That Attitude May Be Your Doom
“WHAT THE FUCK!!”
Peter giggled as Steve’s enraged cursing filled the training room. "Language!" he intoned ironically. The Spider-Kid was currently dangling upside-down on the ceiling, filming the entire debacle as it went down.
And it was going down.
Captain America, Defender of Justice and Liberty, Creator of PSAs, Leader of the Avengers, the Star Spangled Man With A Plan himself, was currently buried under a huge mound of frisbees. The picture was completed by the hand sticking out at a comical angle. He’d slipped under the initial barrage, and his hand was horizontal at about a foot from the ground, out of the side of the giant sloping mound of cheap plastic products.
Peter glanced at the vent grille, where the eyes and grinning smile of everyone’s favourite archer showed through the slots.
“I SWEAR TO GOD-”
...okay, MOST people’s favourite archer.
He watched Cap start to dig himself out, muffled profanity accompanying the sounds of lots of pieces of hard plastic clattering and rolling on the floor. The pile tilted to the side, shifting as he moved, and Clint grinned harder. The head, shoulders, and some of the body of the soldier appeared from the pile, and it looked like Cap was attempting to swim through the pile of blue frisbees.
Tony glanced up from one of his holograms, with some new invention on it, grinned at the sight of their leader floundering through the mound of toys, and strolled over to join the party.
“So. I assume this is why I was charged for 7,051 ‘Captain America’s Shield-patterned frisbees.’”
Peter gave him a thumbs-up.
"CAW CAW MOTHERFUCKER!"
Finally extricating himself with one last push-slither-slide, and with a comical expression of rage on his face, Steve scanned the room, glared at Peter (Who shrugged back, as if to say I’m just filming, don’t look at me ), and finally noticed the eyes in the air vents, probably because of the uproarious laughter coming from that vicinity. He struggled to his feet, shield replicas clattering to the floor.
“CLINTON EDWARD BARTON, YOU ARE- WHAT THE- HOW- ...WHAT THE FUCK!”
Giggling on the ceiling, Peter called, “Language!”, and dodged the return glare by hiding behind his recording StarkPhone.
Drawn from the next room by the noise, Nat entered from the hallway. She frowned, catching the end of the last sentence. “Clint’s middle name isn’t Edward.”
Exasperation barely contained, Cap turned to her, “I don’t fucking care. I just picked the worst, most boring middle name I could think of.”
“Hey!” Tony protested. “That’s my middle name!”
Clint’s grin only widened. “Seems appropriate.” His face disappeared from the vents
Tony frowned at the irate Captain. “It’s not like you have any ground to stand on, Steven Grant Rogers.
As he protested, Steve stormed over to the vent, glaring through it. “Clint, you will get out of the fucking vents right now.”
Floating through the wall, the archer’s obnoxious voice seemed smugger than he had any right to be.
“Make me, Capsicle!”
“Clint, I swear to god, if you don’t come down here right now, you are benched for the next ten missions!”
The trailing laughs stopped moving farther away. “No, I’m not.”
At the exact same time, in a dry, exasperated voice, Nat sighed and stated. “No, he’s not.
Steve unbent a little. “No, you’re not. But- Seriously? Why?”
Peter piped up from his upside-down filming vantage point. “Because it’s funny!” He grinned down at the other Supers, “Seriously! That was one of the best things I’ve ever seen!”
“Payback.” Clint claimed, “You’re always throwing your shield at everyone. It’s only fair that you should have some thrown at you!”
“You’re so immature. God.” Cap seemed to be getting over his exasperation, and turned towards the door, bending over at the edge of the pile to hurl a frisbee at the vent Clint had been occupying. He slammed the door behind him.
“Did you get a good angle?” Hawkeye’s face appeared behind the obscuring vent again. He glanced at Tony and Natasha, “We’re gonna post it online.” He explained, “Serves him right for eating the last of the cookies.”
Nat shook her head, completely unsurprised. “The Captain’s right, Hawkguy. You really are a child.”
“Hey!” Clint said, “It’s Hawkeye .”
“Not according to Kate. And everyone who knows about her.”
“Damnit.” Clint sighed, “Can’t contest that. That girl’s a menace with her Skittles arrows. I’m gonna point out that I was Hawkeye first, though.”
The assassin ignored him. “So,” she turned to adress Tony and Peter. “What the fuck are we going to do with 7,051 Frisbees?”