Broken bones healed, bullet holes closed, and bruises faded away to nothing. Sometimes they were replaced with new ones or another bone cracked under pressure, but that mission would come to be known as one of the worst in Avengers history. Every mission that came after it was laden in an unspoken fear that the team might see worse, but as each one had come and gone and had not seen that fear realized, it quickly went back to just another day in the world-saving business.

Soon, birthdays were coming and going, despite the arguments and grumbles heard with each one, none louder than those from Tony, of course. Day after day passed and your lives went on with a very welcome lack of excitement or traumas; it wasn't something that anyone would readily say out loud as to not jinx it, but it was almost...too quiet.

It had been too quiet for so long, in fact, that the passage of time was playing a cruel joke, and soon it was time for a milestone that no one wanted less than you.

"Do you guys have everything packed?" Steve asked the trio, inspecting each of their backpacks one last time, even though he had already done so repeatedly in the last fifteen minutes. "You remember where your classes are? Do you have the lunches that your mom made?"

"Yeah, Daddy, we're ready," Brooklyn answered, pulling the straps of her bag to get it from his grip, "you've asked us all of that like fifty times."

"Can we go now?" Grant whined, stomping his way to the door. "We should have left ten minutes ago! We're gonna be late!"

"Yes, and watch the attitude, young man," Steve scolded with a sharp point at his son. "Let me just see if your grandpa is done crying so he can take you."

"I'm right here," Tony sniffled, sitting up from his spot on one of the couches of the common room, "and yes, I'm done crying. No guarantee how long it's gonna last though, so we should move out."

"Dad, it's just kindergarten," you sighed, sitting up from another couch next to him, your eyes just as red as his were, "we'll get through this. It's not like they're off to college...or anything..." you struggled choked over your words, "...yet." Your eyes refilled with tears and your breath caught in your throat, leaving you a babbling mess as you dropped back onto the cushions.

"Mom, you want my help with that?"

"No, Ant, I'm okay."

"Yep, she sounds great," your little boy whispered to Steve with a smirk. Each year that passed it had become painfully clear that Anthony was living up to his namesake in both genius level intelligence and mastery of sarcasm, much to Tony's delight. "Good luck with that, Dad."

"Thanks, kiddo."

"Gramps, what about you?"

"Maybe be on standby just in case," Tony nodded, standing up with a groan of reluctance to meet the kids at the door. "Alright, no time like the present, they say. Unless..." he smiled, turning back to Steve with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"No, Tony," he interrupted immediately, "we talked about this. We aren't home schooling them. They've been here learning from Wanda and Vision since they were one, and it's time to let them branch out and try to just be kids. We want them to get the same experiences of kids their age, and to make friends to have as normal of a childhood as they can, considering."

"He's right, Grandpa, come on," Brooklyn agreed. "Age five is an appropriate stage of development to begin social integration."

Tony laughed aloud and hung his head, resting his hands on his hips as the sound rumbled through his chest and echoed in the room around him. The audacity of the moment wasn't lost on him, but he also couldn't ignore the pride that he felt at how she had only helped to make his point. "I can see what you mean, Cap. Home schooling has clearly been a complete failure so far."

~~~

After Tony had the kids in route to school, Steve wandered over to see how you were doing, armed with a pint of ice cream in each hand and a plan to wallow in the sadness with you all day if that's what it took. A large blanket that he had grabbed from the closet was draped over his shoulder precariously, leaning just enough for it to fall and drop heavily onto you as he watched.

"What the-"

"Scoot."

"Ice cream? Really? It's only 8am." You pushed yourself back to sit up, opening the blanket to cover your legs, only to have him sit next to you and take most of it for himself.

"Since when is there a time that isn't good for ice cream? You feeling alright? That doesn't sound like you at all."

"Just shut it. Gimme," you relented and grabbed it from his hands. With a quick pull of the lid away and a careless toss of it onto the table next to you, you readily dug the spoon into it and shoveled a large scoop into your mouth with a contented hum.

"Yeah, thought so," he smiled, still working on opening his own container. "Don't tell me that I don't know you."

"You think you know me so well then quit hogging the blanket."

"Sorry, sorry," Steve apologized readily, scurrying to straighten the quilt so that it covered you both equally. He finally got his ice cream open and dove in, looking now as relived to have it as you were. The two of you sat in silence for several minutes, focusing solely on letting the treat do its magic and waiting to feel better about the rough morning you were having. When he finally decided to break the moment, he cleared his throat nervously and waited for you to call him out on it.

"Spit it out, Rogers."

"What?"

"Don't tell me that I don't know you," you smirked, throwing his own line back at him. "You've got something to say, so let's have it."

He took one more big pass of his spoon through his ice cream and shoved it into his mouth, setting the container on the table to keep from taking any more. Nervousness built in his stomach to the point where he worried that the final bite may have been an error on his part, but with a few deep breaths, he waited for it to pass. "Okay, well...I've been thinking..."

"Oh, God..."

"Hey, watch it," he chuckled, slapping your knee playfully, "that's not always bad."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Hmm, yeah, well..." he paused. The anxiety from his stomach was crawling its way out and into the rest of his body, uncomfortably prickling at his arms and legs now, finding his hands impossible to hold still. He ran the palms of them over his legs, forward and back until the denim of his jeans burned against his skin. In the corner of his eye, he saw you put your ice cream on the table and turn to him, but before you could say any more, the words just tumbled out of him, as if they had a life of their own.

"I want us to have another baby."

You weren't sure how long you had sat immobile and in utter shock, your mouth gaping and your eyes bulging, but time had come to a startling halt at his words. He said something else to you right after that; you saw his lips moving but you heard no sound from them. The banging of your heartbeat in your ears drowned out everything else.

"Steve..."

"The kids are five now," he urged, becoming quickly animated when you finally responded, "and things have been going great again around here...and with us. It makes sense."

"To who?"

"Well, to me, I suppose."

"You do realize that when you say another baby, we could end up with three more, right?"

"I do."

"Ha!" you scoffed, throwing the blanket away in a huff and standing up to take a higher position over him. "And do you also realize that I'm the one who has to carry all of them for nine months? I know that I have an advantage over a normal woman, but that doesn't mean I just want to jump into doing it again because I can. Steve, we already have three, and you're fooling yourself if you think it's going to get easier as they get older."

"I never said that I thought that," he argued, though gently as to not push, "but don't you ever think about it?"

"No. I never think about it, Steve."

"So...does that mean that you never will?"

"I don't...I don't know," you sighed, turning to walk away, "I can't imagine what that would even look like for us."

Steve stood quickly and grabbed your arm, the blanket falling away with his feet nearly tripping over it in his urgency to stop you as his mind began to race and scream at him in a warning that he couldn't silence. "(Y/N), do you not want any more children at all, or do you not want any more with me?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know exactly what that means. I thought that we were okay now."

"We are."

"Okay, then what-"

"Steve, I wake up every day scared enough as it is that something is going to happen to the three that we already have. After all of the shit that we've been through, you can't tell me that you don't do it too. I'm not sad because they started kindergarten today. I'm terrified that for the first time, they're out there without any of us there to protect them. They have powers that make them really valuable in the wrong hands, don't forget. I can barely handle this right now, and you're asking me if I want to start over?"

"(Y/N)," he sighed, remaining calm in contrast to the surge of near-panic that was coursing through you, "nothing has happened in over three years now. I understand how you feel, I really do, but we can't live in fear of the what-ifs every day. We can't live our lives just waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Really? Then why is it that I do?"

~~~

"Alright guys, I'll meet you right here at 3. Have a great first day," Tony told your three with absolutely no sense of enthusiasm, "but if you hate it, I'll meet you here anytime you want."

"Thanks, Grandpa, but we'll be okay," Brooklyn reassured him, leaning in for a fast hug, followed quickly by the two boys. "See you at 3."

Tony looked on as they jogged away and up the stairs that led into the school, watching until the last second when the doors closed behind them. He stood there for a few seconds longer, pulling his phone out with the intention of texting you to let you know that they had made it in okay, but something in him stopped his hand; he reluctantly put the device away and turned to walk back around to the driver's seat, but he was stopped by a man calling out to him from the steps.

"Mr. Stark," the gentleman greeted, reaching out a hand, "I'm Mr. Schmidt, one of the teachers here. I just wanted to hurry out here before you left and say that it's an honor to meet you."

"Oh, thanks," Tony replied, a bit taken aback. "I'm sure you'll be seeing a lot of me around here, actually. But, um, it's nice to meet you, I have to be going," he pulled back, reaching out to open his door when the man began again. This time the tone of his voice shifted, and something in it sent a cold chill down Tony's spine and a screaming urge within him to sprint into the building after your children.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing much more of you very soon, Mr. Stark. After all, leading a child towards their full potential is truly a family affair, you might say."