A/N: Holeecrap have a really long chapter. I think this my third (fourth...?) draft of this chapter. I think this works now (I hope this works now). I got some ideas and even though the chapter was postable before, my brain demanded I rework it until it was THIS. I was trying to get ahead with the other chapters too, but now they need to be reworked to make all of this fit so... yeah. Also, I was writing while watching Zodiac (Ruffalo, RDJ, Jake Gylenhaal, awesome movie, gowatchitnow) so if there's any serious typos, blame the movie above for being a bit of a distraction.
Again, thank you's to Post U Later, tmmdeathwishraven, Shara Raziel, NoOneShallKnow, MissGerardWay, anonymous Margaret (special thank you to you for offering to be my beta, but as I cannot contact you I can't send you the chapters, so much love to you for the sweet offer :), and rozisa for all of the lovely reviews. Good reviews are like positive reinforcement to get chapters out faster and light a fire in my brain, so I always appreciate them :) Also, thank you to all of the story fav's and watches, it means a lot to me that so many people are reading my work.
Disclaimer: -inserts some pithy comment about not owning anything, and goes to watch Mark Ruffalo on Sesame Street again (seriously, the cuteness and the feels, oh my god. That man should be illegal, but then again we wouldn't see him, so nevermindme)-
`~+0+~`
Tony paced the hospital room wondering when someone was going to bring him clothes. The tiny med bay room was making him stir crazy. If it wasn't for the backless hospital gown he'd have run for the hills long ago, apparent danger and risk of his newfound condition be damned.
The entire situation was surreal. He'd gone over the data three times, even did a few extra scans on his blood to make sure there was no error. If his and Bruce's math was right (and of course it was), the mutation had now spread throughout every cell in his body. He was also infected by a very unhealthy dose of gamma radiation, which was either there to keep the little nano-pricks alive, or was a by-product of them. He still needed to get to the lab to figure that out. All he'd been able to tell was that the radiation wasn't causing his cells to deteriorate - the contaminant had taken care of that. That was nice, considering radiation sickness wasn't high on his list of ways to die.
He glanced at himself in the mirror, flinching just like every other time. Thin white lines criss-crossed over his face, parting his goatee, adding a dipping curve to his upper and lower lip. Another just missed his eye. Even with this glance he could see that they were less pronounced, still healing...
He didn't have any video feed about the supposed 'almost transformation' which Bruce had told him about so as far as he was concerned regarding that, Tony was a river in Egypt. The memories of the attack and surgery were safely locked away in his mind somewhere, nothing more than inconvenient shadows that hinted at pain and terror wrapped in a fuzzy blanket of painkillers and sedatives.
His eyes slid down towards what Bruce had left him. A small glass auto-injector sat on the bedside table. The vial was filled with a deep purple liquid. It was the sedative which the two of them had modified from General Ross's original design. Bruce had told him to just yank the cap off and medicate if he felt the change begin, but Tony had no memory of what that might feel like.
Clothes, he reminded himself, resuming his pacing. He was about to use the tablet to call Bruce when there was a knock at the door.
Sighing in relief, and rather hoping Bruce had stopped by with a sandwich as well as something to cover his ass, he opened the door to find Legolas holding an armful of clothing. Well, that's new.
"Um..." said Tony, trying to make sense of why Barton was standing there staring at him with clothes. And why it wasn't Bruce. And why there wasn't a slice of bread in sight.
"Bruce thought you might need something to wear, so I offered to bring it down." There was question A. "He'll be here in a minute." There was question B, with reservations.
Legolas walked in the room without answering C, which had become a rather pressing issue in the last hour, but Tony decided that two psychic answers out of three was pretty good odds. Barton tossed the clothing on the bed. Tony didn't fail to notice his bow was coiled on his hip or that he was wearing his arrows. Even for one of the deadly assassins this was odd.
"Here to prevent me from killing the innocent masses?" The idea sent a bolt of burning, sour anger through his stomach and he had to bite his lip and concentrate to prevent his hands from shaking. That was way out.
"No. Here to prevent the not-so-innocent masses from knocking you out and dissecting you."
And yet another field ball, thought Tony, blinking hard, like maybe if he did it enough times the strange man in leather in front of him might go poof and something more sensible would take his place. "No offense," he began, edging over to the bed, keeping his bare back to the wall to prove he had a little modesty, "but... why do you care? I mean, we aren't exactly buddies."
Barton shrugged, going to stand by the door. "We're part of a team, Stark. Nat and I might not be the most sociable people around, but after everything that's happened since the Avengers first assembled, how can you think it's strange for someone to want to have your back?"
Tony had no answer. Perhaps he'd just assumed that the scary ninja woman and deadly Robin Hood were more of Fury's people than the other four, and didn't make much of an attempt to bridge the gap. Hell, other than Bruce he'd made no attempt to bridge any gap with any of them, especially Rogers. He pulled on a pair of jeans, deciding not to answer the question. He posed a different one. "If I'm contagious to soft squishy humans, why isn't the resident demi-god looking after me?"
"Thor returned to Asgard to learn more about what attacked you, but he said he wouldn't stay there long. And Rogers figured he'd probably just piss you off."
Tony snorted. That wasn't far off base.
Barton glanced back just as Tony tossed the gown away and picked up a plain black t-shirt from the pile. "Hungry?"
Tony's stomach snarled at the suggestion. "YES."
"Dr. Banner went to get you a tray from the cafeteria. He figured it would be good for you if you didn't have to eat around a lot of gaping eyes and bad questions."
As if on cue Bruce walked in, balancing a tray and looking more tired than Tony had ever seen the man. It looked like one good breeze would knock him over. He had also changed his shirt, Tony noticed with a pang of mortification. He hadn't lost it like that in a long time and was a little embarrassed by it all.
"Hello, Tony," said Bruce, but Tony didn't reply. Trivialities like greetings were forgotten when the tray was set down next to the bed. He heard the physicist chuckling as Tony started to edge towards it. "Go ahead. Bon appetite."
He needed no second prompting as he darted past Bruce, homing in on his prey. He pulled the lid off of the tray and inhaled. Military commissary food had never smelled so fucking good. A part of him was a little disappointed with the lack of rare, bloody steak, but the hamburger and mound of fries helped quash that. And oh, maybe this wasn't some gourmet burger that would send food critics into beefy-heaven, but he didn't care.
He didn't notice Bruce was watching him with a half fascinated, half disgusted expression until he'd finished the burger and started wolfing down his fries.
"What?" he asked with his mouth full.
"Did you taste it?" he asked, looking away.
"Yes. Might need another though, to be sure of the flavour. Gotta love slightly scorched Argentinean cows. We really need to get some better cooks here. Do you think Fury would pitch some SHIELD budget towards hiring five star chefs, or would I have to be the financial backer there?" He took a swig of warming coke to wash everything down.
"I'd back you financially to teach you some table manners."
"I was savaged by a wolf creature and turned into a mutant. I think I'm allowed to snarf down one meal."
He eyed the juices left behind, wishing Bruce had been thoughtful enough to bring another one. Or two. Or a steak. Man he wanted a steak. With a shrug he pulled the piece of apple pie forward and began to eat it instead. "So, what have you been doing while I was hanging out in here?"
Bruce leaned against the bed next to him, swaying a little. "I uploaded the data I had from various experiments I've tried on myself - cures, I mean. I'm running simulations against some blood samples I took from you. Jarvis said he'll be busy with them for awhile. I figured you'd be climbing the walls, so..." he waved his hand.
"Well, thank you for the pie," said Tony, between bites. "And the bodyguard."
Barton chuckled. He was sitting on the counter, leaning back, totally relaxed.
Bruce shrugged, pulling off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. "No problem."
Tony finished off his meal with belch, shoving the tray away. "Nice one," laughed Barton. Tony made a mock bow, ignoring Bruce's nauseated look.
"So... what now?" he asked, still staring at the empty plate. He didn't know how it was possible he was still starving but he figured he'd let his brain catch up with his stomach. When Bruce didn't reply he glanced over. Banner was staring glassy-eyed at the floor. He opened his mouth to ask if he was alright just as the physicist's eyes closed and he started to topple off of the bed. Tony caught his arm just before he fell and Bruce jerked awake with a startled gasp.
"Bruce, when was the last time you slept? And I mean slept slept, not a nap." He was surprised by the sudden well of concern for him. He was always looking out for Bruce but the need to keep him well was like a buzzing through his entire body.
"Umm," Bruce swayed, blinking dazedly at him. "Well, about thirty hours ago, I'd guess."
Tony sighed. "Get to bed."
"Tony, you need me on this. I'm kind of an expert on these kinds of transformations."
"Won't be much good if my expert falls over, beans himself on the counter, and hulks out on us. Go to bed, Bruce. I'll be a good little boy and avoid pain and annoyance for the next eight hours or so. Relax. I'll just work on something else until you get back."
Bruce looked like he wanted to argue but his face disappeared in a jaw cracking yawn. "Alright, maybe you're right. Be careful. Don't forget about that sedative."
Tony nodded, shoving the auto-injector in his pocket.
Bruce left, swaying like a zombie as he made his way towards the housing block. Tony was surprised by a brush of anxiety from seeing him leave, but chalked it up to stress. Tony wasn't a mother hen. Not his style.
"So?" Barton asked, still perched by the door.
Tony shrugged, looking around. The helicarrier wasn't exactly the coolest spot to be trapped in. If they were in the Avengers Tower he and Clint could go watch a movie, or even play some basketball, or he could work on his suit...
Well, that left only one place to play.
"Lab?"
It was Barton's turn to shrug. From their brief interactions at the Tower Tony knew his skills were no less when wielding a nerf or paintball gun, he spent an inordinate amount of time in the rafters and reinforced air ducts, and enjoyed unusual movies like Brazil and Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. He'd had yet to see him in the lab (not counting when he stood on the rafters and shot nerf darts and arrows at Bruce and Tony for three hours while they created sparkly fireworks to knock him down) doing anything remotely science-y.
"Maybe I'll make you a new arrowhead. Got any that release poison gas?"
"No," said Clint, perking up. Tony knew he should be more worried about a man that excited to have a new toy of death, but in the spirit of killing aliens Tony decided to be a bit more amiable.
They walked to the lab together discussing new arrowhead ideas. Legolas was even more excited when Tony suggested creating an arrowhead that released an acid splash. If it hadn't been so creepy it might have been endearing. Occasionally an agent would pass, look alarmed, then duck their head and keep going. My reputation precedes me, thought Tony drily. What he didn't expect was to pass one of the medics and have her trip up in her hurry to get the hell out of his way. The wide-eyed look of terror she gave him didn't help the paranoid feeling that his story had already gotten out all over the helicarrier.
The lab was located a few levels below the bridge overlooking the main hanger through thick plate glass. Below was a network of service tunnels which led towards the storage wings and the docking bay. Tony breathed deep the sterile scent of the lab. It was his and Banner's favourite place to play on the carrier, full of touch screen computers and holoprojectors that were enough to make any scientist cream their jeans, along with a wide array of useful chemicals, spectrometers, high powered lasers, and all the useful little tools that went with them. No particle accelerator, he thought with just a touch of smugness as he slipped into his favourite chair and logged into the mainframe. My lab is still the best.
The two of them put their heads together, drawing up schematics for the new prototypes. The process took a few hours. Tony was surprised to find he liked Barton more than he thought - there really was something to teamwork. Barton was invaluable too, teaching him about the balance of his arrows, the best shapes for the head. Tony had never worked with arrows before - they always seemed so archaic next to his repulsor blasters - but the work was interesting and stimulating.
He took apart several of the arrowheads. He didn't have exactly the right equipment to make a fully-functioning weapon, but with a little tweaking he could make a prototype after breaking down some of the others for parts. Clint helped, although he was clearly ill at ease with the sacrifice of some of his hardware.
"Alright, now one of the electric ones," he said, working away with the delicate screwdriver at a small cylinder he'd decided to use for one of the chemicals he'd need for creating the corrosive splash.
Clint unclipped it, passing it over. "What do you need it for?"
"Science," said Tony with a roll of his eyes as he changed the bit on his screwdriver for something smaller. "I need it for the electrodes."
"Careful," said Barton, watching him as he began to undo the screws. "Those capacitors can hold up to five thousand volts."
"I'm an engineer," said Tony, easing the casing open. "I'm also a genius, not a temp in the civil engineering office. I'm not so stupid that I'm going to poke the capacitor and electrocute myself."
He prised apart the casing and started to take it apart. Careful not to tap the capacitor he removed what he needed and put the dangerous parts aside and set to work reassembling the mess before him. When he was done forming the quick release - which let go with a good clack when he tapped the bit against the metal desk top - he set about collecting the chemicals he needed to make something nice and corrosive. Clint watched him with a wary eye as gathered the materials and beakers and he ignored him. It was fine and dandy telling him about bow-crafting but this was Tony's realm. Granted he wasn't as good at it as Bruce, but...
"What are they?" asked Clint, eyeing one that was vaguely green.
"Would you even begin to understand if I actually named them?"
"No."
"So don't trouble your little hawk brain. It's just something I'm concocting that should work at dissolving alloys similar to the armour the Chitauri were wearing."
"Man, I do not get why Bruce likes you so much," said Clint, (Tony, if ever asked, would vehemently deny the deep burst of pleasure the idea brought him), "you can be an asshole when you want to be."
"It's my prerogative. Everyone's got their character type, Team Asshole is mine."
This lead to an interesting discussion about everyone else's types (Tony insisted on calling Rogers the Team Boy Wonder, Clint countered with Team Do-Gooder, and the jury was hopelessly deadlocked on a compromise) while he pulled on a pair of gloves and set to work.
"Alright, this is volatile stuff, so maybe stand back," said Tony as he siphoned a clear substance out of one of the beakers with his pipet.
Clint looked like he wanted to say something. His face read this is a bad idea, but Clint was a known perpetrator of Bad Ideas at the tower, so he said nothing and just backed up a few paces.
At first Tony was ready to call it a success as he transferred the chemical into the waiting beaker. There wasn't any smoke or obvious reaction besides a slight bubbling. He smiled, lifting his goggles, as he rechecked his math. "You know, it should have changed colour."
"Did you do it wrong?" There was a definite edge of nervousness to Clint's voice which Tony took immediate offense to. "I mean, it's not going to randomly explode, is it?"
Tony picked up what he had dubbed the 'Pokinator' (and what Bruce fondly referred to as the 'StarkTech Annoyatron') and waved it at him. "It's perfectly fine. If my math is right, and it always is, then nothing's going to make this explode. I was just wrong about the interaction level changing the colour." He tapped the side of the beaker to prove his point.
There was an amazing amount of noise and light for just a little tap, and it felt like the Hulk had just slapped him in the chest. He hit something back first and heard a crack as pain sliced through the back of his head.
He hit the ground, coughing as he inhaled acrid smoke. Clint was yelling but it was like Tony's ears were stuffed full of cotton. His entire body convulsed and he wasn't able to get up or move his arms. Something in his head was screaming, not in words but in feelings, feelings of fear, the need to defend himself against the threat that had hit him, hurt him.
The sprinklers had gone off, spraying the lab with stale water. Somewhere across the lab an alarm had begun to trill, the sound driving through his skull like a dull wedge. Tony opened his eyes and looked at his curled hands. Drops of red mixed with the puddle on the ground in front of him. Stronger feelings, anger at being hurt, swelled up inside of him like a storm and he shuddered as his body started to heat up, getting hotter and hotter as it rolled from his chest to his fingers and toes.
"Fuck, fuck," he swore, his entire body felt like it was vibrating (or was it the world around him that was shaking?) and he gripped his head to make it hold still. He yelled at Clint to find out if he was okay but the sound came out wrong, like there was a tortured animal in the lab. He sucked in a hard breath, terror crashing through him like a tidal wave forcing all of his other thoughts away. His joints were popping and snapping, his muscles too big for his skin...
Something touched his shoulder. He flinched, letting out a snarl. Something had gotten the drop on him! He turned, snapping his hand out. It made a startled, strangled noise as he caught it by its neck, grey eyes wide in shock. He roared at it, squeezing hard enough to feel its muscles strain back against his hand, and tossed it away. It barely weighed anything.
There was a crack as it (Jesus Christ, Stark, that is Barton, Clint Barton, what the fuck are you thinking?) smashed through a touch screen, yelling, saying meaningless words. He growled, low and deep, challenging it to get up.
Tony was trying to reassert himself but it was like a nightmare were you watch your body move, screaming instructions at it, but it wouldn't obey. Tony get a grip, calm down, this isn't you, you're not an animal -
A scent cut through everything, through the chemical stink, the stench of stagnant water. He breathed deep, tasting it. It was good and bad at the same time, setting his teeth on edge, filling his stomach with anticipation and deep dark need. It was male, laced with fear, tasting of strength and courage. He opened his eyes, looking at the other where it was dragging itself up out of the debris. Its tone was aggressive, its eyes dark. Blood trickled down its chin. It wished to fight.
He dropped to his knees as the last pieces of Tony Stark snapped away and disappeared.
`~+0+~`
There weren't a lot of things in the world that Clint Barton was afraid of, and even less than he'd admit to. One of his teammates screaming (howling) in pain and turning into a horrendous creature was on his list of things he'd freely admit. He'd been in tense situations where one wrong move would kill him, but this was something else entirely.
The second Tony had started playing mad scientist with the chemicals he planned to use to create his new arrowheads he'd gotten his doubts. But after chastising him over nothing about the capacitors he felt like a fool for bringing up the whole "avoiding possibilities of pain" thing again, despite what Bruce had warned him about. Stark was a brilliant engineer and scientist, so telling him off like a child would be an insult.
All of his doubts about the direction their brainstorming had taken were justified when Stark tapped the side of the glass beaker and it had exploded. He had a brief vision of Tony flying backwards into the wall of thick safety glass, his arms spread like he was being crucified, the spider webbed glass behind his head like a halo. Then he was on the ground as well, the air knocked out of him, ears ringing. He started to cough, trying to draw something in but he could only taste the bitterness of the chemicals on his tongue and burning in his eyes. Tears clouded his vision as he blinked. He had to turn as the sprinklers turned on with a spray so he wasn't going to drown.
"S-Stark?" he managed as his chest heaved. "Stark, you alright?"
He opened his eyes, looking around. Small fires were burning, the lab was littered with debris. He lurched to his feet.
Tony was kneeling on the ground, hands over his head. His body was shaking, a strangled sound twisting from his throat, almost like a growl. "Fuck, fuck," he heard him say like a thin, dragged out whine.
" Tony? Are you..."
Tony didn't reply, at least not with words. Something animalistic, a snarling twisted moan of pain came out of his mouth as he twisted on the ground, dragging his fingers through his hair. His body started to pulse, something was crunching and popping, his clothing was shrinking around his arms and chest.
Oh. OH. Oh shit! He vaulted over the desk and hit the ground next to him. He was afraid to touch him but he was afraid to leave him. There was a snap, like glass breaking, and he could see something dark and wet spreading from Tony's pocket. The auto-injector, and the only thing that might save Tony from what might happen. SHIT SHIT!
He reached out and touched his shoulder. Stark jerked, a snarl ripped from his throat. "Tony? It's me, Clint. Can you understand me?"
Clint prided himself on his observational skills. He knew the reaction times of all his teammates. He had to, when it meant the difference between living or dying. Tony's were high, but compared to the rest of the team his were the slowest of them all. He wasn't prepared for the lightning fast snap, his arm blurring with its speed, or his fingers clamping on his throat like a steel vice. It took everything he had to tighten his neck against him and keep a thin, scratching stream of air going to his lungs.
Clint gagged and grasped at his arm, digging his fingers into the tendons on his wrists. The muscles were taught under his skin, fingers rigid and unyielding. Tony had changed - there was nothing remotely resembling him in the lines of his face, his eyes glowing bright and silver in the flashing lights, water pouring down his cheeks. He bared his teeth, which had become long and sharp, glinting with saliva.
Oh shit oh shit please don't bite me.
Stark roared, inhuman, and he was flying through the air. Something shattered behind his back as he landed, sharp shards dug into his bare shoulders and he rolled over the edge of a desk and hit the floor. There was a bolt of pain as his head dragged over the corner of the desk.
"Tony I'm not an enemy! It's me, Clint!" he lurched to his feet, breath hissing through his teeth. His head throbbed. He probed the wound on his head, his fingers coming back red and slick with blood. "Shit."
He glanced up. Tony was still rigid, staring him down. He'd never seen anything like his eyes, except maybe when the moon was full. Then Tony dropped to his knees, another snarl ripped from his throat, and his body exploded in a surge of dark fur and muscle, sending scraps of cloth flying in every direction. One shaggy arm lifted and slammed against the desk, denting it. A foot, too long and clawed, kicked out, cracking the glass overlooking the hanger.
Oh damn. He glanced at the door on the far wall and back at Tony. His body was still twisting on the ground, jerking with each growl and snap. He took a breath and launched himself over a fallen chair. He had to get the place under lockdown before someone died. Jumping from desk to desk he landed by the door and punched in his skeleton code into the keypad. The second he thumbed the lock-out button metal shutters began to distend over the glass, the door deadlocked behind him with a hard click. He hit the com button.
"All personnel on levels eleven to thirteen will evacuate!" He saw his hand shaking and hated himself for it. "This is Clint Barton, and I repeat all personnel on levels eleven to thirteen will evacuate. We have a Code Green."
He was lying about that. Code Green was in case of an accidental transformation by Dr. Banner, but this was close enough. Someone set off the klaxon horns, which began to wail. He knew the levels would be closing up, dead locking, as emergency personnel got ready. Only Director Fury and Agent Hill would be able to override the command. He was trapped.
He glanced back to see what Tony had become roll to its feet, its shaggy back exposed on the other side of the desk. For the first time in his life Clint wasn't able to move as a furious snarl rolled out through the lab. He willed himself to do anything but just stand there like a gaping idiot as the creature stood higher - impossibly tall. Nine, ten feet, with muscles rippling beneath inky black fur, triple jointed legs ending in heavy paws. One arm pushed down on the desk and the metal groaned under the force, its hand large enough to completely fold around his head.
Clint had seen wolves in the circus. In the sideshow tent they'd had a man, a self-proclaimed werewolf, who was covered in hair and whose nails grew like talons, looking like he'd stepped out of Wolfman. He'd never seen anything like what Tony had become, except in a horror film.
It slouched down like a gorilla, its shoulders at Clint's eye level. The wolf's head lifted, lips peeled back over long, sharp teeth. With a roar that shook the walls it lifted the steel desk in its massive arms and threw it at the metal covered glass, sending a cascade of shards along the floor.
If Iron Man couldn't dodge one of those bastards Clint didn't stand a chance. Unless... He glanced up. The roof was high, maybe twenty feet. Beams and pipes ran over the ceiling. There was a thin ladder which rose upwards to a service deck. The beast had to be about six hundred pounds, and didn't look like it would be able to navigate the rungs with its gigantic hands. He reached behind himself, patting at his back for the button that would make his quiver change arrowheads and noticed with a lurch it was missing.
Shit. He'd taken off the quiver so he could take the arrowheads out as Tony needed. There. It had been thrown clear of the table in the explosion and was lying on its side, half underneath of a toppled piece of equipment.
He glanced at the beast again and took a step. Something crackled under his heel.
The growling stopped and the creatures ears perked up. He could hear it sniffing the air as it straightened out. A ripple rolled down its flanks as its muscles tightened and it let out a quiet snarl.
Oh fuck.
The creature turned, its silver eyes met his, and its ears flattened along its skull. The arc reactor shone through the shaggy fur on its chest, pulsing slightly. Clint glanced at the quiver again.
The creature snarled and leapt forward.
Clint rolled. He felt the wind and the vibration as it landed with a heavy thump and a squeal of abused metal. He scrambled up, unclipping one of his favourite toys from his belt, flicking off the pin with his thumb. He threw it behind him without looking, clamping his hands over his ears, unclenching his jaw. A sonic burst slammed into his back and sent him flying, glass from computer screens and windows shattered, spraying him with tiny shards that ground into his arms and face.
He hit the ground hard and skidded across the deck. He glanced back to see the creature howling in pain, slamming its fists against the ground where the grenade had gone.
Clint jumped up, pushing the computer or whatever the hell it was over, and snatched up the quiver. As he slung it over his shoulder he took the bow from his hip. The limbs sprang apart, the string snapped taut. The grip was comforting, like it was giving him some kind of control over the situation. The wolf was recovering as he pulled an arrow tipped with a plain, steel headed barb from the quiver and took aim. He was wishing for forgiveness as he looked down the sights, saw the point where its collarbone met its thick neck. "I'm sorry, Tony," he said, remembering what Banner had told him about his regenerative capabilities.
It charged forward, he let go of the string, closing his eyes on the scream of pain. The creature stumbled, twisting, one hand reaching up for its shoulder.
Clint didn't wait to see what happened as he ran for the ladder. He needed to get high, then radio backup - Thor, the Big Guy, whomever. He was out of his fucking league here.
He flew up the ladder, slipping on the water slick rungs, his heart pounding as the creature snarled below. He glanced down once, pausing for a second. The creature ripped the arrow from its shoulder sending a jet of crimson over the white deck. It howled in frustration and looked up, bunching its haunches for a leap.
"Shit shit," he swore, climbing again, pushing himself to go faster, trying not to imagine what would happen if he slipped and fell.
The ladder shook as it landed a few feet below him, metal squealing and protesting as its claws dug into the steel.
"Oh shit ohshitohaaaaaargh," he almost let go as its claws raked across the side of his calf, sliding through the Kevlar reinforced pants almost like it wasn't there.
He pulled himself up on the service deck, flicked another button to adjust his quiver, and drew again. The creature was maybe five feet away when he fired again, striking it in its other shoulder. There was a burst of electricity and it jerked, falling from the ladder. It hit the ground with a hard thud as it squealed in pain. Barton hit the ground knee first, gasping as his leg gave out on him.
He looked up to see a camera stationed in the corner. He took a deep breath. "Director Fury, do not send anyone in. He's highly contagious, and fucking determined. Wait for my signal before sending back-up."
He dug in one pocket, pulling out his wireless earpiece, and twisted it onto his ear. "Dr. Bruce Banner," he commanded, and listened to the ring as it dialed him. He'd already drawn another arrow and was pointing it at the creature (TONY, damnit!), his entire body shaking with adrenaline. If he wasn't so scared he'd be berating himself for getting too emotional.
He almost cried in relief as Bruce's tired voice came over the line.