Baking Disaster

“Tony?”

“Yes, Steve?”

“What happened?”

Steve stood in the doorway of the kitchen... or what he remembered to be the kitchen. Right now it looked like a war zone or the streets of the city after the Avengers fought off another threat to humanity. Dirty dishes were everywhere, some sort of batter had splattered against every wall, every surface, his son's face, Tony's hair and beard. And there was a good deal of smoke emanating from the stove despite Tony's efforts to fan it with Steve's favorite apron.

“Um...” Tony's eyes shifted nervously before he looked down at his son, scooping him into his arms as he yelled. “Abort mission!” And ran away from Steve through the other door to the kitchen.

~Previously in Stark Towers...

“Peter careful with that, stir it gently.” Tony warned his six year old son as he mixed the cake batter.

“But Papa always uses a whisk.” Peter looked up from the bowl and the small spork he had been given to gaze questionably at his father.

Tony stared back, eyebrow raised ever-so slightly, thinking smartass in his head but not saying it aloud. Heaven forbid Steve find out that Tony taught him a swear word.

“Fine. We'll find a... whisk... Where would Steve keep a... Jarvis can you scan the kitchen-”

“Right here, Daddy.” Peter pulled said whisk out of the door opposite of him, holding it up triumphantly.

“Yes, very cute, Peter. Clearly you're the pro here.” Tony grumbled, almost astonished at his inability to bake a cake or function productively in a kitchen if not for the fact that he was Tony Stark. It was a known fact that he was useless when it came to mundane tasks like cooking, sleeping, eating on a schedule, or finding his son without the use of a tracking device.

Peter smiled proudly as Tony lifted him up onto the counter where he immediately began putting Tony to shame with his ability to use a whisk – which Tony hadn't thought he'd heard of until this day.

Tony's fingers fumbled as he ran his finger down the recipe list.

“Okay... we got this right, kid? We can do this?”

Peter nodded confidently. “For Papa.”

Tony returned his smile in two-fold. “Yeah, for Papa. It's his favorite isn't it.” Tony searched his memory, sure that he was getting this right and not mixing it up like the time his mind had replaced Pepper's favorite food with the one food she was actually allergic to.

“Yup, Papa loves strawberry cheese cake.”

Thank god he had a smart son who was going to turn out to be a functional member of society because Tony sure as hell wasn't.

~Meanwhile, back in the present...

“Tony!” Steve yelled in confusion as he started to chase after his husband, only to find himself stopping to turn the oven off and open the windows. “Jarvis, can you make sure the house doesn't burn down?”

“As that would be detrimental to my own well-being, sir. I'll see it does not happen.”

“Thanks. Where's my husband?”

“Hiding in his lab, sir.”

“Great. Unlock the door?”

“Already done.”

“Brilliant.” Steve rushed off in pursuit of his husband, pulling the lab door open to find the room apparently empty when he arrived. For a moment he thought Tony had told Jarvis to lie to him about his location but Steve knew better. Jarvis had always been honest during their disputes and if Tony had instructed the AI not to divulge his whereabouts... Jarvis would have told Steve that.

“Tony?” Steve called out into the lab, hearing his voice echo off empty space. “Peter?” He tried again, hearing a shush from behind Tony's Saleen S7. Of course his husband would hide behind the expensive vehicles.

“I'm not mad.” Steve lied because the sight of his kitchen in such... disarray wasn't strong enough of a word... made his insides boil. The kitchen was the one place Steve had made off limits. He didn't want to see it become the rubble that Tony's lab turned into every time a light bulb went off in his head and suddenly he'd need to laser the walls to create a new element. “Come out and tell my why my kitchen is a disaster zone and maybe I'll go easy on you.”

“Take the kid! He accepts one hundred percent of the blame.” His son was lifted above the roof of the car, held up by Tony's hands. Peter giggled, enjoying the game his fathers were playing.

Steve shook his head, waving at his son. “What were you and Daddy doing in the kitchen, Peter?”

“Baking.” He answered plainly, as though there was no other logical answer.

“Baking what?” Steve's eyes narrowed, focusing more on his hidden husband rather than his son.

“A cake.” Peter continued, not sure why his Papa was asking questions with such obvious explanations.

Steve heard Tony sigh loudly and cough awkwardly before standing up and lifting his son up to sit on his shoulders.

“We destroyed the kitchen attempting to bake you a strawberry cheesecake and from this endeavor I have learned that from this point on I will remain distanced from any kitchen appliance and stick to buying cakes from a bakery for birthdays in the future. So if you'll excuse us. Your son and I have a mess to clean.”

Steve's confused, perturbed and frustrated expression melted softly into an amused, affectionate smile. “You remembered?”

Tony smirked, eyes flustered but he brushed away any chance to linger on the subject. “Yes, it's not the first time I've remembered a date and a desert you happen to like. No need to throw a parade about it, it's your day and we have to fly in a cake from Paris because the bakeries here are closed.”

“Paris Tony?”

“Or Seattle, it doesn't really matter.”

Steve rolled his eyes as his husband tried to rush by him but instead he grabbed his arms and pulled him close. “Thanks, Tony.” He whispered, kissing Tony sweetly on the lips before breaking away and looking up at their son who was feigning disgust at his parents' display of affection. “Thank you, Peter for trying to make me a cake.”

Peter grinned widely, the same grin he'd no doubt inherited from his dad. “Happy birthday, Papa!”