By Any Other Name

by Liannabob

A Clint/Hansel mindswap fic with a whole lot more plot than that statement might imply. I mean, lots of crossover shenanigans, of course. But also a plot. Please enjoy.

Originally posted at Archive of Our Own.

I recommend reading it there – this was preeeeeetty much just cut and paste and there might be some formatting kerfuffles.

By Any Other Name

by Liannabob

Summary

A Clint/Hansel mindswap fic with a whole lot more plot than that statement might imply. I mean, lots of crossover shenanigans, of course. But also a plot.

Please enjoy.

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Warnings/pairings/additional tags:

Natasha/Hansel, Clint/Coulson, Steve & Gretel, Clint/Natasha, Mindswap, Humor, Kinda distirubing sex scene (not noncon or anything, just kinda unhealthy), Bad coffee pot etiquette, Masturbation, Domestic, A general fixing of things, Angst, Fluff, Bamfery.

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Chapter 1

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Okay but seriously, please read on Archive of Our Own.

It's just all around better formatting.

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Fucking Asgard.

Fucking magic.

Fucking green-wearing megalomaniacal douche-nozzles.

The baddie-of-the-day was a blonde in a skin-tight getup that made Clint wonder whether she was using magic to keep her ample assets secured or adhesive, because that sure as hell wasn't happening on its own.

The bitch had popped up in Queens and by all reports had immediately started causing trouble. Agents on site had been able to confirm that most of the initial sightings of fantastic monsters had been illusions. The Avengers had already been en-route by then, and "most" was noticeably not "all."

Iron Man was already engaging what Clint thought was a chimera when he touched the quinjet down with the rest of them.

"Have I mentioned I hate magic?" Stark's voice came down their line as he finished blasting a hole through the lion-scorpion thing's chest. The beast flopped over, sizzled and dissolved into a green mist. "Because I hate magic."

The woman laughed gleefully, leaning against her knees to stare down at them. She was about twenty feet off the ground; not standing on a damn thing, just levitating there smugly.

"Tell me, pretty little mortals, where is Thor?"

"Ma'am, Thor is in Asgard." Steve called up after a pause, no doubt weighing the pros and cons of divulging that.

She scowled down.

"Liar. Liar. I've seen him with you." She sent a blast of green energy towards him that Steve deflected with his shield.

"Banner, we might need you to suit up here in a minute." Steve said.

"A lot of civilians still in the area." Bruce pointed out.

Widow and Iron Man were fighting something that bore more than a passing resemblance to a saber-toothed tiger. Steve was in the square below the woman, keeping her attention and dodging the blasts of energy she kept sending his way. Banner was in the quinjet, running an analysis of her magic and Clint was sat perched on top of a nearby church, picking off the smaller monsters she'd conjured. SHEILD had advised on a diplomatic resolution if at all possible, which was the only reason Clint hadn't shot her in the eye the moment they touched down.

"Enough of this." The woman snapped, and tendrils of green light wrapped around Steve, shield and all, and threw him into a wall hard enough to crack the bricks.

"Tell me where Thor is now, or I'll-"

Clint mentally declared diplomicy unviable, and shot.

She spun and caught the arrow before it could bury itself in the back of her skull. She smirked at him over her shoulder, and Clint had to wonder if they practiced that on Asgard.

She looked at him, then blinked and dropped the arrow in surprise.

...which was unfortunate, as that meant it detonated at her feet rather than next to her face.

She rocked forward, tumbling and losing control of whatever was letting her hover there, and hit the ground hard.

Steve rushed forward but she waved a hand and he froze on the spot. She hadn't looked away from Clint for a moment.

"Oh damn." He said into the comms.

"Barton?" Natasha grunted, and Clint could hear her weapon discharging.

"You." The woman hissed, and immediately, without visibly moving, she was in front of him.

"Fuck!" He barked.

She ripped the bow from his hands and flung it to the street. She blocked the knife he whipped out to stab her, and then her hands were on his neck, lifting him and bodily slamming him against the wall.

"Didn't you learn last time, boy?" She pulled him up and slammed him back hard enough that Clint was momentarily stunned.

"What last time?" He grunted, scrabbling at her hands.

Iron Man appeared behind her. Clint kept his eyes on her, not giving his position away.

She flung a hand back and Tony dropped in a cloud of green fog, thankfully hitting the roof rather than the street.

"Playing coy doesn't suit you. I'm sure your lovely sister did not find me so forgettable."

"Lady, what the fuck are you talking about?" He spat, channeling his fear into anger.

She pressed into his space, laying her stomach flat against his groin, her breasts against his armor.

She smelled like apples.

Of course she did.

Her fingernails dug firmly into his neck and her eyes bore into his, the green of them glittering with power in an uncomfortably similar fashion to Loki's.

She stared hard, not moving, and Clint felt an itching, slimy sensation in his brain, an invasion that wasn't physical.

He panicked, terrified, but the blue haze of possession didn't come over him. It was uncomfortable but when she loosened her grip, Clint was still himself.

He took a shaky breath, relieved breath, heart still pounding. She hadn't loosened her grip enough for him to get free, but he'd take 'not mind controlled' as a damn good starting point.

"Truly? Oh," She laughed, "Oh, oh, oh, this is too good, this is much too good. I could not have crafted a more perfect vessel." She smirked in sadistic pleasure, and Clint thrashed to free himself, not at all liking the look she gave him.

"Say goodbye, boy."

Clint felt a squeezing in his mind, a pressure that made him scream, made his eyes roll back in his head.

It lasted an excruciating length of time, and then everything fell away to darkness.

"-up, c'mon, move your ass."

A hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

Clint snapped back to full alertness immediately, grabbing the person shaking him by the upper arm and spinning to pin them to the ground.

The person – the woman – rolled with the impact, springing out of his grip with a fluidity he associated with Natasha and no one else.

This wasn't Natasha.

She crouched out of his range, head tilted in fond concern.

"Bad dreams?" She asked.

She was beautiful. Pale, with dark hair and dark eyes and a fondness for form-fitting leather.

"What?" His throat was so dry it hurt. His head throbbed with pain.

He glanced around.

"Where the fuck am I?" He barked. "And who are you?"

Was this a goddamned cave?

"Hansel?" She frowned, reaching out a hand to his face.

He batted it away sharply, too on edge to be touched.

There was a sound from behind him, deep and displeased, that made Clint think of a bear. He turned his head warily, not wanting to look away from the girl but not wanting to leave whatever could make a sound like that unassessed.

The… thing, met his eyes and glowered.

Clint scrambled towards the woman, liking his odds with her better.

The Hulk-like thing rose, flexing its hands.

"Edward, it's alright. Hansel, what's going on?" She reached for his face again.

Clint stared.

The battle came rushing back to him, that squeezing in his head, the magic, the darkness.

The conversation beforehand.

He looked at this woman, distress starting to show at the corners of her eyes when he backed away from her fingers again.

"Are you… my sister?" He asked, the words feeling ridiculous in his mouth.

"Hansel, this isn't funny."

"Yeah, okay," Clint rubbed his eyes, "We have a problem here. I'm not Hansel."

Hansel groaned and rolled over, stretching a hand out for his weapon or sister. Either would do.

His head ached.

He pressed his cheek into his coat and let his hand fall empty against the cave floor and breathed through the throbbing behind his eyes for a while.

His coat smelled wrong.

He cracked an eye, and then both. He stared stupidly at the pillow where his coat should be. He was out of the – holy fuck, BED – and reeling when his feet hit the cold, smooth floor a moment later.

He was in a white room that he sure as hell hadn't fallen asleep in.

"Gretel?" He coughed. God, his throat was dry.

The room was empty.

He was wearing soft, ridiculous clothing. Thin to the point of useless, a dangerously eye-catching blue. His feet were bare.

"Gretel!" He yelled. The door, when he tried to open it, was locked.

Where were his weapons? Where was his sister? Where the fuck was he?

He kicked the door, bare foot smarting against the metal – god, metal. Who the hell made metal doors? He kicked again. Again.

The door opened and he barely caught his balance in time.

There was a slender, red-haired woman on the other side of the door, a large blond man behind her in the hallway.

"Barton." She said, eyeing him carefully. Hansel was used to that look, that assessment of how things would go in a fight with him.

"Where is my sister?"

Her eyes widened. She tapped her ear – or, no, the device in her ear, Hansel saw.

"We have a problem." She said.

Hansel entirely agreed.

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Chapter 2

"We have a problem," She said, and gave him a look that warned him not to move.

Hansel tensed.

The woman relaxed and gave him a reassuring smile.

Hansel tensed further.

"What is this place?" He demanded. "Who are you people, and where the FUCK is Gretel?"

"Son, calm down." The big blond said. Hansel glared at him. A third man walked up, less of an obvious threat with his smaller frame and glasses perched unevenly on his nose, but he was still one more stranger between Hansel and a way out.

Hansel grabbed what he'd thought was a glass jar, ready to break it and use it as a weapon if he needed to, but it was far too light. He was so surprised he took his eyes off the three to stare at the not-glass in his hand.

The woman moved forward and Hansel backed into the room, wanting space if it came to blows.

She paused in the doorway.

"My name is Natasha. This is Steve and Bruce. Who are you?" The woman – Natasha – said, indicating herself and the men behind her.

"Hansel."

"Hansel." Bruce repeated.

Hansel nodded.

"And – did I hear you say your sister's name is Gretel?" He asked, giving Hansel a disbelieving look. It was different from the awe-struck adoration of the scrawny youths that hero-worshipped them. This had an edge of amusement to it, and Hansel bristled.

"Okay, Hansel," Natasha smoothed, ignoring Bruce, "You've got a few options here. You could fight us, you could try to run, or you could cooperate with us. I recommend the last one."

Hansel snorted. "You would." He turned the weird jar over in his hands and decided it could be a decent projectile, even if it wasn't glass.

"You will lose that fight. You will not be able to leave. But if you cooperate with us," She said firmly, answering his glare with one of her own, "It'll get you back to your sister that much faster." She finished, eyebrow raised in challenge.

"You do have Gretel." He said, anger flaring.

"No," She said immediately, sincerely, and Hansel believed her.

A pit opened in his stomach.

"We believe you've been part of a magical attack," Bruce said, tucking the stem of his glasses into the collar of his shirt. He clasped his hands casually in front of himself.

"A witch?" Hansel asked sharply, and then thought: how fucked is my life that the possibility of a witch makes me feel steadier?

"I'm going to go with 'yes' on that one. It sounded like she had some history with, I think, you."

Hansel tipped his head.

"What did she look like?"

"Blonde," Natasha answered. "Hair down to here," She held a hand below her ribs, "Wore green."

"Did she mention someone named 'Thor'?" He asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Yes!" Steve perked up.

Hansel set the jar down on the table with a dissatisfying light 'thunk.'

"Amora." He said. "God damn it." He rubbed his eyes.

"Amora?" Bruce prompted.

Hansel dropped his hand and looked at them. Steve's face was ridiculously earnest, Bruce so much of a non-combatant that Hansel's eyes almost glided right over him.

And Natasha. The way she held herself, the way she looked at him; it made him think of Gretel so completely that her absence sent a pang through him.

He nodded to himself and decided to trust them for the time being.

"Give me back my clothes and weapons and I'll tell you the story."

Natasha tapped the device at her ear again.

"Bring me Barton's clothes." She ordered.

"Who's 'Barton?'" Hansel asked.

"Barton is the man you're currently wearing."

Hansel twitched.

"Excuse me?"

"This is our friend's body," Bruce said, hand sweeping in his direction.

Hansel looked down at his hands, but they looked like his hands. His nails maybe looked cleaner, a few lines where he didn't remember them, but his freckles were exactly where they always were. These were definitely his hands. He touched his face, and then frowned at them.

"…no?" He tried. "Do you have a mirror?"

"Come." Natasha turned and strode away. Bruce followed with a glance at Hansel. Steve gestured for Hansel to precede him.

Hansel didn't like having the big blond at his back, but curiosity was getting the better of him.

The hallway was more of the disturbingly clean, rigid right angles, more metal doors and thin stone floors.

Natasha opened a door and waved him in, fingers doing something on the wall that caused the dark room to flood with light.

He twitched sharply, hand going for a weapon he wasn't carrying.

"Not big on electricity where you're from?" Bruce asked wryly.

"What?"

"The helicarrier's going to be fun." Bruce muttered, almost to himself.

Hansel glared. He glanced up and realized all the lights were strange. His skin prickled with unease.

"Hansel," Natasha said softly, and waved for him to enter the room.

There was a mirror visible inside, on the wall over a basin.

Hansel stepped into the little room, not sure what he was expecting to see. The idea of wearing another man's body unsettled him, made his heart pound. He wasn't sure he wanted to see, now that he was here. Gretel would have called him on his cowardice if she'd been here, but she wasn't. She wasn't.

Natasha frowned at his hesitation, and that was the push he needed to man up.

He stood in front of the mirror, braced himself, and slowly looked up.

And blinked.

He huffed a laugh, relief making his knees weak for a moment.

"I think you're mistaken," He said, turning back to them. "This is my face."

"Lift your shirt." Natasha said quietly.

Hansel glanced at Bruce and Steve.

"A little forward, don't you think?"

She gave him exactly the unimpressed look he knew so well from his sister.

"Look at his scars." She told him flatly.

Hansel paused again, but pulled up the shirt.

He stared at the flesh of his belly split by a long, white mark that certainly wasn't his. Circular puckers and the smears of burn marks dotted his skin.

There was a smudge of black peeking up from the pants, running along his hip. He nudged the waistband down and saw a tattoo.

He dropped the shirt and stared at Natasha, feeling abruptly ill and unsteady.

"Well, fuck." He said, with feeling.

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Chapter 3

The woman glared at him.

"That isn't funny."

"No," Clint agreed readily, "No, it really isn't."

He ran his hands over his body, checking for injuries, looking in the pockets of these unfamiliar clothes.

Bullets, metal coins, tack, a vial full of clear liquid, a garroting wire. Knives and more ammo at his belt.

His ribs felt a little tender down his left side. He shifted his weight and felt a soreness that he hoped was just a bruised tailbone. His knuckles were scratched and scabbed and his head still pounded. He was thirsty.

He'd been worse.

The boots were heavy. The clothes were thick, obviously used for armor. His arms were left bare, he noted, pleased that his mobility wasn't going to be hampered.

Clint picked up the… gun? He regarded it. Gun. Weird design, but definitely a weapon he could use. Christ, with the weight of the thing, it'd be effective as a bludgeon even if it wasn't loaded.

"Hansel?" The woman had a crossbow across her back, a gun at her hip, knives in her boot and strapped to her thigh.

She reminded him strongly of Natasha.

The fear creeping into her eyes was enough to dispel the association.

He turned away and walked towards the light at the mouth of the cave, wanting to get his bearings.

The Hulk-thing, Edward, grunted in displeasure.

Clint kept moving steadily and slowly, not running even though his skin was prickling because running was a sure-fire way to trigger a prey impulse, and he did not want to get in a fight with that thing. He didn't like his odds.

The cave opened on an expanse of yellow dessert. There were enough cacti around that he didn't think they were too far outside of civilization. Impossible to pin down a location with so little information, though.

He felt the girl come up behind him, silent as a cat in a way Clint thought was more habit than intention.

"Where are we?" He asked.

A little ways in the distance, there was a solitary figure coming towards them, lopsided with the weight of whatever he was carrying.

"The desert," She said flatly. "Why do you say you're not my brother?"

"What are we doing here?"

"No," She said sharply, her body whipcord tense. "I answered your question; you answer mine."

Clint looked at the white-knuckled fist she had wrapped around the handle of the knife at her belt.

He met her eyes and decided not to point out that she hadn't actually answered his question. She was scared and armed and it seemed like a bad idea.

"My name is Clint Barton. I was in a fight…. Yesterday, maybe? She used magic, did something to my mind. This is not where I'm supposed to be."

"Clint Barton," She said, and snorted. "That's a stupid name, Hansel, and this joke isn't funny."

"'Hansel' is so much better? What would that make you, 'Gretel?'"

She punched him in the arm, fast and hard.

"It's been five days since the witch. What are you doing?" She hissed at him.

Clint rubbed his arm and stared at her.

"Wait, are you actually Gretel? Hansel and Gretal? Fuck me. Fucking magic. And I've got to know, what's his deal?" Clint said, nodding at... Edward.

Gretel flicked her eyes to him and back.

"He's a troll." She said. There was a silent 'duh' tacked on the end, like Clint should know that. Like trolls were a thing.

Clint somehow doubted he'd have a lot of luck contacting SHIELD to report this.

Something on his wrist started buzzing and vibrating. He frowned at the device strapped there, eyeing the mechanism for a moment. He twisted it and it fell silent.

Gretel looked at him expectantly.

Clint slung the gun across his back. Whatever was going on here didn't feel like it was going to be a fight.

The weapon hung against him perfectly, the straps clearly sized to him.

The figure Clint had spotted earlier was close enough now that Clint could see it was a young man. The boy raised an arm in greeting, noticing Clint noticing him, and then had to immediately fumble that hand back in place as the bag he was carrying slipped.

Clint felt a wave of fatigue hit him. He locked his knees and waited for it to pass.

He shook his head roughly when it didn't, pressing fingers against his eyelids.

He wavered and made the executive decision that sitting down would be better than falling down. He slid against the cave wall until his ass hit sand. His bruised tailbone didn't thank him.

"What's wrong with me?" He asked Gretel when she simply continued to watch him, clearly waiting for something.

"Edward, my bag." She called over her shoulder, not looking away from him. Her features were tight with a mix of fear and resolve.

Edward lumbered forward and handed her a dark leather satchel. She drew a syringe from it.

"Oh, hey, what -?" Clint started.

She pushed a hand against his chest, shoving him back against the wall and jabbed him in the thigh. God, she reminded him of Nat.

She met his wide-eyed gaze levelly. For a long moment they just stared at each other.

And then Clint felt whatever she'd injected him with take a hold. The weakness in his limbs faded and his shaking steadied.

"What's wrong with me?" He asked again.

Gretel returned the syringe to the bag and pet Edward on one large hand, smiling up at him approvingly.

"Sugar sickness." She took Clint's wrist and twisted the mechanism the rest of the way. "You take your medicine when the alarm winds down, or you die."

"Sugar sickness. Diabetes? Did I get it from eating a house made of candy?" He muttered, tone sullen and mocking. Diabetes. This might be a problem.

Gretel gave him an unimpressed look.

"Wait, DID I get it from eating a house made of candy?" He repeated incredulously.

"You said you fought a witch yesterday," She said, ignoring him, "Describe her."

Clint frowned, not quite ready to let the candy-house thing go (because, seriously? Hansel and Gretel and witches? Someone was clearly fucking with him), but he answered anyway.

"Blonde hair, green eyes, fantastic tits." He held cupped hands in front of his chest, indicating the size. Gretel narrowed her eyes. "Tight green outfit." He added hastily.

"Amora." Gretel breathed. "We ran across her maybe four months ago. She was different than the others. Her magic could touch us. She pulled my shoulder out of place - nearly pulled it off, felt like. And… she swapped Edward's and Ben's minds." Gretel's gaze on him was fierce.

"Gretel," Clint asked tightly, "Did they swap back?"

She nodded. "After about a week. It was a long week."

"How did you get her to fix it?"

"We didn't. She disappeared right after she made the switch and mocked us. We couldn't find her again, and we looked hard. We thought they were going to be stuck like that, but in the middle of a job they just," She crossed her hands. "We don't know if she undid it, or if it was something that had a time limit, or if it was something the witch we were fighting did."

"Terrific." Clint muttered. "Wait," He added as something occurred to him, "Do you have a mirror?"

She gave him a level look, then pulled a slim rectangular case from her pocket and passed it to him. Clint carefully did not make a comment, knowing Natasha would have stabbed him if he accused her of being girly.

He flicked it open and regarded himself.

"Well. Yeah, she was not wrong."

"What?"

"Amora. She said I looked like your brother."

Clint turned his face and checked himself out from every angle he could manage.

It was uncanny.

He passed the mirror back.

He pulled the gun around and off his back and started examining it.

"My brother made that." She told him. She knelt next to him and showed him the loading mechanism. "He's so clever, and such an idiot. Tell me," She demanded quietly, "Tell me he will be alright in your body."

Clint put the gun in his lap and cupped her shoulders, firmly.

"He will be alright. My team will keep him safe, I promise."

Clint didn't remind her he'd been in the middle of a fight when he'd been swapped. He didn't tell her that his status at SHIELD was still flagged from Loki taking his mind, and that this, so soon after, stood a good chance of having him locked in quarantine or worse. Clint didn't trust the WSC not to run tests on him.

It wouldn't help, and she didn't need to hear it.

He really hoped his body was okay.

The boy Clint had seen earlier had reached the mouth of the cave and stumbled in, panting, and dropped his burden carefully.

"Ohhhh, my god why is water so heavy." He moaned. He pressed his hands to the small of his back and stretched, finally glancing over at them.

He took in their closeness, Clint's hands on Gretel's shoulders, and immediately snapped to seriousness.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Not Hansel." Edward rumbled.

"Ah. What?" He asked.

"Ben, Clint. Clint, Ben." Gretel waved introductions.

"Hi." Clint said.

"What?" Ben repeated.

"Amora." Gretel said simply.

"Oh." Bens' eyes widened. "OH. But, wait, where's Clint? Or, where's Hansel?"

Gretel looked at Clint.

Clint scratched the back of his neck and eyed Edward.

"I'm thinking either a different world or an alternate dimension. Pretty sure we don't have trolls, so I'm going to rule out the past. Distant future is still a maybe." He looked at Edward again. "Probably not, though. And since we're speaking the same language, I'm betting on alternate dimension rather than different world."

Clint took in their blank looks and sighed.

"Shit, I'm probably the worst person to explain this. Okay, it's…" He fumbled for the words. "There are lots and lots of worlds all existing at the same time, each one just a little different from the others. Like, what would have happened if you'd turned right instead of left, or decided to try and kiss that girl, or slept in instead of getting up on time – all the fallout that's different because of that choice. So all of those different decisions create different worlds. Or, alternate dimensions. This is the world where you went left. That is the world where you went right. Is… this making any sense at all?"

Gretel and Ben squinted at him.

Edward had a finger buried up his massive nose and seemed to be ignoring him.

Clint grimaced and Gretel turned.

"Edward!" She said, chastizing.

Edward dropped his hand like it was on fire and gave her a guilty look.

"Or," Clint pressed forward, "It could be like Thor."

Gretel's mouth twitched and Clint stopped, giving her a questioning look.

"Amora was looking for someone named Thor. After she threw us around and," She twiddled her fingers at Edward and Ben, "She said he wasn't here right before she left. Sounded pretty pissed about it."

Clint nodded. He'd expected it had been something along those lines.

"Right. So, Thor. Dude came from a different planet and still spoke English. And Amora bore the earmarkings of Asgard, so the realm-hopping is a definite maybe. Anyway, I'm betting on one of the two - alternate dimension or different planet." He huffed an incredulous laugh. What was up with his life, seriously? "In my world, I'm part of a team of superheroes and had a brother. In this world, I have diabetes and a sister."

"Diabetes?" Ben asked.

"The sugar sickness." Gretel answered. "How did you know my name?"

Clint really didn't want to tackle that one.

"Lucky guess." He said.

She gave him a narrow glance that called him a liar more clearly than words, but let it go.

She rose and went over to get the water.

"So," Clint quietly drawled, turning to Ben, "I seriously want to know – was there actually a candy house?"

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Chapter 4

The clothes were weirdly similar, given how different everything else was.

Hansel dug his fingers into all of the pockets and found nothing. He strongly suspected they'd been emptied before being handed over. He recognized suspicion in the looks he kept getting.

Still. It was good to be wearing armor, at least, even if he didn't have his weapons.

Well. They wouldn't be HIS weapons, given that his weapons were back with the rest of his world; just weapons in general.

He felt a fresh pang of loss at that. He'd just gotten the triggering mechanism for the fold-out rifle fixed after Ben had gummed it up in the last fight. And the switchblade he'd been working on would have still been laid out – oh, he'd be pissed if anyone packed it up and dropped any of the little screws. Those were a bitch to replace.

The room fell silent when he finished speaking.

"So," Bruce fiddled with the stems of his glasses and addressed the assemblage, "What are we thinking? Different world or alternate dimension?"

"God, I love your brain," One of the men, sprawled back in his chair with his feet on the massive table, said. He had his beard trimmed in a way that made Hansel believe he had entirely too much time on his hands.

"What about you?" Hansel asked. "What happened when you fought Amora?"

Bruce drummed his fingers on the table.

"We were able to send out a repression field that interfered with her, ah, magic, not long after she knocked Barton out. She flew off in a huff and disappeared."

He gave Bruce a commiserating glace.

"She does that."

"Hansel," The dark-skinned man in charge, Fury (which… awesome name, Hansel thought) interrupted. Hansel wanted to ask him where he'd gotten his coat. "Any idea what triggered the change back between Ben and Edward? Can you describe the fight in more detail?"

Hansel took a long drink of the strong, dark coffee Natasha had given him.

"We were tracking a stolen kid, heading East. This bitch apparently hadn't gotten the memo that the blood moon festival had ended badly for them, because she wasn't even trying to hide herself. She was holed up in this scrap of forest that bordered on a swamp – all slithery creatures and insects and sharp rocks." He rolled his eyes. "Witches, right?" He took in the looks they were giving him and pressed forward.

"Pretty standard knock and drop, honestly, except that Edward forgot he wasn't in his troll body and charged her. She sent him flying into a tree and knocked him out. Ben ran over to check on his body and got smacked in the skull when she sent a rock his way. Gretel got her in the throat with an arrow, then, and I blasted her head off." He shrugged. "When Ben and Edward came to, they were themselves again."

"Should I attempt to administer a cognitive reboot, sir?" Natasha asked Fury.

"A what?" Hansel asked.

Fury nodded, and then Natasha sent his forehead slamming into the table.

"OW, what the fuck?!" He grabbed his head, rubbing the now-tender spot. He glared at Natasha as he got out of the chair and backed up against the wall. He HAD been happy to sit next to her.

"Clint?" She asked.

He shot her an incredulous look.

She frowned at him.

"I can't tell. Is that you, featherbrain?" The man with the beard asked. What had he said his name was? Tony?

"Featherbrain?" Hansel scowled.

"Yeah, still not sure."

"Agent, status?" Fury asked, rolling his eye at the banter.

"Are you asking if I'm Barton? I'm not. Thanks for the new bruise, though." He glowered at them all.

Natasha shrugged.

"It worked last time."

"Unbelievable." He turned to storm out.

The door was locked. He felt them tense up behind him and turned slowly.

Oh yeah, that tension was definitely all for him.

"Am I a prisoner?" He asked, quiet and angry.

"It's not advisable for you to go running off on your own. I'm keeping the information that you aren't yourself right now under tight lockdown." Fury told him.

Hansel turned and looked at him levelly, silently demanding an explanation.

"There was an incident a while ago where Barton's mind was magically altered. He attacked his own people. Our people."

"Didn't he shoot you?" Tony asked. He had a device in his hand that he had tapped at throughout the meeting, and he kept his attention there.

Fury continued.

"I'd rather it not come to any unnecessary attention that he's been magically compromised again."

Hansel stared at him.

"What happens to me if people know I've been... 'magically compromised?'"

Fury folded his hands on the table.

"You're not dumb, boy. Clint Barton is important to us. We're trying to keep him safe which just so happens to mean keeping you safe. So listen to us. Or we will wait this out with you drugged and tied to a bed."

Hansel stroked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and narrowed his eyes.

There were too many of them to fight.

"Listening to you it is." He said with mock cheer, dropping into an insouciant slouch and leaning his shoulders against the locked door.

"He'll be staying in the Tower?" Steve asked.

"Tower?" Hansel scoffed. No one had towers. "Am I a princess with very long hair?"

"Ho, buddy," Tony giggled, "You do NOT have the high ground here."

Everyone had a look about them like they were in on a joke. Hansel bristled.

There was a knock on the door behind him and he startled.

He turned it into a stride forward and tried to walk it off. Natasha snorted at him, not buying it for a second. God, she reminded him of Gretel.

Fury did something with the mechanism at his end of the table, and the light beside the door went from red to green. The door opened and one of the uniformed men strode in with a box.

The man gave Fury an apologetic look and handed it to Tony. The light beside the door went back to red when he closed it behind himself.

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No deliveries to the secret base. How many times, Stark?"

Tony ignored him and pulled wrappings from the box. He opened it, hiding whatever was inside from their curious eyes.

"Ha, beautiful." Tony said, surveying the contents.

He closed the lid and folded his hands over it demurly.

"What?" Tony said innocently. "I needed this."

Fury shook his head in resignation.

"Yes, he'll be staying at the Tower. From the sound of things, he might be useful in a fight if something comes up in the duration. Amora didn't get what she wanted. She's likely to pop back up, and the repression field didn't do much more than annoy her. We could use his experience."

Steve turned to Hansel.

"Would you be willing to work with the team?"

"To fight a witch?" Hansel flicked a glance at Natasha. "Are you on this team?"

She raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"I'll take that for a yes. Yeah, I'm in."

Fury's eye flicked between him and Natasha, and then he smirked.

"Natasha, please stick close to Hansel for the duration." Hansel perked up at that and, from the look he got, wasn't nearly as suave about it as he'd hoped. Fury continued. "From what I've seen, with a minimal debrief he should be able to pass for Barton. Get him down to a range so we can get a feel for his shooting abilities."

Hansel perked up even more at this and didn't bother trying to hide it. He missed his guns.

"Yes, sir." She rose out of her chair.

Tony nearly knocked his chair over in his hurry to get up.

"Are we going? Is it go time?"

He pulled a flimsy rectangular sack from the box. The bright lettering on the side said "wonder."

Tony pulled a slice of bread from the bag and crumbled it, walking backwards to the door, leaving a line of crumbs.

"The fuck?" Hansel squinted at him.

Natasha made a choked sound, and behind them Steve and Fury looked pained while Bruce was quietly laughing behind his hand.

"You know what?" Hansel said. "I don't even want to know."

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Chapters 5 – 35 are available only on Archive of Our Own. If you google "Liannabob," my archiveofourown page is the first thing that should pop up. Sorry for any inconvenience (and I do hope you've been enjoying the fic!) but the story is really too long to read as one piece, and taking the time to upload, re-edit and post each chapter individually on FFN is... woof. Nope, no, I'm not going to do that.