AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just a silly fic I wrote for a friend a while back. It seems kind of stupid to me now, but I thought I'd re-edit and publish it anyway. Post-Avengers, everyone's living together at Stark Tower for a little bit. Have fun.

Now

Steve Rogers surveyed the carnage with narrowed eyes. Bottles of various spirits lay smashed on the floor. Game darts lay embedded in the televisions. A college-age patron lay drooling in one corner. And the street outside was much too visible through the person-sized hole in the wall.

It was times like this he most fervently hoped the serum would stop working. Maybe if he was as drunk as the rest of them, it would be funny.

Bar None was a gritty, smoke-filled joint just barely higher than the "seedy" standard as far as bars go. Natasha had asked if they couldn't go to one of the more upscale places in town, but one look inside and Tony had declared this was the place to be.

Now, as Steve looked around, he thought that maybe they should have just stayed inside after all. He had known this wasn't going to end up well, but he hadn't expected things to go quite this badly...

Thirty minutes ago

Thor had been decently buzzed for most of the night, but since the pool incident nothing outrageous had involved him. Then the group's tenth hour at the bar rolled around, and Steve counted a fiftieth tankard being gulped down by the Asgardian. He looked a little wobbly, but called for "ANOTHER!" in his usual fashion (before refilling the glass himself, as all of the employees had gone long ago).

But then the crying started.

Twenty minutes later, Bruce was rubbing Thor's back as the latter sobbed into the counter. "I JUST WANTED MY BROTHER TO COME HOME!" he roared, as huge tears dripped to the floor. "I LOVE LOKI DEARLY. WHY WILL HE NOT LISTEN TO REASON?"

"Just let it out," yawned Bruce, patting Thor's armor reassuringly. The scientist's eyes were starting to droop.

"THE TESSERACT WAS ODIN'S PROPERTY. HE KNEW THIS. WHY, THEN, DID HE ATTEMPT TO STEAL IT?" Thor's voice shook the whole building. "LOKI!" he bawled, burying his head in his forearms.

Bruce gave Steve a pointed look. It seemed they were the only sober ones left. A simple glance around revealed a scene of total destruction. Tony was still passed out, surrounded by broken bottles and puddles of vodka. The front wall was demolished, as were both pool tables and most of the booths in that area.

Steve smiled to himself, picturing Pepper's reaction when she heard about this. Then a wave of fear wiped that smile right off his face. Oh, golly. Pepper.

His next thought was: How are we ever going to get everyone home?

Two hours ago

Tasha was giggling.

Actually, really giggling. Steve looked on in amazement. He had seen a guy with a red, skull-like head, countless alien monsters, and Norse gods from other dimensions, but this would prove to be the strangest thing he had ever witnessed.

She and Clint had finally reappeared, after hours of unspecified activities. If the giggling didn't make clear the fact that they were both sloshed, the unsteady walks and unabashed hand-holding certainly did.

Natasha dragged her fellow assassin into the nearest booth, where they started to play some kind of game involving who could withstand the strongest charge from her Widow's Bite bracelets. Steve frowned as he watched them. Couldn't they get some kind of brain damage from doing stuff like that? He shot Bruce a look, but the scientist just shrugged. Steve took that as a sign to leave them alone. He cracked open another beer, somewhat lamenting the fact that it was impossible for him to even get buzzed.

Then, something made of glass shattered in the corner. Steve jumped out of his seat, assuming a fighting stance and looking around for the source of the danger. All he saw, however, was Clint standing with a dart in his hand and cheeks flushed with excitement.

The Hawk was looking at the nearest television—or, at least, what had been the nearest television. Now there was a game dart in the middle of a shattered screen. Spiderweb cracks emanated from the point of impact, making the news show behind them impossible to view. As it turned out, that wasn't much of a problem, as after a few more seconds the television crackled with electricity and died.

"Yes!" squealed Tasha, who had been watching the whole show and who, despite her Russian heritage, had managed spectacularly to not hold her liquor. She hugged her fellow assassin from behind. "Bulls-eye!" Clint put a hand on her arm and grinned.

"S'okay," he muttered. "Could do better." With one look back at her, he swung round to face the next television set. His wrist flicked, and the extra dart in his hand soared to its target. This one buried itself even deeper with another smashing of glass and metal.

Clint's grin grew wider. Tasha voiced her drunken congratulations.

"Get more darts! More darts!" she yelled. Within minutes, not a screen was left standing in the establishment. Instead, shards of glass and loose metal parts littered the floor along with the wood splinters and puddles of vodka.

Steve decided not to challenge their right to destroy the place. After all, Tasha was still wearing her Widow's Bites.

Four hours ago

Clint and Natasha had disappeared—God knew where they had gotten to. Steve wasn't about to go looking. Anyway, their escapades were nothing compared to those of Tony Stark.

After years of experienced drinking, Tony was more practiced than the rest of them at keeping control of his head under the influence of alcohol. Up until now he had busied himself with writing equations on the back wall in permanent marker and muttering Black Sabbath lyrics to himself, all the while mixing himself complicated and exotically named shots. But by the time the post-game coverage had ended and most other patrons had gone home, he took a sudden and dramatic turn for the worse.

"You know what I want?" he asked Steve suddenly, collapsing at the table where the captain had been sitting the whole night. "I want a parade. Or a statue. Or—or—something, at least. I mean, look at me!" Tony gestured frantically to himself. "I'm gorgeous! Not to mention the tiny fact that I saved the entire world once or twice! I flew—" (here he had to pause, hiccuping, until the room stopped spinning) "—I flew into space! With a nuclear warhead! I could have died! And what are the thanks I get? 'Oh, do this Mister Stark, do that Mister Stark, sign my baby Mister Stark'."

He took another swig of scotch before leaning conspiratorially towards Steve. "You know, Capsicle—sometimes I just get tired of all the babies, you know? You know what I mean, Capsicle?" He sighed dramatically, almost falling out of his chair as he did so.

Steve could barely keep from laughing. "I know your drinks have caught up with you, Stark."

But Tony didn't seem to hear. The glass in his hand was empty, and he held it upside down, frowning. "I thought there was a..." He saw Steve's beer bottle and reached for it eagerly, but the soldier held it out of the way. Steve wasn't quite willing to share, especially with his friend in this state.

"I don't ask for much," Tony said loudly. "I'm a humble guy, y'know? Just some recognition would be nice, once in a while. Trading cards. A couple of cult followers, maybe. I was kidnapped by terrorists, y'know. I had to build a freaking robot suit and my friend still died."

There was a long pause. Steve thought he could see tears rimming Tony's eyes, which was something he had never thought possible. When Tony spoke again, his voice was low. "And still, no one appreciates me. I could use some appreciation. But no one appreciates me. Bruce!"

The table shook then as Tony quite leaning on it and stumbled over to Bruce. The latter was in a corner booth, quietly nursing his second drink of the night (having decided that it was too risky for him to become inebriated). Tony hugged the scientist full on before declaring to the world, "Bruce appreciates me! Right, Bruce? You appreciate me!" When Bruce nodded, Tony nodded along, his drunkenness exaggerating the movement. "See, I knew I liked you! Even if you do get all—smashy—sometimes." He flailed his arms a bit to show what exactly was meant by smashy.

"Tony," Bruce muttered, "I think you're a bit drunk."

Tony gasped. "I am not drunk! Why? Arrrrrrrre you drunk?" He poked Bruce's sternum and tried glaring at it, but ending up going cross-eyed a few times before he was able to do so effectively.

"No, Tony," sighed Bruce, "it's not really a good idea for me to get drunk. Besides, someone's got to drive you home."

"Nonsense," cried Tony, "I can drive just fine. I can drive a car. Or a jet. Or a hello...helip...helicoo..." He shrugged, abandoning the attempt. "Or a boat. Or a goat. Or a coat. Or a moat." He frowned at Bruce suddenly, his eyes full of suspicion behind all the alcohol. "Why aren't you drinking anything? You should have a drink, Bruce. Do they make blueberry drinks? Probably not. What do you like? I like this." Tony held up the glass of scotch for inspection. "This is my favorite. Do you have a favorite?"

"I'm fine, thanks," replied Bruce, indicating his wine.

Tony's face got red all of a sudden. "Fine! Fine! Wine! Fine! Just sit here all alone with your lonely drink and your lonely face and I'll go over with Thor! At least he knows how to party!" And Tony stomped away, joining Thor at the bar, where they ordered round after round.

Steve went over and talked to Bruce for a while, catching up on what had happened since the war—there was always so much he hadn't been here for—so he didn't see Tony again until about half an hour later, when his final scream rent the night.

"Pepper's the only one who loves me!" Tony cried, before remotely calling the Mark VII and blasting the vodka bottles. Then he powered down his suit, laid himself down neatly behind the bar, and promptly lost consciousness.

Steve wasted no time in grabbing a marker and decorating Tony's face. He wondered how long it would take Iron Man to notice the bald eagle plastered across his forehead.

Seven hours ago

Most of the other patrons left after the pool incident, but some stuck around, either because they were too drunk to care or the football game showing on the screens was simply too enthralling to miss on account of an interspecies bar fight. Some of the men, spotting Natasha standing at the bar, had tried to chat her up before this point, but she and Clint had made it clear that she was to be left alone.

Of course, that didn't stop people trying.

Natasha was laughing at some old joke of Steve's—something involving a fighter plane and a jam jar—when there was a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find a scrappy-bearded twentysomething behind her, grinning.

Through the remnants of her giggles, she still managed a condescending tone. "Can I help you?"

The kid's grin grew wider. Steve remembered seeing him already hunched over the bar when they had first arrived. "Hey there, hot stuff. How 'bout you ditch these losers an' come sit with me?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "I don't think so." She turned to face Steve again, but the kid grabbed her arm.

"Hey." He snapped. "I was talkin' to you. I said, let's get outta here, baby."

Clint was there instantly. He gripped the boy's t-shirt and lifted him a few inches off the ground. His face was red, as much from the alcohol as from the anger he felt. "She's nobody's baby."

The kid was getting a little scared now—something in his intoxicated brain sensed the danger in Clint. Thankfully, Tasha quickly came to his rescue.

"Let him go, Clint," she said. "I can handle this. Why don't you go see what Bruce is doing?" When Clint had obediently released the boy, she put a hand on the latter's shoulder and smiled at him.

"Some boyfriend," muttered the kid, rubbing his beard.

Tasha's laugh was so high-pitched it hurt Steve's ears. He gave her a confused look, but she shot him a warning glance before he could ask what was wrong with her. "Oh, him? Don't worry about him," she said to the kid. "Why don't you and I go somewhere more…private?" Her hand slid from his shoulder down to his chest. The kid's drunken sex drive took over, and his grin returned as he began to lead her behind what remained of the pool tables.

Steve watched avidly, wondering what the Black Widow would do next. She may have been a little drunk, but he didn't believe for a second that she would cozy up to any passing college dropout. Sure enough, the pair had only just reached the darkest part of the bar when Steve saw the blue flash of electricity and heard the thump of a body hitting the ground.

Seconds later, Tasha emerged, glancing over her Widow's Bite bracelets with feigned disinterest.

"Come on, you," she told Clint, leading him away to a private booth in the corner. The latter followed with glazed eyes and the air of a puppy dog.

Nine hours ago

Once inside the hazy and hostile atmosphere of Bar None, the first couple of rounds went okay. Sure, after a few shots Natasha was sidling up to Clint, but everyone had figured that would happen anyway. The real problems started when Thor attempted to play pool with the rough-and-tumble types who frequented the bar.

They hadn't taken too kindly to his accidentally spearing the pool table with the stick.

"I MUST APOLOGIZE TO YOU, FELLOW COMBATANTS," Thor boomed as he looked down at the shattered wooden remains. The stick was broken, too. "I WAS NOT AWARE OF THE WEAKNESS IN YOUR WEAPONS." But, of course, the men were having none of it. Steve would have warned them, but he was too busy choking back his laughter as they "attacked", their fists bouncing harmlessly off the Asgardian's chest. Luckily, he wasn't wearing his trademark armor that day. Otherwise the assailants might have broken their fingers.

Actually, a broken finger might have been the best-case scenario.

"DO YOU CHALLENGE ME, MIDGARDIANS?" boomed Thor. "FOR I MUST WARN YOU, MY SKILLS ARE MUCH CELEBRATED IN ODIN'S COURT." When their response involved more punches and a sad attempt at a roundhouse kick, he took it as a "yes" and answered in kind.

His retribution was swift and merciless. When one of the humans inside the bar ended up outside the bar without actually going through the door, the establishment's owner decided it was time to get involved. Owners of bars, Steve thought to himself as he watched, do not generally like it when you throw a man through their brick walls.

He had to hand it to the guy: he didn't scare easily. The overweight man in the black collared shirt walked straight over to Thor, reaching up to tap the god on the shoulder. He could barely speak for rage, but he did the best he could given he was currently being towered over by a gigantic, muscular man with an apparent anger issue.

"Excuse me!" the owner spluttered, his face redder than Thor's cape. "What do you think you're doing? This isn't some kind of free-for-all! I'll see you in court, paying for the damages to my bar, young man!" Then he saw the demolished pool table, and his face turned an even richer shade of maroon. "And you've destroyed my tables? Out! And take your friends with you! You've already scared away my customers, I won't have you taking down the building entirely!"

Then Steve noticed Tony coming up behind Thor. Tony smirked at the civilian. "Is there a problem here, sir?" he asked.

"Is there—look at my property! What do you think?"

"I think it's fine," shrugged Tony. The owner's obvious attempt to stop himself punching the hero just made his smirk bigger. Still, he recognized that the situation had to be defused. "Look, I don't know if you recognize me, but I'm Tony Stark. Iron Man, okay? And I'm very, very rich, so I'll tell you what. You let my friends stay here and keep our tab open, and I will pay for every last bit of damage to your fine establishment. I'll even get a contractor to come look at your wall here. All I ask is a little patience, because my friends and I happen to be having a good time. What do you say?"

Steve thought the man still looked murderous, but his expression cleared up considerably when Tony then slipped him a couple of hundred-dollar bills. "Y-yes, I suppose that's fine," muttered the owner, slipping the paper into a pocket. "Carry on." Then, looking slightly confused, he retreated to the back office.

Tony smacked Thor on the arm. "How's that, big guy? Told you we'd have a good time."

Thor's voice crashed around Steve's ears. "YES. THANK YOU, MAN OF IRON. I AM TAKING MUCH PLEASURE FROM THIS MIDGARDIAN COMBAT STYLE."

The sound of Steve's laughter echoed through the bar.

Ten hours ago

The Avengers were gathered in the Stark Tower garage, admiring Bruce's new (and possibly stolen) motorcycle, when Tony Stark burst in. Everyone was in attendance except for Clint, who had claimed he needed shooting practice. Natasha had voiced her suspicion that his back was just sore from the nights on the couch, but nonetheless he had opted not to watch Bruce rev the Harley.

Revving the Harley was, in fact, exactly what Bruce was doing when Tony descended the elevator and voiced his thoughts to the group:

"Let's go out tonight."

Pepper raised her eyebrow, a half-smile twisting her mouth. "Out? Out where?"

"You know," insisted Tony. "Out. For a drink. In a bar." He raised his eyebrows and looked around at them all, hands gesturing wildly as he spoke.

Bruce laughed. The Harley's engine was now softly purring. "You don't go to bars. You have three in your own house, for God's sake."

"Four," corrected Tony. "And those are boring. I want the real thing. Sports games and dim lighting and bartenders who don't care how much you drink as long as you tip them."

"Who would have thought it?" mused Natasha. "Tony Stark wants to walk among the commoners."

Tony grinned. His gaze flitted to each Avenger in turn, too quickly to really make eye contact. "I'm serious, guys. This could be fun. All of us going together. Team building or something. Fury would love it."

Pepper laughed. "Tony, what is the matter with you? You're about to bounce off the walls." She frowned. "Have you been taking something?"

"What, I can't be eager to get out of the Tower for once?" Tony's hands turned calmer. He took a tentative step toward Pepper. "I'm not on anything, Pepper, I just thought it'd be a good idea. We've all been stuck in here since New York. JARVIS needs a break."

"I'm not sure it would go over so well, Stark. We can be a bit…volatile," Steve pointed out. "Maybe we should just go to the park or something."

Tony crossed his arms. "Oh, man up, Gramps. You're legal, right? Or have they instated a maximum drinking age?"

"All right, boys, that's enough," said Pepper, shooting a look at Tony. "All right, Tony, fine. I'm probably making a huge mistake, but you're right. You've been cooped up in here too long. Go ahead, enjoy yourselves."

"You're not coming?" Tony looked hurt, but Pepper shook her head.

"Someone's got to hold down the fort," she said.

"I TOO SUPPORT THIS PLAN," Thor rumbled. "LET US DRINK MUCH ALE AND MAKE MERRY."

"Big guy's in, I say it's a done deal." Tony grinned again. "Who else is joining the party train?"

Slowly, one by one, the whole team decided a night out was right up their alley. Natasha called Clint to tell him what they were up to, and soon enough he joined them as well. Of course, Steve claimed to only go to stop the rest of them from doing anything too horrific, but the fact of the matter was all six Avengers were going on the town.

What could possibly go wrong?