Chapter Text
“It’s the Specialized High School Admissions Test,” said Pepper, leaning across the table to pass Steve a few papers. “I’ve been looking into it. It’s a little tricky with his age—he could go right into high school without doing eighth grade, but he’ll probably be younger than everyone in his class.”
“He doesn’t need something else making him stand out,” Steve shook his head. “We were looking at a few schools around here for the fall.”
“A public middle school might be a lot,” Pepper said carefully.
“Everything else is already past enrollment.”
“I’m sure if we-“
“We’re not throwing our names around to get a kid kicked out for Peter,” Steve said. He took a deep breath, looking at the papers in front of him. “So, enrolled into eighth grade. He takes this test in the fall?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “The thing is- has Mandi talked to you about getting Peter an IEP?”
“For his reading, yeah,” Steve nodded. “But he’s making a lot of progress, and one of the New York criteria for IEPs is that the child has received adequate instruction.”
"Which Peter hasn't," she sighed. Steve pushed at his forehead idly. He understood it: IEPs were specifically for with students with specific learning disabilities. Peter, as far as they knew, didn't have a learning disability. But IEPs were also the biggest boon in terms of offering students support. Tossing Peter into an environment he had no experience in and hoping for the best did not seem like the best approach. Pepper reached to pull a paper up from beneath the test information. “There’s an English and a Math section, but they decide which to take first and how much time to use. An IEP could get him extra time.”
Steve tapped his thumb under the description of the IDEA law. Specialized education and general education curriculum stuck out to him. He’d been reading about this the other day while Peter worked on a LEGO set with Bucky. It seemed a nebulous concept. No one wanted to take away time, space, and attention from students who truly needed it, but it seemed like some of the guidelines were overly restrictive, arbitrary, and political more than anything else. Even some of the articles he'd read focused too much on the perspective of the teacher and parent, not the child receiving services. Of course, Peter was a completely different kid than anything in precedent, which didn't exactly help Steve figure out what he was supposed to do to support him. “PTSD isn’t a learning disability. Mandi said we’d be better off with a 504 plan.”
“We have to make sure we’re very explicit about him getting testing accommodation on it,” Pepper nodded. She pulled her tablet out of her purse, grabbing a stylus. Steve understood it well: planning mode. “When’s Peter’s next appointment with Mandi?”
“Thursday,” Steve got up and wandered to the drawer in the kitchen that had become a home to anything and everything that didn’t have some other dedicated space. He rolled his eyes at the few (luckily sheathed) knives, grabbing between two to grab a pen. “Bucky!”
“What!”
“Pointies don’t go in drawers!”
“They’re covered; it doesn’t count!”
“Bucky!”
He emerged from Peter’s room with a scowl, mumbling in Russian under his breath as he grabbed Steve’s hips, moved him out of the way, then went about removing the knives from the drawer, sliding them into pockets and carrying them under his arm.
“Somewhere Peter can’t get to them easily,” Steve reminded him.
“He’s better with them than you are.”
“Non-negotiable, Buck.”
Bucky muttered some more Russian and headed back down the hallway, diverting into the bathroom, of all places, before wandering to their room, then returning to Peter’s.
“Do I want to know what you’re doing in there?”
“We’re not doing anything, Stevie, butt out!”
Steve rolled his eyes, sitting back down across from Pepper at the dining room table. “Sorry.”
“You two are cute,” she said mildly, eyes focused on her tablet. She drew with her stylus. “What schools are you looking at?”
“There’s a few near here in Brooklyn,” Steve said. “But May and Ben are getting a new place that’s closer, too, so we’re looking at a few of the middle schools in Queens. They’ve already done some research, and now we’re swapping to check each others’ boroughs.”
“I didn’t realize they were getting a new place,” Pepper said mildly.
“Well, Peter ripped every corner of their drywall and parts of their ceiling apart,” Steve winced. “And May didn’t really want to go back in the house once she heard why Bucky wouldn’t let Peter in.”
“The first time Tony had security camera footage leak from inside the Malibu house, I didn’t want to step foot on the property for months,” Pepper said softly. “And it was just him wandering around in his boxers eating pizza; it wasn’t even anything embarrassing.”
“That’d be plenty embarrassing for me,” Steve said. He shuddered violently. “I can’t believe there were so many devices in there.”
“I don’t blame them for looking somewhere else,” she frowned.
“Bucky’s going to go over to help them patch the drywall before they get someone in to see about selling,” he said. “May has a whole list of things she wants done first.”
“Where’ve they been staying?”
“Murdock set them up somewhere,” said Steve. “Ben said they don’t want to confuse Peter by showing him a temporary place, so they’re going to come for visits until they get the new spot.”
“They’re good people,” Pepper said.
“They are.” Steve returned his attention to the papers on the table. “Where were we?”
“Let me see . . . We need to ascertain whether extended time will be good for Peter or if he might need a small group testing environment. The work he’s done with the team so far is good in terms of records of his progress and challenges, but he’s going to need to try a few practice tests in as close as we can get to a testing environment before we know for sure.”
“What will that look like?”
Having a plan felt good, especially when it was a plan made with someone as thorough and knowledgeable as Pepper Potts. Watching her use the internet made Steve realize just how wrong he’d been doing it. He’d been approaching it like he would a book: read the whole thing through, then check the references for anything important. Pepper moved so much faster, clicking hyperlinks into new tabs, skimming them for more of what they were looking for, and reverting back to original tabs to make sure they found all the information there. She didn’t just click a link and then back to the original and then a different link. She had all of it up at once, jumping between it.
Steve found himself doodling as he talked, watching her compile everything into a streamlined, bullet-pointed list of action items broken down by his responsibilities, Peter’s expectations, and questions for the specialist team’s. She emailed the whole thing to the team, as well as May and Ben, printed a paper copy for Steve, and saved the digital search to her tablet in case they ever needed to go through it looking for anything else. Then, she ordered take out and talked Steve through a few of the local middle schools while they waited for it to arrive. She even remembered to order something with rice noodles for Peter.
“Go on,” Bucky whispered from the hallway. Steve glanced back to see Peter bring a trembling paper sculpture forward, painted and ripped strips waving with every step. It looked like a bouquet, even featuring a few different types of flowers.
“Is that what you’ve been working on all day?” Steve asked.
“It’s for Pepper,” Peter said, holding it out to the woman in question. “Thank you.”
“This is so pretty,” Pepper beamed, carefully taking the bundled paper. She gently pulled a few of the tangling flowers apart. “Are they all different?”
“This one is a lily,” Peter said. “And there’s roses—Папа did those, they’re really tricky and he had to use a knife to curl some of the pieces.”
Steve turned to glare at Bucky over his shoulder, but Bucky only rolled his eyes, coming forward to wrap his arms around Steve from above. He leaned down and kissed Steve’s cheek. “It was very normal, age appropriate knife-work.”
“You’re on thin ice.”
“What’s all this?” Bucky asked lowly as Pepper talked to Peter about the garden she was planning to organize over an entire floor of the Tower.
“Trying to sort Peter’s school stuff out,” Steve sighed, tilting his head back against Bucky’s middle.
“I still say he doesn’t need to go.”
“You’ve been soundly vetoed on that front,” Steve reminded him. Bucky grumbled, scraping his beard against Steve’s cheek. “You’re going to give me a rash.”
“Heaven forbid.”
The buzzer rang, and Bucky lurched upright, one arm curling tighter around Steve as the other grabbed Peter by the hood of his sweatshirt. Pepper smiled graciously, “I’ll get it.”
“We ordered Thai,” said Steve. “Pad See Ew for Peter-“
“Yes,” Peter grinned. He squirmed between Bucky and Steve to wrap around Steve’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“And Drunken Noodles for you,” Steve prodded Bucky gently. “And I got Pad Thai.”
“What about Pepper?”
“Coconut fried rice,” he said. “She promised to share, though.”
It wasn’t until the food had all been devoured and Bucky was over-bundling Peter up for their post-dinner walk that something caught in Steve’s brain. Pepper had insisted on helping wash up, and Steve passed her a clean plate to put away as he stewed.
“What is it?”
“What?”
“Steve, I know you well enough by now to know that face.”
Steve smiled wryly, shaking his head, “I was just wondering how the aptitude test for the specialized high schools even came up on your radar. I’ve been so focused on just this year and trying to figure out what’s best for Peter now that I never even thought about high school.”
“That’s why you’re not doing this alone.” Pepper sighed quietly. “I’m guessing you already figured out the answer, too.”
“It was Tony,” Steve said. “Wasn’t it?”
“It’s been his insomnia project recently,” Pepper admitted. “Apparently, he’s been talking Ben’s ear off about it. Ben keeps telling him to talk to you guys about it, but he won’t.”
“Bucky’s remembered enough to want to apologize,” he said. “But I don’t . . . He shouldn’t have to. It wasn’t him. And I don’t- I can’t tell where Tony’s head is at.”
“I don’t think Tony knows where his head is at,” Pepper said. “I’ve known him for a long time, Steve, and yeah, he’ll complain until he’s blue in the face about his dad. But he never talks about his mom.”
Steve wiped his hands off on a towel. He turned around to lean against the counter by the sink, watching as Pepper closed the cabinet. She offered a PR smile.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he said under his breath.
“I don’t think there’s a right way to go about this,” she answered. “Tony doesn’t really do apologies, Steve. He does weird, over the top gestures and pulls crazy stunts and tries to get himself killed.”
“Bucky wants to apologize,” Steve said again. “Can you . . . let us know when you think Tony might be ready to hear it?”
“I can do that,” Pepper said. She smiled again, something softer and infinitely more fragile. She stepped forward, kissing Steve’s cheek before drawing away. “I should head back. I have a morning Tokyo meeting to prepare for.”
“Good luck,” Steve said. He walked her to the door, resetting the security system and the locks once she was out. Warm, wet pain pinched the junction of his neck and shoulder, and he swatted backwards without looking. “Stop biting me, you loon!”
“Hats,” Bucky squinted at his assembled charges, “Gloves, socks-“
“Bucky, let’s go,” Steve opened the door, pulling Wanda forward. “They’re not going to freeze to death—it’s sixty degrees out for Christ’s sake.”
“Keep your Christ to yourself,” Pietro snorted, following his sister out the door. Bucky grabbed Peter’s shoulders before he could follow, tugging the hat down over his ears.
“Папа,” Peter pouted. “Status: ready.”
“Hold my hand,” Bucky said. Peter rolled his eyes but complied, taking Bucky’s hand.
Wanda and Steve took the lead, Pietro bouncing between them and Peter and Bucky. Peter stayed close, humming a little under his breath as they trouped to the park. Pietro carried the bag of various sporting supplies, including a few mitts and some baseballs, along with a soccer ball. Bucky had no idea how any of them were going to ‘play’ without attempting to turn it into some sort of slaughter, but Peter’s therapist had suggested Peter exercise without sparring or training, and Stark had had packages involving every imaginable sport on their doorstep for the entire rest of the week. Where, exactly, they were meant to set up an Olympic-sized volleyball net was beyond him.
Googling “normal 12 year old activities” had been damn near scarring, though. Bucky would rather die than see “testing parental boundaries.” Actually, he wouldn’t rather die; he just would. The boundaries were there to keep Peter safe, and he knew that.
Peter’s hand was small and warm in his, tugging him along when a crosswalk threatened to tell them to wait while Steve and Wanda were halfway through it. “Come on.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
They ‘played’ at the park for about two hours before Natalia came with food and reinforcements in the form of Barton. Bucky kept an eye on him as he took Peter, Pietro, and Wanda to one of the open basketball courts to shoot hoops. Development of hand-eye coordination was a worthy endeavor and one of Barton’s few redeeming skills.
Steve distracted him with a small series of kisses, forcing Bucky to plant a hand over his face to keep him at bay. Steve laughed, “They’re fine, Buck.”
He eyed Barton’s bag suspiciously where it sat beside Natalia. “He brought the idiotic bow.”
“To be prepared, not to teach the kids,” she said. “He thought you’d appreciate some light touches of paranoia.”
The Widow was as prepared as usual, her full accompaniment of tools and weapons hidden under a black jacket, red t-shirt, and jeans. The tall boots did a lot of work.
“How are things at the Tower?” Steve asked.
“Calming down, now that Tony’s spending more time with Bruce and less time blowing everything he can to shit,” she said sourly. Bucky winced, watching Barton elbow Pietro out of the way to make a shot. The cries of indignation and shared looked between Pietro and Peter said the archer would be getting what he deserved for that.
Sure enough, the next time Barton went for a layup, Peter tripped him and sent him tooth-first toward the pavement. Wanda barely caught him, a thin line of nearly invisible red slowing his fall until he managed to get his hands under him. Bucky doubted anyone unenhanced would’ve noticed—Barton’s reflexes were admittedly faster than most. The high-five Peter shared with Pietro echoed crisply through the park.
Bucky laughed.
Steve punched his shoulder. “We are not encouraging that.”
“We’re not,” Bucky conceded. “I am.”
The basketball game only proceeded to include more and more elbows and ankles. Bucky watched out of the corner of his eye as he ate the coleslaw Natalia had brought from a nearby deli. Barton gave as good as he got, which was impressive coming from a grown man when faced with two boys. Bucky had to give Pietro credit, though: he used his unnatural speed in most subtle ways. He jumped a little too high, dodged a little too quick. Probably because the ball would pop if he didn’t keep himself in check, and they were in public, but still.
“Watch Pietro,” he swatted at Steve until he turned his attention away from his conversation with Natalia.
“He’s doing so well,” Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky’s middle, pressing a kiss to his temple. Bucky didn’t turn his attention away from the boys.
“You- you think Stark would make something nice for him, something he couldn’t break?” Bucky asked. “Like soccer. They could play soccer together, right? And if Pietro can’t break it, we could play, too?”
“I’m sure he’d love to do something nice for the kids,” Steve kissed his forehead again.
Natalia’s phone dinged, and she cursed under her breath. Before either could ask, she flipped it around so they could see.
Now trending in your area: Bargers in the Park
“Shit,” Steve muttered.
“What’s Bargers?” Bucky frowned.
“Barnes and Rogers,” said Natalia. “It’s your ship name.”
“Ship name?”
“The cutesy little name for your relationship.”
“Bargers?” Bucky repeated. “But- that’s stupid.”
“That’s the internet for you,” Natalia only shrugged. She turned the phone back around, scrolling through it. “The three of us have to leave together. No one’s spotted Barton or the kids.”
“Hell no.”
“Buck,” Steve said. Now that he knew they’d been photographed, Bucky couldn’t stop noticing just how many people had paused nearby, seemingly absorbed in their phones. Steve slipped their hands together, squeezing like he already knew how badly Bucky wanted to smash every single smart phone in a mile radius. “We have to go before paparazzi arrive.”
“This century fucking sucks.”
“Clint knows,” said Natalia. “Wanda’s telling Peter now- don’t look, Steve.”
Bucky had forced himself not to so much as glance over as soon as he’d recognized the need to separate, because putting eyes on a target was the surest way to draw attention to it. He leaned into Steve and kissed along the sharp blade of his jaw. “If any of them so much as glance over there, I am going to become a problem.”
“All right, all right,” Steve murmured. “Let’s . . . Let’s go.”
“Maria is pulling up in a red sedan on the west edge of the park,” Natalia said, sounding perfectly bored as she started grabbing all of their things.
“Shouldn’t you leave that?” Steve asked as she grabbed Barton’s bag.
“Someone would come snoop before he could get to it, or they’d accuse him of stealing it,” Bucky said. Steve nodded, jaw clenched tight, as Bucky got up, hauling him after him. Steve’s hand trembled in his. “I thought Barton was perfectly trustworthy-“
“This is different,” Steve hissed. “You know this is different.”
“C’mon, Barnes, you wouldn’t be happy leaving the three of them with me in this sort of situation,” Natalia said wryly.
“Maybe that’s because the situation is total fucking shit, Natalia!”
“Hi, um, can I get a picture?” Bucky whipped around to stare incredulously at the white boy holding up his phone.
“No,” Bucky snapped, launching forward with Steve’s hand still tightly gripped in his.
“Well, I’m, like, pretty big on Youtube-“
“Stop following us,” Natalia said sharply.
“It’ll be super quick!”
“Buck, ease up,” Steve said lowly.
“If we slow down, I’m going to punch him in the dick.”
The borough of Brooklyn—nay, the entire state of New York—ought to have celebrated that by the time Natalia’s girlfriend had stopped driving around in fucking circles, all three of their children were waiting at their apartment. Bucky started with Wanda, checking first that her power was not cracking free of her (no red in sight), then checking for obvious scrapes, cuts, or abrasions (no red in sight). Pietro stood next to her, so he got a similar assessment-
“Where are your gloves?” Bucky demanded.
“In my pocket,” Pietro rolled his eyes, tugging them free for Bucky to see. Bucky touched his hand, scowling at the cold.
“You should have kept them on.”
“Oh, my god, you miserable little man.”
Both shoes, both socks, and his hat remained, and though his cheeks were flushed, he didn’t appear any worse for wear. Bucky rounded on Peter, who was ensconced in Steve’s arms. Bucky pried him free, vaguely fighting off the boy’s attempts to barnacle himself to Bucky as he checked all of his extremities, limbs, and general well-being.
“Папа, please,” Peter whispered. Certain that it would do the boy no harm, Bucky bundled him into his arms, shuddering as Peter latched himself to Bucky’s torso firmly.
“You all right?” Steve said gently. Bucky watched out of the corner of his eye, stroking a hand over Peter’s hair. “I’m sorry we ruined your game.”
“They were losing anyway,” Wanda said, her voice hardly wavering. “And it was cold.”
“I’m sorry we scared you, honey,” Steve’s voice took on that warm, gentle tone that made Bucky’s muscles relax on instinct.
“We’re fine,” Wanda said weakly. Steve held up an arm, and Wanda folded immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, even softer. Peter shuddered against Bucky as he got an arm free to yank Pietro in with. He squawked and stumbled, but he fell in against Peter without complaint.
“It wasn’t that scary,” Pietro mumbled. “Peter held my hand the whole time, didn’t you, Petya?”
“The whole time,” Peter confirmed.
“Good,” Bucky said. “Thank you.”
“Wasn’t anything crazy.” Still, Pietro trembled slightly against them. Bucky tugged him closer.
“Hey, Petya, want to help me make some hot chocolate?” Natalia called from the kitchen. Peter squirmed, and Bucky quelled the instinct to trap him. He carefully let Peter get his feet under him, surprised when Peter gripped his hand and tugged him (and Pietro) into the kitchen, too.
“Do you know how?” Peter asked, looking back at Bucky.
“I- no,” Bucky frowned.
“Aunt Nat makes it the best,” said Peter, tugging Bucky closer again.
They made an extra mug, and it was at that moment that Bucky realized Barton was in the vicinity, and he’d had no clue. Alarmed but unable to escape Peter’s grip on his hand, Bucky tried to catch sight or sound of the archer from his position facing—but no where actually near—the microwave. He came up with nothing. Maybe Barton was on the roof waiting to be called down?
He oversaw the application of mini-marshmallows to various mugs, stopping Pietro from taking Bucky’s portion for himself and carefully ensuring that Steve’s had just enough space to warm and melt into a single, cohesive layer without leaving any spaces or overcrowding. Natalia watched him with the smugness of a well fed cat, eyes flicking between individual marshmallows and the frown Bucky couldn’t control as he focused. He glared at her when he was done, even as Peter broke away to carry Steve’s mug to him with two hands.
Barton ruffled Peter’s hair as he released the mug into Steve’s hand. Bucky’s eye twitched.
“How?”
“He’s not an idiot,” Natalia said. In Russian, she added, “It only benefits him that you think him one.”
Bucky caught Pietro’s wrist before it could slide into the marshmallow bag. He narrowed his eyes. “We have better food if you’re hungry.”
Pietro groaned. “You are the worst.”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi saw Luke Skywalker standing a short distance from the entry dome of the Lars family homestead on Tatooine,” Peter read carefully. The Star Wars books had proved a boon—there were an absolutely ungodly amount of them, and Peter devoured each and every one presented to him. Steve stroked his hand through Peter’s hair gently as he finished the page and moved on to the next. Bucky sat at the foot of the bed, leaned against the wall with his head tilted toward the ceiling, listening intently. Peter turned the page and swallowed a little, his finger trailing under each line to mark his place.
“‘Not the last of the old Jedi, Luke,’ Obi-Wan said, his voice trailing off across the dimensions of dreams. ‘The first of the new.’” Peter paused for a moment. “And Obi-Wan finally moved on. The end.”
Peter closed the book, peering down at the artistically rendered still of Vader and Ben Kenobi’s blades crossing on the cover. Steve pulled his hair off his forehead and kissed it gently. “Ready for bed?”
Peter shrugged and hummed, running his finger up and down the blue blade, then crossed at their intersection to run up and down the red blade. Bucky shifted to settle a hand over Peter’s shin, eyes still turned to the ceiling. “Are you gonna be like Obi-Wan?”
“What do you mean?” Steve said softly.
“Visit dreams and talk and . . . Even after . . .”
“Baby, Obi-Wan is forty-something years older than Luke,” Bucky said. “We’re, what, sixteen, seventeen? I don’t know, nineteen years older max. You’re going to be stuck with us for a good while before you ever need to worry.”
“Promise?” Peter frowned at the lightsabers some more. Bucky leaned forward, pinky outstretched. Peter hooked his own pinky into it. Steve smiled, gently pulling the book away from Peter to set on his desk. He kissed Peter’s forehead again.
“Good night, Peter,” Steve said. He pulled away as Peter slid further under his covers. Bucky groaned as he got up—one of those noises that made Natasha’s eyes light up and her hand surreptitiously reach for her phone—and nudged past Steve to do the same.
They turned off the light as they left. Bucky slid his arms around Steve as they shut the door, anchoring them in the hallway.
“He thinks you’re a mystical wizard,” Bucky snorted.
Steve rolled his eyes, lightly looping his arms around Bucky’s neck. “That makes him a mystical wizard too, you know.”
Bucky hummed, turning his face up to be kissed. Steve obliged, because what the hell else was he ever supposed to do when given an opportunity to kiss Bucky. “You think he’ll be the first of the new order?”
“It’s a book about space wizards,” Steve kissed him softly. “Peter knows better.”
Bucky winced, “Every time you say that, you jinx it a little more.”
Steve sighed. “Do you want him running off into danger?”
“No,” Bucky scowled.
“And I don’t either,” said Steve. “I highly doubt we’re ever going to be subtle about that. He’ll know.”
“If he’s anything like you were, he’ll try to hide it,” Bucky poked Steve in the sternum. “And give me a heart attack every other day anyway.”
“I did it because no one else was,” Steve said. “But if I’m already doing it, and we have a whole team already doing it, there’s no hole for Peter to fill. Everything will be fine.”
“I’m going to write this down, and two years from now, I’m going to literally make you eat your fucking words.”
“Don’t jinx it!”