The Parent (Figure) Trap

Once upon a time, Brooklyn was the home for queers, independent Omegas and women, and people of color. The state of New York didn’t recognize same sex Alpha/Omega marriages, but any church in Brooklyn would let a queer Alpha/Omega couple get married there, anyway. The local communities were welcoming and open. The police were in the pockets of the local mobs, which were respectful enough of everyone else that the queer bars could spill out onto the street and nobody batted an eye. You would regularly see said local mobs doing the jobs of the police where the police were too fat and lazy and/or prejudiced to do it. The fucking Communist and Socialist Parties were widely accepted if not flat out encouraged. It was a haven.

2017 doesn’t see Brooklyn in the same light. Things have been gentrified and the fences all whitewashed. The factories that were run by immigrants and people of color have either been torn down, converted to newer purposes by large corporations, or given a fresh coat of paint and turned into elite clubs and apartment buildings. Who would want to live in an old fishery, anyway?

Brooklyn is nothing like it was eighty years ago and the closest bet are the historic districts, which are just as elitist as the updated factories. But all the doctors say the more familiar, the better.

Steve buys a narrow, two-story brownstone near Prospect Park. There’s a tiny yard out front, covered by 7-foot wrought iron fences that look more decorative than functional. He actually buys it, drops a fat sum for the mortgage and pays it off and it's hardly a dent in his bank account. The house is small, but it’s fine for two people. He buys a bunch of furniture, pays a handful of people from the store to assemble and fluff the pillows. Someone else cleans the place and another person installs WiFi, cable, a landline, then after all of that, Tony notifies Steve that he and Dum-E stopped by to upgrade all the electronics and install a Butler Bot. Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him off for doing all that without permission, given the events of a year prior.

Sokovia lead to disagreements in the team, to the UN butting in, to the UN getting blown up and a hurt widower trying to take down the Avengers out of spite. Steve understood Zemo’s pain. He’d burned HYDRA to the ground when he lost Bucky in 1945 and he’d tried to burn the Army to the ground when he lost him in 1943 and he’d been about to burn down SHIELD when he found out HYDRA and his mate had been there all along in 2014. 

Then Tony had wanted Bucky dead for the death of his mother. Steve had understood that, too, his mother’s death when he was young left him bitter for a long time. Tony had blamed Bucky the same way Steve had blamed all the sick people in New York. But for Tony, he didn’t really understand where Steve was coming from. It had been a secret so long that it was second nature to lie about what Bucky meant to him; it took a lot for him to admit the truth. “Put yourself in our shoes,” he’d said to Tony. “What would you do if it was Pepper?”

That had been that.

The house is quiet when Steve unlocks the front door. He steps inside, through a small brick entryway, and into the hallway beyond. Bucky follows him, his footsteps hardly making a sound. Steve drops his keys onto a little table by the doorway as Bucky looks around.

“It’s nice,” Bucky says.

“It’s a bit more than we had,” Steve starts. “Before…”

Bucky nods absently as he wanders towards the end of the hallway, looking into the living room to the left and towards the kitchen ahead. Steve lingers by the door.

“The decorator said she’d make it vintage,” he offers. “I don’t know if anything’s really accurate, though.”

Bucky shrugs. He turns back again and crosses the hall back towards the foot of the stairs. Without another word, he takes the first step and heads to the second floor, his footsteps now muffled by the carpet. Steve slides his bag off his shoulder and drops it by the hallway table, then just stands there.

The greater the familiarity, the better, Bucky’s doctors said. But nothing there felt familiar to Steve. He really doubted it would.

“Which room is yours?” Bucky calls from upstairs.

Steve drops his gaze to the floor, trying not to feel like his heart was breaking.

“The one in the back,” he answers. “By the office.”

Upstairs, a door shuts. Steve guesses it’s the master bedroom. Bucky will hopefully be unpacking, making the place feel familiar to him. That’s really all that matters.

Steve takes his bag and goes upstairs, too. He goes to the second, smaller bedroom and puts his duffle bag down by a dresser. He sits down on the bed and tugs down the neck of his shirt to rub at the patch over his scent gland with a grimace. The numbing effect of the scent-blocker/suppressant medicine is not as effective as it could be and the plastic always makes him itch. If he could take higher doses of the oral drug, he would, but he’s already taking enough for three grown men. 

Steve hears the door to the master bedroom open, then a moment later, the bathroom. The bathroom door shuts again, then faintly, he hears the lock clicking. He doesn’t hear Bucky’s footsteps in between.

Things have to feel familiar for Bucky. That’s what matters. He remembers the couch in their old apartment and the tiles in the bathroom their whole floor shared. The wallpaper in the hallways, the color of the carpets. Steve’s made sure the present matches whatever memories Bucky has verbalized to him.

Bucky does not remember them.

*

Steve gets up at 4 A.M. every day. He dresses in running gear and leaves by 4:15. He doesn’t come back until at least 6 A.M., and by then, Bucky has gotten up, gotten breakfast, and locked himself back in his room. On Tuesdays and Fridays, Bucky sits in the office to Skype with his therapist. On Wednesdays, Steve Skypes with her, as well, usually only to report what interactions he and Bucky have had. Now and then, he’ll leave a note on the fridge asking Steve to pick up more of this or that at the store.

That’s really most of their interactions. 

The air is getting colder come the start of August and Steve finds the scent gland patches getting more and more irritating. His doctor dismisses the concern and tells him just to stop wearing them. The world already knows Captain America has been an Omega this whole time and few people care at this point. Fox News will complain a few times a week, but that’s the worst of it. The Avengers are on hold as Tony works with the UN to re-write the Sokovia Accords to account for the shady shit Ross was trying to pull. SHIELD is coming back under Agent Coulson’s direction, but Steve has nothing to do with them anymore.

He really has nothing to do at all.

Steve finds himself wandering New York. The house with Bucky feels nothing like their home and half of it still smells like fresh paint. His own bedroom, particularly, smells like nothing but the new carpet. Steve has never slept well without Bucky’s scent covering every soft surface; they’d been mated for 6 years before Bucky was drafted, attached at the hip even before that, and even with the chaos of the following 3 years in the war, then the 70-odd years between then and now, nothing will change the simple fact that to his instincts, Bucky is still his Alpha.

Brooklyn is unfamiliar. One day, Steve looks up to realize he’s walked all the way to Queens and hadn't realized. It’s the middle of the afternoon and across the street, an elementary school is emptying of its students. Steve slows to a stop opposite it. He spots two young parents, one thin and blonde and the other tall and dark-haired, waving to one of the children leaving. For a moment, Steve just stands there and watches them greet their child. A sign by the driveway says the school was opened in 1912 and the architecture mirrors that. For a moment, Steve just watches the young family.

A crossing guard blows a whistle and the car traffic resumes. Steve shakes himself and turns away, back towards the unfamiliarly polished exteriors of Brooklyn. 

*

In October, Steve comes back from his run to find Bucky still in the kitchen, sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee in his hands, a plate of eggs in front of him, and a mirrored setting across from him. When Steve halts on his way to the fridge, Bucky grunts in the direction of the place setting.

“Is everything okay?” Steve asks.

“‘Course,” Bucky says without looking up. “Breakfast.”

Steve lowers himself onto the stool opposite Bucky and picks up the fork in front of him.

“Thank you,” he says.

Bucky just grunts at him again. 

As Steve starts the eggs, Bucky picks up a fork, too. They eat in silence. Bucky finishes first and immediately gets up, washes his dishes, and heads out of the kitchen. 

Steve turns on his stool to watch him go. At the last second, he repeats, “Thank you.”

Bucky pauses, glancing in his direction, but not really at Steve. He touches his flesh hand to the doorway, lingers there, then he nods. He leaves.

Steve gets up and walks carefully to the doorway. He strains his ears to pick up traces of Bucky’s footsteps going upstairs. He touches the spot on the door jam that Bucky had touched, then leans up against it and rubs his cheek over it. He can’t really pick up much of Bucky’s scent and likely is just covering the mark with his own neutralized smell, but it makes him feel better.

He hears Bucky’s door shut and the lock flipping, too, or maybe he just imagines it. With a heavy exhale, Steve turns around and sits back at the counter, picking up his fork again. He doesn't finish the portion and just feels numb as he scrapes the wasted food into the trash. 

*

Steve wanders towards Queens more often. He doesn’t like Brooklyn, but he has no memories of Queens to conflict with what the present gives him. He’ll come home from his run around 6, and sometimes there will be a plate of food on the counter waiting for him, sometimes even Bucky will be there. Bucky’s starting to open up, Steve knows. 

Just not to him.

But after the morning is over and Bucky’s returned to his bedroom for the day, Steve heads out and always ends up in Queens. He just wanders.

Occasionally, people recognize him. A few walk up to him and ask for his autograph or to take a picture. Steve doesn’t really like having his picture taken, but he’ll smile and lean in anyway. Usually, it’s just teenagers that come up to him, sometimes other veterans that just ask to shake his hand. Steve likes to see the veterans. He’s even happy to give the few that ask hugs; he’s doing a lot better about allowing non-Bucky Alphas to touch him, now that Bucky never touches him at all.

One November afternoon, Steve is sitting on a bench outside a dog park, watching a couple of boys playing with a group of dogs. The both of them have fair hair that’s intensely curly, one looks a light shade of brown. They could be mixed-Jewish, Steve finds himself daydreaming, maybe with a little Anglo-Saxon and Romani through in.

“Mr. Captain America?”

Steve looks up, internally cringing. He forces a smile as he expects to see another curious teenager. It is; a young boy, maybe 14 or so, with short brown hair and a backpack on his shoulder.

“Hi,” the boy says, “uh, we met in – uh, in Germany?”

Steve blinks. Then he connects the boy’s voice with his memories of the fight in the airport nearly two years ago and he lets out a sound of recognition.

“The spider kid,” he says, pointing. “Hi.”

The boy steps closer and sticks out his hand. “My name’s actually Peter,” he says. “Hi, it’s nice to – to meet you outside of – y’know, fighting.”

Steve chuckles and shakes Peter’s hand. “Yeah, sure,” he agrees. “You goin’ somewhere?”

“I was just walking home,” Peter explains. “I go to school that way,” he adds, pointing over his shoulder.

Steve looks at Peter for a moment longer. “Are you in high school?” he questions.

“Yeah,” Peter says.

“Forgive me,” Steve says, “how old are you?”

Peter laughs awkwardly, grabbing the left strap of his backpack. “I get that a lot,” he says. “But I’m sixteen – Like, just a month ago.”

Steve blinks for a second, trying to connect the dots.

“I know,” Peter says, smiling tightly, “I look and sound twelve. I really am sixteen.”

“What was Stark doing bringing a kid to an Avengers battle?” Steve questions just as Peter’s finishing.

Peter blinks. Steve is genuinely confused.

“Uh,” Peter says. “I mean, I have powers, I can handle myself.”

“You were what, fourteen?” Steve adds.

“Almost fifteen,” Peter points out.

Steve huffs, looking back towards the two possibly mixed-Jewish boys. “Still,” he grumbles, “kids don’t need to be in warzones.”

Peter stands there for a moment. Steve almost loses his facade watching the boys and makes himself look away again, aiming a fake smile back at Peter.

“It was nice to see you,” he says. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. “Uh, sorry, but – Are you okay?”

Steve blinks at him. “Of course,” he says.

Peter looks down at the ground and reaches behind himself to scratch the back of his head. He doesn’t move, just frowns at the ground, then glances up again.

“I sort of can tell when people are lying,” he mumbles.

Steve drops his gaze. Peter takes a hesitant step forward, then drops down onto the bench near to Steve. He glances out towards the park, following where Steve had been looking, then looks back at him.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks again.

Steve glances at him, then away, unsure how to proceed. One of the two boys, the lighter-skinned one, fumbles a catch on a frisbee and has to jog down the near-side of the hill to grab it.

“Do you know them?” Peter poses.

“No,” Steve says, looking away hastily as his face flushes. “No, I – I was just thinking.”

“I know them,” Peter adds. “They go to my school. Their parents run a doggy daycare, it’s that way.”

Peter points but Steve isn’t actually looking. Embarrassed at having been caught, Steve gets up.

“It was really nice to see you,” he repeats. “Have a good day.”

He turns and starts to walk away, hands in his pockets. A minute later, Peter is catching up with him.

“I live this way,” Peter says quickly. “Did you know they still play your PSA videos in schools? At least, they do in mine.”

Steve glances at him, then flushes. “People actually use those?” he demands, horrified.

Peter laughs. “Yeah, they’re hilarious. You look physically uncomfortable in all of them.”

“I was,” Steve complains. "Incredibly. I can't believe they actually play them to anyone." 

“Anyway,” Peter continues, “one of them, I don’t know if you remember, but in one of them, you talk about speaking up if we see somebody that looks like they could use a friend.”

Steve halts abruptly. Peter stops and turns to face him, just smiling. Steve blinks.

“So,” Peter adds, then sticks his hand out. “Hi. My name is Peter Parker, I’m a junior in high school, and I’d like to be your friend.”

Steve blinks for a moment longer. “I think those videos backfired more spectacularly than I thought they would,” he grumbles.

Peter just grins at him. “No good deed goes unpunished,” he remarks cheerfully.

Steve lets out a soft laugh. He inhales, then grasps Peter’s hand and shakes it.

“Hi, Peter,” he answers. “My name’s Steve, I didn’t finish high school, and I’d be glad to have you as a friend.”

“My textbooks say you graduated top of your class,” Peter observes, cocking his head.

“Your textbooks were written by a bunch of crusty Alphas with flagpoles shoved up their asses,” Steve replies calmly. 

Peter points a finger at him, arm lax at his side and eyebrows raised. “That is a very good point,” he answers. “They really should update the textbooks.”

Steve shrugs, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I’m not sure it matters at this point,” he says. “I don’t really know who would care where I actually went to school or how I left it.”

“I’d care,” Peter says.

Steve looks up again, frowning. Peter now looks at him seriously.

“I’m trans,” he announces.

Steve blinks for a second.

“Transgender,” Peter adds. “I was assigned female at birth, but I’m really a boy. Only I’m still an Omega, and kids at my school used to bully me about it, y’know, calling me girl-boy and stuff.”

Steve blinks a moment longer. He doesn’t know how to answer.

“But then Captain America turned out to be an Omega man,” Peter continues, “and people stopped calling me that as much.”

Steve blinks.

“I mean, I still get bullied for being trans,” Peter goes on, his words a little rushed now. “I don’t think that’ll go away any time soon, but I guess you being you, you being Captain America and an Omega man, that really put it in perspective for a lot of people that we’re regular people like everyone else, right?”

“Yes,” Steve murmurs softly.

“And being an Omega and a man aren’t mutually exclusive,” Peter says. He squints then. “Are you okay?”

Steve just blinks.

“This isn’t about me being trans?” Peter then asks, his voice dropping to something almost disappointed.

“No!” Steve says, realizing how he must look. “I’m sorry, no, I’m so happy you’re allowed to be who you really are, Peter.”

Peter continues to squint at him. “So…” he says. “Are you okay?”

Steve glances away, then shoves his hands in his pockets, turns, and starts walking again. “Sure,” he says, and he hardly puts any effort into lying.

Peter catches up with him again, walking to match Steve’s ambling stride. He doesn't yet call Steve on his lie.

“So…” Peter says. “Did you get bullied at school? For being –”

“A girl-boy?” Steve finishes for him. “Of course. There was no such thing as Omega men when I was growing up.”

“I – Wait,” Peter starts.

Steve looks at him, eyebrows raised. Peter’s mouth drops open.

“Oh,” he says.

Steve nods, looking ahead again. “I was sent to an all-girls, all-Omega school after I presented. It was Catholic, and really Catholic, so my teachers told me I was the mutant product of my mother’s sins and that’s how I was born the way I was.”

“Oh,” Peter repeats, sounding shocked.

Steve shakes his head. “It was a long time ago,” he continues in a quieter tone. “Things are better now, I know that.”

“Yeah,” Peter replies, just as quiet.

They reach the end of the block and stop for traffic. Peter stops half a step ahead of Steve and turns back a little, faces him, and rocks back and forth on his feet.

“So,” he says. “Was everybody like that when you were growing up?”

Steve shakes his head. “I was lucky,” he says softly. “Brooklyn was a really diverse community back then. I was still probably the only Omega man or one of just a few, but…”

He trails off, shakes his head again. Peter looks on curiously. The traffic lights change and Steve goes to cross. Peter hurries to catch up.

“What was it like?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “Amazing,” he says. “A teacher at the school that Bucky and I went to – before I presented, I mean, there was an Alpha woman and she was married to an Omega, another woman. Most places in Brooklyn, that was totally normal.”

“Wow,” Peter murmurs.

Steve nods, looking at his feet. Peter is quiet.

They get across the street and Steve starts looking around for where Peter might be turning. He’s on his way home, after all.

“How far do you live?” he asks.

“Just a few more blocks,” Peter says, lifting an arm to point. “That way.”

“I’ll walk you,” Steve offers.

“You don’t have to,” Peter laughs, “this neighborhood’s pretty safe. Uh, partly because of me.”

He grins. Steve smiles, but shrugs.

“Call it a generational thing,” he says, “young Omegas shouldn’t walk around alone.”

“Aren’t you walking around alone?” Peter points out.

“I’m neither young nor –,” Steve starts to counter, then doesn’t finish.

He stops, sucking in a breath. Peter looks over at him, and then after a moment, nudges his arm.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Steve mumbles.

They stop for traffic again. Peter nudges Steve’s arm a second time.

“What?” he repeats. “Young nor, what?”

Steve looks at his feet. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Forget it.”

“I can be very persistent,” Peter adds in a warning tone.

Steve looks up and rolls his eyes again, but he can’t help but smile. He’s sure somewhere, his mother’s looking down on him and laughing. Peter reminds him a lot of him.

“I’m neither young nor fresh-faced,” Steve admits. “I’m mated.”

Peter blinks rapidly. Steve looks down at his feet, feeling the wave of empty as this point usually brings. Peter frowns.

“You are?” he questions.

Steve shrugs. “I was,” he says. “So, the etiquette doesn’t really apply.”

“To who?” Peter asks immediately. “Was Agent Carter actually an Alpha?”

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. “She was an Omega. Not her.”

“Then –”

“Forget it,” Steve says, as gently as he can.

Peter still frowns. The lights change and Steve glances up, then starts to walk.

“What’s the turn?” he asks.

“Two blocks,” Peter answers. “Left.”

Steve nods, settling his hands deep in his jacket pockets. Peter doesn’t ask any more questions for those two blocks. Steve isn’t sure if he’s grateful or guilty.

Then, after they turn left, Peter inhales like he’s preparing for something.

“Was it the Winter Soldier?” he asks quietly.

Steve doesn’t stop walking. “He’s not the Soldier,” he returns instead of answering.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Peter adds. “Was it him?”

Steve looks straight ahead. They walk in silence for a beat.

“Yes,” Steve admits finally.

“Why do you use the past tense?” Peter continues in a cautious tone.

Steve just shakes his head. Peter looks down.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s fine,” Steve replies automatically.

“My aunt really took it hard when her mate… died,” Peter adds slowly. “But… Mister Barnes? He isn’t dead?”

“It’s fine,” Steve repeats. “Don’t worry about it, kid.”

Peter falls quiet again. They cross another street, then the next block they stop for traffic.

“That’s me,” Peter says, pointing to a building across the street. “My aunt’s at work right now.”

“It looks nice,” Steve offers.

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles.

They wait on traffic, then cross the street. Peter takes out a key and unlocks a gate. Steve hangs back. After unlocking the gate, Peter turns back and hesitates.

“You want to come inside?” he offers.

Steve smiles. “No, thank you,” he answers gently. “I appreciate it, though.”

Peter nods, stepping inside. “It was nice to meet you,” he says. “Y’know. Officially.”

Steve nods back, then salutes lazily. “You, too, kid,” he agrees. “See you around.”

He turns and heads back in the other direction. He hears the gate shutting and locking again and doesn’t think about Peter’s truthfully valid point. Yes, Bucky isn’t dead. But that doesn’t make them mates anymore.

*

November turns to December. Steve does his best to set up Hanukkah the way he remembers Mrs. Barnes doing, but Bucky doesn’t really participate. Steve doesn’t do anything for Christmas, nor for Epiphany or Orthodox Christmas Day. They sort of just move into the New Year without noticing.

In January, Bucky does start going out on his own again. But he doesn’t really talk to Steve about it. Steve doesn’t push.

Valentine’s Day passes. Steve sees Peter and his aunt instead of going out with Bucky. May Parker is friendly and happy for the company. Peter shows Steve his final project for a photography class at his school and it’s nice to see him excited. He’s so innocent. Steve thinks that the pride he gets might be what it would’ve been like to see his own children growing up like Peter is.

Peter’s a good kid. Steve’s glad to know him.

Steve buys a cake for Bucky’s birthday; he would’ve made it himself back in the 30s, but his baking skills have not gotten better whereas his bank account has expanded. He doesn’t knock on Bucky’s door or anything, just leaves it out for him. When he comes back from his walk that afternoon, the cake has been cut into and a sticky note with a smiley face is waiting next to it. Steve smiles at it.

April brings more heat. Steve visits St. Michael’s like he always does and leaves flowers at his mother’s grave. He goes into the back, where the children’s graves are. Once upon a time, the rector had taken pity on them and given them a plot and headstone free of charge, for the only baby Steve had carried to term. He’d still lost their boy. Just stillborn, not a miscarriage like all the others.

Once upon a time, there had been a small headstone for their Gabriel. When Steve had gone to visit him in 2011, the stone was gone. He can only guess that Brandt had it removed along with every other evidence of Steve’s true designation. The plot is still set aside, a single empty space amongst the tombs. He could ask about it at this point. He's never had the courage to consider actually doing it.

Like every time since, Steve sits down in front of it and puts his hand in the soft grass, pretending that he can feel his baby sleeping through the earth. He sits there by himself and he cries.

April is a hard month. Steve doesn’t push Bucky ever, but he finds himself wandering outside the house more and more often during the month. It’s hard to be so near, yet still be apart.

May brings a heatwave. It’s regularly in the nineties and humidity makes the heat cloying and thick. Steve runs during the dawn, when it's not as hot, but then still wanders throughout the day. Peter has his junior prom and Steve, since he can, buys his suit. 

It doesn’t occur to Steve to think of how the heat and humidity will affect him. He’s taking suppressants, that should have taken care of everything.

But, no.

It’s nearing the end of May. The alarm goes off and Steve wakes with a jerk, sitting bolt upright in bed. His alarm rings again. Breathing heavily already, Steve turns and grabs his phone, fumbling with it to turn off the ringing. He manages it, the room falls to silence. Steve collapses back in bed, feeling exhausted. It feels like the AC isn’t working or it’s set higher. It’s possible, Bucky has changed it a few times to make the house warmer. Steve feels hot.

It’s three in the morning. Steve, hot, sweaty, and with a low throb in the back of his head, rolls over and falls asleep again. He’ll run later.

He’s hot and sweaty and tired, so he doesn’t realize that the hot moisture at the back of his boxers isn’t sweat.

*

Bucky wakes up quickly. One second, he’s dreaming, the next he’s sitting up and clutching the handle of a well-loved combat knife. He blinks. He lies back again and takes a few very deliberate breaths. He closes his eyes, inhales and counts to ten, then opens his eyes and counts back down to zero as he exhales. 

He does that for a while. Slowly, the dark shapes in the room prove themselves to be furniture or a pile of clothes, not figures or hands reaching for him.

Distantly, Bucky can smell traces of cinnamon and clove and assumes Steve is cooking. He relaxes into bed and focuses on his breathing.

The sun comes up after a while. Bucky checks the clock by his bed; it’s half-past four. He can’t get out of bed until six. Bucky focuses on relaxing every part of his body, releasing the individual tension in his shoulders, his back, his legs, and just breathes.

The clock beeps. Bucky sits up, pushes off the bed, turns back and fixes the sheets. He tucks them in with precision. He pulls the blanket over the pillows, then makes sure there are no wrinkles. Then he takes off his pajamas, puts them in the hamper, and dresses in Tuesday clothes. Socks, jeans, a comfortable shirt. Tuesdays have no requirements for shoes. Bucky unlocks his bedroom, stops to breathe, and opens the door.

And stumbles back, assaulted by a thickly sweet smell. Bucky coughs and grabs onto the doorframe, coughs into his elbow like a civilized person, and blinks as the smell makes his eyes sting. It smells like burning molasses, burning sugar, burning alcohol. Bucky wheezes for a moment, then pushes out into the hallway and looks around.

Tuesdays do not permit fires. Bucky heads for the stairs, starts down them, and halfway to the first floor, realizes that the smell isn’t coming from the kitchen.

Bucky stops there. He turns on the spot, looks back up to the second floor, and tries to let the thick, sickening smell pick out an explanation from somewhere in his brain.

Distantly, he hears a quiet groan.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers.

He takes off. His socks and the carpet muffle the slap of his feet on the floorboards, but his weight makes them creak. Bucky runs the short distance back up the stairs, going straight for Steve’s bedroom. He almost slams into the door, bangs into it, and presses his ear to the wood.

“Steve?” he shouts. “Can you hear me?”

Inside, there’s another vague groan. Bucky grabs the door handle and jerks it. It’s unlocked. Bucky sticks his head inside, then coughs and squints through what feels like a haze of heat and misery pheromones.

Steve turns his head and blinks in Bucky’s direction. He looks so fucking out of it. Bucky eases his way into the room, a confused mix of panic.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky says gently. “What’s goin’ on?”

Steve blinks. “My head hurts,” he mumbles nonchalantly.

“Okay,” Bucky answers. “Alright. I’ll bring you some water.”

Steve falls back against his pillows and covers his eyes with an arm. Bucky steps backward out of the room, turns on his heel, and shuts the door more gently than he’d opened it.

“Fuck,” he repeats in a murmur.

Bucky walks this time, reversing his path down the stairs. He heads into the kitchen, grabs several water bottles from the fridge, and a loaf of bread from the cupboard. He walks steadily back to the stairs, back up to the second floor. In the back of his head, his internal alarms are blaring. This isn’t safe. Steve isn’t safe. He needs backup. He needs help. He needs Bucky.

Steve needs the Bucky from before. Not the Bucky that currently inhabits this body. But the current Bucky has no idea if it’s even possible to bring back the Bucky from before and all he knows is that that Bucky would tan his hide if he turned his back on their baby now. 

Bucky lets himself back into the room. Steve doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Hey,” Bucky announces himself, walking up carefully with the waters clutched to his chest and the loaf of bread dangling from the plastic bag between two of his metal fingers. “Can you sit up, Stevie?”

Steve rolls onto his back and blinks at Bucky. Bucky gets nearer to the bed, feeling skittish but incapable of not doing whatever he can for his Omega.

“Sit up,” Bucky repeats. “So you can drink some water?”

Steve pushes up onto his elbows, then grabs pillows and props them up behind his head. Bucky gingerly sits down on the edge of the bed and puts down the bread, then dumps the armload of water bottles next to Steve’s knee. He grabs one and cracks the lid, then holds it out.

Steve groans and slumps a little.

“You need to drink it,” Bucky insists.

“‘M tired, Daddy,” Steve says in a cracked voice.

Bucky feels almost like he’s been stabbed. And he can remember what that feels like. His heart clenches and his arm would’ve started to tremble had it not been for the motors inside compensating his emotions.

“I know you are, baby,” Bucky says roughly. “I’m so sorry,” he continues, though he’s not sure he’s really apologizing about just the one thing. “But – Can you drink the water?”

Steve’s hazy eyes don’t quite meet Bucky’s. He sighs and sort of flops his head vaguely in Bucky’s direction. 

Bucky isn’t even sure Steve knows he’s there.

Feeling guilty, he puts the bread and water bottles on the floor. He changes positions, stands up and turns, and sits down again right next to Steve. He puts his arm around him and holds the water bottle to his lips. Steve lets out a choked noise and immediately grabs onto Bucky, his nails digging through the fabric into Bucky’s skin.

“Daddy,” he mumbles, “I – I’m sorry –”

“Just drink, sweetheart,” Bucky tells him. “It’s all alright, baby, I’m here, I gotchu.”

Steve opens his mouth and shuts it again, he swallows visibly, then he raises a shaking hand and tries to grip the water bottle. Bucky doesn’t let him take it, instead, guides it to his lips and tips it carefully for him. Steve takes a sip, swallows, then starts taking large gulps. Bucky watches the water level and keeps the bottle up so it pours and before long, Steve’s drunk the whole thing. Bucky tosses the empty plastic bottle away and grabs a second. Steve lurches and grabs Bucky’s waist in a tight hug, veins popping out in his arms.

“Don’t go!” he keens. “I’m sorry I’ve been bad, Alpha, please, don’t go!”

Bucky catches him and pulls him up. Steve goes into his neck easily, already beginning to sob. Bucky hushes him softly and rocks him side to side, clutching at the back of his head.

“I’m not going, baby,” he promises, “it’s okay, you’re okay, shh…”

Steve chokes on a hiccup. He nuzzles into Bucky’s neck, smearing tears everywhere. Bucky just holds him.

The burnt smell in the room is strong, but underneath it, Bucky recognizes the smell of slick. It’s getting stronger.

“I – I messed the bed,” Steve hiccups. “I didn’t mean to…”

Bucky picks his cheek off Steve’s hair and, cautious, reaches behind Steve and feels the sheets under him. They’re sweaty, but sticky, too. He’s not sure, but his memory seems to point towards two different kinds of messes when it comes to Steve; this mess is just slick. The other… Bucky doesn’t need to remember to guess.

“It’s alright, dollbaby,” Bucky murmurs. “That just happens, doesn’t it? You can’t exactly control it.”

Steve sniffs. Bucky grabs at his knee and pulls; Steve climbs into his lap, eagerly, Bucky tries not to notice. He presses close and nuzzles under Bucky’s jaw.

“Alpha,” Steve mumbles. “Daddy…”

“What do you need?” Bucky asks gently.

He’s afraid of the answer.

Steve rubs his face over Bucky’s neck, going towards his clavicle. He squirms and shifts to straddle Bucky’s lap instead. Then he rocks against him and presses his hard little cock into Bucky’s stomach.

“Please, Daddy?” Steve begs.

There’s emotion building in the pit of Bucky’s stomach. He knows what it is and he’s afraid of it. Steve rocks back against Bucky’s lap, rubbing his slick-soaked boxers into the front of Bucky’s jeans. He whines and clings to Bucky, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Stevie,” Bucky whispers.

“Daddy,” Steve answers, his voice breathy. “Please? Just – Just once?”

Bucky’s hands move on their own and grip Steve’s waist. Steve whines and lets his head fall back, baring his throat and pushing out his chest in the same move. Bucky inhales, drinks in the air, and can’t stop himself from pressing his nose against Steve’s neck. Just touching him like this makes Steve whine desperately. 

“Daddy,” Steve exhales.

Bucky feels a rumble starting in his chest and it comes out his throat a low growl. It makes Steve whine and rub up against him even more. Bucky can feel his dick, the very outline; his thick shaft, the pronounced head, his balls heavy not with spunk but the ovaries pushing his body to beg for a knot like this.

Bucky is sinking fast into rut and he doesn’t like the feeling. He feels panicked; the room is not secure, the house isn’t secure, there are too many windows, doors, not enough darkness, too many corners –

“Daddy!” Steve whines, high and desperate and catching in a moan near the end.

He stops rubbing against Bucky’s stomach and instead sags on his shoulder, panting. Bucky feels hot liquid soaking through Steve’s clothes.

“Babydoll,” Bucky says roughly, “baby, did you just come?”

Steve nods, his mouth hanging open. He looks wrecked already.

Bucky gathers Steve up in his arms and gets off the bed. He’ll get food and water later. He takes Steve from the little back bedroom, not back to his own, but left into the office. There’s a window there, but one is better than two. The office is sparse, neither of them use it. Bucky puts Steve down on the floor, then cups his face and kisses his forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises. “Stay here, be good for me, sweetheart, I’m gonna get you stuff for a nest.”

Steve grins as he sprawls out on the floor. He nods once.

Bucky speed-walks back out of the office. He goes into his bedroom and just as efficiently as he’d made it, he strips the bed. He grabs all the pillows, bundles them up in his arms, and heads back into the office. Steve is still spread-eagle in the middle of the floor, his fingers and toes almost touching the nearby walls. Bucky dumps the bundle of blankets and pillows in the corner, then goes back into Steve’s bedroom. Again, he strips the bed. Again, he dumps it in the corner. Then he goes back into his bedroom and pulls the mattress off the bed.

He can remember what they did before. They had a special nesting room, like a lot of mated couples; they’d planned on turning it into a nursery eventually. No windows, one door, just big enough for the two of them. Bucky remembers that he’d saved up for almost a year to buy an extra mattress for the nest, so he didn’t have to drag theirs back and forth.

Bucky drags his mattress to the office. Steve looks up and blinks as he enters, then he seems to understand what’s happening and he sits up, scooting out of the way. Bucky drops the mattress onto the ground and shoves it into the corner; it’s a king and takes up almost the whole width of the room.

“I’m finding a water-proof sheet,” Bucky says. “Don’t touch it yet.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Steve answers, sounding buzzed as hell off his heat.

Bucky leaves again and goes to the linen closet at the end of the hall. He opens it up and digs around, comes up with some extra blankets, but doesn’t find anything that looks waterproof. He grumbles a bit under his breath, then turns back and returns to the office. Steve hasn’t moved, he’s sitting up against the wall. He’s holding onto his cock, too.

“You touchin’ yourself, sweet thing?” Bucky asks calmly; he’s bullshitting mostly, but things are coming to mind the longer he talks, and the more he says, the more natural it feels. “What’s the rule about that?”

Steve snatches his hand away. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” he returns. “I didn’t – Didn’t think –”

Bucky just lets him stammer on and spreads out a thick blanket over the mattress pad. Then he squats down in front of Steve, cups his cheeks, and kisses the top of his head.

“Just wait for me,” he murmurs. “You know I’ll take care of you, right?”

Steve bites his lip. His eyes are glossy, light reflecting off water gathered on his lashes. Bucky kisses his eyebrows, then brushes under his eyes gently with his flesh fingers.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises.

Steve nods. Bucky lets go and resumes building up the nest. 

It takes a while and Bucky’s only satisfied when he’s tacked a thick blanket over the window to block out all the light. Steve crawls into the middle of the nest and collapses onto his back, legs thrown wide and across several pillows to prop them up. Bucky thinks he looks like a work of art.

“You comin’, Daddy?” Steve calls.

Bucky thinks that the Bucky from before, the one he’s trying to pretend he is now, would answer with something witty and confident, then pounce and make Steve remember who’s in charge.

Bucky right now is afraid to get in the nest.

Steve sees that he’s hesitating and holds out his hands to him, whining for attention. Bucky edges nearer, bits his lip, and picks at a grove in his metal arm.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky says quietly.

“You won’t,” Steve insists. “Please? It hurts now.”

That gets him to move. Bucky climbs into the nest on his knees, crawls on top of Steve, and nuzzles his neck gently. He regrets that he hasn’t shaved; his schedule says he shaves Sunday, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, but only at night. He’s sure his jaw is scratchy, but Steve only purrs under him. Bucky can smell his hole getting wetter and it makes the rut growing him want to get his dick out already.

“You want this?” Bucky murmurs. “Tell me it’s not just your heat, sweetheart. I can’t do this if you don’t actually want it.”

Steve grabs his face and pulls him up. Then their lips are connecting and Bucky’s brain short-circuits. For a moment, his thoughts flash Warning, action not cleared by handler(s). Then Steve parts his lips and Bucky can taste him, that reminds him of where and when he is. He kisses Steve back, helpless to his instincts as Steve whines pleadingly.

“I need you,” Steve murmurs. “I always need you.”

Bucky nuzzles his cheek and back down his neck. Steve exposes his throat and Bucky kisses down the lines of his muscles and tendons. He pulls Steve’s shirt away and finds his scent gland, laves his tongue over it and groans as he tastes the heat. Steve moans and Bucky licks him again.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, “fuck, please, Daddy, need you in me, need it now –”

Bucky rucks Steve’s shirt up, gets it to his armpits and Steve sits up so he can yank it over his head. Bucky throws it away, then grabs Steve’s tits in both hands and stoops to suckle on a nipple. Steve keens, arches up and rocks his hips against Bucky’s. Bucky switches tits, scrapes his teeth across the pebbled flesh and Steve gasps.

“Please, quit teasin’ me!” Steve begs. “Put your cock in me, put it in me now, needed it yesterday, need it, fuck –1”

Bucky tugs Steve’s boxers off, too. He takes a brief moment to suck on the head of Steve’s cock, just to hear Steve shout in surprised pleasure, then sits up, falls to the side and hastily undoes his jeans. He shoves them and his underwear down, kicks them off, then gets on his knees to yank off his shirt. Steve grabs his waist, then spreads his hands across Bucky’s chest and scratches his nails through the hair growing between his pecs. Bucky tosses Steve’s legs back and up, puts pillows at his sides so Steve can relax, and presses his flesh thumb against Steve’s wet, pink hole.

Steve keens again and rocks back into his touch. Bucky easily sinks his thumb into Steve’s hole, then just as easily swaps it for both his index and middle finger.

“Always loosened up like a whore in heat,” Bucky says roughly. “Fuck, you’re so damn pretty, babydoll.”

Steve blushes; he always does in response to praise. Bucky scissors his fingers quickly and in barely a minute, he’s able to push a third finger in. Steve pants, his eyelids heavy and mouth open, and Bucky gives him just a few rough thrusts with his fingers before he’s pulling them out and fisting his cock.

“Put it in me,” Steve begs again, “Daddy, I need it, I want it, please –”

Bucky grabs Steve’s hip with his right hand, holding his knot with his wrong hand, and puts the head against Steve’s hole. Steve whines and arches his hips up, pushes back towards Bucky, but Bucky pins him in place by the hip.

“You take what you’re given,” he says, bullshitting again for what feels right. “You take what you get and you’re gonna like it, understand?”

Steve nods, whining again. “Yessir,” he says, “whatever you wanna give me, Daddy, ‘s what I want.”

Bucky gave a firm nod. Steve licks his lips, his chest rising and falling rapidly. There’s a sheen of sweat on his body, highlighting his tits and the dip of his abs to his navel. His short cock stands up between his legs, curved up towards his stomach. Precome is dripping from the tip.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Bucky murmurs. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, babydoll…”

“Alpha,” Steve whines, “Daddy, please?”

Bucky sinks his cockhead into Steve’s warm, open hole. Steve shouts, his eyes roll up as he throws his head back. Clear cum spurts from his little cock onto his stomach. Bucky drops both hands to the floor and slams his length in; his balls slap against Steve’s ass and his Omega screams again.

Bucky’s dizzy from the sweet smell in the room. He fucks Steve, and fucks him, and fucks him again. At some point, he feeds Steve, and he must’ve gotten up to go get the food, but he can’t remember bringing anything into the room. Steve does nothing but beg to be knotted. Bucky is a slave to the heat; he does nothing but give it to him.

The day Steve’s heat ends, Bucky wakes up jittery and anxious. He sees a shadow move and jumps to his feet, but it’s just headlights outside.

The nesting room he’d set up is empty. Most of the linens have been removed; just enough for Bucky to sleep comfortably remains. Steve is gone.

Bucky sprints from the room. He checks Steve’s bedroom, his own, the bathroom, then goes downstairs and looks everywhere.

Steve is not there.

There’s a note stuck to the fridge under a cheerfully yellow smiley face magnet. Bucky rips it away, the magnet clatters to the floor and rolls away, someplace unseen. 

Bucky

I’m sorry about what happened. That was so beyond not fair to you. I don’t remember what I said to convince you to stay with me, but you didn’t have to, and you shouldn’t have had to. I’m going to get out of your hair so this doesn’t happen again.

Love, Steve

Bucky picks up a new magnet and sticks the note back to the fridge. He stands there for a moment, trying to figure out when Steve might have left, if he could track him. Then he turns and goes back upstairs. He’s jittery and anxious. Any other night, he would sneak into Steve’s room and make sure he’s still breathing alright as he sleeps and that would be enough to calm him down. 

But he’ll need to find other ways now. He should’ve just called Sam or something in the first place.

*

The apartment is dingy and smells like mold and a little bit cramped. A lot cramped. Steve rolls up his sleeves and exterminates anything living there with perhaps too much bleach; his head spins for quite a while after he’s done with the bathroom. In the end, the second-hand furniture makes up for the lingering smell of the bleach; it smells very strongly of cigarettes. He collapses into his new bed and tosses and turns until his alarm goes off. He rises in a stupor. 

Outside, he’s disoriented at first and has to take a while to remember where he is. Queens. Queens is so very unfamiliar. Steve sets off on his run, but it only ends up being a rather long walk. It’s been four days since he left Bucky at this point. He’s tired, excessively so, dizzy, a little bit nauseous, and he knows precisely why. He had the same thing happen to him back in 1942 when Bucky left for Europe the first time. There’s no pill for bond sickness.

*

His therapist suggests community engagement. At this point, Bucky is just looking for something to tie him to the new century again; reasons to claim his name still. He walks to a community center fifteen minutes from the house, heads in, and finds a sign-up form to pledge his time. Then he just wanders around, leaving the center and heading deeper into Brooklyn.

There’s a school there; Brooklyn Visions Academy. Bucky saw the name at the community center; it and another school in Queens are putting together a series of murals around Brooklyn and Queens, painted by students. Bucky put his name down to help out for the project. The school is expansive and impressive; Bucky vaguely remembers walking Steve to and from a school like this. He can’t remember what it was called now. It had been in Williamsburg, he thinks. It was just for Omegas. Steve went there from presenting at 14 up to the year his ma died. Bucky thinks they'd gotten married right after they died and Steve had dropped out because of that. Or maybe the school expelled him. He can't quite remember.

It’s mid-afternoon on a Thursday. His schedule allotted four hours to see the community center and he’d only spent three-quarters of an hour there. He leaves Brooklyn Visions and heads towards Williamsburg, wondering if perhaps Steve’s school was still there. Much of the vague locations he remembered were gone.

There are schools there, but none that prod Bucky’s memory. He goes back to the house, walking with his head down.

There’s a message on the answering machine when he gets there. A teacher from Brooklyn Visions asking if he can meet for a drink or a coffee to discuss volunteering for the mural project. Bucky gets his schedule book from the master bedroom, then calls the woman back. They set up a meeting for coffee on Saturday. Bucky sits down in the living room after he’s said goodbye and sits there, looking out the window.

His watch buzzes and he gets up, continuing with his schedule.

*

Steve wanders back to that park, where the two curly-haired boys continue to exercise the dogs. The humidity is worsening, there’s a hurricane passing the coast and the heat is reaching them even there.

It’s been almost two weeks. He’s still feeling the ill-effects of walking away from his Alpha, but he’d been feeling them before anyway. He wonders if quitting cold turkey will make him sicker now that he’s not half-dead or if the serum would lighten the load. It seems about the same as it had felt in ‘42.

As he’s sitting on the bench, Peter Parker stops next to him.

“Hi!” he says cheerfully.

Steve looks up and smiles at him. “Hey,” he greets. “Walking home?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, then grins. “You wanna walk me? Keep me fresh-faced?”

Steve lets out a little laugh, nodding. “It’s no laughing matter,” he says with a wink as he pushes to his feet.

His head spins; he grabs the arm of the bench and bends his head, sucking in a deep breath. Peter touches his shoulder, his smile gone.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Steve nods. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve got some superflu,” Peter says, cracking a grin. “That might turn out to be an epidemic if you’re contagious.”

Steve huffs, shaking his head, but he smiles dryly. “It’s not contagious,” he promises. “No worries about that.”

Peter’s smile fades again, his eyebrows tighten. Steve straightens and puts his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you back to your aunt,” he says, “wouldn’t want her to worry.”

“She’s at work,” Peter says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Steve just smiles, pats Peter’s shoulder, and turns away from the park and the curly-haired boys. 

“Come on,” he says, starting to walk in the direction of Peter’s home. “Tell me about school.”

“We’re just about done,” Peter says. “Hey, you’re an artist, right?”

Steve is taken aback; he shrugs. “I doodled,” he says. “Uh, why?”

“Well, I’m on this summer project,” Peter adds. “Me and some friends and a couple of students from this school in Brooklyn are doing these murals across the Burroughs.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic!” Steve says, throwing his arm across Peter’s shoulders and tugging him in. “You’ll do amazing, I know it.”

“I’m just the photographer,” Peter laughs. “Miles – He’s from Brooklyn Visions, the other school, he’s the artist. Well, Michelle’s good too, but she’s letting Miles design them; it was his idea. Anyway, we need, like, adult help. I was wondering if you’d like to pitch in?”

“Oh,” Steve repeats. “Well – yeah, sure, that sounds fun.”

“Awesome!” Peter says, his step turning to a skip alongside Steve. “I’ll let the gang know. Miles and Gwen – Gwen’s from Brooklyn Visions, too – they live in dorms, and my place is a mess and tiny, and Ned’s mom works from home, and Michelle is too far away –”

“And you need a place to meet?” Steve guesses.

“Yeah,” Peter snorts. “You and, uh, Sergeant Barnes, you live in Brooklyn, right?”

Steve exhales.

“No,” he says. “I just moved out here a little while ago. My place is pretty small as well, but if you guys wanted, you could meet up there.”

“Why’d you move?” Peter asks.

“Uh,” Steve begins, then shrugs. “It’s complicated.”

Peter glances towards him, then away. “Sorry,” he offers.

“No, no, don’t be,” Steve says. “Tell you what, you and your friends can come by on Saturday for lunch and you can show me what you’ve got. And if you need any help with funding, I’ve got plenty.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” Peter tries to insist.

“I have more money than anyone could ever need,” Steve argues. “You can have however much you need.”

Peter shrugs. “Thanks,” he says. “That’s nice of you.”

“Sure,” Steve answers.

*

Bucky meets the teacher; she’s friendly and excited to be brightening the city. He pays; he still remembers how to be a gentleman. 

“Well, I was already going to ask you to join the project, but now I know you’re a good fit,” she tells him with a laugh.

He thinks she was flirting with him. She kept licking her lips and batting her lashes. It made him vaguely uncomfortable. When they get up, she asks if he'd like to get another coffee sometime. Bucky politely declines. 

He goes home after. He’ll show up at the school next Saturday and drive the students to their first location, stick around and make sure they focus and they drink plenty of water. He’s looking forward to it. He likes the thought of being useful. Steve left an SUV at the house and he’d told Bucky to take it whenever he needed it. He hadn't needed it until then. 

*

Steve gets pizza and soda and ice cream. Peter arrives around one with his friends; Ned, Michelle, Miles, and Gwen. Miles has a lot of ideas; he’s the youngest of the group, but a very talented artist. Steve looks forward to seeing them put it into action.

Sunday morning, he wakes up feeling sick. He gets a whiff of the leftover pizza and turns back around to run to the bathroom, where he throws up.

He gets sick Monday morning, too. And Tuesday. And every morning for the next week. He’s suspicious as of why, but still doubts that there’s a pill to cure it.

*

Saturday morning, Bucky pulls up to Brooklyn Visions at 9 A.M. sharp. Two kids run out almost as soon as he pulls up, shadowed by the teacher Bucky had already met.

“Hi!” one, a young black boy, shouts and waves to Bucky. “I call shotgun!”

“I called shotgun!” the other, a blonde girl, argues.

Bucky puts down his window and they skid to a stop by the car, both panting.

“I don’t have a shotgun,” Bucky says.

The kids laugh. “The front seat!” the girl says.

“Oh,” Bucky answers. “Well, which of you is older?”

“Ha!” the girl shouts. “I am!”

“You get it,” Bucky confirms.

“Not fair!” the boy calls. 

Bucky jerks his thumb to the car. The girl runs around and gets into the front seat while the boy walks more dejectedly and the teacher waves from the front of the building.

“I still have to pick up the other three,” Bucky says as the kids put on their seatbelts. “Uh, what are your names?”

“I’m Miles,” the boy offers. “That’s Gwen.”

“You’re Sergeant Bucky Barnes,” Gwen says.

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says. “Yeah, I am.”

“I wrote a paper about you,” Gwen adds. 

Bucky blinks. “Why?”

“Because you’re epic!” Gwen insists.

“Oh,” Bucky adds. “Well, thanks, I guess?”

“You’re welcome,” Gwen answers with a smile.

Bucky feels out of his element. He picks up the other three students, Peter, Ned, and Michelle, and takes them to the site.

Peter sits with Bucky a lot. They spend most of the day preparing the wall for the mural. At noon, Bucky takes them for burgers. Back at the site of the mural, Peter sits with Bucky again.

“We’ve met before,” Peter throws out.

Bucky starts. “We have?” he questions, suddenly worried.

Peter glances at him and grins. “I was in a mask,” he says, winking. “Spider-Man.”

Bucky blinks, then inhales sharply. “Wow!” he says. “I, uh, I didn’t realize you were just a kid.”

“I’m sixteen,” Peter insists. “Anyway, I know Captain Rogers, too.”

Bucky looks away, nodding slowly. “How is he?” he asks.

“Alright,” Peter says. “Did you guys have a – a fight or something?”

Bucky glances at him, frowning. “Why?”

Peter shrugs, looking straight ahead. “I just don’t get why you’re separated,” he says in a soft, hesitant tone that trails off into an awkward silence.

Peter just shrugs. Bucky exhales.

“Well,” he says. “Some things just don’t work out.”

“Oh,” Peter says.

Bucky doesn’t talk much. Peter doesn’t ask about Steve again.

*

MJ: Is it a coincidence that we’re working with Captain America and Sergeant Bucky barnes?

Gwen: it’s a huge coincidence.

Petey: relax. I’ve got a plan.

Ned: what kind of plan?

MJ: I don’t like it when you have plans

Petey: just nobody mention Mr. barnes to Captain Rogers, okay?

MJ: I don’t like this plan

Gwen: I like this plan

Miles: I’m down!

Ned: You know something we don’t

Petey: just roll with it

*

The kids come by Fridays in the future. Steve tries a few different things to feed them, but discovers fried chicken and pizza agree the least with his nausea.

He’d bought a test after having three weeks of nonstop nausea. He’d wanted to say that it was just bond-sickness, but he didn’t get constant nausea back in the 40s for bond sickness.

The first test was negative. He waited a week and tried again. That one was positive. Steve threw it away after, unsure what to do with it. Or himself.

“How’s life?” Michelle asks the next Friday.

“Oh, the same,” Steve lies. 

He starts to plan out what he’s going to do. He’ll leave New York. After the murals are finished, he’ll move out to the countryside. He’ll tell Bucky eventually, as long as it won’t affect his recovery. He doesn’t call Bucky yet. He doesn’t want to be a burden. It was bad enough what happened in May, and Bucky hasn’t called him, so clearly, Steve made the right decision. The serum should compensate for how viscerally he feels the heartbreak. He's in perfect physical condition now, after all. 

*

“Mr. Bucky!” Miles calls. “Can you help me get up there?”

Peter watches Mr. Barnes get up and lift Miles off the ground onto his shoulders. He elbows Ned.

“You think he knows?” he whispers.

“What?” Ned whispers back.

“About Captain Rogers,” Peter adds.

Ned looks at him. “I don’t see how he would…” he says slowly. "If you're right and they're not talking, at least."

Peter shakes his head. “About Captain Rogers being pregnant.”

Ned slowly turns to face him, his eyes wide. Peter widens his own eyes.

“You’re serious?” Ned hisses.

“Oh, that wasn’t an obvious thing,” Peter mutters. “Wow. Okay. Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure he is.”

“How?” Ned demands.

“Well –” Peter stammers, “it’s – he smells different!”

Ned just stares at him. Peter leans back for a second. Ned shakes his head.

“I don’t think Mr. Barnes knows,” Peter adds.

“I’m missing something,” Ned mutters. 

“Well, it’s obvious that if he is,” Peter insists, “Mr. Barnes is – Yannow.”

Ned blinks again.

“They’re a couple,” Peter points out.

“Since when?” Ned gasps.

“Okay, they’re not together now,” Peter adds, “but they were a couple, like, forever ago. And they were living together up until just recently, Captain Rogers said it was complicated, that had to be what happened!”

Ned grimaces. “You think they did it and then just split up?”

“Well,” Peter says. “I mean, how else would it have happened?”

“Hey, you kids hungry?” Mr. Barnes calls.

“I could eat!” Peter perks up, throwing his hand in the air.

“I want burritos!” Ned adds.

Mr. Barnes throws them a thumb’s up and lets Miles down from his shoulders. Ned elbows Peter again.

“I’m pretty sure he’d be acting different if Cap was having his baby,” Ned insists in a hiss.

“I’m pretty sure Cap hasn’t told him,” Peter counters.

“You’re sure?” Ned asks.

Peter nods. Ned shrugs.

“Maybe we shouldn’t interfere,” he says.

“You’ve seen The Parent Trap right?” Peter asks.

Ned shrugs.

“I know Cap misses Mr. Barnes,” Peter insists. “And I can tell Mr. Barnes misses Cap. We’re gonna Parent Trap this up.”

“Oh, boy,” Ned mutters.

“Alright, everybody in the car!” Mr. Barnes calls. “Burritos!”

“Burritos!” Ned shouts, jumping up.

*

Steve stays in as nesting hormones hit him hard. He declines missions, time with the other Avengers and SHIELD agents. By July, the kids have noticed.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Michelle asks out of the blue.

Steve takes it in stride.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m going traditional.”

“So,” Peter adds, “what made you choose now?”

“It kind of just happened,” Steve says. “I think there’s more ice cream in the fridge.”

He didn’t really want to discuss it with them. They have plenty of manners, they don’t pry. He thought Peter might ask, since he knew about Steve’s past with Bucky. But he didn’t; Steve appreciated that.

*

Bucky likes spending time with the kids. He thinks the real Bucky Barnes would’ve liked it, too. He does feel like he’s more of a real human now than before. His therapist agrees.

He misses Steve, but he doesn’t want to push. He says nothing.

*

“Cap?” Miles asks. “Would you like to come out with us to the mural?”

Steve smiles but shakes his head. “I like it better here,” he says. “Thanks, though.”

“I think you’d like it,” Miles adds.

“I would,” Steve agrees, but shrugs. “Now’s just not a good time.”

*

Miles gives Peter a look. Peter returns it.

“I still wonder if this is wholly ethical,” Ned announces.

“I have this feeling,” Peter insists.

“I have this feeling,” Miles agrees.

“I have a gut feeling,” Michelle adds. “My gut is never wrong.”

“What if, like, Mr. Barnes does know?” Ned points out.

“And is just ignoring it?” Peter answers. “Does he seem like the kinda Alpha to ignore getting an Omega pregnant?”

Ned makes a slow, unsure noise.

“He just as mopey,” Michelle declares. “My gut knows.”

Peter points at her. Ned smacks the crosswalk button and shrugs.

“You gotta see the Parent Trap, dude,” Peter insists.

“The original,” Gwen adds.

“The remake was good, too,” Peter says. “So, both.”

“Movie night!” Miles laughs.

Ned shrugs. “As long as it’s at Michelle’s place.”

“Man, why y’all always comin’ over to mine?” Michelle demands.

“Because you have the nicest apartment,” Peter points out.

Michelle huffs. “Fine.”

*

Bucky still stays in most days; he only ventures outside for the mural project. He’s fine that way.

“Hey,” Peter speaks up, “after we’re done today, can you give us a ride to our friend’s place? He’s been helping us plan the designs and stuff.”

“There’s food!” Ned adds.

“Sure,” Bucky agrees. “Where is it?”

*

Steve puts out the folding tables in the living room and makes a bowl of punch; the kids are on schedule to finish their last mural and he wants to celebrate that. He’s into the second trimester and his morning sickness has slowed, so he’s splurging on pizza and wings for the kids.

He’d said that he wasn’t going to find out what the baby’s gender was, but at his ultrasound the week before, he’d cracked. 

He has a little girl coming. She’s currently the size of a lemon. He can finally justify wearing maternity clothes; his stomach is smooth and round. His navel’s even starting to stick out. 

He’s looking online at country houses in the Blue Ridge Valley in Virginia. The fresh air, he thinks, will be good for both of them.

*

Bucky has to park a fair ways away from the place they’re going, the streets are so crowded. He drops the kids off at the building and sends them ahead. Peter gives him a code for the gate and says he should go straight up to 3C. He feels a little off walking up to this person’s home without meeting them somewhere else first, but the kids insist that it’s fine.

Bucky feeds the meter and turns back the block and a half to the building. By now, he questions why the kids never said who they were going to see.

*

“Hey, hey, watch the bump!” Steve calls as Gwen chases Ned through the kitchen doorway and they almost crash into him. 

“Sorry!” Ned shouts over his shoulder.

“Sorry!” Gwen echoes, turning on her heel back to Steve. “Are you okay?”

“It’s fine,” Steve laughs. “Grab the blue cheese while you’re in there, Ned!”

Steve hears knocking; the kids all stop what they’re doing.

“Was that –” Steve starts, frowning at the door.

There’s another knock. Peter jumps up, shouts, “I got it!”

“Are we missing a pizza?” Steve asks, looking around. “One, two, three –”

Peter opens the door and steps back. Steve glances up from the pizzas and stops.

*

The door opens and Peter grins at him before stepping back. Bucky, head lowered, steps inside, and immediately catches a sugary sweet perfume all over the apartment. 

“Bucky?”

He looks up. Steve is pale-faced. Bucky’s eyes widen.

“Stage two!” Michelle calls.

Peter ducks under Bucky’s outstretched arm and runs out the door. The rest of the kids tuck tail and follow him. Bucky jerks to look over his shoulder, but very suddenly, he’s alone with Steve.

He turns back. Steve stands in the doorway to a kitchen, a plate of cookies in his hands, but Bucky knows that it’s not the source of the sweet smell in the room. He drops his gaze, searching Steve’s frame; he’s wearing loose clothing, but Bucky still sees the way his shirt is pushed out by his stomach.

“Hi,” Steve whispers.

Bucky opens his mouth but only inhales. He points dumbly at Steve’s midsection.

“Um,” Steve adds, glancing down, “I – I was going to tell you –”

“You’re pregnant,” Bucky blurts.

Steve looks back up, biting his lip. He puts the plate of cookies down on a folding table, then hugs his waist and shrugs, looking at the carpet.

“Is that why you left?” Bucky asks, feeling a cold shiver going down his spine. “‘Cause you – you’re havin’ a baby?”

“No,” Steve stammers, “I – Well, I didn’t want to be in your way –”

“In my way? ” Bucky repeats.

Steve shrugs. Bucky just stares at him.

“I don’t know what to say,” Bucky mutters.

Steve just shrugs again. “How’d you get here?” 

Bucky points over his shoulder. “I’ve been drivin’ those kids all over the city. They said to come here.”

Steve laughs and drops his arms, turning to the side as he shakes his head. Bucky drops his gaze again, he can’t help it; Steve has a prominent curve to his middle.

“I should’ve known,” Steve mutters.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky says.

Steve glances at him, then away. He shrugs again.

“I – I understand,” Bucky adds quickly, “I’m not – I’m not who you I was –”

Steve turns again, his face screwed in confusion. Bucky hurries on.

“I might not be father material either,” he blurts, “but you – you could’a said something! ”

Steve looks down. “I didn’t want to put more on your plate,” he says. “You’re dealing with enough without me just piling my problems on you.”

Bucky blinks. He starts, shifts on the spot, runs a hand through his hair, and scoffs.

“This is just your problem? ” he says, pointing to Steve’s bump. “Just your problem that you don’t wanna share with me?”

Steve’s eyes flash. “That’s not what I meant,” he starts.

“I know I’m not the same anymore,” Bucky says louder, “but I am me, Rogers, and you know damn well that no matter what, I’d want to be there for our baby! ”

“You’re suffering enough!” Steve argues. “It was shitty that you had to deal with me in heat the first place, it’s not fair that I ask you to – to deal with me or the consequences!”

“ Deal with you? ” Bucky repeats again. He feels the roots of anger in his chest, blooming steadily alongside a fat load of hurt. “I’d give anything to go back, Steve, don’t you know that?”

Steve flinches. Bucky recoils.

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats again. “I should’ve – I should’ve moved out long before that happened. It’s my fault.”

Bucky blinks. Steve won’t look at him now.

“Taking care of you is the only thing I remember how to do right,” Bucky says.

Steve half-turns in his direction. He still doesn’t lift his gaze from the carpet.

“I don’ know what I am if I ain’t your guy, Steve,” Bucky continues.

He stops there. There’s a heavy pause. Steve turns a little more towards him.

“I thought you didn’t remember,” he says very quietly.

“I don’t,” Bucky admits. “Not a lot. But I know you were mine. I know we tried to have a family, I – I remember that. And –” he pauses again, flushing. “I remember that you were my baby, Steve,” he mutters to the floor. “You called me Daddy.”

Steve doesn’t yet move. Bucky looks up again and Steve just stands there.

“You have enough to deal with,” he repeats quietly.

“Bullshit!” Bucky breaks out. “What I just tell you, punk? What am I if not your guy?”

Steve turns away now, covering his face with a hand. Bucky gets a stroke of bravery and crosses the room, getting close to him. Steve turns around completely, putting his back to Bucky. Bucky stops, just out of arm’s reach.

“I get it,” Bucky says softly. “I know I’m not – not the guy you used to know…”

Steve lets out a laugh. “I can call bullshit, too,” he says.

“Call it,” Bucky offers.

Steve looks down, his elbows come up at his waist, his shoulders deflate. Bucky closes the gap and puts his arms around Steve’s waist, pressing close to his back and putting his hands on Steve’s bump. A slow bloom of warmth starts in his hands and goes all the way to his heart. In his flesh hand, he can feel the slightest flutters of life underneath Steve’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers.

Bucky nuzzles the back of his neck. “‘S okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You were scared.”

Steve sucks in a breath, nodding. Bucky kisses his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you,” he continues. “You – You deserved to know what I remembered. You deserved better.”

“You couldn’t help it,” Steve insists. “I couldn’t ask you to be my mate again when –”

“No, you could’a,” Bucky counters. “‘Cause I am, Stevie, I am your mate, always been. I always remembered that.”

Steve exhales.

“I should’ve told you,” Bucky murmurs. “And you should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” Steve confesses.

Bucky kisses his neck, just under his ear. “I know you feel like that,” he says. “But you’re not a burden, Steve, you’re my best guy.”

Steve laughs a little. Bucky hooks his chin on Steve’s shoulder and looks down at his belly, spreading his palms across the round bump.

“Has he kicked yet?” Bucky asks softly.

Steve shakes his head. “‘S a girl,” he mumbles.

“A girl,” Bucky whispers, a grin spreading across his face. “Would’ja think’a that? We’re havin’ a little girl.”

Steve nods. He turns and puts his arms around Bucky’s neck, hugging him tightly and putting his face against Bucky’s scent gland. Bucky cups the back of his head and picks his chin up to let him.

“I should’a told you,” Steve agrees, voice muffled slightly. “You’re right. ‘M sorry.”

“I forgive you, baby,” Bucky answers gently. “An’ I’m sorry, too, you deserved to know.”

“I forgive you, too,” Steve mumbles.

Bucky touches Steve’s cheek and cups his chin, prompting him to lift his face. Steve’s eyes are watering and puffy now, his cheeks red. Bucky cups his face.

“Can I be your daddy again, sweet pea?” he asks.

Steve breaks into a smile and he nods. Bucky pulls him into a soft kiss.

“Woohoo!”

Bucky jerks around as Steve rears back; they both look back towards the front door to see Ned covering his mouth with both hands, looking shocked. Michelle and Gwen are glaring at him while Miles is sitting on the floor with his back to them, eyes covered by both hands. Peter grins sheepishly at them.

“How much of that were you listening to?” Bucky asks.

“Pretty much all of it,” Peter admits. “Sorry.”

“You conspired to get this to happen,” Steve accuses, laughing weakly. 

“We did!” Miles says happily, now turning around. “I was being more polite and not looking.”

“We appreciate it,” Bucky says.

Miles throws them a thumbs up and a bright grin. 

“Okay,” Steve says; Bucky hears him sniff and he looks back, putting his arm around Steve’s waist again. “We’ve done the mushy stuff,” Steve continues, wiping his nose with the back of his hand again, “so, let’s just eat, ‘cause I’m hungry.”

Bucky tugs him into a hug and smacks his cheek with a kiss. “Gotta fatten you up, pretty baby,” he coos, “those hips are too skinny!”

“Ha, Captain America is skinny!” Peter snorts.

Steve laughs and makes a half-hearted shove at his shoulder. Bucky manhandles him into standing perpendicular to him, then scoops him up into a bridal carry. Steve just covers his face with a hand.

“Let’s eat!” Bucky agrees happily.

*

“My aunt’s picking us up,” Peter announces at nine o’clock precisely. “Thanks, Mr. Barnes!”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky answers, looking startled at the sound of his own name still.

Steve hadn't even noticed the kids getting their things together. Michelle salutes them lazily as the group heads for the door.

“Night,” Gwen calls.

“See you around!” Miles adds.

“Thanks for the pizza!” Ned says, grinning as he holds up a box of leftovers.

Peter waves and pulls the door shut. And Steve is alone with Bucky again.

“Uh,” Bucky starts.

“Can we go home?” Steve blurts.

Bucky looks at him, his eyes a little wide. Then he smiles.

“‘Course,” he says. “You wanna get some things?”

Steve gets up and quickly navigates the folding tables to get to the kitchen doorway, the way through to the only bedroom. He pauses just inside the kitchen and looks back at Bucky, leaning a bit stiffly on the arm of the couch. Steve puts a hand on the doorway and smiles at him.

“You gonna help me?” he asks.

Bucky grins and gets up. He moves around the tables, moving a couple out of the way. He walks up and Steve holds out his hand. Bucky takes it.

“You don’t get out much,” Bucky says as Steve opens the door to the bedroom.

“How can you tell?” Steve returns, shooting him an amused frown.

Bucky visibly inhales; his eyes flutter shut briefly and he exhales deeply. Steve feels heat creeping up the back of his neck. Bucky opens his eyes again and smiles at Steve.

“It smells like a nest,” he says. “Nothin’ but you. Pregnant you.”

Steve’s flush spreads to his face. “Well,” he mumbles, “didn’t have much’a anywhere t’a go.”

Bucky takes Steve’s other hand, then pulls him in and frames his waist. Steve holds very still and Bucky leans in just enough to bump their noses together.

“Are you gonna make our room smell like this?” Bucky asks softly.

“Probably,” Steve whispers back.

Bucky touches their lips together, slow and gentle. He pulls back and Steve sucks in a deep breath.

“Good,” Bucky murmurs lowly.

Steve lets out his breath. Bucky grins at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks so much older than Steve’s memories of the 30s. There’s even a touch of gray at his temples and in his beard. He has a beard now when he'd always kept clean-shaven in the past. It’s not a bad thing.

“I should –” Steve mumbles, “– get a bag. Pack it.”

Bucky nods. He kisses Steve’s cheek, lingering for a breath, then steps back and walks over to Steve’s bed, sitting down on it. Steve inhales, then moves to the closet and grabs the duffle bag from the shelf at the top, turns again, and goes to the dresser to start stuffing clothes into it.

“I'll pack up properly later,” Steve decides aloud. “I just really wanna go home right now.”

“Good,” Bucky replies.

Steve glances back at him, grinning, and looks away with butterflies going wild in his chest. Or maybe their little girl is squirming around. He stops, putting a hand on his stomach. Bucky gets up and joins him, putting his right hand next to Steve’s.

“She’s excited,” Steve mumbles.

“Yeah?” Bucky answers softly.

Steve grins at him again. “We both are,” he says. 

Bucky reaches up and cups Steve’s face, still with his right hand. Steve takes his left and puts it on his stomach. Bucky starts to recoil and Steve grabs the wrist, holding it in place.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs. “It’s just a hand. It’s your hand.”

Bucky lets out his breath. He glances down, then spreads his metal fingers over the swell of Steve’s stomach. His thumb brushes Steve’s protruding navel. Steve giggles a bit as a tickling spark goes through him.

“I can’t feel much with this,” Bucky admits.

“It’s okay,” Steve tells him. “She’s still pretty small. You’ll be able to feel her movin’ when she gets a lil’ bigger.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says, smiling down at Steve’s middle. He drops the hand from Steve’s face and puts it next to his left. “How small is she?”

“A little bigger than a lemon,” Steve recites. “I – I have printouts of the ultrasound –”

Bucky looks up, his eyes wide. “The what?”

Steve inhales sharply, then grins and grabs Bucky’s face, laying a fast kiss on his lips. “Stay there,” he says, and dashes away to the nightstand.

“What’s an ultrasound?” Bucky asks. 

Steve grabs the thick, glossy photo from the drawer and heads back, handing it over. Bucky takes it, his mouth falls open and his eyes widen.

“That’s an ultrasound,” Steve says quietly.

Bucky covers his mouth with his left hand. Steve moves close and tucks against his side, putting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky quickly wraps his left arm around steve’s back and squeezes.

“That’s –” Bucky says in a broken, low voice.

“Our little girl,” Steve answers. “Yeah.”

“She’s so little, ” Bucky whispers. “She’s got toes!”

Steve grins and rubs his cheek on Bucky’s shirt. Bucky suddenly tightens his arm around Steve and he lets out a sound that’s half a laugh, half a sob.

“She’s gorgeous,” he says. “Like ‘er mama.”

“She gonna have your chin,” Steve mumbles. “Cutest lil’ cleft chin ever.”

Bucky laughs, emotional, and wraps his right arm around Steve to hold him tight. Steve happily presses his face into Bucky’s neck, letting his breathing slow and deepen.

“I love you,” Bucky murmurs. “So much, Stevie. And our little girl. Love her, too.”

“We love you back,” Steve answers softly.

They finish stuffing the duffle. Steve grabs his pregnancy body pillow and a change of shoes. Bucky carries the bag and the shoes, Steve hugs the body pillow all the way to the car. 

“Should you drive?” Bucky asks. “Is that safe?”

“Yeah, for a while,” Steve says. “You want me to drive?”

Bucky looks at him for a minute. “Not really,” he admits.

Steve shrugs. “You drive, then.”

Bucky looks happy about that. Steve smiles about it, too, and gets into the passenger seat as Bucky gets into the driver’s. In the car, Steve puts the pillow between his chest and the seat belt and continues to hug it. Bucky starts the car, puts it in gear, then looks over his shoulder to start the slow shuffle out of the parking space. Steve rests his head on the pillow and looks at Bucky as he focuses on getting out of the space. He has lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows. His eyebrows have spread out and make a small V above the bridge of his nose.

Bucky looks at the passenger side mirror and Steve reaches out impulsively, taps his finger against the faint beginnings of Bucky’s unibrow.

Bucky breaks into a grin, the lines in his face deepening, and he laughs a little as he grabs Steve’s wrist. “Stop it, I’m driving,” he says.

Steve just grins and buries his face in his pillow. Bucky glances at him, then chuckles as he pulls out into traffic.

“I wanna build a nest when we get home,” Steve mumbles into his pillow.

“In the little room or –” Bucky starts.

“Your room,” Steve cuts in.

Bucky glances back at him, grinning again. “Yannow it’s supposed to be our room,” he says.

Steve grins and rubs his face into the pillow as he nods. 

“At least, it is now,” Bucky adds. “You wanna have the nest there?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky reaches over and puts his hand on the back of Steve’s neck. Steve’s eyes flutter shut right away and he lets out a long sigh. His body droops around the pillow and he starts to purr deep in his chest.

“I missed you, kiddo,” Bucky says softly.

“Missed you, too, Daddy,” Steve mumbles back.

Bucky keeps his hand on Steve’s neck. Steve slips into a nap and sleeps all the way to Brooklyn.

He wakes up to Bucky pulling him out of his seat. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck happily and lets Bucky scoop him up. The pillow stays in the car. Steve rubs his face into Bucky’s clothes as Bucky carries him up the steps, then through the front door and upstairs. The front door was open and stays open after Bucky takes Steve inside. Bucky puts Steve on the bed, then kisses his forehead.

“I’ll be right back, babydoll,” he says gently.

Steve nods and yawns, turns onto his side and puts his thumb in his mouth. Bucky ruffles his hair, then turns to go. Steve is drowsy and it’s easy to snooze again. Distantly, he hears Bucky moving around downstairs, the front door shutting, and footsteps back on the stairs. Steve opens his eyes again when Bucky comes back in the room and he lifts his hand and waves. Bucky smiles at him, puts the duffle bag down by the door, and brings him the body pillow.

“You need this, honey?” he says.

Steve nods, but sits up to take it. “Nest,” he mumbles.

Bucky ruffles his hair again. “You want the stuff from your old room?”

“Yes, please,” Steve answers, beaming.

“You got it, punk,” Bucky says, giving him a wink. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Bucky leaves the room again. Steve stretches his arms over his head, then swings his legs down and tugs his shoes off. Then he turns over and crawls over to the other side of the bed, grabs the post, and pulls himself up until he’s crouching on his feet, bent to avoid the ceiling. He grabs the duvet and yanks it up, swings it over the top of the bed frame to make a wall. 

Steve ties the duvet in place on both corners, then uses the second blanket to wall off the foot of the bed; the blanket goes over the edge, so he pulls it around and ties it to the frame again on the side. 

“Look at that,” Bucky calls. 

Steve pokes his head above the blanketed posts to grin at Bucky, but then bumps his head on the ceiling. He yelps and falls onto his butt, grabbing the top of his head.

“Careful!” Bucky calls again, his footsteps go running around and he appears on the other side of the blanket. “Are you okay?”

Steve rubs the top of his head and blinks at Bucky. The top of his head throbs. If he were big, he’d be frustrated and he’d probably curse, but he’s not big. He sucks in a breath and blinks as his eyes water. 

“Daddy!” he whines. “Hurt!”

“Aw, baby,” Bucky coos, “lemme see.”

Steve drops his hands and sticks his head out so Bucky can see. He sniffles and hugs his belly, rubbing the curve as their baby squirms around more. Bucky brushes through his hair, then kisses the top of Steve’s head.

“There,” Bucky says. “Stevie, is – Is our girl okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve mumbles. “Feel!”

He tugs up his shirt and shows Bucky his bump. Bucky smiles and puts his palm on his stomach, then grins even more. Steve smiles, too, the thump to the top of his head going away now that Daddy had kissed it better.

“Don’t think she liked you fallin’ like that,” Bucky says. “Let’s try to be extra careful not to do that anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees.

Bucky looks around the blanket-walls of the bed now. “We need a roof,” he says. “And tape.”

Steve glances up. “You roof it?” he asks.

“Sure thing, honey,” Bucky says. “You stay down there and make our nest all snuggly, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve repeats, smiling again.

Bucky walks around the bed again and comes back with an armload of blankets and pillows. He dumps them and Steve grabs the pillows, twisting to start arranging them at the foot of the bed. Bucky leaves again, but comes back quickly with a roll of blue tape. He takes his shoes off, then climbs onto the bed, stands, and starts fixing the blanket walls; he tapes them to bedposts and frame so they don’t sag in the middle. Steve puts more pillows at the head of the bed, then as Bucky gets a blanket over the top of the frame for the roof, he climbs out and goes in search of Bucky’s laundry.

Nests need to smell like Alphas. Steve finds the hamper and picks out some shirts, pants, and underwear from the top; ones that Bucky recently wore that smell strongly of him. He leaves the socks. He takes the bundle of laundry back to the bed as Bucky hops down.

“What’chu doin’ with that?” he asks.

Steve hugs the laundry close. “Smell,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, it does,” Bucky chuckles. “Badly, sweetheart.”

Steve hugs it harder and pouts. Bucky shrugs.

“Alright,” he says. “But I am gonna be in there, honey. And I already smell like me.”

Steve glances down at the laundry, then flicks his gaze back up and hugs the bundle upward to stick his nose in a pair of boxers. Bucky softens.

“I can mark stuff,” he points out.

“Both,” Steve says.

“Alright,” Bucky agrees again. “Both.”

Steve grins and clambers back onto the bed. Bucky’s shadow stretches up to tape the blanket-roof down and Steve starts putting the laundry in strategic places. 

“How’s it look in there?” Bucky calls.

“Good!” Steve answers.

Bucky sticks his head under one of the blankets to see in, looking up at the roof. He nods to himself and pulls back out. Steve lays out the last t-shirt, then starts building up the pillows back over them. Bucky climbs back into the nest from the left side.

“Is that enough of my smell?” Bucky asks. “You want the clothes I’m wearing now?”

Steve perks up; he looks up and grins, nodding. Bucky grins back at him, then winks and steps back. Steve watches his shadow start tugging off his socks and gets an idea. He flops onto his back and starts working off his sweats. He kicks them off; they fall between the mattress and the blanket onto the floor. He sits back up and tugs his shirt off, then drops it off the edge of the bed to follow his pants. He crosses his legs and cradles his belly, watching Bucky’s shadow put on new clothes.

“Here,” Bucky says, coming around the edge of the blanket again, just to stop, eyes widening. “Steve –”

Steve grabs the shirt in Bucky’s hand and tugs it over his own head. Bucky blinks.

“Where are your pants?” Bucky says in an awed tone.

Steve, giggling, points over the edge of the bed. He pulls the shirt over his belly and rubs his hands all over it.

“Uh,” Bucky starts, putting the jeans he’d just taken off down on the bed. “Alright.”

Steve grabs them and stuffs them under the pillows at the head of the bed. He gets the pillow that smells strongest of Bucky and puts it where he means to lay his head, then turns back to Bucky and sticks out his hands.

Bucky climbs onto the mattress; he’s wearing sweatpants now, and another plain t-shirt. He sits down and Steve scoots closer to wrap around him, nuzzling his face into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve and in a brief moment, Steve’s being lifted and put in Bucky’s lap.

“There,” Bucky says. “Where you belong.”

Steve grins and shoves his face into Bucky’s neck instead, rubbing against his scent gland. Bucky brushes through his hair, then gently touches the inside of his wrist to Steve’s cheek.

“You need to smell like me, precious,” he murmurs. 

“Yep,” Steve answers happily. “Alpha.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “That’s right, baby.”

Bucky rubs his wrist down Steve’s jaw and over to his shoulder. Steve settles his nose right against Bucky’s scent gland and just breathes deeply. Bucky marks down Steve’s arm, then over to his belly. Steve pulls up his shirt again, but Bucky pauses.

“Daddy!” Steve whines. “Don’ stop!”

“Sorry,” Bucky says quickly. “I just wasn’t – wasn’t sure if you wanted that.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s arm and pulls his wrist against his stomach gently. Bucky takes over and rubs his scent gland over his skin. Steve smiles, content.

“You got stretch marks,” Bucky murmurs. “Look’it these cute marks.”

Steve grins. Bucky rubs his wrist over the pink lines framing Steve’s belly, then ends up just putting his palm over Steve’s belly button.

“We could’a been doin’ this months ago,” Bucky whispers.

“Dumb,” Steve declares.

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, that was pretty dumb of us.”

Steve sits up and wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck. Bucky takes his waist and smiles back at him. Steve leans in and kisses him gently.

“I stay in here,” Steve murmurs against Bucky’s lips. “You bring stuffs to eat? And stay here, too.”

“For the rest’a your pregnancy?” Bucky guesses, his voice teasing.

Steve makes an indecisive noise. “Like, forever?” he suggests instead.

Bucky snorts. “We can try,” he says finally.

“Yay,” Steve says, rubbing their noses together.

“I’m definitely gonna hold ont’a ya for forever,” Bucky murmurs.

“Okay,” Steve agrees, grinning. “An’ I give you lots an’ lots’a babies, Daddy.”

“We’ll talk about that when you’re big,” Bucky promises.

Steve shrugs and puts his face back in Bucky’s neck. “Like bein’ pregnant,” he says softly. “Feels nice.”

Bucky hugs him gently and slides his hand up Steve’s shirt, rubbing his wrist along his spine. “I bet it does,” he replies just as softly. “You got – How long’s left?”

“Ummm,” Steve stalls, thinking, “forty minus fourteen.”

“Uh, twenty-six,” Bucky says.

“Twenty-six weeks,” Steve tells him. “‘Til baby’s born.”

“Then you got twenty-six weeks’a bein’ pregnant left,” Bucky says.

Steve nods, smiling. “Always wan’ned t’a give you babies,” he mumbles. “Like it a lot.”

“We’ll have more,” Bucky agrees. “As many as you want, sweet pea.”

“Lots,” Steve says, yawning. 

He nuzzles into Bucky’s neck. Bucky kisses his hair and Steve smiles.

“Whatever you want, baby boy,” Bucky murmurs.

“Want you, Daddy,” Steve mumbles. “An’a nap.”

“We’ll nap,” Bucky promises. 

“No clothes,” Steve adds.

“Uh, sure,” Bucky says. “I don’t – I don’t remember that being part of naptime, though?”

Steve giggles and shakes his head. Bucky laughs as well.

“Are we napping or fucking, sweetheart?” he asks.

Steve hums indecisively. He sits up and rubs his chin with one hand and his belly with the other. Bucky sniggers. Steve glances up at him, his face warm, and shrugs.

“Do you remember –” he starts, quick and quiet. “Before, um, we used to – You liked sayin’ – An’ I liked sayin’ –…”

“Judging by your blush,” Bucky says, pinching Steve’s cheek; Steve giggles and smacks his hand away; “it’s somethin’ sexy,” Bucky decides.

Steve grins down at his belly and nods. He frames his belly button with his hands and rubs himself slowly.

“I might remember,” Bucky prompts, “but maybe you gotta jog my memory, doll.”

Steve flicks his gaze back up, finds Bucky positively leering at him, and looks down again quickly with his face erupting in a surely brighter blush.

“Gimme a hint,” Bucky adds.

“‘S to do with me givin’ you babies,” Steve mumbles.

“Oh,” Bucky answers slowly. “Hmmm…?”

Steve looks up and sees Bucky fighting a grin. He punches him in the shoulder lightly. Bucky breaks and laughs, grabbing Steve’s arms and pinning them down.

“I know,” he says, “believe me, I remember that, sweet pea.”

“You’re a meanie,” Steve mumbles, feeling very hot all over.

“But I love you!” Bucky coos. “Don’t you love me, too?”

“No,” Steve says, looking away with a firm pout.

Bucky starts kissing all over Steve’s face. “I love you!” he teases. “I love my pretty, pregnant lil’ baby!”

Steve grins and throws his arms around Bucky’s neck again, kissing him on the mouth. After, Bucky rubs their noses together.

“So,” he starts, “are we napping or fucking?”

Steve climbs off Bucky’s lap and lays down, lifting his legs into the air. “Fucking,” he decides.

Bucky laughs. “You’re easy,” he accuses.

Steve sticks his feet up and glares at Bucky. “You bett’a get over here an’ fuck me or I won’t let you do it!”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky laughs more, getting onto his knees and crawling between Steve’s upheld legs. “Are you even wet, honey?”

“Probably,” Steve giggles, “I’m always wet these days.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. Steve grins at him and wiggles his toes.

“C’mon,” he eggs him on, “fuck me, Daddy.”

“I fuckin’ love you, ya brat,” Bucky says, already yanking Steve’s underwear off his hips.

“Love you, too, Daddy,” Steve answers with a laugh.

*

Peter sneaks a look at his strategically placed phone in his bag. It’s still blank. He glances up, at the back of Prof. Sanderson’s head, then reaches into his backpack and pokes his home button.

His phone lights up. He has no texts.

“Mister Parker, you’re not subtle,” Prof. Sanderson announces.

Peter yanks his hand out of his backpack. “What?”

“You can check it between periods,” Sanderson adds, wagging his chalk at Peter. “Don’t make me confiscate it.”

“Sorry,” Peter mutters guiltily.

Sanderson turns back to the blackboard. “Now, as I was saying…”

Ned tosses a wad of paper onto Peter’s desk while looking in the other direction. Peter snatches it, similarly not looking, then uncrumples it and glances down. 

Cap popped yet?

Peter hastily scribbles No, crumples it, and tosses it back. Ned uncrumples it, then sighs audibly.

The bell rings. Peter scrambles to shove his things into the bag and tugs his phone out. He wakes the screen, expecting nothing.

Mr. Barnes: When do you get out of classes?

Peter grabs Ned’s arm and yanks him over; Ned yelps and almost trips and Peter has to steady him.

“I think –” he says.

Ned grabs his phone. “It’s happening!” he gasps.

Peter then gets another text. A video loads and Peter hits play while turning off his phone's sound.

Mr. Rogers, hair limp as fuck, waving at the camera with a tired smile. His other arm cradles a bundle of blankets.

“It happened!” Ned gasps even louder.

“What’re you nerds talking about?” Flash calls across the hallway.

“Captain America had a baby!” Ned calls back.

“Ha, as if!” Flash shouts. “Fake news, bitches!”

Peter flips him off. “You’re not qualified to use that word, asshole!”

“Bitches is gender-neutral!” Flash accuses.

“And only bitches get to use it,” Michelle shouts back. “Go eat a knot, dickhead!”

Flash flips her off. Michelle grabs Peter and Ned by the arms and drags them out.

“We ditchin’,” she says.

“What!” Peter gasps.

“We gonna see that cute AF baby,” Michelle adds, completely deadpan. 

“We can’t ditch?” Peter tries to say.

Michelle raises her eyebrows, lets go of them and leans on an exit door, steps out as it swings open. She waves at the sunlight.

“We goin’ or what?”

Peter checks his watch.

“We do just have study hall,” Ned points out.

“Fine,” Peter exhales.

Ned whoops. 

They run outside before someone can stop them. Peter texts Mr. Barnes back as they make the break towards the property line, saying that they’re on their way already. Mr. Barnes answers him again as they get off campus, letting him know what hospital; as if Peter hadn't already known.

“Bet the baby has hair,” Ned announces as they get on the subway.

“Babies aren’t born with hair,” Peter argues.

“I was,” Michelle says.

She grabs the overhead bar and Peter grabs her arm because he's short.

“That’s because you’re you,” Peter declares.

Ned holds up his phone and his camera flash goes off. Michelle and Peter blink.

“Whoops,” Ned says. “Hang on.”

He holds his phone back up, then grins.

“Why are you taking a picture?” Peter asks, exasperated.

“Because you’re adorable,” Ned says.

“We are,” Michelle agrees.

“I’m not adorable!” Peter argues.

“You are so cute!” Michelle coos, grabbing Peter by the jaw and shaking his head.

“Stahp!” Peter squeals.

“You’re the cutest boy!” Michelle insists.

Peter glares at her. She grins back. Ned holds his phone back up.

“I’m making this both of you’s contact photos,” he says.

Peter sticks his tongue out at Ned. Ned sticks his back out.

“You are adorable, though,” Michelle adds.

“Am not!” Peter argues.

 Ned and Michelle laugh at him.

They get off the subway twenty minutes later. Peter texts Mr. Barnes to find out what room he and Mr. Rogers (and their baby) are in as they go through the visitor’s check-in. 

“Who are you here to see?” a bored employee asks.

“Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes,” Peter says. “In the maternity ward. They just had a baby.”

The employee doesn’t even seem to realize.

They have to get directions twice and wash their hands thoroughly before they’re let into the maternity ward. In the end, Mr. Barnes finds them first.

“Hey,” he says, smiling at them with heavy bags under his eyes. “We’re through here.”

“You look like you could use some coffee,” Michelle says, grabbing Mr. Barnes by the arm. “From one Alpha to another.”

Peter rolls his eyes. Mr. Barnes looks confused.

“When did you become an Alpha?” he asks.

“Like, a month ago,” Michelle answers with a grin. “Wanna let the Omegas coo over the baby and us Alphas go get coffee?”

Peter punches her in the arm. 

“Ow!” Michelle says. “It was a joke!”

“I’m still cooing over the baby,” Mr. Barnes assures her. “Is Ned an Omega?”

Ned shakes his head. "She just likes reminding people that she's an Alpha."

“Okay. This way,” Mr. Barnes says, waving them on. “You kids know when Gwen and Miles get outta class? They ain't answered me yet.”

“Uh,” Ned starts.

“We skipped last period to come see you,” Michelle says. “But Brooklyn Visions should be finishing soon.”

Mr. Barnes gives them a look.

“It was just study hall!” Peter says quickly.

Mr. Barnes continues giving them the look as he pushes open a door. “Cutting class is wrong but I would’ve done the same,” he says flatly. “Stevie, half the kids are here!”

Peter runs in under Mr. Barnes’s arm. Mr. Rogers waves from the bed and Peter stops quickly at his side, looking over into the bundle in his arms. Michelle walks up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, propping her chin on his shoulder to look. Ned hugs Peter’s other arm and leans on his shoulder, too.

“Aww!” they all say together.

Mr. Rogers grins. “She’s the cutest baby,” he declares.

Mr. Barnes comes over and perches on the edge of Mr. Rogers’ bed, wrapping an arm around him to grin down at the baby, too.

Peter personally thinks that the Barnes-Rogers baby looks like a potato with a face, but he won’t say that aloud.

“She kinda looks like a potato with a face,” Michelle announces.

Peter jabs his elbow backwards into Michelle’s gut. Michelle groans and goes dead-weight on his back. Peter hardly notices.

“She’s a very adorable baby, Mr. Rogers,” Peter says.

“Jeez, kid, call me Steve,” Mr. Rogers answers, wrinkling his nose. “C’mon, I’m a new mother, not a hundred-year-old man.”

“Stevie, you are a hundred years old,” Mr. Barnes says.

“Mr. Barnes has a point,” Ned adds.

Mr. Barnes looks mildly affronted. Mr. Rogers points at him and laughs weakly.

The Barnes-Rogers baby yawns and blinks her eyes open. Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers quickly bend over her and grin down at her; Mr. Barnes waves.

“Hi, girly=girl!” Mr. Rogers coos. “Hi, I’m your mama!”

“What’s her name?” Peter asks.

“Rebecca Parker,” Mr. Barnes says.

Peter’s mouth falls open. Michelle gasps, then hugs Peter tight around the middle and lifts him off his feet a little.

“You have a baby named after you!” she shrieks. “That’s the cutest thing ever!”

Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers now grin at Peter.

“We wanted to ask you to be her godmother,” Mr. Rogers adds. “Or godfather,” he adds, “whichever you prefer.”

“Me?” Peter squeaks.

Michelle puts him down. Peter clears his throat and says, less squeaky, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Mr. Rogers says. “You’re the reason we got our heads outta our –” he stops, looking abruptly frantic, “– sand?” he concludes hesitantly.

“Yeah, that makes grammatical sense,” Mr. Barnes teases.

Mr. Rogers pokes him with the baby-free hand. Mr. Barnes just tucks close to Mr. Rogers and nuzzles his shoulder.

“Anyway,” Mr. Rogers continues, “godmother?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, grinning now. “Yeah, I’d love to!”

He leans over and looks Rebecca Parker Barnes-Rogers – Shit, that’s a long name, he thinks – in the eye. She looks vaguely in his direction.

“I’m your godfather!” he says. “Wait, does it make more sense to be her godmother?” he adds, looking back up.

“It’s up to you,” Mr. Rogers says, “I’ll call myself her mother ‘cause I’m old-fashioned; it used to be that mother just meant the bearing parent.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” Peter answers, then looks back down at Rebecca Parker. “I’m your godmother even though I’m a boy ‘cause I can also grow humans.”

Mr. Rogers laughs. “That’s the spirit, kid.”

Rebecca Parker waves a tiny fist. Peter stands up and grins. Michelle hugs him around the middle and lifts him off his feet again. Peter lets her ‘cause he knows she’s emotional.

“Who’s the godfather, then?” Ned asks.

Mr. Barnes shrugs. “Whoever calls it first.”

Mr. Rogers pokes him again. "Don't be disrespectful," he scolds.

“I call godfather!” Michelle and Ned say together.

“You can both be godfather,” Mr. Barnes decides.

Mr. Rogers covers his face with his empty hand. Michelle puts Peter back down and Peter edges closer.

“Can I hold her?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Mr. Rogers says, sitting up.

Carefully, Mr. Rogers transfers Rebecca Parker into Peter’s arms. Peter sits on the edge of the bed, too, and cradles her close, grinning.

“I’ll teach you how to play video games,” he says softly, “‘cause your parents will have no idea.”

Rebecca Parker just blinks at him. Peter decides that she looks just like Mr. Barnes.

“I think us Alphas should get food,” Mr. Barnes announces. “C’mon, Michelle.”

Michelle ruffles Peter’s hair as she walks by. Mr. Barnes kisses Mr. Rogers on the cheek, then leans over and kisses Rebecca Parker’s forehead; Peter leans back so he can. Ned sits down by Mr. Rogers feet as Mr. Barnes holds the door open for Michelle and they leave.

“So, how was giving birth?” Ned asks.

“A lot worse than I thought it would be,” Mr. Rogers answers soberly. “But definitely worth it.”

“Babies are cool,” Peter decides.

“That’s your lizard brain telling you that it’s a good idea to create more,” Mr. Rogers jokes, ruffling Peter’s hair, too. “But my lizard brain already wants, I dunno, ten more, so it’s fine.”

Peter laughs. Mr. Rogers leans forward and holds his arms out and Peter quickly moves to give Rebecca back. Mr. Rogers settles back against his pillows and cuddles Rebecca against his chest. His boobs stand out against his broad shoulders a little awkwardly, though Peter would never say that aloud. 

“You and Michelle would make adorable babies,” Mr. Rogers adds.

Peter jerks. “Mich–Michelle?” he stammers. “What?! No! C’mon!”

Mr. Rogers grins, his eyebrows knitting together. “You two aren’t dating yet?”

“They are,” Ned says.

“No, we’re not!” Peter insists. “Why do you think I’m dating Michelle? She’s not dating me! She’s way out of my league! Are you kidding!”

“What do you call last Friday, then?” Ned argues. “You two went out for milkshakes and you saw a movie?”

“We were hanging out!” Peter stammers on. “As friends! She doesn’t see me like that!”

"But it was just the two of you?" Ned insists. "Michelle gave you a teddy bear, Pete!"

"That doesn't mean we're dating!" Peter splutters.

Mr. Rogers grabs Peter’s arm and tugs on it. “C’mere,” he says.

Peter moves close and Mr. Rogers cups his hand over his ear.

“You reek like possessive baby Alpha,” Mr. Rogers hisses.

Peter jerks up and makes a lot of vague noises. Ned bursts into laughter and falls over Mr. Rogers’ feet. Peter collapses into a chair.

“Ohmygod,” he whispers into the void. “Michelle is scent-marking me!”

“She has been for weeks!” Ned wheezes. “You didn’t realize?!”

Mr. Rogers looks very amused. “You’re welcome, kid,” he says.

The door opens again; Michelle sticks her head in. Peter squeaks and slides off his chair onto the floor. Michelle frowns at him.

“Why are you on the floor?” 

Peter stammers uselessly.

“Mr. Bucky sent me back to ask what sandwiches y’all wanted to eat,” Michelle adds. “Peter, are you okay?”

“Go help him,” Mr. Rogers says, shooting a grin at Peter.

Peter scrambles to his feet. “I’m fine!” he says. “I don’t need help! It’s okay!”

“Okay…” Michelle says slowly. “Food?”

“I want cheese,” Mr. Rogers says. “No tomatoes.”

“I’ll take anything but tuna salad,” Ned says.

“You want roast beef and mustard,” Michelle says, pointing at Peter. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbles, feeling overwhelmed.

Michelle snaps her fingers and lands on finger guns, then pulls back out. Ned and Mr. Rogers smirk in Peter’s direction.

“Can we make this about Rebecca Parker?” Peter asks quickly.

“Sure, kid,” Mr. Rogers says, winking.

“Do you think Michelle knows she’s scent-marking you?” Ned asks, though.

“I – Uh, I –” Peter says.

“Yeah,” Ned says carefully. “Yeah, she knows.”

Mr. Rogers taps his nose. Peter sits down again, then pulls the chair close and looks at Rebecca Parker.

“I hope you end up an Alpha,” he says. “Being an Omega is confusing.”

“But it’s so nice to always reek like a possessive Alpha!” Mr. Rogers teases.

“Being an Omega is sooo confusing,” Peter whispers to Rebecca Parker. “Better – Stay a baby forever.”

“That would be perfect,” Mr. Rogers quickly agrees, grinning at Rebecca again. “You’re the cutest baby. She has Bucky’s chin, see?”

Ned leans in to look again. Peter drops his head onto Mr. Rogers’ shoulder and smiles tiredly at Rebecca Parker’s tiny cleft chin.

The door opens and Gwen and Miles spill inside.

“Aw, she’s so cute!” Gwen squeals.

“I’m the godmother!” Peter says excitedly.

“Don’t you mean godfather?” Miles asks, looking highly confused.

Gwen runs around to Mr. Rogers’ other side and goes aww! “She has Mr. Bucky’s chin!”

“I know!” Mr. Rogers says excitedly.

“I can be godmother because I have the ability to grow humans,” Peter tells Miles.

Miles looks confused still.

“He’s thirteen,” Gwen reminds them, “still hasn’t gotten to that part of Health class.”

“I know how babies are made!” Miles defends himself. "Sort of!"

Peter pats Miles’s hair. “Stay a baby forever,” he advises, “being an Omega or an Alpha or a Beta is confusing.”

“I’m thirteen!” Miles says, shoving Peter’s hand away. “Not a baby! She’s a baby!”

“What’s her name?” Gwen asks Mr. Rogers excitedly.

Mr. Rogers grins at Peter. “Rebecca, after Bucky’s sister, and Parker, after her godmother.”

Peter puffs up his chest and grins. Gwen aww! ’s again.

The doors swing open again and Michelle walks back in with Mr. Barnes and paper bags.

“That’s cute, man,” Miles says.

“I’m glad someone agrees with me,” Michelle announces. “Ned, we got you tuna salad.”

“What!” Ned burst out.

“She’s lying,” Mr. Barnes assures him.

“Thank you,” Ned says.

“We got you egg salad,” Mr. Barnes adds.

Ned sighs. “Fine.”

Mr. Barnes moves around Gwen to sit down again and bump shoulders with Mr. Rogers. Michelle hands Ned the paper bag she’d been carrying and tosses her arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter’s eyes go wide. Mr. Rogers catches his gaze and winks.

“Who’s godfather?” Miles asks.

“Me,” Ned and Michelle say together.

Mr. Barnes shrugs. “We’re a progressive family,” he says.

"I feel like I have more claim to godfather," Michelle adds, reaching up and ruffling Peter's hair. "Since Pete's her godmother."

Ned points at Peter. Peter blinks rapidly.

"Wait," Miles starts, looking between the two of them, "are you dating?"

Peter squeaks. Michelle props her chin on his head.

"Pretty much," she says.

"Dammit," Mr. Barnes says abruptly.

Mr. Rogers holds out his hand, smirking. Mr. Barnes sighs, takes out his wallet, and pulls out a bill that he presses into Mr. Rogers' palm. 

"Peter was not aware of that," Ned points out.

"But I gave you a teddy bear!" Michelle gasps, looking sideways at Peter. 

Peter makes several vague noises. Michelle pats his hair. 

"I bet you'd make it at least a year before you two figured yourselves out," Mr. Barnes says woefully.

"I'm highly intelligent," Michelle points out.

"But Peter is highly oblivious," Ned adds.

Peter leans back against Michelle and vows to just dissolve into a puddle of schmoop. Michelle wraps her arms securely around his middle and holds him up. Peter points absently towards Mr. Rogers.

"This is nice," he says.

"Ha," Mr. Rogers answers. "That's my kid."