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George Street was always busy around two in the morning on the weekends. Crowds of people came and went, some filing in and out of the many bars and clubs, some looking for a drunken feed from the street vendors, and some waiting in line for a cab ride home.
On this night, six of those persons just happened to be Avengers.
Some of the revelers recognized them, especially their homegrown hero, Bucky Barnes. Those few gave a hearty shout, or a pat on the back when they were close enough, but for the most part they gave them a wide berth. It was the polite thing to do, after all, and, well. They were the Avengers, not exactly the right people to make angry. Especially Banner.
They’d visited many of the fine establishments throughout the evening, and at two a.m. Bucky was leading them to their ultimate destination for the evening: a small bar near the end of the street (depending on which end you considered the start, Bucky supposed). A large sign outside advertised that, yes, they did in fact do Screech-Ins inside.
“Here we are, gang,” said Bucky, clapping his hands together. “Everyone in now, come on.” He waved to the burly bouncer, who gave him a nod of recognition and allowed them all in, one at a time. He didn’t charge them for cover, but Bucky slipped him a few bills as entered last.
“What is this place?” asked Clint, who was staggering slightly at this point.
“I told you, this is Newfoundland,” Steve replied, gesturing around him. “It’s… wait, wasn’t this a British colony?”
“Yeah, until Confederation in 1949,” said Bruce. “You know, back when you were in the drink. Speaking of which, here.” He reached out and handed Steve a bottle of Black Horse, which he’d already ordered for himself. How many he’d had so far, Bruce couldn’t say, but even with Cap’s enhanced abilities he was starting to get just as tipsy as the rest of them.
Steve took the beer and downed a large mouthful, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand once he pulled the bottle away. He clinked it against Bruce’s bottle before they both drank some more.
“Hold on, hold on, don’t drink anything else yet.” Bucky got in the middle of the group and raised his hands before anyone else could order another drink. “We’re here for a special reason, after all.”
“Yeah, to drink,” answer Tony, followed immediately by a hiccup. “Dear god, how much alcohol is in these beers -” He stopped, hiccuping again, before correcting himself. “In this beer, again?”
“More than in than American stuff you like to call beer,” said Bucky, chuckling.
“Yes, I have been telling them this for ages,” Thor bellowed, clapping Bucky on the back a bit too hard. The Asgardian was glowing and a little rosy in the cheeks, but was in the best shape of them all, other than Bucky.
“It’s why I’m sticking to the White Russians,” Natasha added, raising her glass in salute while only spilling just a teensy bit.
Making his way to the bar, Bucky put his fingers to his mouth and let out a loud whistle. That caught everyone’s attention, and they all turned to face him.
“Now, before we get distracted any further -” he started.
“How come they’re all paying attention to you, but not to us, the Avengers?” slurred Tony, squinting one eye as he examined his bottle of India Ale.
“Because I’m their favourite son, the biggest deal since Gushue skipped to gold in curling.” Bucky smirked at him, and the other non-Avenger patrons of the bar cheered and whooped in confirmation.
“...you seem to be speaking english but I didn’t get a word of that.” Tony shrugged and finished the rest of his beer.
“Anyway,” Bucky continued. “As I was saying, we’re here for a special reason.” He tapped the sign above the bar that indicated Screech-Ins were available here. “We’re here to get ye lot Screeched-In as honourary Newfoundlanders.”
“And what does that mean, ‘zactly?” asked Clint.
“It means that you’ll all have to do this.” Bucky turned around, then came back with a pile of yellow hats in his arms. Walking down the Avengers, who were standing in line, he placed a yellow Sou’wester hat on each of their heads. Thor’s looked comically small, but that only added to the effect.
“Now, I’m going to ask you if you’d like to be Newfoundlanders, and you’re going to answer ‘yes b’y!’ Got it?”
“Yes boy?” said Bruce.
“No, I… I think he said bye, as in goodbye?” Nat hazarded.
The other patrons of the bar laughed and shouted out the proper pronunciation, while they all struggled to get it down.
“What a sorry lot,” Bucky said with a grin. “Now, do ye want to be Newfoundlanders?” he yelled.
“YES BAI!” was the combined sound they all made, for better or worse.
“Jaysus, that’ll have to do, I ‘spose.” Bucky shook his head, then walked up and down the line. “Now, here’s the hard part.”
“That was supposed t’be easy?” said Steve, blinking repeatedly. He hoisted his bottle only to find it was empty. “When do we get to the actual Screech part?”
“Oh, you’ll know, don’t you worry. Now, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted,” Bucky flicked Steve in the stomach, making Cap flinch and everyone else chuckle, “this is the hard part, so pay attention.”
He cleared his throat and stopped at the top of the line. “I’m going to ask ‘is ye a Screecher?’ And the appropriate answer is ‘Deed I is, me ol’ cock, and long may yer big jib draw!’”
“Ok, now I know you’re not speakin’ English this time,” said Tony, raising a slightly askew finger in the air to object.
Thor just laughed and slammed his fist down on the bar, causing Clint to nearly jump out of his boots.
“There are several things wrong with that sentence,” Nat observed, though she was laughing as well.
“I don’t know if I can say that,” Steve said, frowning.
Bruce just laughed along with Thor, pointing at Steve and whispering something to the Asgardian, which caused them both to laugh even harder.
“Ok, ok, come on now, b’ys.” Bucky went over and pulled Bruce and Thor apart, leading Thor to the front of the line. “We’ll try it with you first, big guy. Ok? I say ‘is ye a Screecher?’ and you say ‘deed I is, me ol’ cock, and long may yer big jib draw.’” The rest of the bar echoed his words for the last part.
“Aye, aye, I have it,” said Thor.
“Ok, now pay attention everyone.” Bucky turned to Thor and put a hand on his shoulder. “Are ye a Screecher?”
“DEED I IS, ME OL’ JIB, AND LONG MAY YER BIG C-”
“WHOA WHOA WHOA,” Bucky interjected, much to the displeasure of the bar’s other patrons who were howling with laughter. Steve’s cheeks grew even redder than they’d already been from the excessive drinking.
“What?” asked Thor, genuinely confused. He thought about it for a few seconds and then realized what he’d been about to say, and began roaring with laughter once again.
“Ye bunch are worse than a lot of townies,” Bucky sighed.
After several more misfires, they eventually all managed to stumble through the phrase, though Bucky was sure Steve was skipping certain words. In the spirit of moving on, however, he let it slide.
“We’re almost done, lads and lasses,” Bucky said, reaching behind him one more time. He put his hand into a freezer and withdrew a large cod from it, holding it high overhead. “All that’s left before the shot… is to pucker up!”
The crowd hollered as Bucky went down the line, pouring up a shot of Screech for each of them with one hand while dangling the cod in their faces with the other. Once they all had a shot ready to go, he went back to the start of the line and held it up to face level.
“Alright, give ‘er!” He pushed the cod in close to Clint’s face, who was first in line. Clint closed his eyes, screwed up his face, and gave the fish a quick peck before quickly downing his shot. His face screwed up even more after the liqour passed his lips and burned its way down his throat.
Steve was next, and Bucky had a hard time keeping the fish from shaking from his own laughter. He followed through, though, even if Steve made an audible screech himself once he’d downed the shot.
The rest of them followed suit, with Thor being the only one to seemingly enjoy the Screech. He even asked for another shot, and Bucky obliged. Who was he to deny an honourary Newfoundlander, after all?