Author's Note: This is supposed to take place in Avengers Assemble, because that's the only medium in which Clint and Scott have this "rivalry", but as far as I know, there isn't a category for that here, so just a heads up. Hope you enjoy!

Ant Man Returns

"Hawkeye, can you go take out the garbage?" Tony asked, lounging on the couch in the Avengers Tower common room.

"Ugh. Fine." Clint whined. He flopped up from his chair, opened the garbage can in the kitchen, removed the bag, and walked outside.

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As Clint reached the steel garbage can, he heard a voice that sounded familiar to him. He ducked behind the garbage to not be seen.

"So after that I flew to Africa and used my Pym Particles to enlarge all the food there to feed all of the starving children, then flew on my private jet I keep in my pocket back to my anthill and stopped yet another robbery from happening."

"Oh God," Clint whispered to himself. "It's Scott Lang from the Circus of Crime! He can't know what I do for a living!" He slowly rose up from behind the garbage can, quickly tossed the bag in, threw the lid on, and attempted to make a getaway, but was caught.

"Hello, Clint." Scott said. He had an army of human sized ants behind him, whom he had the previous conversation with.

"Um, uh, hi, uh, what've you been up to?" Clint stammered.

"Just succeeding in everything you failed in." Scott condescendingly said.

"You're no big shot." Clint said. "Anyone can become famous in this backwater city."

"Is that so? Well then, why don't you tell us what you've done with your life since the Circus of Crime?"

Clint froze. "Don't be intimidated. Just imagine him in his underwear." he thought to himself. He saw Scott in boxers with a fit body. "Oh God, he's hot!"

Scott interrupted his thought. "Wait, don't tell me. You're a lousy Avenger!" He started laughing.

"Don't lie. Lying just makes things worse." Clint told himself. But he burst out a lie anyway. "I own a five star restaurant!"

Scott gasped. "Clint, I had no idea you reached such heights!" He took on a sly grin. "Which means you'll have no problem if I come there tonight."

Clint's face fell. "To-to-to-tonight?"

"That's right! We'll all come! My treat!" Scott declared, gesturing to his ants behind him.

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"Tony, please!" Clint pleaded to Tony, who was at a desk sorting through papers. "You have to let me turn the tower into a five star restaurant, just for one night!"

"One question," Tony said, still looking at his papers. "Why?"

"So I can impress Scott Lang and prove to him-"

"Wait!" Tony jolted his face up from his work. "Did you say Scott Lang? As in Ant Man?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"That guy always makes fun of me on online message boards because I don't know much about Pym Particles." Tony said, anger rising in his voice. "Even though that jerk didn't even create them! I don't see you forging masterpieces out of rocks and duct tape!"

"So is that a yes?" Clint asked.

Tony cleared his throat. "Point is, we'll take him to the cleaners."

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"Okay team," Clint said, pacing in front of the lined up Avengers in a white tuxedo. "We have twenty minutes before Scott Lang and his ants show up. We have that much time to turn this place into a five star restaurant." He stopped in front of the Hulk. "Bruce, can you take hats in a dignified and sophisticated matter?"

"You mean like a weenie?" Hulk asked. "Okay. May I take your hat sir? May I take your hat sir? May I-"

"Okay, you got the job." Clint said after he clasped his hand over Bruce's mouth. He turned to Thor. "Thor, weren't you one of the top chefs in Asgard?"

"I surely was!" Thor confirmed.

"Then you're the chef." Clint said. He pointed to Tony. "You can be the guy who runs the reservations."

"Ugh. Fine." Tony whined.

"Cap, I never thought I'd say this," Clint said, facing Steve. "But you're going to have to be the waiter."

"What's a waiter?" Steve asked.

"The guy who goes to tables and takes orders." Clint impatiently answered.

Steve looked puzzled. "Do other restaurants do that?"

"Yes they do that!" Clint shouted. "Now listen. You need to become a fancy waiter in less than twenty minutes." He got out a book. "So read this."

Steve accepted the book and read the title aloud. "How to Become a Fancy Waiter in Less than 20 Minutes." He looked up. "Don't worry Clint. I'll memorize every page, right down to the punctuation mark!"

"Great. Okay, everything's going fine, keep your cool." Clint rambled to himself.

"Give me the hat!" Bruce yelled. "Are you gonna give it up, or not? Don't you back sass me!" He started punching the hat rack.

"It's okay, no one vital." Clint murmured. An explosion of peas blasted out from the kitchen, sending a glob of them to land on the back of Clint's head.

Clint burst into the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

"Making peas." Thor answered. "I made them the old fashioned way."

"I thought you said that you were one of the top chefs in Asgard?"

"I guess Midguard cannot handle the roughness of Asgardian cuisine."

Clint put his head in his hand. "Just fix-" He glanced up. "Oh my God, what is that?"

"That is the appetizer!" Thor said. Clint looked at the pile of brown sludge again before he left.

When he burst out, the archer saw Steve in the corner, shaking. "Steve, are you okay?"

He turned around, looking extremely disheveled. "I can't do it. I can't do it, Clint."

"What?" Clint yelled.

Steve hit himself in the face with the book as he spoke. "Spoons, bread, salad, pepper!" He stopped smacking himself. "Don't you understand? My brain is full to bursting. If I have to memorize a single order I think I'm gonna EXPLODE!"

"Okay Steve, let's take a moment to relax." Clint consoled. Steve minimally lowered his shoulders. "A little more." Steve lowered his shoulders again. "Little more." Steve fell to his knees, than on his face.

"Good." Clint said. He picked up Steve and sat him on the floor. "Now, I want you to empty your mind."

"Empty my mind?" Steve repeated.

"Empty your mind."

"Empty my mind."

"Empty your mind of everything that doesn't have to do with fine dining." Clint explained. "Fine dining and breathing."

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"Just got an order from the boss," a Steve said to an office full of other Steves, wearing a green visor. "Get rid of everything that doesn't have to do with fine dining."

"Everything?" The Steves asked from behind their computers.

"Everything." The leader ordered.

A frenzy of destroying everything broke out as the green visored Steve ordered everyone around.

"Come on, what am I paying ya for?" The leader said to a Steve pulling out a paper from a file cabinet.

"You don't pay me," the Steve responded. "We don't even exist, we're just a clever metaphor to personify the abstract concept of thought."

"One more crack like that and you're outta here!"

"No please! I have three kids!"

The chaos continued with a Steve shredding papers that read War Tactics, Barber Shop Quartet, and James Buchanan Barnes. Others were burning or throwing away other papers.

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"Steve?" Clint said. Steve had a dead expression painted on his face. "Steve, are you okay?" He snapped his fingers in front of his face. "This can't be happening!" Clint ran for he door. "I have to tell Scott that I need more time-" He skid to a halt in front of Scott outside.

"Hello, Clint." he said. "We're ready to be dazzled by your five star restaurant."

"Um, yeah, here's the thing," Clint stammered.

"What? That you, Clint Barton, screwed over the Circus of Crime, and also don't own a..." Scott pushed past Clint and into the tower. "Five star..." He gulped. "Restaurant?"

There was no sign of the chaos before, it all being replaced with light purple wallpaper, navy blue carpet, fancy chairs with maroon cushions, a mini orchestra playing in a corner, and tables with crisp white table cloths. In the middle was a fountain carved to look like Clint.

"Homina homina homina homina homina homina," Scott rambled. Clint, then Scott's ants, soon joined him.

"Table for homina?" Steve said as he flung open the door to the kitchen in a black tuxedo. He swiftly placed ants at tables, Scott in a throne. He generously pampered Scott, which included explaining his dish, massaging his shoulders, feeding him his food, and combing his hair.

"Thank you sir." Steve said, saluting after Scott thanked him.

"I can't believe it," Clint said. "Pinch me, I must be dreaming."

He shouted as Steve pinched him. "You need anything else, just call."

"Wait, where are the others?"

"Already taken care of." Clint heard muffled screams coming from the kitchen.

Clint blinked. "Steve, I can't thank you enough! How did you do all of this?"

"It was easy. Once I emptied my mind." Steve sucked in a breath, then ran off to serve more customers.

"This is going perfectly," Clint said to himself. "Time to go rub it in his face." He walked over to Scott's table and put on an arrogant look. "Well, Scott?"

"Okay, I admit it," Scott confessed. "This is perfect! The food, the atmosphere, everything's flawless!"

"Now could you do me a favor and read this?" Clint asked, handing Scott an index card.

"Oh, sure." Scott said. "Clint Barton..."

"Wait, could you wear this?" He gave Scott a foam finger that said #1 Archer.

"Okay," He slipped it on. "Clint Barton..."

"I'm sorry, come again?" Clint held a microphone hooked up to a loudspeaker by Scott's mouth.

"Clint Barton has the fanciest restaurant in New York City. And he did not screw over the Circus of Crime."

The statement reverberated across the pseudo restaurant, with everyone cheering.

Steve came back to Scott's table to refill his water glass. After he took a quick gulp and thanked Steve, he said "But what really sold me was your brilliant waiter. It's as if all he knows in fine dining. And breathing." He looked at Steve. "I must know your name."

"My name?" Steve said, sounding slightly panicked.

"Yes, your name." Scott repeated.

"Beef Wellington?" Steve unknowingly lied, sweating now.

"C'mon, just tell him your name." Clint commanded.

"The fork on the left?"

"What is your name?" Scott asked.

"My name..."

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"What's his name what's his name, we don't got anything on a name!" A Steve rambled, pulling open file cabinets to find them empty.

"Come on baby, what's the name?" Another Steve said, pounding on a computer key until the monitor burst into flames.

It was complete pandemonium in Steve's head. "We threw out his name!" A Steve yelled.

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Steve was shaking. But he suddenly tossed the water in his glass pitcher at Scott, then ran away barking like a dog.

"I'm so sorry!" Clint said, wiping Scott's face with his handkerchief. "I don't know what has gotten into him!"

Meanwhile, Steve continued to harass the other ants. "More soup for your armpit?" He mashed a bowl of hot soup into an ant's underside. "Please enjoy the food!" He slammed another ant's head into its meal. "Would you like some cheese on that sir?" He took out a cheese grater, gripped the ant, and shredded the ant on the food, the ant squealing.

The kitchen door burst open, Tony hopping out first. "Run for your lives everyone! It's the appetizer!" Thor and Bruce followed suit, all still tied up as the now alive appetizer attacked the building, chasing everyone out and leaving behind a wreckage.

"Well, Clint?" Scott asked, tapping his foot.

"You were right!" Clint cried. "I don't own a five star restaurant, I'm just an Avenger!"

"Clint, I have a confession to make." Scott said. "I don't have a lab, cutting edge tech, or anything. The truth is," Scott teared up. "I'm a cashier!" He cried into Clint.

"Is that true?" Clint asked.

"Of course not!" Scott admitted. "I'm still a genius!" He got out a Pym Particle gun, shrank all of his ants, then tapped the button on his belt to shrink himself.

Clint sank into one of the abandoned chairs and sighed when Steve walked by, holding a blue ice pack to his head. "Ugh. I got such a headache. What's going on with you?"

"Oh, the usual." Clint weakly replied.

"Boo hoo. Let me play you a sad song on the world's smallest violin." Clint looked around to find a small Scott sitting on the table closest to him, holding a violin.

"Would you get out of here?" Clint yelled after the sad melody ended.