Chapter Text
By 7:00 AM, the brownstone was a battlefield.
Steve was standing in the kitchen, flipping pancakes at high speed, while also shouting at Clint to get his shoes on.
“Breakfast is the most important meal! CLINT! Shoes! NOW!”
Matt, already dressed in his crisp uniform, was methodically using his cane to navigate around Loki and Thor’s abandoned armor pieces.
“Can someone please move the giant hammer out of the doorway?!” he called, polite but on the verge of losing it.
Bruce, in reading glasses and a neatly pressed shirt, tried to help Tony organize the day's "cover stories" on a tablet.
“Tony, if you list us all as ‘foreign exchange kids from Norway’ again, the school’s going to call immigration,” Bruce muttered.
Tony scowled. “Norway sounds cool! And Thor is basically already Norwegian!”
Meanwhile, Peter was stuck trying to stop Clint and Sam from sword fighting with spatulas. Natasha perched on the counter, sipping coffee, ignoring all of them with a terrifying calmness.
Thor stomped into the kitchen with Loki trailing behind him, both fully uniformed. Thor carried what looked like a small goat in his backpack.
“Friends! I have decided to bring Tanngnjóstr for emotional support!” Thor declared.
Bruce looked like he might genuinely Hulk out.
“Thor. You can’t bring a goat to school.”
Loki smirked. “I suggested bringing a basilisk instead, but apparently that’s ‘illegal.’”
Bucky waited by the door with his arms crossed. He was the only one looking like a normal tired dad (minus, you know, the metal arm).
“Out. Everyone out. Now,” he barked.
Clint: “But—”
Bucky: “NOW.”
Clint yelped and bolted out first. Peter sprinted after him, muttering something about quizzes. Sam followed, still trying to fix his hair in a compact mirror.
Steve gave Bucky a brotherly pat on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, soldier.”
Bucky just sighed deeply. “No, Steve. I don’t.”
The group arrived at Gotham Prep looking slightly more put together than day one, but not by much.
Peter and Matt hung back a bit, glancing at the students already chatting at lockers. Loki glided inside like he owned the place, Thor trailed after him proudly.
Bruce tried to walk calmly, but he was already getting suspicious looks for muttering quantum equations to himself. Clint nearly tripped over a welcome mat.
Sam fixed Clint’s bag for the fifth time. Natasha pinched Loki’s sleeve to stop him from "hypnotizing" random freshmen.
Meanwhile, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, and Steph Brown watched from the second-floor railing.
Steph snickered. “I’m just impressed that one guy is carrying a goat.”
Tim scribbled notes in a tiny book. “Strange group... Might have to keep an eye on them.”
In literature, Matt quietly aced all reading quizzes despite "pretending" to read braille notes. Clint wrote "THIS SUCKS" in giant letters on his test paper.
Steve answered every history question with frightening detail, making the teacher wonder if he was a grad student undercover.
Bruce accidentally corrected the chemistry teacher on stoichiometry, making her cry in the teacher’s lounge later.
Thor insisted on reciting Hamlet soliloquies in a booming voice. Loki gave detailed critiques mid-monologue.
Natasha kept a careful eye on Clint, who spent half the period trying to flick paper balls at Peter. Peter, meanwhile, solved everything so quickly he had to purposely add wrong answers to blend in.
Sam doodled new flight gear designs, and Peter‘s laptop was confiscated twice for "unauthorized hacking attempts" — he claimed it was "just a pop quiz."
They gathered around an outside picnic table, away from prying eyes.
Steve laid out sandwiches and fruit like an actual picnic dad.
“Eat something real before you go sugar crazy,” he ordered, side-eyeing Clint’s seven candy bars.
Peter nibbled a sandwich while Matt listened to the chatter, smiling faintly.
“You all sound like feral pigeons fighting over bread,” Matt commented.
Loki smirked, “An accurate analogy.”
Thor, holding up his goat, declared, “My friend here deserves a taste of Midgardian snacks!”
Bruce hastily shoved a protein bar at the goat. “Please, just… anything to keep it calm.”
Natasha fed a stray pigeon nearby, probably plotting its recruitment as a spy.
Sam and Clint loudly argued over whether a hawk or a spider would win in a fight. Peter looked horrified the whole time.
Bucky checked in via comms from his "watch point" down the block.
“Remember, second day, so keep it calm.”
Clint (already on top of a roof in gym class): “Define calm.”
Bucky: “Not falling off a building. Not starting a goat cult. No illusions. No hacking. No lightning storms.”
Thor: “I make no promises!”
Loki snickered over comms, “You have as much authority as a wet sponge, Barnes.”
Bucky threatened to lock them all in the brownstone if they disobeyed. Thor muttered something about "puny mortal threats." Clint yelled, "Freedom of expression!!"
The brownstone buzzed like a swarm of hyper bees.
Peter was practically bouncing off the walls. “We should make a patrol map! We can optimize route coverage! And maybe—”
Stephen Strange, already wearing his Cloak of Levitation and clutching a mug of coffee that said #1 Sorcerer (Self-Proclaimed), cut in dryly.
“Peter. Please. You’re giving me astral migraines.”
Clint jammed more arrows into his quiver, smirking. “C’mon, Doc, admit it — you love the drama.”
Stephen shot him a withering look. “The only drama I enjoy is watching Tony try to fix his armor after a pigeon attacks it.”
Tony, fiddling with his gauntlet, scowled. “Hey! I paid good money for that paint job.”
Sam unfolded his wings, almost smacking Bruce in the face again. “If you guys break any more windows, I’m sending you the bill.”
Natasha slid her knives into hidden sheathes like a ghost. “Maybe I should just patrol alone. Fewer headaches.”
Thor, already in his full Asgardian armor, thundered, “TO THE ROOFTOPS! MIDGARDIAN NIGHT AWAITS!”
Loki, seated upside down on the armrest of a chair, rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “Brother, you sound like a bad stage actor.”
Steve handed out extra earpieces, mumbling, “I’m too old for this,” under his breath.
Matt calmly tied his boots, listening to the group’s commotion with a patient little smirk.
Bucky leaned against the fridge, already exhausted by the chatter, and muttered to Stephen, “You sure you can’t portal us straight to retirement?”
Stephen sipped his coffee, grimaced, and answered, “If I could, I would’ve years ago.”
They finally spilled into the Gotham night, each landing (or crashing) onto a nearby rooftop.
Peter zipped from ledge to ledge, giddy. “I LOVE GOTHAM! This is SO COOL!”
Sam swooped overhead, doing barrel rolls until Tony shouted through comms, “Sam! We are not an airshow!”
Clint tried to flip gracefully, but nearly fell into a dumpster. He yelled, “THAT WAS INTENTIONAL!” every time.
Natasha darted from shadow to shadow, already rounding up small-time muggers before the others even finished landing.
Thor jumped rooftop to rooftop, denting them horribly. “I SHALL FIX THESE LATER, MIDGARD!”
Loki walked casually, creating illusions of extra vigilantes to confuse any cameras. One of them looked like a giant goat in a cape.
Steve perched high above, giving orders. “Tony, stay in formation! Clint, stop twerking at the security camera!”
Tony hovered above, dodging pigeons, screaming, “I hate this city’s birds!”
Matt moved precisely, quietly, feeling the city breathe beneath his fingers and feet.
Stephen floated nearby on his cloak, sipping coffee and muttering spellwork under his breath. At one point, he cast a small protective ward on Peter after seeing him nearly face-plant into a chimney.
Bucky stalked the shadows on the ground, grumbling, “We’re a walking neon sign,” while shaking his head.
They spotted a gang in an alley below.
Thor: “WE DESCEND UPON THEM WITH MIGHT!”
Loki: “And they’ll hear you from three blocks away, genius.”
Clint: “I say we prank ’em first!”
Peter: “Guys, please, strategy—!”
Sam: “We ARE the strategy.”
Natasha: already gone, taking down two guys in silence
Steve: “Remember: no casualties, minimal property damage!”
Tony: “Uhh, define ‘minimal’.”
Matt: “They’re flanking east. We’ll need to split.”
Stephen: “I could turn them into goats… but that would be ‘excessive,’ apparently.”
Bucky: “Please don’t.”
They dropped into the alley together — a chaotic mess of illusions, webs, arrows, wings, magic sparks, and thunder.
Thor accidentally sent a thug flying into a taco stand. Loki’s illusions scared two guys into punching each other. Natasha and Matt had already tied up four guys before the rest even hit the ground.
Tony landed and knocked out two more, only to get pelted by a taco shell. Clint got tangled in a string of fairy lights.
Peter, with Stephen’s ward glowing faintly on him, webbed three muggers to a dumpster while yelling, “Sorry! Sorry! You’ll thank me later!”
At the end, Gotham had a new rumor about "a haunted goat god" and eight criminals neatly gift-wrapped for GCPD.
Back at the brownstone, they collapsed in a heap.
Clint immediately raided the fridge, emerging with a comically large sandwich.
Steve distributed protein bars and water, scolding Clint for "that much mayo being a war crime."
Natasha perched on the windowsill, scanning local news and posting snarky emojis in the group chat whenever someone found a photo of them online.
Sam sprawled on the floor, watching TikToks, while Loki watched with an expression of horror and fascination.
Tony tinkered with a mini drone on the kitchen counter, flicking chips at Clint whenever he sang.
Peter curled up next to Matt, mumbling about “next time we could swing by Ace Chemicals,” and Matt just nodded, half-asleep.
Thor sat cross-legged on the couch, enthusiastically telling Bruce about the “glorious fight,” while Bruce listened, horrified, already drafting apology emails to city council.
Bucky leaned back in a kitchen chair, watching Peter and Matt with a small, soft smile. He occasionally flicked bits of lint off Peter’s hair.
Stephen slumped into an armchair, cloak hanging limp, muttering, “I need a vacation. Or an exorcism. Or both.”
At some point, Loki conjured a projector and started playing random Gotham TikTok compilations. Thor roared with laughter at a video of someone slipping on ice.
Clint started a popcorn fight. Sam joined in, Matt accidentally dodged everything perfectly without even realizing, and Peter shrieked every time he got hit.
Steve gave up trying to stop them and instead made hot cocoa for everyone.
Bruce sighed, taking a slow sip of tea in the corner. “How did this become my life?”
Stephen, halfway asleep, muttered, “You think you’re tired? I had to watch Thor try to stealth.”
Later, they all ended up passed out in various tangled piles:
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Loki and Clint somehow under the kitchen table, debating which Gotham celebrity is the most overrated.
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Natasha curled up with Sam on the couch, both snoring softly.
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Tony on the floor, half-wrapped in the cloak of levitation.
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Matt and Peter leaning against each other in a corner, completely knocked out.
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Bucky sitting cross-legged with Thor’s goat sleeping against his leg.
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Stephen snoring in his armchair, mug still in hand, cloak tucked around him like a blanket.
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Steve in a kitchen chair, head tipped back, muttering, “Bucky…stop putting forks in the toaster…” in his sleep.
In the quiet, Bruce took a photo on his phone. He looked at it, shook his head, and whispered, “I guess this… is family.”
Outside, Gotham’s night pulsed on. But in this chaotic brownstone, the Avengers — de-aged, misplaced, and all mismatched puzzle pieces — had carved out something warm, loud, and unbreakably human.