Author's Note: So I've decided to write fics to explain the things on the list of things Avengers should not do (found here: http:/capkink[.]livejournal[.]com/810[.]html?thread=990506#t990506). This is the first. Enjoy!

I do not own any of the Avengers, but do get quite a kick out of the shenanigans they get into.

1. Teammates are not to be used for target practice. Even if they did, say, put embarrassing footage of you on the Internet.

2. We are not to hack into laptops, private servers, public servers, security footage, or any database to find blackmail material that would lead to the first. Even if it was "way too easy."

"Jarvis. Wake up."

"Good morning, sir. The weather today—"

"Can it, Jarvis. Not right now." Tony Stark made a face, and set the glass of green liquid down on his desk with a definite thunk. "I need you to run a search for me. Internet, old files, closed files, locked files, anything and everything you have access to and probably everything you don't have access to. This is important." He flopped down in the chair and spun around, waking up the many computer screens with his touch as he spun by.

"A deep scan, sir. I understand. And for what am I searching?"

"Not what, Jarvis. Who." He stopped spinning and steepled his hands in front of his face. "Get me everything you can on Clint Barton. No man humiliates me in public and gets away with it."

He was buried waist-deep in the engine of a car when Jarvis interrupted.

"Your search is complete, sir. I have over three thousand hits that correspond to the Clint Barton you designated. They are sorted by priority and quantity of information, from most to—"

"Yeah yeah yeah, just bring it over here," Tony grumbled, his voice all but swallowed by the machinery around him.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't catch that." Tony pulled his head out of the engine and repeated his statement. A screen popped up next to where he was standing. "The results, sir."

"Thank you, Jarvis," he said absently as he wiped grease of his hands. After only a few minutes, he stopped, whistled, and stared at the screen for a few seconds. Then he began to laugh. "No! Really? But nobody—that can't be true. But—oh my god there's video." He selected the link. Soon, he was laughing so hard his face was turning a shade of red alarmingly similar to that of the Iron Man suit.

"Sir, if I may, you need to continue breathing."

"But," Tony wheezed in between guffaws, "But he was in the carnival!"

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you now, Stark. Just one."

Tony's eyes darted between the arrow resting on the bowstring and the rack of different bows sitting beside the man on the other side of the room. "You'd miss my charming personality?"

Clint raised one eyebrow. "Not a chance."

"You…probably couldn't keep living in my house if I was dead?"

"I can find another place to live. And I must say you'd be a novelty target. I've been dying to test out some of these specialty arrows." Tony was strapped to the metal silhouette of a man typically used in target practice.

He wasn't wearing the suit.

"Clint, really, can't we just put down the weapons and talk about this like relatively reasonable men? I mean, I hate to admit it but I've grown fond of my head and I really like the fact that it's attached to the rest of my body and all that…"

Clint's expression didn't change.

"You shared that video with the entire world, Tony. I think we're a little past reasonable." He settled the arrow and drew back the string. "Now. I'll give you one last chance. Give me one good reason to not turn your body into my human pincushion."