“Anything happen?” Jefferson asked as he exchanged nods with his fellow front gate guard. There was always an hour overlap of shifts. It was supposed to give them time to go over any incidents, but after slow shifts, it generally resulted in gossip.

“No. It was really quiet. Even the guys from the space radar didn’t come out,” Smith responded.

“Yeah, but that’s not unusual,” Jefferson commented. “They’ll stay under for weeks at a time.”

Smith shuddered. “Man, I couldn’t do that. Not being able to see the sun? Not seeing my girlfriend? Or anything but the dumbasses I work with?”

“I don’t know. Some of those women are pretty hot. That blonde major?” Jefferson wiggled his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t mind being locked up with her. Or that lady doctor.”

“That lady doctor has a kid,” Smith pointed out. “She’s probably married.”

“I don’t think so. I heard the kid is adopted. From Canada or something.”

Smith’s reply was cut off as an alarm sounded from within the Mountain. The two men exchanged glances before tightening their grips on their rifles. A muffled boom followed on the heels of the alarm.

Jefferson lunged for the gate controls, quickly slamming them into the lock position. It would mean they were locked in with whatever had caused the alarm, but they were both the first and last line of defense. Everyone had to go by them to get into the Mountain and everything had to go through them to get out.

Smith moved to stand by him as the gates clanged shut. “Do you see anything?”

“No, but what…?” Jefferson stopped as people began to stumble out of the opening of the Mountain. The guards closer to the entrance herded them off to the side for triage.

A moment later, the alarm cut off and their radios crackled to life. “Code Green,” came the all clear a second later.

Jefferson clicked his radio. “Sir, was that an explosion we heard?”

“Someone had the oven turned a bit too high,” came the response. “I wouldn’t eat today’s special.”

The two guards exchanged glances. “Yes, sir,” Jefferson answered slowly. Clicking off, he asked Smith, “Did you buy that?”

“Not for a minute, but I also don’t want to end up as an X-File.”

I wonder where I heard of THAT prompt before *innocent look*

It had seemed like a good idea, leaving the city and the chance of bumping into someone who remembered him from before the war and couldn’t believe he hadn’t changed despite his time spent fighting in Europe. A rural backwater sounded like the ideal place to bring up Abraham, where he could play in the fields, and enjoy all the fresh air. But he hadn’t allowed for the small town mentality, which asked why he was there, and what he was running from, because no-one came there by choice. It lasted for six months, before they moved to another city.

“Who’s the hottie with the little girl?”

The whispers had been catching Natasha’s ear as she tried to finish up the assignment she’d been given, but the last, louder, comment caused her to raise her head from her computer.

Striding towards her, a basket in one hand, and Ariana perched on his opposite hip, was Clint.

“Mommy!”

Heads twisted around, trying to identify who the little girl was calling to, then stared as Natasha stood to take her from Clint’s grasp. “Hello, sweetheart,” she greet Ariana before accepting a polite kiss from Clint.

Clint hefted the basket. “We brought lunch. Thought you might like a treat.”

Natasha peeked inside, saying, “Seeing you two is enough of a treat.”

“Yeah, but we brought tea cakes,” Clint said.

The Russian grinned at the mention of her favorite sweets. “Let me finish this report.”

Clint swung Ariana back into his arms as Natasha retook her seat, his sniper gaze assessing the office. Bringing lunch to his partner was a way for him to get a look at her undercover op and see the situation. Ariana provided even better cover, although he wouldn’t have brought her if it was at all dangerous.

A few moments later, Natasha signaled she was ready and he passed their daughter off. It would allow each of them to have a hand free if they needed.

They were almost to the door when they were stopped. “Nina, who is this fine fellow?” the older woman asked. “And young lady?”

Natasha summoned up a smile as Ariana rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Ms. Brisby, my husband, Clint, and our daughter, Ana. Clint thought he would surprise me with lunch,” Natasha explained.

Clint smiled fondly at Natasha. “I’ve finally mastered the Russian tea cakes, Nina is so fond of. So I though Ana and I would surprise her.”

“That’s so sweet. Well, you enjoy your lunch, but remember you only have forty-five minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Natasha replied. She nudged Clint and they continued on their way. When they were out of earshot, she said to him, “She reminds me of some of the ‘nannies’ in the Red Room.”

Clint gave her statement the attention it deserved, which meant he didn’t comment on it, but asked, “How much longer do you think it’ll take you?” as he steered her towards a semi-private room.

“Two or three days.”

“I think we can manage to bring you lunch a few more times.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Getting out of the Impala, Sam slams the door, not caring how Dean reacts to that. He was beyond pissed and he wants Dean to know it. He stalks into the bunker and through to the kitchen, ignoring a confused looking Castiel and Dean's calls to him. He goes to the fridge and grabs a beer. Because, in this family alcohol may not solve everything but it sure makes it easier to manage. He downs the beer in three long pulls and tosses the bottle into the trash. He's about to stalk off to his room when he whirls around to find Dean standing there, blocking the only escape route he has. "Dean, move!" Sam yells and waits, watching as Dean stands his ground. So damn infuriating!

"Sam, Dean, is there a problem?" Cas' soft voice asks as he stands behind the non-moving mountain that is Dean. The brother who was somehow appointed his protector years ago when Dean was only four and Sam was barely six month old.

"No." Dean says, his voice is smooth not betraying any emotion.

"Yes!" Sam bellows. Because he's had it! He isn't up to his eyeballs 'I've had it', he's past that. He's over his head had it and can't take any more of this bullshit act of protective big brother that Dean wears like a badge. "I'm not a kid anymore." Sam spats out, hazel eyes flashing with the rage he's feeling.

Dean doesn't move, just looks at him with sad green eyes. "No but you're my kid brother. Always will be." Dean says and his voice is sad sounding. He's cracking and letting his emotions through. "What do you want me to do Sammy? Let you get yourself hurt or worse, killed?" Dean looks at him, a sad smile playing on his lips. Dean knows Sam's not a kid, he's a grown-ass man. But, he's always going to be Sammy to him, his little brother. The one he held as he ran from their burning house all those years ago. He doesn't know how to not protect him. Why can't Sam grasp that? Dean shakes his head trying to clear his head from those memories.

“If I want to get myself killed, that’s my choice. And stop calling me SAMMY” Sam yells back, realizing what a petulant child he sounds like and groans inwardly at himself. Because, he just gave Dean ammunition to use in his defense of protecting him. Stupid! He scrubs his hands down his face. He’s still angry at Dean, no amount of self pity is going to change that. “It’s not your job to protect me.”

“Sammy.” Dean clears his throat. “Sam, it is my job to protect you.” Dean says and steps into the kitchen. Sam eyes the escape route only to find Cas standing there. Crap, why can’t he catch a break?

“Sam, Dean was charged with your protection, your well being by your father . . .” Anything else he’s about to say is cut off by Dean.

“Cas, not helping.” Dean says curtly.

Sam’s shoulders slump as the fight drains out of him. How is he supposed to fight a losing battle of two against one?

“Look, I get that you’re an adult but I still see that baby I held in my arms as our house burned. How am I supposed to stop seeing you like that? Been doing it all your life. Can’t just stop, don’t think I can.” Dean says as he nods his head at his own words.

They both know it’s true. Hell, even Cas knows it’s true and he only understands their conversations half the time, at best. He’s defiant and defeated. This sucks! How did he just concede to Dean and his way of thinking? “Yeah, I know. But Dean you have to let me make my own choices, even if you don’t like them, don’t agree with them. You have to trust me that I know what’s best for me.” Sam says and there’s the rub. Dean does trust him, he just sees him as a little kid.

“Look, I can try. That’s the best I can do.” Dean says and Sam can see by the look on his face and the pain in Dean’s eyes that he means what he says. It’s the best he’s going to get, Sam knows this.

“Yeah, okay.” Sam says, accepting the white flag that Dean has offered him.

“The fight is over?” Cas asks as he cocks his head to the side, eyeing them both.

Sam and Dean look at him and laugh. “Yeah, it’s over.” Sam says, knowing they’ll just find something else to fight about. They’re brothers, it’s what they do.

I really wanna read this. It'd be so cool!