"So BARF isn't just a clever acronym..." you hiccupped, your head hanging precariously over the toilet as Tony sat by helplessly, "...as soon...as I do this...I'm gonna kick your ass..."

"In my defense, I said it was an acronym. I never said anything about it being a clever one."

Your eyes were clamped shut tightly to avoid the vertigo that washed over you each time they were opened, and when the moment came when you didn't feel the immediate need to vomit, you leaned back against the wall just to hold yourself upright. You had taken the device's glasses off nearly an hour ago now, but the sensation wouldn't abate and Tony couldn't do anything for you other than watch and work on being overridden with guilt.

"I'm sorry," he offered quietly, "I swear, I never had this happen when I was building it. I would never have let you try if I'd known." He stood and grabbed a washcloth, turning on the cold water to saturate it, wringing out the excess before kneeling down to press the cool material to your forehead, giving you a moment of blissful relief as a few drops ran down your cheeks.

"It's okay," you sighed, "I know you didn't mean for this to happen. But it's still better than what T'Challa had planned for us. There's no way he's putting us into deep freeze. You know how I hate to be cold."

"Yet you married Capsicle."

"Touché."

"To let him off the hook a bit, he didn't know that I had this in the works. He thought that cryo would be the safest option until we could figure out what to do." When you jolted up and hurried to hang your head over the bowl again, this time just barely making it, Tony grimaced and shook his head with a groan, "although he might have a point. This isn't working, sweetheart."

"It will."

"You're just as stubborn as your son, you know that? No question at all where he gets it from."

"And I get it from where, exactly?" you laughed weakly, leaning back again. "He's got your name for a reason, Dad."

"I know, that kid's a genius!"

"Yeah," you scoffed with a heavy sarcasm, "that's what I meant."

~~~

Steve and Bucky had taken their share of turns using Tony's invention and didn't have the same visceral reaction that you had, but they weren't without their own aftereffects that they had to suffer through. A few mood swings and frustrated outbursts threatened to sideline them for a bit, but they pushed through. Trying to block the parts of your brains that held the memory of your Hydra programming proved to be more difficult than Tony had realized, but none of you were about to give up. After weeks of working with the device, when the moment had come to see if there had been any progress, it became quickly obvious to everyone that there was only one terrifying way to find out.

"Один" (One)

Tony watched anxiously, chewing on his thumbnail as Natasha recited the trigger words; the team stood outside of the detention cells that held the three of you, each of you in your own room, with Rhodey, Thor, and Bruce ready to act if this didn't work and you needed to be restrained.

"грузовой вагон" (freight car)

The group held a collective breath and remained silent, waiting and watching for a sign that any of you had changed. You were more focused on listening for Steve than you were on yourself, but when the realization struck that you were still aware and felt like nothing had changed, your hopes began to surge that BARF had worked. Looking to each member of the team, you didn't feel any animosity or urge to attack them as you would have if the trigger had taken effect.

"Dad, I think I'm okay," you smiled, "how are the guys?"

"Hold on," he replied cautiously, walking towards Steve's cell first. "Cap? Any murderous rage?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure you'll give me a reason eventually," he smirked, raising his hand to the glass to get a high-five from his friend. "I think you actually did it, Tony."

"Two down, one to go. Barnes?"

Bucky had been standing in the corner of the room, facing away from everyone; he didn't want to see the looks on the faces of his friends if this didn't work so he tried to spare himself that pain. When he heard Tony's voice, he finally turned to look towards them all, but he kept his expression purposefully blank. "When will you Starks learn that you can't win? You've never been able to defeat us, but yet you keep trying and failing so spectacularly."

Tony's heart dropped and his posture crumbled, glancing back to Steve with a sorrow and guilt in his expression, now wondering how it was that he had done so well for you but could be so incompetent for Bucky. "Shit, I thought I had it..."

"You did," Bucky jumped in quickly, "it totally worked, I was just messing with you!"

"You bastard," Tony snapped, "that's not cool."

"I thought it was pretty funny."

"Bucky, you're such an asshole!" you called out from your cell. "You can't just joke about something like this! You know how fragile Dad's ego is!"

"Hey," Tony interjected, "now hold on just a minute-"

"Yeah, Buck," Steve joined in, "you're gonna make the poor guy cry."

"I am not crying!"

"Not yet," Steve mumbled.

"Oh, okay, you want to see crying? Is that what you three smartasses want? Fine," Tony huffed. "FRIDAY, lock 'em down. No one gets out unless I say so." With a snap of his wrist he pointed the group towards the door, not one of them saying anything in argument to his plan as they walked out in silent compliance. "You seem to have forgotten that tonight is our Thanksgiving dinner, but I, on the other hand, remember how much you fellas can eat. With the three of you animals caged down here, there might even be enough for the rest of us."

~~~

Of course, Tony didn't keep his end of his threat and had released the three of you after only an hour when he needed your help and couldn't find a way to get it from where you were. With everyone home at the compound, and with T'Challa staying in the country for another few days to celebrate with you, he realized that he didn't want to do the usual routine of having chefs bring the meal in; he had decided that it would be more of a family event if everyone cooked this year. Little did he realize that he was asking for a small miracle, and that cooking wasn't everyone's forte.

"That's dead, right?"

"Are you going to let me do this or not?" you huffed, nudging Tony back with an elbow.

"Yeah, for sure," he agreed, "just think of me as cosplaying a health inspector, if that helps."

"Why would that help?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, "then it won't be so much like a hovering dad who doesn't trust that you can cook a turkey, and more like an official who wants to be sure that we can identify the source of the Avengers' extinction."

"Wasn't that supposed to be Ultron?" Clint coughed under his breath as he passed by. When Tony turned to give his retort and took a step closer, Barton lifted a dish up in front of his face and skipped a few steps farther away. "Hey, hey, careful! I've got stuffing and I'm not afraid to use it!"

"No you don't, "Steve swooped in, grabbing the dish from his hands, "there you go, Tony. Call it my early Christmas gift."

Tony laughed and broke into a run after Clint, but not before turning back to Steve, "thanks, Cap! But you still have to get me an actual gift!"

All Steve could muster in reply was a weak smile and a half-hearted wave, waiting until Tony was out of sight before setting the heavy china dish down next to you with a loud thud on the counter top and a long sigh of frustration. "What am I supposed to get for him? Hmm? I swear, he's the hardest guy to shop for. He has everything. And when I say that he has everything, he literally has everything."

"Make something," you offered a little absentmindedly, trying to keep your focus on cooking, "it would mean more to him if it was a gift that was original and not just something that you could buy. Sketch something for him."

"That's not a bad idea."

"Yes, I am very wise...hey," you scolded, slapping his hand away when he tried to sneak a piece of turkey, "you have to wait like everyone else."

"Ow! Why?"

"Don't put your fingers on the food!"

"They're clean!"

"Mmm hmm," you muttered with a shake of your head. Grabbing one of the large carving knives from the sheath you had strapped to your thigh, you sliced off a thin layer from where he had touched the bird and handed it to him with a stern warning. "Touch this again, and I'll take off the fingers next time."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve nodded readily. "I do have a question, though. Why are you wearing your gear to cook?" He popped the entire piece of turkey into his mouth and finished it off so fast that you wondered if he had even tasted it until he spoke up again. "Wow, that's not bad at all! It's actually really good!"

"Thanks. Maybe try to not sound quite so surprised about it?" Deciding that as the cook, you owed it to everyone to taste the main dish yourself before serving it, you cut away your own piece and spun the knife in your hand until the blade was down, sliding it into the sheath with barely the blink of an eye. "Damn, I'm so good," you whispered to yourself as you chewed.

It was nearly an error to turn away to grab one of the nearby serving plates, leaving the giant bird open and easy prey, finding Steve's hand again seeking out another sneaky bite of food when you turned back. With a fast flip of your fingers, your knife was again in your hand, this time holding steady over the knuckles of his fingers with enough contact for him to feel the sharp sting of the razor-like blade against them. "This is exactly why I wear my gear, Steve. You don't seem to take me seriously when I say that I'll take these off. Do you have any doubts now?"

"No, ma'am."

"Are you going to touch this turkey again before it's time for all of us to eat?"

"No, ma'am," he replied more nervously now than the first time, a few beads of sweat building on his forehead while his eyes were fixed on his hand. "Um...could you maybe...put the scary knife away now?"

"Fine. Step back slowly, Rogers," you warned, pulling away, "go play with the kids until dinner time and you can keep the fingers." But then, just when you thought you were in the clear to finish your work, you screwed up.

It was a rookie mistake. You should have known, after all this time.

Steve mumbled his reply and promise to behave, leaning in for a kiss before parting ways, but his eyes weren't on you; they were just past you and you didn't notice fast enough. By the time the warning registered in your mind and you could push Steve back, Bucky had already run past and ripped both of the legs from the bird, sprinting away with no chance to catch him and the sound of his laughter filling the dining room. Before you could grab ahold of him, Steve was quickly following behind, lending his own voice to the gleeful celebration of their victory.

You were about to go after them, but a thought flashed in your mind that halted you, seeing an image of Steve and Bucky as two little boys, playing this very same game with Sarah. You imagined that she wouldn't have scolded them, since the sound of Steve being happy and healthy was probably music to her ears, and to know that he had found such a friend in Bucky was a relief. The idea may or may not have even been true, but it calmed you and made you remember that having everything just right wasn't the point; it was the sounds of family in the other room that made the day perfect.

~~~

"I'm thankful for..." Clint paused, his hand thoughtfully on his chin and taking a deep breath, "just...all of you guys. It's been a crazy ride so far, ya know? We started out as six weirdos who couldn't get along even when the world was falling apart around us, but now here we are. I couldn't imagine being anywhere else."

"Aw, that's sweet, Barton," Tony agreed, "and you're absolutely right. I'm thankful just to be here at all, and that everyone here still lets me be a part of their lives after all the sh- stuff...I've pulled. You could've left me in the dust so many times, but you didn't, and I'm grateful every day."

"I'm thankful that Grant is a pyro."

The group turned towards Anthony at the smaller children's table next to them, waiting for him to explain, with confused stares and furrowed brows aimed in his direction.

"Hey, I'm thankful for everyone too," he quickly covered. "You guys are the best."

"Thanks, little man," Sam finally spoke for the group, a hesitant smile curling at his lips, "but what was that about the pyro...I mean...about Grant?"

"Oh, mom totally undercooked the turkey so he finished it for her when you guys were getting your drinks at the bar."

Steve and Bucky immediately exchanged worried glances, their eyes wide as they felt a strange rumble in their stomachs. It could have just been their imaginations playing with them, or it could have been their anxiety, or maybe something even worse. "Shit," Bucky mumbled, looking at Steve in a bit of a panic, "see, ya punk, she told us not to take any but you insisted on messing around."

"I'm sure it's fine," he replied with a dismissive wave, "we don't get sick."

"Right," you answered flatly, "should we try that gallon of milk challenge again? Or how about that cold that you had two weeks ago when you tried to convince everyone that you were dying because your snot was a weird color? Or when Bucky had a headache two days ago and was convinced that he had meningitis?"

"Oh, my god, we're gonna get Salmonella," Steve gasped in a sudden wave of panic, "or Campylobacter. What if we get Listeria?"

A collective groan filled the dining room, and the team stood in unison to leave Steve behind; even his partner in crime was unwilling to follow him into this mess of ideas.

"E. Coli is terrible, Buck, and what about Shigella? Why aren't you more worried? Come back...I think I feel nauseated now...Buck?"