Chapter Text
There wasn’t much that the Avengers agreed on. In fact, barring most basic human rights, there likely wasn’t a single topic that involved some manner of personal opinion that all the Avengers could stand behind as one. There wasn’t a pair of Avengers who would agree on more than a few things. That was what made the Avengers work—the varying backgrounds, skills, talents, and perspectives. They argued when they needed to, but (for the most part) knew when not to argue.
These were all things that damn near anyone without their head in the sand knew or could realize given some thought (and access to a recording of more than one press conference).
But nearly no one knew about Peter Parker, who was the exception to damn near anything Avengers related.
Peter Parker was the only person in Brooklyn (or Queens) who Clinton Francis Barton ever bothered to censor himself around.
Peter Parker was the only person in New York City who James Buchanan Barnes would not bodily throw with his metal arm should the opportunity and/or need arise.
Peter Parker was the only person in New York State who Anthony Edward Stark regularly asked for help from.
Peter Parker was the only person in the United States of America who Steven Grant Rogers regularly wanted to swaddle in soft blankets and sit on top of.
Peter Parker was the only person in North America who Robert Bruce Banner genuinely trusted to know and follow procedure in his lab without being hovered over.
Peter Parker was the only person in the Western Hemisphere who Thor actively considered whisking away to Asgard against his will.
Peter Parker was the only person on the planet who could get Natalia Alianovna Romanova to swap her carefully selected tea for hot chocolate.
Peter Parker was the only person in the galaxy for whom Samuel Thomas Wilson would change a recipe.
Peter Parker was the only person in the universe who Virginia Potts would offer coffee after ten at night.
So when Peter came home from the aptitude tests for advanced and specialized high school admittance with a split lip and bruised knuckles, just about all hell broke loose.
Not that Peter would ever know.
Not that anyone would ever know.
Because Bucky was smarter than the average bear, he did not tip Peter off to his concern. He dropped an easy arm around him in the elevator, kissed his hair, and gave Steve his best what the fuck did you let happen face.
But then Peter sniffled a little, and all his plans of calm evaporated. He muttered to Peter in Russian, “You will tell your father or you will tell me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Bucky,” Steve sighed, a little bit heavier than usual. “Just- leave it.”
Bucky did not want to just leave it but investigating on his own would be easier than trying to convince Steve to let him hack all of the security cameras in and around the building Peter had been testing in. He left Steve and Peter in the lab with Stark and went up to the main common room, where Barton and Natalia were idly playing Go Fish.
“Any twos?”
“No.”
“Cheat.”
“Nope. Got any fives?”
“Fucker.”
“Just pass them over.”
“Someone hurt Peter.”
“What?” Barton said shrilly, cards flying dramatically. Bucky carefully inhaled. “Who? When? Where?”
“How, why,” Natalia finished.
“Steve can’t find out,” said Bucky. “I don’t know. But I need to.”
“You said that out of order,” Natalia said. “Come on, let’s get this shit sorted.”
It was not fun. Even split across three screens, it took longer than Bucky wanted to find Peter and start organizing a timeline. There were a lot of other kids there, and Peter was very good at slipping through blindspots. He couldn’t always be tracked from camera to camera, even by following a child who had been near him. Bucky had long since realized that it was the sheer volume of children that convinced Steve to ban him from coming with that morning.
“What are we doing in here?”
Clint screamed, falling out of his chair. It was his fault for tipping it back on two legs to begin with. Natalia smiled but did not stop scrubbing through the feeds. Bucky offered a wave. “Hey, Sam.”
“You hacked the school feeds,” Sam whispered.
“Wasn’t hard,” Natalia shrugged. Bucky tapped her screen, pointing out all of three frames of Peter before he vanished again. Natalia marked them and added them to the sequence of found clips.
“You hacked the school feeds?”
“No ones gonna know,” Clint groused.
“Those are an educational record, they’re protected by FERPA!” Sam said shrilly. “You can’t just hack school data!”
“Peter was hurt,” Natasha said.
“What?!” Sam yanked a chair from the other side of the table, dragging it around to join them. “Hurt how?”
“Split lip, hands hurt,” said Bucky.
“Right,” said Sam slowly. “And we don’t think Peter can handle that?”
“Between Peter’s healing and his training, the only reason for his hand to be busted is if it was nearly broken,” said Natalia. “Which doesn’t happen accidentally and is a little vicious for an eighth grader.”
“You don’t know middle schoolers that well then,” Sam sighed. “All right. But if anyone asks, I never told you this was beyond illegal and invasive.”
“Right, because without you telling us, we’d never be able to figure it out,” said Clint flatly.
“How would they even know?” Natalia said mildly. As though Bucky was not currently talking himself down from marching down to that school and bashing someone’s head into a wall until he got answers.
“This is going to be bad,” Sam said, but he sounded resigned to it and not like he was about to run off and tattle to Steve, so Bucky didn’t bother trying to lie.
It was going to be very bad.
“Can I look at your hand?” Bruce held out his calmly, but Peter still glanced back at Steve. Steve swallowed thickly and nodded, not trusting his voice.
Tony wasn’t a subtle person, even if it had taken him twenty minutes to realize Peter’s lip was fat and swollen and that Steve hadn’t left. His Jesus fucking Christ, Pete, the fuck happened? had only been met with the tiniest little Spider’s fault. There had been no mention of the swear jar, which was enough to make Steve fret. Steve had convinced Tony not to go nuclear (almost literally), and to invite Bruce up, not demand Peter be looked at. It’d been an hour of the three of them working quietly together while Steve tried not to scream or puke or cry like an idiot in the corner.
“Not so bad,” Peter whispered, holding out his shaking hand to Bruce. He gently took Peter’s wrist, turning it this way and that, frowning slightly.
“Peter,” said Bruce, soft and stern. Steve clenched his hands around his biceps until it hurt. It was indeed so bad.
“Already better,” Peter tried.
“Peter,” Bruce said again. He talked Peter through several range of motion and dexterity tests. Peter was sweating by the time Bruce sighed again, his face pale and eyes starting to glaze.
“You did good,” Steve stepped forward, pushing damp curls from his forehead. “You did so good, Peter. You listened really well, and I bet you did great on your test. We just want to make sure you didn’t get hurt too bad, we want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Nobody- nobody saw-"
“That’s good, Peter,” Steve soothed. “You didn’t fail anything at all, you were good.” He curled his arm around Peter as the boy folded into him, letting out a slow breath. “I love you, Peter, and your папа loves you. We’re happy you’re here.”
“Where’d he go?” Peter whispered. “He- he’s cleaning up the mess- didn’t leave a mess-"
“He’s just checking on a few things,” Steve said, wincing at the vagueness and the fact that he didn’t really know. “Do you want to go see him?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. JARVIS, please let Bucky know that we’re on the way up to see him,” Steve called toward the ceiling.
“I shall inform him,” JARVIS said lightly.
“Th-thank you,” Peter said to Bruce. Bruce smiled warmly.
“You did really well, buddy,” Bruce said. “I’m sorry you’re in pain.”
“Thank you,” Peter whispered again. He turned into Steve’s chest, and Steve didn’t so much as hesitate before he hefted the boy into his arms. Peter curled his head under Steve’s chin, arms hanging loose instead of gripping tightly like normal. Steve had spent too much time worrying over the past year about Peter getting too big or too old to carry around like this. It probably didn’t look halfway to normal—Peter was starting to catch up in height if not weight with the norm for his age. Steve probably shouldn’t have been carrying around a teenager, either, but as long as Peter would tolerate it, Steve couldn’t help it. Even limp and slumped against him, he could feel Peter’s heart and breath, feel his pain and relief.
“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” Steve murmured. His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and Steve glanced back at the door to the lab to see Bruce with his phone in trembling hands, green surging through the veins at his neck. Tony quickly gave up his project and took the phone away, holding Bruce’s hands and talking softly.
“Sergeant Bucky is in the kitchen on the common floor,” said JARVIS.
“Thank you,” said Steve. He carried Peter into the elevator, holding him close. “You’re doing so well, baby.”
“Папа will be mad if he has to clean up a mess,” Peter whispered.
“He won’t be mad at you,” Steve said softly. “He’s never mad at you, Peter. And you didn’t make a mess.”
“Was really careful,” Peter said.
“I know, Pete, you’re always so, so careful,” Steve said. “You’re so good, baby, all the time.”
“Trying to help.”
“I love you so much,” Steve said. The elevator opened, and Bucky met them there. Steve quickly signed that Peter was on the edge of dissociating, a hand signal that got far too much use.
They sat on the couch, Peter cuddled against Steve’s chest, Bucky curled around them both like his broad shoulders could keep all the evil of the world at bay.
“You can tell us what happened,” Bucky said gently. “You won’t be in trouble at all. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“No,” Peter shook his head. “Just- just stupid and confused.”
“That’s all right, baby,” Steve said. “It’s all right. Being confused doesn’t make you stupid, Peter, it just means you’re missing a piece of information. That’s all.”
“You’re not in trouble, Petya,” Bucky said again. “We just want to understand why you’re hurt.”
“Not their fault,” Peter mumbled. “Not their fault, not their fault.”
Steve pinched Bucky just enough that he knew to lay off, then wiggled to get his phone free. Peter trembled against them, even with Bucky occasionally kissing his forehead.
The text from Bruce was simple: Wounds consistent with his hands being slammed in a door.
Steve really did not buy the whole not their fault thing.
“Captain Rogers,” said JARVIS.
“Yeah?”
“Agents Romanoff and Barton are leaving the building,” the computerized voice said. “They ask that you apologize to the twins for missing their afternoon training, though they promise to be home in time for dinner.”
“Do I want to know?” Steve said.
“No,” Peter whispered. “Not their fault.”
“Peter, if someone hurt you, they deserve to be in trouble,” Bucky said. Peter shook his head. “Their being in trouble will never look like what our being in trouble was, Petya. There are no more Chairs and no more Handlers. We don’t protect people who hurt us.”
“Not that bad,” Peter muttered.
“It is that bad- Steven!” Bucky swatted at Steve in retaliation for the significantly harder pinch. Steve glared over Peter’s head, curling a hand into the boy’s hair carefully. Bucky grumbled under his breath, kissing Peter’s forehead again, then Steve’s cheek. “You’ll be all right, Petya.”
Natasha stood on the doorstep, listening to the doorbell ring through the townhouse. She allowed a small bounce on the balls of her toes, despite there being no real reason to do so. But, the appearance of nerves might help sell the cover more than the short blonde bob or the coral lipstick. She shoved her hands deeper into her coat pockets.
The door opened, just a crack. A single brown eye looked out. Natasha made a show of clearing her throat, “Uh, hi, are you Jeanine West?”
“I am,” the woman said cautiously.
“I’m Samantha Rey, I was wondering if we could talk for a minute?”
“About what?” She said. “I have a church, and I’m not looking for anything new.”
“Oh, no, I’m not a missionary or anything,” Natasha laughed. “Your son took the high school aptitude tests today, right?”
“He did,” West said.
“Mine did, too,” Natasha said. “Only, well, I think he got in a fight? And- and- well, there’s a video, but I don’t know any of the kids, because we just moved here and I looked up the school’s PTO and you- you came up and- oh, god, I should have called, I’m acting like a crazy person-“
“No, no, it’s all right. I’m happy to help—the school never takes bullying as seriously as they should,” West opened the door. “Come in, come in. Do you prefer tea or coffee?”
Natasha sniffled a little as West walked her back to the breakfast nook, commanding that she sit down as she made tea. West asked inane questions—where did they move from, what does her husband do for work, do they know what school they’re aiming for—until the tea was ready, then sat across from the Natasha. “You said there was a video?”
“Yeah, my niece- it came across her Snaps-chat or Instagram or something,” Natasha forced her hands to shake as she retrieved her phone. The video had been easy to find, once they’d identified the group of kids running around the school like a pack of jackals. Maybe this was horrifyingly vindictive, but there were so many worse things that Natasha could have chosen to do instead.
She played the video file. It was clearly a bathroom. Four boys huddled together.
“C’mon, I saw it in a movie, it’ll be great,” one said.
“Just make sure you get it all,” hissed Jeanine West’s son, Jacob Randall West. She stiffened as the door swung open, revealing a smaller boy who froze the instant he caught sight of the pack of his classmates. The camera shook for a long moment, flashes of jeans, shoes, and tiles blurring by. “Get him!”
The door rattled and slammed shut.
“No, please, don’t- let me go!”
“Hey, he smells, doesn’t he?”
“Smells like shit!”
A fit of laughter passed through the pack.
“Yeah, like shit!”
“Looks like someone needs a bath,” Jacob Randall West crooned. The video stabilized, showing him and another boy with the smallest ones arms twisted behind his back. The door creaked open, and there stood Peter. His eyes widened fractionally before setting into a scowl. “Get out!”
“Let him go,” Peter said, voice hard and unyielding.
“We’re just messing around. Right?”
“Get off of me,” the boy being held squirmed. “Jake, please.”
Jeanine West winced, face draining of what little natural color it had.
“Let him go,” Peter said again.
“What, you’re going to make me?” Jacob Randall West scoffed. Peter slowly, obviously marked each of their faces.
“Four on one isn’t very fair,” Peter said.
“I’ll show you just how fair it is,” Jacob Randall West looked at the camera, clearly geeked to be filmed. He released the small kid’s arm. “Get the door.”
Jacob Randall West puffed up his chest as he approached Peter, letting his arms swing wide. Peter only shifted slightly, broadening his stance and stabilizing his center of gravity.
The first shove made him back up, but only because Peter let it. The boys all laughed. Jacob Randall West shoved Peter again.
Peter stumbled into the kid (Everett Jasper Abbott) at the door, swinging him into a headlock and moving fluidly, twisting the boy into a stall. “Run!”
The small kid was smart, ripping away from the one kid holding him and darting out the door.
“Fucker!”
“Get him!”
The video cut out.
Natasha, hand still trembling, sniffled a little as she scrubbed back to the beginning, where all faces but the boy recording were clearly visible. “He was just trying to help.” Natasha sniffled again, then swiped to the next photo, which had come from Bruce. It showed Peter’s hands, the way the bruises forming came in perfectly straight lines. The trembling in her voice was difficult to edge from rage to sorrow. “And they slammed his hands in the door.”
Jeanine West flinched bodily. She grabbed her own mug of tea with two hands, sipping quietly. “Have you contacted the school?”
“Well, Peter’s not a student, he was just taking the test,” Natasha put her phone away. “I wasn’t sure if they could do anything.”
A blatant lie, seeing as it had happened on school grounds and the pack of miniature-assholes were students. She just wanted to see what Jeanine West would do.
“Well, I don’t recognize any of the boys,” Jeanine West said, hands shaking around her tea mug, knuckles white.
“Oh,” Natasha sighed heavily. “I guess I’ll have to ask the school then. They have security cameras and all that.”
“There aren’t security cameras in the bathroom,” Jeanine West said.
“No, but the boys filmed themselves for us,” Natasha kept her smile feeble. “That’s got to count for something. They can figure out who went in the bathroom before him.”
Jeanine West’s eyes darted across the table, no doubt trying to figure out some other way to get her kid out of it.
Which is probably why Jacob Randall West thought he could smash Peter’s hand in the door.
“Is- is your son severely injured?”
“Do you want to see the photo again?” Natasha asked as innocently as possible.
“N-no,” Jeanine West voice shook. “I supposed that- that was a silly question.”
Natasha had been called many things. Kind was not really first on the list. She sighed, pretended to wipe at her eyes, then twisted the proverbial knife. “I just don’t understand who raises their kids to think that- that that sort of behavior is okay.”
Jeanine West twitched. “W-well, we don’t always know everything about our children.”
And right under the bus goes the kid. Natasha hadn’t gone to be cruel—she’d gone to understand. That didn’t mean she had to like it.
The thing that Jeanine West had unfortunately forgotten (another mark against her parenting) was that Jacob Randall West was currently in her home. Judging by the feet coming down the stairs, and the horror dawning on her face, he was heading straight for the kitchen.
Natasha did what she did best: She sipped her cooling tea and waited.
“Mom, I’m hungry!” Jacob Randall West said without preamble. He stopped short behind his mother, frowning at Natasha. A vicious curl of satisfaction blossomed through her. His nose was broken so badly, both his eyes were bruising black. Peter must have thought they’d all be punished—Peter for getting injured, and the other boys for losing four on one against a smaller opponent. “Who’s that?”
“This is- is-“
Natasha made a big show of recognizing him. She gaped at Jeanine West. Then, she stood, picked up her tea, and threw it in Jeanine West’s face.
So, maybe she was enjoying it a little bit.
“W-wait!”
Natasha blew by her, biting out, “Enjoy your day.”
“Mom? What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s wrong, honey, just-“ Jeanine West grabbed Natasha’s arm, and it took everything in her power not to break it. “We have money.”
Natasha wrenched free. At that stage, silence was more terrifying than any threats. Natasha contemplated spitting in her face, but technically that was assault. Besides, an edited version of the video that didn’t show Peter’s face had already been sent to the school’s administration, a local news station, and the police. There would be no getting out in front of it.
Natasha didn’t even close the door on the way out. She marched down the street, ducking out of sight as quickly as possible to take off the stupid wig and turn around her coat so that it was blue instead of red. She clambered into the car and Clint pulled away from the curb, blinker on and everything.
“Terrible people?”
“Terrible people,” Natasha confirmed.
“Interacting with normal people makes me regret our choice in occupation,” Clint sighed.
“I threw tea in her face,” she mused. “Hot, not scalding.”
“Can I do that?”
“I think any more and we’ll get in trouble.”
“Bold of you to assume we’re not already in trouble.”
“You’re grounded.”
“What?” Clint cried. “That’s not fair! I was only the driver, Nat did all the bad things!”
Steve pinched at the bridge of his nose as Natasha kicked Clint under the table. “We’re also adults, so you can’t ground us.”
“I don’t care!” Tony said. “You’re grounded!”
“Tony, you’re being dramatic,” Steve sighed.
“They’re still grounded!”
“You can’t ground us,” Natasha repeated flatly. “Who’d enforce it?”
“I will.”
“You and I both know how that ends, Stark,” Natasha rolled her eyes.
“Fine! But that doesn’t mean you can go out and threaten-“
“I didn’t threaten anyone,” Natasha said calmly. Steve hated it, even though he knew exactly what she was doing. It was the damn same thing he did every time Bucky blew up about something. Calm and steady. Let him run out of steam without adding any fuel.
“You stalked children!”
“Gremlins,” Clint said. “Those little fuckers are gremlins. You insult children everywhere by conflating them.”
Clint was not so practiced with drama queen defusing.
“Whatever they are, they’re legal minors!” Tony said. “Even Peter! Cutting his face out of the video with sloppy editing and a bit of JARVIS’s help doesn’t get you around privacy law!”
“Tony,” Steve said softly. “That’s between me and Bucky.”
Because Bucky had been in on it. No one had said anything, but Steve knew. There was a glint in Bucky’s eyes when they’d gotten the check-in from Clint that Steve recognized. Peter knew too, clinging to Bucky as best he could and softly requesting a nap.
Steve loved them too much to be mad. Peter had been doing much better over the past year or so, but that didn’t stop his subconscious from hijacking his thinking process. He likely thought Bucky would be punished for his disobedience, and even though he rationally knew Steve wouldn’t harm either of them, some part of him needed to be sure. Steve hated that Bucky had introduced him as a handler. As much as it had been a product of the Winter Soldier’s failing programming, as much as it had given Steve enough authority over Peter to make him listen when Bucky was gone, it classed Steve in Peter’s hindbrain as the person who would deliver punishments, who would separate them on a whim and bring them back together in shattered pieces.
Nothing was ever easy, yet Steve wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“What if the news traces it back, huh? What then?”
“The adoption papers go through in a few months, Tony. They’ll find out anyway.”
“Adoption records can be sealed.”
“Marriage licenses are public record, too,” Steve said.
“You’re popping the question?” Clint said.
“Found a blacksmith for the rings,” Steve shrugged. “Trying to figure out the best time to do it that doesn’t feel manipulative.”
“You’re asking him to legally bind himself to you,” Natasha drawled. “It’s gonna take some manipulation.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Being honest is being on your side.”
“He all right?” Bucky turned his face up to accept Steve’s gentle kiss, one of those broad, artist’s hands settling over Peter’s hair. The kid had been clingy to the point of suffocation, but Bucky didn’t really mind. He just made sure Peter’s injured hand wasn’t tucked anywhere that it would be hurt. Peter didn’t even stir at Steve’s touch, forehead pressed into Bucky’s neck and breaths coming long and slow.
“I can never tell,” Bucky admitted quietly. “When he’s okay and when he’s pretending. Not until he does something like this.”
“It’s all right,” Steve bent over the couch, kissing Peter’s temple, then Bucky’s cheek. Bucky caught the back of his neck before he could draw away. He closed his eyes as Steve pressed in close. “You’re not in trouble.”
“Natalia said that Stark-“
“I’m not Stark,” he rumbled. “And you’re not Nat.”
“He put the other kids in the hospital.”
“No,” Steve said. “The other kids’ parents freaked enough to take them to urgent care. None of them had anything worse than a mild ankle sprain.”
Bucky tilted his head against Peter’s. “Is it bad that I wish it was worse?”
“No,” said Steve. “I talked to May. She said that Peter should’ve slammed their hands in the door one by one.”
“If this ever happens again- if he ever takes the hurt meant for someone else-“
“Bucky, we can’t spend our lives helping other people and expect him not to-“
“I don’t do this out of the goodness of my heart, Stevie,” Bucky snapped. “I do it because you’re too big of an idiot to watch your own six, and I owe the world after what I did-“
“You do not-“
“He’s just a kid, Steve,” Bucky said. “He’s still just a kid.”
“I know, Buck,” Steve said. “But you can’t stop him from getting hurt any more than you could stop me from getting into shit.”
“Yeah, well don’t you go around thinking that I’m fucking okay with that, ‘cause I’m not.”
“I know, Bucky,” Steve kissed his cheek again. “Stir fry okay for dinner?”
“Don’t take a single step closer to that kitchen,” Bucky scowled. He smoothed back Peter’s hair one more time. “Trade with me.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
Peter woke up sprawled across Steve’s chest, a warm, comforting weight settled between his shoulders. Steve looked away from his phone, smiling as he caught Peter with his eyes opened. Peter groaned and closed them again, pressing his cheek closer into Steve’s t-shirt. Steve wove his fingers between the strands of Peter’s hair gently. “Hey, Pete. How you feeling?”
“Bad.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” Steve sighed. Peter shrugged. “Can you explain what kind of bad?”
Peter blinked the weave of Steve’s shirt into focus idly before glancing toward the far wall instead. He tried to do what they always wanted—check the body, check the brain, check the heart. The heart was always the problem, though. He knew what happened, and sometimes he even figured out why and how, but the actual feeling part usually eluded him. Bad was accurate—bad how was harder.
“Hand hurts,” he finally settled on. Steve’s rubbed his back a little, which was nice. “Frustrated that- that it got hurt at all. Annoyed with- with . . .”
“It was four on one-“
“How do you know that?” Peter demanded, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “The video- how did you get the video?!”
“Aunt Nat,” said Steve, smoothing the small hairs down carefully. “You did good, Peter.”
“But Папа says-“
“I don’t think we’d have any business calling you our kid if we didn’t expect you to stand up for people who need it,” Steve smiled. “I really wish you hadn’t gotten hurt, but I’m so proud of you, Peter.”
“You- you’re not mad?”
“No, baby,” said Steve. “Your папа is mad at me for encouraging this, but we’re not mad at you. As far as I’m concerned, you did exactly what you were supposed to.”
Peter turned to rest his chin on Steve’s sternum. “Is that why Uncle Tony says your not fit to have kids?”
“Probably,” Steve smiled again, one of the best smiles Peter had seen in a while. It settled into something flatter after a moment. “I wish I could tell you that violence is never the answer, or that if it is, it doesn’t need to be you in the middle of it. I don’t really think there’s a right answer here, Peter. I just- I’m sorry you got hurt. I wish you hadn’t gotten hurt.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” the smile vanished entirely. Steve lifted his hand to brush at Peter’s hair. “It’s not your fault, Peter.”
“Is Папа going to lock us in the apartment?” Peter whispered.
“No,” Steve shook his head. “We’re going to keep those kids from ever stepping foot in the same school as you again, but you’re not ever getting locked away again, Peter. No matter how much of a dramatic ass your папа wants to be.”
“Swear jar.”
“Not anymore,” Steve reminded him. “Remember? We agreed.”
“Ass is allowed!”
“Absolutely not!” Bucky shouted from the kitchen. “Steven Grant Rogers what exactly do you think you’re doing?!”