SO, here's a little thing I wrote a while ago (like, at least a year by now, if not more), back when the Avengers first came out and I was super obsessed. It's pretty old, so it's not exactly on par with some of my more recent writing, but I still enjoy this little ficlet, and I figured some of you guys out there might too. And for anybody that's following me, I'm so, so sorry that I've been gone for this long. Honestly, this whole life thing is really demanding. I'm trying to get back to fanfiction, but then there's my own original stuff that I'm writing, plus Tumblr…which, honestly, steals me away much more than it should.
Anyways, I won't bore anybody with a super long A/N this time, so read, enjoy, and please, please, please review!
Contrary to the popular belief, Steve is actually quite good with 21st century technology. He has to be, what with the whole Avengers Initiative team and all- and after officially moving into Stark Towers with Tony and the rest of the gang, Steve made sure that he understood as much as possible about modern day science. Living with Tony Stark- although the negative aspects normally outweigh the positive, to be completely honest- has also taught him a good many things about the world that he lives in. Even if he still doesn't know why Tony had to explain the usage of a bikini to him- he knows perfectly well what it is- but, Steve has to admit, if a person wanted to learn about any sort of technological equipment, Tony is obviously the most qualified person to go to.
Of course, that's only if one is able to withstand the insults, the sarcasm, the poking and the prodding, the nosiness, the arrogance, the idiocy, the narcissism, the blabbering, and the downright bloody awfulness that is Tony Stark. Steve is a very patient person. Very. Time and time again, whenever he has to go (unwillingly) to ask for Tony's help on something electronic-related, all he has to do is take a deep breath and remind himself that he genuinely likes Tony, even when the man goes off on a rant about spatial dimensions and String Theory and quantum tunneling and plausible doomsday scenarios that mean absolutely nothing to Steve-
And sometimes it takes a few deep breaths.
But the fact remains that, no matter how much Clint teases Steve, no matter how many times Tony calls him "Grandpa", and no matter how many times he accidentally fries the microwave (it was Natasha's fault, really, but he didn't dare admit it), Steve was not completely incompetent when it came to technology.
Of course, his problem-solving skills could still use some work.
It all started at breakfast.
The first meal of the day was something sort of special to the Avengers- after cohabitating in the Stark Tower for the past year, a sort of ritual had seemingly evolved from thin air, and now the entire team would eat together in the kitchen every morning when they weren't on missions, no matter what. Natasha went missing again? Clint would hunt her down and drag her back to the table. Bruce fell asleep in the lab again? Tony would wake him up- granted, normally with rather violent or rage-inducing methods- and force him into the kitchen. Loki was up to his usual tricks again? Thor would throw his hammer at him, sit down to eat, and only return to let his little brother free once the meal was over.
All in all, breakfast was considered a sort of sacred time, one that couldn't be interrupted by anything, even Loki and his I'm-taking-over-the-world-again-mwahahahaha shenanigans. In fact, Loki actually joinedthem, on rare occasions where he would consent to stooping to the level or mortals for a meal. It had been odd, at first, seeing the God of Mischief and Lies sitting at Tony Stark's kitchen table and munching on bacon while Thor plowed through box after box of PopTarts. When Steve had first walked in to the strange sight, he had stood in the doorway staring, shook his head, and walked away slowly to go stick his head in the freezer- because he was still dreaming, obviously. The two brothers hadn't noticed, mainly because Thor was trying to steal some bacon from Loki, and the younger brother was attempting to strangle the God of Thunder with his own cape in retaliation.
Still. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day.
So, ofcourse it would happen that Steve, not Loki, the legitimate God of Mischief and Lies, but Steve Freaking Rogers, would manage to screw it all up.
In his defense, the cupboard doors were far too delicate- therefore it wasn't his fault when he accidentally ripped a few off their hinges. And the chair legs were already wobbly, so it wasn't like he had broken them on purpose, now was it? And the cereal box…he wouldn't even go into detail about the cereal box. It just wasn't his fault.
Steve still felt bad.
After breakfast, Thor had gone off to sulk in his room about the hole in his cape from being stabbed with a broken chair leg, Tony had trudged down to the lab to get his tool kit to fix the cabinets, Pepper had gotten a broom to clean up the floor, Clint had gone into his "I'm-petty-and-giving-you-the-silent-treatment" mode after the loss of one of his arrows and his favorite cereal, and everything was right with the world.
Naturally, Steve had gone to the gym. There he didn't have to worry about hurting people or objects- anything in that room was made to be hurt.
…Of course, after accidentally trashing Natasha's gun rack when he sent one punching bag flying back a little too far, and then somehow managing to send a javelin through the floor and into an unsuspecting Bruce Banner's lab ceiling (having a spear randomly slam into a table less than an inch from his nose had turned the normally calm doctor a wee bit green), Steve had to admit that today was just not his day.
But what was there to do, Steve asked himself, that wouldn't end up destroying things? He didn't want to draw. He almost wished that Loki would start wreaking havoc somewhere in the city; just so that he could have something to do that he was goodat. Immediately after he thought that, Steve felt even more terrible- was he so desperate that he was actually starting enjoy the sociopathic god's mischievous attempts at world domination?
No. He wasn't. He refused to be. And with that, Steve marched off to find something productive to do.
…And an hour later, having found absolutely nothing that could be considered productivein the tower, Steve slumps into a leather recliner, grabbed a remote, and turned the TV on.
Or at least, he tried to. Having super-strength and being angry isn't a very good combination, as Bruce Banner knew, and as soon as Steve pressed the ON button, the entire remote snapped completely in half.
The supersoldier stared at the remains of the plastic controller in his hand, frozen in shock. What was he supposed to do now? Steve pushed the two pieces together, trying desperately to reconnect them even though he knew that it was hopeless. After a few minutes of smushing the black plastic parts against each other, he gave up with a sigh of defeat, dropped the mangled remote shards into the trash (Tony was a genius, but even he couldn't fix that), and trudged down to the laboratory.
Tony Stark's lab wasn't what Steve had envisioned a lab to be- there were no men in white coats, no suspicious-looking vials of odd purple liquid, no mutated animals in cages. Just expensive-looking cars, scattered blueprints, high-tech computers, and various objects of machinery that Steve knew he wouldn't understand the intention of if he tried. Tony himself was practically glued to his soldering table, sparks flying around him as he connected two sheets of metal together. Steve coughed from the smell of burning and smoke, and sidled over to the otherwise occupied genius man-child. He trusted Tony, but didn't want to risk sneaking up on a man with a flaming weapon of destruction.
"Tony!" he tried, edging into what he thought was the periphery of the man's vision. He didn't respond, and Steve slid forward a few steps, waving his arms around. "Tony! Hey! Stark!"
Tony jumped, accidentally lighting a stray pencil on fire as he slid the goggles off of his face. "Steve?"
Steve smiled awkwardly. "I have a question, if you don't mind?"
"Don't you always." Tony muttered, but he didn't seem to mean it maliciously. Steve took that as a go-ahead signal.
"Um- well, I'm really sorry, but I kind of- ah, broke the TV remote…" He winced, wishing he could be more eloquent like Bruce as he waited for a reprimand.
"Yes, yes…" Tony mumbled, scratching his nose and leaves streaks of grease across it as he flicked through a stack of blue prints. "Good, good, that's wonderful…"
"Are you paying attention to me, Stark?"
Tony glanced up, his expression agreeable and pleasantly vacant. "Not in the least. Did you know that you have cereal in your hair?"
And with that, Tony Stark went back to his work, seeming to notice the flaming pencil for the first time and quickly dousing the tiny fire. Steve frowned, hesitantly reaching up to feel around his head. A little green Froot Loop fell onto the floor, and the Captain scowled.
"Do you have any other remotes? Tony!"
The older (younger?) man looked up in irritation, his goggles positioned in a crooked fashion over his face so that only one eye was showing, and then went right back to his current project.
"Check the closet." He muttered, picking up the soldering iron and returning to his metalwork.
Steve sighed, and turned around to go back upstairs.
As soon as Steve got back up to his floor, he realized he hadn't asked which closet Tony meant. So, after half an hour of searching through every closet he could find, Pepper finally found him and took pity on him. Handing him the box of remotes, which contained somewhere around a dozen controllers, she left him to go re-organize all the closets that had undoubtedly been left in disarray.
"Wait!" Steve called after her. "Which one is the remote to the TV?"
Pepper shrugged. "Tony has it in there somewhere. I think I remember it having a green button."
And with that, Steve was left alone in the living room. Trying to think optimistically, he carried it over to the couch and plopped down on the seat. It shouldn't be that hard. Green button, turns the TV on. He could find it, right?
His heart sank as soon as he looked in the box and saw that at least half of the controllers had green buttons. With a sigh, he picked the first remote out of the cardboard box and got started, pointing it at the TV and clicking the button.
"BACK IN BLACK! I HIT THE SACK! I'VE BEEN TOO LONG-"
Bruce practically jumped out of his seat at the sound of AC/DC blaring unnecessarily loud from the speakers behind him, knocking over the stationary microscope in front of him and slamming his knee into the underside of the metal table. Hopping in an awkward circle, he spun around, eyes wide and glasses askew, and stared at the stereo. Where had that come from?
Trudging over to the speakers, ignoring the throbbing pain in his knee and wincing at the screaming of the music, he flicked the OFF button and sighed in relief as the stereo shut off. Running a hand through his hair, he dragged it down his face and glared at nothing in particular, trying to think Not-Green-Thoughts. It was, in all honesty, probably Tony and another one of his pranks.
"BACK IN THE BACK! OF A CADILLAC! NUMBER ONE WITH A BULLET-"
The speakers roared to life once again, blasting explosively in the lab just a few feet away from Bruce, and he screeched in surprise, immediately spinning around, backing into a table, and tripping over a box in the middle of the floor.
"-I'M A POWER PACK! YES, I'M IN A BANG! WITH A GANG!"
Yellow rubber ducks spilled from the UPS box that Bruce tripped over, bouncing on the floor and tumbling over his face. The doctor flailed around like a wild animal, smacking duck toys away from him and kicking them in random directions. One of them quacked, and he jumped, hollering to nobody in particular, "Shut it OFF!"
"CAUSE I'M BACK! YES I'M BACK! WELL I'M BACK! YES I'M BACK!"
Bruce lurched to his feet, grabbed the nearest object to his hands, and hurled it at the stereo in blind rage and pure strength.
The pencil bounced off harmlessly and clattered to the floor.
"WELL I'M BACK IN BLACK! YES, I'M BACK IN BLACK! HOOO YEA-"
A computer smashed into the speakers next, sparking dangerously and followed quickly by the microscope Bruce had knocked over before. The screaming lyrics screeched once and dwindled off, growing lower and lower before dying an ugly death. Bruce closed his eyes, breathing in a heavy breath, and wobbled his way over to his seat, slumping in it and burying his head in his arms with a groan.
And then something moved by his shoulder.
His head shot up, glasses hanging half off his face, and he righted them quickly before staring- with a very quizzical expression- at the microscope that sat by his arm. It stared right back at him, innocent for all intents and purposes, and didn't move.
Of course it didn't move, thought Bruce, rolling his eyes at himself and sitting up. It's just a microscope.
Something beeped and whirred quickly, and he looked over again- only to see the microscope lenses twist and the neck shorten slowly. Bruce stared wide-eyed.
He wasn't moving it.
Reaching out slowly, he attempted to brush his hand over the electronic piece of machinery, then jerked it away when the microscope rolled past him with an odd-sounding chirp.
What the hell?
He reached out again. It rolled away. Bruce leaned over the table, attempting to grab at it, and it zoomed off, moving in odd little jerks, as though the remote button controlling it was being pushed over and over again. The scientist threw himself forward, chasing the errant technology.
In a sudden burst of spastic speed, the microscope whizzed past his grasping hand and committed suicide, flying off the edge of the table and smashing to the ground.
Bruce lay halfway across the table, arms still outstretched, and stared in disbelief at the smoking, sparking heap of what was once a microscope. What the hell had that been? Microscopes didn't just come to life and jump off a table, not in Bruce Banner's book. Was Tony just messing with him again?
Of course- that had to be it. It was Tony.
(And if Clint just so happened to stroll past the lab at that exact moment, glance inside, notice a destroyed stereo surrounded by plastic yellow bath-time duckies, and a pale, frazzled-looking doctor splayed across the length of one table, peering quizzically at a shattered heap of scrap metal and broken glass, he never said anything to anyone about it.)
Steve frowned in unhappiness as he set aside the first remote. Apparently that one wasn't the one that went to the TV, though he really shouldn't have expected to get it on the first try anyways. Goes to show where eternal optimism gets you in life, he thought to himself, and grabbed the next remote in the pile before turning to the TV.
Clint grabbed an apple, taking a bite out of it before leaning against the counter in the kitchen. It seemed like it had been foreversince breakfast, but a quick look at the clock on the stove told him that it was in fact only a little past noon.
He sighed, and took another bite from the apple.
And then the fridge door opened.
On its own.
Clint choked, inhaling the large piece of fruit he had just begun to chew, and coughed, doubling over as he tried to breathe without killing himself. At the same time, he reached around, grabbing the nearest weapon he had stored on his person with blinding speed- a small pistol that he'd had tucked in the back of his pants just as a safety precaution. Aiming with shaking hands at the suddenly sentient refrigerator, he hacked and wheezed in desperation for another moment before managing to dislodge the obstruction in his throat.
The fridge door closed.
Clint startled back, conveniently ignoring the fact that this was a fridge, not an enemy soldier, but the rational part of his mind insisted that anything could be an enemy soldier. The less logical part of his mind screamed colorful choice phrases in every language he knew about how he was going to get eaten by a fridge.
Well, Clint supposed, being eaten by a fridge was one of the more inventive ways that I could have chosen to go out.
And behind him, with no warning whatsoever, the dishwasher hummed to life.
Clint yelled out in surprise- because men didn't shriek, dammit- and jumped away, firing two shots at the offending appliance. The door was already open, and as soon as the washing cycle began, water sprayed from the pipes, splashing over Clint and splattering everywhere in the room.
Clint coughed again, wiping water from his eyes, and stepped back. Tony's dishwasher officially has PMS, he thought to himself in irritation, and then flinched instinctively as if Natasha could read his mind and kill him for it.
Before he could raise his gun again, the toaster popped up with a ding, and Clint jumped back again with a grunt of surprise, then slipped on the water puddled on the floor from the still-spraying dishwasher. With a holler, he fell back to the ground, landing with a small splash, because he was on vacation and he wasn't supposed to have to do this right now, and all he wanted was one free moment without being attacked by something- was that too much to ask?
Apparently it was, because two dozen arrows scattered everywhere and Clint's bow skidded across the floor before coming to a stop in front of the sink across the room from the prone archer.
Clint groaned as he sat up and shook his head as a wet dog would shake its fur, and with a cautious glance at the fridge, lunged for his bow. It was his weapon of choice, dammit, and he wasn't battling an army of deranged kitchen appliances without it. Briefly, he wondered if this was all Loki's doing- it seemed like just the thing the young Trickster god would find entertaining.
Of course, that was when the stove erupted in flames.
Clint dove to the ground, covering his head with his hands as heat seared across his back. His bow flew across the room from when he'd lost his grip of it, landing in the sink- Clint was glad that it was out of the way of the flames for the moment at least, even if he wasn't.
Dragging himself carefully over the flooded floor of Tony's kitchen, Clint moved behind the counter until he was out of range of the fire- he stood up, knees bent as he moved deliberately and cautiously, and eyed the stove.
As suddenly as it had turned on, the flames vanished, flickering once and dying as though it had understood what his intentions would have been with it had they not gone away. Clint breathed a sigh of relief.
The sink started buzzing, and he glanced towards it- just in time to see the drain open up and the garbage disposal come to life.
"MY BOW!" he screeched, dive-bombing for his weapon as it began to be sucked into the drain and grabbing on end of it. Heaving back, Clint tried in blatant desperation to free the bow from the dark, shadowy, evil recesses of the monstrous garbage disposal bent on murder. What was happening?!
Bracing himself against the counter, Clint tugged back with all his weight, yelling in incoherent fury at the strength behind the sink as it tried to rip his most prized possession from his grasp.
"No…you…don't!" he growled, throwing himself back with all his body weight and wrenching his bow from the gurgling sink with a violent war cry. A wet pop sounded, and suddenly the bow was free- Clint tumbled backwards, a yelp escaping him- a manly yelp, mind you- as he and his bow somersaulted backwards.
Now, normally Clint would have been able to land with grace on his feet and be in a proper position to continue his battle with the enemies- this time, however, he slipped once more on the flooded floor. As he slammed to the ground, rolling backwards, another yelp escaping him- one that even he had to admit was not manly whatsoever- he was bowled back by his momentum and trundled- rather ungracefully- into the fridge with his beloved bow by his side.
The door shut after him.
Fuck, he thought to himself.
Steve sighed. That wasn't the right remote either, so it seemed- he'd tried all the buttons, and nothing worked for the TV. Well, he thought to himself, two down, five more to go.
It shouldn't take that long, right? After all, they were only remotes.
Natasha hummed quietly to herself as she scrubbed her fingers through her hair. Nobody would ever find out that she hummed in the shower- she would personally see to it that they were taken care of before word reached anyone of particular importance.
Besides, Clint would see to it that she was properly made fun of for the rest of her life.
The ginger-haired assassin closed her eyes, letting the warm water soak into her skull and run in rivulets down her skin. Showers were a rarity in the life of a spy, and Natasha had learned to enjoy the little things when she had access to them- like when she was at Stark Towers. She would never tell Tony, but his building was the nicest place she had ever stayed at for a long period of time.
The man didn't need his already dangerously inflated ego to be boosted any more than it already was, however, and Natasha would rather tell Clint that she sang in the shower than admit to Tony that she enjoyed staying in his home.
She sighed, and began to rinse the shampoo out of her hair.
…And then the shower shut off.
Natasha glanced behind her at the shower-head, arms still raised to her hair, and stared quizzically. Stark Towers had the best of everything, from technology to water plumbing. Tony wouldn't let anything other enter his home, and yet, here she was, standing in a shower with no water coming out. She frowned.
Something clicked in the pipes behind the shower, and Natasha tensed. Years as an assassin had trained her to be on her guard at all times, and she really didn't want to die in a shower because she wasn't careful.
The water splattered out from the spout, and Natasha turned back around. She would have to talk to Tony later about his water pipes.
And then the water turned ice cold.
With an undignified yelp, Natasha jumped away from the freezing spray, goosebumps rising on her skin instantaneously from the sudden change in temperature. She glared at the shower, reaching over to turn the dial until the water was warm once more.
Her hand hadn't even touched it when the liquid pouring down turned blisteringly hot. She jerked back again, another sound escaping her, and she scowled in irritation. Did everything in Tony's house have an attitude to match his?
Gingerly, she reached out and turned the dial, trying to leave as much of her body out of the water as possible. It cooled down, and Natasha sighed in relief. What had that been about?
Her hair was still dripping with shampoo when a dinging sound came from the wall behind her and everything exploded into an eruption of rainbow-colored bubbles.
First of all, everybody knew that Natasha Romanoff did not scream. She was an emotionless killer, the embodiment of stone-cold reflexes, and she didn't care about human life at this point very much anymore. She was a weapons master, an assassin of the night, a martial artist- she was not some scaredy-cat little girl that would run away from a fight.
With that in mind, the sound that she made when a myriad of colored bubbles poured forth from the walls and threatened to drown her in their numbers was certainly not a scream.
Tasha covered her face with her hands, spinning around to try and escape the multitudes of shining spheres- it was pointless. They were everywhere.
She grabbed at the curtain, her feet slipping on the smooth, wet floor of the shower, and lost her balance- a very un-Natasha-like thing to do, but the arrival of a thousand randomly colored bubbles had shaken her nerve good enough for her to forget about the potential dangers of a slippery floor.
With a high-pitched squeak, she managed to right her footing after a moment of perilous wobbling- only to tumble right out of the tub with a cry as water poured from the ceiling, sprouted from the floor, and surged in waterfalls from the sides along with half-a-dozen jets spraying a thick mist of cotton candy-scented perfume. An in-bath radio popped out of the wall, playing a symphony of jungle sounds and bird calls at the highest volume possible. Natasha jumped at the sudden screeching of the musical notes as they reverberated through the entire kitchen and winced in pain as the noise traveled directly to her sensitive eardrums.
Natasha grabbed once more at the curtain, pulling it with her to the floor where it cushioned her fall, and she thanked whatever Gods that were out there- aside from Thor and Loki, of course- that Tony found carpets in a bathroom a necessity.
Of course, that's when the steam jets opened up and the entire bathroom was quickly filled with heat and humidity- a disco ball dropped from the ceiling, sending shimmering colors dancing around the bathroom through the heavy mist as the lights dimmed, and Natasha grabbed her towel and ran before lotion started to pour from the walls. Tony Stark is so dead, she raged to herself as she sprinted away.
She could have sworn the sounds of wailing monkeys and screaming birds followed her.
Well, that wasn't it either. Steve placed the remote back in the box, wondering just what all these random remotes could possibly go to, and grabbed the next one out of the box. He sighed. Maybe this was some sort of punishment for something…he couldn't be sure, but he thought he could almost hear some weird screaming in his head.
Pepper typed away at her laptop, grumbling all the while about Tony and his immature habits. She loved the man, she really did, but he was so Tony that there were times she couldn't stand him whatsoever. Times like these, as a matter of fact, when Tony conveniently forgot to mention something to her about a huge transaction between another company (he also conveniently forgot to pay the other company)- and now, she was fighting off a lawsuit.
And then the bed started vibrating.
"OH MY GOD!" she shrieked, launching herself off and narrowly managing to avoid throwing her laptop halfway across the room. The bed hummed, covers shaking and shuddering over the mattress as she stared. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Pepper approached it, poking it lightly with one finger- a shock shot up her entire hand from the force with which the bed was shaking.
She narrowed her eyes.
"TONY!" she yelled, placing her hands on her hips and glancing back towards the door. "Is this you?"
Nobody answered, and Pepper stomped over to the doorway (an impressive feat in heels) and looked out into the hall.
There was nobody there.
She frowned, and turned back quizzically to the shaking bed. Had she accidentally hit some sort of button somewhere? She was so sure that she'd only been typing.
Behind her, the door slammed shut with a bang.
She spun around, a small gasp escaping her, and stared wide-eyed at the door. She hadn't done that. Was there someone out in the hallway? Pepper stepped forward, turned the doorknob, and peered out once more. Nobody was there now either.
The doorknob wrenched itself from her grasp, and with a violent yank, the door crashed shut again.
Pepper backed away, her heart hammering in her chest. What's going on?!
Something clicked above her, and she jumped. With a hum, the ceiling fan started spinning, rotating around and around as it gathered speed. Pepper flinched away from the growing breeze, and shivered.
"Tony?" she tried again, hating how her voice shook oh-so-slightly. It was just a bunch of odd chain reaction, nothing more. She swallowed hard.
The blinds over the window shut abruptly.
Pepper was done. She darted back over to the door, tugging in desperation on the handle- it was locked. The fan behind her in the ceiling hummed louder, spinning faster than Pepper had known it could, and she blinked, her eyes watering against the harsh wind. The bed jumped and shook over the carpeted floor, jerking around from its vibration, and the window blinds opened quickly before shutting, and then opened again.
"TONY!" she screeched, rattling the doorknob violently as her hair whipped around her. "ANTHONY HOWARD STARK!"
The blinds jangled over the glass, the bed thumped over the floor, the fan shook overhead- and the lock clicked. Pepper gasped out a sigh of relief, threw the door open and launched herself out of it, wobbling precariously in her heels before setting off on a blind run down the hall.
"PARANORMAL ACTIVITY! TONY, OUR BEDROOM IS HAUNTED!"
Steve scowled in disappointment, tossing the remote to the side. None of the ones he had tried so far seemed to work for anything, even after he had pushed every button on the controller. He was running out of options here, which was both a good thing and a bad thing- either he was going to find the TV remote soon, or he had just wasted his time looking for something in the wrong place.
He sighed, and picked up the next remote. It wouldn't hurt to find out, and besides, all the previous remotes were obviously useless.
A car horn blared.
Tony jumped violently, knocking his blueprints to the floor, and fumbled with his soldering iron.
"Jesus!" he cursed, bending down to pick up the papers. "JARVIS, what the hell was that?"
"It seems as though one of your many sports vehicles car horns has inexplicably gone off, sir."
"No dip, genius. What caused it?"
"There are no other people in your lab, sir. Would you like me to run a diagnostic?"
Tony grumbled to himself. "No, no, it's not that important. DUM-E, hand me that wrench, will ya? And be careful with it- no waving it around like a sword. We don't need a repeat of last Tuesday."
The robot made its usual perky noises, and hummed its way over to Tony. "Any day would be wonderful, thank you. There we go. AH-AH-AH! Watch it, Butterfingers!"
With a muttered curse, Tony grabbed the wrench from his robot and turned back to his work. Dismantling DUM-E and turning him into a high-tech window squeegee was sounding real nice right about now. God knows his windows needed a good cleaning.
"Sir, Ms. Potts is calling you from your bedroom. She seems distressed."
Tony grinned. "Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em, right JARVIS?"
"She's apparently screaming while she runs down the hallway right now, sir. Would you like me to assist her?"
Tony sat up, worry flashing through him before he smothered it. "What?"
"I said, she's apparently-"
"I heard that- why is she screaming?"
"She seems to be rather disturbed by something she's calling, "Paranormal Activity", sir."
Tony snorted. That explained alot.
"Wonderful. She'll be fine. Probably. Check on her, just in case, but don't freak her out if you can help it." Tony ordered, and then went back to his soldering. "Women." He muttered, and then glanced around cautiously to make sure Natasha hadn't appeared out of the woodwork to murder him. "DUM-E, get over here, you useless heap of metal."
Something clanged, and Tony looked up, pushing his goggles away. "DUM-E?"
The robot whirled around, and Tony's eyes widened as he saw what it held in its make-shift hand- with a rather ungraceful launch off of his seat, Tony promptly dove to the floor behind his desk.
The fire extinguisher spray splattered over the floor beside him.
"DUM-E! Put that away, you stupid-"
Something started whirring, and Tony, for once in his life, actually shut up, peeking over the top of the desk- to immediately come face to face with the robot. And an open blender.
Tony shrieked an unmanly shriek, and scrambled away.
"POWER DOWN! POWER DOWN! POWER D-"
Tony ducked again, this time behind his shelves, and narrowly avoided being sprayed once again by the hissing fire extinguisher. He gritted his teeth, and flicked off a small piece of the white foam that had landed on his forearm, rage pulsating through him.
"Totally donating you to scrap yard now, idiot. I am not on fire- put that DOWN!" he spat, eyeing his creation furiously. DUM-E spun his arms slowly, almost seeming to watch Tony for a moment, and started speeding towards the man, one appendage clutching the fire extinguisher, and the other wielding the roaring blender. Tony, naturally, did what any superhero would have done.
He ran for the lab door.
DUM-E raced after him, beeping obnoxiously, and then all of the cars erupted into a cacophony of whistles and horns and honking. Tony shrieked again, skidded to a stop, turned around and dodged his robot before racing away towards the other escape.
"Sir, there seems to be some sort of remote controlling DUM-E from outside this room-"
Heart pounding in his chest and against the arc reactor, Tony ignored Jarvis and ducked as another thick spray of foam flew over him. He scampered away, humming the Mission Impossible theme song anxiously in time with every blast of the horns in the background.
"I can pinpoint its location in the main living room- sir, I believe Steve Rogers is-"
DUM-E threw the blender at him.
Tony flailed for a moment, then grabbed the huge sheet of metal he had been welding, throwing it up in front of his face like a shield, deflecting the blender as it bounced off with a clang and clattered to the floor, still running. He peeked over the edge cautiously, the sounds of his wailing car sirens fading into the back of his mind.
DUM-E was still coming- and this time with the soldering iron.
Tony resumed his frantic dash towards the door.
Steve sighed, and dropped another remote in the box. Almost done going through all the remotes. Maybe then he could sit back and relax with a good TV show.
Thor reclined back against his Midgardian bed- it was nothing close to how regal his Asgardian chambers had been, but he was used to it, and had grown rather fond of it since he'd moved in. It was homey, not majestic and grand, but warm and comfortable.
That and the fact that Thor was a pleasant man, and most things didn't matter to him unless he could eat or smash them. Jane, Loki, and his Avenger friends were the only exception to that, mainly because he would never smash them even if his life depended on it, and because he felt no inclination to eat his friends or family.
Cannibalism had never appealed to him.
Jane sat next to him, holding his repaired cape in her hand. "How did you even manage to rip a hole in it like that?" she asked him as he re-attached the fabric to his shoulders.
Thor scowled. "The Defender of America nearly tore my cape to ribbons with his unfortunate shattering of the Room of Eating's chair." He muttered darkly, thinking back to that morning when Steve had practically destroyed the kitchen. Jane hummed in sympathy, patting one of Thor's broad shoulders with a small hand.
"I'm sure he didn't mean it. Steve doesn't know his own strength sometimes. It happens to everybody."
Thor sighed. His mortal woman was too understanding, too kind, too good for him. "You are wise, my fair lady." He rumbled, placing a kiss on one of her hands, and Jane blushed.
"You're cute." She mumbled, brushing hair back from her face in embarrassment. Thor grinned broadly.
And then the toilet flushed.
They both looked back at the bathroom, brows furrowing in confusion. Nobody was in their room with them- they were completely alone, and the bathroom was empty. Thor got his feet, tipping the bed dangerously to one side with the movement.
"I shall investigate this odd matter of the inexplicably self-flushing restroom." He declared, marching dramatically through the five steps it took him to get to the bathroom.
He had just passed the desk Jane had set up for her computer equipment when the screens suddenly flickered to life and began playing- began playing Nyan Cat, to be more specific. Thor whipped around, Mjolnir flying to his hand, and he brandished the weapon threateningly.
"What are you, foul demon? Reveal your identity this instant or I shall smite you where you stand!" he roared at the tiny cat flying through space. Then he paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he contemplated the video. Jane shook her head and sighed.
"Jane, what is this?"
"That, Thor…would be Nyan Cat. It's on YouTube."
"How very interesting…this feline seems to be soaring through the very branches of Yggdrasil with no help from any sort of Midgardian technology or Asgardian sorcery!"
Jane nodded. It was best to agree with Thor when he got like this.
"This puny mammal could be the answer to the gods many questions! This creature could be useful for generations to come! We could- IS THAT A POPTART THAT IT IS USING AS A BOARD OF FLIGHT?!"
Oh dear, Jane thought, right as the lights turned off.
"PASTRIES OF DELICIOUSNESS SHOULD NOT BE USED AS A METHOD OF TRANSPORTATION, YOU FIEND!" Thor bellowed, smashing a huge fist down onto the table where the computer rested. Jane lurched forward, gripping one of Thor's equally enormous forearms between both her hands, and tugged him away.
"Thor, maybe we should forget about Nyan Cat and focus on the weird things-"
"I shall NOT let this matter drop! Nothing short of a catastrophe of epic proportions shall tear me from this battle! Nyan Cat, whoever you are, prepare for the WRATH of THOR!"
Of course, that was when the said "catastrophe of epic proportions" occurred- or at least in Thor's perspective.
The sliding doors to the closet slid open, and then closed just as quickly- the lights turned back on, and then turned off again. Thor stumbled around, attempting to find his way back to the bed in the dark.
"Thor? Are you alright?"
"Lady Jane, I will find you in this unfathomable black hole! DO YOU LIVE?"
"Thor, I'm right in front of you. Do…Do you hear that buzzing?"
The lights flickered back on, and Thor gasped in relief before rushing forward and engulfing Jane in a bear hug. She squeaked.
"You are alright! Gods be praised!"
"You are a god."
Jane stared at him for a moment, and then frowned. "Seriously, do you hear that?"
Thor tilted his head to the side- in fact, yes, yes, he did hear that. A faint buzzing noise came from the closet, and Thor eyed it warily.
"It seems as though some sort of large bee is trapped inside our closet…" He said, and Jane sighed in relief.
"Thank God, I thought I was going crazy."
"No need to thank me, though I appreciate your gesture." Thor rumbled, patting Jane on the shoulder with all the force of a bulldozer. She stumbled.
The closet doors slid open again.
"What on Earth-"
"I do not understand. Why are these contraptions acting without the aid of our buttons and voice commands?" Thor asked, and was immediately smacked in the back of the head with a remote-controlled helicopter.
"What is this abomination?!"
"Thor, please, calm down, it's just a-"
"FOUL MONSTROSITY! Back away! Begone!" Thor back-handed the helicopter into a nearby wall, and one of the propellers snapped off- when the small toy rose into the air again, it spun in crazy circles and tilted dangerously to one side.
"Thor, it's just one of Stark's toys! It's a heat-seeking helicop-"
"WHY DOES IT FOLLOW ME?!"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you, it's just a child's toy! It's not dangerous!"
"Lady Jane, beware! It seeks to destroy you!" Thor roared as he leaped in front of the small scientist. "I SHALL DEFEND YOU UNTIL MY LAST BREATH!"
"Really, that's not necessary." She mumbled.
Thor let out a war cry, and Jane winced. The lights went out once more- what was going on with the lights?- the doors to the closet slid closed once again, and in the background, Jane heard the toilet flush itself three times in rapid succession.
"Is Stark doing this?" she muttered, already plotting her revenge if it was so. Thor bellowed something about besting the tiny machine that dared threaten her, and Jane rolled her eyes. Thor was sweet, and she loved him more than anything, but the man was utterly ridiculous. She could see why Loki got so irritated with him all the time.
Jane sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, and turned back to Thor.
"Look, maybe we should contemplate a different approach to-"
"FOR ASGARD!" Thor screamed, and with that, he smashed his hammer into the window and promptly threw himself out of it, bellowing something about a warrior's sacrifices as he plummeted.
Jane stared, and the little helicopter buzzed its way out the broken window as well.
Approximately ten seconds later, a newly appointed secretary of SHIELD going by the name of Darcy Lewis screamed and brandished her Taser wildly as the roaring form of Thor himself dropped past her office window.
Steve threw the remote down, exasperation flooding through him, and grabbed the next remote. It would be just his luck that it was the lastremote he picked that would be the actual TV remote, didn't it? He scowled, his rare bad mood increasing, and started onto the next- and hopefully final- remote.
Loki cackled from the large leather couch he lounged across, watching the screen with growing pleasure. The security camera feeds played out in front of him, split into boxes on the huge TV, and he buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. This was just priceless.
Each screen in front of him displayed the Avengers themselves in various stages of incoherent lunacy, and all because of the innocent, completely oblivious Captain America- Loki giggled to himself. Oh, he couldn't have designed something this beautiful if he'd tried.
There was Bruce, the residential green rage monster, scared witless by a radio, attacked by rubber ducks, and then subjected to a suicidal remote-controlled table microscope; Agent Barton, trapped inside a fridge, kicking and screaming; Agent Romanoff, running down the hall in a towel after a traumatizing incident with the shower and an army of bubbles; the Lady Potts, victim of a vibrating bed and supposed "Paranormal Activity"…
Loki snickered once again.
Of course, then there were his favorites- the Man of Iron, the one Avenger that Loki could actually tolerate, chased in screaming circles around his lab by his own creation; and of course, Loki's own dear brother and his mistress, attacked by some sort of "Nyan Cat" and a heat-seeking remote-controlled toy. Loki cackled, shifting on the couch and crossing his legs, watching in interest as his brother plummeted towards the busy streets of New York, bellowing all the way and swinging wildly at a miniscule toy that followed him. And there- oh, how amusing- there, in the living room, was Steve, the infamous Captain America, defender of humankind- unwittingly terrorizing his own teammates through his own futile attempts to turn on the television.
It was bloody fantastic.
Loki smiled, narrowing his eyes as he watched Tony Stark flail his arms around like a madman and lunge at the robotic creature he had lovingly dubbed "DUM-E", attempting to wrestle a soldering iron out of the creations grasp. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of replicating the incident with the shower that Natasha Romanoff had been subjugated to, but with Tony Stark instead. Now that idea warranted future thought, he decided with a smirk- maybe sometime nextweek- and Loki leaned back, waving a hand and creating a bowl of popcorn for him to enjoy the show with.
It was for that particular reason that Loki managed to miss seeing Steve Rogers pick up the last remote and press the first button.
"AND IT WAS LIKE, BABY, BABY, BABY, AND WHOOOOOOOAH! LIKE, BABY, BABY, BABY, AND WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAH! LIKE, BABY-"
Loki screamed, and promptly flung the bowl of popcorn in the general direction of the blasting stereo before flipping over behind the couch.
"WON'T YOU ALWAYS BE MINE?! MINE!"
"WHAT SORCERY IS THIS?!" Loki screeched, grabbing at the pillows that adorned the couch and smashing them against his ears. "BLASPHEMY! SACRILEGE! ABOMINATION! BY THE GODS!"
The radio clicked once, and the lyrical horrors ceased- had that been a man or a woman singing?- Loki poked his head over the edge of the couch, eyeing the electronic box as a million curses ran through his mind, and blinked.
"HEY, I JUST MET YOU- AND THIS IS CRAZY! BUT HERE'S MY NUMBER! SO CALL ME MAYBE!"
Loki slithered pathetically down the couch again, wriggling until his head was wedged between the couch cushions and the song was muffled. Was this his torment for attempting to subjugate Midgard? Was this his punishment?
Curling inward, his entire body boneless and limp, Loki turned so that he could see out between the couch cushions, and caught a brief glimpse of the TV screens before whimpering as the lyrics filtered into his head once more. He squeezed his eyes shut as he buried his head deeper into the couch, almost exactly as an ostrich would stick its head in the sand.
"ROGERSSSSS!" he wailed, clapping his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the music- if it could be called that- completely. "STOP! I IMPLORE YOU, CEASE THIS LOATHSOME SONG!"
"-RIPPED JEANS, SKIN WAS SHOWING, HOT NIGHT, WIND WAS BLOWING-"
Loki bit back a choking, keening animalistic groan and smushed another pillow over his head- he was dying, he was sure of it. This was death- well, it hadbeen a while since he'd visited Hela, he supposed.
The music stopped.
The radio turned off, and before Loki could react, the real TV, not the security ones, flashed to life. Two people appeared on the screen, and Loki glanced blearily up at them- he couldn't see anything on the bright screen besides the blurry shapes of the two humans, and- what were they doing?
"Don't stop! Oh God, right there, don't stop! Harder, Walt, harder!"
Loki lunged at the TV, throwing the pillow at it as he went, and slammed into the screen. With a screech of maniacal desperation, he ripped it from the wall, smashed it to the floor, and snatched the wires from their outlets.
"NO! NO! NO! NONONONONONONO!" he yelled, jumping up onto the flat electronic box and stomping in fury all over it. "NONONONONONONO! I REFUSE!" Damn Stark and his graphic movies, damn him, damn him, damn him-
"I THROW MY HANDS UP, THEY'RE PLAYING MY SONG, THE BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY…MOVING MY HEAD LIKE YEAH, MOVING MY HIPS LIKE YEAH…"
…That was around the time when a fluffy pink Robo-Sheep- one of Tony Stark's guiltier projects- burst forth from the closet behind Loki, red eyes glowing and a deep, demonic, roaring "BAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" ripping its way from the speakers in its chest, just as the speakers exploded into, "IT'S A PARTY IN THE U.S.A! WHOAAAH-WHOAHAHOA-WHOOOAHOAA, IT'S A PARTY IN THE U.S.A!"
Naturally, Loki screamed.
…And from SHIELD headquarters, Director Fury, Agent Phil Coulson, and Agent Maria Hill watched in silence- and for lack of a better word- flabbergasted confusion as screams emanated from Stark Towers. Lights flickered on and off behind the windows in the dying sun, car alarms sounded distantly from the R&D floor, and muffled music blasted at random intervals- a thick red laser cut through an entire wall, sending rubble down into the streets below, and smashed right next to the Thor-shaped crater left in the asphalt. Coulson tilted his head to the side as an explosion of thick green smoke burst from one window and the unmistakable shriek of Loki Odinson followed soon afterwards.
"Should we do something about this, Sir?" he asked mildly, and Fury, his expression for once devoid of all anger and replaced by utter bewilderment, slowly shook his head.
You know, I'm pretty sure that, at one point or another, I actually had a life. Crazy, right? This is ridiculous. But you know, that's just the type of person I am- ridiculous. Completely, utterly, uncontrollably ridiculous.
So. Yeah. This is pretty old, so no, it's not that wonderful, but still, I find it entertaining. And yes, most of this is out of character, but hey, creative liberty, right? Right? …Anyways, I'm sorry for subjecting you all to this. Review if you want to, tell me what you think, etc, etc, etc, the usual stuff. Hope you enjoyed this, no matter how crazy I apparently was for writing it!