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Chapter Text

When Steve first left the system, he never imagined that he'd voluntarily go back into it.

He and Bucky had been young and dumb and desperate to get out of there. They enlisted together, toured the Middle East together.

They would've died together, too, if Bucky hadn't shoved him out of the way.

Steve lasted another month until Sam caught him pointing a gun at his head.

He was honorably discharged with a clap on the back and a therapist's address. He moped around for a couple weeks until Bucky's voice in his head told him to get up off your ass, punk, you're embarrassing yourself.

Steve takes on any number of odd jobs – cashier, delivery boy, hell, he even sketches people in the park for ten dollars apiece. It is during one of these sticky summer afternoons that he and Peggy stumble across one another.

He and Peggy had gone to school together, back before his growth spurt. She doesn't even recognize him. He knows Bucky will tease him endlessly for it until he remembers that he and Bucky aren't bunk mates anymore.

“So what have you been up to, Steve?” Peggy asks, smiling across the park bench at him in the way that used to make his heart leap when he was sixteen and 5'4”.

“Oh, you know,” Steve says, gesturing vaguely around him with his half-eaten pepperoni pretzel. “Drawing, working on my customer service skills.” He smiles when Peggy chuckles softly. “Hoping to save up enough to go to school. Get an art degree, maybe.”

They lapse into a slightly awkward silence. “Uh, how 'bout you?”

“I'm a social worker,” Peggy says, her face lighting up.

“Really? That's incredible!” Steve says politely. Social workers hadn't done much for him as a kid. “What kind of stuff do you do?”

As Peggy enthusiastically describes her job, Steve finds himself more and more interested, especially when she talks about working with kids. He wanted to be a teacher, growing up, but it seems unlikely to happen now.

When Peggy's lunch hour runs out, she hands him a business card. “It was lovely to see you again, Steve,” she says, smiling like she really means it. “Have you ever thought about working with children?”

“Um, I suppose – ” Steve says, blinking.

“Fantastic!” Peggy interjects. “Now, I really must run, but if you're ever interested, just ring me up!”

She's hurrying down the sidewalk before Steve can think of an adequate response.

Steve calls that night. It's a genuine job offer, not a flirtation, like he had been dreading. It turns out that Brooklyn is in desperate need of foster homes, and would Steve be interested in fostering a child?

Steve, caught up in the suddenness of everything, agrees.

They're a little concerned about his PTSD, at first, but he doesn't get violent or confused about where he is, he's just an insomniac and hates cars. His apartment, while cramped, is barracks neat and in a building populated mostly by seniors. The bedroom is empty. When he does sleep, he prefers the living room floor.

Pretty soon, the first kid arrives.

He's a quiet, nervous eight-year-old named Bruce whose father beat his mother to death in front of him. Steve shows him his room and how to use the shower, then fixes him dinner (tomato soup and crackers) and puts him to bed. He sits in the living room reading C.S. Lewis and listens to Bruce cry himself to sleep.

The next day, Steve calls in sick from work and takes Bruce to a nearby playground. The small, curly-haired boy sits on the swing and rocks himself back and forth, a small smile on his face. Steve draws a picture of that smile and gives it to him, which earns him a shy, “Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve crouches in front of him. “Between you and me,” he whispers, “it's okay if you call me Steve, Mr. Banner.”

Bruce giggles, and Steve feels his heart swell as he grins from ear to ear.

That night, Steve tucks Bruce in and reads him the first three chapters of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Bruce asks if he can keep the book in his room and Steve says of course he can.

Chapter Text

They're working their way through The Voyage of the Dawn Treader when the next boy arrives. His name is Clint, he's thirteen, and this is his sixth foster home. He runs away on his third day there.

Steve searches for him until one in the morning. He gets back at around two to find Clint raiding the fridge, and he's so relieved that he tries to hug him.

Clint shoves him away. “Get off me, you sick bastard!” he yells, trying to sound angry, but there's a hint of terror in his eyes that horrifies him. He backs away with his hands up.

“I'm sorry, Clint, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says soothingly. He can see Bruce watching with wide eyes from behind the bedroom door. “Could you please not yell? You're scaring Bruce.”

Clint mutters something that Steve sincerely hopes that Bruce didn't hear, and shoves past him into the bathroom. He locks the door.

The second time that Clint doesn't come home, Steve puts Bruce to bed and goes out to find him again.

It's been dark for hours when Steve finally finds him in a dark alley, with three large men surrounding him. He sees a flash of metal protruding from one man's fist, which is held up under Clint's nose.

“Hey!” Steve shouts.

Knife Guy sneers at him. “Keep moving, asshole.”

Steve sprints in their direction and tackles him. The knife clatters on the pavement as they grapple, the guy's two cronies trying to pull him off. Steve has the advantage with his bulk and his experience, but it's three-on-one and they fight dirty. He takes a second to be grateful that Clint got away, but then he loses his footing and one of them is holding up the knife –

Then three rocks hit the thugs in rapid succession, hard enough to knock them over. Steve scrambles to his feet.

Clint is standing a couple of yards away, his face pale. He's holding another rock in his fist. Steve grabs him by the arm and runs for it.

A couple of blocks away, when he's absolutely sure that their attackers aren't following, he lets go – Clint visibly relaxes – and slows to a walk.

“Thank you,” Steve says. “Now come on, let's go back to the apartment. Bruce will be worried.”

He doesn't miss the way that Clint's face softens at the mention of the other boy.

Steve smiles at him. “You hungry?”

Clint studies his face, then says cautiously, “Yeah.”

Steve buys him takeout at an all-night diner. They eat while they walk. Clint doesn't say a word, and neither does he.

When they get home, Clint slips into Bruce's room, and Steve takes the opportunity to clean himself up. Clint's made himself a nest of pillows and blankets in the tub, and it only moves when Steve or Bruce ask to take a shower.

They run into each other in the hallway. Steve passes by quickly, careful not to brush against him.

“Hey.”

Steve turns toward him.

“Thank you,” Clint says, his eyes fixed on his bare feet.

Steve smiles, and only barely stops himself from ruffling his hair. “Don't mention it.”

The third time that Clint doesn't come home, Steve doesn't find him. He gives up and returns to the apartment, where he falls asleep with his head on the counter around three and wakes up with a crick in his neck and a blanket draped rather clumsily around his shoulders.

The fourth time that Clint doesn't come home, Steve doesn't go looking for him. He waits up with his sketchbook and draws a scene he had witnessed the day before, when he came in to read Bruce his story and tuck him in. Clint had been stuttering his way through an article in the Times (an actual physical copy – Steve likes old-fashioned) with Bruce sitting beside him, telling him how to pronounce words that he had only recently learned, himself.

Clint makes it home at six, with a black eye and a split lip to match Steve's fading ones. He allows Steve to clean him up and eats the sandwich that Steve makes him, and grins at Steve when he calls the school to tell them that Clint can't come in today, he's got a terrible cold.

Steve buys bunk beds. Clint becomes a fan of The Chronicles of Narnia.

Chapter Text

The next two kids come as a packaged set. Thor, aged four, and Loki, aged three, are rambunctious and do their level best to be as obnoxious as possible. After their first night in the apartment, Clint takes to sleeping on the couch.

Steve is glad that the kids aren't terrified, he really is, but he wishes that they would have fun a little more benignly. The next time he finds earthworms in his sleeping bag, he is going to cry.

Steve finally loses his temper when they switch the salt with the sugar. It's a minor thing, but Steve's extra shifts and three hours of sleep a night are steadily taking their toll. Taking a sip of salty coffee is the last straw.

“God damn it, that is enough!” Steve shouts between coughs. “Thor! Loki! No more fucking pranks!”

Thor immediately pushes Loki behind him, spreading out his arms as if to shield him from view. Bruce's eyes snap up from his book and he retreats into the bedroom. Clint sits frozen on the couch, where he was attempting to cram a math textbook into his secondhand backpack.

Steve deflates when he realizes his mistake. “Boys, I – ” he sighs gustily and runs a hand through his hair. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It was wrong and I apologize.”

There's a tense, awkward silence.

Clint laughs shakily. “Shit, Steve, I didn't know you had it in you.”

“Language,” Steve reprimands automatically, and things are quiet the rest of the morning.

Things are different, after that. The boys tiptoe around him, afraid to set him off. Clint goes back to sleeping in the bedroom, and A Horse and His Boy remains untouched. Steve has no idea how to make it better, and sometimes he's scared that he never will.

“Steve?”

Steve looks up from where he's pondering over bills, trying to figure out if he can afford a new pair of running shoes.

It's Clint. He's standing in the doorway, his expression exhausted and drawn.

“Can you come here a minute? Loki and Thor are crying, and I can't get them to stop.”

“What's wrong?” Steve asks, springing to his feet. “Are they okay?!”

“Just... get in here,” Clint mutters.

The bedroom light is off, the streetlamp outside lending everything a faint orange tinge. Loki and Thor are a sobbing, darkened lump on the bottom bunk. He can just make out the gleam of Bruce's eyes from the top one.

“Boys, what's wrong? Did something happen?” Steve demands, pulling the covers down, and feels a wrench in his gut when the two of them shrink away.

“I-I-I'm sorry!” Thor bursts out, in the unashamed, heaving sobs that are unique to small children.

“For what, buddy? There's nothing to be sorry for!” Steve insists, bewildered, gathering the two little boys in a hug.

“But you – you hate us now!” Loki whimpers, clinging to Steve's shirt.

“I could never hate you,” Steve soothes.

“But you were so mad!” Thor wails, setting Loki off again. Steve, a little teary-eyed himself, feels guilt like a punch to the gut.

“I'm so sorry, it was all my fault, I could never hate you,” Steve croons, rocking them to and fro. He's aware of Bruce and Clint watching quietly from the doorway, Bruce having deserted his bed.

Steve, helpless, sleep deprived, and missing his boys, opens his arms to them.

Bruce practically flies across the room, clinging to him. Clint hesitates, but follows and soon all five of them are huddled together in a pathetic, sniffling heap.

When it becomes apparent that Thor, Loki, and Bruce have exhausted themselves, Steve gently extricates himself and heads for his sleeping bag.

“Steve?” Clint whispers.

“Yeah, buddy?” he asks, turning toward him, his eyes burning with the need to sleep.

“Would it be okay if I slept on the couch tonight?'

Steve grins, wide and full and happy. “Of course, Clint.”

Chapter Text

It's around the time that Peggy starts asking if she can send him another kid – a girl this time – that Steve realizes that they're going to need a bigger apartment. However, Thor's birthday is coming up, and he can't afford a party and a new apartment. It's not like he has any friends that he can borrow money from; they're all either dead or on tour. Besides, Steve hates having debts he can't repay.

Steve explains the situation to Peggy, who sounds understanding but more than a little frazzled, and agonizes about what to tell Thor. The extra space would do them all good, but Thor's turning five in a month and he suspects that he's never had a birthday party before. Steve hasn't either, but he wants desperately to give Thor a memorable one.

He quits drawing in the park and uses the time to take shifts in a nice restaurant, instead. Steve's never cared about his appearance beyond staying hygienic and military-neat, but he's not blind; he knows that people like to look at him. If it means a little more money in his pockets (and therefore the kids'), he can put up with the occasional wandering hand.

When he gets home late one Friday night, after delivering twenty-odd pizzas to a frat party and receiving a generous tip, he finally works up the courage to broach the topic of a new apartment with Clint and Bruce, who are both still awake.

“What would you guys think of a new place to live?” Steve asks in between mouthfuls of leftover macaroni and cheese. Clint makes dinner for himself and the younger boys when he works late, something that Steve never fails to feel guilty about.

“No!” Bruce says loudly.

Steve looks up, startled by Bruce's uncharacteristic aggression. The smaller boy has tears in his eyes, while Clint's expression is stricken. “Bruce? Clint? What's wro – ”

“I don't wanna go somewhere else! I wanna stay here!” Bruce shouts, sliding from his stool and moving around the counter to confront Steve.

“Buddy, there's not enough room here for all of us, and Peggy wants to place another kid with me – ”

“Fuck Peggy,” Clint snarls. “And fuck you, too! I thought that you – that we – ” He turns away and swallows roughly, staring at the ceiling.

Steve looks from one to the other, at a loss. “Boys – ”

“Don't send us away, Steve!” Bruce sobs, and it clicks.

“Never,” he promises, scooping Bruce into his lap and hugging him tightly. “Never, ever. I just want to get a new apartment, silly!”

Clint whirls to face him. One of the tears that he was fighting back slips down his cheek. “Oh,” he says. “Oh.”

“R-really?” Bruce hiccups, hands fisting in Steve's shirt. “You're not gonna leave us?”

“No,” Steve states firmly. “You'll stay with me as long as you want.”

There's a blur of movement and then Clint is hugging him. Steve freezes, unsure of how to react, but then he feels Clint start to shake.

Steve circles one arm around Clint and the other around Bruce, who has started sobbing again in response to his foster brother, and starts to rock them both back and forth.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes. “It's all right.” A wry smile twists his lips; Bucky would no doubt laugh his ass off if he could see how much of a softie he'd become.

Or maybe, Steve thinks, he would've been just as much of a softie as I am.

- 

Thor takes the news of the new apartment like he takes everything – with a large smile and a surprisingly booming laugh for a four-year-old. The concept of a birthday party and Steve's apology for his lack of it mystify him.

“You mean like on TV?” he asks, and Steve can't think of a way to respond except to kneel down and hug him.

Thor reciprocates delightedly (he loves hugs, and he never used to receive as many as he should have), and then Loki's crashing into them, berating them for leaving him out. Clint and Bruce are quick to follow, and someone gets the bright idea to start tickling, and it soon devolves into a shrieking, flailing pile of limbs.

Even as he chases a maniacally grinning Clint around the cramped den, Bruce egging him on, Steve can't help but think that this is what family feels like.

-

The big day finally arrives.

Steve has dark bruises under his eyes, as does Clint. Thor and Loki are as chipper as ever, despite the fact that they were up half the night in excitement. Bruce, who occupies the bunk above theirs, is practically dead on his feet. Steve has to carry him to their rented U-Haul van.

They depart nearly two hours after Steve had intended, after a brief crisis when Bruce couldn't find The Silver Chair (securely nestled in a box of Clint's socks), another one when Thor and Loki insisted on having their favorite blanket with them on the ride over and Steve had to search through three boxes to find it, and the several times Clint tried to “forget” his algebra homework by hiding it in increasingly hard-to-reach places. Steve is grudgingly impressed that the little monkey managed to wriggle his way into the air vents.

He's tense the whole drive over, but the kids' loud cries of “Are we there yet?” keep him grounded. He doesn't mistake anything for an IED.

Their new building is definitely a step up, despite being less than twenty minutes away. Steve managed to wheedle some funding from CPS, and when combined with his meager college savings, has enough to pay for the next month's rent.

There are two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and a kitchen large enough for them to eat at a table, instead of on the counter. There's even a grocery store within walking distance. It's so spacious that Steve's sagging, overstuffed couch seems dwarfed in the new communal space.

The kids love it. Bruce wakes up, smiles, and then curls up in the cabinet under the kitchen sink and is dead to the world. Thor claims the bigger bathroom by locking himself in and crowing victoriously while Clint pounds on the door and begs to be let in, as of yet unaware that there is another one. Loki escapes to explore the building while Steve is still hauling boxes indoors, Clint having declared that helping him bring up the couch and the bed frames was more than enough work for one day.

Steve only notices Loki's absence an hour later, after he had carried all the boxes up the stairs (the elevator was tiny, and he didn't want to inconvenience anyone), and had collapsed as a result of carrying all the boxes up the stairs.

“Where's Bruce?” Steve asks from his prone position on the couch.

“Under the sink,” calls Clint from what sounds suspiciously like an air vent. Steve contemplates getting him out of there, but decides that it's not worth the trouble. Clint can handle street fights; an unfamiliar ventilation system won't phase him.

His nap is interrupted by something small and yellow-haired cannon balling directly into Steve's stomach.

“Steve!” the projectile wails, unconcerned that he has curled into the fetal position around it. “I can't find Loki!”

Steve's blood turns to ice. It's a slightly milder version of what he felt when that last patrol had gone bad.

“Okay, buddy,” he says, his voice deceptively calm, “Let's calm down a bit. Can you remember where you last saw him?”

Thor, wiping his eyes with his fists, nods.

“That's great. Can you show me?”

Thor clambers down from Steve's aching abdomen and runs as swiftly as someone under three feet tall can to the door. He follows, anxiety twisting in his chest.

“I saw him here,” Thor mumbles.

“Good job, Thor. Can you remember when?” Steve says, crouching so that their eyes are level.

“It was when we come in from th' truck,” Thor says, his lower lip wobbling. “Is Loki lost? Are we ever gonna see him again?”

“He is lost, but I promise that we'll find him in no time,” Steve soothes. “So don't cry, honey. We'll find him.”

He plops Thor on the couch, wakes Bruce, and orders Clint to get down from the air vents. They're given strict instructions to stay put while Steve looks for Loki. He leaves Clint in charge, despite violent protestations from Bruce and the evil grin on Clint's face. None of them are particularly worried by Loki's disappearance, excluding Thor, as he's always been quite the escape artist. However, the fact that it's a new building makes Steve edgy. He's worried that Loki might hurt himself or leave the building.

Steve is about to leave when someone knocks on the door. It's an efficient, take-no-shit kind of knock. It's the type of knock that an officer would use.

Steve opens the door. He's faced with an intimidatingly serious pair – a tall man with an eye patch and a deceptively docile-looking guy in a suit.

Suit Guy is also holding a snoozing Loki in his arms, so Steve could care less what they look like; they're his heroes, now and forever, amen.

“Loki!” he cries, taking him into his arms.

“Loki!” Thor shouts, overjoyed.

“Aw, you found him already?” Clint calls, disappointed.

“Thank god,” Bruce mutters.

Their new neighbors are observing these goings on silently. Suit Guy seems faintly amused. Eye Patch looks judgmental.

“I'm so sorry about him,” Steve says. “Thank you so much for bringing him back, sir. We just moved in this afternoon, and things have been a little hectic – ”

“We noticed,” Eye Patch cuts in drily. Suit Guy steps discreetly on his foot.

Loki, awakened by the commotion, frowns at him. “You're mean. And bald.”

“Loki!” Steve hisses. “You and I are going to have a long talk about running away and being rude to strangers.” He looks at Eye Patch, who is staring down the child in his arms. Loki sticks his tongue out at him. “I'm really very sorry.”

“It's fine,” Suit Guy says kindly, saving Steve from his floundering. “Our apartment is just down the hall, if you need anything. I'm Phil, and this is Nick.”

Steve shifts Loki to his hip and sticks out a hand for him to shake. “Steve Rogers. Thank you again.”

The two of them seem slightly surprised by his positive reaction. Nick even cracks a smile.

“Any time.”

Chapter Text

Natasha moves in a week later.

She has no belongings with her. CPS found her living on the streets, and they would assume that she didn't understand English if it weren't for her nods or head shakes when asked yes or no questions. Her exact age is uncertain, but she's clearly in her early teens.

For the first couple of weeks, it's like she never even moved in. She sleeps and eats and goes to school, but neither he nor the boys can ever catch her at it.

And then one day, she and Clint limp through the door together, ruffled, bruised, and bloody.

“What happened?” Steve asks, concerned but resigned.

“It was awesome!” Clint declares. “I got in a fight with that Rumlow prick (“Language!”) and then Nat swooped in like Batman and nearly beat his face in! And then all his stupid cronies came in but we fought 'em all off and got detention and it was so cool!”

“Detention isn't cool,” Steve says, trying to sound stern, but a smile keeps tugging at his lips. Clint picks less fights than Steve used to, and he actually had the brains and the brawn needed to handle himself.

He fetches the first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet. Clint submits to his fussing with a few token complaints, as he always does. After he's done, Steve turns to Natasha, who's sitting at the counter.

“May I?”

Natasha hesitates, studying him silently. Steve meets her gaze evenly, and after a long moment, she nods.

That evening, she joins them for dinner. The boys stare, but after Clint's delighted greeting and insistence that she sit by him, things go back to normal.

Natasha helps him clear the dishes. Steve thanks her.

“You're welcome.”

Her voice is low, but everyone freezes for a long moment.

Clint takes it upon himself to shatter the silence. “See, I told you she could talk!”

Things don't seem to change much, after that, but Natasha slips seamlessly into their lives, until Steve can't imagine a time without her. Some mornings she'll run with him. She puts the boys to bed when he works late (despite Clint's loud cries that he doesn't have a bed time, god damn it, he's thirteen). She goes to Central Park with them on the weekends. Loki and Clint practically worship the ground she walks on.

She smiles now, and that's possibly what Steve likes the most.

Peter is the last child that Steve agrees to take in; he hasn't got the room for anyone else.

Peter's father and mother disappeared recently, right after leaving their two-year-old in a hotel room with all of the sharp objects hidden away and enough food to sustain him for three days. He was found hiding under the bed and crying by one of the maids.

The kids take to him immediately, and quickly bring him out of his shell.

Natasha informs Steve that Peter will be staying in her room, instead of crowding in with the other boys.

Clint shows him the joys of a roomy ventilation system. (Steve would be more worried if Peter hadn't proven himself to be even more of an acrobat than his mentor. Clint is very proud.)

Bruce makes baking soda volcanoes with him and chatters to him about Tony Stark and the water cycle while Peter listens in admiring incomprehension.

The terrible twosome become a trio, and having someone who can ambush from above while Thor and Loki attack from below makes their pranks even more elaborate and much more irritating than ever before.

Steve reaches an odd sort of peace with the world. He is working harder than he ever has in his life, but with six mouths to feed, he has more than enough motivation. He knows that without his family, he would be completely lost, still unable to function in a world without Bucky. He has no friends, save for Peggy, Nick, and Phil, but he is never lonely.

One of the benefits of having foster kids is that they all know, to varying degrees, that adults are not infallible. Steve would give anything for them to believe it, for them to have that innocence for just a little longer, but it makes raising them a little easier. They're all eager to help him out, and even though Steve often insists on doing most things on his own, he still leans on them much more than they deserve.

It's inevitable, with all his different jobs, but it keeps him up at night, all the same.

Chapter Text

Thor's birthday is upon them. Steve couldn't find a present that was both cheap and perfect for the occasion, so he drew them all in superhero costumes, with Thor in the center. He's been going through a Superman phase lately; Steve really hopes he likes it.

Steve takes a day of vacation time to spend with the younger kids, and calls the day care to inform them that he won't be taking Thor, Loki, and Peter in today. The receptionist seems put out by this, and is oddly insistent that he come anyway.

“You don't even have to bring the kids,” she cajoles. “We could just... talk. Grab a coffee, maybe.”

Steve manages, with much effort, to politely extract himself from that conversation. It takes him far too long, as Bruce and Natasha, the early risers, are already up.

Steve makes a birthday breakfast of epic proportions (or maybe just epic portions), pancakes and muffins and bacon and eggs, and, of course, pop tarts.

Bruce, who is quite the budding chef, insists on stirring the batter. He sneaks in chocolate chips when he thinks that Steve isn't looking.

Natasha watches from atop the kitchen table and helpfully tells Steve whenever something goes wrong, and then refuses to clarify until he realizes that the oven is smoking or that the sink is overflowing.

Once the clock strikes seven, Natasha hops up and stalks with predatory intent towards the den, where Clint is passed out on the back of the couch. (Steve greatly admires his sleep acrobatics, and has begun taking photos of his weirder positions with his battered old camera and sticking them up on the fridge, scores written on Post-its underneath them.) She gave him an extra hour of sleep. She must be feeling generous.

Steve goes to retrieve Thor's present from its hiding place. He hears a shriek and a thud from the den. Clint must be awake now.

He sorts through his stack of sketchbooks, which he keeps tucked away in a battered cardboard box in the coat closet, looking for the one that contains his most recent drawing. He stills when he recognizes one that is significantly more battered than the rest. Against his better judgment, he picks it up and leafs through it.

Someone in the kitchen is laughing hysterically, while someone else is spitting indignant obscenities in a mish-mash of poorly-pronounced Russian, German, and... is that Yiddish?

There's Colonel Philips, his craggy face just as disapproving as ever. And there's Falsworth, eyes sparkling with subdued mirth, and Gabe, a wide, cheerful grin on his face, and Dernier, with his wicked grin, and Dugan, as robust and violent as ever, and Morita, exasperated and affectionate and trying to hide it –

And there's Bucky.

“Steve!” Clint yells. Steve slams it shut and grabs the proper sketchbook, pushing the box back into the closet and shutting the door. “She pushed me off the couch!”

“Natasha, please don't shove Clint when he's unable to defend himself. Clint, just because a swear word isn't in English doesn't mean you get to say it, even when you hurt yourself.”

“Hey, she hurt me!” Clint protests. “It's not like I threw myself off the couch!”

“You shouldn't sleep there in the first place. You have a perfectly functional bunk bed,” Steve points out mildly. “By the way, Natasha, you're doing all the dishes for the next two weeks.”

Natasha just stares. Steve, used to her intimidation tactics, serenely meets her gaze until she looks away to study her nails. He has no idea if she's humoring him or conceding; much like with a cat, it's impossible to tell with Natasha.

As the clock strikes eight, Steve goes to wake the boys. He'd let them sleep in later, but he doesn't want Clint, Bruce, and Natasha eating all the food before Thor can get some, and he has a big day planned.

Loki and Thor are tangled together, Thor starfished in the center of the bed with Loki draped across him. They still insist on sharing a bed, although there are two unoccupied bunks, seeing as Clint prefers the couch and Natasha treats Peter like her own personal stuffed animal.

“Thor,” Steve calls softly. “Thor. Wake up, birthday boy.”

Loki stirs, whining sleepily. Thor releases an impressive (and unconvincing) snore.

Steve ponders for a moment. “I made pop tarts.”

Thor shoots out of bed and careens out the door.

Steve chuckles, eyes soft, and turns his attention to Loki, who is holding out his arms imperiously. Steve obeys the unspoken command and carries him out to the breakfast table, where breakfast is in full swing.

Peter is seated on Natasha's lap, soft curls flopping over his sleepy brown eyes, while she feeds him bits of egg and muffin. Thor has found the pop tarts, and is going to make himself sick if he doesn't slow down. Clint is stuffing bacon in his mouth and making funny faces at Peter while he giggles and Natasha glares at him for being a bad influence. Bruce is reading the Funny pages, sipping from a mug of chocolate milk, which he's pretending is coffee.

After gummy nausea medication is administered and breakfast is finished, it's finally time for presents.

Thor is vibrating in place with glee, having already searched the apartment twice over (thankfully, a hyperactive, overexcited five-year-old is hardly thorough). Everyone is sprawled on the couch or the rug, Thor at their center. Someone (probably Natasha) has slipped a blindfold over his eyes to sharpen his excitement and prevent peeking.

Steve gives him his drawing first. He's worried that it'll disappoint Thor, who has been looking forward to his party ever since he learned that it was something that happened to real people, but it doesn't. Thor shrieks with glee and assigns himself the task of coming up with superhero names for everyone. Steve is just about ready to begin the next part of their day, but then Natasha puts Thor's blindfold on again.

He shoots her a panicked look, because he doesn't have another present, but she just presses a finger to her lips and winks.

The kids have been unusually hyper all morning. Steve had suspected that Thor was just rubbing off on them, but now he suspects that there was another reason. Clint and Loki jump up and bounce toward the boys' room. Bruce and Natasha follow at a more sedate pace, Peter holding their hands. Thor, curious, struggles with his blindfold.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Steve says, just as bewildered as he is, and not doing a very good job of hiding it. “No peeking!” He tugs him up on his lap and fixes the blindfold, which he now recognizes as one of his ties that he's been searching for for nearly a week.

Loki parades back into the room, a clumsily wrapped package in his arms. The others are quick to follow. They're all beaming, even Peter, who by rights shouldn't fully understand what's going on.

Steve takes the blindfold off, careful not to pull Thor's long, fair hair. Thor rockets off his lap and rips into the present, wrapping paper and bow flying off to parts unknown. He holds up the contents.

It's a Superman cape.

Thor screams with excitement and darts over to Steve, begging him to help him with the fastening.

“What do we say, Thor?” Steve asks.

Comprehension dawns on his face and he hugs Loki. “Thank you!”

Steve looks at his two oldest – both watching with so much love in their eyes that it almost hurts – and mouths thank you. Clint mouths you're welcome and Natasha smiles her Mona Lisa smile and helps Thor fasten his cloak.

Chapter Text

Steve herds them into getting dressed and brushing their teeth and into their sneakers (and, in the three youngest kids' cases, leashes – although Thor could not be persuaded to take the cape off) and out the door. They are going to Central Park, as they do most weekends, and as a special treat, the zoo. The annual ROAR! pride event is on, and Steve knows that Thor will love it.

They reach the subway and crowd into a relatively empty car. The sight of so many rowdy children in the same place has even the most jaded of New Yorkers edging away. Steve tries not to abuse his power, but the guarantee of relative personal space on any form of public transportation is too precious to use sparingly. The kids won't be prepubescent forever, after all.

When they emerge, the slight breeze is a welcome respite from the cloying heat of the subway. Thor whoops and tries to bolt, but Steve reels him back in.

“What've I told you about running away?” he scolds.

“Notta do it,” Thor mutters, kicking at the pavement. Loki and Peter watch gleefully.

“Am I in trouble?” Loki asks, knowing full well that he isn't.

“I don't know. Did you do something wrong?” Steve says, mock sternly.

“No!” Loki shouts.

“Nuh-uh,” Peter adds sagely.

“Then I guess you aren't.”

“C'mon, Steve!” Clint calls impatiently. He, Natasha, and Bruce are already halfway down the block.

“How come they gedda go ahead?” Thor whines.

“Because they look both ways when they cross the street,” Steve explains, and sets off after them.

The zoo is crowded and loud, as Steve had anticipated, but no one seems to mind. Peter, who'd started yawning in minutes, is being given a piggy back ride by Natasha. Steve smiles fondly at the pair of them. If Natasha had her way, Peter's feet would never touch the ground. Loki's less of a trooper, and is whining loudly about how he wants to get burgers, but Thor insists that they get their faces painted first. Bruce wants to visit the polar bear. Clint is pretending that he doesn't know them.

“We can't get burgers, Loki,” Steve sighs.

“Why not?” Loki asks petulantly.

“Cause we gotta get our faces pain'ed. Right, Steve?” Thor says.

“Yes, Thor. And we're getting lunch with Mr. Fury and Mr. Coulson afterward, remember?”

“Don't like Mr. Fury,” Loki mutters, crossing his arms.

“Well, maybe Fury doesn't like you, either,” Clint snaps. He never has much patience with Loki's moods.

Loki's face screws up and turns an ominous shade of red.

“Clint!” Steve hisses, scooping Loki up into his arms. Loki hides his face in his shoulder and releases an angry sob.

Clint looks guilty, but also too irritated to own up to it. He shoves his hands in his pockets and stalks off. Steve groans, torn between his frustration and his reluctance to make a scene.

Natasha sets Peter on the ground and hands Steve his leash. “I'll stay with him,” she assures him, and follows him.

“Meet us by the sea lions!” he calls, and watches them vanish from sight in moments. The zoo has gotten even more packed since they arrived – perhaps a celebrity is making an appearance?

“Less get our faces pain'ed,” Thor insists.

“Let's go see the polar bear first,” Steve says. “Bruce, thank you for waiting so patiently.”

“Yessss!” Bruce says, and then smiles apologetically at Thor.

Steve sets Loki down, takes Bruce's hand, and sets off for the polar bear habitat.

-

There's a huge crowd of reporters and gaping bystanders and people in suits carrying concealed weapons in the central garden. This celebrity is a bigger deal than he thought. Steve knew he should've gone the long way around.

Bruce stops dead. Steve looks down at him, confused. “Bruce?”

“That's... that's Tony Stark.”

Steve looks over the crowd. He blinks once. Twice. That's definitely Tony Stark.

He's less than twenty feet away, speaking with a redheaded woman and a hulking bodyguard, both of whom seem thoroughly exasperated. Starstruck zoo employees watch him from a distance, as if he's one of the animals they care for. The people in suits are busy keeping everyone behind one of those fabric partition things you see in movie theaters.

Peter tugs on his pant leg. “Say hi?”

“You want to say hi to Mr. Stark?” Steve asks. Peter nods, staring up at him imploringly with huge brown eyes. “Uh – ”

“Can we, please? Can we, can we, can we?” Bruce begs, joining Peter in the pleading puppy eyes. Thor is straining at his leash, trying to rush off in pursuit of the latest thing to catch his attention. Loki just looks bored.

“I don't think we're allowed to – ”

Bruce, showing an impressive flair for Machiavellian manipulation, switches his attention to the weakest link.

“Thor, if we go say hi to that guy in the sunglasses, we can go get our faces painted right away.”

Thor doesn't even acknowledge Bruce's words. He just bolts. It's so sudden that Steve is taken by surprise, and the leash

slips

through

his

fingers –

“Thor!” Steve shouts, but he's off like a shot, darting through a forest of legs and bursting from under the partition like only an escaped child in a cape can.

Steve pushes the two remaining leashes into a shocked Bruce's hands, ordering, “Stay put,” and muscles his way through the crowd. The bodyguards move to stop him from following, but one look at the expression on his face makes them think better of it.

He strides into the courtyard and snatches Thor from where he's hugging a bemused Tony Stark's leg and babbling excitedly.

“Thor, never do that again, do you hear me? Never,” Steve orders, quiet but stern.

Thor's grin fades when he realizes that Steve's angry at him. “But Bruce said – ”

“That doesn't mean you should run off like that!” Steve says.

“'m sorry,” Thor says quietly. “Won't do it again.”

“You better not, kiddo,” Steve says, clutching Thor to his chest, his heart pounding almost as hard as when he'd been in combat.

Someone clears their throat.

Steve abruptly remembers where he is.

He scrambles to his feet, Thor balanced on one hip. Tony Stark looks back at him, expression inscrutable behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

“Uh,” he says, swallowing convulsively. For a wild moment Steve considers pretending not to speak English, but then remembers that he'd been an unwilling audience to Steve scolding his charge for the past few minutes. “I am so, so sorry about this. I'll just – ” He makes a vague gesture back at the crowd and prepares to slink away with his tail between his legs.

“Don't worry about it, it's good PR,” Tony Stark drawls. “Besides, I've seen even more tasteless ways of getting my attention.” The bulky man sighs, and the redhead smacks his arm reprovingly, but neither of them seem to really doubt the assertion's veracity.

“My kid ran away, asshole!” Steve snaps, before he can think better of it. He smacks a hand over his mouth. “Er...”

Stark seems more incredulous than amused, at this point. “Riiight. While you were holding his leash. Exploiting a kid's pretty low, buddy.”

Steve can practically hear Bucky shouting at him to calm the fuck down, punk, not in front of everyone!, but he makes sure to put a conscientious hand over the underage ear that isn't pressed to his shoulder before he responds. “Oh, fuck you very much, buddy. I would never exploit my kids, and especially not to meet you, you conceited prick!” He turns to the redheaded lady and says, “Pardon my language, ma'am,” then turns on his heel and strides away.

-

“I can't believe you got into an argument with Tony Stark,” Bruce moans, his head in his hands.

Steve fidgets uncomfortably, doing his best to ignore Clint and Nick's hysterical laughter. Even Phil and Natasha are fighting smiles.

Steve, simultaneously furious and mortified, had beaten a hasty retreat from the park after getting Thor's face painted. They'd met up with Phil and Nick at the restaurant where Steve worked (and got an employee discount; he wouldn't be able to afford it, otherwise). They even made burgers here, so hopefully Loki would be appeased.

“I say the asshole deserved it,” Nick chortles. (“Language!” Phil chides.) “We've both worked with him before; he's more full of himself than a matryoshka doll just cause his daddy was a bigshot in the war and he keeps coming up with increasingly inventive ways to kill people.”

“Let's not talk about this during Thor's birthday, okay? We all know your opinions on Tony Stark, Nick,” Phil says. He smiles at the pathetically grateful look Steve sends him. “Let's just enjoy ourselves.”

And they do. Nick and Phil give Thor an expensive toy helicopter that makes Steve feel cheap in comparison, but he thanks them profusely. This is Thor's big day, and Steve doesn't want to ruin it more than he already has.

Thor is so delighted that he first hugs the present, and then the pair of them. Nick's surprised, slightly uncomfortable expression just about makes Steve's day.

They say goodbye to Nick and Phil in the hall and return to their apartment, afterward, for homemade cupcakes. Thor gets a candle in the shape of a five in his, which is slightly bigger than the rest, and starts to cry when they sing happy birthday to him. While he rocks a sobbing Thor declaring that “Th-this is the b-best day eheheveeer!,” Steve dares to hope that he's getting the hang of this parenting thing.

Chapter Text

Steve is not getting the hang of this parenting thing. If anything, this parenting thing is getting the hang of him.

Clint is furious and screaming, as is Natasha. They rarely fight, but when they do, it's explosive. They've already broken two plates and a lamp between them, and judging by the shattering sound from Clint's room, it won't stop there. Bruce is locked in the bathroom working on his book report, which was assigned two weeks ago and he just started today. All of his shoes are full of what he hopes is mud from Thor and Loki's latest prank, and the two are both hiding somewhere in order to avoid both him and the fight. Peter has an ear infection and won't stop crying.

Steve might be crying, too. He honestly can't tell.

He bursts out of his apartment, an inconsolable Peter clinging to him like a limpet, and raps loudly and repeatedly on Nick and Phil's door. They might not be home, due to their government jobs that they're always purposefully vague about, but Steve is not prepared to face that reality just yet.

Nick opens the door, his face promising death. Steve almost kisses him.

“Nick! Thank god,” Steve exclaims. He must look a sight, judging by the expression on his neighbor's face. “Can you come over and help me?”

Nick recoils. Steve grabs him and hauls him back to his apartment with all the manic strength of a person who has been around six unruly children for a prolonged period of time, and Nick fights back with all the strength of a person being pulled into the midst of six unruly children, but Steve is more desperate so he wins.

His eye goes wide in horror at the war zone that is Steve's apartment. It's almost flattering. Natasha and Clint murdered the potted plant while he was out, and Thor and Loki are busy dismembering it all over the living room carpet. Bruce is yelling mispronounced obscenities at his homework in the bathroom. Peter is still sobbing in his ear.

“Could you break up the skirmish and help Bruce with his assignment while I put these three to bed?” Steve says, not waiting for a reply. He strides over to to the pair of troublemakers (currently frozen in terror) and says, in his captain voice, “Bed. Now.”

They scamper off without argument. Steve will discipline them later, when poor Peter isn't in so much pain. He strides into the bedroom and sets the kid down on the bed that is ostensibly his, even though Natasha will almost certainly steal him from it later. He gives him his evening dose of medicine and sings him to sleep with a scratchy rendition of “Rock Lobster.” (Peter has strange tastes.)

When he reemerges, an uneasy silence reigns. Bruce has fallen asleep at the kitchen table on top of a finished book report. Nick sits beside him with his head in his hands. No one else is anywhere in sight, although Steve is mostly sure that Loki and Thor are asleep by now.

“Nick?” Steve calls softly, so as not to wake Bruce up. Nick's head rises slowly, a mixture of resentment, awe, and bone deep exhaustion etched into his face.

“One,” he says, raising an index finger, “Never make me do that again. Two,” up goes the next finger, “how the hell do you do this every day?”

“It's usually not this bad,” Steve says ruefully. “Sorry to drag you into it, I was just feeling a little overwhelmed. Where are Clint and Natasha?”

“Nat went down the fire escape before I could stop her and Clint's in the vents,” Nick mutters.

“She'll be back by midnight. House rules.” Steve gently scoops Bruce up. He's getting a little too big for this. He goes up to the air vent and calls, “Would you mid staying up till Nat gets home?” and receives an affirmative thump in reply. “Thanks.”

He puts Bruce to bed, thankfully not waking his foster brothers, and when he gets out Nick has vanished.

“Asshole,” he says fondly, and pulls on his uniform for his next shift.

–

Steve works at an upscale restaurant as a bartender most nights. Tonight is especially important, as someone unfathomably rich has rented out the entire thing for a huge party for other unfathomably rich people. Steve and his coworkers have been anticipating the tips for weeks.

He gets there at nine and gets to serving the last evening rush before the party. Darcy, one of the cooks, snags him during a lull.

“Steve!” she hisses, pulling him into the ladies' restroom. Steve makes an “eep” sound and covers his eyes. “Oh, shut up, you're pretty enough to be welcome here. Anyway, is it true that Tony Stark hit one of your kids?”

“What?” Steve yelps, forgoing keeping his eyes covered in favor of staring at Darcy like she just asked him if he cried during sex and if she could watch (again). A lady washing her hands gives him a dirty look and mutters “pervert” under her breath when he smiles apologetically at her.

“From all the pictures and shit on the internet!” Darcy says impatiently.

“Pictures? What pictures?” Steve asks, confused.

She looks at him analytically. “You don't get much down time, do you, gramps.” She whips out her smart phone even though technically she's supposed to keep it in the break room and shoves it in his face.

Steve takes it gingerly, wary of accidentally hurting it somehow, and then there's him, snatching an upset Thor from Tony Stark. He scrolls through the pictures of their altercation and the related article gleefully speculating over what Stark did to deserve such ire from the –

“What's a DILF?” Steve asks.

Darcy goes shifty-eyed. “Nothing you need to worry about, gorgeous,” she says, and smacks his ass. “Anyway, so what happened? Is it gonna be awkward when he shows up?

“He accused me of exploiting Thor just to get a photo op with him,” Steve snorts, and then, “Wait . . . what do you mean, 'when he shows up?'”

“Oh, honey,” Darcy sighs, shaking her head at him. “If my ass was that perfect, I suppose I'd keep my head wedged in there, too. I'll even join in, if you want.”

Steve is about to ask her if that's an insult or a come-on when she explains. “Tony Stark is the one who rented this place out for the night, smart one.”

“Oh my god,” Steve whimpers, hiding his face in his hands. “Holy fuck.”

“I know, right?” Darcy cackles. “He's probably suuuuper pissed, too, what with all the conspiracy theorists insinuating that Thor's actually his kid and that you're his secret ex-husband – ”

“Stop,” he begs. How did he not hear about this sooner? No wonder Phil and Nick keep snickering whenever someone mentions Tony Stark. He's so fucked he might as well become a porn star.

Steve peeks at Darcy through his fingers. “Do you know anything about mixing cocktails?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn't miss this for anything in the world,” Darcy says.

“I hate you,” he declares, and about-faces out of the ladies' room, only to come face-to-face with a woman he now recognizes as Pepper Potts.

Chapter Text

They stare at each other for a long moment.

Ms. Potts's eyes flicker to the door he just emerged from, and then back to his face.

“I – ” Steve attempts, but stops himself. There is no rationalizing this situation, especially to a person who already thinks the worst of him.

“Virginia Potts,” she says coolly, not bothering to extend her hand, “I believe that we met at the zoo earlier. May I have a word with you?”

“Um.”

Darcy chooses that moment to explode out of the bathroom. “We aren't done here, Steve – !” She stops when she sees Ms. Potts, her eyes widening.

Ms. Potts's eyes narrow further, flickering between the pair of them and drawing the most obvious conclusion. “Come with me, sir,” she orders, her tone freezing.

Steve does. It's almost reflexive, even though he was discharged close to a year ago, now.

They weave through the crowd of disgruntled customers being herded out as quickly as possible. Someone has set up huge speakers at various points around the restaurant, presumably to ensure a total lack of audible conversation anywhere. Steve frowns; he does not want to lose the limited hearing he has, thank you very much.

“Pepper, where the hell is the bartender, I need alcohol – holy shit, it's you.”

“Ergh,” Steve says.

Tony Stark stares back at him from behind a pair of wraparound shades (it's 10:30 at night and indoors, what a douchebag). He turns to Ms. Potts and demands, “What the hell did you bring him here for?”

“I work here,” Steve says, before he can think better of it. Stark's head turns very slowly towards him, eyebrows raised high above his sunglasses, as if Steve had just spit on his shoes.

“Pepper, make him disappear, I don't care what you have to do – ”

“You can't kick me out of my own workplace – ”

“Watch me.”

“Tony!” Pepper hisses, “This is not going to get us back in the media's good graces.” People are starting to stare, and they don't just recognize Stark. They're pointing and whispering at Steve, too, and some people have their phones out.

Stark immediately adopts a large, plastic grin, and favors the onlookers with a peace sign, and mutters, “Show us to a private room.”

Steve complies grudgingly, if only because he's pretty sure his boss is watching. He takes them to the smallest, most cramped room out of childish spite, and realizes that he needs more adult friends.

Stark pokes at the hideous settee and wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Don't you have a better room?”

“All reserved,” Steve says curtly.

“Yeah, by me.”

“Mr. Stark, now is not the time,” Ms. Potts says, settled primly on a plush armchair. She turns to Steve. “Now, Mr. . . .”

“Rogers,” Steve says.

“Mr. Rogers, we have a proposition for you.”

“What about?”

“The Neighborhood of Make-Believe,” Stark says snidely.

“The things being said about Mr. Stark after your encounter in the zoo have reflected badly on both him and Stark Industries,” Ms. Potts says, ignoring Stark with the ease of long practice. “We'd like to correct any misconceptions that have been caused.”

Steve snorts, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. Stark's eyes linger on his forearms, and Steve feels a twist in his gut that he writes off as nerves. “It's not like you and the media get along well to begin with.”

“There's having an affair with John Barrowman and then there's being mean to a kid,” Stark says.

“Moving on,” Ms. Potts says, “We'd like you and your family to spend time in public with Mr. Stark, so that any rumors can be cleared up.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I don't want my kids anywhere near him.”

“It's not like I'm thrilled about being around the brats, either.”

Steve straightens. “What the fuck did you just say about my kids, you piece of shit?”

Ms. Potts stands up. “Not another word,” she warns Stark. “Happy!”

The hulking bodyguard from before comes through the door and shoulders between them and Steve.

“If you think I'm letting you anywhere near my kids, you've got another thing coming,” Steve growls, glaring at Stark over “Happy's” shoulder.

“Mr. Stark would be on his best behavior and you will be supervised at all times,” Ms. Potts says. “And you will be reimbursed for your troubles. A thousand dollars per appearance in public, until this all dies down.”

Steve's eyes widen marginally. He could get his kids so much stuff – bikes, new clothes, maybe even a pet. Clint and Bruce loved dogs.

“. . . Let me think about it.”

“Of course,” Ms. Potts says smoothly. She makes a subtle gesture, and Happy relaxes his stance. Stark is pouting like Loki does when denied a treat. “Call this number when you've decided.” She hands him her business card.

They stand in awkward silence for a moment, Stark still reclined on the lime green sofa. Music suddenly blasts through the open door and the sound proof walls, and everyone winces. Steve can feel the bass juddering his teeth.

“All right, let's go!” Stark shouts, barely audible, and Steve flees to the bar.

The rest of the night is a blur of drunken patrons and music so loud that his bones ache with it. Even ear plugs do nothing to block out the noise. He stumbles home at two a.m., pockets stuffed with enough cash to cover the ear surgery he undoubtedly needs, and collapses onto his sleeping bag without even taking off his shoes.

Chapter Text

Steve avoids addressing the issue for two days. He's never been very good at ignoring his problems, so he ends up mulling it over anyway. He decides that, as long as everyone is willing, the money is too good to give up. He calls a meeting when he comes home that evening, just as it's starting to get dark. Peter, Loki, and Thor, already dressed for bed, are ecstatic that they get to stay up later than usual.

“So, everybody . . .” Steve begins, and waits for them to quiet down. “I've been given an opportunity to make a lot of money, but I want to make sure that you're all okay with it first.”

“You planning on whoring us out or something?” Clint asks jokingly, but there is a tension in his shoulders and a wariness in Natasha's eyes that hurts him.

“Of course not,” he says seriously, a pained twist to his mouth, “You know that I would never hurt any of you. Don't say things like that, especially in front of the kids.”

Clint ducks his head, shamefaced. Natasha, not so easily swayed, just narrows her eyes at him. Steve gives her a wan smile.

“I want to know if you'd all be okay with spending some time with Mr. Stark.”

Bruce looks up from his book in the way a dog does when it hears the word walk. “You mean he forgave you?!”

“More like he's begging me to forgive him,” Steve mutters, put out by Bruce's continued idolization of the asshole. “Anyway, he wants the public to know that he isn't a rabid child hater, so he's paying all of us to spend time with him until the stuff that happened in the zoo is forgotten about.”

“Wha' happen inna zoo?” Peter asks.

“People think you're Stark's love child,” Clint informs him. Natasha smacks him, ignoring his indignant yelp, and covers Peter's ears.

“Anyway, he'll give us a thousand dollars for each public appearance with him – ”

“I'm in,” Clint says immediately.

“We're gonna hang out with Tony Stark,” Bruce sighs, a dreamy smile on his face.

“Well, only if everyone else agrees – ” Steve says, realizing that he'd hoped that they'd unanimously disagree so that he wouldn't have to spend more time around Stark than absolutely necessary.

Thor and Loki chorus their agreement, Peter cheering with them even though he isn't old enough to completely grasp what's going on. Natasha just shrugs.

Steve's shoulders slump. “Okay, then.”

-

Steve calls Miss Potts the next day to schedule a meeting. Her tone is cool, but she's professional enough to remain polite, even though she thinks that he's the type of person to exploit kids for attention and . . . canoodle in the women's restroom. They set the meeting for next week, an afternoon performance of a kid-friendly musical called Newsies.

Steve finds himself strangely nervous when the day of the outing dawns. He makes omelets and bacon and fruit salad at five in the morning and runs with Natasha for far longer than usual. She keeps up without complaint, but Steve feels horrible about it and sneaks her the last of the cookies while Bruce, jittery with nerves, is trying to decide what to wear. The rest of the kids stumble in over the next two hours, and complain about how cold everything is (except Peter, for whom Natasha always saves the best bits) without bothering to make use of the microwave.

After breakfast, all that is left to to is wait for noon, when a car will arrive to deliver them to Tony Stark. Peter babbles excitedly about the musical and the possibility of presents to an inattentive Natasha, who's playing tabletop football with Clint, Bruce locks himself in the bathroom again to perfect his toilette (Steve suspects a crush; he hopes that if he ignores it long enough, it'll go away), Loki and Thor play rock stars and sing the chorus of “Living on a Prayer” with some creative liberties taken with the wording, and Steve does dishes.

“Oh my god, would you stop,” Clint begs, after the sixth repetition of “We're makin' a square – ” “Ooo-oh, – ” “ – livin' onna dare!”

Loki pulls a gruesome face. Thor ignores him in favor of an air guitar solo.

Steve breaks that fight up before it begins, and assigns Peter the task of coaxing Bruce out of the bathroom. He slips into the smaller one and takes a quick shower, puts on his bartender uniform, which is the nicest thing he owns, and bullies Clint into a shirt with actual sleeves while the other three boys strive to impress Natasha with their recently gained ability to dress themselves.

Steve reemerges, tugging a recalcitrant Clint behind him, who quickly speeds up when he catches sight of Natasha in her one dress and heels that make Steve nervous, for both her ankles and everybody else's safety.

“Wow, you look like a girl,” Clint teases.

Natasha scowls and stomps swiftly on his foot. As he hops around, howling in pain, she says, “Girls are awesome. I'd be upset if I looked like you.”

“Natasha, don't seriously hurt people unless they deserve it!” Steve reprimands (he can't really advocate for total nonviolence without feeling like a hypocrite), and pushes Clint down on the couch before he can injure himself further.

“I didn't stomp that hard, he's just being a baby,” Natasha says. “I didn't even use the heel.”

Steve shucks Clint's sock and shoe. His foot is fine, but his big toe is a little red. He carefully flexes it, but Clint doesn't notice as he hollers at Natasha.

“You're fine, buddy,” Steve says drily.

“No, I'm not! I should stay home and rest, just to make sure it isn't broken,” Clint insists.

“It's my fault, I should nurse him,” Natasha volunteers, abruptly contrite.

“You're not getting out of this,” Steve says. “Aren't you excited to hang out with a celebrity?”

“No,” they say in unison.

“He's obnoxious,” Natasha states.

“And an asshole,” Clint adds.

“Whenever I see him I want to rip out his stupid goatee.”

“And smash his frat boy sunglasses.”

“You're a frat boy.”

“Am not!”

“You tear the sleeves off everything you own!”

“Th-that's not the same thing!”

“All right, all right, you've made your point,” Steve interrupts.

“So we don't have to go?” Natasha says.

“Not on your life.”

“Loud music is probably bad for my hearing aids,” Clint tries.

“I have hearing aids, that won't work,” Steve says firmly. “You agreed to this; you're going, or none of us are.”

“Yes, captain,” Natasha mutters under her breath. Steve doesn't rise to the bait; you have to choose your battles, and with Natasha it is wisest to choose none.

His cellphone rings; Steve braces himself and answers it. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Rogers, this is Virginia Potts. Mr. Stark and I are waiting outside, so if you'd just come down?”

“Of course. We'll be down in a few minutes.”

“Good,” she says, and hangs up.

Steve glares at the speaker, affronted, and then flips it shut. “Okay, kiddos, we're heading down now. Bruce,” he calls, “get out of the bathroom, he's here.”

The door explodes open, nearly hitting Peter, and a blur of brown hair and too-big blazer zooms out the door.

“Bruce!” Steve yells, but Clint is already chasing after him. He and Natasha corral the other kids, which takes longer than it should (Thor and Loki had been playing ninja), and then they rush down the hallway to the elevator.

They exit the building and make a beeline for the largest, most ostentatious car they can find (Stark obviously has something to prove). Steve knocks on the tinted window.

It rolls down slowly. Sure enough, Stark is wearing shades. At least the sun's up, this time.

“Have you seen Clint and Bruce? Bruce was so excited to meet you that he ran for it once he heard you were there.”

Steve can feel the raised eyebrow as well as see it. “Your children want to run away from you a lot.”

He grits his teeth and glares. Stark just grins, all teeth and no mirth.

“I found him!” Clint shouts, emerging from the building, Bruce trailing sheepishly behind him. “He got too excited and threw up in the maintenance closet.”

“Clint,” Bruce whines, mortified.

“Whoa, whoa, I don't want the kid in my car if he's gonna puke,” Stark says sharply. Bruce visibly wilts, and hides behind a glaring Clint.

“Then you can get it fucking cleaned. You're a billionaire, asshole,” Natasha snarls, words dripping with venom.

“Mr. Stark, I don't think I want my younger kids coming along if that's how you'll speak to them,” Steve growls, placing himself squarely in front of his charges.

“Tony, that's enough,” Ms. Potts says sharply, from the far side of the car. “Mr. Rogers, I assure you that he'll be on his best behavior from now on.”

“So long as you and your kids are on yours,” Stark mutters.

“Fine,” he grits, and ushers his subdued kids and steaming teens into the car. It's long, not quite a limo but pretty close, so there is enough room for all of them. They even provided the car seats for Thor, Loki and Peter that Steve had asked for.

“All right,” Stark announces, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. He is suddenly oozing charisma. “Who's ready for a day out with Tony Stark?”

Chapter Text

The car ride is exceedingly awkward, despite Ms. Potts's best efforts to break the icy silence of Steve, Clint, and Natasha, and the wary mistrust of the younger kids. Stark had stopped trying within thirty seconds of his first attempt.

“Mr. Stark?” Bruce asks abruptly.

Stark jolts, as if he wasn't aware they could talk. “What's up, little man?”

“I promise I'll try not to vomit again. I'm sorry.”

Stark winces. “Uh – ”

“Oh, honey, it's fine. Mr. Stark was just nervous about meeting you,” Ms. Potts soothes.

“Really?” Bruce says wonderingly, wide-eyed. He turns to Stark, who Ms. Potts elbows in the sternum.

“Yeah . . . Brian, I was just so excited to meet you. Your dad told me so much about you,” Stark offers.

Bruce goes white. “You met my dad?” he whispers.

Ms. Potts hisses something in his ear, but Steve glares Stark into silence, even as he says, “No, he never met your father, Bruce, he meant me, he thinks that I'm your dad. Your dad can never find you again, okay?”

Bruce nods slowly, eyes bright, and asks, “That's whatcha meant, right, Mr. Stark?”

“O-of course,” he says. “I'm sorry for the assumption.”

Stark is subdued the rest of the ride over, but Steve thinks he catches him staring at both him and Bruce a couple of times – it's hard to tell, with the sunglasses.

There's a (probably prearranged) crowd of paparazzi and groupies in front of the theater. Happy and a couple other uniformed people clear a pathway through the crowd. The kids and Steve hurry after them, spooked by the noise and the number of people, but Peter still smiles shyly and waves for the camera. Stark parades after them, totally in his element, but then there's a shout and a thump and Clint wearing a shit-eating grin, foot still extended. Ms. Potts, coming up behind them, looks both amused and horrified.

“Clint,” Steve chokes, but he's already helping Stark up, the pair of them sporting identical rictus grins. He's half-afraid that they might bite each other.

They all shuffle into a private box. A wealth of refreshments and a couple of folding chairs are produced by starstruck theater employees, but both Steve and Ms. Potts end up standing in the back with Happy.

The excited shouts and whispers and pointed fingers eventually die down, the theater goes dark, and the play begins.

-

After the show, Stark treats them all in a high-end diner, then takes them to FAO Schwarz and tells the kids to pick out as many toys as they want. The younger kids scatter, and Steve and Natasha spend the better part of two hours rounding them all up. Each of them are laden with paraphernalia that will make picking up after them a living hell, so he sternly makes them pick out two each. The deliberation takes another half hour, and then they demand a Ferris wheel ride.

Steve and Natasha eventually get the boys to the register, only to find that Clint has been pulling Stark along and making him purchase all the most ridiculously expensive things he could find. The look that Stark gives him would scrape the bark off the tree, if he wasn't wearing his idiotic sunglasses, but he keeps his promise and buys everything, all of which Steve ends up carrying. He suspects that that was the only reason he agreed in the first place.

As Steve staggers out the door on his last trip (Happy still doesn't offer any aid), Stark pulls him to the side.

“Whuh?” he grunts, arms straining with exertion. (Did Clint really need to buy the five-foot M&M statue? He was pretty sure the thing wasn't even for sale.)

“Listen, I'm sorry about the thing with . . . Bri – ”

“Bruce.”

“Right, Bruce, that's what I was gonna say. Anyway, I'm sorry that I upset him.” He hesitates. “Are they . . . are they all fosters?”

“Yup,” Steve wheezes. He can feel his pulse in his eyeballs.

Stark deliberates for a moment, then blurts, “He's a great kid. Please tell him I'm sorry about his dad.”

“Doesn't need the reminder.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Stark abruptly notices the color that his face has turned. “Here, let me – help with that.”

The two of them manage to haul the thing back to the limo and load it in the back. (Clint makes an apologetic face when he gets in the car, but Steve knows the little shit was howling with laughter a moment earlier.) They're dropped off with all their new stuff, and Steve pushes the encounter with Stark out of his mind and applies himself to the task of getting everything into the apartment and four overexcited kids to bed.

Chapter Text

The next morning (Steve works the early shifts when he can), Nick ambushes him in the hallway.

“What the hell is this, Rogers?” he barks, thrusting an iPad into his face.

Steve, still bleary with sleep, squints a little and hazards a guess. “A really big iPhone?”

Nick's sigh can only be described as eloquent. “No, Steve. I'm asking what you and all the kids were doing on a date with Tony Stark!”

One of the other tenants, a soft spoken young woman named Jane (who Thor has a crush on), sends them a strange look as she passes by. Steve gives her a polite “good morning.” Nick just ignores her.

“It wasn't a date, and Stark wants to get back in the good graces of the media after our . . . encounter in the zoo. He offered us a lot of money.” Nick blinks, unimpressed. “The kids are okay with it, too! Mostly. I don't think I'll bring Bruce along anymore, after how Stark treated him.”

“What did that son of a bitch do?” Nick snarls.

Steve decides not to air out all his grievances with Stark, if only because he's pretty sure that Nick will use his shadowy government job to make Stark's life as difficult as possible. “He talked about his father. He didn't know it wasn't me.”

“Still no excuse,” Nick mutters, but relaxes slightly. “Is Bruce okay?”

“He's a little shaken up, but I gave Natasha money for ice cream so that all the kids can have a treat after school.”

Nick nods once, hesitates, and claps him on the shoulder. “Tread lightly around that guy.”

Steve nods, wishes Nick good day, and hurries off for his first shift.

Things seem subtly off all day. He notices a lot of stares and whispers. Steve bikes around enough delivering takeout that he's never in one place too long, but he ends up drawing attention to himself more often than not. One of the people he delivers a pizza to even asks to take a “selfie” with him.

That evening at dinner (Steve always makes a point to be present for it, even if he has to take late shifts), the kids seem oddly subdued.

“Everything all right?” Steve asks. None of them answer or meet his eyes. He sets down his knife and fork. “What's wrong?”

Surprisingly, it's Natasha who speaks up first. “At the ice cream parlor, some people recognized us.”

“Some asshole must've called a tabloid or somethin',” Clint growls, hunched over, hands flexing spasmodically in his lap.

“Then outside there were a lotta people wif cameras an' dey ast a lotta questions 'bout Mr. Stark,” Thor says. “They on'y letted us go affer Petey started cryin'.”

Steve takes a moment to calm the wave of protective rage in his chest, then orders: “Clint, you put Loki and Thor to bed,” even though it can't be later than 7 o'clock. He gets up without a word, Thor and Loki scrambling after him a moment later. Natasha takes her cue and retreats into her room with Peter balanced on her hip. He's a little too big now for her to carry comfortably, but that doesn't stop her. Bruce gets up and follows her, wisely choosing to avoid Clint while he's in this mood.

Steve snatches up the land line phone sitting on the counter. He has a couple of calls to make.

-

“Why can't we see Mr. Stark again?! That's not fair!”

“Yeah, he always gets us way better stuff th'n you!”

The barb stings, but Steve doesn't show it. “Remember what happened at the ice cream parlor? I don't want more things like that to happen to you.”

“How's that Mr. Stark's fault?” Bruce asks, just as mutinous as the screaming toddlers backing him up. Even Peter is crying, though Steve isn't sure if it's because he wants to see Stark again or if the yelling has upset him.

“It's not his fault, but more and more of those people will start harassing you kids if you keep spending time with him. I want to limit that as much as I can.”

“You're jus' shellfish!” Loki howls, red in the face, looking as angry as a three-year-old can be, “You jus' wanna keep alla presents to yourself! You're just mad we like him more'n you! I wish I lived with Mr. Stark an' not you!” He runs into his room, Thor following. The door slams behind them.

“They're right, you know,” Bruce says, his own eyes bright with tears. Steve's head jerks up. He can understand such behavior from his youngest three, but not Bruce, his sweet angel, his little genius – “You can't just stop us from hanging out with him 'cuz you're mad that he's cooler than you!” He runs to the bathroom and locks the door behind him.

Steve sits heavily on the couch and puts his head in his hands.

“S... Steve?” Clint says, almost timidly. Peter's crying has faded, so it's likely that Natasha is calming him down in another room. “You okay?”

“Yeah, 'm fine, kiddo,” Steve responds thickly, hating his own weakness, hating that any of his kids would ever feel the need to comfort him.

“What they said just now . . . they didn't mean it. Even Bruce.”

He's silent for a moment, then says, “It's getting late. You better work on your math homework. Call if you need help, okay?”

“. . . Okay.” Clint goes to get his binder. All of the kids' book bags are lined up neatly in the hall, by their shoes. Bruce's bag has a Stark Industries logo on it.

Steve sits on his couch, twenty minutes late for his next shift, and tries very hard not to cry.

Chapter Text

The kids bounce back quickly, in the way that kids do. Within the week Bruce is already cheerful again, waking up early to help Steve with the breakfast like the argument had never happened, although he and Loki grow sullen whenever Stark's name is mentioned. Natasha has Peter give Steve a big hug and a kiss the morning after the ice cream incident, which honestly helps a lot. She and Clint are still trying too hard to go easy on him, but they'll go back to normal soon enough.

Steve tells himself that the fact that Bruce is comfortable enough to say such things is a marked sign of progress – every family has fights, and he's clashed with all of the kids before. He tells himself that his hurt is childish and unnecessary. All he gains is disgust with himself for being so sensitive when it becomes clear that Bruce is not planning on apologizing.

They have two blissful, harmonious weeks without any fighting or whining or crying – and then Phil and Nick announce that they're planning to adopt.

Steve is happy for his friends, because Phil is over the moon and Nick is too, just better at hiding it. They are in the process of adopting a ten-year-old transgender girl named Maria, whom Peggy had recently removed from an abusive home. Steve's glad; Peggy had called earlier about her, fretting over how hard it was to get transgender children the support they needed, and Steve had (rashly) offered to take her in if there weren't any other acceptable options. In any case, he's sure that Natasha will like having another girl around the place.

“Christians,” snorts Nick, “Never fucking practice what they preach. Sometimes I think that they're the biggest problem in the world today.”

Steve ducks his head awkwardly. “Sorry.”

Nick looks puzzled, but Phil is mortified. “Oh, you're Christian?”

Steve nods. “Irish Catholic.” He pulls out his mother's silver cross, which shares a chain with his dog tags.

Nick raises a brow, unimpressed. “Will you accept Maria's identity or do we have to stop inviting you over?”

“Nick,” Phil hisses, but he glances at Steve warily, all the same.

“Of course we'll accept her!” Steve says, failing to keep the hurt out of his voice. “Just because I'm religious doesn't mean I'm an asshole. I'm bisexual, so I know how it feels to be attacked for something that can't be controlled, and I'd appreciate it if you made assumptions based on my character rather than my religion.”

Nick blinks, almost chastened. Phil blurts “You're bi?!” and turns red once his words register.

“Ye-es?” Steve says.

“This one would've left me long ago if he knew that,” Nick jokes, startling a laugh out of Steve, and Phil flushes even more.

They part on friendly, if slightly awkward, terms, and Steve prepares to share the good news. The kids will be delighted!

-

The kids are not delighted.

Steve announces their new neighbor with the expectation of excitement and the typical flood of questions. What he gets is underwhelming. Clint just grunts in acknowledgment, not even looking up from his lasagna. Natasha stares at him, unreadable. Bruce frowns into his apple juice. Loki pushes his plate away and Thor crosses his arms. Peter babbles something that only Natasha fully understands, ignoring him completely.

“C'mon, guys, aren't you happy for your uncles? And you'll have a new playmate!” Steve cajoles. “We should be glad that they're starting a family, too.”

Thor mutters something.

“Sorry?” Steve says.

“He didn't say anything,” Clint says tightly. “I'm going to bed.” He pushes his chair back with more force than necessary.

“Me, too,” says Bruce. The others follow suit, until Steve is left alone with six unfinished plates of lasagna and the distinct impression that he said something wrong.

-

Maria arrives on a Thursday morning. Steve doesn't hear about it until the two hours he has set aside for dinner with the kids.

“Nuncle Phil an' Nick gotta new daughter!” Thor babbles excitedly. “Her name's Maria and she's ten an' she's real pretty.”

“Thor's gotta cruuuush,” Loki sings. Thor hits him, and Loki hits back, so Steve's attention momentarily strays while he's breaking that up.

“So how did you meet her?” Steve asks Thor, once he's at the other end of the table from his brother.

“I saw 'er inna hallway and she helped me find my cape!” Thor enthuses. “She's real nice an' super smart, like a genius! She even skipped secon' grade!”

Steve smiles at Thor's delight, which seems to have infected Loki and Peter. Bruce, Clint, and Natasha remain unmoved, but he's sure that once they meet her they'll come out of whatever funk they're in.

That weekend, he sets up a visit with Nick and Phil so that the kids can properly meet their newest neighbor. Nick makes it very clear that he will not tolerate any misbehavior from them while Maria is still settling in. Steve does not, under any circumstances, want to out her, but he still feels he should talk to the kids.

“Okay, guys, I just want to remind you to be on your best behavior when we go to meet Maria,” Steve reminds.

“I already met 'er!” Thor says proudly, and is shushed by Bruce.

“Yes, Thor, but we have to remember to be polite, okay? Maria is still getting used to her new home. Try not to make her feel uncomfortable or afraid.”

His older three can already tell that he isn't telling them everything, so Steve ducks his head to avoid their inquiring stares. He hopes that they'll be discreet if they do notice that Maria was not assigned female at birth, or that they just won't at all. He wonders if not telling them was really the right decision.

Steve leads his motley procession down the hall, praying that nothing will go wrong. Nick greets them at the door with his usual glare, but the kids are by now immune. Steve wishes he could say the same.

“Hey, kids!” Phil says easily. “Maria's still getting ready, but can I get you anything while you wait?”

“Cookies!”

“Juice!”

“I want milk.”

“Just water's fine.”

Phil fulfills their demands with an indulgent smile, slipping Steve a beer, as well. Before they can scatter, Steve says, “What do you say?”

“Thank you!” they chorus, and they tumble into the den, where they usually gather during these visits.

Phil catches him by the arm before he can follow, and asks in an undertone, “How much did you tell them?”

“I said to be polite and make her feel welcome. I figured that she'd want to decide whether to tell them or not.” Steve chews on his lip anxiously, and before he can stop himself, he asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

Phil softens. “No, Steve. I'm sorry if we've been . . . harsh, the past few days. We're just very invested in making Maria feel safe here.”

Steve just nods, cheeks burning with embarrassment, feeling very young. Phil gives him another gentle smile, and says, “Do you want to meet Maria now?”

Steve nods, smiling back. “I'd love to.”