Sometimes, they want to have fun!
…except for Clint…
"Nope. Not a chance," Clint declares, folding his arms over his chest.
"C'mon," Natasha wheedles over the roar of the crowd, "it'll be fun!"
Clint shakes his head.
"Not a Goddamn chance," he thunders.
Coulson shoots him a pleading look over his deep-fried Oreos.
"Please?"
"No! And why the hell are you still wearing a suit?"
Coulson shrugs.
"Habit," he mumbles, small bits of powdered sugar falling from his mouth and dotting his lapel.
Nat pouts a little, her lips pursing, forehead puckering.
"One. Just one."
Clint looks from Nat to Phil and back before taking his thumb and middle finger and squeezing his temples with a sigh.
"One. And then –"
Natasha squeals and Coulson jumps as she grabs both of their hands.
"YAY! Let's go!"
Natasha drags both agents behind her and rushes for The Cyclone. She clamors aboard and yanks the bar across her lap, bouncing a bit in her seat.
Coulson polishes off his last Oreo, licks his fingers, and follows suit.
Clint frowns as he steps in the small car and grimaces as he clicks the bar towards his waist.
"This is so unsafe," he murmurs.
Natasha whips around.
"Oh, shut up, Tantor. We're safe as kittens!"
Clint lets out a soft whine as the train jerks forward and shoots a pitiful look to Phil.
Natasha shakes her head.
"большой ребенок," she chides.
The first hill is the hardest on Clint's stomach.
The second…isn't so bad.
By the third, Clint starts to enjoy himself.
He even whoops.
Phil, however, having eaten one too many deep-fried Oreos, hurls violently just after everyone exits the train.
He barely makes it to the trash can.
Clint consoles him, purchases a ginger ale, and deposits a suddenly-green Phil onto a bench before looking at Nat.
"So," he begins sheepishly, "wanna go again?"