Spider's Pentacle
Hello! This is Myshi Corp, returning after a long break. I realized that there were far to few Black Butler/Avengers crossovers, and I wanted to help solve that problem. SHIELD, with all of it's inhumans, has to have a demon in the mix. In fact, this makes so much sense that I'm surprised it hasn't been written before!
I will try to update frequently, and would appreciate comments, constructive criticism, and suggestions. The first commenter gets to know what the trading card incident Hill mentions was!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and the amazing cover art is the work of my cousin (even though I wish I could claim it).
Nick Fury was stuck in between a rock and a hard place, or rather, a group of highly armed militants and a hallway with only dead ends. To make matters worse, he could hear shouting, gunfire, and footsteps getting closer. He dived into the nearest room he could find and started to pile furniture against the door: a desk, a swiveling office chair, a sad looking potted plant, a file cabinet that looked like it hadn't been touched in years, a lamp, anything that wasn't booted to the floor.
The odds of him making his way out alive were slim, and got slimmer as the shouting intensified on the other side. The door started to buckle slightly, and Fury stared to run through scenarios in his head. Fighting wasn't an option- he didn't have any weapons and chances are he couldn't get close. There was no escape route inside the room- this particular office didn't even have an air vent, much less a secret door or a window. He was stuck unless… unless... unless he could create his own deus ex machina to save him. Damn it. Why did his long repressed sense of humor have to choose now to reappear?
Actually, the deus ex machina idea had some merit... if he was willing to sacrifice his soul to escape. The idea didn't bother him as much as it probably should have. Fury figured he was going to hell anyway, why not postpone last trip?
The only instructions on how to summon a demon had been muddled over the years and many retellings, so Fury wasn't even sure it would work. The last written account had been authored by an eighteenth century noble, who said that summoning one was a simple as wishing it.
It was worth trying, so Fury closed his eyes, tried to block out the screams and gunfire, and concentrated.
Nothing happened.
Wiping drops of sweat from his forehead, he tried not to panic. When had it become so hot in here?
Wait.
The temperature plummeted, going from sweltering to freezing in seconds, and the shadows became more defined, sharper. Black tendrils floated out, lazily swimming around the room, and all outside noises vanished. The only sound in the room was Fury's own breathing, and then that noise faded too. It was like a wormhole had opened up and transported him through space and time. The ceiling vanished into the blackness, followed by the walls, then his makeshift barricade, then the floor.
The shadows where whirling now, going faster and faster, marshaling into a silhouette. The smell of blood permeated the air, becoming almost suffocating.
"You summoned me?" A dry voice cut through the silence, sending every hair on his body straight up. It was petrifying, and Fury forgot to breath for a few seconds.
Mustering his courage, he firmly announced to the darkness "Yes. I wish to form a contract."
"What are the your terms?" The voice again created flashes of screams, blood, fear, and pain in his head. It was death incarnate, and the reek of fresh blood amplified the terror.
By now Fury's composure was hanging on by a thread. He had faced down torture, certain death, and some of the most terrifying people on earth, but this conversation brought up a primal fear he had no control over. Swallowing, he said "You'll help me create peace on this earth until the day I die. In exchange, you can have my soul."
"Hmm. You're the noble type. Tasty. Where would you like your mark? The more prominent on your body, the stronger the bond between us."
Oh no. He hadn't thought of that. In the noble's account, he had it on his eye- wait. No questions would be asked if he said he had injured his eye. He could wear an eye patch, say the attack had destroyed it.
"I would like it on my left eye. Will that work?" He decided to go with his left eye because his right was his dominant, and the one he used to hit targets.
The voice spoke again, and the shadow grew and slowly moved towards him, looking like a tiger stalking prey.
"Certainly. I accept your terms, and therefore take you as my master. What are your orders, sir?"
In the depths of the New York SHIELD base, Clint Barton stormed into Phil Coulson's office, throwing a thin file onto his desk. His ever professional handler simply raised a thin eyebrow, unimpressed by his agent's behavior.
"Barton, I assume this temper tantrum is about your next mission?" remarked Coulson, without taking his eyes off of a mission report in front of him. Barton was still fuming.
"Why the hell is Fury sending me over to Russia, of all places, chasing a ghost story? Is this really the best time to be doing this, considering the shitload that just went down at headquarters?"
Coulson set down the sheaf of papers, looking at him.
"The Black Widow has been a persistent thorn in SHIELD's side ever since she joined the world of espionage. We got word yesterday that she will be targeting a rich Russian businessman at a social function two days from now. You need to go and eliminate her, so she doesn't become a bigger problem later."
Barton sighed.
"I suppose that part makes sense, but why on earth don't you have a single picture? All this file says for sure is that she's female. The rest of the accounts vary- some say she has blue eyes, others swear they're brown. Sometimes she's thirty, sometimes sixty! There is no concrete information, so I'm running this op with my eyes closed."
Coulson looked at him sympathetically.
"I know it isn't easy- that's why you're on it. You can figure it out. Just keep an eye on the businessman and take note of who's interested in him. Now, aren't you about to miss your flight?"
Barton glanced at his watch, and cursed in a couple different languages. The he grabbed the file, and hightailed it over to the waiting quinjet.
"Good luck, Agent!" Coulson yelled at his retreating figure.
"Jebi se!" came the distant response.
Coulson shook his head. He knew letting Barton learn profanities in Croatian would a mistake.
"You did what?!" Coulson yelled into a phone, a couple days after Barton traveled to Russia. He was in the middle of a meeting with Fury and Maria Hill, but they could wait. All that mattered now was his agent on the other side of the hemisphere, deciding that his target, the honest-to-gods Black Widow, was in need of redemption from her troubled past. Then, instead of killing her, he had offered her a job at SHIELD!
"What is it?" asked Hill. He made a one moment signal, then interrupted the person on the phone, saying "Barton, Fury and Hill are here. I am going to put you on speaker so you can answer to them too."
As he set the phone in the middle of the briefing table, they could all hear Barton's nervous response.
"I'm really in big trouble, aren't I?"
Hill smirked.
"I haven't seen Coulson like this since the trading card incident, so, yes, I think you are," she said seriously.
"Agent Barton, can you update us on the situation?" asked Fury, who, along with Hill, had no idea what was going on.
"He offered the Black Widow a job," snapped an angry Coulson.
Fury needed verbal conformation from Barton before he would believe that.
"Is that true, agent?"
"Yup," said Barton, popping the 'p' while trying to add some levity to the situation.
"And how do you know she won't use you to get information? She could be playing you right now." Fury was not amused.
"She let me sedate her, so I'll just keep her under, and then I can bring her to base and you can run an interrogation. She doesn't think she deserves a chance at redemption, and she's not fighting, she literally told me to kill her. Please give her a chance." Barton was almost like a little boy begging his parents to let him keep a puppy.
Fury humored him.
"We'll interrogate her, and then decide what to do from there."
Barton was ecstatic.
"Thank you, sir!"
Ever the pessimist, Fury had to interject "I'm still putting you on probation."
"Aww, man."