Howard Stark had never taken Tony fishing—in fact, he'd never done much of anything with Tony aside from briefly acknowledging his existence every once in a while. Tony Stark didn't even know if he liked fishing. But, when Peter came along, Tony decided he was going to do everything that his father hadn't. He would tell his son that he liked him, that he loved him, that he was proud of him. He definitely wouldn't hand him off to some nanny to be raised until his teenage years. He wouldn't send him to boarding school. He could go on and on and on about all the things he would do for Peter that his father had never done for him, but alas, he did not have the interest nor the time.
Steve was in support of this… for the most part, that is. Yes, he thought it was a good thing to get Tony out of the lab and have Peter get some fresh air and sunshine, but there was one thing Tony suggested that Steve wasn't so keen on.
"Tony, I don't think it's a good idea to allow our five-year-old to swear," Steve argued. They had still been tossing the idea around, making suggestions for things they could do as a family.
"It'll just be a guy thing," Tony justified, throwing his arms out at his sides. "Come on, you're telling me you've never gone on a trip with Bucky, or some other guys, where you were just being yourselves, talking about whatever?"
"Not to derail the conversation here, but we had bigger things to worry about during the time when that would've been going on."
"Alright, fine, bad example," Tony said before popping a handful of blueberries in his mouth. "But doesn't that sound like something a father-son relationship would involve? Almost like, 'Yeah, when we go fishing, you're allowed to say swear words, but don't tell your mom about it?'"
"I don't—" Steve cut himself off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his right thumb and forefinger. "The swearing, really? Is it really necessary?"
"Work with me here, Steve. I'm just saying it would be a good bonding experience, that's all."
In the end, that's what was decided. Whether or not Steve agreed with it, as Peter was being strapped into his booster seat, he was informed that he would be allowed to say 'bad words' on their fishing trip.
At the statement, Peter's little brow furrowed and his lower lip stuck out. "Bad wuhds?" He'd always had trouble with his 'r's.
"Yeah, buddy, swear words," Tony responded as he pulled the seatbelt over his son's waist. "But only when we're fishing, okay?"
"Okay," Peter repeated.
"Alright, yeah." Tony's voice was enthusiastic as he buckled his son in.
Steve waited in the passenger's seat while Tony shut the door, leaving Peter strapped in the backseat. Peter managed to look at the rearview mirror and catch his pop's gaze, giving him a wide grin. Steve returned the smile, wagging his fingers in a wave at little Peter.
Shortly after, Tony slid into the driver's seat—he never had liked to be a passenger, not even if Happy was supposed to be driving him. He had his reasons for that, however, and no one had ever argued with him over it. Steve didn't necessarily mind because the idea of driving a car with so many other people sharing the road with him was unappealing. Driving a motorcycle was different: it was easier to maneuver, and at the same time he didn't have to worry about the safety of a five-year-old behind him.
"Okay, buddy," Tony said as he started up the car, addressing Peter. "We're gonna put on a little AC/DC. Any requests?"
"Iyon Man." Peter's little voice came from the backseat.
Tony smiled and shook his head in the slightest. "That's Black Sabbath, bud. Not a bad choice, though."
The majority of the car ride was spent listening to whatever rock or heavy metal songs Tony had playing over the radio. Peter's little legs bobbed along to the music for a little while before he drifted off to sleep, his head lolled over on his shoulder—he had a knack for falling asleep during car rides. Once Steve noticed that Peter was sleeping, he and Tony went back and forth over the swearing issue once more. Tony, as usual, refused to budge on the issue.
Peter had just started to wake up again when they arrived at the lake they'd be fishing at. He immediately attempted to unbuckle himself from his booster seat; he'd always hated to be strapped into it for too long. Given that he'd always been a rather tiny thing, both Steve and Tony assumed it would be a few years before he wouldn't need it anymore.
Steve was the one to handle Peter while Tony retrieved the fishing gear from the back of the car.
"Close your eyes," Steve instructed. Peter shut his eyes tight, his nose scrunching up as Steve smeared generous amounts of sunscreen across Peter's face.
"Steve, he's gonna be wearing a hat, he won't need that much sunsc—"
"Okay, but just in case—"
"Get his arms and legs, his face should be fine—"
"I will, it's just my face got sunburnt so many times when I was his age—"
"Steve, it's SPF ninety, I think he'll be okay."
Peter's wide brown eyes darted between his dad and pop as they squabbled. He stood quietly and cooperatively as every visible part of him was covered with sunscreen. He then had a bright red life jacket buckled around his chest and an olive green bucket hat plopped on the top of his head.
Fishing seemed like a good idea in retrospect. Tony didn't anticipate how much work it was going to be with Peter there, however. Peter had lost quite a few worms attempting to bait his own hook ("I can do it, Pop") but finally relented after pricking his finger. They hadn't rented a boat, so the best they could do was sit on the end of the dock, cast their lines, and hope for the best. Despite the sit-and-wait nature of the experience, Peter handled it fairly well. He sat on the end of the dock, pole in hand, legs swinging over the edge as he waited with as much patience as a five-year-old could muster.
Quite some time passed, and despite the rule Peter seemed to be keeping the conversation relatively normal ("Whe-uh aw the fish, Dad?" "*gasp* Thayuh's a buhd over Thayuh!"). This lead Tony to wonder if Peter even knew any curse words.
"A fish!" Peter yelled, pulling on the pole as the fish attempted to swim away.
"Really?" Steve asked, surprised.
"Alright, buddy, reel it in!" Tony encouraged.
Peter's small hands fiddled with the reel, the clicking noise stuttering briefly before Steve stepped in to help his boy. Ultimately, Peter reeled in a small, flopping bass. The fish may not have been large but the little boy's grin was, spreading across his face from ear. At least, until the fish dislodged itself from the hook and flipping over to Peter's hand, its spines piercing his palm. Peter had just begun to register this action when the bass hit the dock and flopped its way back into the water.
"Ow!" Peter called, dropping the fishing pole and focusing his attention on his palm.
"Ooo, are you alright, Pete?" Steve had asked, taking a look at the boy's hand.
Peter shook his head slightly, lower lip quivering. "Pop, I'n gonna say a bad wuhd."
Steve blinked, a bit surprised. His eyes darted to Tony for a brief moment, whose look warned that he was told he could. "Oh… okay?" Steve said slowly.
"Go ahead, buddy, let it out," Tony instructed.
Peter took a deep breath through his nose, defiantly looking down at the water where the fish had disappeared. "That fish… that fish is stupid."
Tony paused for a moment. "Oh," he said, sounding slightly disappointed.
Steve patted Peter on the shoulder. "Do you feel better now?"
"A litt-le." Peter nodded his head. "Stupid, stupid fish!"
"Yeah, that was a pretty mean fish." Steve gave Peter another pat on the shoulder for good measure.
Peter sniffed. "That stupid fish is a f-fucking pussy."
Both Steve and Tony's jaws dropped. Speechless, the two looked at each other before Tony broke into a grin.
"That's more like it," he said, clapping his son on the back.
Peter wiped at his eyes with his non-hurt hand. "Let's catch anothuh fish," he said.
Tony could only laugh while Steve looked on disapprovingly. "Alright, buddy. We'll catch another fish. A nice fish."
And with that, the trio went back to fishing.