Rain poured down in sheets with no sign of ceasing any time soon. Thunder rumbled and white-hot prongs of lightning split the far-off landscape. The sky was dark, the ground was muddy. It was the perfect kind of evening for things to go wrong.
Clint shivered, his thoughts turning prophetic when the announcement came over the coms: Westside perimeter breach.
This hammer thing had magic written all over it. Clint's skin buzzed with anticipation.
Aliens, great, sure. Vampires he could handle, easy. Mutated humans, fine. But this hammer? It felt old. It vibrated with power. It made him think of home.
Static screeched over coms, causing Clint to rip the earpiece out in disgust. His ears still ringing, he frowned at the offending piece of technology. Yup, definitely felt like home. He gave it a few minutes before reluctantly sticking the thing back over his ear.
The computer screens were on the fritz with the tech-nerds running around trying to fix whatever problem they thought it was. Just to show where he stood on the matter, he gave the piece of machinery in front of him a few experimental thumps.
"Muscle-brain!" A small lady with a trio of freckles splattered across her nose snarled at him, and he quickly backed off. She was cute, but not to be trifled with it seemed.
Whoops, he thought with a grin and skedaddled over to the weapons. He could feel something in the air – violence was brewing. The rain tasted of iron. Ares? Clint frowned at the sky, confused.
The alarms started blaring. Showtime! He hesitated for a second, his hand nearly picking up the gun that Coulson requested. The bow was his signature weapon, though. Even so, he tried to keep up pretences most of the time.
He was old enough to know, however, when a change was on the horizon. And by the gods, he could feel a massive change coming. It was the pressure in the air; the very earth vibrated with it. If he had a working Oracle to channel his power, she'd be spouting prophecies and predictions left and right, no doubt. Because he didn't, he just went with his gut. And his gut was telling him the time of pretending and hiding was over. Soon, the gods would rise again into the minds of mortals.
No, something told him that if he needed to use a weapon tonight, he was safest taking up his bow.
"Barton, talk to me," Coulson's voice came in over the line just as Clint got into position. He had eyes on the stranger who was mowing through the trained SHIELD agents with the ease of a man used to heavy battle. The one-on-one fights barely slowed him down.
"You want me to slow him down, sir?" Clint asked, training his bow on the man. Something about his style seemed familiar. Not because it was distinct, but rather the lack of. "Or are you sending in more guys for him to beat up?"
"I'll let you know," was Coulson's reply before the line went quiet once more, leaving Clint with his thoughts.
A beserker! The thought came and stuck, and like a flash, the word sent Clint's mind spiralling down a trail that he hadn't treaded in a very long time. Could it be? Using just a little bit of his power, he sharpened his gaze and really looked at the man fighting his way towards the hammer.
Hammer? Shit.
Realisation dawned.
"Damnit!" Clint swore under his breath. Didn't he call it? "Dang, I hate when I'm right," he muttered to himself.
After centuries, Thor once more walked on earth. But why hadn't they sensed it? Surely a visit from another deity, especially one that also claimed dominion over lightning and the skies would have shown up on Olympus' radar. And why wasn't Clint sensing anything godly from this man, whom he believed to be Thor aka the literal definition of a powerhouse?
Sure, Thor loved the heat of battle, but the man currently rolling around in the mud seemed very much human. Then again, gods were known to do strange things when they became bored. Did Thor come down to the mortal plane as a human for the thrill of it? Kind of like what Clint has been doing for the past few years infiltrating and working for SHIELD.
But it couldn't be that simple. If Thor had willingly become human, why would he so fiercely fight to get to Mjolnir? A Loki scheme, perhaps? Clint knew all about vengeful families and trickster brothers. He has long since lost count of the number of times that Hermes has stolen his chariot.
"Better call it, Coulson. Because I'm starting to root for this guy." Getting to Mjolnir might be a way to unlock his powers, though. Which could potentially reveal the immortal realm to the humans.
As much as he advocated change and understood the need for it, a bubble of uncertainty solidified in his stomach. Was he truly ready to reveal his world to these people? People who had become friends with 'Clint' over the past few years? People who trusted him, and fought beside him? Thor touched Mjolnir and unlocked his powers, there was only so much the Mist could do. Was Clint ready? He tightened his draw. "Last chance, sir."
"Wait, I want to see this."
Clint forced himself to breathe.
Thor reached for Mjolnir and pulled.
Nothing happened.
Clint could not stop the feeling of relief that swept through him at the anticlimactic turn of events, even though his heart at broke at the sight. It was clear that whatever means was used to turn Thor human, was not by his consent.
"Alright, show's over."
Clint barely heard Coulson, lowering his bow, but remaining where he was. Thor's anguished roar tore through the night. Clint felt like he owed to it to his fellow god to stand vigil moments more. He could only imagine the sense of loss and for a second, he was tempted to interfere. Yet the possibility of revealing himself to the mortals or even risking a war between the pantheons stayed his hand.
He would wait and watch. For now.
Comment if you'd be interested in a sequel, like a further reveal fic where Clint's identity is revealed to the team. I love Clint and I hate how he's always underestimated, so yes, anyway, thanks for reading!