Chapter Text
Tony noticed first in the little things.
Peter came to breakfast more often. Not every day—some mornings were still hard—but more than before. He wasn’t bouncing off the walls with jokes and chatter like he’d once been, but he smiled now. Not the tight, brittle one Tony had grown used to since the incident, but something closer to real. Softer.
He offered to help with projects in the lab again, even stayed late one evening tinkering with an interface patch Tony had been too tired to fix.
And when Tony asked if he wanted to talk— really talk—Peter didn’t shy away anymore. Sometimes he said no. But sometimes he said, “Yeah, I’d like that,” and that was new.
It made something in Tony unclench.
It wasn’t just relief. It was pride, too, watching Peter pick up the broken pieces of himself, one by one, and start quietly gluing them back together.
But Tony hadn’t done it.
That part stuck with him. Not because he wanted credit—well, maybe a little—but because it meant there was a variable he hadn’t accounted for. Something had shifted. Someone had helped.
He didn’t push. Not at first.
Then one evening, passing by the gym on his way to the elevator, he heard them. The rhythmic thud of blows landing and a low grunt in response. Not from a training bot.
He slowed and backtracked.
The door was slightly ajar. Inside, Peter and Barnes were mid-spar—barefoot on the mat, sweat clinging to their shirts, Peter’s brow furrowed in focus. Barnes blocked a jab, twisted, and brought Peter down in a clean, practiced move. Peter let out a soft oof but grinned up at him from the floor.
Tony blinked.
That grin—free, easy, unguarded—was the kind of expression he hadn’t seen on Peter’s face since before Titan. Before the Snap. Before… the blood in the dirt.
And Barnes?
He looked… calm, grounded. Not cold, not haunted, just present. Like he belonged there.
Tony hadn’t intentionally kept the two apart when Barnes came to the Tower, but he had been cautious. The wound was still fresh, the cries of his mother still in his ears, and he had been leery of the soldier.
Peter had grasped onto that with both hands and had kept his distance from both Steve and Barnes.
And yet, here they were, right before Tony’s eyes…
He lingered in the hall longer than he meant to. He didn’t interrupt, just watched.
Then he moved on.
~+~
Steve noticed, too.
Bucky had always carried his silence like armour, heavy and necessary. Since the snap—since coming back—Steve had seen flashes of the old him, glimmers in quiet moments. A dry joke here. A fond look there.
But lately, it was more than that.
Bucky came to team dinners without being asked. He teased Sam once, lighthearted and open. He started wearing his hair differently again—pulled back loosely the way he had in the old days, before war and metal and blood.
And sometimes, when Steve passed the gym, he’d hear laughter. Not just Peter’s, but Bucky’s, too.
It was strange—and it was perfect.
He mentioned it one night, sitting across from Bucky in the common room. They weren’t doing anything in particular—Steve had a sketchbook open in his lap, Bucky was slowly working his way through a paperback novel, one of the few that didn’t irritate his patience.
“You’re different.” Steve broke the silence.
Bucky glanced up. “A good different or a ‘you need therapy again’ different?”
Steve smiled. “A good different.”
Bucky looked down at the book, but Steve caught the way his mouth softened.
“Kid’s got a hell of a right hook,” Bucky said after a moment. “And too much guilt for someone his age.”
Steve nodded. “Remind you of anyone?”
Bucky huffed. “You, back in the day. Before the war..”
Steve’s smile widened. “Thought you were gonna say you.”
Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Steve let the silence stretch. It was the good kind—thick with unspoken understanding. He thought about how long it had taken Bucky to find this kind of peace again. How many false starts. How many nightmares.
He’d almost lost him more times than he could count.
But now, here he was. Sitting across from him. Reading. Healing. Laughing.
Steve looked down at his sketchpad and drew a few lines he’d never show anyone. He let the warmth in his chest settle.
“Glad you found him,” Steve said softly.
Bucky didn’t pretend not to understand. He just turned the page in his book and murmured, “Yeah, me too.”
~+~
Tony finally asked one night, not directly, but close enough.
They were in the kitchen, Peter stirring a mug of cocoa with his usual meticulousness.
“You’ve been doing better lately,” Tony said casually, eyes flicking over a tablet.
Peter shrugged. “Trying.”
“I’ve noticed.” Tony nodded, then added, “Gym sessions paying off?”
Peter paused, spoon mid-stir. He looked over, wary at first, like he expected judgment.
Then he saw it in Tony’s face—just curiosity. A little warmth, maybe a touch of concern.
Peter nodded. “Yeah, I guess… Mr. Barnes gets it.”
Tony’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t joke. He just said, “Yeah. He does.”
Peter smiled faintly, looked down into his cocoa like he could see something important in the swirl of marshmallows.
Tony took a long breath and reached out to gently ruffle the kid’s curls. “You’re doing good, kid.”
Peter leaned into the touch.
“Thanks,” he said. And he meant it.
~+~
Two stories, quietly unfolding.
A kid learning he’s not a monster.
A soldier remembering he’s not just a weapon.
And two men—one in a suit of iron, the other with a shield of stars—watching them grow, steady and silent, hearts full of something almost like hope.