two.
There was only so much studying Peter could do before the words in front of him stopped making any sense. At this point, they barely looked like English anymore—mostly because they weren’t. Spanish. Right. That’s what Wanda and Vision were helping him study, sitting at the large dining table in the common space of the Avengers compound. He felt a pang of guilt as he watched them so invested in helping him. Wanda was patiently explaining the intricacies of verb conjugations, while Vision effortlessly switched between Spanish and English, highlighting each mistake with a gentle correction. They were so into it, and Peter really appreciated it—he did. But, man, he just wanted to relax now.
The weekend was supposed to be for taking a break from school, not drowning in conjugations. “Right,” Peter muttered under his breath, squinting at the page. “So... you drop the ‘-ar’ and add the—”
“—‘-as,’ if it's tú,” Vision corrected smoothly, his synthetic voice as clear as ever.
Peter smiled weakly, but his brain was starting to short-circuit.
Luckily, salvation came in the form of a metallic ding as the elevator doors slid open. He didn't even look up right away—he was too busy faking interest in his textbook—but then he heard the unmistakable heavy footfalls.
“Peter, your shoulders just tensed,” Wanda said quietly, a slight smirk playing on her lips.
And of course, there he was: Captain America. Peter straightened up instinctively, a reflex he hadn’t quite shaken whenever Steve Rogers walked into the room. He respected Cap, obviously. But things were... weird. Tony—Dad—and Steve had made up, or at least reached some sort of understanding, but Peter still felt like he was walking on eggshells around the guy.
It’s fine. Be normal. Don’t say anything weird. Be cool.
“H-Hi, Mr. Captain, sir!” Peter blurted out, louder than he meant to. Smooth, Parker. Real smooth.
Steve’s mouth twitched into a smile as he made his way toward them. “Just Steve, Peter. You don’t have to keep adding ‘sir.’ Makes me feel old.”
Peter flushed, his face burning as he quickly shut his textbook, grateful for the distraction. “R-Right. Sorry. Steve.”
Steve gave Wanda and Vision a nod before focusing back on Peter. “Friday said I’d find you here.”
Peter frowned slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. Why is Captain America looking for me? “Oh, um... was I supposed to meet you for something?” He racked his brain, running through any scheduled training sessions he might’ve forgotten.
“Nah, nothing like that,” Steve said casually, stopping at the edge of the table. “I was just about to start on dinner, and Nat usually helps me out in the kitchen, but she had to step out. Figured maybe you’d want to hang out and help?”
Peter blinked. Captain America wanted him to help him make dinner?
His immediate reaction was to find an excuse—his mind flashed to the conjugation nightmare he’d just been enduring—but then he realized that cooking with Steve might actually be... kind of cool. Maybe even a way to stop feeling so awkward around him.
“Oh, uh, yeah! Sure! I mean, I don’t know if I’m as good as Nat, but I’d love to help,” Peter said, standing up a little too quickly and almost knocking over his chair. He caught it just in time, smiling sheepishly as he righted it. “What’re we making?”
Steve smiled warmly, clearly amused by Peter’s enthusiasm. “Nothing too complicated. Spaghetti and meatballs sound good?”
Peter’s eyes lit up. “Totally! My aunt used to make that all the time.” Not well, but that was aside the point.
“Perfect,” Steve replied. “Let’s head to the kitchen.”
Peter glanced back at Wanda and Vision, both of whom were watching the exchange with mild amusement. Wanda raised an eyebrow, giving Peter an encouraging smile. Go on, her expression seemed to say.
“Thanks for the help with the Spanish,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I’ve, uh... absorbed enough for today.”
Wanda chuckled softly. “You did great, Peter. Enjoy cooking.”
Vision gave a small, approving nod. “You’ve made significant progress. We can continue later if you’d like.”
Peter smiled awkwardly before turning to follow Steve. As they walked down the hallway, Peter felt his nerves start to bubble up again. It wasn’t like he disliked Steve—he just... wasn’t sure where they stood. Tony and Steve had history, complicated history, and Peter always felt caught in the middle of it, even though they were all supposedly good now
•
Steve had been planning on asking Bucky to help with dinner after Natasha bailed on him last minute, but her immediate follow-up text changed everything: Why don’t you ask the kid?
Steve stared at the message. Maybe she was right? He’d been trying to keep his distance, giving Peter space, hoping the boy would come to him when he was ready. But that just left them... avoiding each other. Everyone saw it, everyone knew it, and Steve hated that it bugged him. He’d never had a problem being liked—well, other Avengers and villains didn’t count. But a kid? Steve was used to being a magnet for kids. He was the guy people trusted to be around their families. He did PSA videos, visited children’s hospitals, posed for pictures. Heck, he’d even become a meme a few times.
But Peter? Peter adored all the other heroes—Tony, Natasha, even Clint. And Steve? Steve was the one Peter tiptoed around, always on edge. The tension between them was so thick it was suffocating, and Steve knew it was his fault.
He’d seen the way Peter stuck to Tony’s side like glue. Blood relation or not, that kid loved Tony like a father, and Steve could see why. Tony had done a lot of growing up since the days Steve thought he was nothing more than a selfish playboy. And after Siberia—after Steve almost took Tony’s life—well, it was no wonder Peter kept his distance. Steve didn’t deserve Peter’s trust.
He rubbed the back of his neck, the memory of Peter—tiny, toddler Peter—blurting out how he’d seen the footage of Siberia weighing heavy on his chest. Steve had felt his heart sink at the time, realizing just how much pain he'd caused, and knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to take it back. If he could’ve changed his actions that day, he would have, in a heartbeat. But he couldn’t.
He didn’t even think he deserved Tony’s forgiveness, but Tony had given it to him anyway. Somehow. Steve still couldn’t shake the feeling that Tony had become the better man while Steve had been left grappling with his own flaws. The ugly truth was, Steve had once thought Tony was the selfish one. That Tony was the guy who could never be a real hero, not the way Steve was. Turns out, Steve had been wrong.
And now? Now Steve was the one who had to make things right, starting with Peter.
Dinner wasn’t going to fix everything, not by a long shot. But it was a start, a small step toward building something. Maybe by cooking together, they could break the ice—maybe Steve could show Peter that he wasn’t a threat. That he cared.
When they entered the kitchen, Steve clapped his hands together with a bit more energy than necessary, turning to Peter, who stood in the doorway, shifting uncomfortably. The kid’s eyes flicked up to meet Steve’s, then quickly darted away. Steve could see the wariness, the unease Peter was trying to hide, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. Peter didn’t trust him. Not really. And Steve knew why.
Swallowing the ache that rose in his throat, Steve forced a smile. He moved to the sink and washed his hands, taking his time, hoping it might ease some of the tension. He stepped to the side and gestured for Peter to do the same. "You’ll want to wash up before we get started."
Peter hesitated for a second, then moved forward, giving Steve a tight nod before stepping up to the sink. He scrubbed his hands quietly, eyes downcast.
As soon as Peter finished, Steve pulled out the old recipe book from his pocket—a family heirloom, still written in his mother’s careful handwriting. He flipped it open to the page for her special homemade meatballs and sauce.
“This was my mom’s recipe,” Steve said, his voice softer now, trying to make the moment feel more personal. “She used to make it for us on Sundays back in Brooklyn.” He didn’t glance up as he said it, his fingers tracing the faded ink on the page. There was something about bringing up his mother that felt… grounding. Maybe it would break the awkwardness. “Figured we could try it out today.”
Peter nodded again, though he didn’t say much, just stood there, hands tucked into his hoodie sleeves, the quiet between them growing heavier by the second.
Steve exhaled slowly, closing his eyes briefly before turning to Peter. "Look, I know things between us have been... rough," he started, his voice low, careful. He wasn’t one to dance around the issue. "And I get why. You don’t have to act like it’s okay if it’s not."
Peter’s eyes flickered up at that, but he didn’t respond right away. His expression was guarded, lips pressed tight.
“I’m not gonna pretend I can fix everything with a dinner,” Steve continued, his hands tightening into fists at his sides, "but I’m here, and I’d like to try. If you’ll let me."
Peter shifted, his shoulders stiff, still not quite looking at Steve. The kid fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, clearly uncomfortable, but finally, he spoke. "I don’t... I don’t hate you, y’know?" His voice was quiet, almost too soft to hear. "I just… I saw what you did to Mr. Stark. It’s hard to… forget that."
Steve’s chest tightened. He nodded slowly, his throat dry. "I know. And I’m sorry for that, Peter. More than I can ever say."
Peter bit his lip, glancing up at Steve with those big brown eyes that were far too wise for a fifteen-year-old. There was hurt there, but there was something else too—maybe a glimmer of willingness to at least hear Steve out.
Steve sighed, placing the recipe book on the counter. "Why don’t we start with the sauce? My mom’s secret was using a little extra garlic. Think you can handle chopping it?"
Peter blinked, then shrugged. "Yeah, I can chop garlic."
Steve smiled, the smallest bit of tension lifting from his shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was all Steve could ask for.
The kitchen was filled with the sound of chopping and the low simmer of sauce on the stove. Steve glanced over at Peter as the teenager worked, chopping the garlic with precision. Peter was polite—overly polite, in fact. Steve couldn’t help but feel that the kid was putting on a mask in his presence, like he was walking on eggshells. That thought made the knot in Steve’s stomach tighten even more.
Steve knew they couldn’t leave things as they were. He had already apologized once, but it hadn’t felt like enough. He figured if they were going to keep working in this kitchen together, he might as well keep talking—get it all out in the open. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted to do, it was what needed to be done.
"Peter," Steve began slowly, carefully choosing his words as he leaned against the counter. "I want you to know… I’ve thought about what happened between Tony and me in Siberia every single day since it happened." His voice dropped, the weight of the admission heavy in the air. "I wish I could go back. Change things. I’d do it all differently if I could."
Peter’s hands slowed as he chopped the garlic, but he didn’t look up. Steve could see the tension in the set of his shoulders. He wasn’t sure if Peter was waiting for him to say more or if the conversation had already pushed too far.
Steve swallowed, feeling the familiar lump in his throat rise again. He hated this—hated that he felt the need to explain himself, but it felt necessary. "I was doing what I thought was right at the time," Steve continued, the words coming out slowly, almost reluctantly. "I was trying to protect my best friend."
Peter stopped chopping. The knife came to a halt on the cutting board, and for a moment, the kitchen was dead silent. Steve saw Peter’s hands tighten around the handle of the knife, knuckles turning white.
Then, Peter turned to him, his expression calm but his eyes sharp."You mean Bucky, right?"
Steve nodded, the guilt sitting heavy on his chest. "Yeah. I couldn’t let him die. I—"
Peter cut him off, his voice suddenly harder, more forceful than before. "I get that you wanted to protect him, Sir. I do. But don’t act like Tony didn’t matter. Don’t act like he was just in the way of you saving your friend."
Steve felt the sting of Peter’s words. They hit him harder than he expected, but he kept his mouth shut, letting Peter continue. The kid deserved to say his piece, and Steve knew he needed to hear it.
"You think you were doing the right thing, protecting Bucky, but what about Tony?" Peter’s voice grew firmer, though still controlled, his words cutting deep. "You didn’t have to—.He’s more than that. He’s my—" Peter faltered for a moment, his eyes flickering with emotion before he steadied himself. "He’s not just my mentor. He’s… he’s like my dad."
Steve’s stomach dropped at that. He’d known they were close, even saw how a toddler version of Peter even thought of Tony that way. But hearing teenager Peter say it aloud made the reality hit even harder. Of course Peter saw Tony that way. The bond Tony and Peter shared was deeper than Steve had initially understood, and he couldn’t blame Peter for his feelings towards him.
"I get why you did what you did," Peter continued, his voice lower now, but no less sharp. "I understand wanting to protect someone you care about, but you hurt Tony. You almost—almost killed him. And that’s something I’m never going to forget."
Steve felt his chest constrict. The weight of Peter’s words was crushing, but it was the truth. He had come so close to taking Tony’s life that day, blinded by his own need to protect Bucky. It didn’t matter that he had his reasons—Peter was right. He’d messed up, and the damage was done.
"If you ever hurt Tony like that again…" Peter’s voice trailed off, but the warning was clear, even without him finishing the sentence. There was a steeliness in Peter’s eyes that Steve hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t a threat, not exactly, but a promise that if Steve ever crossed that line again, Peter wouldn’t hesitate to step in.
Steve nodded, his voice quiet. "I understand." And he did. More than Peter probably realized. He wouldn’t ever hurt Tony again, not if he could help it.
Peter exhaled, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he leaned back against the counter. He seemed to catch himself then, his eyes widening slightly as if he realized how much he’d just said. "I’m sorry," Peter muttered quickly, looking down at his hands. "I didn’t mean to... spout off like that. It’s just... it’s been bugging me for a while."
Steve shook his head, offering Peter a small, understanding smile. "No, don’t apologize, kid. You had every right to say what you did." He paused, taking a breath. "I’m the one who’s sorry—for everything. But if you’re willing... I’d like to try to make things better. Build something between us. It won’t happen overnight, but we can start small."
Peter looked up at him then, his gaze still cautious but softer than before. "Yeah," he said after a moment, nodding slowly. "Yeah, I think I’d like that."
Steve and Peter settled into a more comfortable rhythm. They eventually both heard the elevator chime and moments later Steve and Peter glanced up to see Tony stroll in, hands shoved in his pockets, looking every bit as relaxed as someone who hadn’t just come from an intense meeting. Behind him, Pepper followed, her sharp business look softened by a warm smile, and Happy trailed after, his usual gruff demeanor replaced with something that looked suspiciously like affection as he glanced over at Peter.
"Well, well, well," Tony said, raising an eyebrow as he took in the scene. "What’s this? My kid helping Captain America with dinner? Someone write this down for the record books." His tone was light, teasing, but the surprise was genuine. He stepped further into the kitchen, and Steve noticed the way Peter immediately relaxed in Tony’s presence—like the kid could breathe easier now that his pseudo-family was here.
Steve couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something—guilt, maybe, or perhaps a pang of realization at just how close Tony, Pepper, and Peter had become. They moved together like a unit, an unspoken rhythm between them that was undeniable.
Peter, for his part, just shrugged, though Steve noticed the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Just helping out with dinner," he said, his voice less tense than it had been before, though still a bit reserved. "We’re making meatballs and sauce."
"Good choice," Tony said, moving to ruffle Peter’s hair like he’d done it a hundred times before. "Just don’t let Cap take all the credit when it turns out amazing." There was a light in Tony’s eyes, a fondness that Steve couldn’t ignore. It was the kind of warmth that could only come from a real connection—a bond Steve had nearly destroyed.
Pepper stepped in closer, leaning over Peter’s shoulder to glance at the ingredients spread across the counter. "That smells delicious already," she said, planting a soft kiss on Peter’s temple, which made the boy turn just a shade pinker. "How’d the meetings go?" Peter asked, his eyes flicking up to Tony and Pepper.
Pepper smiled, her hand resting on Peter’s shoulder as if it belonged there, as natural as breathing. "Went fine. Tony didn’t blow up the conference room, so I call it a win."
"Yet," Tony quipped, earning him an amused side-eye from Pepper. Steve watched the exchange, taking in the easy banter, the small touches of affection. It struck him that this was what family looked like—something Peter had found in Tony and Pepper. The kind of family Steve had only ever really known in fragments, first with his mother and then with Bucky.
Happy, who had been leaning against the doorway, crossed his arms and grunted in approval as he looked at Peter. "You’ll have to save me some of those meatballs, kid," he said, his gruff tone hiding the genuine affection behind it. He gave Peter a small nod, before heading off toward the living room.
Tony wandered over to the stove, peeking into the simmering pot of sauce. He turned back to Steve, his expression amused but with a hint of curiosity. "So, how’s it going? You two surviving the great meatball adventure?" His voice was casual, but there was something behind it—something Steve couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was Tony’s way of making sure things weren’t too tense between him and Peter.
Steve smiled softly, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. "We’re managing," he said, his voice lighter than it had been earlier. "Peter’s got some solid chopping skills. Could give me a run for my money."
Tony snorted, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Kid’s good at everything, what can I say?" His words were said with pride, but not in the usual cocky Stark way. This was softer, more fatherly.
As Tony and Pepper hovered around Peter, Steve took a step back, observing the little family dynamic from a distance. It was strange, seeing Tony like this—so gentle, so... grounded. The man Steve had known before Siberia, before the war, was still there, but now Tony was more. He was a protector, a mentor, and from the looks of it, every bit a father to Peter.
Steve watched as Tony nudged Pepper aside with a gentle smile. "Hey, why don’t you take Peter and let him freshen up before dinner? You know, get all that garlic off his hands. I’ve got it covered here with Cap."
Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Tony raised an eyebrow, cutting him off before he could even start. "Don't worry, kid, I’m not going to burn the place down. Go with Pep."
Pepper chuckled, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder as she steered him toward the door. "Come on, Pete. You’ve earned a break, and besides, I don’t want you smelling like garlic for the rest of the night."
Peter shot one last glance at the stove, then at Steve, before reluctantly giving in. "Alright," he mumbled, looking a bit like he wanted to argue, but when Pepper gave him a soft nudge, he followed her out of the kitchen.
As the door closed behind them, the energy in the room shifted. The playful banter that Tony had effortlessly created moments before seemed to dissolve, leaving a quieter, more introspective atmosphere between him and Steve.
"He's a good kid," Tony said, his voice quieter now, lacking the usual bravado. He grabbed a wooden spoon from the counter and stirred the sauce. "Mature for his age… way more than I was at fifteen, that’s for sure."
Steve nodded, his eyes still lingering on the door where Peter had just exited. "Yeah, he is," Steve agreed. "Smart, too. You’ve done a good job with him."
Tony glanced over at Steve, his expression a little softer. "Not just me. His Aunt really. And Pepper’s been incredible with him too." He paused for a moment, the wooden spoon still in his hand, before continuing. "You know, it's weird. Never thought I’d end up in this role... fatherhood, mentorship... whatever you want to call it."
Steve offered a small smile, stirring the pot of meatballs as Tony spoke. "You’ve always been a protector, Tony. Just took you a while to realize it."
Tony snorted at that, his lips quirking up into a half-smile. "Maybe. But not in the way you were. You—" Tony paused, then shook his head slightly, stirring the sauce once more before setting the spoon down. "Look, I know I’ve made mistakes. Hell, we both have. But Peter... he’s kind of made me rethink a lot of things."
Steve remained quiet, sensing the weight behind Tony’s words. He knew Tony wasn’t one to get overly sentimental, and when he did, it carried a lot of meaning.
"And Siberia," Tony said, his voice lower now, more serious, "I know it’s still there for both of us. But for Peter? It’s..." He stopped himself, letting out a slow breath. "I just want him to be safe. I want him to have the people around him who’ll do right by him."
Steve turned to face Tony fully now, his brow furrowed slightly. "I won’t hurt him, Tony. I won’t hurt you.Not again."
Tony met Steve’s gaze, and for a moment, there was an unspoken understanding between them. It wasn’t full forgiveness—not yet. But it was a step forward.
"I know," Tony said quietly, after a long pause. "I know you won’t."
They both fell into silence again, the quiet sounds of cooking filling the kitchen as they continued preparing the meal together. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just reflective—two men who had once been at odds, now trying to find their way back to some semblance of camaraderie.
Steve glanced at Tony after a few moments, the flicker of guilt still present in his chest. "You’ve forgiven me more than I deserve," he admitted softly, his voice almost lost in the crackle of the stove.
Tony didn’t look up from the sauce, but there was a shift in his demeanor, something a little less tense. "Maybe," he said, shrugging slightly. "But if we’re gonna make this whole team thing work again, we need to let go of the past—at least, enough to move forward."
Steve nodded, feeling the weight of that truth settle over him. "Yeah... you’re right."
Tony’s lips twitched into a smirk. "Aren’t I always?"
Steve chuckled, shaking his head as he stirred the meatballs. "Not always."
"Don’t ruin the moment, Cap," Tony shot back, though the edge of a smile tugged at his lips. The tension between them, while not fully gone, felt lighter now, more manageable.
As they worked in tandem, Steve couldn’t help but feel the smallest sense of hope. It wasn’t perfect, but this was the beginning of something.
When Peter and Pepper eventually returned to the kitchen, Peter looking a little fresher and more relaxed, Steve caught the quiet smile Pepper gave Tony. It was the kind of look that said she’d seen this before—that she knew Tony had been doing the work to heal, not just for Peter, but for himself.
Peter stepped back up to the counter, taking his place next to Steve. This time, there was no tension, just quiet acceptance between them. Maybe, just maybe, this dinner would turn out better than Steve had hoped.
•
The dinner table was an odd assortment of people, yet somehow, it felt right. Tony sat at one end, flanked by Peter and Pepper, the two people who mattered most to him now. At the opposite end, Steve took his place with Bucky on one side and Sam on the other, a quieter but equally important trio. Between them sat the rest of the team—Natasha, Clint, Thor, Loki, Bruce, Wanda, Vision, and even Happy, who had surprisingly accepted the invitation to sit and not just stand guard.
The air buzzed with a sense of togetherness that Tony hadn’t expected. The last time they’d all been in the same room together, things had... well, gone badly, to say the least. But this? This was different. There was no pressure, no mission hanging over their heads, no Accords to argue about. Just food, laughter, and maybe, for the first time in a while, a sense of family.
Tony leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting over to Peter, who was mid-laugh at something Sam had said. The kid’s face was bright, alive with that same youthful enthusiasm that Tony found himself relying on more than he’d like to admit.
“Kid doesn’t even realize, does he?” Clint’s voice cut into Tony’s thoughts, casual and a little amused.
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Realize what?”
Clint jerked his chin in Peter’s direction. “That he’s the reason we’re all sitting here, playing nice.”
Tony glanced at Peter, who was now attempting—and failing—to argue with Thor about whether or not webs could stop Mjolnir.
“Yeah, well,” Tony muttered, his voice quieter than usual, “he’s got that effect on people. Makes you want to try a little harder, be a little better.”
Pepper smiled gently beside him, nudging his arm. “Don’t give him too much credit. You’ve been trying harder for a while now.”
Tony scoffed, but there was no bite in it. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t doing a great job of it until he showed up.”
Pepper looked over, watching Peter try to explain the physics of his webs to an increasingly amused Thor. “You’re doing fine. Better than fine, actually.”
Across the table, Steve leaned in, catching part of their conversation. He gave a small nod, his voice quiet but sure. “You’ve built something good here, Tony.”
Tony met Steve’s gaze, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened between them seemed to lift, if only slightly. “Yeah,” Tony muttered, his tone lighter. “Doesn’t feel too bad, does it?”
Steve allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. “No, it doesn’t.”
Meanwhile, Peter’s animated conversation had drawn in Natasha, who watched with a quiet smile as the teenager continued to try to convince Thor. Ever the good-natured god, Thor simply raised an eyebrow and grinned.
“Perhaps we should test it, young Stark” Thor boomed, lifting Mjolnir slightly. Peter’s eyes widened.
“Uh, maybe we can save that for, you know, after dessert,” Peter stammered, earning a chorus of laughter from the table.
Bruce, who had been quietly sipping on a glass of water, chuckled. “Good call, kid. Let’s not break anything before the night’s over.”
“Or anyone,” Bucky added, deadpan, as he reached for another roll. Sam snorted, nudging Bucky with his elbow.
Loki, sitting beside Thor, looked on with a smirk. “You Midgardians and your... bonding rituals. Fascinating.”
Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. “You saying Asgard doesn’t do family dinners?”
Loki gave her a sardonic smile. “Not quite like this.”
Tony leaned over to Peter, who had gone a bit red from all the attention. “You don’t have to prove Thor wrong, you know?”
Peter grinned sheepishly, shrugging. “It’s not like I can say no to a god.”
“You can,” Pepper interjected, amused. “But good luck with that.”
Natasha’s voice cut through the din again, calm but teasing, “Well, I for one think the kid's optimism is refreshing. Some of you could use a dose of it.”
Clint rolled his eyes, pointing a thumb at himself. “What? I’m plenty optimistic.”
“Sure,” Natasha replied dryly, “if sarcasm counts as optimism.”
Clint smirked but didn’t argue. The laughter swelled again, and as the conversation turned toward old stories and missions, Tony found himself relaxing into the moment. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t worried about the next fight, the next argument, or the next world-ending threat.
They were all still healing, still putting the pieces back together after everything that had torn them apart. But as Tony looked around the table, at Peter laughing with his new family, at Steve finally sitting in a room with him without tension, at Pepper’s quiet support beside him, he realized something.
They weren’t forced to be here. Nobody had dragged them to the table, or to each other. They had chosen this.
And Peter? Peter was the reason.
Tony cleared his throat, feeling the weight of it all hit him. "Alright, alright," he said, clinking his glass with a spoon, getting the table's attention. "Before this turns into a contest of who’s got the better webs or hammers or whatever, I just want to say... thanks."
There was a moment of silence before Sam leaned forward, teasing. "That’s it, Stark? Just... thanks?"
Tony rolled his eyes. "You know what? Forget it. I'll stick to sarcasm next time."
The table erupted into laughter again, but the sentiment was clear.
They were a family. For better or worse.