Chapter Text
1924
“Do you wanna come over to my house?”
Steve twists the strap of his book bag in surprise. It’s the first time Bucky has invited him over after school. Excitement flutters in his chest and a grin breaks over his face.
“Yes!” he says, without a second thought. He’s always wanted to play with someone after school. Most of the other kids don’t really like playing with him. But so far, Bucky seems to like him.
Steve would’ve invited Bucky over to his house already, except that with Pa having lost his job last month, that probably isn’t a good idea.
That’s another benefit of going over to Bucky’s after school, he thinks, as he and Bucky walk side by side down the cracked pavement.
Usually he hangs around the drug store, admiring the candy counter, or, if Mr. Gordon chases him off, he plays in the yard outside the tenement ‘til Ma comes home. With the nice weather it’s okay, he doesn’t have to stay at home with Pa by himself after school while Ma works. It’s better that way.
Bucky’s house is several streets away from his. Steve tries not to show how out of breath he gets just from walking there. He’s always letting his asthma slow him down. He doesn’t want Bucky to decide he doesn’t want to play with him anymore if he gets tired of Steve.
Bucky’s house is shared. He and his family have the upstairs floor, while the woman who runs the shop on the first floor lives in a room at the back. Bucky waves at her cheerily as they tromp past her counter up the stairs.
His flat is still bigger than Steve’s. Their tenement is ‘barely big enough to piss in’, as Pa likes to say. Which is part of the reason Steve likes to stay out after school. It’s hard to stay out of the way when every room leads into the other and his bed is across from the sofa where Pa likes to sit.
Steve shakes away the thought, glancing around the rooms of Bucky’s flat. The living room is small, but bright sunlight comes through the second-floor windows onto a green rug. The kitchen is through an open doorway off the living room, but Bucky leads them to a different door.
“I hafta share a room with my sister,” he grumbles to Steve as he turns the knob. “But she’s just a baby.”
Steve doesn’t tell him that at least he has a room, instead of just a bed in the corner. That would be complaining. And nobody likes complainers.
Bucky’s room has a bed on one side and a crib on the other. There isn’t much space for anything else, so after they toss their book bags onto Bucky’s bed he suggests they take his jacks to play in the living room.
“Welcome home, Bucky,” a woman’s voice calls from the kitchen. “Oh, who is this?” Bucky’s Ma comes into view, brown hair tied up in a crown around her head and a baby strapped to her chest.
Steve is momentarily tongue-tied, not sure what to say when over at someone else’s house, but Bucky doesn’t pause.
“This is Steve,” he says, grinning. “We’re gonna play.”
“Wash your hands first,” Bucky’s Ma says firmly. Bucky groans, but Steve stays silent. Ma also insists on hand washing all the time, and anyway, whining is a sure-fire way to get his hand slapped.
“Here, c’mon.” Bucky leads him into the kitchen and he drags over a chair to reach the sink. Bucky’s Ma has a sewing machine at the kitchen table, cut out pattern pieces of a navy shirt spread around her. Steve wonders if she’s making it for Bucky.
He plucks self-consciously at his own shirt. Ma doesn’t have much time for sewing or mending right now. She has to work a lot because Pa can’t, even though Pa grumbles when that means supper is cold from yesterday, or all his socks have holes.
It doesn’t matter. Steve focuses on climbing up after Bucky, wetting his hands and lathering the soap bar between them, before washing them off in the ice cold water.
That finished, they can finally get to playing. Bucky has lots of toys. Jacks, and marbles, and a whole case of dominoes. They have to put the smaller toys away when Bucky’s Ma starts making supper because she leaves baby Rebecca on the floor with them, but it’s okay because Bucky pulls out his train set.
Steve tries not to stare too enviously. It’s a mechanical train set, with metal tracks and a windup engine. There’s one that Steve likes to watch through the toy shop window downtown. He never expected to actually play with one.
“Here, Becks,” Bucky says, handing her one of the metal cars to chew on. That keeps her happy while he and Steve work to build the track, testing what they can do without the cars falling off. Steve is so busy having fun that he doesn’t think about what time it must be.
That is, until the front door opens, and Bucky’s father comes home.
Steve freezes in his spot on the floor. His eyes sweep the living room, his stomach suddenly turning into knots. The round track takes up most of the living room, with scattered piles of things around, marking the different stations. Their mess is everywhere. His eyes dart up to Mr. Barnes, trying to see if he looks tired.
He just got back from work. He isn’t going to want to come into a house covered in sprawling, chaotic toys. They should’ve thought of that when Ma Barnes started making supper.
Steve starts grabbing lengths of train track, scooping them up as quickly as his hands will allow. They should’ve already been cleaning this up a long time ago. They should’ve gone to play quietly in Bucky’s room. Then they wouldn’t get in trouble.
“Hey, what’re you doing?” Bucky demands. “That’s the schoolyard station.”
“Is that what you’re building?” Mr. Barnes asks, taking off his hat and coat. He comes closer to look and Steve stills. Their tracks curve across the floor, cutting off the couch and the chair that smells like pipe smoke. He’s certain they’re in Mr. Barnes’ way, and for a second he expects him to kick the tracks aside so he can sit down.
Instead, to his utter shock, Mr. Barnes crouches down, running a critical eye over their set up. “This looks like a mighty feat of engineering.”
“Yeah!” Bucky replies with no hesitation. Steve stares at him as he starts chattering to Mr. Barnes, showing him the different stations they’ve invented and the mountains they made out of books.
“It had to go through, not over, or else it breaks,” he says seriously.
Steve stays silent, chewing on his bottom lip. His stomach feels like wobbly jello and he doesn’t know what to do with Mr. Barnes sitting there. He doesn’t want to play anymore.
Steve scooches away to sit by baby Becca, halfheartedly showing her a length of train track. Becca shrieks and grabs at it with chubby fingers, before promptly sticking one end in her mouth.
Steve panics again. What if she breaks it? He quickly takes it back and she squeals in protest.
Mr. Barnes looks up and smiles at him. “You’re one of Bucky’s friends? Steve, right?”
Steve hunches his shoulders and nods, his eyes flicking back to Bucky. How long is his dad going to sit with them? Steve watches in bafflement as Mr. Barnes shifts to sit cross-legged across from Bucky, almost like he wants to play himself.
Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, continuing to show him their set up and plans. Mr. Barnes even pushes the train along himself, admiring the smooth turns and environment they created with pillows and some stuff from the writing desk.
Then Mrs. Barnes comes in from the kitchen. She smiles when she sees Mr. Barnes and comes over to lean down and peck a kiss on his mouth.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” she says as Mr. Barnes reaches up to squeeze her hand. The track in Steve’s hand digs into his palm and he looks away. Maybe this is what it’s like when supper is always ready on time.
He’s so distracted by his thoughts that he doesn’t realise what’s happening until the living room is cleaned up and he’s sitting at the dinner table. The sewing machine is cleared away and a casserole dish of shepherd’s pie and a basket of rolls are laid out on the table.
He hadn’t thought this far ahead when he agreed to come over to Bucky’s house. He wasn’t sure if he was expected to stay for supper. Do kids usually eat at each other’s houses? He rubs his hands on his knees, darting glances up and down the table.
What if he eats too much? The Barnes’ will need leftovers for tomorrow, right? Mrs. Barnes didn’t know he was coming over today. How many rolls are in the basket? Should he take one or leave it?
He swallows heavily as Mrs. Barnes scoops a serving of shepherd’s pie onto his plate. The smell of beef, vegetables and mashed potatoes makes his stomach growl. Yesterday it was sandwiches for dinner because Ma was working. The same sandwiches he had for breakfast and lunch.
They’re already through a whole loaf of bread, which Pa says is too fast and even Ma only frowned when he said it because the pantry shelves are getting low.
Maybe tomorrow Steve won’t bring an extra sandwich to school. If he ate half of one for breakfast and saved the rest for lunch he probably wouldn’t be too hungry.
“Steve, do you want some more?”
He looks up to find his plate empty and Mrs. Barnes looking at him, her hand on the serving spoon. His eyes jump from her to Mr. Barnes across the table, but he’s busy buttering his roll.
Steve licks his lips, his arm clenching around his stomach under the table. Is it rude to say no? Greedy to say yes?
His stomach is still hungry and this isn’t his house with his Pa muttering about the grocery bill every time Ma goes shopping.
It’s selfish, but Steve nods and holds out his plate.
2016
Steve doesn’t meet Tony’s new intern until several weeks into the arrangement. Peter Parker seems to be Tony’s new obsession, and the two spend hours together cooking up things in the lab. Apparently Peter had applied to a dual credit program at his high school and scored a placement at Stark Industries. He’s able to be paid for his work at SI, while also getting work experience and high school credits.
At least, that’s how Tony explained it to Steve in the snatches of conversation they’d had about it on random breakfast mornings. Usually Tony isn’t so directly involved in the intern program at SI, but Peter is a genius among geniuses, Tony said, and his work caught his attention.
It was inevitable that eventually Tony’s pet project would cross paths with the rest of the Avengers. Steve runs into them in the common room kitchen, the hour late and the pile of scavenged food on the island making it clear why Tony had ventured up from the lab with his intern in the first place.
“Oh, hey,” Tony says, noticing Steve over a mountain of sandwich toppings. “This is Peter.” He waves in the direction of a kid who looks at Steve like a spooked squirrel. “Peter — Steve.”
Peter is younger than Steve was imagining. He knew that Peter was in high school, but he never had a mental image of the kid. Peter reminds him a lot of himself actually, small and gangly, with cowlicks for days.
Peter seems starstruck, his eyes wide as he stares at Steve. Or maybe he’s just uncomfortable being in the Avengers’ kitchen. Steve can see it in his mind, Tony deciding they need food to fuel whatever project they’re working on, then proceeding to drag his intern into the private quarters of the Tower.
Steve smiles, hoping to put the kid at ease. “Nice to meet you, Peter,” he says, before raising an eyebrow at Tony. “Isn’t it getting rather late?”
It’s a weeknight, and unless Steve is mistaken, this kid will have school in the morning. It’s already dark out. All the other interns must have gone home by now.
Tony seems unconcerned as he slathers mustard and mayonnaise onto a sandwich. “Pshh, it’s fine. We’re almost done. We just gotta feed this guy’s metabolism.”
Peter seems to tense and flush red at the same time, but Tony only chuckles at him.
“You know,” he says, nodding at Steve and winking. “Growing boys and all that.”
Steve rolls his eyes a little at Tony’s teasing, but Peter is looking at Steve with wide eyes and a slightly anxious expression that he can’t quite get a read on. Something twinges in Steve’s stomach and he smiles gently at Peter.
“Of course,” he says, gesturing at the great helpings of food. “The food’s for everyone.”
That seems to relax Peter and Steve decides to leave them to it. Peter may be used to Tony by now, but it’s probably overwhelming to suddenly be face-to-face with superheroes in their kitchen.
oOo
“Good to see you, Spider-Man!” Clint calls over the comms. Steve spies a flash of red out of the corner of his eye before an artificially distorted voice joins them in the call. Spider-Man’s voice is deep and almost melodic in its cadence.
“Hey guys, what’s up?”
Steve grunts as he dodges a flailing tentacle. Their current adversary is a giant sentient squid a delusional scientist grew in their apartment. Some people hide illegal exotic pets in their apartment. Some people grow sentient squids, apparently.
The thing broke out and started terrorising Queens, growing exponentially as it consumed cars, street lamps, and the rubble it left behind.
“Spider-Man,” he calls, getting down to business quickly now that their vigilante partner has made his appearance. “Can you use your webs to trap the tentacles? The skin is too thick to penetrate.”
“You got it, Cap.”
Spider-Man darts past him on a web of thin silk. Steve hefts his shield and runs after him. Tentacles the size of school buses smash into the sides of buildings and hit the pavement hard enough to shatter it.
Spider-Man is a new variable in fights. He showed up a few months ago, in a suit that was nothing more than a mask and sweat shirt, with webs strong enough to bend steel. The Avengers monitored him for a while, tracking reports of the Spider-Man who hunted down small time criminals and protected back alleys.
Steve isn’t sure if Spider-Man would’ve ever come out of the shadows to talk to them—he always used to skedaddle when they arrived on scene—but Tony was determined.
Steve can still remember the rants about ‘that horrible suit’, paired with the scientific curiosity about ‘that webbing’. It seemed to be Tony’s personal mission to talk to Spider-Man, and eventually, he succeeded.
Spider-Man was still very cautious around them. He only agreed to let Tony upgrade his suit if his identity would remain secret to the rest of them. None of them have ever seen his face or heard his real voice. Steve isn’t even sure if Tony has, despite working with the man in the lab on his new suit.
Spider-Man isn’t an official member of the group. He never sticks around long after fights, and he isn’t there for all of them. Steve doesn’t call for him when there’s a battle, but they’ve learned to trust that he will have their backs when he swings in.
“This thing’s getting way too close to Delmar's Deli-Grocery.” Steve hears Spider-Man mutter over the comms, a convenience thanks to Tony’s suit upgrade. Spider-Man now has actual armour to protect him and he can tap into their comms whenever they share a battle.
With Spider-Man’s webs the tide starts turning. A blur of red and blue swoop up and around the tentacles, pinning them to sidewalks and the side of buildings. Tony soars high above, focusing on firing his repulsors at the head while the others protect civilians. Steve and the Hulk use their strength to work with Spider-Man wrangling the tentacles.
One lashes out and whips towards Steve too fast to brace. It slams into his stomach, launching him backwards with a cry.
“I gotcha, Cap!”
Webs shoot across the street in the blink of an eye, one, two, then a third, managing to form the bare bones of a hammock. Steve lands with an oompf, the strands stretching under him and bouncing him forward. He transfers into a forward roll, landing on his feet with a puff of air.
“Nice going, Spider-Man,” he says to the figure swinging by.
“Wooo!” Spider-Man cheers, pumping his fist, those huge eyes of his mask grinning at him. “Team Spider-Cap one, tentacle monster zero!”
Steve chuckles softly, readjusts his grip on his shield and prepares to follow Spider-Man back into the fray.
oOo
Steve runs into Peter more often the longer he works as Tony’s intern. There’s a good deal of ribbing from the group about how attached Tony has gotten to the young lad, but Tony takes it in stride.
“If you met someone who could keep up with you, you’d also keep him around.”
Natasha clicks her tongue. “I think he just called us stupid.”
That gets a laugh from the group and an eye roll from Tony. Steve smiles too, but he can’t forget that, no matter how smart Peter is, he’s still a kid. Teenagers these days are supposed to be getting up to trouble, dating, and following trends online.
The idea of a ‘teenager’ isn’t really one Steve grew up with. The concept was perhaps in its earliest infancy when he was growing up. He can’t even recall having heard the word teenager before waking up here but looking back he can see the long roots of origin.
He grew up in the years following child-labour regulations, but he still felt ‘adult’ and responsible for helping his household by the time he was ten or so. That was earlier than some of his more well-off classmates, but by their adolescence, most were in the same boat as him.
He worked so many odd jobs outside of school, only really staying in school because Ma insisted. Half the kids he knew didn’t even finish high school. There wasn’t the same opportunity to develop the same age-based comradery that happens to teens now.
It wasn’t as if there were places for him to go like what became common after the war—drive-in movies and malls and arcades. It was more dance halls and bars, or maybe corner shops with candy and comic books.
He read a lot about it after waking up, trying to understand this new phase of childhood that suddenly existed. There’s a lot of science now for how a teen brain works. So many more cultural norms. Nowadays, a lot of teens don’t even work while in school. That varies depending on the kid and their situation, but it’s something he never would have even thought about at their age.
He doesn’t mind it though. As bizarre as kids are sometimes these days, it isn’t unrecognisable. His own generation made their elders shake their heads just as much. At least now there’s more understanding around teens’ apparently unique needs.
Which has him wondering about Peter. He worries a little that in his usual frenzied passion, Tony forgets that Peter isn’t like Bruce or one of his employees.
“Remember, he’s still an intern,” Steve says. “He shouldn’t be spending all his time here. He’s gotta have a life outside of being your lab assistant.”
Tony waves a hand. “Oh yeah, he’s got a life alright. Believe me, Cap, him spending a bit of extra time indoors is the least of your worries.”
Steve frowns, but Tony seems sort of serious.
“What, is he in the wrestling club or something?” Clint jumps in before Steve can ask further.
Tony barks out a laugh. “No, but he is in decathlon, I think,” he says, and the conversation shifts to school clubs and nerdy hobbies.
Steve sighs and settles back. He’ll have to keep an eye on Peter. If Tony’s working him too hard he’ll bring it up again.
He tries to keep his own misgivings about how often Peter is in the Tower to himself. Peter seems to pick up on something, because he remains nervous and awkward around Steve.
Well, he’s awkward around all of them, stuttering and wringing his hands, and always darting off like he’s afraid to stick around too long. Like Steve, the others seem to interpret it as starstruck-ness and find it more or less endearing.
At least, most of the time that’s what Steve thinks is going on.
“You need more than that, Peter,” Tony says, the two of them once again in the kitchen, stocking up on supplies. Peter already has a plate piled high with spaghetti, two bread rolls balanced on the side.
His eyes dart over to where Steve is eating his own, much larger portion.
“Uh.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “I’m fine with this, Mr. Stark.”
“Nonsense,” Tony says, opening a cupboard to rifle through the snacks they always have on hand. “Steve already thinks I’m working you too hard. I’m not about to be accused of starving you too. You’ll be hungry in an hour with that.”
Peter’s gaze jumps to Steve again, his expression... worried? Under the counter, Steve’s knee starts bouncing up and down. He doesn’t know why Peter is looking at him like Steve is in charge of the groceries or even cares how much food the boy eats.
Steve pulls up a smile, nodding at Peter with his fork. “Hey, we’ve all been there. With my super soldier metabolism I’m hungry all the time.”
“Exactly,” Tony mutters.
“My metabolism is normal,” Peter says quickly.
“No teenage boy has a normal metabolism.” Tony turns and dumps a pile of snacks on the island counter. “Grab some for later. We’ve got some samples to analyse.”
Peter bites his lips before reaching for some protein bars, stuffing them in the pocket of his hoodie. Steve opens his mouth to insist that Tony let Peter eat his dinner at the table before dragging him back down to the lab, but the words die in his throat.
The sleeve of Peter’s hoodie pushes up as he reaches for a fruit snack and Steve spies the healing mark of a bruise wrapped around his wrist.