Chapter Text
Peter’s first day of school wasn’t as bad as Steve had thought it'd be.
It was ten times worse.
Tony had been fine for most of the morning—he’d made Peter a special breakfast (dinosaur shaped pancakes), helped him get dressed and pack his backpack, and kept up a stream of chatter as Steve drove them to the elementary school. “It’ll be fun, Gwen’ll be there and Harry too. Oh, and I packed a peanut butter and banana sandwich for your lunch, and your inhaler is in the front pouch, don’t worry, it’s the one you and Cap decorated. And Cap and I will be here right at 12:30 to pick you up and we’ll go get ice cream, since you and Cap insist on eating all of the ice cream in the fridge at ungodly hours.”
They got there and dropped Peter off, and he hugged Tony and then Steve and said he loved them and waved goodbye, and Tony managed to make it to the car before he started hyperventilating.
“Tony, sweetheart, breathe, it’s okay,” Steve soothed. He pulled Tony into his arms and rubbed along his spine soothingly.
“It’s only four hours, I can do this damn it.” Tony was clearly pissed at himself. “It’s just… if I lost him…”
“You won’t,” Steve replied firmly. “You won’t lose him, he’ll be right here at 12:30 and he’ll tell you all about his day and it’ll be fine.”
In the end they just lounged on the couch and watched bad western movies for four hours, and Tony kept making awful jokes about the movies and curled tighter into Steve every once in a while.
And at 12:30 Peter was waiting right on the steps, holding a pile of drawings and wearing the biggest smile on his face.
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“Cap? Can I ask you a question?”
Steve looked up from his sketchbook and saw Peter standing in the doorway in his pajamas. “Sure, buddy.” He gestured and Peter ran towards him. Steve pulled him up on the couch and leaned back a bit. “What’s wrong?”
“Um…” Peter looked nervous, so Steve gently combed his hair with his fingers. “How come I don’t call you ‘daddy’?”
Steve paused a moment. “Well… you already have a Daddy. It would be confusing if you had two.” He continued combing Peter’s hair.
“Yeah, but Jimmy in school has two daddies and he says it’s not confusing ‘cause he calls one ‘daddy’ and one ‘father’ and it’s okay.” Peter clenched Steve’s shirt and scrunched up his nose. “And you don’t have to be my daddy if you don’t want to but I figured since you and Daddy were always sleeping in the same bed and kissing and you drive me to school and take me to the park that it would be okay.”
“I… Peter, of course it would be okay. I…” And Steve had a vague memory of Peter leaping into his arms and showing him a lion drawing, and calling him a name that made Steve feel warm inside. “How about… how about ‘papa’? Would that be okay?”
“You really mean it?” Peter stared up at him with wide eyes. Steve smiled and kissed his head.
“Of course. I would love that, Peter.”
“Thank you, Papa!” Peter tackled him and wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck.
The next morning, when Peter woke them up by jumping on the bed and shouting, “Wake up, Daddy! Wake up, Papa!” the smile Tony gave Steve was brighter than the sun.
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“Hey, what do I do with this thing?” Clint popped up from the kitchen and held up a turkey thermometer.
“For God’s sake, who let Clint in the kitchen?” Tony asked. He and Peter were setting the table for Thanksgiving dinner. “How many times do we have to discuss this, he’s set the oven on fire like six times.”
“It was five, the last time there weren’t any flames so it doesn’t count.”
“I’ll get him,” Coulson muttered, groaning as he stood up from the couch.
“I’m not a child! This is ridiculous, the five year old is less guarded than I am.”
“The five year old doesn’t set ovens on fire and shoot marshmallows from the top floor at passerby on the street. The five year old can hold a plate without breaking it. The five year old—”
“Fine, fine, I get it.” Clint tossed Bruce the thermometer and leaped over the bar and into the living room.
“It’s not that we don’t like you,” Bruce said as he wiped his hands on his apron. “It’s just that you have the mental capacity of a toddler.”
“I said I get it,” Clint muttered.
Steve walked in and kissed Tony’s temple. “Need any help?” he asked.
“You can keep Thor away from the biscuits.” Tony nodded towards the demi- god, who was sitting on a barstool and eyeing said biscuits murderously.
“You can bring me some pie, Papa?” Peter asked, grinning.
“I’ll do what I can.” Steve kissed Peter as he passed and entered the kitchen to help Bruce.
“Oh come on, that was a foul!” Sam shouted from the living room. Bucky groaned and leaned back against the couch. Natasha threw popcorn at the TV and sighed.
“If these refs paid as much attention to the game as they are to the cheerleaders they’d have noticed it,” she muttered.
“How are those girls not freezing? It’s gotta be freezing out there,” Jane said. She and Darcy had come up from New Mexico to spend the holidays with the rest of the team. Thor had been ecstatic.
Later, after the meal had been devoured (and really, Tony wasn’t even shocked that the team had somehow managed to eat three turkeys and god knows how many other side dishes) and they had watched about three holiday movies, Tony lay awake with Steve in the soft glow of the reactor. “That was a nice family dinner,” Steve mumbled, tracing circles on Tony’s arm.
“Mmm.” And it had been nice, really—Tony didn’t know quite when the team had become ‘the family’, but he liked it.
“Tony?”
“Mmm?”
“I love you.” Steve kissed him and settled in to sleep, and Tony was pretty sure his life was perfect.
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“Papa, wake up. It’s Christmas.”
Steve groaned and rolled over onto his side to face a wide smile and an extremely ragged bear. “Peter, it’s 5 in the morning,” he mumbled.
“But it’s Christmas!” Peter shook Steve’s arm and jumped up and down.
“Okay, I’ll make you a deal: you come lie with me and Daddy for ten minutes, and then we can wake the team up and go open gifts.”
It worked. Peter got in bed and curled around Steve, and was fast asleep within three minutes. Steve smiled and carefully rolled them over so Peter was in the middle of the bed.
“He try to wake you up early?” Tony mumbled.
“Yep.”
“He asleep again?”
“Yep.”
“Best present ever.”
Peter made it another two hours before he was up and nudging Steve’s arm again. This time he obliged and sat up, grinning as Peter next focused on Tony.
“Christ! Peter, that bear looks like it’s possessed, you can’t go shoving it into people’s faces.”
“Eugene does not look bad!”
“He used to be brown, Peter Pan.”
“He still is.”
“One patch of brown fur on his butt does not count.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Eugene, Tony.” Steve leaned over and kissed him good morning before getting out of bed. “Now come on, there’s presents waiting.”
“Don’t you start, too.”
“Presents! Come on, daddies!”
Tony groaned and fell back against the pillows. “My son had to be an early bird. He gets that from you, you know,” he claimed, pointing at Steve.
“I’m pretty sure that’s genetically impossible, Tony.”
“Don’t you go all science-y on me, it’s way too early for that.”
Tony collapsed against Steve’s chest on the couch while the team opened their gifts from each other. Steve had gotten Tony a collection of Pink Floyd CDs and a sweater, claiming “there’s literally nothing else to get the man who has everything”. Tony had upgraded Steve’s motorcycle and developed a punching bag that wouldn’t break, no matter what hit it. They’d both agreed the gifts were perfect.
Peter got a new microscope from Bruce, a couple of movies from Clint and Agent that he insisted they watch that day, a toy helicopter from Sam and Bucky, a sweater from Natasha (that Tony was pretty sure she knitted herself, and that was so weird to think about), and an industrial case of chocolate bars from Thor (“No, you cannot eat them all at once”). Tony and Steve had gotten him a new video game, a couple of books he had been begging for, and—in what was either the worst decision they’d ever made or the best—a scruffy, gray dog that came bounding in with Steve after he’d gone to throw the wrapping away.
Peter immediately named it Miles and didn’t let the squirming ball go all day.
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“What do you mean, Peter has detention?”
“Come on, Steve, you know what detention is. Maybe corporal punishment was more accepted back when you were a kid, but it’s the same general concept—”
“I know what it is, Tony, but he’s seven years old. What happened?”
Tony shrugged and glanced around the school’s office idly. “That’s why I’m here. Something about hitting another kid?”
“Peter never hits anyone.”
“I’m sure he had a good reason for it. I’ll call you when I'm done, the principal’s here.” Tony hung up and stood to shake the woman’s hand. She gestured him into her office, where Peter was sitting in a chair and looking stubborn. This should be fun.
“Mr. Stark, I’ve called you here because Peter received detention today,” the woman said.
“I got that. I’d like to know why. Your secretary said something about hitting?”
“I think Peter should explain.”
Peter looked guiltily at Tony and scrunched up his nose. “Flash Thompson said mean things and I hit him.”
“Okay.” At least he was being honest. Tony leaned forward in his chair. “So what did Flash say that provoked you to hit him?”
“He said… he said… he said you and Papa was going to hell.”
The principal raised an eyebrow at that. Clearly she hadn’t heard the full story yet. “Well, do you think that?” Tony asked.
“No!” Peter looked horrified. “You and Papa are the best thing ever, and Flash was saying you two were wrong and it was bad, and he said his daddy told him you were going to hell, and I said no you weren’t, and he laughed at me and pushed me and said I had wrong daddies and I hit him.”
If this principal hadn’t been there, Tony would have hugged him. Instead he bent onto his knees in front of Peter’s chair and sighed. “Peter… sometimes people are going to say mean things about me and your Papa. It’s going to hurt, sure, but you have to remember that those people… they’re morons.”
“Mr. Stark!” The principal gave him a look.
“Okay, that was a bad choice of words, but the point is that they’re not worth listening to, okay? You have to ignore them. What matters is what you think of us, kiddo.”
Given the circumstances, the principal agreed to drop the detention as long as Peter solemnly promised never to hit again. And when Steve got home and heard the story, he just smiled and kissed Peter’s forehead and made him promise the same.
When Tony got called in the next day because Peter had called Flash and his dad “morons”, he wasn’t even sorry.
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“Daddy, how come you don’t have a ring?”
Tony closed the book they’d been reading in bed. “What kind of ring? Like a Ring Pop? Or the ring we saw in that movie, remember the one with all the funny accents and they kissed his ring to greet him…”
“Like a ring here.” Peter pointed to Tony’s ring finger. “Like all the mommies and daddies at school do.”
“You mean like… like a wedding ring?”
“Uh huh. How come you and Papa don’t have any?”
“Umm…” Tony had never thought about that, really—Steve was just a part of their life, and it had become serious so quickly that he’d never even considered it. After all, who would want to be locked to Tony for… well, forever?
“I… I don’t… you know, you should ask Papa about that. Let’s go find him.” Avoidance. One of Tony’s best qualities. Let Steve handle this shit storm.
“Papa, how come you and Daddy don’t have rings?” Kid really didn’t waste any time there. Thank god the rest of the team was out—they’d never hear the end of this otherwise.
“What kind of a ring?” Steve asked. He glanced at Tony.
“A… uh… tell him, Peter.”
“A wedding ring.” Peter climbed onto the couch with Steve and looked at him expectantly.
“Because your father never gave me one,” Steve replied.
“Don’t put this on me, hang on.” Tony collapsed on the other end of the couch.
“You mean like you were trying to put this question on me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, that’s ridiculous...”
“So you’re saying you do have an answer for Peter’s question?”
“Not so much an answer, per say, but… well…”
Steve was grinning now, the bastard. “So you don’t have an answer, which brings me back to my original statement. You never gave me one.”
“You could’ve given me one, that goes both ways.”
“So you’re saying you do want to get married?”
“Well, I’m not seeing a ring, so—” Steve threw something into Tony’s lap and he stopped. “What was that for?”
“Open it and see.” And Tony looked down and there was a black box and oh.
“Are you… what is this, this is the most unromantic thing I’ve ever—”
“Open the box, Tony.”
“Are you kidding me, you’re not even trying at this point, you just threw it at me—”
“We’ve been together for almost four years, I’d have thought you’d lower your expectations, we’re raising a child together for God’s sake—”
Peter watched them go back and forth and sighed before crawling into Tony’s lap. He plunked the box into Tony’s hand. “Just open it already, Daddy.”
“Were you in on this? Because this just seems way too convenient. Did you employ my son to get in on this?”
“You mean did I bribe our son with ice cream to ask you why you didn’t have a wedding ring, knowing full well you’d try to force me to answer instead, all so I could get you to come in here so I could give you the ring?” Steve’s grin was even wider. “Now why would I do a thing like that?” He stood and walked over the freezer. “Chocolate or strawberry, Peter?”
“You are such a dork. I love you.”
“Prove it.”
They were married by Friday.
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Peter cringed at the shouting and closed the door to his bedroom again. Papa and Dad had come home late from fighting bad guys, and Papa had started shouting about how irresponsible Dad was. Something about “going headfirst into the line of fire”. Peter wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. And, of course, Dad had immediately started shouting back and it had turned into an all- out war.
His parents didn’t fight often, but when they did it was bad. Last time they hadn’t spoken to each other for three whole days, other than to shout at each other occasionally. Sometimes Peter wasn’t even sure if they knew what they were arguing about, but they were too stubborn to admit one of them was wrong.
“Of all the stupid, cocky things you’ve ever done, this takes the cake, Tony.”
“Excuse me for stopping the damn monster.”
Peter sighed and fell head first onto the bed. This one was awful.
Later that night, when Dad came into say goodnight, Peter was already curled in his blanket. Dad kissed his forehead and grabbed the book they’d been reading.
“What page were we on?” he asked as he flipped through the book.
“Are you and Papa getting a divorce?”
Dad stopped and looked at him. “Why would you think a thing like that?”
Peter shrugged and tried not to let Dad see him cry. “You and Papa fight and yell at each other and Rachel from school says that’s what happened when her parents got a divorce, and Bryan’s parents are getting one and they yell at each other outside the school when they pick him up. And a bunch of other kids in fourth grade and even fifth grade say their parents are divorced. But I don’t want you guys to get divorced, ‘cause then I’ll have to move around and you guys’ll yell even more and you won’t kiss, even though it’s gross.”
“Oh, baby.” Dad put down the book and wrapped his arms around Peter, and he felt a little better after that because Dad had always been there for him. “Your pops and I… we love each other, very much, and that’s why we yell.”
“I don’t get it.” Peter buried his head in Dad’s chest and watched the reactor glow.
“Well… I did something… pretty stupid today, while we were fighting the bad guys. It was reckless and stupid, and Papa got mad at me because of it. He got mad because he… well, he loves me. And I have you and him to think about, and it scared him, I think.” Dad rubbed his back and kissed his head. “And I’m too stubborn to admit that I did something wrong, so that’s why we were arguing.”
“So you’re not getting a divorce?” Peter asked.
“Never. Your pops is the one that proposed, so he’s stuck with me for the rest of his life, kiddo.”
“Wouldn’t exactly call it stuck,” Papa said from the doorway. Peter sat up and let him kiss his forehead. “What are you two doing?”
“Peter seems to think we’re getting a divorce,” Dad replied.
“Oh yeah?” Papa sat on the bed beside Dad and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Your Dad’s right, Peter. We’re not going anywhere, okay?”
“Okay.” Peter wiggled back down into his covers and listened while Dad read some more of the book.
When Peter was just about to drift off, he peeked an eye open and saw his Dad and Papa leaning towards each other. Papa kissed Dad’s cheek and Peter heard him whisper, “Sorry.”
Dad turned and Peter heard them kissing again (eww, in his bed). “Sorry,” Dad whispered back.
And Peter figured that they’d be okay after all.
And they were.