Inheritance of ash

Triggers

Dinner at the Tower was never a quiet affair. But tonight? Tonight was bordering on circus.

The long table was already half-filled, plates clinking, drinks passed around, laughter bubbling from corners. Scott Lang was enthusiastically describing his self-proclaimed "masterpiece pasta bake" to Clint himself like it was a Michelin-star creation.

Clint, for his part, saluted in response. "You're welcome."

Natasha, just walking in with Steve, nearly dropped her fork. "Wait. You cooked?"

"Technically," Clint said, smugly sipping his soda. "I reheated something in the oven. I added herbs. That's cooking."

Steve exchanged a knowing glance with Natasha and pulled out the seat beside Kate. She was already seated, looking a little distant, eyes unfocused on the plate in front of her.

He sat down next to her without comment, then nudged her with his elbow and pulled her in gently for a quick side hug. "You got this," he said quietly.

Kate blinked, then gave a small smile. Natasha took the seat on her other side, casually draping her arm across the back of Kate's chair, subtle but grounding.

Then came the chaos.

Sam and Bucky walked in together—well, arguing their way in.

"I'm just saying, if you didn't hate the cat, you wouldn't have let him sleep on your jacket three times," Sam said, pointing a fork at Bucky before even sitting down.

"I didn't let him," Bucky muttered. "He's stealthy."

"You left the jacket on the couch."

"It's a couch. It doesn't have rules."

"So you do like him."

"I don't like any of you."

"Sure, grumpy grandpa."

Bucky huffed and dropped into a chair, ignoring the way Bob—curled up in the hallway—meowed as if to back Sam up.

Then Peter appeared in the doorway, holding a plate in one hand and trying not to smear paint—or what looked like paint—onto anything with the other. His fingers were stained in an array of colors: purple, orange, turquoise, some glittery green.

"Don't ask," he said, preemptively.

Sam leaned over to Bucky. "He's been like that all afternoon."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You didn't ask?"

"Of course I asked. He just made a weird noise and disappeared."

Peter sat next to Vicky's empty seat. A moment later, Kate leaned forward and whispered something, and Peter flushed bright red. "It wasn't that kind of painting, okay?"

No one believed him, but no one pushed it either.

Next came Tony and Pepper—Pepper glowing in a soft green maternity dress, Tony in a hoodie that definitely belonged to her. They were in the middle of a heated but loving conversation.

"I'm just saying, if we design the baby carrier with repulsors, you'll never lose them."

"We are not strapping jet engines to a baby."

"Just soft ones."

Kate perked up. "Wait, wait, can I help design the baby armor?"

Steve gave a long-suffering sigh. "Please don't."

Natasha snorted. "Let her. It's better than the time you let Tony name the former coffee maker."

"It was a brilliant name," Tony called over. "Brewce Banner. He got stronger the more you screamed."