#added team

AN: My first prompt since my blog’s glow up! Feel free to send me a prompt of your own :)

Steve couldn’t believe how utterly, dangerously short-sighted he had been. Somewhere between the serum and joining the Avengers, he had forgotten just how fragile human beings really were, and now he was paying the price. 

They all were. 

Tony had managed to fool them all, it seemed. The Iron Man suit was a work of art - a distraction from the very real, very breakable man inside. When the face plate closed, it was easy to forget that anyone was piloting from inside at all; Iron Man had a life of his own, entirely Tony, but more invincible. Steve admitted, in hindsight, that it was entirely too easy to separate Iron Man, his teammate, from Tony Stark, the man he loved above all else in the world. 

A single EMP had turned Tony’s genius into his downfall. The suit had gone from indestructible armour to a heavy, metal coffin. Honestly, having watched in horror as Tony had plummeted to the ground, Steve was surprised he had survived at all. 

AN: I’ve spent the last couple of days recovering from surgery, but I’m back! 

“Frankly, I’m insulted,” Tony huffed, pacing up and down the room, “that me and Bruce are the only ones they didn’t think to tie up.”

“Well, Steve and Thor have super strength,” Clint sighed from the corner where he’d been thrown some hours ago. “Me and Tasha have spy training -”

“And took out three of them with a couple of spoons,” Natasha added unhelpfully. 

“And, honestly, if Bruce hulked out, even these shackles would be no good,” Clint continued, and held up the reinforced cuffs as if to prove his point. “So.”

“So what?” Tony spat, dangerously close to throwing a bitch fit the likes of which planet Earth had never seen. 

“Why do you want to be tied up, anyway?” Steve grunted, busy wriggling to his knees. “It’s very uncomfortable.”

“I don’t want to be tied up,” Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m just insulted that they didn’t think I’m enough of a threat to warrant it!”

AN: I have a day off tomorrow. I’m gonna try to catch up with the days I’ve missed writing fics so far :)

“This is a living nightmare,” Clint whispered, and Tony found himself having to agree.

“It’s inhumane,” Steve agreed aloud from beside him; Tony nodded. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” he hummed, staring out at the travesty before them. 

People were barbecuing. On the beach. On Christmas day. 

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AN: Today ends the stony spooky celebration on my blog! Happy Halloween, everyone :D I still have 14 more Halloween prompts, so I'm going to try and fill them all today, but I'm officially not taking any more prompts :)

“It liiivvveeesss,” Tony cackled happily, watching their creation shuffle around.

“Tony, stop yelling,” Bruce sighed as he switched the “life-giving” machine off. “You're going to scare it.”

When they had started this, neither of them had actually believed they could pull it off. They had been reading Frankenstein in English class at the time, and Tony had been inspired.

“I mean, we would have to give it metal organs because obviously we wouldn't be able to find real ones fresh enough,” he'd suggested.

“Of course,” Bruce had hummed indulgently.

“And we'd have to find a fresh grave, or decomposition would be a thing,” he'd gone on. “But the idea of using electricity to jump-start it could work, right?”

Tony seemed to be the only one freaking out, and he didn't know why. His only son was moving away to college, which meant he would be moving out of the tower, which meant... he wouldn't see his boy every day. 

How was everyone else coping with this? 

"Stop being such a baby," Steve tutted, tipping chips into a bowl as Tony fretted and paced across the kitchen. 

"Okay, obviously you're repressing some stuff, Steve, because this doesn't seem to be bothering you," he replied, stealing a chip as he wandered past the table. 

Peter had insisted, since it was his last night, that they do things his way, and he hadn't wanted the big party Tony had suggested. Instead, they were ordering pizza in, and had stocked up on snacks and drinks, and were going to spend his last night together with the other Avengers.

Steve just rolled his eyes at him. "Of course I care, Tony. I'm going to miss him like crazy, but he's not a baby anymore."

"But he's my baby," Tony whined, skidding to a stop so he could press his head between his husband's shoulder blades. "Who am I supposed to babble half-coherent science talk at in the middle of the night now? He's my Petey-bird."

"I knew you were sneaking him down to the workshop past his bedtime," Steve muttered, and Tony snorted against his spine. 

"He's eighteen, honey. Just because you say he has a bedtime doesn't mean that he agrees with you."

"I read on the line that teenagers need more sleep -"

"Online, sweetie - how many times do I have to -"

"You two better not be making out in there, because I'm waiting on those chips!" came Clint's voice from the next room and, leaning up to press a kiss to the back of Steve's neck, Tony pulled away to help his husband carry some of the treat bowls back out into the living room.

The Avengers were already there, gathered on the couches around the TV currently playing Monsters University (because Bruce had thought it was appropriate, and nobody had disagreed), and Peter was...

Peter was cradled against Thor's chest. 

"I cradled you like this as a babe," the god reminisced, rocking the boy back and forth gently from his seat on one of the couches.

"Uncle Thor, please..." he whined, even though - by this point - he had stopped struggling.

"Actually, big guy, if I remember correctly, you and Hawkass took to tossing him around like a football," Tony replied, putting down his bowls on the coffee table before throwing himself down next to them. 

"What?" Steve and Peter squawked at the same time. 

"When was this?" Steve asked, placing his own bowls down and glaring between Thor, Tony and Clint. 

"Now, in my defense," Barton replied placatingly, "that's not what happened. Thor dropped him, and I caught him -"

"Verily, brother, I would hold thy tongue," Thor growled at the archer, patting Peter on the back reassuringly. 

"You dropped my infant son -" 

"Hey, remember that phase Peter went through when he was around three?" Bruce cut in strategically, before Steve could throttle Thor. 

Natasha chuckled from her place by the scientist's feet. "He refused to wear any clothes in the tower for six whole months." 

"The only way I could get him to wear clothes in public was by letting him wear that superhero costume Bruce made him," Tony grinned, pointing at Bruce. "You remember that?"

"Please stop talking about my infant nakedness."

"What did he call himself?" Bruce asked, completely ignoring Peter altogether. 

"Spider-boy," Steve smiled, leaning over Thor's shoulder to kiss the top of Peter's head. 

"Is this how the whole evening is going to go? Because I've gotta say - I'm not sure I'm about this life -"

"We used to have to pretend to be in danger so he could come rescue us," Clint nodded, snatching up some chips from a bowl, "and we had to be in costume, or it didn't count."

"I do not miss scrubbing sticky hand prints off the suit," Tony laughed, scooting closer to Thor as Steve sat down next to him and threw an arm over his shoulders. 

"I miss the finger painting, though," his husband sighed. "And bath time."

"You miss bath time?" Tony asked, incredulous. "I've repressed bath time." 

"Well, he was always good for me at bath time," Steve shrugged. 

"Me too," Natasha agreed. 

"I feel betrayed, Pete," Clint scoffed. "I used to end up wetter than you did when it was my turn."

"Uh... sorry?" Peter shrugged. "Uncle Thor, are you going to let me go any time soon -"

"Teaching the lad to weld a blade was also most memorable, was it not?" Thor boomed, simply hugging Peter closer to him. 

"It still gives me nightmares," Steve huffed. 

"Useful for when he got kidnapped the first time, though," Bruce replied, before frowning. "But they broke his arm the second time, didn't they?"

"Yeah," Tony frowned, feeling a pang of guilt shoot through him. "And then there was that time he got second degree burns because I didn't watch him properly in the workshop."

"And when he caught a bullet shell in the face when I was teaching him how to fire a shotgun," Natasha added, glancing down at her feet. 

"We've not been the best guardians, have we?" Clint asked as a tense silence settled across the room. 

"Well, I disagree," came Peter's quiet voice, and they all turned to finally look at him. 

"Pete, you broke your nose running face first into a door," Steve sighed. 

"Yeah, maybe, but that's not what I remember most about that," Peter replied insistently. "I remember playing tag with my Pops in the hall. I remember being allowed to help Dad make stuff, and learning to protect myself with aunt Tasha and uncle Clint, and getting homework help from uncle Bruce; I remember getting the best hugs from uncle Thor. 

"I don't remember the kidnappings, so much," he continued. "I remember being rescued, and being told that I was loved, and knowing - above all else - that you would always come for me." 

Silence rang around the room for a few moments longer, before - from beside him - Tony heard his husband burst into tears, and looked around incredulously. 

"My baby is leaving!" the blond sniffled, getting to his feet to sweep Peter out of Thor's arms and into his own. 

Tony knew it just hadn't hit him yet. 

"Pops, please, put me down -"

"My sweet, precious boy," Steve mumbled, pressing kisses all over the squirming boy's face. "Gonna be such a strong, smart man. So proud of you, Pete."

"Alright, sweetie, let's put him down, okay?" Tony chuckled, watching as - with a last kiss - Steve placed Peter back on his feet again. 

"You know what?" the boy croaked, rubbing his ribs. "This was a terrible idea. You guys are all losers - I'm going to bed."

"Night, Pete!" Tony called over his shoulder as the boy staggered to the door. "Love you!"

"Yeah, love you, Pete!"

"Goodnight, Spider-boy!"

"Sweet dreams, precious!"

The whole world knew that Tony Stark hated Christmas. He made his employees work late through the holidays without bonuses or even a thank you; he never decorated the tower, and forbade anyone else from doing it, even though little Peter begged for it. Tony was a Scrooge, and he knew it. 

"Verily, brother, I do not understand your hatred for so joyous an occasion," Thor sighed from his place at the kitchen table while Tony went about making his bi-hourly coffee. 

"What's so good about it? It's just a day," he huffed. "No different than any other. If anything, it's a day wasted."

"Hear me, brother," the god replied gravely, before biting into a Pop Tart, "our comrades will live to see you regret that statement, I fear."

"I doubt it, buddy," Tony replied confidently. "There's not a lot they could do to change my mind." 

---

"Hey, Tony? C'mere a sec."

Tony paused for a second before walking backwards and stopping in the doorway of the library, which Steve was sitting quite peacefully in. 

"I know, I know, it's late and I should be in bed, but in my defense, you're not there either -"

"Tony, I'm not mad that you didn't come to bed," Steve smiled, and gestured for Tony to come and join him on the couch. "I just wanted to ask you something."

"Uh... okay?" he replied, wandering over and settling himself down along his husband's side. "What's up?"

"I was rummaging around for a book that looked interesting, and I came across this," the blond replied, holding up a scrapbook that Tony thought long gone. "Some of the photos in here, Tony, they're... they're wonderful."

And then he flipped the book open and came to rest on a photo of a three year old Tony, grinning toothlessly up at the camera in his hideous Christmas sweater, and holding up a remote controlled car for all to see. 

"You looked so happy, here," Steve murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "but as the years go bye -" he flicked through the book, and, with each passing photo, Tony got older, and sadder. "What happened?"

Tony shrugged, not really comfortable with this particular conversation. "Soon as my folks realised I was old enough to hold a proper conversation, they made themselves scarce at Christmas. Always away on business, or taking a Christmas vacation, or whatever."

"So they left you alone?" 

"I had Jarvis," he sighed wearily. "The real, human Jarvis, that is. But yeah, they were never there, and then they were dead, so..."

"Is that why you -?"

Tony wasn't having this conversation - not now, not ever. "I'm going to bed," he announced, completely cutting Steve off before he could finish his question. "Are you coming, or what?"

"I -" Steve frowned. "I think I'm going to stay here a little longer, okay? I'll try not to wake you when I come up."

"Oh, okay," Tony nodded, and tried not to feel a little hurt. 

As he got into bed a little later on that night, he had never felt so alone. 

---

It was a few days after Tony's rather peculiar heart to heart with Steve that he, once again, was just minding his own business - strolling towards the kitchen for something to eat - when a gentle voice caught his attention. 

"We can absolutely make them in Christmassy shapes, buddy, but we'll have to eat them all before your Daddy finds out."

And Tony was about to barge into the kitchen and demand to know what sort of plot Bruce was hatching with his son, when little Peter replied, subdued, "Would Daddy be real mad if he found out?"

His question was followed by a barking cough, because Peter had had a cold now for a few days, and had been feeling very sorry for himself. 

"He probably wouldn't be happy, but I don't think he'd -"

"Then maybe we should just bake the cookies in regular shapes," the little boy sighed, and Tony couldn't see his face, but he could imagine how crushed he would be looking right about now. 

It made him feel a little like dirt. 

"Hey, no, I've been hiding some special cookie cutters just for this, and I think you're really going to like them, Peter. We can take them and share with your Papa when we're done, if you'd like?"

"Really?" Peter still sounded unsure. "You think Papa would like some?"

"I think he'd love some," Bruce confirmed. 

"Okay," Peter sounded much happier now, and that was a relief, at least. "Can I have the angel cookie cutter please, uncle Bruce?"

Tony backed away from the door - not really wanting to hear any more, because it felt like he was impeding upon a sacred, happy moment between Peter and Bruce, and he didn't want to ruin anything any further for either of them. 

Feeling distantly ashamed of himself, he shuffled back down to his workshop. 

---

"Hey, Stark, you're not dead, right?" 

Tony, once again, came to a stop in the doorway - this time, of the communal floor's living area. "I don't... think so?"

"Okay."

Frowning, he was about to let it drop and go back to his workshop, but then his curiosity got the better of him, and he crossed over to the couch where Clint was spread out. 

"Is there a particular reason why you're asking me this, or...?" he asked, leaning over the back of the sofa to glare down at the archer. The other man just shrugged in return, then gestured to the TV. 

"- what started as a simple twitter trend hoax has now spread like wildfire, and - with no statement from any of Stark's associates or legal department - people are really beginning to question - is Tony Stark dead?" a reporter said, before the screen cut to a montage of interviewees. 

"Personally, he's always seemed like a bit of an asshole -"

"- got what was coming to him, really, didn't he?"

"- sister's girl goes to school with his son, and that boy always seems miserable round this time of year -"

"Would anyone really mourn him, even if it's true? A leopard doesn't change its spots -"

"Shut it off," he snapped, and immediately the screen went black. As he sunk onto the couch beside Clint, his chest gave an unfamiliar twinge, and he had to take a calming breath. "Is that... is that how people see me? Am I really that horrible?" 

"You can be kind of a tool, sure."

"Thanks, Barton," he huffed. 

"What? Your kid is afraid of even telling us what he wants for Christmas in case you find out. Hell, he doesn't even like to open his gifts on Christmas day in case you come crawling out of your workshop and scream about him betraying you."

"I wouldn't go that far -"

"I don't know what happened in your life that made you act this way, but you're quickly ruining a whole bunch of peoples' holiday buzzes, so you better get your shit together, y'hear?" Clint ordered, pointing his finger accusingly at Tony. "Steve and Peter deserve nice things, and you're supposed to give 'em to them." 

"I -" Tony stammered for a second, completely taken aback. "Yes, sir."

---

When Christmas Eve rolled around, and everyone had gone to bed, Tony put his plan into action. In the few days since his, frankly, terrifying conversation with Clint, he had been gathering together everything he would need to make this Christmas the best any of them had ever had.

He started with the tree first, and, while it took a while (read: three hours) to haul into place and decorate - and, even then, the end result wasn't like in any of the brochures he had secretly been flicking through - he was very proud of his attempt.

Next, he crept into everyone's rooms and fished out their presents - under no false pretenses that both Clint and Natasha didn't know exactly what he was doing, even if they pretended to still be asleep - so he could carry them back through to the communal area and put them under the tree. There really weren't a lot, but that was okay, because he'd been doing a little shopping of his own. Again, the wrapping wasn't perfect, but, once he'd stashed all his presents to everyone under the tree, it looked marginally less pathetic, and that was all that mattered.

JARVIS quietly cued up some Christmas music as the sun began to dawn, and Tony fished out the boxes of treats he had ordered from his favourite bakery the day before, and placed them on the coffee table in the center of the room. Overall, he was exhausted, and a little sweaty, but very, very pleased with himself as he sat on the couch to wait for everyone to arrive.

Peter was the first, of course, because five year olds got up with the sun. The little boy came stumbling into the room - eyes still half closed - and tugging a sleepy Steve along behind him as they wandered over to the kitchen. But then, of course, something must have caught the little boy's eye, because he skidded to a stop - Steve all but tripping up over him in his sleep haze.

"D- Daddy?" Peter whispered, turning slowly to look - actually look - at the room around him with the widest eyes Tony had ever seen on a person. 

"Santa's been, Pete," he smiled tiredly, getting to his feet and ringing his hands nervously. "We had a talk, me and him, and he says I'm on the naughty list for a very long time for ruining everyone's Christmas."

"Tony," Steve whispered, and there were tears in his husband's eyes as he led their awestruck little boy over to him. "You... you did all this?"

"I've been an ass," he apologised, taking the other man's hand, and resting his other on top of Peter's head, "and I've let my bitterness dictate how you two spend the holiday, and that was wrong of me. It's... it's time to make some happy Christmas memories."

"I love you," Steve whispered, leaning in for a kiss. "I'm so proud of you."

"Yeah, well..." Tony refused to cry. "So how about it, Pete? You ready to open some presents?"

"You mean it?" the boy asked, excited smile brighter than the sun.

"Sure do, baby," he nodded, and, with a squeal, Peter went running over to the tree. "JARVIS, call the other Avengers in. This is going to be a family affair."

Steve wrapped his arms around him from behind, and rested his chin against Tony's shoulder as they watched Peter tearing through his presents - laughing excitedly to himself all the while.

"Merry Christmas, Tony."

Tony smiled, and leaned back into his husband's warmth. "Merry Christmas, Steve."

"And God bless us, every one!" Clint cawed from the doorway as he led all the Avengers in.

If Tony thought back to twenty years ago - hell, if he thought back to five years ago - he never would have believed he could be so happy. But, looking out from the head of the table and watching his friends - his family - all so happily engaged with each other, on this, Christmas day, he realised he'd ever felt so content. 

Of course, the dinner itself was like feeding time at the zoo - and he could see Steve, in his adorable little reindeer antlers, flinching every time someone spilled something on the tablecloth - but everyone was happy, and that was what mattered most. 

"- don't think it's as ugly as Phil's tie, anyway, so I don't see how you can judge me," Clint was saying round a mouthful of potato, gesturing with his fork to the truly hideous sweater he was wearing. "And I like it, anyway, so fuck you all."

"My tie was a gift," Coulson replied, frowning down at the snowflake covered thing, "from you." 

"Oh, yeah."

From beside Tony, Steve leaned in to whisper, "I like Coulson's tie."

"It's hideous, sweetie, as is Clint's sweater, and later I'm going to show you an extensive list of why," Tony replied, but - holding his Santa hat to avoid it slipping off - he leaned in for a kiss, anyway. "Honestly, your taste in clothes should be illegal."

"Hey, you're the one dressed as Santa!" Steve replied with a huff, gesturing to Tony's red shirt and white tie. 

"Sexy santa," Tony corrected, grinning hungrily. "And I know you want me to ride you like the -"

"You don't ride reindeer, Tony; they pull sleighs" the blond rolled his eyes, but the light flush creeping up his neck told Tony he'd won that argument. 

A laugh from further down the table drew their attention, and Tony couldn't help but join in upon realising that Thor - who had kindly brought some crackers over from England where he had been staying with Jane - had three separate paper hats on his head. He grinned brightly at them all around the turkey leg he was trying to cram into his mouth. 

"I approve verily of this celebration!" he called. "T'is most joyous!" 

"Sure is," Natasha agreed, leaning up to precariously rest yet another hat on the god's head. "Ten points if you can get a sprout into the hats without them breaking, Clint."

"Uh, no throwing food, kids," Bruce called as Clint made to grab for the vegetables. "The other guy won't appreciate it."

"Are you kidding? You should be more worried about the fact that you couldn't possibly win a food fight with the other guy," Tony grinned, jostling the other man's shoulder from across the table. 

"That, too," he smiled. 

"Sir, it appears Director Fury is in the elevator," JARVIS announced, and Tony frowned. 

"What?"

But, before he could get an answer, Fury was storming into the room, and he... he had a sack on his back. 

"I crept into his quarters last night and painted his eye patch when he was sleeping," Clint whispered just loud enough for them all - bar Fury - to hear, and Tony had to stuff half of his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing at the glittery paint that covered the patch. 

"Motherfuckers," Fury greeted, dumping the sack on the floor by his feet. "Christmas shit is in the sack. There's something for everyone, apart from Barton, because he doesn't get nice things if he's going to be an ass-hat."

Clint's face dropped immediately. "Damn, I thought I cut all the cameras."

"Evidently not," Fury replied with a wry smile. "Enjoy a whole bunch of nothing while I get complimented on how pretty I look. Later, fuckers."

And, with nothing else to add, apparently, Fury turned on his heel and left again. 

"Why," Coulson cut through the stunned silence that followed, "why, would you ever think you could get away with that?" 

"Thought I cut all the cameras," Clint mumbled again, playing with the peas on his plate. "Was just a joke."

"Don't worry, Clint," Steve replied with a smile, "you can have an extra cookie, instead."

"Really?" the archer perked right up. 

"But you have to finish all your vegetables first."

"Fuck this holiday!"