Hey, so I'm so excited to be finally publishing this! I've been working on it off and on ever since late August/beginning of September, and I eventually decided to publish it once I finished the third chapter (of what will likely be five). Hopefully no worries on long updates (which normally happens for me), seeing as it's already 3/5 done and I've put it on first priority for a friend. Updates will likely be once a week.

Anyway, I do not own Supernatural or The Avengers.

I hope you all enjoy!

Now cross-posted to ao3 at /works/10943370/chapters/24350949 as of May 2017.

Time of the Unknown

Chapter One

Clint turned at the sound of rushed footsteps behind him, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness," he said, "I've been waiting for you to come. You got the call twenty-five minutes ago, where were you guys?"

The three men who he was talking to ignored him, racing past to the scene that the archer had been shadowing for the past half hour.

"I'm sorry," Clint said as he followed. "I know you guys are probably upset at me and everything, but I swear I did everything I could. It just… I guess it wasn't enough. But you're here now, so everything's gonna be fine, ya know? I mean…" He let out a huff of breath as he was still ignored. "You're Captain America, right Steve? You make everything right. I don't think there's anything you can't do. And Tony, you're Iron Man! You're a Stark, I bet you could help out with the technical stuff, right? And Bruce… man, just please don't hulk out. I couldn't take it if you did because I know it'd be all my fault and you'd still find a way to blame yourself. So don't do it, 'kay?"

He was most definitely rambling there, and Clint didn't ramble, he just… well, he didn't do it. But he did.

Clint continued to follow them, watching as Bruce swallowed at the sight before turning away, making his way to an alleyway and throwing up everything that he had eaten for breakfast an hour ago.

Steve had a look on his face that Clint had never seen before, and he was certain that he didn't want to see it again. "Steve?" He questioned. "Steve, hey… Cap? You with me? You're not gonna throw up like Banner, right? I mean, it's not that bad, right? You can…" He choked for the first time since the entire situation had begun, cutting off his rambling (because he was definitely getting there, and wasn't that funny?) and wondering what would happen if the situation couldn't be fixed. How would they go on with their lives?

"Steve?" Tony's voice was choked out, an echo of what Clint had already asked, and Steve turned slightly to acknowledge his teammate. "Steve, can we…?"

"No." Steve's voice came out raspy, and Clint blinked in surprise when he realized that there were tears beginning to find their way down normally tan but now so pale cheeks. Apparently he wasn't the only one feeling out of his comfort zone. "No, Tony, we can't… we can't fix it. Can't fix him. I just… we can't. What's done is done. Clint… man, Barton, why'd you have to do this?"

Clint shook his head, blond spikes of hair beginning to flop over his forehead since he hadn't cut it in a few months. "I'm sorry, Cap. I didn't mean to, I swear. It just happened so suddenly, I couldn't stop it!"

Bruce staggered back to the small group, his eyes watering and filled with pain. "I… we… Natasha… We gotta tell Natasha. And Thor. Tony, can you contact Thor?"

"No!" Clint burst out. "No, you can't tell them yet! We can still fix it! Steve, please, you can't tell them yet! You can't tell Tasha!"

Once again, however, he found himself being ignored.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Yeah, I think so. I… Pepper's been talking to Jane… oh man, what's Pepper going to think?"

"She doesn't have to think anything about it, Tony," Clint said, finally acknowledging that yes, maybe he was doing a bit of pleading about this. But it was a whole new experience for him, surely they'd give him some slack and listen?

"I can't tell Natasha," Steve said. "I… she's on a mission, but I can tell Director Fury. He… he can pass on the information."

Finally someone else approached them, her face sympathetic. She was dressed in an EMT's uniform, and blood covered her front and hands. The woman had blond hair, and Clint's eyes were drawn to it as she unconsciously ran her hands through it, leaving red streaks behind.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but notice that you all looked a bit lost. Is there any reason that you're here? I mean, sorry, I know you're Captain America, and you're Tony Stark, and… Bruce Banner, right?" Bruce's nod prompted her to continue on. "Sorry, but like I said, I just… I guess I don't understand why…" She trailed off, beginning to look embarrassed.

"No, ma'am, it's fine," Steve said. "He… he's our teammate is all. Hawkeye. We… someone called and said that he'd…"

The EMT blinked, now appearing surprised as she looked back to where the ambulances and a firetruck had converged on the scene. A sedan was stopped in the middle of the road, the front bumper crumpled in, blood spattered on the inside, and a man sitting in the driver's seat with his feet resting on the pavement. His head was bowed, a white bandage wrapped around his left bicep and blood trickling down the side of his face from his hairline while a male EMT examined him for other injuries. The only thing that they could see of the other vehicle was a motorcycle wheel poking out from behind an ambulance.

More EMTs were carefully rolling a body onto a stretcher, and Clint caught the slightest glimpse before it was covered with a white sheet. The body had had blond hair that was plastered to his face with blood, more of which was already beginning to soak through the sheet. He had been wearing jeans and a black jacket had covered his shirt. Purple chucks had stood out against the bleak backdrop, and as soon as he saw them disappear he knew that it was done. He was done.

One look at his teammates' faces showed that they knew the same thing. Tony's face crumpled just like the sedan's bumper, Bruce looked like he was going to throw up again, and Steve pressed his forehead against the heel of his right hand.

"I'm so sorry," the EMT said finally. "I… we didn't know that he…"

"Yeah," Tony said, his voice harsh with unshed tears and anger at the world, "most people don't."

"Tony…" Steve warned, but everyone could tell that his heart wasn't really in it. He turned back to the EMT, his face already hardening in an attempt to hide the pain he was feeling. It didn't work on Clint - not when he was the reason Steve was in pain. "How did it happen?"

"He came out of nowhere, Steve," Clint responded, but the EMT was already talking over him, even if she didn't realize it.

"There were very few witnesses as this isn't a very popular area of the city, but all say that the sedan came around the corner a bit too fast and lost control. The motorcyclist - sorry, Hawkeye - didn't have time to get out of the way due to his proximity to the sedan. According to the witnesses he was flung from his bike and then lost consciousness upon impact with the ground. He came around shortly after we got here, but we were still too late." She paused before speaking again. "I'm sorry, truly I am, but you're going to have to come to the morgue to identify the body."

"You don't have to do that," Clint told them uselessly. "It's me. This-" Here he waved a hand toward his body, "-proves it. I'm done. Finished. Dead."

"That you are," another voice agreed, and Clint whirled around, surprised that someone was actually talking to him. A tall man stood there, his face gaunt with high cheekbones and his eyes black and sunken into his head. He was wearing a black suit and overcoat, a silver ring adorning his right hand ring finger while he gripped a black cane. Clint held no doubt as to who this strange man was.

"You're death."

"With a capital D," the man agreed. "Not what you expected?"

"What, with the scythe and hood and everything?" Clint snorted. "No, I didn't expect you at all."

"Ah, so you're one of those people," Death observed.

"One of which people?" Clint asked, watching as his teammates - his old teammates - walked away from him, most likely going to do exactly what Clint had told them not to.

"One of those 'bright lights and a tunnel and a choir of angels' people."

Clint bit back a laugh. "No, definitely not. I'm more of those 'and everything fades to black' people. I don't believe in Heaven. Not anymore, anyway. So yeah, let's just say I wasn't expecting to wake up again… and definitely not like this."

"What if I told you Heaven is real? And the angels?" Death paused, watching for Clint's reaction. Clint didn't give him one. "And the demons?"

"Sure…" Clint said finally. "Really. Like I'm supposed to believe that when you're here? Sorry, but if you'll excuse me I'll be-"

Clint froze mid-sentence, watching as Steve stopped next to his motorcycle. Unlike the sedan, his bike wouldn't be surviving to run another day. It was completely trashed, but Clint knew that that wasn't what stopped his teammate.

"Steve…" The name left his lips soft, drawn-out, and Clint wished it didn't sound so much like the whimper it could have been.

The leader of the Avengers knelt next to the bike and opened one of the saddle bags. The bag was slightly longer than a normal one, custom made to fit one thing - Hawkeye's quiver. Steve reached in and grasped the strap, shouldering the quiver and, as a result, the bow that was folded into the bottom of the quiver. The blond man surveyed the scene once more before continuing after Tony and Bruce, who had stopped and waited for him.

Clint watched as they exchanged a few words, only catching "Jar-", "-py", and "ride". He groaned, knowing that they would be waiting for a few minutes before Happy came to pick them up and that that gave Death a chance to keep talking.

"I did not come here to reap your soul, Clint," the voice came from behind him, and Clint turned.

"Don't you have anything better to do than bother me, then? Like, oh, I dunno, go bother someone else?"

Death kept talking, ignoring Clint's sarcastic comment. "Lucifer wishes me to, though. I need you to tell me 'no'."

"Wait, hold up," Clint said, forgetting his annoyance. "Lucifer? As in the devil?"

"The very one."

"What does he have to do with anything?"

Death gave him a look that made him feel like he did when he went to Barney for help for his nightmares at age fourteen - childish, insignificant, and foolish. "It has everything to do with him. Lucifer escaped his cage several months ago, and since then the Apocalypse has raged all over the earth. He raised me a few weeks ago, enslaving me under his service. I have no choice but to serve him."

"So why disobey him?" Clint asked, figuring that no matter how annoying Death was, the Apocalypse was probably something he should be taking notes on. "That is what you're doing, right?"

"It is. And I'm doing it because I do not wish to serve him. I do not care who wins this fight - Lucifer or Michael, it does not matter, and it does not matter if they tear the earth apart doing the same to each other. But I do not wish to serve him. Unfortunately, a potential ally is taking… well, a little too long figuring out that he is my potential ally. So now I come to you on Lucifer's request but doing my own business."

"And what is that business?"

"You must tell me 'no' first."

"No to what? You're not making any sense!"

"Death is not supposed to make sense," the Pale Horseman replied. "But you are supposed to say no to me reaping your soul. I cannot touch it if you do not give me your permission."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't want you to reap it anyway," Clint grumbled. "But what does Lucifer want with my soul?"

"You ask too many questions," Death replied with a frown.

"So sue me," the archer answered sarcastically.

"No," Death said. "I would much rather just tell you this way."

"What way?" Clint asked.

Death answered by pressing his right index, middle, and ring fingers to Clint's forehead, forcing him to watch as a slideshow of events flew past before his eyes.

He saw a man with sores breaking out over his face, two men inside of a car, another man in a trench coat, and then the two men forcefully taking three rings from three other men. He watched as the man with the sores raised Death and greeted him before giving him his first command. He saw all of this and more before he was finally brought back to the present, gaping at the Horseman in front of him.

"Those two men that you saw are Sam and Dean Winchester. They hunt the supernatural and are attempting to stop the Apocalypse. I need you to deliver my ring to them so that they can put Lucifer back where he came from. But first, I need you to say no."

Clint frowned, eying Death. What he had said matched with what the archer had seen and certainly explained several of the things that had mystified SHIELD and the Avengers lately. But he was also Death. Surely that counted against him?

"You know what will happen if you don't say no, right?" Death asked, his voice oozing velvet.

"What will happen if I do?" Clint countered.

"I give you the ring, you deliver it, the Winchesters hopefully defeat Lucifer and all of humanity is saved. That is what you want, correct? Or was I sorely mistaken?"

"No, what happens to me? Just for future reference."

Death smiled at him, obviously amused. "No need to lie to me, Clint. I know you're protecting your own interests. Self-preservation and all that, right? But no matter - even if I tell you that you'll go to hell you're still going to say no."

"Maybe I will," Clint said. "Maybe I won't. Now how about fucking tell me what will happen?"

Death narrowed his eyes at him. "I would watch your tongue around me if I were you, Clint. You have no idea how old I am. You are but a bug beneath my feet that I can step on whenever I wish. So choose your words wisely."

Clint shook his head, exasperated. "The bug spiel again, huh? You pompous bastards all think the same." Death gave him a warning look, and Clint sighed. "Fine. Now will you please explain to me what will happen?"

"Whatever you want to happen. You want to come back and tell one of my reapers 'yes', then do so. You want to stay and haunt people for the rest of eternity, be my guest. But do not come crying to me if you make the wrong choice - you can only choose once."

Clint sighed, watching as Happy finally pulled up in Tony's limo. The three Avengers began to climb inside, taking their seats on the leather.

"Alright. Fine. No, I don't want you to take my soul. You happy, now?"

Death didn't make any remarks, only nodding before holding out his ring. Clint took it from him, turning it over in his hands and examining it. The Horseman began to walk away before he turned, a somewhat amused smile on his face. "Oh, and you may feel a little pinch as they drive away. You have to be locked onto something in order to be a ghost, after all, and I don't imagine it's your motorcycle."

"What?" Clint asked, confused. "What's that-"

He was interrupted by a tugging in his gut, one that got stronger as he watched the limo leave and get further away. Finally, just as the limo turned a corner three blocks away, something snapped, reminding him of a rubber band that recoils back into place after having been stretched beyond its limit. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes he was next to Bruce inside the limo.

"Did it get cold all of a sudden?" Clint heard dimly, and he frowned. It sounded almost like he was the one speaking, but he wasn't.

He watched as Tony turned to look at him, and he almost gave a yell of triumph before he remembered that he had most definitely not been the one talking. That, and he could only see Bruce and Tony.

"No, Cap, pretty sure it's only you," Tony said. "Maybe the ice has finally made its way inside of you." What would normally have been said with a perfect amount of snark was said glumly and without any real humor.

"Cap?" Clint questioned. He looked down to see two pairs of legs sticking out from his lap. "Crap, Steve, I'm sorry!"

He jolted away from the other blond with a jerk, darting over to sit next to Tony. He fought back a blush as he realized that he had essentially just been sitting on Steve's lap. Then Clint frowned, wondering what had caused him to be pulled inside of the limo. His eyes found the quiver that Steve had laid on the seat between him and Bruce, and for the first time since the whole situation had begun he allowed a smile to fight its way onto his lips. He always had said that his bow and quiver held his soul - now they held it literally.

Hey, so I really hope you all liked this first chapter! For those of you wondering where Sam and Dean are, they'll be coming in chapter three. I just need to set everything up on Clint's end of the story first.

And please don't hesitate to review! I love hearing from all of my readers, and some constructive criticism would be more than welcome!

Also if you want to stop by my tumblr, it's bookdancerfics. I'm trying to post updates and stuff like that. Hope to see you all there!