Thank you, Nauze!
Pairings: Natasha/Bucky, MJ/Peter Parker, everyone else's love life is background, Harry, if he has a pairing it will be well after the rising clusterfuck that is this plot and not slash. Not that my pan-self has a problem with it but Loki was in words on screen declared somewhere on the bi-spectrum by Disney, I am so happy to have a canonically acknowledged :D
Keynote: For Harry, Cedric died last month and Harry himself was murdered.
Chapter 4 - Artists in the Family
Peter was insanely nervous about having to tell Aunt May about Spider-Man. So nervous he almost messed up and lost them the decathlon.
But he didn't.
And the hug from Liz was worth a missed opportunity to bust crime and Sam Wilson's smug grin when he had tapped at his hotel window before the crack of dawn.
Harry hadn't been there, which had been worrying, but Sam had promised to find him and texted him a picture of Harry sitting next to Steve Rodgers by the Washington Monument.
Harry Potter, the only teenager in America who didn't know who Captain America was.
It had been amusing, and it had helped keep him smiling until he got home.
Until Aunt May pulled him into a hug and Tony's words rang through him. Maybe not next week or next month, but this can't be indefinite.
Peter hugged her tighter.
But there was a bigger reason he hadn't told Aunt May, and not because she was going to lose her mind at him, but because he was going to break her heart.
He admitted to himself that he would rather have an Avenger tell Aunt May about the superhero stuff, because he might be able to pass off some of the blame and the ranting wouldn't all be about him but the rest…
The rest was personal. He owed it to Aunt May to tell her the truth. He had been using the Spider-Man secret as an excuse not to have the other talk.
Aunt May pulled back, "Peter? What's wrong?"
Crap, he was going to cry, but he had to tell her. It was past time and now that he knew he was going to have to tell her, putting it off just felt cowardly.
He wasn't sparing Aunt May; he was just sparing himself.
Uncle Ben had raised him better than that.
"Peter? Are you crying?"
God, he was or about to.
He swallowed hard, "Aunt May," his voice wobbled, but he tried, for Uncle Ben. He owed it to Uncle Ben; to Aunt May, to tell her this.
The spidey stuff didn't matter, not like this.
"Aunt May," he tried again, "there's something I need to tell you, something I should have told you last year. And I'm so sorry."
She pulled him inside, toward the couch, "Peter, you know I'm always here for you."
He dropped his head, "But I haven't always been here for you."
"Peter, you're a high schooler, your only job-"
He looked up and blurted, "I was there when Uncle Ben was shot."
Aunt May's face fell, "Peter-"
"It was my fault."
"Did you shoot him?" she asked.
Startled, he spluttered, "What? No! Of course not! I-"
"Then how is it your fault?"
"I was late, Aunt May. I wasn't where I said I would be, and I was late. When I got there, Uncle Ben was trying to talk this guy out of stealing his car, about stealing some money. I thought, oh that's Uncle Ben, he could talk sense into anybody. I didn't think the man would really shoot him. Uncle Ben wouldn't have given his life for a stupid car, he was just trying to help that guy, and I just stood by and watched I could have stopped it, I could have-"
Aunt May shook her head, "No, Peter, that man could have shot you. Ben wouldn't have wanted you to step in. If it was you and not him, then all three of us would have been lost that day, Peter. Do you understand that? Ben made his choices-"
"But he shouldn't have been there! It was my fault!"
"It was not," she said, squeezing his hands tightly, "this is our city, we have a right to be anywhere we want in it. But the library is not somewhere we should have had to be careful, if something like that was going to happen, it could have happened anywhere."
Peter felt his chest tighten, his voice growing small, "I could have stopped him though, I could have-"
"Peter Benjamin Parker, it is not your fault an idiot with a gun pulled the trigger. I don't care if you were Captain America, nothing could have made that your fault. You loved Ben, and you were his world. I am so sorry that you have been carrying around this guilt, that you had to see him pass like that. If you want to see-"
"But what if I was Steve Rodgers, what if I had superhuman abilities and I just -stood there and watched."
"One, you are not Captain Rodgers, two, even if you were, he's still human, Peter." She cupped his cheeks, "It's not a fault to believe the best in people."
That's exactly what he had done, believed that no one would really pull the trigger on Uncle Ben.
He had been so very wrong.
"But that's exactly why he died."
Aunt May brushed her hand through his hair, "Peter, that's why Ben tried talking that man down, that's why you remind me so much of him each and every day, that's why he would be so very proud of you. Never stop believing in the good in people. Be safe, but don't live in regret or fear. What I loved most about your uncle, about you, Peter, is your kindness and goodness toward others."
The tears spilled down his cheeks, "I miss him so much, Aunt May."
She pulled him into a tight hug, "Me too, sweety."
"I'm so sorry," he said into her shoulder.
She kissed his head, "Shhh, there is nothing to forgive, Peter, I'm glad you told me this."
"I love you, Aunt May."
"We love you too, Peter."
Her use of the plural caught him off guard, and for a split moment he thought Uncle Ben was about to wrap them both in a great beer hug.
When he didn't, Peter remembered Uncle Ben was gone.
For the first time since his uncle had passed, Peter really let himself cry. He wasn't sure that he was ready to forgive himself, but he was no longer lying to Aunt May about it, and she didn't hate him for his failure to keep Uncle Ben safe, for now; that meant more than he had words for.
-)o(-
Harry didn't end up getting home until late. He managed to skirt dinner and get to bed without having to deal with the inner conflict he was having.
He didn't understand how he had gotten here, how he was alive, and now he was living with people he didn't know. However…
However, both Bucky and Loki were trying. They were trying more than Mrs. Weasley had, more than Sirius or Remus, and the comparison to the Dursleys wasn't worth making.
Before Hogwarts, bloody hell, even last summer, he would have jumped at this chance, even if it meant moving to a different country.
No matter how unconventional the family, Harry wouldn't have questioned running away with them if they had shown him an ounce of decency, much less true kindness and care.
He hadn't gone with Sirius because of Hermione and because a part of him had been afraid he wouldn't be allowed to return to school. Returning to Hogwarts wasn't a possibility any longer, and the fact was, Hermione didn't exist, and dead or alive, neither did Cedric Diggory.
Harry kept replaying the conversations he had with Bucky before he got on the bus and with Mr. Rodgers in D.C.
He could admit that he had nothing left to lose and everything to gain if he tried, like Bucky and Loki, to be a part of this family too.
So when he got up early, just as he always did, he didn't stay in bed or drag his feet. Swiftly getting dressed, he entered the main space and since he was out of his room nearly an hour early, Bucky hadn't started breakfast yet.
He was sitting at the window table in the sunshine with a newspaper and a large mug of coffee. He glanced up, his blue eyes flashing with surprise, he moved to stand.
But Harry shook his head, going straight for the electric kettle and the tea tin. They had all established that among all of Bucky's many fine talents, making tea wasn't among them.
The man gave him a soft curl of lips before returning to his paper, which was the greatest thing about Bucky. He was comfortable with silence and stillness. Unlike Aunt Petunia, he could be in a room and be at ease in it, at ease with all who surrounded him. He didn't even need to be entertained, there was never pressure to start a conversation with him.
One could just be with Bucky.
He was the most peaceful man Harry had ever known.
Although, this morning, Harry had found himself fidgeting. At least, he knew he wouldn't have to break conversation with Loki, seeing as the other man didn't get up until noon.
But still, Harry, who had left his room early specifically to talk to one of his adoptive fathers, found himself stalling with brewing tea before taking the seat opposite him.
Bucky set down the paper, leaning back in his chair, but he didn't ask a question, didn't so much as give Harry a questioning look.
Nope, Bucky would be content to enjoy the morning sunlight with him or talk, whatever Harry was up for.
It was amazing that anyone could be like him.
Taking a deep breath, Harry said, "Our team won the decathlon."
Bucky gave that almost smile of his, "Did you have fun?"
"I wasn't able to sleep in the hotel room, but we went swimming in the pool. Peter and MJ are really nice."
"I'm glad you're making friends," Bucky said. "What did you think of the Capital?"
"MJ said the Washington Monument was built by slaves, so that was kind of depressing."
Bucky shrugged, "A lot of American history is depressing, we were an English colony that continued to be ruled by land owning elites. My old friend used to have quite the lecture about it."
"He didn't like the country?"
"Oh no, he loved America, he believed in what America could be, in the future his parents came to this country searching for. His father died in combat, his mother died the same year of tuberculosis. His faith in the country was his way of honouring them."
"What do you think of this country?"
He shrugged, "I've worked for the American military, the German and Russian special forces… I've seen enough of war to have a lot less faith in humanity generally."
"Where do you like living best?" Harry asked.
"New York City," Bucky said easily, "I like the privacy in the millions, the comfortable hostility in otherwise tight knit communities. New York is hard, like the people who come here, like the people who survive it, but it's also a bit of whatever you want it to be if you're willing to go out looking for it. You can be whoever you want to be here so long as you find a way to survive."
Harry looked at his tea, "I never spent much time in London, but it reminds me a bit of it, sort of."
"London is posh," Bucky jested, "stiff upper lip and all that. But NYC gets colder weather than London."
"Cold weather makes people harder," Harry quoted, "I had a teacher say that in winter once."
"They were right, but hot weather makes people crazy. There is just a certain practicality one learns if they have to spend the night freezing their ass off in the street if you can't get where you need to be."
Harry nodded, "Russia and Germany must have been worse."
"So cold," Bucky agreed again with that almost smile, then added an accent to his words, "Mark me, Harry, no one will ever defeat the Russians save for the Russians themselves, no one else has the constitution for stubborness and tundras as the Russians."
Harry hid a smile at the accent behind a drink of his tea cup, a natural pause resting between them.
"Anything else interesting happen on your trip?"
Harry shrugged, "I met this runner who was pretty nice, though a bit odd."
"Odd how?"
"He acted like I should know him. He said to say hello to my dads for him."
"Did he give his name?"
"Steve Rodgers."
Bucky spat his coffee, "Steve Rodgers says hello?"
"You know him?" Harry asked, startled by his reaction.
-)o(-
This was one of those moments he really resented Loki's stance on waiting for Harry to bring up magic before telling him anything.
Bucky decided on redirection without lying, "Yes, I know him. Harry, do you know who the Avengers are?"
"No," Harry said with a scowl. It was kind of cute and the expression really did make him look like Loki's emerald-eyed mini.
Bucky set his mug down and picked up the paper, flipping through until he found the gossip column that had a rather dramatic image from four years ago.
The American Media didn't seem to know what to do with Loki. The government, SHIELD, and the Avengers themselves had refused to give statements on him. He was both a villain and a hero, something far too complex for the media to tackle with such an absent figure. Practically no pictures of Loki existed either harming or helping anyone, Bucky was certain that it was SHIELD's doing.
People still talked, Bucky had discovered, but the 'God of Thunder' always dominated the discussion rather than another alien. Besides that, Loki was using magic and spell work to keep himself, Bucky, and Harry hidden in plain sight. He even charmed their names. It wasn't impossible to break, but short of Bucky running into Steve or Steve being told his full real name directly, the aversion magic seemed to be working well.
Bucky knew Steve, if he even suspected that Bucky was still alive and was connected to Harry somehow, Captain American would have broken down their door by now.
But likely Harry hadn't given Steve the red flag name, Harri Lokison, and if outside this apartment Harry was referring to Bucky and Loki as his dads, something Bucky enamoured to hear, then Harry hadn't shared their names either.
But talk about cutting it close.
Bucky pointed at Steve who stood between Natasha and Tony Stark, "That's Steve Rodgers, Captain America, known as a war hero. Natasha Romanoff, aka, Black Widow, was a spy until she publicly fought aliens, along with Clint Barton, Hawkeye. Tony Stark, billionaire genius who was famous before the aliens because of his father's business that he inherited; the green one is Dr. Bruce Banner, in addition to turning into a monster, he is also a genius scientist, and finally Thor, God of Thunder, though he's not really a god, just a long lived being from another planet called Asgard."
Harry looked over the paper as if trying to commit the images to memory, he frowned again, his gaze locking on Natasha's image. But Harry, thankfully, didn't ask about Bucky's ex-apprentice, ex-lover, but asked instead, "What is Steve Rogers like?"
"He is one of the true hearted people you will ever have the pleasure to meet. He was born small, got his ass kicked a lot, never ran away from a fight, never backed down from a bully, or left a man behind. He wanted to be a comic artist."
Harry blinked then grinned, "And then he became a superhero?"
Bucky smiled back, "It gets better, he was born on the Fourth of July."
"America's Independence Day right?"
He nodded.
Harry laughed, and it was a good sound. "Why does he carry a shield? Isn't muggle- sorry, I mean, modern war-fare fought with guns?"
Bucky wondered what 'muggle' meant, though he immediately disliked the term, still he answered, "Steve is a super soldier. He was given a serum that improved his strength, speed, and healing. It made him big, it made him physically capable of just about anything. The shield is made with a special type of metal that is nearly impossible to break."
"So, what? He runs into a place filled with guns and just starts punching, through people, and his fancy shield around?"
Bucky grinned, "That's why he's famous."
"Did he publish any comic books?" he asked, "America isn't at war now, right?"
"Not officially it isn't and no, Steve gave up everything to become a soldier."
"Oh," Harry said, seeming to deflate a little.
Bucky stood, "I'm going to get started on breakfast so you don't have to rush to school."
"Can I help?"
"Only if you want to."
Harry grinned, standing and pushing in his chair before following Bucky into the kitchen. Bucky used his own vast experience as a spy to observe Harry without making him feel watched. The young man moved through the kitchen and used a knife like a professional chef. Bucky wasn't ashamed to admit his own culinary skills weren't equal to Harry's.
It was watching him frying the bacon to perfection that Bucky finally remarked, "You're very talented, Harry. How long have you been cooking?"
"Since I was four," Harry said.
"You must have been passionate about it then."
Harry said nothing to that, his face devoid of emotion.
It hadn't taken Bucky long to realize that the void of emotion was Harry's version of a distressed expression.
Curiosity got the better of him, "Who taught you?"
"My aunt," there was an edge of ice to his voice.
Interesting.
"Did you not enjoy cooking with her?"
Harry shrugged, "I cooked for her, not really with her."
"At four?"
"It was one of my chores."
"At four?" Bucky couldn't help but repeat.
Harry nodded.
It was rare for Harry to open up like this, but this glimpse into Harry's past was semi-disturbing. He knew Harry had been murdered, but he knew nothing of his previous homelife. Bucky had assumed some of Harry's trauma to coming to this universe was leaving a family behind.
He wanted to ask more questions, but Bucky didn't want to try his luck when this was the longest conversation he and Harry had ever had.
Instead he said, "My parents died when I was ten."
Harry looked up at him sharply but before he could say anything, Bucky continued, "I had three little sisters. We were all each other had until they were old enough to attend a boarding school."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Harry said, "My parents were murdered when I was a baby."
"I'm sorry, Harry."
"What did you do after…"
"I continued in school, I boxed, I was rather good at it. We lived in an area of the city known as Hell's Kitchen. Fighting was the norm.
"My parents, luckily, had money set aside for us. My sisters were able to attend school without charity. I stayed in public school so they could have some money when they graduated. I mostly raised myself, but when I was in high school, my friend's parents lived in the same building and I was at his place more often than not."
"You already know I lived in Surrey," the teenager said weakly as he plated their meals, and Bucky grabbed the silverware to set the table.
Loki wouldn't be up until lunch so it was just him and Harry.
"I don't know what that's like though?"
Harry followed him to the table with two plates, he waited till Bucky was seated before taking his own seat. "Um, kind of dull. I didn't have any friends."
"Why not?" Bucky asked, amazed that a boy as kind hearted as Harry wouldn't have had friends.
Even Stevie, who got his ass handed to him more often than not, still had people he could have called friends, at least in elementary and middle school.
"My cousin scared them away and my Aunt and Uncle convinced the teachers I was a disturbed child. No one wants to be friends with the mentally ill kid who gets pounded on by the local gang," Harry said all this without once looking up to meet his gaze.
Great, another one, Bucky thought fondly, "Did you have something against running away too?"
Harry snorted, finally looking up, "Something against running away? No, all I ever did was run. Didn't do me a ton of good, there were always more of them than me and I always had to return home."
"Your family hurt you?" Bucky asked, careful to keep his voice without inflection.
"Yes," Harry said shortly.
"I will kill them before anyone forces you to return to them," then belatedly, "In the case that we ever figure out where they went."
Harry stared at him, then turned his attention back to his plate, "Thanks."
"Anytime," Bucky said before taking a bite of the bacon.
It was perfect.
"Why did you and Loki adopt me? You aren't even a couple, right?" Harry asked.
Bucky saw his game, personal question for personal question, or at least questions that they had previously been reluctant to answer.
Not answering Harry's question hadn't been difficult when the boy hardly spoke to them and then only to ask suspicious questions.
But this was the first time Harry was really opening up.
To hell with Loki's resolution.
Still, Bucky glanced at the clock before answering, a motion Harry caught, his shoulders slumping slightly when he realized they wouldn't even have time for a full explanation.
"James Potter was your father, Harry, but Loki is also a relative of yours, and he does see you as his son."
"How is he related to me?" he asked, emerald eyes shining with confusion and uncertainty.
"I don't really know, Harry," Bucky said, "As far as Loki has explained it me, he says he's your father."
"Biologically?" Harry asked, "But you just said that James Potter was my father."
Bucky shrugged, "I don't pretend to understand the relationship between your parents and Loki. I never knew them. It is something you will have to discuss with him."
"My mother would have never cheated on my father,' Harry stated with certainty.
Bucky didn't know a safe answer to that, so he said nothing.
Harry glared at him, "I did ask Loki this, he didn't explain, he just changed my name without my permission and started calling himself my dad."
Bucky's lips thinned and he looked again at the clock, he knew he couldn't leave this discussion here, not like this. Even knowing Loki hadn't physically been with Harry's mother, he still offered a plausible explanation. "How long were your parents married before you were born?"
Harry frowned, "They… a year, maybe two…"
"Is it possible you were conceived before they were married?"
"I guess but I don't see how-"
"Your mother didn't necessarily cheat if James Potter turns out not to be your biological father."
"They dated through the end of school," Harry protested with a stubborn set to his jaw.
Bucky splayed his hands, palms up, "Again, it's something you will have to discuss with Loki. But can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," Harry said in a way that sounded like 'no', the open talking was apparently up.
Bucky went on anyway, "What will change if you learn the origin of your blood? Do you think it would have made James Potter's love for you less real? Your mother less pure for having been human? Or that Loki would view you differently?"
"Loki can't love me, he doesn't know me," Harry snapped.
"I care for you, Harry, and I know that Loki does as well. He wants us to be a family, more than I think he has ever wanted anything. Maybe that's not love, not yet, but it could be one day."
Harry didn't answer that and went back to finishing his breakfast.
They were both done eating and it was just about time for him to go school when he asked, "You never answered my question."
"Which one?"
"You and him, you're both my dads," a phrase that did mushy things to the Winter Soldier's heart, "you're both... but you're not… you don't share rooms."
Bucky didn't see a whiff of homophobia, just the natural curiosity of someone trying to find his footing within this new strange family of theirs.
"No, Loki and I are not a couple, we care for each other but not romantically or even in a physical attraction sense."
"Loki isn't straight though, right?" Harry asked more bluntly, standing with dishes in hand.
Bucky almost smiled, "No, I've seen him persuaded in a multitude of directions," some of which weren't human enough for single genders to be applicable, "We are just… close friends."
Or domestic partners short of all the other emotional stuff that usually came with living with someone and raising a child, in this case a teenager, with them.
"How did you meet?"
I kidnapped him and then he beamed me up to space to a foreign realm, Bucky might have said, but settled on, "I had issues readjusting to civilian life after leaving service. Loki helped, even when I was losing my mind, he stayed with me. In turn, well, you haven't seen him going yet, but he's a bit of a genius, artist, and general troublemaker. I'm apparently the first person to be able to put up with him this long."
Harry gave a half smile, as he set the dishes in the sink, "He's trying, I'll give him that."
Bucky swallowed a snort, "He's trying too hard. He is rather desperate for you to like him, not many people do."
Harry looked guilty and Bucky had a moment to regret oversharing but then, Harry was wrapping his arms around Bucky's waist.
He hugged him back, relief and gratitude, and love, yes, love washed through him. From the moment Loki had brought Harry home, bleeding and injured on their couch, telling him that Harry was theirs, Bucky knew he would do just about anything for this boy.
Harry pulled back, "Have a good day, Bucky."
"You too, kiddo."
Harry flashed him a small grin before grabbing his bag and departing; leaving Bucky in awe at what had transpired.
One month.
He had just learned more about Harry in one morning than he had in one entire month.
The grand irony was that this miracle was likely Stevie's doing.
Because of course, even when Steve Rodgers didn't know Bucky was alive, his friend still had his back.
A part of him wanted to reach out with a thank you note and he decided to hell with it.
He grabbed his keys and went to one of the older art stores in the city. He had the tags removed and the box packed before leaving the building. Bucky jotted the note down in his metal hand and shipped it.
-)o(-
Steve had little expectations for his days since emerging from the ice, Tony Stark on his door step certainly wasn't among them.
"Hey Capsical, got a package for you."
Steve raised an eyebrow, "More tech? You realize the cellphone is more than enough?" He stepped back to let the man in, "Coffee, tea?"
"Coffee would be nice," Tony said, making himself at home on the couch, and placing the package on the coffee table, "And no tech and not from me. We get a lot of fan mail, you know. I have Jarvis sort it mainly, cute files of hundreds of class projects if you ever feel like being drowned in cuteness and kindergarten impressionism, but every now and then we get personal mail. Most of them are threats."
Steve came back with two mugs already prepared with sugar and creamer. Steve didn't actually have enough people in his life to not have learned some of Tony's preferences.
"You came all this way to deliver someone else's threat?"
"Nah, Jarvis won't tell me what's in the box, invasion of privacy and what not, but it's nothing malicious. No return address, but if I had to guess, it's from someone who might actually know you."
"That's a short list," Steve said, reaching for the box. He was relatively sure Tony was here because of curiosity, not because the man-child was trying to prank him. Still, he looked before sticking his hand in the box. The box was fashioned the way packages used to be sent and Steve was able to find the card first.
-To the birthdays missed and the victories untoasted.
Remember who you are, Stevie.
Steve felt his heart rocket, it sounded like something Bucky might say, but it wasn't Bucky's handwriting nor was it signed.
Tony was staring at him, he asked casually, "Who is it from?"
Steve shrugged, "Doesn't say," showing him the card.
Tony took it, scrutinizing it as Steve reached into the box and pulled out…
Pencils?
Yep, sure enough, someone had sent him pencils. A really nice set with four or five different degrees of hard and softnesses, along with a new sharpener. Nothing groundbreaking, just a nice steel sharpener.
Which meant it wasn't from Tony himself.
Back in the box there were more pencils, some brown and clay red, a bunch of white ones and charcoal pencils. All that was left in the package were four sketchbooks, one leatherbound, two hard back and one large grey paged one.
It was a simple gift but it had Steve blinking back tears because it was the first gift since his transformation that had been meant for him, Steve Rodgers, a nobody kid from Brooklyn, not Captain America. He didn't realize his hands were shaking until Tony asked, "Rodgers, you alright?"
Steve cleared his throat, "Yeah, I'm good, just been a long time since someone got something for me, I mean for the-"
"Man underneath?"
Steve nodded, setting down the pads and grabbing his mug of coffee clinging to it as if it had all the answers in the universe.
"Do you have any idea who it's from?" Tony asked.
Bucky, his mind shouted, but that was both stupid and impossible, Bucky was dead, and he couldn't have been the only person in the world who saw him drawing. Steve just shook his head.
"Never took you as much as an artist," Tony said.
"I applied for art school after graduating high school to become an illustrator. I was even accepted into a few places, never got the chance to go, though."
"The war?" Tony guessed.
Steve shook his head, "Couldn't afford it. First generation American, my parents were Irish immigrants. Let's just say I didn't have a lot of sympathy in New York. No university wanted to sponsor some Irish orphan from the inner city. Certainly not an art student during war time."
Tony was quiet for a long time, "Another world."
Steve snorted, "No, at least not in that way it isn't. America hasn't gotten any kinder to her immigrants. I mean, maybe for the citizens but… well, it depresses me how few people can't empathize, can't see… I mean, so many of the people who call themselves Americans today, I remember their folks starving in some of the labour movements being considered just as less than."
"Yeah, yeah, and now we live in a world without unions," Tony said. "Look, Steve, I didn't come here to talk to you about art or politics or ancient history."
Steve settled into the couch, "Yes, of course. You definitely wouldn't be here just to see me. You have, on numerous occasions, gone out of your way to make it abundantly clear that we are colleagues, not friends."
Tony winced, "Listen, I grew up in your shadow. My father never had a moment to spare for me, but he would wax poetic about you."
"Your father was a complicated man, Tony."
"I know that."
"Less complicated than you, though."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"I don't know, Stark. Howard was a workaholic, sure, he was my friend, fact, but I was also one of his experiments. If I had to take a guess, his obsession with me had a lot less to do with us having been friends and more to do with him feeling like he had a purpose."
Tony narrowed his eyes at him, "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that before the war, Howard was making toasters and fancy cars. I know he was a genius, but he also became an arms dealer. Outside of war times, I don't know that I would have trusted the man Howard Stark would have become. Your disdain for him certainly makes me think less of him."
Tony didn't have a comeback for them, though he seemed to be debating with himself whether to slander his father's name or defend him.
"All I can really say," Steve continued, "is that I didn't know him as well as you seem to think, nor him me. But Peggy Carter trusted him, and Peggy had a good sense for people. If anything, your dad only really cared about me because they were such close friends."
Tony's lips thinned but he nodded, "Yeah, Peggy was… always pretty great, also a workaholic though."
"And you aren't?" Steve asked.
"I don't have a family."
"Pepper might disagree with you, or are you off again on again while she runs your business?"
"Watch yourself, Rodgers."
Steve shrugged, "Tony, I respect you, but you can't constantly be crossing my personal boundaries, continue to not be my friend, and expect me not to give as good as I get."
Tony was silent for a long moment, glancing out the window, before letting out a long sigh, "You're right, I'm sorry. But enough about us, I- that is I have another favour to ask."
Steve raised both his brows, "This is about Pete?"
"What makes you think it's about Pete?"
"Because the last two times I've heard from you it's been about Peter Parker."
Tony frowned, "It's about Peter Parker, I want you to move into Stark Tower."
Steve sighed, "Tony…"
"Hear me out," he said, holding out a finger, "Aside from Sam Wilson, who do you have out here in D.C.? Fury? Your pretty neighbor who is one of Fury's agents?"
"Whoa, wait, what!? Kate? She's not- she's a nurse!"
"She's Peggy's great niece," Tony said flatly.
Steve flushed, Lord help him, that was awkward and weird, and beyond intrusive.
Why was everyone in the future so blastedly intrusive?
"Right, so aside from Wilson, who do you have?" Tony went on relentlessly, "It's been nearly five years, Rodgers, are you really going to call this dingy apartment a home?"
Five minutes ago, he would have defended his apartment till his last breath, but that was before he knew the neighbor he had finally asked out on a real date had been spying on him and was related to the woman he had been in love with nearly a century ago.
If Bucky were here, he would be laughing at him.
"I have Natasha," Steve said, already admitting to himself that he had lost.
"Natasha is moving into Stark Tower, too, along with Banner, as it happens."
"Really?" he questioned, truly surprised, "What prompted that? Nat likes her freedom."
"It is freedom, from Fury at any rate, something has been brewing in SHIELD. Fury acts like he's cleaned HYDRA up, but he hasn't. I, Natasha, Clint, and Banner are of the opinion that the Avengers aren't a tool that SHIELD should be able to wield however it likes, not with the piecemeal information they have been sharing with us. I mean, I don't know about you, but I don't want to add to America's history of destabilizing foriegn governments any more than we already have."
Steve looked into his mostly empty mug as if the coffee would have the answer. After World War II, America's history on the foreign field had been… very grey, in ways that Steve was not in any way comfortable with. Abstractly, it was almost imperial in some cases, it made him sick to think that evil was being done under the name of America.
More so the idea that he would be used like a mindless weapon in that cycle of greed and corruption.
So he nodded, "Yeah, I agree with that, but what does this have to do with Parker or me moving to New York?"
"We all want to keep Peter out of SHIELD's influence. How much do you know about his background?"
"Aside from him being a good kid and scarily intelligent, not much."
"Peter's parents died when he was young, his uncle died a few years back, and the only family he really has left is his Aunt May," Tony began, looking rather uncomfortable.
Steve's heart hurt, it must be the week for it, "Does she know about the-"
"About her nephew's superhuman mutations that allow him to be one of New York's favourite heroes? No, not yet."
"Secrets like that can be toxic."
"That's what I told Pete. I want to help him, but he told me last night that his Aunt is mad at me, that she thinks it's my fault that he's distracted and tired all the time."
Steve raised a brow in silent question.
"Okay, I admit, that it's a little my fault, but the lab work will help him in the future. He's mostly tired because he's running around the city all night."
"You haven't convinced him not to do that?"
"He's not my son."
"More of a reason to bring his aunt in," Steve remarked.
"But she hates me," Tony nearly whined.
Which is when the light ball dinged, Steve groaned, "You want me to be the one to tell her."
"To sit down with her and the kid, yeah. You have to admit, if it's the first time she meets Captain America, it might curb-"
"What's she like?"
"She's a beautiful Italian woman from Queens-"
Steve snorted, put his cup down on the table and dragged his hands over his face.
"What?" Tony asked, not at all getting it.
"An Italian-American woman from the New York or even the Jersey area isn't going to care if it's the president of the United States telling her her boy's in danger, Tony; she's going to flip out on him."
"You don't know that," Tony said, "She's very polite. You've met Peter, wonderful manners."
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, a lot had changed in America since he had been a kid, but Italian-American women?
It's not that they had raging tempers, exactly, it's that if you pissed them off, well, there were easier ways to die.
"Of course she is," Steve agreed, "but there is a reason you're asking for me to do this and it's not completely for Pete."
Tony made a helpless motion, admitting his fear, "Alright, you caught me, but I really think that if it is coming from Captain America, as opposed to a play-boy billionaire, previous arms dealer, she would be more willing to allow him to continue. Because he's not going to stop, Steve. I would rather not be the one pushing his life into the flames if I can help it."
Steve sighed, "Yeah, sure, for Pete, I can help break the news to his aunt that he's a spider. But moving to New York-"
"Is for Natasha. And Banner, but mostly Natasha."
Steve was quiet, "She hasn't been getting better since meeting Loki."
"She's been doing better since meeting Peter, but when Pete's not around and she's not on a mission, all she does is mope, a pass time the two of you share in common, I think."
Steve glared at him, "Remember what I said about boundaries, Stark?"
"Says the man living next to a spy."
"Says a man asking me to move in with a spy. Spies, I would be sharing a home with that silly computer of yours, too."
"JARVIS isn't silly."
"Stark."
"Nat is your friend, and what's more, your hers. She needs someone, Rodgers. That person shouldn't be Pete. As great as he is, as great as it is that she's willing to mentor him, he's not the son she lost."
Steve winced, "Yeah, I hear what you're saying."
"Is that a yes?" Tony asked.
Steve could have played it cool, but he was honestly creeped out that 'Kate' was both a spy and related to Peggy. "Do I get my own floor?"
Tony flashed him a smile, "You and Natasha will have split space. Banner is on the floor above you both closer to the labs, the gyms are on the floor below you."
Steve sighed, leaning back on the couch, "Alright, let me pack up my stuff. Shouldn't take me long, I don't need the furniture or the appliances."
Tony refrained from commenting.
Steve glanced back at the card on the table
Remember who you are, Stevie.
What a strange omen to harken his welcome back to New York City.
AN: I swear I had so much action planned for this chapter, but alas, I feel like that we miss out on so much character growth on screen to see the action, I couldn't pass up the chance for some non-Civil War, non-End Game emotions to play out on paper a bit.
ANII: Thoughts, ideas, cuttlefish, interactions you want to see, or reactions to sequences in this chapter?