Disclaimer: I do not own Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanoff, or any of the Marvel Universe/its affiliations.
Got another one for you. I really like this because I love writing Clint in intense situations that don't end in death.
The word for this one shot was "Vault"
Enjoy!
December 3rd, 2004
Brooklyn, New York
"This is a terrible idea," Phil snapped, looking over at Clint who had a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"You were the one who wanted to come to the bank today," Clint pointed out, edging closer to the wall.
"Clint," Phil hissed, desperately trying to get Clint to stop. "Be rational."
Clint shot a look over his shoulder that said 'Seriously?' Phil couldn't argue. The archer was rarely ever rational, if ever. But right now was a very bad time to be irrational.
"I'm just giving him what he asked for. I'd rather him hold me at gunpoint than an innocent bystander," Clint muttered, peeking his head around the desk he was crouched behind. Phil shook his head, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.
"No, Clint. If he compromises you, he'll kill you."
"Then let's hope I'm better at my job than him," Clint said with a smirk. Then he was moving, keeping low to the ground.
"No, wait, Clint," Phil hissed, but Clint was already moving, keeping low to the ground. Phil huffed softly as he watched helpless as his agent walked towards the vault.
"Hey! Hey, stop!"
Clint stumbled back, grabbing at the edge of the desk behind them as a man walked out of the vault, gun in hand. His arrogance was gone and was replaced with raw, palpable fear. He might not have agreed with Clint's plan, but the kid was still damn good at his job. He was the best covert operative Phil had ever seen.
Clint threw his hands up, ducking away from the gun, his eyes wide with fear. "Pl-Please don't kill me," he said, scrambling to back away from the man with the gun. The man grabbed him, pulling him flat against his chest and pointing the gun at his head.
"If anybody moves, I'm going to blow this kid's brains out!" the man shouted, tightening his grip on Clint. The archer whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. Phil had to admit he was really selling the terrified teenager act.
"Oh, God, please," Clint said, grabbing onto the man's arm around his neck.
"Shut up!" the man snarled. His attention was caught by the sounds of approaching police sirens outside. Phil relaxed a little, glad that they had at least arrived. "I thought I said no cops!" the man screamed, gesturing wildly with his gun. Phil tense again, worried that the man's recklessness would cause his agent to get shot again. His stress levels really couldn't take that right now.
"You," the man said, pointing his gun at Phil. Apparently, he had been staring a little to intensely at Clint. Phil saw his agent's shoulders tense at the shift in situation. "Get up."
Phil slowly obeyed, dropping his hand from his gun that was - hopefully - hidden within his jacket. He raised his hands as he stood, looking at the man with a calm demeanor.
"Fill that bag," he said, gesturing to an open duffel on the floor. Phil nodded, slowly moving over to it.
"Alright," he said, holding his hands out to him. Clint was looking over at Phil with a hardened gaze, but Phil was purposefully avoiding his eyes. He moved over to the bag, pulling it open all the way and moving towards the vault.
"Hurry up!"
"We've got company," a second said from his position at the window. This was, apparently, all Clint could take. He snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes. The gun was jammed hard against the side of his face and he snorted again.
"Is something funny?"
Clint shook his head, a humorous grin on his face. "No, I'm sorry. It's just you're really, really bad at this," he said. Phil shot him a glare over his shoulder but Clint wasn't paying attention.
"Is that so?"
"'We've got company'," Clint mocked, not bothering to keep the humor out of his voice. "Seriously, who talks like that?"
The man snarled, pushing the gun harder against Clint's temple. "Shut up," he growled.
"But I'm just getting started. You made a shitton of mistakes."
The man paused, his hand tightening on the gun. Phil wanted to yell at Clint to shut up but all he could do at this point was watch.
"Like what?"
"Well, first of all you decided to rob a bank I didn't want to come to in the first place, so that was pretty stupid. Then you made it worse by pointing a gun at a good friend of mine."
The gunman glared over at Phil, who offered him a shrug. He knew Clint was just getting started. And when Clint got started, not even a hurricane could stop him.
"But that wasn't your stupidest mistake. Close, but not quite," Clint said, pretty much rambling at this point. Still the man didn't pull the trigger. For the first time, Phil was glad for Clint's seemingly useless talent to talk for hours.
"What was?"
"Oh, that would be me," he said. The gunman tensed, but Clint was already moving. He grabbed the man's arm with the gun, pulling it straight as he fired. People screamed as a bullet buried itself into the wall next to Phil's head. Clint shifted, pulling his arm over the back of his shoulder blades, grabbing onto his gun. His free arm came down to elbow him in the rib cage as he fired at the second man coming towards him. A bullet connected with his leg and the man went down screaming. Clint kicked back against the man's knee, and Phil heard it snap.
He planted his foot hard on his thigh, using the leverage to flop over the man's head. Clint didn't release his arm as he did, and the limb popped loudly out of place. The man screamed as Clint let him fall to the ground, slamming the butt of his gun the back of his head. Phil drew his gun, aiming to put down the third man, but Clint was already firing twice over his shoulder, hitting the man in both of his kneecaps. The gunman fell and Clint kicked the heel of his boot down, connecting roughly with his temple
Phil sighed heavily, dropping his gun. "You couldn't let me have one?" he asked.
Clint shrugged, hitting the mag release from the gun and pulling the slide loose. He threw the pieces to the floor, stepping over the man between them.
"You've gotta keep up, old man," he said with a lopsided grin.
"I can't believe you did that. I should kill you," Phil protested, doing his best to ignore the cheeky look on his face.
"You were the one who wanted to come to Brooklyn. I hate Brooklyn," Clint said with a roll of his eyes, the grin never leaving his face. He had obviously enjoyed himself a little too much. "And killing me would be counter-productive at this point."
"You're bleeding, jackass," Phil pointed out, changing the subject as he holstered his gun. Clint looked down at his hand where one of the bullets had grazed over his wrist. It wasn't bad, but the trough in his flesh still wasn't fun to look at. Clint waved his bloody hand dismissively.
"I think I'll live, grandpa," Clint said, wiping some of the blood off on his jeans. Phil rolled his eyes, pushing past Clint towards the front door.
"I have half a mind to leave to leave you to be processed," he said, already pulling his badge out of his pocket. All he had to do was flash it and the officers would let them leave without questioning. One of the many perks of SHIELD.
"You wouldn't dare," Clint insisted, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"How much you want to bet?"
Clint just rolled his eyes, pushing out of the bank and Phil followed with a smile.
I'm kind of obsessed with these one shots. They're so easy to write, I can knock out a few a day. It's a great way to get material out there without committing it a multi chapter fic. I hope y'all enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.
Also! Look out for a little longer one shot - titled "Born A Survivor" - that should be coming out in the next few days. It is a little more Belgium angst but also some feel-good bromance between my boys. I really liked starting that series and hope y'all will stick around to read it.
Drop me a review if you have feedback or requests! I love reading them.
Until next time!
Ciao
