Trick AND treat! 😁 You can do two separate ones or combine them. And let Hawkeye take care of and fuss over Charles.
I tried so hard to come up with something for trick but my brain is not braining today. to make up for it, I added 250 words to a very fluffy, very silly idea because this hit me IMMEDIATELY upon getting this ask and it took everything in me to not write this while I was at work. maybe at some point I can come back with an idea for trick?? but I didnt want this to sit in my inbox forgotten so I hope you can forgive me only doing treat, at least for now
The first snow of the year comes, perhaps luckily, when they have children visiting.
Charles woke that morning to the delighted shrieks and giggles of children, unmistakable in pitch and volume. The sound was so sweet he couldn’t be irritated at being woken up early, not that he’d ever admit that. He made sure to grouse thoroughly about the hour to his tentmates, knowing they’d rib him to lighten up before moving on, but would never let him live a moment of softness down.
He’s taking a moment, now, to watch. It’s after breakfast, he has a shift to get to, but he knows that post-OP is quiet and can afford for him to be a couple minutes late. The children are running around, bundled in their mismatched winter jackets and too-big boots, donated surplus hats rolled up extra to stay out of their eyes. Some of them are sporting distinctly fashionable scarves, while others form snowballs in distinctly homemade mittens. They make angels in the snow, they make snowballs and throw them at each other, a few of the older ones are demonstrating how to make snowmen.
They play. They laugh. They smile with missing teeth and genuine joy in their eyes. For a moment, just a moment, they’re children the way children should be. Charles is happy to sacrifice a quiet morning if it means-
A snowball hits the back of his head with a freezing, wet splat.
Charles goes entirely rigid, snow sliding down the back of his coat and melting in his hair. A roar of laughter goes up from behind him, and he immediately knows just who that laugh belongs to. He whips around to fix Hawkeye with a glare, only to falter as his eyes skip right over where Hawkeye is doubled over wheezing and land on the young boy falling backwards into the snow, laughing and pointing.
And, well. Who can blame him, if his irritation is snuffed out faster than a candle? Who could possibly be angry at the sight of a child laughing so hard he can’t stay on his feet?
Hawkeye straightens up, hands over his stomach, still laughing that goose honk laugh of his. And maybe, just maybe, somewhere deep down Charles can’t stay annoyed when he sees Hawkeye laughing right from his belly. Because that’s a rare sight these days, and maybe it makes the snow soaking into his shirt a bit less cold.
Of course, he can’t admit to that. Ever. So, he finishes his turn, schools his expression to raise a judgmental brow. “Ah, Pierce,” He greets, “I see you’ve found yourself a playmate. If only they’d take you with them when they leave. You’d blend right in.” He barbs, all huff and no bite.
Hawkeye snickers, wiping at his eyes, “Sorry, Charles, but I couldn’t resist,” He offers as a weak apology as he hunkers down to help the boy back up to his feet, “Somebody’s gotta teach the kids the sacred way of the snowball fight, and somebody’s gotta be the target! Thank you for your service.” He grins, straightening himself back up.
The boy points at him again. “Gotcha good!” He declares, with a big smile that barely has front teeth.
Charles nods good-naturedly. “That you did, my fine young fellow,” He tells the boy. Looking back at Hawkeye, he suggests, “Perhaps your teachings might benefit from a second demonstration? Say, some return fire?” He stoops down to scoop up some snow in both hands, clapping it all together and starting to form a compact ball.
Hawkeye laughs incredulously at the sight. “Oh, he has some fight in him!” He crows, “What, did you have snowball fighting lessons? A private tutor in snowball form?” He jeers.
Charles keeps his face carefully neutral as he forms the snowball in his hands. “Your confidence will be your doom,” He warns, straightening himself up, “Any last words?”
Hawkeye settle into a smug grin, raising a challenging brow at him. “Bring it.” He dares.
Charles allows himself a smile. He supposes it is fair for Hawkeye to assume he’s never so much as made a snowball, never mind participated in a snowball fight. It would be an activity most would likely assume he views as beneath him.
They would be forgetting, however, that Charles is an older brother. And wealth and status mattered not, in matters where Honoria Winchester and her insatiable need to peg him in the head with a snowball were concerned.
Hawkeye doesn’t see the snowball coming until it hits him square between the eyes and takes him off his feet.
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