A/N: Thank you for such a positive response to Chapter 7!

I have two beta readers! They have been so fantastic and insanely helpful with making sure this chapter reads right. Thank you SO MUCH morrismsteph and nightgigjo! Also, this chapter would be 1100 words shorter if it hadn't been for morrismsteph's input.

FYI:

1) Supernatural Books: a couple people have asked why Sam and Dean aren't telling SHIELD and the Avengers about Chuck's Supernatural books. They will never reveal those books. They are filled with so much man-pain. It's just too embarrassing. I might have them pop-up unexpectedly to the dismay of Sam and Dean, but the brothers won't be revealing them purposefully.

2) Supernatural Lecture 101: you can assume that the Avengers know the basics of everything major such as the bunker, their respective stints in hell, purgatory, the mark of Cain, different types of monsters. They might not know the details of every case or all the ins and outs of their relationships with other hunters, but they are aware of the major things Sam and Dean have been through. This is my incredibly lazy way of not having to rehash the show.

"Hey Thompson! Way to get your ass handed to you by the Hamburglar!"

Agent Jon Thompson flipped off his fellow SHIELD agents as he limped through the bullpen towards his desk. With bandages on his cheeks and chin covering first and second degree grease burns, he was fully aware he looked like a ratchet Halloween mummy.

"That name doesn't even make sense, Jerry. He wasn't stealing hamburgers. Besides, the guy tackled like a 350-pound linebacker," Jon complained. "My bruises have bruises."

"Oh, we know. We saw the footage. Over and over and over."

"HA. HA. The hilarity that is my pain." He massaged his throbbing knee as they continued mocking.

"Lifting from an 85-year-old lady, though? That's low, Thompson. What, were there no babies with candy for you to steal?"

"He probably couldn't pick anyone else's pocket cleanly and had to go for the low-hanging fruit."

"Hey! I picked McKinley's pocket."

"McKinley is the 35-year-old male equivalent of an 85-year-old woman. The guy literally knits mittens for kittens during stakeouts."

Putting his head down on his desk, Jon groaned out, "You guys are the worst. Know that I truly hate each and every one of you."

"Aww, don't be like that, Jonny-boy. Here, we'll get a baby for you to practice your candy stealing skills on before your next assignment. Gino's wife is due to pop any day now."

Dean had just left with Clint and Bucky, was probably still in the elevator, in fact, when Sam's phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket and seeing that it was Garth, he took a deep breath in preparation for Garth's brand of insane and answered.

"Hey Garth." Sam couldn't keep the trepidation out of his voice.

"Sam, hey, so just a head's up, you're gonna get a call in a few minutes from a Police Chief Garland. He's from the regional force in Jefferson, Missouri."

"What?" Sam's loud demand claimed the attention of Steve and Natasha, who had been opening take-out containers across the room. Tony was only a few feet away already watching Sam and trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Garth continued on as if Sam hadn't spoken. "Is he kinda scary? Sure, but he's just doing his job, ya know? And mostly it's his eyebrows, which he can't help. Well, I guess he could wax, but sometimes you just gotta let it grow, man. That's my opinion."

Sam could feel the vein on his forehead begin to pulse. "What?"

"Anyway, he's gonna be calling you about an FBI Agent Drew (that'd be me, btdubs. Named after Nancy, obviously). So, if you could be my supervisor and confirm I'm supposed to be on this case, that'd be fantastico."

Sam's hand was covering his eyes at this point, as if he could spare himself from seeing this train-wreck of a conversation play out. "Garth, what exactly are you hunting?"

"Oh yeah, it's the freakiest thing. Never seen or even heard of something like it before in my life, actually. I think it's–"

*BEEP BEEP*

"-Shit. Garland is calling me right now, Garth."

"Ooh! Okay, I'll let you go! Thanks a million, Sammy!"

"Garth, no, wait! What's the case?!"

*Click*

"Goddamnit, Garth!"

"Excuse me?" A stern voice responded to Sam's expletive.

Sam sent out a silent 'Kill me now' to Chuck when he realized his phone had immediately answered Garland's call after Garth unceremoniously hung up on him. He took a deep breath and adopted an identically stern tone.

"Who is this?"

"This is Chief Garland from the Jefferson Police Department in Missouri. Is this Special Agent Bond?"

Bond. Sam rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised they managed to stay in their sockets. He made sure his back was to the Avengers when he answered.

"Yes, this is Special Agent Bond."

Behind him there was the distinct sound of choking.

"Supervisor to an Agent Drew?"

Though he wanted to just hang up, Sam ground out, "Yes."

"What the hell are you doing sending an agent down here? What reason do the feds have for stomping all over our crime scene?"

'Good question.' Sam wanted to say, but instead turned the question around. "Did Agent Drew not inform you?"

"He rambled off something about serial toe amputations being a link to Mafioso or some bullshit. I didn't comprehend much of it. He's rather…" Garland just trailed off, unable to come up with an accurate description for Garth.

"Agent Drew is one of our best agents. He was assigned to this case as it was discovered to be linked to a larger network of cases, the details of which I'm unable to disclose. Rest assured, he is operating with the full support of the FBI."

The initially stern Chief Garland released a huge sigh, revealing himself to be nothing more than a weary man trying to do his job while being made to suffer fools.

"Okay, well, could you at least tell him to stop touching everything before we can properly document it? He's got his hands in everything. At one point this morning he was juggling four severed toes. In front of children."

"…I'll speak to him."

"Thank you."

"If that is all Chief Garland?"

"Yeah, that's it."

Feeling a swell of sympathy for the stressed police chief, Sam said, "Have a beer on the bureau, Chief."

That garnered a chuckle out of the man. "Yeah, I think I just might. Your man just arrived."

Sam could hear Garth enter the office, "Sup Chief? Anymore piggies get chopped off the farm?"

"Two," Sam amended. "Have two beers on the bureau."

"I'll be having a couple scotches on the bureau, thank you very much."

"Fair. Good luck, Chief Garland. Want to hand the phone to Agent Drew and I'll speak to him right now?"

"Yes. One sec."

"Yello?"

"Agent Drew, you damned moron!" Sam ignored Garth's wounded noise and continued, "You can't go juggling severed toes around like you're Gacy at a kid's birthday!"

A faint 'What the hell?' was emitted from the audience behind Sam.

"I mean, I only dropped the one! I washed it off."

"Garth! No! You are to accommodate Police Chief Garland and follow his orders, such as not contaminating all the evidence. And if you have do have to contaminate all the evidence, don't let them know it was you. Hunting 101, Garth. Come on!"

"Yeah, alright, I hear ya."

"Also, you're buying that man a scotch."

"I'm more of a bubbly drink drinker."

Shaking his head in disbelief that this was his life right now, Sam all but shouted, "I don't care! You are buying the poor man whatever the hell drink he wants! Goodbye!"

Sam really wished he had a rotary receiver to slam down, as jabbing a thumb at the "End Call" icon wasn't even remotely satisfying.

He took a couple deep breaths to clear his head, but his moment was interrupted by a very loud throat-clearing.

*A-HEM*

Turning around, he was faced with Tony, Natasha, Steve, and Dr. Banner. Tony, naturally, was the one to speak up.

"So…that was weird."

"That was Garth," Sam stated.

"Mind explaining, 007?"

Sam let out a groan and made his way to the food. "Not before I eat something."

"Are you like Yoda or something?" Tony asked around a mouthful of falafel.

"Not really." Looking around at his captive audience, Sam went into detail. "Hunters only have each other to rely on when doing this job. Although we're trying to do the same job as the law – helping people and trying to keep chaos from taking over – the law isn't always on our side, so we generally have to resort to unlawful behavior in order to solve a case."

Looking around at his fellow Avengers, Tony could see they all understood that scenario. "We hear that."

Everyone was standing around the huge kitchen island eating from a selection of Bruce's preferred food.

Steve stood across from Sam and asked, "So, you never get any help from the law? What happens when you solve a case; what goes in their files?"

"It depends, really." Sam finished his bite of gyro and spoke, "Most of the time, we solve a case without the local police knowing what actually happened. I have no idea what they put in the reports. We tend to skip town pretty quickly afterwards. Sometimes, though, they end up finding out the truth and help us out. Once they realize you're on the same side as them, and you have most, if not all, of the answers, they get on board and prove they're made of pretty sturdy stuff. In the end, they still have to fudge the reports. You can't exactly site 'vampire' as a cause of death. We know a couple police officers who are also practicing hunters, which is really the best-case scenario. Not only are they equipped to deal with anything they encounter, but they've been useful in getting Dean and I out of binds. Having actual law enforcement vouching for you is pretty priceless in this business."

"Can't you just fake it till you make it like you did for Agent Drew?" Tony asked from where he was stationed beside Bruce, who was semi-skulking at the end of the island. He still wasn't coping well, but he was clearly interested in Sam's response.

Sam shrugged. "When the law throws you in jail, you sometimes need the law to bail you out. Fake Special Agent Bond probably won't be any help if Garth gets himself incarcerated. We know the risks."

Tony grew silent and pensive at his answer. It was apparent to him that the hunting community was grossly understaffed and underfunded. He had no idea what to do about those obstacles at the moment, but if this demon thing didn't sort itself out, then something would definitely need to be done. The Avengers wouldn't be available to assist in fending off the supernatural as their schedules were basically double-booked with space aliens.

"Depressing," He surmised. "I'm gonna go ahead and change the subject now. So, Sam, what do you do in your spare time? What jingles those jangles? And if you mention anything involving magic and/or fingers, so help me, Jarvis will make all of your showers cold ones."

Sam laughed. "That's 100% a Dean thing. Just be glad you don't have to share a room with him."

"Consider me ecstatic."

"I don't know, I guess I like exercising when I get the chance in between cases. I like running."

Steve's eyes lit up. "That's great! I love running. Sam and I go running almost every morning."

At Sam's confused look, Steve clarified, "Sam Wilson a.k.a. the Falcon. He's been out of town with Veteran Affairs for the past few days so I've been running alone. You interested in going running tomorrow morning?"

'Running with Captain America?!' Sam had to cough in order to suppress the hysterical giggle he could feel bubbling in his chest. As it was, he let out a high pitched, 'Sure!', and then immediately tried to replace it with a manlier "Sure," pitched two octaves lower.

Sam couldn't keep the excited grin off his face though. Tony rolled his eyes.

"Great. Another exercise fanatic. I'm gonna go find Bruce while you two freak out over your preferred spandex and the five-minute mile."

Sam hadn't even noticed that both Bruce and Natasha had left without saying a single word. He tried not to take it personally. He knew wrapping your head around the supernatural was difficult.

"Don't worry about it. They'll come around," Steve assured. "They're great teammates and genuinely good people. They just have to come to terms with it on their own."

"I completely understand."

All of a sudden, Sam felt the day catch up with him, and he realized he was exhausted. His adrenaline had finally run out. Letting out a huge yawn, he asked what time Steve wanted to go running and nodded (but almost died on the inside) when he said 5 a.m.

"I think this day is officially finished for me. I'm gonna call it a night. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have a good one, Sam. It's been great meeting you. Terrible circumstances, but I'm glad we've got you and Dean on our side, fighting the good fight."

Sam smiled and made his way to his and Dean's room.

Clint brought up the subject of SHIELD on the walk back to the tower.

"We never did get around to your thoughts on SHIELD. What do you think of our cycloptic leader and his suited minions? Based on the shit you see on the daily, the intimidation tactics couldn't have phased you."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know enough about SHIELD, but suits are suits, even if that suit is wearing an eye-patch and a leather duster. There's so much red-tape bullshit that in the end they're all just monkeys doing the same dance. Fury seems like a good guy, you know, after you get past the abducting and detaining."

"You've got to forgive our Nicholas, first impressions aren't really where he excels. It's after impression #5 or #6 when he really shines."

That sounded unlikely to Dean, who ignored Clint's comment and brought up something he and Sam had wondered.

"What's the deal with Coulson?"

"What do you mean?"

"For a minion, the dude is mildly terrifying and terrifyingly mild, like he's T-1000 pretending to be a people."

Clint and Bucky exchanged glances. Most people outside of SHIELD wrote Coulson off as bland, unimportant, and non-threatening. Sam and Dean's ability to detect Coulson's actual threat level under all the mild was impressive and spoke to their experience.

"Coulson is kind of like Bruce. He's a solid guy, a fantastic agent, has an insane amount of zen, and the team loves him. Just…don't piss him off. Where Bruce hulks out and immediately smashes everything in sight until he calms down, Coulson remains calm, but smashes the shit you can't see, like the mortgage to your house. You won't feel it until weeks, maybe months, later. He's the type to go for a man's livelihood rather than his knees," Clint warned ominously.

Dean felt a faint shiver run through him at Clint's words.

Bucky couldn't help but snort at Dean's reaction to Clint's description of Stevie's #1 fan. "Don't worry about Coulson. Unless you're trying to kill him or you're talking shit about Steve, it's next to impossible to piss him off."

The Steve thing was confusing. "They together or something?" Dean was a 21st century dude, he didn't care if people with matching giblets wanted to tango, but he had a hard time wrapping his brain around the concept of Coulson and Captain America.

Bucky laughed at the idea, while Clint muttered 'Coulson wishes', before explaining, "Coulson grew up on Captain America crap. I guess he's got a room full of figurines and fake shields or something, and he's involved in a fan club."

"Involved is putting it mildly. I'm pretty sure he runs about three of them," Clint interjected.

Bucky looked a little disturbed at that information. "I don't know – or want to know – all of the details, but he's idolized Steve since he was a kid and takes great offence when someone talks shit about him."

Knowing that Coulson had the same childhood hero as Sammy served to humanize the enigmatic Agent and some of Dean's uneasiness towards the agent abated.

By this time they had made it all the way back to the tower and the elevator had dropped them off at the communal floor.

"Alright, Dean-o, we'll see you at ass o'clock tomorrow morning!" Clint slapped Dean heartily on the back as the three of them parted ways.

Dean stepped through the main door to his and Sam's guest suite to see Sam opening his laptop on the small dining table.

"Just in time to do our actual job!" Sam faux enthused.

Dean huffed. "Yeah, yeah. Just lemme go change."

As their bags were still in the car, and he wasn't about to go get them, he stripped to his boxers and t-shirt, before grabbing his robe and leaving his room.

At the reappearance of the robe, Sam was quick to threaten, "If the words 'leisure suit' come out of your mouth, I'll kill you after making you watch as I burn it."

"Alright, alright. Calm your tits, Samantha." Dean grabbed a beer and sat at the table. "So, what are we thinking? Some sort of war in Hell that's spilling topside?"

"I hate to say it, but I think we should call Crowley. And by 'we', I mean 'you." Sam took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Dean.

"Call Crowley?! That escalated fucking quickly! Since when is calling the King of Hell plan A?"

"Since SHIELD is expecting some sort of answer in like 12 hours."

"…point. Fine, I'll call him." Dean mulishly grabbed Sam's phone out of his hand and found Crowley's number under Sam's contacts. After letting it ring for a full minute (the King of Hell didn't have voicemail) Dean hung up. "Now what?"

"Now we get your phone and try again."

"What? Why?"

"Because, as sad as it is, you're kind of his best friend." Sam ignored Dean's disgusted face. "He's more likely to answer if the call is from your phone."

"That was maybe the grossest thing you've ever said to me."

"Just call him."

Dean called from his phone with the same result. "That can't be good, right?"

"We could try summoning him?" Sam suggested.

Dean was prevented from answering by Jarvis' stern voice. "Excuse me, sirs, but I must warn against summoning a potentially hostile entity into the tower without Mr. Stark's permission. If you do so, I will have no choice but to put the building into lockdown and notify the Avengers."

"I didn't like that option anyway," Dean quickly stated.

"So, what are we going to do tomorrow?" Sam was clearly stressed.

"I don't know why you're freaking out. This is a case and it'll take time to work it. If SHIELD can't understand that fact and is looking for answers immediately, then they're morons. We can always start running them through weapons and defense tomorrow." Dean was entirely unconcerned with meeting SHIELD's expectations. He cared about the case, but he and Sam were currently running on empty. Both exhausted from today, which felt like it has lasted years.

Sam let out a breath, "Yeah, you're right."

"Yeah, I know."

Sam rolled his eyes and gathered up his laptop to head to bed. Yawning, he said, "I'm calling it quits. Oh, FYI - I'm going running with Steve in the morning, so I might not be here when you wake up."

"Oh, it's Steve now, is it? Watch yourself, Coulson might try to claw your eyes out."

Dean waved off Sam's confused face, "Nevermind. Night, Sammy."

"Mr. Winchester, sir, it is 6:30 AM on Friday, October 22, 2017. You have a meeting with Director Fury and Agent Coulson at SHIELD in 1.5 hours. Due to heavy traffic, it is recommended you leave the tower no later than 7:15 AM."

"Nnnngggggaaarrrrbbbllllrrr1!1" Dean let out an indecipherable, anguished groan at Jarvis' voice, to which the A.I. responded by opening the curtains and letting the blinding light of the sun flood the room.

"Argh, Jarvis! Good god, man! What the hell are you doing?!" Dean shoved his head under his pillow to evade the brightness.

"Your brother was kind enough to detail your preference for having the morning sun wake you."

"Goddamnit, Sam! Jarvis, close the freakin' curtains. My retinas are melting."

Jarvis acquiesced, and Dean relaxed when the room was once again encased in soothing darkness. He felt himself drift off back to sleep only to be woken up once more by Jarvis.

"Sir? It is now 6:40 AM."

"Jarvis, what do you think I need to do that's going to take me… (Dean got his fingers out to count)...35 minutes to get ready? Showering is a 5 minute affair and I'm literally gonna wear the same thing as yesterday to meet with SHIELD."

"There is a full buffet breakfast in the common area. Mr. Stark thought it would be beneficial to provide everyone with a meal before departing. Your brother is currently in attendance."

At the mention of food, Dean sat straight up, threw the covers off, and stumbled to the front door.

"Might I suggest pants, at the very least, sir?"

Hand on the door handle, Dean paused and looked down. "Right. Thanks, J."

"Of course, sir."

Clad only in an undershirt and boxers, Dean went to retrieve his clothes. Spotting the robe from yesterday draped along the back of the couch, he decided, screw it, he'd just throw that on. He was gonna have to shower anyway, there was no point in getting fully dressed.

Sam rolled his eyes when Dean entered the common area dressed in that stupid robe and slippers. Heedless of Sam and the Avengers already gathered around the table, Dean beelined it to the food on the counter and proceeded to fill his plate to the brim: six slices of bacon, three eggs, three hash browns, three sausages, four pancakes, and two donuts. He tried to pile on a third donut, but when he took a step forward, it threatened to plummet from atop his food mountain. He went to put it back on the counter dejectedly but, in a fit of genius, stuffed the entire thing in his mouth instead. Looking pleased with himself, he made his way to the coffee and filled a mug.

Finally, turning towards the table, he saw everyone staring at him.

"Mmmrrrnnnnggg," he muffled through a mouthful of sugared dough and made his way to sit beside Sammy.

"Yeah, morning to you, too, hungry hungry hippo." Clint snorted at the sight of Dean's plate, which was almost identical to Steve and Bucky's – two enhanced super soldiers who metabolized food 4x quicker than a normal person.

Sam grinned evilly when Dean plonked down beside him. "It's a beautiful morning, isn't it, Dean? Nice and bright."

Dean shot Sam the stink-eye and spoke out of a mouth still stuffed with donut, "You suck."

He finally noticed Sam's outfit. "That's an indecent amount of spandex for the breakfast table."

"I went running this morning, remember? Hence, the running gear."

Dean's face scrunched up in disgust. "Ugh, running. The cost of being healthy isn't worth it."

He then shoved a slice of bacon in his face, which signaled the official end of morning conversation with Dean. For the next fifteen minutes, he focused single-mindedly on relocating the food from the plate to his mouth.

Sam watched his brother, impressed. Not by his methodical eating - that was disgusting - but by his ability to adjust to the situation and compartmentalize. Yesterday, he wouldn't have been caught dead in front of the Avengers, especially Black Widow, in a fluffy robe and slippers with his hairy, bowed legs peeking out. (Sam was opting to ignore the embarrassing moment when they caught him fighting a robed Dean with a slipper.) After only a day, Dean was treating them as if they were nothing special, simply more people to whom he didn't have anything to prove.

After he was finished eating, Dean sat back in his chair and let out a contented sigh, patting his stomach.

He glanced around the table at everyone finishing their breakfast. There was a distracted and pensive air as almost everyone was lost in his or her own thoughts. Aside from a quiet conversation between Bruce and Tony who were huddled together at the end of the table, the only sound was the clinking of cutlery."

Looking over at Sam's food, he swiped a piece of bacon, ignored his brother's indignant 'Hey!' and stood up. "I'm gonna hit the showers. See y'all in a bit!"

Tony waited a few moments after Dean disappeared around the corner before looking at Sam, "I feel distinctly like liver of the chopped variety." He was used to a starry-eyed Dean.

Sam, also getting used to the people around him, grinned. "It's part of his 'charm'. Things generally only stay shiny and new for about a day. After that, it's old hat. Tomorrow, you'll be lucky if he even wears the robe."

A/N: Hopefully you enjoyed that chapter. Next up: SHIELD!

Also, I maintain the OC's will not become significant characters.