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Bucky groaned. He should not have told Tony about his lack of cooking skills. The man would never let him get away with that.
“Buck, I’m Italian. Get your ass over here so I can teach you how to fuckin cook,” Tony said and then promptly hung up the phone before Bucky could reply.
With a grunt and a sigh, Bucky dropped his phone to the table. His head fell into his hands, and he wondered if he could get away with not going. Bucky’s phone screen lit up, and he glanced at it. This time it was a text message from Peter.
Daddy says you’re coming over!!! How soon til you get here, Uncle Buckyyyy??
“Fuck,” Bucky sighed, snatching his phone off the table.
So much for not going, Bucky thought as he tapped out a response.
Gimme twenty, bug
Yes!!!! 💜💜💜
Bucky frowned, mentally cursing Tony Stark, as he stood to find some clothes. Once dressed, Bucky pulled a baseball cap low over his face and pocketed his keys and phone. The trip to the tower was short, thanks to Tony’s insistence that Bucky live nearby for emergencies. The trip up to the penthouse in the elevator was even shorter.
Music drifted through the apartment, leading Bucky into the kitchen, where he found Tony and Peter. A soft smile spread across Bucky’s face, and he leaned against the wall to watch the pair. Tony had Peter’s hands intertwined with his own as they danced around the counter. Peter’s face was a rosy red, and his smile could light the city.
“Ain’t this a scene,” Bucky murmured. Peter and Tony looked his way, and Peter grinned, running towards Bucky.
“Uncle Bucky!” Peter exclaimed, launching himself at Bucky.
Thankfully, Bucky had anticipated this, and he caught the boy easily, lifting him into his arms. Peter’s small arms wrapped around Bucky’s neck, and he buried his face against Bucky’s chest. Bucky exhaled, holding the boy tighter and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“Hey, little bug,” Bucky said.
Peter sat back, smiling up at Bucky and playing with the short hairs on the back of the man’s neck.
“Dada said he’s gonna teach you to cook?” Peter said, the lilt on the end turning it into a question.
“Ugh, I know how to cook, man,” Bucky groaned, glaring at Tony.
“What you consider cooking and what I consider cooking are vastly different things, Buckaroo,” Tony said, leaning his hip against the counter. “So put my kid down and get your ass over here.”
Bucky’s glare darkened, and he tightened his hold on Peter. Instead of putting the boy down, he shifted him so Peter was on Bucky’s hip. Tony rolled his eyes as Bucky moved further into the kitchen.
“You’re not gonna be able to cook with him attached to you like that,” Tony said.
“Watch me,” Bucky said.
“Don’t wanna get down, Daddy,” Peter said.
“See? He doesn’t wanna get down, punk,” Bucky said.
“Whatever,” Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes again. “I’m teaching you to make a creamy chicken and veggie meal.”
“You’re teachin’ me to make what?” Bucky scoffed. “I don’t like chicken.”
“You will when I make it,” Tony insisted.
“Daddy’s chicken is soooo good, Uncle Bucky!” Peter piped up.
Looking between the Starks, Bucky knew he wasn’t getting out of this. With a resigned sigh, he nodded, hitching Peter more securely on his hip.
“Alright, first things first, put the kid down so you can wash your hands and focus,” Tony said.
Bucky frowned but couldn’t fault Tony’s logic. It would be harder to cook with Peter hanging like a limpet off him. Sighing, he unhooked Peter’s legs and set him down.
“Sorry, little bug. The punk’s right, though,” Bucky said.
Peter pouted, crossing his arms and glaring at the two adults. Bucky’s heart broke, and he glared at Tony even as he moved to the sink to wash his hands.
“Baby, come wash your hands, too,” Tony said, gesturing Peter closer.
“You want me to help?” Peter asked, dropping his arms.
“Of course, my little prince,” Tony said. “Now, come wash your hands.”
Sadness forgotten, Peter rushed to Bucky’s side and threw his hands under the water. Bucky chuckled, squirting some soap onto the boy’s hands and rinsing his own. Tony finished helping Peter dry his hands before washing his own. With the dish towel still in his hands, Tony pointed at Bucky.
“You, get the chicken and cream cheese from the fridge. Peter, get the olive oil, chicken broth, a clove of garlic, butter, parsley, salt and pepper. I’ll grab the cookware,” Tony instructed.
Knowing that Tony gave him this task because it was the only one he’d know how to follow without asking follow-up questions, Bucky turned to the refrigerator to grab the cream cheese and found three pieces of chicken breast thawing. He wondered about that. Tony only demanded Bucky come over after Bucky reminded him he was shit at cooking, so why were three chicken breasts already thawing? The thought made something flutter in Bucky’s chest, and he closed the door with a little more force than necessary.
“Done, Daddy!” Peter said, setting the last item on the counter.
“Good job, baby,” Tony said, smiling at Peter, who grinned back.
“Here,” Bucky said, setting the chicken and cream cheese on the counter as well.
“Great, we’re gonna start by pre-heating the oven to three hundred and fifty degrees so that it’s ready by the time we finish our prep work,” Tony said, pressing buttons on the oven mounted on the wall. “Buck, I need you to rub the parsley-”
“Wait,” Bucky interrupted. “How the fuck do you rub parsley?”
Tony sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “Fine, I’ll do that, and you’ll watch closely,” Tony said, pulling the ingredients closer to himself. “Are you watching?”
“Yes, yes, I’m watching, you punk,” Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes.
Peter giggled, and Tony grinned. Bucky couldn’t help but grin back.
“When you do this, don't be afraid to get your hands dirty because you want an even coating. Gotta rub it right, after all,” Tony said, winking at Bucky.
He felt his face heat slightly and flipped Tony off. Bucky watched Tony rub oil, parsley, garlic, salt, and pepper into the chicken breasts. It looked simple, and Bucky figured he could replicate the process himself. Tony had Bucky rub the ingredients into one of the chicken pieces to ensure he got it.
“Good, just like that. You're a natural, or maybe it's just lots of practice rubbing things into breasts,” Tony quipped.
“Shut up, Tony, oh my god,” Bucky groaned, shooting a look at Peter.
The little menace was trying - and failing - to hide his giggles behind his hand. Tony’s grin was unrepentant, and Bucky huffed, knowing he wasn’t upset.
“I want you to add two tablespoons of butter, four tablespoons of cream cheese, and a cup of chicken broth into this pan for me,” Tony said.
Nodding, Bucky moved around the counter. It was easy enough to add ingredients to the pan, and he finished quickly. Tony nodded at Bucky’s work, seeming satisfied.
“Now,” Tony said, using a terrible French accent for some reason. “We add ze chicken to ze pan!”
When Peter giggled, Bucky understood. A smile spread across Bucky’s face, and he picked up one of the chicken breasts. Tony added his to the pan with a flourish, earning another giggle from Peter, who dropped his own chicken breast into the pan. Bucky looked between them, knowing he didn’t have Tony’s flair. Shrugging, he laid his own chicken breast carefully between the other two.
“Favoloso!” Tony crowed, and Peter giggled again.
“Daddy! That’s Italian!” Peter said.
“You are so right!” Tony said, cupping his face with both hands in mock horror. Peter laughed harder. The French accent made a return as Tony continued. “Bucky, my brother! Add zis teen foil to ze pan, pour moi!”
Bucky chuckled, taking the foil and covering the pan with it. Tony handed Peter a fork, had him poke a few holes into the foil, and then put the pan into the oven, closing the door with another flourish.
“How long’s this gonna cook for?” Bucky asked.
“Bout an hour,” Tony said, pulling Peter closer and lifting him up.
“Daddy!” Peter said, giggling happily.
Tony held Peter and twirled around the kitchen with him. Bucky smiled, watching them smile and laugh together. The fluttery feeling was back, growing when Peter suddenly called his name.
“Uncle Bucky! Your turn!” Peter said, holding his arms out toward Bucky.
“Yeah, Uncle Bucky, your turn!” Tony said, depositing Peter into Bucky’s arms.
Feeling awkward and unsure, Bucky tried to copy Tony’s movements. He twirled around the room, dipping Peter and tickling him slightly. Peter’s giggles fueled Bucky, who felt that fluttery feeling bloom in his chest again.
The kitchen was full of laughter and music. Tony joined in, twirling Bucky, who was still holding Peter in his arms. The aroma of baking chicken filled the room, and the heat from the oven warmed the space perfectly. They spent the entire hour dancing and putting on silly fake accents, each competing to see who’s was the silliest. Peter won, in the end, but Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to mind.
When the oven beeped, Tony reached for an oven mitt. Bucky rolled his eyes and passed Peter to the man. He looked directly at Tony, opened the oven, and pulled the pan out with his metal hand, placing it on the counter. Tony chuckled, shaking his head.
“Alright, alright, show off,” Tony said, putting Peter down. “Baby, grab Daddy the spinach and broccoli, please.”
“On it, Dada!” Peter said, rushing over to do as told.
Bucky leaned against the counter, watching Tony pull the foil back and poke around at the food. Peter put the vegetables on the counter beside Tony and ran over to jump on Bucky’s back. Grunting, Bucky lifted him up, and Peter wrapped his arms around Bucky’s throat. Tony added the spinach and broccoli to the pan, mixing it up quickly before nodding.
“Baby-” Tony started, cutting himself off with an eye roll when he spotted Peter perched on Bucky’s back. “Never mind, I’ll get it.”
“Anything I can help with?” Bucky asked.
Tony shook his head, turning and rummaging in a cabinet for three plates and silverware from a drawer. He pulled down two plain black plates and a plastic Jack Jack plate, which was clearly for Peter. Bucky noted where each item came from, committing it to memory. Just in case.
“You’re good, Buck, I got this,” Tony said, dishing up the plates. “Here,” he said, handing two full plates to Bucky.
With a nod, Bucky set the plates down, adjusted Peter, then picked them back up and brought them to the breakfast table. He knew they only used the formal dining room if it was a big party. Tony followed, and Peter slid off Bucky’s back to hop into a chair between the men.
As Bucky settled at the table, he smiled. Tony leaned over to kiss Peter before grabbing the boy’s plate to cut the chicken into small pieces for him. Bucky cut into his own chicken, taking a moment to enjoy the feelings stirring within him. This was his family, and he couldn’t be happier about it. He took a bite of the chicken, moaning softly as the flavors burst over his tongue.
Peter giggled, and Bucky looked up to see the other two watching him.
“Fine, fine,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “Your chicken is good, ya punk.”
Tony crowed in triumph, and Peter giggled harder. Yeah, Bucky couldn’t imagine a better family than this.