A/N: SO… The headcanon of Barton and Brandt being the same person has been bugging me for AGES. (Seriously! It's not just the same actor. They have the same style and sense of humor, and even their surnames sound a bit alike.) Then I received a couple of requests. Aaaaaaaand… Here we are. (grins sheepishly)

This isn't a pure blooded crossover. While this DOES borrow Brandt and IMF as names I have a feeling that Ethan Hunt and co won't be appearing. The background story takes place long before Hunt and Brandt ever crossed paths. ALTHOUGH, at the end Hunt MAY make an appearance, briefly, because I, for one, can't help wondering how he'd react to his teammate's double life. (Or maybe he knows…! Ethan usually knows…) Hope you'll enjoy the idea, anyway…?

DISCLAIMER: BUAH-HAH-HAA! Are you KIDDING me?! Look, with my salary there's no owning A THING of these two AWESOME franchises. And trust me, if I'd be able to pay for Renner to appear on my production (which is assuming that I'd be even able to create a movie…) I'd be flying on the sky with joy…

WARNINGS: some crossover elements, violence, language, RATING MAY RISE TO M AT SOME POINT, gore, whump… uh, that list is starting to look pretty alarming…

TAKES PLACE: present time, after 'Age of Ultron'

LENGTH: for reasons you'll figure out soon I've thought about twelve chapters plus a prologue and an epilogue

WOAH! That was a monster of an author's note. Awkay, it's high time to get to actual business. Here we go, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.


Mission: Impossible – Hawkeye


Prologue – Your Mission…


Hanover, 1998


After the screaming the gray, cold hallway was eerily quiet. All the way until a metallic door screeched violently in a protest against being opened. Steps of heavy, booted feet approached a man who leaned against a windowsill so heavily that his knuckles had turned white. "Do you have a problem with my methods of working, agent Brandt?"

A pair of blue eyes flashed hazardously upon meeting deep brown ones. "That kid… He's only nineteen! What you just did to him…!"

"He gave us five extremely valuable names. Names with which we'll be able to finally close his organization." The older man's gaze hardened. "We can't afford to start sympathizing with them. He wouldn't show mercy on us, either, if our roles were reversed."

"There's a difference between bringing justice and torture, even for IMF", the younger agent hissed.

The older man rolled his eyes with undisguised irritation. "We've been trained to kill, Brandt. It's what we do for a living and we've been recruited because we do it well. We either get the mission done, by whatever means necessary, or we get killed. There's no middle ground. You think those people we're hunting are any different? That they haven't accepted those same rules?" The man began to walk away. "You're still new to this game so I'll forgive you for this one. Have a cup of coffee, deal with whatever moral crap you've got going on and then join the team. We have a mission to complete."

Brandt gritted his teeth painfully tightly. Then squeezed the windowsill so hard that it hurt to keep himself from saying something he might or might not have regretted later. If only you knew…


Present time


The Tower hadn't felt the same since Bruce Banner took off. Tony was a grown man, he could admit that much to himself. He missed having his science bro around, even if their personalities couldn't have been more different. Thor was also still away on his… little quest. Most of the time Steve and Natasha were busy with training the 'younglings', as they half-jokingly called the next generation of the Avengers. Of course Tony trained them as well but he had a massive international company to run. Along with twenty-five – or no, after a minor explosion twenty-four – active projects in development. His time had to be divided. Which still didn't keep him busy enough to help him forget that things just weren't the same anymore.

So, to put it bluntly, Tony was – although he would've never, under any circumstances, admitted it out loud – getting old and nostalgic.

The billionaire was almost ridiculously glad that at least Clint was back from his joined sick- and paternity leave. Very Barton, really. Trust it to take a bullet to the side and a newborn baby to keep Hawkeye away from fieldwork for longer than a couple of days.

Tony, of course, didn't admit how happy he was. He had to have at least some pride, after all. "So. Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered by the attention. But it's a bit… weird when you show up looking like you just came back from a mission and drag me to a café."

Clint made a decidedly not happy sound. "I did just come back from a mission. Pepper gave me a second one after you nearly blew up the Tower out of either boredom or lack of sleep. She told me to find out which of those two was the cause, and to keep you out of the way."

Tony scoffed, gratefully accepting the coffee an understandably suspicious looking barista offered him. "She's being over dramatic. I didn't almost blow up the Tower. It was just…"

"… a minor explosion", Clint filled in, unimpressed.

Tony gave his friend one of his megawatt grins. "Exactly!" They sat down, wisely choosing a table at which they'd arouse the least attention. "So, how did the mission go?"

"Classified information", Clint informed, appearing far more mischievous than should've been socially acceptable.

Tony scoffed, then pouted in a not exactly mature way. "See, this is why I hate working with people like you and Natasha. You have a cool answer like that for everything."

Clint smirked, then took a sip of his coffee. And winced instantly. "Okay, this has to be worse than some of the stuff I've had at hospitals."

Tony blinked once, his head refusing to quite keep up after he'd been awake for almost two days. "Oh?" He tasted his cautiously. It was divine. "Mine's fine. Maybe you pissed off the barista and she spat at yours."

As though summoned in a few moments the said woman made her way to them, appearing confused. "Someone just left a note and asked me to deliver it to you. Said that you're an old friend."

With a healthily suspicious look on his face Clint took the offered note and read it. Tony couldn't resist a teasing grin while the barista walked away. "You got a secret admirer or something?"

Clint, however, didn't seem amused. An unreadable yet very unnerving expression took over the Hawk's face. "Don't take another sip of your coffee, Tony."

It took Tony a few seconds to realize that there was something horribly wrong with the situation. He frowned and gave his friend a good look, his stomach knotting unpleasantly at how pale the other had gone. "Hey, Barton? Clint? You okay?"

Tony's eyes then fell on the piece of paper that'd been slipped to his friend. Screw privacy. He peered over the other's shoulder to give it a look. Somehow what he found succeeded in making his heart plummet all the way to his firmly knotted stomach.

It wasn't just a note. There was also a picture of a man who was clearly very much dead. Blood had dried below the poor guy's nose. And then, of course, there was a message.

'I hope you enjoyed the coffee, agent Brandt. Your mission, should you choose to accept it or not… You have twelve hours. Vega'

Tony's head whirred chaotically. Brandt? Mission? Vega? What was this, some sort of a stupid spy movie? Eventually he drew a solid blank. "What… the hell does that even mean?"

Clint swallowed loudly. "That's my mission. To die, just like that guy." Their eyes met. There was visible alarm in the archer's. "I... I've just been poisoned by someone who should've died years ago."


TBC


A/N: Okay, so poor Clint's SERIOUSLY in a trouble. (gulps) Who poisoned him? Will he get the antidote before it's too late?

And what about you guys? Would you like to read some more? PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know.

Awkay, it's time for feather islands for me. THANK YOU, so much, for reading! Maybe I'll see you again…?

Take care!