. I could have voted against it if I didn’t think it was the right choice. I don’t need Steve to tell me what to do. The compound was my decision too.”

He hesitates, another admission laying heavy on his tongue, scared to come out because he’s already destroyed the most important relationship in his life, and he can’t sever another. But he needs to be honest — keeping things away from Peter and from Sam is what got him in this mess in the first place.

“And I’m the one who suggested Peter help Tony with the rig repairs. If I’d known that Tony or Peter would take it as blanket permission for anything else, I would never have suggested it. I really trusted Peter.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Sam; it’s almost enough for Bucky to flinch at the sound of it.

“Shit, Bucky.”

“I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“I know that. God, Bucky, you think about that kid all the time. You would never do anything to hurt him.”

Bucky swallows hard, the hurt hanging in his throat like a lump he can’t get down. “But I did,” he says, voice breaking around the words.

Sam tuts on the other end of the line, his breathing evening out; for a moment, it’s all that Bucky can hear. The familiar, steady hum of it. It helps. When Sam finally speaks again, it’s soft.

“Do you know that Pete worries about you?”

“He doesn’t worry about me,” Bucky replies with a sniff. He’s worked hard so that Peter’s only concerns are homework and getting into college — not how he’s going to afford college.

“Why does that surprise you?” Sam sighs, heavy with his own disturbed sleep. “Bucky, you have to know how much Peter loves you. He doesn’t want you to be alone, I don’t want you to be alone either. We want nothing more than for you to be happy.”

“He is not happy though.”

“Steve is someone that Peter knows and trusts. It’s probably just the shock. And if Steve is who you want to be with, then Peter will get over whatever he’s going through right now, and he’ll be happy for you guys.”

Bucky lets out a sharp scoff. If Sam had seen the way Peter had reacted last night, he wouldn’t be saying that.

“I mean, it’s kind of like what we discussed, um, back in couple’s counselling.” Bucky hears the awkwardness creep into Sam’s voice as he ventures back years ago to a time they’d both rather forget.

But Sam has always been braver than Bucky, and he presses on.

“Remember how I said that at some point, it felt like you stopped wanting things? How it kind of felt like you stopped wanting me?”

“I never said that—”

“I know you didn’t say it, but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t feel it. People just want to be wanted, and I know you do too, but it’s like you seem to think that you’re not allowed to. That you’ve got to deal with the hand you’ve been given, when you don’t have to.”

Bucky’s skin itches with the reminder and shame of someone seeing him so well. Seeing the parts of himself that he tries not to.

“I’m going to give you some advice you’ll hate. If this thing with Steve is real, will you let yourself believe in it? Don’t fight your feelings out of some assumption you don’t deserve anything good. If you want to be with Steve, then that’s something you’re allowed to have.”

The thought of that feels overwhelming in this moment when nothing feels fixed and everything in Bucky's life is a mess. Sam takes the opportunity to continue on.

“In two years, Peter will be off to college. While he’s allowed an opinion, he can’t dictate how you spend your life. You’ve done a lot for him, put your feelings aside, made a home for him, and he is grateful. I want to make sure you know that the choices you made ten years ago when he needed you the most aren’t still the same choices now that he’s growing up.”

“But Peter—”

“Peter will love you no matter what. He can be mad as hell, but he loves you and he’ll want you to be happy. It goes both ways.”

Bucky presses the heel of his hand against his eyes, the ache in his chest refusing to ease. Sam’s words settle heavy, but not unwelcome. It’s a life ring tossed into the sea of Bucky’s despair. Sam doesn’t push, just offers him a steady hand to hold, the same way he always has.

“We’ll see,” Bucky mutters finally. Before Sam can say anything in response, there’s shuffling on his end, the sliding door opening and hushed whispering.

“Bucky, I’ve gotta go, but it’ll be okay. I’ll talk to Pete and we can figure this out together. I’ve got your back. He’ll calm down. I know it.”

Sam is full of reassurance, as if he’s confident that everything can be fixed by having a conversation. The words echo in Bucky’s head even after the line cuts off, but it doesn’t quite settle the gaping hole in his chest. He wants to believe as optimistically as Sam does, and right now, that’s the only thing he has left to hold on to.

***

It’s Alpine that rumbles him.

Bucky is in the kitchen making up the batter for Peter’s favorite meal: the wheatcakes that Aunt May used to make. He can’t make them as well as she could, and he wishes her guiding hand was here now for more than just brunch. Aunt May always knew how to help when Bucky felt conflicted or hopeless: advice, company, or simply a warm hand on his shoulder. He wonders how Aunt May would have dealt with this — if she would have made the same choices Bucky had, if she would have made entirely different ones. Maybe Bucky could have saved himself from this mess. Peter might still have been mad, but perhaps he would have stayed at home where Bucky could talk to him if Aunt May was around. He checks his phone, no messages from either Peter or Steve. An empty screen just like an empty apartment.

He wonders if Aunt May would have liked Steve. It’s a ridiculous question, actually; everybody likes Steve. He is easy to like, even easier to lo—

A clatter sounds from the other end of the kitchen as Alpine bolts to Peter’s room, breaking the silence and leaving chaos in her wake. Bucky roughly wipes his floury hands on his apron and rushes towards Peter’s room, hope filling his chest with every step closer.

When he gets there, Alpine is clawing her way up Peter’s leg, seemingly determined to keep him in place for Bucky to see too. A relieved sigh punches out of Bucky’s chest at the sight. There’s an open window behind Peter where he climbed through, his backpack open at his desk. A scowl still on his face as he gently peels Alpine’s claws from him and deposits her on the bed.

“You’re back.”

“I’m just here for my laptop.”

“We’re going to talk about this first,” Bucky says as Peter continues to pick up his room to pack it away. “Pete.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“You’ll have to eventually.”

“I don’t actually have to do anything you tell me to do. I’m going to stay with Dad and Riley for a while.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, as if it doesn’t feel like a thousand knives sinking into his body. “Yeah, Sam said it’s fine so…”

Bucky is trying his hardest to be brave despite the desperation to keep Peter with him. He would do anything to stop him from climbing back through that window or walking out the door. If Peter would just stay for five minutes and listen, he’s sure that they can work this out.

Alpine looks tense, her usual calm demeanor in their company replaced by her need to be as close to Peter as possible. Bucky knows exactly how she feels.

“Will you at least let me explain?” He asks. Peter ignores him, focuses on unplugging a charger from underneath his desk instead.

So Bucky starts talking.

“It wasn’t planned. I didn’t intentionally go after Steve. We had been hanging out and we became friends; it wasn’t more than that at first.”

“So why didn’t you tell me about that if it wasn’t anything?” Peter questions, abandoning his efforts to free his charger to challenge Bucky. “I didn’t even know you were friends!”

Bucky tries but nothing comes to mind. He doesn’t know how to explain the reasons why he kept it from his son. Maybe it was because so many things had been out of his control lately, and this thing with Steve was the first time he fully felt present in years. Maybe it was that he feared Peter’s reaction, didn’t want to ruin the fragile trust they were rebuilding. Maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t believe someone like Steve was interested in him.

There was a moment, before it all imploded, where Bucky believed Peter would have been thrilled by the relationship. But now it feels like it’s a wedge driven between them.

“I should have told you I was thinking about dating again.”

“I’m not an idiot. I knew you’d date eventually. It’s not about that.” Peter finally yanks his charger free, the cord snapping against the desk. His voice rises, sharp and cracking at the edges as he stands. “There’s a million guys in this city! Why did you have to go after the one guy in my life who had nothing to do with this family?”

The accusation hits harder than any punch. Bucky flinches, shoulders stiffening, chest aching. He feels the betrayal in Peter’s voice like a blade, and for a moment he can’t meet his son’s eyes. He longs for Steve’s steadiness beside him, but he doesn’t even know what’s happening with the mission or how long Steve will be gone.

“Do you know how hard the last couple of years have been for me? You and Dad broke up, and I had to start high school. Then Riley showed up and everything got awkward again because Dad kept overcompensating and you were always working. Then I get bitten by a spider and wake up with superpowers! And I couldn’t talk to anyone about it because it was just one more thing that this family had to deal with. So when Tony showed up and told me he’d help me, what else was I supposed to do? He knew what it was like being different.”

“I could have helped if you told me.”

Peter’s eyes flicker, and for a second Bucky thinks he sees hesitation. Then he shakes his head, jaw tight. “I wanted to but I wasn’t sure if you’d understand. But Steve did, even more than Tony.”

“I can understand.”

Bucky’s words come out almost pleading. He hates how desperate they sound, but he needs Peter to believe them. Peter scoffs, shoulders squared, defiance radiating off him.

“If that was true, you wouldn’t have done what you did. I finally had my powers under control and people who could help me. Then you butted into everything and made them give me rules and curfews too.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens. He wants to argue, to remind Peter that the rules exist because he’s terrified of losing him, but the words stick in his throat. A pair of shorts and Bucky’s hoodie get pushed into Peter’s backpack along with the charger before he zips it up.

He and Peter have had arguments before. Hundreds of them. In grocery stores and parks and the zoo too. About homework and chores and staying up too late. They’ve had disagreements and hurt feelings between them, and Bucky has dealt with tantrums and the silent treatment more times than he can count.

But they’ve never had a fight like this. Not where Bucky feels so desperate and Peter’s barely looking at him. When Peter is upset, his face gets a little red and blotchy, both Richie and Ben had the same trait. It reminds Bucky of them, and as much as he hates when Peter gets upset, the splotches across his face are a reminder of Bucky’s two friends. The reason he has Peter in his life to argue with in the first place.

Bucky doesn’t know how to answer, so instead he moves to the issue he can discuss.

“You’ve been staying at the Tower without permission. That’s not okay with me or Sam.”

Peter’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed as if he’s sniffed out Bucky’s attempt to divert the conversation.

“Only a couple of times! And you know, Tony treats me like an adult. He trusts me to learn more about my powers, you,” — Peter points accusingly — “don’t even want me to have them.”

“That’s not true!”

“You didn’t want me doing any of this stuff in the first place. Tony lets me decide my own limits.”

Bucky’s jaw tightens, the ache in his chest twisting into something ugly. His voice hardens, the desperation bleeding into anger. “Tony doesn’t get to make that call. And you don’t get to lie to me about where you’re staying just because he tells you what you want to hear.”

He knows without a doubt that Tony can’t see beyond the mask. Tony forgets that Peter is only a child, still learning, still anxious to prove himself, still bound to make mistakes. And sure, Bucky might always see the little kid that clung to his leg that first day of kindergarten or crawled into bed with him after a nightmare, but that’s his right.

Bucky’s instinct will always be to protect Peter; he’s not collateral the way he fears others might see him.

“I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me the truth.”

“I don’t need you to protect me. That’s the whole point! I’ve been out there. I’ve fought, I’ve saved people. You know, I don’t even have to go to college now — I can be an Avenger!”

“You are absolutely going to college, Pete!”

That is a non-negotiable that Bucky refuses to budge on. His parents set up a fund for a reason and he won’t let Peter give it up, even if he has to keep scrimping and saving. Bucky is going to get Peter to college, no matter what.

“Why? I can learn what I need with Dr Banner and Tony. They’re smarter than most professors and I’m going to be an Avenger anyway. At least Tony doesn’t treat me like I’m breakable.”

“You don’t think I know how brave you are? That I don’t know what you do out there? I read every single word in Steve’s reports, constantly thinking about what you’ve seen and who could hurt you. When you come home, I think about every injury that I can see and the ones you don’t tell me about. But just because you have enhanced strength doesn’t mean I stop being terrified.”

Peter looks Bucky up and down, shaking his head like he can see straight through all the shields Bucky put up years ago, and has finally found the parts that are still soft and bruised.

“Just because you've forgotten what it feels like to be young, doesn’t mean that I have to hold myself back when I could be helping people.”

“Not by throwing yourself into dangerous situations without a plan or people to have your back! You don’t know how quickly things can go bad. Losing your Uncle Ben devastated your grandparents, devastated your dad, devastated me. And he was sixteen when we lost him.”

“Uncle Ben didn’t have superpowers.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re invincible, Pete! What do you think we’ve all been trying to teach you?”

The words echo too loudly in the small room, and Bucky feels his throat tighten with a familiar ache. He drags a hand down his face, trying to steady himself, but the ache in his chest only deepens. For a moment, he sees Ben clearly as if he were standing there: lanky frame, unruly hair, the same stubbornness in his eyes that Peter carries now.

The resemblance guts him.

“God, you’re just like him. Even your face, you—” Bucky cuts himself off. He clears his throat and swallows down the grief that he’d spent years suppressing. “You look like your parents, but some days I look at you and it’s just like looking at Ben, especially now. Ben was full of good intentions and high hopes too, and I’m so proud of you for being like him. But if you don’t think that it scares the life out of me that I won’t be able to stop it again… Not a day goes by that I don’t regret not being there that night. I’m trying to protect you.”

“You’re not doing that though!” Peter responds. “You’re interfering and using Steve because he’s your boyfriend.” The word is spit out at Bucky. “You’re using Spiderman as an excuse to get your own way because you never trusted me for a second even though you swore you would.”

The accusation hurts, and for a moment Bucky can’t breathe. He wants to remind Peter of every time he’s fought for him, but the words stick in his throat. He looks around the room, trying to figure out how to cut through Peter’s anger, his eyes landing on a photograph of the people Peter never got to hear from. The voices that would have mattered most.

“How do you think your parents would feel if they were here? Don’t you think they’d be saying the exact same things I am?”

It’s the wrong move. Bucky can see the moment that invoking his parents hits Peter like a slap. His mouth slopes unhappily, his anger doubling.

“I don’t know!” Peter’s voice shakes just for a moment. “I never had the chance to know my parents so all I have to go on is what you tell me about them. But… but maybe they’d be proud of me for doing something as big as this. As good as this. Maybe they’ll actually support me and understand that I have an opportunity to truly help! I could save the world and they would be with me every step of the way instead of fighting me on everything and trying to stop me.”

Bucky’s chest twists at the conviction in Peter’s voice, the unwavering belief that he can carry the weight of the world on his shoulders all by himself.

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“No, you’re holding me back based on some assumption that I don’t know how to take care of myself. I was Spiderman for nine months before you found out! You had no idea what was going on under your nose, and now that you do, you’re acting like you’re the only person who has any right to make choices for me.”

“While you’re under my roof, I’m responsible for you. I’m your father.”

“No, you’re not!” Peter spits, the words cracking as his eyes brim with tears. “There’s no part of me that came from you, so stop telling me how my parents would have felt! You don’t know any better than I do. You’re not my real dad; you’re just a name on a form. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

Peter’s words slice the air like a blade, cutting and final. Bucky opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. No defense, no plea, just the hollow ache of knowing what he’s already lost — and what he’s still losing.

He slings his backpack over his shoulder, Alpine darting out of the way as he heads for the window. “I’ll be at Sam’s for a while,” he mutters, voice tight, refusing to look back.

Bucky doesn’t stop him. His hands curl into fists, nails biting into his palms, but he stays rooted to the spot. The sound of Peter’s footsteps clanging over the fire escape echo through the room until they disappear, leaving Bucky alone with flour still dusting his apron and Alpine peering out of the window.

***

Steve’s name lights up Bucky’s phone a day later informing him that they’re on their way back and will land by the late morning. Bucky agrees to meet him at the Tower and forces himself out of the apartment to make his way to Midtown. It’s been twenty-four hours since Peter and Bucky’s blowout fight and Peter hasn’t responded to any messages that Bucky’s tried sending.

Sam has been doing his best to help without Peter also shutting him out. He and Riley have assured Bucky that they’ll take point on dealing with Tony once he’s back. As teachers they know about safeguarding issues and are determined to ensure that Peter’s safety is the priority. It means that Bucky can focus on fixing things between him and Peter. They had always agreed to be a unit when it came to important decisions about Peter; Sam assures him that it hasn’t changed and that he’ll ground Peter for lying and discuss keeping college as an option.

The hallway towards Steve’s apartment feels too long, every step sticking like he’s dragging himself through mud. His chest is tight with the loss of Peter, tangled with his relief and need to see Steve. Bucky’s head already hurts remembering the fight, his apartment left even emptier than before. Even raising his fist to knock on Steve’s door feels like it’s sapping too much of his energy.

The door opens and now Steve’s here, hair mussed from travel, sweat clinging to his undershirt, and a purple bruise sitting under his eye. Bucky lingers at the threshold, legs still heavy, until Steve pulls him in and holds him against his chest. Even though Steve looks tired, he’s still as solid as always. He smells like jet-fuel, gunpowder and leather, overpowering all of Bucky’s senses. Ordinarily he would hate that, but it helps quell some of the storm in his head for a few moments.

Steve’s hand soothes Bucky’s back, lips pressing against his ear, reassuring him that he’s okay and that he’s returned. Bucky whines at the loss when Steve pulls back but he’s led further into the apartment. It’s clear that Steve has only been back in his apartment for ten minutes at most, his duffel bag thrown in the corner, shoes kicked off beside them. Half of the uniform lies on the coffee table.

His bruised eye looks awful when Bucky sees it fully in light. His fingers brush over it gently and Steve flinches a little.

“You got hurt.”

“It’s nothing. It’ll heal by the evening.”

“How bad was the mission?”

Steve fidgets, tucking his hands in his pocket. “Going in unprepared always sucks, but it was manageable. Just took longer than we wanted. It was away from civilians so no-one got hurt.”

“But you did.” Bucky resists the urge to check elsewhere. “Is this the worst?”

Steve nods, letting Bucky continue softly touch the tender skin around his bruised cheek. Bucky hopes that Steve is being honest; he can’t take yet another revelation right now. Steve’s hand gently wraps around his wrist, stopping his movements. The warmth of his hand is a welcome return.

“I’m okay, I promise. I’m back safe.”

Steve’s other hand moves to the hinge of Bucky’s jaw, pressing lightly against it. It’s only then that Bucky realizes how tightly he’s been clenching his jaw.

“What happened after we left? How’s Pete?” Steve asks, gentle as he helps ease the ache spreading down Bucky’s neck.

Bucky exhales, sharp and unsteady, gives a shake of his head as Steve’s hand falls away. “Uh, at Sam’s. He’s been there since. We’re not really speaking.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I knew I’d have to deal with it.” Bucky tries his best to push away the hurt. He doesn’t want sympathy, doesn’t deserve it.

“I had no idea he was in the Tower, Buck. Much less that Tony gave him a room there. We argued the entire way to Nova Scotia.” Steve’s voice is frustrated, angrier than Bucky has ever heard it. “All I could think about was you and Pete, and I wish I could have helped more.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. And Tony’s. I’m blaming him a lot too.”

“I asked him why he did it, and he said I had been too cautious.” Steve swallows, wincing in annoyance.

“Peter told me the Phoenix mission went sideways.” Bucky tilts his head to study Steve’s expression, trying to gauge how much of what Peter said the other night was the truth or out of anger. Steve’s shoulders drop along with another exhale.

“I lost concentration. It was no-one’s fault but mine. Believe me, Natasha already reamed me out. She’s not exactly my biggest fan right now.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

From what Bucky knows of Steve’s relationships with the Avengers, Natasha’s is the opinion Steve cares for the most. Bucky can’t help the frown reappear on his face, his jaw tightening again, sending yet another bolt of tension shooting down his bad arm.

“Are things that bad?”

Steve offers a shrug, gaze fixed on the floor. “Peter’s not talking to me, I’m not talking to Tony. Natasha is acting as a go-between but she’s not happy about it. It’ll shake out.”

“It’s my fault. I put you in a bad position.”

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to.”

“Still. I caused this.”

There’s silence, it stretches taut between them in a way that it never has. Steve’s brow is furrowed, as if he’s trying to strategize their way out of this, like there’s a neat solution hidden in the mess of the situation.

But Bucky knows better.

“Steve…”

“I didn’t even offer you a drink!” Steve cuts Bucky off, already moving towards the kitchen. The cold, white marble that has never seemed to suit Steve looks even more stark against the man pacing between the counters, busying himself with being hospitable instead.

Bucky watches, frowning at the way Steve’s shoulders have tensed as he fumbles with the coffee machine, jabbing at the buttons like it’s the first time he’s seen it. Bucky doesn’t need a drink, he needs Steve to stop for a second so they can talk.

It hits Bucky then that Steve’s insistence on occupying himself isn’t borne out of obliviousness — it’s anxiety. Steve is putting off what he knows is coming.

What they both know is coming.

“Steve…” The name comes out too gentle, soft in the way he hopes will reach Steve.

Steve freezes mid‑movement, one hand still resting on the coffee machine, the other clutching the edge of the counter. The coffee machine beeps once before he turns it off, his shoulders sagging like the air has been knocked out of him. It’s so quiet that Bucky can hear the faint, resigned sigh escape from his mouth.

“This is it, isn’t it?” Steve asks.

“I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t, but he’s taken it so hard. I can’t be in a relationship that Peter’s not on board with. I don’t think I could ever be happy with anyone if he hates me for it. Even if it was—”

Bucky doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. His throat tightens, not letting the rest of those words out. Steve takes a step towards him, but Bucky forces himself to take one back, deliberately signalling that they shouldn’t. Not anymore. If he is going to get through this, he needs to start getting used to keeping Steve beyond his reach.

“I know,” Steve finishes, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. He keeps himself frozen in place and clears his throat. “I know what it could have been; I felt it too.”

Bucky’s heart aches even more at the confirmation that he hadn’t been imagining things, that Steve had seen a future there too, that they’re aware that they’re letting something slip from their grasp.

“You’d choose him every time, right?” Steve recalls Bucky’s words from their conversation weeks ago, before they ever crossed that line.

“I have to,” Bucky replies. “I want to fix it more than anything else.”

“It’s okay, Buck. Honestly. You’re a great father, he knows that too. I’ll do whatever I can to help you repair that. I never meant to come in between you. And I’ll still look out for him, I promise. That will never change.”

Buck feels so dumb. He could have thought about Peter first instead of chasing his own selfish feelings. He could have kept Peter and he could have left Steve as his friend. It had felt so nice in that brief, steady period a few weeks ago, when Peter was telling him the truth and his friendship with Steve was blossoming. Plenty of people deal with quiet crushes in platonic relationships; Bucky could have kept his mouth shut and his lips to himself, but he had to go and ruin everything.

Now he doesn’t have either. How can he go back to just being friends with Steve now that he knows how his lips feel against his own, how he sighs a little in his sleep before he wakes up, the way he nudges his nose against Bucky’s shoulder when he wants a kiss?

And it isn’t just the romantic things. Steve makes him laugh, he understands Bucky better than most people ever had, and encourages him to see the world outside of Peter’s orbit. Even before they started dating, Bucky never felt that ache of loneliness when he was around Steve; there was a steady kind of peace when they were together, like maybe Steve had been lonely too.

Peter comes before it all — for Bucky to regain his son’s trust, he needs to make hard choices. It won’t always hurt. Not once Peter has forgiven him and he’s back where he belongs.

“I really thought it could work,” Bucky says through a burn in his throat, “but it’s not going to be possible.”

The words hang in the air, heavy like the humidity clinging to the city. Steve doesn’t argue. He stands, shoulders bowed, as if the weight of the mission and of Bucky’s decision have pressed down all at once. Bucky hates that he’s the cause of it.

Bucky forces himself to hold the silence. His chest feels hollow and his bones chafe, but he knows if he fills it with an apology or even a promise, he’ll cave in completely.

He takes another step and then another. Steve remains where he is, his eyes following the movements but he avoids looking at Bucky’s face. Bucky continues and turns toward the door, each step heavier than the last. He doesn’t look back.

For the first time in years, it feels like he’s left a piece of himself behind. Nothing like the parts he’s always given freely to Peter. This one is shaped differently; the part he’d protected for too many years until Steve found it and made him feel alive once again.

Outside, the hallway is cold and empty. He exhales a shuddering breath — and keeps moving.

Chapter Text

The smell of cilantro and cumin hits his nose before he’s even fully awake. Bucky frowns, curling his head into his pillow as he tries to work out if he’s still dreaming or if there’s really a strong smell of curry in his apartment. Maybe Alpine found a takeout container and dragged it into the apartment. His eyes fly open as he imagines trying to clean off the turmeric stains from her white fur. She absolutely hates baths.

When he realizes that it isn’t a dream and he does smell curry, he pulls himself out of bed to investigate.

“Alpine?” he calls out.

“Meow!” is the delighted, distinctively non-feline reply from the kitchen. Bucky groans but he can’t help being amused when he sees Mel standing in the kitchen with a big container.

“You broke in.”

“I have a key,” she reminds him. “And I come bearing a gift!” She lifts the lid off the container and the familiar smell of Mimi Gold’s cooking fills the air.

“Your mom’s beef curry.”

“Your favorite.”

“You don’t need to try to cheer me up,” Bucky tells her, but he’s grateful for her thoughtfulness.

When Sam and Bucky broke up, Mimi and Mel joined forces with Aunt May to keep Bucky in continual supply of meals. Aunt May would ask him to join her on errands to get him out of the apartment, Mel would come over to hang out with Peter, and Mimi would bring along wine and gossip. The three of them picked Bucky up and dusted him off until he felt better.

“I’m actually here to see Alpine for a girl’s day. I miss her.”

As if on cue, Alpine chirps happily from the corner where Mel has brought her favorite treats and a new toy that she's batting in her hands.

“Here,” Mel says, shoving a sock towards Bucky. “She had this in her bed. Figured you’d want to add it to the laundry.”

Bucky studies the sock, his throat thickening when he realizes whose it is. Mel looks at his expression and gives him a pitying look.

“Sorry, I should have figured it might be Pete’s.”

“Uh,” Bucky clears his throat, but it does little to relieve the weight, “it’s Steve’s, actually.”

“Oh.” Unusually, there's no teasing grin on her face, no needling nor prodding. “Have you spoken to him yet?”

Bucky sits heavily on the stool by the island, looking at the comfort of the beef curry even as his stomach churns unhappily.

“No, and I'm not going to. I'm trying to work on Peter right now.”

“It's been five days. Still nothing?” Bucky shakes his head; no replies to the countless messages he's sent. Sam says that Peter’s hardly talking to them either but he's there. Safe.

Peter can be as miserable and angry as he wants to be, as long as he's out of trouble.

“Has he spoken to you?”

Mel shrugs. “Not much. He asked if I'd seen you. Mentioned he was staying at Sam's for the foreseeable.” Buck's ribs feel like they're being pulled apart by the unknown return. “I don't get why he's so upset about you and Steve. I would have thought he'd be thrilled that his dad was dating an Avenger! Like, that is way cool. Think of all the perks and parties. He could go to any college he wanted with a recommendation from one of them.”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably on the stool, pulling his arms over his chest. Mel doesn't get it. She doesn't know.

How is he supposed to explain it to her? She’s known Peter since he was a baby — it’s going to change her entire life and how she views him.

“I have to tell you something about Peter.”

“He’s Spiderman,” she says, so casually that Bucky thinks maybe he’s misheard. But it’s only the two of them in the kitchen and he’s not that old to be losing his hearing.

“I— what? How did you know that?”

“It's pretty obvious, Bucky. There were clues everywhere!” She gestures around. “First of all, he asked to borrow my old sewing machine and when I asked why, he told me it was for a project. Then he wouldn't even show me what it was. But I didn't figure it out then.”

She leans her elbows on the kitchen counter, counting off on her fingers.

“The teen internship with Stark Industries isn't a real thing. It was weird when you had to meet Tony Stark of all people. But it all made sense when I saw you here with Steve. I mean, why else would you know two Avengers? Plus, Pete would have told me if he'd met one, not hide it from me!”

Mel clasps her hands together, smug and relaxed.

“The biggest clue was that Spiderman was always spotted at the 7/11 with the big slushies that he likes. You can take Spiderman out of Peter, but you can't take Peter out of Spiderman.”

“You've known all this time?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a few weeks. I haven't told anyone else. I was waiting for you or Peter to tell me.” She genuinely looks a little hurt that they didn't.

“Sorry, Mel. It's been a nightmare lately. We were trying to figure out how it works before it all went to hell.”

“Is that why you and Pete had the fight?”

“Some of it.”

“Is 10am too early to tempt you into having beef curry and talking about it?” Mel arches an eyebrow at him.

Before Bucky can respond, there’s a knock at the front door. He and Mel look at one another, Mel mouthing Peter? at him. But Peter has a key and he would probably prefer climbing through the window.

She follows as Bucky opens the door, and he is startled to find Riley standing there — hands tucked in front of him and his blond hair neatly styled.

“Hi. Peter is fine,” Riley says immediately. “Can I come in?”

Bucky steps aside, chest tightening at the thought of Riley crossing into his space on his own for the first time. Riley’s gaze flicks around the apartment like he’s cataloguing every detail: from the dozens of pictures of Peter on the walls to the desk that Bucky hasn’t touched in weeks piled up with mail and bills owed. He feels exposed — the apartment is a far cry from the picture-perfect townhouse that Riley lives in.

Mel is perched on the arm of the wingback chair, looking Riley up and down with curiosity as she’s never met him before. “You’re taller than I pictured.”

Bucky shoots her a warning look and she rolls her eyes, nosy as ever. But he knows her well enough to recognize the intent beneath it to try and break the ice. She stands up and points to the kitchen.

“Coffees?”

“Coffee would be great,” Bucky says, looking to Riley to let him know that she’s friendly and he’s welcome. If Riley is here, it must be for a reason. Right now, Bucky can take all the help with Peter that he can get.

“Half and half if you have it. No sugar,” Riley says. Mel salutes and wanders off into the kitchen, leaving them standing awkwardly in the living room alone.

Riley gives Bucky an encouraging smile and he shrugs, hands still politely in front of him. “How’s it going?”

“I’m okay, Riley,” Bucky assures quickly, because he doesn’t want to talk about how he is doing. “How’s Pete?”

“He’s good. Keeping to himself, mostly. We grounded him. Three weeks.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “I was going to only give him two.”

“We figured a week for every adult he lied to,” Riley explains. There’s a blush crawling from his neck up to his cheeks. “Sam almost added an extra one for Peter’s attitude.”

“Yeah, Sam’s pretty strict about that.”

Riley blows out a breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Raising a teenager is hard.”

“You’re telling me,” Bucky commiserates, slightly relieved that Riley is going through similar trials and tribulations of raising a child and not getting any special treatment. “Is he okay, though?”

“He’s calming down. I think— I think he knows he didn’t react well to you and Steve, and that all of that is overshadowed by lying. His lying.”

“I lied too.” Bucky waves a hand when Riley tries to open his mouth in protest. “I know Sam thinks I did the right thing, but I didn’t. Peter is right — I could have dated anybody else.”

“He’s entitled to feel however he feels about it and the way he found out, that’s true. But I don’t think punishing yourself for it does anybody any good.”

“Well, it’s not making things worse,” Bucky mutters with a sad huff. He misses Peter. It’s been days.

“I hate to say that it’s just a phase because I sound awfully like my pa, but he will get over it, I promise. He got over me. I like to think that we’ve got our own connection now. That kid is all heart.”

Yeah, Bucky thinks, but I broke it.

“Peter is very protective of you,” Riley says gently, a smile on his lips. “It’s always ‘my dad says this’ and ‘my dad loves that’. I offered to make pancakes once and he immediately shut that down. Won’t let us have them on the weekend because he says that Sunday pancakes are your thing. It upset Sam at first, but we both realized it was Peter’s way of keeping some things sacred.”

Bucky swallows, avoiding eye contact with Riley. That was Peter long ago, before this chasm between them ruptured.

Riley sways a little, clearly trying to keep his nerves in check. “So, the week at the compound is coming up. We know Peter still wants to go. Sam and I thought that maybe you could come over for dinner tomorrow night and we could discuss it.”

“With Peter?”

“Yeah. We thought if maybe we got everyone around a table, we could figure it out instead of relaying messages.”

“And Pete is okay with this?”

“Well, it's not his decision. We're inviting you and if Peter really wants to go to the compound, he needs to be willing to find a compromise.” Riley’s reasoning sounds incredibly Sam-like.

Bucky twists his lips. He doesn't want to bribe Peter into speaking to him, but Riley has a point. It's awfully tempting.

“Thank you, I’d love to come,” he agrees, buoyed by the opportunity to speak to Peter. “Should I bring anything?”

“Peter might have said something about your rosemary roast potatoes. Apparently, I can't make them right,” Riley grins sheepishly. It could be a lie, a stroke to Bucky’s ego to make him feel better. But it helps.

“I can do that.”

“He misses you. I don't think he's angry as much anymore, but I don’t think he knows how to approach it either. We keep waiting for him to talk to us but he hasn’t yet.”

As grateful as Bucky is for the information, he has no idea how to respond to Riley. He hates that Peter isn’t discussing it with anyone because Peter doesn’t do well keeping things to himself; he gets too inside his own head and ends up upsetting himself even more. It was a habit he used to have a lot as a kid, and Bucky read so many parenting books and worked with Peter’s therapist to try and get him to open up. But since the breakup, Peter often folds in on himself, and after the engagement, Bucky found himself doing the same.

Before this week, he and Peter had found a good rhythm but that’s unraveled now.

Riley’s gazing down at the floor, focused on his shoes instead of looking around the apartment. Before Bucky can try to break the silence, the clinking of mugs does it for him. Mel comes in from the kitchen, two cups of coffee in her hands. She hands one off to Riley and brings the other towards Bucky, offering him a bright and encouraging grin.

Bucky manages to grab his cup with minimal spillage as her grip loosens early, the grin sloping off her face and replaced by a frown. She squints at something behind Bucky’s shoulder, skin paling.

“Um, are we supposed to be getting a storm?”

Bucky turns, dread already coiling in the pit of his stomach as he looks out of the window at what has captured her attention.

The daylight flickers, a black whirl opening up in the sky as scores of creatures emerge, peeling across the horizon and heading for Manhattan. Riley gasps beside him, the three of them frozen as they stare out of the window helpless.

“Call Peter,” Bucky manages, unable to tear his eyes away from the impending chaos. “Find out where he is. Now!”

***

Bucky’s heart is hammering in his chest as he races towards Manhattan. Riley is beside him in the car, phone tight against his ear as they weave through traffic.

“Call me when you know more,” Riley finishes as he hangs up then turns to Bucky. “Sam said Ned is working on hacking into Peter’s GPS. They’ll send the coordinates when they have them.”

Peter had already absconded from Sam’s house by the time they called to find him. Bucky knows without a doubt that Peter is in the middle of the action. Grounded or not, there is no way he was going to miss out.

“We should have checked if he had his web shooters with him,” Riley groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Above them there’s a shriek as an alien zooms ahead of them; they’re getting closer.

Mel is back at the apartment under strict instructions to stay put to help the residents and in case Peter returns.

As they approach the Midtown tunnel, Bucky slows the car and pulls over. The traffic is heaving already, horns and sirens blaring around them. Riley glances at him questioningly, a deep frown marring his features.

“Get out,” Bucky instructs. When Riley opens his mouth to argue, he shakes his head. “You need to get back to Sam.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Bucky can’t look at him, keeping his gaze fixed on the windshield at the chaos unfolding ahead over the bridge instead.

“We don’t know what’s out there. It might be worse than the first Battle and I can’t let you come. If anything happens, Sam is going to need you. I won’t let him have no-one.”

Riley hesitates, reluctantly hovering a hand over the door handle, even if he’s still clearly hoping Bucky will change his mind. Three more aliens fly past. They’re not stopping. They can hear the explosions and screams increasing as the bridge is backing up with more traffic.

“Get out.”

“Don’t do anything dumb, Bucky,” Riley warns, his voice sharper than Bucky’s ever heard it.

It’s the first time Riley has ever sounded anything less than polite in Bucky’s company. Riley's cheeks are flushed, his calm composure dropping as he considers whether to listen. The frustration surprises Bucky — Riley sounds desperate, almost protective. He doesn’t know what to do with that.

“I’m getting Pete and I’m getting out,” Bucky says, but finds himself unable to fully promise. He needs to reach Peter so he can keep him safe. Whatever happens, Peter comes home. Bucky will make sure of that.

“You better.” Riley grits his teeth, like he’s still ready to refuse, but he finally shoves the door open and climbs out. Bucky feels bad abandoning Riley so far from home, but it’s better than leading him into trouble.

The door slams shut and Bucky puts the car back into gear, driving off with Riley disappearing into the distance in the rearview mirror.

The coordinates come through three minutes later. Bucky follows where they lead, ignoring the barrage of text messages from Sam presumably yelling at him for his decision. His phone rings four times: twice from Sam, once from Riley and another from Mel. He answers the last one.

“Mel?”

“It’s on the news! There’s live footage near Avengers Tower. Iron Man is at the top but I saw Pete near the ground. He’s helping.”

Bucky glances at his GPS. There’s so many people around that he’s finding it almost impossible to continue driving through the crowd. He doesn’t want to hit anyone. He finds a place to park, grabs his phone and heads out. He can barely hear Mel now as the falling rubble and screaming civilians rush past him; he's the only one heading towards the source.

“Most of the aliens are around the Tower but there’s a lot of structural damage,” Mel is explaining. “Bucky, come back!”

Bucky is almost ten blocks away from the Tower. He can get there within fifteen minutes. If Peter is still there, he can grab him and get him to safety.

“I'm getting Pete,” he says. “Listen, there’s battery-powered flashlights in the hallway closet and a back up generator in the basement. If anything cuts out in the building, go to Hank’s. He has a key.”

“Bucky—” He hangs up, ignoring Mel’s protests that he can barely hear anyway. She’s smart and she’ll look after the residents. He has one job to do and that’s what he’s doing.

Just ten blocks between him and Peter. Ten.

Bucky moves fast, weaving between abandoned cars and panicked civilians as he races to the Tower. The aliens are mostly high above them, but they’re hurtling into buildings and he does his best to avoid the falling bricks and glass; he misses his hard hat.

Riley’s warning sounds in his head, Mel’s pleading echoes. He knows that Sam is leaving angry voicemails right now — at least until the phone lines cut out. As long as they all listen and stay away from danger, Bucky will be able to focus. He just needs to get to Peter.

The Tower emerges through a haze of dust and explosions. It still stands tall despite the swarm of aliens attacking it and a chunk taken from the side of it. Iron Man is blasting them, their bodies falling from the sky and landing on the tops of roofs of nearby buildings, only a few making it down to street level among the damaged structures and crashed cars.

In the middle of it all, is Peter, suited up and moving fast. He’s jumping between buildings, swinging forward and around, shooting webs to pull the aliens off retreating civilians or redirect them far away from danger.

Bucky’s heart lurches, relief knocking into him at once, and he narrowly avoids another alien body crashing to the ground. He’s still terrified to watch Peter exposed like this. The mask might be on but it’s still his kid who he hasn’t seen in days.

A blast shakes the ground, and Bucky glances toward the source. Up ahead, Black Widow is a blur of red hair, flipping over an alien twice her size and driving an electrified baton into its throat. A familiar bolt of blue and red whizzes across the street; Steve is a few yards beyond her, his shield ricocheting off a car hood to decapitate an alien before flying back into his hand. He barks orders at a cluster of police officers trying to form a perimeter to push civilians back.

Determined, Bucky pushes forward, his boots crunching against shattered glass as he forces his way through the wreckage. Each breath scrapes his throat raw from the dust and smoke surrounding the fight, but he keeps his eyes locked onto Peter.

Every single thought narrows to one goal: Get Peter out.

Peter lands heavily on the side of a building before he fires a web and launches himself after an alien diving toward a cluster of civilians. He’s laser focused on the creature, not anything else around him. Bucky is close, but not close enough. He calls out, but his words are lost amongst the din of the battle.

Bucky sees it first.

The building that Peter just kicked off of shakes, cracks forming spiderwebs up the bricks, widening with each vibration from the battle overhead. A chunk breaks loose, a few small pieces tumbling down in slow motion.

Peter doesn’t look back. He’s slinging his webs at the alien, completely unaware that the entire side of the building is about to peel away and collapse right into where he's standing.

Somewhere off to his right, a clang of vibranium rings out, closer than it’s ever been. It’s not just Peter’s red and blue, but there’s now blue and white appearing at the edges of Bucky’s vision as he charges forward.

“Peter!” Bucky shouts, voice swallowed by the roar of another explosion. He breaks into a sprint, lungs still burning, his brain screaming at him to move faster, to get between his kid and the falling debris.

The building gives a final, shuddering groan before the whole wall tears free, collapsing in a violent avalanche of brick. The dust erupts, swallowing the street in a dry cloud, but when it clears enough for Bucky to see, the spot where Peter had been a heartbeat ago is nothing but a pile of rubble.

Here’s Bucky Barnes again — watching another Parker kid die at sixteen — not being able to do a damn thing about it.

His stomach drops. Bucky feels groundless, unable to feel anything solid beneath his feet as they drag him towards the rubble and he starts grabbing at the bricks with his bare hands. Everything swims in his vision, the sounds of sirens, distant booms and screaming dulling as his focus narrows down to this moment.

He’s dead. Peter is dead and you let it happen. Peter died hating you.

Bucky’s hands continue digging, pulling out loose bricks and dislodging stuck ones in his desperate attempt to fix this.

He’s gone. You failed the one thing you—

“…Dad?” The voice is so weak that Bucky thinks he’s imagining it. “Dad!”

Bucky whips his head towards the sound, desperately trying to tune everything else out to make sure it's real.

“Peter?” He’s not even sure if any sound comes out. For all he knows, he could be whispering or yelling. He doesn't want to hear anything that isn't his son’s voice.

“DAD!”

The voice is unmistakably Peter’s and alive. Bucky spins to the left, away from the rubble where Peter stand clutching his ribs, uniform and mask still on even if it's covered in dust.

Bucky launches himself to his feet, stumbling over a brick as he races to Peter’s side, unwilling to believe it until he has Peter in his arms.

He’s here, he’s alive! Bucky grabs onto Peter’s shoulders and crushes him against his chest, needing to feel Peter for himself. Even over that damn Spiderman suit, Peter’s body is warm and solid and real.

Alive.

I thought I lost you, his brain says.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m okay.” Oh. Bucky must have said that out loud, and Peter is holding him tightly until he pulls himself out of Bucky’s grip.

Peter looks at the rubble, his face ashen and then looks around.

“Where—where’s Steve? He pushed me.”

The blood rushes from Bucky’s face, his body instantly cooling.

What had he seen? When the wall was falling, what did he see? Peter under the danger zone and then… a flash of red and blue that wasn’t Peter.

“Steve pushed me out of the way.”

That groundless feeling returns as Bucky stares at the rubble. Steve saved Peter before the building could fall on him, but Steve is nowhere to be seen now. There is only dust, broken bricks, and a sickening stillness.

He’s under there.

Peter seems to come to the same conclusion and then they’re both scrambling back over the debris and Bucky drops to his knees beside the collapsed section. They dig without speaking, just frantic huffs and groans as the bricks cut into Bucky’s hands and Peter’s ribs ache. Bucky uses both hands to haul aside heavier pieces, shoving them behind him without caring where they land, a sharp pain flaring in his left shoulder that he ignores. Peter is having an easier time, but he’s exhausted. Both of their hands are covered in dust and cuts within moments. Every brick they pull free feels like it should reveal Steve, but every empty space makes Bucky’s stomach twist tighter.

Peter calls out for Steve, his young voice cracking under the mask before he rips it off to take a real breath. Bucky doesn’t trust his own voice, so he just continues tearing through the rubble because Steve saved his kid and now they have to save him.

“Dad, what if he—” Peter can’t finish the sentence. Tears burn behind Bucky’s eyes.

“Just keep looking.”

And they dig and they dig and they dig.

***

Bucky has been here before. A hospital. A sling. An ache in his shoulder that will never go away. He's used to the restless feeling, the helplessness that comes with the restricted use of an arm.

It's never fun.

The doctors, overwhelmed by the attack in a hospital with a damaged roof, move quickly between rooms.

He gets a cortisone shot in his shoulder, a leaflet about labral tear recovery, and an ‘I was brave’ sticker for his troubles. It could have been worse.

“Dad?” Peter's voice calls from the doorway, his head peeking in. His hair is damp, there's a small bruise on his chin, and he's wearing Stark Industries sweats.

Bucky extends his good hand out to urge Peter inside and his son walks two steps before rushing over. Bucky lets out a small oof as Peter's body collides with his, but he doesn't care.

They're here. They're safe. They're together. It's all Bucky has ever wanted.

“You good?” Bucky asks.

“Riley made me take a shower and change while you were asleep. Dad is getting you food.” Peter's words are muffled. “Did you need surgery?”

“Not this time. They're letting me out tonight.”

Bucky rubs Peter's back but then urges him to sit up so that he can take a better look at him. Blue eyes, ten fingers, a stubborn look on his face. Bucky frowns at the bruise.

“You're okay, right?”

Peter nods, grabbing Bucky's hand so he stops fussing. “I’m fine. I just bruised my ribs and a few cuts. Dad already talked to the doctor. Do you remember anything?”

“Not much,” Bucky admits.

He knows he was digging, looking for red, white and blue. For blonde hair and pink lips. He remembers thunder and lightning without rain. He doesn't remember anything more beyond focusing on finding Steve. His fingers ache and are cut up from digging, there's a slice down his palm. Peter traces a faint line down the bandage.

“He's still in surgery,” Peter says, worry written over his face though he's trying his best not to show it. “They won't let us see him yet.”

He's beating himself up. Guilt crawling over his skin and Bucky knows that he's going to keep obsessing over it.

“It's not your fault, kiddo,” he says.

“Steve got hurt saving me. Because I did something reckless like you said I would. I was just trying… I wanted to prove something, I guess.”

“You're sixteen; this isn't on you. You don't need to carry the weight of the world on your back.”

Peter makes a face, a half-grimace that makes him look so much younger. “That's what Steve used to tell me too.”

He bites his lips as fresh tears pool in his eyes, and then Bucky can't hold back any longer. He pulls Peter into a hug, letting him cry against his shoulder and patting his hair as he sobs quietly.

“You're a good kid, Pete. He's going to be okay.” Bucky presses a kiss to his hair, still sweaty and dirty because Peter clearly only rinsed off. “I love you no matter what.”

Bucky waits until Peter calms down to talk about it more. Peter sits cross-legged on Bucky's bed, still eyeing his shoulder, still worrying about Steve and about the civilians he couldn't help.

“Then Thor came down and pretty much everything was over after that. Apparently, they took something during the Nova Scotia mission and it was some kind of beacon. Thor broke it with his hammer and Wanda got the portal closed.”

Bucky listens, judging the hell out of the Avengers. Like, don't they know not to touch things they have no information on? Why does this always seem to happen?

“Tony is going to apologize to the city,” Peter says. He seems annoyed.

“I'm not sure he should be able to decide things anymore,” Bucky grouses.

“Dad and Riley are mad at him. They also added another week of grounding.” He looks at Bucky, as if he can fix it for him. Tough luck.

“You broke the rules. I think an extra week is appropriate.”

“The city was under attack!”

“I know and you ran into it without telling anybody. Pete, bud, you gotta know that's ridiculous.”

“I couldn't just watch and do nothing.” Peter pouts at him, the bruise on his chin looking horribly blue.

“I get it, but we could have helped keep you safe. I don't know how, but you're not even giving us the opportunity to figure it out.”

“Because you weren't letting me do anything!”

“We were, but at our own pace. Shit, Pete, you could have told us about the superpowers from the beginning and we would have been there for you. But you chose to hide it, then you chose to forge my signature to go off to Germany, and you chose to keep lying! We've barely had any time to adjust to any of this so we're doing the best with what we've got!”

“You chose to lie too,” Peter reminds him, instead of owning up. Apologizing.

Bucky tuts, shakes his head in annoyance, but also hurt at the reminder that Steve is in surgery and Bucky has no idea if he'll be able to see him. If he has any right to.

“We're not together anymore. I ended it.”

“You broke up with him?” Peter questions. “Why?”

“Because you hated it.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t think you’d listen to me.”

“Well, what do you want, Pete? You didn’t want us together, so we’re not.”

“It wasn't just about you dating him. It was everything! You butted into a world that was all mine and you didn’t even talk to me about any of it! You just took over and I got scared. You met Sam because of me and you lost him because of me too.”

“I didn’t lose Sam because of you. What are you talking about?”

“You only stayed together because of me. You don’t commit to things — you can’t.”

Bucky frowns at him, trying to understand what is really beneath Peter’s fear. Sam met Bucky and Peter at the same time. Peter was only a toddler! He had little choice in the matter. Over the next nine years, they became a family, but the relationship was still Bucky and Sam’s own. They worked so hard to make sure Peter knew that they would still both be there for him. And sure, it was awkward for a while and Bucky has been hurt by how perfect Sam and Riley are—

Oh.

“Pete, my relationship with Steve won’t affect yours. He can still be your friend even though we’re not together. We’re adults, we can be around each other. Those are separate things.”

“But you broke up with Dad and were sad for so long. I didn’t want someone else to make you sad. Someone else that I had to avoid talking about with you.”

Bucky exhales slowly, the realization dropping heavy in his chest. He reaches out to rest a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Hey, listen to me,” he says softly, “I know that was hard for all of us, and yes, I was sad for a while. We tried to work it out, but that’s just what happens sometimes. You didn’t lose Sam and you won’t lose Steve. You don’t get stuck in the middle. That’s not how this works,” Bucky insists.

Peter’s breath shudders, some of the tension easing but only for a fleeting moment. His shoulders sag, not in relief but as if he’s still weighted down by trying to shoulder the world all by himself.

“But do you know how it feels,” he says, voice tightening and hands curling into fists, “to know that you disrupted someone’s life? I know you got stuck with me. I know you had to change everything because of me.”

The shift in Peter’s voice catches Bucky off guard, but the words hit even harder. Stuck with me. Bucky feels the ground wobble beneath him. He never imagined Peter saw it like that, feeling he was some burden that Bucky was saddled with. Disrupted his life? The idea is so far from the truth that it knocks the breath out of him.

“Pete, there was no plan before you,” he says softly. “I had no idea what I was doing with my life. I was a complete mess.”

Bucky considers his next move carefully. This is the most honest conversation he’s had with Peter — no sidestepping or sugarcoating. If Peter says he wants to be treated like an adult, then Bucky should probably listen.

“When your parents died, I hadn't spoken to your dad in weeks. Months.”

Peter’s head snaps up at that, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“I was pissed at him,” Bucky admits, the shame of it coloring his cheeks. “We had a fight, I told him— I said something mean. I thought we'd eventually talk it out, but he didn't pick up the phone, and I was stupid enough to hold onto that anger. So my last words to him are things I never wish I said. I have carried that with me every day since.”

“You didn't know they'd die.”

“No, I didn't. What it did teach me was to make sure that I always say what I want to say to the people I love. I don't want to carry that guilt with me again, and I especially don't want you to ever carry it either.”

Bucky brushes away a tear, swallowing down the decades-old lump in his throat.

“You can feel however you want to feel about me, Pete. You're allowed to. But I didn't get to tell you that I loved you when you stormed out, and then when I saw the attack…”

Peter sniffles next to him, but neither of them look at each other.

“I wasn’t even gone a week,” he says in a small voice.

“A lot can change in a week.” Bucky shifts uneasily. “Your parents trusted me to look after you and put your interests first. If you no longer trust me to do that, then we can talk about you staying with Sam and Riley longer, and maybe getting them official guardianship.”

Peter flinches at the suggestion, bowing his head to avoid looking at Bucky.

“About what I said that day… I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, you did,” Bucky says gently. “You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Peter blurts out, eyes screwed up with guilt. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever said to anyone, and I was just so angry at you.” He takes a shaky breath, gaze stuck on his lap rather than at Bucky. “I knew it would hurt you, but I shouldn’t have said it.”

Peter’s voice trails off, breath shaking and hands wringing in his lap. He still won’t look up.

Bucky watches him for a long moment. He loves this kid and he hates seeing him beating himself up over making mistakes. “Pete,” he says softly, “look at me.”

Peter hesitates, but lifts his eyes. They’re red and his nose is beginning to run. Bucky wipes at it with his sleeve.

“Yeah, you said it because you were angry and because you’re sixteen, but you also realized it was wrong and apologized. I’m never holding that against you.” He shakes his head. “I’ve said worse things for worse reasons.”

Peter’s breath catches. “But I wanted it to hurt you.”

“I know,” Bucky says. “And I’m still here. I still forgive you.”

“Can I come home?” Peter asks.

Bucky can't stop himself from grinning at the request, even if his heart aches from the implication that Peter thought he had to even ask.

“Oh, bud, of course. You can always come home.”

Peter leans forward and folds into Bucky’s space carefully, mindful of the sling. Bucky wraps his good arm around him, holding him tight and steady, the way he used to when Peter was small.

“Did you tell him?” Peter asks against his shoulder.

“Tell who what?”

Peter pulls away, looks at Bucky carefully. “Steve. That you loved him.”

“C'mon, Pete. I told you we hadn't been dating that long.”

“No, but… but you care about him, don't you? Does he at least know that?”

“Yeah, he does.”

“And—” Peter worries his bottom lip. Momentarily, Bucky thinks he won't finish his sentence, but then, “I think he cares about you too.”

Bucky opens his mouth to protest but Peter shakes his head.

“Just in case he doesn't wake up or gets amnesia and forgets, I want you to know he cares.”

“Okay,” Bucky nods, not knowing what else to say.

“And I love you too,” Peter admits. “I don't think I'll ever understand why you didn't tell me. But it doesn't change the fact that I love you and I’m always going to need you. You’re my dad.”

Bucky squeezes his hand, relieved. “I love you too, Pete. You didn’t ruin my life. Not even a little bit. You saved me.”

Peter exhales, his breath less shaky and sounding like he’s finally letting go of something. Bucky wonders how long Peter had been holding this inside, the worry that he was some kind of problem Bucky had to deal with. Maybe this is a conversation they need to continue, to get down to the bottom of, or maybe it’s one they should have had years ago.

But now isn’t the moment for that — today, this past week, has been so exhausting and painful, that all Bucky really wants is Peter here with him. To come back home.

“My dad loved you.” Peter chews his lip and Bucky waits for what comes next. The words come out slow and tentatively at first, but Peter is looking at him now. Really making sure that Bucky is listening. “There's no way on the planet that he didn't still love you even if you guys weren’t speaking. You always tell me how much I'm like him, and his blood is in mine, so if I love you, then he did too. Nothing changes that.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

Something loosens in his chest — something old that he’s kept sealed since the days he lost Ben and Richie with unsaid apologies hanging between them. Peter’s words settle into that space. For the first time in years, Bucky truly feels forgiven.

***

He has discharge papers and a protein smoothie in his hand when Peter tells him.

“Is Sam here yet?”

“I saw him,” Peter replies.

“Is he in the pick up lane? Because he hates how expensive the parking lot is.”

“No, I saw Steve.”

Bucky does spin around then, eyes narrowing.

“Only for a couple of minutes,” Peter explains. “I wanted to thank him for saving me.”

“How is he?”

“He's going to be okay. He… he looks kinda beat up but it'll be temporary.”

“That's good.”

“You should go see him.”

“I shouldn't. He's busy. He's recovering.”

“He asked about you,” Peter urges, the familiar tone of his whining voice beginning to emerge. He’s like a dog with a bone, he’s going to keep pestering Bucky until he listens. “I want you to.”

Bucky wants to argue. It will be so hard to see Steve again and not get to hold him like he wants to, but he also needs to see him with his own eyes. He has to make sure that Steve really is okay. And he wants to thank him too.

Steve saved the most important person in Bucky’s life. He can’t let it go unsaid.

So he nods, lets Peter direct him to Steve’s room and convinces Peter to stay behind and find Sam instead. He’s not sure how his conversation with Steve will go and the last time Peter saw him and Steve, it hadn’t gone well.

Steve looks smaller in the hospital bed, but not fragile or weak. Bucky has never seen him this confined. His right leg is elevated and wrapped from thigh to ankle, a rigid brace holding it in place after surgery to repair the fractures. His left arm is in a sling — matching Bucky’s — shoulder heavily bandaged where it’s been popped back into place. There’s a line of stitches along his hairline, a nasty bruise at one of his temples, and a scattering of smaller cuts across his face where debris caught him.

Steve’s breathing is shallow, matching the steady hum of the monitor next to his bed. His hands are scraped and raw, an IV taped to the back of one and a clip on the end of a finger. Bucky can see the deep purple bruises under the sleeves and neck of his gown. He looks exhausted, pale under the harsh lights, but alive.

Alive, because he threw himself in the path of a falling wall to save Peter.

“Hi,” Steve does his best to smile, but it’s clear how painful it is despite his healing abilities. His cut lip glistens with fresh blood when he talks.

“How bad is it?” Bucky asks. “How mad am I supposed to be at you?”

Steve’s lip does bleed when he grins. “I knew you’d be mad.”

“Are you surprised? It’s like you have no self-preservation skills.”

“Peter was…” Steve frowns, as if he’s trying to remember if Bucky had seen it. As if Bucky can forget how close Peter was to being buried. Not that it meant he wanted Steve there instead. “He was right there, Buck.”

“And you were under a building.”

Steve gives a small shrug accompanied by a wince. “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point.”

Steve looks up at him then and the smile he tries for this time doesn’t even pretend to hide the exhaustion. “I’d do it again.”

“I know,” Bucky says, and it comes out rougher than he means it to. “That’s the problem.”

“It was an easy choice. I promised I’d always keep him safe, Bucky. I meant it.”

Bucky sits in the chair by the bed, his legs heavier than he realized now that he’s not keeping himself upright. He exhales, long and shaky.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

Steve’s reply is quiet and apologetic. “I know.”

“Don’t make me watch you almost die again. I thought you were gone.”

Steve’s eyes soften, and for the first time since their relationship was discovered, something flickers between them. “I’m not planning on it.”

After a moment, Bucky reaches out slowly and hesitantly, setting his good hand on the edge of Steve’s, close enough that Steve can take it if he wants. Steve’s fingers curl around Bucky’s, strength still there and his hand is warm. Bucky has missed that warmth.

Steve’s eyes catch the sling on Bucky’s arm.

“What happened to you?”

Bucky rolls his eyes like it’s nothing, even though the movement tugs at his shoulder. “I'm fine. You don’t get to worry about me right now. You’re the one who got flattened by a building. This is just a few weeks of physical therapy. You on the other hand…”

“A few weeks of R&R. Doctor’s orders. Some of this will heal in a day or two. The leg in probably two weeks.” Steve nods along. “Nat’s already threatened me if I don’t follow the recovery plan to the exact letter. She’s helping me move back to the compound.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Bucky didn’t even consider what it meant now that Avengers Tower was half destroyed. “I thought you hated the compound.”

“Yeah, well I need a place to recover and get my strength back. It'll do for now.”

“And then?”

Steve doesn't look at him. Just shrugs. “I don't know. Maybe DC again.”

“What about… what about Peter?”

“He can go to the compound whenever he wants. Nat and Clint are good teachers. I don't–” Steve swallows. “I don't want to make it difficult for him.”

Or you. Bucky feels his chest tighten at the reminder that they’re no longer together.

“Thanks for coming to see me.” Steve’s thumb brushes over Bucky’s knuckles; a small gesture, so familiar and longed for that it makes Bucky’s breath stutter in his throat.

“I didn’t know if I had the right anymore,” he admits quietly.

“You do.” Steve looks up then, really looks at him. “Peter apologized. For the building, for the break up. He, uh, he said that he talked to you about it.”

“Yeah, we had a good talk. There's still things we need to discuss, but I think I was trying to shield him too much from things that I didn’t trust him to handle.”

“And now?” Steve's eyes are bright and full of hope. “Do you think he can handle things now?”

“I think it's worth a try.” Bucky rubs his thumb over Steve’s injured knuckles.

“Peter did say something interesting though,” Steve continues, a smile on his lips as he watches Bucky’s thumb move. “After he apologized, he kept going on and on about a guy he knew. Kept talking about how great he was, how lucky I would be if I gave him another chance.”

Bucky can’t help the low chuckle that punches out of him. The tension between them begins to thin and Bucky feels like he can breathe again. Steve — always so brave — being the first to address what they’ve been dancing around.

“I think Peter’s apologized more in the last few hours than he has in his entire life,” Bucky says. “He also gave me a pep talk.”

“Did he tell you about a guy too?” Steve teases, his eyebrows flying up as much as the stitches and bruising around his face will allow. “Cos I gotta tell you, I’m kinda into him. He’s a dad, cooks really well, the best dishwasher in the world. He does have a cat that’s real hard to impress though.”

“She has standards!” Bucky gasps.

Steve laughs, loud and deep and does a horrible job of hiding how much pain he’s in. He waves Bucky’s concern away when he tries to fuss.

“Pete also told me about a guy.” Bucky leans back in his chair, studying Steve carefully. “He’s stubborn. Brave. Terrible at resting and has awful taste in coffee.”

Steve swallows, eyes bright. “Sounds like a catch.”

“He is.” Bucky’s voice softens, taking Steve’s hand in his and squeezing. “And I was an idiot to let him go.”

Steve squeezes back. “Buck…”

“I’m not saying we jump back in like nothing happened,” Bucky continues gently. “We’ve both got stuff to work through, and Peter does too. Maybe we can all figure it all out. If you wanted to try again.”

Steve nods, skin looking as if it’s suddenly regained color. He’s still glowing, despite the bruises. He’s never looked lovelier.

“Yeah. I’d like to try again.”

Bucky leans forward, pressing his forehead ever so gently to Steve’s. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

He pulls back just enough to see the certainty in Steve’s face, then leans in and kisses him slowly and carefully, barely more than a brush of lips. Steve exhales against his mouth as he kisses him back just as softly.

Bucky laughs when he breaks the kiss.

“What?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You smile whenever you kiss me,” Bucky tells him with glee.

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugs, like it's the easiest thing to admit. “Kissing you is my favorite thing to do.”

“I like kissing you too.” Bucky's thumb softly brushes over Steve's still-healing top lip. “I don't want to hurt you more.”

Steve's hand captures Bucky's, stilling it so that he can drop a kiss on Bucky's fingers.

“You won't.”

***

THREE MONTHS LATER

Peter scrapes back his dining chair and curses when he looks at the time. Bucky winces at the sound of the chair against the floor but Peter apologises first — whether for the cursing or the noise, Bucky doesn’t know.

“I gotta head out for patrol,” he says, nabbing another slice of garlic bread and stuffing it in his mouth as if it’s the last time he’ll be eating. As if Peter won’t be back later tonight and raiding the fridge.

His leg hits the dining table, almost knocking over Steve’s wine glass and he apologizes through his chewing.

“You’re good, Pete,” Steve says with a grin as Peter clambers towards his bedroom to change. Steve reaches over to hold Bucky’s hand across the table, giving him a wide smile.

In the three months since the second Battle, life is decidedly different. Whereas the first Battle upended Bucky’s life with a major injury and an eventual break up, this one seems to have brought him a sense of contentment that he never thought possible.

Tony apologized to the city, declaring his intention to set up restoration funds for the damage caused by the alien attack. He also entered a partnership to work with Bucky as a safety consultant for buildings affected by the battle. Bucky has never been busier, and it’s allowed him to hire a couple more consultants and a new office space to help with the demand.

Peter is still working under the internship, but they’re all far better at discussing progress and changes. Steve and Natasha share the responsibility for Peter’s training, and he spends a weekend each month up at the compound.

There are no simulation rigs.

At home, it’s never felt smoother. Bucky sets his own hours but makes sure he doesn’t bury himself into his work again. Peter still patrols but Bucky encourages him to spend time being a kid too — more hang outs with his friends, no patrolling until after homework is done, and college is a non-negotiable.

And Steve. Steve is around a lot more. Real dates, lots of family dinners, and to Mel’s joy, a lot more tiramisu. Alpine is less enthused about the space taken up in Bucky's bed and on the couch, but she's slowly warming up to Steve.

Bucky surveys the kitchen, staring at the mountain of pots and pans stacked beside the sink. He lets out a long sigh. Steve steps up beside him, slipping rubber gloves into Bucky’s palm before leaning in to kiss him. It’s soft and steady, but still makes Bucky’s heart race whenever it happens. Which is a lot now, but still not enough.

It's never enough.

“We were going to tell you this weekend, but Pete and I had a family vote,” Bucky says, ignoring the thudding of nerves in his chest. “We think you should officially move in with us.”

“You both agreed?” Steve asks and Bucky nods. Steve then glances towards Alpine with a raised eyebrow. “And the princess?”

“I think you can win her over. Exposure therapy, y’know?”

Steve chuckles and holds Bucky’s face in his hands, pulling him in for a hungry kiss, despite the hearty meal that they’ve just had.

“I love you,” Bucky says, quiet but certain. Ready for those words to finally be said out loud, even if he’s felt them for a much longer time.

“I love you too.” Steve pauses, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Since Pete is out for the night, how about we let the dishwasher do all the hard work and we can retire early?” he suggests.

“You’re not getting out of drying,” Bucky says against his lips, reaching behind Steve’s hip to pull out the dishcloth. He places it in Steve’s hand, adding another peck to his mouth for good measure.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

A groan sounds loudly from the doorway. Peter stands with his hoodie half-zipped and his mask hanging from one hand, his other hand over his eyes.

“Aw jeez, I haven’t even left yet! Can you at least try and have some decency? God!” He snatches the headphones he left on the counter, rolling his eyes dramatically. “So embarrassing…”

Bucky snorts, leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder as they laugh.

“Back before curfew!” Bucky reminds him. Peter waves a hand in acknowledgement as he disappears down the hall to leave.

The kitchen settles again into their easy routine. Bucky washes the dishes while Steve dries, their shoulders bumping now and then as they move around each other. There’s wine chilling in the fridge for later. The apartment smells like garlic and tomatoes from dinner.

The fridge behind Steve’s head is covered in photos, a few of them brand new: the three of them at Coney Island the weekend before Peter started his junior year, one of Alpine curled up in Steve’s hoodie, and Bucky and Steve sharing a kiss with melting ice cream cones in their hands.

Bucky hands over another rinsed plate and Steve takes it, pressing his lips against Bucky's as he does.

It’s simple. It’s home. It’s theirs.