A/N: A little something for Singer Of Water (winter-is-ending on tumblr), whose OC needed a superhero name. I don't own anything except the freaky dog thing and the story idea; Barry is her OC and you should definitely go and read her Winter series and tell her not to quit writing because she is super awesome :3

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except a freaky dog thing. I don't even own the OCs. Anything you recognise is property of either Marvel or Singer Of Water, both of which were kind enough to let me borrow their stuff.

THE FIREMAN

The absolute worst thing in an Avengers fight, is civilians who can't decide if they want to scream and run, or stand in the way of whatever evil is destroying things now and film the entire thing. Most civilians are okay, but the ones that film and scream and come back for more…well, those ones just made everything harder.

The fact that they film almost exclusively on Starkphones does not help their case, despite Tony's half-hearted arguments in their favour (and repeated viewings of the ensuing footage which he insists is Hollywood quality, thank you very much. They could have died, but at least their video looks good).

There was a blue…thing in New York. That was all Barry knew about it. He'd only actually seen it once since the battle began; twice as tall as Steve and built three times as heavy, stalking around on four legs with rippling flesh and a snarl that wasn't unlike a dog. Maybe it was a dog. He'd heard Stark and Banner discussing genetic manipulation over comms earlier, but had lost track of the conversation as it veered into Science Bro territory, the kind of territory where you needed at least one PhD in something sciency or they shoot you at the gate.

Besides, he'd been a bit distracted by a group of wide-eyed civilians trying to get off the streets, some of them bruised and bleeding, one possibly with a broken arm. He'd had time to make a sling and roughly splint it, but he needed to get back out there, to the sounds of fighting that tipped him off as to the exact location of his team, and help them bring it down, before there was an injury worse than a broken bone.

He saw the beast for the second time as he rounded a corner, having followed its screams (and its path of destruction) all the way down the street. He arrived just in time to see it take a swipe at Steve, down by its feet and probably way closer than he should be, and then jerk upwards as Clint nearly caught it in the eye, firing from the roof of a nearby building.

And then he saw the group of teenagers, maybe six in total, phones held out before them like an offering to the gods (which was a funny thought, seeing as Thor was over there too). They were closer to him than to the battle, they weren't that stupid, at least – so he sighed and jogged over there, a hand on his gun just in case.

"You should be getting out of here!" he called over the dog-thing's scream, standing in front of them. All eyes – and just about every camera – turned to him, caught by surprise.

"Who're you?" one asked. "The Hulk?"

"Nah, not the Hulk." His friend elbowed him. "The Hulk has curly hair. And he'd be green by now."

"So just some random guy?"

Barry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Idiots, the lot of them. "I'm an Avenger," he said. "And you need to get off the streets."

"But which Avenger are you?" another one pressed. Or maybe it was the first one again. They all had the same phone in front of their faces.

"Don't have a name," he explained, trying to herd them all away. It kind of worked; they started moving, at least, but much too slowly, phones still busy. Was he allowed to break the phones of random teenagers while in the field? He should find that out, for future reference.

There was a roar and a thunder; he whipped around in time to watch Steve go flying, batted away like he was nothing, and the monster charging after him and these stupid teenagers. "Run!" he advised them, reaching for his gun and burying every bullet he could into it. The thing barely slowed, more confused than anything by the bullets sinking into its skin. Gritting his teeth, he reached for another round…and realised he was out, having not bothered to check his gear before heading out, seeing as he'd already been in it.

He ran his hands over the rest of his gear, but still didn't find any kind of ammunition. There was something sitting against his left hip though; so light, he'd barely noticed it until his fingers wrapped around the hilt.

And then, he remembered why his tac gear was so underprepared. He'd been helping Tony with the mystery weapon they'd picked up from some clichéd mad scientist's lab a while ago. Not that they'd gotten around to testing it, or doing much else than recording what it looked like (dark and sleek, a bit like a handgun but without the ability to reload). The big blue dog thing roared again, still bearing down on him, and his eyes flicked from it to the strange weapon and back again. Mentally, he shrugged. He was going to fire it anyway. Would have been just as dangerous in the lab as it was out here (sure, there were doctors closer to the lab, but he didn't really have time to be making a pros and cons list right now, did he?).

He pulled the trigger.

Almost immediately, a wave of heat washed over him, the kind that makes you feel like maybe water doesn't exist anymore and all that exists is dry, soul-sucking heat. Flames burst from his hand and onto the creature, not a lot, but enough to catch at its skin, and from there they only grew, engulfing it entirely and turning its blue skin red hot. It fell to the ground amid an impromptu inferno, screaming to high heaven.

"I think it's flammable," Tony commented over comms. Barry could swear he heard at least three different people sniggering.

When he came down to the team's common area the next morning (well, morning was probably a loose term), most of the team was already assembled, half-asleep and slumped over a late breakfast. Clint in particular looked like he might need another coffee or three before he was functioning. Tony and Steve, on the other hand, were looking quite bright-eyed despite the fighting yesterday, Steve cooking was smelt suspiciously like pancakes.

"Morning, Fireman," Tony called across the room, much too cheerfully. Barton snorted out what sounded like a laugh. Natasha looked like she might just shove them both face-first into their pancakes.

Barry traipsed over to take a seat at the table. "What are you talking about?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm talking about how the internet totally loves you." Tony wandered across the kitchen, phone in hand. "You're like, a real Avenger now."

"Tony," Steve said in a warning tone, shooting a disproving look across the room. Tony waved him away and handed Barry his phone.

There was a video playing on it, one of the ones from those kids yesterday. He was front and centre for most of it. Figures. He should have known this would be all over the internet the moment their cameras turned to him.

"They're calling you the 'Fireman'," Tony informed him gleefully as the big blue thing burnt.

"Fireman," Clint repeated, snorting into his coffee. If only Barry had a camera right now.

"Better than that video of you falling in a dumpster," he retorted. Clint's face fell.

"Aw man," he whined. "We weren't mentioning that anymore." And then he promptly chugged down the rest of his coffee.

"The video's fine," Natasha put in. "It's the name that's ridiculous." Barry had to agree; Fireman was not an ideal alias.

"How do you change a superhero name?" he asked as Steve set down more pancakes and a fresh cup of coffee for Clint (apparently they were all in agreeance that the sooner he woke up, the better).

"Media," Natasha suggested. "Go out and tell them you're called something else."

"Run away and join the circus," Clint said, clearly not taking this seriously.

"You can't change it," Tony said over them all, still way too happy about the whole thing.

Barry groaned and put his head on the table, resolving to dig up the dumpster video when he heard Barton's snickering.

"You okay, Barry?" Tracey asked later, when she came across him sitting on a couch staring despondently at the TV. Mario sat inside the screen, his kart crashed headfirst into a wall as he cried about coming sixth. What Barry wouldn't give for Mario's problems.

"Yeah," he sighed, throwing aside the controller. "I just really hate the internet right now."

"Is this about that Fireman thing?" she asked, sitting down. "Is Tony being a pain? I can hack all his stuff if you want."

He cracked a smile. "Yeah, it's about that. Well, that and Clint has somehow found a way to wipe all traces of the dumpster incident from the net. I can't find it anywhere."

Tracey paused, and he could just about see the cogs turning in her head. "Wait here," she said, and promptly rushed off to who-knows-where. He watched her go, then shrugged and picked up the controller again, putting Mario out of his misery. This was probably why plumbers weren't usually kart racers in their spare time. Should've stuck to fixing pipes and saving princesses, Mario.

Tracey came back seven races later (five wins, two losses, no thanks to Bowser over there), laptop in her hands and a grin eating up her face. "Check your twitter," she announced, and though he rolled his eyes he paused the game and pulled out his phone anyway.

And did a doubletake. Because 'Fireman' had now turned into 'Firebrand', which was eons better than before.

"You did this?" he asked, smiling wide as she nodded.

"Social media is easy to hack," she informed him. "What do you think of the new name?"

"It's way better. How'd you come up with it?"

She shrugged. "I have a friend who likes words." Before he could press any further, she dumped her laptop in his lap. "This is for you too."

Another video. He hit play, and watched with glee as Clint fell unceremoniously into a dumpster. "You're the best," he told Tracey, playing it again just for the sake of it.

"I know," she replied, struggling to stay deadpan. She didn't last long.

"Want to help me blackmail Clint?" he asked.

She jumped to her feet. "Of course."

TrashguyHawkeye was trending two days later.