Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Betty sat down at the kitchen table and put her head down.

“Morning, darlin’.”

She looked up to see her father stirring a pot on the stove. Then she groaned and put her head back down.

“Betty?”

“Where’s Mom?” Betty asked, without looking up.

“She had to go into work early this morning.”

Betty groaned loudly.

There was a beat of silence.

“Betty, look at me,” her father said.

Betty kept her head down for a moment out of sheer stubbornness. But she was a ten-year-old and he was a US Army Colonel. Even at that age, Betty knew enough about tactics to know this was a losing battle. So, after a few seconds, she sighed and looked up at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“My throat hurts,” she said, wincing at the painful rasp.

Betty knew it wasn’t enough to get her out of school. Her father was a good man, but he was no pushover. Anything short of projectile vomiting or an arm falling off wasn’t enough to keep Betty home. Her father expected her to be tough, like any soldier’s daughter should be.

“Hmm...” was all he said.

He set a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of her (apple cinnamon, her favorite), and she picked up the spoon before watching him rattle around in the cabinets for a minute. She was busy with her oatmeal when she heard the sound of him nudging the fridge shut with his foot. A few minutes later, she heard a spoon clinking rapidly against a mug. She looked over at him. His back was turned to her and he was stirring something. Was he making coffee?

Then Betty’s father set the mug down in front of her.

“Drink that. It’ll help your throat,” he said. He took a step back and crossed his arms.

Betty looked at the suspicious yellow-ish liquid with little orange specks floating in it. She gave her father a look. And he gave her a look right back.

No arguing the point then.

Betty took a sip and recoiled. It was sour and spicy and HOT.

“What is this?!” she exclaimed.

“Water, lemon juice, honey, and cayenne pepper,” he replied. “It’ll put hair on your knuckles.”

“Daddy!!” Betty exclaimed.

Her father sighed, and gave her a small smile.

“I know it doesn’t taste the best,” he said. “But trust me, it helps. The spice helps dull the pain. You can put more honey in it, if you want.” He went back to the counter and grabbed the innocent-looking yellow bear that was full of honey. He set it on the table in front of Betty.

Betty was pretty sure he was lying about the spice dulling the pain. How could something that hurt fix pain?

“I promise, it helps,” he said. “It’s what I use when my throat hurts. Drink it all, and then go finish getting ready for school.”

Betty looked into her mug and scowled.

But she wanted to show her dad that she could be as tough as he was. So, she popped the cap on the honey, squeezed some into the mug, stirred it up, and braced for impact.

Betty finally finished the “drink.” Her mouth was burning a little, but her throat, surprisingly, hurt less.

Her father made eye contact with her over his newspaper, and gave her a small, smug smile.

Betty put on a resolute pout and went to brush her teeth.

An hour later, Betty Ross arrived at school, armed with a bag of cherry cough drops and a determination to not have to drink “cayenne juice” ever again.

…even though it worked.

-0-O-0-

Sitting at the kitchen table in her apartment, surrounded by notebooks and textbooks, Betty finally managed to wiggle out of her Harvard hoodie (there was a reason she preferred zippers). She looked over at her boyfriend, Bruce, who had cleared his throat for probably the fourteenth time in the last ten minutes. She frowned.

“Bruce?”

“What?”

“Is something wrong with your throat?”

“No,” he rasped. He was rubbing his throat with one hand and flicking through his biology notes with another.

Betty rolled her eyes.

Bruce Banner was a genius (a cute one, even), but he could be awfully stupid sometimes. Sometimes, she wondered if he even remembered to eat when she wasn’t around to remind him.

“Bruce, you were clearing your throat like that during class, and I can tell something’s wrong with your voice,” she said.

Bruce finally looked at her, adjusting his glasses with his free hand.

“It’s not that bad, Betty. I’ll be fine.”

Even as he said it, he winced slightly.

Betty shook her head, got up, and went to the cabinet.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked.

“Making something to help your throat,” Betty said, grabbing what she needed and moving to the fridge. “This project can wait for a few minutes.”

-O-

Bruce watched Betty nudge the fridge shut with her foot and move over to the counter. Then she added lemon juice, hot water, honey, and some kind of spice to a mug. He swallowed and winced. His throat was hurting. Quite a lot, actually. But he didn’t want to bother Betty about it.

Finally, Betty set the mug in front of him and crossed her arms.

“Drink that,” she said.

Bruce frowned.

“What…?”

“It’s water, lemon juice, honey, and cayenne pepper. Trust me, it works,” she said.

Bruce took a sip and winced.

“You can always add more honey,” Betty said, a little less brusquely now. She held out the bear-shaped bottle to him. He took it and added more.

“Capsaicin can reduce pain,” he murmured, stirring the liquid and taking another sip. He grimaced.

Delightful.

Betty nodded. “It’s a really weird phenomenon. I read that…”

She launched into an explanation of how the weird little organic molecule from the genus Capsicum could dull pain. Bruce nodded, impressed (as usual) not only by her understanding of biology, but her ability to explain it in such a simple way.

She’ll make a great lecturer someday.

Soon, Bruce finished his “drink,” and they got back to their project.

Bruce raised his eyebrows when he realized that his throat did indeed hurt a bit less.

“Thanks, Betty,” he said, after a few minutes.

She raised an eyebrow.

“For the… uhh…” He gestured vaguely at the empty mug.

Betty smiled.

-0-O-0-

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Banner.”

“Tony, just drink it,” Bruce sighed. “Trust me, it helps.”

Tony had been pulling several all-nighters recently, on top of having to attend several press conferences and company lunches, and his main sources of fuel had been coffee, green smoothies, and pizza. Tony was stubborn, but even his immune system was bound to rebel against that kind of treatment eventually. He’d shown up in the communal kitchen that morning with a sore throat and a raspy voice and a lot of whining.

Honestly, it would be more worrying if he wasn’t whining.

So, Bruce had rolled his eyes, mixed up some of Betty’s “cayenne juice,” and simply told Tony, “Drink this.”

“Where’d you even pick this nightmare fuel up anyway?” Tony asked, grimacing as he finally gave in and started to sip the drink. “Some guru on the side of the road in New Delhi?”

“College, actually,” Bruce said.

“Pfft. Okay, I tried some weird stuff at MIT, but nothing like this. Man, what do they teach you Harvard guys?”

Bruce smiled.

Inspired by my dad’s remedy for sore throats

Chapter Text

“Plug your nose and eat it as fast as you can.”

“Ma!” Steve whined.

“Steven Grant Rogers.”

Steve sighed. “Yes, Ma.”

He plugged his nose and began shoveling applesauce into his mouth as quickly as he could.

Steve was only 10, but he knew his family couldn’t afford medicine. When he started to show any signs of sickness (beyond the normal), his mother would mince up a clove of garlic and mix it into a bowl of applesauce. She said it would help his body fight a little harder against whatever was bothering it.

And it seemed to work.

That didn’t make it pleasant, of course.

-0-O-0-

“I’m fine, Bucky!” Steve protested, wincing as the dried blood on his split lip cracked and started bleeding again. Sitting at the kitchen table, he adjusted the towel he was holding against his lip and grimaced at the slight taste of iron in his mouth.

“No, you’re an idiot,” Bucky said calmly, without turning around from the counter. “Now pipe down and put some iodine on that cut so you don’t die of gangrene or something.”

“I’m not gonna die, Buck,” Steve grumbled, obediently uncapping the iodine and holding some cotton against the opening.

“If you keep picking fights in New York alleys, you might.”

“He was catcalling that dame!”

“Did you try using words?” Bucky asked. His tone was practically dripping with sarcasm.

“You’d think with those big ears, he woulda heard me better,” Steve grumbled, dabbing at his lip with the iodine-soaked cotton.

Bucky shook his head and kept working with something on the counter. Finally, he turned around and plunked a bowl of applesauce in front of Steve.

“Buck!”

Bucky sat down on the right side of the square table and crossed his arms. He looked right at Steve.

“Eat it,” he said.

“Why?!”

“Because you’ve been sniffling all day and it’s getting cold outside. Eat it.”

“I’m fine, Buck!”

“Steve, I will sit on you and make you eat it, if I have to.”

Steve scowled at Bucky. Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t test me, Rogers. You’ve already been stupid enough today.”

Steve continued to scowl at Bucky.

But he picked up the spoon and started eating.

Applesauce, garlic, and blood were not a nice flavor combination.

-0-O-0-

Natasha sneezed and gave an annoyed sigh.

Steve’s ears pricked up from behind his newspaper.

Nat wasn’t one to advertise when she wasn’t feeling well. Unless it was really bothering her, she constructed a perfectly manicured facade of wellness that only Clint seemed to be able to see through. But, as someone who had spent a lot of time being sick before his super soldier days, Steve knew the difference in sound between a normal sneeze and a sneeze that resulted in a wad of snot on the nearest flat surface.

“Nat?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Peachy.”

Steve frowned and lowered his newspaper to take stock of his friend from his seat across from her at the kitchen table.

Her color was healthy enough. Her hair was brushed. She was wearing workout clothes, not pajamas.

But her eyes were slightly bloodshot and she was rubbing her nose.

Ergo, she was lying.

But he wasn’t going to call her on it. That would only make her angry, and then she wouldn’t let him help her.

“Long night?” he asked instead, getting up and heading to the fridge.

She sniffled. “Yeah.”

Natasha had gotten back early that morning from a SHIELD mission. She had been gone for about a week. Given the evidence, Steve figured that she had probably picked something up while she was gone. Hopefully, nothing worse than a cold. Steve was amazed and grateful for how far medicine had come since his time, but being sick was still the pits.

Steve smiled when he found a plastic sack of fresh garlic, and silently thanked Bruce for his love of cooking. He retrieved the big jar of cinnamon applesauce he kept towards the back of the fridge, and then he got to work.

“What are you doing?” Natasha asked, as Steve chopped a clove of garlic. (He knew there was a garlic press in one of the drawers somewhere, but he preferred doing it this way, since it was how his mother had always done it.)

“Mincing some garlic,” he said.

He couldn’t see her rolling her eyes, but he was pretty sure she was doing that. He chuckled softly to himself and kept chopping the garlic.

Finally, he dropped the minced clove into a bowl of applesauce and stirred it up.

He slid back into his seat and pushed the bowl and spoon across the table to Natasha.

Natasha looked at the bowl, and then back at him.

“Eat it,” he said. “But take my advice; plug your nose and eat it as fast as you can.”

“Why?”

“Because if you do, it mostly just tastes sweet.”

“No, why should I eat it?”

“Because it’s good for you. It helps your body fight sickness.”

“I’m not sick.”

Steve shrugged and gave her a small smile.

“You’re sniffling.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Just humor me.”

Natasha gave him a look, but picked up the spoon.

Inspired by my beta reader’s mother’s immune-boosting trick

Chapter Text

It was all Clint’s idea.

Natasha had had three missions in the last month, nearly back to back. The last one had been with Clint. Now Fury had put them on a two-week leave.

And Clint had barged into the SHIELD base’s gym that afternoon and dragged Natasha out to get slushies.

“You’ve been in the gym for four hours a day for the last three days,” he said, as they pulled into the drive-thru. “And there aren’t enough files to bother re-reading. You need a break.”

Natasha just crossed her arms and sat back in the seat.

She had been a SHIELD agent for about five months now, and although she vowed to never say it out loud, she had really come to like Clint.

Forming attachments went against everything she had learned in the Red Room. Having friends was not what Widows were supposed to do.

But under all the training, Natasha had always been a bit of a rebel, and she had always been a fast learner.

So she swallowed her training, ordered a cherry slushy, and smiled to herself.

Finally, their slushies came.

“Have you ever been to Sonic before?” Clint asked, after a few sips of his grape slushy.

Natasha tensed slightly and swallowed.

This wasn’t the first time she had been to a Sonic. Her… Alexei had taken her and Yelena there lots of times, when they lived in Ohio.

I loved this place as a kid.

“Yes,” she said carefully.

She quickly busied herself with slurping her slushy.

And then a stabbing pain flared behind her nose and up into her forehead.

“Aghh!”

She clenched her jaw to stifle the yelp and squeezed her eyes shut to ride out the pain.

Pain only makes you stronger.

“Natasha?!”

Natasha said nothing and clenched her jaw a little harder.

“Put your tongue against the roof of your mouth,” Clint commanded.

“What?!”

“Just do it! It helps stop the pain!”

Natasha did it.

After a few seconds, the pain started to dissipate, and Natasha relaxed.

Natasha looked at Clint. He gave her a half-smile.

“Brain freeze. Nerves in the roof of your mouth freak out when they get too cold, hurts like crazy. Holding your tongue against the roof of your mouth warms them up.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “At least, I think that’s how it works.”

Natasha felt a smile creeping onto her face.

“Thanks, Clint.”

-0-O-0-

Thor was eagerly working on his strawberry milkshake as they walked down the street.

Natasha smiled. It was his very first time having a milkshake, and she had made sure they went to a good place for one. It was a little shop a few blocks from Stark Tower.

“Nothing like that on Asgard, huh?” she asked, taking a sip of her German chocolate shake.

Thor shook his head and continued working on his shake.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t come up for air in almost a minute.

He’s really going to town on that thing.

And then, the inevitable happened.

“AGHH!!!”

Thor’s hand flew to his head, and his face scrunched up in pain.

“WHAT VILE SORCERY IS THIS?!!!”

Natasha winced, partially in sympathy and partially from the sheer volume Thor could manage.

In between cries of pain, Thor began to spout what Natasha assumed were Asgardian curses (“SON OF A BILGE SNIPE! ODIN’S BEARD! BY THE NORNS!!!” as well as a few others that didn’t translate).

“Thor! THOR!!!”

She grabbed his shoulder.

“Put your tongue against the roof of your mouth!” she commanded.

Thor cracked open his eyes and managed to look confused under the heavy grimace.

“Do it!” she exclaimed.

Thor squeezed his eyes shut and appeared to be obeying.

After a few seconds, he breathed a sigh of relief and blinked.

“My thanks to you, Lady Natasha. What was that horrible feeling?”

Natasha couldn’t help a grin and a soft laugh.

“It’s called a brain freeze. If you eat something cold too quickly, the nerves in the roof of your mouth freak out… or something like that… and it hurts.”

“And holding my tongue against the roof of my mouth warms them up again, thus dulling the pain,” Thor finished.

Natasha raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Yeah.”

It was easy to forget that Thor was not just a jock or a dumb blond. He was surprisingly smart. Most of what came off as stupid were just differences in culture, really. That was something Natasha could relate to.

Thor smiled at her.

“I shall resolve to enjoy milkshakes with a little less vigor, then,” he said. “Thank you again, Natasha.”

Natasha smiled back.

“No problem, Thor.”

-0-O-0-

“L’chaim,” Clint said, sliding two freshly blended smoothies across the kitchen island to Thor and Natasha. Then he raised his own smoothie and took a long drink.

It had been a long week. The Avengers had been called out on a mission, and had just barely gotten back from SHIELD’s mandatory debrief. Now they were all in the communal kitchen at Stark Tower with the vague intention of eating lunch, but with no real motivation to cook. Tony was pacing and complaining (as usual) while he chatted with Pepper on the phone (“If we’re not officially working for SHIELD, then why do we officially have to sit through debriefs?”), Bruce was practically asleep at his seat at the table, and Steve was sitting across from him and eating an entire sleeve of saltine crackers with a tall glass of milk.

Natasha smiled and took a sip of her smoothie. She and Thor were sitting at the kitchen island, where Clint had volunteered to make smoothies for everyone. Tony said he’d make one for himself later, Steve didn’t want one, and Bruce was too busy nodding off.

Actually, it looked like Steve had managed to gently prod Bruce awake and had convinced him to share the crackers, because “Come on, Bruce, you need food as much as I do.”

Suddenly, Clint let out a muffled cry of pain.

“Barton?!” Thor exclaimed.

Before Natasha could assure Thor that Clint was fine, Thor was out of his seat and had rushed around the kitchen island to his side.

“Put your tongue against the roof of your mouth!” Thor commanded.

Natasha’s eyes widened, and she could see Clint looking at Thor in confusion.

“Do it!” Thor exclaimed.

Clint blinked, and then he nodded once.

After a few seconds, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Where’d you learn that?” Clint asked, rubbing his forehead.

“From Lady Natasha,” Thor said proudly.

Clint looked around Thor at Natasha and grinned. Natasha nodded once and smiled back, before taking another sip of her smoothie.

Inspired by my sister’s trick for dealing with brain freeze

Chapter Text

With methodical precision, Jarvis moved to dust the opposite side of Howard Stark’s study. Howard always told Jarvis that he preferred it when Jarvis took care of cleaning the study, because while the maids were trustworthy, Howard preferred to limit the number of people who might see some of the things he left in there. Howard was notoriously messy when it came to rooms that only he used, so having only Jarvis clean the study was his chosen security method.

Jarvis turned when he heard the creak of a floorboard outside the study. (You’d think someone as wealthy as Howard would pay to have that fixed, but Jarvis knew that a creaky floorboard in such a precise location was another one of Howard’s subtle security measures.)

The person standing in the doorway was six-year-old Anthony Stark.

If someone were to call him a nanny, Edwin Jarvis would always loudly (loudly for him, at least) deny it. However, “nannying” had become a large portion of his job in the last several years, and it was a part of the job that he actually quite enjoyed.

“Jarvis, my tummy hurts!” the boy complained.

Jarvis looked at Anthony with a raised eyebrow. His small charge was quite prone to complaining, but Jarvis had learned that when he did so, it was usually because he wanted attention, something that Howard didn’t give him quite enough of most of the time.

But, since it was a Saturday and Anthony therefore had absolutely no reason to be trying to get out of school, this was unlikely to just be a bid for attention.

So, Jarvis began to run through the obvious questions.

“What did you eat for breakfast?”

“Cereal.”

“Was it Lucky Charms?”

Anthony’s eyes widened slightly and he looked away.

Jarvis sighed.

“How many bowls did you have?”

“Just one!” Anthony protested.

Jarvis shook his head.

“Honest!” the boy exclaimed.

I’ll have to talk with that new maid.

“Jarvis, I only had one bowl! Honest!” Anthony whined. His lip had gone into a classic pout, and his hand remained resolutely on his stomach.

Jarvis shook his head and sighed fondly. He placed his feather duster on a clear corner of Howard’s desk and moved towards the boy.

“Right, then,” he said. “Let’s see what we can do about that tummy ache.”

Once they were in the kitchen, and Anthony had decided not to sit at the table in favor of watching Jarvis more closely, Jarvis began searching the spice cabinet for what he needed. He picked up a box of the herbal tea he used when he was feeling under the weather, and then the small shaker of ginger.

“What’s the ginger for?” Anthony asked.

Jarvis looked at the boy while he filled a kettle with water.

“You always use that tea when you feel sick,” Anthony said, pointing at the tea box. “But what’s the ginger for?”

“Ginger can help with stomach aches,” Jarvis explained. “I’m not entirely sure why, but it’s what my mother always used when I felt sick.”

“You don’t know why it helps?”

Jarvis smiled.

“No.” Jarvis set the kettle on the stove and turned the burner on. “But maybe you can learn why and tell me.”

Anthony gave him a big smile.

-0-O-0-

Tony dumped some spinach, coconut water, liquid chlorophyll, apple chunks (peeled, because he hated the little slivers of apple peel that interrupted what was otherwise a palatable texture), a banana, and pineapple juice into the blender. He winced at the ache in his chest and put a hand on his stomach, which had started to act up too.

Stupid palladium…

And then he had a thought.

Tony walked over to the rotary spice rack and spun it around until he found what he was looking for. He smiled as he picked up the glass cylinder.

He walked back over to the blender and shook in a generous amount (probably too much, if he was being honest, but hey, he was Tony Stark, go big or go home) of ginger.

“JARVIS, put ginger on the shopping list.”

“Of course, sir.”

“...thanks, Jarvis.”

-0-O-0-

“...and if we adjust the output here, it should help—”

Tony turned away from the holographic projection of Veronica to look at his Science Bro.

“Bruce? Are you still with me? Earth to Banner.”

Bruce standing nearby, looking a little spacey. He had an arm across his stomach. He blinked and looked at Tony.

“Uhh… yeah, yeah. Sorry.” He rubbed both his eyes with one hand.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Long night?”

Bruce gave him an “are you serious” look, the sassiness of which was enhanced by the glasses that had slid about an inch down his nose.

“Tony, we were up until 2 AM working on this last night.”

“Yeah, because you had a frankly great idea and neither of us wanted to wait until today to mess around with it. And you had the bed-head this morning that says you slept last night.”

Bruce rolled his eyes.

Then he pushed his glasses back into place and sighed.

“Yeah. I did.”

“And…?” Tony gestured vaguely.

“The usual. I’m just tired.”

Tony “hmmm”ed in sympathy. Nightmares. Poor Bruce had a lot of those. But if the Bean Sprout was to be believed, they were getting less frequent.

Tony turned back to the hologram, but he glanced back at Bruce’s arm placement as he did so.

“Is your stomach hurting too?”

Dead silence.

Tony turned back around.

“Bruce…” he said accusingly.

Bruce was looking at him with big, slightly shocked brown eyes.

“Uhhh…”

Tony sighed and started walking towards the workshop door.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “C’mon, Green Bean, let’s go.”

There was a sigh and the sound of resigned footsteps behind him. Tony shook his head and smirked to himself.

I should be a detective.

Once they were in the kitchen, Tony told Bruce to sit down (which Bruce gave him another “are you serious” look for, but he did sit down) and Tony went to the fridge and started grabbing ingredients.

“Tony, what are you doing?”

“Making my patented stomach ache cure. Okay, it’s not actually patented, but if I wrote it down and put it in the company cookbook, I could totally copyright it. Can you copyright a recipe? I mean, all the cooking blogs I’ve seen would say that you can’t, but—”

Tony continued to ramble until he had put everything into the blender.

Then, he grabbed the fresh ginger root that Bruce kept in the fridge.

“Mind if I use this?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows, but after a pause, he shook his head.

As Tony grated some ginger into the mix, Bruce started to ramble about how his ex-girlfriend (very, very sad story there), Betty, had explained to him how ginger works to help stomach aches. Tony grinned and turned the blender on when Bruce was mid-sentence.

“What? I can’t hear you over this blender!”

Bruce rolled his eyes and smiled.

-0-O-0-

Tony winced as he touched down close to the rubble-covered pavement where Hulk was hanging out. Tony wasn’t prone to motion sickness, which was a serious point of pride for him, but today’s mission (responding to an attack on a city in Canada) had required a lot more barrel rolls and tight turns and inertia-based crap than usual.

In short, his stomach was not happy with him. He put a hand over it.

“Tony?” Hulk’s voice rumbled.

Tony popped his faceplate up and forced a smile.

“Hey, Big Guy. Nice smashing today.”

Hulk looked down at him and tilted his head slightly.

“Tony not look good.”

“Hey, there are some who would say the trashed after-battle look is pretty hot! I mean, have you seen that movie with Liam Neeson?”

Hulk rolled his eyes and lumbered off.

“Tony being stupid,” he heard the Big Guy mutter.

“Hey!” Tony exclaimed, hurrying after him. Partially out of continuing… whatever you’d call this kind of conversation. And partially because he wanted to know where Hulk was going. Transport was the other way.

Hulk stopped next to a mostly-intact building that had part of the wall busted open. He glanced at Tony and then moved into the building.

Tony sighed and followed him.

“Hulk, where the heck do you think you’re going? You smashed all the bad guys, we can go home now. Well, not home exactly, since we’re gonna have to sit through a debrief, but you know what I mean. Y’know, I bet you’re secretly glad that Banner’s the one that has to sit through debriefs. They’re boring as heck.”

Hulk ignored him and walked over to a vending machine.

Tony watched, wide-eyed, as Hulk savagely ripped the front off the machine and tossed it aside. Then, the big guy reached in, and with surgical precision, took something out.

He turned and walked over to Tony, holding out what he had taken.

It was a can of ginger ale.

Which looked ridiculously tiny between Hulk’s huge finger and thumb.

“What…”

“Take,” Hulk grumbled.

Tony took the soda.

“Uhh… thanks, Big Guy,” Tony said, working his armored finger under the tab so he could pop the can open. It was harder than you’d think, but Tony had gotten weirdly good at this.

“How’d you know?” he asked, taking a sip of ginger ale.

Hulk grunted.

“Smashed wall in fight. Accident. Found stupid-fridge. Later see armor fine, but Tony’s face look yuck.” Hulk shrugged. “Hulk fix.”

Tony grinned and drank some more ginger ale, which made Hulk smile.

Seriously, people need to stop thinking this guy is stupid.

Tony would pay for the damages, especially the ones to the vending machine, since that had not been an accident. But he was fine with that, because seeing such a cool and hilarious display of Hulk-strength was always worth the money.

But in the back of his mind, Tony thought, I never taught Hulk the ginger thing. I taught Bruce . …Does that mean…?

Inspired by a suggestion from my beta-reader

Chapter Text

Loki trudged into the palace gardens, scowling. His mother was under one of the blossoming trees, reading a thick book.

“Mother, do you know any mag—HIC!!”

His mother looked up from her book.

“Loki?”

Loki scowled harder.

“Mother, do you—HIC!”

His mother tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

“My dear, do you have hiccups?”

Loki growled in frustration and nodded.

“Do you know—HIC—any magic that—HIC—can get rid of hiccups?”

His mother smiled wider and carefully closed her book. She stood up and moved towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently nudging him to walk beside her.

“How about before we resort to witchcraft, we try another remedy I know?” she asked.

“HIC!”

-O-

Frigga led Loki to the palace kitchens. Loki was eight years old and had developed quite an interest in magic. But, Frigga thought, he needed to learn early on that magic was not the answer to every problem.

Once they were in the kitchens, Frigga had Loki retrieve a cup from one of the servants and fill it with water. He carried it carefully to the table where she was waiting and set it down.

“HIC! Now what?”

Frigga smiled.

“Hold your breath, and before you let it out, take a drink of water.”

Loki looked skeptical. Frigga raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me, dear.”

Loki swallowed, and then obeyed. His cheeks puffed out as he held his breath, and then he quickly took a drink of water.

He swallowed and breathed out, and the two of them waited for a few minutes.

No hiccups.

Then Loki smiled.

“Thank you, Mother.”

-0-O-0-

Thor sniffled miserably. Loki finished casting a fire spell on the kindling and got the fire going.

“This is all your fault,” Thor grumbled.

Loki rolled his eyes and took off his cloak.

“Well, no one told you to jump into that fjord, Thor,” he said, tossing the cloak at Thor so that he’d have something extra to help him dry off.

“You—HIC—said that those little—HIC—insects hated wa—HIC!!”

Thor let out a loud, frustrated growl.

“And now I have HIC-cups!!”

Loki snorted.

“That’s hardly my fault, brother. Or the fjord’s fault.”

Thor grumbled something and went back to hiccuping and drying off.

The two 17-year-old princes had gone off to the woods of Vanaheim for fun, trusting Heimdall to cover for them. Thor had come across some very nasty biting ants, and Loki knew that they hated water. So, naturally, he had yelled, “Water!!” at Thor, and Thor (naturally) had jumped into the nearest source of water… which happened to be a small, very cold fjord.

Honestly, Loki hadn’t told Thor to jump in.

…but he had certainly hoped he would.

“HIC!!!”

Loki sighed. Thor was loud enough without hiccups.

This is getting tiresome.

Loki ambled off through the bushes back to the fjord, pulling a waterskin out of his bag.

Thor called after him (with multiple loud hiccups), but Loki ignored him.

“I hope you’re getting a good laugh out of this, Heimdall,” Loki muttered.

Loki stopped at the shore of the fjord, bent down, and filled the waterskin. Then he walked back to the tree his brother was sitting under. Thor was miserably wiping his nose with the back of his hand and hiccuping every other second.

Loki held out the waterskin.

“Hold your breath and take a drink before you let it out,” Loki commanded.

Thor gave him a look and opened his mouth, presumably to protest.

“HIC!!!!!”

Thor winced, and Loki rolled his eyes and sighed. He did feel sorry for his brother, since the hiccups were actually sounding rather painful, but honestly, if Thor  would just trust him, they could get this over with and get back to exploring before Heimdall called them home.

“Just do it, Thor,” Loki said, pushing the waterskin into his brother’s chest. “Mother taught me how to do this. It’s not a prank this time, I swear.”

If it was a prank, I’d’ve enchanted the water to give you hiccups.

Thor gave Loki a look, but took the water skin and (grumpily) did as he was told.

A few minutes later, there was nary a hiccup to be heard.

Thor handed the waterskin back to Loki.

“Thank you, Loki,” Thor said, standing up. He shook out Loki’s cloak and handed it back to him. It was quite damp, but Loki didn’t mind as much as he pretended to.

-0-O-0-

Another day, another battle.

Not exactly one that would get you into Valhalla, but at least the foes—more agents of AIM—had been enough of a challenge to warrant the appearance of the Hulk. Now that Hulk and Thor were on good terms, Thor found it immensely enjoyable to have the green giant fight beside him.

Captain Rogers had sent Thor off to do a perimeter check and ensure that there were no agents of AIM attempting to escape. He had found none, so Thor flew back to where he saw Hulk standing with Stark and Barton. He frowned as he got closer.

They were not exchanging high-fives with Hulk, as had become their post-battle custom. Instead, Hulk looked irritated, Barton looked amused, and Stark, who had his faceplate up, was frowning in a thoughtful sort of way.

Suddenly a sound as loud as thunder—but it was most definitely not thunder—split the air.

Thor landed and stared at his green ally.

“Friend Hulk? Was that—”

“HIC!!!”

Thor stood there dumbfounded, Mjolnir loose in his grip.

The mighty Hulk, struck with hiccups.

Stark rubbed his chin.

“Okay, I know Bruce had hiccups earlier, but I didn’t think they’d carry over when—”

“HIC!!!”

“—he transformed,” Stark finished.

“Hey, it’s not that big of a deal, right?” Barton asked, with a smile and a shrug. “They’re just hiccups.”

“Hulk not—HIC—like,” Hulk rumbled, his frown deepening.

They waited for the rest of the team to show up. Thor attempted to distract Hulk by complimenting him on his prowess in battle, but the giant seemed to only be half-listening.

“Doesn’t he heal from everything?” Barton was asking, from somewhere behind Thor.

“HIC!!!”

“Well, yeah, but a spasming diaphragm isn’t exactly an injury,” Stark replied.

Captain Rogers and Lady Natasha eventually came over. Both of them looked like they could not believe what was going on.

“HIC!!!”

“There’s something I never thought I’d hear,” Natasha said.

The team started talking about how they were going to get home. Stark deduced that Hulk was not going to transform back to Dr. Banner while the hiccups were irritating him so much, and no one knew when they were going to stop. So began the discussion of Hulk potentially just riding in the Quinjet with the rest of them.

“I mean, it’s not that the Quinjet can’t take his weight,” Stark said. “He’s about as heavy as 10 people, give or take a person and a few limbs. But you don’t like enclosed spaces like that, do ya, big guy?”

“HIC!!!” Hulk shook his head.

Thor watched the Hulk become more and more agitated as the team discussed what they could do.

Suddenly, Hulk stomped a few paces away and then leaped into the air.

“Where’s he going?!” Captain Rogers asked.

“Maybe he’s jumping home?” Stark offered, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“I’ll go after him,” Thor said. He swung Mjolnir and shot off into the sky before anyone could protest.

…and then he realized that there was a simple solution to this, provided Hulk was willing to cooperate.

Thor flew back to the Quinjet.

“Stark, I need water.”

-O-

Hulk finally felt like he had gone far enough, and he stopped jumping. He growled and smacked a tree.

Friends just want stupid puny Banner.

Hulk started walking. Maybe going even further away would help.

He would go home when he felt like it. He wanted to be left alone for now. And stupid puny Banner could just stay inside until Hulk felt better.

Stupid puny Banner.

“HIC!!!”

Hulk growled. He punched a tree and sat down with a huff.

He did want to calm down.

He did want to go home.

But the stupid hiccups kept making him angry because they hurt his chest and made an annoying sound. He couldn’t let Banner out if he was still angry. Everyone knew that.

And his friends just wanting Banner back made him hurt too. But it was a different hurt, one that he wasn’t used to.

Something was making Hulk’s eyes hurt. He rubbed his eyes, and that helped a little. But it made his hand wet.

Hulk growled. He remembered the feeling’s name now. But he hadn’t felt it since he tried to high-five Tony and hurt him by accident.

Sad.

…Sad-angry.

Hulk sighed and put his head on his knees.

“HIC!!!”

Hulk heard air rushing, and he looked up. He growled.

It was Hammer-man. Hammer-man with his stupid hammer, coming down from the sky.

Hulk got up. His hands made fists.

“HIC!!! Leave Hulk—HIC—ALONE!!”

Hulk got ready to jump.

“My friend!” Hammer-man said. He put down his stupid hammer.

Hulk tilted his head. Hammer-man’s other hand was holding something. A lot of somethings.

“I know how to get rid of your hiccups,” Hammer-man said.

Hulk growled.

“HIC!!!”

He wasn’t sure he trusted Hammer-man right now.

Hammer-man held out one of the things he was holding.

Water bottles, Hulk remembered.

“If you hold your breath, drink some water, and then swallow before you breathe out, it will cure your hiccups.”

Cure.

Hulk growled. He didn’t like that word. It was a word Banner had used a lot, before they met the team. It meant bad things for Hulk.

“It’s perfectly safe, I promise,” Hammer-man said. He twisted the top off one of the bottles and took a drink. “See?”

Hulk frowned.

“Why help?” he grumbled. “HIC!!!”

Hammer-man looked confused.

“Because you’re my friend,” Hammer-man said, like Hulk was being stupid. “And I despise getting the hiccups, so I know how you feel. This is something my brother taught me to get rid of them.”

Hulk started to growl again.

Puny god.

But he stopped when he saw that Hammer-man looked sad.

Brother.

Hulk didn’t have any brothers. But he knew how bad it felt when someone you thought was a friend hurt you, and he knew that “brothers” went with “family.” And Hulk knew from puny Banner that family could make more hurt than friends, when that happened. Much more.

“He taught me before he… changed,” Hammer-man was saying.

Hulk thought for a second. Then he moved closer to Hammer-man and held out his hand.

“Hulk try cure-thing,” Hulk said.

Hammer-man looked happier now.

“HIC!!!”

Hammer-man had to help Hulk get the bottles open, because Hulk’s fingers were too big for a good grip, and his hiccups were still making him angry, so it was even harder to grip without crushing.

Hulk held his breath like Hammer-man said, and he poured two bottles into his mouth. Then he swallowed and breathed out.

Hulk waited with Hammer-man for a few minutes.

Nothing happened.

No annoying “hic” sound.

No pain in Hulk’s chest.

Hulk smiled at Hammer-man.

“Thank you, Hammer-man,” he said.

Hammer-man smiled back.

“My friend, you can call me Thor,” he laughed.

Then Hulk remembered the other reason he had been angry, and he frowned.

“Hammer-man just want Banner back. Team wants Banner.”

Hammer-man looked confused. He stopped smiling and didn’t say anything for a little while. Then he did.

“Hulk, Banner is my friend,” Hammer-man said. “And you are my friend as well. I appreciate both of you. And so do the other members of our team. I think perhaps they were worried because Banner always rides home with us. It does not mean you are unwelcome. They were just concerned because this is different than usual, and because you are not normally in such discomfort after a battle.”

Hulk snorted and looked away.

“...Thor promise?” he asked.

Thor touched Hulk’s arm.

“Yes. You are both Avengers.”

Thor held out his hand and his hammer flew into it.

“And anyone who says differently shall feel the wrath of a son of Odin.”

Hulk looked at the hammer, and then at Thor’s face. Thor looked honest, like Tony did when he said nice things to Hulk on bad days.

Hulk nodded.

“Hulk go back to team now,” he said.

Hulk and Thor went back to their friends. Hulk felt a little angry again, but no one said anything about Banner, and they looked happy to see him. Tony and Cupid gave him high-fives and said they were glad he felt better.

“If you want to ride in the jet, you can,” Tony said. “Just promise not to smash it, okay? Cap worked really hard on the paint job.”

Hulk swallowed and looked at the jet.

It was very small. Hulk didn’t like that. But Hulk knew it was safe.

And if he calmed down, he could let Banner out, and Banner could be stuck in the jet instead of him.

Kind-of, anyway. Hulk and Banner were… comp-li-cated.

“Hulk promise.”

Hulk followed the team into the jet. Thor turned around and smiled at him, and when Hulk sat down on the floor, Thor sat next to him.

Hulk smiled.

Thor was a good friend.

Hulk closed his eyes and let Banner out.

Inspired by a remedy shared by my friend, glorfys_glorioushair

Chapter Text

Nine-year-old Bruce gritted his teeth and scratched at the red welts on his arm.

He and his cousin Jennifer had played outside that afternoon for hours, and then even longer after dinner, catching fireflies and playing tag until it was too dark to keep running around without tripping on something. Aunt Elaine had called them in to get cleaned up and get ready for bed a little bit ago.

Now Jennifer was taking a bath, and Bruce was waiting his turn in the living room and watching a rerun of Schoolhouse Rock.

…and scratching his arms like crazy.

I HATE MOSQUITOES.

“Bruce? Jennifer’s done now, so you can… Oh, honey …”

Bruce looked up to see Aunt Elaine standing in the doorway. She had that look on her face, the one adults usually seemed to get when their kids were hurt. Bruce was pretty sure the word for that was “sympathy,” but he hadn’t actually looked it up yet.

Bruce stopped scratching, but the welts didn’t stop itching. In fact, they felt even worse now.

Aunt Elaine sighed. “Jennifer has bug bites all over her too. I guess it’s time to invest in some more bug spray so you two don’t get eaten alive while you’re playing.”

She motioned to Bruce to follow her.

“Come on, Bruce. Let’s get you fixed up before you take your bath.”

Bruce followed Aunt Elaine into the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs while Aunt Elaine pulled a box out of the cupboard. Then she got a bowl and mixed some of the stuff from the box with water. The box was orange.

Oh, it’s baking soda. …how’s that gonna help?

Aunt Elaine walked over to the table and set the bowl down near Bruce.

“Rub a little of that paste onto your bug bites. It should help calm the itch down. Then you can watch some more cartoons while it dries, and then you can go take your bath.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and poked a finger into the white goop in the bowl.

He didn’t like to question adults. It didn’t usually end well, in his experience. So, he obediently scooped out a small blob of the white goo and rubbed it over one of the bug bites on his arm.

The itching almost immediately stopped.

Bruce’s eyes widened.

“How is it doing that?” he asked, staring at the goop on his finger.

He could hear the smile in Aunt Elaine’s voice.

“I’m not sure. Something about a chemical reaction. How about we go to the library again tomorrow and you can look for answers there?”

Bruce nodded eagerly (he loved the library) and rubbed more goop onto his bug bites.

Jennifer hurried in a minute later and started doing the same thing, chattering about what she wanted to do with Bruce the next day.

Bruce smiled.

-0-O-0-

Clint growled and clenched his fists.

He was one of SHIELD’s top agents. He was a master marksman. He was a FREAKING ADULT.

So WHY is it so hard not to scratch these stupid bug bites?!!!

He had just come back to Stark Tower from a mission in Louisiana, and the bug bites had finally started driving him insane (how they had stayed pretty quiet through his SHIELD debrief, he wasn’t sure, unless he had unconsciously been scratching them the whole time). The bites had only started to flare up as he pulled into the Tower’s garage. And the most annoying of the bites seemed to be on the tips of his ears.

Clint actually gave in and scratched those bites, but it only offered momentary relief, and he knew that if he kept going, he’d eventually break the skin and start bleeding. On top of that, the scratching only made the itching worse in the long run.

Oh, this is just peachy.

His apartment’s medicine cabinet had nothing but some ibuprofen in it, which was no help.

So, Clint had resolved to do the smart thing and ask Mr. “I’m-not-that-kind-of-doctor” if he had any anti-itch cream on hand.

If anyone in this tower has actual medical supplies, it’ll be Bruce.

“Hey, JARVIS, where’s Bruce?” Clint asked.

“He is currently in the communal kitchen, Agent Barton.”

“Thanks, JARVIS.”

Clint made his way to the kitchen. Sure enough, Bruce was in there with a cup of tea and his StarkTech tablet. (Tony was against Clint calling them “Stablets” for some reason…)

“Hey, Bruce. You got any anti-itch cream in your apartment?”

Bruce looked up from his tablet and frowned.

“No, I don’t think so. What’s up?”

Clint’s back muscles tensed as the itching flared.

“Mosquitoes bit the crap out of me on my mission. Apparently, I’m delicious.”

Bruce winced sympathetically. He bit his lip and looked thoughtful for a second.

“Here, I know something that helps.”

He stood up and started searching through the cabinets. Finally, he pulled out an orange box of baking soda.

Arm and Hammer. Trust Tony Stark to only buy the name-brand of everything.

Bruce got a plastic container out of a different cabinet, dumped a little baking soda into it, and then added a little water. He mixed everything up into a thick white paste, then handed the container to Clint.

“Put this directly on the bites. It works quick.”

Clint obediently did as he was told, trusting the resident doctor to know what he was doing (even if he was Not-That-Kind-of-Doctor™).

Clint sighed in relief as soon as the paste touched his left ear. It cooled the itch down and felt amazing.

“Where’d you learn this one?” Clint asked, as he rubbed some more paste onto his ear. Bruce had picked up some weirdly useful stuff during his fugitive days. Maybe this was one of those things.

“From my aunt, actually,” Bruce said, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. “It should keep the itch under control until we can get you some actual anti-itch cream. Unless you’re desperate enough for a Benadryl.” Bruce chuckled softly.

Clint smiled and continued rubbing the paste onto his (many) bites.

“Have you had to use this a lot?” he asked.

Clint knew it would probably not be an interesting answer, but Bruce was always interesting to talk to even if it was a boring subject. (Not that it was ever a dull moment in Stark Tower anyway, what with a World War II veteran, a former assassin, a guy straight out of Norse myths, and a billionaire man-child all living under one roof.) For some reason, despite Bruce somehow always being the one you’d least expect to have crazy stories (probably because he was normally so quiet), he was full of good ones, so he was always worth talking to.

(Not that bug bite remedies could often be lumped in with “crazy stories,” but when “normal” included the kind of stuff Clint lived with, the mundane stuff could be just as exciting.)

Bruce shook his head. “Not since I was a kid. I got better at remembering bug spray after a while, and after… the Other Guy showed up… ” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh… things got a bit different.”

Clint raised an eyebrow as he started slathering paste on his forearm.

“I mean, after living in climates with lots of mosquitos for months at a time without a lot of bug spray handy, I started to notice that I wasn't getting bitten very often, and even if I got a bug bite, my body healed from them really fast,” Bruce said. “And I’m pretty sure if mosquitoes bite me now, they just die on the spot from the gamma energy in my blood. I hope they do, anyway.”

Bruce’s eyes widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck again and looked away, looking slightly embarrassed.

“I mean, I don’t make a habit of hoping things die… but they’re mosquitoes . And the death of a bunch of mosquitoes is much better than the possibility of them infecting someone else with my blood. And I’ve always hated mosquitoes anyway. They carry malaria and are responsible for—”

Clint smiled as Bruce rambled on.

Bruce wasn’t exactly a chatterbox, unless you got him talking about SCIENCE . Hearing him talk for more than a few sentences in a row was actually kind of nice, and Clint was surprised that he could actually keep up with most of it.

Finally, Bruce’s rambling began to taper off.

“Speaking of mosquitoes, you wanna watch Jurassic Park tonight?” Clint asked, with a smile.

Bruce finally looked Clint in the eyes again.

“...yes. That sounds fantastic,” Bruce said, with a surprised smile.

(Trust the science geek to love dinosaurs.)

Clint grinned.

“I’ll text Nat and Thor. You get Cap and Tony.”

-0-O-0-

The super soldier serum seemed to make many aspects of life easier.

Steve healed quickly. He had great stamina (even better than Nat, but Clint would never dare say that out loud). He was way stronger than the average human.

…but apparently, he was still not immune to bug bites.

…in fact, he seemed even more susceptible than Clint, because the poor soldier was covered from neck to kneecaps in red welts. (The little suckers must have gotten in through Cap’s less-than-bulletproof civilian disguise during their SHIELD misadventure in the Midwest.)

Now they were at a safehouse waiting for transport back to SHIELD headquarters, and poor ol’ Steve was scratching at his bug bites like crazy. Clint had a few bites himself, but Steve seemed like they were affecting him more. ( Probably something to do with his freaky-fast metabolism making the reaction happen faster. …yeesh, I’m starting to sound like Bruce. )

Clint went to the nearest store (a dingy little convenience store) in hopes that there would be some anti-itch cream in the first aid section.

…there was not.

Clint grumbled to himself and grabbed a few sodas and bags of chips.

If I can’t calm the itching down, I can at least distract him.

And then Clint saw a few bright orange boxes.

…

…you’re kidding me. Baking soda but no hydrocortisone?!!

Clint shook his head and stopped trying to look in the mouth of the gift horse. He grabbed a box of baking soda, paid for everything with his SHIELD cash, and hurried back to the safehouse. (He technically wasn’t supposed to leave (espionage-safety reasons or whatever), but what was Fury gonna do? Fire two of his best assets?)

“Steve, I’m ba—Holy crap.”

Steve looked at him from the couch with a mix of desperation and embarrassment on his face.

A few of the welts had started bleeding from his intense scratching, and all of the welts (that Clint could see) looked even worse than before.

Clint sighed and closed his eyes for a second.

“Y’know, when I signed up for this Avengers gig, this is not how I thought it would go.”

Steve scoffed. “You signed up?”

He laughed weakly and looked like he was trying to slow his scratching down.

Clint shook his head.

“Try to stop scratching before you tear your skin off. I’ve got something that’ll help.”

Clint handed Steve a bottle of root beer to distract him and got to work mixing up the baking soda paste, just like he had seen Bruce do. Luckily, even though the safehouse didn’t have much in the way of food (other than non-perishable canned goods and protein bars), it did have some cheap dishware.

Within a minute, Clint was handing Steve a bowl of baking soda paste. Steve put down his second bottle of soda and took the bowl with a questioning look on his face (which had three bright red bug bites on it).

“Something Doc Banner showed me. Rub it on your bites. But try not to get it in the bleeding ones, at least until they scab up.”

Steve nodded and started applying the paste without question. He sighed in relief as he rubbed it onto the least bloody welts on his neck. Clint helped him get the few bug bites on his back, and as soon as Steve was covered in patches of white goop, the two of them were watching TV and eating chips in companionable (and crunchy) silence.

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve said eventually.

Clint smiled.

“My pleasure, Steve,” he replied, before taking a chug of root beer.

Inspired by my sister-in-law’s bug bite remedy

Chapter Text

“Cap?”

Steve turned from his seat on the cot in the army tent. It was Dum-Dum.

“Uhh…” Steve frantically wiped his eyes.

Dum-Dum sighed and tromped over. He sat down next to Steve.

“I’d offer you a drink, but I got nothin’,” Dum-Dum said.

Steve smiled wryly.

“Wouldn’t do any good anyway,” he replied.

The two of them sat in silence for a bit.

“I miss him too,” Dum-Dum finally said. “Barnes was a good soldier and a good man. I’m proud to have served with him.”

Steve said nothing. The pain in his heart seemed to get a little bigger.

There was a pause, and Steve heard Dum-Dum swallow. Then he patted Steve on the back, probably feeling as awkward as Steve did.

Dum-Dum Dugan was a good man with a big heart, but he wasn’t exactly known for his tenderness. He was a big bear of a man, nearly as big as Steve had become after the serum, and everyone expected him to act like it.

And then Dum-Dum surprised him by sniffling. Steve looked at Dum-Dum, who was wiping his eye with one hand.

“Ain’t gonna tell ya not to cry,” Dum-Dum said, taking off his hat and ruffling his hair, “cuz that’d be like disrespectin’ him. People like Barnes, the ones who die trying to save other people, serving their country… they deserve to be cried over. It’s not wrong to mourn your friends, Cap. Even when you’re a big tough guy.”

Steve scoffed. “Like you?”

Dum-Dum grinned and punched him in the shoulder while putting his hat back on.

“Exactly.”

-0-O-0-

“Tony?”

Tony looked up. It was Rhodey.

Tony had finally caught a break from greeting guests and accepting “condolences,” and he had managed to find an empty, quiet corner inside the house and away from everyone else. If he looked out the window from behind the large plant, he still had a decent-ish view of everyone on the huge backyard patio, and he would know if someone needed him (or if he needed to sneak away).

He could tell which people were here legitimately mourning the passing of his parents and which were mourning their business interests. Tony had been absent from the Stark Industries scene for awhile, so he didn’t know everyone, but he could read people pretty well.

Rhodey was definitely not mourning business interests.

“Mind if I sit with you?” Rhodey asked.

Tony swallowed and gestured at the chair across from him.

Rhodey sat down and didn’t say anything. Tony was actually grateful for that. He’d heard enough “sorry for your loss”es and “let me know if you need anything”s to last one day.

He looked into his recently-emptied scotch glass at the three pathetically melting ice cubes and let out a soft exhale.

Tony’s relationship with his parents had been… strained. Especially in the last couple of years.

But they were still his parents. He still loved them, in a weird, distant way.

And now any chance he had to work things out with them was gone.

Tony got up to get another scotch. Rhodey caught his arm.

“It won’t help, man,” he said.

In that moment, Tony almost wanted to punch him. He was Tony Freaking Stark. He could do whatever he wanted. And it was technically his bar now, since his parents had willed most of the estate to him. His grip tightened on the scotch glass.

But the concern on Rhodey’s face… the actual, genuine concern… it made Tony stop.

Tony swallowed and sat back down. He hesitantly set the scotch glass aside.

Rhodey put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come stay at my place tonight, man,” Rhodey said.

“Will you order pizza?” Tony deadpanned.

Rhodey looked surprised for a second, and then he smiled.

“Meat Lovers, just like usual,” he replied.

And Tony smiled, just a little.

-0-O-0-

“Tasha?”

Natasha looked up from scowling at her math homework. Yelena was standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

“What?” she grumbled.

“Are you gonna come watch cartoons with me?”

Natasha sighed.

“I can’t. I have to finish this stupid worksheet. It’s due tomorrow morning.”

Yelena’s mouth formed a pout, but she quietly turned and went back to the living room.

Natasha dragged her eyes back to the worksheet.

Why do I even need to know any of this? It’s not like my grades will ever matter.

But she had to do at least decently well in school. She had to keep up the appearance of being a normal American kid.

And as fake as her life in Ohio was, Natasha secretly wished that her math homework did matter. That she did need to worry about grades and getting through school and one day graduating and getting a job and having a family…

Natasha sighed again. Thinking that way was not going to help her finish this stupid assignment.

She wished Melina was home to help her with it. Melina was great at math.

And she was glad Alexei wasn’t home. He was terrible at helping with homework.

Natasha looked up when she heard Yelena padding into the kitchen again. Yelena looked right at Natasha, as if considering her.

Then Yelena opened the fridge.

Natasha went back to her math homework. Her sister was probably just getting a snack to take back to the living room. (Which was technically against Melina’s “no eating outside the kitchen” rule, but there was no way Natasha would snitch on her sister. She wanted Yelena to learn how to be rebellious. It might keep her safe when this was all over.)

Natasha heard the pantry open and then close, and then Yelena’s bare feet on the kitchen floor.

But her footsteps were coming towards Natasha, not going back to the living room.

Natasha looked up.

Yelena climbed onto the seat next to her and put a Sunny-D and a bag of fruit snacks down on the table.

“What?” Natasha grumbled, more at her homework than at Yelena.

“You’re lonely,” Yelena said, as if that explained everything. She crossed her arms.

They sat there for a bit, staring at each other.

Then Natasha took the fruit snack bag, opened it, and shook out a few of the little gummy fruit-shapes. She popped them into her mouth, and then offered a few to Yelena.

Natasha’s life was still fake. Her family was still a lie. And she still had math homework.

But she also had a younger sister (Yelena was her sister, biological or not) who made life a lot better.

-0-O-0-

“Clint?”

Clint looked up from his sandwich. (It was a disappointing ham and cheese with mayo and lettuce that really needed some tomato, bacon, and mustard.)

It was Phil Coulson, walking into the near-empty Helicarrier cafeteria towards the table where Clint was sitting.

“Yeah?” Clint asked, sitting up straighter and putting down his sandwich.

“You doing okay? You’ve got a look on your face,” Phil said, sliding into a seat across from Clint.

Clint allowed himself to slump again.

“Is Laura doing all right?” Phil asked quietly.

Phil was one of the very few people that knew Clint was married, and that Laura was pregnant.

Clint glanced at the only other agent in the room. She was cleaning up her stuff and leaving.

Clint nodded at Phil.

Once the other agent was gone, Clint said, “The pregnancy’s going fine.”

“But you’re still worried,” Phil said.

Clint swallowed.

“She’s not due for another four months,” Clint said. “She’s been totally fine the whole time. Nothing worse than some morning sickness.”

“It’s your first kid,” Phil said. “It’s reasonable to be worried.”

Clint sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.

He was a SHIELD Special Agent. He had been in much worse situations and come out alive. His wife’s perfectly normal pregnancy should not be worrying him like this!

A hand landed gently on Clint’s shoulder.

“Clint.”

Clint looked at Phil.

“It’s not wrong for you to be worried,” Phil said firmly. “This isn’t like going on a mission. This is your wife and child. There are a lot of factors you can’t control. And that’s scary. And you’re in a unique situation as a SHIELD agent. That makes it even harder.”

(Are we sure Coulson can’t secretly read minds?)

Clint clenched his jaw.

“...yeah. …yeah, it does,” he finally admitted.

Phil gave him a small, understanding smile.

“I don’t think any less of you for being worried about your wife and the baby. And I know Director Fury doesn’t either.”

Clint swallowed and looked down at the table.

“Thanks, Phil.”

Phil squeezed his shoulder.

-0-O-0-

“Bruce?”

Before he could respond, there was a bright flash of lightning and a sharp crack of thunder. He spun around, tore a boulder from the cliff, and hurled it at the sky, letting out a deafening roar.

As Betty tried to move towards him, he held out a hand and growled.

But it wasn’t a threat.

He’s trying to keep me safe.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Betty said. It was hard to sound soothing while trying to be heard over the storm. She moved slowly towards him, hands extended.

She wasn’t exactly scared of… the creature. He was incredibly strong and powerful, yes, and he could snap her spine like a twig if he felt like it, which was a scary thought… but she didn’t truly feel threatened by him at all.

Bruce was in there, somewhere. Why else would the creature have protected her from the army? Why else would he try to protect her from the storm?

Beauty and the Beast, Betty thought, but she wasn’t sure she liked the comparison.

Betty gently took the creature’s hand and led him back towards the small cave, murmuring platitudes. He was hesitant, but followed her.

Once they were under the overhang, Betty sat down, and the creature copied her.

Betty watched him for a moment, and he watched her.

He was the first to break eye contact, turning to stare silently at the storm.

“It’s okay,” Betty murmured. She gently touched his arm, looking up at his face. She felt so tiny next to him. He looked at her in slight confusion, but didn’t pull away.

“We’re okay,” she continued. “It’s just the rain.”

He had calmed down substantially, but he growled and started to stand up at the next crack of thunder. Betty quickly put her other hand on his arm too.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay!” she soothed. “It’s just the rain!”

She gently tugged on his arm, and he sat back down.

“No one’s coming,” she said, although she knew her father would be looking for them. “We’re safe for now. Just relax. I’m here. We’re okay.”

At the next boom of thunder, the creature bowed his head and winced, but didn’t get up. Betty’s heart broke.

The thunder sounded like gunshots. As strong as he was, he was still afraid.

Oh, Bruce…

Betty gave his huge arm a comforting a squeeze with both of her hands.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m here.”

The creature looked at her. One of Betty’s hands was on his huge wrist, and she could feel his radial pulse hammering away. But it seemed to be slowing down a little.

Betty gave him what she hoped was a comforting smile, and he relaxed a little more.

-O-

When Bruce finally woke up, he felt awful. In addition to some truly nasty aches, his stomach was bothering him. He sat up with a groan.

A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders, and he flinched away with a gasp.

“Bruce, it’s me!”

“B-Betty?!”

He tried to control his breathing.

I can’t change again. I can’t change again. Not with Betty here. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe.

“Bruce, it’s okay. Breathe.”

For a long time, Betty sat with him, calming him down.

He didn’t want to put her in danger. What if she got killed because of him? What if… the Hulk…

“Hey. We’re okay. You saved me. I’m not afraid.”

Oh, crap, I was saying all that out loud, wasn’t I?

Betty gave him a kind smile and put an arm around him.

“I think it’s safe to sit here and calm down a bit before we look for some better shelter,” she said. “Let’s just take a few minutes, okay?”

Bruce swallowed.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

Emotions always ran high after a transformation. He hated that, the vulnerability.

But as much as he wished that she was safe and not here where she could be hurt… Bruce was so glad Betty was with him.

“Th-thank you,” he managed, allowing himself to relax a little.

-0-O-0-

“Thor?”

Thor closed his eyes. Perhaps if he sat still on the bench, his mother would not notice him.

This was, of course, a very foolish hope. Even if he was still small enough to hide behind the equipment of the royal training hall, his mother was more than clever enough to find him anyway.

So, Thor sighed quietly and stood to greet his mother.

“My dear, I know you’re not well,” his mother said, before he’d even opened his mouth.

Thor pressed his lips together and looked at the ground.

“Please, speak to me,” she said.

Thor opened his mouth, but no dignified sound would come out. He closed his mouth again and looked away.

His mother stepped closer, put a hand on his shoulder, and gently pulled him down to sit on the bench beside her.

“I—” Thor swallowed. “Perhaps if I had not been so arrogant, Loki might—”

“Thor, you cannot change the past,” his mother interrupted gently.

Thor bowed his head.

The past…

The past where he had attacked the Frost Giants in hot-headed, stupid anger, breaking the fragile truce between them and the Asgardians. The past where he had gotten himself banished to Midgard (deservingly so). The past where he had been humiliated by being unable to lift Mjolnir after fighting his way through the defenses of “SHIELD.”

The past where he had needed to fight his own brother, mere days ago.

All because he had been such an idiot.

Perhaps if he had…

“Thor, you must learn from the past, but you should never try to live in it,” his mother said abruptly, but still with a gentle tone. “It accomplishes nothing except making you miserable.”

Thor met his mother’s gaze, and reminded himself that she was not free from grief herself. She was mourning a son. Whether he was adopted or not, he was her child, just as Thor was. Whatever madness Loki had succumbed to, Thor still blamed himself, at least partially, for Loki’s death.

His mother put her arms around him, and they sat in silence for quite some time.

Since no one else was around, Thor allowed himself to shed a few tears.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said brokenly.

His mother just held him tighter. Thor felt her shudder slightly, and he knew she was crying as well.

After a long time, his mother straightened up, wiping her face with the back of her hand. She gave Thor a sad smile.

“Tell me more about the mortal woman you became so intrigued with,” she said.

Thor smiled.

-0-O-0-

The newly-formed “Avengers” sat around a table in a dusty—but by some miracle, still fully-functional—Mediterranean restaurant. Tony had been able to convince the owners to feed them (offering to cover damages to the building had turned out to be a pretty good incentive), and now they were waiting in relative silence for their very large order of shawarma.

Steve sighed and leaned forward. Thor gave him a relatively gentle slap on the back. 

Natasha and Clint didn’t say anything, but they hadn’t gone more than ten feet from each other since the battle had ended.

Tony, oddly enough, said nothing, but he kept shooting amazed looks at Bruce. Bruce seemed too tired to notice and continued to sip his glass of water.

The food came and hardly a word was said as they all started to eat.

No one would say it out loud, but all of them felt extremely grateful to not be alone.

End