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Chapter Text

"Okay, everyone!" Tony announced as he entered the kitchen. "Never fear, Tony Stark has arrived, now the party can get started!"

Clint was amused to see Steve also rolling his eyes. He had no idea if eye-rolling had been a thing in the forties, but if not, Stark was definitely the kind of guy to encourage picking up the habit.

Actually, so was Clint. And Thor, sometimes. In fact, there were days when the entire Avengers Initiative was an exercise in eye-rolling.

Days like that made Clint proud to be an Avenger.

"You're too late," Natasha said.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because I seem to recall some pretty insistent speeches on teambuilding and gestures of appreciation being more meaningful if we all participate, and some extremely unjustified insinuations that providing the workspace and paying for the supplies didn't count, and now that I've dragged myself away from the very important, potentially lifesaving work I could be doing, you're telling me you went ahead and did it without me."

"Don't worry, there's still plenty for you to do," Steve said, waving a rag at the flour-covered counters and the sink full of cookie sheets and mixing bowls, "but all the fun chores have already been claimed."

"Don't be ridiculous, that's just an oxymoron, you can't put fun and chore in the same sentence, and anyway, I'm Tony Stark, I bring my own fun, and what I can't bring, I make. So!" he clapped his hands together. "What's on first?"

"No, who's on first," Clint corrected absently.

Tony paused. "What?"

"What's on second," Steve said. Clint looked at him in surprise and caught the twinkle of I know this reference in his eyes. "Keep up, Stark."

"Ooooookayyyy," Tony said slowly. "This is... new. This is a new sort of conspiracy. Are you conspiring against me?"

"Every day," Natasha said. "But as I am not a part of this particular conspiracy, I am going to make sure my part of Operation Terrify SHIELD With Kindness is ready." She picked up a stack of cookie tins and slipped out of the kitchen with a little wave.

Tony looked over at Thor, who shrugged. "I do not know, either."

"I don't know's on third," said Steve. "And you are in charge of drying." He handed him a dishtowel.

Tony stared at the towel. "Why?"

"He's center field," said Clint.

"I thought Why was left field," Steve said. "Also, because we've already baked and boxed the cookies and we're running out of room in the drainer for the cookie sheets."

"I have a dishwasher," Tony said. "A dishwashing machine."

"Which is also already full," Steve said, still holding out the towel. "Do a good job and I'll promote you to seventh assistant taste-tester."

"If Why is left field," Thor said, "then who is center field?"

"No, Who's on first!" Clint repeated. "Because is center field. If he's not left. I always get those two mixed up."

"Fine!" Tony exploded. He yanked the cloth out of Steve's hands and stomped over to the sink. "I will dry the damn dishes, and then I will take my damn cookie and leave you to whatever insane bonding ritual you are doing, because I. Don't. Care!"

"He's the shortstop," Steve and Clint chorused, sharing a grin.

Clint was so going to insist on an Abbott and Costello marathon next movie night.

Chapter Text

Tony had more than once appointed himself Steve's pop culture tutor, but his chosen subjects were generally along the lines of classic rock, classic cars, good sci-fi shows (and on days that he could get Steve to let him drink enough, the bad ones). No one, least of all Tony, was expecting to teach Captain America about classic children's literature.

But then one day, when both of them were being especially stubborn, Steve trying to convince Tony to come out of the lab and join the team for supper, or at the very least stop working long enough for Steve to bring him down a plate, despite Tony's protestations that he wasn't hungry, he had surely eaten something in the last twenty-four hours, and he was busy, and finally Tony exploded, "No! I do not want them here or there, I do not want them anywhere, I do not like green eggs and ham!"

And then he just stood there in utter mortification that he'd been reduced to nursery rhymes, which was a new low in his and Steve's arguments (not the lowest low, but certainly a new one). Until Steve frowned blankly and said, "We're not even having eggs," and suddenly embarrassment gave way to indignation, and schematics gave way to Amazon and YouTube, because his childhood may have been more about guns and circuit boards than about bedtime stories, but even Tony Stark knew Dr. Seuss, and that Steve Rogers didn't was a defect that needed rectifying immediately.

Though if anyone noticed Tony Stark ordering children's books, he would totally throw Steve under the bus; he had a reputation to maintain. No matter how endearing it was to see the man smile touchingly at "Oh, The Places You'll Go!"

Steve was flipping through And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street, when his smile turned to a thoughtful frown. "What's the matter," Tony said, "Mulberry Street too shocking for your delicate sensibilities?"

"Nah," Steve said, not even rising to the habitual barb, "it just... it looks familiar. The art style, that is."

Tony flipped to the title page. "Well, it was published in '37, so maybe you did read it."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "I think I was a bit old for it by then."

"And you're not now?" Tony smirked.

Steve made a face, but then snapped his fingers. "Now I remember! He did cartoons for the PM!"

It was Tony's turn to look blank. "PM? Prime Minister? Prime Meridian? Post Meridian?"

"The New York PM," Steve explained. "It was a daily paper back in the forties, I liked to read it when I could spare a nickel. Pretty sure Dr. Seuss did a lot of the editorial cartoons, even before America joined the war; I remember a lot of anti-isolationist ones...."

Steve's Google-fu was surprisingly decent at this point, even if he did insist on using an actual keyboard instead of letting JARVIS work his magic, and soon they were looking at a series of black and white pictures depicting nations and politicians in Seuss' whimsical style. Complacent citizens were drawn as ostriches, Nazi forces were ridiculous sea monsters, and... "Is that Hitler dressed as a mermaid?"

"Yep." Steve shrugged. "I guess they were a bit... goofy, especially for such a serious topic, but I liked them..."

"Hey, nothing wrong with goofy," Tony said. "Sometimes ridicule is the best weapon to defeat an enemy." And sometimes the best weapon was a tightly aimed repulsor blast, but still. It was all in knowing which to use when.

Steve gave him a bit of a smile, as if he'd understood the part that Tony hadn't said aloud, too. "That's true."

The next time Tony made his way to the kitchen, he found a plate of fried eggs and ham tastefully doused in green food coloring. He returned the favor by ordering a blown-up print for Steve's wall: a before-and-after of Seuss' version of the American eagle, that started off, "I was weak and run-down..." and ended, "...I feel strong enough to punch Mister Hitler right in the snoot!"

(No matter how many times Steve pointed out that it was drawn two years before he even got the serum, people assumed it was about him. Despite his apparent exasperation, though, he never took it down.)

Chapter Text

Clint's Abbot and Costello movie night turned into a general classic comedians discussion. Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein led to Laurel and Hardy led to Victor Borge led to Buster Keaton. But when Tony said, "What about the Three Stooges? You don't get more classic than that," Bruce noticed Steve grimace as he replied, "I never was a big fan of them, actually."

"What, were they too lowbrow for your artistic sensibilities?"

"No," Steve said patiently. More patiently that he usually was with Tony, for some reason. "It's just they're so, well, mean to each other. Poking each other in the eyes and putting each other down... I just can't see that kind of thing as funny."

"It got your anti-bullying instincts up," Bruce said in understanding.

Steve shrugged and smiled a bit sheepishly. "Can't really help it at this point."

"It is fine," Thor said cheerfully. "We would not have you change for all the worlds." Steve actually blushed at that.

"Okay, okay, point made, but really, Rogers, you're not going to find many nice comedians out there. Most people get their laughs by poking fun at other people. Not exactly admirable, but that's kind of how it is." Tony dug through the bowl of chex mix looking for the remaining dark rye bits-- Clint had already hoarded the unbroken pieces to shoot like Tiddlywinks.

"There's a difference between poking fun and being cruel."

"Red Skelton always struck me as an extremely nice comedian," Bruce offered, before it could turn into another Stark/Rogers argument (TM).

"Who?" Tony said. The others looked equally blank, except for a flicker of recognition in Coulson's eyes, and an outright perking up in Steve's expression.

"You know him?" he said. "Or ...heard of him, I guess..."

Bruce nodded. "Betty-- showed me. There used to be a special performance that would play periodically on public television, that she and her mother would watch together. She showed me a recording one night, when I didn't know who Freddy the Freeloader was." He was a bit surprised at how easily the admission came out.

"I think I've heard of Freddy the Freeloader," Clint said. "One of the clowns back in the day said he was his inspiration. Didn't know it was this Skeleton guy's act."

"Skelton," Coulson corrected automatically.

"You're a fan, too?" Bruce said in surprise. He wasn't sure why he was surprised, really. He just... still didn't know the man, really, beyond the fact that he was far more competent than his unassuming exterior implied, and he'd believed in them enough to die for it. More or less.

And he was a Captain America fan, of course.

"Let me guess," Tony said, when Coulson's calm, "I'm familiar with him," was accompanied by an uncharacteristic amount of paper shuffling. "You got something in your ultimate Captain America collection with the two of them."

Coulson cleared his throat. "A transcript of Captain America on Skelton's radio show during the war-bond selling phase. It stood out," he added to Steve, "you didn't do many radio appearances, and it was amusing enough that I checked out a few of his movies."

Steve smiled ruefully. "Yeah, compared to the stage performances and films, I didn't go on radio much. I wasn't as impressive to just listen to, at that point. Still learning the ropes. But Red was swell about it all, real friendly, gave me a few tips on speaking to an audience, even. Like, it was okay for the joke to be on you, if that's what got the audience to smile." He shook his head. "I think he laughed nearly as much as the audience, even when it was just the canned laughs for the radio. Even got me to.... might have been the first time I really laughed that whole tour." He paused a moment, as if he'd also shared more than he intended.

"Well, then," said Natasha, "What should we start with? Was there a particular movie or television show that you remember?"

Steve shook his head. "I didn't actually see his movies, and he was just on radio when I met him. He really wanted to be on television, but... did he ever get his own show?" he asked Bruce.

"Yes," Bruce said. "Several, over the years, I think."

Steve smiled. "That's... I'm glad. He deserved it."

Bruce gestured vaguely. "I haven't really seen his movies, either, but... JARVIS? Can you identify the PBS program I mentioned?"

"Certainly," JARVIS replied. "I have already identified the most likely programme in question. Shall I begin playing it on the main screen?"

"Please, JARVIS," Steve said with a smile.

The lights dimmed again, and Tony's ridiculous not-really-a-television screen lit up, and the opening music washed over Bruce in a wave of nostalgia. He swallowed around an unexpected lump in his throat as Red Skelton walked onto the stage amidst the audience's applause, remembering late nights with Betty and leftover takeout, cuddling and trying to sing along with the Irish tenor, and arguing about who sounded worse; fast forwarding through the pledge breaks on Betty's old recorded-off-the-TV videotape, or, sometimes, taking advantage of the breaks to be... distracted. Together.

Bruce glanced away in the middle of Skelton's opening monologue, trying to break the spell before he fell too deep into memories, and saw Steve sit up and straighten his shoulders. Which hadn't been hunched before the program started, and now were too stiff for someone enjoying a comedy show. "Everything okay?" he asked him softly.

"Fine," Steve said, but his smile was tight, and his eyes looked... lost.

Bruce looked back at the screen, wondering what had taken the captain from wistful nostalgia to pain so quickly. Nothing in the jokes so far had been particularly unpleasant, or likely to bring up bad memories. Now the comedian was preparing for one of his famous pantomime skits, adjusting his hat and muffling up his white hair....

This isn't the Red Skelton Steve knows. Bruce blinked at the realization. Steve had, for the most part, adapted so smoothly to the present that it was easy to forget sometimes that for him, it had been mere months since the man on the screen was a young redhead on the radio. It was hardly surprising that such a blatant, unexpected reminder would shake him.

Before Bruce could decide whether apologizing would just make them all more self-conscious and miserable than pretending everything was fine, Tony said abruptly, "You know, I don't think I'm in the mood for stand-up for tonight. Let's watch one of his movies. JARVIS, pull up that one that Coulson mentioned, what was it--"

"Tony, no," Steve said. "You can't just interrupt it when everyone's in the middle of watching it."

"Why not?" Tony demanded. "My tower, my TV, and my ideas are the best ideas, you know this by now." Someone on Coulson and Clint's side of the room snorted, and Tony showed a finger in their general direction. "My point is--" A rye chip hit him in the face and bounced into his lap, and he grabbed it and popped it in his mouth. "Well, someone just lost their say in the matter, but you don't mind, right, Bruce? I mean, you've seen it before." And Tony met his eyes, and Bruce knew that Tony had seen the same thing in Steve's reaction he had. That for all that certain people complained of Stark's "emotional constipation" and his inability to remember dates or food allergies, and accused him of being incapable of maintaining a healthy relationship, Tony Stark had a pretty sharp understanding of people.

"Tony, stop, Bruce is the one who recommended this, of course he's--"

Like when and how to give a time-lost soldier an out when he's thoroughly prepared to unnecessarily suffer for the sake of his team rather than admit to a perceived weakness.

"It's fine," Bruce said quickly. And before Steve could start a futile and hypocritical argument about standing up for what you want and remembering you're a part of the team and You Matter, too, he looked down at his lap and added quietly, "I think-- I've remembered enough. For now."

He might have felt guilty about it if it hadn't been partly true. And any embarrassment he felt at the admission, however exaggerated, melted at the relief mixed in with the look of sympathy Steve gave him. "All right, then," Steve said softly. "If everyone else is fine with it."

Everyone else shrugged or nodded assent, and Tony said, "Thank God, because let me tell you, the only memories I was getting out of this was flashbacks to early 90s fashion every time they panned over the audience." He shuddered dramatically, and Steve rolled his eyes, but it broke the awkward tension, and everyone settled back as JARVIS started the old movie.

And at one point during the movie, or maybe after, watching the early skits, Steve caught Bruce's eye again, and Bruce realized he hadn't been completely taken in after all. But he was clearly happier, and Bruce was enjoying the movie too, and he thought maybe that letting each of them pretend that the other needed the excuse wasn't such a bad form of teamwork.

(And when Tony and Steve pulled the rest of the team into their debate over whether or not the Pedestrian Polo routine invalidated the Nice Guy Comedian argument, Bruce thought that making new memories was pretty nice, too.)

Chapter Text

Phil and Steve were discussing possible training exercises when Darcy walked up to them and sighed. "You were right," she said, handing Steve a box that smelled suspiciously like her famous Mexican Hot Chocolate pie.

Phil raised his eyebrow. "Right about what?"

"Warren William is a better Perry Mason than Raymond Burr."

She stalked away, and Phil turned back to Steve. "I didn't realize you'd watched Perry Mason yet."

"Not the television show," Steve said with a grin. "But with Darcy's opinion of The Thin Man last week, I figured it was a sure bet."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Gambling with baked goods?"

"And art. I would've owed her a sketch if she'd won."

"I see." Phil inhaled the scent of chocolate and cinnamon. "Need help enjoying your winnings?"

Steve held the box up out of reach, still grinning. "My spoils of war. Win your own."

Phil smiled back. "Let me in on the next betting pool, then."

Chapter Text

"Are you sure we shouldn't wait until Tony gets back and can examine it himself?" Rogers said uncertainly to Sitwell as they left the latest mad scientist's unidentified device in the SHIELD R&D labs.

"It'll be fine," Sitwell said. Stark would probably appropriate it within twenty minutes of getting back to New York anyway, but all the more reason to examine it themselves while they could. "I know Agent Pollock's a little..." he gestured vaguely back at Agent Pollock, "Well, he's Bennie, and he's hardly at a Tony Stark inventing things out of thin air genius level-- he's hardly at a genius level at most categories--"

"I can still hear you, you know," Bennie called, but he was already poking at the device, so Sitwell just waited until the lab doors closed behind him and Rogers before continuing.

"But when it comes to figuring out and modifying existing tech, he's handier than MacGyver with a Swiss Army Knife," he finished.

Rogers blinked. "Come again?" Sitwell quickly tried to explain the concept of MacGyver, but Rogers interrupted not far beyond the words "TV show." "No, I get the idea, I mean, I don't know this MacGyver person, but I know Swiss Army Knives, so..." He smiled crookedly. "I just wondered if 'MacGyver with a Swiss Army Knife' was as 'handy' as a Bucky with a Swiss Army Knife."

"Better," Sitwell said automatically, then faltered as he remembered from Phil's Captain America stories just who "Bucky" was. "Er, maybe? Your friend Bucky Barnes, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Well, not that I doubt his skills, but MacGyver's kind of the ideal... on the other hand, I suppose it's not fair to compare a real person to a fictional character--"

"Doesn't stop most folk," Rogers muttered.

Sitwell winced, because yes, Steve Rogers would definitely be one who knew how that felt. "I don't even remember any Captain America or Howling Commando stories involving Swiss Army Knives," he admitted. "And Phil has told me a lot of them over the years."

"Really?" Rogers said in surprise. "I can think of at least seven times that Bucky used his knife to thwart Nazi or Hydra forces-- or both." He paused, lips quirking. "Though I guess that one wouldn't have made it into a kid's comic..."

"Oh?"

"Well, any story that starts with, 'I was naked in her bedroom,' doesn't exactly--" He broke off suddenly with a flush. "Hey, Natasha."

"Don't stop on my account," Natasha said with a smirk. She nodded a greeting at Sitwell. "Who was in whose bedroom now?"

"Just ...an old war story," Rogers said. He glanced up and down the corridor, as if remembering where (and when) they were. "This isn't really the best place to share war stories, though."

"I've done so in worse places," Natasha said with a shrug. Rogers smiled, sort of, and just shook his head, and Sitwell wondered suddenly if he'd ever had a chance to tell war stories. Wondered, in the months since he'd woken up, how many conversations he'd had that weren't mission-related or edited for public consumption.

"If you want a better place," Sitwell offered, "I know this great little bar and grill not to far from here. Drinks on me."

The two Avengers gave him a look, Natasha's inscrutable, Rogers' dubious, and Sitwell wondered if he'd been too forward, because despite Phil's (slightly awed) insistence that Steve Rogers was a good man and a more-or-less normal person beyond the icon, he was still Captain Freaking America and might not consider Jasper Sitwell someone he wanted to socialize with...

"Is cheap American beer seriously the best you can come up with to offer a man who can't get drunk?" Natasha murmured.

Oh. Right. "More like the best variety of microbrews in the state," he couldn't help correcting reflexively. "Also, they serve excellent steaks. I recommend the sirloin, medium rare, with the loaded baked potato."

Rogers raised an eyebrow. "That could get expensive for you."

Right, super soldier metabolism. Even so. "For a Captain America story Phil doesn't know yet? It'll be more than worth the price."

Rogers grinned. "Then I'll try not to disappoint."

"In that case," Natasha said, "I won't invite Clint. He can't keep a secret from Coulson to save his life."

"You're welcome to come along," said Sitwell, "but don't expect me to pay for you, too."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she said cheerfully.

Three hours later he was in fact paying for all three of them (his own fault for making any sort of bet with Natasha). But he and Steve were on a first name basis by then, so it was still worth the price.

(Five months after Steve told the story of how Bucky escaped from a Nazi-infested bordello using only a Swiss Army knife and a pair of stockings, Natasha called Steve to Eastern Europe to help bring in the Winter Soldier, a former Soviet assassin she'd once worked with for a few missions before she left the Red Room. No one alive knew how long he'd been the Winter Soldier, and he didn't have any memories from before the Soviets, but Natasha remembered how he always carried, and often creatively used, a Swiss Army knife, despite it not being part of their official approved equipment.)

Chapter Text

Natasha stalked down the hall in a white cloud, swearing in four languages.

"Natasha, wait."

"If you get between me and the shower, you will die painfully," she snapped.

"You should hold off a few minutes at least," Steve said. She whirled and fixed him with her most deadly glare, but her current appearance apparently reduced its usual effectiveness; Steve merely held out a dry towel. "If you don't shake out as much of the flour as you can, getting it wet will just turn it all to paste."

Natasha growled, ignored the towel, and started shaking the flour out of her hair, heedless of where it ended up. Tony was partly to blame for this mess; she wasn't going to cry over making one for him to clean up. She hoped most of it wound up clogging his electronics. "Get a lot of experience with flour bombs in the war?"

Steve laughed. "More like 1920s Brooklyn. Kids get pretty inventive with what they can find."

"Well, I am not authorized to work with kids," Natasha said. She yanked her shirt off and dropped it on the floor, snarling a bit when Steve picked it up and looked around for a hamper. "I expect this kind of childish behavior from Clint, and definitely from Stark, but for them to go and drag James into their little prank war—"

"Actually, that's the most reassuring part of this mess," said Steve. She stared at him, and he smiled faintly. "Bucky never really needed anyone else to encourage him to pranks. He always got a kick out of pulling a fast one on somebody. He even organized a betting pool on who could fool the most Hydra soldiers with different disguises. Had to put a stop to that one after Jacques' maid costume worked a little too well," he added ruefully, and Natasha suppressed a snort. (Not a snicker. She was not in a mood to laugh. She was not.) "But he's been so serious since we got him back. Which is understandable, nothing about any of this has been easy, at all, and I know he'll never be exactly the same, but... it's just such a relief to see that he didn't lose that part of him for good."

Natasha's throat tightened. It was ridiculous. She wasn't losing Barnes, not to new friends, not to old memories. Nevermind that his smile in the kitchen just now had been the full version of what had rarely leaked out during those long-ago missions, or that his newly-recovered swagger didn't hide alert eyes that scanned every location for threats before relaxing. The point was. He. Wasn't. Hers. To. Lose.

And she was fine with that.

She turned away, shook her hair some more, started walking away. "Even so, I did not sign on to the Avengers to play Wendy to a band of Lost Boys!"

"Nah," said Steve, keeping up with her easily. "Pretty sure you're more of a Tiger Lily. Or Tinkerbell."

Natasha huffed. "I think I'll take Tinkerbell, fewer racist stereotypes to..." She paused and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you were familiar with Peter Pan."

"I could say the same for you." Natasha froze, but unlike other teammates she wouldn't bother naming, Steve had no interest in cracking jokes about the deadly Black Widow liking a children's bedtime fairy tale. He simply leaned against the wall. "I was... eight, I think? Maybe seven. It must have been a charity performance, for Christmas, because things weren't as tight back then, but it still wasn't something we usually had money to spare for. But Ma actually got a little time off of work so she could take me to see it, and... I think she loved it more than I did. Laughed at Peter chasing his shadow, clapped to save Tinkerbell, and when the children flew across the stage, it was like she was flying with them. I remember her face better than I remember that performance, honestly. For a couple of hours, she wasn't a single mother working two or three jobs to take care of her sick son. She was a child again, and that... sustained her, far beyond the end of that little play. Months later, whenever things were especially hard, I'd hear her humming the music from that play while she worked." He ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "I worked and saved to get her a beat-up little thimble for her birthday, and it didn't even fit her finger, but she used it every chance she got."

Natasha managed a tiny smile. "She sounds lovely."

Steve smiled back. "Thank you. She was." But he had that determinedly earnest look on his face, the one that said, "I am going to wait patiently until you're ready to confide in me, and you can't stop me from being here for you." Possibly he was a little concerned that she'd been visiting with Bucky less the past few weeks. (Not avoiding him. Just... not seeing the need to visit him every day when he was clearly getting better and doing just fine without her.) Because he cared about his team. Even the members that might pull his Bucky further out of his reach.

"When I was being trained," she said abruptly, "they showed us parts of several of the most popular children's movies, enough for us to fake knowledge, so we could pass as 'normal' on missions." She bent over and brushed flour off her legs, not in the mood to see sympathy on Steve's face. "Disney's Peter Pan was one of them. I thought it was the most ridiculous nonsense I had ever seen, and an insult to any child's intelligence. Years later, after I... tendered my resignation, I was holed up in some crappy hotel, and the only thing on TV was the stage version with Mary Martin as Peter Pan." She gathered enough composure to straighten up and shrug sardonically. "It was still absurd. Still nonsense. But I kept watching it. And I bought the book-- for Clint, since he's such a baby when he actually has to stay in medical for more than an hour."

"Of course," Steve said with barely a twitch of his lips.

Natasha smirked briefly. "I did read it before giving it to him," she admitted. "And... it wasn't as insulting to my intelligence as I thought it would be. Still nonsense. But... making no pretensions that it wasn't nonsense, I suppose. More like it was inviting you to be in on the joke. Surprisingly thought-provoking, if you looked past the surface... and it's not as if I can't see the appeal of a fantasy world where adventures are more about fun than survival, where being shot out of the sky doesn't kill you, just makes you sleep for a while--" Her sudden laugh surprised her more than it did Steve.

"What?"

"I just realized," she said. "You're the Wendy of the team."

Steve's look of consternation just made her laugh even harder, but soon enough he was laughing with her. "Oh gosh, you're right," he gasped out (and she would never cease to be amused by how he could swear like any soldier in battle or in an argument, but reverted to good clean innocence in regular conversations). He wiped his eyes, smearing now-damp flour across his face. "I am honestly not sure how I feel about that."

"You make an excellent mother, Steve," Natasha reassured him, finally getting herself under control.

"Better me than you, you mean?"

"Exactly."

Steve chuckled again. Then his smile faded, and he sighed. "None of us really had much of a childhood, did we?"

No, they hadn't. It was one of the common threads tying them all together, the experience of being forced to grow up too soon, one way or another. "If we'd any of us let ourselves stay children, we wouldn't have survived," Natasha said softly. And of her many regrets in life, surviving wasn't one of them.

"I know," Steve said. "But I think, maybe, that's why it's okay to be children once in a while. Now that we have a fam-- a team to watch each other's backs."

Natasha stared at him, into guilelessly earnest eyes that eighty-eight percent of the time were as innocent as they looked, and wondered if he was thinking about the same things she'd long claimed to be for children. Wondered if the tension between Steve's Bucky and her James would perhaps keep Barnes balanced, rather than tearing him apart.

She remembered that first battle against the Chitauri, the way Steve launched her into the air without hesitation, trusting her to catch her ride and not plummet back to the earth.

If anyone could convince her to believe, just a little, in Neverland, surely it would be the man who'd more than once helped her fly.

"In that case," she finally said, "we should do our duty as Avengers-- and wreak some vengeance." She took the towel out of Steve's hands and draped it over her shoulder. "Shower and assemble in the library in 30, soldier."

Steve grinned. "Sounds good to me. I think it's someone else's turn to be Wendy for a while."

"Probably Phil. It's usually Phil."

"Great, now I'm imagining Wendy armed with a taser...."

Chapter Text

In the pranksters' defense, the defective canister of nerve gas would have blown no matter what. The prank war was just the reason 80% of the Avengers were in the lab when it did.

And also why Hawkeye's skin was purple.

Clint flopped back on the sofa and groaned. "This is the worst."

"It's not that bad," said Natasha. She sprawled across Clint's and Bucky's laps with a sigh.

"I feel like they Novocained all my extremities, Nat. All my extremities."

"That's no great loss."

"Not for you, Stark, though you wish you could have a piece of this--"

"Why couldn't they have Novocained your mouth?" Bucky said.

Clint tried to raise his hand, but he couldn't control past his elbow. "Dammit, I can't even flip you off. This sucks."

Phil tapped Clint on the head with a medical file. "Relax. Medical assures me that the antidote is working, and you should be back to normal in a few hours. For given values of normal, that is." Clint stuck out his tongue. "Look, you do still have a functional extremity."

"Okay," Stark said loudly, "lovely as this bonding experience has been, I am going to spend the rest of this recovery period down in my lab."

"According to medical, the antidote works most effectively if you relax and don't try to move too much," said Phil.

"First, when have I ever listened to medical advice, and second, I will relax much better in my lab, I have robots and voice commands and I won't have to lift a... finger--" As he spoke, Stark was trying to lever himself off his sofa with his elbows. He managed to get halfway up before his knees gave out and he landed stomach-first on the arm of the sofa.

Steve straightened Tony out and pushed him back into the sofa. "Tony, for once in your life would you just rest?"

"Just sit on him," Darcy suggested. She finished tucking a blanket around Jane and Thor, draped another over an exhausted Bruce, and set a clean wastebin between the two, just in case. Jane and Bruce had been hit hardest with the gas, and there had been some... interesting side effects with the Hulk's physiology. If there was anything that would deter military types from using the gas to try to incapacitate Bruce Banner, it was Hulk vomit. Thor had needed only a (very thorough) shower to recover, but he was now occupied with comforting a lapful of astrophysicist. "That's the only way you'll get him to hold still."

"You know, you should rest too, Captain," Phil said.

"I'm fine." Steve wiggled his fingers as proof-- not quite at full flexibility, but pretty close.

Darcy rolled her eyes. "You may be super-healing, but I bet you're still totally wiped from saving everyone else."

"This is nothing," Steve insisted.

"Hypocrite," Stark accused.

"Steve, buddy," Bucky drawled, "be a good captain and set an example for your team."

"Yeah, Cap, lead from the front."

Steve smiled wryly. "All right, fine." He sat down on the loveseat next to Stark, then swung his legs across to rest on the arm of seat, effectively pinning Tony down.

"Hey!"

"Just following orders like a good soldier," Steve said innocently.

"Technically, I told you to sit on him," Darcy said.

"I will fill your iTunes account with Bieber if you don't top encouraging him," Stark said.

Darcy's mouth opened in an affronted O. "Just for that, I'm leaving the TV on the Disney Channel." She grabbed the remote, suited action to words, then dodged away from flailing arms. "It's for your own good," she said over the groans and objections. "JARVIS, don't let them change channels to any serious, depressing or stress-inducing crap."

"Yes, Ms. Lewis," JARVIS said.

"JARVIS, you traitor!"

"What's wrong with Disney channel?" Steve said with a puzzled frown. "I thought Disney was really good."

"Disney movies are good," Natasha said. "At least the animated blockbusters and the classics. The Disney Channel is the refuge of child actors with cheesy acting and dialogue."

"C'mon, Darce, do you have to punish all of us?" Clint whined.

"You know you love it." She pointed at the screen. "Look, you're in luck. Instead of live-action sitcoms, you get cartoons."

Steve stared at the TV. "That's an.... interesting art style."

Stark rolled his eyes. "Just say you don't like it, you don't have to hide your fuddy-duddy-ness around us."

"I'm not being a fuddy-duddy, I just-- his head's a triangle!"

"Not to mention I don't think platypuses are green."

"You mean platypi."

"They're still not green."

"Are you sure about this?" Phil murmured to Darcy as they slipped out of the room. "Bored Avengers are only slightly less dangerous than annoyed Avengers."

"It'll be fine," Darcy said. "It's actually a Phineas and Ferb marathon all day. Just wait and see."

Phil eyed her dubiously, but when he finally escaped the cleanup and debriefing a few hours later and made his way back to the room (with an armful of paperwork), he had to just stand in the doorway and watch for a moment. They were still sprawled over each other, but now they were talking and laughing, eating popcorn that Darcy must have brought them at some point. Their gestures showed that their mobility was back to normal, thank God, but even so, the cartoon was still playing.

"Okay, it's official, Isabella is my spirit animal."

"You already said that Perry was your spirit animal, Clint."

"I can have two! I'll channel Perry when I'm doing spy stuff and Isabella when I need to be kickass and cute."

"You wanna channel cute," Bucky said dubiously.

"I'm cute!" Clint scowled at the derisive snorts from half the group. "Nat, back me up here!"

Natasha considered him briefly. "You may channel Isabella if you want."

"Thank you."

"You need all the help you can get."

"Hey!"

"Oh for-- physics doesn't work like that!" Bruce shouted suddenly at the screen. Nobody flinched.

"It's a cartoon," Jane reminded him.

"But you can't expand a bubble by blowing from inside it!"

Steve raised his eyebrows. "They've built a portal to Mars, antigravity, and a time machine, and this is what you have a problem with?"

"Do you not think that the Doofenschmirtz's device from the previous episode resembles the one Dr. Doom tried to use last month?" Thor asked.

"Oh my God, you're right."

"Ten bucks to the first person to call him Doomenschmirtz next time we fight him," Bucky said.

"You're on," said Clint.

"Pfft, cheapskates," said Stark. "A hundred to whoever'll call Fury Major Monochrome."

"If you call him that to his face," Phil said, "it will take something more substantial than money to make up for it."

"Spoilsport," Stark muttered. He stole the popcorn from Bruce and started throwing it at Clint, who caught it in his mouth until Stark's aim went so wide that he fell off the couch trying to reach it.

Phil glanced down at Steve. "I take it the cartoon's grown on you?"

Steve smiled. "It's surprisingly relatable. Considering I'm not sure any of us ever had what most people consider 'normal' summer vacations."

"Especially the superhero episode," Clint snickered from the floor. "The butt-thrusters were so relatable."

"I have never used butt-thrusters."

"I've seen some of your early test flight recordings," said Natasha. "Butt-thrusters would've been an improvement."

Phil shook his head, but couldn't hold back a smile. "Anything I should do before I head back?"

"Yeah, drop the paperwork and have a seat." Steve scooted over to make space on the couch. When Phil blinked in surprise, he added, "We all need a bit of a break, right?"

Phil smiled, put the files on the coffee table, and sat down.