![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hobbitingTitle: Heaven Help Us (If He's Anything Like Me)
Fandom: Marvel's Avengers
Pairing: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers
Word Count: 732
Rating: G
Summary: Steve finds out parenthood is not all it's cracked up to be.
Author's notes: Written for the "parenthood" square on my Cotton Candy bingo card. Beta'd by the wonderfulkitsjay. Title stolen from the Brad Paisley song "Anything Like Me". Also available on the AO3.
Tuesdays were Tony’s favorites. It was the one day a week that he could manage to keep Steve in bed past six am, Bruce’s turn to make breakfast, and his so-called “cheat day” when he could work on whatever pet project he liked and not the latest R&D project Pepper shoved at him. It was like Christmas came every week for Tony. He almost felt a little sorry for any supervillain that disrupted his Tuesday routine.
Tuesday also happened to be when the weekly Avengers’ meeting took place, but that was okay, since Steve was the one who had instituted them in the first place and was the only person to even remotely take them seriously. More often than not, the meetings would take place in the communal living room since Clint maintained that the conference room gave him hives (and, honestly, Tony was all too happy to verify that allergy, lack of a medical degree notwithstanding).
The first order of business was reviewing the footage from the past few fights they had been in. Supposedly it was so they could go over any weak points in their fighting, but only Steve actually paid attention to form. The others nodded and threw popcorn at the screen whenever the latest bad-guy-of-the-week showed up and mocked the depressingly inevitable monologues. To say Steve was the most mature person in the room was to make the understatement of the year, as far as Tony was concerned.
After the video ended, Steve turned to face the rest of the Avengers but stopped short before moving onto the next order of business. “Clint, get your boots off the couch,” he said eyeing the mud-encrusted boots resting on Tony’s ridiculously expensive cushions.
“Like my boots are the dirtiest thing this couch has seen,” Clint said. “Last week Tony sat on it covered from head to toe in mechanical goop and you didn’t complain then.”
“Tony also bought the couch, Clint. When you buy the ridiculously expensive furniture, you can sit on it in any condition you want. Until then, I want you to respect Tony’s property,” Steve told him.
Clint made a face but swung his feet off. “Yes, Mom,” he sulked.
“Hey, now. Don’t sass your mother,” Tony said, attempting a serious face but was unable to hide the smile quirking the edges of his mouth.
“Sorry, Dad,” Clint replied but his face fell somewhat short of contrite.
“Wait a minute,” Steve interrupted, frowning. “Of the two of us, why am I the mom?”
Clint gave him a look that was far too condescending for Steve’s tastes. “Of the two of you, which one of you is more likely to give us cool toys?”
Tony coughed on his sip of coffee and nodded at the archer in the acknowledgement of Clint’s indirect way of saying thank you (the only way he ever told Tony thank you).
Clint continued, pressing his advantage. “Which one of you is more likely to ground us?”
Steve opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw Natasha’s face twitch.
“Who is more likely to let us stay up past our bedtime? And who makes us eat our vegetables? Face it, Steve. You’re the responsible parent. It’s not fun but someone has to do it and it definitely isn’t going to be Tony.”
Steve turned to look at Tony for back up but Tony just shrugged. “He’s got a point. Can you see me being the disciplinarian? Totally would not work.” Steve snorted but Tony couldn’t blame him. The idea of Tony disciplining anyone was laughable; half the time he couldn’t keep himself in check, much less a rag-tag team of lovable, if not scarily dangerous and somewhat freaky, misfits. He affected a melodramatic air. “Oh, Steve. Our babies are just growing up too fast. Whatever are we going to do?”
“Replace them with ones that haven’t learned to talk back yet?” he offered, giving Clint a pointed look.
“A good idea but, with our luck, we’d end up with Spider-Man instead and we’d never get a moment’s peace again.”
Steve sighed. “I guess you have a point. The devil you know….”
“Hey, I resemble that remark,” Clint said with a grin.
Steve shook his head. “He’s your son,” he told Tony before turning back to the rest of the Avengers, ignoring the way Tony shook with laughter next to him.
Fandom: Marvel's Avengers
Pairing: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers
Word Count: 732
Rating: G
Summary: Steve finds out parenthood is not all it's cracked up to be.
Author's notes: Written for the "parenthood" square on my Cotton Candy bingo card. Beta'd by the wonderful
kitsjay. Title stolen from the Brad Paisley song "Anything Like Me". Also available on the AO3.Tuesdays were Tony’s favorites. It was the one day a week that he could manage to keep Steve in bed past six am, Bruce’s turn to make breakfast, and his so-called “cheat day” when he could work on whatever pet project he liked and not the latest R&D project Pepper shoved at him. It was like Christmas came every week for Tony. He almost felt a little sorry for any supervillain that disrupted his Tuesday routine.
Tuesday also happened to be when the weekly Avengers’ meeting took place, but that was okay, since Steve was the one who had instituted them in the first place and was the only person to even remotely take them seriously. More often than not, the meetings would take place in the communal living room since Clint maintained that the conference room gave him hives (and, honestly, Tony was all too happy to verify that allergy, lack of a medical degree notwithstanding).
The first order of business was reviewing the footage from the past few fights they had been in. Supposedly it was so they could go over any weak points in their fighting, but only Steve actually paid attention to form. The others nodded and threw popcorn at the screen whenever the latest bad-guy-of-the-week showed up and mocked the depressingly inevitable monologues. To say Steve was the most mature person in the room was to make the understatement of the year, as far as Tony was concerned.
After the video ended, Steve turned to face the rest of the Avengers but stopped short before moving onto the next order of business. “Clint, get your boots off the couch,” he said eyeing the mud-encrusted boots resting on Tony’s ridiculously expensive cushions.
“Like my boots are the dirtiest thing this couch has seen,” Clint said. “Last week Tony sat on it covered from head to toe in mechanical goop and you didn’t complain then.”
“Tony also bought the couch, Clint. When you buy the ridiculously expensive furniture, you can sit on it in any condition you want. Until then, I want you to respect Tony’s property,” Steve told him.
Clint made a face but swung his feet off. “Yes, Mom,” he sulked.
“Hey, now. Don’t sass your mother,” Tony said, attempting a serious face but was unable to hide the smile quirking the edges of his mouth.
“Sorry, Dad,” Clint replied but his face fell somewhat short of contrite.
“Wait a minute,” Steve interrupted, frowning. “Of the two of us, why am I the mom?”
Clint gave him a look that was far too condescending for Steve’s tastes. “Of the two of you, which one of you is more likely to give us cool toys?”
Tony coughed on his sip of coffee and nodded at the archer in the acknowledgement of Clint’s indirect way of saying thank you (the only way he ever told Tony thank you).
Clint continued, pressing his advantage. “Which one of you is more likely to ground us?”
Steve opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw Natasha’s face twitch.
“Who is more likely to let us stay up past our bedtime? And who makes us eat our vegetables? Face it, Steve. You’re the responsible parent. It’s not fun but someone has to do it and it definitely isn’t going to be Tony.”
Steve turned to look at Tony for back up but Tony just shrugged. “He’s got a point. Can you see me being the disciplinarian? Totally would not work.” Steve snorted but Tony couldn’t blame him. The idea of Tony disciplining anyone was laughable; half the time he couldn’t keep himself in check, much less a rag-tag team of lovable, if not scarily dangerous and somewhat freaky, misfits. He affected a melodramatic air. “Oh, Steve. Our babies are just growing up too fast. Whatever are we going to do?”
“Replace them with ones that haven’t learned to talk back yet?” he offered, giving Clint a pointed look.
“A good idea but, with our luck, we’d end up with Spider-Man instead and we’d never get a moment’s peace again.”
Steve sighed. “I guess you have a point. The devil you know….”
“Hey, I resemble that remark,” Clint said with a grin.
Steve shook his head. “He’s your son,” he told Tony before turning back to the rest of the Avengers, ignoring the way Tony shook with laughter next to him.
