Archive of Our Own ^beta

They hated him.

Tony wasn’t bitter. He knew this was the way with people sometimes. Sometimes, you don’t know a person well but you respect them, idolise them even. And you find out they don’t respect you very much, and that’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, but hey, if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s pretending he doesn’t care. Let’s be real here, with who he is, millions of people disrespect him, despise him even, and he doesn’t have time to cry (internally) over one among the crowd when there’s a planet to save.

And then the planet is saved, and conversations are had, and then he’s living in the same building. With other people who didn’t respect him, and probably didn’t like him. 

Not that he cared.

And then they saved the world a few more times, and he learned that they did respect him. They tolerated him. Sometimes they even smiled at him. It was throwing him off. Clint invited him to movie night. Bruce knocked elbows with him when he passed by in the lab. Natasha ruffled his hair as she passed his armchair on the way to the kitchen.

He’d joked about Steve being made for leadership, and thank God for that, because if their lives were in the hands of any of the other maniacs on the team, the world would have exploded months ago. And Steve had looked confused, and  told him he’d follow him into battle any day, of course, why would you say that Tony, you’re a genius.

He’d blinked stupidly. Said, “uh, no?” to which Steve gave him a flat look and reminded him he’d spent half an hour complaining about how hard it was to enjoy Sci-fi when you have a higher IQ than the rest of the world. (They were watching Interstellar.)

Tony had fled. 

But one day, he walked into the kitchen in his pajamas, still half asleep. Clint filled two cups of coffee and handed him one, Thor boomed, “THE MORROW IS DELIGHTFUL, MAN OF IRON!” Nat winked at him and looked him dead in the eye as she chomped off the end of her sausage (he didn’t know if he should be scared or turned on?). Bruce patted him on the head as he scooted in to make his tea, and Steve smiled at him from where he was cooking breakfast things on the stove. And he thought, “Wow, these people actually like me?”

It was…disconcerting, to say the least.

But that was before. That was before The Mission. That was before Steve left the tower. That was before he’d asked the others what they knew, and they’d lied. That was before Bruce started staying in his lab more, and Natasha started averting her eyes every time he walked into a room. That was before Tony woke up to an empty lab, a note that said “Sorry Tony, I’ll be back soon. And I’ll pay you back.” and plane tickets ending at whotheheckknows, India billed to his account. That was before he saw Nat and Clint suited up in the kitchen when he trudged in for coffee, and they said “There’s a mission.”

“What if the world needs saving?” He asked.

“The world’s been holding up pretty good, all things considered.”

We’ll come if you call, Tony.”  

“Besides, they have Iron Man.”

A grin, a mocking salute, a scrape of chairs, and they were gone.

So yeah, that was before. Before everyone left him alone in his too-big tower. Thor dropped by when he wasn’t with his girl in New Mexico. Fury left increasingly annoyed voicemails every time he ignored his calls. And his roommates, his….friends, never came back.

Rhodey was too busy to fool around with these days. Or have lunch with. Or meet up with at all. And he was technically paying Pepper to stop him from fooling around (why had he thought that was a good idea again?). So. So somedays, JARVIS was the only one he talked to. He signed whatever Pepper sent him, he emailed R&D every week, he managed to convince Rhodey he was A-OK on his monthly calls. Somedays, the music was so loud and the science was so Science! That he forgot to eat. He forgot to sleep. He forgot to stop. He forgot….everything. And it was nice. He was nice, he was fine, it was fine.

And then they came back. Bruce first, after he found that he was tired of finding himself after he’d finally found someone who saw more to him than the Hulk. Tony hadn’t cried, no sir, but he’d hugged Bruce tight enough to bruise (heh, Bruce, bruise, get it? JARVIS, make a note), and the lab felt more alive. He was also eating and hydrating and taking naps. Bruce was the best.

Then came Clint, with a slightly strained smile and a broken bow, and Nat, her arm in a cast. And Steve.

And a…friend.

So he let them in. He asked them where they’d been, and they told him the whole story. He learned that Clint and Nat had been with Steve the entire time. That they’d tracked down the most wanted man in the world and brought him back, because he was Steve’s best friend from the 30’s ( the 30’s ). He learned that this man had blue eyes curtained by long dark hair, PTSD that rivaled his own, and a metal arm he was clutching to his side.

He asked them why they hadn’t asked him for help. Clint looked away, the 40’s boys hadn’t looked up from the floor once, and the redhead’s green gaze met his coolly as she said, “You had enough on your plate.”

He wondered if he should call them out on it. He didn’t.

He asked them to let him help. Steve eyed him warily, but couldn’t meet his eyes for very long. He glanced at Bucky, and back at the floor, clearly conflicted.

“No strings attached, I promise. The man is obviously in pain. He looks like he could use a hand."

There was a beat. Then Clint snorted. “Was that a pun. About a feared and ruthless assassin?"

Bucky hunched in on himself a bit more. Steve glared at Clint, who winced.

Tony scoffed. “No, I wouldn’t pun with Natasha. Do I look like I have a death wish?” He stood up and clapped his hands together, dropping them quickly when Bucky winced. “Alrighty, no sudden loud noises then. JARVIS, make a note.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Maybe alert him when anyone is entering a room he’s in, so no one startles him? Oh yeah, I should probably introduce you, so this is JARVIS, he basically runs the- wait, why aren’t you guys following me?”

They were just sitting on the couch and staring at him. He tried not to squirm.

“Guys, I just want to take a look at his arm. You know me, engineering is my thing. My jam. My job, even. I should probably also call Bruce, there’ll probably be some medical shenanigans involved-”

Nat raised a perfectly arched brow. “Tony, are you sure you know what you’re-”

“Tony, wait,” Steve stood up, a bit suddenly, making Bucky flinch back. “There’s something we need to-”

The elevator pinged, and everyone turned towards a wide-eyed Bruce stepping out holding a syringe the size of his body. “Oh. Hi?”

Clint screamed. “Is that a freaking doctor sword ?!”

And then Bucky fainted.

So, that happened.

Not to worry, our heroes saved the day, as per usual. Once Steve stopped panicking, he helped Clint and Bruce carry Bucky out of the room, while Nat picked up the discarded mega-syringe and Tony gaped uselessly. They carefully manoeuvred each other and their cargo into the elevator, and Tony snapped out of it and rushed in with them, signalling JARVIS to zip it as the doors closed and they whooshed down to the medical wing.

Two hours and some minor neurosurgery later, (on a robotic arm, jeez, he was a doctor but not that kind of doctor, also he did feel guilty about Bucky not being able to consent but since the arm was actively hurting him and he was jumpier than a kangaroo on juice when conscious, this was probably the most painless solution for everyone involved) Bucky was (hopefully) pain free and ready to start living his best life. Bruce started to withdraw the Steve-level sedation they kept exclusively in the Avenger’s tower medbay, and Tony discarded his gloves and stepped into the viewing room where an anxious Steve was pretending he hadn’t noticed that he’d walked in.

“So, Cap. Your buddy’s going to be fine.”

Tony took a step forward. Steve tensed. He turned to Tony, and his eyes were strangely shiny. Tony considered backing away.

“Tony, I-” and there, that was a tear, abort abort JARVIS help oh wait he can’t hear me how do I get out of here - except before he could step back, Steve had marched up to him and pulled him into a suffocating hug.

“Steve?” He wheezed. “It’s good to have you back, but I’m kind of dying here?”

“Oh!” Steve released him abruptly, then grabbed his arm so he wouldn’t fall. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I just - it’s good to be back, Tony. Good to be home.”

“Glad you’re back, too, Steve,” He smiled. Wait. He’d said that already. His cheeks hurt. Oh God, they couldn’t even be in a room together for two minutes without him messing up-

“Look, Tony, I-”

The door clicked open and Bruce’s head popped into the room. “Hey Tony, we need you to check-”

“Yep, coming! Sorry Cap, I’ll catch you later, okay?”

“But Tony-” the door clicked behind Tony’s retreating figure. Steve cursed, immediately felt bad, and slumped into a chair, burying his face in hands.

Two weeks later, everything was fine.

Clint brushed awkwardness off like a duck out of water. Nat was an expert at pretending nothing was wrong so that was an easy bridge to mend. She still got shifty around Bruce, but he seemed to have found his zen, so they were able to coexist with minimal strife.

But the Wonder Twins. The Blasts From The Past. The Steroid Soldiers. The Perfectly Sculpted Pieces of Shit Who He Couldn’t Use His Perfectly Awesome Nicknames On Because They Wouldn’t Freaking Talk To Him Goddamnit. Them. Those two.

They hated him.

Okay, maybe hate was a strong word, but they sure didn’t like him. Sometimes he wondered if they even tolerated him. Steve side-eyed him when he walked into a room, side-stepped him when he walked in his direction, side-flailed and fell off the couch when he moved to sit next to him on movie night when it was the only free seat available . For a man with a plan, Steve was horrible at avoiding potentially awkward situations. And strangely, when they ended up alone together, he would often approach Tony with an expression that was a mix between conflicted and determined, and Tony would suppress the urge to bolt every time, but he never did talk to him. When they weren’t interrupted by a teammate, JARVIS or the Avengers’ Alarm, he just…deflated. And then stalked purposefully out of the room.

Because Captain America didn’t flee. He stalked. Purposefully. Out of rooms.

Bucky, meanwhile, hadn’t made an appearance since the gruff “Thank you.” before leaving the lab after his procedure. Tony knew he sparred with Natasha, squared off against Clint at target practice, punched reinforced bags in the gym with Steve. Not that he was keeping tabs or anything. He was just making sure the man was alright. Functioning. Not in distress. He had a metal arm, for god’s sake, of course he needed constant monitoring.

Case in point - Steve was currently dragging him along for a morning run. Which was fine in theory, not counting the unknown amount of time that he couldn’t continue his careful observation of Bucky Barnes, sidekick turned serial killer turned silent bundle of sadness. Tony tried to tune out the camera feed and focused on the paperwork that he had to send Pepper - he glanced at the time on the bottom of the security feed - fifteen minutes ago.

Not five minutes later, Tony looked up at signs of movement on the screen. Bucky had returned, out of breath and without Steve in tow. He breathed harshly enough that Tony could almost feel it, moved jerkily towards the couch, tripped before he reached it, and proceeded to have what Tony recognized as a panic attack right there in the living room. He managed to talk himself down before Tony could decide whether to go down there or not, not knowing if he was welcome, but also feeling that anyone was better than no one at that point. Tony couldn’t tell what was worse - that he hadn’t rushed to Bucky’s aid, or that Bucky was obviously used to this kind of situation, enough that he was already trying to put on a brave face. Tony wondered how many times he’d had to do that, for Steve, or Clint, or Nat. He then took a moment to feel disgusted at himself for creeping on a man who was obviously going through a terrible ordeal, and not even lifting a finger to help.

Just as he was about to shut off the feed, for good this time, Bucky broke down sobbing against the arm of the couch. Tony couldn’t take it anymore. By the time he got downstairs and peeked into the room, Bucky had drifted into an obviously disturbed doze, huddled on the floor with his arms around his knees and his head against the arm of stupid lumpy too-hard too-far-from-the-doorway couch.

Tony had rolled his eyes at super soldier stupidity and marched back upstairs, then marched down again, shushing JARVIS’ cameras with a finger and tip toeing over to the sleeping man. He sighed and gently wrapped the feather soft microfleece blanket around him (baby pink, a colour that revealed nothing of the person who brought it there, and was also hilarious for a hunk of traumatised, immaculately sculpted soldier - oooh, nice arms. Tony isn’t picky in the slightest, no sir, they’re both flawless - to be swaddled in). Tony lost some time staring down at the soldier’s slightly troubled face, then lost the battle against himself to not Bucky’s hair back from his face. Bucky tensed slightly under his touch and he snatched his hand back, quickly tiptoeing out of the room and cursing himself for his dumbassery because what if he’d woken up and the coffee table for having the audacity to get in the way of his pinkie toe frickin hell his tongue would never recover from that munch.

(Muttering creative new swear words on his way back to the ‘shop, he missed Bucky’s wide and confused stare in his direction, before he slowly shut his eyes. A single tear escaped from the corner of one of them.)

Despite his promises to himself, to his bots, JARVIS, and the void, Tony still occasionally accessed the security cameras to check up on his housemates.

If he tended to stop watching unless one particular housemate was present, so what, random people listening to his inner monologue, that was between his bots, JARVIS, the void, and himself.

But he was glancing at the feed out of the corner of his eye when the idea struck. Steve and Bucky were in the kitchen, Bucky sitting warily on the counter, exit in clear view, and Steve puttering around, doing something, who knows, cooking was still a mystery to Tony despite his many (three) disastrous attempts at concocting something salvageable. He couldn’t be good at everything, could he?

Steve was talking to Bucky and getting nods and shrugs in response, which didn’t seem to faze him. He slipped on an oven mitt and bent to open the oven (Tony focused more intently on the screen) and pulled out a tray with what seemed to be brown, circle-shaped - oh, cookies. Steve had baked cookies.

Bucky looked up, seemingly distracted from his staring match with the floor by the arrival of baked goods. He watched as Steve gently placed the tray on the conveniently placed coasters on the dining table. His mouth moved - Tony’s eyebrows rose - and formed shapes that represented actual words. Holy crap. This was the most Tony had seen Bucky say to someone, ever, and he’d been sta- monitoring the man for a month.

Steve laughed, shaking his head. Bucky’s mouth moved in more shapes and he rolled his eyes. Tony stared. Steve stuck his tongue out at Bucky and Bucky reached out with his flesh hand to try and pinch it between his fingers. Steve flailed and Bucky leaned too far right and fell onto him. Two super soldiers hit the kitchen floor in a tangle of limbs and the cookies waited patiently on the tabletop to be eaten.

Tony couldn’t look away.

They wrestled for a bit, Bucky scowling and Steve smiling, then Bucky pinned Steve to the floor and grinned. Tony felt like the air was getting punched out of his lungs, which couldn’t be right, wow, the lack of sleep must be getting to him. And then Bucky reached up and snagged a cookie off the tray, ignoring Steve’s attempts to escape, and bit into it.

His entire frame relaxed, his eyes closing and his face settling into an expression of pure peace. Steve’s smile turned soft. He wiggled underneath him and Bucky looked down with a blinding grin before getting off and giving Steve a hand up. The two men stared at each other for a second before tugging each other into a fierce embrace, clutching at each other like they’d never let go, the other half of the cookie dropping to the ground, forgotten.

Tony turned off the feed, feeling like he’d just witnessed a deeply personal moment and hating that he didn’t regret it.

“JARVIS, I know what we’re going to do today!”

“It is currently 3AM, sir. You have a meeting with the board in 5 hours.”

“Crap. Well then, I know what we’re doing tomorrow.”

“Very good, sir.”

It was a foolproof plan. People always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, right? And there were two men with conveniently high caloric requirements whose stomachs were ripe for the filling. Okay, maybe he could’ve phrased that better, but the point was. Baking! He didn’t really know, he’d figure it out as he went. JARVIS was looking out for him, like a good AI. He had a vague idea of flavours the Tweedles would approve of, and a vague idea of ingredients that would put those flavours into the food. What could possibly go wrong?

“Tweedles, sir?”

“Tweedle dee and tweedle dumbass, keep up JARVIS, I swear your code is getting slow day by day. Soon you’ll be acting older than our resident nonagenarians.”

“That is possibly a sign of your own regressing functionality sir, as you are the one in charge of my daily upgrades. Should I scan your vitals? It is a month before your scheduled biannual checkup but if you’re feeling the toll-”

“Cut the sass and start up the burner baby, we got cooking to do!”

“Oven, sir.”

“What?”

“You want to make cookies, sir. You need to start up the oven. Preheat to-”

“Oh, we start with the oven?”

“Indeed sir. And generally, for cookies, you will also need…”

“This was a bad idea, JARVIS.”

“Considering that you have set your overly ruffled apron on fire, cracked the dining table down the middle, turned the previously non-sentient toaster against you for life, and gotten rainbow coloured sprinkles stuck in the maple syrup-flour concoction that was not meant to end up anywhere on your person, I am inclined to agree, sir.”

“You had to rub it in, huh?”

“Yes. Yes I did.”

Let it not be said that Tony couldn’t learn from his mistakes. 

“Caution is the eldest child of wisdom, and the parent of safety. With such good genes, there’s no way this will go wrong.”

He had gone out of his way to be cautious. He’d had JARVIS scour the web for suitable, deep breath, beginners’ recipes, with some keywords sprinkled in to narrow down the search.

“Lovely, sir. Do you have any other caution proverbs from Google stocked up, or shall we begin today’s experiment?”

“I’m so glad you asked, baby boy! I had ‘the scars of others should teach us caution’ but I hadn’t found a way to slip it into conversation yet.”

“I can assure you, sir, that your scars have taught me enough caution for a lifetime.”

“Yeah, those burn marks weren’t really going anywhere, huh? But today’s a new day, a new recipe and a new apron. Stick to the one recipe, JARVIS, I don’t need several versions of the same thing to complicate my creative process. What have you got for me, my guy in the sky?”

“A very simple recipe, sir. Only four ingredients.”

“Wait, really? This is an actual edible baked food…thing that I can make with just 4 ingredients?”

“Indeed, sir. And I’m sure Captain Rogers and Seargent Barnes will be familiar with it.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“It’s from the Great Depression, sir.”

“Oh. Wait. Really?”

“Indeed, sir. You had included it in your keywords. This recipe had the most matches. I took the liberty of putting an emphasis on simplicity.”

“What’s the recipe?”

“Water pie, sir.”

“I - that sounds lovely, JARVIS. Um. Oven?”

“We should make sure the ingredients are mixed and ready to process before we operate any possible fire hazards, sir.”

“Are you questioning my abilities, J?”

“I am merely learning from past experience, as you have programmed me to do, and trying to prevent future mishaps, which you have also programmed me to do, in the interest of your continued wellbeing, which you have also programmed me to do. Are you questioning your own abilities, sir?”

“Touche, Mr. Smartass. So, flour?”

“Start with a deep dish pie crust, sir.”

“Well, that’s easy! Those come ready-made now, this is great.”

“Some people give importance to the crust being made from scratch, but they do not care in this recipe, sir.”

“No point slaving over a pie crust when I don’t even know how the pie will taste. That’s an adventure for another day, J. So I just roll it out flat?”

“Can you bake a pie with four ingredients? Yes! I could also eat my mattress. JARVIS, this guy is gold!”

“Indeed, sir. The positive response to his video was one of the main reasons this recipe is top of the list.”

“The list ? There’s more of these?”

“I believe people did consume sustenance in the Great Depression, sir, much like the people of today. And they tended to write down methodologies in recipe books, much like the people of today. Now that you’ve laid out and forked the crust -”

“The edging turned out pretty good, huh. I sure hope they’re into that -”

“-pour water into the pan.”

“I’m sorry- water?”

“Water.”

“Into another pan, you mean?”

“The recipe says you need not boil the water, plain tap water should be fine. For hygiene concerns, I would recommend you use water from the purifier, however.”

“You want me to pour water directly into this pie crust? Didn’t we just defrost this?”

“That is what the recipe requires, sir.”

“I- okay. Okay. You’re the boss.”

“Indeed, sir. Take a small bowl.”

“A small - will this coffee mug do? I don’t know where the bowls are, J.”

“They’re in the top-”

“Just let your old man be lazy, would you?”

“Very good, sir. Mix together some flour and sugar.”

“Oh. Uh. Does it say how much?”

“No sir. I presume you know instinctively.”

“There’s instincts involved now?”

“I am merely conveying an existing recipe to you, sir. There are several iterations that I could refer to-”

“Nah, no, this is complicated enough already, I just. One cup of each, maybe?”

“If you trust your instincts, sir. They do tend to serve you well on the battlefield.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not nearly as confusing as all these white powders. What do you think?”

“You have not programmed me with instincts, sir.”

“Make a whole AI from scratch and for what? All I get is sass.”

“And unburned aprons sir.”

“Shut up and read the next step, JARVIS.”

“Sprinkle the mixture over the water in the pie.”

“You sprinkle the what over the what?”  

“The recipe says that you can use a spoon, but sprinkling by hand will ensure a more even spread.”

“I’ll tell you what my instincts say, J. This doesn’t really feel like a pie.”

“Vanilla essence, sir.”

“In the pie?”

“Try to distribute it as evenly as possible.”

“Am I supposed to measure this by gut feeling too?”

“No specific values are provided in the recipe sir.”

“Well my gut says none of this is natural so what harm will 2 spoons do, really?”

“Remember, no stirring.”

“Shit, that was a lot - what, why? No stirring? But there’s too much in one place and I have to - ah hell, I’ll just add some more to balance it out. There. That looks pretty evenly brown. What now?”

“Cut the butter.”

“The stick of butter?”

“Yes. Cut the butter.”

“Into….cubes?”

“From the accompanying image, I believe small square slabs will suffice. The author has named them pats of butter.”

“Ah. Okay. Like a carrot. This isn’t weird at all. I’ll do, um, 4, maybe?”

“The accompanying image has 5, sir.”

“You’re the boss, J.”

“Now place the pats of butter on top of the pie.”

“I- you know what, I’m not even going to question it. There, done.”

“Put it in the oven at 400 degrees for 30 minutes.”

“Oh, we’re done! Wait, I needed to preheat it? J!”

“The recipe does not specify preheating.”

“So it’s…fine if I just stick it in?”

“I would assume so. There is no evidence to the contrary.”

“Alrighty then. That was easy peasy. Half an hour huh? Nighty-night, Mr. Pie. Say, JARVIS, when’s the last time I napped?”

“Approximately 46 hours ago, sir.”

“Ah. Well. Might as well get some shut eye. Wake daddy up when it’s time, J.”

“Indeed, sir.”

JARVIS was confused. Sir was asleep, his head resting on his arms atop the (now repaired) dining table. And Sergeant Barnes had entered the kitchen at T minus 16 minutes.

JARVIS was meant to wake sir up after 30 minutes. 31 minutes had passed, but Sergeant Barnes had not left the kitchen. He was not cooking or retrieving food. He was merely standing fixed in the same spot and staring at sir, who snored quietly, oblivious.

Sir had instructed JARVIS not to make any sudden noises in Sergeant Barnes’ presence, not to startle or generally cause discomfort to the man in any manner, and to protect him from said discomfort if such a situation should arise.

After analysis of orders and behavioural patterns, JARVIS concluded that orders pertaining to Sergeant Barnes’ security and comfort retained higher priority over any other orders, and that sir’s abrupt awakening would put Sergeant Barnes in an inadvisable state of extreme discomfort. It was better for all concerned parties to let sir sleep. 

Some things were more important than pie.

Bucky stared at the sleeping man, at the oven with the pie(?) in it, and back at the man.

He sighed and went over to the sofa, reaching under it for his emergency stash. Geniuses were such idiots.

Tony woke up with a cramp in his neck and a familiar soft pink blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He jerked upright and tried to free his arm, only to get his leg tangled and fall gracelessly to the floor.

“Sir, it is time to wake up.”

He glared at the blanket, then at the ceiling. “Yeah, I got that, J. Ugh. Is the pie ready?”

“You have been asleep for an hour and ten minutes.”

“I- what?! I thought it said half an hour!”

“Sergeant Barnes had not relocated to a safe distance from the kitchen. In order to prevent discomfort and so as to not alert him of your plans, I felt it was prudent to wait an appropriate amount of time before-”

“Cut the chatter J, is the pie ruined?”

“The recipe calls for an hour in the oven, although you do need to reduce the temperature halfway through.”

“Will that be a major issue here?”

“Since it wasn’t preheated, I daresay that and the effects of overbaking will cancel each other out?”

“Wow, you know as much about cooking as I do, eh?”

“Baking, sir, the two seem to be rather distinct in methodology, although both involve systematic and instinctive elements.”

“So I can take this bad boy out now?”

“If the crust is flaky and browned as in the image, I presume so. They have not specified the definition of ‘correctly baked’.”

“Splendid. Well, the butters all melted and the crust is…brown, that’s about as good as this is going to get.”

“The pie will be watery when removed, so be careful.”

“Ouch! JARVIS, you couldn’t have told me to put on oven mitts?”

“They are on the counter behind you, sir. I had assumed putting them on was a foregone conclusion.”

“Great. And you were right, this is watery.”

“Don’t jostle it too much, sir.”

“Now what?”

“Cool it completely, then refrigerate for several hours.”

“Cool it- look J, isn’t it the fridge’s job to cool things anyway.”

“You are not incorrect, sir.”

“Then I’m just going to stick this in here. Aaaand, we’re done! Look, unburnt apron, uncracked dining table, and almost completely flour-stainless Tony! And a whole pie in the fridge. Thanks for all your help, JARVIS.”

“Anytime, sir. Although I do not think the toaster has forgiven you.”

“Eh. Can’t win ‘em all. I’m going to bed.” He hesitated, then grabbed the blanket on his way out.

“Oh hey, there’s pie? Gimme!” Clint shoved Steve out of the way and accomplished exactly nothing. Steve rolled his eyes at his pout and stepped aside, egg carton in hand.

“It’s unfair that these guns have no effect on the brick wall that is your body, Cap. These biceps didn’t come easy, you know? Years of training and effort,” He grabbed the pie tin out of the fridge and snatched a fork out of Bruce’s hand. Bruce shrugged and tore a piece of his waffle off by hand.

Steve hummed. “I don’t think Bucky’s coming down today. Do you know how many eggs Nat will eat? And Clint, I thought your arms were so sexy because you pull on a high tension bowstring all day.”

“Ah, but Cap, then one arm would be muscly from the arrow pulling and the other would be smaller from all the holding up, huh? Nah, this kind of artistic balance takes dedicatio- ack. What the hell is this?”

Bruce looked over. “A pie?”

“This isn’t a pie! This is a lie! A catastropie! A tastebuds goodbye! An I’m going to freaking die-”

“Oh come on, Clint, it can’t be that bad if it’s in Tony’s-” Steve glanced at the pie and paused. “Is that-?”

“An abomination? Yes, yes it is.”

“No, I- hand me that fork for a second.”

“You got a death wish, Cap? Your funeral, I guess. I’m out of here.”

Steve took a bite. His face went through several complicated configurations.

Bruce stared at him. “You doing okay there, Steve?”

“Uh, yeah. I- this tastes like- okay, you’re going to think I’m insane, but this tastes like the pie my Ma made? When Bucky and I were 12, 13? I think it was my birthday, and we barely had money for a full meal a day, but Ma was determined to make me something special - and we didn’t have a fridge so she ended up using our neighbours’? And she brought it over when she got back from work, and me and Bucky ate so much even though it was so bad because we didn’t want to disappoint her, she’d worked so hard on it.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at what sounded suspiciously like a sniff. “Cap, you sure you’re-”

“Burnt crust, too much vanilla, god, where’s Bucky, I have to-”

Bruce blinked at the empty kitchen. “Well. That was weird.” He glanced at the pie and shrugged, lifting a forkful to his mouth. He grimaced at the taste. “Oh, that’s awful.” 

“JARVIS, why is my pie on the counter instead of in the fridge?”

“I could not say sir, you have restricted your access to any information pertaining to the security cameras in the kitchen.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are there two triangles missing on opposite ends of it ? ”

“I could not say, sir.”

“Oh, hey Tony. I see you’ve found the pie. Where’d it come from, anyway? Did you find a new bakery?” Natasha calmly reached up for her coffee mug. Tony stared at her.

She frowned down at the mug. “Is this sugar?”

Tony blurted, “ You ate the pie?”

“Sure. How did this get in here?”

“You ate the pie?”

“One bite, yeah. I think we all had a bite at some point. Try anything once, and all that. Clint was whining about it all day.” She grabbed a paper towel and scooped some powder out of the mug. She sniffed it, then licked some with the tip of her tongue. “Sugar and flour . How strange.”

“You all ate- wait, Steve and Bucky ate it too?”

“Yeah, I think so? Bucky looked all misty eyed after, I think. I don’t know, I was distracted by Clint’s whining. Was someone baking in here?”

“Wait, so you all hated it?”

Natasha shrugged. “It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it definitely wasn’t the best. Or even good. At all. Maybe you should stick with the cherry rhubarb from that one place, you know that one Steve likes? Where did you buy this anywa- oh, he’s gone. Ugh, flour in my coffee, can you imagine, I could’ve dealt with the sugar, but flour , when I find out who did this-”

“They all hate it, JARVIS!”

“I am truly sorry sir. The reviews were all very positive. They even praised the recipe I selected as the best source of information on the topic, and discouraged checking other sites and reviews to protect against falsified data.”

“I - I believe that’s what they call a troll, JARVIS. Us mediaeval creatures need to be more careful when trusting the internet.”

“The only thing mediaeval about this situation is your pie sir. I do believe Sergeant Barnes shed a tear.”

“Fuck this, we need a new plan.”

“Shall we move to the next item on the list?”

“You know what? Yeah. It can’t possibly get worse than this, can it?”

“They put Sprite instead of water?”

“Yes sir. I believe it is very popular in modern times. A taste of the past, so to speak.”

“Yeah, no, moving on. I don’t trust anything related to that mess in the fridge. I should probably throw it out, huh?”

“I do believe it has been eaten entirely sir.”

“I - entirely? What ?”

“Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes came in from their run, and when they left the kitchen they took it with them. As it has not been returned, I assume it has been consumed.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you didn’t stop them from doing that, because?”

“Because they are grown men capable of making their own decisions? The next recipe is a soured raisin pie, sir.”

“Bring it up. Wait. Does that say milk gone bad ?”

“I believe that is what brings the sour element to the pie, sir.”

“You don’t say? And was that conclusion a result of your research?”

“Merely a deduction sir. You have not programmed me with taste buds, but I have a register of dominating tastes in most basic food items.”

“Milk gone bad. Yeah, no. What’s next.”

“There is a bean pie, a carrot pie, and a fake apple pie, sir.”

“A bean - you know what, I’m not going to ask. What does the guy on YouTube say?”

“I believe these are recipes he actually approved of. Should I filter our list based on his opinions?”

“Yeah, J, why not. It’s not like I can ask anyone else.”

“He has also approved of the chocolate potato cake, the whipped cream cake, the magic ice cream, and potato candy.”

Tony blinked. “Well, all of those sound like foods from a badly written Historical Fiction, but what the hell. If Dylan Hollis says they’re good, they must be good. Shall we start with the pies?”

“Since you are familiar with the process, that seems prudent, sir.”

“So they’re all pies. Can I make all of them at once, so I can save time? I can decide which ones are best, then give them to the team.”

“Your past does indicate that you are more than capable of multitasking, sir.”

“Don’t take that skeptical tone with me, J. Okay, three pie crusts, defrosted and placed in 3 pans. Now what?”

“You will need a pound of carrots, 40 Ritz crackers, lemon juice, the beans we soaked last night, milk, eggs, sugar…”

“ Finally. Why did I think this was a good idea, J?”

“I cannot say, sir. But your faith in yourself is admirable.”

“They’ve been cooled outside the fridge this time, thank you JARVIS.”

“I aim to please, sir.”

“And these pieces look appetising enough? Not inedible, anyway. They smell tolerable - well, except the bean one, who puts beans in pie anyway-”

“Did someone say pie?”

Clint’s head popped out of the overhead vent. Tony screamed.

“Ooh! Pie!” He jumped down and reached for the conveniently placed fork before pausing and glaring suspiciously. “Wait. Are these from the same place as that pie?”

Tony froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Oh. Well, great!” Clint grinned and helped himself to a forkful.

“Wait no-”

Clint’s face went through a series of expressions before settling on confused. “Are those beans?”

“Um. No?”

“Well, they sure taste like beans. Huh. That is. Weirdly not bad.”

Tony blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. You didn’t have some already?”

“Uh, no, I was going to taste those before serving - there’s more on the counter - “

“Oh, sweet! You made three? Are they different flavours too? This one’s orange, neat! NAT, THERE’S PIE!”

“If it’s more of that tasteless jelly pie I will chop your fingers off and force feed them to you. Oh, hi Tony.”

Tony stared wide eyed as she dropped from the open vent and dusted herself off carelessly. “Are these from the same bakery?”

“I. Don’t know?” Tony squeaked.

“Hmm.” She took a forkful of pie and her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Apple pie. Quaint.”

“Oh, um, that’s not apple?” 

Natasha frowned at Tony. “What do you mean?”

“Uh, it’s actually just Ritz crackers? And sugar? Some lemon juice too.” 

Natasha’s eyes went wide. “You’re telling me that this is apple pie? But also not appl pie? What is this. How is this. I’m going to eat a thousand pieces of this.”

“Well, um, there are 5 pieces left, so help yourself, I guess. I’m just going to-”

“Wow, I can’t believe those ingredients - wait, how did you know - you made these?”

“No?” His squeak pitched significantly higher. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I heard something about pie and disembodied fingers echoing through the vent. Ah, I thought I’d find you guys here. What’s cooking?” Bruce smiled at Tony, who let out a relieved breath at someone finally entering the room through the perfectly accessible doorway.

“Hey Bruce. We’re just tasting pies, I guess. Help yourself?”

“Oh, is that pumpkin pie? My favourite!”

“Wait, no-”

“Oh! This is - is that carrot I taste? Wow, these make a surprisingly good substitute. I’m impressed!”

Tony blinked. What was happening.

“Hey man, you not going to eat any? This is good stuff!”

“Uh, nah, I’m good, thanks Clint. I’m just going to…go. Have as much as you’d like, you guys, if you want?”

Clint grinned and mock saluted, digging back into his pie with gusto. Natasha and Bruce didn’t even look up as he left, too focused on their own plates.

“JARVIS,” he whispered on the elevator down to the ‘shop, “What just happened?”

“I do believe your teammates sampled your baking and found it pleasantly satisfying, sir. Might I congratulate you on a job well done?”

Tony smiled. “Couldn’t have done it without you, J.” He sighed, a mix between despondent and wistful. “I wonder if Steve and Bucky will try some too.”

“Perhaps they will make it through without tearing up this time, sir.”

“One can only hope, J.”

Steve stared at the scene in the kitchen. Clint had his head on the table next to his empty plate, groaning. Bruce was calmly eating what looked like a piece of pumpkin pie, and Natasha was stretched out on a chair, hands folded over her stomach and expression content.

“Hey, guys,” Bruce raised a hand in greeting. “There’s more on the counter.”

Bucky hesitated. “Is Clint okay?”

“Peachy keen, murder dude.” He gave them a shaky thumbs up. “Just ate too much pie. Aw man. I’m stuffed. ”

Huh. Steve looked at Bucky questioningly. Bucky shrugged and walked over, snagging two plates and slicing pieces for Steve and himself.

“Is this from the same place as before?” Steve asked curiously, poking at the crust.

Bruce shrugged. “I think so? The crust tastes similar, but the flavours are different so who can tell, really?”

Bucky and Steve sat at the table and dug in. Their eyebrows rose. “Wow, this is-”

Bucky gasped. “Didn’t your Ma make this for Thanksgiving every year?”

Steve smiled. “And your Ma made this for my birthday, that year you enlisted.”

“The apple pie without apples you talked about in your letter? Give me some of that!”

“Yeah, this is Ma’s carrot pie alright. Wow. I wonder what the other one is.”

“Probably just as good as these!”

They helped themselves to a piece of bean pie.

Steve made a complicated expression. “Huh. beans.”

Bucky frowned. “That. Should not work as well as it does.”

Steve shrugged. “I’m not complaining. Hey, does anyone want more of that apple pie?”

“It’s all yours, Cap,” Natasha said, still not moving from her peaceful sprawl.

“So, all the pies are gone?”

“Yes, sir, they seem to have been a hit. The team has been asking me where they can purchase more.”

“Oh no, what did you tell them?”

“I have been deflecting their queries with success. Although I believe Ms. Romanoff suspects.”

“Eh, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. So. we’re trying cakes today? Don’t those just come in a box these days?”

“Indeed sir, but these are simpler than most cakes.”

“What flavours are these again?”

“Chocolate potato cake and whipped cream cake.”

“Huh. Well, I trusted you on those pies. I’ll trust you on the cakes too. What do I need?”

“JARVIS, why does this work as well as it does?”

“I could not say, sir. But experiments through the ages have shown that unpredictable combinations often have the most fascinating results.”

“Ugh, it’s incredible. And I’m mad about it.”

“The team will be back from the training session soon. They seem to be headed this way. In order to maintain your cover of a business meeting that prevented you from attending, I suggest that you strategically retreat from the location.”

“Thanks for the heads up, J.”

As the elevator door closed, he heard Clint’s delighted whoop of “Yes! Cake!” He grinned to himself. At least someone appreciated his baking. Well, no, he thought they all liked it, because they couldn’t stop talking about the pie, but they never told him personally that they liked it? Well, there was the tiny insignificant detail of them not knowing that he was the one baking, but-

“AH! Natasha! You scared the shit out of me!”

Natasha dusted herself off and leaped gracefully off the workshop table right below the now open vent. “So. There’s cake in the kitchen.”

Tony tried to project oblivious innocence as best as he could. “Is there? That’s nice. I wouldn’t know, I came straight here after my business meeting.”

“And the oven was still a little warm.”

“Was it? There must be a problem in the, um, wiring, I’ll take a look at that-”

“You have flour in your beard.”

“I- wait really?” He frantically ran his hands over his face and through his hair. “Goddamnit J, you told me I was free of kitchen related decorations!”

“He was right,” Natasha smirked. “There wasn’t flour in your beard. But now, you look like a fuzzy bug caught in headlights.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said calmly in his normal pitch of voice.

“You’ve been baking, haven’t you?”

“No? Where have you been getting your information, it’s obviously flawed, are you sure you’re a spy?”

“You’ve been baking recipes that Steve and Bucky recognize. Steve took a bit of cake and teared up.”

Tony tried, but he couldn’t stop his face from falling a bit. “They don’t like it, then?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. The two of them are probably still hugging downstairs.”

Tony didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. He decided to stay silent.

Natasha walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re trying to get them to like you, aren’t you.”

Tony deflated. “Was it that obvious?”

“Not to someone who wasn’t looking. Oh, Antoshka,” she pulled him gently into a hug. “You don’t need to go through all this trouble. We like you just fine without the baked treats. We’d even like you without the armour and the weapons and the free housing. We like you. ”

Tony buried his face in her shoulder and struggled not to cry. “You’re just saying that because I pay for everything.”

He felt her shrug. “I don’t need the money. But I understand it brings you a sense of satisfaction, to help others. I did not want to come across as rude by rejecting your gifts. But if you asked, I would repay every cent you’ve given me, no questions asked.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. And the fact that you would never expect it from us just makes us adore you more. And for Steve and Bucky, who grew up poor and sick, this probably feels like a miracle. Who wouldn’t they like you?”

“They avoid me. They don’t talk to me. They don’t even look at me.” He held on to her a bit tighter. “I don’t even know what I did wrong. Steve tries to come up to me sometimes, but then it’s like he snaps out of a trance and flees the scene. I don’t know what to make of it. And Bucky goes out of his way to make sure we’re never in the same room together. I just - I just want to help him. I don’t know what to do, Nat.”

Natasha stiffened. He pulled back and grimaced. Her face had hardened. She looked ready to murder someone. “I’m sorry, oh god, did I overstep with the baking and stuff, I’ll stop, I swear, please don’t be mad-”

“What?” she looked at him, confused. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just, I thought - he said - ugh, idiotic stupid super soldiers, I have to go knock some sense into him - Tony, your baking is amazing, don’t stop. We love it. Thank you for everything. I’ll come talk to you later, okay?” She kissed the top of his head and jumped on top of his table, launching herself back up into the vent. The covering slid closed, and Tony was alone again.

“I didn’t imagine that, did I, J?”

“I can assure you, sir, that you did not.”

“So….they actually like me?”

“Colonel Rhodes, Ms. Potts and I have assured you countless times that you are appreciated and adored. I am glad that Ms. Romanoff has chosen to verbally confirm it.”

“Yeah.” Tony smiled. “She’s a good friend.”

“Tony, hi.”

“Oh! Hey, Steve, I was just looking for you!” Tony whipped around, plate in hand. “I, um, I made this whipped cream cake? And it tastes just like angel food cake, I was so surprised. Like, full on shocked. And I thought you might like to try it?”

“Tony, I - wait, you’ve been baking all the pies and cakes?”

“Yeah, I thought, since you all seemed to like it, I could, um, come out, and stuff. Where’s Bucky by the way, I made this for both of you.”

“He’s um. He’s in his room. Today isn’t a great day for him.”

“Oh. That’s rough. I hope he feels better soon. I don’t know if cake will make things better, but you could try? Or he can have some later. The rest of it is in the fridge, it was pretty big, and it’ll stay good for a few days, so no worries. Let me know if I can help -”

“You’ve been baking.”

“Uh, yeah, Cap, well, I was using premade crusts for the pies but the cakes are all me, I swear, with some help from JARVIS, of course.”

“You’ve been baking dishes from mine and Bucky’s childhood.”

“Yeah, the recipes are pretty old. They were simple enough, and I thought it would guarantee that you liked them. Wait - you did like them, didn’t you?”

“You’ve been baking all this…for us?”

“Well, and the rest of the team, of course, but, yeah, mostly you two, not only you two, but I definitely had you two in mind when I picked out the recipes, and, oh god, is that creepy, did i overstep? I told Nat I should stop baking, did you even like-”

“Tony, I - I’m so sorry.” Steve rubbed his hands over his face, grimacing like he was in pain. “I - I have to go. I’ll talk to you. Soon.”

Tony stared as Captain America fled the room. He didn’t even pretend to purposefully stalk. “Huh. Was it something I said?”

“I doubt it sir. The Captain seemed most conflicted.”

“Yeah. I hope things get better for him. And Bucky too.”

Clint’s head popped around the corner. “Hey, I heard something about whipped cream? And there’s no vent openings in this room.”

Tony rolled his eyes and held out the plate.

“Aw, cake! You’re the best, Tony!” He smacked a kiss on Tony’s cheek and scampered off with his prize.

Tony shook his head. His teammates were crazy.

Tony closed the fridge door and jumped at the figure standing behind it. His brain registered that it was Bucky Barnes and he tensed, fingers tightening around the box in his hands.

“Oh hey, Bucky! Um, Barnes. James? Whatever you go by these days. Hi! I was just, um, would you like some ice cream?”

“Stark. Sorry for startling you. I need to speak with you.”

Tony stared. “So that’s a no on  the ice cream?”

Bucky frowned at the pink stuff in the box. “That does not look like ice cream.”

“Oh, it’s not just regular ice cream, Bu - um, Barnes, this is magic ice cream.” Tony held out a spoon. “Go on, try some!”

After a solid minute of hesitation while Tony tried not sweat straight through his strangely too tight collar, Bucky reached out and slowly took the spoon from him.

Tony tried to smile encouragingly, but from the worried look on Bucky’s face, he probably just looked constipated. “Try some, it won’t bite!”

Of course it won’t bite, it’s a food, what the hell is wrong with you Stark.

Bucky took a tentative spoonful and brought it to his mouth. Tony tried not to stare at his lips. Bucky’s eyes went wide. “This is - this tastes like - what is this?”

“Uh, just raspberry Jell-O, some whipped cream? Milk and sugar too. Honestly, I was surprised how soft it turned out, I was expecting to have to grate it to make it edible-”

“Wait, you made this?”

“Um, yeah? I thought Steve would have told you. Oh, that reminds me, did you try the angel cake from yesterday?”

“You made cake too?!”

“Yeah, Buckaroo, oh! Sorry, Barnes. Um, yeah, I baked a couple cakes, a few pies as well, and some turned out better than others, I guess? Did you like -”

“Stark, I - why - “

“Look, I know I haven’t been doing much to make you more comfortable and that’s on me, I get it, but it’s hard to know how I can help when I never talk to you, hell, I barely even see you around here, and I thought hey, I probably did something to make the man uncomfortable, I know my brain-mouth filter is wonky on the best of days, and apparently I’ve offended him enough that his best friend won’t talk to me either, and that hurt a bit, not a lot, don’t worry, but we were friends, before, you know? And now I don’t know what I did wrong and I don’t know how to fix it but I thought something sweet might help, um, smooth things over?” Tony sighed. “Look, sorry, I’m running on 3 hours of sleep and I tend to ramble. The point is, I think we started off on the wrong foot? And I’m just trying to help. Oh, and apologize. Or just give you something good to put in your mouth? No strings attached honestly, you’re not obligated to forgive me because I bake you stuff, that’s crazy, I’m not trying to manipulate you, I swear-”

“Stark.” Bucky clasped his hands on his shoulders and he froze, breath hitching. Icy blue eyes locked on his own. The spoon clattered to the ground, forgotten. 

“Barnes?”

“Stop.”

“Stop…baking?”

“Stop talking, goddamnit, I’m trying to think.” Bucky loosened his grip, closing his eyes and letting out a frustrated sigh. Tony tried to look away. He failed.

“Look, Stark. This isn’t easy for me. I’ve been trying to - I’ve been practicing this all month but I didn’t know how to talk to you - was too scared you’d - and - I just - I wanted to tell you I’m-”

“Bucky? What’s going on here?”

Bucky jumped away like he’d been electrocuted. “Steve! Um, nothing. What are you doing here?”

“I came for - Tony, are you okay?”

“What? I’m. Yeah Cap, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be - anyway, you obviously came looking for Bucky, so I guess I’ll just. Um. Leave. You two in peace. Bye. Oh! There’s ice cream in this box!” He left it on the dining table and powerwalked out of the kitchen in a completely unfazed dignified manner.

Steve turned to Bucky with a frown. “I said I’d handle it, Bucky.”

Bucky glared at him. “Well, you’re obviously not handling this, Stevie. He’s been going around thinking he did something wrong and that he’s mortally offended us or something! That’s why he’s been baking these things! God, the way he talked, you’d think he thought we hated him or something.”

“Of course he doesn’t-”

“For fuck’s sake, Steve, did you learn nothing from the thrashing Tasha gave you? He’s insecure, he’s been insecure about the Avengers from the beginning, you most of all! And I’m scared that - I’m scared this will break him, Stevie.” His glare turned hard. “You should have told him the day we got back.”

Steve sighed, his eyes going glassy. “I know, Buck. You think I don’t beat myself up for it, every day I see him and realise I’ve been keeping this from him?”

“And he’s beating himself up for making us uncomfortable!”

“This is going to hurt him so bad, Bucky.”

“Yeah, it is. He’ll probably punch me. Or shoot me. I don’t care. I don’t even care if he kicks me out. I’d deserve it-”

“No, Buck, no, Tony wouldn’t-”

“You can’t say that for sure, Steve!”

“He wouldn’t, because he’s a better man than all of us. A better man than me, anyway.”

Bucky sighed. “I don’t want to see him hurt either, Steve, but there’s no way out of this. What’s done is done. You’re just prolonging the inevitable.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re right, Bucky. You’re right. I’ll go talk to him.”

“What, right now?”

Steve shrugged. “As good a time as any, huh?”

Bucky sighed and hugged Steve tight. “I’m sorry I cornered him like that. I know you want to be the one to tell him. I know you’re sad that you left so suddenly and I know you’re sad that you have to hurt him again with this. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish I wasn’t the reason for all this.”

Steve squeezed him tight, heart clenching as he heard a faint sob. “None of this is your fault, Bucky. HYDRA killed them, killed all those people. I’m so glad that you got out of there. That I found you when I did. And Tony is glad too, I know it. He knows about the brainwashing and the torture - don’t ask me how, the man knows everything, I’m sure he dug up some blacked out files. All he’s been doing is trying to help. He’ll understand, I know it. Maybe he’ll take some time to process things, but he’s a good man. He deserves better from me. He deserves to know. He deserves to have it come from me.”

Steve pulled away, clapped Bucky on the shoulder with a smile, and turned to leave.

“Steve, wait.”

“What is it, Buck?”

Bucky hesitated. “He’ll be back, won’t he?”

Steve smiled at him sadly. “He will. I promise.”

An hour later, Bucky heard the unmistakable sound of the Iron Man suit blasting off into the sigh. He sighed into his bowl of ice-cream-that-wasn’t-ice-cream and watched the red and gold figure grow smaller and smaller, disappearing into the evening sky.

Soft footsteps approached his spot on the roof. He didn’t turn as Steve slowly sat beside him, wincing.

“So. Ice cream.”

“So. A black eye.”

Bucky handed him the spoon.

Steve took a bite and sighed. “This tastes like - like Coney Island-”

“-in the summertime? Yeah. I remember.”

They sat there in silence, staring at the stars and tasting memories, until the sun crept past the horizon and the ice cream was all gone.

Tony waltzed into the kitchen in a pastel pink suit, heart shaped sunglasses on his nose and a tupperware container in his hands.

“Happy V-day, everyone! Here, I made some candy.”

“Tony!” Bruce was the first to break the stunned silence. “It’s good to see you. You look good.”

Tony flipped up his sunglasses and winked. “I always do, Brucie bear. Did you guys miss me- hey! NAT! MY SUIT! WRINKLES! HELP!”

“If you EVER,” she said calmly while tightening her chokehold, “leave for so long without telling us again, I will yank out every hair on hour face one by one and stick up them up your nostrils until you’re clean shaven and 

“NO! Not the beard! Tasha, please, I forgave you when you left, didn’t I.”

“Hmph.” She released him, then yanked him into a hug. “Glad you’re back in one piece, Antoshka.”

She released him and he winked at her, laughing when she rolled her eyes at him. Clint clapped him on the shoulder, knocking the breath out of him. “Good to see you, Tin Can. JARVIS kept us updated, so we knew you were fine, but it’s not the same as visual confirmation.”

Tony smiled faintly, touched that they’d thought of him. “Good to be back, Bird Brain. Those new arrows treating you well?”

“Yeah, but they’re not much fun to test out without a maniacal engineer cheering for you.”

“I’ll bet. We can get on that later. I’ll put you on my schedule.”

“Catch you later, then! Come on, Nat, you gotta help me with this present for Darcy, there’s glitter everywhere-”

Bruce raised a hand and rose to leave with them. Tony shot him a grateful look. Bruce nodded with a smile. “I’ll see you down in the lab later? Thanks for the candy, by the way!”

“Sure thing Brucie. We have a lot of catching up to do. Take the box down with you, there’s plenty more where that came from!”

Bruce grinned in delight, grabbing the box as he walked out. Tony took a deep breath and turned to the two men carefully looking away and trying to appear smaller than they really were. Which was no small feat, considering who they were.

“So. I’m back.”

Steve cleared his throat. “Hi, Tony.”

“I’m sorry I punched you.”

Steve sighed. “I told you, you don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry I didn’t handle it better.”

“Steve, I understand - “

“And I’m so glad you’re back here with us, back home - I’m sorry you felt like you needed to leave -”

“I baked you pie!”

All three of them froze. Bucky’s eyes widened before he shrunk into himself and made a conscious effort to sink into the kitchen floor.

Tony blinked. “You baked me…pie?”

“Um. Yes. Pie.” Bucky fidgeted, glancing at Tony before quickly looking away. Tony tried not to find him adorable. “I’ve been, um. Baking one. Every day. Since you left. I perfected the recipe, I think? My Ma used to make it for my Da when they fought and I thought - I’m not trying to, to exchange a pie for forgiveness or anything, I swear, I just wanted to - you’re a great guy, you know, and it’s a pity that, I mean, it’s not pity pie, it’s just pie, cream pie actually, with cherries, and, um, I know you like sweet stuff and I thought you’d like it. I thought you’d like the pie. This pie. So. Pie. Also, I’m sorry.”

Tony stared at him. He squirmed for a moment before reaching for the fridge and pulling out a beautifully decorated cream pie with a perfectly baked crust and the prettiest pink filling Tony had ever seen.

“You made this for me?”

“Um. Yes?” Bucky glared at Steve when he snorted. “You deserve good things. And pie is the best thing there is.”

“The best thing there is, huh?” Tony’s mouth twitched in a smile.

“Apart from you, of course. I’m just. Going to stop talking now.” He frowned to himself. Steve had buried his face in his hands, body trembling with the effort to not laugh. 

Tony laughed. Bucky looked up at the sound, startled. Tony’s eyes were twinkling. They were happy. And they were looking at him. It was hard to breathe, suddenly.

“So, Buckaroo. Since you went through all the trouble of making a pie, so many pies, for me, do you want to help me eat this one? Together?”

Bucky groaned and Steve cackled. Bucky smacked him upside the head before turning to a very confused Tony. He mustered up his most earnest expression. “Doll, believe me, I would love to, but these idiots in the tower got tired of my pie a week in, and I’ve been eating all of it so it doesn’t go bad, and if I have another piece of cherry cream pie I may actually cry, so thank god you showed up today, honestly - “

“Wait. You’ve been eating all the pie ?!”

“Most of it, yeah. It was too sweet for Natasha, Bruce doesn’t like cherries, Steve is an ass who likes to make my life difficult - “

“Hey! I got tired of it too!”

“Clint only wanted bean pie, and that’s hardly rom- remorseful , so. I ate a lot of it, yeah.”

Tony gaped at him. “But that’s like, 28 pies!”

“29,” Steve said helpfully. “He messed up the decorations last Tuesday so he made a replacement.”

“I - didn’t want to waste it?”

Tony shook his head. Super soldiers were such morons. “I bet you’re relieved I’m back then, huh? To save you from death by pie.”

“Yeah doll. I’m glad you’re back.” Bucky grinned at him, open and happy. Tony’s breath got caught in his throat. “I could sit with you while you eat the pie, if you want?”

“Oh! Can we watch a movie? You can try my candy too! It’s got potatoes, and peanut butter, and it’s strangely delicious, if I do say so myself!”

Bucky’s smile turned strained. “Oh? That sounds. Interesting.”

“Movie night!” Steve fist pumped the air. “It’s been too long! Let me call the team, they’re going to be so excited!” He ran out, before running back in and grabbing Tony in a quick hug. “Welcome home, Tony.”

“Good to be back, Cap,” Tony wheezed as the man sprinted out again. “I’ll be honest with you, Bucky bear, I thought it was going to be just the two of us.”

“Nah, we’ll have our date another time,” Bucky winked and Tony willed himself not to blush. “The team is excited to see you back. We haven’t had a movie night since the day you left.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “What? Why? The team loves movie nights!”

Bucky shrugged. “Wasn’t the same without you, I guess. Want to snag the comfy armchair before the rest of them get here?”

“You know me so well, Buckaroni. Lead the way.”

“It’s totally unrealistic that a rat would have a flavour palate distinguished enough to be able to identify palatable food combinations from rotten stuff in trash cans -”

Everyone groaned.

“C’mon, man,” Clint whined from his purple beanbag. “You put potatoes in this peanut butter candy and it turned out okay. Why is Remy’s style any different?”

Tony bristled from his spot under Bucky’s arm. “Are you calling me a rat, Barton?”

“Well I ain’t calling you a chef, that’s for sure!”

“See if I make you a bean pie ever again!”

“No! Please! Bucky and Steve refuse to try!”

“To be fair,” Natasha mused, “He’s more of a kitten than a rat.”

Tony hissed at her.

Natasha stuck her tongue out at him. He swiped for her green blanket and she screeched, yanking it out of reach and glaring murderously. Tony squeaked and hid under Bucky’s arm, wrapping their pink blanket tighter around them. “Bucky, defend my honour!”

“Sure thing, sweet thing,” he drawled, narrowing his eyes at Natasha, who rolled her eyes and leaned back onto Bruce. He put his arm around her and she practically melted into him. Steve smiled fondly at them, turning to Bucky to see if he’d noticed, but Bucky was busy brushing hair out of Tony’s face as the sleepy man snuggled into his side. 

Steve grabbed a heart-shaped piece of candy off the plate on the table, tossing one to Clint at his frantic grabby hands. Huh. Potatoes and peanut butter. He took a bite.

He couldn’t stop smiling.