Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

June 30th, 2017

Looking out the window, Tony tries to stop the blurring of the trees by focusing on just one until it disappears from view. The trees here are different, two hours away from where the journey had started, taller and more leafy than the spiky branches he had gotten used to. Soon enough, though, the constant back and forth of his eyes becomes tiring. but there isn’t much else to do. He wishes he could nap, take advantage of the quiet atmosphere in Ms. Hill’s car and make up for all of the sleep he didn’t get last night, but of course he can’t. 

Won’t. 

Not after the last time he’d fallen asleep in the car. 

Ms. Hill is quiet in the front seat, but Tony can see her eyes in the rearview mirror every five minutes. Just a quick glance, but sometimes it lingers. Making sure he still looks okay. Ms. Hill has always been nice to him, always has a smile when she comes to see him and talks to him all nice and soft like Jarvis used to do at home. 

Last night Ms. Hill’s smile was wrong. She smiled with her mouth but her eyes looked so sad. Tony knew it when he saw her. Sad eyes meant he was going away again. Sad eyes meant disappointment . Disappointed that he couldn’t behave again, that he said something disrespectful or touched something he wasn’t supposed to or wasn’t paying attention like he always did even though he tried, I swear I tried this time . Sad eyes meant his foster parents didn’t want him anymore, and he had to pack up his things into a hand-me-down backpack and a sad, black garbage bag, and go to meet new strangers and be on his best behavior so that maybe someone would keep him this time. 

Tony didn’t really want to leave this last house. It wasn’t that bad compared to the other ones. Mr. and Mrs. Leahy didn’t lock the fridge like his second foster home did, and they weren’t tired and stressed and snippy from too many kids in the house. He had to do chores in the house and they watched him while he did his homework and he was only allowed one hour of TV a day and the computer was only for schoolwork and he shared a room with another boy because the apartment was just a touch too small, but Tony didn’t mind all of that. 

But they had their own kids, their real kids, so Tony should have known not to get his hopes up. Especially after all the incidents in the four short months he’d been there. 

Tony looks down at his hands at the thought. He wishes he knew why he was like this. Why he is such a problem child , like his second foster mom, the really really mean one, had said to him all the time. None of the other foster parents had said that, but Tony knew they must have thought it too. Why else would all the families he had stayed with end up sending him back? Why would anyone want a troubled kid like him?

Nothing but a waste of my time and efforts , Mrs. Walsh used to say, as she sent him to bed without dinner, more often than not. 

The Leahy’s were Tony’s fourth foster home, and his shortest stay yet. The first one, with old Mrs. Hendricks, was easily the nicest foster home he’d stayed in. Tony had his own room there, just like at he used to at his real home, and Mrs. Hendricks would cook a huge dinner every night. She only had one other foster kid, Beth, so it was always quiet and calm there. Beth was a lot older than him, but she was nice and played with him sometimes. She shared her colored pencils with him whenever he wanted, and helped him learn how to write the alphabet in huge, wonky letters. 

But then Mrs. Hendricks fell one day and Beth had to call 911 and they had to go to the hospital in the ambulance with all the lights and loud noises and Beth was crying and Tony was so so scared of hospitals because bad bad bad things happened in hospitals, people get hurt and sick and die there. Ms. Hill and another social worker had come to get Beth and Tony that night to pack their stuff and go to new homes. He was sad to leave Mrs. Hendricks’ house then, but he was happy when Ms. Hill said she hadn’t died. He didn’t want another dead parent. 

There are two parents in this home, Ms. Hill had said when she picked him up this morning at the Leahy’s house. They’re both men, though. Tony doesn’t know how that really works in the new home, and he isn’t really sure he wants to. Dads, real ones or foster ones, have never worked out that well for Tony. 

He can’t stop picking at his cuticles in his lap. Everyone says it’s a bad habit but he can’t stop himself. Sometimes, Tony just needs to move , even if it’s just his fingers. Mrs. Walsh would dole out punishments if Tony couldn’t sit perfectly still. It made him feel like he was going to burst right out of his skin, and it would only get worse when he was scared. 

Ms. Hill and he are well away from Manhattan now, Tony can tell. They had passed over a second bridge 20 minutes ago and it’s been nothing but trees and highway ever since. Tony wonders if the new house has a yard. Since leaving his real home, he’d only lived in apartments. The parks in the neighborhood were fun, but he had liked the yard at home. He remembers being able to run through grass and not having to share a swing. 

Tony jumps at a sharp pinch in his thumb. He looks down to see a drop of blood welling up where he had ripped a chunk of skin out. Crap. He doesn’t want to get any blood on Ms. Hill’s nice car, but, after quickly peeking around the backseat, Tony realizes he has nothing to use as a tissue. Stuck on what to do, Tony sucks the finger between his lips and turns more toward the window to keep Ms. Hill from noticing. He winces at the initial sting but manages to pull his mind from the pain by counting the number of light posts they pass along the way. 

After a short while - two hundred and seventy three posts, to be exact - they pull off to an exit. Another fifteen minutes and a couple of turns later, they cruise through a neighborhood so unlike the city streets of New York that Tony finds himself drinking in everything with a sense of wonder. Two and three-floor houses line neat streets, tall trimmed trees in every front yard, shiny cars sitting in double driveways. With a thrill of excitement, Tony’s eyes are able to focus quickly enough to notice front and back yards. He even catches a glimpse of what looks like a swingset behind one home. 

Distracted by the details that differentiate one house from the next, it feels as though only a minute passes when Tony feels the car slow down on the road. They stop in front of a house that Tony has only ever seen the likes of in movies. A wide, two-floor home stood in front of him, the panels painted light blue with white shutters on the windows. 

Tony’s heart sets to pounding when he hears the click of Ms. Hill’s car door. He checks his thumb to make sure the bleeding has stopped while she pulls his bag out of the car. At least that was done. A familiar wave of shame washes over him as Ms. Hill opens the door for him, holding the black garbage bag holding all the clothes he’s ever called his own in her other hand. 

Tony makes himself snap into action at her expectant smile and unbuckle the seatbelt. He grips the strap of the worn red backpack that Mrs. Hendricks had bought him for his first day of kindergarten, and pushes off the seat to land on the sidewalk. Tony can’t wait until he’s big enough for his feet to actually touch the floor when he sits. 

A small blue tricycle rests against the porch lining the front entrance, low enough to the ground that it clearly belongs to a child smaller than Tony. Of course he won’t be the only kid here. In a house this big, there could be seven or eight other kids inside, all scrunched into bunk beds like at the group home he had spent three nights in, when he was finally taken away from Mr. and Mrs. Walsh. Tony feels a shiver run down his back as he and Ms. Hill approach the rust-red front door. He tries to smile back at her when she looks down to him, waiting for something like approval. 

He must not do a good job, because she pats him between the shoulders and softly says “It’s going to be ok, buddy. I promise, you’re going to like this one.” Then she pushes the doorbell. Tony hears it echo from the other side of the door, an unexpected piano flourish rather than the typical crisp ding-dong he expects. 

Tony doubts Ms. Hill is right. After this last stay with the Leahy’s, he knows now not to get too comfortable. He could be gone from here by the next week, even if everything seemed like it was going fine. 

At the telltale vibration of approaching steps, Tony’s grip tightens on his backpack. He doesn’t know if anyone notices his jump as the door swings open, but he hopes no one will mention it if they did. 

The man behind the door is....well... huge . Way taller than Ms. Hill, and bulky like a football player. And when the man greets Tony with a wide smile, his attention is drawn to the -  

Woah. The man has a metal arm . From the fingertips all the way up to where the arm disappears under the sleeve of his t-shirt. Even in a dark silver matte coating, the plates catch and glimmer in the sunlight. 

“Hi there, you must be Anthony. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Bucky.”

And Tony is so distracted by the arm he tunes into the words just a second too late. Instead of saying “hi”, or saying he doesn’t like to be called Anthony, what comes out of Tony’s mouth is “What’s a Bucky?” 

Tony;s hand twitches on the backpack, and it takes everything in his body to keep from smacking his own forehead. 

The man’s face freezes in befuddlement for a split second before he breaks out into a laugh, big and booming. “I’m a Bucky. It’s my nickname.” 

“Oh.” Tony doesn’t know what to say to that. For a second he stands rigid on the doorstep, before he remembers his manners. “I’m Tony.” 

Tony is caught off guard when Bucky leans down from his waist to be eye-to-eye with him and sticks out his hand - the non-metal one - to him. “Hi Tony. Welcome to our home.”

From this view, he can see that Bucky has brown hair long enough to be pulled back into a small knot like Tony’s only ever seen girls do. His eyes are dark too, like Tony’s.

Tony slowly places his hand in Bucky’s, afraid of offending when he’s been at his new home for 30 seconds, and is surprised at how gently Bucky’s fingers curl over his smaller ones and shake his hand for a moment before letting go. He straightens up and motions to the hallway. 

“Come inside. I think Steve’s got everyone in the kitchen.”

Everyone . 

Making sure Ms. Hill is still beside him, he gingerly steps through the door and waits for Bucky to take the lead again. He leads them to the back of the house, letting Tony catch a glimpse of a nice living room as they pass by. As Bucky promises, they arrive in the kitchen. 

Tony barely notices the view to the backyard from a glass door when he zeroes in on the table sitting opposite the island in the middle of the room. Another man, the same large size as Bucky but with blonde hair and blue eyes, stands next to one end of the table, where three children are seated. 

A boy with sandy hair and blue eyes, older than Tony, turns to him with a big grin that clearly says he’s excited to see the new kid. A girl about the same age sits next to him looking almost bored, but Tony lingers on her red hair and green eyes before sliding over to the other side of the table. There, a little boy with plump cheeks is clutching an action figure in one hand and swinging his legs under the table. His shaggy dark hair and eyes make Tony wonder if this kid may be Bucky’s real kid. Biological. 

“Guys, this is Tony. Tony, this is my husband, Steve,” Bucky says, arm reaching out towards the other man. Like Bucky, this one steps forward to crouch down to Tony’s level with a pearly white smile. 

“Hi there, Tony. We’re really glad to meet you.” Tony hopes that isn’t a lie. Steve and Bucky seem to talk nicely, for now, at least. It might change when Ms. Hill leaves, so Tony can’t make himself relax just yet. 

“I’d like you to meet our children,” Steve says, motioning to the kids next to them. The older boy pipes up before Steve can continue with a bright, “I’m Clint!” and an eager wave. Steve huffs a small laugh, and Tony can see his smile turn a little softer. 

Tony gives Clint a small smile and waves back. “Yes, that’s our son Clint,” Steve chimes back in, “And he’s twelve years old. And this is Natasha, she’s eleven.” Natasha doesn’t smile like Clint, and the way she looks him up and down, critical, before waving silently makes Tony straighten. He shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly even more self-conscious with the idea that Natasha sees something she already doesn’t like in him. 

Bucky comes to stand at the other side of the table, bringing Tony’s attention to the little boy. Brushing a hand through the little boy’s floppy hair, he says “And this little guy is Peter. Can you say ‘hi’ to Tony, Petey?”

The hearty shake of the hand still clutching the action figure makes Tony smile. There’s something wildly endearing about the missing bottom front teeth in his wide, chubby-cheeked grin. 

“Good job,” Bucky directs at Peter. “And how old are you, buddy?”

Peter turns around to face Bucky and shoves his hand, thumb tucked into his palm, into Bucky’s face as he bursts out, “I’m four!” 

Bucky beams down at Peter and Tony is surprised at the look of pride on his face. Maybe Peter really is Bucky’s biological kid. Tony has never had a foster parent look at him like that before. 

“How old are you?” Clint asks, and it takes Tony a moment to realize it was directed at him. 

“Um - I’m seven.” Just barely, Tony chooses not to add. He’s small for his age as it is. Small, young kids are easy prey for bigger kids. 

“Yes!” Clint turns to Steve and excitedly chirps, “Tony can ride the big bikes with me and Tasha!” 

“Let’s have Tony settle in first, before we start racing through the streets, ok, pal?”

Clint nods in agreement, and Tony chokes on the knowledge that he doesn’t even know how to ride a bike. Hopefully Clint and Natasha will still be nice to him even if he can’t ride. 

“Can we take Tony to our room?” Clint asks. 

“Slow down a sec,” Bucky chides. “Tony, we were going to have you share a room with Clint since Peter’s is a little too small. Are you going to be ok with that?”

Tony doesn’t really know why he was asking. He’s only ever had his own room at Mrs. Hendricks’ house. “I’ve shared before,” is what Tony says. 

Bucky’s eyebrow twitches for a moment, but his smile doesn’t change. “Alright, then. Why don’t you come with me and Steve on a little house tour before lunch, huh?” Turning to Clint and Natasha, he says, “How about you take Petey into the living room for some TV?” 

Nodding along, Clint beckons Peter to follow him and Natasha into the other room, where Tony hears the TV turn on. 

Steve looks back at Tony. “First things first, this is the kitchen. We eat all our meals at the table, and you can always eat or drink whatever is in the fridge whenever you’re hungry. You never have to wait for permission to eat or drink, ok?”

Steve stops, and it takes a second for Tony to realize that Steve is waiting for an answer. Tony nods before he moves on. At least he doesn’t have to worry about getting in trouble for eating food that might not be for him. “There’s always water in the fridge, we’ll show you how to use that, and we always have juice or iced tea. When we go to the store, you can tell us all the drinks and snacks you like.”

“The living room is right through there,” he points where the other children disappeared, “And you can get into the backyard through that door.” 

Steve is looking closely at Tony, probably to make sure he’s paying attention, so Tony follows Steve’s finger to the glass sliding door behind the table. 

After orienting Tony to the first floor, which includes the home office, where the family computer sits, and the stairway to the basement, which Tony is told houses the washing machines, Steve leads Tony upstairs while Bucky gets started on making lunch. 

Steve brings him into Clint’s room first, and Tony almost freezes in shock at what he sees. Clint’s room isn’t like any other bedroom he’d ever seen in a foster home before. A large window sits in the center of the opposite wall, a set of a twin bed and matching nightstand arranged on either side of it. In the same mirrored arrangement, a dresser and small desk are tucked against the left and right walls. The door is centered on the left side, clearly Clint’s, from the pictures and knick-knacks arranged on the furniture. Across from the other bed, meant to be Tony’s, is a closet that Steve said he and Clint will share. 

“I hope you don’t mind the colors,” Steve says. The room is tastefully designed with light grey walls and dark furniture, but the wall where Clint’s dresser and desk sit is painted a medium purple shade, just a little gray undertone so that it isn’t so shocking against the other walls. “We let Clint redecorate and arrange his room for his birthday last year. You’re the first person who’s shared the room with him since then.”

Tony carefully lays his backpack against the nightstand on his side. Steve had taken the garbage bag from Ms. Hill down the stairs to the basement, promising he would get it all washed and dried before bedtime. 

Clint’s bed sheets match the purple hue of the walls, but Tony’s bed has grey plaid that matches the other walls. Steve tells Tony to let him know if the sheets bother him at all so he can pick different ones, which Tony thinks is possibly the strangest thing a foster parent has ever asked him. Why in the world would Tony be bothered by sheets? He’s lucky enough that the whole set matches. 

After the bedroom, Steve takes Tony out into the hallway and points out Natasha’s room, next to his and Clint’s, and the bathroom that he would share with the other kids next to it. Across the hall is Steve and Bucky’s room, and Peter’s door faces Natasha’s. A trip to the linen closet next to Peter’s room gets Tony a new toothbrush - Steve even lets him pick from three colors - his own toothpaste, and a new hairbrush and comb that goes into a bathroom drawer where Tony notices three other brushes in different colors. The purple brush must be Clint’s. Just like in the kitchen, Steve bends down and promises Tony that the only bathroom rule in the house is that he knocks before coming in. 

When Steve leads him back down to the kitchen, Tony sees Ms. Hill at the table with Bucky. Suddenly it occurs to him that he didn’t know what Steve and Bucky’s last names are. He needs to find a way to ask Clint or Natasha what he’s supposed to call them. He’s never called a foster parent by their first name. Beth had called Mrs. Hendricks “Mama”, but Tony, not even four, had only ever called her “Missy H”. His other foster parents had insisted on “respectful” names. 

Ms. Hill and Bucky are looking over some papers - his file, Tony guesses. He looks down at his shoes. Compared to the nice hardwood floors, the scuffed Adidas sneakers on his feet that were a hand-me-down from his third foster home, seem dirty in comparison. He should have taken them off when he first came into the house, but Bucky hadn’t told him to and it hadn’t occurred to Tony to stop and take them off. He hopes this foster home isn’t a stickler about shoes in the house like other ones were. 

He doesn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes now. Tony knows what’s in his file, and he doesn’t need to see any more pity in their eyes. His file isn’t the greatest - five homes in four years, a history of acting out and misbehavior, and just barely passing school this last year. At this point, he’s just grateful that he hasn’t gotten dumped in a group home and been forgotten there. Tyler, a boy in his third home, had come there from a group home. He couldn’t follow the house rules, so he got sent back a month later. Tyler had said Tony was too young for the group home, and at the time Tony had crossed his fingers behind his back and hoped to God it was true. So far, it was. 

“Tony?”

His head jerks up as he realizes he isn’t paying attention to something important. Again.

“Huh?”

Bucky sends him a soft smile, which sends Tony on edge. Foster parents don’t smile like that. 

“I was just asking if you like turkey. I’m going to make sandwiches for lunch but we have other things if you don’t like it.”

Tony blinks. “Turkey’s ok.”

Bucky’s smile widens. “Ok.”

He gets up from his chair and goes to start digging through cabinets. 

From the table, Ms. Hill waves him over to her. “You feeling ok, pal?” She always askes him that before she leaves him at a new home, and five homes later Tony still has no idea what he is supposed to say. 

Please don’t leave? Why am I here? How long am I staying this time?

But he doesn’t want to bother Ms. Hill any more than he already has. So instead, he answers, “Feeling ok, I guess,” just like all the other times. 

She gives him another one of her nice smiles and pats his shoulder. “Ok, buddy. I’m going to head out, ok? You know you can call me anytime, right? Anytime.”

Tony nods along. Her phone number is written down in the back of his school notebook. He’d wanted to call her a hundred times before, but could never bring himself to do it. That, or he couldn’t find a phone when he needed it. 

Maybe this time, if something was wrong, he would be able to call her. Tony is older now, after all. Not such a little kid anymore. He could be brave like a big boy. 

He stops himself from grabbing onto Ms. Hill’s jacket as she leaves the house. He feels his breaths getting short and choppy in that way that means he might start wheezing soon. New house. New parents. New kids. No guarantee that anyone in this house was nice. 

Before he can get distracted by all the bad thoughts, Steve calls out to the living room, “Lunch, kids!” and suddenly the other kids are back in the room, taking their previous seats. Tony realizes he is sitting in the empty chair that had been next to Peter earlier.

When Bucky places a plate down in front of him, Tony jumps. He goes rigid when his eyes meet Natasha’s.

Her green eyes look sharp. Like she’s looking at him with x-ray vision. Looking under his skin, into his insides. 

Tony has to look away. 

Staring down at his sandwich, Tony realizes just how tired he is.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Tony nearly has a heart attack. It always happens, the first time he opens his eyes in a new home and doesn’t know where he is for a few terrifying moments before his memory wakes up and he remembers. Truthfully, it happened more often than just the first morning. At his second home, Tony woke up scared every morning.

Today, the grey walls catch him off guard. The walls at the Leahy house had been a light, ocean blue. Tony had only just gotten used to them a month ago, and now he has to start the whole process over again.

It’s exhausting, the constant moving and new environments and especially new people. Things stay the same, they’re easy to get acquainted with. People, though, are ever-changing and unpredictable. It’s the people that he needs to look out for.

The next thing that alerts his consciousness is Clint. More specifically, Clint’s snoring.

Tyler had snored too, but his was harsher. And louder.

Clint, on the other hand, snores softly. It’s weird, in a not-bad way, how it just slightly snuffles on the inhale, exhales heavy but evenly.

The calm and quiet is a stark contrast to the almost electric energy Clint had baffled Tony with last night. The older boy had taken it upon himself to guide Tony throughout his new room, telling him that he was willing to share his half of the closet if Tony needed more room. Tony doubted he has enough clothes to fill in even half of his dresser, let alone take up any space in Clint’s - supposedly, now their - closet.

Besides, Tony thought, sharing space will just make it easier to steal my stuff. Tony has lost count by now of how many clothes have been stolen through the years.

After the bedroom tour, Clint continued his thorough tour into the bathroom, showing Tony exactly how the shower turned on, how to get the temperature dial moved, the little folding step stool that was hidden between the toilet and the wall if he needed something stored in the medicine cabinet. As they visited each room, Clint and Natasha had repeated the house rules that Steve and Bucky had gone over during lunch the previous day:

No permission needed for eating, drinking, or using the bathroom.
Office computer is only for school use unless you ask to use it for something else.
Always tell someone if you’re going to the front or back yards.
Helmets are always worn on bikes and scooters.
Do not go into the basement or garage without permission.
Every kid is responsible for keeping their room tidy, and rooms must be cleaned by Sunday nights.
Any toys, games, and puzzles must be put back where you got it when you’re done.

Most importantly, Steve had said, was the last rule.

We never, ever, ever, hit each other, yell at each other, or are purposely mean to each other.

“We all know we can get frustrated,” Steve said, tone both soft and firm. “Everyone has bad days. Everyone gets upset. But in this house we take care to be kind. We use our words instead of hands. If something is bothering you, if you’re upset for any reason, Tony, I want you to come and tell me or Bucky so that we can help. Do you think you can do that?”

Tony was so stunned, he stole a glance across the table at Clint and Natasha to see if there was a joke he wasn’t in on.

None of the other foster homes had a rule like that.

When he didn’t see a smile on anyone’s face, Tony turned back to Steve and nodded, hoping that he faked enough certainty in the movement. Steve seemed to take it, and said “Ok, good.”

Tony hadn’t missed that neither Steve nor Bucky had mentioned anything about punishments.

He hadn’t dared to ask.

He did, however, gather up enough courage to clarify, “What’s your last name?”

“Oh, I guess we forgot to mention that, huh?” Steve glanced at Bucky with a little smile on his lips. “My last name is Rogers, and Bucky’s is Barnes.”

“Oh.” Well, he doesn’t know what to do with that answer. “I thought you were married.”

“We are, pal,” Bucky confirmed.

“Are you - “ Tony stopped himself. That would definitely be a rude question.

“What is it, Tony? Don’t be afraid to ask us any questions you have,” Bucky reassured him.

Tony hesitated, but he needed an answer either way. “Are you...not allowed to have the same name, then? Because you’re....” and he trailed off, couldn’t bring himself to say it.

But Bucky and Steve seemed to understand. “Because we’re two men?” Steve clarified.

Tony could only nod hesitantly.

Bucky’s chuckle unsettled him. “No, pal, nothing to do with that. Changing our names is just a lot of paperwork we didn’t want to fill out.”

“But,” Clint jumped in, full of all that bouncing energy, “Tasha and Petey and I have both your names!”

“Yeah, bud, you do,” Steve said, plucking Clint’s earlobe playfully. “That’s because your names had to change anyway when we adopted you, so you got both!”

And that was when Tony froze. We adopted you.

The other kids weren’t foster kids.

Steve and Bucky had adopted them.

Tony had heard of it, sure, but he’d never been in a home where any of the foster kids had been adopted. It was a myth, as far as Tony was concerned. Who would do it? Why? What had Steve and Bucky gotten out of it?

His mind had spiraled so hard he had to take a moment to remind himself why he started that line of conversation.

“Oh. I don’t know if I should call you Mr. Rogers or Mr. Barnes.” Bucky gave him another sad little smile. It looked like pity, almost, and made Tony wish he could take it all back and just be quiet, stop talking and just be told what to do. Here was Tony, yet again, opening up his stupid mouth.

“Neither of those, Tony. You call us Steve or Bucky, or whatever else you’re comfortable with, ok? But no last names here.”

Again, Tony found himself at a loss for what to say, so he stuck with the tried and true method he’d learned from his other homes: say nothing, nod, and smile.

Tony decided to keep the talking to an absolute minimum for the rest of the day. Instead, he watched the members of his new foster family closely.

Most of the foster parents Tony had stayed with before faked their smiles for the social worker, but those smiles would disappear the moment Ms. Hill would walk out the door.

Steve and Bucky’s smiles...didn’t. They kind of smiled a lot.

At Tony especially. Maybe it was meant to calm him, reassure him that he was alright in a new place, but it only set him on edge.

Clint and Natasha did too, even as they kept their distance for the first day.

After the grogginess of the morning - and Tony learns that Clint is not an easy riser as Bucky has to shake him quite a bit for the boy to even crack an eye open - Clint’s personality quickly reveals itself. He is loud and bright, excited and bouncy almost all the time, like electricity is thrumming under his skin, to the point where Clint seems to have no sense of his surroundings. In the 24 hours he’s been in the new house, Tony observes Clint bump into a wall corner, twice, and nearly fall down the last three steps on the stairs as they come down for breakfast. Like a rabbit, Clint bounces right back up with a practiced motion that says this is a normal experience of his life. It leaves Tony with a need to keep a constant eye on the older boy, wondering how long it would be until Clint’s next accident.

Natasha, from what Tony can gather, seems to be Clint’s polar opposite. Quiet and graceful, she reminds Tony of the essence of a ghost. When Natasha speaks, which has been a rare occurrence so far, her tone is low and even. She only speaks when no one else is doing so. And where Clint is unaware of his body in space, Natasha seems to be aware of everything. Just as Clint was setting the table for dinner, she quietly alerted, “Peter’s trying to eat his G.I. Joe,” setting Steve into instant motion to gently coax the action figure out of Peter’s mouth.

Tony has caught Natasha watching him more than once already, making no effort to hide her stares. If Tony has one eye on Clint, he has his other one on Natasha, trying and failing to quench the constant feeling of being watched, carefully and critically.

Peter, on the other hand, seems normal enough. He’s tiny and playful and giggly and, Tony has to admit, adorable. Peter wants nothing but a friend to play with, and once breakfast is done, the little boy grabs Tony’s hand to tug him off the chair. He commands, “Come with me,” as sternly as Tony has ever heard a toddler say, and Tony helplessly follows the pull of his hand into the yard even though he feels ridiculous being led around as if he is the toddler and not Peter. He almost wants to withdraw his hand, but it’s so tiny - everything about Peter is so tiny - Tony decides against it.

He’s only had one younger foster sibling, but she was a baby and cried a lot. He doesn’t want to make Peter cry.

Peter leads him to a small sandbox to the left of the yard, while Clint and Natasha wander to a small wooden playhouse on the right. A few minutes later, Clint catches Tony gazing at it. Tony expects the other boy to ignore him, maybe even make it clear that the playhouse isn’t for sharing, but instead he comes over and insists that Tony be given a tour of the “fort”.

There isn’t that much to it, but Tony imagines that this is what treehouses look like on the insides. The playhouse is seated on risers and lined with a narrow porch on all sides, so that a small ladder on the side of the house leads to the “front door”. On the other side of the door is a large room, more than big enough for all four kids to sit in, and tall enough that Tony muses even Steve and Bucky could fit inside. A window is cut out in each of the four walls, so that plenty of light streams inside to illuminate the room. Connected to the side of the playhouse is a swing set with two seats. Clint points out a small rock wall attached to the back of the playhouse, leaving enough space to climb onto the porch as another form of entrance. “Pop put that in for us a few months ago! Tash and I begged him for so long after we saw a picture of a treehouse with one just like it!”

From behind them, Natasha quietly adds, “You have to be careful if you use it Tony. Papa made the rocks close so there’s not much to reach, but Peter’s too small for it.”

Tony nods to her seriously, matching the expression he sees on her face. To himself, Tony thinks the rock wall seems too scary. He doesn’t want to fall and hurt himself. He’d gotten punished the last time that happened, and Steve and Bucky seem like they really care about their kids’ safety. Foster parents can get in big trouble if kids get hurt in their house. That’s how he and all the other kids ended up leaving Mr. and Mrs. Walsh’s house.

It’s when Clint turns around to lead them out of the playhouse that Tony first sees some purple clip-looking things hooked around Clint’s ears. He’s never seen anything like that before, and without even thinking, asks, “What are those?”

Now you’ve done it, Tony. Always gotta open your stupid mouth.

Tony’s experience with older kids is that most of the time, they don’t like being asked personal questions. It wasn’t until his fourth home, when Tony finally wasn’t the youngest kid in the house anymore, that he understood that.

Tony braces himself, but it isn’t needed. Clint turns back to face him, and only needs a second to realize what Tony is asking about.

“Oh, they’re my aids! They help me hear better,” Clint responds with a smile, giving his earlobe a playful shake.

Tilting his head, Tony asks, “But, what’s wrong with your ears?”

Behind him, a sharp, hissed “Nothing,” makes Tony whip around to see Natasha, her green eyes so fierce that Tony can’t help but gasp.

“Nothing is wrong with him.” Her voice is edged, like Mrs. Dwolinski’s. No room for backtalk.

Over the sudden roaring in his ears, Tony hears Clint behind him, chiding, “Come on, Tash, he doesn’t know. He didn’t mean anything by it, right, Tony?”

Tony doesn’t mean to jump when Clint lays a hand on his arm, but he still wishes he could’ve controlled himself, if only to stop from seeing the look of pity on Clint’s face as he steps back and lifts his hands.

“I’m sorry, Tony, I didn’t mean to touch!”

Tony wraps his arms around his waist and looks down at his shoes. He can’t bear to look at either of them right now. “It’s okay,” he mutters, even if it really isn’t. He can’t afford to make enemies here if he wants his stay to be bearable.

The silence stretches on for some painful seconds, cut through only by Peter’s soft voice coming from the sandbox, until Clint speaks up again.

“I was born with it. It’s called...con-congen’tal hearing loss.”

Tony risks a glance up at him, waiting. “Basically I got sick while my mom was pregnant with me, and the wires or whatever they are in my ears got hurt, so I can’t hear well. If I don’t have my aids in it sounds like I’m underwater. Nothing is clear. But Tasha and I can talk in sign language!”

Looking at Natasha right now still feels like a bad idea. “What’s sign language?”

Clint grins, as if he’s already forgotten Tony’s misstep. “It’s a way that you can talk with your hands! I learned it when I was little and I taught Tasha. Look.”

Almost too fast for Tony to register, Clint performs something with his hands with acrobatic skill, moving swiftly from his chest to head and once back, hands constantly changing shape. Tony gapes.

“He said ‘My name is Clint and I love pizza,’” Natasha’s voice sounds less angry, but Tony still can’t shake the look that had been in her eyes just a moment ago.

“Really?”

Clint smiles. “Really.”

After a moment, Tony lets his mouth pull with a grin. “That’s awesome,” he says, because, well, it is. Clint can talk with his hands.

“Yeah it is! I can teach you if you want, I taught Natasha when we were younger.”

Tony wonders what that means, but he isn’t going to risk another reprimand for asking.

For the rest of the day, Tony tries not to meet Natasha’s gaze. It seems the safer option.

While Natasha gives off the impression that she isn’t very pleased by Tony’s presence, Peter acts as though he can’t get enough of Tony. The little boy gravitates back to his side throughout the day, grabbing his hand out of nowhere and pulling him to whatever direction he chooses. In the sandbox, Peter reveals his collection of dinosaur toys and shows Tony how he hides them under the sand in order to dig them out.

He takes Tony on a tour of his room after lunch, showing him the bins holding all kinds of stuffed animals, toys, squishy balls, and stacking toy sets. Tony has never met a kid with so many toys that he needs a whole organizational system to keep them neat. When Peter shows him how his stacking sets click in and to fit right, Tony wants to squirm. Sharing toys hasn’t been a normal part of Tony’s experience with foster siblings. More than anything, people would hide their toys away from him, make it clear they were not for him to touch or ask for.

Peter, on the other hand, practically shoves his toys into Tony’s hands, and looks confused when Tony doesn’t immediately engage in play. Tony is sure that Peter is too small to really read other people’s emotions, but the younger boy seems to know exactly what is putting Tony on edge, putting his tiny hand over Tony’s and essentially forcing him to take his turn.

Tony still feels that squirmy feeling under his skin, but Peter’s sweet nature calms him after a while. There’s no threat, no imminent screaming or snatching or “mine mine mine”.

Dinner goes much like lunch. Steve and Bucky lay out their plans for the next day, which include grocery shopping and stopping at the local mall for some new clothes for Tony.

Tony’s confused at the one, and says so when Steve catches Tony’s eyes.

“But I have clothes. I brought them with me.” Had Steve forgotten?

“I know, bud, and I washed them all today so they’re nice and fresh. But school starts up in a couple of weeks and you need some warmer clothes and a good jacket for the cold weather. So does Peter. Clint, I want you to check your jackets and coats fit, ok?”

“Can we get pizza at the mall?” Clint asks around a bite of pasta.

“We’ll see. Tomorrow is family night and it’s Natasha’s turn to pick. And don’t talk with your mouth full, you’re about to spit sauce everywhere.”

Clint turns to Natasha, wide-eyed and pouting. She counters with a scoff and a playful shove, but doesn’t say anything.

While Clint showers, Tony starts filling his dresser with the clothes Steve had brought up from the basement. He’s sure that he had come with more clothes, but Mrs. Leahy had been the one to pack up his stuff, so maybe she’d missed some. He isn’t sure how much money Steve and Bucky are willing to spend on the new kid - it definitely isn’t going to be much, so he’ll have to check he has enough to last a while.

It’s then that a movement in the corner of his eye makes him jump almost out of his skin.

Natasha stands in the doorway, staring at him with her sharp eyes for a minute before she steps into the room.

Tony can’t help the step back he took, but he regrets it when Natasha’s face falls into a frown. She looks heartbroken, and a split second later her face is wiped back to neutral.

For a long moment, she stays eerily silent, and Tony’s heartbeat grows so loud he’s sure she can hear it.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“For scaring you.” Her eyes fall to the floor for a moment before coming back to meet his. “Earlier. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just…”

Tony has no idea what is happening. He was sure Natasha had come in here for a different reason.

“Clint and I were in a foster home together before we came here,” she murmurs just loud enough for him to hear. “It….it wasn’t nice. We were your age, I think. But Clint protected me there. So sometimes I forget. That people aren’t being mean to him. And I get angry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Tony has never really had someone say that before. What is he supposed to say?

When he hears the shower cut off, he knows he’s out of time. He settles for “Okay.”

But Natasha doesn’t leave. She starts looking Tony up and down again, like when he first came in yesterday.

“You’ve been in bad homes before.”

It’s not a question. Tony feels his entire body freeze up into an icicle as he tries not to think about the homes before.

Natasha takes that reaction as an answer, and softly says, “Good night, Tony,” as she turns and leaves for her room.

Tony stays rooted to the spot until he hears Clint’s feet padding back to their room.

Chapter Text

After breakfast on Saturday morning, the kids pack into the grey minivan that sits in the driveway. Clint and Natasha automatically climb into the back row while Tony is directed to the middle row, into the other single seat next to Peter, being strapped into his car seat. When Bucky circles the car to check Tony’s seatbelt, the boy asserts, “I did it right. You don’t need to check.” He learned to buckle the seatbelt by himself when he was Peter’s age. 

Bucky smiles at him, but doesn’t make a move to back away. Tony’s teeth clench as the man leans further into his space.

“I’m not checking the buckle, bud. I just don’t like where the belt is sitting on you. Isn’t it uncomfortable over here?” Bucky demonstrates by gently pulling the seatbelt. The edge scratches against Tony’s neck.

“Not really. I’m used to it.”

Bucky’s brow furrows at that. “Did you have a booster seat at the other house?” 

Tony’s cheeks flush, body bristling. “I’m not a baby!” he barks instinctively, and then mentally kicks himself. He still hasn’t seen how these new parents handle punishments, he doesn’t know what that comment is about to cost him. 

“Oh pal, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry,” Bucky tries to soothe. Tony expects the usual reaction to his “backtalking”: yelling, punishment. Sometimes a hand coming his way. 

He doesn’t know how to react to - well - whatever this is. 

“The reason I’m asking is because I think you’re just a little short to be in the car without some help. Your belt shouldn’t be sitting here, it’s got to be lower down, closer to your shoulder. If there’s an accident, you could get really hurt if your seatbelt is here, because it could hurt your neck, and I don’t want that to happen. Do you understand?”

At a loss for what else to do, Tony decides nodding is his best course of action. Sure, Bucky isn’t screaming, but his tone is firm, brows slightly scrunched together over steady eyes. And besides, Tony isn’t in a good position to start making trouble over a car seat. 

If he doesn’t want to move on to his sixth house, he has to play by the rules. 

“Okay. Stevie, we still have another booster in the attic, right?”

Tony’s cheeks burn as they’re forced to sit in the driveway and wait for Steve to dig through the attic. While Steve clicks it into the chair, Tony doesn’t dare turn around, sure that he would find Clint and Natasha shaking with barely contained laughter. 

It’s embarrassing. Tony is seven now, about to be a second grader. He knows he’s always been small for his age, but he doesn’t know anyone older than five who needed a booster seat in the car. 

But the thought of a car accident - another car accident - sets Tony’s heart racing. As mortified as he is, he’s also stupidly thankful Bucky noticed the seatbelt wasn’t right.

Tony is content to keep his head down and not draw any more attention, but Peter has a different plan. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees a short arm reaching out to him.

“You can have Rex,” the younger boy offers up a one-armed green dinosaur. 

Tony looks to Peter, then the toy, and back again. The other boy raises his eyebrows, leans in further, until Tony breaks. “Thanks,” he gently takes the toy, as if he’s handling gold. “What happened to his arm?”

Peter sheepishly ducks to dig into the little wall of pockets attached to the seat in front of him. His hand pops up under Tony’s nose, holding a few little toys and pieces. In the tiny pile, Tony can see one tiny green arm. 

“Broke it. Accident,” Peter elaborates. 

Tony delicately picks up the arm and examines the ball joint at the shoulder. Tony had broken his fair share of more complicated toys and fixed them before anyone could find out; this one seems pretty basic. Peter probably just didn’t know how to catch the joint in the right place. Smaller pieces like this one usually need a little more time and care than bigger toys. 

He finds the little groove that matches the one on the inside of the joint, and begins moving the arm in small half circles, feeling for the point where he can pop it back in. Finally, Tony angles the arm just so and presses his hands close together with all his might. 

A tiny click signals his efforts worked, and he presents it back to Peter, whole again. 

Peter gasps and snatches it up the toy, eyes wide. “You fix it, Tony!” 

Peter’s volume catches everyone’s attention, and Tony’s cheeks go hot again. This is exactly what he didn’t want.

“Woah, Tony, how’d you fix that?” Clint wonders from the backseat. “Pop tried and couldn’t do it.”

Tony shrugs. “Fixed a lot of broken toys before.”

In the rearview mirror, Tony catches Steve’s eyes on him. Bucky twists around for Peter to shove the newly whole toy into his face. 

“That was very kind of you to fix his toy, Tony,” Steve says, eyes crinkling at the corners. Tony doesn’t understand why everyone’s getting so worked up. He’s fixed tons of toys before. 

“What should we say to Tony, Pete?” Bucky encourages. 

Peter gasps, as if he’s the one who should be embarrassed. “Thank you, Tony! Soooo much!”

Tony allows himself to smile back, awkward as it feels. At least he’s making a good impression on someone here. Then again, Peter is still small, probably thinks everyone is nice and kind. 

He hopes that will last for a while. It could earn Tony a lot of points at the new house. 

When Steve announces they’ve arrived at the store, Tony is sure he’s mistaken. This isn’t a Goodwill store. Not even the Salvation Army. No bargain store at all.

They’re in the parking lot of a Kohl’s. 

Confused, Tony doesn’t move to unbuckle himself until Peter taps him on the arm. When he climbs out of the van, he hesitates at the open hand Steve reaches out to him, but concedes that he doesn’t have a choice. Tony knows the dangers of cars. 

Steve’s grip is firm and unrelenting, but he relaxes his hand when they reach the sidewalk, allowing just enough slack for Tony to pull his back to his side. Steve only laid a hand on Natasha’s shoulder as they walked, making Tony’s chest bristle with something sharp and stinging.

Inside, Bucky quickly scoops Peter up and sits him in the front of the shopping cart, placing a tiny green backpack next to him. 

“Alright guys, let’s make this short and sweet, we still have to hit the grocery store,” Steve announces as they make their way to the children’s section. 

Bucky steers Peter to the toddler section on the left while Steve leads Tony to “Big Kids” on the right. 

“Okay Tony. I’m thinking we need a few pairs of jeans, some sweatpants if you want, definitely need some long-sleeves and hoodies. And a good jacket. I’m thinking we’ll get it a size too big, that way you can grow into it and keep it for a while. What do you think?”

Tony can’t do anything but stare at the man. Blinks. And blinks again. 

Steve can’t possibly mean…

“Tony?” 

Yeah, he’s been staring for too long. But he can’t stop. 

Steve kneels down in front of him, but far enough away that Tony doesn’t feel like Steve is getting in his space. 

“Hey, buddy.” Steve’s voice is...very soft now, low and it reminds Tony of humming. Mrs. Hendricks used to talk to him like that, but he was very little then. He doesn’t know if he likes Steve using that voice. 

“Tony, are you listening to me?” That gets Tony’s attention. That question he knows. Bad question. 

Quickly, he nods. Can’t admit to not paying attention. 

“Okay. Can you tell me what you’re thinking about?”

Tony’s eyes dart to the floor. 

“Tony, you’re not in trouble. I’m not mad about anything, I promise. I’m just worried that...maybe you got scared of something, and I want to know what happened so I can help. You think you can do that for me?”

Tony’s chest starts to feel a little tight. 

He hates this feeling. 

“It’s okay, Tony. I promise I won’t get mad, pal.”

Steve’s not backing off, not letting go. And Tony can’t lie, at least not well. He’s never gotten away with a lie in his life. 

“You-” He starts. Stops.

“Don’t worry, Tony. You can take all the time you need. We’re not in a rush.”

Sooner or later, he’ll have to say something. Tony picks at his thumb to draw his attention on something, anything at all that’s not this. 

“Yo-you’re....you’re sure?” Tony can barely register his own voice, but that might have something to do with the roaring in his ears, because Steve responds. 

“Sure? Sure about what, Tony?”

“Clothes,” he chokes out. His eyes are still locked on the floor.  

“Am I sure about the clothes? What do you mean? That I’m sure about buying you clothes?”

Tony’s throat is too dry to speak, so he settles on nodding.

“Of course I am, Tony. That’s why we came. Why wouldn’t I be sure?” His voice sounds sad, but Tony can’t bring himself to check if his face looks genuine. 

Tony sucks in a deep breath, hoping it’ll open up his throat. It doesn’t. “Too...too much,” he manages. And then, “Money.”

Steve huffs, then slowly reaches his hand to Tony’s, still picking at the raw skin of his thumb. Tony watches as his hand disappears under Steve’s enormous one. He’s struck by how gentle it is, just barely touching. “Tony, I need you to look at me right now, okay. I know you might be scared, but I promise, you’re not in trouble. I just need you to look at me.”

Tony’s ears strain to take notice of his surroundings. Bucky and Peter are three aisles away, and Clint is rambling to Natasha even further away, near the games section. Not close enough to hear. 

It takes a few shuddering breaths to muster up the courage to finally peel his eyes away from the floor and up to his new foster parent. 

Steve looks… weird. He’s smiling, but it’s thin and pinched at the corners, and his forehead is wrinkled. He looks like he’s sad but not at the same time, like he can’t decide. 

“Okay, good job. Are you listening?” 

Tony nods. 

“Tony. I promise you, Buck and I would never, never , offer you something that we didn’t want to give. Not just clothes, anything. I don’t want you to ever worry about taking too much or spending too much money. We’re the parents, that’s our job to think about. We’ll tell you if that happens, but if we offer it, you can take it. And if that’s hard to believe right now, that’s okay. You can ask us, or Clint, or Natasha, anytime. But I need you to understand right now. Today, you need some new clothes. So we’re going to go through them together, and you can pick out whatever you like. I might give you some options for what we need and you can pick what you like best. Does that sound like something you can do?”

Tony looks into Steve’s eyes, searching through them. He knows you can tell if a person’s lying by their eyes, Tyler had told him that once, but he never told Tony how you know. What are you supposed to see there?

Steve isn’t in a rush. He stays crouching there, which must be uncomfortable by now, not talking, not pushing him to get a move on, just waiting. Finally, Tony swallows, nods.

Steve smiles wide, all the way up to his eyes. “Okay. You did such a good job there, Tony. I know it’s hard to tell someone what you’re feeling, but that was so good.”

Good? Tony feels stupid, getting so worked up about...Well, the thought still has him worked up. He’s never owned a shirt that came with the original tags. He’d certainly never picked out his own clothes. All his old clothes had appeared on his bed, maybe once a season, picked out from attics, basements, or second-hand store racks. 

Picking out clothes is normal to...well, normal people. Tony’s not normal. He doesn’t live a normal life, so, sure, why wouldn’t shopping freak him out? Another thing to make sure Tony never forgets what he is. 

Before he can get upset again, Steve stands and leads Tony to the first rack, carefully and slowly letting Tony look at the shirts on display. Steve doesn’t pull out anything himself, but he gives a little compliment for every item he sees Tony linger on. 

With some encouragement, Tony picks out a pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts, still uncertain of the whole thing. At his request, Steve pulls out a shirt decorated with the solar system off the rack. It’s the coolest shirt Tony has ever seen, the planets bright and detailed with craters and the right number of moons. He can’t stop himself from tracing a line into each ring of orbit, labelling Mercury, Venus, Mars, and so on. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s talking out loud until Steve says, “That’s great, Tony. I’d need to Google if Pluto is still a planet or not.” 

Blushing, Tony murmurs, “I watched a movie about them once.”

“Must have been a really good one to help you remember them all,” Steve brings the shirt up to Tony’s chest. 

His eyebrows pull together, carefully examining the sleeves. Steve takes another shirt down from the rack, holds two in his hands and turns back to the shelves for another pair of jeans. “Before we get any more stuff, let’s try these few on to make sure it all fits right. That way we don’t have to try it on at home and come back to return it if it doesn’t fit.”

When Tony comes out of the dressing room, Steve’s face has a weird, twisty kind of look. Not mad, but not happy either. Tony fidgets, waiting for Steve to say what he’s done wrong. 

Steve asks him to come closer so he can have a better look. Tony swallows the building fear in his gut, and steps closer, bracing himself. 

“I think a size smaller, huh? Let’s see.” Tony stares at the clothes Steve hands him, a moment too long before the words finally catch up to his brain. 

No trouble. Just more clothes. Nothing to be afraid of. 

Steve’s right, though. The smaller size does fit better, although the jeans are still a little too loose on his hips. “That’s alright, better a little too big than a little too small. This way you have some room to grow. Let’s not forget to check out the belts.”

Returning back to the racks, Steve leads Tony through each row, as if he’s worried he’ll miss something. True to his word, Steve lets Tony pick out most of the clothes himself. The man even checks if Tony likes how the clothes feel, which might be the strangest question he’s ever been asked. 

Clint and Natasha catch up with them as Steve is going through their small inventory. The amount of clothes Steve is holding makes Tony want to squirm right out of his skin, but Stevee’s the one adding to the pile so he must be okay with it. At this rate, Tony might actually be able to fill the dresser in his and Clint’s room. 

“Dad, can we get a new game for the Nintendo?” Clint’s voice arrives before he and Natasha do. He’s clutching a small cartridge, from the electronics section they had wandered to. 

“We’ll see how much everything comes out to and decide from there, okay?” Tony looks down, face flaming. He doesn’t want to be the reason Clint can’t have a new game. That’s not fair. Clint and Natasha are adopted, they aren’t going anywhere. But Tony could be gone tomorrow for all he knows. Which only made Steve’s mission of getting Tony so many clothes that much stranger. 

But Clint nods and doesn’t argue, doesn’t seem mad at all. In fact, he turns to Tony. “Let’s see what you got!”

When Tony looks up to check if Clint is being sarcastic, he and Natasha are looking at the pile in Steve’s hands with - interest. Genuine interest. 

Trusting that look, Tony pulls out his favorite shirt from the pile and presents it to the older kids. 

“Woah, that’s so cool!” Clint exclaims, leaning in to read the little facts lined up next to each of the seven dinosaurs on the shirt. “Dad, did you see this? A T-Rex could be thirty-six thousand pounds! That’s like...twenty cars!” 

Steve chuckles, “Yeah, isn’t that crazy?” 

“They used to look like big chickens,” Tony murmurs. 

It’s the “Really?” from Natasha that trips him up. 

For a second, Tony forgets what he was saying, but recovers a moment later. “Dinosaurs don’t look like we think they do. That’s just the skin and bones. Birds come from the dinosaur line, so they used tohave feathers and beaks and everything. Probably looked like big chickens and turkeys.”

“Where’d you learn that?” Clint asks, and then, before Tony can answer, turns to Steve and accuses, “I never knew that!”

“Well I didn’t know that either, Clint, so I couldn’t have possibly told you.” Steve’s barely containing a smirk, lip twitching at the corner. 

“I saw it on a tv show last year. On the...the planet channel,” Tony clarifies, looking to Steve for help. 

Steve smiles down at him. “We’ll see if we can find it and watch it one day. Okay, wait, let’s see if we have everything before we head for the coats.”

Finally, Steve seems satisfied with the number of items he’s holding. He splits the pile into halves, hands one to Clint and the other to Natasha to bring to their cart. Tony follows the man to the back wall, where the heavy winter coats are hanging. 

For this task, Steve picks out three options and asks Tony to choose his favorite, which feels way easier than picking from the endless options lined on the wall. 

Tony chooses a dark grey coat, gently holds it in his hands. It will easily be the nicest piece of clothing Tony has ever had. Only to himself, he wishes he can keep it forever. It was furry inside, to make sure Tony would be warm in winter, and had a hood on it. Steve says something about the material being good for rain and snow, and then murmurs under his breath. Tony is sure he hears the word “boots”, but he’s too preoccupied digging his fingers into the warm, fuzzy texture of the coat to pay close attention. 

Seemingly done with Steve’s wardrobe checklist, they venture back across the aisle where they find Bucky...rubbing a shirt on Peter’s arm. 

What?

“What do you think, Petey-pie?” Bucky asks gently. “Nice or no?”

“Scratchy,” Peter decides, a sour-looking expression sitting on his face. 

“Ok, good job,” Bucky carefully folds the shirt up and places it back. 

“How’re we doing?” Steve asks as he puts a hand on Bucky’s waist. 

“We got some sweatpants and two sweaters. Touched some jeans, but none he liked. And what else, Pete?”

Peter giggles as he reaches one hand behind him, pulling out a hoodie that even Tony has to admit, is pretty cool. 

“A hoodie! Wow, Petey, that's such a good job you did!” Steve gives Peter a little tickle under his chin along with the praise. 

Between peals of laughter, Peter managed to burst out, “Look, Daddy! ‘S a shark! Rawr!,” showing off the white teeth and navy fin attached to the hood of the sweater. 

“That is definitely a big shark, Pete! I’m so happy you want to wear it.” 

Tony really doesn’t understand why Steve and Bucky are getting all excited over Peter’s sweater, cool as it was, but he doesn’t have time to linger on it. Clint runs over from another aisle, holding a shirt. 

“Petey, look at this one! Look what it can do,” Clint brings the item to Peter. Honestly, the other boy gets a little too close to Tony for comfort, but with Steve and Bucky on the other side and Natasha behind him, there isn’t anywhere to go. 

Willing himself not to freak out about his personal space, Tony watches Clint gently take Peter’s hand and run it over the patch of sequins on the shirt where a Superman logo is printed. Tony quickly understands Clint’s excitement when the sequins turn over with the motion and the pattern morphs into the Batman symbol. 

Peter gasps in excitement. “Shiny scratches. Pretty.”

“Yeah, and you only have to touch them if you want to because they’re on the outside.” Like Bucky had done just a minute ago, Clint exposes the inside of the shirt to Peter’s hand. 

“Nice, Papa.” 

Without waiting for permission, or even letting anyone see the price tag, Clint throws the shirt into the cart. Instead of getting chastised, Bucky ruffles the older boy’s hair. “Good find, kid.” Bucky’s voice is soft, affectionate. 

Steve declares they still have one more stop to make before they can go. He steers Tony over to the shoe section. Tony doesn’t even realize why they’re there until Steve asks him to sit down on a little bench and take off one of his shoes. 

At the sight of a metal contraption in Steve’s hands, Tony quickly pulls his knees to his chest and tries to cover his feet with his hands, cursing how small and defenseless he suddenly feels. 

“What’s that?” He knows his voice is shaking but he doesn’t care. 

“It’s a...well, actually I don’t know what it’s really called.” Steve frowns down at the thing, trying to remember, then shakes his head and turns back to Tony with another of those sad-not-sad smiles. “But it measures your foot so we know what size shoe to look for. See, all you have to do is put your heel against this little thing, and then we see on these lines where your toes can reach.”

“Why?”

“So we can look for some new shoes.”

“But...I have shoes.”

“Yes you do, but you only came with this pair. And, see here?” Steve flips his shoe over to show Tony the worn down sole. They were already like that when Mrs. Leahy dug them out of the basement. 

“When the bottom of the shoe gets all smooth like that, it means it’s time to get some new ones. What happens is everytime we wear our shoes, a tiny tiny bit of the bottom rubs off, until it gets smooth. But when it’s smooth, that means that the rubber is getting very thin, and soon it’ll break and there’s going to be a hole on the bottom. We don’t want that to happen, right? Rocks and twigs and stuff can get inside through the hole and hurt your feet, or your foot can come out of the hole and get scratched on the ground. Trust me, kiddo, it’s happened to me and it’s not a fun feeling.”

Tony knows from experience, it actually hurts. 

“So we want to get you a new pair before that happens. And a pair of rainboots too, I think. We gave away Clint’s first pair.” 

Rainboots? Tony’s always managed without them before. 

“You want to try this thing out?” Steve is still holding the metal thing, not pushing it towards Tony but not pulling it away either . 

Tony hesitates for a long moment, then slowly, carefully, releases his knees and points his socked foot at Steve. The last thing Tony wants to do right now is upset Steve, not after he’s been so nice and is about to buy Tony a completely, brand-new wardrobe. Starting a fit over measuring his foot - because Steve wants to buy him several pairs of new shoes - would be a stupid move. 

He’s grateful Clint and Natasha are a couple of aisles away, playing some game with Peter that has him clapping and giggling. He doesn’t want them to see him being such a scaredy-cat over this.

Very gently, Steve holds his ankle steady as he presses the cold metal against the bottom of Tony’s foot. “Look down, kiddo. You want to know how long your foot is right now?”

Curiosity gets the better of him, as it always does. “Seventy-five?” Tony reads the number sitting next to his big toe.

“Close, bud. See the little dot here? It’s called a decimal, so we know it's not a whole number. So the number is seven point five, which means seven and a half inches. Follow along that line to the other side, what size should we be looking for?”

“Two?”

“Very good! Ok, sizes one to three are on this side, let’s go see what we can find.”

Steve seems to be looking for something specific, pulling out a few options that Tony doesn’t really love, until they pass a pair of sneakers that catch Tony’s eye. They’re mostly black and white, accented with a red sole. Crisp, perfect white laces snake through holes ringed with the same red accent, giving a bright but subtle pop of color. 

“These, huh? Let’s see.”

Before he can brush off the interest, Steve pulls off the display and brings it closer to Tony, turning the shoe over this way and that so he can see every detail. Steve offers it to Tony. “Want to try these on?”

Damn it. Why hasn’t he ever learned to control his emotions? It was obvious that Tony had been staring at them, and he knows he’s terrible at making up excuses. He can’t deny that he likes the shoes, so the truth is the only option left. 

“I...I can’t.” Shame washes over him. Eventually they’d find out, every foster parents did, but that doesn’t make talking about it any easier.

“Can’t? Why not?”

Tony doesn’t want to say it out loud, doesn’t want Steve to think he’s dumb, but he knows Steve won’t let it go without an answer. 

Tony fingers the perfect loop of the bow. “Can’t do it.”

It’s only a second before Tony sees the realization on the man’s face.. “You don’t know how to tie a shoelace?”

Tony is not going to cry at the look of pure sadness in Steve’s eyes. He refuses to let even one tear fall. Been there, done that, solves nothing. 

“Hey, Tony, that’s not a problem, not at all. Buck and I will teach you. You’re so smart, you’ll pick it up in no time. Promise, you’ll be tying them all by yourself by next week.” Steve’s smile is small and soft, same as the wrinkles around his eyes. 

At that, Tony has to look down at his feet to hide the tears threatening to burst. He can’t understand why Steve was bothering being so nice to a kid that was just going to leave one day. 

On the other hand, Tony can’t say no to the offer. No one else has ever offered to teach him, and eventually he’ll need to learn. How could he go into the second grade without knowing how to tie his shoes? He has to learn. 

Choking on the lump in his throat, Tony manages a nod. Steve takes that as the go-ahead to gently wiggle the shoe onto his foot. The blonde man pushes gently on the shoe over his toes, checking that the shoe isn’t too big or too small. 

When Steve ties up the laces in another neat bow, Tony tries to focus on the movements of his fingers. He wants to get it right on the first try, show Steve and Bucky that he can pay attention and learn and do something right. 

The shoes fit, and once Tony walks up and down the aisle a few times and declares the shoes comfortable, Steve dumps the box into the cart and moves on to boots. 

The rainboots are a much easier choice. With no laces to worry about, Tony picks a black pair decorated with little grey planets and gold stars. Clint grumbles that his rainboots at home aren’t as cool as the ones Tony picks. It makes Tony smile. He’s never owned something that someone else might want. 

At the register, Tony nearly throws up on the cashier when she tells Steve the total price, but Steve doesn’t even blink, just smiles and adds Clint’s game onto the pile. Behind him, Tony hears the sound of a high-five. 

The grocery store is, blessedly, less eventful, but still stranger than any errand run Tony’s been on before. Bucky drives Peter in the cart again, and goes through the store rules: No wandering off, no opening any packages, and a limit of two snacks per kid. 

Tony’s overwhelmed by the endless aisle of snacks, even more so when Bucky tells him he can pick an extra third snack because it’s his first trip. Like going to the grocery store is somehow worthy of a treat. 

While Clint and Peter are quick to pick their snacks, Bucky reminds Natasha that she still has to pick hers. 

In the checkout line, Clint bounces with excitement over scoring a rare Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough PopTart, ignoring Steve’s insistence that “PopTarts are not breakfast, Clint. You can have them for dessert.” Natasha chooses a bag of flat pretzel things that Tony says he’s never heard of. When Natasha turns to him and softly offers to let him try some, Tony is stunned. He stammers over a “thank you”, wondering what he did to deserve the honor of getting to share someone’s personal snacks. 

As they approach the conveyor belt, Steve and Bucky take over unloading the overflowing cart while Tony joins the others in acting out a scene for Peter. The little boy hands him a small cowboy and demands, “You be Woody.”

Tony chuckles. “Woody’s a cool name for a cowboy. Where’d you come up with that?”

Peter frowns at him and points again at the cowboy, “Woody,” and then to the doll in Natasha’s hand, “Jessie,” “Rex,” at the repaired dinosaur Clint was holding, and finally “Buzz!” to the spaceman clutched in his pudgy baby fist. 

Clint must see Tony’s confusion. “They’re all from Toy Story. You haven’t seen it?”

“What is it?”

“A movie. It’s one of Peter’s favorites, but it’s pretty good.”

“I think I’ve heard of it,” Tony mutters, squinting a little as he concentrates, “But I’ve never seen it.”

Tony thinks nothing of it, but Natasha must be pondering the exchange when, settled in the backseat of the minivan, she announces, “I want to watch Toy Story for family night.”

Chapter Text

Family night, it turns out, happens every other Saturday at the Barnes-Rogers household. Clint explains it. 

Every kid takes turns picking what they’ll do - and as the new kid, Tony’s turn is next. The usual choices are indoor activities, like movie marathons or board games, but outdoor adventures are also on the table. Clint says that on his last turn they had gone to a trampoline park - a whole building of trampolines and ball pits! Tony had never even heard of something so cool. 

Steve looks a little confused when Natasha announces her choice of activity, but only asks that she pick a place to get dinner, another part of the Family Night routine. 

She picks out Thai food, which Tony hasn’t ever had before. It takes barely a minute for everyone else to scan the menu and choose what they want. But Bucky sits next to Tony at the table, carefully explaining every dish and pulling up pictures on his phone to show Tony what it looks like. He even asks if there’s anything Tony doesn’t like so they can say not to put it in and promises that if he doesn’t like what he orders, Bucky will make him something else. 

The pictures on the menu don’t look much different from the Chinese food that used to be a staple in the Leahy’s home. Tony decides on Pad Thai, which looks like a little bit of everything, and Steve gets a few more things for everyone to share. Clint is bouncing with excitement for dinner, but Tony thinks that Clint just gets this excited over any opportunity to eat. 

Peter’s food comes all separated, and Steve puts it on his plate so carefully that nothing is touching. Tony used to eat like that too, never liking it when textures and tastes got all mixed together, but after his stay at Mrs. Hendricks’ home no one had ever done it for him, so he had to get over it. 

The Pad Thai is actually really good. Steve had asked for the peanuts on the side so that Tony could see if he wanted to add them, and that was a good idea because Tony doesn’t love the idea of crunchy nuts in a noodle dish. When he pushes the little dish away, Clint snatches them for himself. Bucky and Steve even give him a small portion of their own dishes to try. 

“It’s always a good idea to try new foods. You never know what you might like until you try,” Steve encourages under the promise that Tony doesn’t have to eat even one bite if he really doesn’t want to. 

Tony tries not to stare at him, thinking of how many times he’d gotten yelled at for trying to steal food when that was never what he was doing. 

After dinner, the kids go to put on their pajamas, which Clint claims is “critical” for a living room movie theater. He pulls Tony along to help “get set up” for the movie. Tony is riveted as he watches Clint easily lifts up the top of the coffee table to reveal a secret compartment underneath, filled almost to bursting with blankets. 

The little green beanbag chair with a matching blanket was exclusively Peter’s, but Tony was given the freedom to choose his own blanket and a seat, either on the couch or the loveseat. Tony decides on a corner of the dark loveseat, the leather soft and comfy but firm enough that Tony doesn’t feel like he’ll sink too far into it to get back up. Clint shows him the buttons hidden inside the seats to pull out the footrests, lean the chair back, an optimal position to lay down if he feels like it. 

Natasha is the person who ends up sitting next to him, but she keeps to her corner, leaving a few inches of space between them. Meanwhile, Clint chooses the corner of the couch, demanding Bucky sit next to him when he comes into the living room carrying two huge bowls of popcorn. That leaves room for Steve to settle on the other corner of the couch, but before he takes the seat, he leans down to the green beanbag to wrap the blanket around Peter in a weird cocoon maneuver. 

When the beginning credits start on the screen, soft excited giggles escape from Peter’s corner. Looking over, Tony can’t help but smile at the younger boy. Tony has never had a favorite movie, but Peter’s wide, open smile is infectious. He suddenly wants to love this movie as much as Peter does, wants to know that pure and utter joy. 

Soon enough, Tony has to admit that Peter’s taste in movies is actually pretty good for a four-year-old. He likes Buzz and Mr. Potato Head the most, their little jokes make him laugh, although he tries to keep himself quiet. Clint’s laughter is loud, like it always is, and sets off Peter every time, like they’re in a cave with an echo instead of the living room. 

Tony waits, and waits, but Bucky and Steve never tell the boys to quiet down. The parents only smile at their sons, cycling through bouts of laughter, and sometimes Bucky dives in to tickle Clint’s sides so that his giggles grow into bursts of chortling.  

Predictably, this also triggers Peter to mimic his brother. Even trying to snort, Peter is inexplicably adorable. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony can see Natasha smiling and releasing little huffs of air, like a half-laugh, but it never reaches the level of either of her brothers. Tony wonders if, like him, Natasha has learned somewhere along the way that staying quiet is sometimes the safer option. 

Or maybe she just prefers the quiet. 

When the movie ends, Tony starts stretching out his limbs, getting ready to get up and head to bed, but Natasha catches him off-guard when she lays a hand on his arm, very softly, very nearly not touching at all. “Wait,” she whispers, eyes locked on Steve gathering up a heavy-lidded Peter in his arms, blanket cocoon and all. Peter whines at the movement, but settles and nuzzles his head into the man’s chest like a fawn when Steve makes those nice cooing-shushing-nonsense noises that people normally do for babies. 

“We can watch a second movie,” Natasha is still whispering, as if she’s sharing a sacred, treasured secret, “but Peter’s bedtime is before ours.”

“Can we watch the next Toy Story?” Clint asks, his voice muffled with the way he’s mashed himself into Bucky’s side, head practically inside the man’s armpit. 

It takes Tony a minute to process what was said. “There’s another one?” 

“Dude, there’s four of them now!” Clint’s face cracks right open with excitement, but Tony’s watching the way Bucky’s expression twists into something like confusion and sadness all in one, then just as quickly melts away into a soft, small smile that he gives in equal turns to Tony and then Natasha. 

Without argument, Bucky navigates the buttons on the TV remote to find the next movie somewhere, and Tony settles back into the couch. From the corner of his eye, Tony studies Natasha. She looks different, somehow. Like she’s softened around the edges, but he can’t tell if it’s actually her or the glow of the TV behind her. 

That glow shifts into the title sequence of Toy Story 2 - no subtitle - and Tony turns away from the girl. He doesn’t want to miss a second. It’s been quite a while since Tony watched a new movie. The Leahy’s were strict about what they let the kids watch, and Disney was not considered an approved “Christian” choice. 

Tony’s eyes are laser-focused on the screen, so invested in the toys’ mission to rescue Woody from the creepy toy collector, that, maybe an hour later, he finally glances away from the screen, blinking again and again to fight back the dryness and the strain building under his lids. With a jerk, Tony realizes that Steve had at some point come back to his seat, and he had missed it entirely. The man was leaning into Bucky’s shoulder, eyes locked on the screen same as the rest of the kids.

By the timeBuzz gets into a fight with another Buzz who lives in a box, Tony’s just this side of sleepy, full and warm from dinner and popcorn, comfy in his position on the couch and, surprisingly, unworried about being surrounded by the others in the living room. He isn’t comfortable, per se, everything still so new and unknown, but he’s just...so tired of keeping one eye open all the time. And Tony learned a long time ago that you can sleep where you don’t feel safe. 

Before he finally lets his eyes slide closed, Tony wonders if he could ever feel as comfortable at a home like Clint and Natasha seem to be. 

Probably not. 

When Tony’s eyes flutter open again, he can’t tell just how much time has passed, but the room is dark now, the TV turned off, and Bucky is the only person left in the room with him. Blearily, Tony can make out the sound of the kitchen sink running, which probably answers his question of what happened to the bowls and drinks and blankets, all of which are gone now, except for the blue one draped over Tony’s shoulders. 

“Hey, pal.” In his half-awake state, Bucky’s rumbling voice is...kind of nice. It’s low and full in that way all big men’s voices seem to be, but it isn’t harsh, doesn’t set Tony on edge immediately like other voices have. 

Maybe it’s because Bucky is always smiling, or maybe it’s the way he’s running his hand over Tony’s arm, so softly even with a blanket serving as a barrier between their skin. Tony wants to think it’s silly how gentle the touch is - he’s not a baby, after all, he won’t break - and he’s certainly had ruder awakenings than this. 

But really. It’s nice. Tony thinks this might be close to how parents act with their real kids. 

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” Bucky murmurs, voice molasses in the quiet bubble of the room, “but I don’t think it’s a good idea to sleep here, huh? You want me to carry you up?”

Clarity slams into him. Tony really, really , does not want that. He’s just awake enough to know he shouldn’t say that out loud. Instead, he forces his eyes as open as he can manage, and swings his legs over the couch. Standing gives him a little head rush, gone a moment later. 

Tony is so tired that he barely notices Bucky following him up the stairs until he reaches his and Clint’s room and finds Bucky behind him, not detouring to his own bedroom. Almost like a dream, Tony watches as Bucky pulls back the blue comforter on his bed and then pulls it back over Tony when he climbs in, tucking him in at the sides like Steve had done to Peter earlier. 

“Goodnight, Tony. Sweet dreams.”

Tony must have been closer to sleep than he thought. Bucky reaches a hand out to brush through his hair, and Tony doesn’t jerk away from it, the thought doesn’t even cross his drowsy-cloudy mind. He’s thankful for that because it feels really nice. No one’s done that for him since...since a long time ago.  

He’s right on the edge of sleep, barely registering the sounds of Bucky moving around the room for a moment, fixing Clint’s blanket over him, moving his shoes, turning on the lava lamp that left a little light in the room. But Tony is already slipping back into sleep, and he can’t be sure if he hears Bucky leave the room before he drifts off.

----

Sunday mornings have no wake-up call in the Barnes-Rogers house, but Tony’s wide awake by 7 AM anyway. Clint’s still asleep across the room, breathing deep with just a hint of a whistle on the exhale, but nowhere near the deep shakes of Tyler’s snoring. Tony used to dream of earthquakes and thunderstorms all the time when he bunked with Tyler. 

It’s been years since Tony has been free to sleep in as much as he wanted, even for one day a week. The Leahy’s were churchgoers, and were in the pews at 9 AM sharp, no matter what. At first, Tony would have to hide his yawns, hoping not to offend, but he got used to it soon enough. His other homes had been believers in early rising, even if there wasn’t much to be done. 

But if Tony was awake, he was awake, no matter what time of the day or night. And there isn’t anything in his room to occupy himself with, so he quietly makes his way out of bed. In the hallway, he hears snoring through a crack in Steve and Bucky’s door, but he doesn’t dare to peek inside to see who it could be. The house is otherwise silent as he passes the other bedrooms on his way down the stairs. 

In the living room, there’s a bookshelf that houses a bunch of games and activities, which Clint had shown him on the first day. Most of them are games that he couldn’t play on his own, but he thought he'd seen... yes . 

Legos. 

He hasn’t gotten to play with them since he’d left his third home. 

Steve and Bucky don’t have any of the fancy sets that Tony had seen from time to time in the mall, but they had the big basic sets, a sizable box filled with a variety of rainbow colored bricks, with little add ons to make tunnels, vehicles, buildings. 

For a moment, Tony stares at the box, chewing his lower lip as he wonders if he should wait until someone’s awake and ask for permission. But Steve had said he could play with anything in the living room whenever he wanted, just as long as he cleaned up, and it sounded like no one else would be awake for a while now. 

But really, what makes Tony decide to just go for it is simple. It’s been so long since Tony has gotten his hands on a set of Legos, even a tiny set, and he has really, really missed them. 

Quietly, gingerly, Tony pulls the box from the shelf like he’s handling a baby. He can’t stop from thinking that if someone wakes up from the noise, they might take the Legos away. 

Making his way over to the rug, Tony settles his back against the coffee table and carefully starts pulling out pieces, examining each type of piece and organizing them into little piles so he can see what’s available. 

Tony wishes he could play some music while he works. He’s never liked the silence, how it makes him stand on edge and lay in wait for the next sound, always waiting for what might be coming. Silence lets his mind go to places he doesn’t like to visit. 

He uses the small clicks of pieces fitting together to make a little song only Tony knows, humming an even tune along as he quickly starts stacking bricks onto bricks to start forming a tank, a small jet, a little car all in blue just like Steve and Bucky’s van. 

It’s really not that long until he hears movement upstairs, and Tony can’t help the sad little sigh he lets out. He hopes he can at least finish the green dinosaur he’s started stacking up before he has to clean up. Animals are different from cars, and Tony has started over once already because he made the body too thick the first time around. 

The first floor of the house doesn’t have a lot of walls. The kitchen and the living room are only separated by a little arched decoration in the ceiling where the staircase opens up, so you can’t miss either room when you come down the stairs. 

It’s Steve who appears in the little cove, carrying a laundry hamper in each hand. Tony must have been making some noise with the bricks, because Steve’s head is already turned to him as he meets the landing. 

“Good morning, Tony.”

“Hi.” Alone, Tony keeps his voice down. 

Setting down the hampers, Steve takes a few steps close. “What do you got there, bud?”

Flushing, Tony starts gathering the loose pieces on the floor to put them back into the box. “Sorry, I just-”

“Wait, Tony. You don’t have to put it away,” Steve comes closer, close enough that he could touch Tony if he reached out, “I was just asking what you were building. No worries, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea.”

Tony doesn’t like the way his chest feels all tight, like he couldn’t take a deep breath if he tried right now. But Steve doesn’t see his face because he’s looking at the little creations between them. 

“Did you make these all by yourself?”

“Y-yeah.”

Steve looks up to catch Tony’s eyes. “Without any instructions?”

Tony shakes his head. “They had Legos at…at a different house. But no instructions.” He knows that Steve and Bucky must know how many homes he’s been in before this, but it still feels wrong to mention them. Like all those other homes are proof of how unkeepable Tony is. “I liked them anyway.”

He doesn’t expect Steve to smile, but that’s what he does. 

“That’s pretty cool. I couldn’t make anything like this without someone telling me how. What’s this you’re making now?” Steve points to the pile of green blocks, and Tony feels his blush creep higher onto his cheeks. 

“I’m trying...to make Rex. From the movie?”

Steve’s face completely splits into a grin now, the kind that he and Bucky usually give Peter. “Yeah? That’s awesome. You gotta make sure to show Peter when he wakes up, he’ll love it.”

Lost for what the right answer is to this question, Tony decides to play it safe and nods his head. 

“Ok. I’m gonna throw in some laundry and get started on some breakfast. What do you want, pancakes or waffles?”

And that...Tony doesn’t know how to answer that. He doesn’t do well with choices, most of the time. He gets distracted a lot and sometimes never likes the options and gets in trouble for it and most times it was just better to let the adults decide so he doesn’t have to make the wrong choice. 

When Tony can’t seem to come up with an answer, Steve doesn’t push. Doesn’t get angry, or annoyed. Instead he just says, “Think about it while I’m downstairs, ok? You can even help me if you want. No one else is going to be awake for a while.”

And with that, Steve gets up, lifting the hampers again to make his way down the basement stairs. 

Help?

Steve’s probably being nice, but Tony suddenly doesn’t know what to do. He had jobs at his other homes, of course. Most of the kids did. But Tony’s track record with chores hasn’t always been great. Honestly, you probably couldn’t even call it good. 

The truth of the thing is, if he wants to stay here, if he doesn’t want to get bounced out yet again, he’ll have to prove that he can be useful at this house. That’s how it always goes. 

While Steve busies himself in the basement, Tony makes the effort to finish up his Lego Rex. Hopefully Steve was right, and Peter really would love to see it. 

Tony is surprised when Steve comes back upstairs and starts moving around in the kitchen without calling out for Tony to join him, but Tony doesn’t want to risk it. With Mrs. Walsh, he used to get in trouble for not finishing his chores on time, and got extra jobs as punishment.

He puts the finishing touches on Rex - a carefully constructed curve made of one- and two-space bricks to make a symmetrically sized neck and tail, to keep the weight even - and quickly puts everything left on the floor back into the box. Rex stays on the coffee table. 

In the kitchen, Steve is gathering some things together out of the fridge and cabinets. Flour, eggs, milk. 

At the sight of Tony in the doorway, Steve smiles in his direction. “Hey, Tony. You want to help me with breakfast? You can keep playing with the Legos if you want.”

Tony kind of does want to keep playing with Legos, but...he can do that whenever - according to Steve. Tony has never helped make food before, unless it was putting some frozen pizza rolls into the microwave. 

“No, I...I can help. What are you doing?”

“I’m making pancakes and waffles. From scratch though, secret Rogers family recipe.” When Steve lowers his voice to a whisper and puts a finger to his lips, Tony wants to giggle. He bites his bottom lip to hold it back. 

Steve pulls out one of the dining room chairs and, before Tony can even understand what is going on, scoops him up under the arms and plops him to stand on the chair, then glides it across the floor until it pushes up against the island. Tony braces himself for a screeching as the chair scrapes the floor, but none ever comes. 

“Have you ever made pancakes before?”

Tony shakes his head. “Only the frozen ones.”

“Well, these are way better than frozen ones, I promise. This is exactly my mom’s recipe. I’ve never changed it, and I’ve never, ever, ever let Bucky know how I make them.”

Furrow between his brows, Tony twists to look over his shoulder. His eyes are level with Steve’s chin. “How come?”

“Bucky likes to tease that I can’t cook,” Steve replies, rolling his eyes in an over-exaggerated manner that tells Tony he’s not serious. “It’s not really true, I can cook, but just...not that well.” His face grimaces with embarrassment. “Bucky is kind of right, but don’t tell him I told you that.”

Then Steve winks - or rather, tries to, and instead looks like he just had something fly in his eye. Tony laughs for a millisecond before he manages to smother it into a snort, horrified at himself.  

Steve grins, turning to grab something out of the cabinet, and returns with two aprons, one much bigger than the other. 

“Don’t need to get these pjs all covered in flour, huh?” Steve slips the smaller blue apron over him and ties it neatly behind his back. He doesn’t hand it to Tony and ask him to tie it himself, and Tony can’t help the relief that rushes through his chest. The worn little faces of Mickey Mouse make him want to smile, even with a twinge of shame still living in the back of his brain. 

Steve’s talking, which commands Tony’s attention. “Now Bucky can mostly make everything better than I can, but ...he can’t make better pancakes than these. He’s tried, and failed, and apologized that he thought he could trump my Ma’s recipe.”

“What did she say?”

Gently tugging Tony’s sleeves up, Steve’s eyes wrinkle at the corners. Suddenly Tony feels a a growing knot in the pit of his stomach that says he should have kept his mouth shut. Stupid . Couldn’t he ever shut up? 

“My Ma?”

With no other way out, Tony nods.

“Well,” Steve sighs, “she and Bucky never got to meet each other. She got sick and died when I was really young. But I think she would have liked him.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony breathes out. 

Steve smiles back and runs a large hand through Tony’s hair. “Aww, it’s okay, Tony. It was a long time ago.”

“My mom’s dead, too.” It just comes out without him meaning to. 

Tony’s gotten a little better at saying it. He’s not the only foster kid out there without a parent. Tyler used to say he wished his mom was dead, so he’d stop having to go back to her, which Tony never understood. All he had ever wanted for the last four years was his mom. He doesn’t really remember her, because he was so little when the crash happened. Mostly, he only knows her name was Maria, just like Ms. Hill, and that she spoke Italian and called him bambino and sang to him at night and could play the piano. 

Steve freezes, arm outreached for the can of flour, before crouching down beside him. Standing on the chair, Tony is struck by the uneasiness from this sudden new point of view. Steve’s level with his kneecaps, and it makes Tony’s head spin. 

“I know, and I’m sorry, Tony. I’m sorry she’s not here with you. I wish that’s not why you had to come here.” Steve really does look sad, and it kind of makes Tony want to cry. It takes everything he has to hold his breath and keep quiet. He is not going to be a crybaby here. 

“Tony, I want you to know that you can talk to me and Bucky about it. About anything, really. I still get sad sometimes, about my Ma. I wish I could say it goes away with time, but I don’t want to lie to you. She’s your mom, that’s never going to change.” Tony jerks back when Steve reaches up to wipe at his cheek. Flushing red at the realization that he’d let a tear fall, Tony’s eyes fall to the floor. “If you’re upset about something, or you just want to talk about her, you can come to us and we’ll talk. Bucky and I are always, always here to help you if we can, ok? That’s why you’re here with us.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say to that, and Steve doesn’t like that. “Can you look at me, Tony, please?”

It’s the please that does it. No one ever says please .  

“I know that sometimes it’s really hard to ask for help. But I just want you to try, ok? We’ll never make you talk about something if you really don’t want to, but if you’re having a hard time, will you try to tell us? So maybe we can help make it better?”

Fat chance , Tony thinks, but he nods anyway. 

“Okay. Do you want to keep helping me with breakfast?”

“Yes, please.” Tony is going to burst out of his skin if he doesn’t get his hands busy. 

After the awkward interaction, making breakfast with Steve is actually fun. 

Steve holds his hands over Tony’s to steady the bowls and helps him gauge how to move the whisk. He even lets Tony measure out all the ingredients into the measuring cup and tells him how flour needs to be level when you measure it because too much or too little messes up the texture . Then he teaches Tony how to crack an egg against the counter, explaining softly, “Now, see, Bucky taught me how to do it this way and I thought he was crazy at first but he ended up being right, of course.” Steve’s pursed lips set Tony into giggling.

Steve pulls the chair closer to the stove, just close enough that Tony feels gentle waves of heat against his tummy. There, with Steve’s hand still guiding him, Tony learns that if you scoop the batter with a soup ladle, your pancakes will be the same size, and that you have to look for the bubbles to know when it’s time to flip. By the fourth pancake, Tony is able to just get the spatula under it - “The secret is keep adding fresh butter into the pan, so we do a little bit at a time,” - and flick his wrist that way Steve does to flip the disc of fluffy starch. 

“I did it!” He’s probably louder than he should be, but Tony is too excited to pay that thought attention.

“Good job, buddy!” He pulls an empty plate close to the pan. “This one’ll be all yours.”

Next, with pancakes stacked and tented in the oven, Steve pulls out a little waffle iron, because apparently Peter and Clint like waffles better than pancakes. Leaning in close, Steve whispers to Tony the secret that “pancakes and waffles are basically the same thing” before helping him add a little more flour into the second half of the batter to add thickness. Tony watches Steve do a cool trick where he cracks an egg and then rocks the two half-shells side to side to get just the white of the egg out. Egg whites, Steve says, help to keep baking stuff sturdy, which waffles need because they have a different build than the pancakes. 

“Like 3D instead of 2D,” Tony whispers to himself, but Steve catches it anyway. 

“You know what, I’ve never thought about it like that but that’s pretty good, Tony.”

The waffle iron is simpler to use than the stove, so Steve lets him handle it alone, watching Tony hit the cooking spray on both sides and then carefully scoop the batter into the little maze and pull down the top. The first couple of times, Steve chuckles as Tony lowers his head down to the table to watch the batter bake and ride, pulling the irons apart as it goes. Steve opens the top when each waffle is done - just to make sure Tony’s fingers don’t get burned - and helps Tony use a fork to lift up the waffle and drop it on the plate. 

By the time they get close to the bottom of the bowl, Tony hears footsteps pattering upstairs, heavy ones that he assumes to be Bucky’s, and another pair that reveal themselves to be Natasha’s when she appears at the bottom of the stairs, still in her blue pajamas. 

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep ok?” Steve asks as Tony scoops another ladle of batter into the iron. 

Natasha nods. “Clint wants bacon,” she reports. 

“When doesn’t he?” Steve asks with a smirk. Even Tony had figured out by now that Clint loved any form of junk food. The other day Clint had declared that he didn’t think he could ever really be full from pizza. “You want to pop it into the oven? Tony and I already made a mess on this counter.”

Tony flushes, but seeing Steve look so glad keeps him from feeling bad about it. 

The statement is true, though. The first time flour had flown out of the bowl, Tony immediately apologized and started trying to clean it up, until Steve had gently gripped his wrists and told him not to worry. “Let’s make all the messes now, and then we can just do one round of clean-up.”

Steve didn’t even make him help, is the strange thing. Once he set Tony up with the waffle iron, he’d started wiping down the counter and rinsing dishes by himself. 

Natasha fishes out a pack of bacon from the fridge and starts setting up a pan for the oven. “How do you like your bacon, Tony?”

“Huh?” 

“Like, rubbery or crispy?”

Now, Tony’s sure the heat he feels is his blush is reaching his hairline. “Umm. I don’t know.”

Natasha’s gaze makes him uneasy, just like it had the other day in the bedroom, her eyes seeming to dig into his. As if she was looking for an answer only she knew where to find. 

“Ok. I’m making both anyway, you can pick what you like. Papa and Clint like it crispy, but I don’t. It tastes burnt to me. I like being able to chew it.”

At the table, Peter sitting next to him bleary-eyed and Clint chattering away as usual, Tony tries two strips of bacon and decides that Natasha is right. Chewy is definitely better. When he makes a face at the crispy - truly, the burnt - piece, Clint wastes no time in snatching the rest of the uneaten strip from his plate. 

“Clint!” Bucky reprimands. 

Clint only whines, hand gripping the fragile strip of meat, “But Tony didn’t want it anyway!”

“You still have to ask , dude.” Bucky pokes Clint’s arm with the dull end of his fork for emphasis. Clint twists his mouth in defiance, and pointedly chomps down on the bacon, spilling crumbs onto his plate.

After breakfast, Steve convinces Tony to go down to the basement and help him with the laundry. As it turns out, that isn’t the only reason Steve wanted him to come down. 

Sitting in front of a chair by the washing machines are Tony’s brand new sneakers. 

Steve does ask him to help fill the dryer and put in another load into the washer. He even scoops Tony up to reach the buttons at the top. Then, Steve pops him to the chair and pulls out the stuffings from the shoes.

“Okay, so first things first. We want to make sure you don’t bend the shoe when you put your feet in, so I want you to first untie the laces. All you gotta do is pull these ends,” Steve waves the little plastic tips on the ends of the laces, “and then, single or double knots, it should pop open. I’ll show you how to make sure you don’t tie it too tight, alright? Clint used to do it all the time and then we had to almost cut off his laces every day.”

Tony joins in on Steve’s laughter, picturing him and Bucky struggling to pry shoes off of Clint’s feet. 

Once Steve shows him how to untie and loosen the laces, he moves behind him, just like he did earlier in the kitchen, and gently places his fingers over Tony’s to guide his hands. Slowly, he shows Tony two ways to tie the laces, a few times each, and asks him which one Tony thought was easier. 

Tony thinks holding the shape of the two loops for Steve’s “bunny” method is harder than holding one loop, so he decides on the “fly” process. 

They must stay there for at least fifteen minutes, Steve gently correcting Tony’s fingers until he can perfect the grip of the laces, helping him move the second lace all the way around and under the loops until he finally catches onto the movement. Steve lets him try it twice on his own before they leave the basement, saying Tony just needs some practice to get the whole coordination smooth. 

Tony goes down to “help” Steve with laundry again an hour later. This time Tony tries the whole process by himself while Steve kneels to fold clothes next to him, stopping every once in a while to help Tony correct his grip or test the tightness of the lace. Concentrating on his hands is hard, but he wants to learn. Tony isn’t a baby anymore, he should know how to tie a shoelace by now. 

By their third trip to the basement after lunch, Tony can’t stop the grin on his face when his hands manage to maneuver the strings just right. “I did it!” he yells, then immediately claps a hand over his mouth at the echo that comes out. 

Steve’s laughter booms through the room, keeping the echo ringing through the room. “You did, Tony! And you got it in one day, how smart are you!” He ruffles Tony’s hair and gives him a few happy tickles along his sides like he had done to Peter the night before.  Tony doesn’t even realize until after they come back upstairs to join the others in the yard that when Steve had tickled him, Tony had laughed - really, happily , laughed - for the first time in months.

Chapter Text

The weekend’s weather was miserable with rain and the tell-tale humidity of a late-summer storm, so when Tuesday rolls around with a sweltering heat, Steve and Bucky announce they are going to enjoy some of the last weeks of summer before school. They pack up towels and hats and swimsuits - Tony has to settle for a pair of green trunks that are a touch too big, but have a generous drawstring to keep it firmly on his hips - and drive down to Jersey to a smallish, local beach. 

At the sight of the sand and vast openness of the water, Tony can’t help but gasp. It’s been years since he’s seen the ocean and walked on warm sand. 

Bucky leads the kids on an expedition to find the best spot to set up their camp - “not far enough I can’t see you if you go in the water” - while Steve goes to acquire an umbrella and chairs. “Rest and relax” is the purpose of the day, he had said before. 

Once the kids agree on a patch of sand that was close enough to the water and far enough from people that Clint and Natasha were both satisfied, Bucky unfurls an enormous sheet from his bag and set them on the task of pinning it down in the corners. Peter and Clint are both eager to get down and dirty in the sand, while Natasha pointedly pulls out a book and her iPod from her small black backpack. 

Clint wastes no time in stripping off his shirt and shoes, then turns to help Peter wriggle out of his own shirt. 

Tony freezes when he catches sight of Clint’s back. 

Clint has...scars. 

Little faint white lines are scattered across his back. There aren’t many, probably less than ten if Tony had the mental capacity right now to count them, but however many are there are plenty noticeable in the sunlight. 

Tony forces himself to stop staring. He’s seen scars like that before. One older boy at Mrs. Walsh’s house had them too. He told Tony they were from a belt. 

Suddenly it strikes him that he has no idea where Clint and Natasha had been before they were placed with Steve and Bucky. 

He wonders how many homes they’d been in before this one. If their number was higher than his at the same age. 

Tony can’t help scanning Natasha when she pulls off her street clothes to reveal a pale blue one-piece. Her back is mostly covered, leaving him with a morbid curiosity to see what’s underneath, check if she also has the proof of being physically harmed by a person who was supposed to love her. 

His mission is interrupted by Steve returning with their provisions. As he digs the umbrella into the sand, he declares that everyone needs plenty of sunscreen before they go anywhere, much to Clint’s dismay. The face of disgust the older boy makes as Steve liberally sprays his body and face with the sunscreen sets both Tony and Natasha into giggling. 

It isn’t until they venture a few feet away from their camp to build “an epic sand castle”, according to Clint, that Tony gets close enough to see three or four very thin and faint lines raised on one of Natasha’s thighs. 

Tony swears he had only stared for a moment, but Natasha notices where his eyes are drawn. Deep down, Tony has a fear that maybe Natasha has special powers, because it seems that she can see everything, everywhere. “Don’t worry about them,” she says, quiet but firm. “I’m okay now.”

He knows it isn’t polite to ask where they came from. Tony is sure that she doesn’t want to remember. Clint’s gaze steels over when he sees Natasha’s scars. He must know the story. 

Desperate to prove that he won’t cross the line she just drew, Tony asks a question that he’s more interested in. “How many homes did you have before this one?”

Natasha doesn’t flinch, but instead gives him a little smile, almost like she was proud. “I started when I was 5,” she says while helping him start sectioning off the sand for the boundary of their castle. “I had three places before this one.” There’s no particular emotion that he can make out in her voice. 

Clint grumpily mutters, “Two.” 

Tony looks down at the sand. He usually didn’t outnumber the older kids, although some of them had gotten lucky and stayed in homes for years at a time. 

“This is my fifth.”

Natasha and Clint exchange a look over his head, as if having a conversation with their eyes. Tony is familiar with that look, the slightly raised eyebrows and the twisted mouths. For his age, five homes means trouble . Five homes says that not just something, but a lot of things had gone wrong for Tony. 

Finally, Natasha offers, “Well, we hope you stay here for a while.”

Tony doesn’t dare speak aloud the little me, too that lives deep in the back, hidden corner of his head. Nothing good lies in getting his hopes up again. He settles for something else. “It’s nice here.”

“Dad and Pop are nice people. Since the first day Tash and I came here.” Clint says, the previous grumpiness seemingly washed away now. 

Natasha nods. “Clint and I were in a home together before this,” she pauses to glance at Clint, then continues, “They weren’t good there.” Her voice is low and firm, a clear don’t ask hanging in the silence that follows. 

Tony bites his lip, reflecting on his own history. “My first one was nice. And my last two were...okay. They didn’t hit or anything.” He doesn’t mention his second home. 

Natasha’s eyes flash with fury, then soften into sad pools of green. “Dad and Papa will never hit. Never. We’re always safe with them.”

Tony’s chest loosens at the reassurance. He’s learned through experience that sometimes foster parents lie, but the kids usually don’t. And Clint and Natasha are officially adopted and everything. He’s sure that if they didn’t like it here, if they didn’t feel safe, they wouldn’t have stayed. 

Tony tries to remember what safe even feels like. More than that, he wonders if he had ever truly been safe. “Safety” is the reason Tony was even put in the system in the first place. 

“Dad knows what it’s like, kind of,” Clint speaks up. “He was in the system for a while.”

Tony’s head whips around, eyes wide. “Really?”

The blue-eyed boy nods. “His mom died when he was a teenager, and he had no other family. He was in a group home, I think, but then he stayed with Uncle Phil until he turned 18 and then he joined the army.”

Tony blinks owlishly. Oh . 

When Tony doesn’t follow that with a comment, not knowing what to say, Clint decides that conversation has ended and proceeds to show Tony how carefully to stack sand-filled buckets to build multiple levels to the castle. Natasha follows his lead, letting the sound of the waves wash away the heaviness of their words. 

The rest of the afternoon passes quietly. They spend almost an hour building the castle, pulling Peter over and showing him how to use his tiny shovel to dig a moat around the perimeter. Tony can’t get enough of Peter marveling over the castle, oohing and aahing and clapping his hands and congratulating his siblings with a boisterous “Good job, buddies!”  

After the castle - functioning moat and all - is declared finished, Clint and Natasha set up an “excavation” for Peter, pulling out his Toy Story figurines from his little blue backpack and hiding them under obvious mounds of sand while Tony holds a hand over the toddler’s eyes. Peter insists that Tony come along to help him dig, Tony feels something unfamiliar sweep and swell in his chest. Shaking it off, he places a hand under his chin and ponders, dramatically, “Hmm, where should we dig first, Mister Peter?” just to make the younger boy laugh. 

At one point, Clint goes with Steve and Peter to dip in the water while Natasha lays out on the blanket and reads her book. Tony hadn’t thought to bring anything of his own to occupy his time. He was unsure if Steve and Bucky would let him take something out of the house and too afraid that they would say no to ask. 

Bucky pats the spot next to him and Tony obliges, laying down in the shade but leaving an obvious foot or two of space between him and Bucky. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. He hands Tony his phone and shows him a few games he can play, which occupy Tony for the next hour. 

The sun and heat exhaust him soon enough. Tony doesn’t notice just how frequently his mouth creaks open in wide yawns until Bucky gently pulls the phone out of his hand. Tony doesn't protest. It needs to charge anyway. 

“Take a little nap, bud,” Bucky whispers as he ruffles a hand through Tony’s hair, then sweeps through it again a couple more times to get some sand out. Tony is so sun-tired he can’t bring himself to protest the touch. “We got all day to hang out, it’s still early.”

Tony wants to say that he isn’t a baby and doesn’t need a nap, but the truth is that a nap sounds wonderful. Splayed out on the sand, the heat comfortable enough under the shade of the umbrella, Tony feels as comfortable as he’s been in a long while. Besides, Tony has a notorious streak of insomnia and terrible dreams. He shouldn’t turn down the opportunity to sleep when there is still plenty of light to keep any nightmares away. 

Unable to deny himself the temptation, Tony closes his eyes and focuses on the rhythmic pattern of the waves, letting the gentle swoosh-splash of the water drown out the sounds of other people milling about on the beach. As he drifts off, he wonders if this feeling settling through his bones could be something like peace. 

When he awakes, Tony startles when he’s face-to-face with a napping Peter. Steve is reading on the boy’s other side. Clint is laid out next to a still-reading Natasha and munching on a sandwich, both of them tanning in the sun. When Tony stirs, Steve beams down at him. “Good nap?” His voice is gentle.  

Tony nods, still trying to wipe the grogginess from his head.

“Hungry?”

Again, Tony nods, and happily takes the ham and cheese Steve offers him from the cooler. “Buck just went to get some more water,” he answers when he sees Tony looking around. As if summoned, Tony makes out Bucky’s figure approaching from the food stands, holding several bottles of water in his arms. 

When Bucky hands him his bottle, Tony notices that Bucky’s metal arm is...not metal anymore. “What’s that?” 

“Special sleeve,” Bucky answers as he falls, rather ungracefully, to sit in front of him. He tosses two bottles to Clint, who catches them in an impressive one-two move. “Keeps my arm from getting too hot, so the metal doesn’t burn anyone if I touch them.”

“How does it work?” 

Bucky’s brows furrow, looking down at the arm like the answer is written somewhere in the fabric. “Something about the material is heat-resistant, and it has a padding that’s supposed to block heat conduction.”

Tony wants to ask if he can peel it back and take a peek, but he isn’t sure if Bucky will get upset by it. The dark-haired man had been wearing a t-shirt the entire day until now, and Tony thinks it might be to cover the scars that sit on his shoulder. 

On Tony’s third day at their house, Bucky had carefully peeled off his shirt to show the joint to Tony, telling the boy he wasn’t trying to scare him, but wanted him to know what it was and not get freaked out if he saw it unexpectedly. So far, that was the only time Tony had seen it. Even in the hot summer, Bucky doesn’t wear tank tops, bearing the teasing about getting an unmistakable farmer’s tan across his biceps. 

Clint stands and makes his way over to the shade, draping himself over Bucky’s back like a koala. “Poooop,” he whines, “When can we go to the arcade and get dinner?”

Bucky chuckles and reaches back to ruffle Clint’s hair. Tony laughs at the amount of sand that falls out of where it had blended into Clint’s natural color. “You literally just had lunch, and you’re already thinking about dinner?” 

“That was such a tiny sandwich, Pop, it barely made a dent!”

Steve joins in Bucky’s laughter. “You’re a bottomless pit, kiddo,” the blonde man jokes. 

Clint grins, and then remembers his task. “Dad, the arcade.”

“Clint, it’s barely even 2 o’clock. We’ve still got hours until we have to head back. Lay and relax for a while.”

Clint twists a face at that. It hadn’t taken long for Tony to realize Clint didn’t like being bored. Bucky takes a swig from his own bottle and stands up, Clint still clinging onto his shoulders. The boy quickly wraps his legs around his father’s torso, so as not to choke him. “Come take a dip with me,” Bucky says to the older boy. “Tony, you want to come in the water?”

Immediately, Tony tenses up. “I’m not a good swimmer.” Not that he’d ever really learned to do it in the first place. He just about knows how to flail his limbs to keep from drowning for a few seconds. 

“That’s okay, we can just stand in the water and watch Clint try out some tricks.” 

And, well, that does sound okay, if all he has to do is stand. 

Sure enough, Bucky holds his hand the entire time they wade into the water, letting Tony jump back at the first touch of the cold water. He doesn’t push, just waits right next to Tony until he’s ready. When Tony is finally used to the temperature, he braves the water up to his hips, and sinks into the gentle waves brushing against his body. 

Clint takes the opportunity to showcase his range of swimming strokes, handstands, and flips.  Tony gets hypnotized by the way Clint glides from one place to another with swift, precise movements. Steve approaches them a while later, Peter perched on his hip in tiny blue whale-decorated trunks, eyes wide at the water. 

Steve wades into the water, just far enough that Peter’s feet are submerged. Peter reaches down and the blonde man obliges him, carefully gripping Peter’s waist so the boy hovers over the water to let his fingers stroke beneath the surface. Reaching some kind of conclusion, Peter grumpily glares back up at his father and demands, “Down, Daddy!” Tony snorts. The moments when sweet and gentle Peter becomes overrun by a toddler’s attempt at authority are quickly becoming his favorite. 

Steve rolls his eyes and mutters “Please” under his breath, but he places Peter in the water nonetheless. The water reaches the little boy’s waist, and Steve keeps an unrelenting grip on his hand. “Water’s tickling me!” the little boy shrieks between furious giggles, when an a gentle wave wades in and splashes up to his belly. 

At some point, Clint starts a splash battle. By the time mercy is pleaded, Bucky is drenched, even to his hair, Tony’s wet to his chest, and Peter spits out a salty taste of sea water with an articulate “Gross, Clinty.” A minute later, Peter accepts Clint’s apology when it comes in the form of acting out a shark attack that concludes in wet kisses all over the toddler’s cheeks. 

Eventually, they wander back to their spot, where Clint nearly wrings out his trunks onto Natasha’s unsuspecting back. He freezes when, without looking away from her book, she eerily warns, “Don’t even think about it,” and casually turns a page. Thwarted, Clint dramatically flops down beside her, resigned to dry himself in the sun. 

Tony and Peter use a set of animal Play-Doh molds to press a line of creatures into the sand along the edge of the bedsheet. Tony guides Peter through their sandy zoo, naming each animal and demonstrating all the appropriate sounds, with the occasional assistance from Steve on the appropriate sound effects of a hippo or giraffe. 

Finally (in Clint’s opinion, at least), everyone has decided they are sufficiently dry to the bone and done with lazing in the sun. The kids are ready to head down the boardwalk and play. 

Clint leads the expedition, showing Tony all the little arcade games lined up in neat rows under an enormous tented structure. Bucky cashes in some bills for special gold playing coins and hands 10 to each child, then sends them off to roam. Tony spends the first few minutes watching Clint play his favorites, paying careful attention to how the older boy maneuvers the controls. When Clint admits defeat to the ghosts on the Pac-Man game, he turns the joystick over to Tony, who manages to hold his own for a few minutes before a ghost corners him. 

Tony’s favorite ends up being an old pinball machine decorated with a Wild West motif, cowboys and horses painted on the surface. Natasha watches him for a few rounds. “You’re pretty good at this one.” Tony flushes at the compliment, stuttering out a “thanks”. 

Natasha bests Clint in a video shooting match, making Clint whine, “Aww, gun, no,” and tug at his ears uncomfortably.

Peter waves Tony over to help him spin on a Wheel of Fortune game, although the younger boy is more interested in the flashing lights and bell chimes than gaining points. Still, Tony is touched when Peter grabs a hold of his hand and leads him to another game of chance. 

The sun has moved considerably when they finally emerge from the arcade, armed with the prizes they cashed in their tickets for. Tony can see both Steve and Clint have pink spots on their ears and the backs of their necks, even with Steve’s diligent sunscreen application. Natasha, just as fair-skinned, seems untouched by the sun. With the evening starting to roll in, the air carries a breeze and shade starts stretching over the boardwalk. 

At the very end of the boardwalk is a building, two floors and wider than the arcade by what seems like a mile. Clint and Natasha tell him that it’s a “funhouse maze” with tunnels and weird mirrors and fake hallways, both of them bouncing with excitement as they make their way to the entrance. Natasha says that the layout is rearranged every summer so that each year comes with a totally new maze. Tony wonders if they have to take apart the whole building and then build it back up again year after year. 

Tony grins with pride to find that the maze is made for kids 7 and older, and he’s just made it past the cutoff. After spending so long feeling like a baby, too small to do anything really fun, he suddenly feels like he’s accomplished something incredible. 

Bucky stops the three of them at the door and very seriously tells them to stay together while they move through the maze and make sure they look out for each other. Tony is so overcome with his eagerness to get inside that he can’t even be put out that Natasha promises to hold his hand the whole time. 

Just being able to go inside without an adult feels like such an older kid thing to do, even if he is technically still being supervised. But Clint and Natasha are cool and so nice to him since he’d shown up at their doorstep, Tony finds that he isn’t nervous as they walk through the door in a single file. 

Inside, the whole place is cool with air conditioning. Tony lets the chill sprout goosebumps along his overheated and sweaty skin. The lighting is dim, but there’s enough illumination to see his surroundings, streaks of neon blues and greens lighting up the pathways. It’s probably the coolest place Tony has ever seen. Clint’s white t-shirt glows blue in the special lights - black lights, Natasha tells him - bringing out the striking cornflower blue of the older boy’s eyes. Speakers embedded in the ceiling play bright carnival music, accompanied by the tell-tale echoes of children ahead of them. 

“Don’t run ahead, Clint,” Natasha says firmly to her brother, dutifully holding onto Tony’s hand as they begin walking. The first obstacle they encounter is a wobbly walk bridge that makes Tony’s insides squirm, but Natasha places him between her and Clint for extra safety. He makes sure to grip both of the side ropes like Clint does as he leads them towards a rock wall, much like the one in their yard. 

Tony makes it up without any assistance, and gets an enthusiastic high five from Clint in congratulations. Natasha, in a rare move, from what Tony has observed of her so far, ruffles his hair with a “Good job.” 

They mostly move through the obstacle course without issue, the rising humidity meaning that they must be approaching the exit when they come out a dark doorway to encounter the hall of mirrors. Tony gasps when his eyes register that he is surrounded by a hundred copies of himself, all staring back at him. 

“It’s okay, Tony, just us,” Natasha assures softly, her hand squeezing around his as if she knows why the sudden visual is so overwhelming. But how could she know if Tony can’t figure it out himself? 

She and Clint look around for a minute, trying to figure out which hallways are fake from the mirror illusion and which one is the right path to the exit. “This way!” Natasha calls, and pulls Tony along another hallway of mirrors until they find a curtain revealing another tunnel to run through. It’s not until they both emerge on the other side that they realize something is deeply wrong. 

Clint doesn’t appear behind them. 

“Clint!” Natasha calls through the tunnel, but no response comes. Her face shifts suddenly, going serious and worried. The change sets Tony’s heart pounding, that awful bad-danger-panic-run feeling washing over his entire body like cold water, leeching all the leftover heat from his skin and leaving him shivering. 

“We have to go back, he got lost. Come on.” Even in the panic, she makes sure Tony is in front of her, directing him back through the winding path back to the mirrors. Clint isn’t in the main open area, making Tony feel like the only sound in the entire building is the harsh pounding of his heart. Before he can completely lose himself, Natasha pulls along him to peek around into each of the fake hallways where, sure enough, Clint is huddled into a corner, pale and eyes jumping from one reflection to another, to another, to another. 

Natasha says his name once, twice, three times, but Clint doesn’t answer her. Natasha lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. The boy jumps suddenly and whips a terrified gaze to her, not far from what Tony imagines a spooked animal might look like. 

The fear dissipates from Clint’s eyes a moment later. Tony can see the recognition flood through the other boy, loosening his jaw, then shoulders, then arms. Clint’s hands shake less, but don’t completely still. 

Tony calms down with Clint, somewhat comforted that he can see for himself that Clint has finally registered he isn’t missing anymore, but Tony quickly decides he would be very happy to never see Clint look that frightened ever again. 

“What happened?” Natasha asks him when she can tell he’s aware of what’s going on. Clint only responds in sign language, gesturing at her with still-shaky hands. Whatever he tells her must be serious, because she turns around to Tony and says, calmly but firmly, “Go back through the tunnel and find the exit. Tell Papa that something’s wrong with Clint’s aids and he got scared inside.”

Tony nods, determined to do whatever he can to help Clint, and urgently follows her direction back to the tunnel, keeping his eyes forward to make sure he doesn’t get distracted. Something must be wrong if Natasha is willing to let Tony find the exit by himself and risk her parents knowing she broke her promise to keep him next to her. Blessedly, only one more dim hallway reaches past the tunnel, quickly leading to the exit. With the sheer nervousness rattling through his bones, Tony can’t enjoy the slide that sits the Exit sign, thrusting him back into the stark daylight with squinted eyes and uneven breaths. 

He doesn’t need to find Bucky in a crowd. By the time Tony’s eyes adjust, the large man is already walking over to him. His face tells Tony immediately that he knows something isn’t right. 

“Where’s Clint and Nat?” Bucky’s tone is serious and a little worried, but not angry. 

Obediently, Tony repeats what Natasha told him in the hall of mirrors. As he babbles, Bucky’s face steels over. He takes Tony’s hand, solid but not tight, running a thumb over the back of his smaller hand. Tony finally understands that his hands are shaking at the touch, and Bucky is trying to help. Bucky mutters something to the teenager manning the exit, who quickly sheperds them inside and behind the trick walls to reach Clint. 

They exit into a different fake hallway and have to peek into only two openings before they find Clint and Natasha. They’re sitting side-by-side on the floor. Natasha is clearly grasping Clint’s hand tightly in hers. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Bucky murmurs as he slowly crouches down to the ground. He signs along with his words, slower than Tony has seen him do before, “What’s going on?” His voice is still thready with worry, but it softens around the edges now that he has eyes on his children. Tony watches relief equally flood through Clint’s eyes at the sight of his father. Finally assured that an adult is here to handle the situation, Tony’s breathing starts to calm, slowing and deepening by small degrees. 

“We’re safe with them,” Natasha had told him only a few hours ago, and Tony feels the need to replay that affirmation over and over in his brain as he watches Bucky slowly move closer to the sandy-haired boy. 

Clint’s looks as if he’s still on the edge of panic, breaths coming in short, quiet pants as he lets go of Natasha’s hand to sign something back to Bucky. Whatever he says makes Bucky shuffle even closer, his knees just touching his son’s, and pulls Clint’s hand over his heart. The man starts exaggerating his breathing, Clint’s hand rising and falling as a passenger along for a ride.

Tony thinks the motion is strange, until he notices after a few moments that Clint’s breathing is starting to even out a little, not matching Bucky’s but not as choppy and harsh as it was before. As Clint calms down bit by bit, the panic washing away from his eyes with each deep breath, Tony sees Natasha’s own face loosen up, smooth out. 

With the proof that Natasha is calming down, Tony feels the ribbon of anxiety around his chest slacken and fall away. 

The rest of Bucky and Clint’s conversation is signed, so Tony doesn’t know what they say to each other. Occasionally, Bucky murmurs “good job” and “doing great, kiddo”. An eternity passes until Clint nods slowly and shakily rises to his feet, holding tight to his father’s hands. 

Bucky firmly presses the blonde boy against his side and Natasha grasps Tony’s hand again without being asked. As they begin to slowly make their way back to the open emergency door, Tony feels the tension between each of them lessen with each step.  

Tony catches the sight of Steve and Peter at the exit, back from the baby rides. Steve looks concerned, especially when he sees Clint shaken and burrowed into Bucky’s side. 

“Go with Dad,” Bucky says to Natasha. “I’m gonna take your brother and get some fresh air.”

Natasha nods easily, although her eyes stay locked on Clint’s for a long moment, as if communicating, green irises to blue. Whatever she sees there must satisfy her, because she finally turns and walks towards Steve, pulling Tony along by the firm grip on his hand.  

“Hey guys,” Steve greets with a small smile. It looks sad to Tony. “Did something happen?”

Natasha quietly answers her father. “Clint said his aids were making weird sounds and then they went out. He got distracted and then he couldn’t see us ahead and he got scared.”

Steve nods along. “Okay. Everyone else feeling okay?” His eyes glance over the both of them. Natasha says yes, but Tony keeps his eyes on the forms of Clint and Bucky on the boardwalk, steadily walking farther and farther away, becoming smaller in his field of vision. 

“Hey, he’s alright, Tony,” A large, heat-warm hand rubs across his shoulders. It brings attention to the fact that Tony’s own skin still feels cold.

“Clint was really scared,” Tony confesses, as if he’s sharing a secret. He’s surprised by the crack in his voice. With nothing else to do to help Clint, Tony finally registers the full effect of the fear he had felt for the older boy. He’d never really seen anyone look like that. Until today, the older boy had been a ball of unstoppable energy, laughing and giggling and joking nonstop. 

A sigh heaves from Steve’s chest. “Yeah, he was. But now he knows that whatever scared him is over and he’s safe with us. He’ll feel better in a little bit once he’s had some fresh air and calmed down. Pop will take good care of him.”

Natasha squeezes the hand still in hers. “You did a good job helping, Tony,” the girl praises, turning to Steve to elaborate. “Tony got out and told Papa to come inside.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s hand keeps up the sweeping motion across his shoulders, seeping warmth back into Tony’s skin. “Thank you, Tony. That was a really big helper job you did.” Tony doesn’t think he did all that much, but he’s not about to argue if Steve thinks he did something right. 

After a moment of awkward silence, Steve suggests, “Let’s go stake out a table for dinner while we wait for them, huh?”

They pick a picnic table in the dining area that hosts a fair amount of shade. Peter’s limp in Steve’s arms and tired out by the heat, emphatically shaking his head and saying “Too hot, Daddy,” at Steve’s first seating suggestion. If he’s being honest, Tony is exhausted now, from the hours of sun exposure and the scare in the maze. Everything feels muted, like his brain is too tired to pay attention to anything and decided to just doze off. 

While they wait for Clint and Bucky to return, Natasha convinces Tony to help her put on a play for Peter using his figurines. Tony feels silly, moving the toys around as he tries to remember the scenes from Toy Story, but it melts away when Peter starts clapping and jumping madly in his seat. When Tony makes Buzz push the Zorp in Natasha’s hand over the table’s side, Peter cheers “Yay, Buzz!” 

Distracted by keeping the younger boy entertained, Tony misses Clint coming back into view, no longer clinging to Bucky’s side. He smiles softly when he approaches the table. 

It doesn’t quite reach his blue eyes, but Tony can’t find any traces of the earlier panic or fear from earlier. Clint wiggles his way between Steve and Peter, happily pulling the boy into his lap and squeezing him. Steve signs something to him, to which Clint responds with a thumbs-up and Bucky supplements, “We gotta open up his aids and clean ‘em out. Sand got in and messed up the batteries.” 

Then, slightly slurred and toneless without his aids to give him feedback, Clint says, “Can we get dinner now? I’ve been starving since lunch!” Steve laughs and Natasha signs along with her words, “Don’t you ever think about anything except food?”

Clint gives her a succinct “nope” before he turns to Steve. “Dad, seriously, I want everything on the menu.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve gets up and heads to the food stand. Tony’s eyes nearly bulge right out of his head when Steve returns with two trays full of hot dogs, hamburgers, cups of macaroni and cheese, and chicken tenders for everyone to share. He has to go back for a third tray that only holds french fries. 

Clint dives into the meal with his usual ferocity, and that seems to lighten the mood enough for everyone to relax and dig into their own plates. By the time they’re done, leaning back with full bellies, the sun is well into setting, the beach quieting down as people filter off the sand. Tony wonders how he’s going to make it to the car this stuffed and bone-tired. 

He’s not the only one. Peter’s eyes have been taking long blinks for the last half hour, leaning more and more into Clint’s side. No longer distracted by his food, Clint runs his hand rapidly along Peter’s arm and cajoles, “Don’t fall asleep yet, Petey. We still have to get custard!” 

Bucky glares at Steve and mutters, “You had to get them all obsessed with the custard,” signing along so Clint isn’t left out of the conversation. 

“It’s a cultural tradition, Buck! You can’t come to the boardwalk without getting custard,” Steve defends.

Clint nods seriously at Bucky. “Yeah, Pop, it’s tradition .” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, but a smile appears on his face anyway. 

Custard, Clint informs Tony as they wait on the line, is a dessert like ice cream, “but better”. Everyone gets the same one, a white and orange swirl advertised as the boardwalk’s signature classic. It only takes one lick of the treat for Tony to find himself agreeing with Clint. The custard is richer and creamier than ice cream, and he’s surprised to find the delicious intricacy of sweetness and citrus in the orange flavor. 

Clint’s cone is, predictably, the first to disappear, but everyone seems to be just as invested in their desserts as they leisurely walk back to the car. His own cone gone, the trek seems to go on forever and Tony feels dead on his feet. He’s relying on the arm Natasha has wrapped around his shoulders to keep him upright until they finally reach the van. 

Tony’s sure that he must be half-asleep when he climbs in, because the last thing he remembers when he wakes up in his own bed at 2:15 AM is Natasha buckling him into the seat.

Chapter Text

On Thursdays, the kids go to therapy. 

Steve had explained it very simply and matter-of-fact, like there wasn’t anything weird about it, but Tony still looks at him a bit side-eyed. The routine is this: after school, Steve takes Clint, Natasha, and Peter to their therapy appointments at 4:30 PM, where they “talk” for an hour, and then the kids get to pick up fast food for dinner. 

He’d gotten more information earlier that morning from Clint and Natasha. Peter and Clint both go to two different therapies, one on Thursday, which Steve had described as “talk” therapy, and then therapy at school.

Clint said before that his own school therapy was for his speech, to learn how to say his sounds right after he got his hearing aids. He used to go twice a week until he hit middle school, and now he only goes one day a week because he’s gotten so much better. 

Peter has therapy every day at his preschool, but Tony hasn’t figured out what it’s for. Clint says Peter normally likes his school therapy but not his “talk” therapy. 

When the topic had come up, Natasha shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not fair, Clint. Talking is hard for you sometimes, too.”

To Tony, Clint muttered under his breath, “Natasha hates her therapy.”

“I do not!” Turning to Tony, she clarified, “I don’t hate it, it’s just that we have to talk about...not-nice things a lot and I don’t like remembering them.”

Tony hadn’t really understood that, because he doesn’t know what kinds of not-nice things Natasha might be talking about. He offered up the only thing he could relate to. “Steve says I can talk about my mom if I want. I don’t really want to. It makes me sad.”

Natasha noded in understanding. “That’s ok. A lot of the things we talk about makes me sad or angry. Dad says that’s why we go, so we can learn how to deal with the bad feelings.” She says it almost automatically, like Steve has said that to her so many times that she can repeat it from memory. 

Tony tilted his head at her. “How?”

She shrugged, red hair falling over one shoulder. The edges were all straightened out from her haircut the other day. “I don’t really know how it works, but Ms. Gina says that talking can help us figure out why we have bad feelings. If we know why, we can try to change things or think about them differently to stop the bad feelings.”

“What do you talk about?” was obviously not the right question to ask. Tony wanted to smack himself when Natasha glared at him. Clint had jumped in quickly. 

“She doesn’t have to tell us. Therapy is private and we don’t have to talk to anyone about what we say in therapy if we don’t want to. Not even to Dad or Pop. It’s like a law.”

“Oh.” Tony’s cheeks burned with shame. “Sorry, Natasha. I didn’t know.”

Her green eyes softened, even if her shoulders were still raised in unease. “It’s ok. Therapy just isn’t always nice. But Dad says it’s good for you. Like broccoli.”

“Huh?” 

“Like how Dad says we need to eat our veggies to get tall and strong and healthy,” Clint said, “therapy is supposed to be good for your brain.” Tony swiped at Clint’s hand when he started tapping his fingers along the back of Tony’s head. 

At that, Natasha had cracked a smile, and Clint took the opportunity to jump up and challenge her to a race across the yard. 

Now, while the others are at therapy with Steve, Tony stays with Bucky at the house. The man is pushing him on the swing in the yard when Clint bursts through the open sliding door, clutching an enormous cup of soda, and yells, “Dad got us Wendy’s!”

“Clint, volume,” Bucky gently reminds - never scolds, like Mrs. Walsh loved to do - and carefully stops the swing’s motion. “Help your sister get the plates, please.”

“Aww, Pop, we don’t need plates!”

“We absolutely do, Clint, last time you got ketchup on the table and yourself.” Bucky throws a wink in Tony’s direction as they follow Clint into the kitchen. The sound of running water from the first-floor bathroom says Natasha is washing her hands, while Steve is unloading the bags of food one-handed with Peter clinging tightly to his neck. 

“How’d we do?” Bucky asks Steve quietly as he comes up to run a hand along Peter’s back. He presses a kiss to the boy’s crown, but Peter doesn’t react. 

“Pretty good, I think. Petey got a little stressed towards the end, but that’s ok, right buddy? We still did it!” Steve gives Peter a gentle bounce on his hip, which the boy usually loves, but neither of the adults push him when he continues his silent impression of a barnacle.  

Sitting across from her at the table, Tony tries to figure out if Natasha had a good day or bad day at therapy. It’s no use, though. Natasha’s face is seemingly never moved by emotions, as far as Tony can tell. It was as if the girl’s face never moved without her knowing about it. 

Peter won’t let go of Steve when they sit down, and Steve doesn’t mention it, just lets the little boy sit in his lap while he fixes up two plates side by side. Even when Peter steals the fries off his father’s plate, Steve doesn’t mention it.

Watching Clint devour his burger pushes Tony close to losing his appetite. He really does attack the thing, and still manages to get a puddle of ketchup he’d put under the bun onto his shirt, but the table, at least, is spared. The way Clint eats reminds Tony of Dougie, a boy at his second foster home who was only a few years older than Tony. Dougie had told him that he was hungry at his mom’s house all the time, so being at the foster home wasn’t as hard for him as it was for Tony. 

Still, any time Dougie had gotten food, no matter how big or small, he swallowed it down as fast as he could. Once, he said it was because food you don’t eat is food someone can steal from you. 

At the face of disgust Natasha sends him, Clint grins, mouth full and ketchup dripping on his lip. “Ugh, gross, Clint! Eat like a human .”

“Clint, seriously,” Bucky chides, even though Tony thinks the grimace on his face is him trying not to laugh.  

Sheepishly, Clint swallows his mouthful with a considerable effort and wipes his mouth with a napkin for good measure. “Sorry, Pop.”

“Messy,” is Peter’s small contribution. It’s the first thing he’s said since they’d come home, and Tony can’t help but mirror the little smile Peter gives Clint, the little boy clearly amused by the chaos his older brother made. 

“Clint’s always messy, isn’t he, bub?” Steve murmurs into Peter’s hair, obviously relieved that Peter is talking again. 

Peter turns to pat his father’s cheek in that soft, tap tap manner that all babies who learn how to use “gentle hands” know to do. “May-May?” he inquires softly. 

“We’ll see Aunt May tomorrow, bubba, me and you are gonna drive down after breakfast, spend the day with May-May and Ben, isn’t that exciting?”

“Hosp’al?”

Tony has to strain to hear him, but Bucky clarifies a moment later. “No Petey-pie, Ben’s not at the hospital anymore, he’s back at their house. That’s why you get to see them tomorrow!”

“Who’s that?” Tony knows being curious isn’t always a good thing, but in the three weeks he’s been here, Steve and Bucky haven’t gotten angry at a single question he asked. He’s starting to get more comfortable actually asking about things instead of trying to guess.

“May and Ben are Peter’s aunt and uncle. They usually have visits every other week, but Ben was a little sick recently so he had to stay at the hospital for a few days and we missed the last one. And Petey’s really excited to see them, right?” Peter brightens up a little more at the last part of Steve’s answer, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Oh.” The next question Tony has isn’t polite, and he decides it’s better to stay quiet this time. Peter lives here with Steve and Bucky because, for some reason, this aunt and uncle weren’t allowed to keep him. Maybe for the same reason Clint’s dad couldn’t keep him. 

My bio dad is a mean drunk , he had offered up in the quiet darkness of their bedroom a few nights ago, when Tony mustered up the courage to ask Clint how long he’d been with Steve and Bucky. He was in prison. Got out last year.

After that, Clint took out his aids and said good night, shutting down the conversation. 

Tony kept quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was mention how his own story isn’t much different than that. About half of the kids Tony had met at homes had similar stories. 

It meant that family visits often didn’t end well. 

Tony has never had a family visit. He thinks he would be okay with that part of his life not changing, going by the way other kids had come home upset at seeing their parents. 

He doesn’t like thinking about his dad. 

That night, Tony lays awake past midnight, listening to Clint’s soft breaths and picking at his thumb, trying not to think about that man. 

Tony’s dad is not a good thing to think about. 

Thinking about him makes Tony’s skin start crawling as if bugs live under the surface, his chest gets tight like someone is tying a string around it and pulling it tighter and tighter and his stomach goes twisty-turvy in that way that says if he sits up right now he will most definitely throw up and he absolutely can not do that . 

He starts counting his breaths slowly, trying to calm the roiling motions in his gut and convince himself not to puke all over the nice, clean blue bedspread he’d picked out on Sunday, when Clint had helped him change the sheets. 

In, two, three, four, five.

Out, two, three, four, five. 

In, two, three, four, five.

Out, two, three, four, five. 

Again, and again, and again, until, as if someone had flipped a switch in his brain, Tony isn’t awake anymore. 

He’s somewhere else entirely, floating through space and time and memory. 

In his dream, Tony sees the crash. Sees the bottle rolling back and forth on the floor of the car, clink clink clinking as it hits the front seat. Hears his dad yelling something and his mom sniffling like she’s trying not to cry. 

Feels the car swerve sharply to the right and then a scream is ripped from the depths of his chest. 

Sees his dad’s arm come rushing towards him until it changes direction and heads to the passenger seat. 

And then - 

Screech

Honk

Lights

Crash

Screaming

Tony

Tony

“Tony!”

When his eyes shoot open, Tony can only focus on two things. 

Someone’s hands are on him, and he’s screaming. 

Tony struggles against the hands gripping his shoulders, wanting to get away from him, get away from the slap he knows is coming for his face because he’s being so loud and Dad hates it when he’s loud, especially hates when Tony cries but he can’t seem to get a hold of himself. 

Everything goes hazy for the next little bit until Tony hones in on a calming sound. It sounds like running water. 

Another few moments, and the sound becomes a voice. 

It’s a lot harder to focus on what the voice is saying, but eventually…

“-okay. You’re okay, Tony. It was just a bad dream, pal, I promise. Nothing is going to hurt you here. It’s just me, just Bucky here. Can you breathe for me? Nice and easy.”

Like a balloon losing air, everything comes back to Tony at once. 

He can hear Bucky talking clearly, feel his own nails digging into his palms, the pressure of his knees against his chest, the cold feel of a hardwood floor under his bottom, the tell-tale wetness of tears on his cheeks, which explains why his vision is blurry. 

“Hey, Tony, can you hear me?”

How did he get on the floor? Did he fall off the bed? How long has he been there?

“Tony, it’s Friday. August 12th, 2017. It’s 3:27 in the morning. It’s raining, supposed to rain all day, so I thought we could do some crafts, or watch a movie. We have some dough, so we can make handmade pizzas for dinner, pick whatever toppings you want. Tony, can you hear me?”

It takes a huge amount of effort to nod his head. It feels like his head is separated from his body, bobbing along independently. He still can’t stop crying, and his chest feels very, very tight. 

“Ok, Tony. You’re breathing really fast and I want to help you calm down. Can we try that?”

Tony doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything except that he wants to hide inside his skin and never come out again. 

“Tony, can you tell me three things you can see?”

What? Why the heck does Bucky want to know that?

“Tony,” Bucky repeats, his voice a little firmer now and for some reason, it pulls Tony back out of his head. “Tell me three things you can see. Anything you can see. You can do it pal, I know you can.”

It takes several long seconds, a few heavy and hitching breaths, until Tony rasps out, “Bed.” 

His throat really hurts. How long was he screaming?

Oh, god. He must have woken up the whole house. 

“Good, Tony. You’re doing so good, pal, two more things you can see.”

That one isn’t a question, so Tony forces himself to continue croaking out, “Desk. Chair.”

“Great job, Tony. I’m so proud of you, you’re doing so well. Tell me three things you can touch.”

Touch. Touching means he has to uncurl his arms from around his knees. Very slowly, he pulls his nails from his palm with a wince. Hands shaking, Tony puts one on his knee. “Pjs.”

“Good.”

A hand goes down next to his foot. “Floor.” And drags back to whatever he is leaning against. “Wall.” 

He couldn’t have fallen off the bed, Tony realizes. He must have moved himself here, because he’s almost four feet away from the bed now, tucked into the back corner of the room. 

“You’re doing great, Tony. Tell me two things you can hear.”

“You. Rain.” The pattering of raindrops against the window above him is nice, familiar. He likes the sound of rain, usually. 

“Good boy, Tony. Two things you can smell.”

Good boy.

No one has ever called him that, and Tony has an urge to laugh when Bucky says it. Tony has probably scared everyone in the house with his middle-of-the-night shrieking, acting like a little freak, and here Bucky was, calling him a good boy . 

Tony wants to start crying all over again, but he can't. Bucky had asked him to do something. God, what was it? 

Stupid, stupid, Tony. Why can’t you ever pay attention. 

“So good, buddy, you’re alright. Two things you can smell.”

Smell. What can he smell?

He forces himself to sniff. His nose is wet from tears, but he pushes through it, “Laun’ry d’terg’nt.” He hates how his tongue moves so slowly in his mouth, but he has to finish what Bucky asked. Another sniff. “Rain,” he whispers, suddenly becoming aware that Bucky must have opened the window, because the room is colder now than it was when he and Clint had gone to bed. 

“You’re so awesome, Tony, last thing. Tell me one thing you can taste.”

“Salt,” is his automatic answer. Then it clicks that it isn’t salt he tastes, but tears. 

“Oh, Tony, you did so, so good. I’m so proud of you. You’re breathing so much better now.”

Flooded with embarrassment, Tony wipes his face of his tears, lingering to hide his face from Bucky for a moment longer. God, he is never going to hear the end of this from Clint. 

Wait. Where was Clint?

Sure enough, as Tony looks around the room, eyes clearer now, Clint isn’t there. Had he left because of Tony?

Bucky’s face finally comes into focus. He’s sitting a couple feet in front of Tony, legs criss-crossed. Even trying to be compact, he seems gargantuan in the space between the bed and the dresser. He doesn’t look angry, which doesn’t make sense to the boy. Tony had woken him up screaming like a crazy person, why wouldn’t he be upset?

“Tony, do you know where you are?”

“Your house.” 

A weird look flashes on Bucky’s face but Tony is too overwhelmed to focus on it. 

“Good. And who lives here?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Tony recites quietly, “Steve, Bucky, Clint, Natasha, Peter...Me.”

“So good, buddy. Do you feel a little calmer now?”

Definitely not, but Tony doesn’t want Bucky to feel like he hasn’t helped, so he gives a quick shrug. 

“Okay, that’s okay. Are you cold? You’re shivering.”

He is cold, now that he isn’t worried that he’ll stop breathing. He’s freezing , actually, but Tony knows that isn’t right. It’s the middle of August, and the temperature was in the 80’s earlier in the day. Tony nodded. 

“Can I get you a blanket?” Tony nods again, and immediately Bucky reaches his arm over to pull the comforter off the bed. He slowly approaches, coming from the side so that Tony can still move away if he wants to. Tony scoots forward a bit so Bucky can drape it over his shoulders, pulling one end around and then the other over it so he’s all wrapped up just like Peter likes to be. 

Peter might be onto something. Surrounded by softness everywhere, but still able to move around and get out on his own if he gets too hot. It’s a gentle pressure all around him, and it helps Tony’s chest loosen that much more. 

Bucky sits back down in front of him. “How do you feel now?”

Tony is still shaking, but the crying and screaming has stopped and he feels like he can take a halfway-deep breath again, so he takes a shot. “Little better, I guess.”

Bucky gives him a little smile. “You did such a good job calming down, you listened so well.”

That’s another thing no one has ever said to Tony. He could never listen well or pay attention. What is Bucky talking about?

“Do you want to talk about your dream?”

Nightmare sounds more accurate. Maybe even horror story , but Tony doesn’t want to be disrespectful. Bucky is being nice enough to sit with him and talk, even though Tony’s sure he just wants to go back to sleep.

Tony shakes his head. 

“That’s alright, you don’t have to. Do you still feel scared?”

That question is harder to answer. He knows the dream is over, knows the accident was over four years ago and he was so little when it happened, but his heart is still hammering in his chest. 

“I don’t know.”

Bucky’s mouth twists downwards.

“That’s okay.” 

Tony wants to puke, honestly. Nothing about this is okay, and he needs to fix it. 

“I’m sorry I woke you up, I’m -”

“Hey, Tony, no.” It’s the first time Bucky really sounds firm. Like the way Mrs. Leahy used to say no backtalk, no nonsense, no talking during church . “You had a nightmare, you don’t need to be sorry. I would rather you scream and wake me up.”

“Why?”

“Because if I’m awake I can help you. Anytime you start feeling like that, Tony, like you can’t breathe, or your chest feels tight, or you don’t really know where you are, I want to know it’s happening so I can help, just like we did before. Did that help?”

Cautiously, Tony dips his head in a nod. Bucky’s questions are really weird, but they’re not making Tony feel scared. 

“Good.”

Before he can stop himself, Tony asks, “Where did Clint go?”

“He went to go sleep with Steve.”

Tony’s cheeks flame. “I didn’t mean to make him go!” he insists, a little too loud, voice cracking in the middle. 

“Hey, hey, you didn’t, you’re fine, Tony. He went because he didn’t want you to be scared when you woke up, okay? You didn’t make him do anything, I promise. You’re okay.”

Tony loses a few minutes of time there, caught up in how much Clint must hate him now, waking him up screaming and kicking him out of his room, and God why is Tony always such a trouble-maker - 

His thoughts screech to a halt as his brain catches up with the fact that his body is being touched. Actually, Bucky is squeezing him, hugging him tightly into his side. The waves of cold Tony feels behind him is Bucky’s metal arm rubbing circles on his back. 

“You’re okay, Tony. I promise, no one is mad at you. Natasha and Peter didn’t even wake up, you’re alright.”

Normally, Tony doesn’t like to be touched. He doesn’t like to be handed things, doesn’t like to be held down, doesn’t like anything that gives people an excuse to reach their hands out to him. You never know what that hand is going to do.  

Bucky’s grip is grounding but not tight, holding onto him with only one arm so that if Tony needs an out, he could leap across the room if he wanted to. It’s the first time in a long, long while that someone has actually held him for comfort , and Tony is so unprepared for it that he just gives in, falling into the man’s side and crying all over again. 

Bucky keeps rubbing his hands against Tony’s arm and back, making those soft little shush sounds that people do to babies and Tony doesn’t want to like it, doesn’t want to get attached and set himself up for failure, but it’s a really nice feeling. It’s so close to a real, affectionate hug, and Tony is just...so tired. Exhausted down to his bones, yet too terrified to risk sleep again. 

As if reading his mind, Bucky murmurs lowly, “Let’s go downstairs, huh? Get a nice cup of hot cocoa, lay down on the couch and relax, yeah?”

Tony doesn’t want to move, but he’s too wrung out to be contrary right now. He tries to get his bearings well enough to stand up, but that turns out not to be necessary when Bucky scoops Tony up, blanket burrito and all, and pulls the boy against his chest. 

Bucky is surprisingly warm. Sturdy. Tony can hear his heartbeat from where his ear is settled against the man’s torso. Its steady, even beat helps Tony count his breaths, slow the hitching of his lungs even if he can’t manage to stop the tears just yet. 

As Bucky carries him downstairs, Tony makes sure to keep his eyes closed. He doesn’t dare to see if anyone else is still awake, looking at him in all his shame. 

Sure enough, Bucky holds him against his chest, ear over his heart, the entire time they putter around in the kitchen, heating up milk in the microwave and stirring in chocolate powder one-handed. With a dexterity that makes Tony wonder just how long Bucky lived with only one arm, he pours the dark liquid into a bottle with a straw so that Tony doesn’t have to dig his shaking hands out of the blanket to hold it. 

They make a quick detour to the first floor bathroom for Bucky to run a warm washcloth against Tony’s face, clearing away the dried tears and snot that he is embarrassed to see in the reflection of the mirror, but the whole time Bucky keeps whispering, “It’s okay, sweetheart, nothing to worry about, you’re doing such a good job.”

Finally, Bucky walks them into the living room. He keeps the lights off and lays down on the couch, setting the bottle of hot chocolate on the table and arranging Tony so that he is half on Bucky’s chest, half wedged between his large body and the back of the couch. 

The positioning makes Tony think he should feel trapped, surrounded on all sides like this, but instead it made him feel...cushioned. Solid. Like there is something touching every part of his body, convincing him that he was here , right now, with Bucky on the couch and not there in the car. 

Bucky pulls out his phone from his pajama pants’ pocket, clicking a few buttons until there are some soft, weird sounds coming from his phone. 

“Sometimes,” Bucky whispers, “white noise like this helps me sleep. When my brain is a little all over the place.”

Cautiously, Tony tilts his head up to look into the man’s grey-blue eyes. “Is your brain loud?” he asks, keeping his voice at that same soft tone as Bucky’s. 

“Yeah, it can be. Sometimes I have bad dreams, too. We all do. It’s alright, Tony. No one would ever be mad that you had a bad dream and got scared. I never want you to think that, okay?”

Tony can’t say yes to that. He still feels bad that he had woken up everyone. 

“That’s alright,” Bucky still mutters into his hair. “You don’t have to believe it right now. I know it can be hard.”

Tony is completely out of words now. He’s just so tired. Tired from the nightmare and the screaming. Tired of feeling like he can never be safe. Tired of moving from house to house to house. Tired of not knowing anything. 

So instead, he sips at the hot chocolate milk when Bucky brings the bottle to his lips and lets the warmth slide down his throat and settle in his stomach. Once the milk is gone, he closes his eyes, listening to the quiet, even, thump-thump-thump of Bucky’s heartbeat under his ear, focusing on the even circular motion of his arm on his back, and just lets himself drift.

He isn’t asleep, so he can’t dream again, but he isn’t quite awake either. He’s floating in some kind of soft in-between space, knowing he and Bucky are still settled on the couch, just aware enough to hear the front door click open and close as Steve leaves for his morning run at 5:30, and 45 minutes later hears it open and close again when he returned. 

Tony is still in that fluffy space when he hears Steve come up next to them and kiss Bucky quietly before asking, “How is he?” 

Bucky answers, “He seems better. He’s exhausted. I don’t know what it was about, but it was definitely something that terrified him.” 

“We’ll take it easy today,” Steve whispers back before he leaves them. Tony keeps floating for a long while, long enough that when he finally surfaces, fully awake and a little too aware, everyone else is already eating breakfast. 

“Morning, bud.” Bucky’s voice is the same as it was earlier - calm and even, voice rumbling softly like there isn’t anything to be worried about. Tony knows that isn’t true.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers back, hiding his face in the folds of the comforter still wrapped around him completely. 

“Hey, no. Tony, look at me.” 

When his eyes lift to meet Bucky’s steel grey ones, Tony thinks he must be seeing things. Bucky looks like he wants to cry. 

“Tony, listen to me. You never, never have to apologize for being scared. You had a nightmare, you can’t control that, and Steve and I would never ask you to try. Everyone has bad dreams, everyone gets scared sometimes. But right now, we’re your parents and it’s our job to make you feel safe if you are scared or nervous for any reason. You did nothing wrong last night, alright?”

Tony gulps. He wishes, hopes , so much that what Bucky’s saying is true. Tony has been in five different homes in four years, has never really felt safe in any of them, he thinks. Then again, Tony doesn’t really remember ever feeling safe, even before the accident. His only good memories are of his mom, but even those are lined with a thread of fear that sooner or later, his dad was going to appear. 

But Bucky had woken him up from a nightmare. Had talked him into calming down. Had known, somehow, how to move around him so Tony didn’t feel boxed in against the corner. Had wrapped him in a blanket because he couldn’t stop shaking, and had made him hot chocolate and held the bottle to his mouth because he still couldn’t stop shaking enough to hold it himself. Had told him constantly that he was... good and listening so well and doing awesome . 

Bucky hadn’t told him to calm down like it was just that easy. Hadn’t told him to stop crying or stop being dramatic. Hadn’t told him to go back to sleep and everything would be fine in the morning, so….

Maybe.

Maybe he can give this place a chance. 

He can’t say it out loud, can’t risk putting it out there and have it be crushed later, so he nods, chin brushing against Bucky’s chest. 

Looking past Bucky’s head and into the kitchen, Tony watches as Steve gathers up the plates from breakfast and shuttles the other three kids out the backdoor to play in the yard. Tony tries not to stiffen when Steve starts making his way over to the living room, but Bucky must feel the new tension of his body, because his hand resumes the big, calming circles on his back. 

Tony is still unsure about how much he seems to like the motion, especially since normally being touched by people puts him on edge. Something about the way Bucky touches him feels different from the way other people have. Bucky touches him soft. Gentle. Light enough that Tony could shrug it right off, and that makes it better, bearable.

Tony wills his stomach not to get twisted again with Steve. Bucky was the one who was with him last night and maybe Steve hadn’t come because he didn’t want to deal with Tony and his screaming. 

“Hey, Tones,” Steve murmurs as he settles on the coffee table across from them. For a second, Tony thinks how sturdy the table must be that Steve can sit on it, but he’s pulled away from the thought when Steve asks, “How are you feeling?”

He almost says fine , almost tries to brush it off and pretend it never happened before he stops and remembers.

Steve and Bucky have rules. 

One of the biggest ones is, “We don’t lie, even when it’s hard to say the truth.”

So Tony doesn’t lie. “A little better.”

“Do you still feel scared?”

That one is harder to answer because...he is and he isn’t. He knows the dream is over but the fear he’d felt still seems to live inside him, sitting just under his skin. 

“I...I don’t know.”

With a soft smile, Steve soothes, “That’s ok. Can you try to tell us why?”

Try.  

For some reason, Tony needs to make sure every part of his body is covered by the blanket before he answers, fidgeting a little more into Bucky’s side.

“I know it’s done and it wasn’t real but...still feels real. Because I know it happened. But I don’t remember everything right, I think.”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together. “Was your dream about something that happened before?”

Cheeks flushing, Tony pushes his eyes down. Until now, he realizes, he hadn’t told either of them what the dream was about.

“Crash,” he whispers. He can’t bring himself to raise his voice any louder than that. “When my mom...died.”

Tony feels Bucky’s arm tighten around him, firmer than he had since the first time he’d pulled Tony into a hug in his room the night before. 

“Oh, Tony,” Bucky rasps from above him, “I’m so sorry, bud, that must have been so scary for you.”

And something about hearing that flips a switch inside him, because the next thing Tony knows, he’s pulling the blanket over his head and burrowing his face into Bucky’s side to hide his tears. 

For a while, Tony cries with someone’s hand on his back and someone’s hand running a thumb over his head in soft motions. He can’t tell if it’s a few minutes or an hour, but he can’t stop crying for some time. His head feels scrambled and his skin is crawling and he just. Wants. To cry. 

Eventually, his breath stops hitching so quickly, and he can finally take in some gulps of air. That’s when he zones in and hears Steve and Bucky talking to him.

“You’re alright here, Tony.”

“You’ve been so good.”

“We’re right here, honey, you’re okay.”

“You’re being so brave .”

Tony feels like an eternity has passed by the time he can breathe normally again, but the hands on him never stop moving. No one tells him to stop crying, or show his face. So he lets himself cry until the bad feelings have left his chest. 

When he finally tugs the blanket away from his face, Steve’s eyes are much closer than they were before. He’s kneeling next to the couch now, his head propped up on Bucky’s other arm and his own hand running over Tony’s head. The feeling makes his chest warm up inside. 

“Feeling a little better?” Steve asks quietly. 

If he’s telling the truth, Tony does, so he nods. 

A couple more minutes go by until Tony’s breaths are even and deep again, and then Bucky speaks. 

“I was in a car accident too.”

Tony’s breath whistles right out of his chest. He turns his head to look Bucky in the eye while the rest of his body freezes. 

“That’s how I lost my arm,” he confesses, metal hand still running those calm circles on his back. Tony thinks he never wants it to stop.

“Somebody was speeding when they shouldn’t have, and they ran a red light, and their car hit mine. Sometimes I dream about it, and it feels pretty real, like it’s happening all over again. Is that what your dream felt like?” Bucky’s eyes are very sad now, and Tony feels bad about it. This is all his fault, making Bucky think about his accident again. 

Slowly, Tony nods. He still can’t muster up the effort to speak.

“Yeah, I bet,” Bucky whispers. “That must have been really scary for you, huh?”

Again, Tony nods, because it was really scary. 

“Did it help when I woke you up? When I asked you to tell me what you could see and touch and everything?”

Tony’s nod is much surer this time, because it had helped. A lot. He doesn’t know why, but it did. 

“That’s good. Was it okay that I brought you down here?”

“The hot cocoa was nice,” he affirms, and that must be the right thing to say, since both Steve and Bucky crack smiles at him. 

Before he can blink, Steve rears up and presses a firm kiss on his forehead. 

“I’m so proud of you, Tony, you did such a good job talking to us.”

Tony is sure he’s blushing now, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

Steve seems prepared for that, because he only lets a second of silence pass before he asks, “You wanna get up now, and eat some breakfast? Or do you wanna lay down and relax for a little bit?”

Chewing his lip, Tony thinks about it. He’s pretty comfy here, pressed between Bucky and the couch, all nice and secure. But they’d already dozed through breakfast, and Tony’s legs are starting to get restless, and he remembers that in a few hours Steve and Peter are supposed to leave for a visit. 

Before he can say anything, though, his stomach answers for him by rumbling loudly. 

Tony feels more than sees Bucky laugh. “I think that means breakfast time, yeah?”

Tony doesn’t realize that his stomach still feels twisted up inside throughout the morning and afternoon until that knot finally, completely releases itself at around 4:00 in the afternoon, when Tony sees Peter return from his visit with his aunt and uncle with a huge grin on his face, giggling and bright.

Chapter Text

On Monday, Tony goes with Steve to something called an “open house” at what will be his new school come September. Steve explains that an open house is a day where they can walk around the school, and see where Tony’s classrooms are so he doesn't get lost on his first day, and meet his new teachers. 

Steve asks Tony questions about school over and over again throughout the weekend: how does he feel about starting school again, how was his time at his old school, what did he like about his old school and what didn’t he like, how did the kids behave, how were his teachers. 

Truthfully, Tony is just happy that he’ll be starting school on the same day as everyone else. He had never switched homes during the summer before; on Tony’s first day at a new school last year, he was pulled up to the front of each class so everyone could ogle at the weird new kid starting school in December. 

A small, secret part of Tony hopes that the next time he gets moved to a new home it’ll be in the summer again. Starting school mid-year means everyone has already made their friends and Tony has no one to play with. 

This school is...tall. 

Steve tells him that this school is an elementary and middle school, so Clint and Natasha will be in the building with him all the time. Knowing that they will always be there makes Tony feel marginally more comfortable with the situation. Even if he doesn’t end up making friends, at least he’ll know someone here. 

Tony is going into the second grade, which means that he will be staying on the first floor this year. Clint and Natasha, in sixth and seventh grade, are on the third and highest floor. 

Steve slowly walks Tony around the main entrance first. The man points out the nurse’s office, in case he gets hurt or feels sick, and the main office, if he ever has to call home (and, Steve firmly mentions, where he can also call upstairs and ask for Clint or Natasha if he needs them, for any reason, Tony ). 

“You can always call us if something happens,” Steve says, kneeling in front of Tony like he always seems to do, “if you feel sick or you’re upset, and you want to come home or you just want to talk to us. You can always call. Remember, Bucky and I always have our phones on us at work so we can answer.”

Right. When school starts, Steve and Bucky are going back to their jobs full-time. Steve teaches art...something...at the local college, and Bucky already disappears in the mornings to work at some kind of hospital as a “physical therapist”. Bucky explained that it was almost like being a special kind of doctor, that he helps people who have had accidents and injuries learn how to move their bodies the right way again.  

Starting next week, Steve gets out of work at 2:30 everyday so he can pick up the kids from school, and he doesn’t have any classes to teach on Wednesdays. Bucky will be going back to full days at work, strictly home by 6 PM. 

Both of the foster parents had repeated to Tony several times that they would leave work if something happened at school, that they could leave work and pick him up early if he needed it. That definitely wasn’t a thing at the Leahy’s house. 

After they tour the main front area, Steve guides Tony all around the floor. They see the gym, the cafeteria, and both entrances into the schoolyard, before they finally arrive at Tony’s classroom. His assigned teacher for class 2B, Mr. Banner, is sitting at the large desk at the front of the room when they walk in. 

At the sight of them in the doorway, Mr. Banner stands up to shake Steve’s hand. Seeing just how much bigger Steve is in comparison to the other man makes Tony feel a little safer. He may not totally trust Steve yet, but he definitely trusts him more than a total stranger. 

Tony is determined not to hide behind Steve’s legs, because even though he has to use a booster seat just like Peter, he is most definitely not a baby and he wants to show how grown up he is. He just hopes Steve doesn’t notice how Tony’s hand tightens around his larger one when Mr. Banner crouches down in front of him, leaving the boy to shake the teacher’s extended hand awkwardly with his available left hand. 

“Hi there, Tony. It’s very nice to meet you.” Up close, Mr. Banner doesn’t seem that bad. He has brown eyes and his hair reminds Tony of his own, short enough that the chocolate strands move in a wavy pattern more than strictly curly. Big, black-framed glasses seem to be perpetually sliding down his nose, judging by how many times Mr. Banner pushes the bridge back up towards his eyes. 

“Hi,” is all Tony can manage. Mr. Banner is watching him closely. Tony feels like he’s being scanned, checked all over for bugs like a computer. 

“Are you feeling excited about starting school next week?” 

Tony shrugs one shoulder. He’s more concerned about being able to behave in class. Last year, it seemed like a note went home every week that said Tony was always “distracted” and “not paying attention”. Mrs. Leahy had been so annoyed by all the notes and the phone calls. 

Mr. Banner doesn’t seem offended by his non-answer. He purses his lips, nodding at Tony with a little “hmm” sound. “I understand that. Sometimes starting a new school can be scary, right?”

Besides the fact that Steve and his zero tolerance lying policy is right next to him, Tony knows that lying just to look tough is not the best way to make a first impression with his new teacher. Taking in a deep breath, Tony nods. Admitting to having a fear feels like baring his soul for all the world to see. 

“Yeah. Well, I can’t promise that it won’t be scary the first few days. New places take some time to get used to. But I hope you’ll like my class. The other students are very nice, I’m sure you’ll get along with them.” 

Doubt it , Tony kept to himself. Mr. Banner kept talking, “Do you have a favorite subject to learn?”

Unsure of himself, Tony is quiet as he sneaks a look up at Steve. Seeming to understand what’s going on in his head, Steve squeezes Tony’s hand gently and whispers, “Tell him what’s on your shirt.”

Right. Tony looks down at his chest and pats the picture, just an inch off from Neptune. “I like planets and stuff,” he softly answers. 

Mr. Banner smiles. “Me too. I still think Pluto is a real planet, how about you?”

Without thought, Tony nods enthusiastically. “Just ‘cause it’s little doesn’t mean it should be left out,” he declares passionately. It had taken him days to process a documentary he had watched that said Pluto was no longer a real planet, but a dwarf. It seemed so mean. 

Mr. Banner barks out a quick laugh, like Natasha does when she starts to laugh unexpectedly and stops herself. “I think that’s a very good argument, Tony.”

Steve pops into the conversation when Tony shies away from the praise. “Tony likes science a lot, and he’s very good at building things. Why don’t you tell Mr. Banner what we all built this weekend?”

Tony gasps with excitement, shyness forgotten. On Friday night, Bucky had shepherded the kids into the van for a surprise trip to the mall to make up for the rainy weekend that crushed their plans to visit a sprinkler park. More specifically, Tony was allowed to lead an expedition to the LEGO store on the search for a family night activity. 

“We built a LEGO rocket!” Tony exclaims before tuning in to his volume. He and Clint had picked it out together, both agreeing it was the coolest thing in the store. “It looks just like the one that took the astronauts to the moon!”

“The Apollo 11,” Steve clarifies, more for Tony than Mr. Banner. 

“And we watched the video of it taking off while we were building it. Peter got scared from the noise but it was so cool! We saw the astronauts walk on the moon!” Tony’s cheeks split with a grin. 

Building the rocket had been the most fun he’d had in a long time. Peter was glued to his side, staring intently at how Tony manipulated pieces that were too small for the younger boy’s fingers. Bucky had set up the TV to play the video and gave Tony the power over the remote. Tony had used his novel authority to rewind the video at least five times. 

“That sounds like an amazing project,” Mr. Banner chuckles. “Maybe nextweek, you can bring in some photos to show the class. We’re going to have a show-and-tell on our first Friday together, so we can get to know each other a little more.”

Tony glances up at Steve. “Can I?” 

“Absolutely, bud. We can take some good pictures tonight if you want.”

Tony nodded so fast, it felt like his head was about to bounce right off his shoulders. 

Mr. Banner catches his attention again. “Would you like to take a walk around the room with me? I can show you your desk and your cubby.”

Saying no would be rude, Tony knows that, and besides, he’ll have to know where everything is anyway. He doesn’t want to show up on the first day and be the kid who doesn’t know anything all over again.

Tony chooses not to let go of Steve’s hand as Mr. Banner leads them through the threshold. 

Tony’s desk sits in the second of four neat rows. Mr. Banner asks him to sit in the chair and check that he can see the board alright. Thankfully, poor eyesight was one problem Tony didn’t have. 

The inside of each cubby on the shelf is painted a different color, and Tony’s is red. He bites down a grin. 

“Look at that, Tones, you lucked out! Got your favorite color and everything,” Steve gently jostles Tony’s arm, obviously trying to infect the boy with some enthusiasm. Tony feels his cheeks flush at having his favorite color shared with a stranger. It felt too soon to let Mr. Banner know those precious details. Then, Tony realizes that he hadn’t said it out loud, or even ever, so how did Steve know?

An empty glass tank sitting atop the line of bookshelves at the back of the room distracts Tony from that question. 

“What’s that for?” he asks Mr. Banner, careful not to sound rude or nosy. 

The teacher smiles. “Well, that’s for our class pet. We’ll take a vote with everyone in the class about what kind of pet we should get.”

“What can we get?” 

“Well, we need something that doesn’t need too much attention because it will stay here alone at night. So our best choices are a lizard, a guinea pig, or a bunch of fish. Did you know that a group of fish is actually called a school?”

“Hmm.” He didn’t, but he leaves that thought for later. Tony takes a moment to mull the options over. “I think I want the lizard.” 

A laugh from Steve permeates the air. When Tony gives him a curious look, the man composes himself, “Clint asked for a lizard for his first birthday with us, but Natasha got too scared of them at the pet store.”

Now that sounds strange to Tony. “Clint says Natasha isn’t afraid of anything.”

“Aww, everyone’s afraid of something . That's ok, though. Natasha really likes spiders, but I’m definitely not a fan of them.” As if to make his point, Steve pulls a comical frown. 

Both Tony and Mr. Banner laugh at that. 

As venture back to the car, Steve asks him what he thinks of the school. Tony shruggs, and Steve doesn’t push him on it. 

If he’s being truthful, this might be the closest Tony has ever looked forward to school, for any reason. Mr. Banner was nice. He hopes his classmates will be, too. 

---

After the open house, Steve and Tony take a detour to Target so Tony can get a new backpack - “One just for school,” Steve had replied when Tony mentioned that he already had one - and some school supplies. 

When Tony walks through the doorway with a new navy backpack slung over his shoulders, safely holding his new notebooks and folders and pencil box, he can’t help the grin on his face. 

Clint and Natasha comment that the little cartoon dinosaurs drawn on the bag are pretty cool - well, Natasha calls them cute, but still. Tony blushes from the compliment, and secretly hopes his new classmates will think the same. Inexplicably, he wants to make some friends this year. 

---

By Sunday night, the excitement of the new school has worn off. A rock settles in Tony’s stomach and grows bigger as the day fades into night. 

It isn’t until Bucky approaches him with a Spiderman printed Band-Aid that Tony realizes he’s been picking at the skin of his thumb so badly he’d drawn blood.

“You feeling ok, Tony?” Bucky asks gently as he carefully lines up the bandage. Tony shrugs, looking away. He doesn’t want Bucky to know that he’s just being dumb. Who gets scared about going to school, anyway?

“Hmm. Are you nervous about starting school tomorrow?”

Ashamed at being caught out, Tony mutters, “It’s stupid.”

“Hey.” A hand gently cups his chin and pulls his gaze up from the hardwood floor of the kitchen. Tony’s figured out by now that Steve and Bucky are big on eye contact when they talk. Tony wonders if that’s because lying is easier when you don't have to look people in the eye. 

“It’s not stupid to be nervous, Tones. Not at all. It’s a new school, new teachers, new friends to make. It can be scary when you don’t know anyone. In fact, I would be pretty surprised if you weren’t nervous,” Bucky rumbles. His tone is gentle and not at all abrasive, but Tony feels his face heat up anyway at how Bucky seems to read him so easily. At the back of his mind, a small voice whispers not safe , but Tony tries to ignore it when Bucky speaks again. 

“All you have to do is try, Tony. That’s your only job, alright? You don’t need perfect grades, you don’t need to be everyone’s friend, you’re allowed to have bad days. That’s all normal. We just want you to do your best, and I know you can do that. You’ve been doing so well since you came here.”

The praise catches him off-guard. He still doesn’t know how to respond when people say good things about him, and Steve and Bucky do it so much. Tony croaks out a dazed, “Really?” 

Bucky smiles without teeth, the way Tony thinks means he might be a little sad, and runs a hand through Tony’s hair, just once. He and Steve have started doing that more and more, giving him soft, quick touches throughout the day like they did with the other kids. “Of course you are, Tony. You’ve been so great, kid, this whole time. We see you trying so hard. We’re so proud of you.”

Tony’s eyes are burning now. Bucky has no idea, and suddenly Tony is so grateful that the man had pulled him into the kitchen. They’ll all find out the truth eventually, but maybe Tony can control it. We don’t lie, even when it’s hard to tell the truth , Steve’s voice reminds him. 

He can’t risk breaking more rules. 

“I...I was...b-bad...a-at my old school.” The words burn in his throat as he pushes them out, but Tony doesn’t want to get caught in this lie when the school will inevitably call Steve and Bucky with the same complaints. 

Bucky hums again, even-keeled. “Why do you think that?”

“I-I can’t pay attention. My teacher said...said I was always a di-distr-distracticon. I got in trouble a lot.” Tony rushes through the last sentence, bracing himself for the reaction. 

“DIstraction,” Bucky quietly corrects, then brushes past it like it wasn’t important. “Listen to me, Tony. I don’t care what your old teacher said. Really, I don’t. The only thing that I care about is that you try your best, just try . The same goes for Clint and Natasha. No one is expecting you to be perfect. If you have trouble at school, then Steve and I will help you however we can. We’ll figure it out, I promise we’ve done it before. But right now, I don’t want you to worry about any of that, ok? All that stuff from before doesn’t matter. This is a new school, and you have a new teacher, which means you get to start all over again. No one knows about your old school and you don’t have to think about it anymore.”

Bucky waits a moment, letting his words sink in before he continues, “So what are our new rules for school?”

Tony gnaws on his bottom lip for several long, anxious moments until he works up the courage to whisper, “I just have to try my best.”

“That’s right,” Bucky whispers back, “just like you’ve been doing. That’s it.”

---

On the first day, Clint and Natasha clasp his hands on either side and escort him to his classroom. He hadn’t asked them to, but he was grateful for it anyway. 

“Tasha and I move rooms during the day, because we’re older, but my Homeroom number is 317, and Tash’s is -”

“312,” she answers, quickly digging a pen from her bag. Without a word, she grabs Clint’s empty hand and writes it on his palm, then does the same to Tony’s. “Write it down in your notebook so you don’t forget, ok? If you need one of us, go to the office and tell them that number. They can see where our class is and call us to come down.” 

Then, so fast and unexpected that Tony had a split-second thought that he was imagining things, Natasha pulls him into a hug. It’s over as fast as it started. Before she releases him completely, she looks right into his eyes and encourages, “You’ll be fine, Tony.”

With that, she shoves him - gently, but still a shove - through the doorway and roughly pulls a yelping Clint towards the stairs. 

Most of the class is already in the room, putting away their things or waiting for Mr. Banner to show them their seats and cubbies. 

Tony is a little overwhelmed at the number of people in the room milling around, but Mr. Banner catches sight of him and smiles nicely at him. It calms him down a bit, even if he still spends most of the day picking at his fingers. He’s careful not to break any more skin.  

The class has “buddy groups”. Mr. Banner shows the class how they are going to get split up into groups of four based on who you’re sitting next to. 

“We’re going to do a lot of projects and lessons in buddy groups. Your buddies are your helpers, ok? If you need help, ask a buddy if I’m helping someone else. Don’t be afraid to ask them questions, and don’t be afraid to ask me if you still need some more help!”

Tony lets out a tiny breath of relief. His old teacher had never liked it when she caught Tony “chatting” with a classmate when he had just gotten lost and needed a reminder of where they were. He had gotten called out for misbehavior so many times that he finally just stopped asking questions. His grades had gone from bad to worse after that. 

The other people in his buddy group are a red-haired girl named Pepper - “My real name is Virginia, for my grandma, but no one calls me that,” - a dark-skinned boy named James, and a girl with dark blonde hair named Maya. 

At lunch, Pepper invites Tony to sit with her and James. They were in the same class last year, and gave him a tutorial about the other students in their class. Tony nearly falls out of his chair when James offers him a cookie from his snack pack. When they come in from the recess courtyard after a wild game of tag, Tony returns to class with a smile. 

He tries not to get his hopes up, but when Steve, holding a smiling Peter on his hip, greets them on the sidewalk and asks how everyone’s first day went, Tony doesn’t lie when he says it was a good day. 

Steve seems especially pleased by that. 

On Friday morning, Tony bounces in the car, knowing he’s got brand new pictures of his LEGO rocket to show the class, carefully put into a folder by Bucky the night before. James asks to see the pictures up close during lunch, and he is more than happy to share. 

---

Tony can’t even make it two whole weeks before he messes up. He’s supposed to be working on a spelling sheet, and it’s silent in the classroom other than the sound of pencils scraping the paper. 

Quiet time has always been something Tony can’t stand. It makes him feel like something is wrong , goosebumps washing over his skin and pulling at the hair on the back of his neck like a shock of static electricity. 

Something in his brain makes him want to fill up the silence, but he knows this isn’t time for talking, and he’s determined to behave himself . So instead, he tries to soothe the unease rattling around in his bones and focuses on anything he can manage. His left hand becomes preoccupied with picking at a stray thread on the hem of his T-shirt, an old one from the Leahys’ that was “on its last legs”, according to Bucky this morning. 

Tony hates spelling, though, is the thing. There are too many vowel combinations and too many silent letters and too many letters that have too many sounds and teachers always hand back his papers with red marker all over the place. 

Mr. Banner had gone over their “Weekly Words” this morning, but it was still so difficult to remember the right orders of the letters. Tony is sure that he has at least remembered the first two words correctly, but they don’t look right when he writes them on the page, and no matter how long he stares at the words he can’t figure out why , and then he starts to get angry because why can’t he figure out how to spell a simple word . 

Ignoring the worksheet for a minute seemed like a good idea at the time, take a break and come back because he still had plenty of time. He absentmindedly starts drawing a figure to try to make his brain go quiet enough to bring his focus back, and then before he has a chance to return to his work, Mr. Banner calls for the worksheets to be passed up and Tony realizes he’d taken too long of a break. The car doodled in the bottom corner of the page, empty but for the first three words, taunts him. 

The urge to rip the page to shreds and stuff the remnants in the trash fills up Tony’s body, right down to his toes, but Maya is already turned in her chair back to him and Tony knows he has no other choice but to pass his paper into her waiting hand. 

For the rest of the day Tony can’t focus on anything, feeling like he’s standing frozen while people keep moving on without him. He wants to burst out of his skin, filled with the shame and dreadful anticipation of Mr. Banner, or worse, Steve and Bucky, finding out he hadn’t even finished one stupid worksheet and realizing how hopeless Tony really is. 

He’d told Bucky he was bad in school, and he wouldn’t even have anything to say for himself when someone would inevitably ask him to explain himself. Tony had promised Bucky he would just try to do his best and he couldn’t even do that. 

Tony’s stomach is doing backflips by the time he climbs into Steve’s van. He doesn’t answer when Steve asks how their day had been, too afraid that he would vomit if he opened his mouth, but Steve’s blue eyes meet his in the rearview mirror, telling Tony his silence was noticed. 

The drive home passes in what seems like seconds. Walking through the doorway feels like walking off a pirate’s plank. 

Steve asks Clint and Natasha to make Peter a snack while he quietly leads Tony into his office, pressing on his shoulder lightly to tell him to sit on the plushy blue couch. Tony pulls his knees to his chest, wishing he can disappear and spare himself this conversation. 

Unfortunately for him, Steve sits himself on the floor in front of him, cross-legged, so that even if Tony looks down, he can't avoid Steve’s eyes. Tony hates their insistence on eye contact, and he hates the perpetual dizziness that comes with looking down at an adult. 

“What’s going on, bud?” His voice is annoyingly calm, as if he’s trying to lull Tony into a sense of safety.

Tony refuses to speak, rolling his lips in between his teeth as if he could will his mouth to sew itself shut forever. 

“Tony, you know I can’t help if I don’t know what happened. Did someone say something to upset you?”

Tony shakes his head. 

“Okay, did something happen in your class?”

Tony doesn’t respond, but Steve apparently takes that as a yes. He continues, “Was it Mr. Banner? Or a classmate?”

He knows Steve will stay on the floor until he provides him with an answer. Tony can’t bear to look at him, so he presses his forehead down and confesses to his knees. “It was me.”

“Tell me what you mean.”

Tony has to take a few more breaths until he can speak again, hating that Steve probably sees the shaking of his limbs. 

It rushes out. Better to rip off the band-aid fast. “I didn’t do my work. I got distracted, and I’m gonna get a bad grade, and Mr. Banner is gonna send a note home and you’re gonna get mad and -”

In a blink, Tony is being scooped off the couch and cradled tight to Steve’s chest, the man’s chest rumbling against Tony’s cheek as he speaks. 

“Tony, no, no, no. Absolutely not.”

He has no idea when the tears started, but Tony can feel wet tracks on both cheeks now. Steve is caging him in so that he can’t lift his arms enough to wipe them away. 

“Tony, I’m not going to get mad, no.”

“But I didn’t do my work!” Tony insists. He almost wants Steve to be mad at him. He knows what to do when parents are mad. 

“Is that really true?” Steve asks. Tony feels his lips moving against the top of his head. 

“Yes!” 

“Okay. Tell me what happened.”

“That is what happened!” Tony chokes out. 

“No, tell me why you didn’t do your work.”

He doesn’t have any excuse that he thinks Steve will accept, which leaves Tony with no choice but truth. The reason doesn’t matter anyway, it doesn’t change the fact that he hadn’t paid attention, again. 

“I don’t like spelling! The letters don’t make sense all the time and I thought I was doing it wrong so I didn’t want to finish and I got distracted and then Mr. Banner asked for the papers and I never got to finish my worksheet so I’m gonna get a bad grade. I wasn’t paying attention, and I promised I would try and I didn’t and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The truth is, he is sorry, enormously so. The goal Bucky gave him was trying and he couldn’t even do that. It was such a simple task, and Tony failed miserably at it. 

Steve is quiet for a few seconds, breathing deeply, but he keeps Tony pressed to his chest through the tense silence. “Thank you for telling me all of that, Tony. I know that was probably really hard for you. But I don’t think you need to apologize. It sounds like you did try, but you got a little distracted.”

“I’m always distracted,” Tony mutters, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. He’s heard it so many times and he wants to change but no one has ever told him how .

“Says who?” Steve’s voice is a little sharper, and he pulls away to look Tony in his eyes again. His blonde eyebrows are pulled together, curious, but not angry. 

Tony barely manages to choke out, “Everyone.”

“Do you do it on purpose?”

“No!” bursts out of Tony’s mouth, louder than he intended. “I try to pay attention, I swear I do but it’s hard!”

“Shh, okay, okay. I know it’s hard, sweetheart, I know.” Steve is rocking him a little now, the way he does when Peter starts whining and needs attention. “I’m not mad, honey, I promise. I’m just trying to figure it out. I’m not mad, not at all.” 

“I told Bucky I was bad at school.” Tony’s voice sounds as tiny as he feels in this moment, cradled and rocking against Steve’s chest like a little baby.

“You are not bad in school. Tony, you’re not bad anywhere , do you hear me?” 

Tony won’t agree with that. It was a lie, and Steve doesn’t tolerate lies. 

Steve heaves a big sigh, enough to move Tony’s body along with it. When the man speaks again, his voice is softer. “You know tomorrow is Thursday?”

Tony nods. “Okay. If you’re okay with it, I want you to come with me and talk to a friend. She might have some ideas of how we can help with the distractions. Do you think you could do that?”

Thursday. Talking. Therapy . Steve wants to take him to therapy. 

“Like...like how Clint and Natasha and Peter go to talk?”

“Yeah, bud. Just like that. Do you know Bucky and I go to therapy too?”

Tony’s head whips up so fast he just misses knocking his forehead against Steve’s chin. “You do?”

Steve shifts him around to the side so that looking at Tony’s face is easier. “Yeah, we do. It helps us, and it’s why we take everyone else.”

“Natasha says she doesn’t like talking sometimes.”

Something in Steve’s face shifts to go sad, like he was upset at the statement but trying not to let it show. “Well, sometimes it’s hard to talk about what’s bothering us. When we go to therapy, we have to talk about the things that are upsetting us so that the therapist knows how they can help us.”

Tony chews on his lip for a moment, thinking it over. “What do they do to help?”

“Do you remember how Bucky told you he has nightmares like the one you had a while ago?”

Tony nods, the mere memory of that night making him tense. “And you remember how he helped calm you down?” Another nod. “Bucky and I learned how to do that in therapy. Bucky told you he was in a car accident. I don’t think I’ve told you I was in the army when I was younger.”

“You were a soldier?” He’d completely forgotten that Clint had told him about that at the beach, almost a month ago now. Tony has no problem picturing it though. Steve is big and brawny, has a firm sense of right and wrong, is big on standing up for others. Everything a soldier should be. 

“Yeah. Some of it was scary, and sometimes I have bad memories and nightmares, too. So we go to therapy, and we try to find out what scares us or makes us nervous, and our therapists help us to find ways to work around the scary stuff. Like teaching us how to calm down when we get scared from a nightmare.”

“Oh.” 

“I don’t know if I’m right,” Steve starts after a moment of quiet, “but I think something about school makes you nervous, and I want to help you not be nervous or scared. But the truth is, I don’t always know how, so that’s why I want to take you with me tomorrow to talk to someone. You can think about it tonight, alright, and see how you feel about it tomorrow.”

Tony doesn’t want to think about it, is the thing. Steve and Bucky letting him make decisions for himself feels alien and a little terrifying. “Do I have to?”

Steve pauses. “For this, right now, no. If you really don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to go. But if something happens that makes us really worried, yes, we’ll all go in together and try to work through it.”

He doesn’t have to go, but Steve wants him to. Steve wants him to go because he wants to help Tony. Or so he says. It’s a lot to try to wrap his mind around.

In the end, Steve is serious about not making a decision until the morning. Tears dried and wiped, Tony is sent to the kitchen to get started on his homework with the others. Steve promises again that Tony isn’t in any kind of trouble, that mistakes happen and that as long as Tony tries to focus, he won’t be punished for his unfinished work, no matter what. 

Still, Tony lies awake in his bed long into the night and the early morning, his brain unable to shake away the expectation that something terrible is coming right for him.

Chapter Text

The office has calm Easter-blue walls and big, comfy chairs. Everyone had piled into the van once homework was finished and after school-snacks were consumed. Clint and Natasha went to their sessions alone but Peter always went with Steve, which left Tony to walk into the room with Bucky. 

Bucky reminds - insists - no less than three times that Tony can tell him to leave any time if he doesn’t want Bucky to hear something he has to say. “The most important thing is that you feel safe,” Bucky tells him, “so if you don’t feel comfortable with me in there, you tell me. I’ll go right away, I promise.”

It’s a hopeless reassurance, since Tony is currently struggling not to obviously cling onto Bucky. Clint and Natasha’s comments about their experience in therapy have him nervous to go into a rom and talk about his... feelings ...with a complete stranger. Bucky at least isn’t a stranger to him anymore.

The therapist’s name is Darcy. She’s younger than Tony expects, but she’s also pretty and has a nice wide smile and big brown eyes that reminds Tony a little of Beth. When Tony enters the room, she crouches down to meet his eyes and sticks out a hand for him to shake. 

Is this where Steve and Bucky got that unnerving habit?

Darcy tells Tony he can sit anywhere he wants. A couch and two armchairs round a small table further into the room. He chooses the couch, so that he can sit with Bucky. Tony doesn’t let go of the man’s hand, just to ensure he’s not alone. 

“Tony, you’ve never come to therapy before, right?”

Tony shakes his head, unable to stop his hands from picking at the skin of his thumb, peeling a scab. This morning, Steve slid a note into Tony’s homework folder for Mr. Banner. Tony managed not to snoop, terrified of what he might find there, but whatever it was resulted in Mr. Banner handing him a blank copy of the worksheet instead of the graded one he’d barely written in yesterday. There was a note in the corner to complete it at home with his parents. He’d been embarrassed, but couldn’t pass up the opportunity to show someone that he could at the very least finish his work. 

“That’s ok. I was a lot older than you when I went for the first time. It must seem kind of weird at first, but all we do here is talk. About anything you want to talk about. Anything that bothers you, or anything that you want to say and have someone listen to. That’s my job here, I listen.”

“Steve says you help, too.”

Darcy smiles. “He’s right. I can help, when I listen and when we talk through some things. But let’s talk about some rules we have here. We never have to talk about something you don’t want to say. You don’t have to have your parents in the room if you don’t want to. And most importantly, part of my job is that everything we say in this room is secret. No one will ever know what we talk about here unless your parents come in.”

Bucky leans in to him. “And even then, Steve and I are never going to tell anyone about what we talk about.”

That...that sounds too good to be true. Foster parents are supposed to give reports to social workers, at least. Tony’s seen the paperwork. “Not even Ms. Hill?”

Bucky firmly shakes his head, “Not even Ms. Hill. It’s completely private. Nobody else’s business.”

For a moment, Tony keeps his eyes on Bucky, trying to see if he can pinpoint a lie in grey-blue irises, but finds none. Tony turns back to Darcy.

“You feeling okay with that?” she probes, eyes wide and warm.

Tony shrugs. Instead of looking annoyed, Darcy smiles a little wider. “Is that an ‘I don’t know’?” 

“Yeah,” Tony answers, eyes flicking down a little before raising again. 

“That’s some really good honesty there, Tony. And that’s okay, you don’t have to be totally comfortable. It’s your first time and we still have to get to know each other. How does a little game sound? Do you know what Two Truths and a Lie is?”

Tony shakes his head, a little intrigued now. He hadn’t known games could be involved in therapy. 

“It’s really simple. We’re all going to say three things about ourselves. Two things will be true, and one thing will be a lie. The game is that we have to guess which one is the lie, and see if we guessed right. How does that sound?”

“Cool.” 

Five minutes later, Tony has learned that Darcy’s favorite color is yellow, that she likes to draw in her free time, and that she absolutely does not like exercising, ever . He also learns that Bucky was born and raised in Brooklyn, and that as a high school student he failed chemistry and had to take it over again. Tony couldn’t stop from staring at the latter admission. 

Once the game is over, Darcy returns to their visit, and asks him to tell her why he had come in to talk. It’s a difficult question to answer, because Tony still hasn’t managed to put it into the right words. 

Thankfully, Bucky saves him. “Tony has been getting a little...nervous, I think...about doing well in school. Can you tell Darcy what you told me and Steve?”

Fidgeting in his seat, Tony croaks out, “I’m bad at school.”

“Okay. Can you try to tell me a little more? Why do you think that?” There isn’t any judgement in Darcy’s voice, as far as Tony can tell. 

God, Tony hates the way his stomach clenches at her request. But, if he’d managed to tell Steve yesterday, he can work up the courage to tell the story again.

He tells Darcy about the worksheet and getting distracted. After that, Tony unleashes, and tells her all the rest of it. A part of him wants Steve and Bucky to be right, wants to know that he isn’t a failure, wants Darcy to help him finally sit still and pay attention and behave like a good kid. 

So, he tells her about the bad grades at his old school. All the notes sent home. Getting sent to the bench during gym because he couldn’t pay attention. The yellow and red cards on the class behavior charts. Breaking things at the other foster homes because he wasn’t looking. Forgetting homework and projects all the time. Coming to class too tired to do his work. 

Being a distraction.

Feeling like he couldn’t control himself, even though he tried . 

After every grievance has been given a voice, Tony is no more than a cloth wrung painfully dry. 

“Thank you for telling me all of that, Tony.” Darcy’s eyes, when Tony meets them again, haven't changed. She doesn’t look sad or angry. It’s as if Tony had just told her what he ate for breakfast that morning. “That was a lot, and I know it was hard for you.”

And then, she asks a weird question. “Tony, I can see that you’re picking at your fingers. Do you do that a lot?”

Tony nods, pulling his hands under his thighs. “I know it’s a bad habit.”

“Well, it can be if we hurt ourselves. Do you ever do that?” 

Glancing quickly  at Bucky, Tony replies, “Sometimes, I pull too hard and I need a Band-Aid. But I don’t mean to. It stings.” 

Darcy seems pleased by that answer. “That’s good. When you do it, does it kind of make you feel better?”

“Yeah. I don’t like sitting still.”

“Me neither, really. When you have to sit still, how does it make your body feel?”

Tony’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Weird. I don’t know. It just makes me want to move.”

Darcy nods along, like that was the answer she expected. “And you would get in trouble at school for moving?”

Ashamed, Tony nods. “I had to sit for a really long time, and sometimes I would stand up and my teacher got really mad. She -” Tony presses his thighs ever tighter over his hands, hoping it will curb their shaking. He can feel Bucky shift next to him, getting ready to comfort and right now Tony does not want to be touched. “She made me sit in a corner. On red days. Because I wouldn’t follow the rules.” 

For a moment, the room is silent, and then Darcy is saying something softly. Tony needs a minute for his ears to clear out the sound of blood rushing through his head. “Tony, can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”

He can’t help the whimper, tries to suck the air back in but it was too late. “Like...shaky? My skin feels like bugs.” 

“How about your chest?” 

“Tight. Like when someone tackles me. If I get bad, it burns sometimes.”

At some point, Darcy got out of her chair and sat down on the floor so Tony could see her closely. “Okay, I want to try to help you with that. All you have to do is breathe with me and your dad, alright, that’s all. Do you think you can do that?”

He doesn’t, but Tony nods anyway. He needs to get himself under control before Bucky sees how bad it can get. 

It takes longer than Tony would like to admit to get his breathing and shaking under control, but eventually he manages to mirror Darcy’s breaths. When Tony is able to focus again, he realizes Bucky’s flesh hand is on his shoulder, the metal one rubbing up and down in time with his breaths. 

Exhausted with the effort, Tony leans into the hand. Seeming to understand, Bucky shuffles a little bit closer. 

Darcy takes his slouching as a sign that his freak out is over. “How do you feel now?”

“Better.”

“That’s good. Tell me a little bit more.”

It’s difficult, trying to put his feelings into words. “Weird. Like I’m...open? I don’t know. Tired.” And then, after a pause where Tony remembers, honesty , he keeps going. “Embarrassed. And sad.”

Darcy nods understandingly, and Bucky continues with the motion of his metal hand. “Thank you for telling me. Tony, have you felt that before? How you just got a little shaky and breathing got a little hard?”

Cheeks flaming, Tony nods. Bucky doesn’t stop the stroking when he murmurs to her, “This is what we meant by ‘nervous’.” Darcy hums, in that way adults do, like she already knew the answer. “Okay,” she replies, “we can try to work on that.”

Turning back to Tony, she asks, “Does that happen a lot?”

Tony shrugs, not liking this topic of conversation. He wants to forget it.

“Alright, we’re almost done, Tony. I only want to ask you two more things, okay? You’ve been doing so well today.” Tony feels like that isn’t true, but Darcy has been really nice this whole time, so he decides he can bear two more questions. 

“Can you try to think about when that feeling happens? Does anything make it happen?”

Tony pulls his hands out from under his thighs, finally, searching for an excuse to look down as he fiddles with his sleeve. This is a hard question. 

“When-” Tony gulps. “When I get upset. About not doing good in school.”

“Anything else?”

She must know there’s more. Maybe therapists can read minds. “Behaving. When I’m not paying attention and I get lost.” Darcy and Bucky stay silent, and God, Tony hates the quiet. “Sometimes when it’s really, really quiet I get nervous. Like I can’t hear something coming. And...and when I think about my dad. My real dad.”

He stops after that admission, curling his lips inward. That’s a topic he never wants to touch again. 

Darcy nods, and checks her watch before standing. “Okay. That was a really good job you did talking today, Tony. Really good for your first time. I want to thank you for telling me all of that, I know that was hard for you.”

Steve and Bucky have been saying all of that same stuff for the two and a half months he’s been with them. He’d heard them say it to the other kids too, but a part of him always felt like it was just them. They are just overly nice and tell their kids things that might not be true, was what Tony had kept telling himself, determined not to become attached to nice words. 

But hearing Darcy say those same things makes him think a little. She doesn’t even know him. She isn’t taking care of him. She isn’t his friend. 

And she still thinks he’s being good. Behaving. Listening. Paying attention. 

Maybe she could be right. 

His memory catches up with him suddenly. “What was the second thing?”

Darcy gives him a wide, beaming smile. “You remembered! The second thing is something a little fun. And it involves no talking,” she adds with a wink. If Tony wasn’t feeling so exhausted, he might have giggled. 

Darcy makes her way to a bookshelf along the wall, opening a cabinet door in one of them, and pulls out something tiny and orange. As she brings it closer, it looks like a toy, but not one he’s ever seen before. 

“This,” she introduces to him, carefully turning it in her hand to show Tony all the little bumps and wheels on the sides, “is called a fidget cube. It has some cool things like a spinner, buttons, a joystick.” 

She hands it over to Tony, letting him get a feel for it. “I want you to try to use this when you start getting that crawly feeling when you’re getting distracted. I think it’ll be a little better than picking at your nails. You think you can do that?”

Play with a toy? During class? It feels like a joke. “I guess?”

“I’ll take it. Maybe you can come back next week and tell me if it helps, alright?”

Tony nods at her, even though he’s not really sure if he wants to agree to come back. 

They must be done earlier than the others, because Bucky takes him back to the empty waiting room and lets him play with a remote control racetrack for a few minutes. They don’t wait long before Clint emerges from a room at the end of the hall, approaching them with a little smile.

When Natasha comes out of her room, she’s quiet and takes a seat next to Bucky. Wordlessly, he wraps an arm around her and presses a kiss to her bright hair. Natasha stays there against his side for a minute, eyes closed and breathing deeply, before sitting up and asking Clint how his session was. 

Steve and Peter join them only a few moments later, Peter actually walking on his own and holding a craft in his hands that he’s eager to show everyone. It’s a messily colorful drawing of the yard, complete with a wobbly-drawn sandbox and treehouse, displaying four distinct bubbles with eyes that are meant to be people. More specifically, Steve’s slanted handwriting says that they are meant to be Clint, Natasha, Peter, and Tony himself. 

“What did you draw, Petey?” Natasha asks her younger brother softly, arms wrapping around him. 

“Family,” Peter confidently explains.

On the way home, Tony is the one allowed to choose where to pick up dinner. His brain feels fried from the day, as if all that nervous energy had been zapped right out of him from talking to Darcy. Still, he feels a burst of pure, happy, contentedness as he bites into his juicy Smashburger. Maybe the day hadn’t been completely bad.

---

BUCKY POV

When Bucky walks into their bedroom, the sound of Peter’s delighted splashing in the en suite bathroom echoes against the tile walls and through the open doorway. Even with Bucky’s current tumultuous mindset, watching Peter - watching any of his kids - be happy is a balm to any burn. 

Oh, but Peter. Bucky thinks Peter might be magic. Like the fairy children his grandfather used to tell Bucky and his sisters about, when they were still young enough to believe such things. Peter’s laughter is healing sometimes, Bucky swears it, and he doesn’t care how ridiculous that makes him sound. His baby is pure magic. 

He still can’t believe he and Steve had once thought they wouldn’t take a baby. That they were meant for older kids, kids that other foster parents might be hesitant to take, kids with a history, kids who were going to be stuck in the system otherwise. Kids that were looking at the same future Steve was before Phil stepped into his life. 

Before they’d started fostering long-term, Bucky and Steve had been respite foster parents. Weekend homes for those parents that needed a break and for those kids who needed to learn that this time, their parents would come back for them. 

And then, a phone rang and their entire lives changed forever. 

They had almost said no, when the social worker called about Clint and Natasha. 

Two kids, seven and eight years old. Not biological siblings, but they refused to leave each other’s sides and were wary of their other foster siblings. “They’ll have to go to a group home for the night otherwise, and I honestly don’t know what will happen if we have to separate them,” the social worker had said. And in the end, weren’t these just the kind of kids they wanted to help?

In New York, kids are only allowed to share a room with the opposite gender until they turn five, which is why Bucky and Steve had dutifully chosen a house with four bedrooms, big enough to house a maximum of six kids if they ever needed. 

It wouldn’t have mattered in those first weeks. 

These two skinny kids showed up on their doorstep, weary-eyed and distrusting and out of place, desperately clutching hands as they were shown around, eyes darting in every direction to find an exit. Steve hadn’t pretended to entertain the idea that they wouldn’t be sleeping together, and pushed together the twin beds in Clint’s room without being asked. 

It had taken two entire months before Natasha would sleep in her own room, and even then, morning found her back in Clint’s. 

Their first year was rough, to put it lightly. Other people might have used stronger verbiage. Bucky still remembers the sleepless nights defined by terrible screaming nightmares, remembers finding Natasha’s hoard of food in her dresser even though she barely ever ate a full meal, remembers how Clint needed open doors and windows to see his surroundings at all times. Bucky remembers their problems with being touched. 

That year was a never ending whirlwind of exhaustion and terror and absolute hatred for whoever touched these sweet, perfect, golden children with soot-black hands, and it was also the year his heart felt like bursting every day because he loved these kids with everything he had and they were getting better , bit by miniscule bit. 

Fifteen months after Clint and Natasha had come home, a call came for Peter, and they almost, instinctually, said “no” because they had just settled , had just finished the mess of court for Clint’s father, had finally started getting Natasha to open up in therapy, had finally gotten them into a school routine that didn’t involve weekly calls to pick one or both of them up early.

Bucky still to this day feels a sliver of guilt for only taking in Peter because Phil had asked them to, practically begged, which was unlike Phil completely. An old army buddy of Phil’s had died in a freak plane accident with his wife, leaving behind a 10-month old whose only living relatives were too old and frail to care for him. Phil’s home wasn’t approved for babies, but he’d been working in the system long enough to get good connections with the best social workers around, and had gotten someone to agree to fast-track Peter’s placement if Steve and Bucky were willing to take in a third. 

They spent an agonizing 3 hours running through all the reasons to say no. At the time, they were so concerned about the kids’ routine, about what bringing a baby into the house would do to Natasha, who hated to hear crying, and Clint, who needed so much attention because he never stopped testing boundaries. They picked up the baby from May and Ben Parker, fingers perched on the phone, ready to call the social worker the minute someone had a meltdown and tell her that the kids were struggling and the baby needed to be moved to a more appropriate home. 

The second Bucky saw Natasha reach out and hold baby Peter’s hand, Bucky knew this kid wasn’t ever leaving them. 

Honestly, he and Steve had never entertained the idea of a baby in the house, and Bucky thinks that might have been the dumbest idea ever. Peter was everything they needed. Peter got Clint to laugh without worrying about his volume, got Natasha to hug without flinching, got Steve and Bucky to witness three children healing their hearts and souls and learning to trust and feel safe for the first time in their lives. 

Months later, it was time to sit down with Clint and Natasha to tell them that they had stayed in the same home for two years and that meant they could be adopted if they wanted, that Steve and Bucky wanted to adopt them, wanted them to stay permanently and be their kids forever as long as they just said yes. Clint had sat there, face so serious that it was almost comical how out of place that expression was on his son, and asked if getting adopted meant Peter would have to go to another home, because he really loved his little brother and didn’t want him to go away. 

Bucky had cracked open completely at the question, honest-to-god cried for the first time ever in front of these kids, his perfect, sweet kids who were never going to leave their home. 

His therapist says that Bucky has trouble taking credit for good things sometimes, that he shies away from attention and praise because of whatever self-esteem issues became rooted in his brain after the accident. 

Bucky just thinks Peter could be a fairy, because today he made Tony smile not even twenty minutes after he nearly had a panic attack in his first therapy session, and that has to be some measure of proof that magic is real. 

Steve emerges from the bathroom in the middle of Bucky’s thoughts, carrying a smiley, naked Peter wrapped up in a fluffy dinosaur robe. Peter loves to be carried, loves to be touched and hugged and kissed, desperate for physical affection to calm all the bad feelings from other things that he touches. The occupational therapist says that Peter has been having less tantrums at school and has even started telling his teachers when he doesn’t like something. 

They’ve managed it a lot better at home, too, now that they have a name for the reason why Peter would start screaming out of seemingly nowhere. 

Steve had really thought that would be Natasha’s breaking point. They’d gotten, from bits and pieces, that Natasha didn’t like being around babies because they were neglected and she didn’t know how to help them. But helping Peter was so easy for her, because he didn’t need food she couldn’t reach or a diaper she didn’t know how to change. Peter just needed love and affection and patience, and God knows patience came the easiest to her. 

“Papa, rubby time!” Peter squeals when he catches sight of Bucky. His father grins. 

In accordance with their nightly routine, Bucky obediently pulls Peter out of Steve’s arms and peppers his face with kisses as he sets the little boy down on the bed. “Did my Petey-Pie have a nice bath? I heard you splashing around from the hallway!”

Peter giggles, the sound of sunshine, Bucky will not hear otherwise. “Daddy was a monster.”

Bucky gasps dramatically as he pulls away the robe and opens up the bottle of oil-infused lotion, the smells of lavender and sandalwood and vanilla filling his nostrils. He listens intently as Peter relays Steve’s impersonation of a kraken while he gently runs his hands all over Peter’s limbs, pressing here and there in all the places the occupational therapist had shown them to help Peter relax and settle down for sleep. Sure enough, Peter lets out an enormous yawn in the middle of his sentence while Bucky opens up his soft, fleecy onesie. 

The onesies have started to become a pain to find now that Peter is getting bigger, but he loves them so much, and Steve is loath to change anything in his sleep routine yet. Bucky can’t fault him for it. Both he and Steve are quite familiar with the aftereffects of a less than optimal sleep. 

Snuggled in his jammies, Peter’s big brown eyes take long, slow blinks as Bucky scoops him up and carries him to his room. As he’s tucked into bed, Peter mutters a soft goodnight to all his toys, and picks out his bedtime book. “Mrs. Spider’s Tea Party” is always a favorite, Peter is fascinated by insects of all kinds. Bucky won’t ever admit that he thinks it's hilarious how their son’s obsession with bugs freaks Steve out to no end. 

The boy is still awake by the end of the book, but Peter has gotten so much better at falling asleep on his own, so Bucky makes sure the boy has a firm hold of his stuffed Buzz Lightyear and turns on his blue firefly night light before leaving the room. 

Bucky can hear the TV downstairs, and goes halfway down the staircase to check that yes, Clint and Natasha are watching something while Tony fiddles around with some Legos, sprawled out on the floor. “One more episode,” he calls down as a reminder of the time, before making his way back to the master bedroom. 

Steve is on the bed, typing on his laptop and reading something with a displeased expression. He looks up when Bucky walks in. “He really almost had a panic attack?” God, Bucky could cry looking at his husband right now, the near-heartbreak on his face. Not that he blames him, because Bucky was in the room and he has no idea how he didn’t break down himself. 

Tony is so damn little, and he is filled with so much anxiety.  

Bucky heaves a sigh and plants himself next to Steve. Sure enough, the browser is already filled with tabs, most of them looking familiar. When Clint and Natasha had come into their home, they spent weeks researching and refreshing their trauma parenting courses, trying to understand all of their behaviors and how to address them. 

“Darcy emailed,” Bucky states, because he knows his husband.

“She says she needs more sessions to get the full picture, but she’s definitely considering ADHD. Anxiety too, but we knew that.”

Bucky heaves another sigh. Sometimes, he can admit that he hates this. Hates seeing the damage somebody did to his kids, who didn’t deserve anything but love and attention and safety. Hates spending every day just trying to prove to his kids that they are safe with them. 

Hates days like this where he feels like he’s drowning because sometimes he doesn’t know how to prove that to them, and that’s his most important job on Earth. 

“If we can get a hold of his records from last year, she might have more to go on.” Bucky’s teeth clench. When Tony had talked about his last school year - his first school year - Bucky wanted to punch something. It was no wonder Tony was practically shaking on his first day. 

“He had every sign of a kid not coping,” Steve mutters, tone crossed between rage and devastation, “and no one thought to ask why.”

“We’ve been through it before,” Bucky soothes, placing a hand on Steve’s thigh. His husband has less control of his rage than Bucky does, and he has a tendency to start spiraling. “We’ll find out what he needs and figure it out.” He hopes, at least. 

“What set him off? In the session?”

Bucky shrugs. “It came on so fast I can’t tell if it was talking about school, or mentioning his dad.” Steve’s mouth twists unhappily. Tony’s father is another issue they would need to tackle when the time came, according to Maria. “It could’ve just been everything.”

Gesturing to the laptop, Bucky asks, “What did she suggest?”

“Well, the fidget cube for school. Talking to his teacher about limiting visual distractions in the classroom, giving him breaks during the day. Maybe change his seat to the front row so there’s less things to look at. Might also help him feel less caged in. She also said schedules can help, so he knows what the day’s activities are, to take out the stress of uncertainty.” 

“What about at home?” 

“Mostly keep an eye on triggers, set a daily homework time, encourage productive activities.” That was all stuff they’d done before. “She also said to keep an eye out on his sleep. He mentioned being tired?” 

Bucky nods. Sleeping is also on his list of concerns for Tony. He’s sure that Tony’s night terror a couple of weeks ago wasn’t the first one, and he and Steve have noticed some familiar signs here and there. To no one’s surprise, everyone in their house has some kind of issues with sleep.

“She said a lot of kids with ADHD also have sleep problems.” 

“We can talk to him about it over the weekend. Let him decompress.” 

Steve agrees, shutting the laptop and setting it aside. Bucky closes his eyes as his husband’s arm wrapped around him firmly, pulling him into his chest. Silence washes over their room for a moment, and Bucky lets himself revel in it.

Bucky’s thoughts drift to that call from Ms. Hill. The desperation in her voice when she said Tony had been moved from home to home for years, either by DCF decision - and Bucky tried so hard to not think about how Clint and Natasha had arrived from their last home, tried not to think about the bruises and the look in their eyes - or by the family’s request. His thoughts went there anyway when he heard Hill say through the speakerphone, “This kid needs a home that will last .” 

He and Steve had taken one look at each other, flicked over to the bedroom door like they could see, through walls, their three kids peacefully asleep, and told her “yes”. 

When he first laid eyes on Tony, Bucky felt his chest crack open. Clint and Natasha had a fierceness in their eyes when they’d first arrived, a determination not to be taken advantage of anymore. Bucky hadn’t been prepared for the defeat in Tony’s brown eyes, already so tired from the weight he bore from his other homes. 

Bucky hates that weight even more when he thinks about what a good kid Tony is. How Tony responds so well to gentle words, how he’s so smart and picks things up so easily if someone just takes the time to explain it in a way that makes sense to him, how he’s so kind when he shows Peter how to make Lego structures, or when he lets Clint take the scraps from his plate, or when he offers Natasha to share his blanket when they’re watching TV before bed. How Tony is so eager to help, if only someone will show him how to load the dishwasher, or tell him which buttons to press on the dryer. 

How Tony has started to smile when someone tells him “good job”, instead of grimacing. 

Bucky clings onto that. Tony is smiling now, even through the hard stuff. 

“Clint and Nat had good sessions today. No tears, no bad thoughts,” Bucky mutters into the fragile silence, because he needs to remember something good right now. Needs to remember that things can get better. 

“I love our kids,” Steve whispers into his hair, because he knows what Bucky needs to hear.

“Yeah,” Bucky confides. “They’re pretty great.” 

If Bucky lingers in their rooms an hour later, tucking in everyone even though he never really does it anymore, getting a knowing look from Natasha’s preternaturally perceptive gaze, that’s his business and no one else’s.

Chapter Text

Clint has a brother. A real brother, biological and everything. 

“Barney’s 16 and he’s super tall, almost as tall as Dad, right?” Clint glances across the table at Steve to back him up.

“Barney has gotten taller than last year,” Steve confirms with a good natured smile. Clint’s been rambling for the last 10 minutes, but no one seems like they’re about to stop him.

“And he said he’s almost done with driving class so maybe he can drive himself here next time! He got on the wrestling team at school and Pop said we can go to his competitions when they’re close by!”

Barney lives in a foster home a few hours away, but he comes to visit every other month, and tomorrow is his next scheduled visit. 

As he lays in bed that night, Tony wonders how Clint must feel, knowing having a brother that he doesn’t live with. Sometimes Tony feels bad that he doesn’t miss his dad, that he’s actually glad that he doesn’t have to see him. 

Maybe he should tell that to Darcy. That counts as “big feelings”, right?

Bucky had gone with him to therapy again yesterday, after Tony said maybe he wouldn’t mind going to see Darcy again. She was nice, and the toy she gave him was helping him stop moving around so much in class. They talked a lot about his old school, which Tony didn’t really like all that much until Darcy started to compare it with his new school and why he liked this one better. 

No behavior charts. No time-outs. His teacher is always nice and asks if he needs a break.

Mr. Banner had even given him an “accordion” folder where he can keep all his papers together, and helped him label every slot so Tony knows to keep notes separate from his homework. On the front of the folder, Mr. Banner had glued some kind of special paper that Tony can write on. Every Monday, Mr. Banner makes sure he jots down everything that’s due that week to help him remember what homework needs to be done first. 

So, maybe talking to Darcy isn’t all the bad. 

Maybe next week he can tell her how weird he feels about a new person coming to the house. 

Tony doesn’t like strangers. They’re unpredictable and he never knows what they want from him. 

When the doorbell rings the next morning, Tony tenses up while Clint flies to the front door.  

Natasha stays next to him, and somehow that makes Tony feel a little better. Natasha has an uncanny ability to sense danger nearby. 

Barney is tall. He’s only a few inches shorter than the threshold. He also doesn’t look a lot like Clint. His hair is darker, cut shorter, and so are his eyes, navy blue to Clint’s cornflower. He doesn’t have any freckles either. 

Is it possible to grow out of freckles, maybe?

Barney immediately swoops Clint up in his arms, much to the younger boy’s delight. “Hey, baby bro!” 

“Not a baby, Barney!” Clint protests as his feet touch the floor. 

“Always gonna be a baby to me, kid.” Barney's smile is just like Clint’s, though, wide and teethy.

Steve and Bucky even give Barney hugs as he walks into the house. Barney’s assigned supervisor for the visit is a woman named Kate. Supervisors are just there to make sure nothing bad happens, but Tony the way she just stays in the corner and watches Barney puts Tony on edge. 

Up close, Barney doesn’t seem that scary. He’s younger than he seems - his 17th birthday was just before Tony came to live here, although his face is sharpened along the jaw and stubbled with bronze hairs - and he waves kindly to Tony when Clint introduces him as “our new brother”. Tony is too focused on keeping track of Barney’s hands to notice what Clint calls him.  

Tony has to admit that Barney is generally...nice. He’s quieter than Clint but seems attached to everything his younger brother tells him. He even asks Natasha and Tony about school, and it seems like he isn’t doing it to be polite. He doesn’t protest when Peter settles himself on Barney’s lap to show him his collection of Toy Story characters. 

In the yard, Barney shows them the self-defense moves he’s learned on the wrestling team, and play-acts a dramatic injury when Peter “pins” him during his turn. Peter moves up and down on Barney’s chest as the older boy moans and groans and whines “Ambulance! Call the ambulance!” 

Natasha wins a round against Clint, grinning triumphantly when she successfully flips him over onto the ground. 

When Barney tries to wedge himself into the playhouse, Clint howls with laughter. “You’re too tall!” he gushes, watching his brother struggle to maneuver his too-big body into the child-sized structure. It makes Tony wonder how long it will be until Clint is too big to clamber inside the treehouse. 

Eventually Barney and Clint take a walk around the neighborhood for time alone. Watching Clint leave the house with a practical stranger sets Tony on edge even though a part of him knows its silly to worry. Steve and Bucky care about Clint, and they wouldn’t let him go anywhere if they thought it could be dangerous, but Tony’s heart still insists on banging loudly in his chest. 

With the house emptied of Clint’s volume and constant movements, Natasha pulls Peter over onto the carpet and asks Tony to show them how to build a car out of the new Legos Peter’s aunt and uncle had bought him during their last visit. Peter crawls right into Tony’s space and plops himself in his lap, insisting “Tony and me do it together.” Natasha smirks and leans back, content to simply watch them fiddle. 

Tony’s body warms all over from that, touched that Peter wants to play with him. In his other homes, the kids mostly kept to themselves, hesitant to approach one another for fear of what their reaction might be. Tony puts his hands over Peter’s, thinking of how Steve had done the same when he first showed Tony how to make pancake batter. Keeping his grip gentle over Peter’s, Tony shows him how to set up a base for their vehicle, and then build it up with the smaller pieces. Natasha lays out next to them, using a base plate and one-space pieces to create a flower garden. 

Barney and Clint return for an early dinner, where Barney tells them all about his new high school, the wrestling team, and about the accident he almost caused during his first driver’s ed class. Clint’s eyes sparkle when his brother speaks, and returns the favor by telling him about last week’s make-your-own-pizza night, and the roller skating party he and Natasha had gone to for a school friend. When Clint tells Barney, with pride clear in his voice, about how Tony has finally mastered the harder track of the rock wall on the playhouse, without our help this time , Tony flushes. 

Hours later, when the sun is just dipping past the horizon, Barney finally has to go home. Clint hangs onto him for long moments, Barney hugging him back just as long, before the teen walks out the door. Clint looks sad, just a bit, as he waves Barney’s car goodbye, but the sandy-haired boy doesn’t shed any tears. 

Back inside, Clint requests that they watch a movie before bed. It isn’t his usual choice of activity - Clint prefers board games or being outside - and he looks deflated following his brother’s departure. It makes Tony sad for him. 

Clint picks Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory as they settle in the living room - Clint and Natasha on the loveseat, Tony in the corner of the couch with Steve and Bucky. When the credits roll, Clint confesses softly, “Barney and I used to watch this every time we found it on the TV.”

Tony wonders if that TV was in an old foster home, or if Clint was talking about his first home. 

---

That night, Tony bolts awake from another nightmare. 

Instinctively, he looks over to find Clint completely covered by his blankets, chest rising and falling evenly. Tony watches that measured movement closely, trying to copy it until his own breathing isn’t quite so heavy and choppy. 

It’s not the weird dreams that set Tony off the most. He wakes up regularly from dreams about monsters, and creepy kidnappers, and high-speed trains coming at him. They’re scary, but clearly unreal.

The dreams that are like memories, though. Those get under his skin, set him to shivering even after he wakes up and knows he’s not back there. 

Tony’s body shakes as he recalls the sound of ice clinking in a glass and a hand flying at him while voices scream somewhere in the background. 

Tony has these dreams less often than the regular nightmares. He doesn’t even know for sure if they’re real memories or if his mind just made them up. Tony was practically still a baby when he was taken away from his dad. He hasn’t ever seen a picture of his dad since the crash, so he doesn’t even know if the way he remembers him is actually what his dad looks like. But the dreams feel real, feel like they happen in real-time, and that always rattles Tony to his core. 

He doesn’t want to lay back down yet. Sometimes it takes a while until he’s ready to close his eyes again. Sometimes the dreams come back. 

In this moment, the dream is still thrumming through his veins, his brain convinced that something bad is coming for him. There’s no way he’ll fall back asleep anytime soon. 

Bucky comes to his mind, or rather, what Bucky had done when Tony woke up screaming during his first big nightmare here. Tony isn’t freaking out since he snapped out of it pretty fast, and his breathing is more measured and even, so that part is done. Tony liked it when Bucky took him downstairs and made him hot chocolate. It warmed his chest and lessened the shaked once some sugar had settled in his stomach. 

Decided, Tony swings his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet. He can make hot chocolate, right? All he needs is milk and chocolate powder and the microwave, and he knows where all of that stuff is. There’s no reason to wake anyone over a silly dream and ask for a treat at three o’clock in the morning because he thought it might make him feel better. 

Quietly, he tiptoes out of the room and down the stairs, mentally thanking Steve and Bucky for setting nightlights in the hallways so Tony doesn’t have to worry about tripping and breaking his face. 

The cabinets in the kitchen are high over the counter, so he has to use the kid’s stepladder tucked next to the fridge in order to reach the milk, and he nearly topples over from the weight of the gallon jug. Tony never realized just how much food it takes to feed six people every day. Once he shifts to the cabinets, Tony encounters a problem. 

There’s chocolate syrup and chocolate powder mix in there. He knows one is for the cold chocolate milk that Clint loves, and the other is meant for hot cocoa, but he can’t remember which was which and neither one have pictures because Steve switched them to a plastic container - 

“Tony?”

Tony gasps and nearly jumps off the stepstool, catching himself on the edge of the counter. He twists towards the hallway, where Natasha is standing under the arch of the kitchen entry, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry!” is the first thing Tony can think to say, aware enough to keep his voice contained to a whisper to keep from waking up anyone else. He’d been so quiet, how did he wake Natasha at all?

Natasha tilts her head, critical eyes never leaving his face. “You don’t have to be sorry. I thought you were Clint, actually.” 

“I didn’t mean to wake anyone,” Tony insists, shame flaming inside his chest. 

“I was already awake.” Then, before Tony can ask about that, Natasha probes, “What are you doing?”

He glances back at the milk and then to the open cabinet. Well, she’d caught him now. What is the point in trying to lie? 

“I...I wanted hot chocolate.” Technically not a lie. But really, Tony knew Natasha was smarter than that. 

Her right eyebrow raises to join the left, wrinkling her forehead. “In the middle of the night?” 

Tony looks down at his hands, clenching his hands to keep from starting to pick at his skin. He’s been trying to work through the urge. “I had...a nightmare. And Bucky made it for me before. It was nice. I thought I could do it myself, but I couldn’t remember which one to use.” He gestures to the syrup and powder tin set on the shelf.

“The mix is for hot cocoa,” she confirms, coming into the kitchen and pulling out a mug from another cabinet as she approaches him. “You have to heat up the milk first, though.” Without being asked, she opens the carton and carefully pours the milk into the mug, placing it in the microwave. “Otherwise it’ll get all clumpy and gross in the bottom.”

Feeling a bit off-center, Tony climbs off the stepstool, tin can in hand. Natasha hands him a spoon he didn’t see her grab as he sits down next to her at the island. “How come you’re awake?” he asks, curiosity getting the better of him. 

Natasha’s quiet for a long moment, staring at the microwave countdown. It beeps, obnoxiously loud in the quiet of the night. Natasha gets up to grab the hot milk out of the microwave before she speaks. “Sometimes I have a hard time sleeping.”

Tony chews on his lip as he watches her carefully scoop in the powder and stir it all together. He thanks her quietly when she passes it to him, noting that she doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I have a lot of bad dreams,” he offers, taking a sip. It’s delicious, thawing away the chill still creeping in his bones. 

Natasha nods, as if she knows that already. Tony assumes that she must. Bucky insisted that he hadn’t woken up anyone that night he was screaming, but Tony hadn’t believed him. “Most of us do. Everyone has bad memories that come up in dreams.”

How could she have known that part of his nightmare?

“My dream was about my dad.” 

Natasha’s gaze flies to his, sharp and determined when she tells him softly, “He’s not here right now.”

There isn’t any room for argument in that tone, but Tony doesn’t agree with her completely. His dad still exists, in Tony’s head, in his memories. He’s still alive, out there somewhere, not far enough for Tony’s comfort.  

Tony doesn’t like to think too much about how sometimes it feels like his dad is right there , even though Tony knows that can’t be possible. It makes his knees weak with fear. 

“Did you have a bad dream, too?” 

Natasha shrugs one shoulder, flipping her hair back. “Not really. Sometimes I just can’t settle down. It’s quiet in my room.”

Tony wonders if quiet bothers her like it did to him. “I don’t like the quiet either. It makes my head feel loud.”

The hot chocolate is making him feel better, at least physically, but Tony still doesn’t feel settled enough to go back to sleep. He wishes he could stay up until the sun rises, knowing no more dreams would come for him. 

When the last sip of the chocolate is drained from the mug, Natasha gently places it in the sink and then takes his hand, leading him upstairs. Tony is smart enough to know that he shouldn’t try to pull away. 

He’s surprised when she leads him straight into her own room. In the daytime, the walls are a pale blue, but darkness from the windows and the dim light from her bedside lamp wash the room in a deeper, ocean blue. Tony likes it, actually.  

“Come lay down,” she orders softly, pulling back her bluebell printed comforter. 

“Why?” Tony asks, a little sharper than he means for it to be. He can’t help getting so defensive when he gets caught off-guard. 

Natasha pins him with that unnerving look, the one that says she might be a mindreader because she certainly knows what he’s thinking. “Because you’ll stay up the rest of the night trying not to go back to sleep. Lay down with me, it won’t be as scary.”

Tony hangs back, body tense with wariness, until she adds with a certain attitude, “Tony, do you think I can’t chase away any of your bad dreams?”

Tony freezes, eyes wide. This is the first time Natasha has ever actually acknowledged his irrational suspicions about her perceptiveness. It’s the smirk tugging at the corner of her lip, just visible in the low glow of the lamp, that tells him she hasn’t actually read his mind. 

And once the shock wears off, Tony realizes she might have a point. Natasha can be scarily protective sometimes, and her ability to clock every detailing happening around her is uncanny. Tony thinks she can make a good police officer, or maybe even a spy. 

He wonders if, now that she’s adopted, she ever thinks about growing up. 

Natasha’s bed is the same size as his, but they both fit onto the mattress when they lay on their sides, facing each other. She washed her hair that night, he can smell the peaches and mint scent left behind from her shampoo from this tiny distance. Natasha gently runs her hand through his hair, scratching a bite at the nape of his neck every time she makes a pass. It feels really nice, more delicate than either Steve or Bucky’s hands. Natasha has always seemed larger than life and older than her years, Tony forgets just how tiny she really is. He closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the repetitive motions for a little while. 

He doesn’t intend to keep on talking, but his mouth has other plans. “Do you think Clint is sad that he doesn’t live with Barney?” 

Natasha’s hand twitches, just for a second, but she doesn't stop the stroking. Her green eyes, when Tony opens his own to check, are calm, unwavered. “A little bit. He misses living with Barney. But they always lived apart when they were in foster care. He loves Barney, but Clint told me that even when they were little they weren’t very close. I think they just...got used to it.”

Tony hums, mulling that information over, and then goes quiet for another long stretch. It should be silly, how his mouth and his brain can sometimes be so disconnected. His confession is whispered, wobbly on the airwaves. “Is it bad that I don’t miss my dad?”

Natasha sighs and pulls him closer to her, until he is pressed up against her in an imitation of a hug. It’s the closest Tony has been to her for longer than two seconds at a time. “I think it depends. If he hurt you, I don’t think it’s bad to not want to be with him. And I don’t think it makes you bad.” She stops for a moment, collecting the words she wants to say next. “Dad says that his job as a parent is to make sure we always feel safe. That we can’t be happy if we don’t feel safe with the people who are supposed to take care of us.”

Tony needs a moment to digest that. He doesn’t think he’s ever remembered feeling safe with his dad. Not even with his mom, either, even though he knows he loved her. He doesn’t remember loving his dad. 

“What if - what if, when my dad is out of jail, he wants to take me back? And I don’t want to go?” Tony is close to tears just at the thought, voice cracking at the end of his sentence. 

Natasha lifts his head by the chin to level his eyes with hers. Her voice is firmer than it usually is, raspy and low. “Dad and Papa will never let you go somewhere you’re not safe. Even if he wanted you back, he can’t just take you. Dad and Papa and Clint and Peter and me would all fight for you, Tony. We wouldn’t just let you go.”

Tony swallows around the lump in his throat. When Natasha lets go of him, he buries his face into her shoulder. No one has ever promised to fight for him before. And why would they want to? Tony has been nothing more than a nuisance in all of his foster homes. 

Or at least, he thought he was. Until he had come here.

This house is so different from any of the ones he’d lived in before. 

Natasha waits until his breathing is calm again, before whispering into his hair, “You should talk to Dad and Papa about this. They should know you’re worried about this. Or maybe you could tell Miss Darcy.”

Tony doesn’t answer her, and Natasha doesn't insist on it. Instead, she keeps on petting his hair, long enough that at some point, he falls asleep again. In the morning, he can’t figure out if it had taken minutes or hours, but he opens his eyes to a brightly lit blue room, the smell of pancakes floating through the air.  

---

Peter doesn’t like loud, sudden noises. Tony has never poked around about it, but he notices the little things, like how Steve always puts little green earplugs in Peter’s ears when they walk into a store, how he kept Peter in the front of the beach arcade where there were less bells and whistles, always stands off the the side away from any speakers, how the only time Clint has as conscious control of his volume is when he’s next to Peter. 

Peter is also a little clumsy, but Tony doesn’t find that too odd - Tony himself was really clumsy at that age, too. Sometimes Peter spends a little too much time digging in his sandbox to find his buried treasure, digging past it without realizing. When he wasn’t paying attention, Peter would overshoot his fork during meals, colors outside the lines on a regular basis. Like Clint, bumping into furniture and corners is an unsurprising part of Peter’s weekly routine.  

When Steve and Bucky had given him that big run-down on the first week about what to expect - Clint’s signing, Bucky’s arm - one of those things had been that Peter might start screaming about seemingly nothing. 

“Peter’s brain doesn’t always read things correctly,” Bucky had told him slowly, “so he thinks some things, like sudden noises or maybe scratchy clothes, are louder or harsher than they are to you and me, so he gets scared.” 

Natasha says that Peter doesn’t have as many meltdowns at home anymore, because Steve and Bucky know what usually sets him off and make the house as Peter-friendly as possible. 

But Peter is naturally curious, he loves to learn new things and be a helper, which means new experiences are a toss-up. The first time Tony witnessed one of Peter’s tantrums was when he and Clint had begged, on a rainy summer day before school started, for Steve to help them make an erupting volcano. 

Tony doesn’t known if it was the smell, or the sudden flash of the “lava”, or the sound, or the splashing of the soda that had made Peter upset, but all of a sudden Peter was wailing and folding himself into an impossibly tight ball on the floor, shrinking away as far as possible until he’d hit the wall. 

Today, the reason for Peter’s meltdown is obvious. 

It’s just a regular Tuesday afternoon. Tony and Peter are in the living room, watching a show while Clint and Natasha finish up their homework in the kitchen and Steve is making dinner. 

And then the salad bowl falls, shattering. 

The sound echoes across the kitchen tiles loudly, and Tony barely has a moment to realize what is happening before Peter’s hands fly to his ears and he starts crying. The little boy is so loud he almost can’t make out Steve yelling for everyone to stay still and keep their feet up while he cleans the floor. 

As he runs to get the broom, Steve tosses a quick, “I’ll be right there, Tony, just stay calm, Pete’s okay,” in Tony’s direction. 

That’s easier said than done when Peter is currently sounding like he’s just broken a bone, curling as deep as possible into the couch cushions. 

“Get his blanket!” Natasha calls out. It takes Tony a second to process it through Peter’s screaming, and then he remembers what he had seen Steve do during Peter’s last meltdown. He’d called it helping Peter “reset”. 

Steve had wrapped Peter in a blanket, and put on his computer headphones, and held him in his lap until he stopped crying. 

Tony can do all of that, right?

Right. 

First things first. Blanket. Tony pops open the coffee table and pulls out Peter’s heavy blanket, the one with the bean bags sewn inside it. Carefully, he wraps it around Peter’s shoulders the way Steve always does, tucking one side over the other so he’s completely covered, with a fast way out. Peter’s hands are still covering his ears, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s in pain. He gives no reaction to registering Tony or the blanket, so Tony goes against his instincts and leaves Peter to run up to the boy’s room. 

Peter’s headphones are on his bedside table, plugged into the outlet to charge. Tony snatches them, and then grabs a sparkly rubber stress ball thing from one of Peter’s toy bins lining the wall. He’ll need something good to convince Peter to let go of his ears. 

Steve is already sweeping the floor when Tony passes back by the kitchen. 

Peter’s voice is cracking, rasps bouncing off the walls when Tony reaches him again. Tony winced at the thought of how raw the little boy’s throat would be later. 

“Hey, Petey, it’s just Tony, I’m back now.” Tony keeps his voice as even as possible, knowing that yelling is only going to upset Peter further. Peter doesn’t give any sign that he’s heard Tony speak.

Tony takes a breath, bracing himself with the little amount of confidence he possessed before placing his hands gently over Peter’s. It takes some effort, squeezing Peter’s hands gently and making sure he isn’t yanking them, but once Tony has an inch of space, he pops the headphones over the little boy's ears as smoothly as he can manage. 

Carefully, Tony wraps Peter’s hands around the stress ball and then tucks them under the blanket. Once Peter is securely covered, Tony climbs onto the couch and pulls him into a hug. He keeps his arms firm to make sure Peter knows that Tony is right there with him.  

A long moment later, Tony hears the vacuum start up, and after that Peter’s screams start to lessen to anxious moans and whimpers. Big, fat tears are rolling down his chubby cheeks and it makes Tony’s heart ache, even though his body relaxes a little as the screeching dies off. He pulls Peter another impossible inch closer to him. 

Blessedly, it’s only another minute or two until Steve practically runs into the living room, murmuring gently “I’m here, I’m here, we’re all good.” Instead of scooping up Peter like Tony thinks he might, Steve wedges himself into the corner of the chair, one leg against the back of the couch, and pulls Tony and Peter into his arms, together, as if they were one whole person. Peter buries his face into Steve’s shirt, seemingly trying to crawl into his father’s skin.  

Finally let go of the responsibility of keeping Peter safe, Tony’s body sags. He’s shaken, nerves rattled by Peter’s distress. Steve starts rubbing his back with one hand, and he feels able to breathe now with the reassurance that Steve is here , solid and handling the situation now. 

“You did such a good job, Tony. Thank you, bub, you did so well.” 

Tony lets out the breath he’s been holding since he heard the glass hit the floor. 

He did a good job. He helped. He did all the right things. 

Tony tries to wiggle away to leave Steve alone with Peter as he usually does, but there is a small, blanket-covered hand gripping his wrist that refuses to budge. Looking down, Tony sees Peter’s other hand is occupied with the rubber ball, squeezing tightly and then relaxing, over and over again. 

Tony doesn’t have the heart to tear himself away from Peter, and the grip on his wrist only calms him further because Tony wants to be right here and be sure that Peter is going to be okay, that Tony actually helped. Tony leans into the hug, a little more for his own comfort than he’s willing to admit, watching Steve’s deep, even breaths start to calm the little boy. Eventually, Peter’s moaning cries wind down to sniffling and stray tears, but his hold on Tony doesn’t falter. 

By the time Bucky walks through the door, Peter’s tears have stopped altogether, braving the damp towel Steve brings to wipe his face clean with only a few whimpers of dissatisfaction. He agrees to stay on the couch and keep watching TV while Steve tries to salvage dinner, with one demand.

“Tony stay?” 

And really, how is Tony supposed to say no to those big, sad, chocolate eyes?

“Yeah, Petey, I’ll sit with you.”

Bucky needs only a quick glance at the current situation on the couch - Peter, still swaddled and wearing his headphones, practically in Tony’s lap, while Clint and Natasha flank them on either side in an imitation of a dog pile - to understand what had probably happened in the last hour. 

“We had a rough day?” 

Natasha answers, calm and even. “Dad broke a bowl.”

Bucky’s face morphs into something between sympathy and melancholy as he steps into the living room. 

“Tony helped Peter do his reset,” Clint adds, though it makes Tony blush once Bucky’s eyes fall on him. It doesn’t really feel like he’d done all that much. 

“Yeah?” And wow. Bucky looks so...proud? Yes, Bucky’s lips are pulling up in a glimmer of pride. 

Tony still isn’t used to people looking at him that way. It makes him dizzy, filled with the feeling that something isn’t quite lined up. But everything is right where it’s supposed to be, isn’t it?

“That’s a hard job to do, sometimes, pal. I’m really proud that you helped Peter out.” 

Tony makes himself give Bucky a little smile instead of trying to put his complicated feelings into words. He actually is happy that he was able to help Peter, even if he himself had felt as equally scared as Peter in that moment. 

Bucky smiles back at hime and leans over Clint to press a kiss to Tony’s hair. Tony decides he is definitely not going to think too much about how the action makes his chest feel wider and warmer than it has any right to be.

Tony is not going to think too much about how his cheeks flame when Peter pulls him into the bathroom to wash their hands together. He is not going to think too much about how his smile feels impossible big for his face when Peter offers him a cookie after dinner.

He is not going to think too much about how happy Peter’s voice is, when he pokes his head into Clint and Tony’s room and calls out, “Good night, Tony, love you. Good night Clinty, love you,” for the first time ever putting Tony’s greeting before Clint’s. 

And on Thursday afternoon, Tony absolutely does not blush all the way to his roots when he tells Darcy - and Bucky, because he still doesn’t go in by himself - that it had felt really good to know that he helped to make Peter feel safe again, like big brothers are supposed to do.

Chapter Text

Tony still jumps at the sound of the doorbell. 

He wishes he didn’t, hating that obvious display of vulnerability at such a mundane part of everyday life, but he can’t stop himself. Doorbells almost always mean new people, unexpected visits, and caseworkers. 

Tony also knows he shouldn’t freak out every time he sees Ms. Hill standing on the other side of the door, especially since she comes to check on him every month. The fear that at any one of those visits, she might say “let’s pack up your things” and Tony would have no choice but to follow her blindly into yet another stranger’s home fills his veins every time, and doesn’t leave until he watches her car safely disappear down the street. 

Last week, Darcy taught him a new breathing exercise he is supposed to do when he starts feeling like this - overwhelmed. Tony can’t remember it now, too focused on his heart banging wildly in his chest. 

Ms. Hill looks the same as she always does. Her hair is down in soft waves, in her favorite blue jacket over a neat grey shirt speckled with silhouettes of birds. She must have bought the jacket  years ago, because she was wearing the same one under her winter coat on the night she’d met Tony in a tiny hospital room. She smiles at him and says hello to everyone in turn, then pulls Tony into the living room for their “private chat”. 

“I’m okay,” he tells her, the same as he does every visit. 

Tony thinks that this time, that statement may be less of a lie than it usually is. 

The more he thinks about his other homes, the more Tony thinks that maybe he might like to stay at this one, if he can. Steve and Bucky are the nicest foster parents he’s ever had, by a long shot so far. 

Tony is never forced to eat carrots, after he told Steve - once - that he doesn’t like them. Steve had started to buy more apples and peaches and plums to put in Tony’s lunch bag everyday. Hell, Tony has a lunch bag, with an actual lunch inside, a sandwich with a healthy side and a juice box and snacks . Tony is allowed to pick out his clothes every day, and he gets to pick TV to watch and what he might like for dinner. He isn’t yelled at for being loud, or clumsy. Tony hasn’t heard either of them so much as raise their voice. 

Clint and Natasha and Peter are all so nice to him, all the time, and they never exclude him from any games, never push or make fun of him or kick him out of their rooms. Peter is practically obsessed with him, preferring to stick to his side whenever possible. Clint helps him pick out Legosat the mall and Natasha finds shirts that make him laugh. 

Tony has been living here for just over three months, and has never been punished. For anything. 

“Everyone is nice here. And I like my school.” 

Ms. Hill’s polite smile opens into a genuine grin. “Steve told me you’re having an easier time concentrating in class.”

Tony nods. “Miss Darcy gave me this thing called a fidget cube so I don’t pick my nails so much. It keeps my hands busy.”

“Yeah? That’s very cool, Tony. I’m so happy to hear that.” When he looks closer at her, there is something in Ms. Hill’s eyes that he doesn’t like. It isn’t the sad, disappointed look she had when she came to take him out of the Leahy’s house, but it’s close enough to make him nervous. 

He especially doesn’t like the way she looks at Steve and Bucky when she asks to see them in the office. During both of her last visits, she’d talked to them in the kitchen, voices quiet but there for everyone to see.  

Tony hopes his brain is just making things up, getting nervous over nothing like it likes to do. Those hopes are washed away when he sees Natasha’s lips purse at the sight of the closed office door. 

Still, she takes his arm without comment and guides him out into the yard to join Clint and Peter. Tony isn’t in the mood to play much, too occupied by what could be so important and secretive that the adults have to hide away, so he sits on the grass and watches Clint push Peter on the swing set. 

Not being able to see the office from here makes trying to ignore it  a little easier, but Tony’s mind won’t let it go. What could they be talking about in there?

He can’t be leaving, could he?

The possibility steals Tony’s breath from his lungs. 

He’s being good here, or at least trying, really trying , Steve and Bucky both say they can see it all the time. He’s trying in school and Mr. Banner hasn’t sent a single note home after the first late assignment. He helps with the chores, even though Steve says every time that he doesn’t have to.

But Tony knows foster parents lie. 

Some of them lie all the time. The Leahy’s lied, when they said Tony wouldn’t have to leave. Ms. Hill showed up to take him anyway. 

Just because Steve and Bucky talk to him differently than the other foster parents doesn’t mean they don’t think the same things about him. They can just be keeping quiet to be nice about it, to make Tony think he’s welcome even though he isn’t. 

After all, Tony isn’t stupid. He knows he’s a handful, and he knows foster parents get paid to take care of him, even if it isn’t as much as they would like. His second foster mom had said it all the time, that none of them were worth the check that came with them. She said that when anyone complained about their small dinner portions, or when they misbehaved and got punished. 

You’re not worth my effort . 

Maybe Steve and Bucky have figured that out too. They wouldn’t be the first. Tony’s been placed and removed from four homes before he was dropped off at this one. He arrived the same way he always did, why did he think this one would be different?

Just because the parents here use nicer words? That isn’t enough. Words are just that, words. 

They can be in that office right now, asking Ms. Hill to take him to another home. 

They can be telling her that Tony is still quiet during therapy. That he still isn’t great at school and takes home at least two papers a week that he couldn’t finish during school time even though Mr. Banner says it’s okay. That he’s still as clumsy as ever and just last week he’d spilled grape juice all over the living room floor because he wasn’t looking where he was going and Steve had to wash the rug three times to get the entire stain out. 

It would explain why Ms. Hill had looked so weird in the living room. 

Right. It all makes sense now. 

Tony’s hands start to rip out the grass underneath him, one thin blade at a time. 

Tony wants to kick himself. He took a chance and let down his guards more in this house than he’d done before, because Steve and Bucky had seemed different, had talked differently.

He’d thought that since Clint and Natasha were adopted, he had a good chance of staying here for a while. 

That was stupid of him. And dangerous. 

Tony also knows that foster care isn’t safe. He knows that Steve and Bucky can say that he was safe with them 100 times a day, but Ms. Hill can still show up at that door and take him away any day, without anyone telling him he was leaving. He knows that he’s old enough to go to group homes now, and that once you go in, it’s hard to get out. 

And he knows he has no power over any of it. 

Tony knows all of that. So he sits, hands fisted in the grass, and braces himself as much as he can to see Ms. Hill to come out and tell him it’s time to go pack his bags. 

She does come out to the yard. She still has that weird sad-not-sad look on her face. 

When she speaks, Tony is so overwhelmed by the pounding beat of his heartbeat rushing through his ears that he has to ask her to repeat herself, because he doesn’t catch it the first time. 

“I’m leaving now. I wanted to say that I’m very proud of how great Steve and Bucky say you’ve been behaving.”

She smiles at him, nice and wide. Tony can’t bring himself to trust it. 

At dinner, Tony is quiet. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, not even Peter. 

Even though Ms. Hill has gone, Steve and Bucky are tense around their eyes. Seeing it makes Tony nauseous, and he ends up moving his food around the plate to make it look like he ate more than he had. 

He sees Steve and Bucky shooting each other looks, glancing at Tony and then back to each other without saying a word. 

Tony wishes they would just come out and say it so that he doesn’t have to keep sitting in the unstable waters of anticipation. He’d thought leaving the Leahy’s, without any warning, was the most vulnerable he’d ever felt. 

He was wrong. Waiting for someone to say it out loud that he’s leaving is so, so much worse. 

It turns out he doesn’t have to wait for long, which doesn’t feel like the mercy it should be. 

“Tony, can you come up to our room? Steve and I have to talk to you about something.” Bucky’s voice is soft, gently breezing by from the sink. Tony forces himself not to fall for it, to remember what he’s going upstairs to hear. 

There is a rocking chair in the corner of Steve and Bucky’s bedroom. Tony has wondered for months if they used it with Peter. He was just a baby when he just came here. Bucky turns it towards himself and pulls it closer to the bed before sitting in it, while Steve chooses a spot on the bed and pats for Tony to sit next to him. 

Tony swears the anticipation is choking him. 

He sits down, leaving a wide space between himself and Steve. 

“Tony,” Steve starts, slow and calm as he always does when something might be upsetting, “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but we have some news about your dad.”

And just like that, Tony can’t breathe. Whatever air he was wheezing through his throat before has been completely cut off. 

He can’t be going back to his dad. He can’t be.  

Tony was taken away from him because his dad was dangerous. That’s what his first social worker had said. Would they really send him back? Could they? 

“Tony, are you listening?” Bucky’s face is much closer suddenly. His voice is firm. Solid. Grounding. 

With what feels like an enormous effort, Tony forces himself to focus on Bucky’s voice before he misses what he’s saying. He nods, unable to spare any energy into speaking right now. 

“Ms. Hill told us that your dad is getting released from prison. In a few weeks from now.”

Tony’s brain screams.

“Tony, I want you to listen very carefully, alright?” Bucky’s eyes are locked onto his, unwavering. He reaches out to put his hands over Tony’s smaller shaking ones, but freezes when Tony flinches at the movement. Very slowly, Bucky pulls his hands back to his lap and threads his fingers together instead. His eyes never move away from Tony’s, blue on brown, and something about their stillness draws Tony in. 

“This changes nothing for us. You are not going anywhere, anytime soon.”

God, an hour ago Tony would have been crying in relief from those words. Now he’s just on the edge of sobbing in terror. 

“Tony, we’re not trying to scare you,” Steve pipes in, voice disembodied because Tony cannot look away from Bucky, he cannot . “But we don’t want to lie to you about anything that happens with your case. You’re old enough and you deserve to know if something is changing.”

Tony barely even hears them. He finally has to blink, and with each flutter of his eyelids comes horrible images of the future. This is the worst possibility. While his dad was in prison, Tony was in foster homes, far away from him. But now that his father is getting out....

“He’s gonna take me away.” The words are scarcely audible in the room, Tony’s breath still so shallow and unsupportive of his voice. 

“Absolutely not, Tony.” Bucky’s voice is so sharp Tony winces. When he looks up again, Bucky’s eyes are hurt, and angry. “Listen to me, bub. You are safe here. Every day. No matter what. He cannot come here. He doesn’t even know where you are, and he can’t find out. No one who knows where you are is allowed to tell him.”

“Bu-but-but-” Tony has to stop and force himself to take a deeper breath to stop the chattering of his teeth. He gulps twice, building up saliva and swallowing down fear. “But at a different home, a girl had to go back to her mom after she got out of jail. They’ll give me back to him!”

“It’s different with your dad, Tony.” Steve stops and chews on his lip for a moment, figuring out what he wants to say. Steve is always careful with his words, because he doesn’t believe in keeping secrets from his kids. My Ma always used to say honesty is a virtue . 

“Your dad was sent to jail because he caused the car accident you were in. You remember when you went to your first foster home?”

Tony nods. He had woken up in the hospital, bruised and bandaged, and some lady who never even introduced herself had come to take him out and drop him off at Mrs. Hendrick’s house. She told him he was going to another home because his dad couldn’t take care of him anymore. All he had with him was the kids’ pajamas the hospital had dressed him in. 

It wasn’t until Tony asked where his Mama was that the lady told him she died in the car. Tony was too young to know, then, what dying was. Mrs. Hendricks had to tell him, the next day, what it meant to die. 

“He put you in danger. That’s why most kids are placed in foster homes.” Steve’s eyes are sad as he speaks, and Tony wonders, suddenly, if Steve is remembering how he went to foster care. Steve’s parents didn’t put him in danger, or stop loving him. They just died, and left him all alone in the world. 

“Their parents can’t take care of them the way they should, so kids need to be in a safe place, and be taken care of by foster parents for a little while. A lot of the time, parents do whatever they need to do to make their homes safe for their kids again, and that’s why kids can go back home.”

“But not me?”

Steve heaves a devastating sigh, his entire torso slouching with the weight of this conversation. “It’s possible that it could happen with you and your dad, Tony. I can’t lie to you about that. But for that to happen, he would have to show a judge that he was able to take care of you and keep you safe. And he would have to go to classes and therapy and have home inspections and a lot of other stuff. And I don’t know if he’s going to do that. The truth is, we don’t know.”

“Right now, though,” Bucky interjects, “what we do know is that you’re not leaving this house. Not for a while, at the very least.”

“You don’t know that.” Tony hates how small he sounds right now. He feels smaller than Peter in this moment. He feels like a forgotten rag doll being tossed around in the trunk of a car while everyone seated inside drives around like nothing is wrong. 

“Yes, I do. We told Ms. Hill that you’ve been doing really well here, and she said she doesn’t want to move you to another home. There’s no reason for you to go.”

But she could have been lying, is what Tony doesn’t say. 

She could show up at the door and take Tony to new strangers any day, and he has no power to stop it. But now there is a new, even more terrifying possibility of where he could go, if and when that day comes. 

“So...so do I have to see him? Do visits?” At his other homes, he was the only kid who didn’t have visits. The girl in his second home had even gone to her mom’s prison to visit her. Tony had never understood why he didn’t have to do the same, even if the thought of seeing his dad petrified him. 

At that, Steve and Bucky look at each other, tense. They communicate in silence, and finally Bucky is the one to break it. 

“He is allowed to ask for visits. And if he asks, yes, you’ll have visits with supervision.”

Tony’s body freezes all over again. “What if I don’t want to see him?”

Bucky’s fists clench. Tony wiggles back on the bed, just a centimeter. But it’s more distance than before, and distance is the only thing that matters when a fist is about to come your way. 

Tony learned that because of his dad. He learned a lot about running away and finding hiding places from his dad. 

“We can tell Ms. Hill, and she’ll see what she can do. We’ll cross that bridge if we need to. But let’s not worry about that right now, alright? We don’t need to get worked up over anything that’s not happening.”

Steve nods along and adds, “That’s right. For now, we want you to know that you’re safe here, and that we love you, and we would never let anything bad happen to you, never. And if you feel scared or unsafe for any reason, you can always come and talk to us about it. We’re always here to help you, bud.”

Those reassurances used to make Tony feel better, but now he can’t help but wonder if they are nothing but empty words. 

Tony was only three years old the last time he saw his dad, but he remembers some things about him. He remembers that his dad always got his way, no matter what.  

He remembers that his dad always had a bottle of brown liquid in his hand, and it made him loud and mean and angry. 

He remembers that his mom was fighting with his dad in the car that night. 

He remembered that his dad had ended up killing her because of it. 

---

Tony feels like an idiot for even thinking he could go to sleep that night. It’s almost 2:00 in the morning, and his thumb has been picked completely raw by now. He hasn’t ravaged his fingers like this in quite a while. 

He was the last to shower and head to bed because Steve and Bucky had kept him in their room for a long time. They talked a little more about Tony feeling “safe”, and only let him go when he’s repeated several times that yes, he felt safe with them tonight. 

The lie tasted like ash in his mouth. Tony doesn’t feel safe. He doesn’t even know what safety is supposed to feel like. 

Spending every second of your life in a horrendous limbo of not knowing what tomorrow could look like is probably the very opposite of feeling safe. 

At 2:14, he can’t take it anymore. 

Natasha is the only person in the house who closes their door at night. Tony hesitates at the thought that he should at least knock, because privacy exists here, but he doesn’t want to wake up anyone else. 

He doesn’t expect that the quiet little creaking if the door’s hinge would make her shoot awake so fast. 

Natasha sits up straight with a speed that Tony hardly even catches, but he jumps in surprise regardless. 

He isn’t prepared for the wild look in her green eyes. He freezes on the spot, regretting this entire thought process. 

Tony has never seen Natasha look anything but calm and collected. She always knows what is happening around her, is never caught by surprise despite the number of times Clint jumps out from corners determined to scare her. 

Now, her eyes flash to every corner of the room, scanning around to find what is amiss. When her gaze registers Tony, standing small in her doorway, he’s trying to convince himself he’s gone too far to turn tail and run back. 

“Tony?”

Suddenly Tony is overcome with the sense that the floor is about to open up and swallow him whole. Steve and Bucky have strict house rules about respecting each other’s spaces, which means knocking before entering bedrooms, even if doors are already open. Today of all days, he shouldn’t be stupid enough to risk getting caught breaking the most simple of rules in this house. 

He starts to turn, whispering into the darkness, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Before Tony can close the door completely and retreat back to the familiar rumbles of Clint’s snoring, Natasha’s hand wraps around his wrist. 

Gently, she pulls him back into the room. She pointedly doesn’t leave enough slack for Tony to shake her grip, and so he is forced to follow her where she leads. “You just startled me,” she soothes as she flicks on her lamp on the dimmest setting. 

Natasha motions for Tony to sit next to her on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Because of whatever you were talking about with Dad and Papa?” One day, Tony is going to ask her what kinds of powers she’s hiding that make her supernaturally aware of what is happening even in rooms she hasn’t stepped foot in. 

His right hand starts to gravitate to the raw skin of his left thumb, but its path is stopped by Natasha. She brings his hand down to the comforter, keeping her fingers firmly wrapped around his, with no room to resume his bad habits. “What’s happening?” 

The thing is, without being able to pick at his skin, Tony feels too...full. Almost nauseous, like he’s going to burst from all the feelings that are settling in his stomach. 

“I think I’m leaving soon.”

Natasha’s hand tightens over his, and she opens her mouth to say something.

Unfortunately, someone else speaks first. 

“Why would you be leaving?” 

Both Tony and Natasha snap their heads to the doorway. Clint is standing there, clad only in his pajama boxers, as he normally sleeps, adjusting his right hearing aid. 

“What are you doing here?” Natasha asks. 

Clint shrugs one shoulder, seemingly satisfied with his hearing aid now. “Woke up and got worried that Tony wasn’t in bed. What’s going on?”

Tony flushes, overwhelmed that Clint had been worried about him enough to look through the darkness of the house for him. He knows that Clint doesn’t like the dark, and it hadn’t taken Tony long to realize it was because Clint’s hearing meant that he couldn’t always notice everything around him. Nighttime must be the worst time for Clint, since he can’t sleep with his aids in. 

The thought of feeling that helpless, unable to see or hear anything around him, still sets shivers down his spine. 

Clint presses on, to the point as always. “Tony? Why do you think you’re leaving?” Tony is much too full of feelings he can’t even begin to identify to put any effort into keeping his thoughts private. 

“They said my dad is getting out of jail.” Somehow, once the words are out there, Tony feels better and worse at the same time. 

Clint and Natasha both stiffen, glancing at each other. In the dark, it’s harder to make out all the little details in their faces. 

Clint comes closer and sits at the foot of the bed, facing the other two. “Okay,” he says haltingly, “but...you don’t even have visits with him, right? Did Dad or Pop say you were gonna leave?”

With his right hand trapped under Natasha’s, Tony’s legs bounce and wiggle instead. He wishes he had his fidget cube, but its in the bottom of his backpack, all the way downstairs. He wants to scream and cry and most importantly run away from whatever is building up inside of him. 

“No, they didn’t,” Tony grits through clenched teeth. “They said I could stay. But people lie.”

Natasha gives a soft, weary sigh. “They do.”

“They send kids back to their parents all the time,” Tony continues, “They’ll do it to me, too. I always get sent away.”

A brief silence in the room cuts through Tony’s skin. 

Clint’s voice is steady when he speaks again. “You know how my dad is in jail?”

Tony nods. Clint hasn’t ever mentioned his father after that late night confession when he’d first arrived. “When Tash and I first came here, the caseworker was trying to send me back to him. He’d gotten a job, so I guess they said that was good behavior or whatever, so they were trying to start doing visits.” 

Tony waits, watching Clint fiddle with the border of his purple boxers. 

“The thing is, Barney and I got taken away because of me.” Clint stops to swallow before he goes on. “I was little and I didn’t know what was going to happen. Our dad disappeared on another bender for the weekend and we didn’t have any food. Sometimes Barney would steal some snacks from the gas station, but he almost got caught a few weeks before. He didn’t want to leave me at home alone without knowing when our dad would come back, and he couldn’t risk getting caught and getting arrested himself. We didn’t eat for three days, until lunch at school on Monday. Barney always said not to tell anyone what happened at home, but I was only 6 and I wasn’t thinking. It was normal for me, dad disappearing and not eating for a few days. I slipped up and told a teacher that I was so excited for lunch, because I hadn’t eaten since Friday. We got taken away that night.”

Clint settles his hands into fists by his sides. “But no one asked, so I never told anyone about the other stuff. I didn’t tell anyone that he hit us, and screamed, and threw things. Barney said we couldn’t ever talk about it, and I didn’t want to be taken away again, so I didn’t say anything. And I didn’t say anything at our last home either, when they hit us and didn’t give us dinner if we were bad. One of the other kids did, but I didn’t find out until later. I just thought I was being taken away again, and I hated that.”

Tony knows that feeling well. The fear, uncertainty, the utter despair. The wondering if he would ever be able to stay in one place forever. 

Natasha’s posture stiffens, and Tony remembers what Clint had said that day at the beach. He and Natasha had come here from the same home. 

This is a part of her story, too. 

“When we came here, it was bad, for the first couple of months. Tash and I were so scared of being separated, and we didn’t trust Pop and Dad. So when the caseworker came and said that they were still trying to get me back to my dad, I got - I got really scared. When she left, I locked myself in the basement and wouldn’t come out. I thought he was gonna kick it down to get me out, but Dad just sat there next to the door and told me to come out when I was ready. Promised he had a snack and water if I got hungry, but I was too scared to open the door. I spent the whole day in there. Waited until it was nighttime to come out, because I heard Dad move, and I thought he had given up and gone to bed. But when I came out of the basement, he was in the kitchen, making me two sandwiches because I hadn’t eaten anything. He said he was worried about me.”

Clint looks up to finally meet Tony’s eyes. It’s too dim for Tony to say for sure that they’re glistening with tears. “That was the first time I’d ever pulled a stunt like that and didn’t get punished. First time that a foster parent ever made food just for me, too. Dad just...stood there. Didn’t get close or try to ask me anything, he just watched me eat and then let me go to bed. And I tried to wait him out, didn’t talk to anyone or behave right for the whole week, refused to go to school, because I was sure that they’d called CPS and asked them to take me away, so what was the point of behaving or going to school anyway.”

Natasha’s hand twitches over Tony’s. This is the important part , she warns him. 

He watches a small bit of tension leak out from Clint’s body. “But they didn’t. They never said anything bad about us, never asked for us to leave, never punished us like our other foster parents did. I waited and waited for it to happen, but it didn’t, they just kept telling us we were safe with them. And then one day, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I blew up. I told them about my dad, and what he did. I showed them my scars.”

Tony sucks in a breath, but Clint goes on. “And I thought for sure, they were gonna decide I was too much trouble to deal with. That I was too broken for them. And when they said they had to call CPS I thought I was getting in trouble for not telling anyone about the other stuff. But I didn’t get in trouble. They got my dad arrested.”

Tony’s eyes widen in shock. “What?”

Clint nods. “That’s why he’s in jail now. Pop said it was their job to protect me, and that was how they did it.”

Natasha finally pitches in, Clint’s story seemingly finished. “And we never left.”

Clint beams back at her, his smile bright even in the darkness of the room. “And my dad couldn’t ever see me again because of the charges, and we never left, and we got adopted.”

Natasha nudges Tony’s shoulder and whispers conspiratorially, “Ask him why we got adopted.”

Tony obeys. 

Clint’s smile gets impossibly wider. “When Tash and I were here for 2 years, and we didn’t have parents to go back to, Dad said we qualified to be adopted. They never told us they wanted to adopt us before, because they said they didn’t know if we wanted to be adopted. They asked us if we wanted to keep staying here and not leave for another home. And we said yes.”

“Because?” Natasha prompts pointedly. 

With an eye roll, Clint responds, “Because we knew we were always gonna be safe here.”

“And we are, and we always have been.” With that, Natasha finally releases Tony’s hand from hers. She uses it to pull up his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “They never once gave up on us, and they never sent us away or lied about our cases, and they fought everyone who tried to hurt us. Maybe you don’t trust them yet, and you don't have to, until you’re ready for it. But you should know that we do.” 

Tony swallows thickly. The air in the room feels so heavy, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. “Okay. I know you trust them.” It’s true, which makes it the easiest thing to say to her. 

Natasha smiles at him, and then pulls him to lay down on the bed. “It’s late,” she murmurs, “we should all be asleep.” She swats at Clint to get off her bed so they can lay down comfortably, and Tony thinks he’d gone back to his own bed until he returns a moment later, holding a pillow in one hand and dragging his comforter behind him. 

While Natasha tucks the blanket over Tony and strokes his hair in that way that Tony is really, really starting to like, Clint untucks his aids and lays them on Natasha’s nightstand before settling down on the floor beside the bed. “G’night.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

Tony hadn’t thought he would be able to sleep, content to simply lay in bed knowing someone else was with him, but hours later, he opens his eyes to sunlight, Natasha’s hand still settled in his hair, and Clint’s snores coming from the floor. 

He wishes he could say that the comfort of being with other people washed away any nightmares, but of course, that didn’t happen. His father’s face appeared every time Tony closed his eyes, shocking him awake nearly every half an hour. 

Each time, Natasha’s arms tightened around him, reassuring him that he isn’t back there, that he’s safe and not alone.

Chapter Text

At the dinner table, there are two simple routines. The first is that you wait until everyone is seated and served before beginning to eat. The second is that everyone goes around the table and says the best and the worst part of their days. 

Most days, the “worsts” are little, mundane things like: homework, accidental tripping or falling, losing attention in class, eating vegetables (Peter’s near-daily complaint). Occasionally, it’s bigger things that Steve and Bucky need to talk about more after the meal: bullying, harmful words, feeling upset about something. 

Most days, Tony lies about his worsts. Like today. 

“I had to redo my reading assignment,” Tony answers when it’s his turn to speak. He did have to redo the assignment, but that isn’t the true low point of the day. The low point was trying and failing to complete it the first time because his stomach was roiling wildly the whole day.  

He’s been feeling all off-kilter like this - feeling “anxious”, Darcy said it was called - since the second he rolled out of Natasha’s bed three mornings ago. No matter how much he wants to get rid of the feeling, he doesn’t know how , and he still wakes up every day with a rock of fear in his stomach. 

Tony wants to believe what Clint told him that night. Wants to believe that he isn’t “too broken” to stay here, wants to prove that he can behave and belong somewhere . 

But the rock growing in Tony’s stomach keeps saying you’ve been burned before , and now that the possibility of going back to his father plays in his mind nonstop, he can’t risk it. If he wants to stay here, he has to keep Steve and Bucky thinking that he’s good. And that means lying to them, even if it’s against their rules, because Tony knows he isn’t good. 

He’s heard it from enough people to know that , at least, to be true. 

Steve and Bucky think he’s good because he’s been careful not to show them his worst side, and he’s been trying his hardest to keep it up. 

The thing about the constant lying though, is that it’s exhausting, and on top of the insomnia, it only makes him feel worse. 

Tony’s sleep that night is interrupted by increasingly chaotic dreams of being chased and kidnapped by faceless monsters. He counts each one, waking up seven times during the night, the same as the night before. He actually tried to stay awake as long as possible, hoping that less time to sleep meant less time to dream, but the unrelenting tiredness was starting to get to him, and he only managed to keep his eyes open until midnight. 

The next day, the rock is even heavier. Tony is so twitchy during school that he drops his fidget cube five times just in the first half of the day. Mr. Banner notices, and pulls him aside as the class heads to lunch. 

“Hey, Tony. I noticed you’ve been having a little trouble holding onto that today,” the teacher says, gesturing at the cube clutched in Tony’s hand. “Is there something bothering you?”

Usually, Tony likes the even, calm way Mr. Banner speaks. He has a way of talking that normally reassures Tony, lets him know that he isn’t in any trouble for just having a hard time. 

But now, Tony realizes that having a teacher who pays attention to him isn't always a good thing. If Mr. Banner notices something might be wrong, he could tell Steve and Bucky. If they hadn’t figured it out themselves yet. 

“N-no, Mr. Banner,” Tony stammers out quickly, aiming to convince Mr. Banner enough that he won’t send a note home. “Nothing’s wrong. Just clumsy today, I’m sorry.”

Another lie-not-lie. Tony gave up on counting them two days ago. 

Tony doesn’t touch his sandwich today, either. He hasn’t eaten his lunch at all this week, too afraid of his twisting stomach to risk it. Forcing himself to eat enough breakfast and dinner to make sure Steve and Bucky don’t get suspicious is already hard enough. Breakfast only added to the rock that seems to be growing roots inside his belly. Instead, he tosses it into the trash, even though the guilt of wasting good food is adding to the whirlwind of bad feelings filling up his chest. 

Pepper and James both ask him at lunch if he feels sick, and Tony has never been more grateful that Natasha and Clint have lunch the period after him. It’s already hard enough to convince his friends that he just isn’t hungry. Natasha would have seen right through it. 

He’s even too tired to join the kickball game in the yard during recess. He tells James that he would rather keep score, and sits on the sidelines, willing his eyes not to close. 

Once he returns to class, Tony makes sure to keep his fidget cube in his pocket and decides to pick at the hem of his shirt instead, trying not to catch Mr. Banner’s attention again. From the look his teacher sends him, lingering on Tony’s hand, Mr. Banner hasn’t bought it. 

The rock in his stomach gets heavier yet again. 

Tony wonders how long he can keep this up until the rock gets too big, too heavy for him to carry around inside of him. 

When he meets his foster siblings at the front steps for pickup, Tony realizes that Natasha has caught on to him. There is an unmistakable glint in her green eyes that seem to say “I know something’s wrong”. For whatever reason, she doesn’t bring it up. Tony hopes his eyes convey how thankful he is.  

Seated at the dinner table, the topic of conversation turns to Family Night. It’s Clint’s turn to pick this week, and he’s decided to argue for an exception to make the occasion occur during the day. 

Clint makes the case that he is torturously bored and aching for an adventure now that summer is well and gone, and has the perfect solution now that they’ve reached early October. 

Natasha has already asked Steve to visit a pumpkin patch as her choice of activity for next Saturday, but Clint has been undecided until now. 

Clint wants to see the nature trails and picnic at a national park not too far away. 

Specifically, Clint wants to bike through the trails. 

Tony doesn’t hear the rest of what Clint says after he hears the word “bike”. 

He can’t manage to pull himself back into the conversation and listen, because he is currently trying very hard to act calm and not immediately puke all over his dinner plate. 

That goal becomes much harder when Steve says, “Pop and I will see if we can make it work.”

Suddenly, Tony is overcome with the urge to run . He doesn’t have a destination in mind. He just needs to be anywhere but at this table. The ocean might be a good idea. 

He snaps back into the room when he hears Bucky ask, “Tony, everything alright?”

Tony has no idea how he pulls himself together just enough to stammer out an answer, but he’s thankful for it nonetheless. “I-I’m okay, j-just really tired.” Another lie . “Can I lie down?”

Bucky is suspicious, that much is obvious from the pinched expression on his face. His metal hand starts to rise towards Tony, but stops and returns to the table. “You feeling sick?”

Tony shakes his head. “Just tired.” Tired of lying , the voice inside his head jumpa in. Tony forced himself to ignore it. 

Steve and Bucky both seem unconvinced of his weak excuse, but they let him retreat to his and Clint’s room anyway. 

Tony crawls under the covers of his bed, still in his school clothes. He doesn’t turn on any lights in the room, preferring to let the natural sunset gradually dim the room. Here, in the rare solitude, Tony is forced to face the consequence of his lies. 

Tony has never admitted that he doesn’t know how to ride a bike. There’s less opportunity to ride now that school is back in session, so there was no reason to find it suspicious. When he first came here, Clint and Natasha had asked him to join them for a ride around the neighborhood a few times, but he managed to bow out, saying he wasn’t in the mood or he wanted to stay with Peter. 

And now Tony will have to confess, and ruin Clint’s plans. How is that fair to Clint, when he has been so nice to Tony, in fact, nothing but nice?

Clint will hate him now, for the lie and for ruining his wish. Why wouldn’t he?

Natasha will hate him, too, for upsetting Clint. She loves her brother so much. Tony is sure that she will never forgive him for the betrayal. 

Even worse than all of that, Steve and Bucky will realize the truth. 

Tony is a liar. 

Tony is a phony. 

Tony doesn’t belong here, because he can’t stop lying, can’t behave, can’t stop ruining plans. 

Tony isn’t a good boy, like Steve and Bucky had said before. He’s just a good liar.

He deserves to leave this house. 

Steve and Bucky aren’t different kinds of foster parents. Tony is just a better liar in this house because he doesn’t want to leave. 

But there is no way out now, no way to get out of this without uncovering the weight of his sins. 

Tony just wishes he can have one more day. 

Tony just wishes that he can keep it together for one more night. 

That he can savor his last moments in this house and remember every day that went by without being punished, without having food taken away, without being left behind for “real” kids. 

But of course, like everything in his life, Tony doesn’t get what he was hoping for.

---

It must be an hour that Tony spends lying in his bed, clutching the soft sheets Steve had always let him pick from the linen closet, before Bucky knocks gently on the open door and takes a step inside. He stops there, keeping his distance. 

Tony’s breaths started coming in faster the second he’d heard those heavy footsteps on the landing. 

Bucky’s voice is gentle from the doorway. It still makes Tony fist the sheets even tighter. 

“How are you feeling, Tony?”

Tony wants to say fine , but that’s another lie. And Tony has decided that, for better or worse, he is done lying. He can’t keep it up even if he wanted to. 

“Why do you care?” is what Tony’s mouth chooses to say. It isn’t until the words are finally out there that Tony realizes just how long he’s been waiting to say it. It feels like freedom rushing through his bones. 

Bucky’s blue-grey eyes widen with surprise. That’s fair, Tony thinks, he’s been careful to keep his less flattering thoughts to himself. Bucky hesitates for a second before he answers, earnestly, “Because we love you, Tony.”

“You shouldn’t,” Tony mutters through gritted teeth. His jaw is starting to ache from the constant tension and clenching. He can feel rage slowly building up inside of him. This feeling is different than when he gets nervous or anxious. He’s not jittery or fidgety, he’s on fire. It’s not something he allows himself to linger on, so now, he jumps in head first. 

“Tony, why would you-”

If someone would ask him about this later, Tony might say that it felt like a snap inside his chest. Like his ribs are cracking open from the sheer amount of lies and memories and feelings he’d been keeping locked up inside them, far away from anyone who could use them to hurt him. 

But in the moment, that heavy, awful rock in his stomach has sparked a bonfire , and it’s started burning up all of his insides. 

“Stop LYING!!!” Suddenly, Tony is on his feet, voice rising to a level he’s never dared reach before. “I’m not your real kid! You’re not my real dad! You don’t really care about me, you can send me away whenever you get tired of me! I DON’T GET IT!!!”

And then, that fire expands from his stomach, flaring out into his limbs so much that his fingers felt like they’re burning. When he glances down, the comforter is still clutched in one fist, ripped out from the bed where Steve usually tucked it into the footboard. 

From there, Tony becomes unstoppable. 

“STOP ACTING LIKE YOU’RE KEEPING ME!!!”

A kick to the bedside table. 

“I KNOW I’M NOT STAYING!!!”

With barely any thought, his backpack flies into the wall. 

“I KNOW I’M BAD!!!”

His fist slams into the dresser, but Tony barely registers the pain. 

“EVERYONE ACTS LIKE I BELONG HERE BUT I DON’T! I’M NOT GOOD OR SMART OR BEHAVED SO JUST STOP PRETENDING THAT I AM! I KNOW THAT ALREADY!!!”

Tony has to pause in order to gulp in some breaths, his yelling taking up all the energy his chest can handle, but the anger continues to burn through him. As he gathers the power to speak again, his throat has already begun to fade and his volume falls from shrieking to impassioned yelling.

“I KNOW I’m going back to my dad! I KNOW you don’t want to keep me, no one has ever wanted to keep me, and you’re not any different!” 

The breaths he’s dragging in are ragged and rough, but Tony continues on anyway. He still has more to say. 

“Just STOP PRETENDING, please! I don’t want to be lied to anymore! Just stop - stop - stop it. Just stop it.”

Bucky is still standing in front of the door, giving Tony nowhere to go. He can’t fully register the look on Bucky’s face, something like surprise twinged with sorrow and distress. Tony’s anger only intensifies at the knowledge that the truth has shocked Bucky so much. 

Unfortunately, without being willing to rush past Bucky to leave the room, and left with nothing else within reach to damage, the fire in his body starts to flicker and dim, anger giving way to shame as he begins to comprehend the destruction he’s caused. 

Defeated, Tony collapses to the ground and pushes his face into his knees to hide the burgeoning tears from Bucky, but he still can’t stop talking. 

“I can’t pay attention in class,” Tony hiccups. The confessions continue to spill out, that fierce fire now transformed into a waterfall of grief. “I always make a mess, and I broke a cup and I didn’t even clean it up! I never sleep, and I always bother Natasha at night. I don’t know how to play Clint’s video games. I can’t finish homework on my own, or remember my projects. Steve always has to check my spelling because I never get it right. And I don’t know how to ride a bike . I’m a liar and I can’t behave and I ruin plans! I don’t deserve to stay here!”

With his final confession, Tony breaks down into complete, gut-wrenching sobs. He’s hollowed out, his lies laid out on the floor for Bucky to read and punish him for. 

And yet, it isn’t punishment that meets him. 

Instead, Bucky sweeps him up, still sobbing uncontrollably, into his large, warm arms. Bucky is shushing him softly, rocking him and murmuring something to him, but Tony can’t hear anything over his tears. They wrack his whole body, shivering and shuddering all the way down to his fingers and toes, consuming his whole being with the years of sadness and disappointment that have marked his soul. 

He wants to break away and hide, shield Bucky from his real form. But Tony knows that after this breakdown, he’ll be leaving. No one would let him stay after getting so “wild,” like Mrs. Walsh used to call it. 

So Tony just. Gives in. 

He lets himself be held by Bucky, savors the feeling of being wrapped in someone’s arms, pretends for a while that Bucky is his real dad and actually loved him, because this is how real parents treat their children. At least, how they’re supposed to. 

Tony hadn’t ever been able to live in the safe knowledge that he has parents who truly love him, and he isn’t going to get that chance anytime soon, especially now that his time in foster care is coming to an end with the return of his father. So, Tony admits defeat, and let’s himself sink into the comfort. Maybe it isn’t the real thing, but it’s probably the closest Tony will ever get. He’s not about to have the chance pass right by him. 

As soon as Bucky touched him, Tony filled with regret over his outburst. He had taken for granted the best home he’s ever been in, with siblings that don’t fight with him and parents that never remind him that he’s only a temporary kid. This is the kind of home foster kids dream of, and Tony just went and got himself kicked out all on his own. Stupid . 

Tony doesn’t know how long they sit there, him curled up in a ball and hitching constantly with huge sobs, and Bucky cradling him against his chest, shushing and humming to him like a baby. Time starts to fade away as Tony sinks deeper and deeper into his shame. 

Eventually, he goes completely limp, all energy drained from every atom of his body save for his eyes, which are unable to stop producing tears. When that happens, Tony feels himself being lifted and carried away. He thinks Bucky is moving him downstairs, to wait for the social worker who will soon be coming for an “emergency pickup”.

Instead, Bucky only crosses the hall into his own room, never letting up on his grip on Tony, and sits down on his own bed. Tony refuses to open his eyes, so he jerks when a blanket is gently laid over his shoulders. He isn’t cold, but he has no willpower to question Bucky’s actions. And he doesn’t want to, anyway. 

This moment is nice, but it’s going to vanish soon enough. Tony has decided he’s going to soak up every second he can. When he leaves this house, he is going to remember this brief feeling, as close to “safe” as he might ever get. He registers each breath, commits the smell of the room, the sound of movement downstairs to his memory. Wills his brain to never let these memories slip away, even in the worst of times. 

There is no way he’ll be put in a better place than this one. He should’ve kept his mouth shut, should’ve found a way to keep up the lies. Tony was stupid to let all this go, all for some screaming and crying. He hasn’t had a tantrum since Mrs. Walsh made it clear that kind of behavior would only be met with punishments and missed meals. 

Tony fights the exhaustion sweeping over his body as much as he can, fearing the possibility of waking up in Ms. Hill’s car or worse, a group home. But the fear is no match for the weariness that has permeated deep into his bones, only made worse by the lack of sleep from the last five days. 

Eventually, Tony’s eyes close for good, consciousness fading away into his first real, deep sleep in days. The last thing he registers thinking is It’s still light out . 

He sleeps so deeply that he doesn’t even dream. That hasn’t happened in months. At one point, he stirs at a movement coming from beside him on the bed. Sleep keeps his body lethargic and his eyelids shut, but he has just enough awareness to hear a slight creak of bedsprings and quiet shuffling around the room. It takes a long while, long enough that the door creaks open and clicks shut, that deep in the back of his brain he finally registers that someone had gotten out of bed and got dressed. 

He can’t wake up enough to be bothered by it, though, when someone else on the bed adjusts something heavy over his shoulders - a quilt - and gently shushes him, whispering for him to go back to sleep. 

“No school today, pal,” comes a rumble from the chest Tony was leaning on. It’s nice and warm and comforting, and, not wanting to push himself out of this heady cloud of slumber yet, Tony follows the command easily. 

The next time he wakes, it takes several long minutes for Tony to even gather the energy to open his eyes. His eyelids are gummy, and it seems to take an enormous amount of effort to move his arm to clear them. Lead weights seem to be attached to each of his limbs, keeping him pinned down in this soft, quiet place. 

Before he can untangle himself from the quilt to wipe his face, a large, calloused hand beats him to the task. Steve’s voice murmurs, distantly in the way that clogged ears catch sound, “Hang tight for a second, Tones. I’m gonna get a washcloth.”

That’s when Tony’s brain finally wakes up all the way. He’s in Steve and Bucky’s bed. He’s still in Steve and Bucky’s bed, and both adults are in there with him. The next thing he registers is the complete silence in the house and sunlight fully streaming in through the window. “Wha’ time’sit?” he mumbles. 

God, even his tongue is tired. How does that happen?

Bucky’s metal hand brushes his hair from his forehead as Steve emerges from the bathroom, holding the promised damp washcloth. It’s one of Peter’s bath cloths, decorated in dancing pandas. “About 9:30.”

Steve gently runs the cloth over his entire face, and Tony registers a moment later that Steve is washing away the tear tracks that have dried on his face from the night before. His cheeks heat with embarrassment, but all Steve does is give him that gentle, no-judgement smile. “We would’ve given you a wash-over, but we didn’t want to wake you up. You needed the sleep.”

Embarrassing as it is to know that he’d fallen asleep crying in Bucky’s arms like nothing more than a baby, Tony can’t say he would’ve wanted them to wake him up. It hadn’t even been 8 o’clock when Bucky had come to check on him. He’s been sleeping for easily over 12 hours.  

He slept deeply, too, Tony realizes once he takes in his surroundings. Steve is dressed and the kids are in school, which means Tony slept through the entire hustle and bustle of the morning routine. Bucky must have gotten up at some point to detach his arm for bed last night, and gotten up to attach it again since he’s already wearing it. Tony can’t remember ever sleeping this long, and without waking up at least twice during the night. 

Tony spent so much of his time left sleeping. He isn’t packed - unless Steve or Bucky had done it while he was asleep - and he has no idea when Ms. Hill is coming to pick him up. It could be any minute now. That must be why they hadn’t woken him up for school, she’ll be coming during the day. He wouldn’t even be able to say goodbye to the other kids? 

“When is Ms. Hill coming?” 

That’s the wrong thing to say, going by the reaction he gets. Bucky’s flesh arm, pillowing Tony’s head, clenches, and before his eyes, Tony watches as Steve’s face shatters . He looks as close to tears as Tony has ever seen a grown man be. 

“She’s not.” Bucky grumbles from behind him. Tony feels him shift around so that he can prop himself up on his elbow, putting both men in Tony’s eyeline. “Tony, we meant what we said to you last week. You’re not going anywhere, pal. Not if we have anything to say about it.”

Tony blinks up at them, lost. This isn’t making any sense. “But-but last night-”

“But nothing,” Steve interrupts, not unkindly. “We would never send you away just for a little crying, Tony. We’d never send you away for anything , but especially not that.” 

“No one’s mad about what happened last night,” Bucky confirms. “I’m more worried that you think we’re just waiting for a little accident to send you away. Tony, you have to know that that’s never going to happen. I don’t care what happened in any of your other homes, we’ll say it every day if it makes you feel better, but honey, we are not at all sending you away. We haven’t ever even thought about it. It’s not an option.”

“If - if - you leave our house,” Steve adds on, “it’ll only be because someone else decided it. Not because Bucky or I asked for it. We’ve never asked for anyone to leave our house and we’re certainly not going to start with you, sweetheart. And, I promise, if anyone ever decides you need to leave, you can bet we’re going to fight for you to get a safe and good home like you deserve. They’ll have to go through us.”

Tony can only gape at them. He isn’t leaving?

“But, all the mean things I said last night…”

Steve shakes his head. “We know you only said that because you were scared. And over-tired. Tony, tell me the truth. Have you been having trouble sleeping?”

Caught out for lying and caught off-guard by the change in subject, Tony glances down at the quilt before he decides that, if he really is going to stay, he shouldn’t lie anymore. Especially if lying makes him feel so terrible about himself. “Yeah.”

“For how long?”

Tony shrugs. “I dunno. Haven’t really slept since Tuesday, when Ms. Hill came. But I never really sleep through the night.”

Bucky sighs wearily, his chest moving Tony along with it. “Ok. How about first we try some night-time gummies and see if they help? If not, we can try some other things.”

“Gummies?”

“Like the gummy vitamins you take in the morning, except you take them at night. They have a bunch of nice stuff inside to help you fall asleep. And we can get you a little speaker to play that white noise you like, so it’s not as quiet in your room. Not like Clint will be bothered by it,” Bucky adds with a playful quirk of his mouth. 

If Tony is being honest, that all sounds nice, especially following this latest string of insomnia. He tells them so. 

But Steve has something else he needs to say. “Tony, we have to talk about what you said last night.”

At the mention of his outburst, Tony flushes. His eyes fall to the quilt in his lap, picking at the seam until Steve’s hand gently pulls his face back up to him. “Tony. We’ve talked about all that stuff before, right? You are not bad at anything as long as you’re trying and you’re not a liar just because you might be afraid to tell us something. Did we get mad when we taught you how to tie your shoes?”

Tony shakes his head. As afraid as he’d been to disclose that fact, they hadn’t been anything but help, and did it happily. 

“Right. We didn’t get mad. So we wouldn’t have gotten mad if you told us that you didn’t know how to ride a bike, either. We’ll all teach you, if you want that. But Tony, honey. I need you to understand, we will never get mad at you. Never. We love you, Tony, no matter what we love you . We don’t care about how long you can pay attention or how well you do in school. We don’t think your behavior is anything but amazing, and we are always here to help you with whatever you need. That stuff doesn’t matter, what matters to us is that you're safe, and warm, and healthy. So I don’t want to hear you call yourself bad, or a liar, or anything like that. It’s not true, and it doesn’t matter. Can we agree on that?” 

For a moment, Tony can’t breathe. They had both said stuff like that before, and so had Darcy, that stuff like school and behaving and chores weren’t important things that he needed to worry about all the time. Tony never let himself believe it. No one else had ever told him that stuff didn’t matter. Then again, no one had ever told him he was good. 

No one other than his mother and Jarvis had ever told him they loved him. 

While Tony has been trying to prove to himself that Steve and Bucky are just better actors than his other parents, he hasn't realized that they are just better people . 

They aren’t sending him away like anyone else would have. They always helped him with anything if he asked. They teach him tricks to pay attention when he gets distracted or to calm down when he gets anxious. To this day, they have never been angry at a single mistake Tony has made, and he’s made a lot of them. They really believe Tony is a good kid, and tell him so practically every day. 

Maybe if they believe that, Tony can start attempting to do the same. 

After a moment, Tony concedes. 

“I’ll try.” 

---

Bucky tells Tony they’re having an “opt-out” day together. The man explains that everyone can use up to three days a year to take a day off of school, no questions asked, whenever “you just need a break”. After the meltdown last night, Steve and Bucky both decided that Tony could use a day off, and the boy isn’t about to argue about getting to play hooky from school. 

Steve has to spend a few hours in the office to teach his classes, but Tony knows exactly what he wants to do with his free day with Bucky. 

“Can you teach me how to bake?”

When Steve said Bucky was better at most things in the kitchen, Tony hadn’t realized that what he really meant was that Bucky is amazing at cooking and baking whereas Steve is...alright. There’s a reason Bucky meal-prepped most of their dinners. Clint mentioned once that Steve had burned food more often than not when he and Natasha first came to live here. 

But a couple weeks ago, Tony and Clint discovered a TV show called Nailed It , where regular people tried and failed to recreate huge and amazing desserts. Clint liked watching the people fail, but Tony loved the science behind it. Like when Steve had taught him to make pancakes, he was fascinated that baking was just like a science experiment - you needed the right materials, the right amounts, the right process to get the right result. 

Then, coincidentally, Bucky baked a cake for a coworker last week and Tony had been fascinated by it. It looked professional, compared to the homemade cakes he and Clint had been watching on TV. Bucky promised that next time, Tony could help. 

Now, Bucky looks pretty happy that Tony is cashing in that chip. 

First, they spend nearly an hour scouring all over a website called Pinterest. It takes a while because Tony is utterly amazed at the level of art involved in some of the treats they find. Bucky identifies some possible options, but they all look too great to choose just one. Tony waffles between the options for long minutes until Bucky suggests making three different kinds of cupcakes in small batches. 

Tony shrieks in excitement, loud enough that he claps his hands over his mouth at the sound of Steve’s office door clicking decidedly shut a moment later. Bucky snorts into his fist, trying to cover it with a cough. 

As they work in the kitchen, Bucky is patient and teaches Tony why every ingredient is important and what each one does in the cake. Eggs for structure, sour cream for moisture, extract for flavoring - and one drop has a lot of flavoring, Bucky warns as he carefully holds Tony’s hand steady on the little bottle of vanilla - and baking powder to help the cake rise and get “airy”. With a paper and pencil, Bucky shows Tony how to divide recipes to make smaller batches, the way he calmly helps Clint with his math homework.

Tony learns that “buttercream” is just butter and sugar, and suddenly realizes exactly why icing tastes so good . Bucky makes Tony promise not to tell Steve about the entire four cups of powdered sugar they dump into the mixing bowl. “Stevie thinks two cups of sugar is more than enough,” he whispers conspiratorially, letting Tony dip a pinky into the two-cups-icing with a smirk, “what do you think?” 

Tony smacks his lips, carefully tasting the icing. “Definitely not enough.” Bucky holds out his fist for a bump. “Now that’s the right answer, Tones.”

In the end, there are 36 cupcakes, split into vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry (a favorite of Peter’s that Tony has been growing fond of) cooling on the counter when Steve emerges from the office. He sits at the counter to observe the decoration of the treats, giving them his “professional artist opinion” on the color and design of the icing. Bucky lets Tony mix in the food coloring into the icing by hand, then helps him pack it into piping bags and guides Tony’s hands to create neat swirls. While Bucky places everything in the sink, Tony is given full authority to sprinkle sugar dust on the cupcakes for maximum shimmer and shine. 

They carefully set them up on a tiered plate, alternating the colors of the icing to create a pattern. Bucky lets Tony place it in the middle of the dinner table, excited to show off his new skills once the other kids come home. Bucky jokes that he’ll need to watch it all afternoon to make sure Clint doesn’t snatch one as soon as no one is looking. 

A little part of Tony hopes that’s exactly what will happen. Food - dessert, especially - was the easiest way to please Clint. 

He still feels like he’s about to ruin Clint’s hopes for a birthday nature ride. When Tony voices his concern about it, the outing scheduled for the day after next, Steve insists they have a solution that doesn’t involve Tony learning to ride a bike on his own in two short days. 

Eventually, three o’clock rolls around, and Steve leaves to pick up the kids from school. Tony volunteers to help Bucky with dinner while they wait. Bucky shows Tony his new huge cooking contraption, something called an “Instant Pot”. Tony hadn’t really paid much attention to it past hearing Natasha call it “the reason Dad can’t ruin dinner anymore”. 

Bucky explains that the pot cooks food using pressure , and he even pulls up a YouTube science video explaining how it worked to cook food faster by sealing all the steam and heat inside. Tony is really sold when Bucky oversees him just dumping in uncooked pasta, raw chicken, some vegetables, milk, and some seasoning into the pot. It feels a little ridiculous, just plopping food inside, but they open it just fifteen minutes later to reveal, sure enough, completely cooked pasta and chicken. It’s amazing. 

“Can we do it again?” he asks. Bucky barks with laughter. “Maybe on Monday. We’ll make chili.”

Bucky lets Tony dump in the cheese - definitely more than the recipe calls for - and gives him the task of stirring it around to get it perfectly melted and saucy. 

When the front door opens, revealing an excited Peter running directly at him and nearly tackling him to the floor as the little boy yells, “I missed you, Tony!”, Tony's wonder of the magic of the Instant Pot is wiped away and replaced by pure and utter shock. 

Tony barely processes what Peter has said when Clint and Natasha both bound up to him, concern clear in their eyes. Natasha asks, “Are you feeling better now?” at the same time Clint pulls a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos from his backpack and proclaims, “I stole an extra snack at lunch for you!” 

It’s so ridiculous, the way Clint is so earnestly holding out a stolen bag of chips in the hopes of relieving Tony’s bad feelings. Tony can’t help the laugh that bubbles up and out of his chest. “I missed you too, Petey,” he directs at the smaller boy, still wrapped around him tightly. Then, making sure he looks Natasha right in the eyes, he answers, “I’m better now.” 

At the hard glint in her green eyes, he continues: “Promise.”

Chapter Text

The rest of October passes calmly, at least for the most part. 

Tony’s session with Darcy after his meltdown is definitely his hardest one yet. They spend the hour on the floor, talking a lot about why he got mad and about the feelings building up in his chest the whole week and how learning that his dad is getting out of jail makes him “anxious,” even when Tony isn’t directly thinking about it. Darcy tells him that sometimes brains hold onto scary thoughts and make your body feel like danger is close as a way to protect himself, so it was really important to tell an adult when he feels like that so that they can help make sure he was okay. 

Tony agrees to try, even though it’s easier said than done. Darcy has a point, when she says that if he tells an adult how he feels before his feelings get too big to hold inside, he probably won’t have more tantrums like the other day. That’s definitely an experience Tony doesn’t want to repeat, so he promises that he’ll try. It’ll probably be easier because Steve has already started asking him more focused questions about how he’s feeling, checking in more carefully every morning about how he slept and every afternoon about how school had gone. 

Tony and Darcy also talk a lot about how safe Tony feels with Steve and Bucky. She gives him a look that reminds him of Natasha when he confesses, “I think I feel safer with them than anyone else.” It doesn’t necessarily mean he feels totally safe, but safer than he remembers being so far.

There are still cupcakes at the house, but Steve stops at Wendy’s after therapy and lets everyone get their own Frosty as a treat for doing well at therapy. At the dinner table, Clint shows Tony how to dip his french fries into the soft ice cream, and everyone goes around the table to vote on whether vanilla or chocolate is better. Vanilla wins. Clint even scoops a dollop of ice cream onto a chocolate cupcake while Steve is placing dishes in the sink, but he’s caught out by the massive smear of pink icing and vanilla ice cream across his nose and down his chin. Tony and Peter collapse into giggles when Steve swipes his finger through the evidence disapprovingly. 

After school the next day, Friday, Bucky takes Tony and Clint with him to Walmart. When they return armed with two small wagons and a bag of a few new tools, Steve is in the office, watching Natasha and Peter create glitter art on a tarp. Bucky sends a glare at Steve’s direction and grumbles “You had better vacuum every inch of this room, Steven,” before he leads Tony and Clint into the garage. 

“Pop hates glitter,” Clint whispers into Tony’s ear. “Gets stuck in between all his arm plates.” Tony snorts at the mental image of Bucky walking around, glitter falling out of his arm as he goes. 

In the garage, Tony finally finds out what Bucky’s “secret project” is. 

First, Bucky presents Tony with his huge toolbox, carefully letting Tony hold each tool. Bucky shows him just how to grip them correctly and explains what they do. Clint already knows each one, from living on the farm, before he and Barney were placed in the system. Clint worked with his hands, even when he was little, to pick corn and fix chicken coops. 

Then, guiding Tony hand over hand and directing Clint, Bucky shows them how to attach  protective box plates to the back wheel of Steve’s blue bike and then Bucky’s black one, then hooking a trailer hitch to it with two bolts that require way more strength than Tony can manage. From there, Bucky attaches another metal hook into the wagons they’d brought from Walmart and clicks it into the trailer hitch. 

Tony is so caught up in getting to build something in real life, using real heavy tools, that he doesn’t even realize the purpose of the task until Bucky steps back and observes their final product. “Now you and Petey can ride the nature trails tomorrow without even putting in the effort.”

Tony is gobsmacked. 

Bucky attached an entire wagon to his bike just to pull Tony in it all day long so he can join in the outing tomorrow. 

The shock steals the voice from his lungs for a long, tense moment, then bursts out in an enormous “THANK YOU!” 

Tony doesn’t think he can thank Bucky enough for this, but he hopes the way he pounces onto Bucky’s middle in a massive hug manages to get his message across. When Bucky piles him into the wagon and pulls him up and down the block for a test run, Tony revels in the breeze rushing through his hair. This must be what flying feels like.  

For what might be the first time ever, Tony is too excited to fall asleep easily. 

In the morning, a huge production ensues to fit everything in the car, configuring and then re-configuring and re-configuring again to get two wagons, a first aid kit, coolers packed with lunch and snacks, and changes of clothes - “Steve, they’re not about to go swimming in a mud lake”, “You said that when we went to Busch Gardens and somehow, you ended up driving the car shirtless because Clint ripped his shirt and his pants and wore your t-shirt as a dress.” - into the trunk, not to mention the debacle of attaching four bikes securely onto the roof of the van. 

Strapped into his seat, Tony is practically vibrating with excitement as he watches the houses slowly space out farther and farther as they head towards the park. He’s only ever done something like this once before, at his first home with Mrs. Hendricks, when she took him and Beth to a blueberry farm, but he’d been in a stroller most of that time. 

The sun is shining through the trees when they arrive. Steve sets up the wagons with thick blankets and throw pillows from the living room couch to create little nests for Peter and Tony, along with water and snacks. Tony is entrusted to keep the lunches safe in the little cooler, while Peter gets a coloring book with crayons and Legos in case he gets bored. 

Tony has to admit that biking the nature trail is an awesome idea, maybe Clint’s best idea yet. The leaves are mostly reddish orange now, and with enough fallen on the ground that there’s a continuous crunch-crunch noise throughout the ride. Peter ogles, amazed at the deer they pass by, and whips his head around every time Clint yells “Rabbit!”, scaring away the little creatures. 

And, obviously, Tony doesn’t have to put in any work when Steve is the one getting sweaty and huffing breaths from pulling Tony along in the wagon. They stop to throw birdseed at a family of ducks at a pond, although Clint screams and runs to seek shelter behind Bucky when one starts to come “too close” to him. Steve has to keep Peter from running straight into the pond to “give the duckies pets”. 

As they ride along Natasha asks Bucky every few minutes what kinds of birds they find flying through the trees, and every once in a while they stop on the road so Bucky can squint up and try to get a better look. “How do you know so many birds?” Tony asks him after the third stop. 

“My Deda - my grandpa, dad’s dad - he was a birdwatcher his whole life. When he retired, he took me and my sisters to Central Park every Sunday morning, bright and early. He bought us cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate from this little French bakery and we would sit on a bench together until noon, watching all the birds. He had a parakeet as a pet when I was super little, actually.”

Tony wonders what Bucky might have looked like as a little boy. It seems silly to think Bucky could ever be small , but Tony knows he wasn’t born over six feet tall with a metal arm. 

Another while later, Clint makes a dramatic show of his exhaustion, draping himself over the handlebars and heaving ridiculously deep breaths in order to convince Steve and Bucky it’s time to stop for lunch. “ Miles , Dad, we’ve been riding for miles. Cars drive for miles!”

Steve sets up the wagon blankets on a patch of grass in a clearing for their meal. Peter offers Clint extra chips from his own snack bag, telling Bucky very seriously that Clint needs more food to make “body energy” for the ride back. Clint lets Peter shove three chips as lovingly as a four year old can manage into his open mouth, crunching them obnoxiously to make Peter laugh. Peter offers him more, but Clint shakes his head. “You eat them, big bro’s gonna take a little nap, Petey-Pie.”

True to form, Clint manages to fall asleep almost immediately after scarfing down his lunch to the sound of Steve reading Peter a book. Natasha and Tony use the opportunity to quietly split the extra bag of chocolate chip cookies between themselves cataloguing the animals they’ve seen running through the woods. 

---

In Tony’s opinion, pumpkin and apple picking sounds fun in theory, but the reality of lugging around baskets of heavy apples under the sun for hours isn’t an appealing activity. He’s over it in an hour, but Steve set aside the whole day for this, waking everyone up early in the morning and pulling out the sturdiest shoes for the kids to wear. 

Peter and Natasha seem to be enjoying themselves the most, while Steve spends most of the time taking pictures, encouraging the kids to pose together and smile cheekily. Bucky, Clint, and Tony are firmly in the camp of “Why did we go on the one seventy-five degree day in October and can we go home yet?” 

“Pop,” Clint whispers conspiratorially as they lag behind Steve, Natasha, and Peter, “I lived on a farm and I don’t even like this kinda stuff. Why’s Dad so obsessed with it?”

Bucky laughs and playfully shoves Clint’s shoulder. “Dad grew up in the city, Clint, he never got to enjoy nature like this. It’s not hurting you, let him enjoy it.”

“Who said I’m not getting hurt? Look at this sunburn!” Clint exposes the back of his neck. Bucky rolls his eyes and tells Clint the skin is barely even pink. 

Tony’s favorite part of the day is the hay bale ride, simply for the blessed breeze that washes over his overheated skin. 

Visiting the little donut shop down the road from the farm to see how they make apple cider and cinnamon donuts is pretty cool, too. Clint somehow manages to wheedle Steve into purchasing a box of eighteen donuts, while Bucky gives everyone a choice of two candy bags, as long as they promise no one will eat them before dinner. 

Once Bucky and Steve load their, frankly, massive , haul of pumpkins and apples into the trunk, Tony takes the opportunity to nap on the ride home, exhausted from the walking and carrying buckets in the heat. 

That night, Bucky teaches the kids how to make an apple pie, showing them how to carefully slice apples, make a delicious filling, and create a classic lattice top. They make three pies, Tony and Peter sharing one while Clint and Natasha get their own to fill and top off. There are still enough apples left that Bucky promised to make an apple cobbler the next week. 

Tony swallows down his nightly gummy and falls asleep that night, warm and full. 

---

Shopping still makes Tony feel wildly uncomfortable, no matter how many times Steve promises that he never thinks twice about spending money on Tony. 

Buying food and clothes are a little easier to swallow. Steve and Bucky have to feed and shelter him, it’s the law. Getting brand-new Halloween costumes seems foolish in comparison to that. The two times Tony had gone trick-or-treating, he’d worn whatever hand-me-down vaguely fit him. He never minded it either, too excited at the chance to wear a costume at all and go around the neighborhood collecting candy like a normal kid to care that his costume wasn’t new or hand-picked. 

Steve and Bucky disagree with Tony’s idea to take whatever of Clint’s old costumes are laying around in the attic. Two weeks before Halloween, Steve and Bucky split up the kids to pick out costumes. Steve takes Tony and Peter to the children’s section, while Bucky guides Clint and Natasha to the teens’ corner. 

Even though Steve says - multiple times - that Tony can pick out whatever costume he wants, the boy can't help but try to peek at the prices on the packaging. The numbers make his palms sweat, but every time Steve gently pulls his hand away and affirms “It doesn’t matter, sweetheart.” 

Peter picks out his costume fairly quickly, and predictably - a Buzz Lightyear suit, complete with padding along the shoulders and arms and a remote controlled set of space wings. 

As much as it concerns him that Steve is willing to spend a ridiculous amount of money on him, Tony isn’t about to let go of the chance to pick out his own costume for the very first time. He carefully scans every option to make sure that he hasn't missed anything on the racks, while Steve patiently trails him with Peter on his hip, gripping his packaged costume in a frighteningly tight grip. Whenever Tony stops to take a longer look at a costume, Steve asks him if it’s “the one,” but none of them feel right. 

They didn’t come with a specific idea in mind, but Tony finds what he’s looking for towards the back of the section. The display picture shows a white and blue jumpsuit with a checkered panel along the side, printed with logos of various auto part suppliers, and most visibly, a classic NASCAR logo placed along the back of the jacket with the title “Professional Racer”. Like Peter’s, this costume comes with a helmet and matching gloves so that Tony can have the complete authentic look. 

Tony doesn’t even have the chance to ask before Steve is expertly and one-handedly rifling through the rack for his size, grinning like Tony picking out a costume has been the best part of his day. Two costumes in hand, Steve takes him and Peter to the dressing room, both boys buzzing with excitement.

The costume fits perfectly. Tony bounces his way to the front desk to meet up with the others. Clint, the only one who knew what they wanted when they entered the store, is happily clutching a Robin Hood costume with a plastic bow and arrow in a separate accessory bag. Natasha proudly shows Steve the white and gold Cleopatra dress and matching black wig she chose from the girls’ section. 

Equally regal but feminine, and totally unique, Tony is of the opinion that there is no better costume that would fit Natasha’s personality. She beams at him when he tells her so. It might be the biggest smile he’s ever seen on her face. He feels a glow of honor in his chest that he was able to make her smile like that. 

Later that same night, Steve lays out a plastic sheet over the kitchen table. Clint distributes six pumpkins to everyone’s usual seat, matching the pumpkins size order to the family’s. He makes a point of measuring the two biggest pumpkins, height and width, while Steve watches on with annoyance and Bucky with amusement. 

It seems that Steve doesn’t appreciate the reminder that Bucky is an inch and a half taller than him. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind it at all, if the way he childishly pokes his tongue out at Steve is any indication. 

Natasha scrolls through Steve’s phone to search for interesting jack-o-lanterns, passing it around until everyone chooses the design they want Steve to carve into their pumpkins. Tony’s seen Steve sketch a few times in a book, carefully moving his pencil just so and smudging lines to make shadows. Steve’s sketches are detailed in a way that makes Tony wonder if they should be in a museum. Tony’s never been to one. 

Tony asked, somewhere around the end of August as Steve was sketching the skyline of the neighborhood during a sunset, if Steve’s art was famous. Steve had chuckled and told him he was an average artist compared to museum artists, but the blush on his cheeks told Tony that Steve took the comment as a compliment. 

Now, Steve carefully copies the expressions on Natasha’s photos onto their own pumpkins in permanent marker, a stark contrast to his usual artistic pasttime. On Peter’s tiny pumpkin, Steve outlines an equally tiny telltale portrait of Woody’s face and cowboy hat. Clint and Natasha pick out scary faces with wild eyes and smiles of long, sharp teeth. Peter makes Clint promise that the scary pumpkins stay outside on the porch, to which Clint easily agrees. “They’re scarier outside anyway”, he murmurs to Natasha, who nods in agreement. 

Bucky picks an outline of a skeleton, which Steve personalizes with thin lines across the left arm to mirror the plates of Bucky’s metal one. Steve chooses to decorate the entire surface of his pumpkin with eyes of varying shapes and sizes, looking in all different directions. 

Tony knows he doesn’t want a scary face, but it takes him too long to figure out just what he was thinking of. Natasha has an idea to search instead for science drawings instead, scrolling through pictures of chemistry beakers and Frankenstein faces until he finds the right one. 

“This one!” He excitedly turns the phone to Steve. 

Dutifully and carefully, Steve traces the shape of a robot onto the surface of the pumpkin, customizing it to Tony’s specifications, complete with grab-claw hands and wheels for feet. 

A half hour later, Steve holds his hand firmly over Tony’s, guiding the large kitchen knife firmly through the membrane of the pumpkin to cut out the shape of the charming little robot. 

It’s the first Jack-O-Lantern Tony has ever made. Bucky says they’ll probably last between two to three weeks, but Tony hopes it won't rot for a long, long time. 

---

The night before Halloween, the house is nearly electrified with the constant thrum of anticipation and excitement. To keep on theme, Steve and Bucky let everyone pick a Halloween movie to watch after dinner in the week leading up to the holiday. Peter hasn’t been eager for the spooky sights and sounds awaiting the big day, but Clint has done such a great job getting him so hyped up for the candy that he’ll be getting that the little boy asks Steve on Halloween morning for less cereal than usual so he can “save room for the candy.” 

The school and Peter’s daycare allow the kids to wear costumes to school. Tony is jittering in the car on the drive over, ready to show off his hand-picked costume and see what his classmates are wearing. 

Even the teachers are dressed up. Mr. Banner comes in wearing a vintage-style three piece suit, with his hair slicked back and a fake mustache taped on his face. The class holds a game to guess who he is dressed as: Nicola Tesla. Mr. Banner spends the rest of the day teaching them all about Halloween history, traditions, and about the real-life people some of the class are dressed as. 

Pepper is dressed as Audrey Hepburn from the movie Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Mr. Banner types her name into the computer on his desk to learn that in World War II, before Audrey was a famous movie star, she was a ballet dancer who held performances to raise money to fight the German army. When she got older, she spent a lot of time doing charity work for poor communities around the wall. 

Pepper spent the rest of the day beaming at her choice of costume.

James is wearing the telltale khaki and yellow overalls of a firefighter. He chose the costume for his grandfather, who James says was the youngest man to ever join his firehouse and later became the youngest fire chief in the county's history. James tells the class that his grandfather has a wall full of plaques and medals for his outstanding service. 

The excitement at school keeps Tony’s nerves at bay about the other big event happening today. Tony is finally going to meet Steve’s foster dad. 

Steve’s dad Phil lives in an apartment building with two foster sons, teenage boys. They usually came to trick-or-treat with Steve and Bucky in the bigger neighborhood, where there are more decorations to enjoy and kids to walk around with 

Clint had assured Tony that Sam and Scott, Phil’s foster kids, are cool older kids, but Tony still can’t shake the fear that always rises up in his throat at the notion of meeting new people. 

Sam is a quiet Black teenager, already 16 and much taller than Clint, but filled out in a way that says he was active. He’s dressed as a lumberjack in a red plaid shirt with a utility belt, begrudgingly muttering to Clint that Scott wouldn’t let him not wear a costume on Halloween. 

Clint excitedly reports to Tony that Sam is going to join the Air Force and one day would fly them to vacations wherever they wanted. Sam laughs. “Air Force isn’t gonna let me come by and be your personal pilot, Clint.”

“Well, they should! What’s the point of learning how to fly a plane if you can’t use it to go wherever you want?”

Natasha shrugs her shoulders. “He does kind of have a point. Job should come with perks. And you’re gonna live at your job.” Sam rolls his eyes, unamused. 

Scott, on the other hand, is quite an energetic 15-year-old. His personality reminds Tony a lot of Clint, loud and smiling and cracking jokes without pausing. Scott has a passion for magic, and arrives dressed as a stereotypical wizard, complete with purple robes and a tall pointy hat. Peter and Tony are especially impressed when Scott actually shows them a few magic tricks, like making a scarf disappear or doubling marbles in his hand.  

Phil, Steve’s foster dad, is...younger than Tony expects. Tony has been picturing someone old , with gray hair and glasses, but seeing Phil in person, Tony would have guessed he was Steve’s older brother, not his dad. His hair is sandy brown like Clint’s, with brown eyes settled in slightly crinkled lids, the only real wrinkles on his face. Dressed in a simple gray button down and jeans, Phil looks like the kind of man no one looks twice at. 

It doesn’t take long for Tony to realize that Steve learned a lot of his mannerisms from Phil. Logically, Tony knows that Steve and Bucky wouldn’t have invited someone untrustworthy into their home, but the instinct of fear still makes his brain go fuzzy when Phil walks into the house. 

That fear starts to die down gradually when Phil carefully crouches down to meet Tony’s eyes and softly greets, “It’s very nice to meet you, Tony.” Like Bucky had done when he first met Tony, Phil doesn’t hold out a hand to shake. Instead, he gives a little wave. 

Still pressed tightly against Steve’s side, Tony offers Phil a wave of his own. When Phil rises to stand, Tony notices a flash of gold inside his pants pocket. 

“What’s that?” Tony asks quietly, but he doesn't really need to. From his angle, the outline of a badge is easy to make out. 

“Oh! You’ve got good eyes.” Phil pulls it out of his pocket to show him. “It’s my FBI badge.”

Clint bursts out from behind him, “Uncle Phil’s a spy!”

Phil rolls his eyes but smiles. “Hardly. I work in a field office nearby. I’m an investigator, which is a very fancy way of saying that I sit at a desk and do a lot of research and fact-checking.”

“Isn’t that exactly what a spy would say?” Clint counters, to a chorus of snickering from Sam, Scott, and Natasha. Bucky ruffles his hair. “Stop being a punk,” he chides. 

“I don’t think Phil’s slick enough to be a real spy,” Scott chimes in. “He drives a Buick! I didn’t even know they made those anymore until I came to his house.”

“It’s the perfect cover. Who would suspect a guy like Phil in a Buick to be a spy?” Natasha squints at Phil, like if she looks at him long enough she can figure it out. It only feeds into Tony’s suspicion that Natasha has the power to see right through people.

Tony must look a little convinced of the kids’ suspicions. Phil leans down to whisper in his ear, “If I was a spy, I’d only tell you, just to bother the rest of them.” He tries at a wink, not at all sly or successful, which sends Tony into a mess of giggling.  

Scott breaks the moment. “It’s time for the candy hunt, let’s go!” Bucky slings a backpack full of sweaters and a couple of pillowcases to carry any candy overflow over his shoulders. Steve hands Peter and Tony pumpkin buckets while the others get a variety of big canvas bags.  

Peter’s mood has quickly elevated from tentative anticipation to a tangible, infectious excitement. Even Sam, convinced he’s too old to trick-or-treat with little kids, smiles as they exit the house, adjusting his plaid shirt. Last year, Steve had pushed Peter in the stroller to make him more comfortable with the parade of kids around him. This year, Peter insists on walking with his siblings. He won’t even let Steve bring the stroller in case he gets tired, pushing it back into the hallway closet. 

“Imma big boy, Daddy,” he declares, hand placed firmly on his hips over his costume, inadvertently mimicking Buzz Lightyear himself. “I walk with Clinty and Tashy and Tony.”

Clint blushes, glancing at Sam and Scott for some kind of negative reaction. Clint always gets a little embarrassed at being called “Clinty” by his baby brother around people who aren’t family, but Tony thinks it’s kind of sweet that Peter wants to have his own nicknames for his siblings. Peter especially loves that they all rhyme with “Petey”. More than once, Tony has caught Peter naming his toys “Clinty, Tashy, Tony, Petey” in a sing-song manner that sounded suspiciously close to the rhythm of a certain cartoon theme song. 

Peter’s cuteness aside, Tony actually really likes hearing Peter list off everyone’s names in a rhyme. Every time he hears it, it makes him feel like he... belongs . His name matches everyone else’s, and Peter never hesitates to include Tony in the list, in his age order. Like he’s always been there. 

That feeling only blooms bigger in his chest when Peter holds onto Tony’s hand as they walk down the sidewalk. 

Peter wants to hold Natasha’s hand too, but they can’t quite fit all three of them. He settles on holding Tony’s hand while the older kids go ahead and “scout” out the houses. 

Most of the houses have had their decorations out for weeks, so Peter’s seen them on walks and drives, but everyone is on the lookout for sudden movements and loud noises that might scare the youngest boy. Nobody wants a meltdown on Peter’s first “big boy” trick-or-treat run. 

At least Steve convinced Peter that he can walk on his own if he wears his little earplugs, so exciting shrieking and yelling from other kids doesn’t make Peter jumpy. 

Tony doesn’t want to admit out loud that he keeps holding Peter’s hand so he won’t get spooked either. Last year, Tony had been caught off guard by a few too many jump-scare props. 

Thankfully, Peter and Tony only have to wait on the sidewalk for a few houses that have something that might spook Peter. At other houses where the decorations are small, Scott dramatically fans out his robes to block Peter’s view, declaring loudly “You shall not see!”. Tony knows it must be a joke, because Sam and the adults laugh loudly. Tony doesn’t get it, but he’s happy that they have so many people looking out for Peter. 

Peter is downright ecstatic when his bucket is filled and he gets to dump it into the pillowcase Bucky holds out to him. “Papa, I got too many candies! I can’t hold’em all!” he giggles as he watches the candy waterfall out from his bucket. 

For Tony, his favorite part of the night is all the people complimenting his costume. He didn't think it would be so fun, showing off the costume he wanted to wear instead of one he had to. Some nice older ladies even ask him what kind of car he drove to win the “champion” title on the costume’s chest. 

Tony is happy to answer that his favorite racing car is the Ford Mustang GT. Sure, it’s a rare winner at NASCAR, but he loves the car anyway. People seem impressed that he actually knows about cars, which only makes Tony’s chest puff up in a rare display of pride. 

Tony’s second favorite part of the night is Peter. The little boy is reluctant to let go of Tony’s hand the whole night, insisting that Tony is “keeping monsters away.” 

A few people notice Peter’s attachment to Tony, making comments that the two are adorable in their costumes and must be having a fun night. One of their neighbors, an old grey-haired lady with two corgis who they frequently see on walks, asks Peter if his big brother is watching out for him. 

Immediately, the hair on Tony’s neck stands up. It’s always such a strange feeling, when someone assumes Tony really belongs and he has to correct them, explain that he’s only a temporary addition to a family because he doesn’t have one of his own. 

But before Tony can cut in and say that he isn’t really Peter’s brother, the younger boy nods back at her, that funnily serious expression on his face, and answers, “Tony always watch me. He’s a good brother, like Clinty.” Next to them, Natasha beams at Peter, while Clint lightly runs a tickle over Peter’s side. “Aww, thanks Petey.”

The lady must like that answer, because she gives all the kids extra candy for doing “such an important job” of keeping their little brother safe. 

A smile is plastered on Tony’s face for the rest of the night, so grateful that a stranger gave him such a big compliment. Hearing Steve and Bucky’s praise sometimes makes him think they just say those things because they try to be nice, but the neighbor lady doesn’t know him. 

She’s never seen his case file. She doesn’t know his problems. She has no reason to lie or try to make him feel better. She just saw Tony doing a good thing and told him so. 

It makes him feel proud of himself. Tony has been doing so well that even strangers see it. 

They’re out “candy-hunting” for four hours, until finally the adults deem that completely full bags of candy and darkening skies mean it’s time to turn in. Peter, expectedly, conceded defeat three hours in, tired from walking and carrying his bucket. Steve carries him up to doors to collect his treats for the final hour, not wanting to keep Peter out of the fun. 

The older kids seem tired too, but unwilling to admit it. Tony, on the other hand, is ready to eat dinner, tear into some candy, and head to bed. Excitement has been rushing through his veins all day, and his body is finally running out of energy. 

At the table, in between bites of pasta, the kids trade their unwanted candies back and forth. Almond Joys to Clint, Milky Ways to Scott, Snickers to Natasha. Tony gives Peter two handfuls of Smarties from his own bucket. Natasha drops an entire pile of Sour Patch Kids into Tony’s arms, making a face as she confesses that she hates sour candies. She hands Clint her sour Skittles. Scott gifts Sam a collection of Dots boxes for trick-or-treating without complaining that he’s too old. 

Clint wants to take the leftover candy from the bowl on their porch for himself, but Bucky holds it over the boy’s head with his metal arm, citing a “candy payment” for carrying all the excess treats in his backpack. Bucky grins wide as Clint whines all the way to bed.  And if, an hour later, Tony lays in bed and hears any suspicious crinkling of wrappers after Steve had very sternly divvied up their spoils into the pantry with a warning of absolutely no candy in bed , well, that’s between Tony and Clint, isn’t it.

Chapter Text

November chills have settled into Tony’s bones. Winters has always been Tony's least favorite season. Too many days spent shivering under thin jackets have taken away his ability to appreciate the cold. 

Steve is especially concerned about Tony’s wardrobe. He checks Tony’s outfit every day before school, making sure he’s properly layered in sweaters and feet tucked tightly into thick socks that Steve approves of. 

A box is delivered to the house a week after Halloween, filled with winter bubble jackets for the kids to try on. Natasha is the only one who hasn’t outgrown her coat from last year, and the thickest thing Tony had brought with him on his first day was a single fleece sweater. 

Tony’s new coat is easily the warmest piece of clothing he’s ever owned. Steve tells him it’s made of a special kind of thermo-regulated fabric that keeps all the heat inside. Tony never wants to grow out of it. 

Natasha can’t wait for snowfall. In the yard, Tony catches her critically looking at the sky, brows furrowed with intent. 

When Tony looks up in the same direction, he doesn’t see anything. “What are you looking at?”

“I’m looking for snow clouds.” 

Tony looks back up to the sky, trying to find something unusual about them. “How do you know if they’re snow clouds?”

“Sometimes they’re really white, and they look softer. They’re usually really high in the sky, not low like rain clouds. They’re always really fat, though. Like those huge jumbo marshmallows Clint tried to get at the store.”

Tony snorts. Clint had made a valiant argument that Saturday, pleading with Steve, but the father had only caved to a small bag of regular sized marshmallows. 

“You can smell it too,” Natasha continues. “There’s always this...smell...in the air before it snows.”

“Snow doesn’t have a smell, Nat.”

“I don't know how to explain it. It doesn’t smell much like anything, just...different. Clean, crisp. The air feels sharp.” Natasha takes a big whiff of the air to demonstrate. “Not there yet, though.”

Tony follows her example and smells the air. It’s the usual scent of Bucky’s meticulously kept lawn, dry leaves, and wood from the playhouse. “How did you learn that?”

Natasha’s smile is wistful. “My mom always said she could smell it when it snowed.”

Tony can’t help the surprised expression he sends at her. Tony is careful not to ask about things that happened before she was placed here, but this is different. Natasha has never once offered up information about her life before foster care. 

Tony knows she must have had a family at some point, but he’s begun to wonder if Natasha is one of those unfortunate kids who was taken into the system as a baby and doesn’t even remember their real parents. 

The question comes out before he’s even really completed the thought. “You remember her?”

Natasha turns to face him. Her face is so open and vulnerable. Her eyes are soft and shiny, but there isn’t a threat of tears. Tony’s never seen her like that. 

“She was beautiful. That’s all anyone ever said about her.” Her gaze travels back to the sky. Tony knows not to ask any more of her. 

“Will you tell me when you can smell the snow? I wanna see if I can smell it, too.” 

Natasha smiles, but doesn’t take her gaze off the clouds. “Yeah. I’ll tell you.”

It isn’t even him who notices the phone ringing when they walk inside. People call Steve all the time - according to Bucky, Steve is awful at texting - but something about the ringtone, or maybe the way Steve answers the phone as he checks over Tony’s spelling sheet at the dinner table, makes Natasha look up sharply at her father. 

When Steve stands to take the call in the office, Tony knows it’s something serious. Natasha lays a hand on his arm. “Don’t get freaked out. It could be nothing at all.”

Steve’s face when he emerges from the office clearly says it was something , but he keeps quiet about it until after dinner. Clint and Natasha wash the dishes while Steve and Bucky pull Tony into the office. 

“Is it my dad?” 

Tony can’t keep it in any longer. He has to know. 

Bucky sighs. “Ms. Hill called us earlier. She told us that your dad was let out of prison last month.”

Last month.  

“Is-is he coming for me?”

“No, Tony, absolutely not.” Steve’s expression is firm. “We told you before, right? He doesn’t know where you are, and no one will tell him.”

“You said I would have to go on visits with him!” Tony is suddenly disoriented, anxiety taking hold and causing his pulse to start racing through his body, heavy and thick. 

“No, buddy, no.” Bucky shifts closer on the couch, gently pulling the boy into his side. “We said he could ask to have visits, but for now that hasn’t happened. He hasn’t called anyone to ask about you.”

That information doesn't reassure him. 

Steve sees through him easily. “Tony, I don’t want you to keep worrying about what might happen. If your dad asks for a visit, if , you won’t ever be alone with him. If you go for a visit, you’ll go to Ms. Hill’s office, and she’ll be in the room with you and your dad the whole time. We’ll go with you, we will stay as close as you want. I promise you, bud, you will never be alone with him on a visit if you don’t want to be.”

Tony latches onto that. He remembers his dad liked to pretend. Hitting and yelling only ever happened at home, when it was just him and his mom and his dad. If Steve and Bucky are with him, his dad probably won’t try to hurt him. Maybe. 

Then again, if his dad does try to hurt him, Tony is pretty sure Steve and Bucky would fight him. Bucky used to be a wrestler when he was a teenager, and Steve was in the army. They know how to protect him. 

The reminder that Steve and Bucky can physically protect Tony in an emergency begins to unravel the knot of fear in his throat. Just a bit. 

That night, Tony has nightmares about hands grabbing, glass breaking, flashing lights and sirens. Twice he wakes up by himself, but the third time, he opens his eyes to find Steve sitting on the floor next to Tony’s bed, rubbing a hand up and down Tony’s back. The room has started to get gray, and the alarm clock on Clint’s side reads 4:30 AM. Earlier than Steve usually wakes up for his run. 

“Was I screaming again?” Tony asks, still haunted by the memory of his first night terror here. 

Steve smiles sadly. “No, pal. No screaming. Still got plenty of time before 7. You wanna try to sleep some more? You can come in with me and Buck, if you want.”

Tony thinks about it for a second, but he doesn’t want to be a bother. Bucky already took extra time last night to tuck Tony into bed. Besides, Clint is in the room with him, so he isn’t alone. 

“I’m ok here.”

“Ok, Tones. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.” Flicking on the white noise machine again, Steve moves his hand up to Tony’s head, calmly running his fingers through Tony’s hair and giving his neck that nice little soft stroke that Tony loves. 

Tony wants to tell Steve that he isn’t a baby like Peter, he doesn’t need a bath routine and a bedtime story and snuggles until he falls asleep. But the truth is, Tony really, really likes having someone next to him. Having Steve and Bucky make sure that Tony is comfy, and not anxious, and feeling safe. Having people... there when he needs them. Wants them. 

It’s what family is supposed to feel like. 

---

True to their promise, two days after their trip to the apple orchard, Steve and Bucky unearth Clint’s old bike from the garage and screw on training wheels onto the back wheel. Tony would’ve been more embarrassed by needing training wheels at the age of 7 if he wasn’t so grateful for the guarantee that he wasn’t going to fall right on his face. 

Steve outfitted him in a helmet, but skipped the knee and elbow pads until Tony was ready to take off the training wheels. He adjusted the seat on the bike to the lowest possible point, just enough for Tony to sit and steady himself with the toes of his shoes. Steve’s face had pinched when Tony couldn't place his heels down flat. “He’ll grow, Steve,” Bucky told him. “Heels not touching is not a reason to get another bike that he’s just gonna grow out of in six months.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue. “Bu-”

“Don’t you dare say we can keep it for Peter. I know your tricks. He’ll be fine on this one, and so will Pete after him.”

Tony had stifled a laugh at Steve’s crestfallen expression. The night before, Bucky caught Steve writing up what Bucky called a “gargantuan” Christmas shopping list, and threatened to steal Steve’s wallet if he didn’t promise to keep his purchases under control. 

“Papa says you have a shopping addiction,” Natasha pointed out to Steve. 

“I don’t have a shopping addiction ,” Steve had muttered under his breath, shooting Bucky an unhappy glare. “Papa and I just have different opinions on how to budget. And Papa doesn’t have my talent of finding awesome gifts.” Bucky had simply snorted, unamused, and turned back to the stove, muttering to himself. 

With the training wheels, it was easy to get the bike moving. Even without the threat of falling, Bucky jogged alongside Tony on the bike for a whole afternoon and again the next day, giving Tony directions on how to steady his bars, feel out the movement of turns, and gauge the distance he needed to brake safely. 

Today, after a week of practicing, Bucky insists that Tony is ready to try taking the training wheels off. 

Natasha lays her hand over Tony’s as they watch Bucky fiddle with the screwdriver. “You’ll be okay,” she murmurs. 

Even trapped by her hand, Tony’s fingers ache to start picking at the skin around his cuticles. “I’m gonna fall.”

“Yeah, you’ll fall.”

Tony turns wide eyes on her. “Why would you say that?”

Clint pipes up from the doorway behind them. “She’s right, you’ll fall. It’s ok, though. When I learned I fell like fifty times. It’s how you learn.”

It doesn’t sound like Tony is about to have a pleasant day. “I don’t wanna do it if I’m gonna fall.” 

Natasha squeezes his hand. “The point isn’t that you’re gonna fall. It’s that you get back up and try again. You can't always be good at everything on the first try.”

Tony mulls that over. Mr. Banner says that no one is born knowing how to do anything , they have to learn it by watching and trying. No one invented anything on their very first try. Maybe a couple of falls aren’t going to be that bad. 

Besides, the way Steve dressed him this morning and attached what seems like every form of body padding available to his body before he even let Tony out the door at least ensures that Tony isn’t going to lose a limb today. 

That thought is less reassuring once Tony is actually seated on the bike. 

“I’m wiggling!” he nearly screeches. Bucky is firmly holding the bike at the handlebars. “It’s just because the kickstand’s up, pal. You’ll get more balanced once you start moving. You think you’re settled?”

Shakily, Tony shrugs. Bucky promises to keep a hold of the bike as he moves. Tony’s seen the trick on TV, dads promising not to let go and then doing it anyway. This morning, Bucky promised at least twenty times that he wasn’t going to let go, and then hooked his pinky finger over Tony’s to prove how serious he was. Clint says pinky promises are sacred. 

Now, Steve watches from a few feet away in the park while Clint and Natasha keep Peter occupied with a game of catch. 

“Ok, I’m gonna just grab the seat so you can move the bike on your own. You remember to keep your bars steady and you’ll be fine.”

Hesitantly, Tony nods. “Ok, I think I’m ready.”

Bucky grins at him. “Alright. Keep your hands steady.” Quick as lightning, Bucky rounds to the side of the bike. “Ok, good job. Now I’m gonna let go just for a second, I want to see you touch your toes to the ground so you can practice stopping safely.”

Tony is pretty sure that part is just to make him - and Steve - feel better. Even still, making sure just one more time that he can catch himself if he starts to tilt does give him a little more confidence to start moving. 

“Don’t be afraid to pedal, right? If you go too slow you’re not gonna be able to balance yourself and keep moving.”

Tony is still hesitant to move, but he knows he has to do it. Frightening as the thought of falling might be, Tony wants to learn. He wants to ride around the block with Clint and Natasha. He wants to feel normal. 

Normal kids know how to ride a bike by his age. They all have parents who care enough to teach them how. It’s embarrassing to admit he can’t do it. 

It’s more embarrassing, almost shameful, that he doesn’t know because no one has ever taught him. It isn’t his fault, but it still follows him around like a dark cloud. 

There’s already so much about his life that isn’t normal. He wants just one thing to believe he can be like other kids, just one. This can be his thing. 

Tony takes a few deep breaths, like Darcy had taught him in therapy. It turns out she was right. Sometimes a few breaths really do help. 

“Think you’re ready, Tones?” Bucky is waiting for him. They always wait for him. 

“Yeah.” Tony nods, even if he isn't completely sure of himself. “I’m ready.”

“Ok, let’s start with just going in a straight line. Up to that tree. You can do it.”

Tony forces himself to move his feet over the pedals. He puts a little more force into it now that the bike is only on two wheels, needing a little more speed to keep the bike moving forward and upright without the extra support. He can feel how carefully Bucky is holding the seat, making sure not to push him along so that Tony can really feel how much force he needs to keep traveling. 

The first ride is shaky. He tilts from one side to the other, but he’s able to stop himself before Bucky needs to straighten him out. Bucky’s really proud of him for that. Once they reach the oak tree, Bucky guides Tony through maneuvering the handlebars into a turn so they can head back for Steve. 

The way back is easier on the ride, probably thanks to the downhill slope of the ground, but Tony doesn’t quite manage to stop himself in time to avoid hitting Steve. Thankfully, the blonde man catches the handlebards heading right for his stomach with a laugh and an excited “look at you go!” that leaves Tony grinning. He’s ready to try again. 

Bucky turns him around and makes him go back to the oak, a little faster this time. He has to do a brisk walk to keep up with the bike, which Tony catches out of the corner of his eye. Bucky’s little bun bounces with every step, cartoonish and silly, almost distracting Tony from keeping his eye on the road. 

When he gets himself to stop at the right place, Tony bursts with a disbelieving laugh. “I didn’t crash!” Bucky is grinning back at him. 

“See? A little practice to get the feel of it, and you’ll be chasing Clint by tomorrow.”

Even as he sits on the bike, lightened with the first success of the day, the idea sounds ridiculous to Tony. “Do you really think I can ride by myself that fast?”

He shouldn’t have asked. Bucky get a glint in his eyes at that. “I think we can try. You feel okay trying to get to Steve on your own? I’ll make sure you’re steady before I let go, I promise.”

Tony bites his lip. 

“We don’t have to. Like we said earlier. I’m not gonna let go unless you tell me to.”

Tony mulls it over. “Can...can we go one more time and then try?”

Bucky looks pleased. “Yeah, bud. ‘Course we can.”

Tony doesn’t crash into Steve this time, but he does cut the turn a touch too close for comfort. He wobbles more on the way back to the tree, sure that Bucky has loosened his grip to give Tony more independence, but he manages to keep himself upright. Steve cups his hands over his mouth to yell out a cheer when Tony makes a smooth stop just before the tree. 

“Okay. I wanna try it by myself.”

True to his word, Bucky kept a grip on the bike until the halfway point, leaving Tony to pedal himself back to Steve the rest of the way. The ride isn’t smooth, but Tony stops himself before falling. He looks up at Steve. 

“I wanna go the whole way back by myself.”

Steve’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “You sure?”

Tony nods. He’s sure. He wants to try. He wants to learn . Bucky thinks he can learn in a day. Tony wants to see if that’s true. 

Steve gives him a little push to get his speed going, but releases Tony to navigate himself back to Bucky at the tree. 

Tony is almost there when he tilts too much to the right and falls. Bucky is next to him in a second, lifting the bike off of him before Tony can even register the fall. 

“You okay, pal?” Bucky gently takes hold of Tony’s helmet with both hands, eyes running up and down his body for any injuries. 

There isn’t any need. “I’m okay! I didn’t even get a scratch!” To prove it, Tony holds up his palms, the only part of his body not layered in clothes and padding. The skin of his right hand, the one he used to cushion the fall, is dirty and dented from hitting the ground, but otherwise completely intact. 

Tony remembers what Natasha said about getting up after the fall. Sure, the falling is scary in the moment, but he isn’t hurt, thanks to Steve’s insistence on safety wear. And now that he’s fallen once, the fear of the possibility is leeching away, leaving behind only determination to finish what he started. He’d made it almost the entire way to Bucky before he fell. He can go the entire length of the road this time. He can feel it. He tells Bucky so. 

This time, Tony keeps pedaling when he feels the wheels underneath him start to become unstable. He keeps his eyes on Steve, watching the man become bigger and bigger in his field of vision until finally, he squeezes the handlebar brake and stops, neatly, six inches from Steve’s toes. 

“I DID IT!!!” Tony yells across the air. Without thinking, he pumps his arms into the air triumphantly, and almost chokes on an incredulous laugh when Steve’s face shifts from immense pride to a millisecond of panic as his arms grab onto the bike to prevent another tumble. 

“You did, pal! You did so good!” Steve scoops Tony up from under his arms, pulling him close and pressing a long, loud kiss onto his cheek. “I am so proud of you, Tony. SO proud!” He punctuates the sentence with another kiss, then another. 

Clint, Natasha, and Peter run up to him from the grassy patch, cheering along the way. Steve sets him down to be swallowed up into a group hug by the other three, Clint knocking on his helmet while Peter pats Tony’s arms and asks nervously, “No boo-boos?”

Natasha grabs Tony’s hands to display them to the little boy. “No boo-boos, Petey.”

Tony is sure the smile Peter gives him can light up a dark sky. 

Three hours and a lunch later, Tony rides his bike down the entire length of their block, without anyone holding him or needing to stop him before he crashes. The whole ride, he giggles uncontrollably, chest full and warm with the knowledge that something he once dreamed about is now his reality. 

--

Thanksgiving is tied with Halloween as Clint’s favorite holiday. Really, Tony should have guessed. 

It is also, apparently, Natasha and Bucky’s favorite holiday. Since the beginning of the month, Steve and Bucky have been telling Tony that Thanksgiving in their family means a trip to Bucky’s parents’ home in the Poconos. At therapy, the week before the holiday, Bucky carefully lays out the plans for the weekend so that Tony knows what to expect. Tony is especially nervous about meeting Bucky’s family in person for the first time, but Darcy talks about how Tony has done a lot of new things since coming to Steve’s and Bucky’s house that turned out not to be as scary as he thought. 

Maybe Darcy is right. Tony thought riding a bike would be really, really scary. But he’s learned how to do it perfectly in just a week. He’s fallen a bunch of times, but he’s been able to get back up every time. Darcy tells him that people never know how something will turn out until they try. 

Tony also knows that Natasha, Clint, and Peter liked Bucky’s parents. They call him every Tuesday night, and he passes the phone to each of the kids so they can say their hellos. Bucky told Tony the first time that he didn’t have to talk if he didn't want to, which was a relief to hear. Bucky’s mom still insisted on seeing him and saying hello. Tony started saying hello back to her after a couple of weeks, feeling rude about ignoring her when she was just being nice. 

Now, Tony takes his turn after Clint to tell them about his week. Bucky’s dad is really interested in talking about science with him. 

On Wednesday night, after they come home from school, Tony carefully packs up everything he might want to bring with him to Bucky’s parents’ house. Steve has already loaded a container full of Legos into the van next to a bag that held Peter’s favorite toys, blankets, books, and games. Clint and Natasha have less stuff to bring - a few video games, a couple of DVDs. 

With Tony’s input, Natasha chooses two board games from the few that Steve labelled as “simple enough for Deda to play”. When Tony asked, Natasha looked at him slyly and told him Bucky’s father got a little too competitive at childrens’ games. Monopoly was banned after a few too many accusations of hiding money. 

The drive to the Poconos is long, but weirdly peaceful. Tony finds that everyone’s enthusiasm at the vacation is easing his fears instead of agitating them. Natasha loves the loft bedroom that the kids are all going to sleep in - she says the big window and the short ceilings over the mattresses make her feel like she’s camping. Peter has been ready to eat Bucky’s mom’s cooking since last week. Clint is simply excited to help Bucky’s dad chop wood, finally considered old enough to man a weapon with adult supervision. 

Tony has only been to visit relatives of his foster parents a few times. He always felt left out, sticking out like a sore thumb and ignored by aunts or uncles or grandparents. Everyone seemed aware that he wasn’t one of the real kids, and made no effort to hide it. 

Once, he’d gone with Mrs. Walsh’s family to see her parents for Christmas. She tried for days to get a babysitter for Tony, with no luck, so he had to tag along. It was obvious no one was expecting him to come. All the other presents were carefully selected for each child, toys and games and new clothes, wrapped in paper adorned with winter characters. Tony had gotten a package of socks with cartoon foods printed on them and a sweater two sizes too big, still holding a tag with a bright green “60% off sticker”, presented in a plain silver bag. 

Tony had almost wished he hadn’t gotten anything at all, but the truth was he’d never felt so noticed by a stranger. He wore those socks almost every day until holes started to appear, and it had hurt to watch Mrs. Dwolinski toss them in the trash the next year. She’d never liked them anyway, said they were too flashy, and preferred to make him wear plain, white socks. 

Until he’d come to Steve and Bucky, he’d never gotten another gift from anyone in his foster families. Now, new things are a regular occurrence for him. In the car, everyone is wearing their new coats - except Natasha, who still fit into last year’s and insisted she didn’t want a new one anyway. Nothing he owns in Steve and Bucky’s house came from a Goodwill or Salvation Army, but were bought brand new, just for him. They never make him feel any less than the other kids, never treat him like he’s temporary. It’s hard not to get too attached to this kind of treatment. 

When they arrive at Bucky’s parents house, Tony’s surprised. Clint described his grandparents as living in the middle of the woods, but they live in something like a village. A single main road leads in and out of town, but houses are lined on private streets, set a good distance from the road and far apart from other houses. 

Tony can smell the food cooking before they even walk through the door. Bucky’s parents emerge from the kitchen at the sound of bags dropping. 

Bucky’s parents are young. Or at least, younger than Tony expects for grandparents. There are childhood pictures of Bucky and Steve at home, scattered around walls and shelves, but Bucky’s parents don’t look much older than they do in the photos. Just how old are Steve and Bucky, if their parents barely have wrinkles? 

Bucky’s dad, George, is tall just like his son, with dark hair graying at the temples and soft, dark eyes. Bucky’s mom, Winnie, looks...well, she looked a lot like Bucky. His build and height are from his father, but Bucky has his mother’s face, from the chin to the nose to their identical sharp, grey-blue eyes. Her hair is a dark copper, wavy and thick. 

“Well hello!” Bucky’s mom greets cheerily. “I only just saw you and you’re taller already!” 

“I grew a whole inch, Baba!” Clint chirps as he wraps his arms around her middle. Natasha runs to join him, muttering, “ Half an inch, Clint. Don’t exaggerate.”

Bucky’s dad comes up to kiss Peter, still in Steve’s arms, then bends down to meet Tony’s eyes. “This strapping young man must be Tony, huh? Now I’ve only seen you on a phone screen, but I must say, you’re much more handsome in person!”

Tony nods, blushing at the compliment. Bucky’s dad reaches out his hand. Tony gingerly takes it, shaking it up and down once. “It’s very nice to meet you officially, Tony. We’ve been excited to meet you for a very long time.”

“Really?” That seems unreal, that someone would be excited to meet him. 

George smiles softly, and Tony feels like he’s back at his first day with Steve and Bucky, disarmed by big men looking so soft and gentle . “Of course! You’re a part of the family now.”

“Oh.” It isn’t much, but Bucky’s dad doesn’t seem to expect Tony to say any more. 

Steve herds the kids and their bags to the back of the house and up a little half-staircase to the little loft room they’ll be staying in. It isn’t very tall, and the V-shaped ceiling that Steve’s head brushes up against has Tony thinking this must have been the attic once. The window Natasha loves takes up most of the wall opposite the entrance, and has a beautiful view of the woods surrounding the house. 

The biggest boxspring and mattress that Tony has ever seen is laid out on the floor, with piles of pillows and blankets folded on the foot. There’s just enough space on each side of the mattress to walk around the room, but otherwise, it’s just a bed in a room. Tony can't wait to lay down and see the stars through the glass. 

It turns out that Steve was right, all those months ago. Bucky got his cooking skills from his mom, who is a phenomenal cook. Winnie makes everything from scratch - bread, jams, pickles and pickled foods, even yogurt , and says she didn’t trust frozen foods. Winnie tells him, as she kneads dough that night, that she and George were both children of Russian immigrants and had grown up in the same neighborhood in Brooklyn. Winnie learned to cook from her mom, who grew up very poor and had to make as much food as possible herself to save money. 

Winnie also cooks enough to feed at least three extra people. Even though Thanksgiving is tomorrow, Winnie lays out a complete four course dinner that night, with soup, pasta, chicken and dumplings, and a homemade peach cobbler with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream. Tony’s never had cobbler before. It’s so good, he and Clint have to settle on splitting the last piece. 

A scramble ensues after dinner to figure out who will sleep where. Peter wants to be in the middle and next to Natasha, who isn’t thrilled to be left vulnerable to Peter’s nighttime tossing and turning. Clint declares that he needs to be on an end to reach his aids just in case, but his little smirk tells Tony he is purposely leaving Tony on Peter’s other side. 

Still, they all manage to settle down in their blankets, perfectly positioned to watch the stars out the window. Stuffed full from their dinner and squeaky clean from hot showers, everyone is drowsy enough that Natasha only reads half of the Peter Pan storybook before the youngest boy is asleep. She finishes it anyway, and Tony falls asleep dreaming of the waters in Neverland. 

In the morning, Tony wakes up to the smell of bacon and waffles mixed with meat cooking. Winnie and Bucky are already well at work in the kitchen - Natasha mutters grumpily that they’d woken up at five in the morning to start - while Steve and George set up a folding table in front of the couch to keep the kids out of the kitchen. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade has just gotten started by the time everyone has brushed their teeth. 

The morning is nothing short of luxurious. The kids are still in pajamas, settled into plush cushions and the table pushed right up to the couch in a picnic style, the TV loud and bright, pumping up the excitement of the holiday. Tony has never watched the parade before, and wonders how big those floats look in real life. Peter sits in George’s lap, and takes great joy in pointing out every character he recognizes. George very seriously nods and oohs and ahhs and wipes away the syrup Peter gets all over his face, smiling the whole time.

When he turns his napkin onto Tony’s chin, Tony jumps, but George is just grinning gently at him, no judgement, no stern warning to be careful. In fact, George even scoops another waffle onto his plate, tells Clint to pass over the syrup. “Baba’s gonna check for a fever if she sees food still on the table,” he says with a wink. Tony laughs when George very seriously turns to Steve on the armchair and says, “That goes for you, too, Steve. Eat another waffle, have some mercy on your mother-in-law.” 

Steve spends most of the morning blocking Clint’s entry to the kitchen, and once the parade is over, pulls out some board games. The early afternoon is spent gleefully navigating George through the rules of Clue and Candyland while increasingly delicious smells waft in from the kitchen. 

At 2 PM, the door opens to reveal Bucky’s sisters, to Natasha’s delight. Rebecca can pass for Bucky’s twin, a nearly identical female version of him. Her nose is just a different shape, and her eyes are a dark, almost midnight blue. 

Hannah’s hair is bright copper, what Tony imagines Winnie’s looked like when she was young, and her face is leaner than her mother’s, but the shape is the same. She and Rebecca are fairly tall, both of them just missing Bucky’s chin. 

“Who wants to try to beat me at Cornholes?” Rebecca challenges, in a clear attempt to get the kids outside while the adults set up the table. 

Tony only ever played Cornholes once at a fair with Mrs. Hendricks, and his aim is terrible. Hannah kneels behind him and shows him to move his arm straight back and keep it from swinging out the to side. He gets one bean bag pretty close to the hole, but it’s nowhere close to Clint’s near-perfect score. Peter’s bags barely make it past his own cornhole, but the boy giggles, uncaring of the real purpose of the game. 

“Dinner’s up!” George yells out the window. Clint sprints to the door with incredible speed, Peter following close behind. 

“You don’t help clean?!” Hannah yells at them in between peals of laughter, shooing Tony and Natasha, who do move to grab bean bags off the ground, after their siblings. “Nattie, make sure I get a roll before Clint steals them all.”

Winnie portions out everyone’s plates, carefully listening to what the kids want - no sweet potatoes but plenty of green beans for Peter, extra carrots and corn for Natasha, stuffing but no cranberry sauce for Tony. Clint, predictably, takes a healthy portion of everything, brooking no arguments when Steve insists on a quarter of his plate being vegetables. Tony has never seen Clint shovel green beans into his mouth with such glee. 

Dinner is loud, but somehow - warm. Full of life, and family, and an overwhelming sense of comfort. Tony gets caught in two different conversations at once, Natasha laughs with Rebecca in a way that catches Tony’s hearing from the other end of the table, and Clint is carefully reading lips and signing to make sense through the noise. 

Dessert is a complete smorgasbord of sweets. Pumpkin and apple pies, peach cobbler, a chocolate and hazelnut cheesecake, eclairs from a fancy city bakery Rebecca brought, and a pile of cookies. Clint smuggles four of them back to their room in a napkin, and carefully doles them out to his siblings once they settle in bed. 

Eating a stolen cookie and stargazing out the window, Tony is sure that this feeling in his stomach must be happiness . And maybe his intestines being stuffed to their limit with food. 

Either way, it’s nice. He likes it.

Chapter Text

The good mood from their holiday weekend stays permeated in Tony’s bones for the next few days. Sunday is spent in a daze, driving home in pouring rain and winding down with Chinese food for dinner and a quiet movie on the couch before bed. 

Even school pulses at a slower rate on Monday, students coming down from the excitement of a holiday. Their class spends the morning on the carpet, discussing their Thanksgiving dinners, their favorite parts of the holiday, where the students went or who had come to visit. James flew to Georgia to see his dad’s family, while Pepper visited her aunt’s home in New Jersey. The cafeteria even gives out brownies at lunch, as a welcome-back to school. 

The day has been so good, so calm. Tony should’ve known that meant it would fall apart that much easier. December has never been good to him. 

On the first day of his least favorite month, Tony walks out the front door of the school building, and freezes when he sees Steve. 

His foster father is openly upset, mouth set into a frown and eyebrows pulled down, and his eyes are glued onto Tony. 

Steve tries to smooth out his features once he realizes Tony can see him, but it’s too late. Steve knows it too, by the downward slope of his shoulders. 

He looks...defeated. 

“What’s going on?” It’s Natasha who asks. Tony had completely forgotten his siblings were even walking next to him. 

Steve opens the van door and gestures inside. “Let’s talk about it at home.”

Clint steps closer to Tony, and Natasha’s gaze hardens. “Something’s wrong.” It’s not a question. 

“Natasha, we’ll talk about it at home. School’s not the place.” Steve’s tone is firm under the current of sadness enveloping him. The unfamiliarity of the emotion in his guardian sends Tony’s anxiety aflame. 

He knows it’s really bad when Bucky is already home with Peter. He’d left work early. Steve takes Tony straight to the office, no beating around the bush. 

It’s awful and comforting at the same time, knowing that Steve is treating him maturely and making sure not to leave him in the anticipation. It doesn’t do anything to change the impact of what Bucky says. 

“Your dad has requested a visit.”

After that, everything goes fuzzy, and silent. Tony just...he just sits. For a while. Steve and Bucky stay with him while he sits. They don’t say anything either, just let him digest the news. 

Tony would be lying if he said he didn’t see this coming. Didn’t dream about the possibility and plan out scenarios of how it would go. 

In a horrible way, his worry has already prepared him for this. 

“I don’t wanna go.” Tony’s voice is pitifully small in the room. 

Bucky pulls him into a hug. “I know, baby.”

“But I have to, right?” 

Steve’s sigh is all the answer he needs.

Right. There’s nothing to be done. Tony’s a foster kid, he doesn’t have any power over his life.

He lives every day under the decision of someone else, someone who isn’t his family, someone who only knows him from reading a few papers in a file. 

“It’ll be just like we said before. We’ll go to Ms. Hill’s office. She’ll be with you the whole time, honey, and Buck and I will be right outside the door.”

“You can’t come with me?”

“I wish we could, but no. Your dad is supposed to be alone with just you and Ms. Hill as a supervisor.”

“Why?” Why would someone force Tony to be alone with his dad? The idea alone sends shivers down his spine. Unlike Steve and Bucky, Ms. Hill doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would physically fight his dad. She’d probably get fired for it, and then he’d be the one getting a social worker who wasn’t as nice. 

“Because….because for most kids in foster care, visits are supposed to be special times for them and their parents to keep their relationship going, to make sure that kids still have contact and know that they’re not being taken away forever.”

Tony chews on his lip, mulling that over. “But I’m not like most foster kids?”

Bucky brushes his hair out of his eyes, twisting it at the ends to keep it in place. It’s been growing longer and falling in his eyes, but they’re still waiting for CPS to process an approval to take Tony for a haircut. 

“Your case is, well, it’s unique. And, remember how we talked about how foster care isn’t meant to take kids away from their parents forever?”

Tony nods. “It’s to keep kids safe until their parents get better, and they can go back home.”

The fear of going back to live with his father is enough to send Tony into wheezing. He keeps a grip on Bucky’s sweater to remind himself that right now, he’s safe in their house. 

“Right. But your dad did something really, really serious by getting into an accident with you, and because of that, he needs to do a lot of extra work.”

Tony’s starting to understand. At least, he thinks so. “You don’t think my dad will do it?”

Steve shoots a glare at his husband. “Tony, we can’t say one way or another. We don’t know your dad, and we also don’t know what kind of work he needs to do. All we know right now is that CPS offered him a lot of chances, and he didn’t take them. He’s running out of time, as it stands now.”

Right. Howard was allowed to ask for visits this whole time. He was offered visits, more than once, according to Ms. Hill. He said no. He didn’t want to see Tony. 

“Why does he want to see me now? If he didn’t want to before?”

Steve bites his lip. “I wish I had more answers for you, Tones. We just. We don’t know. Hopefully, we’ll find out soon.”

“Tony, what we really wanted to talk to you about is that a visit doesn’t change anything for us. Even if you have a good visit, it doesn’t mean you’re leaving. Not by a long shot. I can promise you that.”

The door bursts open. “Tony’s leaving?!” 

Clint stumbles in through the doorway, poised to fall face-first onto the floor if not for his sister following right behind him, catching him by the collar.

“Clint!” Steve jumps to his feet, his face a mixture of concern and anger. “You know better than to eavesdrop! We’ve talked about this.”

“You were taking a really long time,” Natasha defends, looking right at Tony, searching his face for something. Answers, probably. Joke’s on her, Tony’s only got questions that have no answers to go with them. “We got worried.”

“Where’s Peter?”

Natasha responds, “Watching TV,” while Clint completely ignores it in favor of his own question. “No one answered me, is Tony leaving?”

“Clint, no. We -” Bucky stops, sighs, runs a hand over his face. “Go get Pete. Let’s talk about this together.”

“Oh man. Family talks.” Clint elects to stay, wedging himself next to Tony and Bucky on the loveseat, while Natasha goes to collect Peter. 

“Okay guys,” Steve starts, Peter settled in his lap and Natasha sat criss-cross-applesauce on the floor. “Let’s remember to be respectful and wait our turn, and let’s try to stay calm.” He waits for Clint to nod before continuing. “Pop and I were telling Tony that his dad wants to have a visit.”

Clint opens his mouth, then closes it at the look on his father’s face. 

“That doesn’t mean Tony is leaving at all . Right now, there’s no plan other than Tony staying here. And even if that plan does change, it will not happen for a long, long time.”

Clint and Natasha pass looks back and forth at each other, communicating without words. Natasha is the one who speaks. “Because Tony’s dad isn’t safe?”

Suddenly, Tony understands what’s got the two of them so stiff and cagey. They’ve done this before, with Clint’s dad. The social workers had tried to send Clint back to his dad, when he first came here. It didn’t work out. 

Maybe - no. Tony’s not going to get his hopes up. That’s just asking for disaster. 

“He crashed the car,” Tony says, as Steve waffles on how to actually answer Natasha’s question. “When - when my mom died.”

Clint turns wide eyes onto Steve. “They can’t send Tony back to him!”

“Okay, okay, let’s all calm down,” Bucky’s arm reaches over to brush across Clint’s shoulders. “It’s just a visit. Nothing more. We’ve already talked to Ms. Hill and her supervisor and they promised that there is no plan for Tony to leave our home. Clint, look at me.”

“Plans change,” the older boy retorts, eyes hardening with anger. 

Steve nods. “They do, you’re right. But you know more than anybody that Pop and I are always going to fight to keep you guys safe, no matter what.”

“Can we go with Tony?” Natasha’s question startles him. 

Bucky sighs. “Honey, you know that you can’t.”

Natasha’s eyes dart around the room. One of her hands is balled into a fist. “I don’t like thinking about Tony being alone with him. It makes me scared. Tony’s dad is… he isn’t safe.”

“I understand that, sweetheart,” Steve placates. “I think we’re all feeling that right now. But, I think we need to remember that visits are only two hours. Tony won’t be alone, even if none of us will be in the room with him. And when the visit is done, he’s gonna come right back home with us. Nothing else changes.”

The room goes quiet. No one else has anything to say. Underneath the tension of the room, Tony swears he can hear someone whisper I don’t believe you . 

A long, terrible while later, Tony musters up the courage to ask.

“When do we go?”

Bucky tenses up next to him. “Friday. After school.”

Friday. 

In four days, Tony will see his father for the first time in four years . Two weeks shy of the anniversary of the night when Howard drunkenly crashed their car into a telephone pole and changed Tony’s life forever.  

---

It doesn’t surprise anyone that the next morning finds Tony in Natasha’s bed, Clint nested right below them on the floor. Their sleep schedule only worsens with every passing day. 

Everyone has been staying close to him, which Tony wishes he found comforting. It just makes him feel...morbid. Like he’s coming closer and closer to a catastrophe and everyone is soaking up their last few moments together before they’re separated forever. 

Natasha holds his hand and walks him all the way to his classroom door every morning. Clint insists on biking in the park, so he can ride side-by-side with him. Peter’s preferred place to sit, no matter what they happen to be doing, is in Tony’s lap.  

It makes eating impossible, and Peter bursts into hysterics at being taken away from Tony at the table. There’s a lot of crying going on this week. 

Tony cries during his therapy session. It’s loud, and ugly, and he’s still so upset by the end, knowing what’s coming for him the next day, that Bucky carries him straight to the car so he can have time to calm down alone. 

Steve says that Tony doesn’t have to go to school on Friday if he doesn’t want to. Tony thinks about it, and then decides he’d rather have the regular routine at school instead of waiting around all day in anticipation. 

Besides, Fridays after lunch, Mr. Banner reads a book to the class. It’s Tony’s favorite part of the week, a perfect wind down to the weekend, and Mr. Banner is a really good reader. He won’t tell Bucky, but Mr. Banner’s character voices are way better. 

Today’s book is Let’s Celebrate! , about holidays across the world. After the book is done, Mr. Banner plays a slideshow on the projector to show the class pictures of winter holidays from all over the globe. Australia at Christmas is so incredibly weird, seeing Christmas trees done up in lights on beaches where everyone walks around in shorts and tank tops.

It looks like a whole other universe. 

When Mr. Banner shows the class Kobe in Japan all lit up at Christmastime, it looks incredible . Like a fairy kingdom, bright lights as far as the eye can see, a whole city glittering in blues, reds, and golds. 

Tony locks the image into his brain. When he closes his eyes, he transports himself back to Kobe, safe and shimmering, far away from danger. 

The grip on his backpack is painful as he walks to Steve and Bucky, flanked by his older siblings. Both Clint and Natasha are stone-faced and clearly upset at their imminent separation. They, and Peter, are heading to the movies with Phil, Scott, and Sam while Steve and Bucky take Tony over to the CPS offices. 

A fun and indulgent evening, if there wasn’t something terrible looming on the horizon. 

Steve tries to talk about their day, but everyone gives one-word answers. Even Peter looks crestfallen, his toys left inside the hanging bag in front of him, untouched. When they reach Phil’s house, Peter refuses to go inside until he hugs Tony for a string of long minutes, whispering “My Tony, I love my Tony,” into his neck. 

“C’mon, Bubs, Tony and Daddy and Papa will be back in three hours. Seven on the dot, promise.” Bucky shows Peter the time on his watch. Peter’s been understanding the concept of time better, and setting schedules has helped him with changes to routines. Like watching his brother disappear to visit a man Peter only conceives as “bad”. 

Peter whimpers, but detaches himself from Tony and takes Natasha’s hand. Bucky walks the kids to the door, while Steve pops his head into the van. “You doing ok, honey?”

Tony’s eyes flick to his hands, then back to Steve. “I dunno. Not really.”

Steve’s lips twitch downwards. “I understand, sweetheart. I know you’re scared, but you remember what you need to say to Ms. Hill if you don’t feel safe?”

Tony nods. “Ask her for a snack from the vending machines.” They’d practiced it for the last three days, how Tony can leave the room. 

“Right. She’ll take you outside, and Bucky and I will be right outside the door.”

“I remember.”

Bucky’s back. “We ready?”

Steve sighs, looking at Tony. “I think we’re as ready as we’re ever gonna get.”

Tony nods, agreeing. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be truly ready for this. 

His whole body is buzzing with that terrible thread of apprehension, as if the anxiety in his brain is telling his body to be prepared to run and seek shelter. Every nerve tells him danger, danger, danger , but there’s no escaping it. 

Steve packed up all three of his fidget cubes into his backpack that morning, and then Peter managed to sneak in his favorite green stress ball and a Pop Pad shaped like a popsicle - part of his Thanksgiving gift from Aunt Rebecca. 

Right now, Tony’s got a fidget cube in each hand, desperate to move but unwilling to ruin the skin of his fingers. 

Howard isn’t going to make Tony hurt again.

The half hour drive goes by fast, and slow. It’s an eternity and a handful of seconds later when Bucky opens up the van door. They’re in front of the office building where Tony has been a handful of times between placements. He’d napped on Ms. Hill’s couch once, when he was pulled out of Mrs. Walsh’s home. He was taken to the Dwolinski’s late that night, after midnight. 

Tony doesn’t notice, for a long moment, that Steve and Bucky are waiting for him to make the first move. His breaths rattle around in his chest, but he knows that there’s no way out of this. Tony closes his eyes, forces three deep breaths into his lungs, and takes Bucky’s metal hand. 

“Ok. I’m ready.”

The metal hand squeezes around his gently. “Alright. Let’s go.”

The elevator ride to the eighth floor is tense. Tony can tell that his foster parents are just as nervous about this visit as he is. They don’t want Tony to be upset, especially given the reason Tony was placed into care. 

Struck by the thought, Tony looks up into the faces of his foster fathers. If Howard had wanted visits when Tony was in any other home, no one would’ve gone with him. They would’ve told CPS to come bring a volunteer to pick him up and take him home, all alone with a stranger to see a man he was terrified of. 

“Thanks. For coming with me.”

No matter what happens, Tony wants Steve and Bucky to know that he’s really grateful for them. 

Steve presses a kiss to his hair, and Bucky follows suit. “Of course we came with you, honey. It wasn’t even a question.”

The doors open, and Tony steps out. He doesn’t let go of Bucky’s hand. 

Ms. Hill is waiting for them, a gentle smile on her face for Tony. Her eyes say that she’s just as upset about this as the rest of them. “Hey, Tony. How are you feeling?”

Tony shrugs. “Nervous, I guess.”

She nods. “I understand that. Steve told you what you can say if you need a break?”

“I want a snack from the vending machine.”

“That’s right.”

Tony chews on his lip. “Is - Is he here, already?”

“Not yet. Let’s go wait in my office. You thirsty?”

Tony shakes his head and follows the adults to Ms. Hill’s office. She has a little couch that he and Bucky sit on, while Steve just falls right to the floor in front of him. “What book did you read with your class today?”

It’s a clear attempt at distracting him, but Tony takes it anyway. 

“It was a book called Let’s Celebrate! , and we watched a slideshow in class about the holiday lights all around the world.”

“Yeah? Which one was your favorite?”

“There’s a city in Japan called Kobe, and they light up the whole city at Christmas time! It’s like a fairy land. I think Petey would like to see it.”

“I wanna see it,” Bucky supports with a tickle under Tony’s chin. “We should try to find some pictures on the internet so we can all see it.”

They go back and forth, talking about Tony’s day, when he catches the time on Bucky’s watch. 4:22 PM. 

Howard was supposed to show up at 4:00. 

“He’s late, isn’t he?”

Steve is trying hard not to show his emotions, but Tony watches his eyes flick to Bucky’s, then to Ms. Hill. She smiles tightly at Tony. “He is. We’ll wait and see what happens.”

Relief floods through Tony’s veins, at least at the assurance that he’s already set to spend less time stuck in a room with his father than he originally thought. 

That relief is short-lived. Howard asked for this visit himself. He’s bound to show up eventually, and probably demand to spend the whole two hours with Tony because that was what he was promised. 

They’d be late getting back, and Peter would get upset. He’s not good with people being late, and the little boy isn’t even at home, where all his calm-down stuff lives. 

They have to be back on time. Howard shouldn’t get to mess up their schedules because he’s the only one who showed up late. 

“For how long?”

Ms. Hill falters, knowing the answer isn’t what he wants to hear. “We can’t stop the visit early. Even if he’s late, we have to stay here until 6:00.”

“Why?”

Steve shuffles closer to him, clearly uncomfortable with how long he’s spent on the floor. “You remember we talked about how visits are really important for kids to spend quality time with their parents?” 

Tony nods. “Well, part of making sure visits go through is that even if a parent or a kid is late to the visit - things happen, after all - the visit doesn’t get cut early. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone who was waiting to see their family.”

“But - but what if I don’t wanna wait? I don’t wanna wait for him. I don’t even wanna be here, I just wanna go home, I wanna go to the movies with everyone else and eat the monster pizza with Clint!”

Tony’s getting worked up, he knows. He just can’t stop it. He doesn’t want to be here , it’s not safe here and someone even more unsafe is supposed to come specifically to see Tony. 

He’s been trying to ignore the racing of his heart, the way every second seems to go on for hours, but now that all makes sense. Time is moving around them, but this room is frozen. 

Bucky’s running his hand in big circles across his back, trying to calm him down. “Okay, okay, first of all, we’re all eating pizza together when we get back to Phil’s, don’t worry, no one’s taking your Meat Lovers. And second, we’re still leaving at the same time. So, let’s try to stay calm, huh? The plan hasn’t changed, baby.”

“But why is he late? He’s the one who wanted a visit, right?”

Steve’s face is pulled down in the saddest expression Tony’s ever seen on him. “I don’t have those answers, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

And that’s the worst part, isn’t it? Tony and the only two people who’ve ever concerned about keeping him safe have no power over actually doing so. Tony lives at the mercy of courts and judges and paperwork. People who have never met him make decisions about where he can go, who he can live with, when he can get a haircut.

His father, who killed his mother by driving drunk, gets to ask for a visit, after four years without contact, and a judge says Tony has to go and see him, no matter how he feels. 

Steve and Bucky are really careful about how they speak about foster care with their kids. They’re intentional with their words and their emotions, but in these moments, they’re transparent. 

They’re just as frustrated with this as Tony is. 

“I don’t like this.” It’s obvious, and there isn’t anything else to say. They’re all stuck here, trying to make the best of a horrible situation. 

“I know. I don’t either, to be honest. So how about we try to occupy ourselves while we wait?” Bucky pulls his phone from his pocket. “Wanna do some puzzles?”

Tony shrugs. It’s better than sitting here doing nothing, stewing in this tension. “I want the hard ones.”

“100-pieces it is. Puppies or spaceship?”

Tony touches the spaceship. Steve makes an unhappy sound when Tony pulls the phone closer to his face, but Bucky nudges him into silence. The pieces are tinier on the little phone screen than they are on the iPad Tony usually plays on. 

With every piece he places into the frame, Tony is acutely aware that there’s no indications of someone approaching. The office is quiet on a Friday night. When Howard shows up, Tony will at least hear him coming. 

Tony finishes the spaceship, and moves on to a flower garden. He’s not really into the image, but the harder the puzzle, the more distracted he is. Steve has already gotten up and wandered to get water. He’s in the chair at the desk now, the one Tony’s dad is supposed to be sitting in if he was here. 

Tony prefers Steve there. 

5:00 comes and goes. Ms. Hill is visibly upset, glancing at her phone, typing into it every once in a while. Tony catches her and Steve exchanging tense glances, probably about what could possibly be holding up Howard, the only person who wanted this visit in the first place. 

It’s driving Tony crazy, that Howard asked for this visit, drove Tony into tears and panic for days, and then has the nerve to not show up. Did he forget? Is he drunk again?

Did he do this just to play some game? Was he never planning on coming in the first place?

Tony wouldn’t be surprised. 

The tension in the room rises with each minute that ticks by. Ms. Hill leaves the room at one point to talk to someone else in the hallway, and comes back with an unreadable expression. Four more puzzles and several rounds of Roblox later, Steve stands, heading to the coat rack in the corner. 

The time in the corner of Bucky’s phone screen says 5:57 PM, right next to the red battery icon. 

Howard never showed. Tony spent the week mired in complete terror, and Howard didn’t even bother to show up . 

Where Tony thought there would be relief at managing to skip actually interacting with his father, Tony finds anger. Fire-hot and bubbling inside his ribcage, seething. 

Not because he had been looking forward to seeing his father. 

Because by not showing up, Howard proved yet again that he holds power over Tony. Maybe he always will. 

Ms. Hill walks them out in silence. Tony doesn’t know what to say. Neither does anyone else.  

At the front door of the building, Ms. Hill crouches down to look him in the eyes. “I’m really, really sorry this didn’t go like we’d planned, Tony.”

He shrugs, unsure of what he can say. “It’s not your fault.”

She gives him a sad half-smile. “I want you to know that we’re working this out, ok buddy? I promise, I’m trying to get everyone to see what’s in your best interests here.”

The thing is, Tony knows that’s true. Ms. Hill is a rare find, she’s kind and doesn’t keep secrets, and Tony knows, from what Steve and Bucky have told him, that Ms. Hill has been trying to keep Tony as safe as possible for a long, long time, working around lots of laws that don’t do a whole lot of good sometimes. He’s lucky to have a social worker like her. 

“I know. Thank you.” 

They leave the building with a wave, and head back to the car. His foster dads are clearly upset, but Tony knows - actually knows , deep down - that their feelings aren’t for him. Just like his own anger, they’re directed at Howard. 

“Tony, I know this was...disappointing.” Steve pulls out into the street while Bucky starts talking. “Even if you didn’t want to see him, it still hurts. You had expectations that weren’t met.”

Chewing on his lip, Tony takes a minute to catalogue his feelings. Darcy has him working on figuring out how he feels and giving them names. “I don’t think I’m disappointed. I’m just angry. We had to sit in the office for nothing. We missed the movie and Petey was upset when we left and we did it all for no reason because he didn’t even bother to show up!” 

His voice is close to a shout by the end, surprising him. He adds a quick “Sorry”. 

“You don’t have to be sorry for being angry, sweetheart.” Steve catches his eye in the rearview mirror. “You’re allowed to feel that. You know Bucky and I are angry too, because you were upset about this from the start. We didn’t want you to get hurt again, and you did.”

The next logical question Tony has is, “Will we have to do this again?”

Bucky sighs. “It’s possible. We can’t make any promises but...but probably not.”

“Why?”

“Well, he only has a certain amount of time and chances to show that he’s ready to be a safe person for you. Not showing up to visits is kind of a big deal in a case like yours.”

“Oh..” At the end of the day, Steve and Bucky are just as helpless in the system as Tony is. He knows that. 

“I think, since you missed the movie, we have time to stop for a treat before we go back to Phil’s. I think you’ve earned a lot of treats this week, actually,” Bucky declares. 

“Like what?”

“Well, it would take too long to go to the mall,” Steve shrugs, “so how do you feel about ruining your dinner with a huge ice cream sundae?”

Tony blinks, not believing his ears. Steve was suggesting getting ice cream before dinner?

“Yes! Yes, yes yes, yes, please!” 

Both his foster parents chuckle at his excitement, the cloak of tension that had been draped over them blown off with the breeze of laughter. 

Steve turns in the opposite direction of Phil’s town, heading toward Sugar Hills Creamery. 

After a terribly long week, Tony is finally feeling positive anticipation. The store is empty, slowed with the chill of impending winter. 

It’s like the whole store is here just for Tony. 

“Go ahead, honey. Pick out anything you want.” At the direction from Bucky, Tony flies to the counter, carefully scanning the 50 famous flavors Sugar Hills produces and the waffle cones and bowls they make right behind a glass wall at the counter. 

The girl at the counter, Amy, is young and cheery. She calls Tony “sweetie”, and waits patiently while he catalogues his choices. Eventually, with Steve’s permission that he can have two jumbo scoops , he asks for a scoop of Coffee Caramel swirl and a scoop of Oreo Cheesecake in a waffle bowl, topped with Reese’s Pieces, mini chocolate chips, and chopped almonds. Amy even adds hot fudge on top, telling Steve it’s free “for all little cuties”. 

Tony flushes, and chirps out an enthusiastic “Thank you!” as she carefully hands him the enormous concoction. He eats it slowly and methodically at the bartop counter, watching people pass by on the street. 

In a weird way, the ice cream stirs up warmth in his bones. Maybe it's because his week has been so horrible, his brain and his feelings so raw, that something as simple as a sugary treat feels utterly amazing. Maybe it’s not the ice cream itself. 

Maybe the warmth comes from Steve and Bucky, who stayed with him for the entire, neverending, time in Ms. Hill’s office, determined to distract him from spiraling. Maybe it’s that Steve and Bucky knew he needed some time to process, that he needed just one good thing to happen just for him, no matter how small it was. 

Maybe it’s pulling up to Phil’s doorway, and seeing Natasha’s head turn toward the window, like she had been waiting there to catch the first sight of him. Maybe it’s the way Peter throws himself at Tony, as if every minute away from each other was torture. Maybe it’s the scene-by-scene narration of the movie that Clint recites, determined to include Tony even in the things he had to miss. 

The disappointment, the sorrow, the boiling anger - that’s all still there, right under the surface. It’s impossible to ignore, building up without any resolution in sight. But the warmth is there, too. There’s comfort. There’s belonging. 

There’s hope, just flickering into light. 

Tony doesn't want to let it go.

Chapter Text

A few days after the fiasco of the visit, Clint goes a few streets down to spend the afternoon playing video games with a boy from his class. Somehow, he comes home with a dog. 

Really, Tony has no idea how it happened. Clint just opens the front door yelling “Dad, I need help!”, and a dirty yellow lab with a missing eye limps in right behind him.

Bucky panics, thinking the missing eye is recent, and rushes Clint and the dog to the emergency animal hospital. Five hours later, all three of them return with a cast for a leg fracture, an otherwise clean bill of health, and an absolute monstrosity of shopping bags from Petco. The vet said the dog wasn’t a lifelong stray, but probably abandoned by an abusive owner. Steve really doesn’t like hearing that.

Just like that, they have a pet. Clint names him Lucky , of all things. The first time Steve calls the dog over and Bucky meets him, thinking Steve had been saying Bucky , Clint laughs so hard he actually falls to the floor in tears. He also refuses to consider changing the name. 

Tony is allowed to go with Clint and Natasha to walk Lucky around the block everyday before and after school, although he and Natasha both insist that the poop-scooping responsibilities should fall to Clint, since he brought the dog home. Peter gets the easiest job - scooping Lucky’s dog food into the bowl. Peter likes the feel, the routine, the sounds of the little pieces hitting the bowl, but he loves the way Lucky always scampers into the kitchen at the call of “dinner time, Lucky!” and bestows a grateful lick across Peter’s cheek before he dives in with cartoonish gusto. It reminds Tony of Clint’s reaction to food. 

Lucky’s favorite thing to do, after eating, is snuggling. He takes every opportunity to lay on whoever is available, and no one is particularly keen on telling him no. Clint and Natasha play their video games in the living room with Lucky laid across their laps more days than not. 

Tony likes to lay down with Lucky. He loves the way Lucky lays his big, heavy head on Tony’s chest, weighing him down into the couch. Lucky always squeezes himself onto the edge of the cushions, so Tony is trapped between the back of the couch and the dog. Tony thinks if he was anywhere else, with any other dog, he would feel claustrophobic and desperate to escape. 

Instead, Lucky cornering him into a lie-down makes Tony feel heavy and loose, warm enough from the dog’s body heat that he doesn’t need anything more than the thin blanket kept inside the coffee table. He’d fallen asleep during their first family movie night with Lucky, the dog spread across his and Natasha’s laps, so deeply that he didn’t even stir when Bucky carried him to bed. 

Tony is grateful for Lucky’s presence in their house, because December hits him hard, every year. He knows Christmas is regarded as the most exciting holiday by most people - Clint had started asking what Bucky would be cooking for Christmas dinner practically the second they’d gotten home from Thanksgiving. But Tony’s always looked at Christmas differently. 

The car accident had happened on December 19th. He’d spent that Christmas in an emergency shelter until January 3rd, because Ms. Hill couldn’t find anyone willing to drop family plans to take in a kid with a broken arm, freshly dropped into foster care, processing his mom’s death and his dad’s arrest. He wasn’t allowed to attend his mom’s funeral, and he’s never been to her grave. He doesn’t even know where it is. 

He never thought much about it before, but this year he’s been missing her a lot. His mom. Or what he can remember about her, which isn’t much. He knows her eyes were like his, and her hair was dark too, and she loved to play the piano. Sometimes she used to sing him to sleep. 

Tony tells Darcy about Mom in their next session. 

“I think I miss her sometimes.”

Darcy hums. “Why do you think you miss her?”

Tony fiddles with the hem of his sweater. It’s new, fleecy inside like he likes. When the air turned chilly, Steve had come home with a bag full of new sweaters for all the kids. Tony remembers Bucky told him once that Steve hated the cold, and he worried about the kids getting sick in the winter. 

“Sometimes, I think I don’t remember her right. Like something is wrong with how she looks.”

Darcy nods. “How old were you when she died, Tony?”

“Three and a half.” That’s important, the half. Every month he’d had with his mom mattered once he realized he wouldn’t ever get any more time with her. 

“You were really little at the time. Our brains are still learning when we’re that small, and something that brains learn is how to remember things. So it could be that maybe you don’t remember every detail about her. But our brains always remember the most important parts. What’s your favorite memory of your mom?”

That one is easy. “When she played her piano. I used to sit on the floor next to her, just the two of us. She was really good, but Dad didn’t like her playing when he was upstairs, so we couldn’t do it all the time.”

“It was something special, just for you and Mom.”

Tony nods. 

“That’s the important thing. You remember the moments, the time you spent with her, the things you shared together. I think your mom would be happy about that.”

Tony wishes he could ask her. His chest aches with longing. He wishes he could see his mom, just one more time. Memorize the details of her face, now that he’s older, now that his brain is better at remembering. 

He lets Bucky scoop him into his lap for the rest of the hour with Darcy. 

--

The next day, Friday, Steve and Bucky pick up the kids from school and drive them across town to a parking lot overrun with Christmas trees. 

Clint and Peter, apparently, have certain specifications for the Christmas tree. Clint is very interested in the height of the tree, while Peter very carefully inspects the branches from Steve’s arms. Natasha says she’s more interested in the decorations and generally agrees with whatever Clint says. Tony follows along, fascinated by the entire process. Every tree looks much the same to him, but Clint sees all the little differences between them. 

Clint says it’s because he has “an eye for nature” from growing up on a farm. His face pulls into a grumpy expression when Natasha reminds him that evergreens don’t grow anywhere near where Clint used to live. 

Finally, Clint and Peter decide on a thick, tall evergreen. Bucky sweeps Clint onto his shoulders - harder to do now that Clint’s in the middle of another growth spurt - so the boy can pull the measuring tape to the top of the tree and make sure it won’t hit the living room ceiling. There’s six inches to spare. This is their tree. 

It’s a production for Steve and Bucky heave the tree into their arms and tie it to the top of the minivan. For a moment, Tony pretends they have superhuman strength and pictures them dressed in ridiculously bright spandex suits, flying around to save the day, like Batman and Superman. 

He giggles at the thought. Bucky would never wear spandex. 

Peter and Clint, excitable as always, try to convince their fathers to decorate the tree tonight , because Christmas can’t wait. Steve assures them that another twelve hours won’t delay Christmas any longer, but he stops at the family’s favorite little Italian bakery on the way home and fills up a box with pastries. 

Cheeks stained with chocolate from his mousse, Peter doesn’t seem to mind. On the way to bed, he gently strokes the bottom branches and whispers “See you tomorrow, Christmas tree.”

Tony swears that the air in the house is vibrating when he wakes up. 

Clint’s out of bed before him, a rare sight for a weekend morning. Or maybe Tony has slept in later than usual, considering the palpable scent of cinnamon and sugar in the air. 

His body feels heavy, and he’s tempted to close his eyes and lounge in bed - after all, he’s allowed to now - but his stomach is no match for the smell. Tony stops in the bathroom to brush his teeth, because Bucky knows when he hasn't done it, and trudges down to the kitchen. 

Peter is up on the counter, given free reign to ice the pan of Bucky’s signature cinnamon buns. Steve is stirring something on the stove, oatmeal topped with sliced strawberries and cinnamon. 

Breakfast is warm and delicious on Tony’s tongue. It settles heavy in his stomach, failing to perk him up. He can’t seem to shake off this misty feeling that’s taken over his limbs. Tony feels like he could spend the entire day laid out on the couch. 

Unfortunately for him, the living room has been rearranged to accommodate two storage bins from the attic and one of Steve’s canvas tarps. The kids’ box of art supplies is sitting on the coffee table. 

Right . Tony remembers. They’re decorating the tree today. 

He hadn’t felt any kind of way about it last night, but now Tony’s got this strange feeling crawling up his neck that says something is not right . 

He tries to shake it off when he looks around and sees that everyone else is grinning and buzzing with happy energy. It’s supposed to be a good day. Christmas is supposed to be a happy time. 

Tony wants to know what a good Christmas feels like. 

Steve settles the kids on the corners of the tarp and starts setting up their project in the middle. He pulls out what looks like all the art supplies stored in the house: Peter’s oversized paint sets, glitter bottles, markers, construction paper, stencils, pencils, scissors, Steve’s hot glue gun with the bright label that says For Steve only!! , and something Tony can only describe as slices of...wood. When Bucky lays down a few pictures - pictures of the kids at Winnie and George’s house, lined up neatly and smiling brightly at the camera. There’s other pictures from that weekend too, staged and candid, of the kids with Steve and Bucky, Winnie and George, Rebecca and Hannah. 

Seeing his own face smiling back at him from a picture still feels like an alternate reality. In pictures that Steve and Bucky are quick to frame and display around the house. A copy of one of these photos just went up on the bookshelf in the living room a few days ago. 

It makes Tony suddenly ache to be home . His first home, where the only other pictures of him existed. He knows there was at least one, a picture on his nightstand of his mom rocking him in a chair. He doesn’t know where it is now, and he wants to cry. 

While the adults are still preoccupied with setting up, Tony rubs his eyes, faking tiredness to wipe away any wetness from his eyes. Clint is frowning at him when he looks up, but unlike his sister, Clint doesn’t usually press. 

Tony’s attention turns to Steve once he realizes the man is talking. They’re making reindeer ornaments for the tree. Peter is holding out a paintbrush to him. “Tony help me?” 

How could he say no? 

There’s soft Christmas music playing from the TV while they each decorate their own pieces of wood. Steve supervises the mess and keeps Lucky off the tarp while Bucky pulls out a white garland from one of the storage boxes and starts carefully attaching it around the top of the wall. 

Natasha carefully paints her slice all in black and asks Steve for red glitter while she coats the side of the slice in glue. Tony and Peter watch in fascination as she very carefully rolls the slice on its side through a sea of glitter to create a precise border of red sparkles. 

Clint’s slice is purple with black arrows that he asks Steve to outline, and Peter’s is a deep blue with thin red stripes. Tony decorates his all in red and then he gets stuck. 

“You all done, Tones?” Steve asks. 

No, he’s not. “I want to draw stars.” 

Steve looks like he understands, and comes over to sit behind Tony. “You want some help?”

It’s much easier to answer Steve than to ask it himself. He nods. “Gold stars.”

“We can do that.” Steve gently holds his hand over the thin paintbrush and guides his hand in precise diagonals to create small stars on the surface. 

When they’re done, Steve holds the slice by its side so Tony can check the front and back.

“Thank you,” the boy whispers. Steve doesn’t answer, just kisses the top of his head and swaps out the paintbrush and wood slice for thick construction paper and scissors. He shows Tony the stencil for the reindeer antlers, big and curvy, and leaves Tony to trace and cut a pair for him and Peter. 

“Ok guys, keep your scissors and pick out the picture you want.” 

To keep? Tony wants all of them. He can’t stop looking back at the Tony in the photo, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt, a few stray cookie crumbs still sticking to the collar of his shirt. He looked so happy. 

He had been happy that whole day. Tony hopes he’ll remember that feeling forever. 

A sharp krrsh sound pulls Tony’s gaze away from the photos and up to Clint, where he is - 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!” 

A blink later, Lucky lets out a low whine and Tony finds himself standing over Clint, and then he’s being pulled back by Bucky. Steve is facing them, one arm holding Natasha across the chest and the other grabbing Clint’s hands and flipping them over. Clint is staring at him, wide-eyed, mouth open in shock. 

There’s a tear running down Tony’s face as he looks around the room. A vial of glitter is knocked over on the tarp and spilled on Tony’s pants, a piece of construction paper is crumpled under his foot, and Peter has moved back from the tarp. The photo Clint had been holding is on the floor, torn in two pieces, and the blue scissors the older boy was holding are next to the photo, open in a way that Steve would never have tolerated. 

When Tony registers the stinging in his hand, he breaks down into tears. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Clint, please don't be mad, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry I made a mess,” he tries to say, but his breaths stutter uncontrollably. Tony isn’t sure that the others can understand him. 

It doesn’t matter anyway. Bucky pulls him into his lap in the armchair, shushing him and rubbing his back, guiding him to take big deep breaths. 

Lucky trots up to them, lays his head over Tony’s knees. Bucky takes one of Tony’s hands in his and guides him to pass it through Lucky’s thick yellow fur, then again and again. Having something to do with his hands and the grounding weight of Lucky’s big head helps Tony calm down faster. 

When the tears stop, Tony jumps out of Bucky’s lap, making his way back to the others. Clint was shocked when Tony slapped the scissors out of his hand, but now he simply looks confused. Tony figures confusion is better than anger. 

“I’m sorry I hit you, Clint. I didn’t mean to. And I’m sorry I scared you, Natasha.”

Scared probably isn’t the right word for how Natasha had felt, but Tony knows he needs to apologize to her, too. She’s instinctively protective of her brothers, and never takes it well when they’re upset. 

Steve smiles at him, proud of Tony for apologizing. “What happened that got you upset, Tony?”

Tony shrugs a shoulder. He’s trying to figure that out himself. “I saw Clint cutting the photo and...and you’re not supposed to do that. You’re supposed to take care of photos, and hold them really careful and put them in frames so we can’t touch them. And I didn’t want him to ruin a photo I liked. They’re special, and I don’t really have any, so I didn’t want Clint to cut it. I’m sorry.” 

Oh. There it is.

“Aww, pal, didn’t you hear Stevie earlier?” Bucky asks, sidling up behind him. “These are extras, we printed them out so you could cut them up and not worry about losing the picture.” 

Tony looks down at his socked toes, two identical monster trucks staring back at him. Begrudgingly, he mumbles, “I wasn’t listening when we started.”

Steve hums knowingly. “We talked about that, right?” When Tony nods, he prompts, “If you weren’t listening and you needed to hear it again, what can you tell us?”

“‘Can you please say that again.’” They practiced it months ago, with Darcy and at home, all the things he can say to teachers and friends if he needs help. 

“Next time, I want you to stop and tell me that. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing. I don’t want you to get upset like just now because you didn’t know what we were doing. Can we try that?”

Tony nods, cheeks flushed. Steve is right. If he was listening, he would have known that part of their activity was cutting up the pictures and that there were extra specifically for cutting. He wouldn’t have slapped Clint. 

“I’m really, really sorry, Clint. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Tony keeps his eyes on the other boy’s, wanting Clint to know he means it. 

Clint gives him a little smirk. “It’s ok, Tony. I forgive you. ‘Sides, you didn’t even hit me that hard.”

Steve clicks his tongue disapprovingly and flicks Clint’s arm. “Be an example for your brothers, don’t joke.” 

Clint gets halfway to rolling his eyes before he remembers his other father is still facing him, and thinks better of it. “Seriously, Tony, I forgive you. I know you’d never want to hurt me.”

And that, that is true , Tony realizes. He never wants to hurt Clint, or anyone else in the house. Even the thought of it makes him uneasy. 

Steve nudges Natasha. “Tony apologized to you, too.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring Clint down as if she’s looking for something in his eyes. Natasha must find whatever that is. She gives a tiny nod - to Clint or herself, Tony can't tell - and says, “I forgive you, Tony. Thank you for apologizing.” 

“And I’m sorry I got glitter on you, Bucky.” 

The brunette man laughs. “That’s why we got the vacuum, Tones. No worries.” He presses a kiss to Tony’s head, and directs him back to his spot to finish their craft, now that everyone is calm again. 

Peter reaches out to hold Tony’s hand. “Tony not scared anymore?” 

Tony smiles. He would have expected Peter to be scared of Tony, not scared for him. “No, Petey, I’m scared anymore.” 

Peter looks satisfied with that answer. “Tony help me cut?”

Tony can’t help the rush of warmth to his face. “Yeah, Petey, I’ll help.”

It still feels wrong , so so wrong, to cut up a photograph so nice. He remembers Mrs. Leahy yelling at her son after he had broken a framed picture of her grandmother, telling him he wouldn’t know how precious photographs were until he couldn’t have any more. She was right, Todd didn’t know. 

But Tony had, even then. 

Still, once he glues on the little cutout of his face onto the wood, adds a red pompom over his photo-nose, attaches the antlers over his head, and hangs it onto the tree next to three other reindeer ornaments, Tony thinks maybe sometimes you have to do things that feel wrong to make it into something new and good. 

---

The holidays bring on a furious week of celebration and baking in the Barnes-Rogers house. Bucky celebrates Hanukkah, and slowly guides all the kids through all the Hebrew prayers every night, holding Peter’s and Tony’s small hands to light the uneven, mismatched candles Steve had helped them make by hand out in the yard. 

On the second night, Bucky uncovers the huge ball of dough he’s been preparing for a week, and sets up the rarely-used deep fryer to make donuts. Step by step, Bucky shows them how to form the shape, to see when the donut is cooked and how to roll it in sugar and fill them with jelly. Clint tries to make his first donut “super-jelly”, although he quickly learns there is a limit to how much jelly one donut can hold, as his donut cracks open through the bottom and jelly spills onto his lap. 

Lucky licks up every inch of it, which at least saves Steve some cleaning. 

Tony decorates a gingerbread house for the very first time, although his favorite part is definitely the building of it. Once he figures out the angles and the amount of weight the cookie slabs will hold, he manages to put in a second floor, making his house taller than the others.

For a moment, Tony is struck by the thought that he isn’t being fair to Natasha and Clint and Peter. Clint quickly dispels that notion when he declares that Tony’s plan is brilliant, because it gives them more room to decorate with candy. 

Christmas Eve is spent sipping hot chocolate underneath a pile of blankets in the living room, watching holiday movies, kitted out in the matching snowman pajamas that Steve had given them on the first night of Hanukkah, waiting for sleepiness to carry them off and allow “Santa” to deliver presents. 

Tony was disillusioned with the Santa legend long ago, but Steve and Bucky have been so earnest about keeping every moment of the holidays as magical as possible that he can’t bear telling them. Maybe next year , he thinks as he drifts off to sleep, snuggled tightly between Peter and Natasha, Lucky spread out at their feet. 

When he opens his eyes, Tony wonders how none of them could have woken up when Steve and Bucky delivered the presents, before he registers the reality that there are presents , practically a mountain of them carefully set up under the tree, right in front of him. Honestly, Tony expected that after getting presents from Bucky’s family for Hanukkah, Christmas might be a one-gift-per-child situation, but it seems that the products of Steve’s holiday shopping were as big as Bucky made it sound. 

Peter stirs slowly next to him, before shooting straight up the moment his eyes catch sight of the tree. 

“It’s Christmas now!!!” 

Lucky sprints away at the noise, and Peter’s excited bouncing wakes Clint and Natasha. “Gotta tell dads,” Clint directs, pulling Tony up to stand. 

“As if they didn’t hear that?” Natasha mutters, adjusting Peter’s pants where they twisted in his sleep before letting him run up the stairs. The others are hot on his heels to meet Steve and Bucky, rubbing their eyes with smiles across their faces as Peter jumps on the bed between them. “Oh, did you see something, Petey?” Steve teases. 

A chant of “presents, presents, presents, presents,” follows each of the little boy’s bounces. 

“Okay, okay, Pops needs coffee first, though,” Steve decides as he scoops Peter up in his arm like a football. Clint sidles up to help Bucky attach his arm before following the trail downstairs. 

Finally settled down in the living room with hot drinks and cinnamon rolls in the oven, the children rip into their presents one by one. 

Natasha screams with joy - a sound Tony has never heard from her - as she digs into a large box filled with leotards, tutus, leggings, and a shiny pair of new, white ice skates, topped off with a picture of the local skating rink she would be starting classes at next week. Tony had only recently learned that Natasha always wanted to be a figure skater, but she’d been afraid to talk to Steve and Bucky about it for the longest time. 

Tony can’t imagine a universe where Natasha is scared of anything, nor can he think Steve or Bucky would ever say no to her. It’s become clear to Tony that Steve and Bucky would give their kids anything they can. 

Clint receives new video games and a certificate to a week-long sleepaway archery camp in the spring, practically falling over as he reads the brochure in shock. 

Peter gets a new blanket, a stack of themed books and a Bug of The Day calendar with facts on every insect, and tickets for a day at a big aquarium in Pennsylvania for something called a “Sensory Saturday,”, when there are less people to make the place quieter. 

Tony opens his own presents slowly, cherishing the way Steve so carefully wrote his name on each package, wrapped so neatly in snowflakes and reindeers. He’s shocked by the thousand piece LEGO spaceship, something that would surely take weeks to construct, and a science kit for a chemistry experiment. A piece of paper attached to the kit says different experiments will be sent to him every month . 

He stumbles over his words as he babbles out what he hopes is a clear “Thank you so much, I love everything,” to Bucky and Steve. It’s difficult for Tony to even hold the boxes, convince himself the presents really are for him. They’re so perfect, so carefully selected just for him. 

As if all that wasn’t enough, Bucky hands him one last small present with a warning to open it carefully. 

Holding his breath, Tony pulls back the paper, nearly dropping the gift when he sees his mother smiling back at him from behind the glass of a simple silver frame. 

Tony blinks, then blinks again, harder, but she’s still there when he opens his eyes. All long dark hair and hazel eyes, and that wide, open smile he often dreamed of. He stands there, speechless, staring at her. 

Finally, Bucky speaks. “We managed to find a picture of her on the internet, and I thought you might wanna have a picture in your room like you used to at your first ho-”

Tony can't stop himself from barreling into Bucky’s arms, Steve wrapping around him from the side. He’s there before he even registers that he’s moving, shaking and whispering into the space between them fervent “thank yous”. 

A minute later, calmed down enough that he can extract himself from his foster parents, Natasha gently asks if she can see the picture. Shyly, Tony flips it around to show her. 

Peter and Clint both agree that his mom had been beautiful. But it’s the way Natasha examines her thoroughly before she hums. “You look like her”, she decides, and Tony smiles. He’d always thought so too.

Chapter Text

The winter months at Steve and Bucky’s home pass along calmly, surrounded by regular snowfall. More than one lopsided snowman appears on the front lawn, but without hills or ponds nearby, there isn’t much else to do with the fluffy white blankets on the streets. 

Other than Natasha’s disappearance for an hour every Monday and Wednesday to her skating lessons, time passes in routine turns of movies, board games, Legos and puzzles set up on the coffee table. 

Something is going on with his case, judging by all three of Ms. Hill’s monthly visits ending with a private talk in Steve’s office. Tony asks about it every time, nerves completely fried with the dreadful apprehension of another visit, or maybe even something worse. 

Every time, Steve assures him there is no chance his living situation is going to change unless his dad “follows his plan,” which doesn’t seem to be happening. Ms. Hill’s downturned face when she leaves during her last visit seems to convey that his dad’s plan isn’t going well. Regardless, no one mentions a visit again after the disaster in December. 

Winter seems to have improved Tony’s sleep, aided by heavier blankets and fuzzy pajamas, that sometimes he even needs Clint to give him a little shake. 

Little is not how Tony would describe this shake, however. Thunderous sounds closer to the truth, because Clint is also talking way too loud, meaning he hasn’t put in his aids yet. 

“Come on, Tony, it’s today, we gotta go, we gotta go !” 

A groan escapes from Tony’s chest, low and displeased as he glances at the clock. It isn’t even nine yet, why is Clint even awake so ear- 

Ah. We gotta go . 

Today is Barney’s final wrestling championship tournament, at a high school only an hour away, and they’re all packing into the van to see if Barney will place at the Regionals. Barney could be the best wrestler of his size in half the country. 

Clint is already dressed, practically vibrating with excitement. He’s even layered a sweater over his long-sleeve, which usually only happens after Steve sends him back upstairs to “bundle up.”. 

Natasha is standing in the doorway, lips pressed together to stop herself from laughing out loud. “I told him to give you another five minutes, Tony.”

“We gotta go, Tash !”

“Dad hasn’t even made breakfast yet!” 

Clint freezes. “But we’re gonna be late!” He runs past his sister fast enough to jostle her. 

“Hey!”

“Sorry!”

Tony rubs his eyes blearily. “So do I have to wake up or not?”

Natasha giggles. “Might as well. He won’t let you go back to sleep. He was up at 6 AM.”

Tony groans. 

“Bathroom’s all yours,” she tosses out as she follows Clint to the kitchen. 

Clint’s impatience continues all through the morning as he attempts to rush everyone through breakfast and into the van, where he proceeds to ask Bucky every ten minutes how much longer they have to go. Tony has never seen him so excited. 

When they get to the high school, Clint carries Peter on his back to weave through the halls, showing his little brother what a “big kid” school looks like. 

“Clinty’s a big boy?” Peter chirps. 

“Next year, Petey,” Steve answers as he ruffles Clint’s hair. “Clint will go to high school next year, and Tasha will go the year after. And where are you going next year?”

Peter makes to raise his arms, and quickly brings them back to Clint’s shoulders when he almost topples backwards. “Real school, with Tony and Tasha!”

Tony grins. After Peter’s last parent-teacher conference in January, Steve and Bucky had come home, faces split with grins, with the news that Peter reached all of his goals at daycare and was ready to go to kindergarten at the elementary school. 

“Yeah Petey,” Natasha assures him, “and you’ll get to see us in the halls and during lunch and recess.” Peter whoops with excitement. 

Ahead of them, Clint freezes in the doorway of the gymnasium. “Woah.”

Woah is right. Tony has never seen a gym this big. He didn’t know they could be this big. 

“Is this the gym they use at the Olympics?” he thinks out loud. 

Bucky chuckles. “Nah, pal. When you get to high school, your gym will be this big too.”

“Really?”

Bucky nods seriously. “Gotta be that big. You’re going to be taller and bigger, don’t you want to fit?” He punctuates the question with a tickle under Tony’s chin. 

“Your gym must have been a hundred feet tall!”

Steve bursts out in laughter as he pulls Peter off Clint’s back. “Oh yeah, maybe even two hundred,” he quips. 

Soon enough, the children are settled on the bleachers in a neat line, Steve and Bucky on the row behind them. As they wait for seats around them to fill, Bucky pulls out the program to go through the list of schools and wrestlers they’ll see. 

Peter - in the middle of graciously passing out cookies from his snack bag - jumps when the auditorium breaks out into cheers as the first players come out into the gym, but he quickly recovers as he sees Clint join in the cacophony. 

Still, Peter keeps himself plastered tight between Tony and Natasha, distrusting of the noise and watching the players “fight.”. He grips his sister’s hand as she reassures him that the wrestlers are just playing a game, not really fighting. His fear seems to fade away once the first winner emerges, grinning and jumping with triumph. 

From then on, Peter joins in the cheering with everyone else, slowly picking up the rules as Clint leans over to explain what would gain Barney points. 

When Barney emerges from the doors, Clint ricochets out of his seat, startling Steve to reach out and grab him before he goes toppling over the row in front. Barney manages to see the display and waves jovially towards them, clearly trying to keep from laughing. 

They quickly learn that Barney is a great wrestler. He topples his opponent in the second minute of his first round, the fastest time yet. He qualifies for the next match easily, and Clint cheers loud enough that he pulls out his hearing aid to stop the feedback from ringing. 

An hour later, Barney is among the six players who proceed to the final rounds. During th final break, Clint grabs Bucky’s hand and leads him down the bleachers to where Barney is waiting. Barney scoops up his brother in a hug, giggling when Clint wipes off the sweat that transfers from Barney’s face to his. 

“Is Barney gonna go to the Regionals?” Natasha asks Steve. 

“If he wins two matches in his next round, yeah.”

Tony turns, mesmerized. “He’s like Superman!”

Steve laughs. “Barney’s pretty strong, yeah.”

“Your muscles are bigger than his, though!” It doesn’t seem possible that someone who looks so much smaller than his foster fathers can be so strong. 

“Sometimes it’s not about whose muscles are bigger, Tony. That all depends on your body type. Bucky and I are stocky, so we have a lot of weight in our chests. Barney’s really tall, but his chest and shoulders are a little smaller than ours, so his muscles aren’t going to be that big. But just because his muscles look smaller doesn’t mean that he’s not as strong. Wrestling isn’t just about who is stronger, but it’s about knowing how to move your body to use your strength against your opponent. Barney’s really good at that, because he knows how to move around and pin his opponent over.”

“Is Clint gonna do wrestling when he goes to the big school?”

Peter lets out a gasp. “Clinty’s gonna fight?”

Steve smooths the boy’s hair. “Wrestling is a game, remember Petey? Not real fighting, just like we talked about.”

Natasha nods along. “Besides, Petey, Clint doesn’t like wrestling all that much. He wants to try baseball, maybe soccer.”

Steve glances at her. “When did Clint say that?”

She shrugs. “I don’t remember. But he’s really good at softball when we play in the park. And he’s a really fast runner.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at her, almost like he doesn’t really believe her, and gives a little hum. “We’ll talk to him about it.”

Natasha nods, as if they were agreeing on something. It leaves Tony feeling as if he’s missed something, but he can’t ask about it as Clint and Bucky return to their seats. 

“You can’t see it from here, but Barney is so sweaty !” he exclaims, making a show of shaking himself. 

Clint vibrates as the tournament resumes. Natasha tries to tell him to stop getting so riled up but two minutes into Barney’s first round it’s a moot point. Clint has no awareness of anything except the game. It’s fascinating for Tony to watch, because sports have never really interested him. 

He wants Barney to win, but that’s just because he likes Barney . Tony doesn’t understand the appeal of watching two people shove each other around until one of them is pinned to the mat. It makes his stomach twist up if he thinks about it too much.

Peter’s right, it’s a little too much like real fighting. 

What Tony lacks in enthusiasm, though, Clint makes up tenfold when the referee declares Barney the winner. Clints leaps out of his seat and screams so loud that Tony flinches. Peter definitely doesn’t appreciate the noise either, but he’s happy enough to see Barney win that he’s not about to start crying. Tony looks at Natasha, Steve, and Bucky all cheering him on, and wonders what it must feel like to have a whole crowd of people applauding just for you. 

It must be an awesome feeling, judging by the size of Barney’s grin. 

Barney’s foster mom had to stay home with her other kids, so he comes along to dinner, where Steve and Bucky order him a fancy steak and treat everyone to dessert. The portions are huge, and the slices of cake are the size of Peter’s head, so everyone is full and happy and dozing off as they pile back into the van to drive Barney back home. The tournament was closer to Barney’s house than theirs so it adds an extra hour to their ride, but no one is really complaining when Steve and Bucky hand over their phones to pass the time. 

Peter’s asleep within twenty minutes, so Tony doesn’t have to share as he watches Phineas & Ferb .

The drive is calm and quiet, letting Tony sink into the peaceful atmosphere. Steve and Bucky murmur to each other in between singing along to the radio, Peter is slumped over in the seat next to him, blanket threatening to hit the floor if he moves around too much. Clint is snuffling softly behind him, head cradled onto a pillow made from his jacket, and Natasha is next to him, snuggled down into the back corner and snickering along to whatever she’s watching on YouTube. 

Tony sinks down into the knowledge that he’s comfortable here, with these people he was so scared of just a few months ago. 

He almost falls asleep, eyes slit open from sheer willpower and that nagging little sliver of fear that lives in the back of his brain, by the time they get home. Tony is ready to crawl into bed, praying that Steve and Bucky don’t force them all to wake up and shower before bed, because he’s sure that he’ll just fall asleep right under the water. Tony’s gaze runs up to the house and realizes, brain still fuzzy from the edge of sleep, that something isn’t right. 

Steve and Bucky put it together before he does. 

“Who would block the driveway?” Bucky mutters, more to himself than anyone else. He unbuckles his seatbelt, ready to get out when Steve grabs his arm. 

“The driver’s just sitting there.” 

Tony is wide awake now, and he hears Natasha shuffle around in the back. When he glances over, she’s sitting up straight, eyes squinted as she peeks out the window. 

“Waiting? For who, us?” Bucky thinks aloud, eyes darting to see that yes, Natasha and Tony have noticed. 

“We know anyone who drives a Mercedes S class?”

“Not unless you got new friends and forgot to tell me.”

“I’ll go check it out. Stay here.” Steve climbs out of the car, and a half-second later, the driver’s door of the black car opens. The man who comes out is tall, nearly taller than Steve, and wider than him in the shoulders. Even with Steve’s form blocking the stranger’s face, the hairs on Tony’s neck stand up. 

Tony suddenly wishes he could be inside. Nothing will happen to him if he’s just inside the house, but outside is unpredictable. 

Steve straightens up his spine, and when Tony squints he can see that the man is holding something - a folder, maybe - and is trying to hand it over, but Steve has his arms crossed, refusing. He’s saying something back, but it’s not loud enough to hear. If he was turned around a bit more, maybe Clint or Natasha could read his lips. Tony doesn’t know how. 

Steve takes a step to the side, and the man’s face comes into view. He’s bald, and Tony thinks his eyes are too small for his face. Even at a distance, Tony can see when he smiles, mean and wrong like a cartoon villain. The glare from the windshield distorts his face. Tony has to tilt his head to confirm that it’s not the glass causing the glint in the man’s mouth. 

The van’s headlight is catching the glimmer of a gold tooth - 

In that way that he hates , Tony’s breath swoops out of his chest. He knows that tooth. 

He knows that man. 

Tony has seen him before. 

At his first home. More than once. 

This man works for Tony’s father. 

Howard. 

Howard found him. He knows where Tony lives. 

Steve and Bucky said that wasn’t possible . No one was supposed to tell his dad, so how did he find out?

“Papa.” Natasha’s voice is soft so as not to stir Clint or Peter. Bucky twists around in the seat, quickly moving his gaze from his daughter to Tony once he realizes what caught her attention.

“Tony, you ok?” 

Not trusting himself to speak, Tony shakes his head. 

Bucky’s face pinches, glancing back to Steve for a second and then back to Tony. “Do you know that man?”

Tony nods, body stiff and hands starting to rattle. 

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Okay pal. You’re not going anywhere, alright? We’re gonna stay in the car until he leaves, and then we can talk about it when we’re inside.” Bucky extends his flesh arm. “Hold my hand, bud. Let’s practice our deep breaths. Breathe in for four and ho-”

Bucky stops when another glance shows Steve much closer to the man, stepping into his personal space. Steve’s pinched face is the closest to anger that Tony’s ever seen on his foster father, but the other man is the one who Tony is truly scared of. 

Steve has never been angry at him. Tony’s brain finally wakes up and reminds him of this, and knowing that if Steve is angry, it’s not at Tony . 

A high pitch ringing floods Tony’s ears, and a minute later he realizes the noise isn’t a ringing at all, but a distressed whine building in the base of his throat. Bucky is rubbing his thumb over the back of Tony’s hand and murmuring to him about breathing, but Tony doesn’t hear it. 

His entire brain is focused on Steve and the stranger. This man could be here to take him away, take him back to his dad, could reach right into the car and pull Tony out of his seat kicking and screaming because his dad always gets what he wants and Steve and Bucky won’t be able to do anything about it because they’re just his foster parents and they can’t even take him to get a haircut without getting it approved by two different people and that’s why his hair is getting in his eyes and Steve bought him hair gel last week to pull it back and - 

Tony gasps, breaking his breathing pattern right before he hits real, terrifying hyperventilation, because the man just punched Steve in the chest. 

What? !

Except, Steve barely even moves. That isn’t right. People move more than that when they’re punched, especially if it’s a hit from a man that large. 

Steve doesn’t back up or hit back, but he touches his chest, right where the man maybe-hit him, and holds it there. The man sneers at Steve, making Tony’s skin crawl. The man looks towards the van and Tony freezes, hoping that the darkness and the headlights keep the man from seeing into the car. 

Finally, the man climbs back into his shiny car and drives off - too fast for a neighborhood with kids, Bucky would say - and Steve just stands there until all trace of the car is gone. 

Slowly, and one-handed because Tony still has a death grip on his right hand, Bucky pulls the van into the driveway. Tony keeps his eyes on the road where the car disappeared into the night until it hurts his neck. 

Bucky turns around completely to face Tony. “He’s gone, Tones. Should we stay here for a minute?”

Bucky is barely finished before Tony is rapidly shaking his head. The car isn’t safe like the house is. The house has walls and curtains and doors and locks and a security system to keep people out. He needs to be inside. 

Steve reaches the car and pulls open Bucky’s door. “We ready to go in?” His hand is still over his chest, and Tony understands that the man hadn’t hit him after all. There’s a folder in his hand, a big orange one. 

“I think Tony’s definitely ready to go inside.” Bucky says it in some kind of way, because Steve immediately looks to Tony and realizes something is off. His eyes flit to Natasha behind him, who’s been sitting ramrod straight the whole time. 

“Ok, you take Tony, I’ll take Pete. Nat, honey, why don’t you go grab the first shower?” 

Natasha keeps a critical eye on Tony for a minute, before she nods and shakes Clint awake. He grumbles but becomes alert when Natasha starts signing furiously to him. They scurry out of the car and into the house, signing back and forth and glancing back to the street, where the car had taken off. 

Bucky takes Tony into Steve’s office. When he pulls Tony into his lap and hands him a glittery stress ball shaped like a dinosaur, Tony looks down to find his hands shaking. 

“You’re ok, Tony. He’s gone, you’re in the house, everyone’s inside. Steve is putting Pete to bed and then he’s gonna come down and we’re gonna have a chat when you’re ready. You don’t have to talk right now, just breathe. Just breathe for me, baby.”

Matching his breaths to Bucky is easier than it used to be. Between the stranger in the car and his foster parents, Tony won’t hesitate to say that he feels safer here, with Bucky and Steve. 

Steve walks into the office after a few minutes. “What’s going on?”

Tony breaks. “I know him.”

Steve looks as alarmed as Bucky had. Tony keeps powering through, unable to keep it inside. “I don’t remember his name but I know he works for my dad and-and that means that he knows, right? My dad knows I’m here, he wants to take me back, that man was here to take me.”

Tony can’t look away from Steve, but he feels Bucky’s arms tighten around him. He imagines they’re floored. Steve goes silent, mouth open and blinking slowly, for long moments until he sucks in a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. 

He kneels down, and that’s when Tony knows this is serious. 

“Okay, Tony, I….I think you might be right about your dad knowing where you are. Tell me, have you ever heard of a man called Obadiah Stane?”

Tony forces himself to stop spiraling and focus on the name. It floats around in his head, Obadiah, Obadiah, Obadiah, Oba-

“Obie. I called him Obie, ‘cause I couldn’t say the whole thing. He was always at our house, in Dad’s office.”

Steve makes eye contact with Bucky, and then hands him the folder that the man - Obie - had slapped into his chest. 

“Alright. So now that we know who he is, and that he really does know your dad, I think our next step is to call Ms. Hill and figure out what to do next. Tony, I-I really can’t promise you anything right now, because I don’t know the answer and honestly, I don’t really know what is going on. But we’re not going to keep any secrets from you, alright? Bucky and I have never lied to you about your case, right?”

Tony nods almost before he realizes it for himself. Steve and Bucky haven’t told him a single lie since he’s been here. They always tell him the truth, even when it isn’t something he wants to hear, even when they themselves don’t know the whole truth, and explain it to him again and again until Tony understands it all.

Most of all, Tony knows that unlike his dad, Steve and Bucky want to keep him safe, will keep him safe as long as he’s with them 

The thought of Tony’s dad taking him away, now that he’s finally in a home where he isn’t scared and doesn’t actually want to leave - would love to stay here forever, in some fantasy world where Tony would ever get what he wanted - makes Tony want to throw up. 

He squeezes the ball tightly in his hand and forces himself to breathe in time with Bucky while they watch Steve dial the phone. 

“Hey, Maria, sorry to call so late...Actually, um. I’m not sure how to answer that. We just came home to find a man named Obadiah Stane waiting for us in our driveway. Apparently he’s Howard Stark’s lawyer, and I’m not versed in court documents, but it looks like he just served us with a lawsuit.”

---

That night, Bucky stretches out on Tony’s bed and holds him against his chest. Neither of them mention that Tony is crying off and on, shaking every time he remembers how Steve had looked so, so sad when he hung up the phone. 

Ms. Hill didn’t know anything and they would have to wait for answers. 

Waiting is not something that Tony is unfamiliar with. His whole life for the last four years has been waiting. Waiting for a new home, waiting to leave - or get kicked out - from a current home, waiting for someone who might want to keep him. 

The problem is, Tony did something he knows he shouldn’t have. He’s gotten comfortable here, used to this house and this bed and these people who are nicer than anyone he’s met before. He’d gotten hopeful here, and now he’s remembered why that’s always a bad idea. 

Tony isn’t surprised when he wakes up in the middle of the night. The white noise machine is still playing, so he hasn’t been asleep long. Clint is snoring in the other bed. 

Still, Tony gets up and quietly pads down the hall. Natasha’s door creaks when it opens. She turns towards him, too fast for her to have been asleep. 

Without a word, he crawls into her open arms. It’s dark in the room, the way Natasha likes it, so it takes Tony a moment to see that there’s tear tracks on her face. He reaches up to touch them, but Natasha pulls away and swipes at them herself with the sleeve of her pajama top. 

“Why are you crying?”

Natasha’s eyes flash. “Don’t worry about that, Tony.”

Tony doesn’t want to not worry about it. He doesn’t want Natasha to be upset. “Are you sad?”

Natasha closes her eyes, sucks in a shaky breath. “Tony-”

“Steve says you’re supposed to tell if you’re upset.” 

She doesn’t say anything, just staring at him. Her eyes are green and shiny. Tony thinks they’re beautiful, and he wonders if he’s ever told her that. 

“Who was that man?” She asks, avoiding the question. 

“His name is Obie. He works with my dad. Steve says he’s a lawyer.”

Natasha pulls herself up on her elbows. “Why was he here?”

Tony looks away. “We don’t know. No one knows what’s going on. Steve said Ms. Hill has to ask around. I think- I think he said something about a lawsuit. What is that?”

Natasha bites her lip. Tony knows she’s thinking about whether or not she should tell him. “Tell me. Please.”

She sighs, and lays down again. “A lawsuit is….it’s when someone takes you to court. When they sue you, sometimes for money, or maybe if they want to get divorced. When Clint and I were getting adopted, Dad and Papa had to go to court. You remember Clint told you about his dad hitting him?”

Tony nods. Clint said Steve and Bucky got his dad arrested, and that’s why he’s still in jail. 

“I think that was a different kind of court thing, because the police arrested Clint’s dad.”

Tony bites his lip. “My dad already got arrested and put in jail. But they let him out. Doesn’t that mean he can take me back, even if Steve and Bucky say no? They’re not my real parents.”

Saying it makes Tony’s chest hurt. For the first time, Tony wishes that Steve and Bucky were his real parents. He tries not to think about it too much, about how if he was their real kid he wouldn’t have been in foster care, he wouldn’t have lost his parents when he was three, he wouldn’t have been hurt and yelled at and kicked out of homes for misbehaving.  

Natasha strokes his hair back from his eyes. It’s a painful reminder that Steve is still impatiently waiting for someone at DCS to approve him to get a haircut. Normal kids can go for a haircut anytime, and they can get whatever style they want. Normal kids don’t need to get every scrape and bruise photographed and sent to a caseworker, normal kids don’t have to have their faces covered in photos on their parents’ Facebook pages. 

Tony doesn’t remember ever feeling normal. He thinks he might just break down and cry all over again. 

Tony wonders if there might be a point where you’ve cried so much that you can’t ever cry again. Is it possible that you could cry out all the tears your body can make?

“They’re gonna fight for you, Tony.”

What Natasha doesn’t say is They could still lose . 

He closes his eyes and leans into her arms. Tony is tired down to his bones, and he wants to sleep well in a safe place while he still can. 

Chapter Text

Ms. Hill doesn’t come to the house until Tuesday night. By then, Tony has chewed six nails raw, barely eaten in three days, and panicked so bad in school at the mention of parent-teacher conferences that Mr. Banner called Steve to pick him up early. He’s utterly exhausted from being on high alert, convinced that Obie might show up at any moment to snatch him away and take him back to Howard. 

Ms. Hill lets Tony come and sit in the office with Steve and Bucky when it’s time to talk. He doesn't know if that’s good or bad, and he decides to sit in Steve’s lap. Steve holds him firmly with both arms, as if he knows that Tony wants to be as close as possible. 

“So, there’s been some new developments in the case. Some of them not necessarily related to DCS, so we didn’t have all the information, and it took a little while to iron everything out. I was going to come by next week and tell you.”

Steve’s arms tighten around Tony even more. “What kind of new developments?”

Ms. Hill heaves a big sigh. “Tony, you remember that when your dad was let out of jail, he had a list of things he had to do in order for you to be allowed to live with him again?”

Tony nods. If he opens his mouth he’s going to throw up. 

“Your dad didn’t do those things. He actually -” She breaks off to send Steve and Bucky a look, like adults do when they’re trying not to tell kids something important. “He actually broke some of those rules.”

“Is he going back to jail, ‘cause he broke the rules again?” 

“No, these are different kinds of rules. He didn’t break the law, but he broke the rules that the judge told him he has to follow to get you back.” She rolls her chair a little closer to the couch. “So because he broke those rules, and because he didn’t show up to your visit, the judge said that your dad’s parental rights are going to be terminated - taken away. Do you know what that means?”

It sounds familiar. Tony’s heard that before, with other kids, but he doesn’t understand it. “No.”

“It means that the judge has decided that it’s not safe for you to go back to your dad, and that will no longer be the focus of your case plan. The judge is going to say that your dad will not be allowed to make any more decisions for you. Essentially, your dad, at least legally, won’t be your dad anymore.”

Tony….Tony doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know if he really gets it. 

Everyone’s quiet for a minute, until Bucky leans down to ask, “Do you understand that, Tones?”

Bucky’s grey eyes are sad and worried when he looks up. “I...Is it like what happened with Clint’s dad?”

“Yeah, bud, that’s what happened with Clint’s dad.”

Tony knows he shouldn’t ask, but the question is burning a hole in his chest. “And that’s why you got to adopt him?”

Bucky looks back at Ms. Hill. She bites her lip nervously. 

“Tony, this is all going to take a while. But, yes, like with Clint, when parental rights are terminated, that means children are allowed to be adopted.” 

Tony freezes. He's spent most of his life dreading the day he would have to go back to his dad. Foster care was just the in-between space, floating from home to home until his dad was let out of jail. He had never even considered that there was a possibility that he wouldn’t have to go back. 

Adoption was always the plan for other kids. 

It’s not until Bucky wipes his cheek that Tony realizes he’s crying. “What are you feeling, pal?” Bucky asks it like Ms. Darcy does at therapy, soft and gentle and always with the promise that he doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to yet. 

“I-I don’t know.” Tony looks down at his toes. “I always thought I would have to go back to him.”

Steve gently taps his chin so he looks up. “Are you upset that you’re not going back to him?”

Tony shakes his head. It feels wrong to admit that. Kids are supposed to love their parents, not be scared of them. But then he remembers what Steve had told him before. Parents are supposed to take care of their kids and keep them safe, and his dad didn’t do that. 

That’s the reason his dad was put in jail in the first place. 

Ms. Hill clears her throat. “Tony, like I said, nothing is going to officially change for a while. You have time to think about this and figure out how you feel, but I also want you to know that you are allowed to choose if you want to be adopted. Some kids don’t want to be, and that’s ok, no one will be forcing you into anything.”

Tony’s eyebrows crease. “But...where do they go if they’re not adopted?”

“They stay in foster care, until they turn 18.”

Tony blinks, and runs that idea through his head. “What - What if I do want to be adopted? Then what happens?”

Ms. Hill sends another sharp look at Bucky and Steve. “Well, then there’s two options.”

Steve nudges him to turn and look at him head on. “So. Bucky and I are a foster home that’s open to adoption. You know that’s how we adopted Clint and Natasha and Pete, yeah?”

Tony nods, and tries to keep himself from shaking with anticipation. “So, if you want to stay here - and you can absolutely say no if you don’t want to, Tony - Bucky and I can apply to adopt you. And if you don’t want to stay here, Ms. Hill would find another family that’s open for adoption that you do like.”

Tony tries to say something, but he has to stop and swallow a few times. His mouth is so dry, and when he manages to find his voice, he can’t speak over a whisper. 

“Y-yo-you would...want to adopt me?”

Bucky looks him right in the eye. “Tony, if you want us to adopt you, it’s not even a thought. We’d do it in a heartbeat.”

He knows he’s crying again, but Tony can’t bring himself to care. He’s taking in a lot of new information right now, and his feelings are all jumbled up in his chest, but most of all, Tony feels relieved. For the first time since his mom died, Tony knows - he knows - that there’s someone in the world who wants him, wants to keep him forever. Something his dad had never expressed and - 

“Wait,” Tony gasps. “But that man. The lawyer. I thought my dad was trying to take me back?”

Ms. Hill sits up. “Tony, it might take a while to get everything official, but I can tell you that there’s no way your dad is getting custody of you again. He’s broken too many rules. But from what we can tell, your dad is trying to say that Steve and Bucky aren’t a good home for you-”

“But they are!” Tony yelps. Steve’s arms are back around him, gently shushing him against the top of his head. 

“I know, Tony. We’re going to tell that to the judge. Your dad...Tony, I’m not really sure why your dad is trying to bring a lawsuit up, I’m not a lawyer, but this isn’t really something we can tell you about.”

“But it’s about me.”

Bucky speaks up. “Tony, there’s a lot of rules about court, and one of them is that people who are involved can’t talk about what’s going on. It’s a way to make sure that no one is lying. But, I promise, if there’s something that Steve and I think you really need to know, we’ll work it out. Do you trust us to do that?”

It makes Tony itch under his skin, not knowing, but he forces himself to nod. Steve and Bucky don’t lie to him. He trusts them. 

Steve and Bucky are the first people he’s trusted in a long time. It’s more than Tony could ever say about his dad. 

---

Steve and Bucky call Ms. Hill practically every day after that, and a man named Nick Fury comes over on Saturday, while Peter’s aunt May and uncle Ben come over for their visit and offer to take all the kids out to a movie and lunch. He’s still there when they come home, talking over papers and telling Steve that there’s nothing to be too concerned about. 

Natasha tells him Nick is a lawyer. Tony hopes he’s right about not being concerned.

---

Nothing changes after Ms. Hill’s visit, which is at the same time relieving and nerve-wracking. February rolls over into March quickly, and with it, Natasha’s 12th birthday. 

Natasha and Clint are “Irish twins”, because they’re born within a year of each other. Until Clint’s birthday in June, they’ll both be 12. Tony thinks it’s pretty cool to be temporary twins.  

The Sunday before her birthday, the family splits up in the mall. Steve takes Natasha to get a manicure and a new outfit for her party on Saturday, while Bucky and the boys pick out gifts. 

On Friday, Natasha’s actual birthday, Tony realizes that Steve and Bucky take birthdays very seriously. He has only seen this level of commitment to celebration on TV, and Tony marvels at where in the house they had been hiding everything. 

The house is completely decked out in black and pink decorations. The floor of Natasha’s room is filled with balloons when she wakes up, streamers are wrapped around the bannister of the staircase leading to the kitchen, where more streamers, banners, and balloons are littered across the kitchen and living room. 

Clint and Tony tiptoe to Natasha’s door once they know she’s awake, lurking just behind the doorway for the perfect moment to jump out and scream, “Happy Birthday!” Natasha shrieks as she turns and collapses into giggles. It’s a sound Tony rarely hears from her. 

Bucky serves up strawberry swirled waffles topped with whipped cream for breakfast, and places extra rubbery bacon on Natasha’s plate. Everyone sings ‘Happy Birthday,’ which Peter continues all throughout the car ride to school. Lucky howls during the song, clearly as excited about the birthday as anyone else, and Clint devolves into howling aloud with him. Natasha beams throughout the entire morning, longer than he’s ever seen her smile before. 

After school, there’s takeout from Natasha’s favorite Russian restaurant waiting alongside a buffet of desserts that Bucky spent the day decorating. Clint has to be stopped from grabbing at the second batch waiting for the party the next day. 

While they stuff pierogies into their mouths and trade kebabs across plates, everyone goes around and says their favorite thing about Natasha. 

“No, dad, please!” she cries. Her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, but Steve insists it’s a birthday tradition. 

Peter bursts out first, “I love Tashy!” and leans over to smack a kiss onto her cheek. Clint adds, “Tash is a bad-ass,” and then sheepishly says, “Sorry, dad,” before Steve can comment on the language. 

Tony chews it over for a moment, and decides to say the truth. “Natasha always makes me feel safe. And she taught me how to beat Clint in Mario Kart.” Natasha laughs at that one, all wide and pearly-white teeth. 

The rest of the weekend passes with the same manner of excitement. It’s almost overwhelming, the amount of care and love that is poured into celebrating a birthday in this house. Tony never saw a foster kid get this kind of attention in any of his other homes. At the Leahy’s, Tony wasn’t even included in pictures during their son’s birthday. 

For his own birthday, Tony was lucky if anyone even remembered it. He’d only gotten a real cake once, at Mrs. Hendricks’ home when he turned 4. It was chocolate, and she had topped it with blue icing. 

Bucky went all out for Natasha’s cake for the party on Saturday. Truth be told, Tony is a little relieved that he, Clint, and Peter are allowed to stay upstairs and entertain themselves while there are strangers in the house, even if they are just Natasha’s friends. They play board games and build more of Tony’s Lego Mustang before venturing downstairs when Steve announces the cake is out. 

Twelve girls from Natasha’s school and skating classes are gathered in the kitchen around a three tier cake decorated in black and pink roses made of icing. Inside, two chocolate layers surround a strawberry sponge, Natasha’s favorite. Tony doesn’t mind when Clint carves out the strawberry cake from his slice and dumps it from onto Tony’s plate. 

Natasha glows for the rest of the night and into the next day for the last part of her celebration. Steve takes her and her best friend Carol to see a ballet called The Nutcracker at a big theater in New Jersey. Natasha dons a shimmering green dress and Steve even puts on a nice button-down and pants, all dressed up to go to a fancy show. 

The show must be long, because they’re gone for hours, long enough that the boys pass the time with a movie and a lengthy game of Apples to Apples with Bucky. Peter is already asleep when Steve and Natasha finally return. She comes into his and Clint’s bedroom to say goodnight, glowing with the aura of contentment. Tony asks if she liked the show. 

His foster sister smiles down at him. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

---

Court takes a long time. By the end of March, nothing has changed with Tony’s case. Steve says they’re waiting for a court date, but his dad’s lawyer is trying to slow things down, so everyone has to be patient. Tony’s never been good at waiting, but he’s trying his best not to worry. At the very least, everyone seems pretty sure that there’s no way his dad can get him back.

Even Clint and Natasha are relieved to hear that, but Tony has noticed that Natasha developed a habit of staying close to him ever since the night of Barney’s wrestling match. She chooses to sit next to him during every movie, checks his homework after school and helps him with his spelling, holds his hand at the store even though no one tells her to. 

She doesn’t say anything when he wakes up in the middle of the night and tiptoes into her room, and she doesn’t tell Steve or Bucky that he’s not sleeping as well as he should. 

That’s why Tony knows something is off when he knocks on the bathroom door on a Tuesday morning, and there’s no response. He goes to turn the knob, but the door is locked. 

Clint has only just gotten out of bed, and a glance across the hall confirms that Natasha’s room is open and she’s not there, so it has to be her in the bathroom. 

He knocks again, a little louder. “Natasha, I gotta pee.”

It’s silent for a couple seconds, and then he hears, “I’m in here.” It’s so quiet Tony can barely make it out. He knocks again. “Let me in.”

“Go downstairs.”

Tony rolls his eyes and huffs. He turns to the stairs, but stops on the first step.  

Steve and Bucky don’t like locked doors. No one locks doors here, not even Natasha, not even in the bathroom. That’s why Tony knocked first. 

Brow furrowed, he pads back to the bathroom door, moving as quietly as possible when he presses his ear against the wood. There’s nothing. No running water, no trace of movement. 

“Are you ok, Tash?” 

She doesn’t answer. 

What is she doing in there? Tony knows he shouldn’t go snooping, but Natasha’s being...strange. It’s making him nervous, and he suddenly needs to know what’s happening. Tony kneels down on the floor and peers through the crack between the floor and the door. 

He’s expecting to see her feet by the toilet, or standing in front of the sink, but he doesn’t. It takes him a minute to find them, but as he cranes his neck to the side, he sees them backed up to the tub. 

She’s sitting on the edge of the tub, and she’s not moving. 

Tony doesn’t know what’s going on, but there’s a pit in his stomach telling him wrong, wrong, wrong . 

He races down the stairs and nearly trips over Peter and his blocks on the way to the kitchen. Steve and Bucky are in there, hugging and laughing over something. Bucky catches him first. Tony’s face must give it away. Bucky immediately asks, “What’s wrong?”

Tony stammers for a moment, because he doesn’t know what actually is wrong. He just has a feeling. 

“I-Um-I don’t - Natasha’s in the bathroom. She locked the door, and she won’t open it.”

For a second, both men are frozen, and then Steve heads to the stairs. Bucky’s right behind him, shutting off the stove first and telling Tony, “Stay here, and keep an eye on Peter,” before he disappears behind his husband. 

Tony follows them halfway up the staircase, just to the point where he can still see Peter on the floor and catch a glance to the upstairs bathroom. Steve’s knocking at the door with one hand and gesturing at a curious Clint to step back, signing something one-handed to his son. Tony can’t make it out from behind. 

Bucky comes out of their room holding a key ring. Tony lets out a breath. Right. All foster homes need keys for every single lock in the house. They take it out to show Ms. Hill every visit. 

Tony’s mind suddenly produces an image of his dad, angry and drunk, pounding at a door and threatening to break it down. Tony doesn’t know if it’s a memory or just his imagination running wild. 

Determined to focus, Tony comes back to Steve patiently but firmly talking through the door. “Natasha, I need you to open the door.” 

There’s no response that Tony can hear. Bucky moves past Steve with the key in his hand. “Nat, baby. I’m gonna unlock the door. It’s just gonna me, ok, just Pop. I only wanna make sure you’re alright, nothing else.”

It’s still silent. Behind them, Clint is looking over anxiously, inching closer until Steve pulls him back a few steps, murmuring something in his ear. 

Bucky sighs, unlocking the door slowly. “I’m coming in, baby, don’t be scared.” Tony wants to run up there and see what’s happening, but Steve is holding Clint back from the doorway and if Clint can’t look, Tony shouldn’t either. 

Keeping still becomes incredibly harder when Bucky curses and then drops down to a whisper. Tony can’t make it out from the distance but Clint must, because he makes a move to wriggle away from Steve, to no avail. Watching Clint get agitated makes Tony’s stomach twist, making him want to puke. 

Steve catches Tony on the stairs and motions for him to stay put. 

Bucky’s voice travels out into the hall, “Hey Steve. Can we get a robe, and maybe the first-aid kit?”

Clint jerks. “Did she hurt-” 

Steve shushes him and leads him into his and Tony’s room. “Stay in here until I come get you. Seriously, Clint.” Steve dips into Natasha’s room for her robe, and then into his own room for the kit. He’s slow as he approaches the bathroom, and doesn’t step past the doorway, just hands over the items to Bucky. “Hey there, honey.”

There’s a low back and forth for long, tense minutes, until Bucky and Natasha appear in the threshold. She’s wrapped up in her robe, as if Bucky put it over her shoulders instead of Natasha dressing herself. Her legs and feet are bare and shake a little as Bucky leads her into the master bedroom, tightly holding her to his side and talking to her quietly. 

Tony hates that he can’t see her face. 

Steve herds him downstairs. “Why don’t you and Pete watch TV for a little bit, hmm? I don’t think we’re going to make it to school today.”

Tony pulls his arm before he goes back up. “Is Natasha hurt?” 

Steve sighs. “She- she’ll be ok.” Tony furrows his brow. 

“Listen, bud, we’re all going to talk about it later. I promise. Right now, I just need to sit with your sister for a minute. Will you be ok with Pete for a little bit?”

Tony nods. Even if he wants to know what’s going on, he knows that Natasha needs her dads. Besides, he can see Peter is confused. They’re not allowed to watch TV on school mornings, and he can tell something is going on. Tony should help out. 

It’s a while until Steve comes back down. Long enough that they would’ve typically left the house and been on the way to school by now. 

He looks sad, and his eyes are red. Tony wonders if he’s been crying. “Hey pal. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to run Pete to school real quick, and then Bucky’s going to take Natasha to the doctor.”

Nausea takes over Tony again. “Doctor?!”

Steve’s arms come around him. “Oh no, no, Tony, I’m sorry, not that kind of doctor. Bucky’s taking her to the therapist. She’s ok, I promise. She’s ok.”

Tony sniffs, trying to hold back the panicked tears that spring to his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. She’s going to the therapist so they can talk about it. When I come back, me, you, and Clint are going to talk about it too. I’ll be back in half an hour, alright?”

When Steve comes back, Bucky ushers Natasha out the door almost immediately. She won’t look at Tony when she passes him, hiding behind her hair. Clint hasn’t come out of their room. When Steve knocks on the door, Clint has tear tracks on his cheeks. 

All seated together on Bucky and Steve’s bed a minute later, Clint croaks out, “She cut herself again, didn’t she?”

Steve sighs sadly and wipes another tear from Clint’s eye. “Yeah. She did. We’re going to lock up all the razors for a while, like we did last time, don’t worry.”

Clint looks even more distraught. “But - But she wasn’t sad again. And she’s eating ok!” Steve pulls him into his lap. Clint looks so small there, curled up like a toddler.

“I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Tony thinks he understands now. “Did….Did Natasha hurt herself?”

Steve pulls Tony closer with the arm that isn’t wrapped around Clint. Tony’s knees brush against his brother’s. “Yes. Not seriously, nothing more than a cut, but she did hurt herself.”

“Why?”

Steve sucks in a deep breath, steeling himself. “People hurt themselves for a lot of reasons. Some things are hers to say, so I can’t tell you all of it.” His eyes flutter closed for a moment. “Before Natasha came to live with us, she was - she was really sad. She wasn’t in a good home before, and she had a really hard time growing up. Some bad stuff had happened to her. She thought maybe those things happened because she was bad, even though that wasn’t the truth. And then she got angry, and hurt herself because she thought she needed to be punished.”

That doesn’t make a lot of sense to Tony. “But Natasha’s not bad. She’s awesome.”

Steve ruffles his hair, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Clint speaks first. “We used to get hit. At our old foster home. And at the home before that, Tasha’s foster mom used to hit her too, and take away food. She used to cry a lot.”

Steve nods. “Natasha has been doing a lot better. She only hurt herself a few times when she first came here. We found out, and that’s when we started taking her to therapy.”

“So why did she hurt herself again? I don’t understand.”

Tony watches his foster father bite his lip. “I don’t really know. Maybe Natasha will tell us, but she doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to. Sometimes, we want to go back to things we know, even if it’s bad for us. It could be that something upset her, and she hurt herself because that’s what she used to do before. But the important thing is that you knew something was wrong, and you told us right away, and we got there before she did anything else. You did a really, really good thing telling us, Tony. I’m so proud of you, honey. That was really good.”

The idea that Natasha could have hurt herself more if Tony hadn’t realized that something was wrong is what breaks him. The idea of that alone is so terrible, Tony starts to cry. Steve pulls him fully onto his lap, gently holding him close. Clint holds his hand as his own tears fall. 

No one moves for a long, long time. 

---

It’s past noon when Natasha comes back. She must have been talking to the therapist for a while. 

She still looks terribly sad when she pushes her way into the house. Silently, she steps over Lucky and approaches the couch where Tony and Clint are sitting. Bucky and Steve go into the office to talk, and Natasha falls into Clint’s arms. 

She rasps into his neck, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Clint only tightens his arms around her. He hasn’t spoken since he and Tony had finally managed to stop sobbing into Steve’s shirt. 

A hand brushes Tony’s cheek. Natasha’s eyes are on him. “I’m sorry I scared you, too.”

Tony doesn’t think she should be sorry, but he doesn’t know how to say that. He turns his head to kiss her palm. Natasha doesn’t smile, but she taps his nose before she pulls back. 

“Why?” Clint croaks. 

Natasha sighs, exhausted. She raises a hand to sign Later. Tired . Snuggling closer, she closes her eyes. Tony can’t help but notice that it seems like her whole body is melting into the couch. 

Natasha doesn’t talk for the rest of the day, and no one asks her to. Steve serves them dinner on the couch and doesn’t say anything when Natasha only manages a few bites. He says they’ll talk more tomorrow when everyone’s had time to process.

Clint changes into pajamas and leaves the room without a word. He hasn’t been more than five inches from his sister all day, which isn’t surprising. When one is upset, the other is close by. 

The thing is, Tony is really understanding that urge right now. After this morning, every second he hasn’t had eyes on Natasha has set him on edge.

It’s not even ten minutes until Tony gets out of bed. As expected, Clint and Natasha are laid out on her bed, facing each other. He stands awkwardly in the doorway. Natasha’s had a hard day and he’ll go back to his room if that’s what she wants. 

He’s relieved when she waves him in. She makes Clint move over so there’s just enough room for Tony to squeeze between them.

When they’re all settled, Natasha strokes a gentle finger over his face. His hair is finally out of his eyes, thanks to a haircut approval last week. 

Tony’s silent, satisfied just to lay eyes on her. Natasha starts talking anyway. 

“When I was five, my mom died. We - we were really poor. Mama had...a bad job. She didn’t speak English, so she couldn’t work in an office or something. She worked with mean men. They would hit her sometimes, and I would have to hide in the closet to stay safe.” Her voice is soft and calm, but Tony knows this is making her sad. Clint is silent behind him. Tony is sure he knows this story. 

“My mom always wanted to be a figure skater. In Russia, it’s a really famous sport, like ballet and gymnastics. Girls train their whole lives to be great athletes. But my mom was poor, so she never got to do it. She still loved it though. We used to watch old videos of famous skaters all the time. Some days it would be the only thing that could make her smile.”

A single tear falls from a green eye. 

“She used to tell me that one day, she would make enough money to get me into classes, and I would be a great skater like the ones we used to watch. It was my mom’s dream to see me on ice like those girls. But then, she got hurt, and she died. And she never got to see me skate.”

Natasha toys with the edge of the blanket, collecting her thoughts. 

“At my first foster home, the mom there was...bad. She would take away food, and hit me. She called me mean things. It just wasn’t good. The social worker never came and checked on me. She made me think that I was a bad kid, and that it was my fault that I was put in foster care. She said I was there because no one else wanted me. She said it so much that I started to think she was right. And then I got put in another home, and it was a lot nicer. I started to think that the first foster mom was wrong, because the new one was nice, and she didn’t punish. But she couldn’t keep me long, and I got sent to the foster home where I met Clint.”

She stops to reach past Tony and ruffle Clint’s hair. Tony remembers this part. “That home was bad too.”

“Yeah. And I remembered what my first foster mom said. I figured, if I got taken out of a nice home and into another bad one, I must have deserved it. I already thought that I didn’t deserve to eat if I was bad, and then I got angry. Angry that I couldn’t seem to get it right, that I wasn’t good enough to get a good home. And one day, I wanted to punish myself for it. So I picked up a razor.”

Natasha pulls his hand down to her thigh, where he knows there are neat, little scars lined up. 

“After that, it got easier. It didn’t feel good. Actually, it felt awful, but I never knew when I was going to get hit again, when I could eat, and this was the one thing I was in charge of. I felt like if I was hurting myself, that was still better than someone else hurting me.” A shoulder moves in a shrug. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

The room is quiet for a few breaths. Tony breaks it. “Why did you do it this time?”

She bites her lip before she answers. “I’m 12. And I’m in a beginner skating class. Those figure skaters that my mom and I used to watch were training for the Olympics by my age. All my mom wanted was to see me be just like those girls, just like she wanted to be when she was a kid. And...I don't know. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I felt like I was letting her down. I started her dream, but it was too late. I don’t know if I ever really thought I would make it to the Olympics or anything, but it feels different to know that I’ll never be that good, because I started too late. It made me angry.”

Tony mulls that over. Clint signs something behind him that makes Natasha huff. She signs back shut up . 

They lay there in silence for another while. It’s easier to breathe, now that he knows what happened. He might not understand it, but at least he knows. 

“Natasha?” He whispers. 

“Yeah?”

“I think your mom would be proud of you. I don’t think she would care how old you are, as long as you like skating.”

Her mouth twitches at the corner, not quite a smile. 

“Thank you, Tony.” She runs her fingers over his eyes. “Now go to sleep. I’m tired.”

He stays awake until he’s sure her breaths are even and deep. Clint is still awake behind him when he finally drifts off.

Chapter Text

Ms. Hill comes by for another home visit the next day, because someone got hurt in the house. Tony hadn’t even known that was a rule with foster care. He'd never seen foster parents actually tell their social workers that a kid got hurt. 

But then, Clint muttered, if the parents are the ones doing the hurting, why would they say anything?

Ms. Hill doesn’t stay long, but she tells Steve and Bucky that there’s finally a court date for his dad, next month. Tony knows everyone keeps saying it’s not going to change anything, but with the nervousness in the house from Natasha’s incident, Tony feels like he’s on the verge of vibrating out of his skin, and he’s not the only one. 

The whole house feels hyper aware after Tuesday. Clint is glued to his sister’s side, refusing to leave her alone in a room until she punches him in the arm and tells him to stop being a shadow. “Dad locked everything up anyway.”

Clint doesn’t seem satisfied by that. Tony doesn’t blame him. He has a hard time not tracking Natasha every time she leaves the room. 

Steve makes everyone “check-in” after school, which is stressful. It feels like therapy, telling his foster dads that he’s on edge, feeling like anything bad might happen again. 

Therapy is also stressful, because he has to talk for a whole hour about what’s bothering him. Before, it was just the knowledge that something was changing with his dad and not knowing what would happen. Now, he’s worried about his dad, about Natasha hurting herself again, about Clint and Steve and Bucky being nervous about it happening again. 

He has to tell Darcy that knowing why his sister hurt herself takes away the mystery, but it also makes him scared that it could happen again at any time. He doesn’t live in Natasha’s brain, and the idea that those thoughts stay in her head all the time make him absolutely terrified. 

Bucky promises him that Natasha is a lot better than before, that she goes to therapy just like him to deal with those bad thoughts. Darcy tells him that almost everyone will slip up and go back to bad habits once in a while, especially when big changes are happening. 

“Brains are weird things. Even when we know better, we can go back to bad habits just because that’s what we know. When things are uncertain, we want to go back to what we know, just to have something familiar, even when that familiar thing isn’t good for us.”

“Like when I pick my skin?” He shows her his raw thumb. Bucky slathered it in Neosporin after school today. 

Darcy nods. “A little bit. It’s not the best thing for your fingers, but when you get anxious, that’s the first thing you wanna do because that’s what you’ve always done. We’re not always going to be perfect, Tony. We’re going to make mistakes and do things that aren’t the best decision. What’s important is that we know when we do things that hurt ourselves, and we think about why we might have made those decisions, and we try to make better ones next time.”

Bucky pulls him into his lap. “And, you know Steve and I are taking it really seriously, right?”

“You locked up all the knives and stuff.”

“Yeah, and we took Natasha to therapy so we could talk it out, and figure out what kinds of better decisions she can make next time those bad thoughts come back.”

Tony runs that over in his head, and realizes something. “But we didn’t know the bad thoughts came back for her until she hurt herself again. She didn’t tell you.”

Darcy clears her throat. “Are you worried that those bad thoughts are going to come back, or are you worried that you won’t know when they come back, because Natasha didn’t tell you this time?”

Ahh. “That I won’t know. Natasha’s good at keeping secrets.”

She nods. “What are you worried might happen if the bad thoughts come back and you don’t know?”

Tony swipes at his eyes. “She could get hurt worse. And we won’t know she’s hurt, and if we don’t catch her she could keep doing it, that’s why she hurt herself so much before. What if she gets so hurt she has to go to the hospital?”

“That’s a really scary thought. Did Natasha hurt herself enough to go to the hospital this time?”

“No. Bucky gave her a bandaid.”

“So, do you think that, when Natasha has those bad thoughts, that she wants to hurt herself that bad? To have to go to the hospital?”

Tony thinks about the scars on her thighs. They’re thin, tiny enough that you wouldn’t know they were there unless you came close enough. One of his old foster siblings got a bigger scar from scraping up his shoulder in a skateboard accident. He hadn't even needed stitches. 

“I guess not.”

Darcy’s lipstick looks almost purple today, and he wonders if Clint would like the shade. “Okay. I don’t think it’s bad that you worry about Natasha hurting herself again. You're her brother, you care about her and you don’t want her to be hurt. It’s normal to worry about the people you love getting hurt. But I don’t think it’s good for us to worry about something like going to the hospital if that’s never happened before.”

Tony bites his lip. Darcy does this thing where she finds a “good” thing to worry about instead of the super-bad-worst-case-scenario that always comes to Tony’s head. It helps sometimes. 

Tony has anxiety . Darcy says everyone worries, and it’s good, because it’s like a smoke alarm in your brain. It tells you when things go wrong so you can stay safe. Tony’s brain has an alarm that’s really sensitive, and it goes off even when there might be smoke. So Tony and Darcy have to be the people who come in and check out the house to make sure there isn’t actually a fire. 

After the session, Tony still doesn’t know if he feels any better. Natasha’s sitting in the waiting room when he comes back. She still looks tired, and he runs his eyes over her. He lingers on her thigh, where he knows there are nine thin, parallel scars lined up like a staircase. 

The neatness of them makes his skin crawl. It reminds him that Natasha made those cuts on purpose. He can’t imagine how sad she must have been that she wanted to hurt herself like that. 

Natasha puts down her book and opens her arms. Tony can’t resist climbing into them, even if he knows that Natasha never initiates hugs and she’s only doing it for him. She doesn’t like touching other people for a long time. 

He moves to pull away, but her arms don’t let him. She keeps him there for a long, quiet minute. 

The solid weight of her body loosens the knot in his throat, just a little bit. 

Natasha is here, and she’s not going anywhere. 

---

The tension in the house fades, but it doesn’t disappear. Bucky says everyone is recovering and processing and that it’s not always easy. 

Tony wakes up from nightmares, which isn’t necessarily new, but finding Clint awake next to him is. A couple of times, Clint climbs into bed with him and rubs his back to help him fall back asleep. Even though Clint doesn’t have his aids in, he still remembers to turn on the white noise machine. 

Once, Tony wakes up before Clint. His foster brother is whimpering in his sleep. It’s been a long time, but he recognizes the sound immediately. He used to hear it every night in the room he shared with the other boys at his old foster homes. 

Clint’s awake before Tony even makes it out of his bed. He signs to Tony that he’s ok, but Tony gets up anyway. Clint stays with him, and he’ll do the same. 

In the morning, they don’t talk about it. 

Peter is clingier than usual. He doesn’t know what happened to Natasha, too little to understand, but he can tell something is off. The kids all gather in the living room more often because Peter starts getting antsy when he can’t have his eyes on everyone at once. He insists on extra kisses and hugs throughout the day, but no one is really complaining about it. 

Even Lucky is on alert. Normally he follows Clint everywhere, but now the retriever cycles through being attached to every child in turn. He follows them into their bedrooms at night, and lays under their feet at the dinner table. 

Clint takes it as an invitation to sneak him scraps, even though Steve says it’s bad to feed dogs human food because it could make them sick. Tony’s seen Lucky eat cat poop and be fine, so he doesn’t know how true that is. 

Going to school is the hardest part. Hours of the day spent away from each other and not knowing what’s going on has him distracted a lot. Mr. Banner gives him extra time for his assignments, because Steve called all the teachers and told them there was a “family situation” and that the kids might have a harder time at school.

At lunch, Tony searches the cafeteria until he spots Clint and Natasha. He always checks that Natasha is eating. She is, which makes him feel a little better when they have to go back to class. 

After a couple weeks, everything seems to be getting back to normal. School is easier, everyone is calmer, routines start back up again. Everyone gets more comfortable not following Natasha with their eyes. 

It’s not completely over, though, so when shouting breaks out in the recess yard, Tony’s alert in a second. First, he makes sure the shouting isn’t close by. It’s coming from near the handball court, around the corner from where Tony is jumping rope with Pepper and Rhodey. Natasha’s even farther away on the other side of the yard, sitting against a wall with Carol and talking. She’s not even looking up. Between all the regular noise of the yard, Tony doubts she notices it from way over there. 

Satisfied that Natasha is safe, Tony moves to hand over the rope to Pepper for his own turn. She’s pink in the cheeks, and squints towards the shouting. “Is someone fighting?”

Tony hadn’t really noticed what the yelling was about, but now that he’s listening for it, Pepper’s right. The shouting doesn’t sound...good. It’s not cheering. 

Dropping the rope, Tony moves across the yard to get a view around the corner. Sure enough, kids are huddling around and screaming. It’s too much at once to make out, but it’s chaotic. Tony simultaneously wants to run in the other direction and come closer to find out what’s going on. 

He decides to slowly approach the crowd. The words get clearer as he weaves through the kids who are staying a safe distance away. 

One scream cuts through the air. “Stop it, Clint!” Tony’s stomach goes cold. 

He should have been paying more attention. Clint is always at the handball courts during recess. He should have known . 

Tony pushes through the throng of kids with all the strength he has. He gets an elbow to the chest for his troubles, but makes it to the epicenter of the gathering just in time to hear Clint yell, “Don’t fucking talk about my family!” as he shoves a big kid away from him.

Tony doesn’t have time to be shocked at seeing Clint so angry, because the other kid is shouting back. “You’re a pussy just like your faggot daddies!” he screams as he pulls back his arm and punches Clint in the stomach. 

The other kid laughs as Clint doubles over. “Whole family is a bunch o’psychos. You and your crazy ass sister, gettin’ picked up off the street ‘cuz you’re so broken your own parents didn’t want you.” Clint’s face morphs into pure and utter rage. A moment later, he lunges at the other kid, hitting him in the cheek. The other kid strikes him back in the chin, harder.

A roar rips through Tony’s chest. He bursts ahead of the boy standing in front of him, and launches himself at the kid hitting Clint. With all the strength he has, Tony balls up his hands and aims wherever he can reach. He only gets a couple hits in when he’s shoved back so forcefully he topples to the ground. A ringing echoes through his ears. 

That’s when Clint snaps . He growls - actually growls - and punches the other boy twice in the face. “Don’t ever touch my brother!” Tony watches in horror as the other boy goes for Clint’s eye, but catches him in the ear when Clint turns his head. 

Clint’s hearing aid pops out and falls to the ground. Before Tony can reach for it, the other boy’s foot stomps onto it, narrowly missing Tony’s hand. 

The ringing in Tony’s ears is getting louder and louder. It’s not until the crowd starts falling back that Tony understands it’s not his ears. The sound is a whistle as three teachers approach the crowd. 

Clint manages to pull the other boy onto the ground, but he only gets in one more hit before a teacher grabs him around the middle and pulls him off. Another teacher is pulling the other boy up and backing him away from Clint. There’s more teachers now, yelling at everyone to get back inside. 

Tony scoops the crushed pieces of Clint’s hearing aid into his hand, just as someone is grabbing him from behind.

Instinctively, Tony starts thrashing. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” he shrieks, not knowing who it is or why they’re grabbing him. His head is spinning and he’s nauseous and he’s about to implode because someone is dragging Clint away and he doesn’t know what’s happening. 

Whoever is holding him drops him down to the ground, and starts rubbing his back. Tony realizes he’s breathing really fast and hard now, and his chest is starting to burn in that really really awful way. He’s going to start wheezing in a minute, but he doesn’t care. He needs to know where Clint is going and he needs to be there with him. 

Tony has no idea who the teacher is who tried to grab him, but she’s talking to him now, sharp and saying something that he can’t hear over the rushing in his ears. Someone else is coming up behind her. Tony starts to scramble backwards, but stops once he blinks through the tears and sees that it’s Mr. Banner. 

He pushes the lady teacher back and must say something because she starts to walk away, thank god. 

Mr. Banner is crouched in front of him but isn’t touching. He’s talking, and Tony is trying hard to focus because he needs to get himself together and find out where Clint is. Clint is hurt and he needs to go home and Tony needs to see his brother right now . 

Pressing his nails into his palm, Tony forces himself to focus on the pain. Darcy says distractions can help when he’s feeling bad, and this is the only distraction he can think of right now. 

A minute later, Tony can focus on Mr. Banner’s voice. “That’s a lot better, Tony. You’re doing ok.”

It takes a couple of tries to get his voice working, but finally Tony gets out, “Where’s Clint?”

Mr. Banner grimaces. “He’s on his way to the principal’s office. Let’s go check in with the nurse and-”

“No!” It’s sharper and louder than Tony thinks he could manage. “I wanna see Clint now !” 

Mr. Banner sighs. He looks over his shoulder, and then offers Tony a hand. “Ok, I’ll take you to see Clint. But first, Tony, can I check you over? I want to make sure you’re not hurt.”

Tony shakes his head, that’s not important. “I want to-”

“Tony, I can’t take you there unless I know you’re not hurt. Just a quick look and then we can go.”

Tony huffs, but nods. He’s sure it doesn’t take more than a minute for Mr. Banner to pull up his sleeves and pant legs to check for scraps and bruises, but it feels like an eternity. Every second that goes on without seeing Clint is torture. 

Mr. Banner declares that he’s only got a few scrapes on his hands, and can go to the office without stopping at the nurse. When he sees that Tony is still clutching the pieces of Clint’s hearing aid, he lets Tony walk next to him without holding his hand. 

Clint is sitting in a chair outside the main office, holding a pack of ice against his cheek. A secretary is watching him with one eye as she types on the computer. There are voices coming from an office behind her, but Tony can’t make them out. It’s not important, anyway. Mr. Banner tells her that Tony was a “witness” in the fight and he’s going to stay with Clint until their parents come in. 

At the noise, Clint looks to the entrance, and drops the ice pack onto the chair as he pulls Tony into his chest. He’s shaking under Tony’s hands. 

The older boy murmurs, “I’m so sorry, Tones” into his hair. Tony shakes his head, which is hard to do with how tightly Clint is holding him. The older boy pulls back and starts running his hands all over Tony, asking if he was hurt anywhere.

Tony shakes his head and pushes Clint back into the chair. He climbs up next to him. Clint says he’s sorry again, he didn’t mean for Tony to get hurt. 

“You didn’t hit him for no reason.”

Clint’s face falls. “You heard him?” 

Tony nods. Clint scoffs, mutters “fucking asshole” under his breath and he hugs Tony again. “You don’t listen to a word he says, ok? He’s an idiot and a bully.”

The tears haven’t really left Tony's face, but they start falling again. Clint is hurt, he’s upset, and that boy said really, really mean things about their family. About all of them. 

“He said we’re broken,” Tony whispers. Clint has to pull away and ask him to say it again, because with only one aid all the feedback is wonky in his ear. When Tony repeats himself, Clint grips his face with both hands. 

“No. No, we’re not broken. He only said because he’s stupid and he doesn’t know anything about us. You’re not broken . Neither is me or Tasha or Peter, alright? You’re perfect, and anyone who tells you different is a moron, and you don’t listen to morons.” Clint’s voice cracks as tears run down his cheeks. He flushes when Tony wipes them away. 

“You’re not broken, either,” Tony says. “You’re all put together.” He picks up the ice pack and presses it back to the red blooming across the left side of Clint’s face. “But I think you’re gonna be purple tomorrow.”

Clint huffs a laugh, and bops Tony on the nose with a bandaged finger. “‘S’alright, it’s my favorite color anyway.” When he sniffles, Tony realizes Clint looks so young. He always thinks Clint is so much bigger and older than him, but he’s only 12. Clint’s still a kid, just like him, even if he’s getting taller and acting like the seventh grade is all grown up. 

Right now, Clint looks as scared as Tony feels. Clint got in a fight, he punched another kid and got punched back, right in the face. He’s sitting in the principal’s office and they probably already called Steve and Bucky to come down. 

One of Tony’s foster brothers got sent away after a fight. Clint won’t get sent away, though. He’s adopted and permanent. 

Tony is still temporary. 

“Are we gonna get in trouble?” he asks Clint. “Steve hates fighting.”

Clint shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. We have to wait and see.” 

Clint lets Tony sit in his lap while they wait. They take turns holding the ice against Clint’s bruise. It’s not too long until Steve comes flying into the office, with Bucky right behind. 

They both look angry, and Tony shrinks back a little bit. Steve drops to his knees. “What happened ?” Clint immediately starts apologizing, tearing up again. Bucky pulls back the ice pack and sucks in a breath. “Oh my god, Clint. Who did this to you? Wait a minute, where’s your hearing aid?”

Clint looks down. “I didn’t mean for Tony to get hurt.”

“What, Tony -” Steve pulls him off Clint’s lap and checks him over himself, but Tony pushes his hands away. 

“I’m okay, he just pushed me.” He shows Steve the scrapes on his palms, and hands him the pieces of metal he’s stuffed in his pockets. Steve makes a sad noise and kisses both palms, then pulls Tony into his arms and onto his hip, like he does with Peter. “He hit Clint, and stepped on his aid.”

“Who?”

Clint sighs. “Justin Hammer, he started-” 

He’s cut off by the principal opening his door. “Ah, Mr. Barnes, Mr. Rogers. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Steve looks furious, and he wheels onto the other man. “What the hell happened? You didn’t tell me anything about Clint being hurt!” 

The principal puts up a hand. “Sir, please, we can all discuss this inside.” 

Steve and Bucky lead them into the office, but they don’t look happy about it. Tony sits in Steve’s lap, and Bucky scoots his chair closer to Clint. He’s pressing gently at Clint’s face, and only looks angrier when Clint hisses at the pain. 

The principal sits behind his desk and folds his hands together. “Now, Mr. Hammer’s parents haven’t come in yet, so I want to tell you that we won’t be making any disciplinary decisions until we get both sides of the story.”

Bucky looks at him sharply. “We’ve mentioned our concerns about Justin before.”

“I understand, Mr. Barnes, but until this fight we haven’t discovered anything that warranted action. As you and your son know, we have a zero tolerance policy for fighting. So, Clint. Would you please tell me what happened.”

Clint shrugs and looks down at his feet. “We got in a fight.”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “You and I both know you don’t fight. What happened?”

“He said some stupid shi-stuff, I got mad, I hit him.”

Steve looks down at him when he doesn’t continue. “I don’t believe that, Clint. You don’t just throw punches when you get mad. You know better than that. What did he say that made you upset?”

Clint swallows, and looks up at Steve with tears in his eyes. “He-He said….mean stuff. About us, our family. About why, you know, why we got adopted.”

Steve looks confused, and Clint seems like he’ll start sobbing in a second. Tony can’t take it anymore. 

“He said we’re broken!” 

Everyone looks at him, wide-eyed. Clint opens his mouth, but Tony beats him to it. Clint looks terrified, and Tony thinks he understands. Clint doesn’t want to tell his parents that people think they’re broken, and he’ll let them think he started a fight from nowhere to avoid telling them what Justin said. 

Because Clint loves his parents, and he wants to do anything he can to keep them happy. Tony loves Clint, and he’ll do whatever he can to make this easier on him, but Steve and Bucky have to know the fight wasn’t Clint’s fault. 

“He said, he said our real parents threw us away, and that’s why we live with you. And he called Natasha a psycho.” 

Bucky and Steve are nearly synchronized as their expressions melt from anger to clear heartbreak. Steve’s eyes are glassy, blinking rapidly as he tightens his arms around Tony. Mr. Hawkins is shifting in his chair, not looking at them. 

Bucky taps Clint’s chin so he turns to see his face. “Is that why you hit him?”

Clint’s shoulders shake with a sob. “He hit me first, I only hit him back for that! But Tony tried to get him away from me and then Justin pushed him down and I got - I got really mad and then I hit him and he started hitting me back. I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t hit him first, I was only yelling ‘cause he was saying really bad stuff about you!”

Bucky’s eyebrows go up. “Stuff about me? What do you mean?”

The words sound like they’re choking Clint. “About - about you and Dad.”

“Clint, what?”

Clint breaks down into tears again, and shakes his head. 

Tony speaks up, because he doesn’t know what the words mean, but he knows they’re bad ones.

“He said bad words about you.”

Clint straightens. “Tony, stop, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do! I heard him!”

Steve shushes him and rubs a hand over Tony’s chest. It’s heaving again, pulling short breaths into his lungs. Steve’s eyes are darting back and forth between his sons. “Clint, what words?” His voice is on edge, almost scared. Tony doesn’t know if he’s ever really seen Steve scared. 

“I- I can’t say it, Dad. I don’t want to.”

Bucky strokes Clint’s hair while Steve talks. “Clint, we need to know. If it was bad enough that you hit someone over it, we need to know. Sign it if you don’t want to say out loud.”

Clint sighs and wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand. He doesn’t look up at his dads when he spells something too fast for Tony to track. Bucky’s eyes go dark and angry. 

He turns to the principal. “The school also has a zero tolerance policy for homophobia and slurs as well, doesn’t it?”

Mr. Hawkins stammers, his cheeks reddening. “I assure you, this is the first time I’m hearing of anything close to this nature.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “And what is the school’s punishment for ‘something of this nature’?”

“Well,” the principal starts, “the student is mandated to undergo a week of after-school detention, and they have to attend two hours of counseling.”

Bucky and Steve share a look. Bucky especially looks upset as he runs a hand over his face. Steve clears his throat, “We’d like to be included in the discussion of discipline with Justin’s parents.”

Mr. Hawkins looks uncomfortable. “Mr. Rogers, I understand that this is upsetting-”

“All due respect, Mr. Hawkins, but I need to be sure that the school and his parents are taking this seriously. We obviously won’t object to you having a private conversation, but we will insist on discussing discipline for both boys together. I believe it’s also school policy to inform all parents of students involved in a physical altercation of the details and subsequent consequences. There’s no expectation of confidentiality here. Not to mention, the fight involved a child with a disability. Justin caused Clint’s hearing aid to be damaged, and it’ll be some time to arrange for a new set. And personally, we’d like to impress upon Justin’s parents the seriousness of these actions on several levels.”

It’s a lot of big words that Tony doesn’t totally understand, but Mr. Hawkins agrees anyway. They all wait in another office when Justin’s dad comes in, and Clint and Tony have to stay there while Bucky and Steve go back in to talk. 

They don’t really look happy when they come back. Bucky tells Clint that he and Justin are both suspended for three days. Tony isn’t, but he can stay home tomorrow if he wants to. 

Bucky takes the boys home, while Steve waits to pick up Natasha and Peter. 

Both he and Clint are taken into the master bathroom, where Bucky pulls out his first aid kit and carefully pulls Clint’s shirt over his head. There’s a big red mark on his ribs. It makes Tony’s brain replay every time Justin hit his brother. 

Tony doesn’t realize he’s crying again until Clint says, “Aww, Tony, I’m ok.”

It doesn’t matter. Clint didn’t deserve to get hurt, and he shouldn’t get in trouble for what Justin did to him, it’s not fair. Justin shouldn’t have been saying bad words and throwing punches. And now Bucky and Steve are so upset- 

“No, baby, we’re not upset with Clint, and we’re not upset with you either,” Bucky is murmuring into his ear. Tony’s saying that all out loud. “Justin shouldn’t have said that, you’re right. He hit Clint first, and Clint was only defending himself.”

“But why? Why did he hit Clint, that’s not nice! You always say we’re never supposed to put our hands on people!” 

Bucky sighs. “You’re right, honey. We shouldn’t do that. I don’t know why Justin did that, or why he said those mean things, but you have to know they’re not true. You’re not broken, and you’re not crazy or anything like that at all . That was all wrong. You’re absolutely perfect , and we love you so much. And our family is real and good no matter what anyone says to you. Family takes care of each other, and it doesn’t matter if we’re not related by blood, we’re a family because we love each other. And I think, I think our family is even more special, because we all chose to be a family. Steve and I chose to take care of you, and we chose to take care of Clint, and Natasha, and Peter. We didn’t make you, but we love you just the same. We couldn’t imagine not having you, not loving you all.”

Bucky’s got a tear in his eye. Tony pats his cheek, and doesn’t flinch when Bucky turns to kiss his palm, his stubble gently scratching over it. 

“Justin - he said bad things about you. You and Steve. I heard them before. He said it because - ‘cause you’re both boys, right? That’s what the bad words mean?”

Bucky chews over his lip. “Yeah. That’s why he said that. Some people think that, that people like me and Steve, who love another boy, or a girl who loves another girl, aren’t okay. They think we might be sick, or that we shouldn’t be allowed to be together.”

“It’s bullshit,” Clint mutters angrily. 

“Hey,” Bucky chides. “Language. But Clint’s right,” he directs at Tony. “We don’t listen to people like that. They don’t know us, and most of them just say it because they want to be mean. We’re just different, and people don’t understand it when others are different, so they try to say that people like us are wrong somehow. Steve and I love each other very much, and we love all of you. Do you believe that?”

Tony does. He knows that his foster dads love each other. He knows that they love him, too, even if he doesn’t really understand why. 

Bucky presses a kiss to his temple when he nods. “Then that’s all that matters. It might hurt to hear it from people who think those things, but that’s not our problem. Clint was only standing up for our family, and we would never be angry about that.”

Tony keeps that thought in his head the rest of the night. For a long time, Tony heard people say hurtful things about foster kids. That kids like Tony were from bad homes so they were dangerous, that they would hurt other kids in their homes, that they were sick or unwanted by their parents.

He’d heard it so many times, Tony assumed that those things must be true. Why else would so many people send him away from their homes, yell at him or hurt him, why else would his dad have been so mean to him?

At the dinner table, Tony looks around and thinks about how he feels in this house. Steve and Bucky are always nice to him - not even just nice, they care about him. They make him feel safe, and check on how he’s feeling, and always make sure that they buy food and clothes and toys that he really likes. 

It’s not just his foster dads that are different from his other homes. The kids here are different, too. 

Peter is so small, but he’s never been scared of Tony. He trusts Tony to teach him to build LEGOs, and shares his blanket with him during movie nights, and kisses Tony at least twice a day. 

Clint is everything he imagined a big brother would be. He’s silly and makes Tony laugh more than he ever has before. He teaches Tony to play Mario Kart and Minecraft and helps Tony climb the rock wall on the playhouse. He’s got bruises on his face from fighting a bully who just pushed Tony to the ground. 

Natasha makes Tony feel safe. She’s there to help him with his homework, and brings him his fidget cube when he feels nervous, and always lets him climb into bed when he’s afraid to sleep. 

The people in this house treat him the way Tony always hoped, the way everyone says kids should be treated - with care, and respect, and love . They treat him like family .

That’s what makes him stand in Steve and Bucky’s doorway, a good hour after Bucky turned off their light and wished them goodnight. Bucky sits up when he catches sight of him. 

“What’s the matter, bud? Can’t sleep?”

Tony shakes his head, and pads his way onto the bed when Steve waves him closer. He kneels between the two men.

He bites his lip as he figures out how to say what he’s thinking. His foster dads are patient, and don’t do anything other than rub his arm while they wait. 

Tony takes a deep breath, and comes out with it. “Would - would you still want to adopt me? If the judge says I can be adopted?”

The men freeze for a second and blink at him. Steve shakes himself out of it first. “Do you want us to adopt you, Tony? We would only do that if that’s what you want.”

They’re always doing that, making sure he’s ok and comfortable and nothing is upsetting him. It makes him nod his head, firm and sure. 

“I want that. I want you to adopt me. I want to stay here and be in this family, forever.”

Bucky bursts into laughter, and pulls Tony into his lap. In a second, Steve is crowding in front of him, and both men are pressing kisses over every inch of skin they can reach. Tony dissolves into giggles, feeling free and safe and loved. Truly, purely, loved. 

Loved by his parents .

Chapter Text

Steve falls face-down onto the bed, exhaling dramatically. He can’t remember the last time his shoulders haven’t been knotted in tension. Even his morning runs, which have been his main outlet for stress for the last decade, have felt draining and difficult. 

His heart jumps into his throat every time he leaves the house or drops the kids off at school. 

“It’s completely understandable, Steven,” Dr. Eskine had told him over the phone. “You, and the whole house, have been reeling. Everyone was stable and in a routine and now you’re all scattered again. You’re back to that old dance of picking up the pieces and taking it a half step at a time.” 

Steve had caved last week and called him, after the third night of minimal sleep. Erskine wasn’t wrong. It feels like he’s gone back in time. Natasha had a self-harming episode, Clint got in a fight, Peter’s tuning into everyone’s emotions and tantruming. 

And now, they’re going to court again, and trying to walk another kid through the process of getting out of foster care, as gently as they can. 

Court is a blessing and a curse. Steve isn’t happy , per se, that Tony’s father is getting his rights terminated. It’s terrible, on its face, that there’s a family getting legally declared invalid. But there’s relief in there, too.

Relief that a little boy will finally get out of living in limbo for more than half of his tiny little life. That he won’t need to be held down under the fear that one day he’ll have to go back to living with a man that so obviously terrifies him. 

Foster parents don’t get to look into files. They function under the brief snippets of information that a social worker drops in on them, and anything else that a child discloses. 

It took Googling Howard Stark to find out what they know now. A brilliant and wealthy engineer with a well-documented history of alcoholism, drug abuse, womanizing, and greasing palms to get out of trouble; which is how he managed to swing by with a little four-year sentence after he got behind the wheel drunk and rammed the car into a tree, killing his wife and injuring their only child. 

And by nature of being incarcerated, Howard Stark was protected from having his parental rights terminated until after his release from prison. New York State law says that being imprisoned does not imply that one is an unfit parent. Steve supposes he should be happy the sentence was only four years, and not fifteen. Tony could have been held in foster care and without permanency until he aged out in the interest of giving his father a fair chance at proving he could be a stable parent. 

The law still applies when that parent is the reason their child is in foster care in the first place, apparently. 

Steve balls up his hands into fists, tenses up his whole upper body and stays there for a few seconds, before he breathes out and lets it all release. 

Anger and indignation aren’t unfamiliar to Steve. It comes with the territory of caring for children who were abused and mistreated. 

Bucky walks into the room, and silently nudges Steve. He rolls onto his side to let Bucky lie next to him. 

“Everyone’s down,” Bucky declares. 

Steve huffs. “For now.”

The last four weeks have been difficult, to say the least. No one’s getting the sleep they should be. All the kids are hypervigilant, to a level Steve and Bucky haven’t seen since Natasha and Clint first came to them. The oldest three have been bed-hopping nearly every night. 

There’s been lots of talking about feelings, and safety. Natasha’s therapist recommended they have a family session to explain her depression and her food anxiety to the other kids. It was supposed to alleviate their anxiety, especially Tony’s, but Steve isn’t sure that it didn’t make it worse. 

And then came Clint’s fight, and discussions about homophobia and good versus bad words and putting your hands on others. The conversation between the principal and the Hammers wasn’t pleasant. Mr. Hammer made his feelings on the “alleged” language and his son’s actions clear. Steve had to keep himself from swinging punches like he did when he was 16. You’d think in twenty years homophobes would get over themselves. 

Everyone’s flayed out and exhausted, to no surprise. 

Bucky lays a hand against his cheek. “Stop beating yourself up for nothing, ya punk.”

Steve grunts and looks away. “They don’t deserve any of this.”

“Of course they don’t. No one does, that’s why we got into this in the first place.” It was Steve’s idea, after all. 

“Hey,” Bucky taps his temple. Steve gazes back at his husband’s grey eyes. His next breath is a little easier. His husband is here with him, by his side. There’s been a lot of times when Bucky could’ve said no, or asked to stop. 

Steve counts his lucky stars every goddamn night that Bucky has always been on board. Even when Steve is having his moments of cursing the entire universe for what his kids have gone through, Bucky’s never even flinched. 

Bucky shuffles closer, pressing their foreheads together. “We’re not here to fix the whole world, baby,” he whispers. 

Steve sighs, weary down to his bones. “Wish we could, though.”

Bucky kisses him softly, and keeps himself nose-to-nose. “We do what we can to fix this teeny, tiny corner. That’s all we got. You have to let it be enough.”

He’s right, even if Steve wishes he wasn’t. Over these last few years, Steve’s had to learn to channel his anger into better things. 

“You should take a nice, long shower,” Bucky suggests. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Steve gives himself another minute to enjoy the proximity of his husband, before he pushes himself up and heads to the bathroom. He stops in the doorway, and looks back. “You wanna join me?”

Bucky sends him a bemused look, and stands. “You need some help makin’ sure you don’t fall, old man?” 

Steve laughs, a sound he hasn’t made in days, and Bucky’s lips catch his before he’s even finished. Bucky pushes him, still kissing, into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. 

As Steve lets Bucky pull his t-shirt over his head, he thinks to himself, This can be enough for tonight . 

---

Tony’s awake when Steve comes in, chewing his lip and picking at the comforter. They’d made sure to do the full bed time routine to calm him down - hot cocoa before bed, a melatonin gummy, the white noise machine, Bucky had even sprayed his pillows and sheets with some lavender sleep spray before tucking him in. It doesn’t look like it helped much, if the way Tony jerked at his entrance was any indication. 

Steve forces himself to smile without looking worried. “Hey, pal. You been awake long?”

The little boy shrugs. Steve wonders if Tony realizes he pulls his shoulders in when he does that. It makes him look even tinier than he already is. 

On top of all the chaos of the last few weeks, the kids were all due for checkups. They’d known Tony was small, but hearing the doctor say that Tony weighed in at the average size of a 6 year old, at three months shy of turning 8, was a little heartbreaking. Bucky's been on a mission to sneak as many proteins into Tony's meals as possible. 

“Bucky’s making omelets and bacon. Why don’t you go steal the bathroom while I wake up Clint and you can help him decide what to put in the eggs?”

Bucky keeps Tony occupied in the kitchen until it’s time to eat and leave. At the table, Steve promises that they’ll tell him exactly what happens in court, although Steve hopes he can keep that promise. Truly, he has no idea what to expect. Howard had applied for an injunction to stop Steve and Bucky was being considered as Tony’s adoptive parents, but nothing was mentioned about protecting his own rights. 

Nick said there was something fishy about the filing, which only made Steve’s hackles go up. The man has already wrecked enough havoc on Tony’s life; Steve doesn’t understand what he’s trying to do, but he knows whatever it is isn’t in the best interest of his child. 

Tony’s sent off to school with an extra fidget toy and a note for Mr. Banner that Tony might be more distracted than normal. Natasha and Clint hold both his hands as they walk into the building. The sight of it makes Steve’s heart swell. 

It gives him the energy to turn the corner and head to the courthouse. 

Bucky takes his hand as they walk up the steps. “Remember the last time we were here?” he murmurs. 

Of course he does. Steve smiles at his husband. “We adopted Natasha.” 

Bucky grins back. “We stood up in front of that judge and said we love our child and we want her to be with us forever and then she stood up and said-”

“Mr. Judge, if I can’t live with my dads, I don’t want to live anywhere,” Steve finishes. “And then he laughed and said ‘Well young lady, I suppose I’d better sign this paper and let you stay with them, shouldn’t I?’ and she turns back to you and says ‘That’s it? Papa, you said adoption is complicated but my math test was harder than that.’” Steve trails off into laughter, Bucky shaking right next to him. 

Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “What about when we adopted Clint?” 

Bucky snickers into his shoulder. “I’d never seen him so well behaved until that day. I’m pretty sure that was the only time he’s ever said ‘Yes, please’ without a reminder.” 

Steve presses a kiss against Bucky’s hair. “Some of our best moments happened here.”

“Is it bad that Peter’s adoption felt...anticlimactic after the other ones?”

“Nah. I was kinda disappointed that it was just some papers and a stamp.” May and Ben had voluntarily requested an independent, private adoption for Peter, which came with a lot of paperwork and home visits but not much else. “Court makes it feel....important. And pretty awesome.”

Bucky nudged him. “Hey, Maria’s here.” They turn to find the social worker approaching, with Nick behind her. 

“Morning, gentlemen. We’re in Room 5.”

They follow her into the courtroom and to the front row. It’s a few minutes until the doors open again. Steve doesn’t have to turn before his body tenses up. 

The sight of Obadiah Stane makes Steve want to throw a punch all over again. His presence sent Tony into a tailspin that night, and his anxiety has nearly been leaching out of his skin ever since. 

Walking behind him is the legendary Howard Stark. He’s all dressed up in a suit that Steve is sure costs more than he makes in a month, hair slicked back and clean-shaven. It was obvious from the photos, but seeing him in person reinforces the resemblance Tony has to his father. 

Tony has his father’s sharp chin and nose, the same dark features. Howard isn’t an especially tall man. Perhaps Tony’s small stature is genetic. 

Tony has his mother’s eyes, though. Howard’s are dark, like black coffee, but the picture of Maria Stark that sits on Tony’s bedside table has the same hazel eyes as her son. 

When they meet eyes, Howard smirks. Tony’s never smirked like that. 

Maria and the CPS lawyer sit at one table, and Stane and Howard take the other. 

The judge comes in, and the lawyers start talking in legal mumbo-jumbo. Bucky’s better at the court stuff than he is - Rebecca was still in law school when the accident happened. Bucky spent a lot of time in recovery helping her study. 

He gets the gist of what the CPS lawyer is saying - Tony’s in a good home, they pass inspection and every home visit flawlessly, Tony’s started therapy and made gains, and more importantly, Howard Stark has refused to comply with his reunification plan and has not visited his son since he was incarcerated, which is why his case was formally moved to Adoptions. 

Stane stands. “Your Honor, we are not protesting the termination of my client’s parental rights. Mr. Stark has spent many years behind bars contemplating his ability to provide for the child and has made the difficult decision that, following his actions that led to his imprisonment, he does not feel that he will be a fit parent.”

“So what is this injunction about, Mr. Stane?”

“The purpose of the injunction is to stop Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers from proceeding with adopting until we are satisfied that their intention for pursuing adoption is not sinister.”

Steve nearly shoots from his seat, but Bucky grips his hand tightly. The CPS lawyer fires back. “Your Honor, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers are an adoption approved foster home with a stellar record, who have already adopted two children from foster care and a third child privately. What sinister intentions does Mr. Stane believe could be at play here?”

“My client is a well-known, wealthy businessman. It’s no secret that he was the CEO of one of the world’s leading companies in tech and engineering. And as Ms. Pratt has just stated, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers are caring for four children. To our knowledge, all of the children receive therapeutic services, and two children are disabled.”

Bucky’s keeping a firm hand on him, and it’s a good thing. Steve doesn’t like where this is going. He especially doesn’t like Stane talking about his kids and their needs. That’s private, sensitive information. 

“Their children obviously require a level of care that may be difficult for a family of modest means to achieve. How can we be sure that Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers are not pursuing adoption for the purpose of benefiting from the child’s financial connections?”

What?!

Maria’s standing, fuming. “Your Honor, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers are not personally pursuing adoption, it was the recommendation of Child Protective Services that Anthony Stark stay in a home that is already open for permanency, so the insinuation that they are looking for some kind of financial gain is ridiculous. The state is the party who chose Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers for the adoption.”

“We have serious concerns about the appropriateness of this choice of home as well, Your Honor. In the last months, we have become aware that one child in the home attempted suicide and another child involved Anthony Stark in a physical fight during school! We are not satisfied that this is the safest placement for the child.”

The only reason Steve doesn’t go flying towards Stane is because Bucky and Nick are holding him down on both sides. “Don’t be stupid, Rogers, let the lawyers talk,” Nick growls. It takes a considerable effort to heed the warning. It won’t do Tony any favors for Steve to assault someone in court. 

“First of all,” Ms. Pratt begins, “what Mr. Stane calls a ‘suicide attempt’ was in actuality an episode of self-harming ideation from a child with a documented diagnosis of depression and disordered eating, who, may I point out, was only diagnosed after these observant parents saw concerning signs and took her to a psychologist.” She gestures behind her at Steve and Bucky, who sit up a little straighter. “In our documentation during her tenure in foster care, this child has never once shown aggression towards anyone but herself. And secondly, Mr. Stane should consider that the fight he is referring to between Anthony Stark and the second child was an incident in which Anthony’s foster brother was a victim of physical bullying, and Anthony quite bravely inserted himself between the two children in an effort to stop the fight.” 

“Regardless of the details, the child was involved in an incidence of violence-”

“ Regardless of the details, Mr. Stane, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers immediately alerted the department following both incidents in order for a home visit to be conducted and determine if the child’s placement was still appropriate. Both times, Ms. Hill not only concluded that the home environment was not detrimental to the child’s mental or physical health, but in a private conversation with the child, Anthony explicitly expressed that he felt safe with his foster parents and expressed a desire to continue his stay in their home.”

Ms. Hill stands. “And if I may, Your Honor, all details were recorded and included in reports that can be found in his CPS file. Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers have an excellent history of transparency and immediate notification to CPS during any incidents. I don’t say this lightly, but Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers are one of few people I would define as model foster parents.”

Mr. Stane rolls his eyes. “A very nice sentiment, but Ms. Hill’s opinion does not change our concerns about the environment in which the child is living. It would be irresponsible to assume that, due to the celebrity and well-known wealth of my client as well as the financial status of his late wife, that Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers are not aware that the child is a beneficiary of a substantial amount of money and are actively keeping the child in an unsuitable environment in order to take advantage of his connection to my client.”

At that, Steve and Bucky look at each other, and then to Nick. “What’s he saying?” Steve asks. 

Nick leans in to murmur, “They’re saying that you’re trying to adopt Tony to get money out of it.”

Bucky looks as furious as Steve feels. “We don’t want Howard’s money.”

Nick shakes his head. “Not his money. I think Tony has money, hold on.”

The judge is speaking. “Mr. Stane, are you referring to a hypothetical scenario, or is there some kind of actual funds that the child is entitled to?”

Stane looks caught out, and looks down to his papers. “In her will, Maria Stark assigned a trust fund to her son Anthony Edward Stark. We ask Your Honor to consider that an adoption of the child would invalidate Howard Stark as his father and invalidate Maria Stark as his mother. The child would also no longer legally be recognized as Anthony Stark . As such, the child would no longer legally be considered Maria Stark’s son, and he would not be entitled to those benefits. We ask that a condition of the adoption be that those funds be awarded to Howard Stark, who would in the event of adoption be Maria Stark’s legal next of kin, in order to avoid the impropriety of Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers adopting the child for the purpose of financial gain.”

Ms. Pratt seems baffled. “Forgive me, Your Honor, but it seems to me that this is less about ensuring that Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers’ intentions are not financially motivated and more about Mr. Stark trying to take all he can before the state terminates his rights.”

“Your Honor-” Stane starts, but Ms. Pratt cuts him off. “It’s no secret that after Mr. Stark was convicted of driving while intoxicated and the vehicular manslaughter of his wife, his company ousted him as CEO and he is currently billing as nothing more than a consultant, which I’m sure has impacted his income and lifestyle since his release from prison. The fact that he would try to halt the adoption of his child to a loving and capable home, after just admitting to this court that he finds himself unfit and unwilling to be a parent, in order to pocket more cash in his account is egregious. Not to mention, Your Honor, I find the manner in which this lawsuit was even brought up to be suspicious at best. Mr. Stane personally delivered the subpoena to Mr. Barnes’ and Mr. Rogers’ home, whose address was explicitly kept from Mr. Stark in the interest of the safety of the child.”

Mr. Stane scoffs. “That information is public knowledge -”

“To your contracted private investigators, I’m sure -”

“And in accordance with the mandate by CPS, I personally delivered the lawsuit myself in order to be sure that the address was not disclosed to my client!”

“Enough!” The judge bangs his gavel. The tension in the courtroom has increased tenfold. “I’ll need some time to look into the legality of whether or not the child’s entitlement to his trust fund is applicable after adoption, however I am rejecting the application for injunction. And don’t think I approve of your methods, Mr. Stane. If I find evidence that you in any way allowed confidential information to be released to your client, I assure you, you’ll be sorry.” The judge pins Mr. Stane with a scathing glare that doesn’t seem all that professional and objective to Steve. He finds he doesn’t mind a not-so-impartial judge on Tony’s case. 

The judge sighs, and turns back to his papers. “Owing to Mr. Stark’s own admission of support for terminating his rights, I’m afraid he has no grounds to halt the adoption process. Mr. Stark, I must review the actions which led to your incarceration, your repeated refusal to cooperate with CPS’ efforts to reunify you with your son, and your recent episode with your employer. Sir, you have been given opportunity after opportunity to reunite with your son, and you have chosen not to take them. The child has been in the custody of the state for nearly five years, and since your release nearly six months ago you have not initiated contact with him. Reviewing these factors, it is the decision of this court that the termination of your parental rights is in the best interest of the child, so that he may be placed in a permanent home and be provided for in the manner in which he deserves. We’ll set a date in two weeks to finalize.”

When Steve looks over to the table, Howard Stark looks livid. He’s leaning over, muttering something angrily to Stane. A shot of fury runs through Steve’s chest. Tony’s spoken too many times about his father’s anger and the fear it instilled in him. Tony has been their child for the last eight months, and even with no evidence that they’ll ever act like Howard, he still recoils whenever there’s the slightest hint of displeasure in their home. 

It makes absolutely no sense to Steve. Tony is the sweetest child. He’s loving, and helpful, caring, and more in tune to emotions than he thinks. He’s whip-smart, always hungry for knowledge, and he’s eager to share with his siblings. He’s patient with Peter, adventurous with Clint, and so open with Natasha. How anyone could pour anything but love and care into this child, he doesn’t understand. It only makes him more determined to tell Tony every chance they have that they love him. 

The judge gestures to them. “Mr. Barnes, Mr. Rogers.” They stand, clutching hands. 

“CPS has recommended that, if you are amenable, that the child Anthony Stark be formally matched with your home for permanency and adoption. Are you prepared to accept this match?” 

“Yes, Your Honor,” Bucky gasps. “More than we can say.”

The judge nods. “Very well. Mr. Stane, you have not provided this court with any evidence that Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers are inappropriate or unfit parents, and your mention of the incidents involving the other children in the home, by the details provided, did not involve violence against the child himself. CPS has documented that the child is well cared for and has even initiated therapeutic treatment to better his health. Their foster home has maintained an excellent record of care, and they have already transitioned two children from state care to adoption. Therefore, it is my ruling that the adoption of Anthony Stark by Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers may proceed. I will inform you of my decision regarding the financial trust within 48 hours. We are adjourned.”

Bucky jerks a little when the gavel bangs. He turns to Steve and Nick, teary and wide-eyed. “Did-did he say…”

Nick slaps him on the shoulder. “Congrats on your new baby, gentlemen.”

Steve bursts out in an incredulous laugh, and gloms onto Bucky. The courtroom door slams behind Howard as he storms out. 

Even in his anger, Steve feels a wave of sorrow hit him. Howard hadn’t even approached him, hadn’t shaken a hand or even asked about his own child. He’s made it clear that he’s not interested in having any kind of relationship with Tony. Steve wonders just how much Howard was even involved in Tony’s life as a young child, or if it was just Tony and his mother for the most part. 

Maria’s next to them, smiling gently. “You ready for more rounds upon rounds of paperwork?”

Steve chuckles. “Like that’s ever stopped us before.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Listen, I have someone outside who wants to meet you.” 

“Who?” Bucky inquires. 

Maria gestures to the doors. “I think you’ll like him, come on.”

Curious, Steve and Bucky follow her out to the hall, where there’s an older, balding man seated on the bench. He’s wearing a nice suit, but it looks about ten years out of fashion. When he sees them approaching, he stands up, adjusts his suit like it’s a habit. 

“Steve, Bucky, this is Edwin Jarvis. Mr. Jarvis, this is Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes.” 

The man nods, and extends a hand to them. “A pleasure to meet you, gentlemen,” comes out in a crisp English accent. 

Bucky nods. “And you, Mr. Jarvis.” He looks to Maria curiously. 

“Mr. Jarvis was familiar with the Stark family.”

The man nods in confirmation. “I was an employee of the family. In simple terms, I was their butler, or housekeeper. Howard and I were...very close at one point in time.”

Maria goes on. “He was also very involved in caring for Tony. After the accident, Mr. Jarvis asked to be appointed his foster parent, but unfortunately, we couldn’t place Tony with him.”

“I’m not a U.S. citizen, unfortunately.” The older man gives them a wry smile. “Fifteen years living here, I never thought to file any paperwork. Anyway, I’ve kept track of Howard. After he was released, I contacted Ms. Hill to see if he was getting Anthony back. When she said his case was moving to adoption, I wanted to meet you. She’s sung nothing but praises about you. I’m...incredibly grateful to you, for wanting to adopt Anthony. More than I can express.”

Mr. Jarvis looks affectionate when he says Tony’s name. The way he says it with his accent, with a straight t instead of the th , does something to Steve. It’s a little charming. Mr. Jarvis looks like a grandfather, the kind who sneaks hard candies to his grandkids with a wink and a finger over his lips. 

Bucky’s more discerning than Steve is, on the regular. Steve always wants to see the good in others, while Bucky jokes “Neither Russians nor Jews are generally trusting people, you think Russian Jews are gonna trust a stranger?”

So he’s not surprised when Bucky asks, “Mr. Jarvis, I don’t want to sound rude, but why did you want to meet us?”

Maria butts in. “While Tony was technically in foster care, we couldn’t arrange for him to visit because Mr. Jarvis isn’t a family member. Now that his case status is changed, he asked if a visit could be possible. I told him that was up to you, as his parents.”

Steve doesn’t have time to relish how nice it sounds to have Maria say “parents,”. Mr. Jarvis is speaking again, “Of course, I completely understand if you’re not comfortable with that. I understand that I am a stranger to you, and I’m sure that right now you’re suspicious of someone who was close to Howard. I simply wanted to meet you, and give you my contact information, and this,” he turns to grab something from the bench behind him. It’s a photo album. 

“When I knew that Tony was going into care, I made sure to take everything I could. I have a few toys, some of his baby clothes at my home, but his mother had a small passion for photography. She and I took plenty of photos. He deserves to have them.”

He hands Bucky the album, and Steve notices he doesn’t flinch when he sees the metal hand. 

“Thank you,” Bucky answers. “We had to find a picture of her on the Internet, a while back. Tony has it framed in his room, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate one from home.”

Mr. Jarvis nods. “Howard never took to being a father, as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now. He and Maria had...a tumultuous relationship, let’s say. They both had their share of issues. But, Maria was devoted to Anthony.” The man clears his throat, blinking quickly like he’s fighting tears. “He was so young, he couldn’t have known, but she was depressed for years. She’d lost all of her family before she was 25, and she had quite a hard time dealing with it. When Anthony was born, he gave her hope again. He saved her life, quite frankly.”

“I don’t find that hard to believe at all, Mr. Jarvis,” Steve says gently. “Tony is a sweet boy.”

Mr. Jarvis smiles, wide and joyful. “Yes, Mr. Rogers, he is. Since the moment he was born, I can assure you.”

Steve exchanges a look with Bucky, gauging his thoughts on the man. Bucky gives him a tiny nod, agreeing. 

“Mr. Jarvis, I mean no offense to you, but we’ll want to talk to Tony about the possibility of a visit.”

He’s shaking his head even before Steve finishes. “Of course, Mr. Rogers, I absolutely understand. The last thing I want is to upset him. My contact information is inside the cover of the album. You may call me any time. All I ask is that you show him the photos.”

With that, he shakes their hands again, bids them a good day, and heads to the elevator. Bucky takes the moment alone to ask Maria, “He a good one?” 

“From what I gathered, Edwin Jarvis was Tony’s main caretaker aside from his mother. Employees mentioned that he attended to the family’s every need, and was Howard’s ‘handler’. It was hush-hush, but if Howard was ever in a mood, it was Mr. Jarvis who calmed him down, and kept others away. When he first came to me, he was devastated that he couldn’t take custody of Tony.”

Maria clears her throat, lowering her voice a touch. “He also made sure to tell me that when Howard had the urge to get blackout drunk and slap his wife around, his first reaction was always to get Tony out of the room first, then get to Howard. He was very upfront about the inner workings of the Stark home, even violated his NDA to do it. Howard came close a couple of times, but Mr. Jarvis swears that Tony was never hit.” 

A knot of tension unravels in Steve’s chest at that confirmation. He and Bucky had speculated, sure, but Tony never said anything. 

“He and Mrs. Stark never left Howard alone with Tony, not that he particularly wanted to be. He calls me a couple times a year, just to check on Tony’s case.” Maria shrugs. “The decision is all yours, though.”

Bucky nods, digesting the information. “We’ll talk to Tony.”

She smiles at them. “Alright. Keep your eye out for those new papers. Congrats, boys.”

They’re grinning all the way to the car. When they settle in, Bucky opens up the album. “Oh, wow. Steve.”

Right there on the first page, is a newborn photo of Tony. He’s swaddled in a hospital blanket and hat, sleeping peacefully in a bassinet. Underneath the photo is a piece of cardstock. In neat, careful script, someone wrote: 

Anthony Edward Stark

Born May 2, 2010, 2:33 PM

6 pounds, 7 ounces

Steve’s thrown, just like Bucky. So far, Peter was the only child they had baby pictures of. It still breaks his heart that they have no pictures of Clint or Natasha before they came to live with them. They hadn’t known their birth time or weight - hadn’t even known Natasha’s real birth date - until new birth certificates came in the mail twelve weeks after their adoptions had become official. 

It takes him a minute to catch his breath. He leans onto Bucky’s shoulder. “Hey, Buck,” he murmurs, reaching up to gently trace the outline of baby Tony’s face in the photo, “that’s our baby.”

Chapter Text

Bucky isn’t ashamed to admit it: he’s enamored by the photos. He and Steve spend an hour at Patty’s Diner just flipping through the pages before they even think to order lunch. 

There’s a variety of photo types, some are polaroids, some black and white, others technicolor and filtered. The polaroids are obviously taken by Tony’s mother - most of them are candid photos of Tony crawling around, wandering outside, exploring a garden of flowers. She scrawled dates into the bottom corners. 

It doesn’t escape Bucky’s notice that Howard is only in one photo. It’s a copy of a formal portrait, Maria holding Tony in her lap while Howard stands behind her chair. No one is smiling, which seems eerie for a photo containing a baby. 

Edwin Jarvis is in about a quarter of the photos. Maria had a talent for catching candid moments of him and Tony together. There’s shots of Mr. Jarvis reading to an infant Tony, dipping Tony’s toes into a fountain, guiding his tiny hands into the dirt to plant tomatoes. 

Tony was loved . There were at least two people who poured into him, who were clearly devoted to him, for the first three and a half years of his life. It makes Tony’s placement into their home all the more bittersweet. 

There’s no sense in moping about it, though. The judge approved their move to adoption and Tony actually asked to be adopted by them. Tony is going to join their family forever, legally, and there’s no need to linger on the past when there are so many new memories to make with Tony. With their son. 

He and Steve park at the school a full hour before the last bell, but they find plenty of entertainment in lingering on those photos, tracing every tiny feature of Tony’s face reflected in the film. 

They stand outside the school entrance. Steve, the sap, always wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s grinning like a kid let loose in a candy store, and when the kids file outside, Clint catches it first. His son starts whooping in joy, and Bucky’s only a little guilty that he snorts at how it makes Tony jump. 

Natasha swats Clint in the back of his head for scaring Tony. She’s so much like Rebecca sometimes Bucky forgets she’s not biologically a Barnes. 

Tony’s so confused, and if Bucky’s right, a bit scared. “What happened?”

The poor kid’s been so anxious about the court date, Bucky doesn’t have it in him to keep him in suspense. He kneels down and pulls Tony in close. 

“You’re getting adopted, baby.” Bucky cheeks are sore from how big he’s smiling. 

Clint goes wild behind him, jumping up and down and shaking Natasha’s arm in joy. At first, Natasha’s frozen, and then she snaps, and starts jumping with her brother. 

Tony looks shocked, and blinks slow like he’s trying to make sense of it. “What?”

Steve bends down next to him and says it firm and clear. “The judge said we can adopt you.”

And damn, Bucky is going to break down right now because Tony is crying now, tiny chest hitching with heavy breaths. “R-really? Really?”

Bucky can’t take it for another second. He scoops Tony into his arms, bracketing him in. Clint and Natasha pile in behind him, and Steve crowds them all in closer. Bucky sinks into the sensation, cherises this divine moment of holding his husband and his children close. “You’re ours forever, Tony.”

He’s talked a lot in therapy about the exhausting anticipation that comes with living through foster care. The uncertainty of this life raises his anxiety more than he wants to admit, but now he’ll finally be able to say that he really, truly, has no more reason to fear that someone is going to come by one random day and say that Tony is leaving, and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“C’mon guys,” he gently pulls away, “let’s go home.”

Before he can put Tony back on the ground, the little boy grabs his face with both hands. Bucky wonders if he’s picked up the habit from Peter. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. He’s still got a few stray tears running down his face, and Bucky wipes them off and kisses the ghost of them. 

Tony smiles, small and hesitant. It’s ok, because Bucky’s got the rest of his life to get bigger smiles out of this kid. 

His kid.

----

Tony manages to keep it together until they get home, and he’s endlessly grateful that Bucky pulls him into the office first thing. He’s crying again. 

Bucky’s hugs are so nice. His metal arm is firm around him, and Tony knows he’s not going anywhere. Bucky has this really nice way of stroking his hair, he scratches just a little bit when he gets down to the neck, and sends a little shiver down his spine. 

He’s not saying anything, just letting Tony sit in the quiet with him and let out his emotions. 

It takes long enough that Steve comes into the room and sits on the couch with them. Another while after that, Tony’s all cried out. He sniffles, and looks up to Steve. 

“Hey, baby,” he whispers. “You wanna talk?”

Tony hates talking about his feelings, but he’s spent enough time with Ms. Darcy to know that it feels worse to keep them inside and act like they’re not there. 

“I think...I think I’m happy. ‘Cause I’m getting adopted, and I’m gonna stay here, forever. Right?”

Steve’s smiling like he does when he’s proud. “Yeah, Tony, that’s right. You’re staying here forever. No one’s taking you away this time.”

Tony chews on his bottom lip. “I don’t….It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel any different.”

Steve nods. “Well, maybe it doesn’t feel different because nothing is gonna change for us. You’re still gonna be in your room with Clint, you’re gonna stay in your school, we’re going to treat you just the same.”

“Because you love me?” It still feels like a foreign concept to Tony, even though Steve and Bucky say it practically every day. 

Bucky rumbles out, “Tony, we’ve loved you since the first day you came here. That’s never changed, sweetheart. Never will.”

Tony’s been scared to say it, but he’s spent too much time thinking it. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever loved me before.”

Steve looks so heartbroken, Tony almost takes it back. “Oh baby, I don’t think that’s true at all.” He turns around and grabs something from the table. It looks like a book. 

“We got this earlier, someone gave it to us.” Steve opens the cover. 

Tony gasps. He recognizes the first photo instantly. It used to live in a gold frame, right in front of his mom’s mirror. 

“That’s me,” Tony whispers in wonder, “when I was born.”

“It sure is,” Bucky murmurs. “You were a beautiful baby.”

The next picture is one of him and his mom. Tony traces a finger over her face. 

“I think your mom loved you a lot, Tony. She took all these pictures of you, ‘cause she loved you so much, she never wanted to forget a moment.”

Tony nods. “I remember. She had a really big camera. I tried to hold it once, but it was too heavy.” 

He turns another page, and there, in the garden is - “Jarvis!”

Bucky leans in. “You remember him?”

Tony nods frantically. Of course he remembers Jarvis. 

“Jarvis lived with us! He worked for my dad, and he took care of me.” Tony taps the picture. “He planted the whole garden behind our house! We had tomatoes, and-and peppers, and cucumbers. Jarvis used to be in the army, and he knows how to talk in a lot of languages! He and Mama used to talk in Italian, and something else, too. He used to read to me at night, and he took care of me when I got sick.”

“Did you like Mr. Jarvis?” Steve asks. 

What a silly question. “I loved Jarvis. He was my best friend.” There’s a tear in his eye now. “I miss him a lot.”

“Well, Tony,” Steve grabs his hand. “We saw Mr. Jarvis at the courthouse.”

Tony’s head whips up. “What?”

“We talked to him. He’s the one who gave us this photo album.” 

Tony’s mind is spinning. Where has Jarvis been all this time?

“Why - How come Jarvis never came to see me? I asked for him all the time!”

With a sigh, Steve says, “Well, because Mr. Jarvis was just a friend, not a relative, he wasn’t allowed to come and visit you.”

Tony doesn’t understand that. Jarvis wasn’t just a friend, he was Tony’s family . He was more of a dad to Tony than his real dad. Jarvis - Jarvis loved him. It’s been so long, Tony can’t believe he forgot this. 

Jarvis told him every night that he loved him. He would kiss him on the head and tuck him into bed, just like Bucky and Steve do. 

Bucky interjects. “But he thought about you all the time, honey. He called Ms. Hill to check on you. That’s how he knew to find us.”

“He asked if you might want to visit with him.” Steve isn’t even done talking before Tony nods frantically. 

“Yes, yes, please, can I see him? Can we call him?” He’s missed Jarvis so much . Knowing he’s around, that he’s been asking about Tony suddenly has him desperate. 

His Mama is dead, he can’t ever see her again. Even if he wanted to see his dad, the judge and the social worker all say he’s not allowed, because his dad isn’t safe to be with. 

Jarvis is all he’s got left of his first home. 

“Okay, okay, sweetheart. We’ll call him and see if he can come and visit.”

“Today?” 

Steve huffs and ruffles his hair. “We’ll call him tonight, alright?”

Tony launches himself into Steve’s arms. “Thank you!”

A kiss is pressed against his head. “Of course, Tony. Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Tony pulls back to look at Steve and Bucky in the eye. “And...and thank you for wanting to adopt me.”

Bucky leans in and presses his forehead against Tony’s. His eyes cross when he tries to focus them, and it makes Tony giggle. “You don’t ever have to thank us for that, Tony. You’re a part of this family. You belong here.”

A knock on the door breaks the mood as Clint yells out, “Can we make cake tonight?”

A suspicious smacking sound is followed by a yelp and Natasha muttering something too low to make out. 

“Take the dog out, Clint!” Steve distracts. 

Bucky clears his throat and wipes the tear tracks from Tony’s eyes. “You ok?”

It’s not automatic, but he nods after a second. He’s not great, but he’s ok for now. Tony takes the photo album from Steve’s hands. “Can I keep it in my room?”

“It’s yours, bud, you can keep it wherever you want. We can get some frames if you want a few on your desk.”

Tony nods. He thinks he’s going to get sad if he looks through the whole book right now, but maybe later he can find a new picture of Mama to put in the frame on his table. 

Upon his return downstairs, Clint’s back from the walk and is helping Peter in a tug-of-war with the dog. Lucky’s not even putting any effort in it, just laying on the floor and gripping a rope in his teeth while Peter is nearly knocking himself backwards with the effort to pull it away. 

“Hey,” Clint glances at Tony when he patters behind him and climbs onto the couch. “Sorry I scared you before, I was just excited.”

Clint’s enthusiasm is just a part of his normal state, but Tony wonders. He remembers hearing Andy, an older boy at the Walsh’s house, talking about how he was supposed to get adopted, but it fell through. “You’re not...you’re not mad that Steve and Bucky want to adopt me?”

The other boy looks at him with utter confusion. “Why would I be mad?”

Tony shrugs a shoulder. “They’re your dads. It’s your house. You’ll still have to share your room with me.”

Clint shifts to the couch, sitting on his knees facing Tony. “So? I don’t care about sharing a room with you. Tony, I like you. You know that, right?”

Clint is nice to him, he knows that. It makes sense, after all. Tony never understood why other boys used to be mean and fight in the other homes. Why wouldn’t you just be nice and make the best of a situation? 

The idea that Clint would genuinely like him is more difficult to understand. He doesn’t think it’s a lie, necessarily. It just sounds really strange. Tony never had real friends until this year. The experience is still so new, Tony finds himself feeling left out, or confused about how to act. 

“What’s wrong?” Natasha appears in front of them. 

“Tony doesn’t think I like him.” 

Tony swerves. “No! It’s-it’s not that, it’s just- I- I-”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Jesus, Clint, you haven’t scared him enough today?” She sits down on Tony’s other side, boxing him in. She takes his hand and strokes her thumb across the back. 

“He asked if I was mad that he was gonna get adopted,” Clint explains, “‘cause we still have to share a room, and I said why would I mind, because I like him and I like him being here.”

Natasha hums, like suddenly she knows what’s going on. Tony is always left wondering what people are thinking about him, but he thinks, somehow, Natasha has never wondered anything about him. She just knows him, down to his bones. 

“The first time Clint said he was my friend, I was really confused. No one had ever wanted to be my friend before, and everyone had been so mean to me, I didn’t know what he found to like. But then he said I was smart, and cool, and he wanted to sit next to me, and try to beat me at soccer, but he can’t block,” she jokes, poking Clint in the shoulder. 

She turns back to Tony. “You’re going to be our brother, Tony. For real. Of course we love you. Don’t be a silly boy.” She taps his temple. “You’re too smart to actually think that we wouldn’t want you to stay here. You’re family,” she finishes, with a kiss on his cheek that makes him blush. 

Peter’s attention has finally turned from Lucky. He’s much more interested now in pulling himself into Natasha’s lap to get his share of kisses, and then leans over to demand that Clint and Tony pay their own tolls. 

Clint’s looking at him curiously, and Tony supposes he’s still waiting for an answer. “I-I like you, too,” he admits, quiet but sure, “I’m really happy I get to stay here.”

The older boy grins. “Yeah, us too.” He turns to Peter and with a tickle under his chin, he playfully asks, “Aren’t you glad Tony’s gonna stay with us?”

“Yes!” Peter squeals, and launches himself into Tony’s arms to prove it with an abundance of kisses. 

---

Saturday morning comes with sunshine and clear skies, and Tony’s awake early enough that the edges of the sky are still pink. For once, his interrupted sleep wasn’t rooted in nervousness, but excitement.

Jarvis is coming today. 

Jarvis is coming today!

Steve’s on his run, and Tony peeks his head into the bedroom to see if Bucky’s awake. He is, but just barely. 

“‘Wake already?” he groggily greets. 

“I’m excited.”

Bucky smiles. “I know, pal. It’s still so early, though.” Bucky waves him closer. “Come lay down with me. You wanna listen to a book?”

That sounded nice. Tony has a really hard time reading. Steve sits down with him every day before dinner and helps him work out the words, but the letters jump around on the page. Steve said the school is going to give him a special test to see if Tony should get extra reading help in school, like how Clint used to go to his speech class for extra help. Steve keeps telling him that having a hard time reading doesn’t mean he’s not smart, it just means his brain doesn’t know the right way to translate the letters he sees into words he understands. 

In the meantime, Bucky found a website where he can listen to books. For once, Tony can actually enjoy the story instead of spending all his energy making out the words. It reminds him of when he was really tiny, when Jarvis used to read him to sleep. 

Tony crawls into Steve’s empty spot and snuggles down under the comforter. 

“Should we keep listening to Boris?” Bucky holds up his phone against his chest so he can use it with one hand while he scrolls. 

Tony nods. He listened to Boris On The Move last week, and really liked the story about the warthog who lived in a van and went on a wild jungle safari. 

“You got it.”

The story is silly just like the last one, and Tony finds himself giggling as Boris tries to capture a komodo dragon. By the time the story is done, Steve has come back from his run all sweaty and sticky. He moves to fall back into bed, right on top of Tony, but the boy commands him to take a shower and scrub away all the smelly sweat. 

Bucky takes him downstairs and decides that it’s early enough to make cinnamon rolls from scratch. Bucky makes bread on Sundays and Wednesdays, including Peter and Tony by fascinating them with the growing of yeast and letting them knead the dough with their hands. 

When he first started, Bucky showed him videos that explained the whole process of bread making - how and why yeast keeps growing, why bread has to be kneaded to change the texture and get the gluten, why dough needs to sit and rise or else it’ll just bake into a thick brick. 

Now that Tony knows the whole process, Bucky plays science videos on his tablet. Today, he plays a whole episode from the Discovery Channel about the Komodo Dragon. 

“We should get one for Natasha,” he tells Bucky as he rolls and folds the dough the way Bucky showed him to. “She likes the scary animals.” 

Bucky chuckles. “She does. Where would we keep it?”

“In the garage! And he could play with Lucky!”

“He’d probably try to eat Lucky,” Bucky turns to the dog, who huffs at the mention of his name. 

Tony takes a minute to think about it. “You’re right.” To Lucky he says, “I’m sorry, Lucky. I don’t want the lizard to eat you.”

He mulls it over for a minute, and then suggests, “Rhodey’s brother has a snake! It lives in a cage, but sometimes he takes it out and it crawls around. It came up from the floor onto Rhodey’s bed one time.”

“Do me a favor,” Bucky responds, “make sure you tell Steve that story at breakfast.”

Tony does, and bursts into laughter when Steve goes into a full-body shiver in disgust. Natasha winks across the table at him. “I asked for a snake last year. Dad’s too scared.”

Steve glares. “Too many of them get out of their cages,” he mutters under his breath. 

She points at her father with her fork. “What about a lizard?”

Steve tilts his head. “We’ll think about it.” 

The smirk Natasha sends to Clint tells Tony she won’t be left waiting long. 

Once they’re finished eating, the kids are sent to the yard in an obvious attempt to keep Tony distracted from watching the clock. 

It works, because keeping Peter upright while they play keep-away with the dog requires his full attention. Peter’s been doing better in his therapy, but he doesn’t focus on his balance that well when he’s focused on catching. 

When Lucky suddenly abandons the game and runs to the gate, ears perked, Tony knows he’s here. He dashes into the house, doesn’t even register the way Steve yells out, “Tony, wait a sec!” before he’s out the front door and - 

Running into familiar arms. 

“Hello, Anthony.”

Only Jarvis ever said his name that way. It wasn’t just his accent, but the way he said it, like he was never anything but happy to see him. Mama sounded sad a lot, and Dad was angry, but Jarvis was his safe person. 

Tony squeezes Jarvis tighter, inhales the scent of tea, cologne, and garden dirt that was tied to so many of his old memories. “I missed you,” he chokes out, overwhelmed. He’s not surprised about that. Tony’s getting used to not being ashamed about crying. 

“Oh, tesoro , I have missed you more than I can say.”

Treasure . Tony chest is unraveling at the seams, bursting open at the memory that he was someone’s treasure, once. 

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Jarvis,” comes softly behind them. It’s Bucky, shutting the door. No doubt to keep the others away while Tony’s having a small breakdown. 

“He’s not a ‘mister’,” Tony mumbles into Jarvis’ jacket. Jarvis chuckles, jostling Tony against him. “That’s right, Tony never called me ‘mister’. Please, Edwin or just Jarvis is fine.”

Finally getting a hold of himself, Tony pulls back to take a long look at Jarvis’ face. He’s spent every night staring at the photo album but looking at the real thing is so much better. Jarvis’ wrinkles are deeper, his hair a little thinner, but otherwise he still looks the same. His arms feel strong around him, and Tony isn’t surprised that Jarvis keeps a firm hold on him. Jarvis was a soldier in the army, and he spent an hour every night in the gym room at the old house. 

Jarvis is tracking him just the same, eyes fluttering over every inch of him, and welling up with tears. Tony catches the first one that falls. 

“Don’t cry, Jarvis. I’m okay.”

The old man laughs, and pulls Tony close to kiss his cheek. “I’m not sad, Anthony. Quite the opposite, I’m very, very happy. You’ve grown up so much.” Jarvis strokes his hair. “You look like your mother,” he says quietly. 

Tony blushes. “I’m not that big. Clint’s bigger.”

“Well, the last time I saw you, you were quite small! You haven’t eaten any magic beans to grow this big, have you, mastodonte ?” 

“I’m not a giant!” Tony giggles. 

“It certainly feels like it! Let’s see,” Jarvis muses as he lowers Tony to the ground. Sure enough, Jarvis looks different from this angle. Tony is eye-to-eye with Jarvis’ belly now. 

“The last time I saw you, you were down to here!” Jarvis gestures to his mid-thigh. “You’ve grown at least a whole foot! You’ll be taller than me soon enough.”

Tony shakes his head. “You’re super tall, Jarvis.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

Yes , Tony thinks, we can wait and see, now . 

“Do you wanna come inside?”

Jarvis offers him his hand. “Well, I didn’t just come to collect a hug and leave! Please start my tour, Master Anthony.” He bows, sending Tony into a memory of Jarvis calling Tony ‘the little prince’ and carrying him around the house to observe his kingdom. “One day, principe, you’ll be a wonderful king.”  

“This is my foster dad, Bucky. His real name is James Buchanen, like the president, but he doesn’t like it.” 

Bucky laughs as he shakes Jarvis’ hand. “I was named after a different James Buchanen. A family friend.”

“Ahh, a name with a history. We’re familiar, with that, aren’t we, Anthony?”

Tony nods. 

Bucky’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t told them?” Jarvis asks Tony. 

“They never asked.” Tony turns to Bucky. “I’m named after Mama’s family.”

“Her father, Eduardo, and her brother, Antonio. They both died before Anthony was born, unfortunately.” 

“That’s a really special name, pal,” Bucky tells him. 

Tony nods. “Can Jarvis meet everyone?”

At Bucky’s confirmation, Jarvis follows Tony inside, where Lucky immediately greets them with great enthusiasm. “Well, hello there, my friend,” Jarvis bends to scratch between the dog’s ears. 

“That’s Lucky! Clint found him outside one day, he was hurt, but we took care of him.”

Jarvis hums. “Well, he’s certainly lucky for that, isn’t he?”

When Lucky darts back to the yard, Tony and Jarvis follow him. Before Tony can even say anything, Clint’s rushing towards them, practically skidding to a stop at their feet. 

“Hi! I’m Clint!” he chirps. Jarvis smiles, and bends down a little. “It’s very nice to meet you, Clint. Tony’s right, you’re rather tall.”

Clint beams. He’s been shooting up lately, and grinning with pride that he’s finally getting tall like Barney. “Thanks! You’re older than I thou - OW!”

“Nat! Don’t hit your brother!” Steve chides. 

“I only flicked him, and he was being rude! You don’t tell people they look old, Baba’d have your butt.” Natasha glares. 

“Baba isn’t here!” Clint whines, rubbing the back of his head. 

Natasha turns to Jarvis and smiles charmingly. “I’m Natasha. It’s very nice to meet you.” She even offers her hand to shake. 

“And you as well, Natasha. I suppose I should thank you for coming to my defense,” Jarvis bemuses. 

Her smile is wide and proud. “You’re welcome. And this is Peter,” she gestures to the boy clinging to her leg. “Mr. Jarvis is Tony’s friend, Petey.”

Peter looks up at Tony for confirmation. “Friend?”

“Jarvis is my best friend.” Tony nods. 

Peter sizes Jarvis from top to bottom before he unlatches one hand to wave. “Hi.”

“Hello, Peter. What’s that in your hand?” 

Peter glances down, as if just remembering he was holding something, and holds out his palm. “Dino,” he explains, “from the sandbox.”

Jarvis bends down further and examines the plastic toy carefully, humming thoughtfully. “Aren’t you a little archeologist? What kind of dinosaur did you dig up?”

Peter blushes. “Stego.” He runs his finger along the high hump and scales sitting on it. “Like a camel.”

Jarvis nods, “Very astute observation, young sir.”

“Tony helps.” 

Jarvis looks curiously back at Tony for clarification. Peter’s progressed from being silent around new people to minimally talking, but it makes him hard to understand. 

“Peter has a dinosaur coloring book, and it has all these facts that we read together.” Tony doesn’t mention that he needs Steve next to him to actually read it. 

“I remember when you were small, you wanted to learn all about space.” Tony remembers, too. It’s the reason he watched every space show he could find on TV at his old foster homes. 

“He still does,” Steve cuts in, swooping Peter into his arms. “We just started a documentary series about the planets.”

“Tony’s smart,” Peter interjects, giggling when Tony pinches his leg playfully. 

Jarvis nods along. “He certainly is, Peter. And I bet you’re quite smart, too, knowing all your dinosaurs.”

Peter hides his face in Steve’s neck, embarrassed. His father chuckles and lets him burrow. “So, Mr. Jarvis, I didn’t expect it to be such nice weather today, and I feel bad keeping the kids home. Would you want to join us on a trip to the park?”

“Dad’s supposed to teach me how to pitch so I can try out for the baseball team next year!” Clint beams. 

They arrive at the park with a van packed full of bikes, baseballs, and a carry box full of Peter’s toys. 

Bucky opts to take Natasha and Peter on a ride through the trail while Steve leads Clint to the empty field where they can throw balls without fear of hitting someone. Tony knows exactly where he wants to take Jarvis: the flower gardens. 

“So, tell me, Anthony. How are you?”

Tony looks down at his feet, kicking a mound of dirt. “I’m….better. Steve and Bucky are really nice, nicer than the other homes I was in.”

Jarvis sighs, weary, and crouches down. Tony hears the click in his knees. He doesn’t think he ever realized how old Jarvis is. He must be close to seventy by now. “You know that I tried to visit you, when you were put into care?”

“Yeah, Steve told me. He said you weren’t allowed to visit, ‘cause you’re not family. That wasn’t fair.” 

“No, I don’t think it was fair either. But I called your social worker, every few months, to check on you. She told me that your other homes weren’t...a good fit.”

Tony shakes his head. “Mrs. Hendricks was nice, but she fell and got hurt so I had to go to another home. The other homes were kind of mean. But I like this home!” he rushes to say. “Steve and Bucky are really nice, and they help me with my homework, and-and they never ever get mad, never.”

A palm lays on Tony’s cheek. He looks up to see sad, dark blue eyes. “You mean like your father used to get mad?”

Tony chews on his bottom lip before he gives in and nods. “Dad used to yell a lot.”

“He did. I’m sorry, Tony. I tried to get him to change, but your father is his own man. He never knows what’s good for him. Doesn’t know what he gave up with you.”

“He doesn’t love me,” Tony chokes out. It’s a truth he’s known his whole life, but never said out loud. 

But Jarvis, Jarvis knows it too. He blinks, clears his throat, doesn’t say anything different. Jarvis tried to hide him from the truth, but as he always said, Tony’s very smart. It’s something he got from his father. 

At three, Tony understood that Jarvis loved him so hard because his father didn’t. 

“I’m so sorry, Anthony. So sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that. You’re so bright, and sweet, and caring, you deserved so much more than that.” Jarvis looks on the verge of tears. 

Tony takes his hand, looks down at the wrinkles, the liver spots, the long fingers that used to stroke his hair, bandages his scratches, dress and bathe him. “It’s ok, Jarvis. Mama loved me. And you love me.”

Jarvis pulls him close to his chest. “Yes, Anthony. I love you, so very much. I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”

“I love you, too, Jarvis.” 

When he pulls away, Jarvis looks him deep in the eyes. “Do you know what happened in court last week?”

“The judge said that my dad isn’t safe for me, so he’s not gonna be my dad anymore, and I can be adopted. Steve and Bucky said they’re going to adopt me.”

Jarvis nods along, looking serious. “And, are you alright with that? About being adopted, about staying with Steve and Bucky?”

It’s the thought that’s lived in Tony’s brain nonstop for the last week. He’s never going to leave. In another home, that thought would have terrified him, if it was with the Walsh’s or the Dwolinski’s.

With Steve and Bucky, it doesn’t really scare him. “They’re really nice to me, Jarvis. They bought me all new clothes when I got here. They get all the snacks that I like, and they don’t make me eat asparagus or brussel sprouts ‘cause they’re gross. Steve sits down and helps me read every day, and Bucky taught me how to ride a bike and how to make a cake. And Clint and Natasha and Peter are nice kids, and they really like me. Even when I’m - when I’m bad, they’re nice, and they make me feel safe. They’ve never called Ms. Hill to take me away. They say they love me.”

Jarvis stares at him for a moment. Tony fills the silence with another confession. “I think I believe them.”

The smile Jarvis gives him is small and sad and hopeful all at once. “Do you feel safe with them? Safer than when you were at the other homes?”

Tony nods. “They don’t yell, and they never get mad. They hug and kiss me all the time, like, like you and Mama used to. And they always check that I’m ok, every day.”  Tony makes sure he’s meeting Jarvis’ gaze. “I - I want them to adopt me. I want to stay with them, forever.” 

Jarvis swallows, grips Tony’s face in both hands. “If that’s what you want, that’s what I want, too. I want you to feel safe, and loved, and cared for.”

Tony reaches up to hold Jarvis’ hand over his cheek. “They make me feel safe, like you do.”

Jarvis’ bursts out a laugh, unexpectant and joyful, before he presses a firm kiss to the center of Tony’s forehead. “That’s good, Anthony. So good. I’m glad.”

He’s starting to feel squirmy, the way he does when he’s in therapy and Darcy keeps talking about his feelings, so Tony points behind Jarvis. “They have bluebells, in the back.”

“Do they?” Jarvis inquires. He straightens, and grips Tony’s hand in his. Tony remembers how giant Jarvis’ hand used to feel around his. Now, it doesn’t feel as large, but it makes him feel the same comfort as it did before. 

“You know those are my favorite, don’t you? My mother used to grow them when we lived in the country.”

As they stroll through the gardens, Tony lets himself pretend, just for a moment, that they’re back at the old house. Jarvis is telling him stories about growing up in England, teaching him about all the different flowers and vegetables he grows, promising that Tony will get to pick the cucumbers he likes best for dinner that night. 

He might not have the old house anymore, might not have his Mama anymore, but he’s got Jarvis back, and that makes all the difference.

Chapter Text

When Rhodey hands him a piece of paper in the cafeteria on Monday, Tony is very confused. 

He has to read it slowly and go over it a few times because there are a couple words Steve hasn’t practiced with him, but after a minute he makes out:

You’re Invited!

Come Celebrate James Turning 8

At Our Backyard Zoo!

Saturday, April 8, 1:00 PM

“Is this for me?” Tony asks, shy and quiet. 

Rhodey laughs, “Of course, dude. That’s why I gave it to you.”

“Oh.” Tony looks between the invitation and his friend, unsure of what to say. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t really understand why, but holding the invitation makes his stomach roll. Tony stuffs it deep into his backpack, and tries to forget about it. 

He should have realized that wouldn’t work. Steve goes through his folder every Thursday to make sure there isn’t any missing homework or papers for him to sign. 

“Hey, what’s this?” Steve holds up the paper and scans it. “Oh, Rhodey’s having a birthday party, how fun! When did you get this?”

Tony looks down at his feet. “A few days ago.”

“Alright, we should go to the mall Saturday, find a gift for him.” Steve is talking mostly to himself as he sticks the invitation to the refrigerator with a magnet. 

Tony can’t stop staring at it. “I can go?”

Steve freezes, looking at him strangely. He comes out of it quickly. “Of course you can go, Tony, why wouldn’t you? Do you not want to?”

Tony gulps. “I-” He can’t really put this feeling into words. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go to a party. Who wouldn’t, he thinks. 

But the idea of him actually being invited to a party, actually going with a gift in hand and playing party games with other kids, feels wrong. 

“I’ve never been to a birthday party before,” is what he settles on. 

It’s like when, on his third day living here, he confessed to Steve in the middle of a department store that he was seven years old and didn’t know how to tie his shoes. His foster dad is looking at him all sad and like he wants to cry. 

He crouches down in front of Tony, making him meet his eyes. 

“How are you feeling about that?”

That’s the phrase Steve and Bucky use to ask him if he’s feeling anxious . Tony doesn’t like it when they ask if he’s worried, because it only makes him start thinking about all the things he could be worried about just to give them an answer. He still hates talking about his feelings, but this way is a little better. 

“I don’t know. Icky.”

Steve nods. “Icky how?” 

This is the part that Tony hates. How is he supposed to put a feeling into words? 

“Like...like my belly is rolling around.”

“What are you thinking about when your belly is doing that?”

It’s easier not to look at Steve anymore. “I don’t know if I should be allowed to go.”

Steve grabs the chair and tugs it closer. “Why do you think that?” Steve asks, nudging Tony by the chin. 

“I won’t...I don’t belong there.”

Steve clicks his tongue. “Why, bud? What makes you feel like that?”

Tony shrugs. It’s not an answer, so Steve waits. Finally, Tony lets out the thought that’s been coursing through his brain. “No one wants the foster kid at their party.”

He looks away right after he says that, but Steve won’t let it go. “Hey,” Steve chides. “Who was the stupid person who told you that?”

Wishing he had his fidget cube right now, Tony whispers, “Nobody.” It’s a lie, and he’s sure Steve knows it. The truth is, Tony can’t remember which of his angry foster brothers at the Walsh’s house told him that. They used to tell him a lot of mean stuff about being a foster kid. What Tony does remember, is that they stayed home with a babysitter while Mr. and Mrs. Walsh threw a party for their daughter at some party place. 

When Mr. and Mrs. Walsh returned with their daughter, she was decked out in costume jewelry, dragging a ton of presents into her bedroom. 

Tony remembers thinking how much of a bad kid he must have been to not even be allowed to go to the party with them. 

“Tony, do you think Rhodey is your friend?” 

Rhodey is the first friend he’s ever had. He’s nice to Tony, shares his snacks during lunch, and plays tetherball with him in the yard. He says Tony is his friend. Tony nods, sure of that answer. 

“Okay, do you think Rhodey cares that you’re in foster care?”

Rhodey thought he was adopted, at first, because he got picked up from school by two men. Then he asked why Tony called his dads by their name, and the truth spilled out. 

Rhodey hadn’t said much after that, just “oh” and moved on. Tony had sighed with relief. Sometimes when people found out he was in foster care, they started asking a lot of questions, questions that made Tony squirm and want to hide in a hole. 

Tony pauses, and then gives Steve the smallest of head shakes. 

“So, if Rhodey is your friend, and he doesn’t care that you’re in foster care, do you think he would invite you to his birthday if he didn’t really want you there?”

Spelled out like that, Steve has a point. Tony’s been rejected plenty of times, by foster families, by foster siblings, by other kids. 

Steve sighs and pulls Tony right into his lap. Tony finds himself inhaling the smell of Steve’s cologne. It’s familiar, and helps Tony take a deep breath. 

When Steve starts talking, Tony leans into the rumble of his chest. It reminds him of how it feels to lean his head against the car window. 

“I know it’s hard to think about going, because you’ve never been to a party for someone else, but I think if Rhodey invited you, he really wants you to come and have fun with him. And if he invited you, then you absolutely belong there.”

Tony doesn’t answer, letting that thought sink into his head. Ms. Darcy says it’s okay to not trust new things, especially because Tony had so many changes in his life. Big changes like moving into new homes make him nervous even for little changes. 

Some changes are really good, though. Living here was a good change. Having nice siblings is a good change. Getting adopted, and not having to be scared of going back to his dad at any minute, is a really, really good change. 

Maybe going to a birthday party can be a good change, too.

Tony looks up at his foster dad. “What happens at a birthday party?”

“Well,” Steve starts, “usually there’s some games, pizza and cake. Natasha wanted to do a craft at her party, and they went on a scavenger hunt. Clint wanted a whole circus theme one year, and we got all kinds of dart and shooting games. It’s always different.”

Tony thinks about it for a minute. It sounds like it might be fun, but he’s not ready to jump in the car and go. 

“How ‘bout this? I’ll call Rhodey’s mom, and tell her we’re coming to the party, and ask her what kind of activities they’re going to have, so you know what’s going to happen. And anything you don’t want to do, you don’t have to.”

Tony chews his lip. “Will you be there, too?”

Steve makes that sound, like he was about to laugh but stopped himself. “Of course, Tony. I wouldn’t want you to go alone. Besides, you’re not old enough yet to tell me to hit the road,” he jibes, grabbing that ticklish spot on the back of Tony’s neck. It forces a giggle out of him. 

“What do you think? Should I call Rhodey’s mom?”

Tony blinks up at Steve. “We can leave if I don’t like it?”

“Absolutely. The second you want to go, we go. It’s all up to you, honey.”

He still doesn’t know what to expect at a party, has no idea if he’ll have fun or want to run away, but - Tony really wants to experience a birthday party.