Work Text:
When Sam was younger his mother would warn him about ‘judging books by their covers’ and he’d always prided himself in not doing just that.
He’d just forgotten somewhere that it was easier to judge a certain book’s cover if everyone else was thinking the same thing. At least it is until someone else points out the obvious- something everyone else overlooked so they could force their perceptions into reality; it just never occurred to him that that person could possibly be almost half his age and twice as playful and immature.
A week after Steve getting shot, immediately following the fall out of most of the present Avengers’ feelings, everything seemed to have settled back to normal. Later Sam would blame his perception of that on the fact that he hadn’t known Tony very long, and that was how he managed to trick himself. Then he’d remember that Peter’s known him even less, and no one had thought highly of the speedster’s observation skills.
Steve and Natasha were outside sparring, though everybody knew Natasha was pulling punches because Steve’s shoulder was still incredible sensitive. That didn’t mean she wasn’t kicking his ass- repeatedly- but just less brutal then she could’ve. A fact Sam had found most assuming, and he’d figured Clint and Tony did also.
On the other side of the yard Tony was helping Clint with some of his arrows, hunched over and working in a silence that seemed odd but Sam figured Clint was still remorseful at blaming Tony about Steve’s injury and Tony was just being Tony. Erik was on the other side of Tony, watching under the pretense of interest but Sam saw something in his expression that frightened him so Sam tried not to think about it too much.
That left Sam in charge of lunch, which he didn’t really mind. It reminded him of simpler times where his mother would teach him how to cook, and it helped relieve most of the stress that’s built around all of them since their arrival.
It also gave him a perfect view of the three forms huddled together in the living room. Wanda was on the bed, legs crossed with books and papers scattered around her crazily. She was chewing on her thumbnail- a nervous habit, Sam’s learned- as her eyes skimmed over the words and diagrams and many confusing array of symbols.
At her side, back pressed against the wall and toes curled underneath his sister’s thigh, was Pietro. Sam hadn’t been there when he’d died, but he could see a defiant improvement from when they’d first arrived though every day Sam knew he was getting progressively more bored.
Peter sat across from Wanda, on the other end of the books and pages laid in front of her, as he alternately between watching them, and his father from out the window. Sam wondered if he’d intentionally picked that spot because it gave him the best view out the window or if that had just been an accidental discovery he’s taken great use in.
Either way it didn’t seem to matter. When he wasn’t watching Wanda or smiling mirthfully at Pietro he was staring out the window as if waiting. His shoulders would bunch together tightly like he was anticipating for Erik to suddenly snap and kill all of them.
That was a frightening thought especially considering how easily Erik took them and most of Wakanda apart when he’d first arrived so Sam tried not to linger on it too much. Instead he gathered the plates of sandwiches and soup as he made his way to the living room where the trio were currently sitting.
“Who’s hungry?” Sam asked with an amused note in his tone, smiling happily at the sight of the twins and Peter together.
To an outsider completely unaware of their relations they could’ve all passed as siblings, especially with how easily Peter’s slipped his way inside. That was just Peter, though, friendly and fun enough that everybody was willing to accept him into their group and anything less was because Peter didn’t want it.
Peter’s head snapped up at the mention of food, eyes shining brightly as he babbled too fast for Sam to understand on how his food was way better than Raven’s and that someone should ban her from entering the kitchen because it could be considered a crime. Sam wasn’t really sure if that was meant as a compliment, but he was willing to accept it as one so he didn’t ask.
“Thank you,” Wanda smiled warmly when she accepted her plate, nibbling off a corner of her sandwich before returning to her work; Sam let her knowing how important it was for her to figure out a way of sending Peter and Erik back where they came from despite how nice it was having them around.
Whenever Erik wasn’t acting like a terrifying sentinel, of course.
Pietro wasn’t as verbally polite as his sister though he did offer Sam a thankful smile before starting his lunch. He went to shift his feet out from under Wanda’s leg when she grabbed his ankle in silent warning; he stared down at the hand for a long moment before he stilled and remained how he had been before.
“She doesn’t want him to move around too much,” Peter answered Sam’s silent question, “Afraid he’s going to jump up and run around at first chance he got, which is probably accurate. Sitting around as long as he has is awful to someone like me or him.”
Sam nodded in acceptance though he wasn’t sure Peter saw it as Peter was staring out the window once more. Sam followed his gaze surprised to find it on Tony’s concentrated form and Clint’s more interested one hovering at his side.
“Is this just something that’s happened while I was gone?” Pietro asked evidently following the same line as Sam had before he clarified, “Forgiving Stark, I mean.”
“Stark’s made some bad choices and because of that good people have died,” Wanda hummed without looking up before she added with a tilt of her head, “Then again so have we. People are dead because of us- because of me.”
“That’s not fair-” Pietro started to protest but was cut off by the sudden look his sister threw up at him before she allowed it to settle back on the papers spread before her.
“It’s not really our place to discern what it is and isn’t,” Wanda continued as he gaze settled back on the papers, “You’re not obligated to like or trust him but it’s no longer fair to place all that blame on him.”
Pietro hummed in acceptance and just like that it seemed the matter had ended. Sam gathered the remaining sandwiches in his arms, moving towards the door. About halfway there his grip on one faltered and it tumbled out from his hands and towards the ground in slow horror.
It stopped centimeters before touching, a hand grabbing it in a tight grasp. Peter’s victorious smirk shone back up at him, bright and young and something Sam was sure he could stare at all day if he wasn’t so scared of Erik getting the wrong idea and breaking his face.
“I’ll help,” Peter offered as he straightened back up, already snatching most of the plates from Sam’s hands and moving towards the door.
Sam hurried to catch up, hating how even slow Peter seemed so incredibly fast. It was the same with Steve only a million times more intense considering Peter’s was more natural.
Erik accepted both his own and Tony’s sandwich from Peter, giving one of the fond expressions Sam only catches on the older man whenever it involved Peter. Peter beamed back before he reached out to poke Tony’s bicep, yearning a slow hum in response.
“Make sure you eat your sandwich before the flies do Mr. Stark,” Peter commanded him with a slight giggle as Tony fixated him with a hard glare.
“You know what I think? I think you know my name and don’t want to admit-” Tony started back- a familiar banter that seemed to settle between the two naturally- before dark eyes flickered over to Clint and Sam and whatever Tony was about to say was cut off as he muttered lowly, “Thanks. Now buzz off.”
Peter’s face crinkled to a slight frown, glancing over at his father’s own troubled expression, before he forced a tight smile back across his features that felt equal parts wrong and unnatural when he fixed his attention back on Sam and Clint. That was probably Sam’s first inclination that everything wasn’t as fine as he’d been led to believe, even as Peter ushered him away.
They arrived just in time to see Natasha kick Steve in the side, sending the man on the ground with a loud grunt; Peter’s eyes seemed to take on a morbid sort of glimmer at the sight even as he declared loudly, “We’ve brought lunch.”
Natasha nodded, sticking out a hand to help Steve up. Steve accepted it before readily grabbing for the plate of food before moving so he could sit and enjoy it. Natasha followed and because Sam hadn’t gotten a chance to sit and eat in what’s felt like forever he too joined them.
He just hadn’t meant for the first thing to come from his mouth being, “Have either one of you noticed something off about Stark?”
Peter’s eyes suddenly turned towards him, narrowed and serious and disconcerting in ways Sam couldn’t explain. It wasn’t like the younger male’s face changed all that much but he instantly looked a lot like Erik in all the worst ways.
Steve didn’t seem to notice, probably because the gaze wasn’t focused on him and he could occasionally be so dense, as he chewed his sandwich and replied with a shrug, “I think he’s just tired. Probably wants to go back to his tower and sleep this whole experience off. Not that I can blame him. It’s certainly been trying.”
It was more than that, and Sam knew that the four of them knew that. Steve was hiding something. Something about Tony. From Peter’s look Sam suspected he probably was too. Thankfully Natasha was there and willing to say what the rest of them wasn’t.
“He doesn’t trust us,” she supplied them flatly, giving them a narrowed expression as if to ask how they hadn’t figured that one out.
“It’s Tony though,” Sam protested because this he was confident enough in to argue, “He doesn’t trust anyone.”
Natasha frowned, and Steve dodged his expression. Peter was still glaring and though it wasn’t quite a glare it was intense enough to send shivers down Sam’s spine. He was missing something, and he hated the feeling of being the last person in the room to understand something.
“I don’t understand where the problem in that is,” Peter said before Natasha or Steve could as he shrugged and added with casual indifference, “considering the man that loved him pretended he didn’t and the man that hated him pretended he loved him.”
Sam blinked because Peter said it so naturally, like he’s been best friends with Tony his whole life. Even Natasha and Steve were eyeing him cautiously but for different reasons. Unlike Sam they probably knew what he was talking about.
“How do you know about Howard and Obadiah?” Steve demanded, shoulders tense in tranquil fury like if he suddenly lashed out Peter wasn’t quick enough to dodge him.
“I’m a quick study,” Peter explained with another shrug, his eyes never leaving Sam as he asked, “Have none of you seriously wondered why Stark Industries suddenly stopped manufacturing weapons or why Iron Man just suddenly appeared right after?”
Sam hadn’t and from the sudden silence it was obvious neither Steve nor Natasha had either. Peter gave another slow hum before he finished off the rest of his sandwich and fixated them with a broad smile that lacked its usual shine.
“I’m going to see if Wanda needs anymore help,” and then he was gone.
Sam followed, unsure rather or not he should be concerned by Peter’s perception on a man he just met yet somehow it felt more accurate than the one Sam had originally felt was true.
-:-
Perception, Sam decided later that night on his spot beside Clint on the couch, was probably a family trait.
Peter was across the room with Wanda and Pietro, silent and still as his eyes remained fixated on Tony sitting by the door fumbling with something he’s taken apart and pieced back together at least three times now. Sam was starting to think it was so he could keep his excuse of not joining the rest of them, and that upset Sam more than he thought it would.
Tony Stark was a selfish man. He didn’t care about others or their feelings so why should anybody do the same towards him? After all it was because of him that they all got arrested and thrown in jail and if it hadn’t been because of Steve they would’ve stayed there to rot.
At least that’s what Sam felt this morning.
Now he wasn’t so sure, or he was less sure considering it felt like he had successfully managed to miss something. Tony didn’t look selfish or incredibly arrogant but upset at remaining in their presences longer then he has too. From the way Steve kept nervously glancing over there Sam knew he felt much the same way, and whatever the heck they talked about the other night hadn’t fixed as much as Steve thought it had.
From the kitchen Sam could hear Erik moving stealthily about. It was eerie how quiet he was capable of being, especially considering what he was capable of doing to them so easily and Sam didn’t want to meet the people that gives Erik a hard time in a fight.
“You wouldn’t be all that impressed anyways,” Peter’s voice suddenly chimed in and Sam jumped, startled, as the younger male suddenly appeared in front of him as he stared in the direction of his father, “He doesn’t look like much. Most his life is spent in a wheelchair, after all.”
Sam blinked, mind rapidly spinning for an explanation to that, when Clint asked genuinely sounding confused, “What?”
“The person my father listens to,” Peter explained like it was obvious, “Charles. One of the few people I’ve ever seen him actually listen to reason for. Besides Apocalypse, of course, but that wasn’t really fair considering he’d still been reeling from the loss of his wife and daughter.”
“What are you saying?” Steve asked the same time Clint claimed, “I don’t even want to know what all that means.”
Peter grinned almost smugly as his eyes followed Erik leaving the kitchen to where Tony still sat to silently hand him a mug before he frowned and murmured, “The whole world sees him as the bad guy, and he’s done some horrible things, but Charles’ has always been there rather he wanted to or not.”
Sam turned to stare at Erik and Tony for a moment longer before it clicked. He should’ve known there was a reason Peter would offer such vulnerable information all of a sudden.
“Erik is trying to be Tony’s Charles.”
Sam didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud until he realized Steve had tensed and everyone was staring at the duo in the corner with scrutinizing eyes. Everyone except Peter whose smile turned almost feral as it stretched across his face.
“I mean, someone has to,” Peter informed them lowly, “He lives by himself surrounded by a world that tells him he’s never good enough. That he’ll never be like his father or the great Captain America. He wasn’t even an Avenger, not technically. Yet every day he tries and no one notices. I think dad can just sort of relate.”
No one notices.
Sam wonders if Peter knew how cutting his words were to all of them, and if he did then did he care. The answer to that, he decided resentfully, wasn’t something he needed to know. Not when he could look like his father so easily. A slip and he was there.
“So Charles is your father’s friend?” Steve pressed, leaning towards the kid with narrowed eyes and tense shoulders and it reminded Sam how easily they had all been fooled that everything was okay; Tony had forgiven them and it was all normal once more.
No wonder so many people felt victimized by Tony Stark, telling everyone who’d bother to listen. Sam had just never stopped to consider that that was because Tony had done such a convincing job of fooling them- everyone. The whole world, almost, except for maybe Banner who was gone replaced by the odd case in front of them and his father.
Peter’s mouth tightened like he was contemplating something before he replied thinly, “Sometimes. Dad has a lot of anger, though, but that’s okay. Charles has the patience of a saint.”
“And now?” Clint demanded before Steve could speak, head craned painfully so he could watch Erik hover over Tony pressuring him into drinking whatever was in the mug.
“Now dad’s trying,” Peter replied with a shrug before dark eyes landed on Sam and he added, “Tony’s not okay so he’s trying but I think it’s making him regret all those times he turned on professor.”
“Why would you tell us this?” Sam asked, eyes locked onto Peter’s.
Peter’s gaze flickered behind him to where his father was whispering something to Tony, making the other male smile shyly. It was genuine and soft and unlike anything Sam’s ever seen on the man’s face before.
No wonder Pepper had loved him. Still loves him, Sam reminded himself.
“I thought you need to know,” Peter replied softly, “You were wondering earlier what was wrong with Tony.”
-:-
The situation didn’t improve much. If anything Peter’s confession made everything a million times worse, especially considering Sam still harbored a healthy sort of fear towards Erik.
He was trying to better understand Tony, which was harder than he thought when he just stared creepily from afar. Steve approached Tony several times since then but Tony insisted he had no idea what he was talking about, such an obvious lie now that Sam was looking.
Then, because Sam vowed to follow Steve Rogers to his grave, he was beside the man when Erik approached them with an angry furrow in his brow and knuckles bleached white from the intensity residing in them.
“What do you think you are doing?” Erik demanded, voice clipped with his accent as he regarded them both with a look that could kill.
“Me?” Steve asked, sweaty and intense as he whirled to face one of the scariest people Sam’s ever met before- and he’s faced off with Winter Soldiers and secret organizations everyone previously thought were dead, “Sparring. Why? What are you doing?”
The muscles in Erik’s face twitched fractionally as his gaze shifted between the two of them before he managed to ground out lowly, “Stay away from Stark.”
Steve’s shoulders tensed before he rolled them threateningly and replied with a false calm, “Tony’s a grown man. He doesn’t need you holding his hand.”
Sam knew it was because Steve was upset someone like Erik had grown so close to Tony so quickly and the slight bullying way the man chose to approach him that he was reacting irrationally, but Sam really wanted to slap him. They weren’t supposed to be fighting, especially not about Tony like jealous school girls. Sam also knew that he wouldn’t be enough to cool Erik’s temper should it really get going.
“Hey guys,” Sam still tried as he stepped between them setting a consoling hand against Steve’s chest, “Who Tony decides to hang out with his own business so let’s just all calm down.”
“You’re hurting him,” Erik accused eyes narrowed on Steve completely ignoring Sam’s presence, “You constantly hanging around him like nothing happened is hurting him. You left him to die in Siberia. How the hell is he supposed to just forget that?”
Sam’s brain faltered because- no, Steve wouldn’t, Steve was a good person- but there was a flash of pain and regret inside Steve’s eyes and it hurt to think Sam had been so quick to choose sides, make assumptions and pretend nothing was wrong because Stark was a jerk and deserved everything he got.
Sam’s hand fell as he begged, “Steve?”
“He was going to kill Bucky,” Steve explained staring at Erik with real steel in his icy blue gaze, “It shouldn’t have mattered. One phone call and he’d have people pick him up. I had to protect my friend.”
Erik snorted in twisted amusement as he answered hollowly, “That’s the worst part. At one time Tony thought you were his friend too.”
“That’s not fair-” Sam protested because this was Steve and Erik was intentionally being mean.
“Don’t preach to me about fairness,” Erik snarled effectively silencing whatever Sam was going to say, “No one asks for what happens to them, but we just have to learn to live with it. You made your decision clear when you walked away from an injured comrade, leaving a defenseless man to fend for himself and piece something back together. You don’t get to just write a letter and pretend like you didn’t so own up to your actions and stay the hell away from Stark.”
The ground beneath them quivered threateningly, and Sam tried to not think of all the potential metal residing underneath them. Steve was still being quiet, and Erik’s eyes were captivating like a venomous snake’s before the kill when a lithe body wedged itself between them and Erik.
“Don’t,” Peter warned, one hand pressed against Erik’s chest and the other looped around his wrist; his head was tipped back so he could stare that earnest gaze that had captivated everyone else.
The shaking stilled and Sam remembered how to breathe as he willed the fluttering in his chest to still. Peter turned to regard them with a long look, eyes searching for something Sam wasn’t sure he’d find. He must have considering he tipped his head back up towards Erik.
“Tony can make his own decisions,” Peter whispered, echoing the words Steve had said but with much better results, “and Tony wants to forgive them. He just needs time.”
Erik’s eyes flickered back to them as he corrected, “He needs space.”
Peter released a heavy sounding sigh as he reasoned, “He needs you to stop hovering over him. Please, father. Stop pressing so much.”
The tension residing in Erik’s shoulders finally left as he nodded and murmured, “You’re right. I’m sorry,” but Sam didn’t think that he was speaking to them.
It didn’t matter either way, considering Natasha was suddenly there looked troubled by something. Sam wasn’t sure what could warrant that type of expression on the assassin’s face, but he was immensely grateful for the reprieve. At least until she spoke, and the world seemed to halt before crashing around all of them.
“We just got a call from Wakanda. Barnes is gone.”