Chapter Text
Peter had been to plenty of foster homes so far at the ripe old age of sixteen and he could usually tell if things were going to go south. But for some reason, he really couldn’t tell how things were going to go with this one. His social worker, Sam, said he knew the couple personally and that they were good people, but something felt weird about this one. And for once Peter couldn’t put a finger on what exactly was bothering him.
“I don’t know, I just. I don’t know. I feel weird about this one, Sam” he told the man as they were driving. The boy wasn’t making eye contact, too distracted watching the streets of Brooklyn roll by, a much nicer area than he was used to living in. “I just don’t have that great a feeling about it.”
Sam let out an exasperated sigh. “You don’t feel good about any of them, kid. And with good reason. But Pete, I know these guys. They’re my friends. And I know that they would never mistreat any kid in their care. Especially not a kid like you.” They’ve pulled into the driveway of a very expensive looking townhouse and Sam’s put the car in park and is looking pointedly at the back of Peter’s head. He can feel the intensity of the stare. Slowly, reluctantly, he meets Sam’s eyes. He could cry from how much adoration is in Sam’s eyes. God, he can feel the hard exterior he’s worked so long to build up cracking around the edges the longer Sam stares. The kid cracks.
“You really think so?”
“I know so.” The man says, looking into Peter’s eyes with a significant amount of sincerity. Peter’s always loved that about Sam; he really does care about these kids. Peter has seen several social workers come and go. It’s par for the course when you’re in the system. But never has he met a social worker who actually talks to the kids like they care, actually does something when their kids tell them there’s something wrong. He is much luckier than so many other kids, Peter tells himself all the time.
“C’mon.” Sam’s voice and the sound of the driver’s door opening pulls Peter out of his train of thought. He opens his door, stepping out into the warm Brooklyn air that’s usually not this nice in late August. “I’m gonna get your bag out from the trunk, go ahead and knock on the door. They’re expecting us.”
God is he really gonna make me introduce myself by myself? Peter thinks to himself, shoving his backpack over his shoulder. He looks hesitantly at the door, but eventually works up the willpower to make his way up the steps to the door and raise his fist to knock. There’s a few moments of silence and a deep, sinking feeling of dread on Peter’s part, but he doesn’t get to dwell on it too long before the door swings open revealing a blonde man. A huge blonde man. And he’s got the dopiest grin Peter’s ever seen on a new foster parent.
“Hi, Peter! We’re so happy to have you. Come on in!” He steps aside in the hallway, allowing Peter to walk in front of him and into the house which, yeah, as Peter expected from the caliber of the neighborhood on the drive by is definitely expensive. “Go ahead into the living room on your right, Bucky’s waiting for you. I’m going to go help Sam with your bags and I’ll be right in.” Bucky, he said. The fuck kind of name is Bucky?
Peter doesn’t pay the weird name any mind, instead walking down the hallway and into the living room on the right. He had to quickly force his face into a neutral expression, not wanting to look classless with his shock from how nice it was: beautiful hardwood that was in the hallway as well, a huge flatscreen mounted above what looked like a real fireplace, a window looking out onto the street and a window looking at the side of the next door neighbor’s house, and a set of beautiful grey couches that matched the warm brown tone of the walls beautifully, one of which housed a man who looked a lot more intimidating than the blonde man who greeted Peter at the door. He was big, like the blonde guy, but he was beefy . He had steely blue eyes, long brown hair pulled up into a lazy bun, and pouty lips that belied his intimidating nature. Bucky, he presumed. Peter stopped at the threshold of the room, unsure of whether he should sit, or say hi, or what. He didn’t have to stand there long before the man spoke up.
“Hey, kid. I’m Bucky, which I’m sure you already knew. Why don’t you come sit?” His voice was way gentler than Peter expected. It was almost as if his voice was hesitant as not to startle the kid. Weird . Peter slowly made his way over to the couch facing the fireplace and the tv, taking his bag from his shoulder and setting it next to his feet as he sat down. Bucky didn’t say anything for a few seconds that really felt like eons. Why the fuck is he just staring at me?
“I didn’t know the floor was that interesting, kid.” Bucky quipped with a chuckle. Peter huffed, fighting hard not to roll his eyes. Here we go . He just kept staring at the floor, fixing the wood with a scowl.
“Kid–”
“I have a fucking name you know.” Peter spat looking up to glare at Bucky, sick of this twisted mind game already. Yeah go ahead and make fun of the foster kid for not wanting to open up first thing .
“Hey, you don’t need to take that tone with me, pal. You just got here. You don’t even know me yet.”
“Yeah and you sure as hell don’t know me.” Bucky visibly bristled at this.
“Peter, I don’t know anything about the other homes you’ve been in, and I’m aware of how shitty they can be. But you can’t speak to me like that. You can’t speak to either of us like that,” Bucky admonishes. But his voice softens with his next words, “I won’t give you a lecture about it being disrespectful because I know respect is a two way street and we haven’t done anything yet to earn respect from you. But please. Let us earn it. And in turn you earn trust from us. We want to get to know you. We open our home because we care about kids like you, and we want to help. So please.” He trails off, seemingly looking a bit unsure of himself. He sighed, his eyes taking on a sad look. It seemed the universe didn’t want to allow Peter time to analyze anything about today as once again his incoming thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming shut, Steve and Sam scrambling through the door with the one suitcase Peter had. Muffled words permeated the air, the sound of Sam pounding up the stairs with the suitcase, then Steve was coming through the archway into the living room and smiling at Peter as he sat down on the same couch as him, a bit too close for Peter’s comfort.
“Hey, bud. Hey Buck.” the man clasped his hands together, as if preparing himself for a speech. Which he definitely was. “So we should probably talk about a few things before we get you settled in.”
“First of all, we should– crap, excuse my manners! I completely forgot to introduce myself. My name’s Steve Barnes-Rogers. Sorry about that Pete.” Was he actually apologizing about that? His name?
“It’s fine,” the kid mumbled.
“Well, any-who, we should just talk about general ground rules for the house. While you’re here you’re expected to keep your room tidy, which we’ll show you to your room in a bit. And about cleaning just try to clean up after yourself. In terms of chores, we don’t really have any for you, but we may ask you to do the dishes or something every once in a while.”
“You’re expected to go to school and we’d like to try as hard as you’re able to produce good grades. If you’re not doing so hot in school or you need help with your classes, just tell us. We’ll do our best to get you the help you need with your work.”
“I think you’ll find that we’re not really very strict at all. We want you to have friends, we want you to hang out with them, we want you to be happy. But you will mess up, all teenagers do, and it’s completely okay, but let’s talk about consequences if you do. We may not be super strict, but I think you’ll find our consequences are a bit different from most families. Typically if the offense is minor, you’ll probably just get grounded for a couple days. But we do believe in spanking here.”
Peter’s head snapped up at that, his eyes wide. He stared at Steve in shock, panic creeping into his expression. Spanking? Seriously? Is it 1940?
“Don’t look so panicked, Pete. We won’t hurt you–”
“You
just
said you’re gonna beat me if I mess up!” Steve just shook his head.
“No, I said we’re going to spank you if you misbehave. We don’t beat kids.” Peter scoffed. It’s not like he’s never been beat up before, but he’s never met foster parents so bold as to say they won’t beat him when they clearly will.
“Listen, Pete–” Steve stopped talking at the sound of Sam coming back down the stairs, feet stomping down the hardwood.
“Alright kid,” he started as he came into the living room. “I put your suitcase in your room and took a little look around. It’s a nice space. So you’re all set.”
“No, no Sam, wait–” Peter pleaded.
“Peter, c’mon. I told you. I know these guys. You’ll be okay, I promise.” Peter couldn’t stop the panicked tears already gathering themselves in his eyes. He stood up, crossing the room to crash into Sam, clinging onto the man for dear life.
“Sam, please. Please, please, please don’t leave me here. Please. ” Sam sighed, wrapping his arms around the kid.
“It’s okay, Pete. I promise.” He started rubbing his hands up and down Peter’s back. “I’m always just a phone call away. Seriously. You need me, I’m here.” He released the kid and put his hands on his shoulders.
“I’ll always be here for you, kid. But there’s only so much I’m allowed to do and you know this. If you need anything and I mean anything , you call me right away. Alright?” the man spoke sincerely (as he always did) but it did nothing to placate the kid. But he knew any attempts at leaving would be futile. So he nodded his head and didn’t cling to him any longer. “Alright, kid. I’m coming to eat lunch with you guys next week so we can catch up and you can let me know how you’re doing. Be good.” And with that, Sam was giving his goodbyes to Steve and Bucky and out the front door.
Peter sunk back into the couch, absolutely defeated. He tried to sniff inconspicuously but he couldn’t hide the tears escaping from his eyes. But for once, there was actual sympathy oozing from the other two men in the room. Steve put his hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“Hey, I know how hard this can be, bud. My mama died when I was fifteen and I was in foster care for two years before I found a home. I know how stressful this can be. It’s okay to cry, buddy.” Peter didn’t respond, though, light sobs racking his body.
“You want some time to yourself?” And wow. He was actually being considerate. Holy shit. Uh, okay. The kid nodded.
“Alright, buddy. Let’s get you to your room.” Steve rose to his feet, resting a hand on Peter’s back, guiding him up the stairs. The stairs lead up to a hallway with three four doors, two on each side. There’s a decorative table at the end of the hallway against a large window looking out on the Brooklyn streets and it’s got a bunch of pictures on it. Steve and Bucky in various cute couples poses, them kissing, them at their wedding, an older woman Peter can only assume is his late mother. It was cute.
Steve led him to the second door on the left, opening the door into his room. It was pretty big and minimally decorated with a dresser and night tables that matched the queen sized bed. The bed was set in the center of the room below a window, the dresser across the room from the bed with a mirror mounted above it. The walls were a light, ashy blue that matched the grey drapes by the window. There was a closet on the left with basic clothing choices, a few old pairs of shoes. Peter’s suitcase was sitting at the foot of the bed.
“We tried to clean it up a little bit and decorate but we left enough so that you can decorate it how you want. If you don’t like the color of the walls we can paint ‘em too.” He led Peter to the bed, where Peter plopped down, exhausted. Steve put his hand on the kid’s shoulder once more. “Alright, kiddo. Take some time for yourself, lie down, take a nap, settle in. The bathroom’s the first door in the hall, right next to this one. One of us will come get you for dinner. Come get us if you need anything, okay?” Peter nodded, and that seemed to be enough for Steve. He smiled at Peter before making his way out of the room and shutting the door.
God, this his already been a fucking disaster. Peter couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself. He’d been in homes where he was yelled at, insulted, starved, beaten, but he never showed this much emotion. And he already lashed out at Bucky. He really did feel bad about it too. The guy was clearly just trying to crack a joke to lighten the mood and Peter had taken it way too seriously. What the fuck was it about this house? Doesn’t fucking matter. I’m too tired for this shit.
Peter kicked his shoes off and turned onto his side on the bed, staring at absolutely nothing. The last thing he wanted was to forget this day, to leave. To where he had no idea. But he was tired of being taken from house to house wondering if he would ever find somewhere he was comfortable. If he was being honest, the kid lost hope years ago. But that didn’t really matter. This world was cruel. It didn’t care if everyone wanted their parents to live forever, it didn’t care how old a kid was when they lost their parents, and it certainly didn’t care if a kid ever found a forever home. That’s life I guess . And it was that pessimistic thought that Peter drifted away on, barely letting himself relax, and letting his pure exhaustion take him over.