Chapter 2
One thing was glaringly obvious like an elephant trying to squeeze into a corset. If Bruce Banner got angry enough, or if he got hit by a single bullet, then this simple day out would going to turn into a huge game of reign-the-Hulk-in. Knowing that, Clint's will for survival changed swiftly into being full body armor for Dr. Banner. He tucked the Bruce's head down beside the winged back of the booth and folded his upper half over Banner's back. Even hunkered down, the three were sitting ducks.
Tony had already managed to wedge himself beneath the table. Using his free arms, he reached out and grabbed Bruce's legs.
"I'm not trying to be dirty, just get down here!" he shouted above the approaching gunfire.
Bruce slid down, trapping himself halfway between the back of the booth and the table stand. Obviously whoever designed the place had intended on two grown men ducking for cover beneath its tables. Hiding three men was too much to hope for.
"Tony, when there are no longer men shooting at us, you are going to tell me how you knew this would happen." Clint grumbled.
"You packing heat?" Bruce asked him.
By way of answer, Clint pulled his hand gun from a quick-holster under the tail of his shirt. The gunman weren't offering much to shoot at, but ricochets dropped one and seemed to wound a second.
"Yup, He's packing." Tony said.
"Where's your suit, Stark?" Clint asked. He held his gun in front of him but remain crouched in his position. His left shoulder leaned on the side of the bench for support as he leaned forward and raised his gun sight to bring assailants into his line of sight.
"In the car. It's a mall. I didn't want to make a scene."
"Something tells me you created the scene."
"I resent that remark, despite the fact that you are correct."
"All of us are sitting ducks, we need to get out of this!" Bruce exclaimed.
"How you feeling, Bruce?" Clint asked.
"If you're asking if I feel a little green, the answer is no. Inconvenienced and a little hungry now, but no."
"Ok, I'll take point. They stopped shooting for a minute. Tony you take rear, side arms on my ankle, can you reach it?"
The three men that were once on the far side of the bar, now made it into the center well of the rectangle. From that new point position, a semiautomatic peaked up and began firing randomly. Clint ducked easily out of the way and when the chance appeared he sprang out of his crouch and fired a bullet through the first man's hand. Tony extracted the small revolver from Clint's ankle holster and assessed it.
"Ok, you first Hawk. Keep Banner between us and get out of this death trap. Sound good?" Tony said.
"Sure, sounds fun." Banner said.
"Back exit, Tony follow my lead. Your right. Ready doctor? One, two," At three, Bruce stood and ducked. He untied his legs from the table stand and squeezed against Clint's back as Tony popped up behind Banner. They ran parallel to the bar, heading back toward the dish wash station and kitchen. The gunman behind the bar had a friend who peaked around the corner directly in front of them with a Beretta. Clint fired one round, taking out that man's hand as well.
From the far side of the restaurant a spray of automatic fire followed them along their route. The B-list baseball gloves erupted in a hail of leather laces and old stuffing while a row of three baseball bats rained shards of white aspen into their hair.
The trio pressed forward in a perfectly cluttered line. Six more men poured through the front door. The back exit was ten feet forward, twelve feet to the right around a blind corner, then left toward the restrooms if the signs and emergency lighting were to be believed.
The sounds of gunshots and the purposeful movement kept Clint from focusing on the other human element of the restaurant: all the other guests and staff. The cooks, waitresses, and fellow patrons were all in a varied state of shock, horror, and animalistic fear. Screams erupted as often as the guns fired. From around the first corner a man who had been sitting with his two older sons, suddenly crashed into Clint and the group. For that moment the tight barricade was broken, and another shooter followed after the man. Clint was caught off guard and off balance, but worse he wasn't even being aimed for.
With grim determination, the man leveled his gun for Bruce Banner. Like an assassin set to his task, he squeezed the trigger. But Clint had recovered his balance and grabbed the gun away. Two shots went off in close succession. Someone sneaked up at their back, but Tony gunned him down. Clint and the first man grappled. The gun went off again and for a brief moment, Clint was terrified that Bruce was hit. Blood splattered the wall and carpets and finally the gunman went down. Tony turned and fired a shot into the man's leg to make sure he stayed down.
"Kitchen!" Bruce suggested. The three moved forward and to the side before ducking into the inward-swinging door. They barricaded the entry behind them.
:(:):(:):
A blistering heat from the twelve-headed gas range created an instant perspiration down the back of their necks. Various stove tops smoked into the ceiling vents, untended by the cooks huddled behind the long sous bar that split the room into two aisles. Burning food charred the air, screaming men and women continued to fling themselves at the barricaded door.
"Bruce, are you all right?!" Tony exclaimed. He leaned against the massive stainless steel fridge and caught his breath.
"I wasn't shot." Bruce said. "But we've got to help them. I'll stay here, but Tony you need to get your suit, and we have to help them."
A flutter of movement rushed into Tony's peripheral vision as an apron-clad boy came at him with a frying pan. Fortunately, the billionaire saw him ahead of time and stopped himself before he raised his borrowed sidearm. The dishwasher was short enough to catch little more than Tony's shoulder resulting in a weak attempt at battery.
Tony spun around and snatched the pan.
"Really?!" he snarled. "Iron Man. Do you somehow not recognize that?"
"Banner, don't freak out." Clint said.
Bruce threw his hands in the air. "I am not freaking out. I am really hungry and a little upset about missing lunch. Oh and there's this little thing about guys attacking me for no reason!"
"Hey, is this our order?" Tony asked the staff member, pointing out a tray of familiar looking food.
"Bruce. I really need you . . . to not freak out." Something behind Clint fell over and shattered on the red brick flooring. Clint wobbled on his feet. He grabbed the handle of a walk in fridge.
"I told you I am perfectly—" The doctor and Tony both turned to him.
"Clint!" Both exclaimed unanimously.
His one hand on the fridge handle wasn't enough to keep Clint on his feet. He sank sideways, cushioned by both Bruce and Tony's hands guiding him down.
"Relax. Just relax. It's ok, relax. Bruce, relax. I need you . . . I need you to calm down." Clint repeated. His fingers laced over the gunshot wound erupting from his chest while Tony cradled his head down against him.
Clint's words were having some effect. The adrenaline of being shot at, running for his life, and now seeing his friend bleeding profusely was almost enough to tip Banner right over the green edge. Before he could think of helping Clint, he had to take a step back. He shifted on his feet, restraining that all-too-feral animal threatening to burst from his skin. Tony's voice was a distant buzz in his ear, adding to the frantic pleas from Barton on the floor. Somehow Bruce was finding calm. That cliff he stepped up to and attempted to dive off was receding. One carefully placed foot at a time he walked back into himself and emerged from his haze of rage a few moments later as Bruce Banner again.
Clint leaned on the floor half on Tony, half supporting his own weight with his elbows. His chest flailed with each sucked in breath. Just outside, gunshots and screams continued to split the air. Bruce grabbed a towel from the shelf over Clint's head. Another one he tossed over to Tony.
"See if there is a steam dish cleaner or a microwave here and put that in it. I need foil." Bruce instructed as if nothing ever occurred.
Tony carefully passed Clint over to Bruce's gentle grasp. Tony leaped up the moment he was free so he could shove the towel in the dishwasher's hands.
"Make yourself useful! Get that thing steamed, one of our Avengers is bleeding to death. Where's the foil wrap in this kitchen?"
The situation proved a little too much for the simple kitchen help. He stood there, holding the towel in his hands while staring glazy-eyed at the three Avengers. It was difficult to tell whether he would begin crying or jumping for joy. Under different circumstances, Tony could assume which.
He grabbed the towel back and stalked up and down the aisle to find the rest of the hiding kitchen help. Along the way he came across a long green box of foil and he slid that to Banner while he continued to search out someone who would be helpful.
still working to re-write this ending, so when it is finished I will let you know!