Warnings: Swearing. Otherwise a pretty light chapter.
Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing and am just playing around for the fun of it.
Author's Note: So far, I have namedropped/introduced Barbara 'Bobbi' Morse aka Mockingbird, Henry 'Hank' Pym aka Ant-Man and Stephen Strange aka Doctor Strange/The Sorcerer Supreme. Just in case anybody didn't quite catch the references.
Chapter 2 - A Hunter's Greeting
Before they got any closer to the barn, Hawkeye turned and caught Tony's gaze.
"All right, here's the plan. We go in, you say as little as possible, you don't make any smart comments, and if things go fubar we improvise as always. Otherwise follow my lead. Understood?"
Tony's "Sir, yes sir!" garnered him another patented Hawkeye death stare. He felt like he was almost starting to built a certain immunity to them by now.
Impossible as it seemed, Hawkeye's tension appeared to ratchet up another notch as they approached the dark entrance to the barn. Tony wouldn't be surprised to learn that the agent could actually feel the individual vibrations from the ground in the hyper-aware state he was in. He suddenly wished he had asked more questions about the man they were about to meet. When the famously ice-veined Hawkeye was this keyed up it usually meant that shit was about to hit the fan in a spectacularly unpleasant way and today Tony had the dubious honor of being smack dab in the middle of the spray-zone.
With a careful, and clearly reluctant, move Hawkeye holstered his gun. Tony reminded himself that they were here to meet and possibly recruit a potential ally and not to engage a hostile in a battle to the death or something equally dramatic. On the other hand, bitter experience had taught them to always be prepared for and, depressingly enough, to also expect the worst possible outcome.
Doing a quick systems check, he surreptitiously armed the small rockets hidden under his shoulder plates. He wasn't too proud to admit that he had stolen the inspiration for them from Hammer's micro fusion detonators. Scratch that, Hammer was a slimy toad and an amateur to boot so yeah, he was definitely too proud to admit to the plagiarism, but at least they packed a really mean punch and with his own personal improvements they were 17% more destructive and just under 22% more accurate.
"Oh, by the way, although the asset said he'd meet you alone, look out for a partner. Apparently he and his brother operate as a team." Natasha's cool voice advised him from the comm link.
Watching Hawkeye step in and get swallowed up by the shadows of the barn, Tony couldn't help but mutter: "Oh great. You know, that's the kind of thing you might want to mention before your partner just willy-nilly entered a potential ambush. Just saying, you could've slipped it casually into the conversation anytime. I mean we're only walking into a potential life or death situation here."
"You were too busy bitching to listen. Besides it was included in the risk assessment during the briefing. Now shut the hell up, Tony, and focus on the mission," the Widow shot him down.
Swearing softly, Iron Man followed his teammate into the cool darkness of the old barn. The suit's sensors immediately adapted to the change in lighting and so Tony didn't have to waste any time getting his eyes to adjust to the gloom, unlike the very unhappy looking Hawkeye.
The first thing he noticed was the fine white line of what looked like crystallized rock salt he had to step over as he passed the threshold. He just managed a mental, 'huh, weird', before his eyes were drawn to the array of creepy symbols and sigils adorning basically any surfaces that would have them.
He really, really hoped that the dark red color was from a paint can and not blood as he suspected. Not entirely unused to seeing strange occult markings - they did after all have The Sorcerer Supreme on the Avenger's payroll - Tony was still pretty sure that they had just officially crossed from the moderately weird into the twilight zone of batshit crazy.
The guy standing at the other end of barn, however, was almost painfully normal looking compared to his handiwork. Out of all the adjectives Tony's slightly stunned brain could dredge up, 'blue-collar' seemed to fit the bill most accurately. With maybe just a hint of white trash thrown in to balance the look. He wore heavy, scuffed leather boots, patched and faded jeans, a nondescript long-sleeved T-shirt covered with an ugly-ass tartan shirt, and to finish the look an honest to god Redneck cap covered his short-cropped hair and hid most of his features in its shade.
His body language was wary, muscled arms crossed over his chest and eyes glittering alert and suspicious from the shadows of his face. Oh, and he was also clutching a truly evil-looking knife in his right hand with the air of someone who knew exactly how the business end worked. Leaning against his left knee, a sawed-off shotgun rested in comfortable reach and Tony thought he could spot at least one ankle holster complete with a handgun as well as the sheath for another knife strapped to the other leg.
Well, good on him for being prepared. So was Tony, not to mention he was pretty sure Barton had a small arsenal tucked away, God alone knew where, in his Kevlar suit. In fact the guy had a really unhealthy relationship with his weapons - Tony had once caught the sniper snuggling his bow as he slept off a concussion after an 85 hour mission. Natasha had taken pictures (which none of them had ever seen since). Of course, Thor's obsession with his hammer made Hawkeye seem like the sanest person on the planet and Tony himself had been known, on occasion, to spend slightly more time than was strictly necessary waxing his suits, so really who was he to judge?
At the sight of the two Avengers, a slow smile spread across the stranger's face, flashing white teeth through the scruffy beard that covered his chin, but otherwise doing nothing to dispel the air of danger that simmered around him.
"Aw man, this is so cool." His voice was deep and gravelly, yet still managed to convey a fanboyish enthusiasm.
Taken slightly aback from the mismatching signals being sent, crazy vs. normal, menacing vs. friendly, Tony decided to follow orders, hang back, and let Hawkeye take the lead.
"I take it you are 'borax-kills-monsters-no-it-really-does'?" The sniper's voice held a slightly pained note at being forced to use the ridiculous internet call sign. Tony felt his lips twist in an involuntary grin. There was a good chance he might actually come to like this guy.
"Nah, that'd be my brother. He's the one that likes to chat with strangers on the internet. I've tried to tell him over and over again, stranger-danger Sammy, but I guess you just can't stand in the way of true love." The man drawled and, from what Tony could make out from the shadows, waggled his eyebrows in suggestive manner at the last bit.
At Hawkeye's impassive stare, the guy sighed and pushed away from the table he had been leaning against. "All right. I guess we'd better get this show on the road then." Although his voice hadn't lost its drawl, there was now a more serious note to it. Tony also didn't miss the way he'd grabbed the shotgun and now held it expertly, yet relaxed, in his left hand. He suddenly felt a warm glow of appreciation for the bulletproofness of his armor.
"Before we can become BFFs and make friendship bracelets, there are a just couple of formalities we have to get out of the way." The guy, Tony mentally decided to dub him Cletus as an homage to Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel from the Simpsons, had apparently decided to take the lead in this little pow-wow. Casting a quick glance at Hawkeye, he decided to keep his promise and be a good little sidekick. For now.
"Formalities?" Hawkeye's tone, while not hostile, was definitely not friendly either. In fact it might be the single most neutral thing, Tony had ever heard. This was so not going well.
"If it is within acceptable mission parameters, humor him," Romanoff's voice ordered softly from the ether.
As if sensing the mounting tension, Cletus gave them another disarming smile. "Don't worry. I just need you two fine gentlemen to step forward a bit into this nice circle," he indicated a big circle painted in the middle of a carefully cleared space in the center of the barn, which was incidentally right between the two parties. The circle had been filled out with obscure symbols and what looked to be the broad outline of a pentagram.
Eyeing the circle, Tony mentally shrugged and started to move towards it. However, Hawkeye's hand shot out lightning fast and halted him before he had taken more than a single step.
"What does it do?" This time the agent didn't fully manage to hide the distrust in his voice. Wonderful, the magic-phobic and super paranoid professional killer was being asked to step into a great big magic circle by a potential nutcase or possibly evil mastermind. What could possibly go wrong?
"Nothing at all. If you are, who you say you are, that is." Cletus the potentially nutty mastermind answered easily, although his eyes were suddenly very, very focused and he subtly shifted his stance, almost as if he was readying himself for an attack.
Risking a quick glance at Hawkeye and seeing that the agent's raging paranoia had (surprise, surprise) not been eased by their host's cryptic response, Tony almost groaned in frustration. He also noted that Hawkeye's left hand was casually hovering very close to his gun. Damn it, he was so not going to end up in an all out firefight over something as stupid as a finger-painted circle, magic or not.
Almost as if sensing Tony's line of though, Hawkeye hissed out, "Tony," half in warning and half as an order.
"It's not gonna hurt. Scout's honor. I just gotta be sure you're a 100% human, man." Cletus said in a reconciliatory, 'what can you do' tone of voice.
Saying a quick prayer, Tony quickly brushed past Hawkeye and, before he could think too much about it, stepped into the circle. Freezing in anticipation of whatever the hell magic circles did when they were activated, he held his breath. Nothing happened. Whatsoever. Truth be told, it was just the teeniest bit disappointing.
"Told'ya."
"What do you mean 'a 100% human'?" Tony couldn't help but ask curiously, as this moment where absolutely nothing horrific was happening to him continued to stretch on pleasantly.
"There are all kinds of nasties that can take on the skin of people. Speaking of, I'm gonna need to you to take off the helmet Iron Man." The way the guy's face lit up when he used Tony's superhero moniker clearly gave away that he was a fan. A fan holding a very big knife and a shotgun in the middle of a satanically redecorated barn, but hey it was still flattering. Tony briefly considered introducing him to Stacy.
In the meantime, Hawkeye had apparently decided that the risk of stepping into the funky circle was outweighed by the mission objective of playing nice and, although he didn't look real happy (when did he ever?), he at least managed not to shoot anybody, which was definite progress in Tony's mind.
"Allrighty, so I'm guessing not demons." Cletus smiled at them beatifically. "But like I said, you can never be too careful."
Over the next couple of minutes they were alternately handed a small silver flask filled with lukewarm and rather stale water that they were ordered to drink from (Cletus sipped from it first in a show of good faith) and another bottle, this time plastic, containing a liquid which smelled suspiciously like... "Is this Borax?" Tony asked incredulously.
"Yup."
"Huh. I hope you don't expect us to drink it."
"Nah, just pour some of it on your skin."
The guy shrugged at the look Hawkeye sent him. "Worse case scenario you get a little sticky. It's a small price to pay for humoring me," he said, unconsciously mirroring Romanoff's words.
Hawkeye grunted in reply and poured a liberal dose over his forearm. By this time, Tony had divested himself of most of his left metal glove and his faceplate was open. He quickly followed Hawkeye's example.
Having never had any real intentions of following Hawkeye's original instructions of silence anyway (as if), Tony had pretty quickly realized that if they wanted any chance of this meeting ending in anything other than bloodshed, he'd have to handle most of the social niceties. The business end of this meeting, he'd leave up to Hawkeye though, since he was still a bit fuzzy on who the hell this guy was and why they needed him specifically.
Besides it just wasn't in his nature to keep quiet when there were sarcastic comments to be made. Nobody put Tony in a corner.
"So what's next?" He asked brightly. "You want us to prove that we know the super secret handshake?"
"Nope. I just need to see your blood," Cletus whipped out a slender silver blade from thin air and handed it hilt first to Hawkeye. "But that secret handshake sounds awesome. Maybe you can teach it to me later."
Apparently resigned to the situation, Barton didn't hesitate for a second before drawing a thin line of blood across the meaty part of his arm. Tony, however, balked when he was handed the knife. "No way am I cutting myself with a knife. It is way too teenage angsty for my image. Besides it cannot be hygienic to use the same knife."
Hawkeye once again mobilized his death stare, clearly running out of patience, "Tony either you do it yourself... or I help you."
Tony had been around the archer long enough to know a real threat when he heard one. "Crap."
Licking his lips nervously, he grabbed the knife and tentatively cut the skin on the back of his hand. Damn, that hurt way more when you knew it was coming. Bright red blood welled up.
"There. Happy?" Tony knew he was sulking, but couldn't quite find it in himself to care. "What the hell was it even supposed to prove?"
"That you're not a 'shifter," came the unhelpful answer. "Or a werewolf, I suppose," Cletus added almost as an afterthought. "Anyway, congratulations. You're human."
The silver knife was whisked away to whatever pocket dimension it had originally come from and the shotgun was put down on a nearby table. But the last knife remained firmly in Cletus' hand, almost as if it was a natural extension of his arm.
Apparently passing the tests only bought so much trust.
"Sorry 'bout all of this. But at least now you get to say that you've tried a proper hunter's greeting."
"Lucky us," mumbled Tony sarcastically. "So what now?"
A scarred fist was offered, first to Hawkeye and then Tony, who shook it awkwardly with his free and now bleeding left hand. Cletus' grip was strong and rough, calloused skin and scarred knuckles attesting to both hard work and a history of violence.
Seeing him up close, Tony gauged the asset's age to be somewhere in the mid-thirties. He had good looks and a boyish charm that would have made him seem a lot younger if it hadn't been for the old look in his eyes complete with a couple of crow's feet and a few faint scars cutting across his chin and forehead.
"So, what can I do for the Avengers?" Cletus asked as he lead them to a rickety table and three even shakier chairs which had clearly been salvaged from somewhere in the barn. Tony wisely chose to keep standing, but Hawkeye took a seat, letting down his guard slightly.
"Why don't we start with an introduction?" Hawkeye offered, in what was, for him, an almost friendly manner. "I'm..."
"Clint Francis Barton, codename Hawkeye," Cletus interrupted. "The world's greatest marksman, former US marine scout sniper, and all around badass."
Turning to Tony, his smile once again threatened to split his face. "And of course Tony Stark, the Tony Stark. Also known as Iron Man. Dude, you're like my hero. You've got it all, the chicks, the cars, the flying robot suit!"
Tony couldn't help grinning as the guy geeked out. "I agree, I'm awesome. Just wait until you see my private island, it's got..." he caught himself as he felt Hawkeye's heavy gaze on him. Really, the guy could do with some lightening up. "So yeah, maybe this isn't the best time. But trust me, it is very, very cool."
"Aw man, that sounds sweet."
Feeling his control over the situation slipping, Hawkeye chose that moment to loudly clear his throat. The happy smile on Cletus' face disappeared in a flash, as if he had been caught doing something wrong, but before Tony could blink it had been substituted with a cocky grin that didn't quite reached his eyes.
"Dean. Dean... Hunter," Cletus, or apparently Dean, introduced himself. The slight hesitation before he gave up his last name pretty much told Tony that it was a fake. As if reading his mind, Romanoff's voice murmured: "He's lying. His name is Dean Winchester, born January 24, 1979, in Lawrence, Kansas to John and Mary Winchester, both deceased. He has a younger brother Samuel, born May 3, 1983. No other known family."
Without giving the slightest hint that he'd just heard Romanoff's impromptu mini-biography, Hawkeye simply nodded and said: "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Mr. Hunter."
"Yeah. So, uh, what is this all about?"
"We need your help locating and retrieve someone, who may or may not have been taken by force."
"Have you tried going to the police? I hear they are very gung-ho about kidnappings." Winchester joked.
"The man in question is very powerful and as a consequence has very powerful enemies." Hawkeye continued, ignoring the comment.
"And what makes you think this is within in my... area of expertise?" Winchester asked, now serious.
"We found his rooms in shambles, mystic symbols not unlike these, " Hawkeye nodded at the barn walls, "on the floor, painted in blood. And it looked like there had been a very powerful explosion, except there was no residue left to give any hint as to its origin or nature. The only thing we did find was the body of a local barista and the outline of what can only be described as a pair of very big wings burnt into the carpet."
Winchester grew very still. "I thought you already had a 'wizard' on your team. Shouldn't he be the one to deal with this?"
"Stephen Strange, The Sorcerer Supreme. And yes, we would normally go to him for this kind of thing." Hawkeye gave him a humorless smile. "The only problem is, that the man who is missing is Stephen Strange."
