Chapter Text
Clint thinks that he might start writing a diary.
On the front, the title will read CLINT BARTON'S REALLY SECRET DIARY. And then it will go on to list the thousand plus reasons why Clint has lost faith in ever gaining sanity again thanks to Tony Stark and his godson (and Steve's yoga techniques).
There will also be something in there about how good his butt looks in skinny jeans.
Yes, definitely.
"So Boyd," Bruce says. He appears to have torn himself away from Angry Birds (damn it, Natasha) for the few moments to return to reality. Also, he smashed Nat's phone. "What's your opinion on justifiable homicide?"
Clint can't help but notice that he's watching Steve's silhouette in the kitchen as he says this.
"Oh, well, uh," Boyd says. He looks kind of confused. Clint doesn't blame him. "I don't know, you should probably ask Derek about that. He likes that sort of thing, justifiable or no."
Clint thinks that, were Stiles here, he would jump to his feet and yell 'NOBODY IS MURDERING ANYBODY.' However, Stiles is not here, he's upstairs with the guy he's in-a-relationship-with-but-doesn't-know-it yet, and thus cannot prevent the impending doom.
Clint, however, can.
"Is that a cat?" he cries, pointing out the window.
Boyd and Isaac look up sharply. Erica just rolls her eyes. "Where? Where?" Isaac demands.
They're out the door before Bruce can even say 'justifiable'. Clint does a little celebratory dance with himself.
-
Derek… is an idiot.
See, it’s like this: Stiles doesn’t like him. At all. Stiles likes – strawberry blondes with an IQ of over 140, with curves and warm smiles and soft skin. In fact, Derek is pretty sure Stiles hates him. After the Swimming Pool Incident, he’s almost a hundred percent sure.
Okay, 97.99 percent sure.
“Never doing that again,” Stiles says, groaning as he leans back and stretches like a cat. And Derek thinks strawberry blonde with IQ over 140 strawberry blonde with IQ over 140 strawberry blonde with IQ over 140 – “Yo, sourwolf, why you looking at me like that?”
Derek grunts. It’s a ‘shut the fuck up, Stiles’ grunt. Stiles doesn’t take the hint. “You’re looking at me like you want to eat me or something – talking of wanting to eat people, I saw you looking at Natasha earlier, you guys, huh, um, you guys –”
Derek stares at him. “What?”
What?
“Are you guys –” Stiles begins passionately, and then stops and flops back onto his bed. He looks disappointed about something, though God only knows what. “Hey, you’re still here,” he says suddenly, as if he’s only just realised this.
Which is just worrying in itself.
“Yes,” Derek says. He doesn’t say I could leave if you want, because he’s just not that sort of person. The sort of person who respects personal space, of course. He also has aforementioned complete lack of self-preservation.
“Everybody else has gone home,” Stiles tells him, like he hasn’t notice this.
“Yes,” Derek agrees.
Clint swings into the room. Literally swings – Derek doesn’t even want to know how that happened, doesn’t care. “We haven’t.”
“I meant the pack, Clint,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “Also, uh, do you mind, can you, you know, can you go shoot people somewhere else?”
Clint grins, eyes lighting up with understanding (what?). He hops down from his perch on the doorframe and nods, expression solemn. “Yep, of course, I’ll leave you two alone,” he says, still grinning, and sprints off down the hall like a child running to tell everybody somebody’s secret.
“Don’t know what that was about,” Stiles mutters, like he knows exactly what that was about.
“Me too,” Derek lies, in much the same fashion.
“So,” Stiles says, and Derek leans forward a little bit. He realises belatedly that this lives him positioned in quite a conspicuous manner over Stiles, all body parts touching and – oh, fuck. Stiles pauses. “Do you smell smoke?”
“I TOLD YOU NOT TO LET HIM MAKE TOAST,” Tony yells from downstairs. There’s a roar and the sound of something – or many somethings – smashing.
“He said he was hungry,” Clint protests. “Why should I deny the poor guy his toast?!”
“SMASH!”
“Uh, I don’t know,” Tony cries, “because I told you not to? Because I was upgrading the toaster and specifically told nobody to touch it?”
“HULK SMASH!”
Stiles’ eyes flicker between Derek and the door. “I – should…” He looks reluctant.
Derek gets up, goes to the bedroom door and slams it. “No,” he says firmly. “They can sort it out themselves.”
Stiles looks far too eager to agree to this.
"You know," Stiles says, "I had a dog once."
Derek is confused, which he finds is somewhat of a permanent state around Stiles. Stiles frowns out the window, like he's having a Dean Winchester moment or something. Derek tells Stiles this and Stiles looks like he's about to pee himself from excitement, whispering something that sounded an awful lot like 'I've always wanted to be Dean!'
"Anyway," Derek says, inching away a little, "you were saying..."
"Right. I had a dog once," Stiles continues. "His name was Rick. I called him the Rickster and sometimes me and Scott dressed him up as a girl when Scott couldn't steal his cousin's barbies." He looks wistful.
Derek waits.
"No," Stiles says when Derek doesn't say anything, "that was it. That was the story."
Derek stares.
"Look," Stiles says defensively, "Rickster was a great dog, okay, I -"
Derek steps closer, because he's decided that there's only one way to get Stiles to shut up, and Stiles' eyes widen.
“So…” Stiles trails off. Derek cocks an eyebrow at him. Stiles’ chews his lip a little as he climbs to his feet, advancing on Derek. Derek thinks strawberry blonde – and then Stiles steps close to him, all up in his face, and suddenly Derek’s thought train descends back to Ape Man capability.
“Look, I just wanted to say –” Stiles begins, and then the floor collapses beneath them.
-
“I just think,” Stiles says, bouncing up and down on a couch to “test its bounciness”. Tony secretly thinks he’s just doing it because on the inside he still has a mental age of a two year old. That’s probably why him and Tony get on so well, come to think of it. “I just think you should warn me before the Hulk smashes a hole in the ceiling.”
“It wasn’t even a big hole! And I got people in to fix it first thing this morning,” Tony argues, “testing the bounciness” of the opposite couch. “Your dad wasn’t even that mad. Also, Hulk caught you before any real damage could occur. Like squashed Stiles, for instance.”
Stiles just looked pissed. “He didn’t catch Derek!”
Tony rolls his eyes, getting up and pulling Stiles to his feet, too. “Derek is a big bad quick-healing werewolf,” he says. “He’s fine.”
“He could have been really hurt.”
“No, he couldn’t have. Unless he landed on a silver candlestick coated in wolfbane which, hey, totally not likely, though in the Stilinski household –” Stiles shoots him a look. “Fine! I said I was sorry, didn’t I? Besides,” he adds, a little defensively, “it’s not like I’m the one who made the hole in the ceiling.”
“No,” Stiles agrees wryly. “You just MADE THE TOASTER THAT RESULTED IN MY HOUSE BEING RUINED.”
Tony thinks this is a totally unfair accusation. The whole house hadn’t been ruined. Just, you know, three quarters of it. “You’re just angry because your loverboy fell through the ceiling,” Tony says cheerfully.
“Yes! Of course I am!” Stiles cries, and then realises his mistake. “Not that he’s my loverboy –”
“No,” Tony says amusedly, eyeing a beige couch thoughtfully. He wonders if it’s flammable. “Of course not, darling.”
“How many times do I have to remind you that you are not my sassy gay uncle –”
“Oh, look!” Tony says delightedly. “It’s not flammable.”
Stiles lets out a groan of anguish. Which Tony thinks it’s completely unfair, really, because with a non-flammable couch they wouldn’t be here. Non-flammable couches are completely underrated, he decides. “Tony,” Stiles whines, “coffee.”
Tony looks up sharply. “Coffee?”
“Yes,” Stiles says. “We are going to get coffee. And then as soon as I’ve got you nice and comfortable, we are going to have a chat about Captain America.”
“There is nothing to talk about,” Tony argues. It falls kind of flat.
“No,” Stiles says in the same patronizing tone Tony had used, “of course not.” He doesn’t say ‘darling’, however, because Stiles just isn’t as sassy as Tony, and they both know it.
-
Steve likes to think of himself as one of the more mature of the Avengers family.
He does. Really. It’s just that when a werewolf challenges you to an arm wrestling match, you do not say 'no'. This is something he is very familiar with. Natasha says it is some sort of Alpha male thing, though hopefully she means that metaphorically because Steve has enough on his plate without having a pack of puppies following him.
“C’mon, Cap, you ready for this?” Clint says. He’s rubbing Steve’s shoulders like Steve is about to go into a professional wrestling match – which, by the way, Steve would not condone, since it encourages unnecessary violence.
“Isn’t this kind of unfair?” Bruce observes from where he’s made himself at home perched on a log, his laptop balanced precariously on his knees. “Steve is a super soldier, after all.”
Isaac points out, “But Derek is a werewolf. An Alpha.”
“And Cap will probably feel so bad about possibly hurting somebody that he’ll let Derek win just for the sake of it,” Natasha says amiably. She is hanging upside from one of the branches of the trees that surround them, hair dangling down so that it hovers above Thor’s nose and makes him sneeze.
“When Thor sneezes I feel like I should be battening down for a hurricane,” Bruce says, not looking up from his laptop.
Thor only looks cheered by this. “Thank you, my brother!” He hits Bruce hard on the back. Everybody looks at him confusedly for a moment, and then looks away. It’s not even worth asking about.
“Are you going to do this or not?” Derek snaps grumpily.
Steve would be offended, except that Tony says that he’s always like this. The Alpha is even like this with Stiles, which, Steve thinks, is both difficult due to the fact that Stiles is a very nice boy and also the fact that the werewolf obviously harbours a huge crush on the guy.
“Yes,” Steve says, and then they’re off.
An hour later, neither has moved.
“This is boring,” Clint whines.
“I’m hungry,” Clint whines.
“Stop sneezing, Thor,” Clint whines.
“Clint, stop whining,” Isaac whines. Steve can see out of the corner of his eye that the werewolf is playing what appears to be Four In a Row with Boyd. It is possibly a more intense than Steve and Derek’s arm wrestle. Possibly.
“I’m going to watch How I Met Your Mother,” Bruce volunteers. “Who’s in?”
Clint looks thoughtful. “Only if you let me sit on the top of the bookcase.”
“Clint,” Natasha scolds. “Not after last time.”
Steve has a brief recollection of Tony’s bookcase, fire and blood on the carpet, and winces a little.
“Can we watch the show of my fellows afterwards?” Thor calls, trailing after the rest of the group as they go back inside.
“Thor asks if we can watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S afterwards.” Clint is already in the doorway.
“Only if he stops making references to himself being ‘completely Phoebe’,” Bruce decides.
“But we have the same luscious golden locks, my friend!”
“One of us is going to have to give up some time,” Derek points out. He smirks a little. “And it’s probably going to be you.”
Steve doesn’t argue, but he doesn’t concede the point either. “Well, if we’re going to be here a while,” he says cheerfully, “why don’t you tell me about Stiles?”
Derek stares at him. “What?”
Steve doesn’t understand why Derek is staring at him like that. That’s not exactly an invasion, was it? He knows that times have changed a lot since the ’40s. He thought he was pretty good at deciding what was a good topic for conversation and what was not. “Stiles,” Steve confirms, smiling. “You two seem very happy together.”
Derek stare seems to get heavier. Steve would be bothered by this, except that he’s friends with Tony and with Tony, you just get used to the What Are You Doing stares. Derek appears to realise that Steve is not going to suddenly take back what he’s said, because he says, very slowly, as if Steve is some strange specimen he is not yet accustomed to, “We aren’t together, Mr. America.”
“Captain America,” Steve corrects, not unkindly, and Derek begins to scowl as well as stare. “You aren’t together? Well then.” Steve tries not to sound as gleeful as he feels inside. Tony jokes all the time that Steve tries to make up for the children he never had by adopting strangers, except Derek isn’t a stranger, so it doesn’t count, really. Hah, take that, Tony. “Then why haven’t you told him you’re in love with him yet? You know.” If Tony was here, he would clamp a hand over Steve’s mouth so as to prevent the coming rant. However, Tony is not here. Also, why is Steve thinking about Tony so much? “I am completely for same sex relationships, particularly same sex marriage. As a national symbol of America, I believe that it is my responsibility to properly represent all of the peoples, not just the –”
Derek looks like he’s torn between being highly disturbed and amused. He apparently decides on amused. “Also, you’re gay.”
Now it’s Steve’s turn to stare. “Excuse me?”
“Stark,” Derek says, like that settles it.
“Tony and I have a completely platonic relationship that I take great enjoyment in,” Steve says mechanically. In his mind, he finishes, Perhaps a lot more than usual. “And I believe we were talking about your inclinations towards the male gender. Stiles, for instance, is a member of the male gender.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Derek snorts. “Let’s not talk about this. In fact, you’re creeping me out, so let’s just not talk about this at all.”
“It’s okay to be afraid of your feelings,” Steve says gently. The effect of gentleness may be slightly off since he’s slowly pushing Derek’s hand further towards the log they’re perched on. Of course, Steve could just win this in a second, but he’s quite enjoying this conversation.
“Says the guy who’s blatantly in denial,” Derek grumbles.
“I am not in denial of anything,” Steve defends indignantly. “I just don’t believe that Tony needs to know of my affections when it’s obvious that he does not return them.”
The Alpha had been suppressing his smirk before, but Steve says that, it blooms into existence like a really, really annoying dark and evil flower.
“Hey, you guys should start a club for people who are Blatantly In Denial,” Boyd suggests. Steve had forgotten that he and Isaac were still even there.
“You could invite those guys from Sherlock,” Isaac snickers, and everybody turns to stare at him.
“You are worse than a 14 year old girl,” Derek says with disgust. He’s still smirking, however, so Steve doesn’t think he means it in a mean way.
“Hey!” Isaac says indignantly. “Robert Downey Jr is a legend!”
Boyd looks like he may be questioning his life choices.
Steve can totally understand that. “The point is,” he says, smoothly steering the conversation back to the previous important topic, “I think you should tell Stiles.”
“Me too,” Boyd agrees.
“Me three,” Isaac concurs. “You can be the John to his –”
“No,” Derek says flatly.
“No,” Steve agrees, equally as flat.
In the end, neither of them win, because Thor takes that moment to throw Mjölnir in his fury over not being able to watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S. It would have hit Steve square on the back, but Derek pushes him out of the way first. Steve takes this an acceptance of their bromance. Derek doesn’t argue.
-
Tony thinks it’s completely unfair that he gets the blame for this.
“How was I supposed to know that the coffee was alcoholic?” he whines, gripping the doorframe for stability. “I certainly was not informed of such an amtro – amto - atrocity!” He tries to look passionate as he says this, and ends up stumbling and landing face-first on the couch that Steve has helped bring in.
“Yeah!” Stiles passionately agrees. “It was Lydia’s fault. She said she’d buy us coffee. Except she poisoned it.”
“In the best way ever,” Tony mumbles into the couch.
“Tony,” Steve says sternly, grabbing Tony by the ear and dragging him to his feet. “What have I told you about drinking?”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Stiles cries, and then throws himself across the room. He hits Tony hard and they fall to the floor together in a mess of limbs. Stiles begins to laugh. Tony joins in, because, hey, life is good. His godson is great. Also, alcohol. “It was all that big fat meany’s fault!” Stiles concludes.
Lydia, from where she had materialized with the two a few minutes earlier, says, looking horrified, “Hey, I am not fat.” She pouts at Jackson, who has also materialized from thin air. Tony wonders if that’s a superpower. Do they have superpowers?
“Do you guys have superpowers?” he questions honestly.
Stiles giggles. Tony grins happily. “Hey, Steve!” he calls. “C’mere.”
Steve looks like a lost puppy. A really, really adorable lost puppy. With abs. “STEVIEEEE,” Tony whines, and Steve is clearly so overwhelmed by Tony’s charm that he gives up on trying to resist and comes over to kneel next to Tony.
“What is it?” he says, smiling cautiously.
“IIIIII have something to tell you,” Tony whispers secretively. “But you can’t laugh, okay? Never, ever, ever!”
Steve just looks confused. “I…”
Stiles says, from his spot next to Tony on the floor, “Werewolves are fluffy.”
“Are you sure they’re not high?” Erica asks quietly from her spot in the audience. She sounds kind of distant.
“Our family don’t hold alcohol very well,” Sheriff Stilinski says. He walked in the door a few minutes ago. He looks strangely unsurprised, like this is something that happens quite often.
“Tony holds his alcohol just fine usually,” Bruce comments. He is looking suspiciously at Lydia. She beams at him innocently, but doesn’t say anything. Tony finds this equally suspicious.
Tony tries to remember what he was about to say. It’s like trying to wade through really thick liquid. Really thick alcoholic liquid. “I,” he begins, and then pauses. What was he thinking about again? Sheep are quite nice, he thinks. He likes sheep. Sheep never hurt him or tell him they don’t love him. Never, ever –
Oh, right.
Tony grabs Steve, pulls him close, and whispers something in his ear. Steve’s eyes widen.
“What did he say?” Tony vaguely hears Clint persist nosily.
“I’m in love with you,” Steve whispers so softly that Tony doesn’t think anybody but Clint and Stiles can hear. He’s okay with this, actually, because he so doesn’t need both the Avengers and a pack of werewolves teasing him about this.
“Well.” Clint sounds startled. “I think you’re a great guy, too, but do you really think this is the ti –”
Stiles mutters thickly, “You idiot.”
“No,” Steve says softly. He sounds like he may be going into shock. “That’s what Tony said. ‘I’m in love with you.’”
Tony snores.
-
Derek carries Stiles up the stairs.
Okay, so Stiles kind of attaches himself to Derek, thus rendering him unable to do anything but carry Stiles bridal-style up the staircase. But – still.
“Dereeek?” Stiles whines as Derek lays him down on the bed.
Derek pulls the blankets up to cover the lump of Stiles’ body on the mattress. He grunts his assent to Stiles’ not-quite question.
“Stay,” Stiles demands sleepily.
“Look, Stilinski,” Derek says uncomfortably, “The pack – we need to get back to normal –”
“Stay,” Stiles says again, and Derek stays.
He slips under the covers next to Stiles, nearly touching but not quite, and turns out the light. It’s dark outside – Stiles had been out with his godfather for the better part of the day – but it’s still early, far earlier than Derek would ever usually go to bed. But for Stiles, he lies down in a stupid, small uncomfortable bed and thinks about what his life has come to. That he does these – things for a sixteen year old boy with a superhero godfather and a twisted inferiority complex.
“Derek,” Stiles says finally, just when Derek was drifting off to sleep, “do you believe in – wait. Never mind. Stupid question.”
Derek feels the mattress turn as Stiles rolls over, facing the other wall. “Alright then,” Derek mumbles, and the sigh Stiles lets out makes Derek feel like he’s doing something terribly wrong, though God only knows what.
“Do you believe in love?” Stiles spits out, and Derek has to remind himself that Stiles is drunk, that this isn’t him. Because inside Derek, a wolf is howling, crying – and he’s so torn between punching Stiles for asking a stupid goddamn question like that and kissing him that he really doesn’t know what the fuck to do.
“It exists, but I don’t know whether I believe in it,” Derek replies stiffly. “Love makes you hopeful and it clouds your vision so you can’t see what’s really there.” Instantly, Derek kicks himself. It was a stupid, stupid thing to say, too obvious and too bare for this conversation.
As if to support what Derek said, he hears Steve yell, “He’s a good man!”
Natasha, speaking in low tones, murmurs, “I know. I just hope you know what you’re getting into.”
A door slams.
“What do you believe in, then?” Stiles wants to know. His voice is thick with sleep and alcohol, and he turns as he said this, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder.
Derek is quiet for a moment. “Justice, I guess,” he says. “Justice and – you know what? I don’t have a clue.”
“Me either,” Stiles rasps, and it’s like a mixture between a promise and a secret, sent off into the darkness for Derek to find.
“Go to sleep, Stilinski,” Derek sighs.
“Stiles.”
“Okay. Go the fuck to sleep, Stiles.” And Derek feels the boy’s smile grow against his bones, slow and warm, and tries not to dive out the window, to run away, because fuck.
-
So, there’s nobody there when Stiles wakes up.
He would find this deeply disturbing and possibly a cause for calling the police, but when he looks out the window, he sees Thor hovering in the air with what appears to be a baseball bat.
And then he sees the note.
Gone to play baseball. Thor’s idea. Of course. Back later xxxx
Stiles raises his eyebrows.
P.S. Steve wrote those Xs he said that I need to be more kind to you he doesn’t understand thautkisht –
It ends there.
Stiles puts the note down on the bench, and, whistling softly to himself, beginsto make himself an extremely complex bowl of cereal. He has a pounding headache, and there is something – something he feels like he should know and should, frankly, be terrified about, but he can’t quite remember what it is. He’s just moving over to the fridge when he sees the new couch, and stops dead. Vague impressions of Tony and him getting burgers float through his mind, and then Lydia sitting down and offering them – spiked and alcohol – coffee. Then – Derek.
Derek.
Fuck.
Stiles would be humiliated over asking Derek to stay, asking him all sorts of – uncomfortable questions, except all he can think about is the emptiness in his stomach over the fact that Derek left. So it wasn’t like they had had some deep and meaningful connection or that Stiles had even worked up the courage to do anything, which was admittedly reasonable since Derek was fucking terrifying, but –
Still.
Stiles has feelings, okay? Feelings. Feelings that are very much there, and that he wishes very much to not be there and –
This is what he’s thinking as Derek walks in, shirtless and all rippling muscle and scowls that shouldn’t even be attractive, what are you thinking, Stilinski? “Oh,” Stiles says in a very manly voice that most certainly does not squeak. “Hi.”
Derek cocks an eyebrow, sitting down across from Stiles and stealing his bowl of cereal. He doesn’t say anything.
“Hey! Dude,” Stiles whines, “that’s my cereal.”
“Do not,” Derek says around a mouthful of cereal, “call me dude.”
Stiles glares balefully at him. “Dude.”
“See, I’d much rather you called me one of those names you mentioned in your sleep last night,” Derek comments, smirking as he licks the spoon in an utterly obscene way that is probably illegal in several countries. “I think there was something about ‘big –”
“Okay! Okay,” Stiles squeaks (whatever, okay? Whatever). He mimes zipping his lips shut and proceeds to rest his chin on his hands, scowling. “You fucking suck, bro.”
This would have been so much more effective and less crude if Derek hadn’t been tonguing Stiles’ dad’s silverware at that moment.
“Fuck my life,” Stiles mutters under his breath.
And then reaches across the table, pulls Derek to him, and kisses him.
-
“It’ll be fine,” Tony soothes.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Clint says, fidgeting backwards and forwards. “I mean, we should call ahead first or something – you don’t know what might be –”
Tony rolls his eyes, throwing the front door open, baseball bat still in hand. “It’ll be fine, Barton,” he says, and storms into the kitchen.
Dear Diary. Today Tony walked in on Stiles and Derek making sweet love next to his evil toaster, Clint begins to write in his head.
The baseball bat hits the ground. Somebody swears. “Oh my God,” Tony says from the kitchen doorway, “oh my God.”
“I didn’t know that was even physically possible,” Clint comments out loud.
Okay, so they weren't making love, but let's just say, it wasn't the sort of thing that a child should see. Or Thor, actually, Clint adds.
“WHAT JOYFULLY CELEBRATIONS ARE OCCURING, MY FRIENDS? Oh – Odin bless us all! I believe I have just witnessed something that I will not forget for a long time!” Thor says.
“That’s one way to put it,” Natasha says, who’s standing with Erica and looking far too interested in this.
“Oh my God,” Tony says.
“Hey, guys,” Stiles says, hopping down from the kitchen counter. He holds out the cereal box. Clint thinks that it is important to note at this time that his neck was covered in suspicious-looking bite marks. Also, he was wearing Dora the Explorer underpants. Clint wonders if the Dora fixation is something that runs in the family. “Breakfast?”
I don't think I've ever seen Tony look so horrified. Which is rich, coming from him, the ultimate playboy philanthropist idiot. Clint smiles a little to himself. His diary will be the best of all the secret diaries.
Anyway, a normal vacation with the Avengers. Wonder if Fury's still furious.
Ha.
Ha-ha.
"Hey Thor!" Clint calls to the Asgardian when the others disappear into the kitchen chaos. "I'll watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S with you if you walk around naked for the rest of the day!"
Thor grins. See, this is why Clint is friends with the guy.
"It is a deal, my friend!"
-
As if triggered by Clint's internal monologue, they get a call from Fury that night.
"We need you over here, Avengers," he says. Tony always feels like one of Charlie's Angels when he talks like that. It's kind of hot.
No, no, no, no, ew. No.
No.
"Oh, thank God," Bruce says from where he's draped over the couch, Steve's ancient Nokia that Tony still hasn't been able to convince him to get rid of firmly gripped between his hands. "I've decided that this - domestic life, it isn't for me. I much prefer things in NY where things are quieter."
"Yeah," Clint agrees. "Villians don't set couches on fire."
Thor and Derek hang their heads.
Tony doesn't miss the high-five they exchange behind their backs, however.
"I'll miss you," Stiles says, and he looks a little teary.
Tony grins, pulling him into a hug. "You come visit the Stark Tower, okay? We could do with my awesome godson up there to - well, we'll find you something to do. Like knitting, maybe." He smirks.
And then gasps, because Stiles punches him in the stomach.
"Not to mention the werewolves," Isaac adds.
"Yeah," Clint says. "Don't forget the werewolves who can't even win an arm wrestling match!"
"Hey!" Derek yells from the kitchen, where he's crafting what appears to be a scarily tall sandwich. "I let him win!"
"Thor?" Tony says finally, sobering up from the warmth of the moment.
"Yes, Tony, my friend?"
"Why are you naked?"