A/N: Instead of finishing this story on time, I went to see Thor 2. I am unrepentant.
Warnings for cooking and talk about past Thanksgiving Days, which, knowing Clint and Bruce's pasts in particular, means talk about abuse and some heartfelt swearing. You know, typical holidays.

Thanksgiving Family Feast

The Avengers and guests sat around the Thanksgiving table, chatting animatedly, except for the one who usually talked the most. As the anticipation grew for the feast, Tony Stark became quieter and quieter. He'd been as excited as anyone while the cooking not-quite-competition had been going on, but waiting for the meat to rest was getting on his nerves.

Why did two dead turkeys need to take a nap, anyway? But Steve Rogers was following the recipe as if it was an order from the president himself, Tony thought sourly.

He fidgeted nervously, so uncharacteristically silent that the others began to notice and, one by one, they fell silent, too.

.

.

.

.

It was the Asgardian god of all people who brought up the topic two weeks before, when the teammates were getting a snack after a training session.

"When will we hold our joyous feast, my friends? I would like to invite my lady Jane and her friend Darcy."

"Feast?" Clint Barton asked blankly. He'd just returned from a three-week mission that covered five countries. He so mentally exhausted, he wasn't sure what day it was.

"The feast of giving thanks, when families gather together. It comes at the end of this month, does it not?"

Thor held out a picture torn from a calendar — Norman Rockwell's "Freedom from Want" that portrays an idealized family Thanksgiving.

"It does," Bruce Banner confirmed. "But we haven't made any plans to get together."

"But we are family, are we not? Isn't this the tradition?" Thor insisted.

"Yes, but in case you hadn't noticed, we're not exactly a traditional bunch," Clint said drily, but not unkindly.

"Oh." Thor was disappointed. He was separated from his Asgardian family. The Avengers and Jane and her friends were the only family he had.

"I'm surprised you even know about the holiday," Natasha Romanoff said.

"It falls on my honor day," Thor said simply. "It's the only holiday that is always on my day."

Thursday — Thor's Day.

"And it involves a huge feast," Tony Stark said sardonically. Thor took a lot of feeding.

The thunder god grinned. "That, too."

"Is there any reason we couldn't have Thanksgiving together?" asked Steve Rogers, who had been silent until then. "Does anyone have plans?"

"It doesn't have good memories for me, Steve," Bruce said hesitantly.

Clint snorted emphatic agreement.

"It has no memories for me," Natasha pointed out.

"Come on, spider woman, you've been in America for years. You've never had Thanksgiving?" Tony asked incredulously.

She shrugged.

"She always volunteers for missions, so others can spend the holiday with family," Clint defended his partner.

"Clint usually goes with her," added Phil Coulson.

The archer shrugged. "When I was with the circus, Thanksgiving meant three shows in one day and fall into bed exhausted after eating a leftover wiener from the hot dog cart. Nothing to celebrate."

"What about before?" Pepper asked. Thinking of her own family's traditions, she expanded, "No beer and chips and football on TV?"

Clint's face twisted in anger or horror — Pepper wasn't sure. "No!" he spat as if expelling poison and stormed out of the room.

"I'll get him," Natasha said. She followed her partner out.

"I didn't mean …" Pepper started.

Phil sighed. "It's not you. It's just the past biting him. He'll be back."

Pepper was distressed. Tony pulled her close and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Was Thanksgiving awful for you, too?" she asked him.

"Thanksgiving wasn't much different from a lot of days," Tony answered. "My parents went off to schmooze with important people. I ate from a tray in my room. Even the servants had family to go to on Thanksgiving and I didn't want to be a wet blanket." Tony shrugged. "The food was nice, but it was always nice in the Stark house. We had a really good cook."

"So you were alone on Thanksgiving?"

"Until I built Dummy," Tony said with a fond smile.

"Captain, you represent this nation. Surely you have kept this tradition?" Thor almost pleaded.

"Sure," Steve placated his friend. "But for most of my childhood, my family was just my mother and me and we didn't have much money. So, no big crowd, no big feast. Just a roast chicken, home canned green beans, potatoes and fresh baked bread." Steve regarded the picture thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind trying to roast a turkey, if we had enough people to eat it."

The two big blonds turned their eyes on the others.

Bruce rubbed his face. "I don't know…"

"Come on, big guy," Tony said. "If you've got a thunder god and a Super Soldier at the table, it can't be much like the sad holidays of your childhood." It was an invitation to talk — no judgment involved.

Bruce sighed. "Your family went out. My father always invited important people over. My mother would create a perfect Martha Stewart holiday."

"Martha Stewart?" Steve mouthed at Pepper.

"Later," she mouthed back.

"Everything was spotless and decorated fashionably. Mother was lovely. I was on my best behavior. The food was perfect. She did the bastard proud," Bruce said sourly. "The guests had nothing but compliments and that always seemed to make father mad. When the guests would leave, he'd begin blaming my mother for ruining the meal. He didn't yell. He was cold and cutting. He'd talk about lumps in the gravy and the potatoes — which was a lie. He'd rip up the decorations and, well, it wasn't pleasant."

"Better than mine," Clint said from the doorway. He looked embarrassed and apologized to Pepper, who gave him a hug and offered her own apologies.

"I like beer … and football, but when you put them together with Thanksgiving …" Clint shuddered. He took a deep breath, then continued, "My dad would tell my mom what time to have Thanksgiving supper on the table, then he'd go to his favorite bar and watch football and drink beer with his friends. We would sit at the table and wait, while the food got cold or overcooked. We didn't dare touch a bite until dad got home. Maybe it's because the bar closed early on Thanksgiving, but he always came home angry. He'd yell because the food wasn't ready on the table, or because she let it get cold. It didn't matter what she tried, it was wrong and he'd beat her and throw the food on the floor, then drag her into the bedroom. Barney — my brother — and I would eat cold mashed potatoes off the floor and try not to listen to the horrible noises coming out of the bedroom. I was too little to understand then, but I guess basically he was raping her."

Pepper hugged him again and Natasha pressed close in support.

Thor heaved a huge sigh. "I am sorry, my friends. I did not realize what I was asking when I thought to share a feast."

"Sometimes the holidays that should be happy are the most stressful time of the year," Phil said.

"I apologize for bringing up those bad memories."

"No, don't apologize. I think it's time to make new memories," Bruce said firmly. "What about it, Clint? I, for one, would be 'thankful' to associate Thanksgiving with my friends in the Avengers instead of my bastard father."

Sometimes it was hard to see the Hulk's anger in mild-mannered Bruce, but not when he talked about his father.

"I'm with you, Bruce. Let's have a Thanksgiving feast," Clint said.

"So, who's going to cook what?" asked ever practical Pepper Potts. "Because Steve is not doing it all by himself!"

"Why are you giving me that look?" Tony protested. "I want new memories too. Being served is old, taking part is new — new to me, anyway."

"OK, I'll do the turkey," Steve volunteered. He considered Thor and thought about his own appetite. "Two turkeys," he decided.

"I'll do vegetables," Natasha said.

"She has excellent knife skills," Clint smirked.

"I'll do salad," Phil offered.

"His aren't bad either," Clint commented.

"Will you do the pies, Tony?" Steve asked. The engineer was the acknowledged expert in the applied science of baking.

"Pie?" Tony's eyebrows rose. "I've never done pie." He began to smile. He liked nothing better than a challenge. "And what about you, Brucie?" Tony teased. "Green beans? Green Jell-O? Smashed potatoes?"

Bruce glared at his friend. "Roasted sweet potatoes," he said firmly.

"With marshmallows and brown sugar?" Clint asked eagerly.

Bruce made a face. "Too sweet. I like them plain with a little butter." Seeing Clint's sad face, he compromised, "OK, brown sugar and marshmallow fluff on the side."

"I could smash potatoes," Thor offered, remembering Tony's suggestion.

"Mashed potatoes," Steve, Bruce and Clint corrected all at once.

"Is there a difference?" Thor asked.

"Yes," Steve said firmly. He'd been watching a lot of Food Network. "Mashed potatoes are cooked, peeled and mashed with a little milk and butter until they're smooth. Smashed potatoes are cooked, then crushed then topped with herbs or bacon or cheese and cooked again. At least, that's one version of smashed potatoes."

"I didn't even know 'smashed potatoes' was a real thing," Tony complained. "I was just making a joke."

"I'll do the dressing," Pepper said.

"No oysters, please," Bruce said.

"No chestnuts," Tony stipulated, making a face.

"A simple white bread dressing with some onion and celery," Pepper assured them. "My mother's recipe. Oh, and some of the giblets are chopped up in it."

"That reminds me, Steve, don't forget to take the bag of giblets out of the turkey," Bruce said. "A friend in college made that mistake. The turkey tasted like plastic."

"Turkeys come with their giblets in a bag?" Steve asked. "You mean, I won't have to clean it?"

"No, old man. You won't have to pluck the feathers, either," Tony joked.

"Pre-plucked turkeys," Steve gasped in mock shock, because they did have butcher's shops and poulterers in his youth. "Why that's the greatest thing since sliced bread, Tony."

"I'll do the rolls — crescent rolls," Clint decided.

"Not that stuff in the tube," Tony said suspiciously.

"Yes, Pillsbury crescent rolls," Clint said decisively.

"But I can make better bread than that? Or we can get rolls from the bakery."

"Don't spoil my one good memory of Thanksgiving," Clint warned his friend. "Mom let me help roll up the triangles and curve them in a neat crescent. We had fun together."

"OK, OK, Birdbrain. Don't get maudlin on me."

"Tony, you don't have to eat them if they offend your baker's heart," Pepper pointed out.

"Right. Doesn't sound like you'll go hungry without bread," Natasha said.


Nobody was going to go hungry at the Avengers' Thanksgiving, that was for sure. Every man and woman was bound to do his or her part, even the Asgardian god.

Thor was a prince and a warrior. People prepared food for him. But if Captain America could find great satisfaction in cooking for his friends, then Thor knew this was a skill not unworthy of a warrior.

Thor prepared for his task as if training for battle. Darcy Lewis stifled giggles while she helped him research "strategies" for making mashed potatoes. Along the way, Thor realized that no one had been assigned to make gravy, so he added that to his task. Fortunately there were "make ahead" recipes for both.

Practicing for the big day, Thor learned the terrible odor of burned potatoes and had to buy Jane Foster a new pan to replace the one with black sediment immovably crusted to the bottom.

After that, he did his experimenting at Avengers Tower where Jarvis could monitor the cooking process and Tony could afford to replace a ruined pot — though Thor did not make the same mistake twice. Also, Steve and Clint were always willing to help Thor eat his practice potatoes, lumps and all.

Two days before Thanksgiving, Natasha entered the kitchen to find Thor peeling potatoes for his last trial batch. His calloused hands held the steaming hot boiled potato with surprising delicacy, as he ran a knife just under the skin and peeled it away.

Wait, that knife.

"Is that one of Loki's throwing knives? The one he stabbed you with?" she asked. She knew Thor had retrieved the weapon from Stark's balcony.

"Aye."

Natasha thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I hope it's clean. Nobody wants blood in their mashed potatoes," she warned.

"I ran it through the medical sterilizer," Bruce assured her from the table where he was eating lunch. "I'm not sure why he wanted to use it for this, though."

"Thanksgiving is a time for thinking of family, is it not?" Thor picked up another potato.

Clint heard this as he came in. "Not asshole brothers who tried to kill you. Believe me, I know."

"It is not Loki of whom I think," Thor assured his friends calmly. "Our mother gave these knives to Loki."

That was OK, then. Clint didn't have any quarrel with Thor's mother.


On Thanksgiving Day, dinnertime approached. Preparations had reached the frantic rush to "get everything hot at the same time."

Thor and his friends arrived at the Tower.

"Thor said you wanted green Jell-O," Jane told Tony shyly. The lime gelatin had finely sieved cottage cheese and crushed pineapple mixed in.

Darcy brought cranberry sauce.

"Did you make it yourself?" Clint asked facetiously.

"Dude, if it doesn't have the can rings, it's not real cranberry sauce," Darcy answered with mock seriousness.

They put their cold dishes in the proper place on the sideboard and joined Pepper in the living room. Thor entered the kitchen to reheat the mashed potatoes and gravy he'd made that morning. He found Natasha slicing small green globes in half.

"What are these?" he asked curiously. She gestured for him to examine them.

She smiled. "They are tiny cabbages," he said, charmed.

"We call them Brussels sprouts," she said. "I'm cooking these with bacon." She was on schedule. Her green beans had been blanched and were waiting to be rewarmed. Once the Brussels sprouts were halved, they would only take a few minutes on the stove.

Thor helped Steve remove the two huge turkeys from the oven and set them in a warm corner to rest.

"An hour? Really?" Clint complained. The smell was driving him insane.

"That's what the book says," Steve said resolutely. Orders were orders.

"It frees up the ovens for other things," Natasha said practically.

"Make way, make way! Pies coming through." Tony barged in carrying an apple pie in each hand. He popped them in the newly freed oven, checked the temperature and threw himself in a chair with a sigh of relief. "The pumpkin pies are already in the refrigerator, but I want to serve the apple pies hot," he explained. But not too hot, so they needed to cook and cool. Timing was critical, he said.

Clint saw the delicious pumpkin chiffon pies in the refrigerator when he removed the tubes of Pillsbury rolls.

"Apple and pumpkin!" he smacked his lips.

Natasha put Pepper's casserole dish of bread dressing in the other oven. "Once that's heated through, we'll do your rolls," she instructed Clint.

While Steve covered the turkeys with aluminum foil, Thor put his potatoes and gravy in two pots on the stove, then turned to see what Clint was doing.

"Here, help me pry these open," Clint told Thor. The Asgardian stabbed a tube with what he called a short sword and Steve called a chef knife. The pressurized tube burst open with a loud pop and uncoiled like a snake. Thor flung the creature away by reflex. It would have hit Steve in the face, but the Super Soldier snatched up a pot lid as a shield and deflected the flying object. He and Thor stared warily as the moving lump on the floor.

*click*

Laughing like a loon, Clint leaned back against the breakfast table, holding up his cellphone, which displayed a picture of the thunder god with sword and Captain America with shield confronting their doughy enemy.

"Is that why you wanted those rolls, for a prank?" Natasha said dangerously.

Clint noted uneasily that she had shifted her grip on the knife from chopping position to throwing.

Clint pushed the remaining tubes behind him protectively. "No, I love them," he protested. "I just couldn't resist the joke."

"Look at the photo," Tony said in defense of his friend. "It's priceless!"

Even Steve and Thor had to laugh at the image of hypervigilance over a wad of dough.

Still chuckling, they all joined Clint in rolling up the crescent rolls, competing to see who could make the most perfect crescent. (The artist and the engineer tied.)


Tony had been enjoying himself during the cooking process, but, as dishes got done and time crept on, he grew more anxious. The Avengers motley family was gathered at the table, talking convivially.

The food was set out on the sideboard loaded with hot plates and tubs of ice that kept everything at temperature under Jarvis' watchful sensors.

Zero hour for the turkey carving ticked closer, but not fast enough for the billionaire.

"Tony?" Pepper's voice broke his gloomy reverie.

"It's not going to happen," he blurted his thoughts.

"If you're nervous about carving the turkeys, I can do it," Natasha offered, because that's what they'd been talking about when they realized Tony was zoning out.

"Because, we don't care if it's not perfect," Bruce offered.

"As long as I'm eating off a plate, I'm good," Clint added.

"No, I mean …" Seeing Tony at a loss for words made everyone uncomfortable. "… It never works out." Many questioning glances forced him to articulate his vague fears. "Every time I got my hopes up for a family Thanksgiving, something happened to ruin it." Usually dear old dad finding someone more important to eat with, he thought, but he said, "And you know we don't have the best track record. Look at Steve's Halloween party."

Steve and Natasha grimaced. The others nodded. The happy mood dissolved.

"Didn't mean to be a buzz kill," Tony muttered. "But the waiting is killing me."

Captain America decided that the morale of his troops was more important than orders from the president (or turkey recipes). "I guess the birds have rested long enough," he said. "Thor, will you help me bring them in?"

As the thunder god and the Super Soldier stood, Jarvis announced, "Sir, you have a call from Director Fury."

Everybody froze.

"I KNEW it!" Tony fumed, gesturing for Jarvis to connect the call. "What is it?" he demanded of the holographic image of SHIELD's director. "Who's attacking what? Is it another alien invasion? A mad scientist with a legion of monsters?"

"Stark!" Fury barked. "Get a grip!" The director's single eye scowled at the engineer. "Nothing's wrong. Nobody's attacking. I just called to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving. Avengers, agents, ladies, Happy Thanksgiving," he said more temperately.

"Happy Thanksgiving, director," Coulson said, with the others joining a ragged chorus of greetings.

Fury nodded, the he turned his gaze back to the dumbstruck Tony. "And Stark, switch to decaf."

Fury signaled to cut the connection, but before his tech could comply, the Avengers heard him yell, "Hill! I told you nobody likes it when I play nice."


The Avengers were left to themselves again, everybody looking at Stark, whose mouth opened and closed silently, like a goldfish in a bowl.

Steve grinned and went to the kitchen, giving Tony a playful punch in the shoulder as he passed. Thor, Natasha and Clint followed him. They returned in a solemn parade, Steve and Thor each conveying a beautifully browned turkey on a silver platter. Natasha followed, ceremonially bearing a carving knife and a carving fork across her kitchen towel-draped forearms. Clint brought up the rear, carrying a pair of tongs, with two nested serving platters balanced on his head. They laid out the turkeys and serving platters in front of Tony — the master of the house. Natasha laid the carving knife across her arm and offered Tony the hilt.

The celebrated Tony Stark smile flared like a thousand flashbulbs. He dipped his head in a polite bow, then took the knife and plunged it into the breast of the bird.

"Let's eat!" he declared.