"Clint. You got a sec?" 'With that look on your face? Something tells me I better.' On his way from the kitchen to the sitting area Barton'd stopped, took in Tony's visible agitation and alarmed wide gaze, fell alert himself coolly asking:
"Sure, Tony. Whatcha been up to?" lightly japes with insinuation traced to test the gravity of the situation. Browns behind Clint glanced to Nat approaching from an armchair, absent answered:
"Quite a bit. Let's go for a ride."
"Where to?" she heard and asked, as though addressing one of them addresses both. He could use her too regardless.
"Town."
"I'll get my jacket," leaving, Clint at Tony glanced next, in reference to Nat's intrusion – despite on her own life being himself quite intrusive – he quips in a manner to ask if Tony'd prefer to speak in private.
"…Should we run?" Tony shrugs eyes still dim and distant.
"Only if you wanna sleep on the couch tonight," at least his humor remains intact, though that might not be a positive.
He tends to joke before or after causing problems.
"Touché."
XXX
"So, Stark," from the driver seat heading to town that noon Clint drawls wryly. "What oh what I wonder requires us driving out of base to discuss."
"Look, this is serious, okay?" scotting forth from the back seat Tony soberly noted, careful adding: "I got a favor to ask. Saying no is very much an option, just be aware that with or without you, I'm doing this."
"Doing what?" a great deal alarmed then Nat demanded turned from the front to face him.
"…So you know that Loki's a tribrid. First and foremost, a werewolf. Pureblood. He was raised by a pack called the Aesir. Recently, they were attacked by another pack, a hybrid pack, called the Jotunns."
"Hybrid pack?" Clint exclaimed.
"Yes, pack. Part werewolves, part vampires. They charged in, leveled the place, killed a bunch of people. Including his mom…" that grimly said, and abruptly now they see,
the manner of quest that this would be, the kind of hyper-hazard actions Tony will take.
"…I'm gonna help him take em down," a natural conclusion.
"How, exactly?" concerned and incredulous both Clint asked.
"Well, I'm gonna arm up his pack, weapons, traps," a hunter further weaponizing a pack of werewolves. For a beat it left them staggered. "That's the easy part."
"And the hard part?" wide-eyed Nat questioned.
"So you know how we're told, every relic we find's sent off, safely taken apart and disposed of? Yeah, that's a load of crap." What they wondered this had to do with anything, wary they knew exactly. "They're studied, tested, and shelved. And I'm gonna borrow a few."
"Borrow," cynic noted Clint pondering if Tony was listening to the words coming out of his own mouth.
"I'm breaking into a top-secret facility in Delaware, one of few hoarding two dozen relics in its basement."
"I'm sorry?" Nat exclaimed dumbfounded truly, with how set and composed he sounded!
"There's an analyst. Called Edgar Berrett. He's one of the lead researchers on magical artifacts. Now, Loki'll work some face-shifting spells, that and he's got his hands on some very authentic IDs, so we walk in, walk out."
"Just like that," Clint gestured bizarrely.
"Not exactly. We can't leave with the relics. They go in, don't leave unless it's through a long and complicated process involving too many people. You guys know what a port is, right? For witches."
"Yeah."
"Well, the arc reactor's one of em," he gave not space for them to register that. "Meaning wherever I am, Loki can come, so we find the relics, he drops in, bags em, flies out. Problem is, the facility's rigged to detect any superhuman, and he happens to be a cocktail, so first I need to get into the security room, switch off the alarms long enough for us to make our way to storage. Enter James Keen, one of the division's head software engineers. He and Edgar'll go together; they'll have to be escorted by a guard. And there's two more in the security room. Once the system's down, I call Loki, he apparates over, takes out the guards-"
"Takes them out?" sternly Nat asked that to swiftly Tony asserted:
"Knocks them down. No killing. Then he'll face-swap so he looks like our escort, and the three of us make our way to storage like nothing happened. We walk back out of the facility – and by the way we are gonna need a chauffeur," that was aimed her way. "Drive off. Simple as that."
"Simple," Clint pulled a face.
"Complicated but lower on the risk bar than what we're used to. Anything goes wrong along the way, Loki flies us all out in a blink. But we have to get to the security room."
"I'm wondering," brows furrowed tensely Nat prompted, "how smart it is, to help a tribrid, get his hands on over a dozen powerful relics." Tony scowled states matter-of-factly:
"Honey he collects them for a living, hasn't been much of a danger to anyone save people trying to kill us." To which Clint measuredly with hintable scorn responded:
"Sooo he's never been prone to, drinking, someone dry of blood, mauling someone as a werewolf or, cursing someone into a toad?" Visibly aggravated then a beat and impatient Tony answered:
"Back when he first transitioned yeah he ended up killing in spite of himself, and on full moons he chains himself up in a reinforced cell so he doesn't hurt anyone. And when we met and I tried to kill him – he caught me off guard with his witch counterpart and could've taken me out, but didn't. Anything else you wanna ask?"
…Clint shook weirdly his head doubting Tony's words despite a) admitting Loki'd killed and b) yes a tribrid could've had Tony yet there he is alive and breathing.
"…You?" he asked Natasha who as alike was perplexed on what to make of what Tony had told them, disconcertedly says then:
"…Getting tangled up in a war between werewolves, Tony…It's dangerous, for you."
"But, you don't care," retorted Clint and was right justly. "And either we help you, or, what? You'll ask Bruce?" incredulous asked and crossing his arms Tony cynically though quite seriously answered:
"No, actually plan B was compelling two strangers off the street to play the roles, then walk free."
They're shocked both and silent. More frigidly he added:
"…You don't wanna hear plan C."
"I'm a little curious actually," wide-eyed Clint insisted, where he and Natasha clear see how far as a hunter over the line Tony's gone and is willing to go, for a superhuman, the principles he's willing to break – right and wrong he doesn't or can no longer distinguish. Althemore agitated they fell when measuredly he stated:
"…His mom just died," flat out tells them: "Only reason he hasn't charged headfirst into that facility ramming down everything in his path to get those relics, is me. Never said he'd do something like that, but he doesn't need to…"
XXX
The only reason, the only reason indeed, the only reason because she is gone however fiercely burns that mourning flame that guilt round his heart wrapped like serrated wire – so tightly back he leashed his rage the beast in him growling, barking clawing off its chains wanting to rip and tear and shed an ocean of blood as if, havoc, and pain, would compensate, those many years of an utter nothing he'd provided, rebated.
Every fragment of control in him left scrapped at patience to wait a day, another, listen as Tony rambled on a plan make certain he'd glimpse not a sliver nor hair, of the monster heaving inside the monster he everyday battles how easy it'd be to set him loose give in to every urge – no.
How instantly he would lose, the only reason any day has come to matter.