Training Floor.

In the days that followed, the boys also gathered, though their conversations were less than productive. Tony and Bruce, leveraging their impressive intellects, approached their fellow fathers, Steve and Clint, from various angles, attempting to persuade them to don costumes for their babies' Halloween party. The initial strategy was friendly, appealing to their paternal instincts.

As a hands-on dad, Steve maintained his training routine while babysitting. Gripping the pull-up bar, his muscles flexed with each effortless lift, his form impeccable. Each pull-up was smooth, his head rising well above the bar — pure Super-Soldier perfection. Securely strapped to his back in an ergonomic baby carrier, James cooed contentedly, soothed by his dad's rhythmic movements.

"Come on, Steve! It'll be fun! Just picture how adorable James will look!"

"He's always adorable, Tony. I don't need to dress up as a Disney prince."

"Hercules is technically a hero, Steve."

"Still a no, Bruce."

Nearby, Clint stood tall, Francis perched securely on his shoulders, tiny hands held firmly by a strong grip. Each squat elicited giggles as the gentle bouncing motion brought delight. His focus shifted between maintaining form and ensuring the seven-month-old's safety and fun — perfect father-son bonding and a solid leg workout.

"What do you say, Clint? Matching archer outfits for father and son — how cool is that?"

"Get him a Hawkeye onesie, and I'm in, Bruce. But I'm not wearing a diaper."

"No, Clint, that's Francis' costume. Yours is a classic Greek toga with a bow and arrow, and it's purple — your favorite."

"Exactly, no. And angel wings, Tony? Seriously? Go bother Falcon."

On the floor, Sam pumped out perfect push-ups, building strength and endurance. Without missing a beat, he threw in his two cents. "You two need to loosen up. I'm already going as Hermes, the messenger. He's got wings on his ankles. I bet I'll be their favorite uncle."

Avengers Floor. Common kitchen.

Every chance they got, Tony and Bruce pushed their agenda, now shifting their strategy to convince the fathers that they could actually have fun. Unaware of babies' routines, the uncles couldn't have chosen a worse moment — today, fun seemed like another impossible task.

Bouncing a fussy baby in his arms, Steve looked completely stressed. Natasha was downstairs for a doctor's appointment, and their son was hungry. The real problem? James was exclusively breastfed and couldn't be given a bottle without risking rejection of breastfeeding later. Moments like these were a test for any father, who often felt much less useful than mothers. Steve's forehead creased as he gently rocked his son, trying to calm him while texting his wife to hurry.

"What do you say, Cap? A little fun never hurt anyone!"

"Not in the mood, Bruce. And wearing a skirt isn't my idea of fun."

"What are you complaining about, Cap? Your outfit is the best of all. A real Greek warrior. You even get a shield!"

"Feel free to use it yourself, Tony. And for the record, I'm not wearing your pink dress either."

Nearby, Clint was fighting his own battle, with Francis more interested in chewing on a toy than the spoonful of baby food being offered. With every attempt, the son defiantly smacked the spoon away, splattering food all over the floor and everywhere else. The mess was growing, and he could feel his patience wearing thin. The challenge? Teething. Francis only wanted to breastfeed, refusing other foods whenever Bobbi was around. That's why the father had been tasked with ensuring his baby received the essential nutrients for healthy growth, but he was failing miserably.

"We've got everything figured out, Hawkeye! The decorations, the games — this could be the break we all need."

"Good for you, Iron Man. But I'll pass on the Avengers Dress-Up Day."

"Don't you see, Hawkeye? The whole team will benefit."

"I don't have time for games, Doc! Go have fun without me."

Meanwhile, Sam sat at the counter, calmly enjoying his favorite snack, a grin on his face as he watched the chaos around him. "Seriously, guys, embrace your inner child. Trust me, you'll both regret it if you don't join."

Training Floor.

As the party day drew nearer, tensions ran high. After their initial attempts failed, Tony and Bruce decided to change tactics. Their last plan? Divide and conquer. By approaching each father separately, they hoped one-on-one persuasion might do the trick, even if it meant resorting to emotional blackmail — or whatever it took to get Steve and Clint on board.

Parenting was already exhausting, but the added pressure from meddling uncles was pushing the fathers' patience to the brink. Suffice it to say, approaching them while they were both letting off steam was risky, especially considering how each superhero had their own lethal and peculiar methods of stress relief.

Back in the gym, Steve was unleashing his frustration on a third punching bag, his hits relentless. He barely acknowledged the uncles when they arrived, too focused on maintaining his routine.

"Rogers, here's the deal. We're a team, and we do things as a team."

"Quit it, Stark. Me dressing up in a ridiculous costume isn't part of it."

"That's not fair, Rogers. We just want everyone to have fun."

"Fun for who exactly, Banner? You three might be enjoying this, but Clint and I aren't."

Hitting the speed bag with easy precision, Sam weighed in. "Well, Cap, you guys can't back out now. The ladies are on board, and I have a feeling there'll be some serious peer pressure."

At the shooting range, Clint had moved on to firearms practice, having aced his archery drills — an exercise that was more out of habit than necessity. His focus was sharp, each shot hitting the target with precision, cartridges piling up beside him. He only paused when familiar voices broke through his concentration.

"I'm telling you, Barton, Natasha will get Steve to cave. You'll be the last holdout. Bobbi won't be thrilled."

"You've lost it, Banner. No way Steve will play along. And Natasha? Even less likely."

"For James? Wanna bet, Barton? My credit card for a whole day."

"Jeez, Stark, you're relentless… Fine. If Steve actually dresses up, I'll go as freaking Cupid. Now get out of my face."

Prepping for his own firearm drills, Sam turned with a grin. "I can lend you my wings to practice with, Barton. Something tells me you'll be flying around sooner than you think."

Avengers Floor. Common area. Friday evening.

On the eve of the party, Tony and Bruce were banging their heads, completely stumped on how to convince Steve and Clint, when Sam swaggered by, a knowing grin plastered on his face.

"Man, for two of the smartest guys in the world, you sure are struggling with persuasion 101. You'd think you'd have better tactics, you know? Being… geniuses?"

Falcon ducked just in time, dodging a barrage of glasses and bottles hurled in his direction. He couldn't stop laughing, fully enjoying how easily his older teammates were riled up. Truth be told, teasing all four of them over the past few weeks had been more satisfying than any trick the young Avenger had ever pulled growing up.

.

NOTE: This story is part of a series (Chris Crush) that started in 2013, before the movie Captain America: The Winter Soldier. My version of Sam was based on the Avengers Assemble cartoon, but he's a young adult (23 in 2015) rather than the cartoon's teenage Falcon. But I love Anthony Mackie's portrait.