Fic: Crunchy and Without Jelly (or Chocolate) (Avengers)
Title: Crunchy And Without Jelly (Or Chocolate)
Author: pervyficgirl
Recipient: dazzledfirestar
Prompt: "Why is there peanut butter on my shield??"
Word Count: 1400
Characters: Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Wanda
Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff
Warnings, if including any non-con/dub-con/etc.: N/A
A/N: I hope this is fluffy enough, recipient! Steve's
general angst of the period slipped in, but I tried to make it as
happy as possible, despite that.
Summary: Really, what's a day in the life of the
Avengers without a little in-fighting and utter misuse of food?
In many ways, Steve was still learning how to readjust to civilians.
There had been generals, during the war, who had seen more than Steve
(Steve tried not to think about the fact that those generals were all
gone now; at least, he tried not to think about that while he was
spending valuable "down" time with the Avengers he was supposed
to be leading.) Those generals had warned him that leaving the war
would be more difficult, in some ways, than being part of the war.
Steve hadn't really believed them. He'd known that for some people,
war was a way of life and battle something to be relished.
But Steve fought, and would always fight, because there was an enemy
to be fought, not out of a blood lust. He'd been certain, then, that
the difference had really mattered and that coming home would not give
him the same sense of displacement it had given so many other former
soldiers.
Maybe it wouldn't have, if he'd come home sooner. Maybe it
wouldn't have, if Bucky had made it home too.
Maybe, if either of those things had been true, the skill in leading
that had seemed so easy and natural during the war would have
translated to leading the group of civilians he was currently
responsible for.
Steve wasn't convinced, however, that it would have prepared him for
what he saw when he walked into the room where the other three
Avengers were waiting. Despite his occasional self-doubt over his
leadership style, Steve felt entirely justified in his greeting. "Why
is there peanut butter on my shield?"
~~
Rarely did Clint Barton and Steve Rogers ever really agree on
anything, but for just this one occasion, Clint had to admit that
Cap's question was a reasonable one.
He didn't have to admit it out loud, of course. He did, on the
other hand, have to be the first person to have a snappy answer for
Cap, because that was the way things worked for their team.
"Well, you left it in the room, Grandpa. If you were gonna get that
worked up about your precious shield getting dirty, maybe you should
have taken it with you!"
It probably said something - and that something probably wasn't very
complimentary - about the way Clint's stomach flipped in a triumphant
little cartwheel whenever he managed to make Cap's face twist into
that particular brand of a grimace. It was, after all, a very
particular grimace reserved just for dealing with Clint.
Clint was willing to bet that Hitler didn't instill his own
special brand of facial irritation on Cap. Not that Hitler was Clint's
personal hero or anything, but there was a certain accomplishment in
being able to get under the skin of a fellow who'd stared down pure
evil without so much as a blink.
Clint was willing to acknowledge that Pietro was right, and that the
feeling of accomplishment wasn't an especially heterosexual feeling,
but that, too, wasn't something he was going to acknowledge out
loud.
"I'm not 'worked up,' Hawkeye. As leader of the Avengers, I just
wondered what happened."
"Yeah, yeah. We all know you're the leader of the Avengers. We don't
have to be reminded."
"Most people would forgive me for thinking otherwise."
Clint waved at him dismissively. "If you really must know, we were
having ... target practice."
Cap's face twisted again, and he looked for all the world like he
wanted to say "Bullshit." Or, Clint considered, possibly a long string
of expletives containing the word "fuck."
Personally, one of Clint's lifetime goals was to make Captain America
finally lose his shit to the degree that he let loose with a good
profanity filled rant.
It'd do the old man some good.
~~
"That doesn't explain," Steve answered, letting out a breath of air
that managed to be both a sigh and a barely restrained groan, "how you
managed to get peanut butter on arrows you haven't even managed to
shoot yet."
Wanda listened to her teammates, with half the patience she generally
extended towards them. She was still agitated at Hawkeye, for his
behavior earlier in the day.
But she raised one hand to cover the smile that crossed her lips as
the question dawned on Hawkeye and he raised his hands to check the
arrows remaining in his quiver. Instantly, the smug smile that came
with arguing with Captain America disappeared off his face, and the
remaining agitation left Wanda entirely.
"I'm afraid the peanut butter on your shield is my fault, Captain
America," Wanda confessed.
He looked up, surprised at the confession. Wanda wondered if the
surprise was due to her gender or the fact that he wasn't expecting to
have his verbal sparring match with Hawkeye interrupted so quickly.
"You were playing target practice with peanut butter?"
"Not exactly target practice," Wanda explained.
"The buffoon was bothering my sister and she gave him what he
deserved," Pietro interrupted.
"Nice of you to decide to join the conversation, Pietro," Hawkeye huffed.
"You did not appear to require my assistance in digging any deeper
holes for yourself, Hawkeye and I needed to finish my lunch. If you
had powers, you would understand that they require a good deal more
fuel than a mere archer."
"A mere archer?"
"Or, rather, I tried to," Wanda interrupted, and soothingly added, "My
aim might not have been as good as Hawkeye's." She gave his arm a
little squeeze, a silent apology for both the peanut butter and her
brother's words.
"That's because there's nothing mere about me. And anyway, Cap,
why are you so surprised? They must not have had feisty women back in
the day of the dinosaurs."
~~
"On the contrary," Steve corrected, letting the dinosaur crack slide
in favor of correcting the important part of the question. "We had a
good many 'feisty women' during my day. We couldn't have won the war
without them."
"Goody. The next time we're in a pinch, Witchie can throw peanut
butter at our enemies."
"I don't care for how you speak of my sister, Hawkeye. She is a
valuable member of this team."
"I didn't say she wasn't!"
"You implied it."
Steve surveyed his team: one bemused witch, one restless speedster and
one cocky archer with his feelings a bit wounded. He hadn't picked
them and they were a lot of hard work to deal with.
But they were worth the effort. He was unsure of a lot of things in
this new position he found himself in, but that he was certain of.
"Let me tell you what I'd like to imply about you, Pietro - "
Steve laid a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder to interrupt that train of
thought. "I'd like to state that we're all equally valuable
members of this team. I wouldn't trade any of you."
"Have the Avengers always been this sentimental?" Pietro wondered. "Or
is this something special that changed when we three joined the team?"
"Hush, Pietro. I think it's sweet. I am sorry about your shield, Steve."
Hawkeye shrugged off the hand, but Steve felt him relax slightly
before he did so. As far as wins with Hawkeye went, that had to count
as one, in Captain America's book. "On the other hand, I'd say it's
clear that we need to practice on our teamwork skills some more."
"Aw, Cap, no. Please tell us you aren't going to make us do anymore of
that role play crap. You're the only guy I've ever met who could make
role play boring, by the way."
Steve blinked, and let that be one of the times he pretended not to
know what Hawkeye was talking about. "I was thinking more along the
lines of mock battle practice. Good old-fashioned sparring, in other
words."
"You might want to clean your arrows off first."
"Yeah, fuck you too, Pietro."
"Play nice, Hawkeye," Steve said, and if he'd managed not to sigh, it
might have sounded better.
"Yeah, yeah. Hey, Cap, can we bring the peanut butter?" Steve had
spent most of the war hanging around teenage boys, and he could
readily read the "I'm sure I can show Pietro just how good my aim
really is" look Hawkeye was giving Quicksilver.
Steve stifled another sigh. "As long as you don't get anymore on my shield."
Author: pervyficgirl
Recipient: dazzledfirestar
Prompt: "Why is there peanut butter on my shield??"
Word Count: 1400
Characters: Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Wanda
Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff
Warnings, if including any non-con/dub-con/etc.: N/A
A/N: I hope this is fluffy enough, recipient! Steve's
general angst of the period slipped in, but I tried to make it as
happy as possible, despite that.
Summary: Really, what's a day in the life of the
Avengers without a little in-fighting and utter misuse of food?
In many ways, Steve was still learning how to readjust to civilians.
There had been generals, during the war, who had seen more than Steve
(Steve tried not to think about the fact that those generals were all
gone now; at least, he tried not to think about that while he was
spending valuable "down" time with the Avengers he was supposed
to be leading.) Those generals had warned him that leaving the war
would be more difficult, in some ways, than being part of the war.
Steve hadn't really believed them. He'd known that for some people,
war was a way of life and battle something to be relished.
But Steve fought, and would always fight, because there was an enemy
to be fought, not out of a blood lust. He'd been certain, then, that
the difference had really mattered and that coming home would not give
him the same sense of displacement it had given so many other former
soldiers.
Maybe it wouldn't have, if he'd come home sooner. Maybe it
wouldn't have, if Bucky had made it home too.
Maybe, if either of those things had been true, the skill in leading
that had seemed so easy and natural during the war would have
translated to leading the group of civilians he was currently
responsible for.
Steve wasn't convinced, however, that it would have prepared him for
what he saw when he walked into the room where the other three
Avengers were waiting. Despite his occasional self-doubt over his
leadership style, Steve felt entirely justified in his greeting. "Why
is there peanut butter on my shield?"
~~
Rarely did Clint Barton and Steve Rogers ever really agree on
anything, but for just this one occasion, Clint had to admit that
Cap's question was a reasonable one.
He didn't have to admit it out loud, of course. He did, on the
other hand, have to be the first person to have a snappy answer for
Cap, because that was the way things worked for their team.
"Well, you left it in the room, Grandpa. If you were gonna get that
worked up about your precious shield getting dirty, maybe you should
have taken it with you!"
It probably said something - and that something probably wasn't very
complimentary - about the way Clint's stomach flipped in a triumphant
little cartwheel whenever he managed to make Cap's face twist into
that particular brand of a grimace. It was, after all, a very
particular grimace reserved just for dealing with Clint.
Clint was willing to bet that Hitler didn't instill his own
special brand of facial irritation on Cap. Not that Hitler was Clint's
personal hero or anything, but there was a certain accomplishment in
being able to get under the skin of a fellow who'd stared down pure
evil without so much as a blink.
Clint was willing to acknowledge that Pietro was right, and that the
feeling of accomplishment wasn't an especially heterosexual feeling,
but that, too, wasn't something he was going to acknowledge out
loud.
"I'm not 'worked up,' Hawkeye. As leader of the Avengers, I just
wondered what happened."
"Yeah, yeah. We all know you're the leader of the Avengers. We don't
have to be reminded."
"Most people would forgive me for thinking otherwise."
Clint waved at him dismissively. "If you really must know, we were
having ... target practice."
Cap's face twisted again, and he looked for all the world like he
wanted to say "Bullshit." Or, Clint considered, possibly a long string
of expletives containing the word "fuck."
Personally, one of Clint's lifetime goals was to make Captain America
finally lose his shit to the degree that he let loose with a good
profanity filled rant.
It'd do the old man some good.
~~
"That doesn't explain," Steve answered, letting out a breath of air
that managed to be both a sigh and a barely restrained groan, "how you
managed to get peanut butter on arrows you haven't even managed to
shoot yet."
Wanda listened to her teammates, with half the patience she generally
extended towards them. She was still agitated at Hawkeye, for his
behavior earlier in the day.
But she raised one hand to cover the smile that crossed her lips as
the question dawned on Hawkeye and he raised his hands to check the
arrows remaining in his quiver. Instantly, the smug smile that came
with arguing with Captain America disappeared off his face, and the
remaining agitation left Wanda entirely.
"I'm afraid the peanut butter on your shield is my fault, Captain
America," Wanda confessed.
He looked up, surprised at the confession. Wanda wondered if the
surprise was due to her gender or the fact that he wasn't expecting to
have his verbal sparring match with Hawkeye interrupted so quickly.
"You were playing target practice with peanut butter?"
"Not exactly target practice," Wanda explained.
"The buffoon was bothering my sister and she gave him what he
deserved," Pietro interrupted.
"Nice of you to decide to join the conversation, Pietro," Hawkeye huffed.
"You did not appear to require my assistance in digging any deeper
holes for yourself, Hawkeye and I needed to finish my lunch. If you
had powers, you would understand that they require a good deal more
fuel than a mere archer."
"A mere archer?"
"Or, rather, I tried to," Wanda interrupted, and soothingly added, "My
aim might not have been as good as Hawkeye's." She gave his arm a
little squeeze, a silent apology for both the peanut butter and her
brother's words.
"That's because there's nothing mere about me. And anyway, Cap,
why are you so surprised? They must not have had feisty women back in
the day of the dinosaurs."
~~
"On the contrary," Steve corrected, letting the dinosaur crack slide
in favor of correcting the important part of the question. "We had a
good many 'feisty women' during my day. We couldn't have won the war
without them."
"Goody. The next time we're in a pinch, Witchie can throw peanut
butter at our enemies."
"I don't care for how you speak of my sister, Hawkeye. She is a
valuable member of this team."
"I didn't say she wasn't!"
"You implied it."
Steve surveyed his team: one bemused witch, one restless speedster and
one cocky archer with his feelings a bit wounded. He hadn't picked
them and they were a lot of hard work to deal with.
But they were worth the effort. He was unsure of a lot of things in
this new position he found himself in, but that he was certain of.
"Let me tell you what I'd like to imply about you, Pietro - "
Steve laid a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder to interrupt that train of
thought. "I'd like to state that we're all equally valuable
members of this team. I wouldn't trade any of you."
"Have the Avengers always been this sentimental?" Pietro wondered. "Or
is this something special that changed when we three joined the team?"
"Hush, Pietro. I think it's sweet. I am sorry about your shield, Steve."
Hawkeye shrugged off the hand, but Steve felt him relax slightly
before he did so. As far as wins with Hawkeye went, that had to count
as one, in Captain America's book. "On the other hand, I'd say it's
clear that we need to practice on our teamwork skills some more."
"Aw, Cap, no. Please tell us you aren't going to make us do anymore of
that role play crap. You're the only guy I've ever met who could make
role play boring, by the way."
Steve blinked, and let that be one of the times he pretended not to
know what Hawkeye was talking about. "I was thinking more along the
lines of mock battle practice. Good old-fashioned sparring, in other
words."
"You might want to clean your arrows off first."
"Yeah, fuck you too, Pietro."
"Play nice, Hawkeye," Steve said, and if he'd managed not to sigh, it
might have sounded better.
"Yeah, yeah. Hey, Cap, can we bring the peanut butter?" Steve had
spent most of the war hanging around teenage boys, and he could
readily read the "I'm sure I can show Pietro just how good my aim
really is" look Hawkeye was giving Quicksilver.
Steve stifled another sigh. "As long as you don't get anymore on my shield."