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Perfectly well adjusted adults
Somehow, the first thing that comes to Steve’s mind is that one time when Thor accidentally put metal in the paper shredder.
The noise that this particular action resulted in is very specific, and something that will be stuck in his head forever. It makes his teeth hurt, the desperate squeaking of bending metal, bending and scraping against more metal. It still rings in his ears, weeks later, and a pounding headache is waiting for Steve just from thinking about it.
He cringes, not entirely sure why this of all things bounces around in his brain like an old Windows Screensaver, but it does. Where did this even come from? Steve decides to blame Tony - or Natasha. Both seem accurate enough.
Most of all, he blames it on the lack of coffee, which is concerning for him.
Steve can’t get drunk, and caffeine does nothing for him, but there is just something about a steaming hot cup of liquid comfort in the morning that is helpful and essential to help start the day right.
But the lack of coffee explains a lot in this household, especially situations like this.
See, it’s not like there are no caffeinated beverages here, on the contrary even. The coffee machine is actually running right at this second , but surprisingly enough, it’s not responsible for the noise and the strange comparisons that Steve’s tired brian comes up with at this hour.
The source of said noise is close though.
Just a few feet away from the counter, Clint stands bleary eyed, staring at the dark brown liquid dripping down into the glass pot. Clearly, he’s trying to get it to brew faster through sheer willpower and very little patience. How Clint manages to stay upright, it’s not quite clear, because he sways dangerously back and forth on his feet.
The glare in his eyes should have set the kitchen appliance on fire by now, but it braves the storm and quietly continues to do its job: brew coffee for the whole team, including Phil and Pepper. They go through a lot of coffee, and it just takes a while to get that much.
Clint, however, is in desperate need of caffeine, because he actually runs on it - to be fair, he also runs on a mixture of bad jokes, stubbornness and antidepressants, but mostly coffee.
Right now, he stands there in the middle of the room, staring holes into the offending piece of machinery. However, he holds the bag of coffee beans in one hand, shoveling the pure beans into his mouth and crunches away. He eats the stuff like popcorn.
It can’t be pleasant, and the monotone chewing, although not especially, loud, rings in Steve’s serum enchanted ears.
To him, it really does sound like that Time when Thor fed metal to the paper shredder.
Even Lucky, who is curled up under one of the empty chairs, lifts his head every now and again, shooting concerned looks to where his human is standing, uselessly eating coffee beans. Maybe the fact that even the dog is judging him should tell Clint something, but he’s not nearly coherent enough yet. Truth be told, he also wouldn’t care.
The kitchen keeps filling with off-duty superheroes in various states of dressed and awake. Natasha looks fresh and perfectly alive, although it very much looks like she stole her teammates lounge clothes again. Everything she’s currently wearing looks more or less baggy on her; the hoodie jacket is obnoxiously purple and clashing with her red hair, so it clearly belongs to Clint. The shirt has a science pun printed on the front, which means she took it from Bruce’s closet. The pants are rolled up so she doesn’t trip, but they’re not too wide, so they probably belonged to Tony at some point. Her socks are… Fluffy american flags. One of the countless fan gifts to Steve, then. To top it off, Natasha has claimed one of Thor’s gigantic mugs and she, too, is waiting for the coffee, although not nearly as desperately as her best friend.
As a contrast, Tony next to Nat seems to be upright due to nothing but sheer willpower.
There are deep purple bags under his eyes, and he looks like he’s come straight from the lab, which means he probably ran out of caffeinated drinks down there. That assumption is confirmed when he slouches over to the counter, where Clint is standing. The two of them stare at the coffee machine in a zombie-like twin glare, but it’s not done yet.
“Coffee.” Tony says, and it might be a question or a request - it’s unclear with him in this state.
An unhappy grunt and gesture to the still running machine are Clint’s only answer. When Tony asks again, more intent this time, Clint holds out the bag of coffee beans to him while eating another handful himself.
That seems to satisfy the sleep deprived inventor for now, because he hums in response and takes a handful.
Sometimes, Steve is wondering just how far a person has to go down the wrong way to end up - well, there.
He asks himself the same question again, in the privacy of his own head and not out loud, when Bruce walks up to the kitchen. He looks about as bad as Tony, but at least he mumbles something that might be “Good morning” to the room in general. Wiping his glasses on his shirt, he joins the queue of Caffeine Zombies and steals a handful of coffee beans for himself.
The crunching noises continue, three fold this time.
Steve blinks a few times, sighs heavily and shares a look with Natasha.
Nat is smirking at him with one raised eyebrow - she’s having way too much fun with this. Also, it’s not like she never did this before. It’s just that there is no evidence, and who would be foolish enough to claim otherwise?
Steve stares longingly at the dripping coffee machine, then decides to go for the tea pot instead - just in case. Pepper is also smirking at him, as if she knows too much, which is likely - as lovely and wonderful as she is, Pepper Potts can be terrifying sometimes.
By the time the coffee is through, Phil has arrived in the kitchen. Without blinking an eye, and quicker than should be humanly possible, he removes the bag of beans from the claws of their three resident coffee zombies. Then, he maneuvers every single one of them to the table and pushes mugs of hot coffee into their hands, and this is when they start to feel just alive enough to start drinking. It’s like watching suffering, dying plants slowly coming back to life.
Steve can’t stop thinking about the paper shredder though. Thor toasting at him with his own, giant metal mug while grinning doesn’t help either, and he can’t shake the thought that the Asgardian knows a lot more than he usually lets on. He can’t help but smile back though - that grin is infectious.
Lucky huffs from his spot as the chair is being occupied, as the movement is clearly disturbing his nap once again. Clint reaches down with one hand to pet Lucky’s large head a few times in a silent apology. The mutt leans happily into the touch, mouth hanging open in pure contentment and tail wagging slightly.
Then, Natasha bends down, lightly scratching the underside of Lucky’s chin as she’s talking to him.
“Are the humans being silly again? Yes they are. You don’t need caffeine to function, huh? Lucky boy.”
As if in agreement, Lucky woofs.
This causes Clint to huff a laugh into his mug which he’s currently draining of it’s contents. Nat is right and he knows it. He still doesn’t notice her stealing a fork full of his breakfast, just because she can.
* ~
The kitchen really is the heart of their home.
One would think that this would be the living room, where they hang out together whenever they’re free, where they crash after long and gruelling missions, when the way to their own apartment seems to be too long. Sometimes, a few of them end up cuddling there, which is always a plus. They may or may not be a touch starved bunch, used to solitude and loneliness to the point where holding hands or brushing shoulders with another human being feels truly special. It had been awkward and halting at first, but they’ve known each other for long enough now to stop caring, for one, but also to grow together as a family. No matter how much they want to strangle each other sometimes, they are home to each other. Much like siblings, they are a family, and even on the worst days, they know that the people around them have their back and love them unconditionally, no matter what. Even when they fantasize about kicking each other out the closed window on occasion.
Getting there was a long and sometimes painful process, but neither of them would want to trade it for anything in the world.
So, the living room is one place where that connection has grown over time.
The kitchen, however, is always warm, always filled with people for at least one shared meal a day. Even when no team meals are scheduled, more often than not, the kitchen on the common floor of Avengers Tower smells of something delicious. Chances are, whenever one or more of them are home, it is in use.
Bruce loves cooking dishes from all over the world - especially indian food, since he’s spent a good amount of time there. It takes a while to prepare these meals, which means that he’s got plenty of time to occupy himself when he’s out of the lab. Food will always draw people in, and it’s one thing he’s liked very much whenever he was traveling. You can be lonely, but when you have food to share, people will come sooner or later. Bruce learned that quickly, and uses this knowledge to seek out the company of his team, especially when he isn’t sure how to do this otherwise. Too much of his life has been spent either lonely or on the run or both.
Whenever Bruce is cooking, the aromas of spices waft out of the door, summoning other people to either help or taste every single pot. He doesn’t complain, and if he does, it’s half-hearted and with a smile lurking by the corners of his mouth.
No matter what time of day or night he ends up there, he can be sure that it won’t take long for just about anyone else to arrive.
Steve is always happy to help - chopping vegetables, preparing sides with instructions as he’s learning to prepare more than he had the means to do back in the 40s. Steve is also great at providing nice conversation or an open ear, whatever it is that’s needed.
It might be because he, too, likes the company of other people, but especially in the beginning, doesn’t know how to ask for it. So he’ll make himself useful, just to not be alone.
As smart as he is, figuring out that he is very much liked and wanted in this new world that is still foreigen to him, takes longer than it should. But once he knows this, he relaxes significantly. It’s something the others notice frequently, but don’t call him out on, but Captain America and Steve Rogers can be two very different people.
While the Captain is confident in himself and knows what he’s doing, Steve is still a little bit lost, trying to find his way in a world that is still the same and yet unfamiliar in many ways.
Having company helps, though. It helps a lot.
Other days, or nights, to be truthful, the common floor smells of freshly baked goods. Heavenly scents of melted butter, chocolate and fresh baking will waft through the air, summoning every single person who is anywhere near.
Clint likes cooking well enough, but baking is his favourite pastime, unless you count archery and cuddles with Lucky. It helps him focus while also keeping him from overthinking every single breath and movement. He tends to do that, and it leaves him jumpy and anxious if he can’t manage to calm down. Creating something instead of destroying helps, and the feeling of dough under his hands, mixing ingredients until they have bonded together into something delicious is a comfort he’ll often seek out.
At first, he only does it at night.
While no one sleeps a lot in the first place, with insomnia and nightmares being frequent guests in this house, Clint is not quite ready to share this particular ritual at the time.
The only signs of his baking are a lingering scent and tins full of baked goods that get devoured at breakfast. It’s another comfort, knowing whatever he’ll bake will definitely get eaten.
One day, he just stops caring and spends a Saturday creating a tornado in the kitchen while blasting music via JARVIS. He’s actually quite happy that day, and he’d been craving something sweet, so he figures he might as well bake it.
Soon after the first tray is out of the oven and cooling down on the counter, the elevator dings, drowned out by the song and Clint humming.
“Who’s baking?” someone asks and another voice sighs happily, “This smells truly magnificent!”
Just a moment later, Natasha rounds the corner with Thor and Tony close behind her. She hums appreciatively, stealing a ball of cookie dough from a tray with quick fingers and a happy, satisfied look on her face.
She’s known Clint for a long time - this comes to no surprise to her. They’ve spent many days stuck in safe houses and a need to occupy themselves, which means that Clint was the one doing the baking while Nat stole pieces of dough or toppings.
Tony makes a beeline for the counter, followed by Thor, and they stuff their faces with fresh, warm chocolate chip cookies.
It doesn’t take long for both of them to declare their undying love right then and there, and Tony, mouth full with cookies still, walks up to Clint, who is covered in flour, carrying a spatula and dirty bowl, and wraps him into a tight hug.
“Marry me. Please. This is amazing.”
Clint just laughs. He laughs long and hard enough for Lucky to get up and leave the room, which only cracks him up even more.
* ~
One morning, Natasha enters the kitchen covered in blood.
It’s not quite clear if it is her own or somebody else's blood, but the fact that she looks satisfied points into the direction of option 2. She’s clearly come back from a recent mission, since she’s not usually in formal clothes and heels at 6am. Her appearing in the room causes two reactions.
Most people on the table either gasp or blink at the blood, while Phil and Clint simply greet her like it’s just another day. Truth be told, to them it probably is.
“Good morning, everyone!” Nat sounds cheerful as she crosses the room.
Once again, it is Steve who addresses the elephant in the room while the table sits in unusual silence.
“Uhm, Natasha… Your dress…”
“What about it?” she asks, as if there is anything odd about the question.
“It’s a nice dress!” Clint says through a mouth full of cereal and gives her a thumbs up. This causes Natasha to beam at him - it doesn’t happen often, but something has her clearly excited - and really, when she turns to Clint, she puts her hands into the skirt, holding it out.
“Thanks! It has pockets!”
Maybe that statement wouldn’t be as unsettling as it is, if she didn’t pull a bloody knife out of one of the deep pockets. But she looks genuinely happy about this, and Clint says,
“Well shit, that’s amazing!” and grinning widely, while Phil makes an appreciative noise into his mug as he drinks more coffee.
Steve is once again left wondering what is even going on. Although this time, the majority of the team seems to share his bafflement, which is honestly rare enough. He blinks a few times, and forces himself to smile with an awkward thumbs up, because Natasha is still beaming happily.
He figures it’s better not to ask. Yet.
When Natasha has left the room to shower and change, he turns to Clint, who clearly seems to know what’s going on.
“What’s the big deal with pockets?” Steve asks, deciding to ignore the part with the blood, because it is Nat after all. Clint just shrugs.
“Ever worn a dress? There is usually nowhere to put shit. I never knew until a few years ago. Trust me, this IS a big deal. Best thing you can do is just be excited for someone when they tell you something’s got pockets, because whoever designs women’s clothes these days clearly seems to think they’re not needed anymore. Which. Not true. Where else would you store weapons and dog treats? Bags can be so fucking impractical.”
While one question is answered, there are even more open questions now. It’s a never ending cycle in this house.
* ~
None of them ever had so many people to call Family. It still feels a little bit surreal, even after years of being a team, but they’ve grown into it.
A quiet sense of companionship sounds poetic, but it doesn’t quite hit the mark. What’s more fitting is this:
They live together, they fight together and they slowly figure out how to do so without butting heads too often. But one day, when shit hits the fan and the tower is under attack, they discover that they have grown protective over one another to the point where they would literally die for each other.
No one is quite sure how to address this, so they don’t. But they can sleep a little more peacefully, knowing that they are surrounded by people who have their back in any way possible.
When Phil steps out of the elevator one late night, the living room is mostly dark. Only a few small lights across the room and it looks like the TV is running. He also enters the room just in time to catch Thor at what is probably the end of a very long winded, excited ramble about Asgardian landmarks that Phil has never heard about. A shame really, that he didn’t arrive earlier. He’d have loved to catch more of it.
When he steps closer, the two men on the couch pull their eyes off of the TV screen where a nature documentary is playing, and both of them smile widely.
“Phil! You’re home!”
“Hey you two” he smiles back, but adds, “Don’t let me interrupt, I was gonna head upstairs.”
“Oh, no, you’re not interrupting. We are watching these very fascinating movies about your midgardian nature, and I’ve found quite a few similarities to places I know back home!” Thor beams at him - literally. He’s built like a brickwall and tall as a mountain, but his enthusiasm and sparkling eyes make him look like an overexcited Golden Retriever. It’s lethal, and Phil can’t blame Bruce for the way he looks at him in moments like this. Fond, and with a wistful little smile that speaks of wishing for more.
God knows, Phil himself is a true expert in silently pining for a close friend.
“It’s really fascinating. Besides, Thor’s got another arm free.” Bruce lets him know from his own spot on the couch, happily cuddled up into the demigod’s side. He’s wrapped up in a knitted blanket, and all that sticks out is his curly salt and pepper head, as well as one hand, since he’s holding a mug of something steaming hot - probably coffee, or herbal tea.
“Certainly, my friend!” Thor lifts his free arm, and who is Phil to deny that invitation? One does not simply deny the Thunder God’s snuggles.
With swift movements, he removes all sharp and pointy objects from his person, then he flops down on the sofa. Phil sighs happily at the warm presence of friends next to him.
Home. It’s nice to be home.
He’s had a long day - long week, really. SHIELD is never quiet for long, and despite being what Nick Fury refers to as “Full Time Avengers Babysitter” when no one else is around to hear, his position still requires him on other missions. The last one has left him truly drained, and Phil isn’t surprised in the slightest that he nods off soon.
A little while later, Phil wakes up because the couch dips down slightly on his other side. Peering one eye open, he spots a very tired and ruffled looking Clint next to him. He smiles, lifting one arm and without a second of hesitation, the archer wraps both arms around him, resting his head on Phil’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to be in a talkative mood tonight - it’s entirely likely that he doesn’t even wear his hearing aids at the moment, but he seems to be háppy enough here, judging by the way he lets out a deep breath and dozes right off as soon as he’s somewhat horizontal.
Phil tightens his hold around his waist a little bit, then his own eyes fall shut again.
Sometime, hopefully soon, they might be able to talk about this. Maybe. Hopefully. But for now, they simply enjoy each other's company.
* ~
It’s still early in the day when Tony stalks into the kitchen, a sour look on his face as he snarls into his cell phone before hanging up. In moments like this, he really misses flip phones.
As much as he loves modern technology and strives to make it better every single day, hanging up a sleek, light phone with delicate screens with nothing but the feathery touch of a single finger just isn’t nearly as satisfying as dramatically slamming shut a phone that is basically brick in two parts, with an antenna and a hinge.
“I will stab your fucking ankles.” he promises whoever is on the other end, before he ends the call and walks over to the coffee machine, metaphorical rain cloud dark over his head.
“That’s the spirit, Tony.” Natasha says without looking up from her book and drinks another sip of tea. The only answer she gets is a grouchy “harumph” from somewhere by the counter.
“Whose ankles are we stabbing? Just so I know.” Nat asks after a little while, and smirks when it gets her an actual laugh from Tony, who turns back around to face her.
“Steve.” he says, shaking his head. “I love the guy, but I swear, I’m this close” he holds up his free hand, two of it’s fingers almost touching “to actually do it.” While he says that, he really hopes that his face isn’t getting as red as it feels when the words “I love the guy” leave his mouth, because, yeah, about that…
“What happened this time? You two are constantly in each other's hair.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs, and pulls out his mug from under the coffee machine as soon as it’s done.
“He’s an overprotective dickhead, that’s what happened!” Tony blurts out, gesturing widely.
“Idiot got himself hurt when everything would have been under control. Lab accident.” Tony adds when Natasha makes a questioning noise.
“He’s in medical and being annoying. He kicked me out, so I called to keep chewing his ass out.”
Tony drains his mug and turns to refill it, staring at the coffee machine as if it was able to run any faster than it already does. He sighs.
“I know he’ll be fine by the end of the day. Bruce is with him, and he’s not too concerned. But this is unnecessary and annoying and I hate it. So there. If Steve get’s himself hurt for no fucking reason again, I will stab his ankles.”
“Or you two could talk about your mutual crush and spare the rest of us the pining.” Natasha suggests dryly. This has been going on for too long, and clearly, these two stubborn morons can’t figure it out on their own.
Tony glares at that, but Natasha just shrugs, unimpressed.
“Just saying.” She sing-songs as she’s getting up from the chair and puts her empty mug into the dishwasher. Tony glares harder, which only causes her grin to widen.
“Oh, fuck off, Nat.”
She blows him a kiss across the room and grins, white and toothy like a shark. Natasha knows full well that she’s hit a nerve.
“Love you, too. Now get lost and figure this out, Genius.”
* ~
“Ooh, is this Lasagna I smell?” a voice from the doorway asks in hungry enthusiasm.
As if on cue, as soon as the mouthwatering smell starts wafting through the whole common floor, people appear out of thin air and in the kitchen. Like hungry sharks, they are summoned by the food, and today, Tony is first.
Clint looks up from the bread rolls he’s currently coating with melted garlic butter before putting them back into the mini oven, while the main course is cooking in the big oven under the stove.
“Yup, sure is.”
“I’d propose marriage over the food again, but that kind of feels like incest by now.”
“Ew. Yes, it does, please don’t.” Clint cringes, because it’s true. Looking up to make sure the two of them are still alone, so that he doesn't say anything he’ll regret later, Clint adds,
“Besides, you don’t want to cause Captain America to burst into tears over it.”
Tony scowls, mostly because he knows that Clint is right, but he keeps scratching the good spot behind Lucky’s ear. He will talk to Steve about this thing between them - next life or something. He's not quite sure. Lucky flops down on top of his feet, clearly satisfied with the scritches. He’s got every single person in this household wrapped around his paw - not like anyone would complain. All of them love the dog.
Tony shoots a halfhearted glare towards Clint.
“Don’t start.”
Clint shrugs, unconcerned. “Set the table, will you? Thanks.”
One by one, the team arrives in the kitchen. They’re buzzing around like a swarm of bees, each busy doing something, but still working together. Multiple conversations fill the room, and the meal ends up like most team gatherings - loud, messy and comfortably familiar.
Clint ends up taking out his aids more often than not, because they are more annoying than helpful when it gets this loud and muddled. he’d rather focus on one conversation at once instead of trying to figure out what the fuck is even going on. He’s had struggles with this at first, but he’s long used to it by now and he doesn’t like asking for accomodations when people are feeling happy, free and comfortable. Besides, he’s happy, too.
This team is family to him, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
Phil is laughing at something he’s just told him. He loves the sound of it, even though he can’t hear it right now. But Clint can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. He’s not quite sure how he looks at him, but it wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if his eyes were to glaze over and he’d look at Phil with a loopy smile - aw, feelings, no.
Lucky is sprawled under his chair, nuzzling the bit of skin that pokes out in between his sock and pants, waiting for bits and pieces of food to fall off of the table. The dog might be lazy and content, but don’t think he won’t shoot up fast as lightning when he senses tasteful scraps dropping from plates and forks.
Tomorrow, they will head out for a new mission, a few hours to the south. There will be briefings and planning, a long flight and probably a fight as well. He’s kind of looking forward to that, since it’s been a while and he’s been getting antsy.
Natasha feels the same, he knows, and she’s almost bouncing at the thought of finally getting to do something again. Both of them are used to being on the road or in the field constantly. Despite being Avengers for quite some time now, they’ve spent too many years traveling, both with and before SHIELD. It’s something they’ll never shake off, at least not entirely, but they do appreciate having a home to come back to.
Not just a home base or the helicarrier, a cold apartment or safehouse. They have a real home now, warm and filled with people who love them.
It’s more than either of them would have ever hoped for.
It’s much more than any of the people present would have ever hoped for.
* ~
Prompt No. 6 - Siblings