Warnings: language, drug use.
Thanks to my beta, irite, for keeping a weathered eye for the gaping plot holes that have tried to work their way into this story. I suppose it's bound to happen when you start mixing plot into your angst...
I do not own The Avengers.
For several seconds after Clint announced his presence, everyone stood in stunned silence.
It probably would have stretched on indefinitely, except Natasha's phone rang. She reached for it, then hesitated. "Shit."
"You're probably not toxic yet," Bruce supplied helpfully. "I'm pretty sure it needs to work its way into your excretory system before it's activated. But there might be gloves in that bag over there, just in case." He gestured across the room, then thought again. "Let me."
Bruce hurried over and dug through the bag, pulling out a single rubber glove and the now-empty box. Holding the glove open so she could slip her hand in, he mused, "Isn't it weird how these always come in odd numbers..."
Natasha got the glove on and went for her phone again, just in time for the call to go to voicemail.
With an irritated huff, she put the phone up to her ear, keeping it far enough away that it didn't touch her skin. She listened to the message. Halfway through, she gave Clint a long, hard stare. When she hung up, she flat-out glared at him. "Nice, Barton."
He, of course, had a pretty good idea what that phone call had been about. "What? I couldn't just let you—"
"Do our damn jobs? You're suspended, Clint, and for a good reason! Jesus, you could be fired for what you did. You could go to jail—"
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Woah, what?"
Clint at least had the decency to look chagrined. "I might have stolen a car. Well, actually, I borrowed it without going through the official channels, so it's not like I really stole—"
Natasha cut him off. "You stole a damn car, Clint? Jesus. That was medical on the phone, they wanted to let me know that you made a stop in the pharmacy, but didn't feel obliged to stick around. Did you really think they wouldn't notice?" She leveled a hard look at him. "Hand it over."
He sighed, but set his bag on the floor and rifled through it, pulling out the bottle he'd lifted earlier. With her gloved hand, Natasha snatched it from him, shoving it into her coat pocket. "Okay. Good. I need to call medical and tell them to call off the search for the missing agent. Then I need to call Fury, find out what he wants us to do. Then we can work on—"
But Clint interrupted her. "Nat," he began, hating the whine in his voice that he couldn't quite stifle, hating that there might be innocent civilian lives at stake at yet this was all he could think about, "It's almost midnight..."
She looked at her watch, then at him. "Five minutes, Barton. Let me call Fury." She sidestepped him and headed up the stairs.
The urge to reach out and strangle her as she passed was nearly overwhelming, but the pitying looks on the faces of everyone surrounding him acted as a sufficient deterrent. Instead, he muttered, "What are you all staring at?"
"Um, you. How did you even get here?" Tony asked, stepping closer and peering at him intently. "You look like shit."
"Tony!" Steve chastised him. He was unable to avoid voicing his own concerns, though, and asked, "Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?"
"Yes, Barton, please. Let us retire upstairs so you can rest," Thor advised, then added with a glance at Bruce, "Dr. Banner could probably use a respite as well."
Bruce shrugged. "One of us looks like we've been held hostage for the last eight hours or so, and it isn't me."
Do I really look that bad?
Bruce continued, "But yeah, I'd like to get out of the basement, at least. I don't suppose anyone found the bathroom...?"
They headed upstairs and, after advising the others to touch nothing, Bruce made his way to the bathroom. When he reappeared, everyone convened in the living room just in time to hear the tail-end of Natasha's conversation with Fury. "I don't think it's advisable. I think it's too dangerous. But if it's an order? It is. Okay. Yes, sir." She hung up and turned to face the rest of them. "You should sit down."
"Um, I don't think that's...advisable," Bruce stepped in before anyone could move. "Furniture's pretty flammable. But then, if you just don't touch it with your skin, it might be okay..."
No one was really willing to risk it, and so they arranged themselves so that they were standing in a loose circle instead. Except Bruce, who settled (with almost no smugness at all) into a chair.
"Tasha," Clint prodded, the word forming almost against his will. Pathetic.
With a sigh, she pulled out the bottle with her gloved hand and shook out a lonely pill. She offered it to Clint silently.
And he tried not to look too eager as he snatched it out of her hand and swallowed it dry, but he failed. His shame and self-loathing, even amplified by having an audience, were somehow not potent enough to conquer the need to have this chemical coursing through his veins.
The need to make the pain stop.
It's just biology, Barton. Nerves and shit. That's all.
But he knew that was a lie. Because the relief that coursed through him just from the act of swallowing the pill was enough to make him weak in the knees. He let himself sag onto the chair next to Bruce with a relieved sigh. Then, frustrated with himself and eager to escape the heavy weight of the gazes that had settled upon him, he growled, "So what did Fury say?"
Natasha looked at him closely, taking in his appearance. He was haggard, sweaty, and seemed exhausted. That, combined with the enthusiasm with which he had taken the pill from her, indicated that he'd been on-edge, strung out, at the very edge of his control. Which meant that he'd had the pills in his possession for hours but hadn't taken any of them.
This was a major step forward.
She fought the urge to cheer, though, not wanting to draw attention to it. Clint seemed like he was trying very hard to either disappear or distract everyone enough that they'd stop staring at him, and she couldn't blame him. Hell, she figured she could help him out—after all, they had a job to do and needed to get down to business. "Fury is sending the biohazard response team 'as fast as their fucking asses can move.' He wants us to engage Lucas in the meantime."
"You can't be serious," Steve said. "We're all...compromised."
Clint thought that was a very tactful way of putting it. Although personally, he'd preferred Tony's earlier analysis of the situation. 'Fucked' seemed a bit more apt than 'compromised.'
And speaking of being fucked, "Does Fury know I'm here?"
Natasha shot him an exasperated look. "Of course Fury knows you're here. He probably knew you were here before you did, Barton."
Well, that was more than likely true. "Am I...?"
"What? Going to jail?" Natasha shook her head. "I told him it was too dangerous, but it's an order. You're reinstated for the duration of this mission. Your continued employment is conditional, pending further review of your case." From her expression, it was clear that she didn't approve of at least part of that, though Clint couldn't decide if it was the part where he'd been reinstated or the part where he might be fired. Steve seemed to have some reservations about Fury's decision as well, if the worried look he was giving Clint was anything to go by.
"Great!" Tony interrupted, before everyone could start arguing about whether or not including the archer was a good idea. He thought it was a damn terrible idea, but they didn't really have time to hash it out. "Glad we've got that all worked out. Now, how long does this shit take to cycle out of our systems? What kind of timeframe are we looking at?"
Bruce shrugged. "I never got to test it. The effects are pretty long lasting, though..." he trailed off, looking thoughtful. Turning to Thor, he asked, "You said it's Chitauri blood. What else do you know about it? Where did it come from?"
With gusto, the demigod launched into a reiteration of his earlier explanation of the situation, describing in detail what Loki had said about the blood's properties. When Thor got to the part about Loki's imminent release from prison, Bruce's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "You're joking."
"I most certainly am not. The Allfather will hold to his word. Loki was correct in his predictions of the destructive possibilities of this substance. He has been entirely truthful, in fact."
"...And you didn't think that was a little strange? He's the God of Lies and all, right?"
Thor became defensive. "Surely you don't believe that my brother is to blame for all of this? For the actions of an insane and grieving man?"
Bruce took his glasses off and polished the lenses on his shirt feverishly. "Well...um, maybe?"
"What do you mean?" Steve asked with a warning look at Thor, who seemed on the verge of an outburst.
But it was Tony, not Bruce, who spoke. "Oh my God, that manipulative asshole."
Bruce, emboldened by the fact that Tony could see the connection too, nodded vigorously. "Of course, we can't prove anything, but it's so obvious—"
"—I don't know how I didn't see it before. Well, I was distracted. That's no excuse. Bruce, do you think Loki—"
"It's possible. I'm sure he's capable of it, it wouldn't even be hard—"
"Were either of you planning on filling the rest of us in any time soon?" Steve butted in. "Or should we just try to guess what's going on? Because if Loki's involved, that kind of guessing could take all night."
"Thor," Bruce asked, ignoring Steve completely, "What was the exact deal that your brother made with your father?"
"Loki believed that the humans would use the Chitauri blood for evil. He thought it imperative that it be removed from human hands before it came to such a thing, because of its potent effects. If, on my journey, I found that its effects were as he described, and if it was in fact being used for destruction, then Loki would be pardoned, with his forethought and caution as ample evidence of his changed character."
Bruce nodded again. "And if it just so happened that, while he was here, he set it up so that this stuff would fall into the wrong hands, ensured that it would be misused?"
"You think my brother that crafty?" But then, Thor deflated and shook his head regretfully. "It may well be as you say. Loki is much changed in recent times, and this deception is within his capabilities, I fear."
"No shit," Tony snorted. "I think the real question isn't 'is Loki responsible for this', it's 'how?' Lucas and Loki never met, right? So how could Loki be manipulating him?"
"That's true," Natasha said slowly. "And how did Lucas find out about the blood? He had to have been gathering it here for a while, how did he know where to find it to bring it here?"
"Oh." Bruce fidgeted, suddenly awkward. "Um. I probably should have mentioned this before. Lucas isn't working alone."
Everyone turned to stare at him. He shrugged apologetically. "Sorry. I forgot. There's some Russian guy he's working with. Seems to be calling the shots, so...maybe he roped Lucas into this?"
Steve spoke up, "Well, that's good to know, but it doesn't really answer the question. How did this other guy get involved, then? What's his play? Is he still under Loki's mind control, because—"
"You know, SHIELD has a lot of enemies," Clint cut in, sounding like this was something he'd said before. Staring at his lap, he added, "Most of the people working for Loki...he didn't have to control them." He grimaced, as if talking about Loki was causing actual physical discomfort. "It wouldn't have been hard to find someone willing to keep working for him after he'd gone...especially for the right price." He looked up, meeting everyone's eyes. "Good luck proving anything, though."
"Without definite proof to back these accusations...my father will not go back on his word. Even with proof, it is not guaranteed that he will reconsider," Thor stated gravely.
Tony shut his faceplate with authority. "Then I guess we'd better get on catching these two losers so we have some damn evidence. Asgardians are so fucking stubborn."
Steve put a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Sorry, Tony. For this, I think we're going to need a plan."
It was a bad plan, consisting of something like six bad ideas strung together into something semi-cohesive. The specifics were going to be contingent on the situation, of course, but they'd gone over the basics. But even the basics were a bad idea.
Clint thought he might be biased, though, so he asked, "Does anyone else think this is a bad plan?"
Natasha snorted, "Worst plan I've ever heard."
Well, that was good.
Patiently, Steve said, "I know it's not...perfect. But it's the best we can do. We have to move."
It was true. They were wasting time, and God only knew what kind of mischief Lucas and his friend were getting up to. Bruce explained how Lucas had made off with several barrels of the blood, and any plans he had for them were bound to be bad. So, as a caution (though no one knew how effective it would be, really), the Avengers who had been exposed to the Chitauri blood carefully wrapped their hands in plastic wrap they found in the kitchen (lamenting that there had only been one lonely glove left in Lucas's stash). Then everyone headed out to the SUV parked a few hundred feet from the house.
The first bad idea was having me drive, Clint thought, sliding into the driver's seat. He'd tried to negotiate with Bruce, but the physicist had muttered something about 'needing to stay calm' and declined. To which Clint had replied (thinking back to his nearly disastrous drive into the woods), "I don't think my driving's really going to help with that."
And everyone had laughed, like it had been a joke.
But someone had to drive, and the others (even with the plastic) ran the risk of igniting the vehicle, and then they'd all be screwed. With Banner disinclined to chauffeur, it fell to Clint.
As did a number of other things. For example, he'd been placed in charge of rescuing civilians. While the team wasn't entirely sure what Lucas's plan was, Bruce said that the man had made it pretty clear that he had no qualms about involving an innocent civilian population in this grudge match. Clint, as Steve pointed out, was the only one capable of ensuring that the civilians were neither incinerated nor crushed if they needed help. To which Clint had replied (thinking of his bone-deep exhaustion and throbbing headache, his shaking hands), "Fucking tragic that I'm their best hope."
That had been a joke, albeit a self-deprecating one. But no one had laughed.
Clint thought it might be because everyone agreed with him.
So that had been the second bad idea. Or maybe the third. Or fourth. Because, now that he was thinking about it, the first bad idea wasn't having him drive, it was having him come on this mission at all. Maybe the first bad idea had actually been his brilliant plan to come out here to lend a hand.
What the hell were you thinking?
Well, he'd have time to ruminate on that later. At the moment, he had more pressing things to worry about. Like helpless civilians. And fires. Right. Focus. "Where am I going?"
"Lucas said the town was about a mile north of here. I think if you just follow the road...?"
Those were directions that he could handle. Clint threw the car into drive and headed north.
The town wasn't hard to find at all. For one, there were signs. Second, it really was just up the road. And third, a large portion of it seemed to be on fire.
Orange flames lit up the night sky. A single fire truck was parked outside a house on the edge of town, the firemen struggling to contain the fire while at least half a dozen others burned around them. The town was in complete chaos, with people running between the burning buildings, attempting to stop the fires with garden hoses, buckets, anything they could use to throw water at the flames. Their efforts were hindered by the fact that the hoses and buckets kept 'spontaneously' igniting.
Lucas and his friend were nowhere to be found.
This was kind of what the Avengers had been expecting, but it was still something of a shock to witness. Clint pulled the SUV off the road and they sat for a moment, just watching.
"I don't get it," Tony said. "What the fuck is this supposed to accomplish?"
Bruce shook his head. "Lucas wants to prove how dangerous we are. Or how useless, I guess. And he's kind of right—what can we do about this, except try and save the people who are trapped? We make an appearance, and everyone will know that we were here and did nothing. Or that we made it worse." He gave a half-smile. "Don't think the Other Guy's going to be very useful here. Nothing really needs to be smashed."
Steve nodded briskly. "Fair enough. But you will be. We'll stick to the plan. Everyone remember what they're doing?" They all nodded, but Steve decided to run through it again. He wanted to be absolutely sure that everyone was on the same page now that they actually knew what the situation was. "Bruce, I know you're not that kind of doctor, but you're helping out until the paramedics get here."
Bruce shrugged. "Can't do a lot for smoke inhalation, but I'll do my best for everything else."
"Good. Then I'm going to try and gather the people who have been exposed, you know, try and keep them isolated so they don't do any more damage. Tony, Natasha...look for Lucas and whoever he's working with. Be careful. Call for backup if you find him. Clint, you're on rescue duty. And Thor...you're summoning rain along with as little lightning as possible. We need a downpour."
Uncertain, the demigod voiced his reservations. "Of course, but...I do not know how effective it will be."
"Just give it a shot, okay? These people need all the help they can get. All right, everybody. Let's go."
Reminded of their orders, everyone got out of the car. They did a quick check to make sure their comm units were working and spread out. Clint headed over to where a large group of people was standing and frantically gesturing at one of the burning buildings. "Is everyone okay?"
Apparently, something about him seemed governmental and official (Clint didn't know if it was the bow and quiver, or the large number of guns strapped to his person, or his...interesting... uniform) because he didn't even need to flash his badge before people were clamoring for his attention.
"My daughter is trapped—"
"—Grandma can't get out—"
"—Can't find my cat—"
He held up a hand, the extreme amount of sensory input overwhelming his frayed nerves. Oh God, my head... "Hold on. One at a time, please."
They did slow down a tiny amount, but he still found it nearly impossible to focus. He felt the beginning tendrils of panic starting to creep in. People are going to die because you're too strung out to do your job, Barton.
That was unacceptable.
Clint held up a hand again, trying to still the faint trembling in the appendage before anyone noticed. He resisted the overwhelming urge to rub at his forehead and/or throw up, ignored how he'd just broken into a sweat that had nothing at all to do with the fires burning nearby. He could do this. "Okay. Where do I need to go?"
Within a few seconds, he'd gotten a rough mental map (though he'd considered drawing a physical one...which house had he decided to start with?) sketched out of where people (and animals...he couldn't resist pleas for pets) were thought to be trapped. Girding himself, Clint headed into the first one.
The fire was largely on the outside of the structure, but the inside was uncomfortably warm and full of smoke. He held his breath and quickly headed upstairs.
He emerged a moment later carrying a baby and a small dog, both of whom he brought to Bruce, who was at the center of a rapidly growing crowd of injured townsfolk.
As Clint slipped into the next house, it began to rain.
That house was more difficult, because there were flames rapidly spreading across the carpet. At the top of the stairs, Clint had to stop and fight off a wave of dizziness before combing through the bedrooms in search of the toddler that one of the men had insisted was inside.
Clint found the kid, and continued to make his way slowly, laboriously, through the other houses, waiting to get word about Lucas's whereabouts. In between houses, he saw that Bruce was tending to the injured, now aided by paramedics from the closest city, and that Steve had separated a group of people from the others and looked to be trying to explain to them what was going on.
The last house was the worst, nearly entirely engulfed in flames and full of thick black smoke. After he escorted an elderly woman from the flames (cutting it pretty damn close, too), he stood outside, bent over, coughing, for almost a minute. The pain in his head reached an unbearable level, and his vision went gray around the edges. When it cleared, he was on his knees and Bruce was standing next to him.
"Are you okay?"
Honestly, he wasn't. It felt like his lungs were on fire, he'd tripped on some stairs and banged his shin badly, and his left arm felt...singed. Or maybe burned. Definitely burned, now that he was thinking about it. All of that was piled on top of his already-dismal physical state. But Clint thought he'd be damned if he let any of that get in the way of finishing this job. He'd fucked up enough recently to last a lifetime, and his own physical discomfort seemed inconsequential in the face of the consequences of succumbing to his weakness. So he ignored Bruce's question, instead asking, "Any news?"
Bruce thought that was a strange thing to ask—Clint had a comm, so he'd know if there had been news. But Bruce could also recognize an attempt to deflect when he saw one, and he decided to let Clint get away with it. For now. "Not yet. Are you finished?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." Clint broke into another coughing fit. When he could speak again, he added, "Unless somebody lit up another house?"
Bruce cast a quick glance around. "I don't think so. Steve would have called it. Look, if you need a break, that's fine." His eyes settled on Clint's burned arm and his eyebrows began to creep up in alarm. "Hey, that looks bad—"
"I'm fine," Clint interrupted. Then he spoke into his comm unit, "Civilians are clear. What's the situation?" Even to his own ears, his voice sounded rough, like sandpaper. As Clint waited for a response, Bruce hovered nearby, trying to get a better look at his arm. Clint noticed this and tucked the injured limb in closer to his body. Bruce huffed in annoyance.
Steve answered Clint's inquiry first. "I think I found everyone who was exposed. I'm not sure how Lucas got them, but there's about twenty people here all together. What about you, Tony? You find him yet?"
"Aerial surveillance has been inconclusive. So, that's a negative. Maybe Romanoff's had more luck?"
Silence. Then her voice was in their ears. "There's a school about a quarter of a mile north of where we parked. I can see someone moving around on the lower level. Seems suspicious."
A few more beats of silence, while Steve considered. "All right. I think we've done all we can here. Let's head over that way. Natasha, stay where you are. Everyone else, reconvene at the car."
"You get that?" Clint asked. Bruce nodded. Together, they headed back towards the SUV.
Which, as they could see from a distance, was going up in flames, which were spreading out from the front seat. Steve was standing next to the open driver's door, wearing an almost comical expression of shocked dismay on his face. As they approached, he called out, "I didn't—I just—"
"You just touched it," Bruce muttered, slowly coming to a halt a couple hundred feet away. "What happened to the plastic?"
"I couldn't get the door open with it on my hands—"
"You might want to step away, Cap," Clint advised, watching the flames spread to the back seat.
"What the fuck?" Tony asked, landing with a thud near Bruce and Clint. "Nice going, Rogers, you blew up our ride!"
Steve reached Clint and Bruce just as Thor came up behind them. "Hey! I didn't blow it up, it's just—"
He was interrupted by the SUV exploding. The blast promptly ignited the trees above the vehicle, the flames spreading slowly—hindered by the recent rain—but spreading nonetheless.
"Forest fire. Great," Tony snarked. "Do you know how much the fine is for burning down the forest? It's outrageous—"
"Are you guys going to get over here any time soon?" Natasha spoke into their ears. "Because it's definitely Lucas in there, and I'm pretty sure he has hostages."
"Sorry, Romanoff," Tony replied. "Captain America had to blow up the car and take out half the forest, we'll be right there."
"...I don't even want to know," Natasha ground out, impatient. "Just get here. We need to end this."
Clint thought that seemed agreeable. And despite the car blowing up, and the forest fire, and the burn on his arm and the injury to his leg, and his smoke inhalation, and the headache, exhaustion, shaking, and other withdrawal issues...he thought that this whole night was going far better than he could have hoped. No one had died, he'd managed to hold it together, and they'd managed to both rescue the people who were trapped and get a handle on Lucas's destruction with minimal damage to the area.
So how much harder could it be to free a couple of hostages and take down a mad scientist and his Russian sugar daddy, really?
Well. Maybe harder than he'd thought.
Thanks for reading/following/favoriting/reviewing, as always.
We're slowly coming to the end of this. I don't really want to be done, so I've been dragging my feet with updating. Sorry about that.
I've been playing around with the idea of a sequel to this, but I don't want to commit to anything unless I know the interest is there. Would anyone be interested in following Clint's story farther than this Big Adventure?
Oh! I almost forgot to plead for reviews. Please?
