I did a fic giveaway on Tumblr, and this is the first of those! My prompt was Steve and dogs and the Avengers team dynamic. Super fun to write. :3
"Hey, he's winkin' at me!" Steve drew even with Sam and Clint, and scrutinized the one-eyed dog bounding around the kennel. "You're a cool guy, aren't you, buddy?"
Sam plucked the information sheet attached to the kennel door.
"Lucky," he said to Clint. "Not Buddy. He's three years old, and he likes...fetch and digging."
"He's the one," Clint declared. He crouched in front of the kennel. "It's your lucky day, kid. I've got a new kind of fetch you're gonna love."
Steve stepped aside, and the kennel manager unlocked the cage and clipped a leash to Clint's chosen dog. He watched the pair of them, trying to understand why the dog was suddenly Clint's new best friend, and why Clint was rolling around on the floor and letting it lick his cheek.
He twisted the red-white-and-blue bandana between his fingers and moved further down the line of kennels. There had never been money for a dog, or room for a dog, or food for a dog in his old home in Brooklyn. The military dogs he'd been introduced to in the army weren't exactly affectionate.
He simply didn't possess the interspecies connection that spurred Clint and Sam to lay on the floor and be French kissed by a half-blind mutt.
"Cheer up, Spangles! We're here to save them, not euthanize them." Tony clapped him on the shoulder and fell into step beside him. "Just pick one, you don't have to make out with it."
He pulled a disgusted expression and jerked a thumb back at Sam and Clint. Steve grinned, rolled his eyes at their teammates, because agreement would make Tony back off.
Maybe there was something wrong with him. The rest of the team weren't just picking one. Sam had purposefully chosen a Labrador, announcing it reminded him of his childhood dog. Clint paused at every single kennel. Bruce had gone for a fluffy white something, a calm little dog that gave inviting tail wags and danced on its hind legs.
Natasha, well, Natasha had disappeared three minutes in, but since Barton wasn't parroting 'Where's Nat?' in his ear, he assumed it wasn't a behavior he should be concerned with.
"Hey, excuse me!" Tony called. "What's wrong with this one? Why's he locked up tighter than Fort Knox?"
Steve examined the dog in question, a medium-sized black and white number. It sat alert, tail sweeping the floor in a slow wag, sharp eyes looking from him to Tony and then at the series of locks securing its kennel.
"Oh, that's Chanel," the kennel manager said brightly, drawing even with them. "She's a total sweetheart, but she learned how to open her door."
"So she's intelligent." Tony said.
"Very."
"She's being punished for being smart," he scoffed with a frown. "Spring her."
The door was opened and the leash offered, and Steve found himself surprised when Tony accepted immediately, without any of the usual balking or dramatics.
"What's your thing?" Tony asked, looking down at the dog. "Physics? Neuroscience? Biochemistry?"
Chanel barked and turned a circle.
"See, Cap? You pick one and make a connection. This one likes biochemistry and rebellion. Super simple."
And he was gone, the border collie prancing happily beside him and staring up with wide, adoring eyes.
Steve folded the bandanna into a neat square and hid it in his pocket with a sigh. The idea of dogs as perfect companions was as American as apple pie, and he was Captain America. He was expected to walk a dog down that runway and say the words printed on all of the promotional banners: 'Bring home your new best friend today!'. Right up there with the old 'bullet in your best man's gun' schtick, on the cheese scale. Steve shuddered a bit at the memory.
"This animal is a most worthy companion!"
Even Thor got it.
Maybe he was due a break. He'd thrown himself wholeheartedly at every publicity stunt Pepper had devised until now. The dogs weren't in any real danger; the shelter was no-kill and Tony's donations kept the facility staffed and stocked. He'd done his part yesterday, helping to set up the stage and hang banners in the park.
Thor walked past, leading a massive dog with one hand and patting its thick, wiry fur with the other.
"See anyone you like, Captain Rogers?"
The kennel manager - Melissa? Mandy? Maggie, that was it. - smiled up at him, and Steve forced out a smile of his own. Steve loves dogs, Natasha had told the woman, and given him a not-very-subtle nudge.
"Why don't you suggest one?" Steve said, with a sudden spark of inspiration. At least it saved him admitting he didn't feel a connection with any of the animals.
"Well, anyone down this hallway would be great. These are our less-adoptable dogs, but I'm sure an endorsement from Captain America would up their chances."
Not the sort of help he was looking for. He forced another smile and turned to the nearest kennel.
"What about this one?" he asked, without really looking at the dog in question. It wasn't fair to hold up the rest of the team, and he certainly didn't want them asking awkward questions about what had taken him so long to decide. Sam and Clint would disown him if they found out he didn't like dogs.
"Let's give him a try," Maggie said, and opened the kennel.
Steve watched her kneel on the concrete floor and make kissing noises at the little dog, which only eyed her disdainfully and sat in the back corner of the kennel.
Steve pulled the laminated information sheet clipped to the door.
Samson, male, approximately three years old, owner surrender. Mixed breed, suspected Jack Russell terrier and Chihuahua. Likes treats and ear scratches.
It took a little coaxing, but eventually Steve was given a leash with a dog attached to the end, and a handful of bone-shaped cookies.
"Go make friends," Maggie encouraged, pointing him to the door at the far end of the hallway, where the rest of the team waited.
What if the little dog didn't like him? He had a moment of panic, a vision of the dog watching him with its unimpressed expression, maybe nipping him if he reached down to pet it.
"Want a treat?" he asked, putting on the false enthusiastic tone Sam and Clint had used, and flashing his handful of cookies. The dog wagged its tail once, took a single step closer. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
xxx
Or maybe it would be a complete disaster.
"Please, Samson?" Steve all but begged, leaning in once more in an attempt to loop the bandana around the dog's neck. It danced away, barked once, snagged the bandana between its jaws and pulled.
"You're up next, Captain."
One of Pepper's interns walked past, too quickly for him to appeal for help. He gave the bandana a halfhearted tug.
Thor's voice echoed across the park, extolling the virtues of the gigantic Irish Wolfhound at his side, tales of old battles and how a companion such as this one would have been invaluable on the field of war.
"Come on," he muttered, and reached cautiously to pry the end of the bandana from Samson's jaws. He earned a nip to the finger for his trouble.
He wasn't even sure what he could say about Samson; his only insight so far was the laminated information sheet that had been attached to the kennel, and the banner slogan Pepper had insisted he deliver, bring home your new best friend today.
The problem was, he and Samson weren't best friends at all. He didn't feel anything for the little dog besides a mild sense of unease and confusion.
Tony had opened the event with his usual flair, striding across the stage and down the attached runway with Chanel the border collie - dressed in a white lab coat and goggles - prancing happily by his side. Tony had somehow taught her to sit pretty, and the crowd ooh'ed appreciatively and whispered how cute she was.
Natasha was next, the only one brave enough to follow Tony's grandstanding. "Who here doesn't like dogs?" she'd asked, and surprisingly a couple of people in the crowd raised their hands. "This is Liho," she'd continued. "She's a cat."
A cat. Nobody had told him cats were an option. The scrawny black animal perched on Natasha's shoulder and squeaked out an approximation of a meow, and that was that. Clint went after her, dressed in Hawkeye gear with his bow slung over one shoulder. He made his dog carry an arrow in its mouth and invited everyone in the crowd to watch an archery-fetch exhibition after the show.
Steve sighed. How could he compete with any of that?
"Problem?" Bruce asked, and Steve winced a little. He didn't want to admit his frustration and confusion.
"Think he has a thing against bandanas," Steve said, trying to keep his tone light.
"They pick up on your energy," Bruce replied with a knowing grin. He crouched down beside Steve and demonstrated: a quick scratch behind the ears, a few soft noises, and Samson was proudly wearing the red-white-and-blue bandana around his neck.
"Thanks," Steve said, and while he expected to feel a little jealous, he only felt a sweeping surge of gratitude. Thor marched past, and it was their turn on stage.
He strapped his shield to his forearm and gave Samson's leash a tug, relieved when the little dog followed him up the steps and onto the stage with no complaints. Pepper announced them from the far side of the stage - And here's Steve with his new friend Samson - and Steve put on his best Captain America sock-Adolph-on-the-jaw grin.
He threw a glance down to Samson (three years old, treats and ear scratches) and started down the runway. He could always just talk about Bucky, and the crowd would buy it. Most everyone considered dogs equal to people-companions anyway.
They were halfway down the runway, closing in on the white X taped to the floor that marked where they should stand, when Steve realized he was dragging a suddenly reluctant dog. Samson stood with front paws braced against the stage, straining to pull out of his collar, the bandana riding up around his ears. He growled and cried, Pepper made a light comment about stage fright to cover them, and Steve scrambled to think of how Bruce would handle the situation.
A ripple of whispers went through the crowd. Steve secured his shield to the harness on his back and bent to scoop Samson into his arms. The dog tucked its tail and snapped, and the whispers turned into low, concerned murmuring. He followed through anyway, held Samson under his arm and retreated while Sam and his Labrador took the stage in their place.
He definitely should have sat this one out, he decided, as he put Samson back in the plastic crate the shelter had provided. Guilt swelled in his chest, but he shut the wire door and felt glad it was over.
The shelter volunteers had brought a number of other dogs, and they were all supposed to spend an hour walking through the park with the dogs wearing bright yellow Adopt Me vests. Steve pushed a couple of cookies through the door of Samson's crate and hovered near the application table instead. The single-page adoption applications stacked up, a separate pile for each of the Avengers' animals, except Samson. Even Natasha's cat had applications until she walked past and swept them into the trash, giving the volunteers an unconcerned 'Don't bother' and dropping the adoption fee, $100 cash, on the table. The cat, still perched on her shoulder, fixed Steve with a haughty, smug expression and twitched its tail.
"Lucky's gonna love that," Clint muttered, rolling his eyes as he too stepped up to pay an adoption fee.
That hadn't been part of the deal. Nobody had mentioned bringing home the animals they picked from the shelter. Tony had even made a joke about not getting attached, an undercurrent of warning to the words.
Steve found the others just to be sure, but everyone else seemed to be trying their hardest to introduce their dogs to as many people as possible. Good, he thought fervently. He didn't know what to do with any dog, much less a cranky, taciturn one.
That wasn't an excuse to fail, however. He wasn't in the habit of giving up on missions, even when they seemed hopeless.
Steve waited until the crowd thinned out, then loaded up his pockets with treats and put Samson back on his leash. The little dog didn't prove affectionate, but he tolerated the people who offered to pet him, and didn't growl or nip anymore. There was even a stack of three adoption applications waiting when they looped back around to the stage.
xxx
Steve couldn't sleep. It was the not-knowing that had him rolling first on his left side and then the right, staring up blankly at the ceiling. He was surprised to find that he was curious about the sad little pile of adoption applications. How would he know if one of them worked out?
The rest of the team had seemingly forgotten all about the adoption day in the park. Clint had retreated to his apartment in Bed-Stuy, new dog in tow, but other than that it was business as usual, takeout from the Chinese place three blocks down and Breaking Bad reruns in the common room. Natasha had stayed long enough for the food to be delivered, then loaded up the Corvette and headed back to Washington, another mission for Fury. The cat rode shotgun and nibbled leftover teriyaki chicken straight from the box while Natasha squealed out of the parking garage. Tony and Bruce spent the rest of the evening in the lab. Not even Sam made a passing comment about the dogs or their chances of being adopted.
Pepper probably tracked the success of the Avengers events, at least statistically. Would she be able to tell him if Samson found a home?
Steve had told himself that he was doing his best, but it hadn't really been the truth. It hadn't been fair to Samson to force him out on the runway, or to stand near the adoption table instead of introducing him to people. He hadn't even made an effort with Samson, beyond reading the information supplied by the shelter. If everyone else had managed to make a connection, maybe he was the problem, not the dog.
Steve wasn't small anymore, but he knew something about being scared and talking big to cover it up. Maybe to Samson, being pulled down the runway had felt a bit like running into the middle of Times Square, everything loud and big and overwhelming. He'd certain been ready to snarl and snap at Nick Fury that day.
He'd found their common ground, and the next morning found him walking into the animal shelter. He wasn't entirely sure why, when it would have been easier to call, but the staff seemed happy to see him, and waved him through to the hallway that housed Samson.
He paused at each of the kennels the other Avengers had chosen yesterday. Lucky's was empty, a plastic I've Been Adopted! sign hanging from the door. The other dogs all had Pending stamped across their information sheets in bright red letters, waiting for the mandatory home visits and interviews to clear, technicalities that had been waived for Clint and Natasha, as Avengers. Waived for him too?
Samson was curled on his bed asleep. Steve stood undecided for a moment, fingers curled around the chainlink of the kennel.
"Hey, buddy," he tried, attempting to mirror the tone he'd heard Sam and the others use. It came out stilted and hesitant, but Samson lifted his head and came to stand at the front of the kennel, tail wagging, front paws braced on the door.
That was a surprise, but a pleasant one. Steve reached into his back pocket for the folded stack of twenties. Samson was small; Tony probably wouldn't notice him around the Tower anyway.