Superfamily One Shots

MoF Day 13: The Pen is Mightier Than The Sword

**Y'all, I'm writing a particularly angsty chapter and it's taking me longer than usual because I'm in a super fluffy mood from this series, so bare with me and prepare yourselves for like... hardcore angst... With extreme doses of Iron!Mom and Iron!Dad. Enjoy the fluff, though!**

Peter threw his pencil down for the third time, balling up the piece of paper on his desk and throwing it behind him where it joined the pile of other discarded attempts. The teen wrung his hands, popping his knuckles as he did so. He hated this stupid, idiotic, nonsensical-

The teen took a breath, calming himself down. It didn't make sense to get this worked up over it. He could just try something else.

Pulling out his drawer, Peter rummaged around for colored pencils, pens, paint, literally anything to use instead of the pencil.

"Aha," he said, his hand brushing over an old set of watercolors he had from years ago.

He popped the case open, immediately diving back into his work. Splatters of blue and orange mixed on the page, a result of too much water and too much color, and Peter tried dabbing away at it with his sleeve. Each time he did, though, it was like the paper was white again, with most of the color being lost in that one area, and he would angrily dab more color back onto that spot. Eventually, Peter tore a hole through the paper, which was soaking wet and beginning to fall apart in other areas as well, and yelled in frustration.

"Stupid!"

There was a knock at the door. "Peter?"

Peter recognized the voice instantly. Steve.

"Hey, you can come in."

Steve peered through the door, blue eyes looking around at Peter's mess.  "You okay? I heard you yell."

Peter nodded. "Fine."

"You don't seem fine."

The teen took a breath. "I have to take a semester of art for graduation and I got this stupid project and I'm a terrible artist and nothing is working."

Steve pursed his lips. "What's the project about?"

"It can be anything we want, like drawing or painting or whatever, but it has to be something that inspires us. The teacher was like 'oh, you can do something like a portrait or a thing that represents someone' and pulled out this example that was a beautiful painting of her mom and I just..."

Peter put his head in his arms, huffing out a breath. "I can't draw."

Steve smiled a little. "No one can draw right away, you know. You have to do really bad drawings for years before you can do good ones. You think I was always good at art?"

Peter looked up and gave a lazy shrug.

"Come here." Steve left the door open, an invitation for Peter to follow him. The teen got up slowly and trudged after the super-soldier, who was padding down the hall and into his room.

"Here, catch." A sketchbook came flying through the air at Peter, who barely caught it. "Open it to the first page."

Peter did as he was told and came face to face with the most misshapen flower vase he'd ever seen. A laugh pushed its way through the teen's lips, but he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.

"I'm so sorry."

Steve just laughed. "It's okay, I know it looks weird. I was awful at drawing at first. Couldn't make the shapes appear on the page, let alone make the colors work and all that. Keep looking."

Peter turned the page, to yet another misshapen vase. Another. Another. The fifth vase looked a little more even, and the pencil lines were smoother. Softer. Then more even. The vase on the 13th page was actually really pretty, and then came the colors. Hard strokes on one, then softer ones on the next drawing. Soft blending. Improvement. By the end of the book, the vase was perfect - all even lines and even edges, with blended colors and delicate details.

"This is incredible," Peter whispered, his finger tracing over the vase.

"And it took me over a year of drawing the same stupid vase. Bucky used to make fun of me and that vase, but then... Then he didn't say anything because he said it was mesmerizing to watch me draw."

Peter looked up at Steve, eyes shining. "Teach me!"

"I can't teach you," Steve said, laughing. "Art isn't something you teach, buddy. I can show you some tips, and help you a little with some of the techniques, but you have to practice yourself. You'll learn the best way to do things for you."

Peter pursed his lips. "So what's the first tip?"

Steve pulled out a piece of paper. "Okay, watch." He drew a circle, uneven and full of bumps and one side was smaller so it looked like an egg. "One line is pretty inaccurate, and it leaves a dark line here even if I erase it. Instead, try this." Steve drew soft, barely visible circles, over and over and over one another in a big knot. "Now, we can do a thicker line in the middle of all these others, and we'll get something much more even."

Peter watched, eyes glued to the paper as Steve led him through all sorts of tricks and tips, from perspectives done on horizontal lines to simple proportions. When Steve showed the teen how to shade with colored pencils lightly, and how to blend the colors with another, clean piece of paper, Peter nearly blew a fuse. It was so much easier now. It was so much more... approachable.

"Now you try it," Steve said, handing paper and pencils to the teen.

"Here?" Peter asked, looking around.

"Yeah," Steve said, shrugging. "Just try it out."

Peter got down on his knees, bending over the paper on the floor as he began to sketch. He started slow and light, making rough outlines and filling in darker lines as his shapes evened out. His pencil marks were lighter now, leaving space for the teen to erase things, redraw them, make them proportionate and clean. As the picture began to take shape, Steve turned away and picked up a book. He knew firsthand how nerve wracking it could be to have someone watch you draw, though it was something Bucky had never caught on about.

"Almost done?" Steve asked, looking up from his book nearly an hour later.

Peter hummed. "Almost. I'm finishing the colors now."

Steve turned back around, and his words caught in his throat. Peter held up his paper, where he'd drawn... Steve's bedroom?

"I drew your room, Steve. I drew your room because you inspire me to be nice and kind, and to think of the right thing no matter what, and you are patient and talented. I was going to draw your shield, but you're more than Captain America."

Steve held out a hand, taking the paper gently and looking at the drawing more carefully. Sure, some of the furniture looked wonky, and Peter had simply put down blobs of squiggles where Steve's laundry pile was, but it was perfect.

"When is this due, Peter?"

"End of the week."

Steve smiled up at the teen, who had gotten to his feet and was now shuffling them awkwardly. "Can you bring it home after your teacher marks it down?"

Peter nodded, his face screwed up in confusion. "Why, do you want it?"

"Of course I want it!" Steve exclaimed. "I'm going to frame it and hang it on my wall, kid."

"But it's kinda off and wonky," Peter protested. "It's now nearly as good as your vase."

"It is to me," Steve assured, pulling Peter in for a hug. "You know what it is?"

Peter shook his head.

"It's inspiring."