Chapter 7: Steve Rogers

One year and seven months.

That was the last time he set foot back at the Avengers compound. The place he called home since his awakening into the new world. Yet, even after being gone for so long, he remembered every corridor, room and object in the compound. He strolled through the corridor, unseen and undisturbed. Looking at his familiar haunt brought back the pleasant memories of them all standing around, joking, laughing and talking over food and drinks.

He pictured Natasha and Bruce, sitting side-by-side, whispering to one another. He envisioned Clint showing off his talent of trick shots with a shot glass, impressing Sam. Clint saw Thor, standing all godly and his blonde waves tied away from his face as he humored Colonel Rhodes with vivid tales of his heroic fights in his homeworld. And, of course, he saw Tony. Standing off to the side watching all of them. A content, but fearful look expressed through his tortured eyes. A man burdened with knowledge and fear. And yet, he smiled when looked at, joked when spoken to, and defended when threatened. He showed nothing of his burdens, choosing to always keep them close to his heart rather than expose it to others.

Steve pitied him. Not in a condescending way. He pitied that Tony never trusted them enough to be open with his fears until it broke them apart.

The Avengers broke apart, but Steve never thought the friendships did. He still respected Tony, considered him a friend despite everything that happened between them. He only hoped Tony felt the same.

He heard Tony's voice, drifting from a door Steve remembered as the lounge where they all headed to after a mission. He opened the door and saw Tony and Rhodes sitting at the bar, both with drinks in their hands. They looked downtrodden, emotionally distressed with their slouched shoulders and Tony digging into his own scalp.

"I don't know what to do next," Tony confessed to Rhodes.

It was the first time Steve ever heard Tony sound vulnerable, not including his anger in Siberia. This was a doubt-ridden desperation. Tony Stark didn't have all the knowledge. Only the fear.

"Maybe I could be of some help?"

Both Tony and Rhodes swiveled in their seats, their eyes darted from their drinks to him. Rhodes looked surprised and humored all at once before he turned back to his beer and drank. Tony stayed frozen, his face suddenly unreadable despite the chilling blast he gave when he stared at him.

Rhodes finished his beer and tossed it in the recycle bin. "I'm gonna go and spend the rest of my day enjoying it," he commented. "Cap—good to see you again."

Steve shook Rhodes' hand before the man exit from the same doors Steve entered.

And now it was down to two.

Tony got up from his stool and moved to the other side of the bar. Steve glided to the stools. "How you doing?" he asked Tony

Tony shrugged, nonchalantly. "Same old," he said, pulling out a small bowl of pretzels and snacking on them. "Decided to look your age?"

When Steve stared at him quizzically, Tony gestured to the beard. "What? Kept a picture of Thor in your wallet for inspiration?"

"Ha-ha," Steve deadpanned, running his hand down his jawline. "Had to shed the Captain America identity on the run."

"So you went with Thor? Not exactly discreet."

Again, Steve let out a short chuckle. "True, but it worked. No one ever noticed."

"Then why are you revealing yourself now?" Tony asked.

"What do you mean?"

Tony put the bowl of pretzels down. "I mean—what are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the new agreement."

"That's not until next week," Tony said, spreading his arms out on the counter. "What the hell are you doing here now?"

Not exactly the welcoming conversation, but better than Steve planned. "I figured I come early, check out everything to make sure—"

"It wasn't all some grand trap?" finished Tony in a flippant mood.

Steve exhaled, but nodded. "Yes."

Tony turned away, shaking his head. "Shouldn't I be the one to worry about that?" he snarked. "It was my heart that got stabbed by my father's shield."

The sigh escaped in deep resigned. The guilt he carried was not held in his heart, but in his mind. He had no regrets in saving Bucky, but he never wanted to hurt Tony. It unfortunately happened despite his efforts to spare them both.

"I never wanted to," Steve confessed.

"And yet you did it anyway," Tony rebuked.

"You were going to kill Bucky," Steve said, remembering how close he was to losing his old friend. "I couldn't let you do that."

"Couldn't what? Let me avenge my parents' deaths?"

"No," Steve replied, somber in his memory of that day. "I couldn't let you lose yourself."

Tony snorted, but he didn't throw any of his cynical repertoire. He dropped his chin, looking down in furrowed contemplation. Maybe Tony knew that, deep down, he was right. At least, Steve hoped he saw it that way. He never wanted Tony to go down that path. And, he believed Howard would be heartbroken if Tony became a murderer.

Steve took a breath. While he could not undo his misdeed against Tony, he could start amending their shredded bond of friendship with an apology. "I'm sorry it ended that way."

Tony inhaled sharply, picking up his head, but not looking at Steve. The hurt from Siberia kept him distant, the scar cutting back open with every second they spent in each other's company. Steve saw it on Tony's face. The world greatest defender couldn't look at him even in the eye.

A simple apology was not going knit back their friendship. Steve knew it. Only time healed wounds as deep as theirs, along with acceptance and strive to be better. Steve meant what he wrote in the letter. He'll always be there for Tony, whenever he needed him. Even when the young Stark didn't think he did.

Which reminded Steve… "Congratulations to you and Pepper," he said to Tony. "For the engagement and the baby."

Tony lifted his brows knowingly. "Fury?"

Steve confirmed with a nod. Fury told him the moment he came back from the United States. Steve was thrilled to hear Tony was going to become a father. Thought it would be good for the man to have a family. Tony, despite his cold and closed-off attitude, was a man who became emotionally attached easily once he decided the person was important to him.

Tony cursed under his breath. "Figures," he remarked. "For a spy, he's not good at keeping secrets."

"Didn't know it was a secret to keep," Steve commented. "It's all over the news."

"Fury shouldn't have told you."

"Why?"

"Because."

Steve sighed. "Tony—"

His grievance was cut off when the door opened again and a teenager strode into the lounge, rambling. "Tony—I have a question to... to..."

The teenager fell flat, eyes enlarged as he stared from Steve to Tony. Steve now recognized the teenager. It was the same kid he rescued from Ross at that school in Queens. Peter Parker. Spider-man.

"Oh my god—Captain America!" Peter gasped in wonder. "You're here. I mean, hello, sir! I mean," he brought his hand up in a salute. "Captain America."

Steve chuckled at the Peter's bumbling words while Tony only groaned. "You don't have to do that, son," he discouraged Peter from keeping the salute up. "You can call me Steve."

Peter embarrassingly dropped his salute. "Sorry, I just... I never know how to greet you... not that I expected you to see me again. Not after everything that happened," he rambled on. "Which I am really sorry about. You know, for kicking and punching you. You didn't deserve that. And, sorry for being such a jerk to you too. I was just... out of my mind, I guess. I'm really sorry. I admire you greatly and hold the greatest respect to you. You're like the greatest hero of all—"

"All right, kid," Tony interrupted, silencing the young hero. "He gets the picture. You're sorry. Don't need to keep rambling on about it."

Peter swallowed. "Yeah, yeah, of course," he said. "Sorry."

"It's nothing," Steve assured the kid. "I didn't take it personally. The kicking and punching that is. I understood."

Peter's face blushed, but he gave a tight nod of gratitude.

Tony snapped to the kid. "Okay, I know you didn't come all this way to schmooze over Cap, so what do you want, Crockett?"

Peter startled, blinking a bit before remembering why he showed up. He approached the bar, which Steve found odd for a young kid to be standing at. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Fire away," Tony said, hand gesturing for the kid to speak.

Peter rested his crossed arms on the bar. "Well, you see, tomorrow the decathlon team has a competition in the city and I want to go," he revealed. "So, I was wondering if you would let me go."

Tony was taken aback by the request. "Why do you need my permission?" he questioned. "It's your aunt you need to ask."

"I did," Peter clarified. "She said she doesn't see why I couldn't go, but the problem is that... well, I don't have a car."

Now Steve understood Peter's request. And it seemed Tony did too.

Tony shook his head in absolute finality. "I'm not lending you a car," he pointed. "You don't even have a license."

"Well, I thought that maybe Happy could—"

"Happy's busy," Tony returned. "I don't have any other drivers that can take you into the city. They will all be busy."

"What about an Uber?"

Tony chortled. "An Uber can't access these grounds."

"What if I go outside the grounds?" inquired Peter, looking hopeful. "Meet at the gate and then I can go—"

"No. Absolutely not," Tony reiterated, louder. "Another time, kid. Not tomorrow. We all got a lot of things going on and can't babysit you."

Peter scrunched his face, soured. "I don't need a babysitter. I'm sixteen!"

"That won't stop the press from hounding you," Tony argued. "Look—it's safer if you don't go out alone. That's all I'm saying."

Peter sunk. His mouth turned down, looking away in a loud sigh. Steve recognized the irritation of being trapped within walls. After all, he experienced the same when hiding out the past two years. Peter had been cooped up long enough. It must be harder for a kid to live in isolation than an adult.

An idea came to mind. Steve turned to Peter. "Why don't I take you?"

His offer was met with silence. Steve knew they heard. Their dark eyes turned to him in one slow motion. Steve met one pair with inquisitive suspiciousness and the other with bright hope.

"What?" Tony demanded.

"Yeah, what?" Peter repeated, perking up.

"I can take him," Steve said again. "I have nothing going on at the moment. I can take him into the city for the day."

Peter's face lit up from that growing, eager smile. "Really?" he asked, glowing. "You'll take me?"

"Why not?" Steve said with a shrug. "I have nothing better going on and I would like to visit my old city again. Where's this... decathlon at?"

"Brooklyn Tech," Peter answered. "In Fort Greene."

"Oh—yeah. I know that area," Steve said, remembering Fort Greene in the early 1940s. Most likely changed since then. "I can take you. See what all the kids do these days instead of playing baseball in the streets."

Peter swung his legs over the stool in excitement. "Oh great! Thank you!" he said, hopping down. "I'm gonna go tell Ned."

Before Peter even reached for the doors, Tony made a rather surprising announcement. "You know what?" he said as Peter stopped at the doors, "I'll go. Pepper keeps telling me I work too hard. Need a break from things. I'll come with you."

Peter's eyebrows pinched in confusion. "I thought you were busy?"

"Yeah, well, it's nothing someone else can't do," Tony claimed, to which Steve couldn't help the escaped resignation in his breath.

Peter glanced at both of them. "Did I... I don't know," Peter looked unsure again. "I'm not stepping on anyone's toes, am I?"

"No, Underoos, you aren't," Tony assured the kid. "I'll go with you. Not to worry."

"What about Captain America? I mean Steve?" Peter corrected as he gestured to him. "You don't have to come if you're busy. He can take—"

Tony waved in dismissal. "No, it's all right," he said, pulling out his Starkphone and typing away. "I'll clear my schedule and we can go. Tomorrow. Say… noon? Grab lunch downtown?"

"But I—"

"It's okay, Peter," Steve reassured Peter. "My feelings aren't hurt."

The assurance on his feelings didn't soothe the anxieties the kid emitted. He kept glancing between Tony and him, as if they both asked him to pick the favorite parent. It was obvious Peter admired them both, but Steve was aware that Peter's favoritism leaned toward Tony. He brought Peter into their secret club and raised him as a hero. Steve had no hand in that certain upbringing. All he did was save the kid's life and kept him away from Ross's greedy hands. He had no stake in Peter's life, and yet, the kid liked him. Liked him enough to not want to throw his feelings aside.

Peter then clapped his hands together in the same manner Tony did when demanding attention. "You know? We should all go," he counter-offered, much to the surprise of the two adults. "Yeah! It'll be like…a guys' day out sort of thing. My aunt takes them all the time with her friends." He turned to Tony. "I know you said Happy can't join, but maybe Rhodes can?"

"Um…" Tony hummed, trying to find a way to get around this, but nothing came. Not even to Steve's mind either.

Which meant Peter interpreted it as agreement. His face burst into a grin. "Great! I'm gonna call Ned and tell him," he said, grabbing the doorknob and yanking the door open. "He's going to be stoked."

And like that, Peter Parker ran out on both Tony and Steve, leaving them stumped and slightly impressed.

"Well," Tony began, crossing his arms as he stared at the closing doors. "I think we may have fallen into a trap."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I think you're right."

It was noon the next day and Steve stood in the garage filled with Tony's car collection. Each car a unique design and worth over a hundred thousand dollars. A motorcycle used to be amongst the collection. An old Harley. The one he used to drive around town when he lived with the rest of the Avengers.

While the motorcycle was gone, Steve did appreciate the fact Tony never touched his bedroom. It remained untouched. Even the last record he ever played was still hooked on the turntable. Unfortunately, that also meant the cleaning personnel never entered the room. A film of dust laid on the furniture and stale air circulated the room, but it was his old things. None of it packed and thrown out of sight. Time was frozen in this room. Much like him.

The garage doors opened and the sound of wheels speeding through the garage warned Steve to move aside. He stepped off and Tony pulled up his orange Audi R8 car he loved to drive.

The brakes squealed in front of Steve. The window rolled down. "Get in loser, we're going shopping," Tony shouted from the driver's seat.

Steve rolled his eyes. He checked the backseat and didn't see the kid. "Where's Spider-man?"

Tony shrugged. "His aunt's talking to him," he said. "Picking him up in front. So, seriously, hop in."

Steve ducked into the sports car. The moment the door closed, Tony hit the accelerator, forcing Steve to grab onto the dashboard to stop himself from slamming his forehead. As he straightened in his seat, Steve heard Tony snuffle a chuckle.

Mature, Tony. Real mature.

They drove outside and around the corner, pulling up to the front. Peter was there. He was playing with the straps of his backpack. Standing beside him was a beautiful, red-headed woman. She was talking to him. Something serious by the look on both their faces.

They stopped talking when Tony drove the car up to them. He put it in park. "Gotta get out of the car if you want the kid to get in," Tony said.

Steve followed Tony's advice and hopped out. The chill of the autumn air brushed against his face, but his beard kept the goosebumps from rising up on his skin. Peter and the woman approached them. The woman kept fixing Peter's jacket and throwing a hat on his head.

"Aunt May—" Peter moaned, trying to dissuade her from shoving a pair of glasses on his face. "I don't need these!"

"I want you to wear them," the woman—Aunt May—said. "Keep you unseen in the crowd."

"That'll be impossible with Tony and Captain around," Peter argued, pulling the hat off his head. "I'll be fine."

Aunt May was unconvinced. She shot her head up, directing her eyes on Steve. "I am holding you and Mr. Stark responsible for my kid," she stated, her finger pointed right at Steve's face. "No drinking. No drugs. No strip clubs," She specially said the last one to Tony. "No gambling. No surrounding him with models or… or swimsuit models. No spoiling him with gifts. No letting him drive the car. No playing with fire. Or guns. Or knives. Or—

"Ma'am?" Steve politely interrupted her ongoing list of don'ts. Aunt May closed her mouth, but the firm line of determinism was set on her face. "You have our word that we will keep your nephew safe. We won't take him anywhere inappropriate or dangerous."

Aunt May took a deep breath and glanced down at Peter. "Okay. He better come back in one piece or I'll kill you both."

Her words brought shivers down Steve's spine. Never doubt a mother's ferocity. Or in this case, an aunt's devout love of her child. He had no doubt that if anything happened to Peter, he and Tony would likely die terrible deaths.

"Yes, ma'am," Steve nodded, signing off his agreement to lay down his life for her nephew. "He'll be in good hands."

"Aunt May… you're scaring them," Peter muttered, quite embarrassed by his aunt's overprotectiveness. "It'll be fine. It's only for a few hours."

"I still want you to take these things," Aunt May stuffed the glasses and hat in Peter's backpack. "Text me when you get into the city. Text me wherever you go. I want to know."

"I will," Peter promised as he stepped away from his aunt.

But Aunt May pulled him back in a hug. "Okay, be good. Don't get into any trouble," she said to him. "I love you."

"Love you too, and I'll be fine," Peter reiterated again. "I'm with Iron Man and Captain America."

He pulled away from his aunt and went to the car, passing Steve as he hopped in the back seat of the Audi.

Steve comforted his aunt. "You have our word," he avowed. "I'll personally keep an eye on him."

"We both will," Tony called from the other side of the car. "We'll keep you updated if anything changes, May."

Aunt May nodded gratefully. "Okay. Okay… it's just… I don't want to lose him," she said. "Keep him safe. I want him back home by nine."

"Will do," Steve said and he stuck out his hand. "I'm Steve Rogers by the way."

May returned the gesture and shook his hand. "May Parker. Peter's aunt."

"He's lucky to have a strong and devoted aunt," Steve complimented. "Again, don't worry, Ms. Parker. We'll take good care of him."

"Thank you," May said with a sigh of relief.

Steve wished her a goodbye and got back into the passenger seat. Tony said his farewells to May, asking her if she could check in on Pepper and make sure she was doing well. May promised she would.

Tony got back into the driver's seat and roared the engine back to life. "All right," he said, dropping his colorful sunglasses over his eyes. "Where do we want to go first? I know a great place by the park. Marea. Best Italian food! Usually they don't take walk-ins, but I know the owner and chef. Won't have to wait at all."

"Um… actually," Peter spoke up from the back, "I was thinking we can head to my old neighborhood? There's a really good place on 31st street. Can we go?"

"Why not?" Steve said before Tony could argue against it. "I'm sure you would like to have a taste of home."

Clearly outnumbered, Tony forfeited his idea of a fine eatery and drove out of the compound.

"This is not a place I expected to ever be in," Tony commented as he sat in a booth, flipping through a menu that listed almost every dish to ever exist.

Peter was next to him, eyes glancing from one item to the next.

Steve sat across, his cushion a bit lumpy, but no complaints considering he had the whole seat to himself. The menu contained the main diner classics like burgers, chili, chicken fingers and breakfast all day. Already the waitress came by to take their drink order. The poor girl struggled to take the orders. Not because they were indecisive, but she couldn't stop staring or shaking. Eventually she got the orders written down and stiffly walked away to get them their drinks.

Tony slapped the menu down. "Going for the burger," he decided and turned to the kid. "What about you? What meal made you dying to come here?"

"I'm going to get the pancakes with a side of bacon," Peter answered.

Not exactly the answer neither Steve nor Tony expected. "What? Not the Spider-man hamburger?" Tony teased, pointing to a section of the menu. It was the kid's menu. And it really did have a Spider-man inspired menu item.

Peter peered at the menu item and lit up. "What? Are you serious?" he said, bringing the menu close to his face, delighted at the idea. "That's so cool!"

"My only question is why we don't have one?" Tony poised. "They have one for you. The Rugrats. Something called Superman. Mickey and Minnie. But no Iron Man breakfast. They should make one."

"They named it after me because I'm from Queens," Peter boasted. "I bet Steve has a menu item somewhere in Brooklyn."

"Wouldn't know," Steve replied over his menu. "I haven't been back in a while."

The waitress returned, carrying three glasses: tap water, Coca-Cola and a seltzer. The drinks sloshed from side to side as the waitress tried her best to keep her hands still as she transferred them from tray to table.

She listed off the drinks, handing the seltzer to Tony and the Coke to Peter. Steve ordered the tap water.

"Thank you," Peter said when she handed him his drink.

His gratitude brought a huge grin on her face and rose her confidence. "Have you decided on what you wanted to eat or do you need a few more minutes?"

"Yeah—I actually have a question," Tony said, pointing back at the kid's menu. "Why is there no Iron Man dish on the menu? I mean, seems like a perfect title for any dish. Breakfast, lunch or dinner."

And the waitress's confidence dimmed. "Oh, um… I don't know," she said, nervous. "I can ask the manager…"

"He's only joking, miss," Steve relieved her. "No, I think we are all ready."

They all ordered their meals and the waitress scurried away with the menus. Tony instructed the waitress to double Peter's order ("You will complain about still being hungry, kid. You're getting a double."). No longer distracted, Steve took the time to survey the layout. The diner wasn't very large. Yellow wallpaper on one side and white brick on the other with dark wood paneling. A few tables were occupied. Every now and then, the other patrons' eyes glanced in their direction, whispering among their fellow patrons around the diner.

It must be shocking to see two Avengers and Spider-man sitting at a booth, enjoying a meal. Not a normal occurrence at all. Even for them.

"I can't believe they named a dish after me," Peter said, ecstatic.

"Don't get too excited," Tony advised. "It's a kid's dish. Only get excited when Ben & Jerry's names an ice cream flavor after you."

"You have a Ben & Jerry's flavor?"

Tony nodded. "Most of the old Avengers do."

Steve nodded. His flavor was Captain America Star-berry. Basically, plain, old strawberry ice cream with a mixture of other berries. Tony's flavor was Stark Raving Hazelnuts.

Peter, however, wasn't dispirited. "Maybe I'll get a flavor one day too."

"Not until you become an Avenger," Tony revealed to him. "And that won't happen until you're twenty-one."

Peter groaned, slouching in his seat. "Wait—you weren't kidding from earlier?" he said. "I thought I became an Avenger after all this."

Tony snorted. "No, not even close," he said. "Sixteen is too young."

"He's right, son," Steve agreed with Tony. Peter was too young to be involved in the Avenger's mess. Not that Peter's own problems were less stressful, but no need to add more burden onto him. "You should enjoy life as a teenager."

"I already told him that," Tony claimed.

"Then I'm supporting it," Steve returned and he looked back to Peter. "Don't rush to be a grown-up quite yet."

"Exactly! Don't grow up. It's a trap," Tony joked.

Peter stared between the two of them, thunderstruck by their united front to disavow him a title as an Avenger. "Why can't I be an Avenger?" he inquired. "I mean… aren't the Accords being re-written to include me?"

"Not in the way you think," Tony corrected and then recited. "The clause states super-powered individuals under the age of twenty-one cannot be forced to reveal their identities, but may have the right to certain vigilantism under a mentorship with an Avenger.

"Therefore, you are not an Avenger. Not yet, anyway. You're an… Avenger-in-training," Tony concluded. "I'm your sponsor. I mentor you. Get it?"

Peter dutifully nodded, but Steve recognized the dejection in the boy's posture. He's seen it many times in his who eyes in the days he was constantly rejected from the army. In a way, Peter reminded Steve of himself at the age. Young and spirited, wanting to serve and protect the little guys. And he refused to stop because others told him so.

Sounded a lot like him. "Don't worry, son," Steve said. "You'll have your chance to save the world. Maybe even the universe."

That lifted Peter's spirit a little. "Until then, I keep my head down and just play with robots?"

Steve laughed. "Better than being paraded around as a mascot."

Peter didn't seem to understand what he meant by that. He drew his soda close to him and took a long sip through the provided straw. The waitress returned with a round tray, filled with plates food.

She set it down on the table across from them and passed the plates over. She listed off the items, handing their dishes to them. Peter rearranged his two plates of pancakes to fit it appropriately so that it didn't invade his or Tony's portion of the table.

The waitress seemed pleased that she got everything done. "Do you need anything else?"

"We're good. Thank you," Steve said and the waitress blushed before she walked away.

They ate their meals. Tony mostly teased Peter, joking on the boy's awkward growth spurt. Not that kid got that much taller. He was around the same height as Tony, maybe an inch taller. Peter, luckily, took it in good stride. Must be used to Tony's humiliating jests. Or he never took it seriously. Either way, it didn't rub the kid wrong at all.

Peter shoved the last piece of pancake in his mouth. "So, Cap, what infantry unit were you in during World War II?" he asked.

"I wasn't in one. Not officially," Steve answered, patting his lips with the napkin. "I was a member of the Howling Commandos."

"Oh, yeah," Peter suddenly remembered. "That's right. With Barnes and Morita."

"You know Private Morita?" Steve was impressed the kid knew his old comrades name.

Peter nodded along. "Yeah, everyone in Midtown does," he said. "His grandson is the principal. He always talked about his grandfather being a hero and fighting alongside you."

Steve never realized that Jim had a family. It shouldn't be surprising. Most men after the war started families. Why wouldn't Jim or Dum-Dum? Because he didn't have a family? After all these years since World War II ended, Steve never settled down. He didn't get the chance. One battle after the next. It wasn't meant to be for him. He was meant to serve his country. To serve humanity and he would do it until his death. Most likely.

He had no regrets on it when he looked across the table and saw Peter. The future was secured. New heroes, like Peter, emerged from their footsteps and, in that way, Steve understood that was where his legacy would live on.

"He was a good man," Steve finally said. "A bit of a rascal, but a good man nonetheless."

"Yeah, he was a bit."

Steve piped his eyebrows up at the comment. Peter sheepishly explained. "My uncle was a big fan of yours," he said. "He collected the comics when he was younger. In fact, my first ever action figure was of you. It used to belong to him when he was a kid. Passed it onto me."

Steve was humored. He's seen a few comics and a variety of action figures carved to his facial similarities. "I would love to meet him," he said. "Is he back at the compound with your aunt?"

And that's when Steve knew he said the wrong thing. He watched the kid dissolve into a quiet grief. His limbs limped, body falling against the booth as his eyes went heavy in their sockets. "He died. A couple years ago," Peter murmured. "By a mugger."

Steve inhaled, eyes flashing to Tony. Stark already knew this. He too went quiet, eyes cast on the kid in sympathy. Tony knew that loss well. They all did.

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I bet he was a good man."

Peter numbly nodded, but then immediately jumped out of his seat. "I'm going to use the restroom."

Before either of them could say anything, the kid was gone, disappearing behind the male restroom door.

"You son of a bitch."

Steve turned back to Tony. "What?"

Tony snarled more than he spoke. "Why the fuck would you bring that up?" he snapped. "What? You didn't know his uncle was dead?"

"How would I know?" Steve countered. "I haven't had the chance to speak to him about his life until now."

Tony dropped his forehead in his hand. "Didn't you hear the past tense in his sentence?" he argued. "Or the fact that his uncle wasn't there with May at the front?"

Arguably good points, but Steve never considered it. Perhaps the man was working or somewhere else. He didn't know. "I didn't know. I'm guessing you did?"

"Yeah. Of course. It was in his file," Tony said, matter-of-factly. "Orphaned. Raised by relatives. Uncle shot and killed. The kid's life hasn't been easy, Rogers. So—don't mention about his family. Okay?"

Steve got it. After all, he too grew up with limited family when his father died and his mother followed him into death when Steve turned sixteen. He remembered the grief and loneliness of living with no parents. He was lucky to have Bucky with him. Otherwise, Steve didn't know if he would have healed after his parents' untimely deaths.

"I won't," Steve promised just as the bathroom door opened.

Peter returned to the booth. His eyes were a bit blotching, but no one commented. Tony offered a fry to the kid, but Peter shook his head. "I'm good," he said. "Full actually." His eyes looked to Steve. "Sorry about that. Um, yeah. Uncle Ben was a big admire of yours. Told me bedtime stories about you and the Howling Commandos."

The corner of Peter's lips twitched up. A happy memory brightening the kid's eyes. "Uncle Ben used to tell me that him, my dad and a bunch of other neighborhood kids would pretend to be you guys and have this 'war' with these other group of boys in the neighborhood," he said as the smile took form. "He would have liked to have met you."

Steve shared the smile with Peter. "I would have like to meet him too," he said. He meant it too. Peter's good character was a testament to his family's values. And based on Peter's grief for his uncle, the man was loved and respected. That was a person Steve would gladly share a drink with. "You still got that action figure?"

Peter shook his head. "No, the government seized our belongings and property, but Agent Ross is working on getting it back for us."

Steve jerked. "Agent Ross?"

"Big E," Tony grunted, popping another fry in his mouth. "No relations to Thaddeus."

While Steve relaxed, Peter did not. He sat up, eyes twitching a bit as he scanned the area. A nervous energy wound around the kid, leaving him alarmed. He looked back to Steve, but stared beyond him. "Looks like we have company."

Steve craned his neck over his shoulder. Peter was right. Two taxi cabs pulled right up next to the diner's front doors. Two men piled out of the first cab, followed by a man holding a large camera in the second cab. Dressed in slacks and ties, they brushed off any signs of wrinkles and moved to the diner. The bell rang, alerting their arrival. Their narrowed focus zoomed around the diner until it spotted them.

How did the kid see them coming?

"Shit," Tony muttered. "This wouldn't have happened in Marea." Tony ushered the kid out of the booth. "Switch with me, kid."

Peter and Tony quickly switched their places before the two reporters and cameraman came to their table. Tony promptly pulled Peter's hood up over the kid's face before he faced the reporters.

"Sorry—we're closed," Tony snarked to the two reporters. He turned to the cameraman. "TV series isn't being picked up either. Apparently, there's already a show called Two and a Half Men."

The reporters were well aware of Tony's distraction techniques. They ignored his jibs and fired off questions like war hungry soldiers.

"What brings you in the neighborhood?"

"Captain America? Are the other rogues back in the country?"

"Are you to face any consequences for your actions?"

Such questions were to be expected. The media portrayed him and his friends as war criminals, despite the fact they didn't attack a country or anything. He defended the life of an innocent man. As how that translated to being a war criminal, Steve didn't know.

The reporters believed in the guilt by their curiosity to learn of what was to become of him. They pursued for answers, narrowing their questions into specifics to find the truth of what justice the former hero would receive for his betrayal. At least, from their perception.

He wasn't alone in the interrogation. Tony also received the firing squad. They grilled him on the new Accords, security against alien technology, and his responsibility for some incident at Coney Island. Tony wasn't ruffled by their intrusion. He responded with snide remarks and quips, almost enjoying his taunts to the reporters. His answers said nothing of the subject, but a lot of what he thought against them.

Steve opted to ignore the questions. He knew better to engage. Some fights aren't worth it. And this was not worth a fight.

Until the reporters turned to Peter.

"Peter! Peter Parker! Are you still experiencing nightmares?"

"Do you plan to move back to Queens? Are you going to stay with the Avengers?"

"Are you an Avenger now?"

"Peter! Will you look over at the camera? Jeff! Get a picture of him!"

To Steve immense surprise, the cameraman leaned over the table, shoving his heavy camera right into Peter's face. The reporters thought nothing of it and kept pestering the poor kid.

"Parker! Look at the camera! Why aren't you answer our question? A little gratitude for our efforts to make you look good—"

That was it! Steve abandoned his seat to tower over the reporters. He crossed his arms, his frown deepening the longer he glared down at them. Tony also stood up, shoving Jeff away from Peter and blocking the young hero from the reporters.

"Get the fuck out," Tony snarled.

"We have every right to ask questions in regards to public interests," argued the reporter.

"We entertained you enough, gentlemen," Steve claimed, less hostile than Tony in his voice. "I'm asking you nicely to leave."

One of the reporters turned back to Jeff. "Are you capturing all this?" he asked. "Make sure you get it."

Steve and Tony moved to stop it, but a voice rang out on the other side of the diner. Everyone turned to see the other patrons standing up from their tables. From buffed men with hard faces to smoothed-face women to young college students—phones out most likely to record—banded together, glowered at the intruders who dared to disturb their dining ambience.

"These men giving you trouble, Captain? Iron Man?" the biggest patron asked as they shuffled closer to the showdown. "You good, Spider-man?"

The reporters suddenly grouped together, cowering at being confronted. "We don't mean any trouble. We just want to report the news."

"And they want to eat their meals without cameras in their faces," grunted the patron.

"They aren't the Kardashians or Vanderpump Rules," claimed a young woman, her lipstick bright pink. "Leave them be!"

The patrons murmured in agreement. The reporters and Jeff the cameraman grouped closer, rethinking of another argument to win their right to stay when the kitchen doors flew open and a mad-looking cook stormed out. In his hand was a butcher knife.

The cook jabbed the knife in the direction of the reporters. "Want them out!" he shouted in slight, broken English. His accent heavy and his apron smeared with grease stains and meat juice. He kept snapping at the reporters as he marched across the diner.

"Out! Out! Out!" the cook demanded. "Gone! All of you!"

The waving knife convinced the reporters to duck out. They scurried out of the diner, dodging the glaring patrons who shouted at them as they passed. The bell at the door rang and went silent once more.

Steve and Tony said nothing. Just breaths as they took in what occurred. Steve admired the cook and the patrons. It eased his heart to know that humanity was still full of compassion. It proved to him again that his faith in humanity was well worth it.

"Thank you," Steve said to the patrons. "Really."

"Gotta look after each other, right?" the buffed man replied.

Steve nodded. "Yeah."

The patrons all sat back down at their respective tables. A few gave little head nudges of support before returning to their meals. The cook lingered by the door, glaring at the retreating reporters before he strode back through the diner. He stopped at their table, looking very apologetic.

"Sorry for them," the cook gestured to the doors. "Meal on house."

"That won't be necessary," Tony waved the kind offer away. "Seriously. We'll pay for the meal. Thank you for what you did. Much appreciated."

The cook didn't give up. He pointed to himself. "Give you dessert? Yes?"

"Sure," Tony compromised. "We'll take a slice of cake then."

The cook beamed and returned to the kitchens. Steve and Tony settled back in their seats. Tony peeved, fuming over the reporters intrusion into their life. "I'll have my lawyers call their offices," he said. "Those son of bitches… they don't understand boundaries."

"Language," Steve quipped, gesturing to Peter. The kid didn't need that language to be around him.

Tony brushed it off. "He's heard worse, I'm sure."

Peter was pretty quiet. He hadn't said anything. He pulled up his backpack from the floor, digging through it. A minute later, he pulled out a baseball cap and a pair of lenseless glasses. He stuck the hat on his head and placed the glasses over his eyes.

Tony sighed. "Kid—you don't need those."

"It's okay. I'll wear them," Peter commented, dropping his backpack on the floor. "Why did they do that? Are they allowed to do that?"

Tony shook his head. "Sometimes… journalists can be a bit invasive. Some never understand the rules of civility or respect for that matter. Many follow the 'ends justify the means' sort of thing. Like those two guys."

"Yeah, but…"

"Don't worry about it, son," Steve advised. "We said nothing, so they have nothing to print."

"Plus, the college girl over there video-taped the whole thing," Tony gestured to the woman working on her laptop once again. "She's probably uploading the whole thing and bashing those reporters. You're good kid. Like Steve said, don't worry about it."

Peter resigned, dropping his head against the brick wall. "I don't want to be in the media anymore."

Steve and Tony glanced to one another. Shared pity for the boy. No one liked being the gossip or main attraction of the public eye. For a sixteen year old, it wasn't a healthy environment to grow-up in.

Tony inhaled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I get it," he said to Peter. "I do. Really. I'll contact the lawyers to see if we can get some sort of restraining order for the press. Keep them at a certain distance. I'm sure there are rules about harassing a kid."

Tony was probably right, Steve thought. Most likely the press had rules in regards to interviewing children under a certain age. And if there was anyone to win against the press, it would be Tony Stark.

The cook kept his promise and returned with three slices of chocolate cake. They all thanked him and enjoyed the cake, pushing out the incident with the media out of their memory. Once done, Tony paid the bill and gave an extra tip to the waitress and cook.

Tony gestured to the back. "We're going out the other way," he said. "I don't want to be jumped by reporters."

Steve and Peter didn't question it. Tony was a professional. They trusted his judgment. They asked the cook for the back door and he happily showed them the exit. It was where they dumped all the trash. Tony scrunched his nose up and moaned about ruining his loafers.

"It's this or the front," Peter reminded him.

Tony sucked it up and climbed over the pile of garbage bags. They followed Tony's lead, stepping where he stepped as they too climbed over the garbage bags as the stench rose every time they moved a garbage bag. Tony led them out of the alley and back against a wall that led them to the car. As they secretively left the diner, Steve saw a horde of other reporters arriving at the scene, trying to peer through the diner's glass windows for them.

"Cap!" half-shouted Tony to get his attention.

Steve followed Tony again, keeping Peter between the two of them as they returned to their parked car.

They slid into the Audi, closing and locking the door. They all released a heavy sigh of relief together. They said nothing. Simply reeling from the wackiness of today's surreal experience.

Then, a soft chuckled enveloped the car. Steve arched a brow to Tony. It didn't come from him. He wasn't laughing. They both looked over their shoulder. Peter reclined in his seat, a silly grin on his face as he tried to smother his fit of laugher.

"I'm sorry," Peter apologized to them. "That's just… that's my first time running away from the press."

"And hopefully your last too," Tony pointed to him in the rearview mirror. "I'm not going to exit out with the trash ever again."

Tony reared up the engine. He put the stick in drive and dropped his classic sunglasses. "Never again," he said one more time, before he hit the accelerator, driving straight out of the area.

Once Tony was satisfied to leave his Audi in the hands of the parking lot attendants, they entered Brooklyn Tech. Steve hasn't been in a school building since the attack on Midtown, but it looked the same as that school. It was a stone building with every window covered with protective bars that were similar to windows of jails. The inside was a bit dark, the cheap bulbs unable to produce enough light. The lockers were old too. Blue-grey with dents and scratches to show the age. They have been through hell and back, surviving every child's teenage years. And they remained as sturdy enough to keep going.

They stopped by the stairs where a student sat behind a table. He was messing with his phone, not paying attention to anyone passing him.

Steve went up to him. "Excuse me? We are here for the decathlon event."

"Up the stairs and to the right," the student responded, not once lifting his eyes or finger off his phone.

They followed the student's instruction and found themselves in a small auditorium room. There was a raised platform with two tables up front. A podium positioned directly in the middle. There were three rows of twelve seats that Steve assumed to be the audience seating. They were simple fold-outs. Nothing that would have been found in the compound.

Tony glanced around, frowning. "This is it?" he questioned. "At least tell me there is a bar?"

Peter's eyebrows bunched together. "It's a decathlon meet," he said. "Not an award's ceremony."

"Concession stand?"

Peter shook his head. Tony inhaled sharply, looking the room around again with a new horror. Steve steadied Tony with a hand on the shoulder. "Let's go find seats, okay?"

"Actually, can I go see Ned first?" Peter asked, gesturing to the curtained staged. "Want to wish him and the others good luck."

"Sure," Steve didn't see a problem for Peter to say a quick hello to his friends. "We'll grab seats."

"Don't be long though," Tony said to Peter. "I'm not going to go on some Find Peter adventure again, capiche?"

Peter nodded, but Steve questioned whether Peter heard him. He had a dopey grin on his face as he sprinted off, disappearing behind the curtains.

Steve and Tony went on to find seats for themselves. A few parents were there as well, talking amongst themselves. None of them noticed them. A relief. Great relief, to be honest. Tony walked down the rows, judging each seat to determine if it was the best seat for him. He wanted good seats and he almost found something wrong with every chair Steve offered.

"They are all the same, Tony," Steve groaned. "Pick one!"

Tony dropped in a chair. "Here. Perfect view of the stage, while also a great way to escape if necessary."

Steve humored Tony and took the seat next to him. "So… what exactly is a decathlon meet?"

"It's where kids show off how smart they are," Tony answered. "Not the most exciting thing to do on a Friday night. But, hey, you wanted to come."

"So did you."

"Yeah, well, couldn't leave him with a grandpa as a babysitter," Tony commented, popping a Tic-Tac on his tongue. "Still have that aftermath taste of the burger."

Suddenly, Tony's phone blared to life. It was loud. It drew everyone's attention, interrupting their pleasant conversation. Tony pulled out his phone, ignoring the parents' scowls at the rude behavior of not having the phone on silent upon entering.

Tony answered. It was FRIDAY. "Sir? I have narrowed the results to your previous request to 546,000 results," her voice announced. "Would you like me narrow the search on Dead Pool more?"

Steve curiously looked over Tony's shoulder. "Why are you searching for Deadpool?" he questioned, studying FRIDAY's results. "Don't tell me you're considering him for the team?"

Tony whipped his head to him. "Him?" he turned in his seat to face him directly. "You know what dead pool means?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded, remembering what Clint said about the man. "The 'Merc with a Mouth'. He's a mercenary. Works out of New York City, but does jobs around the country and world." Steve paused, dread spreading through his body. "Why? Please don't tell me you want him to be involved—"

"Shut up!" Tony spat as he rearranged himself in his seat.

Steve was taken aback by Tony's abrupt change when a shadow joined his. Steve wondered what made Tony snap when a shadow joined theirs. He looked over and saw Peter sliding in the seat next to him.

"Hey—what were you guys talking about?" Peter asked. "Not about me, I hope."

"Nope," Tony responded. "Cap was asking too many questions and I really just wanted to play this level of Candy Crush in peace."

Steve gave Tony credit. He was quick and sharp as he presented himself. Steve nodded his head along to the lie. Tony's reaction to Peter's arrival informed Steve that Tony didn't want Peter to know anything about Deadpool. Good thinking, considering the man was as mad as a dog with rabies (again, Clint's words). Steve wouldn't let Deadpool come within ten miles near Peter if a quarter of what he heard about the mercenary was true.

"Hey! Kid?" Tony called for Peter. "Did you text your aunt?"

Peter's eyes widened in remembrance. "Oh… no, not yet," he said.

"Best you call her," Tony said, "but do it outside the room. These folks aren't fond of cellphones."

Peter took off, heading to the hallway. Which Steve imagined was what Tony wanted. Once Peter was off, Tony's hand snatch Steve's arm. "When we get back to the compound," he dangerously intoned, "we are going to talk and you are going to tell me everything about this Dead pool."

"Deadpool. One word."

"Whatever," Tony scowled. "Now, shut up. He's coming back."

On cue, Peter came down the row and back into his seat next to Steve. "Talked to Aunt May," he said to them. "She happy we made it and that Pepper is doing well."

"Good," Tony flashed a smile. "Now—tell this old fart how an academic decathlon works."

Steve gave Tony another exasperated look that was becoming more and more common between the two of them. But, he gladly listened to Peter breakdown how a decathlon team, engaging with the boy with questions so he would be able to follow along the competition.

Ten minutes left, a man took the podium and requested for people to take a seat. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he announced. "Welcome to the Semi-Finals of the Academic Decathlon! Today, Brooklyn Tech will be facing off against National champions, Midtown Tech."

Steve settled in his seat, leaning back as he watched youngsters take the stage. For once in his life, he wasn't Captain America or Steve Rogers, the puny boy desperate to join the army. He wasn't some nomad, wandering and fighting off against terrorists in different pockets of the world. He was Steve Rogers, sitting with an old friend, watching a group of high school students compete in an academic battle. He had a kid next to him, pointing out the competitor's best player. It felt so normal. Like a life he may have had if he never crashed the plane and became frozen. One with roots and things outside Avengers and war. It was peaceful, serene and enjoyable.

Steve could live a life like this. He wished he could.