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Steve didn't want to start the next day by having to explain why he had a crying teenager on his hands.
After being awake from sleeping all day (jet lag’s a bitch) he decided a midnight snack would help ease his sluggish brain. He grabbed his phone, checked the time (noticing that he now was going for a 2 am snack) and made his way to the kitchen.
Walking the long stretch of bedrooms in the hallway dubbed “the living hell” he noted in surprise that all doors were closed. A rule of thumb was that an open door at night was a sign of peace and welcomed anyone also awake could talk about whether it’s bouts of insomnia or if they found a new addictive game. Steve will never forget the day he offended Clint by comparing him to a 21st-century game called “Flappy Bird” and got punched at the devil’s hour. He rubbed his face absentmindedly, good times.
He was happy that his friends were finally having peaceful nights. They just had a strenuous mission and after getting back a day ago, it wore everyone out. Steve assumed that he was the only one still jet lagged from the quiet hall.
As he approached the living room, he saw the lights were on. Although they were dim, it still meant someone was up. Steve curiously peeked around the corner and was startled to see Peter out of all people.
The boy was facing the window staring out of it while sitting on the ceiling. Steve knew that Peter had sensed him entering, but didn’t turn or move at all. It was virtually impossible to sneak up on the kid due to that weird spider senses of his.
“Hey Pete,” Steve said softly, “want to get down from there? It’s late.”
The teen took a minute, but nodded.
He butt-scooted to the wall to stand up, walk down while stepping over picture frames, and settled down on the floor again. Peter kept his eyes down, fiddling with his shirt. He was no doubt expecting a lecture, Tony tended to get overly worried to the point where he goes on tirades. Steve didn’t want to be that adult, and he knew that the best way to get a usually hyperactive kid to talk was by allowing him to.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Peter shrugged, unwilling to speak.
“If there is, you can tell me. If not, get some rest, you have an open weekend to sleep in.” Steve offered a gentle smile.
He lingered for a second then walked toward the kitchen, prompting a silent invitation for the boy to follow. Steve wasn’t surprised when he heard the telltale pitter-patter of Peter’s airy footsteps on the kitchen tile behind him.
He turned and gave Peter a welcoming nod before scavenging the pantry and fridge. No dice. He quickly checked the chores schedule (courtesy of Wanda) and realized that Bruce was supposed to go grocery shopping but was interrupted by the spontaneous call of duty. Steve was still hungry; it was either eat shredded cheese from the bag while a fifteen-year-old teenager watched him or find a place that was still open.
“Up for an adventure?” he asked, “just don’t tell anyone. Promise?”
Peter’s previous dulled brown eyes (Steve noticed were red-rimmed) came alive and he grinned, “Yeah.”
Steve internally winced at how croaky the boy’s voice was.
“Alright. Go grab a jacket and we can head out.”
Peter nodded, bounding to his room. It was a relief to see that he was slowly getting back to his usual excitable self but he couldn’t help but note how Peter moved somewhat lethargically, like he was attempting to run underwater.
Steve thought his reaction was because of Peter’s poorly concealed astonishment that Captain America asked if I wanted to go somewhere with him!
He just wished that Peter was more comfortable around him. They’ve spent a lot of time together, in and out of uniform. The kid always acted his best in front of his team to try to impress them and prove himself. It didn’t take a super soldier to see the insecurity that was shielded by a bright mask of energy and confidence. Spider-Man was full of quips, resourceful, and cunning. Peter Parker was twitchy, bashful, but intelligent.
He spoke with strict formalities towards everyone (except Wanda who was only so much older). Steve just hoped Peter would become more relaxed. It was also strange to not hear so much from him. At this point he should be rambling about something either too advanced or too “generation z” for Steve but he just seemed like something was really bothering him enough to keep his trap shut.
Steve debated whether or not he should wake Tony. It was no secret that Stark viewed Peter like his son, no matter how much he denied it, and Steve knew that if it was Tony in his shoes he would have freaked out. He could barely hold himself together when Peter goes on missions with them (although Peter didn’t come this time), patrol, or even when he simply sneezed. Emotional trauma overruled physical in some regards and Steve was sure that by dawn Tony probably would have bought Peter the entire state of Hawaii go make him feel better.
Steve knew it would be the noble thing to do to let Tony get well-deserved rest while he took care of Peter.
He had walked to his own room to change into a casual shirt, pants, and a leather jacket. The last thing he needed was the internet having a picture of their beloved star-spangled hero in his spectacular heart-patterned pajamas. Not again.
When he made it back to the living room, Peter had also changed; donning a thick knitted black sweater, a maroon beanie covering his curls, and circular wire-framed glasses.
“I thought you had perfect eyesight.” Steve said, shoving his wallet and phone into his pocket.
Peter flushed, “I do. My, uh, friend MJ said that non-prescription glasses like these tie an outfit together. So she gave them to me.”
“Well, i don’t know jack about fashion, but I see what she means.”
Peter smiled to himself, “Thanks.”
They had gone down to the garage and Peter walked over to Steve’s car, waiting to be let in.
Steve laughed, “We’re taking Bucky’s bike. Unless you have an objection.”
The teen perked up, “Really? Yeah!”
“Ever ridden one before?” he handed the kid a helmet.
“N-no, I can’t even drive a car.”
“Just sit and hold on real tight. I’ll navigate.” They sat, Peter tentatively holding onto Steve, “Ready?”
He felt Peter nod. He revved the engine.
“Alright, let’s go.” hey set off.
“Where are we going?” Peter yelled over the wind. Even in the city that never sleeps, nobody was on the road.
“Place I know in Brooklyn.” Was all he offered.
He expected Peter to ask more questions at the vague response but was somewhat disappointed (and worried) that the boy remained quiet. The buildings passed by in a blur, like smudges of paint on a glass canvas. Steve knew exactly where they were going.
It just depended on whether it was still there or not.
~
Usually a car ride to Brooklyn would take around twenty minutes. It took Steve half the time. He slowed down the bike to a cruising speed and kept his eyes trained on the shops around him.
Brooklyn has changed, that was a given. He spent most of his time away from his old home because the only person left from his life before resided in the tower. Steve wondered if Bucky would be peeved at him for taking his bike out without telling him. Oh well.
His eyes lit up and nostalgia filled his heart when he found what he was looking for.
He parked on the side of the street, “We’re here, take the helmet with you.”
“Where are we?” Peter asked
“A 24 hour diner I used to go to when I was younger,” Steve pointed at the sign that was only illuminated by a few lights, “Liberty Diner & Donuts”
“Younger? Like in the forties?” Peter asked curiously, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose so easily it made the soldier wonder if the kid had bad eyesight before.
Steve chuckled, “Yup, I’m surprised it’s still even here."
They walked in, the smell the same as it was that night Steve stumbled in after getting into a street fight and Bucky had to pull him out of it.
Nursing a bloody nose and split lip he still managed to smile at the man, “You should've seen the other guy.”
“I did, I was there, you punk.” Bucky said with a grin.
The waitress, who was filling a man at the bar’s mug, looked up and her eyebrows skyrocketed, “C-captain America!”
She looked to the wall where a black and white picture was hung; it was Steve in the high point of the war where he was an American icon to encourage soldiers and boost morale. A vintage piece, most likely thrifted. Peter hid a snort.
He gave her an easy smile, “Hi there, can we get a booth, please?”
The man who was sitting on a barstool’s mouth dropped and the waitress scrambled from behind the counter, snatching two menus, “Of course! Right this way.”
Steve rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder and steered him to the table the waitress led them to and took opposite seats from each other.
She ran through the special of the day and asked if they had any questions. Steve motioned for Peter to look through the yellowed menu because he already knew what he was going to get.
“Is this a family run establishment,” Steve asked, he leaned forward to read her name, “Clarissa?”
She nodded, “For the most part yes, it’s been in my family for generations.”
“I used to go here back in the day” he said, looking around
Clarissa didn’t seem to notice the teenager who sat opposite to the Avenger as she grinned, “That’s so cool! I’ll give you a few minutes to look.” She ducked her head and walked to another woman who started asking about a dish.
“Have you found what you want, Pete?”
“I want to know what you’re getting first. I don’t know what people eat at three in the morning.”
Peter looked more relaxed and spoke more than he did an hour ago but his angled down face cast shadows which made it easier to see the dark circles under his eyes.
“I want to see if the corned beef sandwich still tastes the same and probably some coffee.” Steve answered
“Is it okay if I get a chocolate milkshake? And mozzarella sticks?” Peter asked. Steve knew it was because he wasn’t used to gestures and always protested when people paid for him. Last week, Bruce offered to buy him a pizza and the kid had to be convinced that it was okay.
“Of course, son. If you want anything else we can call over the waitress.”
Peter smiled and looked around, observing the antique memorabilia that hung on the walls. Steve felt at home, and Peter’s frowns from earlier were relieved as they started chatting. He also ignored when he saw the teen discreetly take a picture of him stirring his coffee and type something out.
DISCORD- PRIVATE MESSAGE
to bi in the chair
peter-man: ayy look who it is
peter-man: image.png
peter-man: Ur asleep sorry
Clarissa took their order and while they waited Steve asked the question that had been on his mind ever since he stumbled upon Peter in the living room.
“Why were you up so late?” Steve asked over his mug, the steam tendrils curling into his nose gave him a blast of nostalgia so powerful he almost teared up.
Peter paused licking a dollop of whipped cream from his finger and averted his eyes just so that he wasn’t making eye contact, “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Well, I know that. Any specific reason?”
That was like asking Peter who his favorite Avenger was. There were so many amazing heroes to choose from! A norse god, multiple soldiers, two geniuses, spies, supernaturals… but his favorite was definitely Iron Man. Maybe that question wasn’t as convoluted as he thought.
“School, but it’s the weekend now so it’s okay.”
“If it was okay, I wouldn’t have found you staring into nothingness at two am.” Steve said with a pointed look.
“I dunno, just-” Clarissa set down their plates in front of them, “thank you. Just like the general notion of it.”
“That’s not as specific as I intended you to reply with.”
Peter hummed, “It’s finals season, so I’m stressed. So is everyone else apparently.”
“What do you mean?” Steve asked. he took a second to bite into his food, which lo and behold, tasted exactly the same as it did when he was Peter’s age. Steve avoided crying over a sandwich, that would be more embarrassing than the leaked pictures of his heart pajamas.
“You know, some people take their anger out on others because of personal issues.” Peter pulled his mozzarella stick so the cheese stretched, “it’s not their fault.”
“You’re implying that someone’s doing that to you. Pete, that’s not okay.”
“Yeah, but they don’t touch me. So I just don’t say anything.”
“What do they say?”
“I don’t know. A kid just said something that really stuck with me, that’s why I was still up.”
“Are you going to keep making me ask what’s going on?”
Peter snatched one of Steve’s fries before responding quietly, “Someone told me that the only reason I’m on the decathlon team is because Mr. Harrington feels bad that all my family’s dead.”
“What?!” Steve choked. He coughed and drank some water, giving a pained smile to the sleep deprived restaurant patrons who gave him sideways glances, “who said that?”
Peter’s unbothered facade vanished and he shook his head, “No, no, no. I’m not telling you, you’re just going to go full red, white, and blue on him with your shield and the janitors will have to be mopping up his blood from the floor. That’s super gross and also not to mention illegal.”
“No, I’m not Tony. The way you deal with bullies is you talk to them.” Steve said.
“You’re really out of touch with this generation.” Peter said over his milkshake, “that won’t do anything. Also I don’t think that worked for you, Mr. Bucky Barnes said that you would fight everyone.”
Should I be offended? “Well, what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t want you to do anything,” Peter groaned, “it never helps. Don’t worry about it.”
“I have to, you obviously looked like you were beating yourself up over it.”
“I want you to leave it alone.”
“Now I can’t do that.” The soldier gestured to the teen in front of him, “Pete, you’re a good and smart kid. If you don’t want any interference then you should take matters into your own hands. I know that if Stark found out then that kid would be publicly shamed then put into exile.”
“I’ll do something, I promise.” Peter smiled, “Thank you for talking to me about it. I kinda feel better now.”
“That was the plan.” Steve returned the grin. It was hard to not be fond over the curly haired brunette that was simultaneously drinking a milkshake and regaling a tale of his friends attempt to glue their teacher to their seat.
The pair talked as they finished eating and Steve flagged the waitress for the check.
“Oh, I can pay.” Peter fumbled for his wallet but Steve silenced him with a look.
“No, it’s on me.”
“Thanks. For the food and everything.” The vigilante said shyly as they got up to leave.
“It’s no problem, son. Just know that I’ll always be here for you. Mint?” Steve offered Peter a peppermint that was in a small glass bowl near the exit.
“Oh, sure! Haven’t had one of these in a while.” Peter unwrapped it as they walked out and popped it into his mouth.
He immediately froze and let it slide off his tongue and clatter onto the pavement. Steve just stared at him, plain confused. They were a sight. A wide-mouthed kid staring at Captain America trying to hand him a helmet. Peter probably just looked like a fan who won a free motorcycle ride on the Winter Soldier’s bike.
“What the fuck.” Peter slurred, tongue still out.
“ Language .” Steve warned.
Peter, who had grabbed a napkin as they left, furiously rubbed it on his taste buds, looking like he realized he just ingested poison, “Ew, ew, ew, ew.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Gross, gross, gross, gross.” Peter shoved the helmet on his head and hopped on behind Steve, “that was disgusting, what the hell was that?”
“A… breath mint?”
“Whatever it was I think I’m dying, can we go back now please?”
Steve laughed, “Sure thing.”
On the ride to the tower, Steve got a call from Tony. The soldier was wearing a bluetooth earpiece (thanks, convenient technology!) so he said, “Accept call.”
“Hey Spangles, where’s the kid? FRIDAY told me you two left two hours ago.” There was a hint of panic in his voice.
“Oh, just a midnight snack. He couldn’t sleep so we went to a diner.”
“Oh, whew. Anyway, how is he? Is he okay?”
He looked behind him and saw that Peter was sleeping, his cheek pressed against Steve’s jacket, but still managed to have a death grip around his waist.
“He’s just fine. We’ll be back soon.”
“Alright, see you then.” The call ended.
Steve smiled to himself and kept his eyes focused on the road but allowed his gaze to drift upwards to look at the rising sun. Dawn was making its appearance and taxis were starting to get on the road. Pedestrians yelled at each other and two homeless men were brawling in an alleyway. Good ol’ Brooklyn.
When they got back, he carried the snoozing teenager to his room and tucked him in. He knew that if Peter was awake he would have protested the gesture, but he just snuggled into his bed. Steve ruffled his hair and left the room.
“Hey, punk.”
“Hey, Bucky.”
Bucky kept a straight face but there was playfulness behind his eyes, “I saw you used my bike.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“The only reason I’m letting it slide is because I saw on my phone that you two hung out early this morning.”
“Huh?”
“Snapchat.” Bucky showed Steve his phone.
On Peter’s story there was a picture of Steve eating his sandwich looking mid-bite. It was in no way a flattering angle and there was a timestamp that read “3:17 am” in white.
“Oh that’s attractive.”
“Yup.” The two settled into the couch in Steve’s room and relaxed into silence.
“You know that you’re going to have to take me to Liberty Diner now that I’m aware it’s still open, right?” Bucky asked teasingly
“Definitely, I’m going to have to make sure the spiderling doesn’t tag along, right?”
“I don’t care, he’s a sweet kid.”
Steve smiled, “Yeah. Yeah he is.”