DARCY LEWIS HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE
PROMPT 2: satanic, black cat, witching hour
Pairings: Darcy/Dean Winchester
AN: Again, my muse is nine kinds of crazy. I'm sorry.
Being best of friends with ridiculously hot superheroes had its perks, but it was hell on a girl's love life. Darcy inevitably ended up comparing her dates to her friends, and well…they all came up a bit short. This latest one – an assistant curator at the Met – was cute enough, and somewhat witty, but he had a terrible habit of staring at her rack.
Call Darcy spoiled, but she was used to working and living and generally being around people who had more self control than that. Even Clint, the master of terrible pick up lines, and Tony, connoisseur of women, could each go a couple hours without ogling her. But not Michael, her date. But finally, the date was over.
They left the restaurant and stepped out into the chilly late October air. Darcy wrapped her trench coat tighter around her, trying to prevent the cold wind blowing from reaching her (sadly) too-thin outfit. The date had been a waste of her most awesome, curve-hugging dress, and Darcy was ready to ditch the pervy nerd, head back to her shitty apartment, and complain about this date to Jane on the phone while eating ice cream.
However, Michael didn't seem to pick up on that vibe coming off of her. "So...you mentioned you'd been wanting to see the exhibit on witchcraft in colonial Mexico." At Darcy's stiff nod, he continued. "Well…I do work there. I could probably get us in right now," he said with a sideways glance at Darcy.
Oh. So this was his version of "wanna come up and see my etchings?" But Darcy had really wanted to see that exhibit, and it did end the next Wednesday, and between the Doombots and the mutant squid and training her replacements in the care and feeding of scientists, she hadn't been able to do anything fun in a long time.
And if it came down to it, her trusty Taser was in her purse, and she had a pretty impressive combat knife strapped to her thigh. (Agent habits were becoming a little hard to break.) She shrugged. "Sure, why not?"
A rather short but excruciatingly long cab ride later, Darcy and Michael were in front of the employee entrance to the Met. Right before he swiped his access card, Darcy's phone chirped from her purse. She held up a finger, signaling him to wait. "I'm really sorry about this, but it might be work. Give me a moment?" He nodded, and she moved around to the corner of the building.
"This better be good, Peter" she said in lieu of a greeting after glancing at the caller ID.
" Um…just wanted to let you know that I'm working near where you currently are. Don't give me away."
"What are you doing over here?"
"Had a tip about the Black Cat. Just checkin' it out. You look very pretty by the way."
"Still too old for you, Peter." Darcy rolled her eyes and hung up the phone. As she shoved it back in her gargantuan bag, she glimpsed a familiar platinum blonde head out of the corner of her eye. It seems that Peter's tip was right, after all…
Darcy had a bad feeling about this whole exhibit-after-hours thing as soon as they made it up the stairs; it was less of a "I'm gonna get felt up by a creeper" feeling and more of a "there's a boogeyman in the shadows" vibe that permeated the darkened room.
Michael stepped away from her. "I'm just going to hit the lights. Stay there, and I'll be right back." As he disappeared into the dark, Darcy shrugged out of her coat and lightly fingered the outline of the knife under her dress. Her SHIELD training made her constantly on guard, and something about this didn't seem right, so she wasn't above preparing herself for the worst.
A muffled cry, followed by a dull thud, echoed throughout the darkened exhibit hall. Darcy instantly dove for her bag on the floor and pulled out her Stark-modified Taser, along with a small flashlight.
Darcy hid behind an exhibit case as two figures appeared from the corner Michael had gone to. She heard one tell the other "You find that foley-thingy and I'll find that tool's date."
Adrenaline and a need to kick some ass defeated common sense and self-preservation. As Goon #2 came near the case, Darcy stepped out from where she was hiding and aimed her Taser at the him. "Drop it, thief. Or I'll knock you into next Tuesday."
The shorter man – the one supposedly looking for her – gave an appreciative whistle. "I see why he wanted to show off his etchings."
"Can it, smart ass, or I will Tase you in the balls." As he came into the weak beam of light from her flashlight, Darcy couldn't help but internally whistle herself. He was hot. Like, so hot he passed the comparison-to-her-hot-superhero-friends test. Piercing green eyes gazed back at her, and Darcy could barely make out the smattering of freckles across his (excellently chiseled) cheekbones.
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, and Darcy couldn't help but notice the tiny stretch of hipbone that showed between the hem of his shirt and the waist of his jeans. "You know, last time I was Tased, I ended up almost dying," he said conversationally. "So, I'd prefer if you didn't do that."
"What're you doing here?" Darcy asked, the Taser still aimed at him.
"I'm Agent Donald Blake, and the other man with me is my partner Agent Hank Pym. We're here investigating a potential security threat for SHIELD," he said, pulling an ID case out of his jacket pocket and holding it open.
Darcy put her Taser down and stalked over to him. "Bull shit. For starters, that's not what a SHIELD ID looks like. Secondly, SHIELD agents wear either suits or the official catsuit. Thirdly there is no way in hell that they would be on a call…" Darcy's tirade was cut off as he grabbed her and twisted her arms behind her back, forcing Darcy to drop her Taser and flashlight.
Darcy's training took over her thought process, and she reacted by stomping her three-inch heel into his instep. As he shifted his stance, she head-butted backwards and caught him in the nose. Twisting out of his grasp, she put her fists up in a defensive stance.
"Whoa, darlin'," he mumbled around the hands held to his nose.
At the sounds of the scuffle, a second (taller) man appeared, gun tucked in his waistband. "Dean, is everything okay?" he asked, glancing worriedly at the first man.
Dean. Now she had a name to go with the admittedly handsome face.
"Who are you two really, and how do you know about SHIELD?" Darcy asked, hand itching to go for her knife.
"Who are you, and where did you learn to fight like that?" the first man asked.
Darcy relaxed out of her fighting stance as she decided to go for a more diplomatic route - talking them into submission. "I learned that move from Black Widow."
He punched the other man in the arm. "Dude! She knows Black Widow." Turning back to Darcy, his gaze raked up and down her body. "You and the Black Widow spar, huh? That's kinda hot."
Darcy raised an eyebrow. "And just think…she bats for the other team." Darcy said with a wicked grin. Natasha might kill her for starting that rumor, but she couldn't help but bait this guy.
As his jaw dropped, the second man huffed at their antics. "I'm sorry miss, but who are you? And why are you here?" he asked her in a tone of voice that reminded Darcy a little of Steve – slightly patronizing but wickedly polite.
Darcy pointed to her purse, on the floor by his feet. "My ID's in there, Moose. I'm Darcy Lewis, and I really am an agent with SHIELD, which is how I know you guys are most definitely not. I'm here because that tool, as you so accurately described him, was my date. So what's going on, and how can I help?"
The second man gave her an odd look. "Aren't you concerned about your date?"
Darcy shrugged again. "Eh, not really. Like you said, he was a tool. It was our first date, and there wasn't going to be a second."
"You're an agent?" Dean asked incredulously. "How did that happen?"
Darcy gave him a tight smile. "Once you Tase an actual Norse god, you're pretty much qualified to be a bad-ass." As they both opened their mouths to ask questions, Darcy held up a hand. "Don't ask, the details are classified."
Moose looked at Dean, and they seemed to have some sort of mental/silent conversation, similar to the way Natasha and Clint did. Finally, Dean shrugged, and they turned back to her. "I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean." Moose said. "We're here looking for a folio that is a transcript of the confessions of a witch from Bahia. The witch's spirit was trapped inside it somehow, and it has possessed a teenage girl. We need to burn it."
As far as explanations went, it was pretty weird. But then again, in the course of her job, Darcy had dealt with giant killer squid, Doombots, a mutant with reality-altering skills, and a Norse trickster. Weird was her new normal. "Aight, bros. Let's get looking."
After a half hour of searching, the three reconvened in the middle of the exhibit hall. "It's not here." Dean said.
"It's supposed to be here. It's in the brochure and on the website. It's one of the focal pieces of the collection. It has to be here." Sam whined.
Darcy raised a hand. "I think I know where it might be – but you're probably not gonna like it."
After a few minutes of arguing with Peter, he finally agreed to pass on her message to the Black Cat. Ten minutes later, Darcy's phone chirped.
"This is Darcy."
"I heard you were interested in meeting me," a throaty voice on the other end of the line said.
"I'm actually more interested in an item you acquired," Darcy said neutrally.
"Ah, the folio. Might I ask why?"
"That folio is dangerous, and I've been assigned the mission of containing it." Darcy explained. Dean made a face at her, but she held a finger over his lips, shushing him. Damn, he has nice lips. I wonder how they'd feel...no. Not the time for that.
The woman chuckled. "You know, I got that feeling from it. Shall we meet outside the museum?"
"What time?" Darcy asked.
She could hear the wry smile in the other woman's voice. "Let's go for midnight – the witching hour. It seems appropriate."
Twenty minutes later, Darcy was standing back outside the employee entrance to the Met, where her strange adventure had started earlier in the evening. Michael had been long forgotten about, but Dean and Sam were hiding in the shadows around the side of the building. It was good to know she had backup, even if they were a little unorthodox.
A stunning platinum blonde woman, her full identity hidden by a flimsy mask, appeared suddenly next to her. "Hello," she purred. "My name is Felicia. I believe we have some business to transact?"
They got the folio back, and Dean and Sam salted, gasolined, and torched little hand-bound book. The ending to the night's adventure was surprisingly anti-climactic, but the two men seemed content with the results. As the cold October wind spread the ashes into the night, Darcy asked, "So…this is what you do with your life? Chase down the things that go bump in the night?"
Dean shrugged. "It's the family business."
Darcy nodded. "Okay, well, since you knocked out my date, you owe me a beer. Two, because I found the thing you needed to torch. And a third one as a thank you for me not Tasing you on sight."
"Is that how you figure it, there, hot shot?" Dean asked, the hint of a grin around the corner of his mouth.
Darcy gestured to herself. "I am not wasting this dress on that idiot." She put a hand on one hip and jutted it out. "You in or what?"
"You know, a beer sounds good, but..." he said, a mock-thoughtful look on his face.
"But…?" Darcy echoed.
"Pie sounds better. I could really go for some pie." As he delivered that statement, Darcy noticed Sam rolling his eyes in the background. She giggled to herself.
"Tell you what, Dean-o. Beer now, and if you play your cards right, you can eat the leftover pie that's in my fridge for breakfast. Deal?" Darcy said, smiling flirtatiously.
"What kind of pie is it?" he asked seriously.
"Apple. Homemade, even, by yours truly."
He turned to Sam and groaned. "Sammy, I'm in love." Turning back to Darcy, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in close. "Marry me."
Darcy played with the charm around his neck. "We'll talk about that after the pie."
The next morning, Darcy wandered into the kitchen of her tiny apartment, only to find a shirtless Dean leaning against the counter, eating apple pie straight out of the pan.
Leaning against the opposite counter, wearing his shirt and cradling her coffee in her hands, Darcy couldn't help but salivate again over the man's body - the same body that had done such wonderful things to her last night. "So...is the pie freaking worth it?"
He made a vaguely sexual noise of appreciation. "This apple pie is so worth it."
Darcy grabbed a fork out of the drawer and joined him in eating dessert for breakfast. After a few minutes, a thought struck her and she laughed loudly.
"What's so funny?" he asked around a mouthful of pie.
"Just think. The Black Cat crossed our paths last night, and we still got lucky."