Absolute Advil Addict
Advil was the first one Bucky noticed.
He found Peter coming back after his patrol as Spiderman, showering, dry swallowing a handful of Advil - like clockwork, no matter what time of day. It was honestly worrying, because a.) if Peter came back everyday in need of pain medication, then maybe something was wrong with his healing factor and b.)does that stuff even work on him? He knew Nat was trying to cure him of his fear of drugs, more specifically needles - but to be honest Bucky was still working on that one too and to some extent Nat, it was a big turn off to doctor appointments.
He strolled into the place on the counter with his laptop in a grayish blue hoodie that was Bucky’s and soft pink sweatpants that were Natasha’s. He lazily stumbled into the kitchen and went straight to the medicine cabinet to paw through it for the red candied pills, after setting his laptop down. Natasha had placed it in the common space so none of them could hide injuries (that didn’t mean they didn’t sneak and grab some, but living with two other trained spies it was hard to get past each other on anything - especially when one had a sixth sense and another had superhearing and the last one was literally the best spy in the world. It became almost a game to Peter when he discovered this, so he never hid a stash in his room, and neither Bucky nor Natasha told he wasn’t encouraged to do so either. Peter respected those rules - and really he’d respect any rules with a good explanation. Small blessings.) Bucky didn’t think much of it until Peter came to sit next to him hugging the bulk sized Advil bottle to his chest and swallowed four at once (he didn’t even know they made Advil bottles that large), Kiska on his heels flopping down half on top on the kid.
Bucky raised his brow as the kid went to swallow two more. He knew that Banner estimated that Peter’s metabolism was three times Steve’s from the mutation and that didn’t factor the fact he was a teenager and still growing. He needed to eat and sleep more than any other Avenger after fighting because he was a kid (that didn’t mean he actually did though. It was pretty hit or miss most days. There were days he forgot to eat and days he stuffed himself so full that he threw up, which came with its own set of medical problems. Most days he just snacked throughout the day with meals in between instead of having five separate meal times like Bruce had suggested). He knew logically that it would translate into his medicine too but...
“Those aren’t Candy Petya.” He tried gently with a furrowed brow as the kid swallowed two more without even touching the juice box he had hiding out in his hoodie pocket. He knew Natasha was trying to get the kid out of his dry swallow habit, but they really had to pick their battles at this point. They knew changing too many of their son’s bad habits would push him away and make him think that they didn’t like him for who he was - Natasha had a more subtle way of easing one out of their habits so Bucky let her handle the smaller things.
“Yeah I know. Sorry. I just need a lot.” He mumbled swallowing popping another one in his mouth absently as he booted up his computer and Bucky put down the newspaper in his hand and leaned over to him. Peter scooted toward him and landed halfway in his lap. Hugging the massive bottle of pills like a teddy bear clicking at the lopsided laptop into a file that looked suspiciously like a high tech motorcycle. Bucky froze for a second, he’d never get tired of his son curling up to him. It made something in his heart melt.
“Okay, don’t over do it.” Bucky said gently, and rubbed the boys back as the sleepy boy cuddled closer. Dammit, it was a play and it was working.
Just like his mother.
“M’kay.”
OoO
Bucky learned when Peter was having a bad day.
There were signs. It wasn’t the normal ones like sulking or the moping that gave it away. Though Peter never sulks or mopes unless it’s to exaggerate a point or tease someone. That wasn’t what he did when he was sad or having a bad day - and they called them bad days because they all had their bad days.
Usually he went to Natasha, who was admirably better at taking care of the boy when he was like this and was lonely, Bucky mostly just offered support, when Peter would come to him it was because he was scared - he’d just curl up next to his father to feel safe.
But that didn’t mean Bucky didn’t know his kid’s tells.
It was excessive tea drinking. Peter loves tea. Natasha has found that little tidbit when she caught Bruce and Peter having a tea party in their lab with beakers instead of tea cups and they weren’t afraid to admit that they were doing so, even offered to allow her and anyone else to join (he thought of the kid roping Stark in for tea time in the lab and the disgruntled man not being able to say no to Peters fake innocence. The kid was cute and he knew how to use his smile). Even if they were hidden away in the lab and using science beakers as mugs, it was an open invitation to anyone who walked by and wanted to, as Peter put it, “spill some tea” - which he found out later from Wanda meant gossip, and who knew Bruce would be so into that (although with the bullshit some team members get into cough cough Sam, Clint, Tony, Thor, Stevecough it’s really no surprise).
But Peter drank an excessive amount of Rosemary tea when he wasn’t feeling well - not enough to warrant a check up though just passing symptoms. But only rosemary. No other tea would suffice. And he would outright refuse it any other time.
“Petya?” He asked. Peter had been looking into the cup of his fifth glass of Cold Rosemary - because the kettle had grown cold - at in the kitchen in the dark of the night, citylights highlighting his frame. The waft of the flower scented drink hanging in the air. He looked up and was mildly surprised, and his eyes were just tired.
“I’m gonna be sick.” He mumbled and scurried off to the bathroom. Bucky sighed, he was waiting for the kid to burst. He had drank four whole pots today with minimal breaks. Bucky doesn’t think he noticed how much he had been consuming. They were still on the whole stomach issue, but it was getting better. Usually liquids didn’t do this anymore.
He followed the child into the bathroom slowly and waited for Peter to be done. He put a hand on his back as the kid finished yakking.
“Sorry...I-I didn’t notice…” Peter whispered and Bucky brought his head to his chest, Peter went limp and allowed himself to be moved.
“It’s okay, Petya.” He said and held Peter close as he buried his head into his chest, as Bucky ran his hand through his hair.
It would be okay.
OoOoO
“Peter…”
“Yeah?”
“I think you should stop.” Bucky said gesturing to the bottle of shit that was known as an energy drink. It was Peter’s third one. “You’re gonna make yourself sick.” Again. Peter shrugged him off, and chugged the rest of it as he clacked on his keys trying to get intel on some operation he was working on busting (and who knew Spidey was such a detective? He supposed that being a vigilante required an amount of leg work, it wasn’t like SHIELD where they just found and dished out assignments. This was all from scratch, find a problem, figure out how that problem was operating, find a solution, wait, and execute. At most, SHIELD assignments could cut out the first three maybe two, and he was kind of proud of Peter for doing all this work. Vigilantism wasn’t just dropping a mugging or two or waiting for a supervillian to pop up. It was stopping a problem - that was too small or common to be on any official radar - before it even begun).
“No I’m better with these!” Peter said as he continued to type at a speed Bucky didn’t think possible. “Plus this case won’t solve itself.” He said not looking up from the computer, Bucky huffed,
“Why are you even worried? You don’t have school, you can work on it in the day.” Bucky rolled his eyes, as Peter huffed in mild annoyance.
“Yeah But I promised mr.Stark three weeks ago I’d work on a thesis with him.” Peter said and why was Stark running the kid raggad, the point of him coming and living with them was to settle his life down a bit.
“Stark would understand and give you an extension.” Bucky said as calmly as he could.
“This is the extension.” Peter said with a sigh “third one actually. I’ve been pushing it off cause of all the crazy. I don’t wanna let him down. Again. He’s real excited about it.” Peter said with a faint smile, and okay Bucky could be that mad at Stark because he was understanding and he made Peter happy. Peter loved doing that inventing shit with him - and Bucky may be a little jealous but that was fine - so he guessed it was okay.
“Fine.” Bucky sighed and watched his son succumb to terrible habits in peace.
He’d be fine.
OoOoO
Peter was mad.
Bucky could tell by the 15 destroyed sandbags in the side of the training room and the bloody sand trails from the bags original position to the pile. The thing is, Bucky couldn’t intervene because Peter threw a damn good punch. Almost identically to his. The Avengers never really taught so much as they practiced with Peter.
He’d offer to spar, and Peter would usually say yes to any of them if he wasn’t busy or tired. But when he was mad, when something bad happened on patrol - he couldn’t save someone, didn’t get there in time, trafficking, abusing housemate, sexual assault - sometimes it all pent up and Peter would get so mad that he needed to punch something. Even the most gentle of souls had their breaking point and it seemed like tonight was one of Peter’s.
Tears streaming down his face as he just kept punching and punching and punching and pun-BAM! The sandbag slammed into the wall, flying off it’s hinge and dissolving into a sad sack on the ground as sand trickled out of it.
Bucky caught Peter as he fell to his knees, face in his hands as his shoulders shock with tired silent angry sad sobs. Bucky brought them the rest of the way down, turning Peter into his chest as Peter clung on.
“They weren’t even 10 yet.” Peter whispered brokenly. “Th-They couldn’t even move…” he gritted his teeth against another pained noise and Bucky rested his chin on Peter’s head.
Bucky was sure he’s read about it tomorrow in the newspaper. Tomorrow he’d read about the 7 trafficked kids that were shot before the authorities arrived. Tomorrow he’d read that the men were in the hospital due to excessive beating. Tomorrow he’d deal with Peter’s energy drinks and advil as he buried himself in the case to find a source. Tomorrow he’d try to get Peter to take a nap and eat and talk to his friends.
But that was all tomorrow.