Tony sighed softly, leaning back away from the bench with a strained stretch to his back. He had been hunched over for longer than an hour, putting his time into the tiniest camera he's ever made.
The purpose of the camera wasn't anything special, he just needed to waste an hour. That's what he was told when he was thrown down lovingly into his workshop by Steve anyway and FRIDAY promptly locked the door.
"Alright, Stark," he muttered, his teeth fussing with his bottom lip as he slowly stood up. "That was probably long enough to leave them on their own up there. Right, FRIDAY?"
The AI didn't respond back right away.
"FRIDAY...?" Tony tried again, starting a slow stroll toward the stairs.
A long moment of silence and then, finally she pinged in; "Sorry, Mr. Stark, but Mr. Rogers has requested a few more minutes to put the fires out."
Tony felt the elastic snap in his brain. "Fire?!" he exclaimed, running now to the stairs. He took them two at a time, and then tried to peer through the glass door. There was some smoke in the hallway, a thin stream at the top. "Are they burning my house down?! Come on guys, no birthday is worth this," he patted at the door until a screen appeared and typed in the override.
The door opened and the fire alarm was blaring. Tony winced and jogged to the kitchen. "Both of you, hands away from the—" he slid to a halt in the threshold, expression softening by fractions as Steve and Peter both stood nervously at the counter, holding the worst cake Tony has ever seen.
"Look, normally I'm not this bad at baking," Steve swore.
"Aunt may would kill me if she saw this," Peter added solemnly. "I'd actually appreciate it if this never reaches her."
Tony shook his head in astonishment and then leaned against the wall with a silent laugh. "Alright. How'd you both even accomplish this. This was your entire hour? You had to have known you messed up a lot earlier."
Steve and Peter exchanged glances. Then, quietly, Peter confessed; "this is... The second cake."
Tony lost it. A laugh broke out of him and he immediately scrambled to the trash can, popping the lid. To his delight, a second, awful, brick of a cake sat in the bin. "You two are banned from my oven. Is it even still operational?" he asked as he turned toward them again. "No, don't answer that— we'll come back around to it— but first, I appreciate you both. Steve, Kid, c'mere," he opened his arms.
Peter's shame turned into a sheepish smile and he stepped forward, hugging Tony gently. "Happy birthday, Mr. Stark. I appreciate everything you do for me, sorry I can't even bake you a cake."
Tony shook his head and held back his laugh as best he could, watching Steve set the cake on the counter. "Kid, you do plenty for me." They separated and Tony gestured toward the captain. "You too, Rogers. Even if I do expect a better present for all you make me put up with later."
Steve rolled his eyes and then wrapped his arms tight around Tony on purpose. "Yeah, yeah. I love you, Tony, I'll buy you a cake next year."
"Yes you will," Tony agreed, and patted his shoulders until Steve let him go. "Now, how about we all go out for dinner? Birthday boy's treat. We'll swing by and pick up that Aunt of yours too, I like her company," he said, ruffling Peter's hair before heading to leave the kitchen.
Only to pause and slide into a stool. "But first. You're both going to stop my oven from smoking while I supervise. Faster it's over, faster we eat."
Steve and Peter both groaned, but complied and got to work. And, by the end, it turned out Tony had a pretty good birthday.
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