Chapter Text
“But this? This is not how we accomplish things.”
“It’s what I would do,” Natasha said.
“Not helping,” Steve said.
“Petya,” Natasha touched Peter’s chin with one finger. He was nearly taller than her. She hated it, even though she was equally resigned to it. She wondered when he’d lose the baby fat from his cheeks, when that jawline would sharpen to something eye catching. She wished she could protect him from puberty itself, the way he was going to end up attractive enough to draw attention. It was a clinical thing, she tried to convince herself. Not her worse fear come to life.
His eyes were hard with determination and anger. He was going to miss so many people trying to hit on him. She was going to have to teach him the ways people avoided saying what they meant. She was going to have to teach him how to say no with words and fists. She was resigned to this task. It was necessary.
Everything HYDRA would have had him accepting, she would have to teach him to fight. It was a worthy endeavor.
“You are supposed to be better than me,” she said. Peter’s eyes shuttered, and he looked down in shame.
“Nat!”
“His name is Flash,” Peter whispered. “He’s jealous of how involved our parents are and that we tested into the school from what he perceived as lower income families. He’s insecure about his intelligence and thinks his parents bought his spot.”
The apartment was quiet as Peter shuffled on his feet.
“I’m calling you first next time,” Bucky said flatly.
“You did good, little spider,” Natasha assured him in Russian. Peter folded into her embrace as easily as ever, his fingers curling into the back of her jacket. Natasha rested her chin against his ear, breath steady and calm. She didn’t like manipulating him. She didn’t like being the one who broke him. She didn’t like being a tool for anyone else, even if that was what she was best at.
She felt like a sledgehammer launched into the concrete pillar of Peter’s righteous stubbornness. He was going to fight with Steve more and more. They were too similar. It scared Steve. Bucky was too busy gloating about Steve’s karma or panicking. Natasha had to be steady. She had to be predictable. She had to be trustworthy.
Peter wasn’t a man, and he wasn’t a child. Teenager felt like an inadequate word, but he was. He was between ages. He was between lives. At his age, Natasha was already being carved up and sectioned off, cut to pieces and cauterized without ever being sewn together again.
Peter was bouncing back. Peter had a chance.
“You don’t have to be normal,” Natasha whispered to him. Peter shivered a little. “But this is not acceptable.”
“Won’t do it again,” Peter mumbled.
“When you hide this sort of thing from adults, you keep them from being able to help,” Natasha said. “I know you want to help Flash. You can’t do that alone.”
“Don’t like- don’t like trouble. Getting other people in trouble.”
“Some people deserve to be in trouble. Sometimes getting in small trouble helps people not to get in big trouble. They need the consequences to learn. We don’t take away opportunities for people to learn.”
“Don’t like what people get in trouble for sometimes.”
“I know. That’s why we talk to each other. To see if we can help, if they deserve to be in trouble or not.”
“They said Папа should be in trouble. But Папа is good.”
“He is,” Natasha said. It wasn’t a lie. Not for Peter. “You need to tell your parents when something is bothering you. Please.”
Peter nodded into the crook of her neck. They stayed that way for a long time.
“No,” Bucky said.
“I can help,” Peter said, quiet and furtive.
“Stay here,” Bucky ordered. Peter’s face twitched. The voice was the Soldier’s, the Sergeant’s, something Bucky could barely recognize as having come from his own mouth. Peter twitched again, nodding jerkily and fading back into the alley a few more steps. His eyes lost their light. Bucky wanted to scream.
He stepped out into the fray instead.
They didn’t have routines. Despite how often the therapists mentioned that they were good, Bucky found routine in breaking routine. If he was watching them, if he was planning an attack, he would be annoyed. That was the goal. No Sunday morning strolls at the same time to the same place to do the same thing.
Peter was the only one with routine, but no one knew about Peter anymore, and he really couldn’t excuse Peter being late to school regularly or missing work. Routine was important, the therapists said. Peter also knew routine was dangerous. Bucky had trained him well. All his routines stayed in the school building or within their apartment.
Someone must’ve spotted Bucky or Steve and posted a picture to social media. It was a nightmare if Peter was in it. If they knew Peter was his, was Steve’s.
The whine of some sort of electricity based weapon shook him back to battle. He’d disarmed a gunman and crushed the firearm in his fist by instinct alone. The gunman lay unconscious but breathing at his feet. Good. They’d need intel from someone.
The electricity weapon sent a ball of blue lightning at him. Steve’s shield soared into the way at the exact right moment. It clattered to the ground two feet in front of Bucky, who immediately rolled to pick it up and enter the fight.
By the time Tony was landing on a truck with his repulsor’s whining, Steve and Bucky were done.
“Are you all right?” Steve asked. Bucky nodded grimly, marching back to the alley.
Peter was still standing there, hands trembling violently, eyes vacant. Something in the pit of Bucky’s stomach dropped, hell bound.
“Oh, god, no,” Bucky whispered. Steve did not ask for a recounting of Bucky’s sins. He surged forward while Bucky froze, artist’s fingers sweeping across Peter’s cheeks.
“Peter, baby?” Steve said. “Can you hear me?”
Peter did not respond. He didn’t call himself the Spider, didn’t give a status. Didn’t blink.
Bucky turned, bracing a hand on the brick as he retched. He had to get a handle on himself. He couldn’t allow himself such weakness when Peter was… was…
“Peter,” Steve said, voice strangled high and tight. “Peter, look at me. Peter.”
Bucky inhaled sharply, crammed the nausea down through his gut to the base of his spine, and straightened. He watched Steve push at Peter’s hair, face ashen and eyes wild.
“Peter, look at me, look at me-“
Bucky separated them carefully. Steve stumbled back like he’d been struck. Bucky bent down, barring one arm under Peter’s hips and lifting him up easily. Peter pressed limply into Bucky, forehead finding its spot at the base of his neck. His legs automatically clung around Bucky’s ribs. His arms were folded between their chests, loose. Not hanging on.
Peter was much larger than when Bucky had last done this. Bucky hadn’t actually ever done this. The Soldier had, some distant instinct that he knew now came from having younger siblings.
The mission had been bad. The STRIKE team had misstepped, fucked up. The target had moved before the Soldier was able to set up his rifle. He was barely even on scene before the target had fled the building; even the Soldier couldn’t find a way to make it his fault. On comms, the STRIKE team was cursing and spitting.
One of them said, “What if the kid fucker sees the Spider?”
The Soldier did not feel. The Soldier did not panic. The targets he killed were bad people. The targets he killed deserved to die. He was making the world a better place.
The STRIKE team fucking up was inexcusable.
“Target is exiting building from north, moving to pursue,” said the Spider.
“Negative, Spider,” the Soldier said. “Target has assets in the building he will return for. Monitor the building.”
“The Spider can-“
“Stay here.”
The target returned nine hours later by way of the alley the Spider had been in all along. The Soldier did not feel. The targets he killed were bad people.
“I won’t hurt you,” he heard. He always modified the Spider’s microphone and transmitter to hear the environment. He could not afford to miss something due to the Spider’s inexperience. He could not afford not to teach the Spider something. “Are you lost? Where are your parents?”
The Soldier dropped from the fire escape, knife moving quick and sure. He turned the target away from the Spider so investigators would not see a shadow in the blood spatter. The target bled out at his feet. He wiped the knife on his pants and slid it back into its holster.
They reported. STRIKE had reported first. They waited until the Soldier was in the Chair, restraints thick around his limbs, before they tied the Spider to a chair in front of him. They laid the Spider’s hand out flat on a small, metal surgical tray. Its wheels squeaked.
“The Spider is an asset,” snarled the handler. “Use it.”
They broke all of the Spider’s fingers, dragged him away while the Soldier thrashed in the Chair, reset the Soldier, and hauled the Soldier off to the cold, damp concrete cell. The Spider was already there. His fingers had already been set. He held his hands protectively against his chest though, eyes wide.
The Spider did not cry. He had been taught better.
The Soldier stared at the Spider for a long time, mind rattled and nearly empty. Nearly. He knew it was the Spider, knew the fingers were broken, knew it was the Soldier’s fault. He knew if it was his fault, and he couldn’t fix it, he could at least do something.
The Soldier lifted him off the floor, felt the Spider melt against him, trembling through sharp breaths. It was not so cold like that. The Soldier paced the cell with the Spider in his arms until the Spider slept. It was better for his healing.
The Soldier did not feel. The Soldier could not protect the Spider. This did not stir anything within him, because the Soldier did not feel.
Bucky did not tell Peter that he was safe. He held him, because Peter might’ve grown but he’d never be too big for Bucky to carry for an hour or ten. He paced from one wall of the alley to the other, keeping his movements smooth and slow. He did not make Peter any promises, force any words from his mouth that felt like lies.
Steve and Stark muttered to each other anxiously in the shadows of the alley. Bucky had never heard Stark trying to be quiet before. He would have to confer with Natalia about whether it was unnatural or just a sign of his care for Peter.
“Папа?” Peter whispered. His fingers twitched, then curled into the front of Bucky’s shirt.
“I’m here,” Bucky answered. “I’m here, Паук. I’m here.”
“You left-“
“I came back,” Bucky said. “I will always come back.”
“Wanna- wanna help, Папа,” Peter said. “You h-have to let- let me help.”
“No, I don’t,” Bucky said. “Dad and I are taking care of you. You don’t need to- to… that’s not how this works, Petya. Okay?”
“Don’t like it,” Peter mumbled. “Never liked it.”
“You don’t have to like it,” Bucky said. “But that’s how it is.”
“We gotta move,” Steve threw his hoodie off over his head, shaking it out and tossing it over Peter’s head. He tucked it so that it hid Peter’s face and wouldn’t slip. “Cars rolling around. You’re going with him, I’m cleaning up here.”
“You’re retired,” Bucky reminded him, throwing Stark an icy glance. Stark made a series of motions that amounted to I tried that already, asshole.
“They just shot at my kid!” Steve snapped. “Fuck being retired!”
“Steve,” Bucky said.
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Steve.”
“You gotta move, Tin Man, cars rolling up.”
“You and I are going to have words,” Bucky said to his husband, carrying their youngest past Stark to the street.
“Don’t be mad at Dad,” Peter said.
“Think small,” Bucky said, because being mad at Steve was essentially his default setting. Peter adjusted slightly, body compressing. Hopefully he’d look younger than he was. It might keep people from being awful.
Phones flashed those five steps from the alley, across the sidewalk, to the car. Stark threw open the door for him, and he slid inside without setting Peter down. He kept Steve’s hoodie over Peter’s head. Stark shut the door.
The car lurched forward. Clint looked back in the rearview as the tires screeched. “He hurt?”
“No.”
“You checked?”
No. Bucky hadn’t. Peter had slumped limply into him, warm and heavy in a way that didn’t make him feel heavy at all. Bucky slowly patted him down. If Peter was hurt- if Peter was hurt and he hadn’t noticed-
“‘M’fine,” Peter tried to burrow closer as Bucky tested his ribs for breaks or cracks. “Jus’ stood there, Папа.”
“Which is what you’re supposed to do,” Bucky said.
“Give it a rest, Barnes,” said Clint.
“Avengers policy has always been to protect the identity of minors involved in traumatic events,” Pepper said crisply. “Everyone deserves a fair chance at being able to heal outside the public eye.”
“What about the rumors that the kid is Captain Rogers’ and Sergeant Barnes’ secret love child?” Someone shouted from the back.
Normally, Pepper would ignore a question asked without a raised hand. This time, she laughed. “I’m sorry, are you implying two cis-men had a biological child?”
“The serum-“
“Cannot make ovaries from nothing,” Pepper raised an eyebrow. A small voice chanted in the back of her head ignore adoption, ignore adoption, ignore adoption. Normally, she’d be halfway to spitting fire at the idea that only a biological child counted. This time… she was hoping no one had looked.
The reporter from the Washington Post raised her hand calmly. Pepper wished she could ignore it, but pointed instead. “Has there been any word yet on how they found Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes on a random street in Brooklyn yet?”
Pepper knew what that meant. The Washington Post didn’t ask softball questions. They let everyone else trying to cozy up to Stark Industries do that. A softball question from the Post meant one thing: they had a question better asked in a private interview, and they were giving the curtesy of offering the interview before they wrecked an Avenger’s life in a public press conference.
None of the reporters really wanted to talk to Pepper. She was too good at the game, never slipped up. That was why Steve and Bucky were in Brooklyn, not the Tower.
“I need to talk to Cora Vane, the Washington Post,” Pepper told Happy when it was over and the reporters started milling about. She stepped out to the hall, then crossed to the smaller conference room.
Vane didn’t beat around the bush. She didn’t even give Pepper the time to feel slightly anxious.
“I’d like to arrange an interview with Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes,” said Vane. “About the sealed adoption record.”
Vane produced a series of photographs from her bag. Peter was in Bucky’s arms, head shrouded by a hoodie, slightly blurred by movement as they tried to enter a car. Vane tapped the driver’s window. Despite the slight glare, Clint was recognizable.
“In all other cases involving a minor, someone has stayed on scene with the child until contact was made with the parents. Electronic photos are then corrupted by some sort of virus so they can’t spread.”
“Because we don’t need our enemies targeting children.”
“We can debate that at another time,” Vane said. “You are very careful not to meet even a partial statute for kidnapping, even if no prosecutor would take the case. But this kid gets a two Avenger escort away from the scene before it was officially or even partially recognized as secure.
“Did you know there are no documented records of Sergeant Barnes touching anyone, including Captain Rogers, outside of a fight in the twenty-first century? This kid looks damn near asleep, doesn’t fight the head covering you’ve never bothered with for anyone else. Kids don’t trust their heroes like that. That’s how they trust their parents.”
Pepper took a steadying breath. Lying did not go over well with reporters of this caliber. “Can I say something off the record before you decide to go down this path?”
Vane nodded, “Sure. I have a feeling you’re about to threaten me.”
“Let’s call it enlightening and work from there,” Pepper said. Vane’s eyes all but glowed. Pepper took another careful breath. “If Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes adopted a child within a year of the fall of HYDRA, during which time Sergeant Barnes was going through extensive treatment, and HYDRA was still actively looking for revenge and-or recovery, I’m sure you can assume that they would not take the safety of that child lightly.”
“Right,” Vane said.
“Assume that because of Sergeant Barnes’ treatments, occasionally, this child was cared for by other members of the team,” said Pepper. “And now imagine that this child is potentially in danger, and what the response might be.” To her credit, Vane’s eyes didn’t even widen. She was smart enough to have thought this through. Pepper watched her for a moment. “Do you have children?”
“No,” said Vane. “But I have nieces and nephews that are as good as.”
Pepper nodded. Bucky was going to kill her. “I’d like you to meet the kid. I have to get it past Captain Rogers first, but I want you to understand what you’re doing, who you’re risking, before you decide what to publish.”
“There’s a minor involved,” said Vane. “I’m not an idiot.”
Pepper smiled. “Why do you think I’m talking to you?”
“No.”
“Bucky-“
“No,” he said. “Are you out of your mind? Deny, deny, deny, deny! Why in fresh hell would you-“
“Because she already has the adoption records,” Pepper said, too calm for the raging scream building behind Bucky’s sternum.
“That’s illegal!”
“We are not ones to talk,” Steve said mildly.
“She wants to interview you two. I suggested she talk to Peter as well.”
“Why?”
“Because he has never had a conversation with an adult that did not result in them practically swearing fealty to him,” Pepper said. Bucky’s pacing ground to an abrupt halt. “He’s going to win her over with half a twitch, and she’s going to be ten times more careful about what she publishes.”
“That’s such a gamble,” Steve said.
“No, no,” Bucky said. “She’s right.“
“Not doing that,” Peter shook his head. “Not doing it, not doing it!”
“Peter-“
“Ned is keeping track of this, right?” Bucky asked. Peter nodded stiffly. “‘Cause everyone at school is talking about it?” Another nod. “We won’t use your face. We won’t use your name. But wouldn’t you much rather not hear lies all day?”
Peter burst into tears. They’d almost pulled him from school for the last week, but he’d insisted on going. Insisted, Bucky knew, to avoid suspicions.
Steve folded Peter into his arms as he sobbed quietly. He shot Bucky a look like he’d done something wrong, but Peter wouldn’t break in the middle of ignoring a crisis; he broke when he was accepting it. Crying, in this case, was a good thing.
Still, he looped one arm around Steve’s shoulders and pressed a kissed to Peter’s curls. “We won’t let them hurt you. We’ll be there the whole time. I promise.”
“You are safe,” Steve said. “And we’re going to keep you that way.”
“What if- w-what if-“
“If there’s a question you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to,” Steve said.
“Or you can tell us to answer it for you,” Bucky offered.
“We’ll need signals,” Peter said. “Secret signals.”
Bucky smiled, “What do you think?”
“An interview is not an interrogation,” Aunt Nat said. Peter nodded. “During an interrogation, you want to avoid answering at all costs. They are only asking questions to hurt you. During an interview, the goal is to answer in the way you want. They are asking questions to find the truth, which won’t necessarily hurt. Avoiding looks suspicious, and it will cause the interviewer to press. If you answer carefully, they move on or follow up. They’ll rephrase rather than repeat.”
“What if the question is bad?” Peter asked.
“Then you tell your parents that you don’t want to answer, or you let Steve answer.”
“What are the good questions and the bad questions?”
“Bad questions identify where you are on a day to day basis. Where you go to school, how old you are, what grade you’re in. Good questions are about your preferences and experiences, your favorite subject, your hobbies.”
“What if there’s a bad question hidden in a good question?”
“Steve will spot it,” said Aunt Nat. “He’s really good at that. You ready to practice?”
“Sure,” Peter said.
“All right,” she settled across from him at the dining table, pulling a tablet out of her bag. “These are the questions Pepper thinks are mostly likely to be asked.”
“Isn’t this cheating?” Peter asked.
“No, it’s pretty standard.”
“So… we won’t get in trouble?”
“No, Peter. This is like making sure that you finish all of your assignments before you have to take an exam. It’s expected, even if you think you could ace the exam without doing the homework.”
Peter took a deep breath. He’d spent so long hiding. So long convinced he had to. It was hard to even think about stopping. Aunt Nat reached across the table and grabbed his hand, tapping his wrist a few times. Peter smiled as much as he could. “Ready.”
Aunt Nat squeezed his hand and let go, leaning back in her chair. She settled her shoulders in that way she did when she was about to pretend to be someone else.
“When did Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes decide to adopt you?”
The couch was just uncomfortable enough that Peter sat a little too stiffly. Bucky lounged into the corner on his left, his arm slung over the back of the couch. Steve sat much like Peter did: spine straight, knees together, hands folded in his lap. Maybe Bucky was overcompensating. If he was, it was certainly in the opposite direction of Steve and Peter.
“I’d like to remind you that the only recording device that will be on is this,” said the reporter. She settled a small recorder on the coffee table between them. Bucky immediately leaned forward to pick it up, examining it closely. “I’m sure Ms. Potts briefed you, but I am Cora Vane, with the Washington Post. We are committed to honest journalism, not sensationalized news. I’m sure you are tired of rumors and theories, and would like them laid to rest. I would like to offer you that opportunity.
“You will have the final say on anything about your son. My editor and I will send you a draft before it publishes, but if it is content solely about you, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes, I will not make changes except to clarify. Understood?”
“Got it,” Bucky said. He set the recording device back in the table within her reach. There were glasses of water for all of them, and someone had gotten some of Peter’s favorite protein bars. Pepper, if Bucky had to bet. “And please, I’m gonna turn inside out if you don’t start calling us Bucky and Steve.”
“Noted. Cora. Anything else before we start?” She asked. Steve shook his head, cleared his throat, and shook his head again. Cora started the tape recorder.
“You’re making him nervous,” Bucky chided.
“It’s all right to be nervous,” Cora said gently. She’d turned her body and all of her focus on Peter. “Not many people get interviewed like this, adults or otherwise. Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name?”
Simple. God, what Bucky would do to make that a simple question.
“Peter,” he whispered. He glanced at Bucky before adding, “It was Peter first, and then it was the Spider, and now it’s Peter again. Peter and Petya and Pete and Petey Boy.”
Cora, to her credit, turned an ashen sort of white that didn’t suit the olive tone of her skin. Her voice hid it well, “Petya? So, do you know Russian?”
“Russian, Spanish, French, Mandarin, Korean, and… um, Farsi?” Peter glanced at Bucky again.
“Farsi,” Bucky nodded. “But he’s only fluent in Russian and Spanish.”
“And French!”
“Not as much as I am,” Steve said.
“You cheated,” Peter said. “There’s no immersion learning French here.”
“And Sokovian,” Bucky snapped his fingers. “Though some argue that it’s a dialect of Russian.”
“You mean Russians argue it’s a dialect of Russian,” Peter said. Bucky shrugged, hiding his smile at Peter’s dark look behind his flesh hand. Steve shifted to drape his arm across Peter and pinch Bucky. Bucky was absolutely going to bite him later.
“Do you like learning languages?” Cora asked.
Peter shrugged one shoulder. “Like being able to talk to people, understand them.”
“I can understand Arabic and a few of the languages they speak in Iran and Iraq,” Cora said. “Speaking it is something else though.”
“Reading new stuff is hard,” Peter said. “Except Star Wars.”
“You like Star Wars?”
“God, don’t get him started, we’ll be here all night,” Steve said. Peter scowled at him. They talked about what Peter liked to read, for class and outside it, what shows he watched, what movies were his favorite. Bucky had a feeling none of it would make it to print, but Cora Vane smiled and laughed and it definitely had Peter and Steve relaxing. She was good at her job.
“I’d like to start asking some more difficult questions,” Cora said after a moment. “Are you ready for that?”
“We came aware of what you’d want to ask,” Steve said. He settled a broad hand over Peter’s shoulder. “He practiced.”
“Peter,” Cora leaned forward a little. “Why did you have to learn Russian?”
“It was what Папа knew best,” Peter said.
“I’m Папа,” Bucky lifted a hand.
“How did you meet?”
“HYDRA woke him up,” Peter shrugged. “Needed to train. He was the best. Is the best.”
“Excuse me,” Steve said mildly.
“He- he trained you,” Cora clarified. Peter nodded. “How old were you?”
“Don’t remember,” Peter shrugged.
“From what we’ve been able to find, we think nine or ten,” Steve said.
Cora Vane took a deep breath, uncrossed her legs, and leaned forward. “That’s fucked up, Peter. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Nazis are evil,” Peter said sagely.
“Peter, dude.”
Peter held his arms out of the way as Ned tried to crush him. It was the closest anyone un-enhanced had ever come to succeeding. Ned clutched at him like they were drowning. Peter patted Ned’s shoulders for a few seconds.
“Are you okay?” asked Peter.
“Dude, are you?”
“Yes?” Peter frowned.
“I read the whole article, man.”
“Oh,” said Peter. “It was good, right?”
“Good?” Ned hissed. “You never told me you were experimented on by Nazis!”
“Uh,” Peter did not know an appropriate response for that. “Surprise?”
Ned laughed and let Peter go. Peter laughed, too, after a moment.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Peter waited until Ned stepped back and they headed toward first period to look.
Flash was watching him, mouth slightly open, face slightly green, eyes lined with silver. Flash knew. Peter knew. He swallowed. He nodded. Flash nodded back.
Mutually assured destruction.
Peter could live with that.