Chapter Text
Clint frowned at the socks spread out in front of him. Some were his, some were Phil’s, some were tiny and must have been Nat’s (Had they been purple he would have said Kate and Wanda didn’t wear anything that wasn't tights or knee highs with combat boots) and some were of undetermined origin but probably belonged to the other kids. All of that he understood; sometimes they all just kind fell together into a lump after training with Steve the Sadist (Clint cringed on reflex, half expecting a nerf dart to come flying out of the shadows or an air vent or...anywhere, really. Bucky was vicious when it came to protecting Steve's 'honor'.) or a mission and socks getting mixed up was pretty common.
That wasn’t his issue. His problem, and it was a very big problem, was how he had 20 socks with no matches. How did that happen?
He had theories and they involved gnomes but last time he’d tried to bring it up to Tony (Who Clint had thought would be at least a little concerned about his beloved tower being infested by sock stealing gnomes) had just sighed and told Friday to contact Phil to ‘come and collect his mentally damaged husband.’
Something touched his shoulder and he started then turned to see Kate standing behind him. She was dressed in workout clothes, sunglasses perched on top of her head, purple streaked hair pulled back into a bun and a shallow cut below her eye bleeding sluggishly. She made a gesture to his ears, the more or less universally accepted sign for ‘Hey, I was calling you but you don’t have your ears on so don’t be mad okay?’.
Universally accepted in the tower at least.
He nodded then motioned to her face, asking for an explanation. Sometimes gestures were much more succinct than speaking.
“As it turns out I’m not up to knife fights with Bucky yet.” She said, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly.
Clint snorted and dropped down to one knee to fish out the box of bandaids he knew had ended up under the bed but kept his eyes on Kate so he could see her reply. “Why were you using real knives?”
And, more importantly, who had let her knife fight Bucky of all people? That was basically dropping her in the deep end of the pool without a flotation device, even for Kate who was pretty impressive with a wide range of weaponry (But years under the careful tutelage of Hawkeye and Black Widow would do that. Also Clint had pretty suspect parenting skills and had thought giving the teenager he'd picked up a bow and arrow was a great way to help her adjust and of course Natasha had thought knowing how to fight a man twice her size was a skill every girl needed.)
“Because the only way to really give your all is if you feel like you’re in actual danger.” Kate said primly. Clint stared. “What? That’s what Cap says.”
“Of course it is.”
Steve was a good guy and Clint loved him like a brother (except that he kind of hated his brother so maybe that wasn’t the way to describe it.) but the man had some real sadistic tendencies. Clint was pretty sure he’d set up his early morning training exercises as a way to burn off energy while Bucky was working on being less crazy.
Personally Clint didn't think Bucky was ever going to get any less crazy but no one had asked his opinion.
His fingers brushed something smooth and vaguely rectangular. He got down closer to the floor and managed to get his fingers around it and yank it out. He stood up and shook a bandage and disinfecting wipe out.
He ripped open the wipe then tilted her head up, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes again and her lips formed complaints about being babied and being a grown woman (She wasn’t actually talking, just mouthing the words at him with a mocking tilt to her lips. He could tell the difference.) He had her wiped off and a vibrant purple bandaged pressed onto her face in short order. She grinned toothily then slide her sunglasses from the top of her head onto her nose.
“Thanks old man.” She glanced over at the bed. “Sock gnomes again?”
---
Clint was raiding Bruce’s refrigerator (Bruce and Steve was the only people who ever actually had food) when the sound of something shattering had him turning around to look at the other man. Bruce pushed past him to the sink, holding his hand which was dripping blood.
“Stay back!” Bruce snapped when Clint started to edge towards him. “And watch your feet. I don’t...just. Don't touch anything. I’ll clean it up.”
He put his hand under the flow of the water, blood rushing down the drain. Clint blinked at him then looked over where Bruce had been standing, drinking a cup of tea while he looked at the paper. He looked over the now shattered mug and then the paper, spotted the words ‘Dr Elizabeth Ross’ in the headline then looked back at Bruce. The other man was breathing hard, shoulders and back ramrod straight and stiff with tension, but he didn’t look like he was about to lose it or anything.
Not that Clint had really expected him to, but he was pretty sure Bruce has expected himself to.
Clint patted down his pockets then hummed happily when he emerged with a pair of dark red bandages. He set them on the counter then pushed them towards Bruce slowly.
Bruce glanced at them then laughed breathlessly. “Do you carry these around everywhere?”
“Yeah man. Have you met my kids?” Clint asked, offering a half smile.
Bruce nodded. “Of course, I forgot that you’re a collector of people prone to bleeding at the most inopportune times.”
“Lucky for you.” Clint said. “Where would you be if I hadn't collected Nat?”
Bruce snorted. “Fiji, Clint, I’d be in Fiji. Have you been to Fiji? It’s beautiful.”
Clint just held back from asking if it was a magical place. (Different island and Bruce wouldn’t get the joke anyway. He’d tell Phil about it later and they could laugh and feel angry and betrayed about it together)
“And miserable.”
Bruce hesitated for a moment then slowly nodded his agreement. Clint slapped a hand to his shoulder then picked his way out of the kitchen carefully, avoiding the drops of blood on the floor.
---
Phil glanced up as they all but fell off of the elevator and slunk into the living room. They were all scrapped up with bruises starting to form and covered in red, white, and blue bandaids.
“What happened?”
Wanda groaned from the tangle of limbs she and Pietro had collapsed into. “Rogers and Stark.”
Phil nodded because of course it was those two. He couldn’t think of anything else that could beat up the people sitting in front of him so thoroughly and if Wanda was calling Steve by his last name it must have been really bad.
“Tony reprogrammed those doombots from last month.” Natasha added while touching her split lip carefully. “Gave them cloaking and reduced the noise they make.”
“And then Steve dropped us upstate in the woods.” Kate continued.
Clint claimed the spot on the couch next to him, but had his legs were draped over the arm and he shoved at Phil who set aside his paper and raised up his arm so Clint could rest his head against his thigh comfortably.
“And?” He prompted while putting his arm back down to drape over Clint’s chest
“And then made us play ‘Flag Tag’. With the doombots.” Clint shot him a truly pitiful look.
“There’s something wrong with him.” Jason was perched on the back of the other couch, just behind where Kate was sitting, somehow making it look like the most natural position ever. Which didn’t stop Kate from shooting him wary looks.
“He’s a sadist.” Clint pointed at Phil accusingly. “He gets off on this. I bet you’ve known all along. I bet you help him think this stuff up. You would, wouldn’t you?”
“He would.” Natasha looked at him suspiciously. “He’d do anything for Steve. Maybe he's working for the enemy.”
“I am not.” Phil flicked Clint on the forehead.
"That is what a enemy spy would say." Wanda pushed herself up to rest on her elbows. Pietro wiggled around until he was draped rather unceremoniously over her legs. "He cannot be trusted."
"Maybe we should tie him up and discuss a course of action?"
"Dude." Kate scrunched up her nose. "Gross."
"Don't use paranoia as a cover for bondage." Clint's smile could only be called lecherous. “And Steve Rogers does not get off on hurting you all.”
At least Phil didn’t think he did.
...He hoped he didn’t.
“Doombot tag?”
Natasha nodded solemnly. “Cloaked Doombot tag. With the lasers turned on.”
"Full contact." Kate said. "I saw one tackle Sam to grab his flags."
Phil could feel his childhood shift and crumble again. “He might be a sadist.”
---
“Fuck!” Jason’s shout was followed by a clatter of metal, what sounded like the shattering of glass, and then a dull thunk. Steve looked up from his book, alarmed. Then realized that no one else had even moved.
Natasha was still acting as yarn holder for Bruce while checking Wanda’s yoga form. Bruce was still knitting away, looking completely serene. Clint was still sprawled on the couch, ice pack on his eye, while Coulson ran fingers through his hair and flipped through the paper. Bucky was sitting on the floor next to Steve, looking at nerf guns on Amazon (Steve was tempted to ask what that was all about but he also wasn’t sure he wanted to know.) and Pietro was still flipping through the channels at warp speed.
No seemed at all bothered by the noises coming from the kitchen.
“God damnit cock sucking son of a-" Jason broke off as a series of thumps and the sound of rushing water filled the air. Steve was pretty sure something was on fire. He set aside his book and started to twist around on the couch.
“Don’t.” Bucky said, leaning against his leg slightly.
“But-”
“I know you think you can help but believe me when I say this is one thing you cannot fix.” Bucky put a hand on his knee, expression deadly serious. “Jay’s inability to cook makes my freezer burned brain look like a minor problem.”
Steve let out a surprised bark of laughter then smothered it, trying to school his expression into something disapproving. Sam said he was supposed to encourage Bucky’s gallows humor and there were lots of times he couldn’t quite keep himself from laughing but as a general rule he felt like it was in poor taste.
Bucky patted his knee, smirking, then returned to the tablet in his lap.
Something slammed and a moment Jason was shuffling into the room holding a plate with a charred...something on it. Steve thought it might have been a grilled cheese, as there was a bit of bright yellow oozing from it, but everything else was charcoal black and he didn’t want to make any assumptions.
“Hey. Clint? You got any bandaids?” The hand that wasn’t holding the plate was bright red and starting to peel and blister in some spots, particularly around the finger tips.
Clint snorted then rolled off of the couch and shuffled out of the room. Jason flopped down next to Bucky and poked at his mass of coal and cheese dispassionately.
Pietro looked over and wrinkled his nose. “How did you manage to burn it like that?”
“This from the man who burnt a pot trying to boil water.” Coulson said mildly. Pietro had the grace to blush before turning his nose up.
“That was a honest mistake. It could have happened to anyone.”
Wanda, who was holding wheel pose (Steve occasionally did morning Yoga with Nat and Bruce and had picked up a think or two) while Natasha nodded her approval, laughed. “You are impatient. You always forget about what you are cooking and leave it while you run and get take out.”
Pietro glared at the TV darkly. “It’s not my fault everything takes so long. You don’t understand what it’s like.”
“Here we go.” Wanda sank down and smoothly flowed into boat pose, resignation thick in her tone.
Bruce looked up from his project, a lavender something or other. “Here what goes?”
Wanda and Coulson groaned in unison and Natasha sighed. Pietro however looked delighted. He jumped up and whizzed over to sit next to Bruce.
“Imagine you are in the post office behind a woman with 20 packages who wants to know every single way she can send them to Sokovia and the person behind the counter keeps insisting it is impossible because giant craters and import laws and the woman keeps insisting? It makes you crazy, right? ...well not you, because then you’d probably smash her into paste or maybe exactly you because you’d never actually do anything-”
“We’ve established I would have Clint kidnap the woman’s family and call her with a ransom demand to get her out of the line.” Natasha add helpfully as she nudged Wanda with her foot, pushing her hands closer together. “And if she had no family I would have Clint escort her out on official SHIELD business.”
“Normal people who are not Black Widow would think to themselves, "Why do I have to put up with this? These people are so slow, they're costing me time, and it is so damned irritating. I wish I did not have to put up with this." Pietro said, waving his hands around so fast that they were little more than blue blurs. “That’s me. All the time. Everyone!”
"Interesting." Bruce set down his project, eyes gleaming in a way that was eerily similar to Tony when the billionaire had been given the green light to fiddle with their gear. “Do you experience the world in slow motion?”
“Not exactly.” Pietro’s face screwed up in thought. “It is not that things are slow, it is that I know they could be faster.”
“Too bad water only boils so fast.” Wanda said, sticking her tongue out. Steve coughed to cover his laugh but Wanda’s impish grin let him know she’d caught it.
“Have you considered getting laid?” Bucky asked. Wanda's expression became one of vague disgust.
Pietro blinked, momentarily startled, then smirked. He blurred and was sitting on the other side of Steve’s legs, reaching over to put a hand on Bucky’s leg hesitantly. Bucky looked down at the hand then leaned back against the couch, lips quirking up.
Pietro seemed to take that as a good sign because he left his hand there and leaned closer, heedless of Steve’s legs doing their best to act as a barrier. “Are you offering?”
Wanda made a gagging noise. Steve agreed silently agreed with the sentiment. His fingers itched to reach down and push the speedster away. Bucky’s eyes flicked up to him, and he could see laughter there, then slid over to Jason who was staring pointedly at the TV and gnawing at his sandwich.
“Nah, just curious. Might help with that boredom thing you have going on.”
“You sure?” Pietro waggled his eyebrows. “It’d probably take a super solider to keep up. Or two.”
Jason dropped his sandwich onto the floor. Bucky snorted. Jason’s hand came up, a singular finger extended. Steve watched it all but mostly looked at the hand Pietro had on Bucky’s leg. Bucky was still skittish as far as people touching him went and yet he was letting Pietro practically feel him up.
...Steve was willing to admit to himself that perhaps ‘feel him up’ was something of an overstatement.
Jason shot Pietro a dark look. “I not sure someone who fails to boil water would know what to do with two super soldiers.”
“I could figure it out.” Steve couldn’t but noted that Pietro yanked his hand off of Bucky like he’d been burned when Jason looked at him. “At least I never sliced my finger off making peanut butter and jelly.”
“That happened once.” Clint muttered, returning with a yellow and white box that boasted ‘Captain America and Friends’ on the side. Steve frowned at the cartoon Captain America and Ironman on the side. Was there anything out there without some version of his face on it?
Jason caught the bandaid box with his not burned hand and started pulling them out. Steve watched as he peeled the paper off of one, revealing a bandaid covered with images of a tiny cherub-like Black Widows flipping over a red background.
It was frighteningly adorable.
“Wait. Are you supposed to bandage burns?” Jason asked, looking up at Steve like he expected him to have the answer.
“I mean,” Clint said as he flopped back down on the couch and swung his feet into Coulson’s lap. “You cut off the tip of your finger while you’re making a sandwich one time and they never let you forget it.”
“You fuck one sheep.” Natasha intoned.