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“...You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack, honey bear.”
“Tony.”
“What? Heart attacks are no joke, Jim Jam. I should know—”
“... Yeah, alright—”
“— scratch that, I do know—”
“Tony, I—“
“So yeah, I’m serious. So serious. Extraordinarily serious—”
“Fine!” James all but yells, silencing the voice on the other of the line with an audible click of teeth. “I’ll go.”
“Awesome,” Tony says breezily, as if he hadn’t woken James up at three in the morning from across the world just to invite him to Thanksgiving dinner. “See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?”
“Fuck off,” James groans, even as Tony’s tinny chuckles bring a tired grin to his face. “Can I go back to sleep now?”
“Actually, now that you’re up—”
“Yeah, no, I’m hanging up—”
“Rhodey—”
“G’night, Tony,” James says, ends the call with a sleepy sigh, and is out seconds after.
— — — — — —
“Don’t tell me you’ll be doing all the cooking,” James smirks at his computer screen the next day, lips curving deeper into a grin when Tony rolls his eyes and scoffs.
“You should be so lucky—”
“— Not really—”
“Hush, you,” Tony tuts, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder a second later, and James takes in the unusual sight of the Stark Tower living room in disarray, kids’ toys scattered all around and a colorful blanket fort stretching considerably over one corner. There’s no sign of life beyond Tony, however, and not for the first time in months, James wonders at the state of his friend’s life. Chaos and Tony are by no means strangers, but James is almost certain that not even in his wildest dreams could Tony have ever imagine the sheer madness he’s settled into.
One that is very obviously not unwelcome.
“I’m, uh, not gonna lie, Tones,” he finally says, “didn’t really think you’d have time for the holidays this year, with, y’know… everything.”
“Are you kidding me?” Tony shakes his head. “It’d be fucking world war three if I didn’t. Cap’s gotten some very serious requests already, so it's a done deal. Full speed ahead, and all that jazz.”
“I can imagine,” James laughs.
“We’re outnumbered, honey bear, you’ve got no idea. It’s a struggle every day—“
“Bullshit. You love it.”
Tony narrows his eyes even as the tips of his ear grow pink. “Anyway—“ he begins pointedly, but James ignores the bait.
“You’re lookin’ a little shaggy there, too,” he says, pointing at Tony’s unkempt Van Dyke.
“Tony Stark doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘shaggy’, bud. Doesn’t exist. I’d like to see you trying to get anything done with six toddlers poking and shouting and running—”
“What about Rogers?”
“He has his uses, I’ll give him that,” Tony grins, a small, fond thing that warms James’ chest with something like relief.
“I’ll bet he does,” he waggles his eyebrows, and from the other side of the country, his best friend cackles knowingly.
“Mind out of the gutter, Rhodey bear.”
“Pot, kettle. But I’m talking about that right there,” he points to the blanket fort in the corner. “I’m surprised it’s still standing, too.”
“Yeah, no, that’s staying up till the end of the fucking world,” Tony mutters. “A single thread falls off, and we’ll never hear the end of it. You can blame Cap, by the way— turns out he’s a hit with the kids.”
“He with ‘em now?”
“His turn to make lunch,” Tony nods, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly, “so you get some quality time with yours truly.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to get him a thank you card when I see him.”
“Speaking of— plane’s picking you up at midnight. Don’t be late, hm?”
“No chance of that, I’m not you.”
Tony winks. “Nobody can be, buddy, but I still love you. Happy’ll be waiting when get here, though.”
“Aw, don’t do that, man. I can take a cab there.”
“A cab, that’s cute—you sound like Steve. It’s like you forget who I am. Did you forget who I am, Jamesy?”
“How can I? You won’t let anyone forget,” James laughs. “Give the kids my best, yeah? I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”
“Get some shut eye on the way. Can’t guarantee you’ll get any over here.”
“I think I’ll take my chances. It can’t be that bad, right?” He shrugs, and doesn’t think too much of the wicked, knowing curve of Tony’s smile as the call disconnects.
— — — — — —
It’s not that he’s a stranger to spending the holidays with Tony, or even the Avengers-- far from it.
But he’ll be the first to admit he’s not the most comfortable with children, and in the months since Loki’s spell all but filled the Avengers tower with more than a handful of them, he’s only spent a couple of days around the team. He gets plenty of details about daily life from Tony, though, enough to get a feel of the domesticity playing out, and he’s more than a little eager to see it for himself.
Still, he’s not sure what he’d been expecting— or if he’d ever really been expecting anything in particular, anyway— but when the penthouse elevator opens and James squeezes through into the main floor on the Wednesday morning before Thanksgiving, he’s barely able to take three steps before a dark purple weight barrels into his legs.
“Woe-deeeeeee!” the child yells, and though his voice is muffled against James’ slacks, the bright, familiar smile that greets him when he looks down is anything but.
“What’s kickin’, Barton?” He chuckles, dropping his bags to pick the boy up and carry him further into the room, smile growing as tiny arms wrap themselves tight around his neck. “What’re you doing all the way out there, huh? Where’s your leash?”
“No leash! Am a fwee birb!” Barton wiggles frantically, almost tipping over the hold James has on him. The small, purple cape attached to the back of his shirt tangles around Barton as he moves, but the boy pays absolutely no mind.
“Should we throw you out the window and test that theory?” Tony’s voice reaches them both, followed by the man himself moments later, and James greets him with a casual nod and a gesture to the boy in his arms.
“Look at what I found halfway out the door.”
“At this point, I can’t actually confirm he doesn’t have wings.”
“I’m a birb!” Barton screeches, loud enough to leave both James and Tony wincing. “Gots lotsa wings!”
“If you say so, Tweety.”
“Not Tweety— Hawk!”
Tony rolls his eyes as he walks over, but opens his arms in time to catch the boy all but flinging himself from James’ hold. “Hawk, shmawk,” he murmurs, rocking Barton until the kid hides his face against Tony’s neck with a happy sigh. “Yeah, that’s better, huh?”
Another soft hum is the only reply, and with a quick press of lips against tawny blond hair, Tony meets James' eyes and gestures in the direction he’d come in from. “Just in time, honey bear. Cap’s makin’ too many pancakes, as usual.”
“Calling in the cavalry, then?” James manages to ask, before they reach the kitchen and any response Tony might’ve made is drowned out by the cacophony of noise that hits them.
His first thought as they step inside, is that he’s never seen it so messy. A lifetime of mornings with Tony, even at their most chaotic, would only just come close to the sight that greets his arrival at the Avengers tower.
“Morning Colonel,” Steve greets him, a tired but achingly bright grin thrown over his shoulder as he stirs a steaming pan. There’s a half eaten plate stacked with pancakes next to him, but the smell of coffee and bacon is too strong to ignore, and James wastes no time in helping himself to a crispy slice from an overfilled plate nearby.
“At ease, Cap,” Tony scoffs, depositing Barton on the only empty stool before walking over to Steve and elbowing him gently in the back. “It’s just Rhodey.”
“Tony—“
“What? I’m right. Move on and drop the name calling.”
“Sure thing, Doctor Stark,” Steve smirks around a mouthful of pancake, and James snickers into his mug at the flush that rises on Tony’s cheek even as he flicks Steve’s arm.
“Ass.”
“Love you too, Shellhead.”
“Tony?” a voice says quietly from the other end of the island, and all three catch a sleep tousled head— Bruce’s, James recognizes— peeking over the rim of his cereal bowl.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Tony asks him softly.
“‘m done.”
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner! Good job, kiddo.”
“… Wanna play.”
“Yeah? Well, let’s clean those sticky hands first,” Tony reaches down to pick Banner up into his arms, and carries him over to the sink. “Scrub, scrub, scrub,” he orders, and Bruce giggles down at his wet hands.
“Die, germs!”
“To Hel! Hel, Hel, Hel!” Thor chants from his perch beside James, thumping a tiny fist on the table once, twice, until with a final hit, he flings his plastic spork across the island and onto the floor. The rest of his pint sized teammates erupt in a chorus of cheers and giggles, and James watches Steve’s smile grow fond even as his brow furrows slightly into a softer version of that familiar, Captain America game face.
“Thor, buddy,” he says, voice firm even in its gentleness. “What’s the rule about playing while we eat, hm?”
“We don’t!” Sam chirps, beaming in pride when Steve nods.
“Not the first time, Rogers, and it won’t be the last time. You’re fighting a losing battle,” Tony points out, setting Bruce down on the kitchen floor with a pat to his head, and James finds himself surprised— though he knows better by now that he shouldn’t be— at the ease with which he sees Tony handle his team. Without another word, each child makes their way over to the sink to clean themselves up with his help before running back out into the main room, until it’s just James, Tony, and Steve left inside.
“...Is it always like this?” Is what he finally says— though what exactly he’s asking about, he can’t quite decide— and doesn’t miss the easy grin the other two share.
“They like to keep us on our toes,” Steve answers, chuckling when Tony sighs out a low, tired laugh of his own.
“‘Cause, apparently, saving the world’s just not enough of a thrill anymore.”
“Doesn’t look like either of you mind,” James says, and tries not to feel like his words are invading something... intimate between them.
Tony just shrugs, casual enough that James knows it’s anything but. “Eh, they’re a riot. Kids after my own heart.”
“Must be why they like you so much,” Steve says, and then it’s his and James’ turn to share a smile when Tony huffs in disbelief.
“Yeah, okay—”
“I’m serious. You know I’m right.”
“Cap—”
“You’ll see,” Steve nods at James, and with a wink, leans over and sticks his forkful of pancake into Tony’s mouth before the other man can say anything else. “Now shaddup and eat, Shellhead.”
James can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles out of him at the glare Tony sends Rogers’ way. “You heard the boss, Tones.”
“I hate you both,” Tony grumbles around chews, then grimaces as he finishes swallowing. “Jesus Christ, Rogers. You want some more pancakes with your syrup?”
“Not a peep outta you!” Steve faux commands, and James takes another sip from his coffee to hide the ache blooming on his cheeks from how hard he’s smiling.
“I don’t get a single fucking shred of respect in this house,” Tony continues, but the curve of his lips— a small, genuine thing that James can hardly remember seeing when they were younger— easily belies any animosity in his words.
It’s clear that Steve, too, notices, because his own face softens— baby blues as bright as the morning sky— as he presses a quick, easy kiss on Tony’s cheek.
“Quit your mopin’!”
“Make me.”
“... I could.”
“Rhodey wouldn’t let you,” Tony smirks. “Would you, sour patch? C’mon, back me up here.”
“Hey, whoa, don’t drag me into this,” James replies, hands raised in surrender as Steve laughs. “I’m just visiting, remember?”
“Yeah, no, you’re just too scared to fight Cap.”
“I ain’t even arguing, man...”
“See? That right there!!” Tony crows, poking Steve’s chest hard and grinning when the blond swipes at his hand just a second too late. “Look at you, Cappuccino. Who’s the bully now?”
Steel blue eyes narrow playfully, and James gives a rare, childishly gleeful thanks to the universe that he’s sitting there to witness the exchange. “Watch your back, Stark.”
“I’m quaking in my boots—”
“Sir.”
James doesn’t flinch at the sound of JARVIS’ voice, but he also doesn’t miss the way Steve’s face tips slightly toward the ceiling, or the way Tony’s body stills in attention. “Hit me, Jay.”
“Might I suggest you check in on the young Avengers?”
“Sit-rep? Actually, y’know what, never mind, I’m on my way. Coming, Jim Jam?” Tony nods in James’ direction even as he’s already across the room.
“In a minute,” James replies, and sighs in amusement when his friend leaves them with a jaunty wave. “I think I’m gonna need another cup to handle all this.”
“Let me get that for you,” Steve offers, but James waves him off.
“No worries, Rogers,” he assures him, working the ridiculously complicated coffeemaker with long-acquainted ease. “Keep enjoying your breakfast.”
“Would you like some?” Steve continues, already halfway out his seat before James can get a word in. “All we’ve got right now is chocolate chip batter, unfortunately, but—”
“Cap, really,” James laughs, “I’m good with coffee. And some more of this bacon right here, honest.”
Steve looks doubtful. “You sure?”
“Yeah, man. Besides, this kitchen looks bad enough as it is.”
“That’s nothin’ new these days, if you can believe it,” Steve’s face brightens into that charmingly boyish grin that James has heard Tony ranting about more than once.
“Oh, I definitely believe it,” he chuckles, gaze moving from the tableful of child-sized plates to the countertops cluttered with groceries and a handful of toys. A quick glance at the refrigerator reveals several sheets of paper filled to the brim with colorful lines and squiggles, and one barely recognizable drawing of Iron Man and Captain America flying through gray clouds. “Hazards of childcare, huh?”
“Definitely. But I don’t...” Steve pauses, smiling down into his plate. “I don’t mind.”
“You’re doing a great job, from what I can see,” James continues. “Both of you.”
“That’s all Tony. They pretty much worship him.”
“Well, he might be a genius, but I don’t think even he could take those six on his own. Don’t sell yourself short, Cap— it’s a good thing he’s got you around.”
Steve just shakes his head, cheeks flushed as he wipes the tabletop, and then it’s his turn to wave James off when he offers to help clean. “You just got here. Go on out there and keep an eye on Tony.”
“Just Tony, huh? Not the kids?”
“He’s got it handled, you’ll see.”
— — —
“What the hell is that?”
“Issa birb car! See duh wings?” Wilson asks, ramming the toy car in James’ face for all of two seconds before running it up and down his arms. “Issa fal-cun car!”
“That right?”
“Uh huh! ‘S goin’ fast ‘cause fal-cuns are real fast an’ dey fall real fast to catch other birbs!”
“Yeah? Hey, you sure seem to know a lot about Falcons, don’t you?” James asks from where he’s sitting, catching Tony’s eye from across the room with a knowing grin. “Where’d you learn all that?”
“Tony found a birb moobee an’ me’n Hawk watched it cuz we’re birbs!”
“You’re something,” he hears Tony mutter from his spot on the floor. Beside him, Natasha is a soft pink ball nestled into his side, a matching pillow tucked under her head as she walks her fingers along Tony’s arm. Across the room, Thor holds a tiny handful of LEGO for Banner to pick from as they build a pile of something James thinks is meant to resemble the Stark Tower, and somewhere inside the giant blanket fort, the clear but unintelligible voices of Barnes and Barton complete the soothing atmosphere all around them.
“So is, uh, is this what you do all day?” James finally asks Tony, who grins back while pretending to nibble on Natasha’s fingers as the girl gets too close to his face.
“Jealous, cocoa puff?”
“A little, yeah.”
“Serves you right for jetting off to L.A.—”
“Y’know, that makes it sound like I’m on vacation—”
“— And leaving me home alone with 2.5 kids—”
“Yeah, I’m sure you were just gutted to play house with Rogers—”
“Someone called?” Steve calls out as he enters and all but lets himself fall on the other end of the couch. He looks only the slightest bit more tired than usual, but the happiness brimming off him is more than enough to make up for it.
“Speak of the devil,” Tony mumbles, but his eyes and smile are soft as the late morning light coming in through the glass windows, and James pretends not to see the same look on Steve’s face. “The kitchen alright?”
“Until lunch times, at least,” Steve laughs. “Then all bets are off.”
James pokes Wilson as the boy drives yet another lap around his chest, then back down his lap. “I can help, y’know. Six hands are better than four, especially with these little rascals.”
“I solemnly swear to take you up on that, honey bear,” Tony salutes. From the corner of his eye, James can see Steve roll his. “Happy now, you bleeding heart?”
“I’m regretting this trip already,” he jokes, but sinks further into his seat with an indulgent sigh. He gives Wilson a smile as the boy makes a final lap around his arm before flying the car in the air and running off into the tent.
“And you’re just getting the three-day trial.”
The sofa cushions feel heavenly beneath his legs and behind his shoulders, and James’ eyes close as his body begin to relax down to the bone. “More than enough for me.”
— — — — — —
The nighttime quiet of the tower is new.
With his best friend practically a stranger to anything resembling a normal sleeping schedule, James has been all too used to long nights filled with conversation or movie marathons that would, more often than not, last long into the early mornings. And the rest of today, though not terribly active, had been just busy enough to tire him out well.
But when James leaves his room at a quarter to two— after hours tossing and turning in vain, and cursing his jet lag for the millionth time— he tries not to let the silent darkness unsettle him as he pads over to the kitchen.
Only to find that he’s not the only one up, after all.
“Shoulda known you’d be around,” he says quietly, heading directly to the coffee maker, but Tony just hums and rocks the bundle in his arms from side to side.
“I resent that. I’m a new man, Rhodes. This little miss, on the other hand,” he presses a whisper soft kiss to the red curls tucked under his chin, then mouths ‘nightmare’ at James.
Natasha lets out whimper before he can say anything to that, a short, heartbreakingly painful little sound that leaves James’ chest aching, and her tiny fingers— already white with the force of her grip on Tony’s shirt— only clench tighter a second later.
“Shhh... you’re okay, baby,” Tony coos, the endearment falling naturally from his lips, a hint to James that this is far from the first time he’s used it. “I’m right here, hm? I’ve got you. Breathe for me, honey... in, out... and again...”
“Is she okay?” James asks, low enough that only Tony can hear, but the other man just shakes his head.
“Tony?” Steve’s voice sweeps over them as he enters the kitchen, slow and warm, and James turns to catch the Captain’s concerned gaze fall on the girl in Tony’s arms. His own are wrapped around Barton’s small frame, the boy wide awake and also focused on Romanoff.
“Hey buddy,” Tony whispers to him, smiling briefly when Steve comes over to stand beside them. “What’s up?”
“Tasha?” Is all Barton asks.
“She’s alright, kid. We’re just keeping Rhodey here company. You good?”
“Wan’ Tasha...”
“In a minute, bub, yeah?”
“Wanna pass her over?” Steve asks Tony, and to James’s surprise —he’d expected Tony keep the girl closer for far longer— he only gives a slow nod, and bows his head to whisper down into Romanoff’s hair.
“Honey... Cap’s here. Barton, too. Want to join ‘em, huh?”
The seconds draw out, long and silent, before Natasha gives a short, quick nod, and it’s not long before she’s curled up comfortably in Steve’s arms. It’s a snug fit, with Barton pressed to Steve’s chest as well, but Rogers only holds them closer, humming a faint, unfamiliar tune under his breath as he rocks them both. Beside him, Tony runs a hand over Natasha’s unruly curls before turning around to pull open the cupboard behind them. “So, this feels like a hot chocolate kind of night, hm?” He asks softly, even as he’s already pulled out three mugs and a pair of sippy cups. “Dontcha think, Jim jam?”
James rolls his eyes at the nickname. “Good idea. Need any help?”
“You’re on milk duty,” Tony responds. “Enough for five, please and thank you.”
The next couple of minutes are spent in that long, heavy silence that James is used to during those restless nights, broken only by Steve’s whisper soft humming as he continues swaying back and forth. Tony moves with an ease borne of experience and familiarity as he prepares the chocolate, and once again, James watches it all with no small sense of wonder.
“The rest of em’... they’re good?” he asks Tony, when his friend comes over to stand next to him over the warming pot of milk.
“JARVIS keeps an eye on them, but these two...”
“Barton, too?”
“He has his nights, now and then. When it’s Nat, though... it gets to him.”
James doesn’t ask if the nightmares are bad— he knows enough to know they are. “Milk’s ready,” he says instead, accepting the bowl of melted chocolate with a hushed thanks, and stirs the two together while Tony sets the cups in order. The two child-sized cups glow softly in the dim kitchen light, and despite the somber atmosphere, James feels a small smile bloom on his face when he spots the purple teddy bears and pink ballerinas printed on.
It’s clear Tony’s seen it, if the brief, tired chuckle he lets out is anything to go by. “Cap likes to think he’s funny.”
“They’re cute,” James shrugs.
“That’s one word for ‘em. Kids went bonkers when he came home with them— Barnes almost threw a tantrum the first time we put ‘em in the dishwasher.”
“You bribe him?”
“That’s rude, Colonel Rhodes. I’m offended,” Tony grins. “Turns out Cap still knows how to make a speech, even to a pack of four year-olds.”
“No surprise there.”
Steve is standing by the windows when they make their way back over, all five cups balanced between the two of them, and he looks down to whisper something down at the two kids.
“No marshmallows this time, but it should still do the trick,” Tony walks up to him, eyes soft as the smile he gives Natasha when the girl lifts her head from Steve’s shoulder to look at them. “Feeling better, sweetie?”
Natasha blinks, sends a shy, curious glance in James’s direction, and nods.
“Here, let’s trade,” Steve offers, and with a few graceful moves from both, Romanoff is back in Tony’s arms, hands curled around her warm drink. Barton is already a couple of sips into his own, eyes half lidded as he keeps his head tucked under Steve’s chin.
The chocolate is deliciously sweet and hot, warming James’s body more and more with every sip until he feels more relaxed than he has all night. A quick glance around the room tells him he’s not the only one, and with a yawn he doesn’t bother hiding, James pads over to the sink to leave his now empty mug. “That might’ve worked too well, Tones,” he says, and watches Tony laugh quietly into Natasha’s hair.
“You’ll thank me when you get more than five hours of sleep without one of these sneaky little nuggets breaking into your room.”
“Not a nugget,” Barton mutters into the fabric of Steve’s shirt. His eyes are more closed than open at this point, and only Steve’s hold on the sippy cup keeps it from falling from the limp grip the boy has on it. “‘M a birb.”
“You sure are a sleepy little bird,” Steve murmurs softly. “Time to fly back to your nest, yeah? Nice and soft and warm...”
Clint nods, and with a final, breathy little yawn, falls asleep.
“Guess that’s my cue. Night, fellas,” Steve continues, clutching the boy closer to his chest as he makes his way out. Their cups sit forgotten on the kitchen island, but James just moves them to the sink along with his.
“Guessing this wasn’t a one time thing,” he says, when Tony makes his way over to drop his and Romanoff’s cups.
“It’s practically a club at this point, isn’t it, princess?” Tony gives the girl in his arms a gentle jostle, receiving a silent nod in return. “Looking to join?”
“Think I already did,” James responds, and then there is only the quiet hallway to lead them to their bedrooms on the other side of the floor. His eyes are struggling to stay open, but he still manages to say his good nights when they reach his room, and this time, sleep comes quick and deep.
He does not dream, and does not wake again.
— — — — — —
Thanksgiving morning comes slowly, the soft dawn filling the room little by little, and for the first time in weeks, James gets to enjoy waking up to it all. His bed is almost too comfortable, sheets and blankets covering him in a cocoon of warmth so wonderful, he’s lulled back to sleep more than once before he forces himself to get up and join the rest of his team.
Only to be greeted by silence.
“Uhh...” is all he add to it.
“Get a good rest, Rhodey?” Tony greets him at the entrance with another ridiculously oversized mug full of coffee. On the couches behind him, their little teammates sit snuggled up against each other as they watch the procession playing out on the TV screen.
“Uh, yeah... what’s, uh, what’s going on with, uh...” he waves in their direction, and the grin Tony graces him with lets James know that he knows exactly what he’s referring to.
“Steve’s idea. Obviously, they had no objections.”
“Where’s yours?”
“I have class, honey bear,” Tony sniffs, but doesn’t quite the fond look he gives his charges. “It’s almost too much to look at.”
“Woe-dee?”
James doesn’t start at the voice that appears beside him, or at the tiny hand that pays his knee, but it’s a close call. “What’s up, bubba?” he crouches to meet Barnes’ eye. Up close, the red onesie he wears is almost too bright to look at, but damn it, James has stared down worse things throughout his life— toddlers in garish pajamas don’t even crack the Top 100 list.
“Can I have coffee?” Banes grins impishly, gray eyes bright and hopeful. His hair is still rumpled from sleep, and the floppy puppy ears hanging from the top of his hood only add to the innocent charm the kid is clearly going for.
Not that it ends up working.
“Oh, nice try, you,” Tony laughs, patting Barnes once on the head. “Extra points for the puppy dog eyes—“
“But—“
“Nope, no buts, kid. You know the rules— you must be this tall to ride the caffeine ride,” Tony pats his own head this time. Barnes’ eyes grow wide and wet with tears, and his pout almost has James caving. But Tony just leans down to bop the boy’s nose before waving him back in the direction of the couch. “You’re up to your ears in milk, anyway.”
“... No.”
“Lies and deceit,” Tony scoffs, and Barnes just giggles as he runs back to join the colorful pile of limbs across the room. “Come on, honey bear. Kitchen’s off limits, but I saved you a spot next to me.”
“Didn’t think you still watched the parade,” James nods at the television screen.
“I don’t,” Tony shakes his head, “but a certain tall, blonde, patriotic parrot spilled the beans about a SpongeBob float, and here we fucking are.”
“You’re so easy,” James laughs, slapping Tony’s hands away when his friend shoves him into the cushions playfully.
“Well yeah, that’s old news—“
“Stop, I didn’t mean it like that, I just... it’s nice. Seeing you do this for them. I can’t remember the last time you sat through one of these..”
“Preaching to the choir, Rhodey. But if I step foot in the kitchen, Cap’ll have my hide, so...” Tony shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee and runs a slow, affectionate hand down Thor’s tangled blond locks. “Just sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Where’s SpongeBob?” Barton whines, stretching his tiny limbs in aggravation, and James chuckles into his mug.
“The parade’s a couple of hours, kid,” he responds. “It might take a while.”
Barton turns huge, disbelieving eyes in his direction. “Hours?”
“Yep.”
“But…” the boy pouts “But I wanna see SpongeBob now!”
“Hey, bud—“ Tony begins, but James waves him off and continues.
“We’re just gonna have to keep an eye out, okay?? We’ll see him soon.” And then James has a thought. A pretty fucking brilliant thought. “In the meantime,” he says, “what do you say we see if we can find Woodstock?”
“… Whozzat?” Barton asks, abandoning his spot in the pile to climb up beside James.
“What? You don’t know who Woodstock is?” James feigns shock. “He’s Snoopy’s best friend… and he’s a bird.”
“A birb?” Sam’s head shoots up, surprised glee lighting up his face, and Barton is almost vibrating with excitement.
“Yep! He’s small and yellow and I bet if we pay attention real hard, we’ll be able to spot him.”
“I wanna see Woo-stock,” Sam cheers, and Barton nods frantically.
“Gotta stay real quiet, then,” James says, low and serious. “And before we know it, we’ll find ‘em both.”
It’s blessedly silent after that, and he catches Tony’s impressed look with a smug grin. “Not too shabby, Jim…”
“Yeah, I thought so too,” he says, and Tony buries his face into couch cushion with a laugh.
“Tony, shhhh!” Bruce hisses softly from somewhere in the puppy pile. “We hafta pay ‘ttention!”
“Sorry, sprout,” Tony coos, hand resting over his heart in apology, only to smirk over at James as soon as the boy turns away. “See what you did?”
“They’re quiet, aren’t they?”
Tony shrugs. “God knows they’re not gonna be like this later— I’ll take any second of peace I can.”
“You’re welcome,” James winks, and lets the quiet morning wash over him like a blanket.
— — — — — —
By noon, James thinks he might go out of his mind if he stays seated a minute longer.
He doesn’t need to ask around to know he’s the only one feeling restless— the others are settled around the room as comfortably as they’d been the day before, and so with a pat to Tony’s shoulder, he makes his way out into the kitchen.
It’s, surprisingly, not as big a mess at it’d been the morning before, despite the insane amount of food he’s sure Rogers must be preparing. The blend of smells wafts over to James, and he takes a deep, appreciative whiff. “Need a hand, Cap?” He says by way of greeting, and Steve looks up from the sink with a friendly grin.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re not plannin’ on taking no for an answer,” Steve replies.
“At this point, I’ll even beg.”
“No need to, Colonel.”
James rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Jim, please.”
“Right, yeah, sorry,” Steve laughs down at the turkey he’s rinsing. “I’d appreciate the help, Jim.”
“Good. What’re my orders, sir?”
“Oh god, please don’t call me that,” Steve says. “I should be callin’ you ‘sir’. Steve is fine.”
“Where d’you want me then, Steve?” James nods, rolling up his sleeves with a smile. “Stuffing? Pie? Ham duty?”
Steve just points him to the far end of the counter, and puts him to work.
The silence is wonderfully comfortable for longer than he realizes, broken only by the soft music floating down from the speaker ceilings— Perry Como’s ‘It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas’.
“So you’re a Christmas in November kinda guy, huh?” James asks, gesturing up at the speakers when the blond turns his way.
“I don’t particularly mind,” Steve shrugs. “But the kids seem really excited about it holidays already, and… y’know.”
“I get that,” James says. “Gets you in the mood, for sure.”
“You bet it does. I can change it, though, if you’d rather—“
“Nah, it’s fine. Helps pass the time, anyway.”
“Thanks for the help, too.”
James nods. “I can only sit around and do nothing for so long. Not that the company’s awful, I just…”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Someone has to make the food, anyhow,” Steve chuckles. “We’d have some awfully gloomy kids otherwise. And Tony’s holding down the fort well enough.”
“Yeah, though not without help,” he says, and gives him a quick rundown of the SpongeBob fiasco.
Steve’s laughter rings loud and boisterous in response. “You should come around more often, if you’re gonna pull off somethin’ like that,” he tells James.
“Maybe I will,” says James, and finds that he really does mean it. “I should be able to find some more time off for December— wouldn’t hurt to spend some of it around here.”
“Tony would sure love to have you around.”
“Thanks, Cap.”
“Anytime,” Steve assures him, and when the kitchen grows quiet again as they go back to their own tasks, both of them are grinning.
— — — — — —
The sun hasn’t quite yet gone down by the time dinner is ready, and the soft glow of sunset bathes the room in that soft, rich light that James has always associated with Thanksgiving. The adorably happy faces of the children only make James’ chest grow warmer, and the smile he can feel blooming on his cheeks is one to rival any of the ones before.
“Not bad, Jim Jam,” Tony tells them, when he first comes in behind the rest of his team, eyeing the set table with no small amount of delight.
“Like I could come up with something this nice,” James scoffs. “It was all Steve.”
“It really wasn’t,” Steve insists, but his smile is all pleased modesty, and only grows when Tony leans over to press a kiss to his flushed cheeks.
“Working that apron too, gorgeous,” Tony purrs, and Steve lets out a breathy chuckle even as he rolls his eyes fondly and thanks him.
A tiny foot stomp breaks the moment, and James grins down at the sight of Thor thumping a fist against the tabletop a second later. “Wanna feast!” He exclaims, and then seats himself at the head of the table with a hop.
“Nice try, point break,” Tony mutters, and moves him two seats down. “That’s Cap’s spot.”
“God, no,” Steve shakes his head. He gestures at the chair as the others take their own, and James has to hold in his laughter when he realizes that they’ve all left the two seats at the other end empty. “Take it.”
“Cap—“
“I’ll take it,” James volunteers, and smiles down at Banner and Wilson on either side of him. “Now that we’ve got that settled… who’s hungry?”
“I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tale,” Steve says, before he’s off to the kitchen, and Tony’s laughter follows him out as an excited murmur sweeps among the children. It’s infectious, and it’s not long before even James is feeling more than a little eager.
When Steve returns soon after, there’s a single, glorious moment where they all stare in awe at the obscenely enormous turkey—even Tony can’t hold back his whistle of surprise at the size— before Sam lets out a horrified gasp, Barton a wail, and all hell breaks loose.
“What the f—“ Tony startles, only to be drowned out by the torrent of tears Barton begins to shed.
“Is a birb!” Clint sobs, words barely discernible through his cries. “Y’killed a birb!”
“Is a turkey!” Thor yells out helpfully, to no avail. Still at his end of the table with the twenty pound bird in his hands, Steve suddenly seems to spring into action, almost slamming the plate onto the table before running over to swing Barton into his arms. Nat, from her seemingly permanent perch on Tony’s lap, looks on in confusion; Banner’s hunched over his seat with only the smallest hint of curiosity in his eyes, and Thor looks on with a riveted gaze of his own.
“Hey, hey, buddy, what’s....” Steve tries to pacify him, “it’s okay, breathe… What’s wrong, bud?”
Barton is having none of it.
“Is a birb!” Sam whimpers, eyes so heartbreakingly SAD that James pulls him into his lap without a word. “I’m a birb!”
“Jesus Christ,” he hears Tony mutter. “Boys—“
“Don’ wanna eat b-birb!” Clint sobs into Steve’s shoulder. “I’m— birb!”
“There there,” Steve soothes, giving Sam a comforting smile over Barton’s head. “It’s okay, guys... I’m... I’m sorry we didn’t tell you—“
“Steve—“ Tony begins, only to fall silent when Steve shakes his head gently and continues.
“But you guys don’t have to eat anything you don’t want to, okay? Shhh... there you go, bud,” he rocks Barton again and again until the boy’s cries taper down to whimpers. Sam only sniffs and wipes at his eyes, curling into James’ chest, and the rest continue to sit in silence.
“Steve...” Tony tries again, gesturing at the bird still resting on the table, and after a wordless conversation that James can only sit and witness, Rogers deposits Barton on Tony’s other knee with a final kiss to the boy’s damp, blond hair. Natasha wastes no time in reaches out to take Clint’s hands in her own, and beside them, Banner bites his lip uncertainly.
“You two okay?” James asks him and Thor, and gives a smile when they both nod. Across the table, he sees Tony whisper down at Barton, lips moving quietly against his temple. There are still tears running down the kid’s cheeks, but nowhere near as many as before.
By the time Steve returns with the turkey— this time, in thin, boneless slices— the heavy, glum air has mostly dissipated, though Tony and Jame’s laps are still occupied. “Well,” Tony sighs, “I think we’re good to go, this food isn’t going to eat itself. Barton, what’ll it be?”
James waits with bated breath— and he’s clearly not the only one— until Clint finally looks back up, red rimmed eyes finally well on their way to being dry, and points at the bowl of mashed potatoes.
“Perfect,” Tony coos. “A kid after my own heart. Cap?”
Steve serves a hefty spoonful onto Barton’s plate, and that simple act seems to chip away the remaining gloom. With an occasional helping hand and watchful eye, the rest of the group manages to serve themselves and dig in.
The longer they eat, the lighter the mood gets, and it’s not long before the room’s filled with the laughter and joy that James had been imagining and waiting for since the moment he’d said ‘yes’. Barton and Wilson are still quieter than usual, but the soft, happy quirk of their lips leaves James with little doubt that they’re genuinely okay.
It’s during his glance around the room that James’ eye is caught by the plate to his right-- the plate filled with nothing but stuffing.
“Hey, kid,” he calls out to Thor, who looks up questioningly from the spoonful he’s just shoved into his mouth. “What’s that all about, huh?”
The kid smiles through bulging cheeks, chewing happily until he can swallow and speak. “Stuffing’s my favowite!”
“You don’t say?” James laughs.
Thor nods. “We have... turkey,” he whispers, with a not too subtle glance at Wilson and Barton, “in As-gawd, but we don’ got stuffin’.”
“Making up for lost time, then, yeah?”
“Uh huh,” Thor replies, and shovels more into his mouth as if to prove his devotion.
“I like cwanbewwy,” Bruce murmurs beside him. His plate is filled with everything, but the substantial blob of cranberry sauce on his turkey clearly takes center stage.
“That ain’t bad either.”
“Verdict, honey bear?” From across the table, Tony grins his way as he cuts up tiny sliver of turkey to feed Natasha, who sits expectantly on his knee. Barton, for his part, looks considerably calmer, even smiling around a mouthful of potato. There is only the faint clink of forks and spoons on plates to interrupt the comfortable silence, and James take a long, deep breath— one moment, then another, to take in the feeling of family, and contentment.
The feeling of home.
“It’s perfect,” he finally says, and smiles.
— — — — — —
“So that wasn’t too bad.”
Hours later, Tony’s voice is soft and low, but loud enough to be heard over the faint murmur of the television, and James grins into the cushion when he feels the man drop his weight at the other end of the sofa. “A regular picnic in the park,” he says.
His friend’s hushed laughter is comfortingly familiar. “Thank fuck it’s over.”
“Can’t wait to see what Christmas is like.”
“I’ll let you know how that goes.”
“You won’t have to,” James says, lifting his head to meet Tony’s eyes in time to catch him grin with realization.
“Yeah, those kids were going to get to you eventually.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Maybe,” Tony laughs, and the curve of his lips, exhausted and teasing and so wondrously happy, says nothing as much as it screams yes!
“Well, Steve said some things, and... “ James shrugs his shoulders into the warmth around him, “I’d already been thinking about it, too. I miss Christmas with my best friend.”
“Aw,” Tony coos, slapping his calf playfully. On the screen before them, Snoopy makes bread and popcorn fly around his table. “I miss you too, gummy bear!”
“You’re gonna get sick of me by the time New Years rolls around.”
The other end of the sofa falls quiet. “Never,” he hears Tony say, whisper soft.
“Yeah, I know,” he nods. “Besides, it’s a hot watching you play house with Captain America.”
“Dick.”
“I’m serious!” James chuckles. “The two of you... you’re a damn good team.”
“... You think so, huh?”
“Of course I do.” In the glow from the television, it’s impossible to miss the way Tony’s cheeks flush the softest shade of pink. “The guy’s on cloud nine up here with you.”
“Rhodey—“
“I know we haven’t talked about it much, and the last thing I want to do is push you, but... I want you to be happy, Tones. And if... if it’s Rogers, fucking go for it. I got your back. Always.”
Tony just nods and pats James’ knee once, before turning away to look at the screen.
“So... your turn to do Christmas dinner?” James asks nonchalantly, and lets out a chuckle when Tony rolls his eyes.
“Remind me when you’re flying back out, again?”
“Now who’s being a dick...”
“Love you too, sour patch,” Tony blows him a playful kiss, and as Thanksgiving day fades away into the night, James revels in the feeling of comfort and joy, knowing he spent it exactly where he wanted to be.