Work Text:
Avengers Tower, New York
Now, Tony’s lab, the basement
“Sir, the rest of the Avengers have just returned from their mission.”
Tony jerked at the sudden intrusion of JARVIS’ voice, having been completely absorbed in the task at hand, which happened to involve carefully pouring glitter into an empty box of Cheerios breakfast cereal.
“Huh? Didn’t they just leave, like, half an hour ago?” Tony pushed his goggles onto his head in confusion, accidentally smearing glitter onto his face in the process.
“That was 12 hours ago, sir,” came JARVIS’ dry reply. “Although during that time you have had your attention taken up by various… important projects, so your losing track of time is completely understandable.”
Tony was sure he could detect more than a hint of sarcasm in the AI’s voice but didn’t comment on it, instead turning his gaze to the array of contraptions surrounding him on various workbenches.
Clint’s new arrows lay gleaming on the bench to his left, along with a new prototype design for Sam’s falcon wings. Various other serious Avengers-related equipment lay on the bench behind him, and the bench in front of him was dedicated to new tricks for the ongoing prank war that was happening between his teammates.
It was on this bench that he put down the cereal box filled with glitter, before his eyes fell onto the various cups of what looked like sludge on the far end.
He stared at the cups for a moment before gesturing towards them in what he hoped was a nonchalant way. “What’s with the green goop, JARV?”
“DUM-E was very keen to keep you hydrated and energised with some smoothies, sir,” came JARVIS’ smooth reply, and Tony felt his stomach leap a little with alarm as DUM-E rolled up to him with an excited chirp.
He patted the bot on the claw for a moment before looking up at one of JARVIS’ cameras. “I drank that stuff? Jeez, I gotta start paying more attention... You, er, made sure he didn’t put any oil into it like last time, right?”
“Of course, sir,” came the reply, and Tony wasn’t sure if the crackle that came over the speakers was just some static or an actual goddamn sigh from the AI. Why had he programmed JARVIS to have so much sass?
“Right. Great. Cheers, buddy. So, Avengers?” Tony reached out and grabbed the cereal box before striding towards the lift.
“Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner and Sam Wilson are currently in the kitchen on level 10, sir.”
The doors of the lift slid open as Tony approached and closed silently behind him before rising smoothly. “Thor?” questioned Tony. “Capsicle?”
“Thor is currently off-world,” JARVIS reminded him. “Captain Rogers did not go on the mission and is currently in the communal area on level 18 with Sergeant Barnes.”
JARVIS didn’t elaborate but before Tony could ask for any more details the lift doors slid open with a quiet ding and he was suddenly faced with four very tired-looking and pink Avengers.
Tony was momentarily speechless as his brain struggled to process the sight before his eyes. Splatters of bright, neon pink covered all four of his teammates, whose facial expressions ranged from exhausted and ready for bed (Bruce) to brooding and murderous (Natasha).
“Oh hey, guys! Can I call you Pink Widow now?” Tony quickly dodged a spoon that was thrown in his direction. “How about you, Sam, can I call you the Fuschia Falcon from now on?”
Sam groaned at Tony’s terrible pun and planted his forehead against the kitchen table whilst Clint laughed and reached his hand into the cupboard for some cereal. Seriously, the archer was munching cereal at all times of the day, why the hell did Clint love cereal so much?
“Some wannabe evil genius thought he’d have a shot at taking over New York with an army of robotic spiders and some cannons of pink paint,” Bruce said by way of explanation. He closed his eyes and shook his head silently, joining Sam in face-planting on the kitchen table.
“And it took you clowns 12 hours to take his ass down? You must be getting old,” Tony said, laughing.
Natasha shot him a look of pure venom as she reached for another spoon to throw at him, and Tony quickly stepped behind Bruce for protection. He had heard that the infamous Black Widow had killed a man with just a spoon once.
“Did the pink paint not clash with your green colour scheme, big man?” he said, quickly changing the topic.
“Can we watch a movie tonight, guys?” Bruce said, completely ignoring Tony’s comment. “I need some time to relax and just forget all about today.”
“I want to watch that new documentary about birds of prey!” Sam said excitedly.
“Hey, that actually sounds like a really good idea!” Clint said, nodding.
“We’re watching Frozen,” said Natasha, her tone final.
“No fair, we’ve watched that at least five times in the last month,” Clint whined.
The Avengers gathered up their food and started walking towards the lift, bickering all the way. Tony shrugged and followed, thinking of all the Frozen and ice-related puns he could make at Steve and Bucky’s expense as the lift began to rise once more.
JARVIS was uncharacteristically silent which led Tony to throw a quizzical look at the lift camera, but JARVIS still said nothing as they slowed to a halt at level 18.
The lift doors opened to reveal Captain America and the Winter Soldier in the middle of the communal area.
The four Avengers in the lift simultaneously gasped. Bruce shook his head as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Clint’s mouth fell open in shock. Even Natasha’s eyes widened. Tony’s box of cereal fell to the floor with a thud, glitter spilling out everywhere.
The two men in the room turned their heads to see four pairs of wide eyes staring at them and froze.
30 minutes earlier, communal area, level 18
Steve and Bucky sat cross legged on the floor. They were men out of time, men thrust into the future, and in Bucky’s case it hadn’t been his choice.
Bucky’s rehabilitation was focused on him rediscovering who he was. This involved long conversations with Steve and looking at photos and videos of places that had held significance in his childhood and as a member of the 107th and the Howling Commandos.
He was regaining his memories slowly. Sometimes a phrase, or a smell, or a photo of a street would stir something in his mind. Sometimes, when he concentrated, the memory would sharpen into focus and he would remember. Other times, the memory would slip away and he would glare and grind his teeth, frustrated.
Today was one of those days. No matter how hard he tried, the memories seemed to be floating just out of reach, becoming dimmer and more jumbled up the more he tried to focus on them.
“This is useless!” he shouted, after failing to reach out and grab a memory that seemed tantalisingly close. “This just aint happening today.”
Steve sighed and tried to hide his disappointment. “It’s OK, Buck. There’s plenty of time for this stuff to come back, there’s no point trying to force it. Shall we stop trying to wrestle with these memories for today and do something else?”
Bucky nodded, but his eyes misted over at Steve’s words. Wrestle. Wrestling? He closed his eyes and he could see Steve, but not the Steve that stood before him now; pre-serum Steve, slender and sickly and fragile.
He screwed his eyes shut and the memory rushed to greet him this time. Steve, his thin body twisting under his as he sat on him easily, both of them in fits of giggles. “You call this wrestling, punk? My old grandma could wrestle better, God bless her soul!” But then, suddenly, Steve was lifeless under him and Bucky panicked, eyes wide with fear, before Steve suddenly sat up with a huge grin, causing Bucky to fall back in shock and Steve quickly took advantage of the moment to sit on Bucky’s chest, the smaller man gloating his victory.
Bucky opened his eyes in amazement. “You cheating punk,” he said quietly.
Steve froze, looking at him uncertainly. “Buck?”
“You cheating punk!” he repeated, louder this time. “You pretended to be dead just to win that damn wrestling match!”
Steve’s eyes went wide for a moment, the memory obviously coming back to him too, before he let out a peal of laughter, the joy clear in his voice. “You remember that? Oh man… I’m sorry. The look on your face though! It was so worth it!” He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes as Bucky continued to glare at him indignantly.
“I demand a re-match!” Bucky insisted, refusing to let it go. “We’ll do it properly this time! No playing dead, no dirty tricks, just a good, honest wrestling match. Turkish style.”
“Turkish style?” Steve’s smile was tinged with confusion.
Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re such a damn punk. Wrestling was practically born in Turkey, it’s huge there. It’s like their national sport.”
Steve still looked bemused and Bucky sighed. “Bring up that internet thing and I’ll show it to you on YouTube.”
10 minutes and one YouTube video later and Steve and Bucky were both looking slightly confused.
“I, er, never realised that you had to do it just in your pants,” Bucky admitted.
“I didn’t know you had to do it oiled up,” Steve added.
There was a pause and then Bucky brought up the elephant in the room. “I didn’t realise that you won by putting your hand down the other man’s pants.”
Both stood uncertainly for a moment, both struggling with the embarrassment of not wanting to seem unmacho by backing down.
Bucky was the one who finally broke the silence, lifting his chin defiantly and setting his jaw. “Well, I guess those are the rules. Are you man enough to play the match without faking passing out this time?”
Steve chuckled nervously. “You man enough not to squeal like a girl scout if I win again?”
With that, they quickly stripped down to their underwear, grabbed the olive oil from the kitchenette adjoining the communal area and cleared an area in the middle of the floor that was big enough for them to wrestle without breaking anything.
They oiled their arms, legs and torsos and were both stood facing one another when Bucky suddenly grinned wickedly. “Hey Steve,” he whispered huskily. “I remember something. Your mum’s name was Sarah.” He paused a second for dramatic effect. “She was hot.”
And with that, Steve launched himself into the fight, both men grappling with one another, their hands slipping over one another’s slick bodies as they struggled to get a good grip.
Fifteen minutes into the wrestling match and Steve finally managed to heave his shoulder under Bucky’s and reach his hand down into the other man’s pants, before realising with a jolt that cool metal had slipped into his own pants at the exact same second.
The realisation caused his breath to hitch and he looked up into Bucky’s steely blue eyes to see him staring right back.
They were frozen for a second, both sweating heavily, chests heaving, hands firmly down each other’s pants, about to ask for clarification on whether draws were allowed in Turkish wrestling matches when a gentle ding interrupted the moment.
The super soldiers looked up in horror as the four Avengers stepped into the room.
A stunned silence filled the room as the Avengers' eyes boggled at the sight before them.
Steve and Bucky stood frozen for a second before ripping their hands out of each other’s pants and practically shouting over one another.
“This isn’t what it looks like!”
“This is just sport!”
“We were having a Turkish wrestling match, that’s all!”
Unsurprisingly, Tony was the first one from the lift to regain his ability to speak, “Hey, if you guys wanted to have a fun night in catching up on the last 70 years of not seeing one another, you could have just said! JARVIS here has a mean playlist for such amorous moments, if you know what I mean.” He gave an exaggerated wink and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Bucky looked half way between shouting and sulking and chose to simply glower menacingly at Tony.
Steve had blushed bright red and was desperately waving his arms in denial. “No, Tony! We… It isn’t what it looks like, OK? We weren’t, you know, fonduing.”
Everyone exchanged bewildered looks at Cap’s last comment and Bucky slapped his hand to his forehead, shaking his head and mouthing something that looked suspiciously like moron.
“Isn’t fondue just cheese and bread?” Bruce asked, looking confused.
Natasha smiled and stepped over the fallen box of cereal to perch on the edge of the sofa.
“In traditional Turkish wrestling you don’t stop until there’s one winner, you know?” she said casually. “There’s no time limit, you just keep going until one person manages to put his hands down the other’s pants.”
Steve’s ears went even pinker and Bucky looked at Natasha incredulously.
“Are you sitting there to watch us?” he asked.
Natasha just shrugged and settled down on the sofa, curling her legs under herself like a cat.
“Oh, hell yeah, this is way better than Frozen!” said Clint, leaping into the seat next to her.
Bruce sighed and followed, a resigned look on his face, as if he were contemplating what his life had become.
Tony smirked and strode over to the kitchenette. “I’m making popcorn! This needs popcorn, right? Who wants in?”
The Avengers let out a chorus of “me!” and Steve and Bucky groaned dramatically but shared a smile as they turned away from the others.
The future was a weird place, but they were navigating it together, and that made it much less scary.
The next morning, the main kitchen, level 10
Steve sat at the kitchen table in his pyjamas, still looking tired after his and Bucky’s two hour long wrestling match the previous night.
As it happened, it had been a draw. They had both managed to thrust their hands down each other’s pants at the exact same moment again and, following lots of angry shouting from the two wrestlers and a solid ten minutes of laughter from the watching Avengers, Tony had declared that they were both winners of “the second most homoerotic wrestling match” he’d ever seen.
No one asked about the first.
Bucky walked from the coffee machine holding two cups of coffee, putting the espresso in front of himself and the milky cup in front of Steve with a gentle touch to the other man’s shoulder. Steve smiled at the touch and murmured his thanks.
Natasha watched the interaction with interest but stayed silent.
Bruce sat down beside her with a cup of green tea.
Clint shuffled over to the cupboard, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Mmm, breakfast, the best meal of the day. Cereal!” he said to no one in particular.
He reached out a hand and pulled out a box of Cheerios, grinning with delight, before there was a small pop and suddenly the side of the box blew open and covered Clint with sticky purple glitter.
He stood stunned for a moment before realising that not only was he now presumably covered in glitter for the rest of the week (Tony was a genius when it came to engineering adhesives) but there were no Cheerios in the box.
He let out a wail of despair at this double injustice and stamped his feet. “Tony!”