"I do not like this."
Jane rolled her eyes at her boyfriend's dramatics, not bothering to glance over at the sulking god who had wedged himself into a corner of the room next to her, watching her impatiently as she fiddled with an electronic tablet, scribbling into her notebook every so often.
"Yeah," Jane grunted, "You've said that already – six times, in fact."
"That is because you are not taking my warnings to heart. The Draugur is dangerous – it has no hold or reason to be in this realm."
She ignored Thor's eyes boring between her shoulder blades as she tapped into her email distractedly and muttered, "Technically, neither do you."
Thor didn't seem to hear her, "What is it that you are doing?"
"Darcy and Erik are still working at the temporary lab SHIELD set up for them. They're sending me a bunch of their readings on terrestrial gamma rays. There's apparently been such a high influx of them the past couple of weeks and it's been interfering with our studies."
Thor simply blinked at her, "And this magical looking-glass is able to tell you their thoughts?"
"Er, sort of…"
"And are these rays the same of those that affected our Bruce Banner?"
"They're similar, but Bruce was mutating the atoms to alter their frequency levels and make them radioactive. These rays are organic – much less harmful."
A sharp whistling tune alerted Jane that she'd just received an email from Erik where she eagerly tapped on the glass to open its attached files, only for her face to fall.
"That can't be right…" Jane frowned, perplexed.
Thor shifted to lean over her shoulder to read the screen, "What is wrong?"
"Darcy must have messed up the calculations. A regular gamma ray flare rarely lasts longer than three milliseconds during a thunderstorm. These notes say that there's been eighteen in the past three days that have appeared for up to twelve minutes without any real meteorological disturbances. The only other times we've had anything even close to that have been for only half a second whenever you and your friends decide to travel through the Bifrost, and you bring freak tornadoes every time!"
Thor shrugged, "I have not heard any news of my fellow Asgardians visiting this realm in recent days. Nor would my father allow it with the Draugar uprising."
Frowning, Jane grabbed her notebook and jotted down the listed coordinates on the email before scurrying over to a tactics map pinned to the wall. Thor followed willingly, snatching up a marker at Jane's murmured request to stand nearby as his girlfriend treaded the length of the wall, scratching off different points with thick red crosses and numbers.
Jane stood back satisfied as she marked off one of the small neighbouring islands to Russia.
"What is this?" Thor asked befuddled, glaring at the scribbles.
"These are all the major gamma ray hotspots that have popped up around the world. See here?" Jane pointed at southern Europe, "There's been two occurrences in Greece and three in Vatican City, each exposure rate lasting up to three to four minutes. And over here—" Jane rushed to the other side of the map, nearly tripping in her excitement, "There's been one each in India and China for six and eight minutes. Then there's the two right off the coast of Russia on one of its islands for four minutes and another right where Jerusalem is for twelve! Then we've got up to seven in the north-east of America between Wisconsin and Illinois, usually varying between five and ten minutes and finally—"
Jane's enthusiasm drained as she reached back over to Europe, her arm stretched out to point at the final cross and the words 'two minutes'. Right over the black-inked name of Uppsala, Sweden.
Her tablet whistled for her attention and she distractedly opened the new file, glancing down at Erik's short note with a budding feeling of foreboding. Quickly reading the last coordinates, Jane let the tablet slip from her grasp and clatter to the ground, making Thor let out a sharp bark of "Jane?" in worry.
The astrophysicist ignored him as she uncapped her pen a final time. She didn't need to double-check these coordinates, she knew them off by heart. With a heavy hand, she drew the final red cross, watching the ink bleed over the centre of New Mexico, America.
"They're not storms, they're portals." Jane whispered breathlessly.
/ / /
Clint followed after the Draugur closely, eyes focused between its shoulder blades as his hand hovered over the switch-blade in his belt – not the best protection against an undead alien with super-strength, but it was the best he had without tipping the creature off and breaking Fury's code of conduct. At least he'd been allowed to carry his bow, even though the director had banned him from using his arrows.
'Danny' seemed oblivious to Clint's actions as he hummed merrily, walking across another scaffold, each step making a hollow 'clang' throughout the empty room. They were in one of the storage bays of the Helicarrier now, walking across some of the higher platforms as the Draugur gaped at the large wooden crates stacked up. They'd spent hours weaving their way through the ship since the Draugur had been released from reviewing. Danny seemed to think it was a game, getting more and more excited with each newly discovered nook and cranny. Clint had no choice but to follow, but not until after he'd placed strict rules on not entering any rooms without his permission.
That was two hours ago and Danny hadn't made any notion of stopping his expedition anytime soon.
The SHIELD operative glanced dully at his watch, regrettably noting that Natasha wasn't due to swap shifts for another hour when the Draugur suddenly halted and turned towards him, a toothy smile painted across his face as he stood on a scaffolded-crossroad, blocking Clint's path.
"What are you doing?" Clint's voice turned gravelly with warning.
Danny's smile didn't waver as he took a step forward, "It's really big in here, isn't it?"
Clint didn't reply, his palm resting on the hilt of his knife. Danny took another step.
"And dark too," Danny continued conversationally, glancing around the echoing chamber.
Step.
"And… empty."
Step.
Clint tore the blade from his pocket and held it in front of him, taking a sharp step of his own back. He was almost certain he heard Danny's jaw crack as he eyed the knife, his teeth bared in a feral grin. Sweat began to dampen the short hairs on the nape of his neck as he wielded the practically useless weapon, cursing Fury for his orders and not listening to Thor's warnings when, suddenly, the Draugur vanished from sight with a blast of icy air.
Swivelling on the spot, Clint frantically scanned the scaffolding, his sharp, hawk-like eyes taking in every detail. He swore under his breath at the sight of the empty room – only for the air in his lungs to freeze when an echoing voice whispered menacingly into his ears, "If you don't hurry, the spider's going to fall into her own web and become someone else's prey."
Clint didn't wait for the Draugur to finish as he sped off through the cargo bay, trying to ignore the chilling laughter that seeped into his very bones and clung to him like a curse.
/ / /
Natasha rammed her heel into the sack of sand with a final burst of adrenaline, sending it spinning off its hook to crash to the ground with a violent jolt. Panting and wiping the sweat from her eyes, she leaned heavily on her knees glancing up at the training mirror. Shoving away the wet strands of hair that clung to her face, Natasha studied the dark shadows under her eyes. She'd lain on her cot for almost an hour after Clint had dismissed her, only for the memory of the SHIELD lapel to continue to haunt her. Her brain evaded the call of sleep her body desperately wanted as it struggled to comprehend the enigma that was the Draugur before she'd given up and headed for the training room.
It hadn't done any good. After going up against both the punching bag and the rowing machine Natasha was still feeling as frustrated and out of the loop as before. Scowling at the figure in the mirror, Natasha snatched up a nearby towel and dropped her face down into the cotton, fighting the urge to scream into the fluffy material and remain the stoic, unmoved professional she strived to be. She was so tired, the whole operation was falling way beyond her comfort boundaries and pressing hard on all her beliefs. A power-crazed mafia boss she could handle in a heartbeat – an undead, moody teenager with a bad dye-job, not so much.
Slowly lowering the towel away from her face, Natasha took a deep shuddering breath, releasing it as she felt her heartbeat slow down to an even pace and resigned to throwing the cloth into a nearby hamper, dragging herself to the exit.
Giving a nod to a passing operative, Natasha instinctively weaved her way through the corridors, eyes half-lidded as she came to a stop outside her assigned room and swiped her card, squeezing through the two-inch thick, self-sealing titanium steel door before it had even fully opened and headed for the bed, deciding to ignore the shower in the ensuite in hopes of a little extra shuteye before her shift with Fury's white-haired wonder began.
Dropping her gear at the end of her cot, she toed off her shoes and rolled her shoulders, hearing the satisfying crack of one of her vertebrae popping back into place. Natasha let out a deep sigh and collapsed on top of the sheets, not even bothering to tuck herself in as she felt herself slip into unconsciousness.
A cold rush of air brushed against Natasha's face, rousing her from her light doze. Cracking an eye open, she swore she saw a flash of green in the corner of her eye. Her hackles raised, she sat up, silently reaching over to slide open her bedside table for her handgun, hesitating before pulling out an attachable ecto-transfuser to screw onto the nozzle. Clicking the safety off, she slipped off the sheets, noticing a faint green light from the gap of her bathroom door. Like the black widow she credited herself as, Natasha deftly made her way across the room, her bare feet skimming over the tiled floor without a sound as she inched closer, eyes focused on the crack of eerie light.
Taking a slow breath through her nose, Natasha lifted the gun up to eye-level and squared her shoulders and releasing the air through her mouth. With that, Natasha rounded on the door and thrust her heel out, sending the fibreglass sheet reeling on its hinges. Her foot stung from the impact, but she ignored it as her eyes swept through the dark room… only to spot her hair curler sitting innocently on top of the vanity, the little green light flashing cheerfully in the blackness, alerting her that it was ready for use.
Scowling at herself, Natasha lowered the gun and cursed herself for her overactive imagination. Dropping the now safety-locked weapon next to the sink and switching the curler off at the power-point, she let the door fall back into place and collapsed back onto the cot, rolling on her side as she willed herself to sleep again.
A sharp banging on her door jolted her back awake not thirty seconds later when Clint Barton's harried voice yelled through the locked entrance, "Natasha! Open up!"
Sliding her key card through the slit, Natasha was surprised to find her partner's face creased in worry, panting heavily as he grasped her shoulders and shook her.
"You alright?" he wheezed.
Natasha pursed her lips, "Perfectly, until you decided to wake me up."
Clint glanced up and down the deserted corridor before barrelling his way into Natasha's room, ignoring her indignant cry as he slammed his palm on her door-panel to slide it closed and rounded on her, inspecting her with a keen eye before he was seemingly satisfied and began yanking drawers open, tossing out their contents in his rush to search them.
"What are you doing?" The ex-assassin growled out, watching her partner shuffle frantically about her room.
Clint ignored her question to instead glare balefully at her favourite pair of jeans.
Natasha pressed harder, "Has the Director called us?"
Clint yanked open her closet, carelessly tossing spare uniforms and civilian clothes onto the floor as he hunted through it, "Not yet, but I suspect he will soon, the Draugur's made a threat against you. Where's your gun?"
"Where's the Draugur now?"
The SHIELD agent slammed the door shut frustrated, "I don't know, he did a Houdini on me. Now where's your gun?"
"It's in the bath—"
A soft rapping came from the titanium door making the two agents freeze, "Agent Romanoff?" a voice echoed through the steel, "Director Fury sent me to give you the debriefing reports about Uppsala. He says that you need to look over them ASAP."
"Don't open it!" Clint hissed. Natasha didn't move.
The rapping started again more insistently, "Agent Romanoff, I know you're in there, open up."
Natasha held her breath, muscles tensed as she mouthed the word "bathroom" at Clint and tip-toed her way over to the doorway, only to halt when she neared the door's gap.
There was a green light.
Before she could process what she was seeing, Clint had shoved her into the cramped space and silently clicked the door closed, shunting a rolled-up towel under the gap and sending them into pitch-black, "Don't turn on any lights. I'm not taking any chances."
"You know Draugar can walk through walls, right?" Natasha whispered smarmily, struggling in the dark as her hand fumbled across the vanity for where she'd dropped her handgun. The green light had disappeared, "I'm doubtful he'd be so polite as to knock."
A crisp laugh broke through their nervous banter, "My mother raised me with manners, thank you very much."
Natasha's retinas were overloaded with green, making her flinch and reflexively shield her eyes, blinking away splotches of colour that floated in front of her vision to reveal the towering figure of the Draugur leaning on the edge of her sink, spinning her gun on his index finger as his other cast-bound hand glowed an acidic green, throwing his features into dark, haunting shadows.
"Looking for this?" the Draugur teasingly held her weapon out towards her, his sharp blue eyes seeming to have their own ethereal glow as he stared down at the two.
"I know who you are," Natasha started bravely, hands itching to snatch the gun, "Coincidences aren't something I take lightly."
"Oh, and what coincidence would that be?" the Draugur leered. Even his teeth glowed.
Natasha saw that Clint was watching the Draugur closely, his muscles tense as he clasped a knife he'd drawn from his belt, gripping it like a lifeline.
She didn't bat an eye, "The one considering that throughout all of Tony Stark's life, he's turned away every single apprentice offered to him – even the ones hand-picked by the best intellects in the world – until some nobody kid with lunatic ghost-hunting parents appears at the exact same time the Draugur infestation starts, looking a little too similar to yourself—" On the last word Natasha lashed out, the heel of her palm ramming into the ghost's uninjured wrist, making him loosen his grip on her gun which she swiftly stole, switching the safety off and aiming it at the Draugur's head in one fluid movement, "Daniel Fenton."
Natasha heard Clint give out a faint sound of shock from next to her, but she didn't dare look at him.
The Draugur – Danny – chuckled, "You're good, even if you do come off a little cold," he leaned in close to the ex-assassin, seemingly ignoring the way the nozzle of her gun jammed into his cheek and whispered, "But I can be colder."
Natasha felt the temperature in the room drop instantly, her bare feet stinging as her soles began to stick to the tiled floor. Hoarfrost appeared, crackling as it travelled across the glass screen of her shower like a plumage of ferns, making her release a visible puff of chilled air in surprise. A loud groan of steel echoed from her main doorway. Both of the SHIELD operatives flinching as metal painfully scraped against metal before a thunderous bang pounded through the quarters, sending tremors rattling through her frame. Whoever had been on the other side of her door had just figured a way in.
"Knock, knock," Danny taunted and idly began drawing on the frost-coated mirror, playing hangman with himself.
Heavy-booted footsteps crunched with scattered debris and ice as they made their way over to the bathroom. Natasha and Clint automatically repositioned themselves clear of the door, standing to the side as they both kept their weapons aimed at Danny – who seemed to be ignoring them now as he added an arm to a crudely drawn stick-figure – while surveying the bathroom door with trepidation.
The handle let off a round of melodic chimes as ice chipped away from it, the door swinging open to reveal a large pair of standard SHIELD-issued boots along with a war-torn field-agents uniform that looked a little too small and the youthful face of a dark-haired Danny Fenton.
"Hill's key-card broke," was all he offered for an explanation.
Natasha fell back into the wall heavily, hands shaking violently from both cold and confusion as her gun wavered between the two, not knowing who to shoot. Clint had long since fallen silent, retreating into his mind to analyse all the possible outcomes like she'd seen him do countless times before.
"Wh-what?" she sputtered, disbelieved, "There's two of you? But I thought—"
"Ooh, so close!" the Human-Danny chortled, leaning heavily on the doorframe and blocking the exit.
"He's late," Draugur-Danny said, drawing another arm.
Human-Danny shrugged, "I'm guessing the letter 'U'?"
A blank spot was filled, "Loki's not gonna be happy."
"Neither's Vlad. Better make this quick then."
A weak green blast flew from Human-Danny's hand to hit the butt of Natasha's gun, sending it tumbling through the air to clatter to the ground, green goo plastering itself over the barrel that let off an acrid smell as it began to eat through the metal. Clint's knife shortly followed to dissolve into an acidic puddle.
"How long have you two been working together?" Natasha burst out desperately at her wits end. She was trapped, weapon-less and all her suppositions had been ruled out, "What has Loki got to offer you?"
Both pairs of eyes swivelled on the SHIELD duo, "Loki and Vlad have shown us truth. This is the least we can do to repay them for their generosity," the Dannys echoed.
This seemed to snap Clint out of his thoughts, "They're being controlled," he muttered from next to Natasha.
"What?" she hissed.
Clint opened his mouth to reply when Human-Danny let out an elated cry. Natasha glanced over to see the hangman puzzle completed. Written in the chicken scratch typical of a teenage boy were the letters, W U L F.
The air began to spark and crackle malevolently. A deep rumbling shaking the frozen room. Draugur-Danny lazily shoved himself off the vanity and smiled as a sharp, fur-covered claw pierced its way through the atmosphere.
"Finally, amiko."
/ / /
Steve sat on the end of his bed, remote control grasped tightly in his hand as he rewound the recording, the television blaring as it filled his ears with white noise. Images of destruction ran across the screen in reverse to reveal a glimpse of Danny's face. Pressing the play button, the white-haired boy's bemused expression filled the screen – a woman nervously chattering in fast-paced Italian off-screen – as he bashfully ignoring the camera. On-screen Danny seemed to nod at whatever the woman said and glanced at the camera when a glint of something caught Steve's eye. Jumping to pause the footage, he clumsily mashed the buttons. Danny's face filled the majority of the screen wearing an easy grin, but Steve ignored that. There in the background he swore he'd seen for a split-second a flash of lightning appear in the clear sky and collide with the dome, only to disappear without a trace.
Rewinding the footage, Steve's finger hovered over the pause button, prepared to try as many times to catch the moment again.
/ / /
The giant wolf-man landed harshly on the ground, jolting the two agents violently from where they were tossed like rag-dolls across its back. Clint felt the cold sting of karma through his shock at being captured by a giant canine. He'd killed many wolves while braving the wilds on missions in the past.
The creature – Wulf – took a deep breath through his nose, sniffing at the air delicately before huffing and curling its legs again – claws pricking through his uniform to leave red welts on his sides – and bounded across the craggy ground which Clint distractedly noted seemed almost purple in the dim light. The leaping brought on waves of motion sickness and the SHIELD operative – with his head hanging upside-down and the blood pounding in his ears – felt his pallor turn from white to red to a clammy grey. Natasha didn't seem to be fairing much better as she helplessly pounded her fists into the monster's back, eyes ablaze but mouth held tightly shut.
As quickly as Wulf started he stopped, ramming the duo into his matted, black pelt.
"Urgh," was the only noise Clint could work out of his throat.
He felt the wolf's grip loosen as he slipped off its tattered shoulder, heavily meeting the ground that he'd been previously admiring with his cheek. He'd been right, it really was purple.
He felt more than heard Natasha collapse next to him as he rolled onto his side, massaging where the brute of a canine's claws had jabbed into his ribs when he noticed, not only was the ground purple but the sky was green – pure green like an uncarved emerald that glistened and swirled in jagged patterns. Sitting himself upright, Clint glanced around. They were perched on a rugged floating island in mid-air. Hundreds of similar atolls floated around them in the swirling sky along with thousands of ominous unmarked doors. Taking a deep breath in a hopeless attempt to calm himself, he glanced over to his right. A cinderblock barbican towered over the three of them, large wooden doors sealed tightly shut. Clint shared a look with Natasha, who was looking a little more than faint at this point.
The jingle of spangles met his ears and Wulf let off a low keening that stung Clint's eardrums, making him wince and glance up sharply.
A battalion of green-skinned Draugar were heading their way, dressed in modern riot gear and clutching glowing batons as they glided soundlessly across the ground – wispy tails in place of where their legs should have been – floating effortlessly over the rocky terrain to where he and Natasha sat. Wulf was openly whimpering now, back-tracking the closer the group got.
The sound of spangles came back to the forefront of Clint's mind, the wave of armed Draugar parting to reveal a tall figure as it stepped proudly forward. Bleached-white skin was stretched so taut across an angular skull that Clint had difficulty telling where bone started and muscle ended when it grinned wryly down at him, teeth permanently bared with a lipless smile. Hands clamped behind its back dressed in a pristine white suit, the walking skeleton's look was completed with a black cowboy hat. Clint automatically reached back for his bow, comforted to find it still there.
"Well, what do we have here? A couple of trespassers? And with illegal contraband?" The skull crowed gleefully, a hint of a southern twang seeping into its words as it towered over, intimidating them, "That's against the rules."
Natasha smiled wanly, "We don't follow rules given by science-class models."
The riot team's baton sparked in response.
Wulf let out a loud whine, making the skeleton glare sharply at him, "You're free to go now, as part of your deal," the skeleton spat out the word like it left a bad taste, "Now get out of my sight before I change my mind!"
The wolf-creature didn't hesitate, twisting on the spot he swiped at the air with his claws, tearing open a rift in the atmosphere to reveal blue skies and leapt through without hesitation. Clint thought he saw the words 'Amity Park; A Nice Place To Live' before the portal sealed itself back over into a vortex of green.
"Bullet," the white Draugur snapped. A grey-skinned creature with a patch covering its eye stepped forward from the crowd, "Place them to the West Wing. Make sure they don't escape."
"Of course, Walker, sir."
Clint didn't get a chance to draw his bow when a sharp shock ran through him and bindings wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms to his side. Glancing down, he was stunned to find glowing ropes wound tightly across his body and he was hauled to his feet, staffs and batons shoving him forward as pure-red eyes leered at him.
Unbalanced, Clint was propelled towards the now-opened doors of the cinderblock castle which was revealed to be as daunting as the outside; sconces covered the walls with blue fire and angry cries echoing through the entrance hall from further inside what he now recognised was a prison. Clint's eyes swivelled around the windowless interior as he sped through escape plans and scenarios, only to toss them away as quickly as they came when he checked how tight his bindings were. The Draugar prodded him in the back sharply with their batons as they directed him and Natasha into the next room – this one with a much less grand door. Thick metal bars surrounded the containment hall, holding back flocks of Draugar, eyes wild and desperate as they reached through the bars to grasp at air. Clint had seen that look on many soldier's faces when they were reaching their breaking-point and flinched when one Draugur snatched at his partner, only for her to swiftly kick at the offending appendage as well as she could while tied and skitter away, mouth still tight shut.
Hisses and growls surrounded Clint, and he was certain he heard the whispers of "Danny Phantom" thrown between inmates more than once, but before he could catch what they were saying Bullet came to a halt in front of an open cell door, the room almost pitch-black. Clint felt the ropes around him slacken and fall away as the one-eyed Draugur turned on them.
"In," he growled, tossing them into the cell. The door creaked heavily behind them and slammed shut with a sinister bang, the bars' shadows painting dark lines across their faces as the Draugar floated away, laughing.
"Well, this is great," Clint couldn't tell in the light but he thought he saw Natasha's lower lip quiver slightly.
"Still not as bad as Paraguay," Clint heaved a sigh.
Natasha shuffled towards the bars, nervously glancing through, "Suppose not," she murmured.
A familiar wispy voice called out from one of the dark corners, "That was the Duarte case in Areguá, two years ago, right?"
Shivers ran up Clint's spine at the sound. Whirling around, Clint ripped off his bow. Natasha had curled herself into a defensive position, arms raised, back to the bars, "Who's there?"
Glowing red eyes snapped open in the dark, the shadow of a hulking figure stretched out, sharpened green fingertips reaching blindly, skin pulled taut over bulging tinged muscle. Clint and Natasha were met with the not-so recognisable red eyes of the recently deceased SHIELD Agent, Phil Coulson.
Coulson ran a claw through his thinning hair and gave a watery smile, "Hello."