Chapter Text
Tony Stark turns thirty on a beautiful sunny Saturday.
The team has changed since they were kids running around kicking ass and having bucketloads of youthful drama. Clint left a few years ago -- nothing dramatic, he just got tired of jumping around buildings at the age of thirty-five and...well, basically took Coulson's old job, handling up-and-coming heroes. He still gets out in the field, and he still has better aim than basically anyone on the planet, but he's not an active Avenger anymore. (He's still an Avenger, of course. Once an Avenger, always an Avenger.)
It's probably for the best. Coulson's in his forties and his heart wasn't going to stand that kind of strain forever.
Natasha, crowing that she outlasted him, does not appear to be interested in stopping any time soon, thankfully.
They have a Hulk now too, or rather they have a Bruce and a Hulk, since Tony managed to entice him/them onto the team. Bruce is quiet but funny when he wants to be, and he and Tony nerd out together in their lab on their downtime. Hulk adores Steve (who doesn't?) so he's more of an asset than a destructive force. Most days, anyway.
Tony's still trying to get War Machine to join up, but Rhodey seems perfectly happy serving as heavy artillery for his Army unit, so it's mostly become a joke Tony makes when they meet up for drinks on Rhodey's leave.
Pep and Peter, after breaking up and making up and breaking up and making up and breaking up and marrying other people and breaking up with them (oh, the emotions Tony has had to sit through with those two) finally gave in to the inevitable, got married, and spend all their time talking over each other. It's sweet. Their first kid's on the way, and the Avengers are very apprehensive about what kind of child Peter Parker and Pepper Potts will raise.
They're calling him Patrick Parker-Potts, because they're evil.
Luke is already giving them baby advice, because he found -- literally, he's the one who discovered her -- this amazing woman named Jessica, callsign Jewel. He figured out she had powers, recruited her, got her into training, fell in love, and pined for years before everyone got fed up with it and staged an "ask her out or get over it" intervention. Which is why the Avengers take personal credit for baby Danielle.
On the other hand, they lost Luke to being a stay-at-home dad so Jessica can focus on her solo career, and Hulk is not nearly as witty as Luke used to be.
Steve's still an Avenger. At thirty-four he can still outpace any of them, too, and he somewhat enjoys taking down cocky youngsters who think they own the world. There are a lot of those in SHIELD training; it's almost a requirement. Must Be Arrogant Enough To Pull Off Spandex.
And of course, Tony.
Tony turns thirty at the top of his game: leader of the elite Avengers, mentor to a handful of the kids Clint manages, and billionaire head of Stark Solutions, whose only close competitors are Microsoft and Apple.
Tony turns thirty while getting shoved into a building by some second-rate asshole who invented a growth ray and blew himself up to forty feet tall, which apparently made him nutfuck crazy.
"Am I allowed to say I'm getting too old for this?" he asks, picking himself out of the remains of the buliding.
"No," Coulson answers.
"Am I allowed to beg off because it's my birthday?"
"Sure, Tony," Peter says, dangling off forty-foot-tall-asshole's inseam. That can't be fun. Natasha's on the other side, shooting Widow's Stings right into his groin, which looks like even less fun. "You go have some cake, we'll handle this."
"Don't be a hater," Tony replies. He's listing a little -- one of the repulsors is at half-power -- but he shoots out of the remains of the building and aims for the big guy's nose.
"Avengers pull back -- Spider-man, Widow, get out of there," Steve calls over the comms. "I'm going to need some serious webbage. Hulk, stop that," he adds. Hulk is biting the guy's ankle. It's actually pretty funny.
"What's your play, Captain?" Coulson asks.
"You remember the frost giants?" Steve says. As one, the Avengers groan in dismay.
"That's right, we're doing this," Steve continues, amusement evident in his voice. "Come on guys, there's just one this time, and we won't have to melt it. Iron Man, can you draw his attention?"
Tony's still aiming for the nose. "I am all over it."
"Get him running. Spider-man and Widow, deploy two blocks east at the intersection."
"I love it when you talk soldier, baby," Tony says.
"Time and place, Iron Man," Coulson interjects.
"He's just jealous," Tony tells the team.
"Yes, I deeply envy your flying tin sweatbox."
"Not what I meant!" Tony sings out, about two seconds before he crunches into the big guy's nose.
There's a bone-rattling roar and Tony takes off, just fast enough for the giant to follow, watching for Peter and Natasha. Peter's in place, and a flash of blue down below says Steve is too; he's not expecting to see Natasha, but she'll be where she needs to be.
Tony rips through the intersection and turns just in time to see Steve throw his shield, a length of steel coil rippling out behind it. The big guy's ankle hits the makeshift tripwire just as Natasha stings his ankles, and he stumbles and begins to fall. As he's going down Peter leaps into action, webbing him up so that he hangs, almost parallel to the street but twenty feet above it, strands of webbing dangling from the buildings.
Pepper's team sweeps in then, a dozen men and women in SHIELD body armor, throwing super-light cables up and around the giant, binding him tightly. He roars, enraged, but he can barely move; the webbing, reinforced with the cables, holds him tight. Tony delivers two targeted blasts to his head, and the roaring subsides.
Ever so slowly, he crashes all the way to the ground, and begins to shrink.
"Neurological input," Tony says, tilting his head. "He controlled his size with his mind."
"Probably took up too much biological processing power, which is why he was totally insane," Peter agrees.
"Cool," Tony decides. He lands next to Pepper, the draft from the repulsors blowing her short red hair around, and retracts the helmet.
"That's for ruining my birthday, you dick," he tells the heap of webbing and loose coil. Pepper gives him a high-five, then begins barking orders into her comm.
"Nice work, kids," Coulson says.
"Thirty years old!" Tony retorts.
"No mercy," Coulson informs him. "You are the reason I have grey hair."
"Aw, you say the nicest things. Hey Cap, assemble up, we still have time to make an entrance at the party," Tony calls.
Radio silence.
"Cap?" he tries again. "Steve?"
There's a feeling, and all the Avengers know it, that washes over them when they know something is wrong, something worse than a broken comm. Tony has that feeling now, and he takes off running down the street towards the intersection, Pepper on his heels, Natasha right behind.
"I can't raise him," Coulson confirms.
"I have visual," Tony says, because he does -- there's a red-gloved hand lying limp, on top of a heap of rubble. "Oh, Jesus, no, Cap -- "
He skids to a stop and begins heaving cement and rebar left and right. The force of impact on the tripwire must have shoved Steve straight around into the building.
"Stupid bastard, if this asshole got him killed on my birthday I'm going to fucking rip his guts out -- " Tony drops to his knees in the debris, clearing dust away from Steve's face, patting him all over. There's not a lot of blood, but Steve's too still, too pale, and what little blood there is comes trickling out of his mouth. "Steve, fuck, Steve -- "
He's scanning for internal injuries, spinal cord damage, and as soon as the scan comes back negative Tony pulls him up, curls around him and strokes his hair back, slapping him gently. "Come on, come on. Baby, don't do this to me. Steve, come on."
Steve coughs, twists, lets out a yell of pain; Tony exhales and grips him tightly.
"That was unpleasant," Steve moans. He turns to the side and spits out two teeth (they'll grow back, they always do, it's eerie). The blood, Tony can see, is from the injured gums.
"Oh, thank you," he mumbles, pulling Steve into a backwards hug, pressing his forehead to the crown of Steve's head. "Man, you can't die on me yet, you've got thirty-nine years left on your sentence."
Steve flails, pulling his legs out from under another pile of cement. "Whatever," he manages, panting. "You still owe me that damn blanket."
Tony laughs, kisses him upside-down, laughs some more. Pepper sits back in relief as Natasha clears the last of the rubble away from them. Hulk lumbers up, Peter crouched on his shoulder. Hulk takes it all in, narrows his eyes, and rumbles, "Cake now."
"Yeah buddy," Steve agrees. "Cake now."
"Birfday cake," Hulk insists.
"Yep, we'll get you a corner piece with lots of frosting," Tony agrees.
"You promised everyone a corner piece," Steve groans, getting to his feet.
"So?"
"So there's five of us. Eight if you count Pep, Clint, and Coulson."
"I don't like frosting," Coulson says over the comms.
"That's because you're a joyless automaton," Tony babbles, lightheaded with relief. "What's the problem? Are you saying I'm not capable of designing a cake with eight corners? I'll have you know my cake not only has eight corners but exists in six dimensions. This cake is not a lie."
"I've talked to your party planner. There are three cakes," Coulson sighs. "You're all dismissed. I'll see you at the party."
The party is a publicity stunt, which means the guest of honor is almost optional. When the Avengers are made as presentable as they ever get, they troop out from the Helicarrier -- currently docked in the bay -- and board the yacht moored off the side of it. Avengers past and present are there; Rhodey made it too, which is awesome. There's some SHIELD brass and agents, a couple of politicians, and a massive number of reporters.
Tony jets down in style in his spare armor, the one without much firepower but currently much shinier than his battle suit. He sends it to stand sentinel on the deck with a gesture, which never fails to impress the reporters, and settles in at a table to hold court. He accepts presents, eats cake, chats with important people; he kisses Steve for the cameras (always kisses Steve for the cameras, and Steve always blushes) and has a dance or three.
And, as night falls, the SHIELD agents in the crowd begin gently but firmly herding the reporters back into waiting jets and choppers. Tony watches it all with a faint smile on his face. Slowly, the yacht empties out until it's just him and the people he actually wants at his party: The Avengers. Rhodey and Pep. Coulson and Fury.
"This is more like it," he says, relaxing back into his chair. Steve, next to him, is eating his millionth piece of cake.
Clint and Coulson are standing at the rail, looking out at the water, Clint's arm casually slung around Coulson's waist. Pepper is arguing regs with Fury, which means they're both having fun. It looks like Rhodey might be refereeing. Luke and Jessica are slow-dancing to the tune playing on the speakers, while Peter minds baby Danielle and watches Pepper fondly. Bruce and Natasha are dancing too, and Tony wonders if that's the start of something.
Looking up, he can see faces at the windows of the Helicarrier, some of Clint's kids trying to get a glimpse without being seen. The next generation of Avengers is up there somewhere; one day one of those kids will be leader. A nice legacy, though hopefully not anytime soon. He hopes he's setting a good example for them. He's pretty sure he is.
The moonlight shines over the water and the yacht and the dancing, and the fairy lights strung over the deck sway in the breeze. In a shadow, his armor stands silent, waiting for him.
Tony rests his head on Steve's shoulder and laughs.
"What's funny?" Steve asks, smiling down at him.
"Everything I love is in one place," Tony says.