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“Hey, Clint, what’s with all the Coke stuff I've been seeing around?” Steve blurted out suddenly, staring at a rusted old sign that hung crookedly on the inside wall of the old barn. “I mean, Coke is good and all, but polar bears? Signs? I don’t really get what a soda has to do with all of that.” A handful of hens picked at seeds around his feet, one of the birds perched on his forearm and happily eating right from the bucket of feed he was holding. Steve had no idea how to even begin to act around farm animals and just froze up, not wanting to knock her off and hurt her.
“Hm? Ah, y’know I’m not entirely sure how it started but,” Clint shrugged, careful not to dislodge the large rooster that was puffed up pridefully on his shoulder as he continued rooting through the hen houses for eggs, “my folks collected the stuff for a while and I figured I’d might as well put it up. I guess it isn’t any different than all the car and oil signage that used to be real popular.”
Steve merely hummed in response, the answer enough for him. Some things he missed would always seem a bit strange to him, he supposed. “I guess it’s just gotten a lot more popular than when I was in the war.” He mused, trying to scoop out some more feed for the hens that were now puffed up a bit impatiently around his feet, waiting for more, but he didn’t want to move too much and possibly jostle the chicken that was on his arm. He could hear Clint chuckling from where he’d finished gathering all the day’s eggs in a basket.
“They aren’t gonna bite you, Steve. ‘Specially not Buttercup. You’re just making it too easy for her to get at the food.” Clint clicked his tongue and the hen on his arm suddenly took off in a loud flapping of wings, fluttering to the ground and hopping over to where he’d leaned down to give her a quick scratch. “Popcorn and Cupcake might give you a nip if you don’t start shoveling out that feed, though.” Steve swallowed a bit and quickly grabbed another handful, sprinkling it in the middle of the cluster of hens that were now surrounding him. He was too scared to move his feet, not wanting to accidentally step on one or do something else to hurt them. He knew how painfully obvious his city boy upbringing was showing but he didn’t have any idea how to act even around something as harmless as a flock of chickens.
“Y’know, I actually think Coke started getting popular right after the war ended.” Clint added in suddenly, “I think I remember something about it being popular with some of the soldiers? We’ll look it up when we finish up with the cows. You know how to milk a cow, don’t you, Cap?” Steve looked vaguely horrified by the suggestion and Clint laughed. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it quick enough. Although, when Tony tried he ended up getting bit and nearly kicked in the head for not being gentle enough.” That definitely didn’t make Steve feel any better. He had a feeling Clint was getting a kick out of his cluelessness about farm animals being on full display. Probably karma, too, since he’d laughed for five minutes straight when Tony ended up treed by the bull the first day they’d arrived.
When he went to grab another handful of seed he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and then there was suddenly a rather large, very sharply clawed, rooster landing on his wrist and trying to get at the bucket. Startled, Steve dropped the bucket and jumped back, the chickens clucking loudly and the rooster cawing as they swarmed the spilled feed. Clint snorted and Steve just looked at him in feigned hurt, not wanting to take another step due to the chickens still being right around his legs.
“Jeez Rogers, you didn’t even jump that much when Ultron tried to punch you in the face,” he teased in good humor, laughing when Steve let his shoulders slump in mock dejection, “Princess Peach wasn’t gonna hurt you, he’s just a bit eager when it comes to food and you weren’t doling it out quick enough.”
“… Princess Peach? Isn’t that from that video game we—“
“Yeah. I named him when I thought he was a pullet and it stuck.” Clint shrugged, “He seems to like it well enough.” He added as he fished the bucket out of the cluster of chickens. He brushed some of the dust off of it before handing it back to Steve, easily walking through the birds without disturbing any of them. “How about we go ahead and head inside to look up when Coke got popular? Then we can try and milk the cows and see just how you fair against Tony’s record of four seconds.”
“Very funny, Clint.” Steve rolled his eyes, “If I last longer than four seconds then Tony gets to feed the chickens tomorrow and I handle the horses.” Unlike chickens, he’d had experiences with horses in the war and was much more comfortable around them than the chickens. Clint seemed to consider it for a moment before grinning.
“Done.”