Chapter 2
No matter the need to move, to change, to go, they lingered—just a breath longer—rooted in the fragile stillness of the moment. Their bodies, heavy with exhaustion, seemed to merge with the earth beneath them, as if the ground itself whispered, Stay, just a little longer. The sun’s rays, soft and golden, spilled across the battlefield like a benediction, warming their skin and painting the world in hues of amber and hope. For a heartbeat, the universe itself seemed to pause, holding its breath, as if even the stars dared not disturb the quiet miracle of their survival.
The air was thick with the weight of what had been lost and what had been reclaimed—a fragile balance between the chaos of war and the dawning light of victory. And then, like a dam shattered by the force of a thousand rivers, joy erupted. It spilled across the scorched earth, washing away the ash and blood with waves of laughter and tears, a symphony of relief and reunion that echoed into the heavens.
Scott was the first to break. His usual quips, his armor of humor, fell away, leaving him raw and trembling. His eyes scanned the crowd, frantic, until they found her—Hope. She was weaving through the chaos, her presence a beacon in the storm. His voice cracked her name like a prayer, a sob, a lifeline. “HOPE!” he screamed, the sound tearing from his throat as he stumbled forward, debris forgotten, the world narrowing to her face, her eyes, her hands reaching for him. When they collided, he lifted her off the ground, spinning her in dizzying circles, his laughter mingling with breathless sobs. “We did it, we actually did it, you’re here, you’re really here—”
Hope’s fingers dug into his shoulders, her composure crumbling as she pressed her forehead against his. “I thought I lost you,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. “When I came back, all I could think was—”
“I know,” Scott murmured, setting her down gently but not letting go, as if afraid she might dissolve again if he released her. “I know, because that’s all I’ve thought about for five years.” His hand cupped her face, thumb brushing away a tear. “Five years of wondering if I’d ever see you again, if I’d ever get to tell you—”
Her lips crashed against his, cutting off whatever he was about to say, the kiss desperate and hungry and filled with everything they couldn’t put into words. It was a language of its own, a promise, a homecoming.
Nearby, Rhodey watched with a smile that couldn’t quite hide the ache in his eyes, the phantom pain in his legs a counterpoint to the joy surrounding him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Bruce – or Professor Hulk, or whatever name he went by now – standing beside him.
“You good?” Bruce asked quietly, his massive green hand unexpectedly gentle.
Rhodey nodded, his throat tight. “Just taking it all in. Feeling… lucky.” His gaze drifted to Tony, who was still holding Peter and Pepper close, the three of them talking over each other, laughing and crying simultaneously. “Five years of watching my best friend fall apart, piece by piece. Five years of wondering if we made the wrong call.” He looked up at Bruce, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “But we didn’t. We got them back. All of them.”
Bruce followed his gaze, his own expression softening. “Not without cost,” he murmured, flexing his right arm, which still bore the scars of wielding the gauntlet. “Never without cost.”
“Worth it, though,” Rhodey said firmly, squeezing Bruce’s arm. “Every damn bit of it.”
As Rhodey turned back to the crowd, his eyes caught on Steve and Bucky, who were sitting close together on a piece of rubble, their heads bent in quiet conversation. Steve’s hand rested on Bucky’s knee, his thumb brushing absently over the fabric of Bucky’s pants, a gesture so intimate it made Rhodey’s chest ache. Bucky’s metal hand was curled around Steve’s wrist, his fingers tapping a slow, steady rhythm against Steve’s pulse point, as if reassuring himself that Steve was real, that they were both here, alive.
Rhodey smirked at Bruce and shook his head. The fossils were finally coming around.
The battlefield was alive with the kind of chaos only the Guardians could create—limbs flailing, voices overlapping, and laughter ringing out in every direction. Drax, the hulking warrior with a heart as vast as the stars, was at the center of it all, his booming voice cutting through the din like a clarion call. He was laughing so hard that his massive frame shook, his hands slapping his thighs as tears streamed down his face. But it wasn’t just laughter—it was pure, unbridled joy, the kind that comes from knowing you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, surrounded by the people who mean the most to you.
“My friends! My family!” Drax bellowed, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand emotions. He said it again, and again, as if the words themselves were a mantra, a celebration, a prayer.
“My friends! My family!” Each time he spoke, his voice grew louder, more emphatic, as though he needed the universe itself to hear him. “The universe is whole again! My heart is full again!” He repeated the phrases like a man possessed, his arms outstretched as if to embrace the entire cosmos.
This wasn’t their first reunion—they had found each other before, fought together, laughed together, mourned together. But this time was different.
This time, the weight of everything they had endured, everything they had lost and regained, seemed to hit Drax all at once. His joy was uncontainable, spilling out of him in waves. He grabbed Rocket by the shoulders, shaking the raccoon playfully as he shouted,
“My friends! My family!” before releasing him and turning to Groot, pulling him into a bear hug that lifted him off his feet. “The universe is whole again! My heart is full again!”
Mantis watched him with a soft smile, her antennae glowing faintly as she absorbed the sheer intensity of his emotions. She had felt his joy before, but this was different—deeper, more profound.
It was as if Drax’s heart had been a star, dimmed by loss and pain, and now it was burning brightly once more. When he turned to her, his face alight with happiness, she didn’t resist as he swept her up in his arms, spinning her around as though she weighed nothing.
“So much joy,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked into his tear-streaked face. “So much love. It’s… it’s beautiful, Drax.” Her words were soft, almost reverent, but Drax didn’t seem to hear her—or maybe he did, and it only fueled his exuberance.
“My friends! My family!” he roared again, setting her down gently before turning to Peter, who was grinning despite himself. Drax clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance.
“The universe is whole again! My heart is full again!” Peter laughed, shaking his head, but there was no mistaking the warmth in his eyes.
Even Nebula, who usually stood apart from such displays, couldn’t help but smirk as Drax turned to her, his arms wide. “Nebula! My friend! My family!” he declared, his voice cracking with emotion. She rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away when he hugged her, her stiff posture softening just a little.
The others were used to Drax’s theatrics, but this was something else entirely. It wasn’t just happiness—it was gratitude, relief, and a deep, unshakable love for the ragtag group of misfits who had become his family. And so he kept saying it, over and over, as if the words themselves could anchor him to this moment, to this feeling.
“My friends! My family! The universe is whole again! My heart is full again!”
The universe was whole again. And so were they.
Peter managed to pull slightly away, his eyes never leaving Gamora’s face, cataloging every microexpression, every subtle shift in her posture. When she finally met his gaze, his breath caught in his throat, the rest of the world falling away.
There was nothing familiar in her gaze – no recognition, no shared history, just wariness and something that might have been curiosity. The weight of it crushed him, made it hard to breathe, hard to stand. Five years of grief, of missing her with every fiber of his being, and now she was here – but not his Gamora. Not the woman who had learned to trust him, to dance with him, to love him.
When she finally met his gaze, his breath caught in his throat, the rest of the world falling away.
“I bet…” she said quietly, her voice carrying to him despite the cacophony around them. “We were fun.”
The smile that broke across Peter’s face was like the sunrise after the longest night – slow, tentative at first, then brilliant and unstoppable.
“Like hell, we were,” he said, his voice rough with unshed tears. He stopped moving and just stared at her for a long moment, refusing to even breathe, as if he was contemplating heavily on something.
Then he held out his hand, palm up, an invitation rather than a demand. “Dance with me?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “No expectations, no pressure. Just… dance with me?”
Gamora studied him, her eyes calculating in a way that was achingly familiar and yet so different from the way she’d looked at him… before. “Why should I?” she asked, her voice neither cold nor warm, simply cautious. “I don’t know you.”
The words hit Peter like physical blows, each one driving deeper than the last. His outstretched hand trembled slightly, but he didn’t withdraw it.
“You did,” he said, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. “You knew me better than anyone ever has. And I… I knew you.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I loved you.”
Gamora’s expression flickered, something like regret crossing her face. “That wasn’t me.”
“I know,” Peter admitted, the words like broken glass in his mouth. “I know you’re not her. But you’re… you’re still Gamora. Different path, same soul. And I’m still me. And maybe… maybe that could be enough. To start over.” He drew a ragged breath. “Or maybe not. I don’t know. I just… I’ve missed you so much. Even if you’re not exactly her, you’re still… you’re still the most important person in my universe.”
Gamora hesitated, her eyes flickering to where Nebula watched them with an unreadable expression. When her sister gave an almost imperceptible nod, Gamora turned back to Peter, studying him with new eyes. She saw the raw pain in his face, the desperate hope he was trying to hide, and something in her softened.
“I never danced,” she said quietly. “Thanos didn’t exactly encourage… frivolity.”
“Your other self didn’t either, at first,” Peter said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Said she wasn’t some starry-eyed waif who would swoon just because I showed her the stars or played her some music.”
The corner of Gamora’s mouth twitched. “That sounds like me.”
“It was you,” Peter said softly. “Just… a you who got the chance to be more than what Thanos made you. A you who got to decide who you wanted to be.” He wiggled his fingers slightly, his hand still extended. “Maybe this is your chance to decide too.”
Gamora looked at his hand for a long moment, then back at his face – open, vulnerable, showing every scar that losing her had left on his soul. She thought about the life she’d left behind, the purpose she’d abandoned when she betrayed Thanos. She thought about the raw, genuine affection she’d seen between these strange people who called themselves family.
“I’m told I don’t dance,” she said, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. Then, with a grace that made Peter’s heart stutter, she placed her hand in his. “But perhaps I could learn.”
As her fingers closed around his, Peter felt something crack open inside his chest – not healing, not yet, but the possibility of it. A door opening where before there had only been a wall of grief. “I’ll teach you,” he promised, his voice thick. “Everything. Again. If… if you want to stay.”
Gamora looked around at the Guardians – at Rocket pretending not to watch them while surreptitiously wiping his eyes, at Drax beaming at them like a proud father, at Mantis whose antenna glowed with hope, at Groot who gave her a shy wave, at Nebula who simply nodded, a universe of meaning in the gesture.
“I have nowhere else to go,” she said, but there was no bitterness in the words, only a quiet wonderment. “And these people… they feel like…”
“Family,” Peter finished for her, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. “They are. We are. And family means nobody gets left behind.”
Gamora’s eyebrow quirked upward. “Did you just quote an Earth children’s movie at me?”
Peter’s laugh was startled, genuine. “How did you—”
“Nebula,” Gamora explained, the hint of a smile growing. “She mentioned you have… eclectic tastes.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Peter admitted, his eyes never leaving her face, drinking in every nuance of her expression like a man dying of thirst. “So… you’ll stay?”
Gamora studied him, seeing both the man he was and the ghost of the relationship they’d apparently had. It would be complicated. Painful, even. But looking at him – at all of them – she felt something she hadn’t experienced since she was a small child: the possibility of belonging.
“Yes,” she said finally. “I’ll stay.”
The smile that broke across Peter’s face was like watching a star being born – radiant and beautiful and full of hope. Without thinking, he started to pull her into an embrace, then caught himself, his expression apologetic.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t—”
Gamora surprised them both by stepping forward and carefully, awkwardly, putting her arms around him. It wasn’t the embrace of lovers – it was tentative, cautious, more like strangers testing the waters of friendship – but it was real. And for Peter, it was enough. It was the beginning of something new, something that honored what came before without being bound by it.
“Thank you,” he whispered against her hair, not even sure what he was thanking her for – for staying, for giving him a chance, for existing in any form in this universe that had felt so empty without her.
Gamora said nothing, but she didn’t pull away, and in that moment, it was enough.
As the sun began to move upwards, casting long shadows across the battlefield, the celebration only grew, spreading like wildfire from one pocket of heroes to another. Despite their exhaustion, despite wounds both physical and emotional, no one wanted to leave, to break the spell of this moment when death had been defied and the impossible made real.
It was Tony who finally spoke up, still holding Peter close, one arm wrapped protectively around the kid’s shoulders as if afraid he might vanish again. “I don’t know about you guys,” he called out, his voice carrying across the impromptu gathering, “but I’ve got a daughter who’s waiting to meet her big brother. And a tower with enough room for all of you misfits.”
He paused, his expression softening as he looked around at the assembled heroes – friends, family, the people who had fought and died and lived beside him. “What do you say we take this party somewhere with fewer… you know, alien corpses?”
A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd, followed by murmurs of agreement and the rustle of movement as people began gathering their belongings, helping the injured, preparing for the journey home.
—-
The tower blazed with light against the night sky, every window glowing with warmth, music spilling out onto the terrace where Thor stood with Loki, both brothers staring out at the city skyline as if seeing it for the first time.
“It’s not Asgard,” Thor said quietly, his hands wrapped around the railing, knuckles white with tension. “But it’s… it’s home, in its way.”
Loki’s gaze flickered to his brother’s profile, noting the new lines around his eyes, the weight he’d gained, the beard that had replaced his once-carefully-groomed appearance.
“You’ve changed,” he observed, his tone neutral.
Thor’s laugh was bitter, edged with a self-loathing that made Loki’s chest tighten. “Not for the better, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t know about that.” Loki’s eyes softened, though his tone remained sardonic. “You finally developed some fashion sense, though I question your choice of companions. The rabbit, particularly, seems questionable.”
“Rocket would be offended to hear you call him that,” Thor chuckled, some of the darkness lifting from his eyes. “He’d likely try to steal your eye as retribution.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Loki scoffed, but there was no real heat in it. His expression grew more serious as he studied Thor. “You’re still standing. After everything, after… after all you’ve lost. You’re still here.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “That’s more than most could claim.”
Thor’s hand found Loki’s shoulder, squeezing perhaps harder than necessary, as if to reassure himself of his brother’s solidity. “We’re both still here,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Against all odds, against death itself.” His eyes shone with unshed tears, the alcohol he’d consumed loosening his carefully constructed restraint. “I told them, you know. I told them you died a hero. That you saved my life.”
Loki’s expression flickered, a complex mixture of emotions too tangled to name. “Well, somebody had to save your sorry hide,” he said, his tone deliberately light, though something in his eyes betrayed the depth of feeling behind the words. “You’ve always been hopeless without me.”
Thor laughed, caught between tears and genuine mirth. “I’ve missed you, brother,” he admitted, the words raw with honesty. “Every day, every moment, I’ve missed you.”
“Sentiment,” Loki murmured, but there was no bite to the word, only a weariness, a longing. After a moment, he added, almost too quietly to hear, “But… I’ve missed you too. Even when I was… gone, I think some part of me missed you.”
The admission hung between them, fragile and precious. Thor’s eyes filled with tears again, and he didn’t bother trying to hide them. “Loki—”
Before he could continue, Bruce appeared in the doorway, a drink that looked comically small in his massive green hand. “Hey, you two planning on rejoining the party? Tony’s about to make some ridiculously emotional toast, and I think he wants everyone there.”
Thor’s gaze snapped to Bruce, and Loki didn’t miss the way his brother’s cheeks flushed, the slight quickening of his breath. Interesting. Very interesting.
“Bruce!” Thor boomed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “Yes, of course, we wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
Loki’s eyes darted between Thor and Bruce, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. “Well, well,” he murmured, too quietly for Bruce to hear but just loudly enough for Thor. “Isn’t this an interesting development?”
Thor shot him a warning look, which only made Loki’s smile widen.
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Thor said, clapping Loki on the back with enough force to make his brother stumble slightly. “Come, Loki. Let’s see what absurdity Stark has planned now.”
As they followed Bruce inside, Loki leaned close to Thor’s ear. “The green giant, brother? Really? Though I suppose he is rather… impressive in stature.”
“Shut up, Loki,” Thor growled, his cheeks growing even redder.
“Never,” Loki replied cheerfully, his eyes glinting with mischief. “This is far too entertaining. Tell me, does he turn green all over, or—”
“If you finish that sentence, I will throw you off this tower,” Thor threatened, though there was no real menace in his tone.
Loki laughed, the sound genuine and light in a way it hadn’t been for years. “Some things never change,” he observed, his smile softening into something almost fond. “Still so easy to rile up.”
“And you’re still a menace,” Thor grumbled, but he was smiling too, the bond between them battered and strained but unbroken.
Inside, the party was in full swing, the spacious common area transformed by laughter and music and the simple joy of being alive. Loki watched as Thor’s gaze followed Bruce across the room, noting the longing in his brother’s eyes with a mixture of amusement and an odd, unexpected tenderness.
“You should tell him,” he said quietly, surprising even himself with the sincerity of the suggestion.
Thor glanced at him, startled. “Tell who what?”
Loki rolled his eyes, his exasperation only partly feigned. “Don’t play dense, Thor. It doesn’t suit you.” He nodded toward Bruce, who was laughing at something Tony had said, his massive green form somehow fitting perfectly among the gathered heroes. “Tell him how you feel.”
Thor’s expression cycled through shock, denial, and finally a rueful acceptance. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who knows you as well as I do,” Loki assured him, his voice gentler than usual. “And perhaps to anyone with functioning eyes. You look at him like he’s Asgard’s sunset.”
Thor swallowed hard, his gaze drifting back to Bruce. “I don’t know if he feels the same. And after everything… after all the losses… I don’t know if I can bear another one.”
Loki considered this, then said simply, “Some risks are worth taking, brother.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “Besides, from the way he keeps glancing over here, I’d say your chances are better than you think.”
Thor’s head snapped up, his eyes searching the room until they found Bruce, who quickly looked away, a deeper shade of green creeping up his neck in what appeared to be a blush. “You think so?”
“I’m the God of Mischief, not the God of Relationship Advice,” Loki said dryly. “But yes, I think so. Now go talk to him before I die of boredom watching you pine.”
Thor took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders like he was preparing for battle. “If this goes badly, I’m blaming you,” he warned.
“Of course you are,” Loki agreed pleasantly. “That’s what siblings are for.”
With a final, nervous glance at his brother, Thor moved across the room toward Bruce, his stride purposeful despite the hint of uncertainty in his eyes.
Loki watched him go, a complex mixture of emotions swirling in his chest. Seeing Thor like this – vulnerable, uncertain, but still moving forward, still reaching for connection despite everything he’d lost – stirred something in Loki that he wasn’t entirely comfortable examining. Pride, perhaps. Admiration. Love, though he’d rather face Thanos again than admit it out loud.
“Well, well,” a voice said beside him, pulling him from his thoughts. “The reports of your death appear to have been greatly exaggerated. Again.”
Loki turned to find Natasha Romanoff regarding him with a raised eyebrow, her expression equal parts wary and amused. “Miss Romanoff,” he greeted her, inclining his head slightly. “A pleasure to see you again in less… adversarial circumstances.”
“Is it?” she asked, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “The last time we met, you threatened to have your alien army tear me apart.”
“Ah, yes,” Loki winced slightly. “Not my finest moment, I’ll admit. Though in my defense, I was being mind-controlled by an Infinity Stone at the time.”
Natasha’s eyebrow rose further. “Is that your story?”
“It’s the truth,” Loki said simply. “Though I understand if you find it… convenient.”
Natasha studied him for a long moment, then surprised him by offering a small, genuine smile. “We’ve all done things we regret,” she said quietly. “The question is what we do next.”
Loki’s gaze drifted to Thor, who was now engaged in animated conversation with Bruce, his hands gesturing enthusiastically, his face alight with something that looked like hope. “Indeed,” he murmured. “What we do next.”
Near the bar, Clint cradled Nathaniel in his arms, the toddler sleepy but fighting to stay awake, fascinated by the colorful characters filling the room. Laura leaned against his side, her arm around his waist, her eyes never leaving his face, as if afraid he might disappear if she looked away for too long.
“Auntie Nat!” Lila called out, tugging at Natasha’s hand. “You promised to teach me that cool flip thing, remember? Before… before everything went weird.”
Natasha’s smile wavered, her eyes bright with unshed tears as she knelt to Lila’s level. “I did, didn’t I?” she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind the girl’s ear. “And I always keep my promises.” She glanced up at Clint, a silent conversation passing between them, years of partnership making words unnecessary. “Maybe tomorrow, though, okay? Tonight is for celebrating.”
Cooper, more reserved than his sister, hovered nearby, watching the adults with solemn eyes that had seen too much for someone so young. “You’re really staying this time?” he asked Natasha, his voice quiet but carrying an intensity that made conversation around them falter.
Natasha’s composure cracked, just for a moment, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for him. “Come here,” she whispered, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Yes, I’m staying. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.” Her voice dropped even lower, meant for his ears alone. “I’m so sorry, Cooper. I’m so sorry you had to be the strong one for so long.”
The boy’s arms tightened around her, his face buried against her shoulder, his body shaking with suppressed sobs. “It’s okay,” he whispered back, the words muffled. “Dad told us you saved the world. That you’re a hero.”
Natasha’s eyes met Clint’s over Cooper’s head, a silent exchange filled with gratitude and grief and the unspoken promise to never let go again. “Your dad’s the real hero,” she said, loud enough for Clint to hear. “Always has been.”
On the other side of the room, Peter Parker stood frozen, his wide eyes fixed on the little girl who clung to Pepper’s hand, staring up at him with equal fascination. Morgan Stark, the miracle that had been born in the midst of unimaginable loss, the child who had saved Tony in ways no one else could.
“You’re Peter,” Morgan said matter-of-factly, her head tilted to one side, her expression serious and assessing in a way that was pure Tony. “Daddy told me all about you. You’re my brother.”
Peter swallowed hard, fighting back tears as he knelt to her level, his hands shaking slightly as he held them out. “Hi, Morgan,” he managed, his voice breaking on her name. “It’s… it’s really nice to meet you. Your dad told me about you too.” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “I’ve been… away for a while. But I’m back now, and I… I’d really like to be your brother, if that’s okay with you.”
Morgan considered this for a moment, her small face scrunched in concentration, before nodding decisively. “Okay,” she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “But you have to read me bedtime stories. And help me build robots. And teach me how to climb walls.”
A surprised laugh bubbled up from Peter’s chest, bright and genuine despite the tears still threatening to spill. “I think your dad might have something to say about that last one,” he said, glancing up at Tony, who watched them with such naked love on his face that it almost hurt to look at him directly.
“I think your dad might have something to say about all of those things,” Tony interjected, his voice rough with emotion, “but we can negotiate. After bedtime. Which,” he added, looking pointedly at Morgan, “is rapidly approaching, young lady.”
Morgan’s lower lip jutted out in a practiced pout. “But Daddy, the party just started! And I haven’t even shown Peter my lab yet!”
“Your lab?” Peter echoed, his eyes widening.
Tony shrugged, a small, private smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “What can I say? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. She’s already building circuit boards.” Pride colored his voice, warm and bright. “Not quite at my level of prodigy, but give her time. She’s already smarter than me in all the ways that matter.”
Peter felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Aunt May standing behind him, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, but a smile on her face that could have lit up the darkest night.
“Peter,” she breathed, pulling him into a fierce hug that knocked the breath from his lungs. “Oh my god, Peter, you’re really here, you’re really okay—”
“I’m okay, May,” he murmured, returning her embrace just as tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume that had always meant home to him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Over May’s shoulder, he saw Pepper approaching Tony, slipping her hand into his with a quiet grace that spoke of years of partnership, of weathering storms together. “Hey,” she said softly, her eyes reflecting the same wonder that shone in Tony’s, “is everything okay over here?”
Tony nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment, his gaze moving from Peter to Morgan to May and back again, the family he’d thought lost forever now miraculously whole.
“Yeah,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion. “Everything’s… everything’s perfect.”
May released Peter, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand before turning to Pepper. For a moment, the two women simply looked at each other, a wealth of unspoken understanding passing between them – both had loved and worried over the same impossible, brilliant boy, both had faced the prospect of a world without him.
“Thank you,” May said simply, the words inadequate but sincere. “For bringing him back. For keeping him alive when I couldn’t.”
Pepper’s composure cracked, just for a moment, as she pulled May into an embrace that bridged the gap between them, transforming them from acquaintances into family in the space of a heartbeat. “We both know this one,” she said, nodding toward Tony with a watery smile, “would have moved heaven and earth to bring him home. Peter is… he’s as much ours as Morgan.”
“Hey now,” Tony protested, though his eyes were suspiciously bright, “let’s not get too sentimental here. I have a reputation to maintain.” But his voice betrayed him, cracking on the last word, his hand tightening around Pepper’s as if she were an anchor in a storm.
“Yeah, a reputation for being a total softie,” Rhodey called out, approaching with a drink in each hand, grinning at the way Tony’s face flushed. “Don’t let him fool you, May. He’s been talking about this kid nonstop for years. ‘Peter this, Peter that, wait till you see what Peter built.’ It’s been insufferable.”
“I let you live in my tower,” Tony grumbled, but there was no heat in it, only a warmth that reached his eyes, softening the lines of stress and grief that had become so familiar over the past five years. “Show a little respect.”
Rhodey’s laugh was warm and genuine as he pressed a drink into Tony’s hand. “Respect? For you? Never.” But the way his hand lingered on Tony’s shoulder, the way his eyes searched his friend’s face, spoke of a devotion that went beyond words, beyond blood, beyond even the battlefield.
As the night deepened, the party showed no signs of winding down. Instead, it seemed to grow, taking on a life of its own, fueled by relief and joy and the simple miracle of being alive, of being together.
In one corner, Steve and Bucky sat close together, their shoulders touching, their heads bent in quiet conversation. Five years of absence hung between them, along with nearly a century of shared history, of loss and longing and things left unsaid.
“You know,” Bucky said quietly, his eyes fixed on his metal hand where it rested on his knee, “I thought about you every day. Even when I didn’t know my own name, I remembered you.”
Steve’s breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs with a force that threatened to break them. “Buck—”
“Let me finish,” Bucky interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “I need to say this, Steve. I’ve been carrying it for too long.” He looked up then, meeting Steve’s gaze directly, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that was all the more powerful for its rarity. “I’ve loved you since we were kids in Brooklyn. Loved you in ways I wasn’t supposed to, in ways that could have gotten us both killed back then. And I never said it, because I was afraid. Afraid of losing you, afraid of what it meant, afraid of… everything.”
The world seemed to stop, the noise of the party fading to a distant hum as Steve stared at Bucky, his expression a complex mixture of disbelief and dawning hope. “Why now?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Why tell me this now?”
Bucky’s smile was small, private, tinged with both sorrow and strength. “Because I died, Steve. Twice. And both times, my last thought was of you, and of all the things I never said.” He reached out, his hand hovering just shy of Steve’s face, a question in the gesture. “I’m tired of being afraid. Tired of waiting for the right moment, because there is no right moment, not in our lives. There’s just now, just this moment, and I don’t want to waste it anymore.”
Steve’s hand came up to cover Bucky’s, guiding it to his cheek, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “I’ve loved you my whole life,” he admitted, the words tumbling out as if a dam had broken. “Even when I was with Peggy, even when I thought you were gone forever, even when I didn’t recognize the man you’d become – I loved you through all of it.”
For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, decades of unspoken longing hanging in the air between them. Then, with a courage born of knowing exactly how precious and precarious life could be, Steve leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bucky’s.
The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, both of them trembling with the weight of what they were finally allowing themselves to have. But then Bucky’s hand slid into Steve’s hair, his metal arm wrapping around Steve’s waist to pull him closer, and the kiss deepened, becoming something hungry and desperate and achingly tender all at once.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Steve rested his forehead against Bucky’s, his eyes closed, savoring the moment, committing it to memory. “I thought I’d never have this,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I thought I’d lost my chance, lost you, lost everything.”
Bucky’s fingers traced the line of Steve’s jaw, reverent and wondering. “You never lost me, punk,” he murmured, the old nickname carrying a wealth of feeling. “Even when I didn’t know myself, I knew you. I always find my way back to you.” His lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “End of the line, remember?”
“End of the line,” Steve echoed, his own smile breaking through like sunlight after the longest storm.
Across the room, the music shifted to something slower, more intimate, and couples began to gravitate toward the makeshift dance floor. Tony, more than a little drunk on both alcohol and happiness, pulled Pepper into his arms, swaying with her in a rhythm that was more emotion than technique.
“Have I told you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, “how absolutely, mind-blowingly lucky I am to have you?”
Pepper’s laugh vibrated against his chest, warm and real and so achingly familiar that it made his heart clench. “Only about twenty times tonight,” she teased, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”
Tony pulled back just enough to look at her face, to drink in every detail – the freckles across her nose, the laugh lines around her eyes, the way her hair caught the light like living fire. “I love you,” he said simply, the words inadequate but heartfelt. “I love you, and I love our kids, and I love this ridiculous, messy, beautiful life we’ve built together. And I am never, ever letting go of it again.”
Pepper’s eyes filled with tears, but her smile was radiant, lighting her from within. “You’d better not,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him, slow and sweet and full of promise. “Because I didn’t spend five years holding everything together just to let you off the hook now, Tony Stark.”
Tony laughed against her lips, spinning her in a clumsy circle that nearly sent them both tumbling into Thor, who was engaged in an increasingly enthusiastic conversation with Bruce, his hands gesturing wildly, his cheeks flushed with drink and emotion.
“And then,” Thor boomed, nearly spilling his drink as he threw an arm around Bruce’s massive shoulders, “then my brother appears! Back from the dead! Again!” He dissolved into laughter that bordered on tears, his grip on Bruce tightening. “He’s going to be the death of me, this one. Always with the tricks, always with the dying and coming back to life. It’s exhausting, being his brother.”
Bruce’s smile was gentle, understanding, his hand steady where it rested on Thor’s back. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way,” he observed quietly.
Thor’s laughter faded, replaced by a vulnerability that was all the more powerful for its rarity, his eyes suddenly too bright, too full. “No,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “No, I wouldn’t. He’s all I have left, Bruce. All that remains of Asgard, of my family, of… of home.”
The weight of Thor’s grief seemed to press down on him suddenly, the joy of the evening unable to fully mask the losses he’d suffered, the price he’d paid. Without warning, he pulled Bruce into a crushing embrace, burying his face against the scientist’s massive shoulder, his body shaking with suppressed sobs.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words muffled. “I’m ruining the celebration. I should be happy. We won, we got everyone back, we—”
“Hey,” Bruce interrupted gently, one enormous hand cradling the back of Thor’s head with surprising tenderness. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling everything you’re feeling, Thor. Joy and grief can exist side by side. It doesn’t make either one less real.”
Thor looked up, his face streaked with tears, vulnerability etched into every line of his expression. “When did you get so wise, Big Guy?” he asked, a weak smile breaking through the sorrow.
Bruce’s answering smile was tinged with his own losses, his own hard-won wisdom. “Somewhere between losing everything and finding a way to live with what’s left,” he said simply. Then, with a gentleness that belied his size, he pressed a kiss to Thor’s forehead, a gesture of comfort more than romance, though the boundary between the two had always been blurry when it came to them. “You’re not alone, Thor. Not anymore. Not ever again, if I have anything to say about it.”
Thor’s breath hitched, surprise flashing across his face before it softened into something close to wonder. The flush on his cheeks deepened, spreading down his neck, and he found himself suddenly, uncharacteristically lost for words.
From across the room, Loki watched the interaction with undisguised amusement, raising his glass in a mock toast when Thor caught his eye. Thor’s blush intensified, and Loki’s grin widened.
“Oh, brother,” Loki murmured to himself, chuckling. “You are utterly transparent.”
Without overthinking it, without the hesitation that might have held him back before, Thor surged forward and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s cheek – clumsy, impulsive, but filled with genuine affection.
“Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying a weight beyond their simplicity.
Bruce blinked in surprise, his own cheeks darkening to a deeper shade of green. “Anytime,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving Thor’s face. “I mean it.”
The moment was interrupted by a crash from across the room, followed by uproarious laughter. They turned to find Tony sprawled on the floor, his drink spilled across Rhodey’s shoes, both men laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
“Did you see—” Tony gasped, clutching at his sides. “Did you see Morgan’s face? Oh my god, she’s never going to let me live this down.”
Rhodey reached down to help him up, still chuckling, his grip steady despite his own laughter. “Smooth moves, Stark. Real graceful.”
As Tony regained his feet, their faces suddenly very close, an impulse born of alcohol and overwhelming joy made him press a quick, affectionate kiss to Rhodey’s lips – nothing passionate, just a burst of unrestrained happiness that overflowed in the most natural way.
For a split second, the room seemed to freeze, everyone waiting to see how Rhodey would react. Then he burst out laughing, shoving Tony playfully away. “You become too gay when you’re drunk Tones,” he said, his voice warm with decades of friendship. “And if you think that makes up for ruining my shoes, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Excuse me,” Pepper called out, her eyes dancing with amusement as she approached, one eyebrow raised in mock disapproval. “That’s my husband you’re kissing, Colonel Rhodes. I’m going to have to ask you to keep your hands – and lips – to yourself.”
Rhodey held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “He started it.”
“He always does,” Pepper sighed, though her smile never faltered. She slipped her arm through Tony’s, steadying him. “And somehow, we always let him get away with it.”
Tony beamed at both of them, his expression so openly loving, so unguarded, that it made something catch in Rhodey’s throat. “That’s because you both love me,” he declared, with the absolute confidence of the thoroughly beloved.
“God help us, but we do,” Rhodey agreed, his eyes softening as he looked at his oldest friend – the brilliant, exasperating, endlessly complicated man who had been the constant in his life through war and peace and alien invasions. “Though I’m still making you pay for these shoes.”
The room erupted in laughter again, the tension dissolving as quickly as it had formed, replaced by the easy camaraderie of people who had seen each other at their best and worst, who had fought and died and lived together.
In a quiet corner of the expansive living area, Natasha found herself sitting beside Clint, both of them watching the celebrations with slightly detached expressions, observers rather than participants – a habit neither had quite managed to break, despite everything.
“So,” Natasha said, keeping her voice deliberately casual. “You’re going home tomorrow?”
Clint nodded, his eyes tracking his children as they weaved through the crowd, Laura laughing as Cooper tried to teach Morgan a complicated handshake. “Yeah. Farm needs tending. Kids need… well, everything.” His voice caught slightly. “Five years is a long time to be gone.”
Natasha was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the arm of the chair. “I missed them,” she admitted softly. “Your family. The farm. Sunday dinners and board games and Cooper complaining about math homework.” She glanced at him, a vulnerability in her eyes that few were ever allowed to see. “I missed you.”
Clint’s hand found hers, squeezing gently. “You’re always welcome there, Nat. You know that. It’s your home too.”
She blinked rapidly, looking away. “I wasn’t sure. After… everything. After what you did, what I did… I wasn’t sure there was a place for me anymore.”
“There’s always a place for you,” Clint said firmly, his grip on her hand tightening. “Always, Nat. No matter what happens, no matter what either of us does – there will always be a place for you at that table. You’re family.”
Natasha swallowed hard, her composure threatening to crack. “What if I don’t know how to be that person anymore? The ‘Auntie Nat’ who braids Lila’s hair and makes ridiculous pancakes on Sundays?”
Clint’s smile was gentle, understanding. “You don’t have to be anything. Just… be there. That’s all any of us needs. Just for you to be there.”
In another corner, far from the main celebration, Peter Parker sat with his aunt May, both of them overwhelmed by the scale of it all – the victory, the reunion, the sheer number of superheroes currently packed into Tony Stark’s living room.
“This is crazy,” Peter whispered, wide-eyed. “Like, completely insane. All these people, all these… beings… and Mr. Stark-Tony invited everyone here, like it’s just a normal Tuesday or something.”
May laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. “I don’t think anything about this day is normal, sweetie.”
Peter leaned into her embrace, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I was gone, May,” he said, his voice cracking. “For five years, I was just… gone. And you were here, alone, and I didn’t know, I didn’t feel anything, but you… you had to live through that.”
May’s arms tightened around him, her own eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Peter,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. “My sweet boy. I wasn’t alone. Tony… he made sure I wasn’t alone. He checked on me every week, brought me groceries, fixed things around the apartment. Made sure I had everything I needed.”
Peter looked up, startled. “Mr. Stark did that?”
“He did,” May confirmed, her voice thick with emotion. “He said he owed it to you, to make sure I was okay. But I think… I think it was as much for him as it was for me. I think taking care of me was the only way he knew how to keep you with him.” Peter looked towards a beaming Tony who was squishing Pepper’s cheeks and kissing her until she finally got untangled from the mess, laughing and hugging her husband.
“I am so glad that we are all alive tonight, May.” May’s eyes welled with tears and she hugged her nephew tightly, kissing his forehead.
“You have no idea how glad I am, kiddo.”
There was commotion in the middle of the room again, and everyone turned to look at a very obviously drunk Tony. He cleared his throat, climbing onto a coffee table to address the room. Pepper rolled her eyes fondly but made no move to stop him.
“Alright, alright, settle down, you bunch of emotional superheroes,” Tony called out, swaying slightly as he balanced on the table. “Since we’re all here—and apparently some of us are back from the definitively dead, which, by the way, is getting to be a habit around here that I both hate and love—I have an announcement.”
He paused dramatically, sweeping his gaze across the assembled heroes. “This tower—my tower, Stark Tower, Avengers Tower, whatever you want to call it—has enough rooms for all of you. And I want you to stay. Not just tonight, but… whenever you need a place. Permanently, if you want.”
Conversations hushed as everyone turned to look at him. Tony’s expression softened, uncharacteristic vulnerability showing through his usual bravado.
“Look, I know we all have our own lives, our own homes. But after everything we’ve been through… I don’t want us to drift apart again. So, I’m officially declaring this place home base for any Avenger, Guardian, wizard, or whatever the hell you call yourself—” he nodded toward Strange, who raised an eyebrow “—who needs a place in New York. No questions asked, no rent required.”
Steve stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. “Tony, that’s incredibly generous, but many of us have commitments elsewhere. I’m not sure—”
“Then stay on weekends,” Tony interrupted, his tone turning stubborn. “One weekend a month, minimum. All of you. Non-negotiable. Consider it team building, consider it therapy, consider it me being clingy and traumatized—I don’t care. But I’m not letting this family fragment again.” His voice cracked slightly on the word ‘family.’ “Five years was too damn long without all your annoying faces around.”
The room was quiet for a moment, and then Rhodey spoke up. “I’m in. God knows someone needs to keep an eye on you, Tones.”
“We’ll be here,” Steve said, his arm around Bucky’s waist. “One weekend a month, at minimum.”
Agreements rippled through the crowd, from Clint’s “The kids will love it” to Thor’s enthusiastic “A most excellent arrangement!” to Drax’s bewildered “What is a weekend?” which Quill hastily attempted to explain.
Tony’s smile was brilliant, relief and joy mingling on his face. “Great! That’s… that’s settled then. Also, everyone’s staying tonight because I’ve had way too much to drink to fly anyone home in the suits, and frankly, I think we could all use a proper slumber party after saving the universe.”
——
As the night progressed and inhibitions lowered with each round of drinks, the celebration took on the quality of a family reunion crossed with a college party—complete with increasingly embarrassing stories.
“No, no, you have to hear this,” Rhodey insisted, barely containing his laughter as he recounted one of Tony’s MIT escapades. “So there he is, buck naked except for the Iron Man helmet prototype—which, by the way, weighed about thirty pounds and kept tipping over—trying to explain to campus security that he was conducting a ‘scientific experiment’ on aerodynamics!”
Tony groaned, covering his face with his hands as Morgan giggled uncontrollably beside him. “Betrayed by my own best friend,” he lamented. “And in front of my child, no less.”
“Please,” Pepper snorted, “as if she hasn’t heard worse from you directly.”
“Daddy once tried to make a robot that could brush your teeth for you,” Morgan announced proudly. “It exploded and we had toothpaste on the ceiling for weeks!”
The room erupted in laughter as Tony pulled Morgan into a playful headlock. “Traitor! Et tu, Morguna?”
Not to be outdone, Thor launched into a tale of Loki’s adolescent shapeshifting mishaps. “He meant to transform into a majestic eagle to impress a girl he fancied, but something went awry and he ended up as this… what was it, brother?”
“I will murder you in your sleep,” Loki threatened pleasantly, his smile not reaching his eyes.
“A penguin!” Thor boomed, ignoring the threat. “A small, fluffy penguin, waddling around the palace halls, unable to change back for three days!”
Loki closed his eyes in dignified suffering as the room dissolved into fresh peals of laughter. “I was fourteen, and that ‘girl’ went on to become Asgard’s most renowned sorceress, so clearly my strategy was sound.”
The stories continued, each more outrageous than the last—Scott recounting the time he accidentally shrunk and got trapped in Hope’s hair for hours; Natasha revealing the surveillance footage she’d kept of Clint falling through a ceiling vent during a mission; Bruce reluctantly sharing how he’d once Hulked out after a particularly spicy curry, resulting in a destroyed restaurant and a very green, very naked dash through downtown Calcutta.
As midnight approached, the party showed no signs of slowing. Tony enlisted FRIDAY to transform the common area into an impromptu karaoke stage, resulting in a series of performances ranging from impressive (T’Challa’s surprisingly smooth rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”) to enthusiastic but painful (Thor and Bruce’s duet of “Immigrant Song,” complete with air guitar).
The highlight came when Steve, emboldened by Asgardian mead, took the stage to perform “Star-Spangled Man With a Plan,” his deadpan delivery and synchronized salutes sending the room into hysterics. Bucky recorded the entire performance, solemnly promising to use it as blackmail material for the next century.
In a quieter corner, Peter had finally convinced Gamora to dance with him, their movements hesitant at first, neither quite sure of their place in this new reality they found themselves in.
“I’m not her,” Gamora said quietly, her eyes searching his face. “The woman you knew, the woman you… loved. I’m not her.”
Peter’s smile was sad but genuine, his hands gentle where they rested at her waist. “I know,” he admitted, the acknowledgment painful but necessary. “And I’m not asking you to be. I’m just asking for a chance to know you – this you, exactly as you are. No expectations, no pressure. Just… a chance.”
Something in Gamora’s expression softened, a vulnerability showing through the warrior’s façade. “I’d like that,” she said simply, allowing herself to move closer, to let her head rest against his shoulder for just a moment. “A chance sounds… good.”
Nearby, Rocket watched them with a mixture of hope and wariness, his small hand never leaving Groot’s arm, as if afraid the tree creature might vanish again if he let go.
“You think they’ll work it out?” he asked gruffly, nodding toward Quill and Gamora.
Groot followed his gaze, his expression thoughtful. “I am Groot,” he said solemnly, the familiar phrase somehow conveying a wealth of nuance, of hope tempered by realism.
Rocket sighed, leaning against Groot’s side. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Nothing’s ever easy with those two.” He paused, then added quietly, “But I hope they do. We’ve all lost enough, don’t you think? Maybe it’s time we got to keep something good for a change.”
Groot’s arm wrapped around Rocket’s small form, branches curling protectively. “I am Groot,” he agreed softly, the words a promise as much as an observation.
As the night deepened toward dawn, the celebration showed no signs of waning. If anything, it grew more intimate, more genuine, the forced cheer of the early hours giving way to something deeper, more real – the quiet joy of people who had stared into the abyss and returned, changed but intact, scarred but alive.
On the terrace, Natasha stood alone for a moment, watching the first hints of dawn coloring the eastern sky. She heard footsteps behind her but didn’t turn, recognizing Clint’s tread as easily as her own heartbeat.
“Nathaniel’s finally asleep,” he said quietly, coming to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Took three bedtime stories and a promise that Auntie Nat would teach him ‘cool spy stuff’ tomorrow.”
Natasha’s smile was soft, genuine in a way few people ever got to see. “I’ll teach him how to hide his vegetables and blame it on Cooper,” she said, her voice light despite the emotion underlying it. “Start him young.”
Clint laughed, the sound freer than it had been in years, unburdened by the weight of guilt and grief that had become his constant companions. “Laura would kill us both,” he said, bumping his shoulder against hers. “But I’d probably let you get away with it anyway.”
“You always do,” she teased, though there was a depth to the words, a history that stretched back years, through missions and mayhem and moments of quiet understanding. She hesitated, then added, “I still don’t understand how I’m here, Clint. The soul stone requires a sacrifice. That’s the rule. A soul for a soul.”
Clint’s hand found hers, his fingers warm and callused, familiar in a way that grounded her. “Maybe the rules changed,” he suggested quietly. “Or maybe… maybe the sacrifice was always supposed to be temporary. A test, not a sentence.” He squeezed her hand, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Or maybe the universe just knew better than to keep you away from me for too long. You know how cranky I get without supervision.”
A surprised laugh escaped her, genuine and bright, and she leaned against him, allowing herself to accept the comfort he offered. “I saw her, Clint,” she said after a moment, her voice soft with wonder. “My mother. My real mother. She was… she was beautiful. And kind. And she told me she was proud of me.” Her voice broke on the last word, tears spilling down her cheeks unchecked.
Clint’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close, his cheek resting against her hair. “Of course she was proud of you,” he murmured, his own voice thick with emotion. “How could she not be? You saved the universe, Nat. You saved all of us.” He paused, then added, with a fierceness that left no room for doubt, “But don’t you ever do that to me again, you hear? No more sacrificing yourself. Next time, we find another way. Together.”
Natasha nodded against his shoulder, allowing herself to be held, to be comforted, to be loved – not as the Black Widow, not as an Avenger, but simply as Natasha, as family.
“Together,” she agreed softly. “Always.”
Inside, the party had begun to wind down, though no one seemed eager to leave, to break the spell of this night when miracles had been made real, when loss had been undone. Wanda sat beside Vision, their hands intertwined, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched the others with matching expressions of quiet wonder.
“I still don’t understand how you’re here,” Wanda murmured, her thumb tracing patterns across the back of his hand. “Thanos destroyed the stone before the snap. You were gone before anyone else.”
Vision’s smile was gentle, tinged with the same mystery that had always surrounded him, the same quiet understanding of things beyond human comprehension. “Perhaps the stones have a wisdom of their own,” he suggested, his voice soft. “Or perhaps… perhaps the human part of me was stronger than we knew.”
His fingers tightened around hers, an anchor in the storm of possibility. “All I know is that I felt myself dissolving, and then… there was light. And I heard your voice, calling me home.”
Wanda looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears that refused to fall, a smile breaking through the grief that had become her constant companion. “I never stopped calling for you,” she admitted, the words barely audible. “Even when I thought you were gone forever, even when I thought I’d lost my mind with grief… I kept looking for you, kept waiting for you to find your way back to me.”
Vision’s hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch infinitely gentle. “And I will always find my way back to you, Wanda,” he promised, the words a vow, a certainty as absolute as the stars. “In this life or the next, through any darkness, across any distance. Nothing can keep me from you. Not even death itself.”
As dawn broke over the city, spilling golden light across the tower, the celebration finally began to quiet. Tony Stark, ever the maestro of chaos, had taken on the role of slightly drunk hotel manager with the kind of flair only he could pull off.
Clutching a glass of scotch in one hand and a tablet in the other, he stood in the center of the Avengers Tower lobby, barking out room assignments with the arbitrary authority of someone who owned the building and didn’t care much for logical arrangements. The assembled heroes, Guardians, and assorted misfits watched with a mix of amusement and mild concern as Tony began his grand performance.
“Alright, listen up, people!” Tony announced, his voice carrying the faint slur of someone who had definitely enjoyed his own bar a little too much. “I’ve taken the liberty of assigning rooms. No complaints, no negotiations. My tower, my rules. Capiche?”
Steve Rogers raised an eyebrow, already bracing himself for whatever nonsense was about to come out of Tony’s mouth. Bucky Barnes, standing beside him, looked mildly intrigued, his metal arm glinting under the lobby lights.
“Rogers, Barnes—you get the blue suite on floor seventy-two,” Tony declared, pointing at them with his glass. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’ll be up to, so the walls are soundproofed. You’re welcome.”
Steve turned a brilliant shade of red, spluttering something about “decency” and “boundaries,” while Bucky merely smirked and saluted. “Thanks, Stark. Always looking out for us.”
Tony waved them off and turned to Thor and Bruce, who were standing together looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. “Point Break, you’re with Bruce on seventy-three. The ceiling’s reinforced in case of… enthusiastic discussions.”
Thor looked confused for a moment, his brow furrowing as he processed Tony’s words. Then understanding dawned, and his cheeks flushed nearly as bright as Steve’s. “Stark, I assure you, there will be no—“
“Save it, big guy,” Tony interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’ve seen the way you two argue about science and magic. It’s basically foreplay. Next! Quill, you and Gamora get the guest suite on seventy-one. Separate beds, don’t argue—my tower, my rules, and she still looks like she might stab you in your sleep.”
Peter Quill opened his mouth to protest, then glanced at Gamora, who was giving him a look that could melt vibranium. “That’s… fair,” he admitted, while Gamora nodded approvingly.
Tony moved on, his finger jabbing in the direction of the Barton family. “Bartons, you get the family suite on my floor because Morgan adores your kids and will raise hell if they’re not nearby for pancakes in the morning. Romanoff, you’re with Laura because Clint snores like a chainsaw and Laura deserves better company.”
Clint opened his mouth to protest, then shrugged. “Yeah, that’s accurate.”
Natasha smirked, linking her arm with Laura’s. “I’ll take it. Anything’s better than listening to you saw logs all night.”
As the heroes dispersed to their assigned quarters, a few mishaps inevitably occurred. Thor, unfamiliar with Earth’s elevators, got lost and ended up in Rocket’s room. The resulting argument involved a series of creative threats from Rocket, including specific body parts and electrical sockets, before Thor finally found his way to the correct floor.
Drax, misunderstanding the concept of “guest rooms,” attempted to sleep in the kitchen, insisting it was the heart of any proper home. “A warrior must always be close to sustenance!” he declared, sprawled across the counter like a particularly large and immovable piece of furniture.
It took Mantis and Peter nearly an hour to coax him out, promising him a proper bed and a midnight snack.
Meanwhile, Peter, overwhelmed by the evening’s events, accidentally webbed himself to the ceiling in his sleep. When Tony found him at three in the morning, the kid was dangling like a confused spider, muttering something about
“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.” Tony, bleary-eyed and still slightly tipsy, had to use a repulsor beam to free him, muttering under his breath about “babysitting a human spider.”
On the main couch, Tony sat with Morgan curled up asleep in his lap, Peter dozing against his shoulder, and Pepper nestled against his other side, her eyes half-closed but a soft smile playing at her lips.
“They’re okay,” she murmured, nodding toward their children, her voice heavy with sleep but filled with wonder. “They’re really okay.”
Tony pressed a kiss to her forehead, his throat tight with emotion, his heart so full it threatened to burst from his chest. “Yeah,” he whispered, his arms tightening around his family – the family he’d thought lost forever, the family that had somehow, against all odds, been given back to him. “We all are.”
In that moment, surrounded by the people he loved most in the world, Tony Stark – genius, billionaire, former playboy, philanthropist, husband, father – finally allowed himself to believe in miracles. To accept that sometimes, just sometimes, the universe gave back what it had taken. And in the soft light of dawn, with his family safe in his arms, he made a silent promise to never let go again.