The Withered Lover

It was Christmas and Natasha Barnes had the flu, so she insisted that her husband and their kids camp out at a fancy hotel for the holiday both as a treat for the kids (indoor pool) and a way to keep them from catching the bug.

Being a good mother, she kept a tidy home and a metal divider between her curious son and the fireplace. He's a smart kid, but his common sense is in short supply. She blamed Bucky for that, she also blamed him for Darcy's foul language just because she could. If anyone asked, he also broke the ice maker because she wasn't ready to admit that she wasn't good with tools.

That Christmas morning, one of the burning logs rolled out of the fireplace, knocked the divider aside and came to rest under the tree. Bucky, having had a strange feeling in his chest the whole night, left Steve and Darcy in the hotel room to check on Natasha. He arrived at the burning house shortly before the firemen and he lost an arm dragging her out onto the lawn. The ambulance was quick to arrive and the EMTs knew what they were doing, but she'd been inside too long, smoke exhalation and third degree burns taking their toll. Bucky had her taken off life support two days later, the lot their house had sat on was sold a month after that to pay for medical bills.

Natasha Barnes liked to say that she came into the world screaming and bloody and she wasn't afraid to go out the same way. That's exactly what happened, too.

The Thirteenth Ghost

"Oh Jesus," Justine grunts, hoisting herself up through the hole in the floor.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question!" Tony's scathing retort is interrupted by Bucky's panicked screaming, the man desperately trying to climb up the support beam. The trio move as one, each of them grabbing Bucky wherever they can and hauling him up through the hole before the Hammer can turn him into a human crash test dummy.

"Thanks for taking your time," Bucky snarls. Justine isn't paying him any attention, just kicks the glass floor panel back into place with a grunt. Below, Fury is scratching another message on the panel with yet another spike. Tony's starting to regret ninety-nine percent of his life choices. "Which way, Justine?"

"Down the hall, then we'll make a left and a right."

"Wait, where are we going," Tony demands. He's trying to ignore Fury's message (an eloquently phrased I'll tear you apart, little man), but he's also more than a little peeved that Justine is giving out orders. Tony doesn't do well with authority figures.

"Just trust me, alright?"

"Bucky?"

"Library," Bucky says, leaning heavily against Clint as he catches his breath. That's about when Tony notices that Bucky has lost his shirt at some point, ripped like an action star with abs that could grate cheese. He's not going to lie, folks, he drools a little. The man could make Narcissus glance away from a mirror.

"Fuck it, let's get going." Tony presses his back to the wall so that the others can pass him without touching him, taking up the rear. He walks backward, trying to keep any ghosts from sneaking up behind them and taking Tony's head off.

"Go slow, everyone. We don't need to attract attention to ourselves when we're out in the open like this." They make it a few feet before a familiar snarl makes Tony turn just in time to see the Jackal throw Bucky against one of the walls, gouging the flesh of Bucky's back with his sharp nails.

"Justine, give me the flare!" He runs over to them when Justine hesitates, snatching it out of her hand and throwing it at the ghost. The Jackal disappears the second before the sparks hit him, just flickering out of existence and leaving Bucky to fall to his knees. "Get him up! Grab him, we gotta go!" Justine and Clint shoulder the bulk of Bucky's weight, practically dragging him as Tony picks the flare back up and waves it at a charging Pilgrimess.

"Tony," Clint yells.

"Keep going!" When the sparks start to die, he tosses the flare and sprints for the library, shoving Clint inside and sliding the glass door home. The Pilgrimess collides with the pane, still trapped in the wooden stock she had died in. "I hate this job," Tony groans, resting his head against the pane and leaving a bloody smear along the glass.

"It doesn't seem to like you too much either," Justine says tersely, slamming the Arcanum down on a table. "I wonder why." He tosses his glasses on the table before pacing back to the door, torn between not giving a fuck and giving way too many fucks to be healthy.

"You got something to say, say it."

"Alright, let's start with this is all your goddamn fault! If you hadn't caught them, then we wouldn't be cowering in the library!" Tony takes a step forward, pointing over at where Bucky is straddling a chair. The Jackal's cuts run the full length of Bucky's back, ragged, bloody tears.

"His uncle was the one that built the house!"

"Yeah, but you helped him!"

"Don't act so high and mighty. For all your talk about helping these spirits, you sure didn't stick around too long when they came out to play!"

"Because your crew was provoking them! Why do you think so many of those men Obie hired ended up dead?"

"Shut up all of you," Bucky commands weakly from his chair. "Cut him some slack, would you? What difference does it make?" Justine glances between Bucky and Tony for a moment, looking like she had the winning hand in high stakes poker. Tony doesn't like that look, that's the look women give you when they're about to dump a milkshake on your head or break your kneecaps.

"You didn't tell him, did you?"

"Oh God, w-what? Tell me what? What now?" Bucky stands up slowly, using the back of his chair in order to stay standing.

"About the fourth ghost." Tony's head snaps up as he remembers walking through the halls of a deserted hospital. It was after visiting hours and the nurse behind the desk was sleeping with a copy of Seventeen draped over her face, they had three men, not including Obie and Tony, and they'd captured the spirit without the use of spells. That was how they'd gotten the Withered Lover, how they'd gotten Natasha Barnes.

"Don't do this," Tony pleads. "I didn't tell him, don't do this."

"He has a right to know!"

"What about the fourth ghost," Bucky asks, shaking and barely able to stand.

"Saint Luke's hospital, six months ago." The news seems to hit Bucky like a ton of bricks, tears making his eyes shine and his arms almost giving out on him. Behind him, Clint's got his hands over his mouth and he's shaking his head back and forth as though that would be enough to make the news less true.

"Are you saying my wife's spirit is trapped in this house?" His voice is uneven towards the end, and Tony's surprised when he doesn't break down completely. It has to be one of the worst feelings in the world.

"I didn't know you," Tony says as an apology. "I didn't know her. I didn't know she had a husband." With a cry of rage, Bucky lunges forward and punches Tony, sending them both to the ground.

"Why? Tell me, why her?"

"I don't know why! Obie handpicked them all, including your wife." Tony wipes his hand under his nose, more blood added to the dried mess on his fingers. "The second I realized who you were, I tried to help."

"You call this help? She's right, this is all your goddamn fault!" Clint helps Bucky up, keeping a hand on his arm until he's steady but not moving away. They're close, not in a romantic sense, but Clint would probably do whatever he could to make sure Bucky and his kids made it out of here in one piece.

"I might know a way that you can save her and your kids," Justine says, walking around the table with her leather-bound book clutched to her chest like a safety blanket. "It's going to sound weird, but this house is one big machine, a faithful recreation of Basileus' design."

"Quick question, did you happen to scarf down any mushrooms before sneaking in here," Tony asks disbelievingly. "Maybe smoke a little weed that tasted stranger than usual or dropped some acid?"

"Unlike you, I don't have to rely on drugs to live with myself."

"Work with Obie for a year and then come talk to me." That's not even counting the years Tony spent around the man when he was still a kid, back when Obie liked to shove him around whenever Howard wasn't looking. Howard had the verbal abuse and neglect down to a science, but Obie had turned physical abuse into an art.

"According to the Arcanum, there should be twelve earth-bound spirits trapped inside. See this? They represent the Black Zodiac, the ghosts that Obie needed to catch." Tony drags himself back to his feet and stumbles over to the table, taking in the varying ghosts and their corresponding sigils. "The Firstborn Son, the Torso, the Bound Woman, the Withered Lover."

"Tasha," Bucky sighs, running a reverent hand over the page. There's an instant of quiet, filled with grief and a pulsing rage. Tony swallows thickly and moves back to the door to look out in the hallway.

"The Torn Prince, the Angry Princess, the Pilgrimess, the Great Child and the Dire Mother, the Hammer, the Jackal is the sign of Hell's winter, and the Juggernaut. According to Basileus, the machine required the energy of these specific spirits in order to bring it to life. Once it engages, the spirits are released one by one and the house then draws them to its center. Each one adds its energy to the machine, powering it up."

"For what?"

"To open the Ocularis Infernum."

"The Ocularis," Clint asks. "What's that?"

"It's Latin," Bucky provides," it means the Eye of Hell." Clint throws his arms up in the air and starts to pace the library, muttering angrily under his breath. Tony watches him go, winding himself up until he's almost shouting about how Lady Luck has it out for him. "Go on," Bucky urges Justine.

"In Hell, there is an eye that sees everything," she explains," the past and the future, Heaven and Earth, the blessed and the damned. If knowledge is power, then the man who controls the Ocularis would be the most powerful man on earth."

"And you people wonder why I used to get high," Tony scoffs. "How else would I deal with an ego big enough that he thinks he could actually get away with this type of shit? He was on a power trip twenty-four seven." Tony kicks the leg of a chair and regrets it an instant later, his toe throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

"How many ghosts have been set free," Bucky asks, leaning an elbow on the table.

"Eleven," Justine answers," and the house needs twelve." Tony stalks back to the table, shaking his head the entire way. He remembers that night in the junkyard, the iron tang of blood in the air and the grisly sight of Ian lying dead in Justine's arms. He remembers the man hissing at Obie about spells and….

"Thirteen," Tony corrects. "Ian said that there are thirteen ghosts."

"The thirteenth ghost is a fail-safe. In order to stop the process, the house needs a sacrifice of life instead of death. A willing human sacrifice, a sacrifice of a broken heart." She looks pointedly at Bucky while she talks, something Clint takes offense to. "The only ghost to be created out of an act of pure love."

"Bucky's the thirteenth ghost."

"The thirteenth spirit stands before the Eye at the final configuration. As the Eye opens, the spirit uses the power of life to essentially short-circuit the system."

"Uses the power of life how," Bucky asks.

"By leaping into the Eye."

"And Bucky's supposed to take this leap," Clint asks, putting a protective hand on his shoulder. "Seriously, lady, how fucking high are you? You think I'm gonna let my best friend kill himself just to do to this house what a cup of water does to a computer? Go fuck yourself."

"Love is the most powerful energy, Bucky. In order for you to save your children, you'd have to trade your life for theirs." Tony pulls the book away from Justine, desperately looking for any other way to get the kids back. This isn't right, Bucky and his family shouldn't have to suffer because of Obie's choices. Tony groans, suddenly regretting not taking up Latin when he'd had the chance. He'd learned Italian and Russian, he'd even learned Tolkien's Elvish, but he'd tossed Latin aside like it was a redheaded step-child.

"There's got to be another way," Tony insists, shoving the book aside in disgust.

"Well, we can try it the old fashioned way, my personal favorite." Justine dumps out her bag, explosives and the makings of a homemade bomb falling out on the table. "Nobody's gonna be here to brag about it afterward. Whatever we decide, we gotta come up with a game plan soon 'cause time's running out."

"You're gonna blow the place up," Clint asks in disbelief.

"The last ghost is about to be released."

"And what if the suicide option doesn't actually work," Tony demands, leaning his hands against the table. "What if Bucky dies and this stupid machine keeps going? We have no real guarantee since you're the only one here that can understand what the book says. Frankly, I don't trust you as far as I can throw you."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"I'm workin' on it!" Bucky shoves away from the table and crosses the room to one of the windows, Tony following after him. "Justine is talking about suicide." Bucky whirls to face him and Tony jumps back, crossing his eyes to stare at the finger pointing at him.

"What if it was your kids that could die in here," Bucky snarls. "What would you do to save them?" Tony can sense the anxiety coming off Bucky in thick, powerful waves. He feels like he's going to drown under all of that energy and he has to swallow again to keep his meager breakfast from making a reappearance. "You'd track them down and hurt any bastard that tried to stop you, isn't that right?"

"That sounds as good an option as any." Tony's resigned to the fact that they'll probably be dead by morning. It's a miracle they've all made it this long with as many attacks that have happened. "Let's go out there and find your kids." Bucky finally drops his hand back to his side, determination straightening his spine.

"No matter what I decide to do or what happens to any of us, are you sure you can stop that machine," he asks.

"I got enough explosives to blow us back to the fifteenth century," Justine answers with a smile.

"How many flares do you have left?"

"One, why?"

"We're going out again. How are we doing this?" He looks to Tony for an answer and Tony thinks for a moment before letting out a soft huff of laughter.

"By taking the barrier spells with us," he says. "Clint, how hard do you think it would be to take that panel down and keep it intact?" Clint wanders over to the door, using the flashlight on his keychain to locate the hidden hinges. "Well?"

"Works a bit like those glass shower doors," Clint answers. "Hey, Bucky, remember that time we had to replace the shower door after a badly thrown football?" The expression of wry amusement tells Clint he does, in fact, remember the badly thrown football. "Think we can get this thing off the same way we got the new door on?"

"Can't be too different." He and Bucky work together and the pane pops free after a vicious kick from Bucky, the pair leaning it against the wall with twin grunts of effort. Tony will admit that he ogles Bucky a little too much, but come on. Who would ogle perfection when it's only wearing biker boots and jeans?

"We got about ten minutes before the ectoplasmic shit hits the fan," Justine informs the group. "You two go find the kids and Clint and I will head downstairs to buy you some time." Bucky and Tony take control of the pane, one on each side so that they're both mostly protected by the spells. They head out first, making their way down the hall on the left while the others start down the right towards the hole Justine had made.

"You're wondering about the football thing, aren't you?"

"Very much so," Tony nods.

"Clint should never be allowed to play sports."

"Makes sense. Any sports you're not allowed to play?"

"Nope, I'm a natural athlete unlike either of my children or my babysitter." They turn a corner up ahead, creeping slowly forward. "What about you, Tony? What sports do you like?" Tony snorts and ducks his head a moment before remembering that a ghost could shank him at any given moment if he's not paying attention.

"Wii Sport." Bucky laughs at that, an honest from-the-belly sound that makes Tony beam with pride. He's never made someone laugh like that before, not even Rhodey, and some part of him buried deep down in his subconscious unclenches for the first time since his mom died. "I'm not the sporty type."

"And what type are you?"

"Yours, hopefully." Bucky's smirk is reflected in the glass and Tony's sure the self-satisfaction curling his mouth into a grin is reflected as well. "What do you say, Bucky? We survive this and I'll take you and your family out for pancakes."

"How do you know Clint isn't my boyfriend?"

"Cause he wants us to hook-up, too." Bucky makes a choked noise that sounds like a bitten-off laugh, a flash of white teeth visible in a repressed grin. "So, pancakes?"

"Fine, if we make it out of here, you can buy us pancakes." Tony doesn't try to fight back his own grin, not even when it's his turn to go first around the next corner.


Clint and Justine pause when they make it to the hole, staring down into it and not moving.

"Any volunteers to go first?"

"I don't fucking think so," Clint states. "It was your idea to go back into the murder basement."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Justine digs around in her satchel until she finds the last flare, flicking the cap over the top to get sparks showering around them. She drops the flare in case any ghosts try to show up while she's distracted, using the support beam to control her fall into the basement. Clint jumps down after her, landing with a soft grunt.

"What now?"

"Now you put these on." Justine hands Clint a pair of glasses and then picks up the flare. "Come on, let's get this over with." Clint grumbles under his breath, sticking close to Justine as they make their way through the halls.

"If we live through this, I'm eating my weight in ice cream and punching anyone that comments on it." Clint glances to the right and freezes, taking in the stacks of cash littering the floor and the whole ass dead guy slouched next to it. "I, uh, found the lawyer." He swallows down bile and forces himself to turn away from the grisly sight. "Ugh."

"He had it coming." They make a few more turns, going deeper into the basement than Clint and Tony had earlier. They keep going until they're forced to stop in front of a pair of glass doors, Justine kneeling and pressing a button that makes the panes slide back. A spacious room is waiting beyond the doors with an hourglass-shaped machine in the middle of it, big enough to reach from the floor to the high ceiling and made up of spinning blades and cogs.

"Holy mother of God…." Clint takes the flare from Justine as she moves over to the little station set up beside the machine. Clint's attention is so focused on the whirling blades that he never notices someone sneaking up behind him until it's almost too late. He turns when a long shadow falls over the floor, finding an older man built like a brick shithouse, dried blood crusted around his neck and the old suit he's got on. "You've got to be fucking kidding me right now."

The iron tip of the man's cane makes click-clack noises on the floor, scraping slightly before he picks it up again. Clint turns the flare on him, but the man just uses the cane to knock it out of his hand, sending it spitting and sizzling across the floor. There's only one reason why that flare doesn't work and that's because the bastard's still kicking.

"Justine, get over here!" Clint chances a look over at the woman, but she's got this weird little smile going on and a touch of the crazies in her eyes. She lifts the thick book up and then brings it down in a sharp arch against Clint's head. The strength behind the blow is enough to make him dizzy, the room spinning as he drops to the ground. Maybe they'll leave him alone if they think he's dead.

Justine closes the distance between her and the man, pressing her lips against his in a sickening display. Obadiah doesn't let the kissy act last long, though, taking the book and shoving Justine away from him with enough force to have her falling back into a chair.

"Where is it," he asks, flipping to the back of the book. "Where is it?" He slams the book closed, advancing on the traitorous bitch. "Justine!"

"Why are you so mad at me," she stutters nervously. "I did everything you asked me to do."

"Justine—"

"I killed Ian, I stole his spells..."

"Justine—"

"...I even made sure your pathetic nephew didn't get himself killed."

"Justine!" The sudden shout is what makes her shut up, blue eyes wide as Obadiah holds up the book and gestures at it with his free hand. "Where are the spells?" He enunciates each word as though he's talking to a mentally deficient puppy, shoving the book into her arms. She hurriedly pulls an audio reel out of her bag, giving it to him.

"You're not mad at me, are you?"

"Of course not." One of the levers at the base of the machine raises with a click and Clint's stomach lurches. The Juggernaut is loose. Clint forces himself to keep his breath shallow despite how he wants to scream, staying lax on the floor. If he can just make it long enough for these goons to leave, then maybe he can stop the machine.

"What do we do next?" Obadiah walks over to the machine, Justine following after him like a little lost puppy. "Your nephew believes that sacrificing himself will save his kids, but he won't do it unless he's convinced they're in jeopardy."

"Well, put them in jeopardy." Obadiah doesn't even hesitate to condemn two innocent children, preparing the audio reel to play. Clint bites his cheek so hard that iron floods his mouth, but he doesn't give himself away.

"What? They're just kids."

"Greatness requires sacrifice. I believe you have a job to do." Justine nods after a moment and jumps into action, walking across the room and out of Clint's line of sight. Obadiah finishes feeding the tape into the little machine set up at the station, pressing a button that has Latin spells transmitting through the house using cleverly hidden speakers. "Fetch the book."

Clint stays flat on the floor, watching as Obadiah strides out purposefully with Justine trailing a few feet behind him. The distance is enough to have him through the short hallway first and then the walls of the hallway are sliding closed like a trash compactor, squishing Justine between them.


The Hammer's smile is a vile thing, the stuff of nightmares. Tony shoves the pane of glass against a corner, trapping Bucky behind it and putting himself in harm's way. He can't get this far only to let Bucky die now. Besides, he recognizes this hallway from his vision, knows that he's about to be killed. Better to die a hero and all that jazz.

"Tony," Bucky's yelling. "Tony, no! Let me out!" Tony just shakes his head, pressing his back against the pane with as much force as he can manage. "Don't do this!"

"It's alright, Bucky," he says, voice calm despite the way his heart is trying to commit seppuku. "I've been looking for a reason to like myself for a long time." He turns his attention back to the hulking form coming towards him, then Fury is right in front of him and he's bringing the hammer down in a vicious strike. Tony ducks away at the last minute and the hammer collides with the glass pane protecting Bucky. "That's right, you little bitch, you're gonna have to work for it!"

Fury swings again and Tony manages to duck and roll, a shower of sparks sizzling against his back. He gets back to his feet, leading Fury away from Bucky down the hall he'd just come down. Fury catches the front of Tony's shirt and tosses him like he weighs nothing, Tony's back colliding with the glass. The drop is worse than the throw, his head bouncing off the floor and making his ears ring.

Down the opposite hall, a new form has flickered into view. They're tall enough that their dark hair brushes the ceiling, their jumpsuit riddled with bullet holes and caked in blood. The last time Tony had seen that ghost was in a junkyard, beating a man's head against the glass of a freshly-built cube.

The Juggernaut is loose and he's got a grudge.

"Oh shit," Tony breathes. Fury picks him up, unconcerned that a bigger badass has entered the ring. Tony's actually a little relieved when he's thrown again, farther down the hall and away from Bruce Banner's long stride. He tries to get back up, but his shoulder is burning and his vision swims with tears.

Back down the hall, there's a scratch like breaking metal and then a glass pane has slammed against Fury. Bucky's gotten the pane loose and he's on a rampage, sandwiching Fury against the opposite pane of glass and making him disappear with another howl.

"You're next, asshole," he growls, pointing up at Bruce. The ghost actually pauses for a moment, cocking his head to the side as he considers the threat level. Tony's not gonna lie, he's kinda turned on right now. Bucky's feral and shirtless and he just saved Tony's life, the only thing that would make this situation better is if they weren't in this fucking house.

Bruce stalks forward again, his gigantic hands reaching for Bucky only to be smacked away like a naughty kid in catholic school. Bruce appears shocked, drawing his hands back so fast that the movement is a blur. He tries again and, again, Bucky smacks the outstretched hands with the glass.

"No," he snaps, falling back into his Dad voice. "That's bad!"

"B-bad," Bruce echoes. "Bad?"

"Bad." Tony gets to his feet and limps over to Bucky, using dizziness as an excuse to press against his side. He may or may not cop a feel. Before Bruce can try to grab Bucky again, a metal pole is colliding with the side of his head. Bruce flinches away and turns to look behind him. Whatever he sees there has him flickering out of view and Tony's only partly surprised to see Natasha Barnes.

"Hey handsome," she greets, smirking up at her husband. Where Bucky is gorgeous like carved marble, Natasha is beautiful. Her red hair is long and vibrant, falling over her shoulder in a thick braid, her full lips boasting a soft cupid's bow. She's like sunshine after a week of rain, soft and bright and wonderful. It's nothing like the withered spirit Tony had found in the hospital, no burns in sight.

"Tasha." Bucky's voice has lost the feral tone and he leans the glass against the wall. There's no threat here, no sense of malice left in Natasha as she cups Bucky's cheek. Her IV stand is still lying on the floor, dropped after she'd smacked Bruce with it. What is with this family and hitting ghosts? "I've missed you so much."

"It's going to be okay, Bucky. You two are going to make sure of that, aren't you?" She cuts her gaze to Tony and he flinches under the weight of accusation. He knows what he did is wrong, but he also knows that he'd be dead if he'd denied Obie. "Save our kids and then be happy, my dearest darling. Do that for me." Tears glisten as they slide down Bucky's cheeks, precious as diamonds. Tony glances away, feeling like an intruder. He shouldn't be here for this, it's not right. He's not right. "Tony?"

"Yeah," Tony asks, rasping. Natasha is staring up at him again and she brings her other hand up to cup his cheek as well. Where the other ghosts are cold, Natasha is brimming with warmth, only a slight chill that the dead can't shake. He melts into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. His mom used to do this, cupping his cheek and making him promise to have the sweetest of dreams. He misses that.

"Take care of my family or I'll haunt you." Tony's laugh is a little on the wet side, but no one mentions that.

"Yes, ma'am." Latin spells ring through invisible speakers and Natasha glares up at the noise like it has personally offended her. She's gone a moment later, flickering out of existence like she'd never been there. "You're wife was a badass."

"Yeah," Bucky says. His eyes still glimmer with tears, but he's smiling proudly at how his wife had saved them both. Tony thinks he'll start praying again when he gets out of here because, if anyone deserves to be prayed to, it's Natasha. "Let's go save my kids."

"And then we'll eat pancakes." Beyond them, past the glass wall that separates them from the front of the house, the middle of the floor slides away and a platform rises to replace it. Sitting there, surrounded by spinning blades, Darcy and Steve are doing their best to make themselves small. Beyond this, all twelve of the ghosts are surrounding the platform, stuck there by the Latin spells.

"Kids!" The men sprint around to the open doorway, but they're forced to stop unless they want to get cut to ribbons. There's no way to get to the kids without a death-defying jump and even then you have to hope you don't get caught up in all that machinery.

"How do we get them?"

"I don't know." The desperation has bled back into Bucky's voice, his hands raised with his palms out. "It's gonna be alright," Bucky calls to the kids. "I'm gonna get you both outta here!" The kids shout for him and some long-dormant instinct seems to come to life inside Tony, fueling an urge to keep these kids safe no matter the cost. He can't let them die here, he just can't.

"I'm gonna see if I can't find something to bridge that gap. Hell, maybe something to jam the gears, too."

"Hurry." Tony sprints into the next room, shoving antiques off a long table before trying to drag the heavy thing out of the room. He's still trying to get the table through a narrow doorway when he happens to glance to the right and notes that things have gotten even worse.

Obie strides into the room, dressed in the bloody clothes from the junkyard and sporting that dead man's grin. It makes something twist harshly in Tony's gut to see it, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's honest-to-God, hand-on-the-bible terror. This beast, this monster, is the most abominable thing in this entire goddamn house.

And he's heading straight for Bucky.

"Bucky," Tony shouts. "Bucky, behind you!" Bucky jerks around and stares at Obie in shock, taking in the bloodied clothes and the torn throat. Slowly, like he's not sure what to expect, Bucky slips his glasses off. Tony does the same, but Obie is still standing proudly in the hall. "He's not dead…."

"You're not dead," Bucky realizes. Without warning, Bucky charges forward and pins Obie to the wall, pressing that damned cane across Obie's throat with a ferocious snarl."You son of a bitch! Let my kids go!" Bucky gets three good punches in before Obie manages to block one, using his cane to jab Bucky in the ribs.

"Damn you," Obie snarls, kicking Bucky away from him. "You're nothing, James! Nothing!" Obie looms over Bucky like Goliath did David except Bucky doesn't have any stones to throw. "I've dedicated my entire life to this! Every waking moment for years!" He kicks Bucky again, keeping him down. "Have you ever shown that kind of dedication?"

Tony moves away from the table and grabs up a staff carved from some kind of wood that's more expensive than Tony's entire apartment building. It's a heavy weight in his hands and he's sure he can do some damage with it.

"The world has no time for little people like you. It needs people who are willing to do anything—"

"Hey," Tony shouts. Obie looks genuinely surprised to see Tony there and Tony takes full advantage of it, bringing the staff down in a sharp arch that connects with Obie's cheekbone. Obie falls with a grunt, one of his molars skittering over the glass floor and stopping at Tony's shoes. "Surprise, bitch."

"You're supposed to be dead," Obie slurs.

"So are you." Tony swings again, hitting Obie's shin with the sound of breaking bone. Obie screams and jerks away, breathing hard as he glares up at Tony. "I only have one question for you, Obie."

"Why am I doing this?"

"No, you can shove that monologue up your ass. I wanna know how lucky you feel." Obie's brows draw together, a small crease appearing between them. Bucky surges up off the floor and grabs the front of Obie's shirt, yanking him up so they're face to face.

"Tell me how to stop this," he snarls, spittle flying against Obie's face. "Tell me!" Bucky gives Obie a harsh shake, but he stays stubbornly silent. Overhead, the Latin spells are replaced by the sound of scratched records, running backward before stopping altogether. "What the—"

"Hell," Obie finishes, confused. The ghosts vanish from their circle and then they're crowding into the hall, tearing Obie out of Bucky's hands. Vengeful spirits are known to hold grudges better than any Scorpio, carrying Obie into the room like an old fashioned lynch mob and tossing the man right into the spinning blades. Obie's gone in seconds, cut to ribbons with not even a shred of his fancy suit left.

"Well, we're definitely not making that jump," Tony says, shaking his head.

"No, we're not," Bucky agrees. Tony nods and then he pauses, frowning over at Bucky.

"I don't like how you emphasized that word." Bucky grins over at him, recklessly determined. "I don't like that grin either. Don't make your kids watch you die, Bucky."

"If I don't make it, get them out." And then Bucky's running, pushing off of the floor at the last second and curling into a ball. The blades whirl an inch above his head and less than that under his foot, but he somehow makes it onto the platform. "Get down!" He curls himself over his kids, protecting them as well as he can.

Tony's starting to wonder if he can get that table in here after all when the house starts to shake and rattle under his feet.


Clint sits up and shakes his head to clear it, blue eyes locking on the control panel. He tries to stand, but then his stomach does another lurch and he's forced back to his knees.

"Okay, crawling's good," he mutters to no one. "Crawling's great, I learned how to do that before I walked anyway." Yup, he's pretty sure he's got a concussion. Maybe the hospital will give him one of those stamp cards like Starbucks has, get five concussions and your next one is treated for free.

It's slow going, but Clint finally makes it to the panel, pulling himself up and pressing random buttons. The Latin chant continues through the speakers, but Clint doesn't give up. Members of the Barnes family are known to be a hard-headed bunch and that goes double for the hired help.

"The reels!" Clint yanks the reel off the table and throws it at the machine before moving over to the levers, pushing them down and pulling them back up to get a reaction. He gets just that when the metal cogs begin to grind against each other, tearing apart. "Hell yeah!"

The machine makes a low grinding noise and that's about when Clint realizes that he Fucked Up™. The machine is going to explode (which is good), but Clint's going to explode with it (which is not good). He turns on his heel and stumbles to the doors, pushing and squeezing the hall doors open and then jumping over the puddle that used to be Justine.

The explosion rocks the house, shattering glass and rending the metal beams. The sound is deafening even when Clint pulls off his hearing aids, a wave of heat knocking him off his feet. It seems to last forever, glass raining down on him like a shower of diamonds, glittering in the moonlight that's shining in now that the roof has been blown to smithereens.

He coughs when the dust starts to settle, then he's up and stomping through the remains of the basement, screaming for anyone to hear that he's done with this ghost shit. The house is done too, blown to bits with every object inside broken apart.

"I want a raise," Clint shouts.

"Then stop fucking setting my pillows on fire," Bucky shouts back.