Ummm...hi? And welcome? Anyways, to whoever's reading this, thanks, first of all. First fan fiction and I'm kind of nervous. I apologize in advance if anything isn't right. I hope I got it, though...
Secondly, I don't own any of this. If I did...yeah. No. I don't. Not even the list. That belongs to skiddliebop. You can go find the list there.
Last thing. I'm not going in order with these things. I'm really just going to inspire my muse. And there won't be a regular updating schedule. (If I even get that far haha.) Once a week I'll try, but sometimes there'll be one, or however many I've managed to write up that week. That providing there are people who follow this xD
That rigmarole being said, enjoy!
1. Paintball wars on the Helicarrier.
"I thought you said this that was definite?" Clint demanded.
"It is, but we have to capture surveillance before we can move in," Coulson explained. "It's going to take at least 24 hours before we can assert this threat, much less send in the Avengers,"
"So we're going to do nothing on this plane for a day?" Tony moaned.
"Or more," Coulson answered, walking out of the debriefing room.
"Well, this is just great," Clint moaned as soon as Coulson had walked out the door. "I could've been on a date,"
"You're not the only one," Steve and Natasha muttered simultaneously.
"What were you two going to do?" Tony snorted. "Go look at more still-life paintings?" The pair exchanged glances. He actually hadn't been that far off. Not that Tony had to know, of course.
"Personally, I'd rather shoot paint than look at it," Clint moaned, his head hitting the table.
"Paint...shooting...that's it! Barton, you're a genius!" Tony exclaimed.
Natasha snorted. "Well, that's news,"
"Do tell, Friend Stark," Thor enthused. "What is your concept for easing us out of this boredom?"
"No more Wipeout courses," Bruce warned. "Remember what happened last time?" There was a collective wince at the thought. Tony hadn't been able to move for a week.
"Nah, this is less painful," Tony shrugged. "Paintball wars!" Clint and Natasha let out a cheer, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, while Steve and Thor just looked confused.
"How is that any less painful, Tony?" Bruce asked, pained.
"Well-paintball-it's paintball. Better than hitting the floor from twenty feet up!" Tony gesticulated. Bruce cocked his head in a 'touché' gesture, and Tony leapt up. "Give me an hour, tops," he addressed the other Avengers. "Then, the war is on!" He then ran out, leaving a confused Steve and Thor in his wake.
"...someone want to explain to me what paintball is?" Steve asked confusedly. Bruce turned to him.
"Well, it's pretty much war. With paint bullets that aren't fatal,"
"Ah, a contest of strategy!" Thor exclaimed. "I am most accustomed to these. They occur quite often on Asgard!"
"Exactly," Clint agreed gleefully. "But if you're up against two assassins, Iron Man, and super soldier, don't expect to win do easily,"
"Is that a challenge, Friend Barton?" Thor queried forcefully.
"Why, Thor, I believe it is!"
"Okay, Avengers, here's the rules," Tony was strutting like a proud kid on his birthday.
"Ten points if you hit a recruit. Lose five if you hit someone that's already been hit. There are exactly 564 people on this thing-I made Brucie keep track. Fifteen points if you hit a new wall. Fifty points for Fury, forty for Hill, and thirty for Coulson. If someone hits you for the first time, that's sixty points, then forty, twenty, and nothing if you're last." He paused. "Any questions?"
Silence.
"Excellent," Tony distributed the weapons. "Everyone on this flying death trap has been instructed not to shower-and I've disabled them, just in case."
"I will be in an undisclosed location, recording stats," Bruce announced. "Don't try to shoot me or you will be dead faster than you can say 'Hulk'."
"That being said, pick your starting points," Tony grimly announced. "You've all got ten minutes,"
"Wait!" Clint yelled before everyone dispersed. "I have a bet with the Asgardian god. I'm so acing this war. Anyone in?"
"I'll put fifty on Legolas," Tony wagered. "There's no way Point Break's pulling one over him."
"Same," Bruce agreed. "Sorry, Thor, but this is Clint we're talking about here. You don't stand a chance,"
"I think Thor could top the archer," Steve announced. "I'll put fifty on him,"
"Whatever floats your boat, Cap," Clint shrugged. "I'm still gonna win,"
Thor was hidden at the entrance to the Helicarrier cafeteria. Surely Midguardians needed sustenance, he reasoned, and what better place to retrieve it? Also, if time permitted, perhaps he could get some Pop-Tarts before continuing with his mission.
"Fall to the power of paint!" Thor leapt into the cafeteria brandishing his weapon. Recruits dived for cover as he fired royal purple paintballs everywhere, screaming as they were targeted.
Soon purple paint was everywhere, and not a single sound could be heard from the cafeteria's inhabitants. Thor, satisfied, sauntered over to the kitchen and grabbing a box of Pop-Tarts. Shooting paintballs was enough to make anyone hungry.
The silence was quickly broken by a ferocious Clint swinging in from the vents. "Die, agents, die!" He was so intent on scoring hits that he didn't notice that Thor had already covered the room. Nevertheless, he still scored a few hits-some Thor had not targeted, and the walls, which had been completely neglected. Cackling to himself, Clint swung back into the vents. Thor was seriously going to regret making that bet.
Still munching on his Pop-Tarts, Thor strolled out of the kitchen, the sight mildly astonishing him. SHIELD agents were cowering under tables, as he'd left them, but instead of his purple paint, they were covered in...black? Surely he'd had the right color!
"What sorcery hath changed the color of the paint I have covered you with?" he demanded.
"N-n-none, P-p-prince Odinson, sir," an agent stammered. "It w-was Agent B-b-Barton, sir,"
"Ah." Thor's face darkened. "Barton shall pay for this."
And with that, he stalked out of the room, leaving several agents to fear for their safety.
As he crouched in the vents, Clint couldn't help giggling to himself. Not even ten minutes in he'd scored 500 points, tops. Thor was so screwed. Now. On to the next heavily populated area-the weapons room. Not only would there be lots of agents, one of the big winners was sure to be there. Maybe Fury, although it wasn't as likely as Hill or possibly Coulson-
SPLAT.
A paintball whizzed past his head, making him jerk back. Who the hell would know he was in the vents?
His answer was provided when another paintball came at him, hitting squarely in the knee. Clint's reflexes kicked in and his knee shot out from beneath him, landing him on his ass with a solid THUMP. "Damn it!" he whined. "I've been hit!" Then considered his current predicament. "And been knocked flat on my ass,"
The only response was a sultry chuckle as the assailant slipped away. Clint glanced down at his knee, where there was definitely going to be a bruise in the coming days.
Red paint. Instantly, Clint's mind connected piece after piece of information. Thor was purple. Besides, the Asgardian prince was entirely too clumsy to get into the vents. Steve would've at least been more polite about it-but his was blue. Tony would've said a monologue complete with fireworks and orchestra. Which only left one person. Which, really, should've been Clint's assumption in the first place, given that she was the only one to even possess the ability to get into the vents.
Natasha was going down.
Lunch break, Steve mused. Of course Tony would start a paintball war during lunch break. It was the perfect time to pick a spot and strategize. Knowing Clint, he would be in the rafters somewhere-Steve made a mental note to look up every now and then, lest he get blasted with black paint. Tony would be in the lab-it was his comfort zone. Most likely, he'd provide some intellect to the scientists there before shooting them. Which only left Thor and Natasha to watch out for. The former because he simply had no strategy, the latter because she was deadly, unpredictable, and extremely accurate. Plus, she'd threatened him with couch time should he win.
At this moment, he was crouched under a table, waiting for the majority of agents to file back into the control room. Here, he reasoned, was the best chance to get Fury, or, at the very least, Coulson. Another solid five minutes passed before Steve concluded that, yes, fifty was a decent number, and began firing.
The effect was instantaneous. Agents dropped like flies, Steve having aimed for the backs of their knees. Some cursed as they tried to identify their assailant. Steve kept his firing intermittent, aiming for inconspicuous places. Anyone else would see only the head or body and assume they weren't hit, Steve figured. It would definitely cost them a lot of points.
Having incapacitated most of the agents in the area, Steve rolled out from under the table. Most of the agents' eyes went wide at the sight of their beloved Captain America holding a paintball gun. Some assumed he'd gone rogue and went into the fetal position, mumbling about their lives. Feeling sorry instantly, he began firing apologies off to anyone who would listen.
"Captain Rogers?"
Coulson's voice cut unexpected through the litany of apologies, alarming Steve. Instantly, Coulson was spattered head to toe in blue paint, leaving an entirely embarrassed super soldier and speechless agent.
"Agent Coulson, I'm so, so, so sorry about that-" Steve began to launch into another apology, but was cut off by Coulson's hand.
"I'm alright," he said faintly, sinking into a chair. "I. Just. Got shot. By. Captain. America. Holy."
"I think he's okay," an agent chuckled. "He's good, Captain Rogers,"
"Oh, alright-" The relief was palpable in Steve's voice.
"ROMANOFF!" Clint's angry voice could be heard in the hallways, and, soon enough, Natasha came racing into the control room, ducking behind a set of machines. Steve quickly ducked, avoiding detection. If he played his cards right, big points would be his.
Seeing no paint on any of the agents in the control room, Natasha began firing away, intensely taking down anyone she saw. Not soon after, Clint bounded in, red knee and all, incapacitating any agent not yet hit. His attention was soon refocused on the spy, however, and the two were soon exchanging paintballs.
It was an exhausting battle to watch. Every time Natasha would shoot, Clint would duck, and vice versa.
"Just what the hell is going on in-" Maria Hill stalked in, only to catch a faceful of black paint. "BARTON!" she fumed, whirling around to glare at him.
"FORTY POINTS ARE MINE, BITCHES!" Clint gloated. His victory was short-lived, however, as he was suddenly covered in blue paint. "What-"
"Not so smart now, are you, Barton-" Natasha's returning gloat was also cut short by a splatter of blue paint. "Rogers," she snarled. "Get out here, now," Her only response was a streak of blond hair as Steve sprinted past her. With a strangled scream, Natasha tore after him. "NO ONE PAINTBALLS ME AND GETS AWAY WITH IT!" Clint followed suit, and soon the trio was running through the Helicarrier's hallways. Every now and then, Natasha would attempt to squeeze a shot off at Steve, but he was simply too quick.
"BARTON!" Thor appeared, wielding his gun and covered in gold paint. Without hesitation, Natasha shot him, earning herself forty points. He resembled Tony's suit more than he did himself, she mused. It was a good look.
In retaliation, Thor focused his crossfire on her, but one flip and she was at the front of the pack. It was off to the weapons lab, where Tony would most likely be. Hiding, no doubt.
Tony, in fact, had been hiding in the weapons lab-but he'd fallen asleep. Something about fatigue and over-reliance on caffeine...whatever it was Pepper had mentioned.
Suddenly, the door to the lab opened, and Natasha charged at him with a war cry, striking him repeatedly in the chest with paintballs. A shot each from Steve, Clint and Thor, and the canvas known as Tony's clothes was complete.
"My clothes," he gasped. Then glanced at his watch. "My Rolex!" He glared dramatically at the other Avengers, who were busy shooting each other. "THIS MEANS WAR!"
Grabbing a rolling chair, he pushed off from the wall, firing at everything he passed. Thor and Natasha looked shocked as they were bombarded with red paint, allowing Clint to shoot her with a whoop. Steve also managed to shoot Thor in an impressive 360° spin, before diving under a table to avoid being shot.
"What are all you motherfuckers doing that has my motherfucking agents covered in motherfucking paint?!" Fury stormed into the room to find each Avenger shooting at each other, with the occasional war cry from Clint or Tony.
The next few moments happened in an extreme slow motion.
Tony, who was still blindly firing in revenge for his watch and clothes, let off an impressive three paintballs in a second. All three splattered across Fury in quick succession, turning him from black to gold. Each Avenger went silent and turned to him, sensing the impending storm. The only things that could be heard was the sound of dripping paint.
Finally, Tony quipped, "Should I pay for dry cleaning, Director Fury?"
"Well, there's good news and bad news," Bruce strolled into the meeting room later, where the Avengers had been grumpily corralled for the remainder of their time on the Helicarrier. He was carrying a large stack of papers, which landed on the table with a loud SMACK.
"Give us the good news first," Tony groaned. He'd received quite the earful from Fury-he wasn't sure if his ears had stopped ringing yet.
"I've got the winner of the war," Every Avenger perked up at that, sure beyond a doubt that they'd won.
"Well," Clint stood up and stretched. "I'd like to thank the Academy, SHIELD of course, and the lovely Natasha Romanoff for having my back all these years..."
"Sit down, Barton," the spy snorted. "Five bucks says your score was massacred,"
"Barton, you have a total of 25 points," Bruce announced. Clint's jaw dropped to the ground.
"Pay up," Natasha held out a lazy hand. A five-dollar bill was reluctantly pressed in. "I bet it's only because you hit Hill, you dork,"
"But-but-" Clint began to get flustered. "In the cafeteria-I shot so many people!"
"You failed to notice that they had been marked, Friend Barton!" Thor proclaimed joyfully. "I had claim to them first!"
"Which means, if I remember, I get a hundred dollars," Steve smirked.
"Thor, you have 420 points. Not bad for fourth place," Bruce announced.
"These wars of paint are not so unsimilar to the wars of fruit on Asgard," Thor shrugged.
"Tin Man. Third place. 450 points," Tony sat back and grinned. Shooting Fury and beating Legolas and Point Break? All in all, not a bad day.
Natasha stood. "I think we can all just accept that I've won this thing, so I'd like to thank SHIELD, obviously-"
"It's not over until the fat lady sings," Clint mildly scolded. "Sit down, Tash,"
"Yeah, Tash," Tony mocked. "Sit down," She shot him the bird.
"Natasha. Second place. 520 points." Bruce sighed, knowing what was to come next.
"WHAT?!" Natasha's squawk rattled the rafters.
"So that means-" Tony began.
"No way-" Clint interrupted.
"I don't believe-" Thor.
"How the fuck did he-" Followed by a litany of Russian curses.
"I won?" Steve exclaimed. Bruce nodded.
"But HOW?!" Clint spluttered.
"Well, he shot Natasha, for starters," Bruce shrugged. "That takes skill." Natasha scowled. "He also shot all of the agents in the control room-"
"No wonder they were all on the ground when we got there," Clint facepalmed.
"Coulson was shot, too." As if on cue, Coulson ran by, shouting,
"I GOT PAINTBALLED BY CAPTAIN AMERICA!"
"The man didn't even shoot Fury," Tony seethed, "and yet he won?"
"Congrats, Steve," Bruce told the captain. "First place. 750 points,"
"Great," Clint muttered. "Not only do I get beaten by an old man who wasn't even around when paintballs were invented, said man happens to be my best friend's boyfriend."
"Anyhow. Bad news." Bruce returned to the subject at hand. "All of this paperwork is yours," Each Avenger slowly turned to the large stack of paperwork, classified into folders with their names on it.
"Черт," Natasha muttered. Steve just facepalmed.
Hi again! Reviews are appreciated; constructive criticism is especially appreciated :) If you like what you're reading, follow! :)
Oh. And. I ship Romanogers to no end, but some of these will call for Clintasha. **sad face**
Ah, well. Onwards!