"Don't sit up yet," Bruce commanded sternly, knowing that his words were likely being ignored anyway, "your body just went through hell so let's not rush things. How do you feel?"

"Like I could sleep for a week," Steve answered. "But I feel stronger overall...I think. What's the word, doc?"

Bruce crossed the room and grabbed one of his tablets, returning quickly to stand next to Steve and a just-waking Bucky. He studied the numbers as they scrolled over the screen, and waves and lines that marched out their heartbeats and breaths colored it vibrantly and reflected from his glasses almost enough for you to interpret them with him. "So far, things are looking good, Cap. Your vitals are stable, and...wait, hold on," he paused, leaving again only to hurry back, his own adrenaline now surging with relief and excitement. "Stay still for a sec."

"Yes, sir."

"Careful, I could get used to that." The doctor held one of his instruments over his friend as you sat quietly and watched, your breath held in anticipation of what he was about to say. "Wow. Your hip has completely healed, Steve. Let's get you on your feet. Slowly."

On the table next to him, Bucky was beginning to stir and wake, with Sam at his side and ready to know if the man he knew would be the one to arrive, or if the man from Steve's past would remain. "Hey Banner," Sam whispered, "have you checked his brain? Is there any chance-"

"Sam?"

"Hey, Buck," Sam gasped at the sound, sucking in a tense breath that barely filled his chest.

"Man, what the hell happened?" he groaned, pushing himself up to lean on his elbows. "I feel like I got hit by a truck." Bucky stopped and looked around the room at the group of his teammates staring back anxiously, each of them looking like they were either on the verge of crying or breaking out into laughter, he couldn't exactly tell. "Did we die, or somethin'? What's with the creepy faces?" Becca pushed her way through the group and ran to him, throwing herself up on the table and into his arms with a jolt that nearly toppled the newly healed man. "Woah, baby, what's wrong? I'm okay, I promise. I'm okay."

"Dad?!"

Steve had stood and was holding your hand to keep himself steady as he tried his newly healed leg, but his balance shifted at the sound of his daughter calling out to him and he couldn't help but let you go and take her into his arms. "I'm good, honey," he reassured her, whispering into her hair as she held on, "I'm good."

Anthony was next into the room, followed by Grant. As much as he wanted to see for himself that his father was better, his first focus was on you and he made his way to you immediately. What you had done, or at least attempted to do, was just as experimental as Tony's solution, and the dangers of it were the same or greater for all anyone knew. "Mom? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetie," you smiled softly, "just worn out, but nothing that a good nap won't fix."

"What...w-what was it like?"

"Maybe someday I'll talk to you about it, but not yet. Is that okay? I'm still working through it, and I just need to process a bit. I need to talk to your dad and Buck first."

"Of course, anything you need," your son agreed, finally extending his arms out to get the hug he had been waiting agonizing hours for, "you're amazing, Mom, don't forget that. I don't know if I could do what you just did."

"If it were Esihle lying on that table, you wouldn't even second-guess what you could do, Ant. I believe that." You pushed back from his embrace and looked to each of your three, waiting for Brooke to release Steve so that you could take her place in his arms for a moment that you thought may not have ever happened again.

Grant had hung back just a bit, standing a few feet away next to Tony and looking uncharacteristically timid in comparison to his usual energetic and enthusiastic self. Brooke's words had stung, and he realized that he had missed out on this feeling of being with his family. All through his life he had been the stubborn one, the troublemaker, and when he left to join the Four, he thought it was for the right reasons. He wanted to help save the world, just like his parents and aunts and uncles had done before his eyes every day. But now, with all that had just happened, and with the future his sister was about to take on, he wasn't so sure anymore.

"Grandpa?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"Would you mind if I stayed here for a while before heading back to the city? I feel like I've missed so much lately, and this whole thing with Dad has me a little freaked out."

"Grant, this is your home," Tony insisted, "this will always be your home no matter where your life goes. You never, ever have to ask me if you can be here."

~~~

"You still think that he's coming back, Mom?" Grant interrupted, scraping his chair along the floor as he pulled it back from the table. "I'm starting to think that Dad lied to you and saw his chance to make a run for it. Uncle James, you were right. He is a chickenshit."

"Grant James! You watch your mouth!" you scolded, inadvertently turning to him with the knife still precariously resting in your hand. "Don't ever talk about your father that way, are we clear?"

"Whatever. What's for lunch?"

Bucky stomped across the room with urgent steps that echoed well into the adjoining rooms, shaking the table and everything on it from the force of his footfall. His eyes were alight with anger as he looked at the boy, finding it more and more difficult to contain the urge to lift him from the chair by his shirt and take him over his knee for a good old fashioned spanking like he used to get. "I don't know what's gotten into you, young man, but you need to mind your tone when you talk to your mom."

Grant didn't hesitate for one second, holding the uncomfortable eye contact with a matching intensity and determination to not be the one to back down. "You need to mind your own business. I don't know what it is that you think you're doing around here, and with mom, but you're not my father and I don't have to listen to you."

"Alright, that's it," you snapped, tossing the knife on the counter top with a loud bang, "nothing's for lunch. Get up and go to your room. I'll be up in a few minutes to talk about this."

Grant stood and kicked the leg of the chair, sending it sliding into the table hard enough to knock his glass of milk over to drench everything in its way. He shifted his glare to you with a look that you had seen from only one other; his father. It was unsettling how much of Steve you were seeing in Grant, and you were conflicted with trying to understand if it was because you missed him, or if your anger was actually meant for him and not your son. Grant raised his hand and began to wave it in a circle to build a portal, but you stepped forward and put a quick halt to it.

"No, you walk your ass up there. No magic or powers for the rest of the day, and I can promise you that it's going to be longer if you try anything, understood?"

"Hypocrite. I hate this place," he hissed, clenching his fists at his sides as he turned and trudged his way to the elevator. You heard Bucky's sigh next to you and could feel just how angry Grant really was, though you struggled to know if this outburst was about Steve, or Maggie, you, or really about Bucky. You had never seen him so mad, and it became very clear just how upset he was when a vase full of flowers at the center of the table burst into flames as the lift doors closed.

~~~

Later that evening, the entire family sat down to dinner in the room that had held Anthony and Esihle's reception the night before. The compound had adjusted over the years and didn't have the same accommodations for so many people at once, so it needed to be taken advantage of that there was so much space ready for everyone to be together again. While the youngest kids set up the tables, and your three ran out to get dessert for later, the rest of the massive team gathered in the kitchen and struggled to coordinate making dinner. You couldn't help but laugh at the reminiscence of this exact thing happening far too many times over the years together.

"Thor, we've talked about this," Natasha coached him, "stop calling the chicken a carcass. It ruins appetites."

"But that's what it is," he argued. "We're partaking in a feast on the dead."

"Wow, be more morbid," Clint scoffed. "Still gonna eat it though, so whatever."

"Hold on," Peter stopped, looking around the countertops, "how come we have four kinds of potatoes? Who was in charge of potatoes?"

"You were, dumbass," Bucky snorted, inciting Sam's chuckle next to him. Sam was unwilling to leave his side for more than a few minutes since the experiment had finished, and Bucky didn't seem to mind at all. "Sam, grab that knife from (Y/N)'s leg holster, would ya?"

"Um, no, don't think so. You do it."

"Ya big baby, she's not gonna stab you with it."

"You don't know."

"True, he doesn't know," you agreed, handing the tool to your friend, "but not today. I'm hungry."

"So, if you weren't hungry, then all bets are off?" Steve joined in. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You've always known that, hon. You also know that I've stabbed people for less than getting between me and my food."

With a subtle wink, you grabbed the two dishes that you had been working on and made your way to the dining room to get dinner going. There was barely any room on the table to put them, after everyone had made beyond too much for the group; there would be plenty to donate the next day, and it would be a good lesson for the younger kids to help with. Your trio had just arrived and stored their desserts away so they could join you, taking seats next to Steve as you took your usual place next to Tony. Once everyone had settled, the rabid foraging began, and the zoo feeding trough had opened. At least for nearly everyone, with the exception of the man next to you.

"Dad? Not hungry?"

Tony had been pushing the few choices of items he had made around his plate mindlessly, not realizing that he had taken up so much of your interest. When your voice broke him from his trance, he picked up the pace despite having been blatantly caught. "Nah, not really. It's been a pretty stressful day, I suppose."

"Since when did you stop eating your stress away?"

"Since I'm just not hungry. Really, that's it."

"Mmm hmm," you mumbled, "we'll see. After a lifetime you still act like I don't know you better than you know you."

"Believe me, kiddo, never once do I think that."

On the other side of you, next to Steve sat Brooke, who was doing much the same as Tony was, but doing a much worse job of hiding it than he had. Steve had kept his peripheral vision trained on her as much as he could, but she was an adult and he didn't want to come off as the overbearing parent during something that was supposed to be a thankful event. "You don't have to eat, honey. If you're not hungry, you don't need to fake interest on our account."

"I'm hungry," she shrugged, setting down her fork, "but nothing sounds good. I'm just having an off day, it's been pretty stressful. But you'd know that already, huh?"

"Sure would," he said, "but are you sure you're okay? You know you can tell me if there's something bothering you, right? The worst is over, and I'm back to your old, annoying, overprotective dad. Healthy again and ready to make your life miserable like any good parent should."

"Wouldn't have it any other...w-way..."

"Brooke?"

"Excuse me..." she stammered into a hiccup, hastily pushing her chair back from the table enough to knock it over, "I don't...I feel..." But she didn't finish, slapping her hand over her mouth and breaking into a sprint from the room to the closest bathroom a short distance away. It wasn't so far away that it allowed her the privacy from Steve and Bucky's restored sense of hearing, and once the realization struck them as to what was happening, they exchanged a knowing glance before Steve turned to you with eyes wide and a cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"Oh my god."