The living room of the Avengers Compound was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of aged bourbon and the quiet hum of grief. The wake had long since settled into a less formal affair, the team sprawled across couches and chairs, some nursing drinks, others simply staring into the distance.

Bucky leaned forward, squinting at the collection of empty bottles littering the coffee table. He rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled. "Have we really gone through four b

Sam, slouched in the armchair, barely lifted his head. "Maybe five. Who’s counting?"

The room had that heavy, aching silence that came after too many memories had been shared and there was nothing left to say. And yet, despite the warmth of the alcohol, you felt cold. There was a weight pressing against your chest, the kind that had nothing to do with grief.

And then you saw him.

Standing near the fireplace, arms crossed, looking exasperated but fond. Steve Rogers, your father.

"Someone tell these idiots to lay off the booze."

Your breath caught in your throat. You shot to your feet so fast that your beer nearly slipped from your grip.

"Oh, my god. Dad?!"

Bucky’s head snapped toward you, brows furrowing. "Steve's here?"

Steve gave you that familiar crooked smile, the one that made you feel safe. "Hey, babydoll..."

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but your voice came out sharp. "Where the hell have you been?"

Sam let out a low whistle, taking a lazy sip of his drink. "Yeah, thought he bailed on us to go find peace or something."

Steve looked at you with that knowing expression, the one that made you feel five years old again, like he could see right through you. "Do you honestly think I would leave Bucky in charge and never look back?"

Bucky groaned, rubbing his temples. "He's talking about me, isn't he?"

You smirked. "He says you're a d-ck."

Bucky grumbled under his breath, but Sam just snorted into his drink.

You lifted your beer, your chest tightening. "Cheers, Dad."

Steve smiled, his figure flickering slightly, "Cheers.."