Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Steve still really doesn’t know how smartphones work.

But he does know how to open the homescreen, and he does know the sound it makes when he receives a text message. That’s the only two things that really matter for right now, because that means he’s able to see the message he’s just been sent…

By Tony.

T.S.
Come to the dining room plz and thank you

Steve groans softly, letting his phone fall down onto his chest. 

That’s about the last thing he wants to do right now.

It’s been three months since the Sokovia Accords entered legal hell, and loopholes were found that allowed for the rogue Avengers to go free from the Raft, or return to the United States with no legal repercussions. Secretary Ross’ approval rating had fallen out from underneath him after the Leipzig battle was deemed his fault through ‘confidential leaks’ from ‘anonymous sources’ to the press (thanks, Nat), only further ensuring the safety of those that were probably just as responsible.

But just because there were no legal repercussions… That doesn’t mean there were none at all.

The whole team’s been on edge since everyone moved back in. Even the people who sided with each other aren’t hardly talking anymore. The only ones he’s even held conversations with are: Bucky, whose presence alone has several people on edge. Sam, whom he really considers one of his only actual friends at this point. And also, Scott Lang - pity phone calls for dragging him into this mess is the least Steve figures he can do.

For the others… He sees Natasha and Wanda together sometimes, but only when he manages to run into either of the two women by happenstance. Rhodey is adjusting quickly and well to his new leg enhancements, which is a blessing even if he can only get a nod from the Colonel; on the flipside, Vision has pretty much become a recluse. He made a surprising amount of people mad for being ‘impartial’ and only following the path he saw as rational. 

Clint never came back to the Compound. He can’t say he blames him.

T’Challa has kingly duties, so he hasn’t seen him since Wakanda, though he’s positive he still owes him everything and more. Apparently he sends letters to Bucky once a month asking him how recovery is going - an olive branch, as he called it.

The Spider-Man from Queens… that kid isn’t even old enough to drive, most likely. Steve hopes he doesn’t see him for a few years; that’s a dangerous thing to do, dragging a kid into a conflict like that.

Dragging anyone at all is pretty bad, too, though…

Another text takes Steve out of his trance.

T.S.
Look ik we aren’t rly talking
But i kinda need you here.
Important.

Steve sighs again, grunting as he comes to his feet.

Tony.

To say there’s tension would be like saying something else incredibly obvious that Steve doesn’t have the energy to figure out right now. They beat the crap out of each other twice, all because of manipulation from a grieving and psychotic doctor. And getting all those punches never helped a single bit of resentment they held for each other in those moments, it just made them worse. So, so much worse.

He’s seen Tony three times since coming back. Once when they arrived, and they didn’t speak then. Again when Tony passed by him watching TV, and he almost seemed like he was gonna say something then - the nasty look that Steve remembers shooting him was more than enough to ensure there still hadn’t been a word between them. The third time…

The third time isn’t worth talking about right now.

Instead, Steve decides that whatever is in store for him, it’s best to just get it over with right now.

He unlocks his phone, takes a minute to remember that you can just tap on the notification and get to the texting app, and replies to Tony.

On my way.

It’s quick, simple, and to the point. Why would there need to be any more effort put in than necessary? There isn’t a need for it, that’s why. It’s just telling Tony that he’s on his way. 

Steve shakes his head, running a finger through his growing dirty blonde hair. He’ll need to get it cut soon… But that’s a thought to dwell on later. He just needs to get this over with for now.

One deep breath in.

Before it leaves his lungs, he’s off the bed and heading out of his room.

~0~

Steve makes it to the dining room, and his breath catches in his throat.

…Everyone’s here.

Literally. Everyone.

Every single person from Leipzig, and not just the Avengers, either; King T’Challa is behind the bar, and he seems to be the only person in the room that has any sort of confidence in their stance. Scott is also here, looking more confused than anyone else. 

And… that has to be the Spider Man on his phone, because no one on this team has any business knowing anyone that young. And what’s he doing sitting at the bar?

The rest of the Avengers are all awkwardly placed throughout the adjacent living room and the kitchen. Clint, looking somewhat rested and refreshed, is sitting on the kitchen bar and kicking his feet back and forth while munching on an apple. Sam and Rhodey both lean up against their own walls. Bucky is sprawled out on the couch. Wanda and Natasha occupy the loveseat. Vision was hovering slightly, but his feet set back down as he began to pace the room. 

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, looking around for answers. Maybe someone has a better idea than him.

“Mr. Stark summoned us all here,” Vision answers. “For what purpose, I am unsure. But he hasn’t shown up yet.”

“S-Should I even be here…?” Peter asks, sounding extremely nervous. “I mean… I’ve got an algebra test I need to study for this Friday. And it’s a school night, so-”

“You’re alright, kid, don’t worry,” Natasha tells him. “We’ll make sure you only get apple juice.”

Bucky snickers into the pillow his face currently occupies. 

“Oh, t-thanks Miss Romanoff,” Peter says. “Y’know, I-I didn’t even know if I was allowed to be around stuff like this.” He gestures to the wall of drinks behind T’Challa, making the King smirk. 

“You’re all good,” she assures him.

Steve walks over to Natasha - that’s the first time he’s heard her speak in three months. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

“Tony didn’t tell you anything besides-”

“Nope.”

Steve takes a small breath, and just nods. What else could he do? It’s pretty clear that she’s not going to talk to him, which upsets him, but he won’t force anything. Still, there was a time where he and Natasha could tell each other anything. These past few months have taken their toll on all of them, but his loss of that closeness with Natasha really hurts him more than a lot of the other divides that grew between himself and the others.

But it’s apparent - she’s not in the mood for rebuilding bridges. Despite saving him and Bucky initially, she’s distant and cold.

With everyone… except Wanda.

Steve shakes his head, keeping those thoughts to himself. He has no business thinking about that anyway; of course Wanda would be close with Natasha, it just makes sense as the only two women on the team. But how they could become an inseparable duo after being on opposite sides of the Sokovia Accords, when Natasha was the one who saved him but she’s almost gone entirely cold shoulder on him…

Then again, it was his decision that led to a lot of this. 

The buck stops at Ross’ desk, as it should. His proposal of the Accords is what set the Avengers drifting down different paths; but, he can’t deny that the blame falls at his (and Tony’s) feet as well. They decided to pursue their ideologies, and their teammates got caught up in crosshairs of a disagreement that never should’ve been settled over a battle in an airport.

He decides to drop it. He’s had one too many pity parties over those thoughts already.

So, he moves over to sit next to Bucky - his head, moreso. He makes sure there’s enough space between where his butt is supposed to go and his friend’s head, and takes his seat, wondering how long this awkward silence will last.

“Kill me,” he mutters.

Steve chuckles. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“That makes one of you,” Bucky sighs, staring at the ceiling.

“Somebody needs to start talking so we all can at least feel like we can say something,” Sam says from his position on the wall. “I can feel my eczema coming back from how quiet it is here.”

“Shall we discuss the weather?” Vision posits.

Sam blinks a few times. “Forget it.”

Steve huffs. As if this couldn’t get any more awkward and uncomfortable; he has half a mind to ask Vision about his thoughts on the weather just so he can take his eyes off of everyone that seems to blame him for this whole ordeal. It’s Ross’s fault before it’s his…

Finally, however, Tony walks in.

“God, you all look great,” the billionaire mutters, half-sarcastically but with a sincere attempt at a smile on his face. “Back under the same roof - literally. Feels good.”

“What’s this about?” Steve asks first.

Tony chuckles. “Good to hear you speak again, Cap.”

Steve continues to glare at Tony.

He doesn’t seem affected by it - he instead moves over to the bar, giving Peter a pat on the shoulder and a polite wave to T’Challa. “I understand you both have duties - running a country and the like, and you…” He gestures to Peter. “Bio test?”

“A-Algebra, Mr. Stark,” Peter corrects him.

“Right! That’s it,” he says. “You’ll do great. No drinks for you, though.”

Peter raises a brow “Not even some water…?”

Tony chuckles. “That’s good. No, yeah, you can get water. Of course you can - heck, ransack the fridge. You’re a growing young man, get some veggies or something.”

“Can I go home now?” Clint asks, turning around on the counter. “If this is just going to be a yap session, or a share circle, I’d uhh… I’d like to skip this cutscene.” He smirks a little at the end of his sentence. He’s glad to be back, clearly.

Tony shrugs. “Uhm… not exactly.”

“God,” Natasha grunts, standing up. “I’m going back to my room.”

“Same,” Wanda says, the first thing she’s said all night.

Natasha’s lack of filter (and Clint’s prompting of said lack of filter) seem to embolden everyone else, as Tony looks around and sees everyone slowly begin to look for the nearest exits, or even make their way to them. 

He sighs - he didn’t want to have to do this, but…

“FRIDAY, activate Barn Door Protocol for the immediate vicinity.”

Huge panels begin to slam down around the kitchen, blocking the exits and windows and everything. No one can leave - except for Scott, but he probably didn’t pack his suit. Even then, he’d have to go subatomic to get through the micromesh, and that (probably) is not worth it to avoid an awkward, toe-curling conversation.

Everyone is tense.

Steve gets up off of the couch, turning to face the billionaire. “What are you doing?”

“I’m solving our ‘little’ tension problem, Steve,” Tony says, marching over to Steve and standing his ground in front of the blonde. “The only way I’ve been left with.”

Steve freezes. Tony never calls him by his first name; it’s always Cap, or some derivative of that…

Why does he feel empty at that realization?

One of the people he has spent the most time with in this new life he’s been given, for better and for worse, never even called him by his first name. Scratch that - he doesn’t feel empty. He’s a little offended.

“Guys, guys,” Scott says, using the diffusing techniques he got a lot of practice at in prison, rushing up and putting the back of his hands on both of their chests, “whatever… Whatever’s got you two worked up, it’s not worth subjecting everyone else in the room to. I think it would really benefit you guys to talk this out one-on-one.” 

Tony snickers, briefly looking over at Scott and winking at him. Scott raises a brow, and the billionaire seems to take his success confusing Ant-Man in stride.

“You’re… partially correct,” he admits. “And for stepping up, you get to be the one who makes sure that we keep on time.”

Scott blinks a few times. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

Tony then turns away from Steve, leaving the captain a bit offended that he’d just rip his attention away like that after vying for it moments ago. Tony’s really stepping on his nerves this evening - his whole existence has been doing that recently, but it seems amped up to eleven now. 

Perhaps that’s because they haven’t even properly spoken since beating the shit out of each other, or he really has leveled up in annoyance since they were last cordial.

“We! Are going to resolve this whole ‘not talking’ to each other thing that, like, 90% of you have going on here,” Tony says, gesturing wildly to the entire team. “The only two exempt from this are Pissant - because I said so, and you don’t know anyone well enough anyway-”

“Actually… I kinda got to know my cellmates,” Scott shrugs, with a small chuckle. “Cause. Y’know… we ended up in prison. For criminals.”

Tony sighs. “Just for that, you’re gonna keep time. Make sure that we all have seven minutes, and that’s it - no knocking, either. Just throw open the door.”

Scott shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Tony continues, “Anyway, His Majesty is also exempt, because he directly told me that he has no feud with anyone and just wanted to see what happens.”

“I am very intrigued,” T’Challa admits. “I do not know this game you intend to play, nor do I really care to play it… but I would like to witness its outcomes.”

“Game?” Steve asks. “What are we, twelve year olds?”

Peter raises his hand. “I’m sixteen.”

“You said nothing of the sort when we had game nights back in the Tower,” Tony rebuts. “God, why are you taking everything so seriously?” 

“Well, it’s been a long day,” Steve says - a callback to when he and Tony first met again after Leipzig. He doesn’t expect Tony to remember it…

But that smirk.

That million-dollar smirk…

And Tony says he has the perfect teeth.

Not that Steve’s been paying attention to those. Why would he? He has no reason to.

“S-Something about a game?” Peter breaks the awkward silence, allowing everyone to breathe easily again. “And… Why am I not exempt? I-I hardly know any of you all.”

Tony turns to the kid. “Cause it’ll be fun!”

Peter nods, not believing a single word of that. “Fun… alright.”

“What is it?” Rhodey asks.

“Seven Minutes in Heaven… or hell. With how we’re acting with each other, it kinda seems like it’ll trend towards the latter.”

Over half of the room groans out loud.

Clint chuckles, sounding equally humored, in disbelief, and frustrated, shaking his head and tossing his apple core in the trash. “Tony, this is a game that children play to try and get some early action - maybe some tongue if they’re lucky. Why are we, a group of adults, going to play this to settle an en-masse silent treatment?”

“It’ll be at random,” Tony says. “Fair. Dispassionate.”

Someone in the room cringes. He’s not sure who. 

“We’ll draw straws or something, to decide who goes with who. Shortest two go first, then next shortest ones, so on… ‘til we get to the biggest two. Then they go, and the game’s over, and hopefully we’ve solved at least some of the issues that plague this once-tight team.”

“This makes no sense,” Natasha mutters.

“Well, you all can’t exactly leave, so we’re playing!” Tony laughs, sounding more frustrated than humorous. “Alright, where’s the broom…?”

Chapter Text

Straws were drawn.

Bucky and Rhodey drew the shortest, so they went first.

The only thing they have in common is being the best friend of the feuding leaders, so no one was really interested in the outcome of their conversation. What did interest everyone, however, is where the conversations would take place.

Tony relented, opening up 12-SF in the adjacent hallway - it had a little hall closet, perfect for Seven Minutes in Heaven/Hell.

Bucky and Rhodey went in…

And then, exactly seven minutes later, Scott went and got them out.

They were both sitting on opposite sides of the closet when they went in; but when they came out, Rhodey had winded up sitting a few feet away from Bucky on the same side.

The little chuckle that Scott gave them when he saw it was the happiest any of the team seemed to have been in months.

~0~

Then, it was Clint and Vision.

…This one didn’t go as well.

From the moment they were chosen, Clint’s little giggle should’ve warned everyone about the tone of the next seven minutes. Vision, the sweet summer android he was, thought it meant that the archer would be loose and able to joke around, so he eagerly led the way to the closet.

Poor guy.

Not even a few seconds after Scott closes them in the closet, a loud smack can be heard from the other side of the wooden door. Flesh met metal - not the other way around. He cringes, brisk walking away and shaking his head.

“What happened?” Natasha asks when he emerges from the hallway.

Scott sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Vision can’t… bruise… right?”

“He’s made out of vibranium and forged with Thor’s lightning,” Tony informs him. “He'd be more prone to dents than bruises, if anything… Why?”

Scott shakes his head. “I…” He then looks down at his phone’s timer. “We’ll find out in about six and a half minutes.”

Those six and a half minutes come and go.

…And Clint walks out first - with a bandage wrapped around his arm.

“Oh my god,” Wanda mutters, “what did you do?”

“I don’t think he’ll be keeping you locked indoors anytime soon,” Clint chuckles, giving Wanda a pat on the shoulder. It doesn’t go unnoticed how Natasha gives the archer a tiny smirk as well…

Vision, meanwhile, walks out looking… completely the same.

But it’s either the Mind Stone, or his eyes, that aren’t glowing as bright anymore.

~0~

“Hey.”

“Hello, Mr. Wilson.”

“Enough with the formalities. I’m not that important.”

“Oh, everyone’s important.” Peter gives him a genuine smile. “How’s, uh… how’s life?”

“It’s been… better. Can’t complain.”

“That’s good.”

Sam gestures to Peter. “How about you?”

“Oh, man, it’s… it’s pretty cool.” He nods excitedly. “I stopped this guy named Tombstone the other day, and his skin was like, it felt like concrete. When I punched him, it almost broke my wrist! Do you know how hard your skin has to be for my wrist to hurt when I punch?!”

Sam chuckles softly. “You held Buck’s arm back in Leipzig. Pretty strong, ain’t ya?”

The light heat that rushes onto Peter’s cheeks makes Sam smile. “Oh, yknow… I try to just do the best I can. B-But yeah, like, this guy was super strong, and I just…”

Sam relaxes against the wall, smiling as Peter begins to explain his life as of late. He’s good to let this kid take up all the time for them both.

~0~

Scott throws open the door at exactly the seven minute mark for the fifth time now. “Hey guys, time’s up.”

Nothing looks out of place.

Everything still seems to be how it was when he left it for them to work out their differences.

But the closet definitely feels… warmer.

And, despite the lack of draft in the closet, their hair is slightly tousled and their clothes look more bunched up.

Wanda stands up first, brushing out her skirt and fixing the loose strands of hair that poof out from the rest of her brunette locks. “Thank you, Scott.”

Natasha nods, giving Scott a pat on the shoulder as she and Wanda walk out together. Her breathing is a bit more labored than Wanda’s was.

~0~

“Alright, rules should be pretty clear by now. In exactly seven minutes, I’ll open the door, and get you both out of here. Until then, nothing - within reason - is off limits. We clear?” Scott stands at the door, his phone in hand, and his eyes darting between the two men.

Tony nods. “Yep. Thanks, Pissant.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Please, stop calling me that.”

“Alright - Stuart Little.”

Scott pauses, thinking it over for a moment. Then, he purses his lips, and nods. “Yeah, I can live with that.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Steve says cordially. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Oh-ho, yeah we will,” Tony giggles under his breath.

Sentiments exchanged, Scott shuts the door, and locks it from the outside. The click sounds like a coffin being closed.

Tony looks around the closet, and takes all of five seconds to find something more interesting than sharing his true feelings with Steve: a prop skeleton that Bruce used to have in his lab before Tony stole it and put it in one of his cars. He chuckles at the fond memories of driving around with him in his passenger seat.

“Heh, hey there Big Guy,” Tony smiles, giving his cheekbones a friendly pat. “Boy, you haven’t aged a day!”

Steve sighs, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. This will be a long seven minutes…

~0~

When Scott walks back into the living room, everyone else - sans Peter, who is still at the bar, sipping on a cup of apple juice - is standing near the doorway.

“...Hey.” Scott looks around, wary. “What’s, uh… What’s going on here? Am I in trouble?”

“Not at all,” Natasha, who seems to be the anointed speaker of the group, says as she steps forward. Her expression is neutral. “But I am gonna need you to pause that timer, Scott.”

Scott knows the rules of this game. Seven minutes, then get them out. He’s been told, and has followed the orders, to throw the door open without knocking.

He also knows what it's like to be on the wrong end of a Black Widow’s mood - he’s pretty sure that area where she kicked him still hasn’t fully healed. So easily, Natasha could do much, much worse, and no one would tell a soul about it.

So, Scott does the wise thing. The right thing.

He pulls out his phone, and pushes pause on the timer.

Five minutes and twelve seconds exactly.

“Perfect.” Her smile returns to her lips, and though it’s almost definitely meant to be a threat, it elevates her entire look to one of warmth. “Thank you, Scott.”

“Y-Yeah, no problem,” he stammers, briefly chuckling. “They… they need a few more minutes, huh?”

“Oh, definitely,” Natasha muses, flopping herself back down onto the couch, spreading eagle without a care in the world. Wanda, who sits next to her, looks away shyly with a tiny smile. The tension in the room is almost nonexistent compared to earlier. “God, they’re gonna kill each other…”

“Or they will fornicate.”

Everyone looks over at the bar.

Past Peter.

To T’Challa.

He doesn’t seem to care.

“I believe those two need marriage counseling,” he mutters, pouring himself a strong drink. “And help from the ancestors… That will not be coming, of course. They shall be left to their own devices, Bast help them.”

Clint snickers. “I like this guy.”

“Hey, does anyone else wanna come with me to pick up some pizza?” Sam asks, holding up the Pizza Hut app on his phone. “I got some cheesy bites crust cookin’ up.”

“Oh, I like pizza!” Peter says excitedly.

Clint suddenly looks down at his phone, making an exaggerated sigh. “Ah, yep… My flight to leave boards in… Well, I’m taking the Quinjet, it doesn’t really matter. But, yeah. I’ll drop you off, Scotty.”

Scott tilts his head. “I live in San Francisco.”

Clint comes over and wraps his arm around the shrinking hero, beaming brighter than he’s ever seen the archer smile. “I got a connection to make there! What a coincidence!”

“Wow, generous of you,” Scott laughs, still unsure of what exactly’s going on.

“I’m going to bed,” Bucky says.

One by one, everyone makes excuses for reasons why they need to leave “urgently”. Wanda and Natasha conveniently decide to retire at the same time. Vision floats through a wall without another word exchanged. Sam and Peter head off to get the pizza together, convincing Rhodey to come with them. Clint, Scott, and T’Challa all depart for their flights.

The timer on Scott’s phone remains at five minutes and twelve seconds.