Family Ties
Steve Rogers stood by the kitchen window of the Avengers Manor, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Outside, the manicured lawn stretched into a dense forest, barren branches twisting against the cold winter sky. Snow was falling lightly, dusting the world in white, and yet it wasn’t the peace of the scene that occupied his thoughts. It was the passage of time—or the illusion of it.
It had been twelve years since the Battle of New York. It's been two months since Thanos, since they split the Infinity Stones among themselves to save a fractured reality. two months since they became something more than teammates. Family.
Steve’s fingers absently traced the thin, golden band on his left hand. The metal was cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from the mug. He smiled faintly. That ring, forged from Tony’s first Ironman armor, had been born out of a dare—a joke, really. Yet here he was, still wearing it. And somehow, it felt right.
Behind him, the sound of voices drifted from the dining room, laughter and the occasional clang of silverware against plates. Dinner night. The one tradition they all managed to start, even as life pulled them in different directions.
“Earth to Cap,” came a familiar, sardonic voice. Steve turned to find Tony Stark leaning against the doorframe, a lopsided grin on his face. He looked sharp as ever, dressed in a tailored sweater and jeans, the silver ring glinting on his finger. The faint hum of his prosthetic arm—a sleek, state-of-the-art creation he’d designed himself that looks exactly like the Ironman arm—was the only sign of the toll the fight with Thanos had taken.
“Dinner’s getting cold,” Tony added, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you’re trying to stare down the snow into submission.”
Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Just thinking.”
“Uh-oh. Dangerous pastime for you.” Tony stepped closer, mock-seriousness etched across his face. “Let me guess. Brooding about the past? Worrying about the future? Or is it your usual existential crisis about why Thor looks like a Norse supermodel while you and Bruce got the short end of the scar stick?”
Steve couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and genuine. Tony always had a way of cutting through his gloom. “Something like that.”
“Well,” Tony said, nudging him toward the dining room, “whatever it is, it can wait. Nat’s threatening to start without you, and Clint’s already making bets on how much pie Thor can eat before he passes out.”
Steve let himself be guided into the dining room, where the rest of the Avengers were gathered around the long oak table. Natasha sat cross-legged on one of the chairs, her prosthetic leg propped up on the seat next to her. Clint was engaged in a heated debate with Bruce over the accuracy of an old sci-fi movie, his own prosthetic arm tapping rhythmically against the table as he spoke. Thor, looking annoyingly radiant as ever, was already helping himself to a second plate of roast beef.
“Ah, the prodigal sons return!” Thor boomed as Steve and Tony entered. “Now the feast is truly complete!”
Steve took his usual seat next to Natasha, who handed him a plate with a smirk. “Figured you’d need a head start, old man.”
“Thanks,” Steve said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. He glanced across the table at Bruce, who was unusually quiet tonight. The scars from wielding the Power Stone still marred his skin, glowing faintly beneath the surface. Yet Bruce had adapted, just like the rest of them.
They all had, in their own ways.
As the meal went on, the room filled with the sound of clinking glasses and easy conversation. They joked and teased, slipping back into the familiar rhythm they’d built over the years. At one point, Pepper walked in with a sigh telling Natasha to get her foot off her chair.
Natasha leaned back in her chair, groaning. Pepper looked at her and Natasha finally decided to reluctantly return the woman's seat. Natasha turns her attention to Clint and the two of them start chattering about how gay Tony and Steve are. Thor innocently asks what gay means and everyone just laughs for some reason.
“I'll tell you later Thor,” Steve muttered, though his cheeks were flushed.
The evening continued, the warmth of their shared history wrapping around them like a blanket. It wasn’t perfect. None of them were. But as Steve looked around the table, he realized that maybe, just maybe, they’d finally found a version of happiness they could hold onto.
Later, as they settled in for a game of truth or dare, Tony leaned over and whispered, “Still wanna brood?”
Steve tells him that he was reflecting, but Tony argues that reflecting is just the noble word foe brooding.
Steve glanced at him, at the ring glinting on his hand, at the soft smile tugging at his lips. “No. I'm not brooding anymore.”
Natasha Romanoff didn’t consider herself impulsive. Every move she made was deliberate, calculated. Yet as she stood outside her burning house, the flames licking at the sky like a triumphant signal, she couldn’t help but think, Maybe I’ve lost my edge.
It wasn’t boredom, not entirely. She had spent years telling herself that distance was good, that living apart from the others gave her space to breathe. But in the quiet moments, in the late hours when sleep refused to come, all she could think about was them. Clint's genuine humor, Steve's earnest advice, Tony's relentless energy, Bruce's steady presence, and Thor's booming laugh. They were her family, and the isolation had started to feel suffocating.
Blowing up her house felt like a poetic way of letting go. Practical, too. It wasn’t like she kept much there.
Natasha stared at the burning wreckage of what had once been her sleek, minimalist home. The flames danced and crackled in the night, throwing shadows across her impassive face. She folded her arms across her chest, the cold wind brushing against her skin as she watched it crumble.
She supposed she should feel something. Regret? Guilt? A pang of loss for the carefully curated solitude she’d created there? But no. All she felt was a strange sense of relief. The house, much like the life she’d tried to build after the fight with Thanos, had been an empty shell. It wasn’t boredom that had driven her to this—it was something deeper, something more primal.
Worry.
She hadn’t told anyone, but the silence had been eating her alive. Each passing day in that house, alone, had been a reminder of what could be lost if she wasn’t there, close enough to act. To protect.
The team had become her family. And family didn’t live apart. Unless they were weird and all hated each other.
Without a second glance at the smoldering ruins, Natasha climbed onto her motorcycle, revved the engine, and took off into the night.
She knew exactly where she was going.
Tony Stark didn’t even blink when Natasha rolled up to the Avengers Manor the next morning with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
“You forget how to use your front door?” he asked, glancing up from his phone as she walked in.
“Forgot how to use my house,” she deadpanned, dropping the bag onto the couch. “Thought I’d crash here for a while.”
Tony didn’t question it, didn’t pry. He just handed her a mug of coffee and muttered something about making sure she didn’t steal his favorite chair. It was that easy.
At first, the others didn’t seem to notice. Natasha was always the first to show up for dinner nights, and when they weren’t gathering, she had a knack for blending into the background. But over time, it became clear that she wasn’t just visiting. She was staying.
It was subtle, the way the Manor began to feel more alive. Natasha took up residence in one of the guest rooms, but she was rarely in it at the beginning. She drifted through the halls like she belonged there—and, in truth, she did.
Bruce Banner was the next to follow.
Unlike Natasha, Bruce didn’t have a dramatic exit from his old life. He simply found himself spending more and more time at the Manor, tinkering in the lab with Tony or sitting in the library with Steve. At first, he told himself it was temporary, that he’d go back to his quiet life eventually.
But the truth was, he didn’t want to leave.
He made up awkward excuses to bring his things over and suddenly he had a lab and a room and his equipment and clothes. Bruce stopped going to his old house. It was as if they’d all expected it.
Clint Barton’s arrival was less graceful.
“You could’ve warned me you were all moving in!” he groused as he threw a duffel bag through the front door, his prosthetic arm whirring as he maneuvered it awkwardly. “Do you know how weird it is to show up for dinner and find half my team living here?”
Tony smirked, leaning against the staircase. “And yet, here you are, moving in like the rest of us.”
Clint scowled, but he didn’t deny it. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t burn the place down.”
Steve Rogers was the last to move in, though his transition felt the most natural. He’d already been spending most of his time at the Manor, working with Tony and Thor to coordinate relief efforts for those displaced by the Blip. The diplomatic work was relentless, but it was necessary—and Steve was good at it.
Eventually, though, the long drives back to his apartment started to feel pointless. He’d stay a night or two at the Manor, then three, then a week. Before long, he realized he didn’t have a reason to leave.
When he finally brought his things over, nobody batted an eye.
The only person who raised any questions was Thor, though not about his own living arrangements.
“You are all so mortal,” he said one evening, leaning back in his chair as they gathered for another dinner. “Why do you hesitate to simply be together? Asgardians do not second-guess such things.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “You’re the king of Asgard. Aren’t you supposed to be there?”
Thor grinned, his golden hair catching the light. “I share my duties with my brother, as is only fair. Loki is surprisingly efficient when he is not scheming to overthrow me.”
“Surprisingly,” Clint muttered, earning a laugh from Natasha.
As the months passed, the Manor became more than just a place to gather. It became a home.
They fell into routines without realizing it. Steve would wake up early for his run and brew coffee. Natasha and Clint would spar in the training room, their banter echoing through the halls. Bruce and Tony often worked late into the night, tinkering in the lab while Tony rants and Bruce listens.
Thor, ever the wildcard, split his time between aiding the team and maintaining peace across the Nine Realms. His newfound powers of Earth manipulation proved invaluable in building homes and reshaping landscapes for those displaced by the Snap.
And through it all, they were together.
For the first time in years, there was no looming threat, no galaxy-ending crisis to prepare for. There was just them—flawed, scarred, and forever bound by the choices they’d made.
It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be. They were family.