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MAY PARKER: 4:30PM
This dinner was going to go badly, she knew that from the moment it was suggested.
On the surface, it was a nice idea; a good homemade family dinner.
But if you dug even an inch deeper, there were flaws in the plan. It was not her family, but the family she stepped into, just a little. Said family weren’t all on friendly terms, either; in fact, there was underlying tension in everything they did and said. And, thirdly, none of them could cook.
But that wasn’t going to stop her from putting on a smile and telling Peter it would be fun. Because, dammit, she was the adult here, and if she wanted to have a homemade dinner with her boyfriend and his – uh, special friends, then who was she to act anything less than excessively optimistic?
“He’s going to be here any minute,” she said as Peter darted back into his bedroom. He hadn’t found any shoes yet, and his Midtown hoodie was more than a little stained. May checked her reflection in the mirror by the door and flattened the stray hairs that never would stay down. “Have you got your overnight bag?”
“Yes, May,” Peter called from his room. Her bag was sat by the door, packed neatly three hours before. Because, yes, this wasn’t just a family dinner – this was a sleepover, too.
May had initially baulked at staying over at the Avengers Compound – but it was far upstate; too far to warrant just the dinner, and they’d be unlikely to get home by midnight if they returned that night. So May had put on a smile – albeit an uneasy one – and agreed. She’d never stayed over at the Compound before, though Peter had often; he’d gone on and on about the voice on high known as FRIDAY, the high-tech gadgets and machines, the tall ceilings and sleek modern designs of every room.
She was excited to see it, admittedly; at least that much was true. She was just a little on the hesitant side about the dinner. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t met any of the Avengers before—in fact, in the year since she discovered Peter’s secret identity as a web-slinging vigilante, she’d become very good friends with Tony Stark and his fiancé Pepper; they were both quick-witted and snarky, with a love of good wine and good gossiping sessions. She’d met Steve Rogers too, once, seeing how close he and her boyfriend were. She’d found him polite, funny, and much taller than she’d expected him to be.
But there was a general rule of thumb in the Avengers that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers didn’t like to be in the same room. In fact, it was more like a law.
The knock at the door startled May out of her worry, and she stepped aside to open it. On the other side, Sam stood with his hands in his pockets, a leather jacket stretched across his shoulders, and a smile on his face.
“Hey there,” he greeted, and she grinned, moving in to kiss him.
“Hey yourself.”
“You two ready to go?”
She grimaced and looked over her shoulder. “Peter? Sam’s here! Are you ready?”
“Just a minute!” Peter yelled back. She saw him through the open door of his bedroom, hopping about as he pulled on a shoe, his backpack flying around from where it was hooked around his elbow. She rolled her eyes and looked back to Sam, who was watching with amusement.
“You ready for tonight?” he asked.
“If by ready you mean totally dreading it, then absolutely,” May replied.
Sam curled an arm around her waist, tugging her gently into his side as they stood in the doorway. “It’s gonna be fine,” he said. “Everyone’s promised to be on their best behaviour.”
“And by everyone, you mean—”
“Tony, mostly. And Steve. Though Steve is very insistent that he is always on his best behaviour.”
“I’ve heard his potty mouth so I’m not sure I agree,” May replied, making Sam smile. He pressed a quick kiss into her hair, then pulled a face, reaching up with his spare hand to pat down the loose fly-aways.
“It’ll be cool to have you up for the weekend, though,” he continued. “I was thinking you could finally get a good look at the Falcon gear.”
“Ah, yes,” May mused. “The infamous stolen property of the Air Force. Very excited to see that.”
The story behind May Parker and Sam Wilson was as follows: Sam Wilson was, in layman’s terms, very very hot.
They’d met at an Avengers shindig in the city. Some party with the rich and famous; inventors and models and local socialites. There were executives from every Fortune 500 company May could name, as well as – inexplicably – three board members of her hospital, and half of the New York Yankees. Tony had invited her and Peter along; it was New Year’s Eve and everyone was excited about starting a new year. The previous one had been fine, after all, but in February there’d been the fight in the airport in Germany, and by May all the “rogue” Avengers had returned to New York and Stark Tower was going on the market. It was barely June when May found out about Spider-Man, after the Vulture stole Avengers tech and Peter crashed a plane, and by December—well, everyone had a strong need for a stiff drink and a fresh start.
She’d been only barely tipsy when she spotted Sam Wilson by the bar. The Avengers were made up of particularly attractive individuals and May knew it. She’d already spotted Natasha Romanoff playing pool, stood within reaching distance of Thor’s ginormous frame, and Steve Rogers himself was presently speaking to Peter by the window.
May probably wouldn’t have gone over had she not been drinking a little liquid courage, but she did, and she introduced herself, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Now it was April, and Tony had decreed that it was finally time that they all sat down for a family meal.
Peter stumbled out of his bedroom, backpack slung over one shoulder, overnight bag in his hand and both shoes on his feet. He sent May and Sam a look – four months, apparently, was not enough for him to totally sink into this relationship’s existence – and nodded.
“All ready?” May asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” Peter replied.
“Got your suit?”
“Yep.”
“Phone charger.”
“Uh-huh.”
May swung down to pick up her own bag. “Science homework.”
“Yes, May.”
She flashed him a grin. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road then. T-minus two-and-a-half hours until Tony proves he can cook.”
Sam scoffed. “Oh, Tony’s not gonna get an inch near that kitchen.”
“No?” May asked, as Peter muttered, “Thank God.”
“Nah, Steve’s volunteered, I think. Though, I don’t think he’s much better. All he cooked in the olden days was boiled cabbage and stew.”
“Maybe he should join one of those classes,” Peter suggested as they all filed out into the hall. May locked the door behind them and then looped her arm around Sam’s. He reached over to carry the overnight bag for her. Peter actively ignored this. “You know, where they teach adults valuable life skills like cooking and doing your taxes.”
May frowned. “Does Steve have to do taxes? Is he even employed?”
“He’s got seventy years of backpay from the army,” Sam replied. “Rogers is set for life.”
STEVE ROGERS: 5:55PM
He had to make a good impression. This dinner had to go well.
Steve stared at the kitchen warily, like it would provide answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask. Like, what should he make? Did they even have the ingredients? Should he have prepared earlier than this?
Dinner was supposed to be at seven. He had—he checked the clock—an hour and five minutes.
He also did not know how to cook.
The dinner had not been his idea. Though he did jump at chances to spend time with Tony and – inch by inch – gain back the ground they lost in their relationship, he wouldn’t have thought to drag the Parkers into it. He wouldn’t have wanted to.
May Parker could be one scary lady when she wanted to be.
He’d seen it after Peter’s run in with several bullets some time during September. It wasn’t the first time Spider-Man had involved himself with an Avengers mission, but it was the first time he’d gotten hurt during one. Very simply, he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and hadn’t managed to dodge fast enough. It happened to the best of them – but the difference was that he was superpowered, and a regular soldier would’ve died, rather than made a full and speedy recovery.
Steve hadn’t met May that day in the Avengers field office, where Peter had gone into surgery; but he’d heard her yelling at Tony. With his improved hearing, actually, he’d heard it from two floors away, and slunk downstairs to find out what was going on. From the corner of the corridor where he watched, he’d seen May Parker; frazzled and dressed in nurse’s scrubs, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, her hands shaking. Her wrath, however, was pointed. It was fuelled by fear, but he’d learnt immediately not to get on the wrong end of it; she was the kind of person he didn’t think he would have a quick retort for.
When he met her in February, though, she’d been all smiles and laughter. It suited her better. Sam had wanted to introduce them for a good few weeks, and Steve had driven down to the city to make it happen.
He made fun of Sam later for all the dopey looks he sent her. It’d only been a few weeks since they’d met and he was gone.
Now, Steve opened the fridge and peered inside. As always, it was well-stocked. The Avengers budget came directly out of the pockets of multi-billionaire Tony Stark and had standing orders that could be edited through FRIDAY for their weekly food deliveries.
Only thing was, no one in the Avengers really cooked.
They might make pancakes or eggs for breakfast; sandwiches for lunch – but dinner was often a takeout, or something very simple and quick. Steve had thought about learning properly; even watched a few YouTube videos to help him out – but most things in the future didn’t come easy to him. He was stuck in the past, however much he wanted to be in the present.
When he was young, meals were simple affairs, with little food and less taste. The bread was often stale, and the stews bland. They bought the bare essentials only and spared more money for the heat and rent than the food that barely even half-filled their stomachs. Work was difficult to come by, and rarely lasted more than a month. Bucky’s job down at the docks was stable for a while, until the war came to America, and then even that vanished under his fingertips.
When he moved to DC, he thought he’d learn to cook again. And he tried, for a time. He bought foods he’d never heard of; left the army backpay in the savings account and spent the SHIELD money on spices and steaks. He was overwhelmed with choice when he went through the stores but still—no dice. Cooking was not a friend to Steven Grant Rogers.
Why did he volunteer for this again?
“Steve,” a voice said, making him glance over his shoulder. Bucky had wandered through into the dining room, and now leaned against the kitchen island. “Is there leftover pizza in there?”
Steve looked back to the fridge and pulled out a plate covered in clingfilm. There were three slices of ham and mushroom pizza from the night before, and Bucky shot him a smile as he handed it over.
“Thought I’d eat now before your little dinner party,” Bucky said, his flesh fingers pulling back the film. “Don’t wanna interrupt.”
“Buck—”
“No, no,” he said, waving a hand. “It’s fine. I know Stark doesn’t like to acknowledge my existence.” Steve knew Bucky well enough to hear the slight edge to his voice.
Bucky had been sent back to America from Wakanda during the summer, and whatever ground Steve had covered with Tony was immediately ruined by it. But Bucky wasn’t allowed to live away from Avengers – and government – property until the full inquest into Hydra and the Winter Soldier’s involvement was complete, so here he had to stay.
“What are you cooking?” he asked, chewing on a slice.
“I have no idea.”
Bucky raised his eyebrows and glanced over at the clock. “Ain’t it a bit late to not know?”
“Yeah.”
“Right.” He hummed. “Who’s coming anyway?”
“Parkers, Sam, Tony, Pepper,” Steve counted out on his fingers. Six people including himself. He could make a dinner for six. Maybe there was something readymade in the freezer that he could just stick in the oven. Prepare a salad on the side and he’d be done.
Steve turned to the freezer and started rooting around. One drawer seemed to be filled with ice cream only, another with frozen vegetables.
Behind him, Bucky asked, “Is that a—uh—good choice of dinner guests?”
“Probably not,” Steve replied. “But it can’t get much worse. But it was Tony’s idea, I think, to do dinner. Sam’s for it to be a family thing.”
“Family,” Bucky repeated.
“Yeah, Avengers, whatever. Only, Clint is in fucking—Idaho or something, and Nat’s undercover. Bruce is away on work and Thor is off-planet. So. It’s like the distant cousins who don’t speak kind of family.”
“Ah,” Bucky said. “Like that time Aunt Ruth tried to host Christmas but she didn’t even know any of us, and when we all showed up she was very surprised to find out that Ma and Dad had more than two children.”
“Yeah,” Steve replied, standing, his freezer search fruitless. “Like that but with highly-powered individuals who tried to kill each other only a year ago.”
Bucky’s face was only a little sympathetic. He stuffed the crust of a slice into his mouth. “To be fair,” he said between bites, “neither of you tried to kill each other really.”
“He tried to kill you.”
“It was warranted.”
“Buck.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Well, don’t. This whole evening is gonna be ruined before it even starts because I don’t even know what I’m cooking.”
Bucky pulled a face and swung down from the stool. He walked around the island and opened the china cupboard, then pulled down a stash of take-out menus. He pressed them into Steve’s hands.
“I can’t—”
“If it arrives before they do, you just hide the containers and pretend you made it.” Steve blinked at Bucky, who tapped Steve’s cheek twice, and swiped the remaining slices of pizza from the plate. “I’m gonna get out of your hair,” he said. “Only thing that could make this dinner more of a clusterfuck is if I was there.”
PEPPER POTTS: 6:30PM
“Tony,” she said. “Tony. Tony. TONY.” Tony finally looked up from his desk, eyes wide as the deafening music suddenly switched off. “You’re not wearing that, are you?” He blinked again.
“Well—uh—I am currently wearing these clothes, yes,” he said, stumbling through his confusion. “Would you like me to be naked? I can do that but I’ve really got to finish this up first—”
Pepper sighed her overly familiar long-suffering sigh. She’d gotten it down to a talent by this point; the perfect amount of exhale, the slight slump of her shoulders, eyes rolling up to the ceiling.
“You forgot,” she said.
“Uh. Well, no, not necessarily,” Tony continued. “I mean, I am going to go change for whatever—uh—event or situation that is going to soon occur right after I finish up here—”
“Tony.”
“Yes.”
“You forgot.”
“I forgot.”
Pepper had not forgotten. Pepper had not forgotten anything in her professional life. Pepper Potts was on the ball twenty-four-seven and had an incredibly detailed and extensive itinerary. She knew when she was in meetings, when she was in the office, when she would work out. She knew what days were yoga days and what days were cardio months in advance. She knew when she’d have a chance to next paint her nails; how long she could spend drinking coffee in the morning; what time she’d get to sleep by.
To book an appointment with Pepper Potts, one had to be precise and early. They had to know they wanted that appointment months in advance or be important enough to force her assistant to move the other ones around. She gave herself two days every month to herself, when she could not be reached or interrupted, and at least seven dinners that she would not have to eat in her office or entertain shareholders and business partners at.
This, April 16th, was one of her seven dinners. In fact, it was her third of the month – the first being a date night with Tony, the second a catch up with her sister, and the incoming fourth next Monday by herself in Italy at a quaint but expensive restaurant as exclusive and difficult to book for as Pepper herself.
She was not going to waste one of her seven dinners this month running after Tony and sitting in awkward silences because of the questionable guest list.
“Dinner. With May. In half an hour,” she said, hoping to jog his memory.
Tony blinked and recognition swept across his face. “Oh, shit, right, yes. Of course, sweetie. Yes, I will—I will be there. I will. I need to get changed. And I need to finish this—”
“The dinner is more important than what you’re working on,” she interrupted.
“Is it?” he questioned, and then corrected, “Yes, it is,” when he saw her face.
She turned to leave the workshop. “Get there by ten to,” she called over her shoulder, before vanishing into the hall.
Pepper took the elevator to the residential wing of the Compound and then walked the corridor to her and Tony’s suite. It was fully equipped, so they didn’t have to eat in the communal space if they didn’t want to, and every inch was swept clean regularly by trusted cleaners.
Since they’d sold the Tower last year and moved here permanently, Pepper had had to move many of her meetings here, too. It was the same as when they moved from Malibu; all their work had to follow. Though she regularly travelled to the city for business, the commute time was too long to warrant, and tended to waste the precious seconds that made up her day.
Pepper placed her StarkPad on the side table by the door – where she could pick it up easily when she next left for a meeting – and walked through the living space and into the bedroom. The walk-in closet was ordered by event and colour, as well as separated by temperature. Tony’s side was a jumbled mess of black jeans and band t-shirts, and then a few beautiful and expensive suits hung perfectly and carefully at the end.
The dinner was not formal, but she didn’t imagine it to be perfectly casual, either. May and Peter would be coming in from the city, and Steve would be cooking them a homemade meal; it required at least a little formality, she thought.
Dressing was not a complicated thing when she thought of it like that. Pepper knew herself incredibly well – one had to when keeping to strict schedules – and knew how long it would take her to change and pull on a slightly casual-leaning dress with elbow length sleeves, and how long it would take her to brush out her hair and change her earrings.
Then she left for the communal kitchen at exactly quarter to seven, exactly when she assumed she would. There were five minutes left on Tony’s deadline to arrive, and she had not seen him in their suite. He was going to be late, and Pepper had to account for that, too.
On the way to the kitchen, she slowed to speak to Bucky Barnes, whom she got along with in a very civil way.
He had killed Tony’s parents, she knew that. But he hadn’t been in control of his actions. Nevertheless, the Bucky Barnes that stood before her was a very different man from his previous Hydra assassin-self. He was fully in control of his own mind, and much—softer than she expected. Bucky wore large hoodies, sweatpants, fuzzy socks. He baked (rather excellently) and had collected a few houseplants to fill his room with. He enjoyed writing, and filled journals with his thoughts and words, and smiled quietly, carefully, with anyone he wasn’t close with.
Despite his healing and rehabilitation, Tony still kept him at a barge-pole’s length. He tried to keep anyone he cared about away, too, and that included Pepper.
But Bucky lived under her roof, and Pepper was nothing if not a perfect hostess. And besides, she rather liked Bucky Barnes. For all his reservation and quietness, he could be particularly witty and brash when you got to know him, and he regularly took her recommendations into account when listening to music or watching movies. She even, somehow, became his go-to tech support with his modern phone and appliances.
“Enjoy your dinner,” he said as they passed each other in the hall.
She paused, watching him tread past. He was headed to his room, a water bottle held loosely between two metal fingers. “Thank you, Bucky. Have a good evening yourself?”
“Oh, I’ll try,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder. Then he turned, to face her and walk slowly backwards. “You’ll keep them from killing each other, right?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Pepper said. “I’m going to seat them at opposite ends of the table.”
“Any conversational topics prepared?”
“Of course. Peter’s school, Spider-Man, May’s work, Peter and May, Peter and May, Peter and May.”
“Ah, it’s almost as if you’ve located the neutral ground.”
She flashed him a grin. “If it craps out, I’ll send you a text and you can fake an emergency.”
Bucky laughed. The two of them were not much more than cordial friends, but Pepper liked that she could get him to laugh; that he was willing to do it in front of her. She, like most everyone she knew, had been raised on history lessons of the Howling Commandos and Captain America’s right-hand man, Sergeant Bucky Barnes. It gave her a surge of pride to know that she’d made her childhood hero laugh.
“It’s funny because Steve’s already asked for the same thing,” he told her, and that made her laugh in return. Of course he had.
Then Bucky swung back around and waved over his shoulder. “Have a good night, Potts.”
“You too, Barnes.”
She’d have to arrange a dinner with him some time. She did, of course, feel a pang of remorse for betraying Tony, but she knew his anger towards Bucky was largely grudge-based at this point. That it was really aimed at Steve and simply bounced off to the next nearest target.
It was the lying that Tony was mad about; that Steve had covered up the truth of his parents’ murders to protect Bucky; that he hadn’t trusted Tony not to go after the killer, to not understand.
Pepper was fairly sure that if she locked Tony and Bucky in a room, they’d work out their differences within an hour. She couldn’t quite say the same for Tony and Steve, though.
When she arrived in the kitchen, Steve was alone, arranging several dishes with noodles and vegetables.
“Oh, it smells amazing,” she said, and Steve looked almost startled by her presence before smiling back.
“They cooked a little early,” he replied. “I’m gonna keep them warm in the oven.”
“That’s a good idea. Oh, is that Thai? I didn’t know you knew how to make that.” Pepper sat herself at the island to watch.
“Yeah. Yeah, I picked up a few things in D.C., I guess.” Steve shrugged and placed the dishes in the oven, set to a low heat. He sent her a careful glance. “How do you think tonight will go?”
She pursed her lips, glancing over her shoulder. They were alone, for now. It was ten to and Tony wouldn’t likely arrive until seven, possibly later, despite her deadline.
“I’m a little nervous,” she admitted. “I usually wouldn’t be; May and Peter are great guests to have, and Sam is one of the best conversational buffers I know—”
“I’m the problem, I think,” Steve said, pulling a face. “You know, Sam originally asked Bucky to come tonight, too—”
“Really?”
Steve nodded, grim. “He’s optimistic, what can I say? I know Tony wanted a family dinner, but…”
Pepper took a breath. “Yeah. I think he forgot that you’re still part of the family, too.”
Steve’s smile was sad, and Pepper’s heart broke just a little. She remembered just as well as everyone else what it had been like when the Avengers all got along. It was such a simple mistake; one bad decision that sent fractures across the whole group.
She sent him an encouraging smile. “You’ll work it out,” she said. “I think it’ll be good for both of you if you’re forced into the same space.”
“Isn’t time supposed to heal all things?”
Pepper scoffed. “You’ve both had a year; time’s clearly not cutting it.”
PETER PARKER: 7:02PM
Despite Peter’s playlist being largely the happiest, catchiest songs he could find, he only felt dread. He did not want to go to this dinner.
Peter had been going to the Compound twice a month since last summer, when May finally discovered his superhero secret. It was a good place to train and study; to work with Tony fucking Stark and learn how to be an Avenger. It had taken until late August to persuade Mr Stark to let him train with some of the rogues – they’d seen him and quickly paired him with the talkative unknown vigilante in Germany with little effort (Peter often forgot that they were some of the smartest people in the world) – but it had been well worth the wait.
He got along with all the Avengers as well as he could considering he was at least a decade their junior. He’d been watching them on TV and reading about them in history books for so long that it had taken a while for the initial glaze of celebrity to wear off. Then it was just them; sarcastic, quick-witted, incredibly dangerous people, but people nonetheless.
And the thing was, he didn’t dislike Sam Wilson.
He didn’t.
In fact, he was fun to spar with in the training room, a good cook, and only called him Short Stack when he felt like he needed to get back on level ground after a truly astounding defeat in the gym. He was also loyal, reliable, and good to May. He would be good to May, Peter knew that. In fact, he could see with his own two eyes that they were good to each other, good for each other.
They were happy.
But it was also, to put it lightly, fucking weird.
This was his co-worker dating his Aunt. Hisco-worker. And his aunt. It was like if you worked at a fast food restaurant and your shift manager started dating your Mom.
So it was—awkward. And weird. Very, very weird.
And frankly, Peter didn’t like weird.
He’d done the drive to the Compound so many times, but it was just worse when May and Sam were in the front seats talking and flirting the whole way; not even his noise cancelling headphones and loud music could drown it out. He could still see Sam smiling and laughing in the driver’s seat, May occasionally placing her hand on his arm when she laughed.
No—no. It was weird. It was gross. In fact, he had it on good authority that they’d had some sort of… sleepover already. More than once. Likely more times than he’ll even know.
He’d only found out about it when May wasn’t picking up her phone during one of her night shifts at the hospital, and he’d called the nurse’s station only to be told that it was her night off. Peter had stood silently in his bedroom, staring at the wall, until he pulled out his laptop and frantically searched the Find My StarkPhone website and typed in her details. And it was—in a shocking turn of events for one Peter Benjamin Parker—at Sam’s apartment in Harlem.
So Peter was living in a new and weird reality that he absolutely was not comfortable in. His shift manager at McDonalds was dating his Mom and having sleepovers with her. He would personally like to know absolutely nothing about it until strictly necessary, and Peter didn’t think that time would come for at least two more years, when he’d be eighteen and far away at MIT and could appreciate their relationship from a very, very long distance.
But for now, he was stuck in the car with them, and he was about to go to a meal with people who absolutely should not be sitting at the same table.
They piled out of the car and Peter jogged ahead up the steps and into the foyer. He flashed his pass at the scanner when he came to the door leading into to the residential section of the building, and called back, “I’m gonna throw my stuff in my room and meet you in the kitchen!”
“Okay, sweetie!” May replied from somewhere far behind him.
Peter dashed down the hall and into the elevator at the end. Once on his floor – his room at the closer end to the Iron Suite, as it was officially called – he darted into his room to throw his things on his bed. He didn’t even want to think about where May was sleeping tonight. He didn’t need more nightmares than he already had.
Once back out in the hall, he ran down it, towards the other end, where a few other suites laid. The residential section of the compound was made up of four private suites and an innumerable amount of bedrooms, each as vast and well-decorated as the next. Some were temporary rooms, for the night, but every regular visitor was eventually assigned their own. Tony had even decorated Peter’s with Spider-Man bedsheets and Star Wars posters on the wall.
Every door had some sort of name plate; the Iron Suite had an arc reactor design etched into the door in gold, Peter’s had a whiteboard and a pot of markers he’d put up himself (someone had written itsy bitsy spider on the board a month ago and Peter liked it too much to wipe off) – even Sam had a name plate that said bird boy courtesy of one Natasha Romanoff. The door he stopped at, however, was similar to Tony’s; it was a double, implying a suite, and the design etched across the two in silver was of the Captain America shield.
Peter had seen this door at the Compound before the rogues had come back. FRIDAY had informed him, quietly, with no one else in the room, that it hadn’t been touched since Steve Rogers went on the run.
He knocked on it repeatedly until it opened. Bucky sent him a look.
“Move out the way,” Peter hissed and slipped into the America Suite, as Sam had once called it. Inside, there was a small kitchenette and a living room, where a nest of blankets had clearly just been disturbed. This suite was always different from Tony and Pepper’s; the cleaners still came, surely, but the design was less modern and sleek, more homey and comfortable. There were throw pillows and blankets; the chairs were the kind you could sink into, and books laid across every surface, the bookcase itself a cluttered mess on the far side of the room.
“You’re twitchy,” Bucky pointed out, shutting the door behind him. He meandered back over to the sofa and flopped back down. Some medical show on the TV had been paused.
“Mr Stark doesn’t like us hanging out,” he replied.
“I’m fully aware.”
Peter huffed and fell onto the sofa beside Bucky. “Are you coming to dinner?”
Bucky scoffed. “I wasn’t invited.” Peter pouted and Bucky amended, “Well, I was, but we all agreed it was a bad idea. Family dinners are supposed to be—happy, or some shit like that.”
“Steve’s gonna be there.”
“I know.”
“You’re family to him.”
“Sure am.”
Peter groaned and rolled his head back against the back cushions. “They’re so lovey dovey.”
“Who?”
“Sam and May, who do you think?” Bucky shrugged and Peter huffed in response. “I wish they would just stop.”
“Like, break up?”
“Well—no. Not—I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes. It’s weird. I don’t like weird.”
“You can stick to stuff and talk to spiders. You’re weird.”
“I can’t talk to spiders,” Peter replied.
Bucky sighed. “Well that was the less weird thing of the two, so I guess you’re still weird, Parker. Sorry about that.”
“I just—they’re so coupley. I haven’t seen May like that since—since Ben, I guess.”
“It’s a big thing,” Bucky said lightly. “You don’t want Sam to replace Ben. Sam doesn’t want Sam to replace Ben. Maybe if you talked to him about it, you’d feel less strange about them dating.”
Peter pulled a face. He didn’t want to talk to them about it. He wanted them to have their relationship in a place where he couldn’t see it. He was happy that they were happy, but well—“If Sam and May stay together, you think he’ll move in with us?”
Bucky seemed to study him out of the corner of his eye. “They’re only four months in, kid. You don’t need to get ahead of yourself.”
“I know, but it’s like—it’s not like a regular Aunt dating, you know? It’s like—she’s like my Mom. She raised me. And if they date seriously and like, get married or something, then Sam will be like—like—”
“Like your step-dad.”
“Exactly! And that’s weird. Because he’s like the shift manager.”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just, like. He’s a friend, you know? Not a potential caretaker who will raise me through the rest of my teenage years.” Peter pulled a face and Bucky made one to match it.
“I get it,” he said. “I mean. I don’t have experience with that, but I understand what you’re saying. I’m gonna throw out this advice again, though: maybe you should talk to them about it.”
Peter frowned. “You’re useless.”
“Thanks, kid. But it still stands. They’re pretty understanding people, I’m sure they’ll be happy to help you out or take things slower so you don’t feel like he’s trying to become your new Uncle or anything.”
Peter sighed and sunk further into the sofa. “Maybe,” he relented after a beat.
Bucky hummed, and Peter watched the clock tick over. He was late to dinner. He really should get going. But just because he might solve the problem of May and Sam being weird someday soon didn’t mean it was gonna get fixed tonight, and certainly not before a badly-planned family dinner with Steve Rogers. Peter could already see how Tony would stiffen up and speak only in biting remarks whenever Steve opened his mouth.
He was hesitant as it was to allow Peter anywhere near Steve, even in training. Bucky was even worse, somehow; Peter’s friendship with Bucky had bloomed in secret and away from Mr Stark’s overly protective gaze.
It was going to be a bad dinner.
But, Peter thought, it probably couldn’t get any worse, right?
He looked over to Bucky. “You wanna come to dinner?”
Bucky scoffed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. I’m inviting you. I think you should eat with us.”
“That’s a bad idea.”
“I know.”
Bucky blinked.
“It’s already gonna suck,” Peter said. “Steve and Mr Stark are gonna argue and May’s gonna try and keep it light, but then Sam’s gonna be there all sitting next to her and stuff, so I’m gonna be in hell, and nothing Miss Potts can do will solve that.”
“So you want to throw a volatile explosive into a vat of chemicals.”
“Yes.”
Bucky looked sceptical.
“Come on, please. If you’re the most awkward thing in the room, I won’t have to think about how May dating Sam is awkward.” Peter pulled out the puppy dog eyes, and Bucky looked close to caving. “You’ll get free food out of it.”
Bucky sighed. “Fine. Fine. Okay. Come on. Ruin my night, ruin everyone else’s.” Bucky tugged Peter to his feet, and Peter skipped ahead, opening the suite’s door and leading him out into the hall. Bucky muttered about what a bad idea it was under his breath, but Peter was well past caring. He was going to get through this dinner. He had to.
“Just be more awkward than everyone else,” Bucky clarified quietly as they neared the kitchen.
“That’s all I want,” Peter replied.
In the kitchen, everyone else was already waiting; talking around the kitchen island and pouring drinks. Mr Stark spotted him first, his wide smile flashing and then faltering with the sight of Bucky following behind. He was wearing grease-stained clothes and no shoes, and he carefully extracted himself from the group to greet Peter.
“Hey, kid,” he said uneasily, glancing between him and Bucky. “What, uh, what’s Barnes doing here?”
“Oh, I invited him,” Peter said as casually as he could manage. He could feel the attention shifting over to them. “He hadn’t eaten dinner yet and I thought he could eat with us. Family dinner, right?” It was a bold move, and one Peter would probably pay for later with Mr Stark’s insistent belief that Bucky Barnes was too dangerous to be around, but for now, he played it cool and looked over to Steve, saying, “There’ll be enough food, right?”
“Of—of course,” Steve replied. His smile was panicked; he, too, had not seen this coming. “More than enough. Why don’t we all sit down and get eating, anyway?”
Peter flashed a smile before turning abruptly and nodding to Bucky. He took his seat and Tony settled in at the head of the table beside him, Pepper on the other side. Peter smothered his laughter as May sat beside him and Bucky slipped into the chair on her other side, where Sam was clearly reaching to go.
For one moment, he thought Sam would say something, but instead he hesitated, blinked, and moved around the table, to sit beside Pepper and opposite May, instead. Bucky remained entirely composed and innocent.
Steve placed out dishes of food down the table, and the group served themselves as he took the seat beside Sam.
“It smells great,” May said, smiling at Steve. “Thai, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
“Peter and I love Thai food,” she continued. “There’s a really great place a block away from us that we eat at most weeks.”
“Mm,” Bucky said. “There’s one not far from here, too.”
Peter caught the look that Steve sent Bucky but didn’t have much of a chance to think about it, as May turned to him and said, “Oh, I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Peter’s aunt, May.”
“Bucky Barnes,” he replied.
“Of course,” she said. “I had one of your bears.”
“His bears?” Sam asked.
“Bucky Bears,” May replied. “You know, they were about this big with a little army uniform. I think the originals were dressed like superheroes, with a little cape, for some reason.”
“Oh, that’s because of the comics,” Steve said, while Peter swiped the serving spoon from a distracted May and served up his dish. Tony was very quiet beside him, but not in the same polite way as Pepper. Instead, his jaw was tense and ticking, and he stared at the food without serving himself any. “We had a few movies and comics back in the day. The comics were for kids, though, and they didn’t want to show all the war strappings, so they dressed Buck up like a kid-friendly superhero.”
“Or sidekick,” Bucky corrected lightly. “I haven’t thought about those bears in years. Didn’t even know they were still making them.”
“They’re not,” Pepper replied, easily making her way into conversation. “They stopped some time in the eighties. I had one, too, though I think the family dog ate mine.”
Tony scoffed. He served up his food. When the silence stretched past four seconds, Pepper asked, “How was the ride up here?” and the meal continued on.
TONY STARK: 7:16PM
Tony had not changed. Tony had not dressed up. Tony had not wanted to be at this dinner.
Tony had, though, planned the damn thing.
It was, in technical terms, a fucking oversight. He’d wanted May to come to dinner, that was it. She’d never seen the Compound, and their dinners, though usually fortnightly, tended to happen around the Parkers’ cramped dining room table, or in a booth at a hidden hole-in-the-wall diner. They’d become fairly close in the past few months, and Tony would even consider her to be one of his best friends.
They regularly video chatted while he worked and she cleaned the apartment; they bonded easily over Peter and Spider-Man; they even loved a lot of the same bands and movies. It was easy being friends with May Parker, even if it took a little while to sink into.
And then he’d gone and invited her to the New Year’s Eve party and she’d gotten an eyeful of Sam Wilson. He’d been pretty shocked when she told him a few days later they were going on a date, and then even more confounded when they officially gave it a label. Who the fuck had ever expected them to date?
They were from two different worlds that had clashed at Tony’s party.
And now he was paying for it by sitting at a table with Steve Rogers, whom he had absolutely been avoiding for the better part of a year, and Bucky Barnes, whom Tony liked to pretend didn’t exist.
He’d wanted a family dinner and neglected to remember that their family was actually the Avengers, and not just the Parker-Stark-Potts. Sam had then wanted to invite his favourite people and Steve really couldn’t say no when there was an opportunity to corner Tony into a social obligation with him. Tony had thought he was getting off easy with Barnes declining, but here he was anyway, stealing Sam’s chair and chatting amicably with May as if they were good friends.
“Stop glaring a hole in your food,” Pepper whispered at him. Tony redirected the glare at her, and then matched with one of superior heat, retreated back to his food.
He wished Rhodey was here. Or Happy. Happy was grumpy enough to make every meal amusing, and Rhodey was—well, Rhodey. But Happy had declined his invitation with a laugh and Rhodey was away doing actual work. As the only government-owned superhero, he was often on assignments with that stolen War Machine suit.
“Peter,” Pepper said, leading the conversation another route, “how’s school going? Your Academic Decathlon team are headed to Nationals, right?”
Peter nodded, looking a little distracted. “Yeah, yeah. It’s good. Nationals are in New York this year, so we don’t get a cool field trip like we did last time.”
“Cool field trip?” May asked, rolling her eyes. Across the table, Sam was grinning. Tony liked Sam; he was good in the field and he was good in conversation. But his loyalties rested with the other end of the table, and even Tony was a little hesitant about him dating May – especially if family dinner meant him tagging along. There were barely enough chairs around the Parkers’ dinner table as it was. “You blew up a national monument.”
“Correction: Ned blew up a national monument.”
“You what?” Steve asked, looking more concerned than amused.
“It was just the Washington Monument,” Peter said with a wave of his hand. Tony remembered watching the reports of that; SPIDER-MAN SAVES STUDENTS. He’d phoned up Peter to give him some praise while the kid was accidentally tearing a ferry in two.
“Just the Washington Monument?”
“Yeah, it was built by slaves anyway, who cares?” Peter speared some chicken with his fork, and Tony watched Steve’s incredulous expression. He gaped for a moment and Peter added, “Besides, I saved the day and no one fell down an elevator shaft. That’s a good day in my books.”
Sam snorted and May smothered her worry with a smile. Even Barnes looked amused, but Steve still looked a little surprised and Tony couldn’t help but take the bait; “Don’t worry about Rogers, Pete; I think he’s just surprised that someone else around here is good at breaking things.”
There was silence at the table before Tony grunted. Pepper had kicked him in the shin.
“So,” she then said loudly, “May. Sam told me the two of you went to see Bonnie Tyler’s revival tour?”
“Oh, yeah,” May said, grinning. “I used to love her as a kid. He took me out to this really cute restaurant fir—”
“Sorry, excuse me,” Barnes interrupted, leaning across May to get to the dish in front of her, despite the half-full one sitting before him. “Growing super soldier, need my food.”
“Oh, of course,” May said, leaning back. “Oh, Sam, what was the restaurant called?”
“I think it was—”
“Thank you, thank you,” Barnes continued, sitting back down with his new plate of food. “This is really good, Steve. You cook it yourself?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes,” Steve replied.
“—Um, Lovehearts,” Sam said, distracted. “An old buddy of mine suggested it; they do all that sweet date stuff. You know, milkshakes to share and—”
“Right, right, what’s this called again?” Barnes asked Steve, pointing at his plate. Beside Tony, Peter’s head was ducked low as he scraped food off his plate, and Pepper tried to politely listen to Sam’s story.
“I haven’t shared a milkshake in years,” May said.
“It’s Pad Thai.”
“Hm, oh. How do you make that? What’s in it?”
“Oh, it sounds so sweet,” Pepper said.
Peter looked across May to Barnes. “We have Pad Thai all the time at our take outs. This is chicken but we usually get Pork Prawn—”
“The concert was so good—”
“Pork Prawn? Is that Pork or Prawn? Is this a weird new kind of meat I don’t know about?”
“She did all her classics—”
“Is there a mix between pig and prawn now?”
“Oh, my God, when she did Total Eclipse of the Heart—”
“I’d eat a pig-prawn hybrid, just for kicks—”
“Oh, my God,” Tony interrupted loudly. Everyone fell silent.
“Tony,” Pepper warned, and Tony pressed his lips together tightly.
“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. Go on. Carry on.”
“Would it be called a prig? Or a prawn-ig? Piawn?” Barnes immediately asked.
“Not you,” Tony said. “You should just stop.”
“Tony.” He met Pepper’s glare, and his cutlery clattered against the plate. “Not now,” she said, and it sounded a little bit like she was pleading, a little like she was ordering, but Tony shook his head.
“No, no, let’s do this now. I get that Pete wants to be a nice guy and invite you to a dinner, but you declined already. This is probably not the crowd to try and get in my good books. In fact, this was supposed to be a family dinner, and last I checked, family was a lot smaller than this.”
Silence followed and Tony refused to meet anyone’s eye. He could see Barnes’ jaw ticking, the stony look on Steve’s face. Pepper looked downright pissed, not to mention May and Sam.
“Tony,” Steve said after a beat. “That’s way out of line.”
“No, Rogers. I think it’s pretty in line – I mean, the Avengers haven’t been a family in well over a year now, right? Started when you fucked off to D.C., ended when you tried to murder me—”
“You were trying to kill Bucky!”
Tony’s chair scraped back as he stood. “He killed my parents!”
“He wasn’t in control!”
“Who gives a shit?! Who actually gives a shit?! They’re still dead!”
“Tony!” Pepper shouted, standing now. All trace of humour had vanished from her expression, her eyes cold and hard. “This is supposed to be a family dinner.”
“Exactly, so why the fuck—”
“May and Peter travelled two hours to be here. I do not get a chance to have dinner with my friends very often. Can we please, for the love of God, have a nice meal?”
They stared at each other, Pepper breathing heavily, complete silence in the room. Tony sniffed, nodded, and sat back down again. He picked up his fork and stabbed it into a chunk of chicken.
Tony regretted arranging family dinner.
SAM WILSON: 7:30PM
Oh man, he tried. He tried. He wore his lucky leather jacket, put on that good cologne that he only wore to dates and special events – he even spent the drive talking to May about how it was going to go well if they kept things light and breezy at the meal. And then—this shit.
See, Sam had been putting up with this for too long.
He had. He’d been acting as intermediary between Tony and Steve for a year, despite the fact that the first few months were spent earning his own trust back in this team. But they just couldn’t get past Siberia—he got it, he did. It was a traumatic event for them all; but the fact was, they weren’t even trying anymore.
Originally, they had. Steve had attempted communication, and Tony had told him he needed time. But after time stretched out the whole summer, there were only arguments, and then the decision to just completely avoid the problem—and each other.
So now he was sitting at a dinner table with a group of people who were supposed to enjoy each other’s company but were instead glaring at each other with fierce spite. Man, did Sam miss Rhodey. He would’ve lightened up the table like nobody’s business.
He’d admit, though, that Bucky was getting on his nerves just a little. He wouldn’t blow up at him like Tony did, but Sam shot him looks every now and again, and Bucky acted like he couldn’t see them at all.
Dinner continued for a little longer, with light, painful conversation. If this was an omen for how the rest of the weekend would go, maybe he should drive May and Peter back to the city tonight. He couldn’t bear to spend the whole weekend watching everyone at each other’s throats.
But Pepper was nothing if not a trooper, and she carried the conversation all on her own, involving everyone bit by bit. Bucky, however, sat as still and silent as he had when Tony had yelled he killed my parents! for everyone and their grandmas to hear. Whatever he’d been doing by interrupting them and stealing Sam’s seat seemed like the last thing on his mind now.
When they’d finished their meals, Pepper said, “Steve, that was delicious. We should ask you to cook more often.”
“Oh, thank you,” Steve said quietly, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “I appreciate that.”
“It’s funny,” Sam said. “I didn’t think you were all that good at cooking.”
“Hm? No, no, not really. I know a few meals, though.”
“Well it was really good,” May said, smiling. God, she was pretty. “Thank you for making it for us.”
“Mm, what’s for desert?” Sam asked then, and Steve’s eyes went wide.
“Oh. Uh. I hadn’t thought about desert. Shit. There’s a whole drawer of ice cream? If that works—oh, crap—”
“Ice cream works,” Pepper said.
“For sure,” May agreed. She nudged Peter, who had been fairly quiet the entire dinner, but even more so after Tony’s explosion. “What do you think, sweetie?”
“Huh?”
“Ice cream?”
“Oh. Oh, yeah, that works.”
Pepper slipped out of her seat to raid the freezer, while Sam shot a quick, studying look between May and Peter. This whole dinner had been a bit of a wreck; at least the food was good, he figured, because the company had maybe been a mistake.
Family dinner to Tony clearly meant something a little different to what it meant to Sam, but Steve and Bucky were part of that for him. He’d invited Nat and Wanda too, but the former was away on assignment and the latter preferred not to be at the Compound at all. But Steve was one of his best friends, and Bucky not far after.
He figured, though, that Tony hadn’t realised that Sam was part of a new package deal with May, and that Steve and Bucky came pre-packaged with him. Just about everyone had been surprised when he’d asked May out – but what was he supposed to do? Let her pass him by?
The moment she sidled up beside him at the bar of the New Year’s party he’d done a double take. She was ten kinds of gorgeous, with an infectious smile and a bold wit. What he’d really noticed was that she was dressed up beautifully, but her hair was still messy. She’d clearly tried to wrangle it into some kind of knot at the nape of her neck, but there were fly-aways everywhere and loose tendrils that didn’t at all look purposeful. He felt like he knew her instantly; she was as pulled together as could be, but just a little messy.
He kissed her at midnight. Typed his number into her phone. Texted her for days after and took her on a date by the fifth.
But let’s not get it wrong: she picked him up. May Parker stood at the bar with her elbow against his and expressed her interest. He’d been racing to keep up ever since.
And she was a little daunting; if Sam was a package deal with two century-old super soldiers, May came parcel taped to a teenage vigilante. She also still wore her old wedding ring around her neck like the totem of a widow – but Sam figured they all came with their baggage; some just a little more than others.
So he was into May Parker. Really, very, incredibly into her. And he was excited to be part of her new package deal—but well, he wasn’t as excited if meals were going to go like this.
“Oh, you know what we could do?” Pepper said from the kitchen. “We’ve got enough ice cream to feed a small army—we should make sundaes and share them.”
“Oh, that’s cute,” May said, smiling. She pulled her chair out to stand and help. “What do you think, Wilson? I can see a tub of Phish Food from here.”
“That sounds great,” he said, as Bucky looked across and said, “Pete, split a sundae with me.”
Three people spoke at once. Steve said, “What about me?”, Tony spat, “What?”, and Peter said, “Sure.” Sam blinked. May blinked. Bucky looked entirely unperturbed.
“We can share with you too,” he said easily to Steve. “Peter can switch with May and sit with us.”
And that did it, somehow. The mere thought of Peter sitting at the other end of the table, next to the half of the family that Tony didn’t want, somehow broke it all.
“Oh, fuck this,” Tony huffed.
“Tony,” Pepper warned.
“I don’t have to, Mr Stark,” Peter said.
“No, no, go sit with the war criminals, Parker. What do I care?” Tony slumped back in his seat but his body was rigid.
“Ex-war criminals,” Sam pointed out as lightly as possible. He shot May a help me look, and she just stared wide-eyed back.
“Oh, yeah, that makes it all better.”
“I thought you wanted us back in the Compound,” Steve said. Tony sat forward to retort, but Steve continued, “No. No, you worked your ass off to get us back. I know you did and I appreciate that, I do. But it’s like the moment we walked back through the door, you realised you made a mistake.”
“Yeah, well maybe I did.”
For a moment, they were all quiet, then Peter moaned and flopped forward, thumping his forehead on the table. “This is why I didn’t wanna come.”
“You didn’t wanna come?” Tony asked.
“No one wanted to come,” Peter replied.
May ran her fingers through Peter’s hair and ruffled it gently. “I wanted to come,” she said.
“No, you wanted to hang out with your boyfriend.” Sam pressed his lips together thinly. “Like you always do. Like you do even on nights I think you’re working but you’re actually in Harlem and you specifically don’t tell me about it.”
“Peter,” Sam started, wanting to fix it. He knew dating someone with a child would bring up a host of issues; he’d known it coming in. He thought he’d been ready for it, too. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no,” Peter said, loudly, airily, scraping his chair back. “Don’t worry about it. Bucky, do you like cheesecake ice cream? Because I know for a fact we have some.”
“I’ve never had cheesecake ice cream,” Bucky replied at the same moment that Tony sighed harshly and May said, “Peter, I’m sorry I—”
“Since when have you and Barnes been friends?” Tony asked, and Sam caught the fleeting look of panic on Peter’s face as he started over to the kitchen.
“Does it matter, Tony?” Steve replied.
“Yes, it matters.” And then they were off again; Bucky was a good person, Bucky was a terrible person, Steve was trying his best, Steve was a liar who should’ve never shown his face in America again. They argued and Bucky sat silently throughout it, and May stared at Sam like she was trying to will herself out of the situation.
I can fix this, Sam thought. Maybe not Steve and Tony, but he could fix the problem with Peter. He span to face the kitchen, where Peter and Pepper were surrounded by pots of ice cream and sundae bowls.
“Peter,” Sam said, and Peter froze, mid-scoop. “Maybe sometime this weekend we can spend some time together, talk through—”
“Oh no,” Peter replied, resuming with the scooping. “Bucky warned me about conversations.”
“What? He did what?”
“Long, meaningful talks and stuff. Being vulnerable.”
“What? Buck?” Sam turned to look at Bucky, who was sitting silently at the table. “Did you tell him not to talk about his feelings, or—”
“Are you giving my intern bad advice?” Tony asked suddenly, breaking off from what he was yelling at Rogers. “That’s my kid, I’m the only one who gives my kid bad advice.”
“I didn’t give him bad advice—”
“So you admit you spoke to him,” Tony hissed.
“Oh, my God,” May said. “Peter can speak to whoever he likes.”
“Even the person who killed my parents?!”
“He didn’t kill your parents!” Steve replied, just as loudly.
“Excuse me, Cap, I watched the footage!”
“Bucky,” Sam said, over the noise. “What did you say to Peter?”
“I didn’t give him bad advice,” Bucky repeated. “I told him to talk to you because he said it was weird that you were dating his Aunt.”
“Peter,” May said. “Is that how you feel?”
Peter groaned. “Maybe? I don’t know!”
“I knew it’s… new, but why didn’t you just come and talk to me about this?”
“Because it’s—it’s weird,” Peter said, while Steve cried, “Why won’t you just talk to me, instead of avoiding the problem entirely!?”
“I don’t know how to act around the McDonald’s shift manager when the McDonald’s shift manager is dating my Mom, you know?” Peter said, his words all a jumble like they were coming out of his mouth too fast. “How am I supposed to get good shifts after this?! How am I supposed to show up for work knowing that my Mom skipped work to go spend the night in HARLEM WITH MY SHIFT MANAGER?!”
“It was one time!” May replied, as Tony huffed and yelled, “Because if I talk to you then I have to move on from my Mom’s death!”
“Tony!”
“Steve!”
“Peter!”
“McDonald’s shift managers should not date their employee’s moms!”
“SHUT THE HELL UP!”
The room went silent, and everyone turned to where Pepper stood in the kitchen, clutching two tubs of ice cream and breathing heavily. Sam had heard stories about Pepper and Extremis, and he wondered if this is what it had looked like; rage and fiery, burning tenacity.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. Pepper settled the tubs on the counter and slowly, methodically, started towards the table in the centre of the room. “Do you all understand that I get an incredibly limited amount of time to spend with my friends and family? Do you all understand how rare it is for me to have a family dinner? And yet you all felt the need to bring your baggage to the table like every goddamn issue was going to get solved tonight? What did you think would happen?”
“Well, I—”
She shot Tony a glare, who shut up immediately. “It was rhetorical,” she seethed. Even when losing her composure, she somehow hadn’t lost an inch of it. “Steve, Tony, you are going to sort out your issues with each other. This cannot keep happening. Steve, you kept the truth from Tony. Tony, you have spent the better part of a year stretching out this issue rather than putting effort into solving it.”
“He brought Barnes into my home,” Tony defended.
“No,” Pepper replied. “You did. When faced with either leaving him in Wakanda, or bringing him here, you chose here. Bucky has done a lot of wrong in his life, but it is time that you start working towards forgiveness. That doesn’t mean you have to move on, it just means you have to get along with him. And Barnes—”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I know you didn’t want to come tonight, so the only reason I can think of for your being here is stirring up trouble.”
Bucky suddenly looked incredibly guilty. “Peter wanted me to ruin everyone’s night.”
“I did not!” Peter cried as everyone turned his way, complaining Peter! “I wanted to you distract me from the weirdness of my Mom dating my shift manager—”
“Peter,” Pepper said evenly. “No one understands that analogy. And frankly, it’s strange. Sometimes, single parents starting dating again. My mother got remarried when I was your age, and it was odd and I didn’t like it, and I purposefully ate too much so I’d be sick on their wedding day and I threw up in the bouquet—”
“What—”
“Oh, my God—”
“Holy shit—”
“Miss Potts—”
“—this feels about as productive acting out as I managed,” she finished. “But what would’ve helped us both is if we admitted we had a problem and worries and talked to our parents about them, because parents, usually, love their children and will do anything to help.”
May smiled at Peter, who returned it tentatively before ducking his head.
Then Pepper blew out a breath and said, “Is that everything? Have I covered everything? Can we eat ice cream now?”
The room was quiet for a moment, and then Steve blurted, “I didn’t cook dinner, I just bought take-out and stuck it in our dishes.” He sighed heavily. “God, that’s a load off.”
It took a moment, and then Bucky started laughing uproariously, and Peter said, “What?” and Tony said, “Oh, my God, Cap,” and Pepper rolled her eyes and giggled, and the room was alight with noise again but in the good way.
Sam met May’s gaze across the room as she grinned, and Sam thought, Yeah, this could’ve gone worse.
BUCKY BARNES: 8:15PM
Bucky scooped the last of the Thai food onto a plate whilst Peter scraped out the bottom of the bowl of ice cream. The seating arrangements had moved a little; Sam and May were now sat together, laughing at a joke Pepper was telling from beside Tony. Bucky was still pretty sure Peter was ignoring the situation entirely, but now May and Sam were aware of it, which was much better than at the beginning of the meal.
“Are you still hungry?” Steve questioned, as Bucky stuck a fork on the plate.
“Hm? Oh, I’m taking this back to my room. I’m binging Grey’s Anatomy.” Bucky replied. “I only came for the food.”
“What?”
Bucky nodded. “There’s a bomb in a body. Gotta find out how that turns out.”
“No, no, I meant about you only coming for the food.”
Bucky scoffed. “Well, I’m not going to destroy a family dinner on an empty stomach.”
“Gotta respect the hustle,” Sam commented.
Bucky pointed at him in agreement, then patted Peter on the shoulder. “Nice seeing you, kid. And good to meet you, May. Sam does not stop talking about you. Constantly. Oh, May’s so pretty. Oh, May’s the funniest—” He shut up abruptly as a screwed up napkin hit him in the face, Sam glaring from the other side of the table as May laughed. “Yeah, I deserved that.”
He speared a piece of chicken with his fork as he started away from the kitchen and towards the door, the friendly chatter in the background. The start of a family, the beginnings of fixing one.
Man, that was a shitshow, he thought as he left, which was just about what he expected from the dinner. But, hey, at least I got a meal out of it.