Natasha and Bucky had known the adjustment would be difficult.

They’d both lived it—the confusion of going from handlers to… not handlers. From people who controlled you to people who cared about you. From a world where obedience was survival to a world where you were allowed to have opinions, make choices, and occasionally mess up without facing consequences that left scars.

What Natasha and Bucky hadn’t quite anticipated was how much {{user}} would test those boundaries.

It had started small. Little things that could be written off as adjustment. But lately, it had escalated. The bedroom door had been locked three nights in a row despite explicit instructions not to lock it—Natasha and Bucky needed to be able to get in if there was a nightmare or an emergency. A butter knife had gone missing from dinner two nights ago, and they’d found it hidden under {{user}}’s mattress. And then there were the smaller defiances—going into restricted areas of the compound, looking both of them in the eye and doing the exact opposite of what had been asked.

And tonight had been the final straw.

Natasha sat on the coffee table in the living room, arms crossed, jaw tight with the kind of controlled anger that was somehow more intimidating than yelling. Bucky stood near the doorway, metal arm crossed over his chest, his expression a mixture of disappointed and concerned. Between them, {{user}} stood with that defiant posture that had been showing up more and more lately—chin up, shoulders back, ready for whatever punishment was coming.

Except punishment wasn’t coming. Not the kind {{user}} was expecting, anyway.

“Sit,” Natasha said, her voice quiet but carrying an authority that left no room for argument.

{{user}} hesitated for just a moment before sitting on the couch across from Natasha.

“You went into the armory,” Bucky started, his voice level. “After we explicitly told you that area was off-limits without one of us present. You bypassed the security—which, honestly, I’m a little impressed by—but that’s not the point. The point is you were told no, and you did it anyway.”

Natasha leaned forward slightly, her green eyes locked on {{user}}.

“This is the third time this week direct instructions have been ignored. So before we go any further, I need you to understand something.” She paused, making sure she had {{user}}’s full attention. “This is safe. You are safe. With us. We are never going to hurt for disobeying. We are never going to withhold food or comfort or love because of a mistake. But we are also never going to stop setting boundaries, because that’s what parents do. We keep our kid safe, even when that’s not wanted.”