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Chapter Text

Phil Coulson wasn’t at the PEGASUS facility when word first arrived about its collapse. Being second in command at SHIELD meant many projects took his time, and while he usually didn’t like to have Clint under a different handler, this one was a personal request from the Director. And Nick Fury was many things, but not someone to squander such a valuable asset.

After all, Clint Barton was the anchor that kept Phil loyal to SHIELD.

At least, that was the theory. Fury never believed him, but Phil had been telling the truth when he’d told the man he was loyal to the cause, to keeping the world safe and guiding it to a better future from the shadows. If that meant a diplomat’s spilled blood or the quiet extermination of a village, so be it. The ends justified the means, and that means would make the human race prosper.

Everyone at SHIELD had a hook, something the agency could use to keep a tight rein on their personnel. Blackmail was most common, but once agents moved high enough, like him, they had become too valuable, and often too powerful, to succumb to such simple threats. When Phil had been Level 6, the murder of his superiors from the army days was not only decades ago, the entire mission had been tainted by scandals and buyoffs. If Fury ever tried to call in his chit, the Pentagon would be more likely to bury it than pursue an investigation.

So Fury had found Clint Barton, an FBI sniper with perfect aim and a propensity for kill shots. Life as a government gun was strangling the man, all those lives adding up to a government agency being cagey about its asset. Those were the best kind of recruits, really, people on the cusp of realizing how that grey line between order and anarchy sometimes called for the difficult choices the world found distasteful. Phil had also discovered one other thing: Clint got off on the power behind ending a life.

Clint was a beautiful weapon and a brilliant mind that would soon turn mercenary or be deliberately placed in a kill zone by his superiors because they couldn’t confirm it, but they suspected what he was, what he could be.

Phil had offered him a job, absolution, and the best fuck of his life.

Phil didn’t think of Clint as Fury’s hook into him. He was loyal, but Clint, Clint was a wonderful benefit. He’d taken to SHIELD life with passionate ferocity. He didn’t even fight the trackers and implants that forcibly prevented him from talking during extreme interrogations. Instead he made a show of the scars, as proof that SHIELD had its claws into him, that Phil had marked him, claimed him.

Over the years, Clint had risen in the ranks as well. At Level 4, he fought and bit and screamed and dragged the Black Widow into SHIELD custody and convinced her to join them. At Level 5 he’d befriended the friendless Winter Soldier and tranquilized a fallen god into submission. At Level 6 Fury began to worry at having such two high level agents—Phil was Level 8 by then—being each other’s only motivation to staying with SHIELD.

Which was when Fury brought Clint’s own hook in, unbeknownst to Phil.

Despite their ugly history, Clint had some lingering ember of family loyalty, and let his brother be used as a pawn in Fury’s game. That night after sweeping for bugs, Clint admitted he didn’t care that much about Barney, that he’d go wherever Phil ordered. Phil, who’d only ever lost control around Clint, let the man know just how much of an aphrodisiac having that sort of power was. Clint didn’t walk straight for a month.

A few weeks ago Fury promoted Clint to Level 7 in order to read him in on Project PEGASUS. The project was ostensibly to develop Phase II weaponry in case the fallen god’s people ever made another visit. The cover story for the world was that it was a secret limitless energy research facility. The source of their research was a World War II cube called the Tesseract, discovered in the same area as Captain America a few years ago. And the research was conducted by a scientist named Erik Selvig.

That was why Fury wanted Clint there. Maria Hill, at the behest of the Fury, ran the facility and kept the place under enforced, unending lockdown. Each sneeze, each conversation, even each blink was recorded, scrutinized and, if necessary, followed-up on under her watch. If that wasn’t enough, the facility itself was beneath fifty feet of rock, four titanium-reinforced walls, three DNA locked vault doors, and a Stark-developed energy field. It was supposed to be the most secure facility in the world.

Yet there were still anomalies.

Nothing specific, nothing that said, ‘there is a traitor here’ or ‘sabotage is occurring this very instant,’ just small little things. Surveillance videos missing five or ten seconds. Unexplained power fluctuations and lighting failures. Once, a mirror shattered in an empty bathroom not three feet from the main lab. Hill was furious, spending hours every day tracking down each and every occurrence, but the World Council was strangely accepting of the unexplained phenomena.

It’s what first turned Hill’s suspicions to Selvig. He was overseeing the research team, an expert in energy, astrophysics, and mechanical engineering. The perfect scientist to lead the project with the perfect hook already in their custody due to the fallen god. The Council insisted he run the program, which was somewhat odd, as Selvig had always been a vocal denouncer of big government, black projects, and the military-industrial complex.

Clint was there to observe and evaluate the man’s every trivial action as a potential security risk. No matter how diligent he appeared to be in discovering the secrets of the cube, even a stray glance could be the key to unravelling the strange events, as well as any sabotage the man might have been planning. Clint’s gaze was sharp enough to catch any perceived threats, and his reaction fast enough to eliminate said threats seconds later.

During one of Phil’s visits, Clint had mentioned offhandedly that maybe the cube was the actual security threat. It was a link to space, a door. And doors swung both ways. This one lead directly into the heart of the world’s most secure facility with SHIELD’s most valuable secrets just there to discover.

Phil had convinced Maria to install Stark’s shielding technology the very next day.

That was a week ago, and Phil was in Belize helping Sitwell finish covering up their involvement in a bloody military coup when the report came.

Hundreds of agents were dead.

The facility nothing more than a crater of rubble and bodies

Hill had survived and dug herself out of two stories of debris. Her debriefing from the medical unit had been seven pages, but Fury knew enough that Phil would want the bullet point conclusions, and had thoughtfully provided them.

Selvig had opened the door.

Clint descended from his perch to shut it.

An intruder arrived, took the cube, Selvig and Barton, and vanished; leaving behind devastation in his wake.

From her description, it could only be one man, and one final conclusion.

Loki Laufeyson had declared war on Earth.

It was two days before he was back in New York. There had been no word and no sign of any additional incursions, but Phil was convinced it was only a matter of time. When he arrived in Fury’s office, the man was waiting for him in his overlarge leather chair, the Council monitors blank and no papers on his desk.

Shutting the door to Fury’s office and activating the privacy code by rote, he said tightly, “We knew this was coming.” He stood at attention, his suit crisp and pristine and doing nothing to hide the simmering rage beneath the collected appearance. Everyone knew the lengths he would go to in order to protect his lover, the stain of brain matter in the hangar bay a testament—and a warning—of his dedication to the archer. After that, no one left Hawkeye behind on a mission again, not if they wanted to survive the debrief.

“The Council was aware betrayal was a possibility,” Fury responded, arms folded and glare aimed squarely at the wall over Phil’s shoulder. “In what form was always in question.”

“What do they intend to do?”

A heavy silence blanketed the room.

Phil narrowed his eyes.

Fury glare still failed to land upon him.

“Nick,” he snapped, “if you tell me-“

“The Tesseract is technically Asgardian property. The Council is debating retrieval, but given the financial cost already incurred, it’s doubtful they’ll authorize it.”

“And Barton.”

“Expendable.” At the growl, Fury finally held up a hand. “Not my words.”

Phil shut his own eyes and took a long breath through his nose. After a minute, he let it out through his teeth and, calmly, responded with, “They’re short-sighted. He has a near-invincible army of literal gods at his disposal and the means to travel anywhere on the globe.” Another breath. “He took what he wanted this time without warning. What’s to say he won’t do it again? Or simply invade and be done with it?”

“They’re also debating that. In the meantime, they’ve ordered no retaliation.”

Phil clenched his fists. “I won’t abandon him to the likes of an egomaniacal god.”

“You’ll do what the Council commands,” Fury retorted sharply, his one eye finally meeting Phil’s angry gaze. “SHIELD acts at the behest of the world. To storm Asgard we’d need an army. Hell, we’re not even sure we can get to Asgard without the Tesseract. And as you pointed out, they can invade anywhere.” He sat back in his chair. “SHIELD will not officially take action against Asgard until the Council states otherwise.”

Phil clenched his fists at his side. He ground his teeth, then bit out, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He eyed Phil up and down. “Since you’re emotionally compromised due to your relationship with Barton,” he pulled out a folder and set it on top of the desk, “I’m putting you on extended leave.” He pushed the object forward. “I understand you’ll want to get away. The quinjet and its flight crew are at your disposal.” He stood. “I don’t want to see you back here until you’ve got yourself put back together. Do I make myself clear?”

Phil’s lips pulled into a snarl. “Crystal.”

“Good. Now get out.”

Picking up the folder, Phil turned and stormed from the office, slamming the door behind him. Ahead of him, agents quickly parted, some even diving away, for fear of setting him off, of attracting his attention. He marched directly to his on-site quarters, engaging the override protocols Stark hacked for him years ago. They were limited, but he wouldn’t need them for a while after this.

He stood in the dark, letting the waves of frustration and fury boil away as he clenched the folder in his hand and reviewed the discussion. Even when secure, Fury rarely gave his full thoughts in case the Council had found a new way to eavesdrop. In this case, Fury had made it very clear that the Council would debate the situation, but probably do nothing.

This was the same Council that had demanded revenge on a few mutants that had dared to steal SHIELD intel and one base. The same Council that, when Egypt’s government had declined to follow their will, sent the Widow and Soldier to create the perfect revolutionary storm. The Council was petty and vengeful and cared nothing for the people at SHIELD.

For the Tesseract, the Council should be calling for all-out war.

Instead, they were quietly sweeping it under the rug.

There would be only one reason for that, and he snarled. This wasn’t a random invasion. Someone had set this up. Someone on the Council had sold out SHIELD, the Tesseract, and Clint for god—literally!—knew what.

He knew Fury had already figured it out. That what he’d just been handed was either the solution to that, or to getting the Tesseract back.

Flicking the light on, he sat his desk and set the Black Projects folder down. It was thin, holding just five or six pieces of paper. Flipping it open, he scanned through the first couple of documents, and let a smirk tug at the corners of his mouth.

Fury was right, they’d need an army to take on the gods of Asgard.

And he’d just been handed the authorization to activate the Avengers Initiative.

Some on-base housing was nicer than others. The subterranean ones that doubled as prison blocks could rival the elegance and class of upper New York. The most secure of them all held not one, but two men. One small and lean, with blond hair and hazed blue eyes. He drew some days, taking the inhalant medication any time a cough tried to strangle his lungs. The other was lithe with broad shoulders, dark hair and a silver arm. He was SHIELD’s for now, and with the enemies he had, would remain their puppet assassin for many, many years.

The larger one was mouthing at the blond’s shoulder, hips thrusting slowly to tease the gasps from the body below, his cybernetic arm clasped firmly across the naked chest. He was just about to bite the skin when Phil deactivated the security camera and opened the door to the bedroom; a door the larger man had locked twice over before engaging in his carnal pleasures.

Superior reflexes had him twisting the smaller man behind him and pulling a gun from the mattress and firing, pulling his shot at the last second so the bullet merely whistled by Phil’s ear to embed in the doorframe. Phil had made sure to come alone and unarmed, no security team and no weapon. The man bared his teeth, but Phil just calmly said “Barnes,” not blinking at either the second bullet that whistled by or at the erection bobbing in his direction.

“Out,” he snarled. “You know the rules.”

“Bucky,” wheezed the voice beneath him, the man he’d shoved against the wall. “Where did you-“

“Army, Steve.” The harsh cadence vanished from his voice, still strong but a touch gentler, friendlier. “I’m sorry. My reflexes took me by surprise.” He still didn’t lower the gun, didn’t let his gaze leave Phil. “This man was just leaving.” When there was no movement, steel entered his voice. “Now.”

Phil didn’t let his eyes trail over to Steve, though it was tempting. As a kid, he’d admired Captain America, until he’d grown up and learned how harsh the world really was, how incompetent leaders could be and how the ends really did justify the means. When SHIELD had found the Tesseract, Captain America—shield and all—was frozen nearby. Phil was called in once it was confirmed the man had been alive, as tall and broad and handsome as all the newsreels displayed.

It was one reason Fury probably chose Clint as his hook. The man was broad-shouldered with dirty blond hair and, frankly, better arm muscles than Captain America. Where the Captain was pristine, though, Clint had scars that showed he’d lived in war, from his childhood through the military and even at the FBI. Phil had spent hours tracing and marking and unmaking Clint through those imperfections. He was damaged and strong and beautiful because of those scars.

Looking at the nude Captain America, his unblemished skin and angelic features, it was hard to imagine him as a war veteran. He seemed too perfect, and though Phil knew psychologically there were probably scars, his first impression was that of the pristine super soldier, untouched by time or violence. When he’d made the final call to Fury, he was expecting to be told to execute the legend and begin dissecting the serum that made him so powerful.

Instead, he’d been ordered to bring the man in.

Clint had been working on the Widow, and as a final affirmation of her loyalty to SHIELD, she had offered a counter-serum the Red Room had developed. It was experimental and its viability was unknown, but at least if it failed he wouldn’t be the one to end Captain America. Fury had said the Widow would have that honor.

He didn’t let on that he was relieved, but he suspected Fury knew.

The man had screamed, even when forcibly unconscious, as his muscles and strength and even his mind were stripped of each and every enhancement, burned away as the formula did its job and turned Captain American back into the congenitally health-impaired Steve Rogers. The reason why wasn’t revealed until weeks later, when they had confirmed word that the Winter Soldier had broken away from his handlers, and had made an appearance at the arctic recovery site.

The Widow knew that Captain America had been a fixation for the Soldier for decades, she assumed because of his mental programming. When he walked into SHIELD, Phil was as surprised as everyone else that the Soldier was James Barnes, childhood friend and killed-in-action soldier. It was clear he considered Steve his, and SHIELD had him.

Phil knew a little about an enemy holding something that was personally precious.

So he had brought the man into a conference room and made him a simple offer. SHIELD needed people like the Soldier, and the Soldier needed someone to keep watch of Rogers. He could survive in this world, but not for very long once people knew who he was. Barnes had agreed, with the added stipulation that the world of SHIELD never touched Steve, that the now slighter man could keep his belief about justice and doing what was right and that moral compromises were not for the good guys.

Phil had made sure it was a luxurious golden cage, and he had never once crossed that line between Barnes’ private world and the real world SHIELD lived in.

Until now.

From behind Barnes, a voice asked, “But why,” as Steve’s eyes glanced at Coulson, at the gun, but the submissive drugs did their job, and soon he was staring at the bed, at Bucky’s bare back. He trailed a hand down it absently. “I’m…Buck, can we-“

“In a minute, I promise,” he replied gently, wrapping the blanket up to hide Steve’s indecency, his innocence, from the world beyond the door. He walked to Phil, not even bothering with clothes, and pressed the weapon to the man’s chin. “I was promised,” he hissed, “that this would be my sanctuary. He doesn’t see anything of SHIELD, of what I do.”

In deference, Phil stepped back just far enough to be out of the room, but still close enough that he could keep the door from being closed.

After a moment’s evaluation, Barnes followed, letting his Winter Soldier persona emerge as he stood on the threshold between Steve’s cage and the real world. “Talk, Coulson.”

“Clint’s been taken.” No other explanation was needed. Phil knew Barnes would kill to protect Steve. He’d seen Phil do it for Clint.

Still, the Soldier kept the muzzle of his weapon against Phil’s throat and narrowed his eyes. The message was unmistakable, and Phil offered just the slightest tilt of his head in apology. It was enough. The safety was locked on and the man leaned back, his cybernetic hand clinking slightly as he made a fist. “When do we leave?”

“Immediately. You have twenty minutes to be on the quinjet.”

He nodded once, then stepped back and closed the door.

Phil turned and left. Twenty minutes was a long time, and he had a feeling it was just long enough for Barnes to whisper goodbye into Steve’s skin.

He tried not to envy him too much.

He didn’t succeed.

The quinjet, thanks to the reflective panels, was able to hover discretely above the newly completed Stark Tower. They’d infiltrated Tony Stark’s security detail ages ago, discovered the plot to have him assassinated, and then saved his life in the Afghan desert. He was still devastated that Obidiah Stane, the closest thing he’d had to a father, had orchestrated the whole ordeal. Coulson had stepped in, subtle and quiet in the background, supported Tony through the shock, introduced Virginia Potts to the lost man, made sure to be there in the middle of the night when burying himself in the lab was no longer enough to cast off the nightmares and doubts.

For a man starving for father figures, Coulson was the perfect plant to entice the Stark into SHIELD’s fold with nothing more than a stern smile and caustic warmth.

Phil knew that Fury considered the Stark infiltration to be one of his greatest successes.

Though the jet was invisible, when Phil disembarked Tony was already there, scotch in one hand, Potts in the other. Phil offered them a bland smile, and Potts nodded back subtly. She wasn’t a SHIELD plant, but she understood loyalty, and the power they’d brought her by allowing her to become a shadow CEO. There were contingencies in place, but for the most part, SHIELD considered her a secure ally in this dangerous world.

“Agent!” Letting go of the woman, Tony stumbled over and slapped Phil on the back sloppily. He was not extremely drunk, just a touch; enough to have lost some of his coordination. “You here for the party?” Phil glanced through the windows and found that, yes, there was a party going on through the reflective bullet proof glass. At his raised eyebrow, Tony waved his hand. “Polarized windows. They can’t see a thing.” Not so quietly, he whisper yelled, “They think I’m having sex with Pepper.”

His beaming smile only made the red-headed woman roll her eyes. “We’re celebrating his unbirthday,” she said, amusement in her tone. “I’m pretty sure it’s just an excuse to throw a party in his new tower.”

“Stark Tower is a gorgeous piece of work and will be a model of efficient, clean power for the world to follow,” He countered definitively. “Even Coulson thinks it’s awesome.”

It was a bit of an eyesore on the skyline, but Phil shrugged and nodded. “It’s impressive, Tony.” The man beamed at the praise. “I’m looking forward to your proposal for implementing it on a city scale.”

“Yes, yes, we’ll get to that but first! Party!” He tugged Phil towards the door. Phil let himself be dragged a step or two before digging his heels in. The fewer people that saw him, the better. “Aw, c’mon!”

“As much as I’d like to join your soiree,” he saw Tony mouth the word as if it were offensive, “I’m afraid I’m here because a friend has been…taken.”

All joviality vanished from Tony then, and though he still had the semi-drunk haze in his eyes, his full attention was on Phil. “What do you need? Missiles? I’ve developed a new mountain-breaching payload-“

“Nothing quite so mass produced.” Phil glanced over to Potts. “Please extract Natalia for me. Let her know I’ve got the Soldier on board.” Neither of them knew who the Soldier was, but Romanoff would understand the significance and drop her current assignment immediately.

Tony, however, looked wounded. “You came for the lethal weapon?”

“More than one.” He pinned Tony with a stare. “I know you’ve been working on a secret project.” The man wasn’t prone to squirming, but a bit of defiance appeared as his mouth shut. “I believe you’ve been preparing something special for Rhodes.”

“Honey bear is out doing good work. He deserves a nice gift.”

This time, Phil made sure his smile was warm. “He does. Especially since it’ll help me retrieve my friend.”

Tony frowned and looked to his scotch, swirling it around. “Kind of ruins the surprise,” he groused finally.

Phil made sure to lean forward. “You know what would be an even better surprise,” he said quietly. Tony gave him a sidelong look. “If you told him it was a prototype, and the next one you give him…is even better.”

As he stepped back, he saw Tony’s eyes light up at the prospect of more engineering, more design, and of the potential excitement of his friend. “You really think so?”

“You’ll blow him away if this weapon is only phase one.” He let a hint of pride bleed into his voice.

Tony lapped it up. “Right, right. You’re right!” This time he hugged Phil around the neck before heading back to the balcony doors. “You be sure to get me the feedback, all the feedback. His next gift is gonna be brilliant!”

Natasha Romanov, in a dress of sheer and black silk, merely looked amused before dropping her Natalia impression. Potts, like a professional, kept the party going and attention away from events outside. “This must be big,” she said.

“Barton’s been taken.”

At that, the Black Widow fully came forward, the deadly persona that had been looking forward to eliminating Captain America and had bonded with Hawkeye over kill counts. “Who?”

“Loki.”

She recognized the name, even if she didn’t have the entire history. “What’s the plan?”

He saw the elevator lights indicate it’d made a visit to Stark’s workshop. “To get him back.”

The next leg of the trip took nearly twelve hours, just to pick up one man. The others he could get stateside, but even under orders, this next recruit would only come in if given no other choice. The border of Pakistan and Afghanistan was not the safest in the world, but Phil trusted the Soldier and Widow to have his back. He had a reputation to uphold, even in a no-name town across the world.

The entire place was rubble and bodies, with fires burning in the half-standing buildings searing the air with the scent of ash and cooked meat. It was a familiar sight, one of nearly a dozen strikes made against suspected Ten Rings holdouts over the years. Ever since their involvement was revealed in the attempted assassination of Tony Stark, there had been a joint venture taskforce between SHIELD and the US military to rout them all out.

The Colonel in charge of the team had taken the plan against his best friend personally, hunting down any hint of Ten Rings with fanatical zeal and a heartless dedication SHIELD couldn’t help but admire.

Phil approached the huddled survivors, the platoon already there and putting them into an army truck. There was one old man, a few women, and at least a dozen children. Four soldiers were making sure the people were secure, while a fifth, Phil’s target, was focused on a kid—a boy no more than sixteen—clutching the arm of a grandmother, crying and refusing to move.

He hadn’t even made it into James Rhodes’ periphery before the man growled, “If you’re here to reprimand me for the civilian casualties, you can fuck off.”

“SHIELD understands the inevitability of collateral damage.” He calmly made his way in front of the Colonel, putting himself between the muzzle of the gun and the child. Applying gentle pressure to the boy’s arms, Phil was able to make him release his grip on the corpse and guide him away.

When he turned, he found Rhodes’ aim still on the kid. “He’ll grow into another one of them,” he bit out, “another trying to destroy us.”

“Possibly.” Phil walked past the truck, to the very edge of the town. In the distance he could already see the dust of a convoy, either rescue, or medical, or more hostile targets. Regardless of who they were, they were no more than twenty minutes off. He found a bit of shade by a crumbled wall and released his hold on the boy, smiling genially with a stern gesture to stay put.

He could feel the tension in the air ratchet up tenfold, and the entire unit froze in place as Phil stepped away from the teen.

In the silence, Rhodes grunted, “I can’t let that happen.”

With a thread of steel, Phil replied, “I can.” He turned around and stared Rhodes down. “The story of your unit’s actions will make others think twice about helping the Ten Rings.”

“It’ll inspire others to join.”

“Perhaps.” Phil stepped forward. “Either way, that’s no longer your concern.” Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. “You’re being reassigned.”

His gaze still tracking the child—now frozen in fear—Rhodes’ wrist twitched. A vicious snarl escaped his throat, and with a flick his weapon went off, shooting three bodies lying not five feet from the boy. He didn’t empty his magazine, just shook with fury when he finally dropped his weapon. “I’m not finished! They’re still out there!”

Phil waved at the platoon to take the truck and go. They didn’t need to be told twice. Once the vehicle was on its way, Phil approached the Colonel. “We know. And once you’ve completed your assignment, SHIELD will have you right back on the front lines.”

Another snarl, but the man snatched his weapon from the ground and stormed off in the direction Phil had approached from. Swiping the letter from the Agent’s hand, he crushed it in his fist as he marched. Phil merely followed, unconcerned with the teen or the approaching caravan.

After another moment of silence, the anger from Rhodes’ voice had faded, repressed and hidden, and he was able to ask calmly, “So what sort of assignment brought a suit like you out here?”

“A new offensive.” He nodded to the Soldier and Widow now visible by the jet. “Tony says hi.”

That caused the Colonel’s mouth to curl into a twisted smile.

His next stop brought him back to the States, to San Francisco. He left the three soldiers behind. It would be easier to blend in without them. Besides, his next target was not a fan of any military. He hadn’t slept much, but had taken a stimulant so he could confront this recruit. Unlike the others, he wasn’t beholden to SHIELD. In fact, the man hated them. Phil hadn’t been part of that operation, it had all been Fury and Hill, a combination of Machiavellian subtlety and military strength. A dangerous combo most of the time, downright deadly with those two.

Before stopping in the park, he made sure to walk by the wharf, and take in the Golden Gate Bridges’ new position leading to Alcatraz. It was cordoned off by SHIELD and some of the National Guard. Despite the battle, only a single body had remained when the dust had settled, the rest incinerated in the final psychic flames. It was currently inside the former prison, along with the boy codenamed LEECH. There had been a few attempts to retrieve both, but none had been successful.

Mutants may have been a growing problem once. Not anymore.

Making his way back to Golden Gate Park, he found his target by the lake, sitting at a chess table and trying to make the king move with a wave of his hand. He looked every bit his seventy years of age, white hair, worn, withered face, hunched shoulders and an aura of distress. He wasn’t fooled, though; they’d never broken the man, merely stripped him of his power—literal and figurative.

He slipped onto the stone bench on the other side, looked over the half-finished game, and moved a black rook. “Enjoying your retirement, I hope.”

Erik Lehnsherr didn’t look up from the board, merely slid his hand so he could move a bishop to counter Phil’s move. “Enjoyment is for those who choose to retire. I, however, was given no choice.”

“I thought we were very generous.” He slid his own bishop another square. “Retire to the city, or retire…permanently.”

“Very generous. Almost uncharacteristically so.” He set his hand atop a knight, paused, and glanced across the table. “I wonder, if perhaps my retirement was premature.” He pulled his hand back.

Phil shrugged. “We can admit at times we are overzealous in our methods.” He tapped a forefinger to the table. “Your move.”

“Ah.” He shifted a pawn, blocking the bishop and threatening Phil’s rook. “Zealotry has its place. If you can admit yours, I suppose I can admit mine.” He adjusted the checkered scarf around his neck. “What will you do now?”

Phil eyed the board. “If I take the pawn, I lose the bishop. If I save the rook, I risk the queen.”

“A difficult decision indeed.”

Phil let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Not really.” He moved the rook.

Erik raised an eyebrow in response. “Fascinating. A clever ploy? A ruse to trap me? Yet I am already at a disadvantage.” He indicated the six pieces already off the board. “Why risk putting yourself in the same position?” Phil simply let out a hum in response. Erik used his own rook to take Phil’s queen. “Why make yourself as vulnerable as I?”

Phil shifted his king away. “Perhaps my vulnerability is an illusion, just as yours is.” He let his gaze flicker up. “But there is the theory that to know your enemy is to set yourself in their position.”

This time, Erik had his knight jump into action. “And what have you learned of your enemy?”

“Without his strength, his queen, his officers, he is still cunning, a master strategist and a threat to my own king.” He shifted his saved rook. “Check.”

“If that is so, why did you sacrifice your most valuable piece? Had you sacrificed the pawn, the queen would still live.” He ran his fingers along the edge of the inlayed board. “In chess, pawns fall first.” He moved his king back one square to the edge of the board.

Phil rested his chin on his hands. “Is that what you think? That pawns are fodder, no more or less the footman or the archer?”

“It is the name of the game, my boy. An archer, I’ll grant you, may place the valued shot. But the footman is rarely the most dangerous on the field. They fall far too quickly, are far weaker in stature.”

“Yet even a pawn can fell a king.”

Erik scoffed. “In unlikely scenarios. It is better to save the queen. Her versatility and strength are what win the day.”

“Sometimes.” Phil glanced down at the board. “Sometimes, though, you have to make the sacrifice, not for sentiment, not for strategy.” He gave Erik a sharp smile. “If you fail to take in the bigger picture, not even a queen can save you.”

“You’re saying a pawn is more valuable than a queen?”

“Not necessarily more valuable, but get them in the right position, and even a king topples.” He nudged a pawn to the other edge of the board, then replaced it with his recently lost queen. “Lose sight of the whole, and all your strategies will fail. Checkmate.”

Erik scanned the board, then with a heavy finger tilted his king until it fell over. He sighed. “You’ve toppled me again. My congratulations.”

Phil picked up the fallen piece and examined it. “It’s a pity kings can’t be resurrected.” He curled his fingers around the piece until his hand was a fist. “At least, not in this game.” At the man’s furrowed brow, Phil nodded towards the table. “Have you ever tried three-dimensional chess?”

“I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with that variation,” Erik said carefully.

“Fascinating, to use your term. The king,” he held it up by its base, “can fall upon the main board. But the game doesn’t end there.” He set the piece on an imaginary board hovering above the table. “You see, that’s merely the first challenge. The next, is to corner him on an even narrower board. And the rules change.” Phil moved the king around in a square. “You see, there’s no room for a queen, and so the king becomes more than he was; perhaps what he should have always been.”

Erik hesitated, then reached out and plucked the chess piece from Phil’s hand, carefully examining the steel-colored object. He traced it with his finger for a minute, then gave Phil a narrow look. “Surely there’s a price, though. To be resurrected with more power must come at a cost.”

Phil let all teasing leave his voice. “The cost is that the king can never, ever return to the base field. Once he’s elevated, he must remain upon the new plane of existence. However,” he let the humor return to his tone, “if he succeeds, he may find a new kingdom not just for himself, but for all his surviving pieces.”

“Yet in standard chess, he simply falls, until the game is reset.” Erik turned the piece over between his fingers. “Why risk new rules and new dangers when the world will reset itself eventually?”

Phil folded his hands in front of him. “That’s true. Sometimes, however, pieces go missing.” He pulled the king from Erik’s hands. “And the game can never be played if the king ends up lost, or worse, broken.”

Erik nodded slowly, looking from the piece, to Phil, then to the park around them, to the nearby civilians. Finally, he said, “A king should think of his people. They are, above all, more important than their current land, or even war.” He straightened his coat and stood up. “And you’re right, it’s better to learn a new field than surrender entirely.”

Phil let his smile return. “I thought you might agree.” He stood as well. “If you have some time, I can go over the new rules with you right now.”

“I’m retired,” he said with false cheer. “I’m all yours.” A little lower, he said, “I suspect, I have been since our last encounter.” Phil didn’t bother with a response to that. Erik brushed some imaginary dust off his coat. “So, what’s the goal of this new strategy?”

Phil’s smile was sharp again. “To save a pawn.”

Phil’s next stop was a near-deserted isolation zone in Montana. By now, the WSC had probably caught on that he wasn’t vacationing, which meant he only had a day or two before they attempted to take him out. If he was right, though, he would be gone within the next twelve hours, and wouldn’t have to worry about the WSC until his return. He had a feeling Fury had a plan for that. As the most cunning man alive, he wouldn’t let anything happen to his One Good Eye.

At least, not unless it was the only way to save his skin.

It was the way of SHIELD, after all.

That was a concern for when he returned, however. First, he had a team to gather, an agent to recover, and a world to burn.

His next recruit would either come easily, or require enough convincing that it might not even be worthwhile.

Of course, his Plan B was lying on the ground bleeding out when he arrived, so that option was gone before it had even been necessary. “And just who,” he said calmly, “thought to put the Abomination in with the Hulk.”

A Level 3 SHIELD agent, obviously newly promoted, stood up carefully. “We didn’t have a choice, sir.”

Beside him, he could feel both the Soldier and Widow go tense. The agent—his nametag read Jonas—had a terrified look in his eyes, but stood his ground. “And why,” Phil continued, “didn’t you have a choice?”

“General Ross had orders, sir.” The man swallowed as Barnes crossed his arms. “H-He had the Abomination, and an order from the Joint Chiefs. Sir.”

Ross. Undoubtedly another attempt to rid the world of the man his daughter had fallen in love with, as well as the monster that had humiliated him on Capitol Hill and essentially stalled his career. “And is he still on base,” Phil asked.

“Yes, sir. He’s,” the man glanced at a screen, “he’s calling to see if a missile strike is possible.”

Short-sighted, egotistical moron. He’d had enough political protection that thus far, SHIELD hadn’t been able to rid themselves of the thorn in their side. Looking at the desert pen, he eyed the headless body of the Abomination. At least now they knew what could actually kill one of these creatures.

Not that any of them could do what the Hulk had. Of course, Abomination could also be an inferior specimen. It was something SHIELD scientists were still debating.

The remains should finally settle that discussion.

“Cut the call,” he finally ordered. To his credit, Jonas did so immediately. By turning back to the enclosure outside, Phil effectively dismissed the Agent, who quickly retook his seat and kept his head down. He might never make a field recruit, but his bravery—or stupidity—would see him promoted sooner or later.

Maybe.

It was another two minutes before General Ross entered the room, demanding to know who had cut his call, on who’s authority, and did they know who he was? The usual bluster that Phil didn’t even bother acknowledging. Instead, he cleared his throat and felt Ross’ gaze between his shoulders. “Let’s take a walk, General.”

“I don’t listen to,” he didn’t need the window’s reflection to hear the sneer, “civilian bureaucrats.”

“That much is obvious. If you did, you’d have heeded Stark’s advice and dumped Abomination when he offered.” It had been a strange sort of win-win play. They would either get their hands on the degenerate Hulk-like entity, or Ross would hold tighter and continue the downward spiral that was his career.

Boots stomped up behind him and he was roughly shoved so he ended up facing the General. “Listen here you insect,” spittle flew as he yelled, “your monster just destroyed a project the military has invested millions into! You will hand over Banner to be exterminated or so help me, I will raze SHIELD to the ground myself!”

Phil let the man loom threateningly for a minute before nodding. “I see. Well, when you put it like that, I don’t see any reason to argue with your request.” An ugly smirk appeared on the man’s face. “Of course, Banner is here voluntarily, so in order to hand him over, we’ll need his authorization to release him.”

“You let it have rights,” he snorted derisively. “He’s a mindless creature.”

“Nonetheless, the contract he signed with SHIELD is quite explicit. I’ll need his permission to release him from the premises.” Phil glanced over the General’s shoulder. “As we’re both currently here, I don’t see any reason to delay with the process, do you?”

“Glad you see it my way.”

Phil let a smile slip out. “I never said that.” The confusion on the older man’s face was pathetic. “I meant that, together, we can approach Banner regarding your request.” He paused for a beat. “Immediately.”

It took another moment for comprehension to dawn on the man, followed by a flash of horror and, satisfyingly, a bit of fear, before he opened his mouth; undoubtedly to yell even more. His operatives struck first, Natasha striking his kneecap in a roundhouse kick even as she slammed the heel of her hand into his larynx. Barnes was just as quick, snatching the openly carried gun and knife from the General’s belt before twisting both arms up behind his back as the man tried to breathe.

Phil simply walked over to the bridge that led down into the large penned-in field and entered his code to gain access. He didn’t bother looking back, hearing the scuffles and wheezing struggles as Ross was forced to follow him. Each time he finally cleared enough air to speak, it came out as a groan of pain. He glanced down at the Abomination’s body. It hadn’t reverted back to a human state, and the head was nowhere nearby.

It was another three steps before Natasha reported, “Signs of movement in the northwest quadrant.”

The entire arena was nearly six square miles. The northwest quadrant included a hollow beneath some cliffs that provided excellent shade. He’d been telling the truth when he’d said Banner had been imprisoned willingly. After all, Natasha had found him at his lowest, after he had tried to eat a pistol—and the Hulk actually eating said pistol in retaliation.

She offered him a safe harbor, not where he could return to normal, focus on his sciences again. SHIELD had no use for an unstable scientist of his ilk. They wanted to study him, what he’d created, and so she played into his fears of the green creature harming someone as he tried to take his life, of losing control without even realizing it and hurting civilians.

So the sanctuary was developed, a fenced, shielded location where the Hulk could be unleashed without harm to anyone but SHIELD ‘volunteers’ who made sure the facility continued functioning. There was a small house, regular food and drink deliveries, even wireless streaming if the man ever wanted to zone out from reality.

And every now and then, a little psychological pressure.

Hearing him beg to die, to be put out of his misery wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. His first month in, he’d tried another gun, slitting various arteries, even hanging himself. Each time, the Hulk came out to protect Banner, and each time the scientist returned, sobbing that he’d awakened once again, that the monster still lived.

The cycle had continued. Poisoning had been the closest to success Banner had come, but the Hulk’s metabolism even burned that attempt out. This month, Banner had refused to eat any food brought, and barely drank, trying to starve himself to death.

So far, it’d been without success. Phil was actually surprised the Abomination had lost. It seemed physical deficiencies weren’t enough to slow the creature down.

When the cliff was in sight, Phil caught Banner curled up on the ground naked, the head of Abomination lying not ten feet away. After his fourth attempt, Banner had given up any pretense about modesty and simply embraced the nudist style. It was, Phil thought, another sign of surrender, of giving up on this world, not able to bother with societal standards any more.

He stopped at the same ten foot perimeter as the head, waiting for the man in the fetal position to respond to their presence. He recognized that, unlike the others, he couldn’t be the one to initiate contact. Banner would acknowledge them when he was ready. Fortunately, the small bit of curiosity that had lead the man to be a scientist in the first place always won out.

Without looking at them, a quiet voice emerged from the ground. “Here to see how I display my trophy?”

“No,” Natasha said, stepping away from Ross, who had been forced to his knees by Barnes, “we are here to help.”

The broken laugh was rough from disuse. He rolled over to face them, moving so carefully he seemed almost brittle. “You have an antiserum? Will you finally be my angel of mercy?”

“No, though you know I would if it were possible.”

His eyes eventually flickered over to Phil, then Ross. “Then how can you help?”

Phil squatted down so he was almost eye-level with the man. “It’s been four months. Is starvation working?”

Another harsh laugh. “He didn’t tell you? Abomination had a handler.”

Phil didn’t let any emotion show through as he thought back to the scene of the remains. There was no second body. Ross blanched, and just beyond where Banner lay, he could make out a small pile of vomit. “It appears nothing on Earth can kill you.”

An incoherent sound escaped from the man at the pronouncement.

“Ross here, he thinks a missile will do it. I rather think the Hulk would only grumble at even a small nuke.”

“You’re right,” he said dully. “I tried a bomb six weeks ago.” He turned his head away. “There’s nothing left.”

“On Earth.” That got him a grunt. “Barnes, this is classified Level 6 and above. Handle the violation, would you?”

Ross only had time for his eyes to widen before the Soldier’s cybernetic arm grabbed his chin and twisted sharply, breaking the man’s neck. As the body fell forward, Barnes said mildly, “He should’ve known better than to enter the Hulk’s enclosure.”

“Hubris,” Natasha nodded, “always was his downfall.”

Phil was just glad to have a valid excuse to be rid of the man. He turned his attention back to his target. “Banner, I’m about to go on a mission that will involve…altercations with non-terrestrials. We could use your strength.”

The wind picked up around them for a few minutes, before the man said, “Why should I care?”

“Because nothing on Earth can kill you. This mission, however, involves fighting gods.” He added a bit of conspiratorial cadence to his tone, “and I’ll bet if anything can kill the Hulk, it’ll be a god.”

Silence reigned again. Then, slowly, Banner rolled over and pushed himself up to his hands and knees, wobbled, and finally hauled himself off the ground. “Gods and monsters...”

“Gods slay monsters,” Barnes retorted.

Something that may have once been a smile crept along Banner’s face. “Think I should put on some pants?”

That was it, the Avengers Initiative, all gathered save the final component: their key into Asgard. The location of The Fridge was classified, but from Montana it was only a two hour flight, and the sun was hours from setting when he reached the sub-basement; the Sanctum, as some liked to mutter. While every other floor had either unmarked doors or numerical identification, the Sanctum’s walls were lined with strange runes and symbols, glowing a blood red or sickly green. The geometric shapes clashed with non-linear script, all wrapped and warped in a delicate array for one purpose and one alone.

To bind what lay down here, and to blind all from seeing it.

He approached the far end of the hall, the largest cell in the Sanctum. His code meant little, and as warned, a black cat acted as a ward, hissing as he approached. He merely looked it in the eyes. The cat was nothing more than a familiar, an extension to a strange witch known only as Harkness. Few knew of her, and none knew what price she exacted from SHIELD for her services. Some said it was she who took Fury’s eye, others that she devoured the souls of agents who failed their SHIELD duties.

Phil had always suspected she was a bit like the mythic Merlin, knowing the future and simply playing into it because that’s how it should be. The future said she was SHIELD’s employee, and so she had deigned to work with them.

They were already making contact with a Doctor Strange, a new practitioner of magic, in case the witch ever needed to be eliminated.

As it was, he let the familiar peer into his soul, one of a handful that were allowed not only on this floor, but into this cell.

The bloodstained walls bespoke to the fate of those without authorization.

There was a shift of the shadows, and then the vault-like door slowly spun, the deadbolt seals unlocking and retracting. The entrance to the cell wouldn’t be fully open, a Stark-enhanced shield was in place, which was locked to both vocal recognition and DNA scans. It wasn’t overkill, not with some of the people SHIELD kept here. Those they couldn’t recruit, but also couldn’t kill.

Or, in this case, were the perfect political pawn.

Hair stringy and down to his waist, the exiled God of Thunder sat on the lone bench against the far wall. He was wearing a nondescript grey jumpsuit, no number, no identification. To the right, he could see the live feed they’d granted him, a window into the world that was Jane Foster. The scientist was slightly mad, but too brilliant to simply eliminate. Where Selvig was a subversive, one who fought against The Man, Foster could lose herself in the world of numbers and science of the stars; and forget the fight in its entirety. As long as she had funding and her lab, she was content, the danger subdued for now.

Fortunately, Darcy Lewis, her intern, was like SHIELD: a pragmatist. She knew who Phil was, or rather, what he represented, when he first arrived. She recognized the lengths SHIELD would go to in order to protect the world, to save it. She could see the writing on the wall if things went south. And it was she who struck the bargain to be a SHIELD employee, to ensure the safety of both scientists. She was already showing the steel and strength of Victoria Hand, one of Phil’s few peers in the organization.

Lewis would go far, eventually. Not out of bloodlust or even a need to keep proper order in the world, but because their way was the most effective, most efficient; and unlike other organizations, understood and embraced its faults and flaws and darkness—and used that to transform the world into a better place.

The Avengers Initiative was a prime example. All members once threats now neutralized, isolated, or refocused; and utterly theirs.

“You have come to execute me, Son of Coul? Or simply delight in my imprisonment?”

The man hadn’t moved, but Phil could tell he had his full attention. “I’m not one to gloat,” he replied honestly. “I like to think my actions speak for me.”

“The Pact you forged with Loki speaks well enough.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” He pressed his palm to the force field, felt the hairs on his arm stand up. “X-Ray two eight nine six.” There was a loud hum in reaction, and then a snap and the air was suddenly ionized as the field vanished.

He heard the cat growl at the sudden change. Phil kept his eyes on the prisoner.

Thor raised his head, but didn’t yet stand. After a brief moment, he said, “Mortal I may now be, I still have the strength to enact vengeance for my imprisonment.”

“I know. I’m not running away. Willingly staying, even.”

Ever so carefully, the man stood and shuffled forward, until he loomed over the Agent. Even in his shabby state, he evoked the majestic power of true royalty. His gaze bore down on Phil, trying to get a read on him, his motivations.

He raised one fist, fingers clenched, and then he lowered it and took a step back. Not backing down, but not acknowledging Phil’s authority either. “Speak, then. Why release me when you know my feelings.”

“What do you know of the Pact we made?”

He brushed his hair back, so it no longer draped over his face. “The protection of Asgard, should you ensure Loki remained on his throne.” He bared his teeth. “When I heard my father had fallen, I was sure you would spill my blood next.”

“SHIELD has more forethought than that.” He saw Thor tense as Phil acknowledged the approaching Barnes, who tossed a pile of clothes into the cell, then turned and walked back down the hall. A silent check-in, and a warning. By the subtle nod he gave, Phil knew the Council’s agents were arriving. Time was up.

“You’re close,” he continued. “Loki wanted to ensure you would never return to Asgard and lay claim to the throne. In exchange, he promised not only the protection of Earth, but for no further aspect of Asgard itself to touch this world; save through a pre-determined emissary.”

Elliot Randolph, an Asgard living on Earth, and currently under extremely close surveillance in Spain. They were quietly negotiating to see if he’d identify other self-imposed exiles. No need for rogue alien elements to be given free reign. That road only lead to chaos.

“Yet here you stand,” Thor said, examining the clothes. A SHIELD field uniform, black, with a synthetic cloth armor Stark had designed especially for them. “You taunt me with release. Has Loki failed in his duties protecting this world?” He didn’t sound surprised.

Phil, though, shook his head. “He stepped foot on this world, and he took not only SHIELD property, but two humans.” He was convinced Selvig had only been taken for his expertise on the Tesseract. Between that and the destroyed data, it was obvious Loki was trying to cripple SHIELD’s research.

He didn’t question why Loki took Hawkeye. That was just a dig at SHIELD and, directly, a slight against him.

Phil had been the one to forge the Pact, after all.

Thor had stripped out of his prison garb and was donning the uniform. “The Pact is broken,” he said. “You believe I will merely aid you, after what you’ve done? That I will help you retrieve your lost properties and, should I retake the throne, leave you alone?”

“No.” The answer seemed to surprise Thor. “Loki forged a Pact with words. You’re a warrior. Actions, deeds, and blood speak to you.” He stepped aside, saw Barnes at the far end of the hall, gun out eyes hard. He held up his hand, indicated five minutes. “The Pact is broken, we no longer have reason to hold you, so you’re free to go.” In a lower tone he said, “You may hate us, but we both wish to avenge the injustice visited upon us by one party in Asgard.” He held out a hand. “You have no army, we have no guide. Let’s forge a new Pact, a new relationship. Either we both succeed, or we die in the attempt.”

Thor eyed the hand in distaste. “Had I Mjolnir, the injustice done to me on this world would be meted out here and now upon you and all of SHIELD.” After a long minute, he held up his own hand, but didn’t grasp Phil’s. “Should we succeed, I will demand reparation.”

“Doctor Foster,” Phil said immediately, and a dark look crossed Thor’s face, before he nodded once. Phil waggled his fingers. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”

Another interminable minute, and then Thor grasped his wrist, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. “Then the Oath is sworn. We are allies, until vengeance is brought upon Loki, or our blood spills in valiant battle.”

Phil squeezed Thor’s arm in return, knowing it probably didn’t even register on the stronger man. He turned on his heel and jogged down the hall. “We’ll need to hurry.”

To his credit, the fallen god followed without question, though explosions could barely be heard beyond the walls. “This action is not sanctioned,” he demanded.

“It is by the right people,” Phil responded, easily catching the rifle Barnes tossed him. He checked the stairwell, then led the way up. “We just need to get outside. The rest of our team is there.”

“How will we travel to Asgard?”

Phil shrugged. “Once you’re beyond the walls of the Sanctum, Heimdall’s sight will find you again.”

“He is loyal to the king.”

“Then why did Loki have to use other means to traverse to Midgard,” he huffed as they ran up the stairs. “He sees all, this Asgardian?”

“Yes. It was a gift from the Allfather.”

“Which means he witnessed the forging of Loki’s Pact. He couldn’t retrieve you so long as it was in effect, yes?” Barnes kicked open a door and started shooting. Phil knelt to his right and picked off those the Soldier missed—not many, but with fifty waiting for them, there were plenty to go around.

Thor nodded his head. “Yes. And he is bound by Oaths of the king as well.” An ugly smile crawled across his face. “Once the Pact was broken, however, it is only his will that enforces the intent behind the bargain.”

Another few shots, and the way to the elevating floor—leading to the outside world—was cleared. “And do you really think Loki has made a good king? That they wouldn’t want the true prince to regain his throne?”

“Without Mjolnir, they may not consider me worthy.”

“Maybe. Or maybe we’re not the only ones Loki pissed off while on the throne.” The floor began lifting. In mere minutes, they’d be on the roof again, exposed, but hopefully not for too long; and that the Avengers were keeping the skies clear. “Just make sure he brings us along.”

“Considering the Bifrost, I do not believe that will be an issue.”

The roof above them opened to a missile explosion against the air. All of the Avengers were in their SHIELD uniforms, save Rhodes—no, War Machine—who was in an iron-colored robotic suit. Magneto was hovering in the air, providing shielding cover and throwing some of the jets off balance, but Phil could tell he was struggling, his restored powers still too new, too unused. The Widow was sniping those on grappling ropes or climbing the building.

Banner was just sitting at the edge, watching it all with an uninterested gaze.

As the floor stilled below them, Phil whistled. “Defensive circle!”

Listlessly, Banner dragged himself over. Widow was soon back-to-back with the Soldier. Both War Machine and Magneto hovered above their heads, continuing the assault.

Thor looked to the sky, to the stars just becoming visible in the twilight. “Heimdall! Open the Bifrost! As the true Prince of Asgard come to reclaim his throne, I command it!”

The wind continued to howl and the battle raged on, and Phil began to wonder if they would have to outrace the Council’s personal agents to try and reach Foster and create an artificial bridge, when clouds gathered in the clear sky, storm conditions and strange auras. Directly above them a ring of light appeared, and then the beam slammed into the roof.

There was a moment of weightlessness, a sensation of antigravity that only Magneto looked comfortable with, and then the world became a blur as the universe flew by in the blink of an eye.

Chapter Text

They had debriefed Thor on Asgard, of course, and though reluctant, his desire to reminisce of home—at least at first—had painted a golden city of magic and unimaginable technology on a crystal ocean against a celestial backdrop. It was beyond capturing in image or sculpture, he’d said, and only song and stories came close to evoking the true majesty of the realm. A spark left by the Asgard so human imagination could try and grasp the realm of the gods.

The dome they arrived in at the end of the bifrost was bronze and dull, and Phil could see his breath, registering the chill in the air moments later.

It was only his reflexes that saved him from the icy spear that struck where he landed seconds later.

At the entrance to the dome, he found a man with a long sword, struggling to fend off a dozen blue-skinned, red-eyed creatures that were the definition of ice giants. War Machine reacted first, sending out a lance of pure heat and power that burst through three of the creatures, who withered as they roared and shattered.

The team attacked at that.

There was no metal upon their enemies, but Magneto was a brilliant, dangerous man. There were fallen bodies by the entrance, slain Asgardians in full armor. That armor rose, as did their weapons, and began fighting, striking hard and precise and barely faltering at the blows of the frozen creatures. There were no men to suffer the hits, no flesh the blades could harm as they struck. Four more were dead in minutes by the magnetic army.

The Soldier and Widow went for closer combat, the former using his cybernetic arm to punch through the flesh of their enemies, the latter using her Widow’s Bite to prove even aliens were susceptible to high-voltage electricity. They danced and wove around their opponents, moving between legs and jumping atop weapons in perfect synchronous movement. It was beautiful watching their deadly formation taking down these mythic creatures.

“Do not let them touch you,” Thor called out, plucking an axe that Magneto had levitated. The older man released his control, and Thor swung, taking out the eye of a giant about to take out the lone Asgardian.

Phil had his weapon out, but he hung back next to Banner. The man was watching with muted interest, but at Phil’s eyebrow, he shook his head. “Wouldn’t work. I already tried freezing to death.”

“They’re still strong enough to do what you did to your counterpart.”

The strange Asgardian beheaded one of the ice giants at that moment, and Banner merely inclined his head. “Not that strong.”

“You going to be that way the entire time?”

Banner didn’t answer, and the battle ending prevented Phil from continuing his conversation. Instead, he looked to his team. They looked winded, but only the Soldier had unnatural ice covering his cybernetic arm. War Machine was already defrosting it, the JARVIS in his suit initiating remote repairs.

The Asgardian was on the ground, sitting against the wall. There was blood dripping down his face and he was panting, but otherwise didn’t seem worse for wear. Unlike Thor, this man’s eyes glowed with an eerie golden fire, and his gaze seemed both on them and something more, something greater.

“Heimdall,” Thor clasped his shoulder, “my friend, what has happened here?” Thor’s eyes were upon the bridge they stood on, as well as the city beyond.

Phil followed his gaze. There was a golden city, yes, but a veil of winter had been passed over its structures so they had dirty snow and an icy sheen. The ocean below them reminded Phil of the arctic reaches, near where they’d found Captain American—choppy, frozen, and hiding both horrors and blood beneath. There were clouds in the sky, and a darkness permeated the realm, so that the stars appeared dim.

“The King,” Heimdall grated out, “has made an alliance with Jotunheim.” He took a harsh breath. “In honor of the new treaty, to show we have put aside our hatreds, he has invited Laufey’s court to Asgard.”

Thor let out a phrase of words that were definitely Nordic-related; indecipherable, but obviously profanity from the sour look he harbored.

Heimdall nodded and wiped the blood from his face. “The Cask of Ancient Winters has been used to make this place…hospitable.” He spit the word.

“Surely mother-“

“The Vanir have left,” Heimdall cut off. “Those who would forsake their oath were killed or exiled.”

“You’re still here,” Phil pointed out.

Heimdall glared at him. “I am the Gatekeeper, I watch all realms. My loyalty is to the throne, no matter the king.” He grunted, and then slowly got back to his feet. “The King broke his Oath to Midgard.” He bared his teeth. “He has attempted to murder me.” He looked to Thor. “I can shatter my Oath, but would lose sight of events.” He handed his sword over, and Thor was hesitant to take it. “Make sure my Oath is to a worthy King when Hofund is returned.”

Thor looked at the sword, hefted it in his grip. “I am not sure I am worthy,” he said gravely. “Mjolnir has forsaken me.”

“Mjolnir is a tool, a weapon for the worthy.” He wrapped Thor’s hand more firmly around the hilt of the sword. “Hofund is a key. Only one worthy of the Throne may wield it.”

“Surely Loki wields Gungnir.”

“Gungnir is loyal to the King, as is how Odin forged it. Hofund can only be wielded by those who wish to protect Asgard, to see the realm safe again.”

Thor looked to the sword, scowled, and then thrust it up in the air. There was a rumble of thunder and, with another undecipherable yell, lightning struck. It blinded Phil and, he noted, the others. When they looked back, Thor was in silver and red armor, and electricity seemed to jump around the blade of the sword. He glanced at it, grim-faced, then nodded once to Heimdall. “How will you defend yourself, should more jotun appear?”

Heimdall merely held his hand over the edge of the bridge expectantly. “Loki may be the secret keeper,” he said, “but there are secrets even he has yet to discover.” There was a rumble and the ice flow below them cracked and shattered as a blurred object flew up and into Heimdall’s hand.

Mjolnir.

Thor sucked in a breath, but Heimdall shook his head. “It shall defend me, and, when Hofund is returned, you will once again be worthy of it.”

Another grim nod, and then Thor looked towards the bridge. It appeared iced over, but as of yet was not slick. Phil grimaced. Travel might be slow. “Where will we find Loki and the Tesseract,” he asked Heimdall.

The man stared at Phil, long enough that both the Soldier and Widow stepped forward threateningly. Finally, he said, “That is not truly what you seek.”

“It’s SHIELD’s objective.”

Heimdall continued to stare.

Phil wasn’t going to break.

It was, interestingly enough, Magneto, who grew tired of the posturing first and rolled his eyes. “Enough.” He reached out a hand and the armor around Heimdall’s chest began to contract. “We don’t have time for enigmatic soul searching.”

Thor growled, but Heimdall huffed a laugh. “Master of electromagnetic forces. Do you think we have not run across your kind before?” The armor seemed to reflect, and as suddenly as it constricted, it relaxed again. Magneto frowned, curling his fingers, but the armor failed to react. “If that is the best you can muster, you stand no chance against Loki.”

There was a dangerous whirring noise from the Soldier’s metal arm. Phil stepped forward again. They needed to save their energy for the real enemy. “What I seek,” he said quietly, “is what Loki stole from me.” He glared at the man. “Is that what you want to hear? It’s not the cube, not the broken Pact. It’s all to get him.”

The god narrowed his eyes, and then he turned to look to the city. “One of those he brought back lies dead. He could not handle being granted the full knowledge and insight of the Tesseract, though it was his greatest desire.”

Phil grit his teeth. “And the other?”

Heimdall continued to stare. “The king has a new pet at court,” he finally said. “Its wings are clipped, but his talons are quite deadly.” He finally turned his gaze back to Phil. “He may not remember his former master.”

“You let me worry about that.” He pointed his chin towards the city. “Where?”

“The Tesseract has been returned to the Vault, taking the pedestal of the Cask. The Destroyer is active, and guards it from all who enter.” Thor grimaced, but Heimdall continued. “Loki awaits you upon the throne, along with his court.”

“Then that is where he shall fall,” Thor growled. He glanced at Phil. “The King is mine, you will deal with his loyalists.”

“You’re not in command,” Rhodes’ voice came out with an electronic intonation. “Agent Coulson will tell us who to execute.”

Phil held up a hand. “No, Thor’s right.” Phil tilted his head in acquiescence. “Our objectives are clear. The Tesseract and Hawkeye. Should Thor fall,” he let his grin be just a shade bloodthirsty, “extreme measures are sanctioned.” Thor nodded back in return.

They started across the bridge, Magneto floating overhead and War Machine flying just a bit out front, scouting for additional giants. Phil kept his pace beside Thor. “This Destroyer,” he started, and Thor shook his head.

“It is an indestructible automaton that will only follow the King’s commands. Even if one can fight its strength, there is nothing that can withstand its incineration function.”

“Nothing?” Banner said, finally perking up a bit.

“It was designed in the fires of Muspelheim, which will consume any and all things, save those forged by Odin and the Ivaldi brothers.”

Banner seemed to mull this for a moment. “Where is this Vault?”

“Banner,” Phil started.

“No,” he snapped back, “this is exactly why I’m here! And you won’t keep it from me because-“

“I’m concerned you’ll be lost before we can retrieve the Tesseract.”

“You promised,” he hissed darkly. “You won’t keep me from it.”

Black Widow left the Soldier’s side at the rear. “I’ll go with him, sir. Retrieve the Tesseract. Or retreat if Banner gets his wish.”

Phil didn’t like it, especially splitting the team. To Thor, he said, “How well is the Vault guarded?”

“The King’s personal knights guard it.” Thor twisted the sword in his hand a bit. “It would not surprise me if additional jotun have replaced them. No Aesir with the means to undo this,” he snarled and waved his hand at the ice-laden realm, “in his grasp would let the opportunity slip, no matter their Oaths to the King.”

Phil turned that over in his head. “All right. Banner, you want your opportunity, you’ve got it. Just be distracting long enough for Widow to retrieve the Tesseract.” Thor didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t insist on keeping it. Phil would accept that for now. “War Machine, you’re with them.”

“Sir-“

“They’ll need your suit’s programming to find the throne room. Not to mention how effective the suit was against the giants.” He got a reluctant nod in return. “Good. Thor, tell them how to get to the vault.”

Meanwhile, Phil tried to work out just how they were going to slay a god.

Heimdall was right about one thing, they discovered. The Asgardians who were guarding the palace in ornate armors and large weapons were able to shrug off Magneto’s powers with little efforts. While they were alive. Once the Soldier had determined a bullet to the eye was just as effective with gods as it was with people, the metal fell once again under the Master of Magnetism’s purview.

With each crop of guard, their army of metal shells grew.

Thor looked distraught, and Phil could see each death hit him personally. But he also heard the pleas he made, the requests to forsake Loki and join them. So far, none of them had. Either Loki had evoked some loyalty after all, or they were under some sort of thrall.

Halfway through the palace, Widow, Banner, and War Machine entered a shadowed recess, departing for the Vault. Even if he couldn’t get Clint back, the others could buy their way back into SHIELD by ransoming the Tesseract for protection. Fury would go for it, even if the Council objected.

The halls of the palace were ridiculously large, high enough that Phil kept an eye on the ceiling in case any guards decided to try and jump them from above. Most of the halls had large archways looking out into the City, where the effects of this Cask of Ancient Winters were even more noticeable. It wasn’t just an atmosphere of ice and snow, it was a slow transformation, creeping and encroaching, unrelenting in its efforts to subvert this world.

He could even see some Asgardians frozen like statues, some fleeing, some in battle poses, a couple huddling over children.

An effective weapon. He made a mental note to try and obliterate it before they left.

Interestingly, by the time they reached the last doorway—also large, ornate, and a frigid gold—they hadn’t come across another jotun. Behind them, Magneto had an army of fifty armors, and the Soldier was reloading his weapon, resting his cybernetic arm against a cold column to cool its internal systems down before the next fight.

Thor stood before the door, letting out harsh breaths, covered in the blood of his people. He looked both mad and broken, even though his armor was only scratched and the sword glowed with lightning. “Beyond these doors lies the Hall of Asgard, and my father’s throne.”

Phil glanced outside, and compared the image to what he’d seen of the palace as they’d approached. Up until now, they’d been on the edges, working their way up. “This isn’t the only entrance,” he concluded.

“The Hall is designed to hold all denizens of Asgard for grand commencements.”

The Soldier paused in reloading his third Beretta. “How many?”

Thor tilted his head slightly. “Before I departed, there were at least twenty-thousand who lived within the city.” He met the Soldier’s bland gaze. “More beyond its boundaries.”

“Afraid,” Magneto taunted lightly.

The Soldier snorted. “I’ve seen how efficiently a few can kill millions.”

With a bitter note, Magneto replied, “As have I.”

Phil bit back a sigh. “Thor, if you could…?”

Seeming to steel himself, Thor half-turned and shoved with his shoulder against the doors, forcing them open with a metallic echo. The room inside reflected the rest of the palace, circular in design but with only a back wall, the rest held up by columns so one could see the entire city from within. Its floor was utterly reflective, yet also held ingrained design that was, at one time, gold, but now appeared tarnished. To the right of their entrance, near the center of the room, was a two-tiered dais with steps leading to an ornate, rune-carved throne that seemed to unfurl from the peak of the steps. Frost had also crept over the back wall, dark and thick, as it had around the columns, and even the arms of the throne seemed to have ugly beasts carved out of ice.

Loki sat upon the throne wearing a horned helmet and wielding a silver spear in his left hand.

His right hand was resting upon the head on a man kneeling on the floor, dressed in black and purple leather, a silver bow across his lap and a brown quiver on his back. His eyes were an alien blue.

Hawkeye. “Clint,” Phil growled quietly.

Loki seemed to smirk at that, which prompted Thor to shout, “Brother! You will release the throne immediately and undo this spell cast upon Asgard!”

The amusement vanished instantly. “You,” he said sharply, “were banished from this realm.” He pointed the spear at Thor. “Heed your king.”

“You are no king,” Thor said briskly. “You have allowed Asgard to be invaded!”

“I?” The spear swung upwards again. “I did what I had to do to bring peace. Lest we forget, brother, you went to Laufey. You started this war. I merely finished it, and brought peace to both realms.”

“If father could see you-“

“He can’t,” Loki snapped. “He died in Odinsleep because of you! Had you not acted so rash, so foolish, had your hubris not caused him to expend his last-“

“I know of what I’m guilty,” Thor yelled over Loki, approaching. “But you, where is mother? Where is Sif, Fandral?” He panned his hand across the room. “You are a king with no people! They have abandoned you!”

Another smirk, this one putting Phil even more on edge. “My people are right here,” he said as cracks reverberated around the room, “and they are eager to finish what you began last time.”

That was when Phil realized they weren’t carvings of beasts, they were actually beasts encased in ice. Pairs of glowing eyes appeared around the room in the blue-black frost covering every vertical surface. There weren’t thousands, but there were definitely hundreds. Hundreds which with one touch would end him. Any of them.

“Oh yes,” Loki added, raising his spear as he stood, “and they’re not the only people unhappy with the prospect of your return.” He slammed the butt of the weapon against the floor, and a shockwave rippled outward. As it did, hundreds—no, thousands of humanoid creatures in chainmail and armor surrounded the edges of the Hall, all the way back to the balcony. Their eyes had an unearthly white glow, and their weapons seemed to hum with energy.

Thor cast his gaze about and snarled. “What have you done to the einherjar?! They are not pawns for you to use at a whim! They are the loyal forces for Ragnarok!”

“They’re better than they were. The einherjar abandoned their oaths to run to Vanaheim. These are my Marauders: the deposed soldiers, the dead, and those loyal to the crown of Asgard above all else.” Loki shrugged, still smiling. “Mostly the dead. Amazing how much the threat of eternity can be used to buy loyalty.”

Clint was still kneeling, still unaware, or at least, unresponsive, to the events around him. There was no way Phil could get to him, not yet, but at least now he could form a strategy. “Magneto, the weapons and the giants.” The man nodded grimly. “Barnes, we keep the soldiers off his back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Phil exchanged a subtle nod with Thor. The last of the giants seemed to shake the frost off their shoulders, and for a moment the world held still.

Only a moment.

In the next, Loki sent a blast of energy at Thor, who dodged it. As the man rolled the nearest two-dozen giants charged forward, blades and spears of ice poised to slaughter them before a barricade of magnetized armor caught them head on and fought them back.

The air felt ionized and Phil saw Thor stand up and behead the nearest giant, lightning flying from the outside to wrap around his blade before he surged forward, shattering the creatures and sending bolts out to smite the dog-like creatures joining in the fight.

There was another roar, the dull roar of thousands of voice calling out for blood. The Marauders were far beyond the ice giants, had to fight through hundreds of them to even reach Thor, Phil, any of them. They were eager though, and seemed to care little that some died swarming right into the deadly flesh of their allies. “Magneto!”

There was sweat on the man’s head. “It’s a lot of weapons, if you don’t mind. Yelling isn’t….helping.” He let out a deep groan and curled his fingers into clawed fists. “Almost…there!” He yanked his arms back and up.

The chorus of voices transitioned quickly from bloodlust to confusion. Even Loki appeared shocked as the very weapons the soldiers had been wielding cut a swatch through them. Of the thousands swarming beyond, Phil caught half fall immediately as the blades and staves made their way to the outer rim of the giants. Focused inward, on them, the beings never even knew they were under attack from the rear until a third of their numbers had already been slaughtered.

Some of the giants turned, in confusion, in anger. Thor took the opportunity to summon more lightning and slam the blade into the floor, sending arcs of electricity along the ice that leapt up and burned through the giants’ chests.

Phil turned his attention back to Loki, and saw his eyes glowed just a touch red, his skin tinted almost the same color as the giants. He was glaring at Magneto.

Clint hopped to his feet instantly, reaching back to the quiver.

Magneto was already pushing his limits, Phil knew. “Barnes! Arrow!”

The Soldier immediately turned, pulled out a gun and shot the incoming projectile not ten feet from impaling the mutant. He did the same with the second and third, and Phil turned his attention to defending the Solider as the snipers tested their resolve against each other.

Were it anyone else, he knew, Barnes would have already taken Clint out.

The Marauders, he saw, had regrouped, and were pushing inward even as the giants were able to grasp some of the weapons Magneto wielded. As they did, the familiar burnished glow ran across the metal, but unlike the fallen soldiers, it didn’t seem to re-magnetize once dropped to the ground.

They’d cut Loki’s army from thousands to a few hundred, but Phil was almost out of ammunition, he could see that Clint appeared to have an endless supply of arrows with that quiver, and the giants had whittled away half of their dead-mans’ army.

Thor was herded back towards them as the giants and soldiers swarmed.

Loki laughed, amused and sinister and mocking.

Phil grit his teeth, trying to think of some way of turning this around.

And then the floor exploded.

It was only by dint of Magneto’s shield that Phil and the Soldier weren’t buried under debris and a pile of giants’ bodies. Rather, they were buried, but the shield kept them from freezing to death by jotun touch. With a grunt, Magneto shoved his arm and the shield expanded, throwing the pile off of them and giving them a clear view of the room.

The parts that were standing, at least.

Entire columns had been shattered, along with a good fifty foot hole in the floor. Bodies were scattered about, both jotun and Marauder together, as if a bomb had gone off. Even Loki looked shaken.

Considering the green-skinned creature known as the Hulk was battling a twenty-foot tall armored monstrosity that seemed to be belching fire from his head, Phil couldn’t blame him.

“Banner’ll be disappointed, waking up again,” Barnes muttered.

Phil would agree, but he saw parts of the Hulk’s skinned burned black, and though he was moving deftly, there was definitely a limp in his step. The Destroyer—what else could it be, Phil reasoned—hadn’t managed to kill Banner yet. But given enough time, he was willing to bet it might actually succeed.

With the way they were fighting, indiscriminate of their surroundings or those trampled in their path, Phil wondered if any of them would be around to see it. He spotted Thor, thrown across the room, shaking his head and pushing himself up. He’d ended up in a pile of soldier corpses, no giants nearby. They exchanged a brief look, and, given the distraction provided, he silently agreed to help keep Loki’s attention occupied.

The Widow crawled up out of the floor, then, climbing a rope and rolling to the edge of Magneto’s shield. “Sorry about the mess, sir. Things got a little out of hand.”

Phil would admit, at least to himself, he was glad she’d survived. “Where’s Rhodes?”

“Tinkering,” she said ominously.

Phil nodded. The man was loyal, and if he’d discovered something in the Vault to help win the day, he was willing to give him as much leeway as he needed. “Status?”

“Ammo’s gone. Guards.” He noticed a touch of frost upon her uniform, but she still moved normally, so he ignored it for now.

The Soldier handed her a clip, but shook his head. “Last one.”

She reloaded her weapon. “The Bites have a few charges left.” She eyed the room. “Not enough.”

Phil took in the remaining armies. Between the Hulk’s entrance and their continued fighting, the two creatures had managed to exterminate another quarter of Loki’s forces. Some of the jotun were even turning away, scared more of the Destroyer than Loki’s wrath. The Marauders, on the other hand, were picking up weapons and charging towards the epicenter of rage and fire.

Not the brightest soldiers, Phil thought.

The other thing the Hulk’s entrance had given them, other than time, though, was a clear division, a front line of Loki’s remaining forces as they marched on. A clean, straight line, and all they needed was a canon powerful enough.

“Magneto,” he called, “The Destroyer’s head, can you clear the room?”

Color had leached from the man’s face and he was sweating, panting. Despite his mastery, between the time without his powers, his age, and the relentless assaults, Phil was pretty sure Magneto had about reached his limit. Nonetheless, the mutant nodded his head. “I’m afraid it may take all my concentration, however.”

They’d lost the last of the armors when the Hulk burst through, and the Marauder weapons were almost entirely reclaimed. That meant doing this may pull the shield away, something they desperately needed with the Hulk and Destroyer around.

It was worth the risk, though, especially if it cleared what remained of Loki’s forces.

He spotted Thor who, despite his size and armor, moved silently and circumnavigated the room towards the throne as Loki yelled at his men.

Any closer, and he’d be in the line of fire. “Do it,” he said, taking up a defensive position between Loki, the army, and Magneto. The Soldier and Widow took his cue, surrounding the older man.

Magneto huffed his breath a few more times, then inhaled slowly once, twice. His eyes closed, and Phil saw his hands reach out towards the Hulk, who had the Destroyer in a chokehold, for all the good it would do. Its face was already lighting up, ready to blast the Hulk again.

There was the sound of tearing metal as Magneto clenched his fists, and with a sharp jerk, the Destroyer’s head turned, blasting the edge of the army and sweeping in an arc across the Hall. Hundreds were obliterated instantly in bright yellow flashes, including the last of the ice giants, before there was a pained gasp, and he saw a gradient shift of light roll through the Destroyer’s body.

It had broken free from Magneto’s grasp.

And it was turning towards them.

“Erik-“

“He’s down,” Widow answered dutifully, already reaching to check his pulse. “Alive, but unconscious.”

Phil silently cursed, then brought his weapon to bear on the animatronic monster. Before it could charge up its head again, though, there was a deafening, angry roar that reverberated, and the Hulk’s green hands clutched at the open space in the head and yanked, trying to tear the thing apart.

He’d been so focused on the titanic battle that when he finally turned his attention back to Loki, it was to see his sneer as an arrow punctured through his SHIELD armor straight into his chest.

The second one came as he looked into Clint’s eyes, hoping to see a glimpse, a hint, that such an action had woken him from Loki’s spell.

The unfeeling gaze that met him tore through him as painfully as the weapon in his stomach.

He fell back, dropping his weapon as the Soldier grabbed him and used his arm to shield him from a third arrow, this one aimed between his eyes. There was a cold, calculating look, one Phil recognized, and he seized the man’s bloodstained uniform. “Retrieval only.”

“Situation’s changed,” he said coldly.

“Tasha,” he called, “get him back. He doesn’t…” He could taste the blood in his mouth, could feel it starting to dribble down his chin.

She eyed him, eyed Magneto, then looked towards the Winter Soldier.

Phil would normally be trying to translate their silent communication, but instead he was watching as the survivors of Loki’s army, less than a hundred, started to close in on them. Clint was still firing, only the Soldier’s reflexes and the occasional shot deflecting the hail of arrows. The Hulk and the Destroyer had made it to one of the balconies, and with another blast the two vanished as the floor collapsed once again.

A flash of lightning revealed Thor struggling with his blade against Loki’s spear. The electricity curved and arced as duplicates—illusions?—of the horned-helmed warrior appeared to fight Thor as well.

Almost, they had almost made it. “You have to,” he gargled, then stopped, unable to keep speaking, the room dimming.

There was a light in the floor, though, beautiful and blue and it rose with a hum of familiar engines and gunmetal grey armor. His last vision was of War Machine turning his attention to the army, the Tesseract at its heart. Tony, he couldn’t help thinking, would be thrilled with the upgrade.

In the darkness, he heard yelling, and fighting, and flesh hitting marble. There was one broken, “Phil,” that sounded so familiar and real that Phil grasped hold of it, of his Hawkeye, of Clint, as he fell into oblivion.

Phil Coulson had never believed in heaven, or hell, or purgatory or reincarnation. It wasn’t conducive to SHIELD’s line of work, and waiting for the injustices of the world to be balanced out beyond life seemed rather pointless, an excuse to let the world crumble at the behest of egomaniacs and preventable circumstances. He’d seen enough corruption and degradation in the world to know there was no higher being, and there was certainly no afterlife.

Which was why he was rather surprised to wake up after dying.

He was lying on a floor in a dim hall, a wall-length fireplace providing heat and light that reflected off burnished gold and runic inlays. He frowned, feeling his stomach, his chest. There were no wounds. This also wasn’t the Hall of Asgard, though, and it wasn’t a place Thor had led them through.

“A mortal,” came a deep, almost offended voice. “A mortal laid siege to Asgard. And you expected to win?”

Sitting up, Phil saw a long table of rich wood abundant with food and drink; roast boar and mulled wine at least. He took the detail in, then focused on the voice. It was an older man, obviously Asgardian. He wore armor like Thor’s, though more plate-looking than the chainmail he’d summoned with Heimdall’s sword. His helmet had two wings, brushed forward, and two twisting barbed horns, less stylized than Loki’s, but too similar to dismiss as coincidence. The open face of the helm framed a man with a bushy white beard, a face that seemed weathered by eons, and an open eye socket, around which it appeared the skin was receding, leaving only skull behind. There appeared no other degradation or injury.

He could only think of one Asgard in mythology with a single eye. “Odin.” He got to his feet and brushed off his suit. His favorite, he noticed, and the one he used when taking down potential assets or the gravest threats. His own personal armor.

The significance was not lost on him.

“And yes,” Phil continued, finally turning his attention back to the god, “for a moment there, I really thought we would. Still might.” Glancing around, he found a large ornate doorway, beyond which he could see the city of Asgard, no more than a few days hike away.

“You cannot leave.”

Phil turned back and gave Odin a forced smile. “And why not?”

“You’re dead.”

“I figured as much. Valhalla,” he maneuvered towards the table, found a knife that could easily double as a dagger in a fight and picked it up. “Emptier than I thought.”

“Many were seduced into the enemy’s fold before I could regain control of the hall. I may still lose it.”

Phil listened, and he could indeed hear the clashing of swords and yells of battle just on the periphery. “Loki wants your hall of the dead.”

“Do not speak that name,” Odin yelled, face turning red and a green cape unfurling behind him as if set off by an errant breeze. “He has forsaken Asgard, and has no claim here, nor shall his name be spoken of in this sacred place.”

“Well then, you’ll be pleased to know he’ll probably be dead.”

Odin laughed, and it was not amused or light. It was cruel and mocking. “You think so,” he finally said, “that such as he can fall so easily? I fell years ago, yet here I stand.”

Phil raised an eyebrow and picked up a second dagger, wiping the dripping fat from its blade onto a nearby tapestry. “Then why not take back your throne?” Odin’s face was thunderous. Phil wasn’t scared, he’d faced down worse things in his life. “You’re trapped,” he concluded.

“He will not be,” Odin snapped back. “He has allied himself with Hela, she who controls the dead. His name never lies long on her pages. He shall return within months to continue his reign.”

Phil tilted his head, and absorbed that for a moment. “He made a deal, when you died. She’s ensured you can’t return, even though this isn’t Ragnarok.”

“The Tome of the Dead has my name carved into its pages with her blood. Even she cannot remove it.”

Phil offered a small smile. “But she can remove mine.”

The god snorted. “Why should she? If you leave these halls, you will become her thrall. It is only by my will that you aren’t.”

There was a particularly bloodcurdling scream from outside, along with the sounds of hundreds of bones being crushed. There was a pause in the battle, and then he could hear it return to its previous level, even more violent than before.

Phil might not have had Fury’s grand vision, but he could come close. “You’re fighting to take control of the underworld.”

A dark smile curled its way onto Odin’s face. “By making my name one with the Tome, should I take her final relic, I will rise as the Lord of Hel, and be once more permitted into Asgard.”

Ambitious, and Phil couldn’t help but admire the audacity of the plan. Still, he had more important things on his mind. Namely, “I have people to get back to.”

“You’re dead. There is no way to return to life unless Hela removes your name from her Tome.”

Phil tucked both daggers into his belt, not looking at the God. “Like you could, should you defeat her.”

“Unless she has removed the page. Given how you have earned Laufey’s Son’s spite, she may.”

Phil narrowed his eyes. “You’re not exactly convincing me to your side.”

Odin approached him then. “Aid me, Son of Coul, and I will give you what even my son could not.”

Phil grabbed another weapon off the table and had it at Odin’s throat in a second. “If you say you’ll ensure Clint joins me here, you won’t have to worry about Hela,” he growled.

Odin didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. He met Phil’s cold stare with one of his own. “No. I will offer you a chance to avenge your taken partner, to avenge the fact that he was forced to kill you.”

Phil waited a minute, then slowly pulled back. “Meaning what.”

“Do you think I wish to conquer Hel simply to not be a woman’s puppet? Once the realm is mine, I determine which Gods can return, and which will face a final death.” He lowered his voice to an angry whisper. “You are not the only one who wishes revenge on the traitor. Aid me, and when Laufey’s Son falls one last time, I will bestow the honor of his final fate to you.”

Phil thought on it. He thought about the fact that there were two civil wars, one of the living and one of the dead, just so Loki could play at king. He thought over how defenseless Earth was, and that even in death, he was Fury’s man, and had vowed to always protect the planet, no matter the cost.

He thought of Clint, of how broken he’d be realizing what he’d done.

He thought of Loki’s head on a platter.

Even dead, he could feel the fire in his blood, the undercurrent of anticipation when he was about to embark on a mission that would end in vicious satisfaction. He looked Odin in the eye. “And I,” he said calmly, “look forward to that day.”

He stepped back, glanced one last time to the city of Asgard, before turning away towards the seemingly endless hall, towards the sounds of battle. He’d made metaphorical kings on Earth with far less enticing rewards.

He might not save Clint, but at least he could avenge him.

Chapter Text

SHIELD might have been a place that understood, even encouraged, Clint’s...condition; but that didn’t mean all assignments were overseas black ops or local undercover stings. Sometimes, it meant waiting. And sometimes, as it turned out, it meant watching subversive geniuses try and extract power from an indescribable cosmic artifact in the shape of a cube.

It probably would’ve been more bearable with Phil.

Everything was better with Phil.

And then the cube had shifted, had awakened. And there was a dark-haired man in leather and gold who killed half the room with only a flick of his fingers, snatched the cube, and touched first Selvig, then Clint with his spear.

Clint had never been unmade before. Natasha had spoken to him about it, after they’d tried killing each other, after they’d bonded over torture and blood, after she no longer thought of burning SHIELD to the ground and him along with it. She’d spoken of ice in the veins of her handlers molding and caging a fire until that was all that was left of her in the end.

It wasn’t like that at all.

At first it felt like freefalling, like every time he’d jumped of a building times a million, and then it felt like flying. Pure freedom of movement and a clarity as he saw the world, the universe, below him. He realized he was nothing more than a meager piece of a greater whole, and stripped bare of his emotions—his doubts, his fears, his joy, his rage—he understood the truth. He was nothing more than a weapon, a tool to be used.

When the call came, when he’d returned to himself, there was a moment where he felt his world shatter; where these undeniable truths crawled across his mind and devoured him whole and he was left as a shell, feral and dangerous. And Loki revealed himself and tamed him. Clint was a hawk, fierce and deadly, but when the jesses came out, when the hood came down, he couldn’t help but kneel, could do nothing but bask in the icy satisfaction of his master. His master who had revealed the truth of the universe, had shown him his proper place.

There was a part of him that railed, that fought and bled and demanded to resist, to return to his last master, to the one who owned his soul, owned him as an equal, a partner. The hood kept him from seeing that, the jesses from reaching out with his mind and snatching that part of himself.

When he opened his eyes, it was to find himself in a grand hall, so large that he couldn’t even gauge the span of the place, or even how far the balconies were, though he could see beyond them. It was ovular in shape from what he could determine. He was also towards the front of it, by an opulent throne made of gold with an aura of power so palpable he wished to pull away.

He didn’t. He stayed on his knees, where he belonged, as his master stroked his hair, let cold dark wisps trail from the fingertips around and through him, burning away his clothes and replacing them with leather, black and purple, leaving his arms bare and the material granting him complete freedom of movement.

With a touch, his head was against Loki’s knee, and he saw the subversive, Selvig, smile and congratulate his master on retrieving his property, and oh, wasn’t Clint a thoughtful gift to a king such as he.

Had he been in his right mind, Clint would have already killed the man.

Instead, he watched and Loki offered him a reward: the knowledge of the Tesseract. A large creature of blue and ice stepped forward with a cube-shaped lattice seemingly made of silver vines and colored crystal. It placed it on the Tesseract, and stepped away. He could hear the smile in his master’s voice as he welcomed Selvig to learn the secrets he’d always wanted to know.

The satisfaction he felt as the man screamed after only a few minutes with the interface before falling, blood pouring from his eyes, nose, ears, was the first genuine emotion he’d felt in his new position. He’d always thought Selvig should be executed. He’d wanted to do it slowly, with his last master there, extract every ounce of valuable information on the Tesseract before finally slitting his throat.

This had a poetic justice that burned through him. When his master’s hand stretched down to his waist, when he was hauled up to the throne and made to service Loki, a dead body not ten feet away…

For the first time in years a tiny portion of him felt shame at being so turned on by an execution as he came in Loki’s hand.

After fucking him, Loki had revealed a silver bow, curved and delicate, and he kissed Loki’s hand in gratitude for such a beautiful gift. The endless quiver that was slipped over his chest to rest on his back made a shudder run through his body. It felt familiar, it felt good. Almost as good as watching Selvig gurgle his last breath.

And then it turned out Selvig was merely the first of the day.

Loki called for people. Prisoners. Citizens. Dignitaries. Clint didn’t know. He didn’t care. All that mattered was he behave, be the perfect tamed hawk.

Until it was time to unleash him.

He’d killed fifteen Asgard in the first hour, those that needed to be examples, those that wouldn’t submit to Loki’s authority.

The bow sang in his hands and the praise Loki gave him after each demonstration served only to make him want to do it again, and again, and again.

There was an elven woman that tried to escape, scared and trembling, and Clint had four arrows in her before she’d gone ten feet.

Loki hadn’t ordered him to, but the satisfaction rolled off him in waves.

After that, he just focused on where to shoot next.

When he was done, three dozen elves were on the floor. His master smiled, reached up, and stroked his cheek with a thumb. Clint leaned into it.

The tear tracks froze under his master’s touch, and the part of Clint that refused to be tamed was finally silent.

He was a hawk.

He was Loki’s.

Time had no meaning. Sunrise and sunset were beginning to vanish behind clouds that promised snow and frost. His time between Loki’s bedchamber and the Hall of Asgard blurred together in a mix of blood and bodies and sex. He watched his breath as it frosted in front of him, the ice enchantment slowly encasing Asgard barely touching him thanks to his master’s spells. There was still an ember smoldering and waiting for his last master to come fetch him, to free him from this. It remained silent, though, nursing this one belief and retaining what strength it could from the cold truths that had enveloped Clint’s mind.

And then something different happened. In the distance, the observatory at the edge of the rainbow bridge activated and brought new people to Asgard. His master was livid, and while his icy servants went to kill the traitorous gatekeeper, Clint was ordered to discover who these people were.

The ember flared at the sight of a woman with red hair, a man with a metal arm, and most importantly, someone in a suit.

He could hide nothing from his master, and so he reported the SHIELD intrusion. The Tesseract, which had been powering the Cask of Winters, was removed to the Vault so that the Destroyer would end any attempt to retrieve it. Loki recalled some of his frontline forces in the war against Vanaheim and had the room filled with jotuns and Marauders to welcome this new team.

He used his magic to polish the leather Clint wore, to make the bow indestructible, to make him deaf to all but Loki’s words.

Then his master used him. There was fighting, he could hear it as the intruders moved through the city, but his master didn’t care. In front of all of them, he plundered Clint’s mouth, he fucked him raw, he made Clint come with a harsh, broken cry.

“You’re mine,” his master said with a fierce grin, “and I will enjoy showing you off, should they get close enough.” He licked a cold stripe up his neck. “When he’s distracted,” was whispered in his ear, “shoot the one in the suit. Look him in the eye and let him see that there is nothing left of you. That you are my hawk, and all his efforts to recapture you have been wasted.”

Because it was expected, he kissed his master, “Yes, sir.” The fighting was outside one of the doors, and Loki sat upon the throne. Clint fell to his knees automatically.

The doors came open, there was talk, and then there was fighting, and then Loki told him to shoot.

The ember flared to life.

The silenced part of his mind screamed and railed and tore at his hood, slashed at his jesses. It failed to free him from his master, but it was distracting. His shots were still accurate, but he failed to account for the skills of the metal-armed man; fired uselessly against the shield protecting the intruders. Some of his arrows even slew his own allies thanks to the magnetic efforts of the man with white hair.

And then the room exploded. The Destroyer had crashed through the floor into the Hall of Asgard, bringing with it the Hulk.

And an opportunity.

His master’s words danced and tingled in his ear, and as he regained his footing, he saw the shield go down. As Loki’s army burned, he brought his weapon up to finish the man in the suit. The ember burned even brighter, begging and screaming and demanding he stop, stop now!

And then his arrow was in the man’s heart. And the next in his stomach.

There were tear tracks on his cheeks again.

A second destroyer appeared shortly after, one with the Tesseract at its heart, and it turned upon the remains of the army, protecting the four others. He sought new orders, but his master was now battling Thor, sword to spear with lightning and frost tossed about as their weapons clashed. It was a split second decision to aim his efforts on the Prince instead of the others, a decision he regretted as, after just one arrow, the woman in the red hair tackled him.

He rolled with it, kicking her off and ducking back to his feet, using his bow to block her knife. He spun, pulling an arrow from his quiver with the intent to jam it into her back. She wasn’t there, she had danced about him and with one firm strike on his chest he was falling down the stairs. It was uncontrolled for six or seven steps before he used the momentum to push into a backflip and land on the floor, and arrow already drawn to take her out.

The metal hand came from nowhere and locked around both the bow and the arrow. He just caught sight of the dark-haired man before a fist plowed into his face and he was knocked away to the floor. The world blurred for a moment, as lightning strike not two feet in front of him blinding him. The hesitation cost him. Both opponents were on top of him, the man’s metal fist just missing his face and instead punching cracks into the floor.

As he tried to strike back the woman’s boot came at his head and sent him tumbling again, and the back of his skull struck the steps up to the throne.

This time, the world went through a multicolored spectrum, blurred and solid at the same time, and that ember, that infuriating sensation at the back of his mind finally roared strong enough, and his head exploded as the hood was ripped from his eyes, as the jesses melted away. He gasped as another fist struck his cheek and his head turned towards the floor.

Towards the body.

“Phil,” escaped his lips, broken and pleading.

He’d done that.

He’d killed Phil.

Something tore through him, a piece of himself shriveling and dying, but it was quickly cauterized by a low burning, a hate that had him bearing his teeth and seeking out Loki.

He would pay.

He would pay!

“Should we terminate him,” came Barnes’ voice from above.

Natasha appeared in his view. “Barton.”

Clenching his teeth he met her gaze and said quietly, “Get me a bow.”

She eyed him carefully, but glanced up. There were steps away, and then a cybernetic arm was holding out the bow Loki had given him.

It would do. He grasped it and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his head, ignoring the slight instability of his vision. Loki and Thor were fighting, and someone in flying armor was picking off any duplicates Loki made of himself, keeping the fight fair.

Fair wasn’t good enough.

He was swift, slipping from Natasha and Barnes to get perched in front of the throne. He knelt and pulled out an arrow.

Natasha knelt beside him. “Thor’s his. That was the deal.”

“Not my deal,” he replied, just before releasing two arrows. They struck near simultaneously, hitting Loki’s wrists so that he dropped the spear.

The god glared at him, then gave him a sinister, satisfying smirk, before the lightning sword was thrust through his chest by Thor. Even then, Loki winced, but still smiled as if he was nonetheless victorious.

Which was when the roar from across the Hall came. This wasn’t like the Hulk’s roar. This one had the tone of a thousand icicles shattering together. As one they turned and found a gargantuan creature of grey stone and ice, easily two stories tall with lots and lots of teeth, claws larger than Clint’s arm, and a clubbed tail full of spikes.

“If I can’t have Asgard,” Loki choked out, “I’ll see it shattered.”

Thor yanked his sword out just as the flying armor let out a blue-tinted ray of light that incinerated half of Loki’s torso instantly.

Too quick, Clint thought darkly, and not at all satisfying.

Then he was running with Natasha and Barnes as the beast destroyed columns chasing after them. Natasha called out, “War Machine! The bodies!” And Clint couldn’t help but feel some relief as the person—robot?—flew down and snagged Phil and… “Is that Magneto?”

“Later,” Natasha muttered.

Thor was by their side in an instant, and while Clint wondered if the man would be foolish enough to take on such a beast; he could see the strain, the exhaustion. The battle had taken too much for him to face the creature alone. In a silent moment of understanding, the four of them ran as War Machine flew out of the room.

As they reached the opposite balcony, Clint glanced over. “Long drop.” At least a thousand feet. There was no way any of them could survive.

Thor was looking at the sword disappointedly when lightning struck and it vanished from his hand.

Barnes growled, “Last bit of revenge from Loki?”

Thor turned his hand over, and then grinned, looking past the beast to the world beyond. To the rainbow bridge over the ocean, Clint realized. As the beast grew closer, Thor thrust his hand into the air.

“What?” Clint glanced at the other two, who didn’t look confused, merely apprehensive. He turned back towards the beast and knocked an arrow. “Do we jump?”

A hammer flying through the creature’s legs and into Thor’s hand seemed to interrupt any answers they were going to give him. Instead, he watched as Thor swung the weapon around twice and hurled it towards the beast with such strength that it flew into the roaring maw and exploded out the back of its head.

The carcass fell and skidded forward, and Clint couldn’t help but back up as it looked like they might end up forced over the edge after all. In the end, though, it stopped less than six inches away, still and exuding an aura of cold that had him unconsciously shivering, along with everyone but Thor.

The man in question had a look of grim satisfaction on his face. Behind them, he could hear the unfamiliar War Machine hovering nearby. Without looking at them, Thor intoned, “You should depart. My Oath was with the Son of Coul alone. He has fulfilled his part, and in honor of his sacrifice I shall grant you leave from this realm.” He looked Natasha in the eye. “I will expect the Lady Foster and her court here within a day of your return.”

Clint felt his stomach twist at the mention of Phil’s sacrifice, even as Natasha nodded. “What of Banner?”

Thor wrinkled his nose, but shook his head. “The beast he’s unleashed will see to his survival. I will inform my people not to engage his mortal form nor the green creature.”

“And if he happens to take out some of Loki’s forces on his rampage, the better,” War Machine said with mechanical sarcasm.

Thor started walking away, towards the throne. “His fate is no longer your concern. Depart, before I take back the Tesseract and leave you to the mercies of Asgard.”

Clint clenched the bow in his hand, a part of him wanting to demand he help Phil, fix him. From the sounds of things, though, that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, he attached the bow to his back and followed Phil’s team towards the door. It took him minutes to realize that, on his way to the door, he picked up two Marauder swords and tucked them into his belt. He noticed that Natasha and Barnes picked up weapons as well. It was an unconscious habit, both to ensure they had a way to defend themselves, but also the potential of returning alien tech to SHIELD. Thor apparently hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care.

When they finally left the Hall of Asgard, Clint stopped walking. He glared at War Machine, clenching and unclenching his fists. Barnes got it, of course he did, and when he said “Rhodes,” and the man stopped, Clint only raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Give him Coulson.”

War Machine—Rhodes—hovered just low enough to pass off the body, and Clint cradled it carefully to his chest, before indicating that he’d follow again.

Phil was still and pale, his bloodstained suit at odds with the peaceful expression on his face. His arrows were still there, still accusing him of his betrayal, of what he’d been made to lose.

It ate away at him, along with memories of the murders he’d committed unwillingly, of the rapes Loki had forced upon him. He kept it all buried, kept it pushed down and quiet so he could focus on Phil, on carrying him back home and...

He wasn’t sure whether to hope for forgiveness, or that he’d be put down.

About halfway across the bridge, Magneto woke up in War Machine’s arms, and used his abilities to not only shove the man away, but to float menacingly, even grasping Barnes’ arm in his power. It was when he looked around realized where he was and that the battle was over that the hostility seemed to decrease, though not vanish. He landed without bothering to offer any apologies, nor point out that for a moment he’d been able to take control of the non-mutants.

Clint didn’t really care. He still felt numb as they finally reached the end of the bridge and found an imposing yet exhausted man in armor, wielding the sword Thor had used to slay Loki with earlier. He didn’t look pleased to see them, but as they approached he pushed his way to his feet and stumbled regally into the domed building.

Natasha, in the lead, stared the man down. “You can see across the worlds.”

“Yes.” Succinct, as if speaking to her was beneath him.

Clint was willing to bet that, if the man weren’t a god, she’d be showing just how far beneath her he really was.

“Find the man known as Nick Fury. Can you send us to him?”

There was a fire glow in his eyes as he turned to look upon the starscape. “He stands upon the bridge of a flying vessel. A flying craft called the Helicarrier.”

Natasha nodded. “Perfect.”

“Wait,” Magneto glanced around at them. “Coulson promised me a new home should I retrieve his pawn.” He gestured dismissively at Clint. “I have no intention of returning just to be made powerless at SHIELD’s behest again.”

Barnes let out a snarl as the glow from the Tesseract in War Machine’s suit increased. Natasha held up her hand to hold them back. “And we’ll keep Coulson’s word. As the king said, Jane Foster is to return with her court.” She raised an eyebrow. “Her entire court.”

Magneto tilted his head slowly. “I see. How foolish, of course I’ll be needed to help gather it.”

The armored man snorted. “I see all, Widow, lest you forget. I know who is a part of Doctor Foster’s true court.” He slid his sword into the central dais of the structure and the walls around them began to spin. “Should your court join Foster’s,” the man continued, narrowing his eyes at Magneto, “be aware that you will have to earn the king’s word to remain.”

Magneto straightened his shoulders and met the stare head on. “Your king is no fool. What I bring is an army.”

There was an appraising silence as the entire building seemed to shift, and then a great beam shot out across space, the gateway home pulling at them almost like a vortex. “And should you prove strong enough to aid us in restoring Asgard, I am certain his majesty will consider asylum to you and your people.”

Magneto bowed his head respectfully, then floated into the bridge. Natasha and Barnes followed after exchanging a quick glance. War Machine eyed the bridge, touched the cover above the Tesseract, and then flew through.

Clint stepped forward, still cradling Phil, when an armored grip landed upon his arm. He tensed, wanting to draw a weapon but unwilling to drop the body. The strange eyes bored into him, and he felt his face flush, as if all that Loki had done to him was laid bare.

“He was a despicable man.”

Clint jerked, but the hand didn’t release him. He growled. “You fucker-“

“Yet his sole reason to battle an army was to retrieve you.”

He could feel tears threaten to spill again and kept his anger stoked, not wanting to let his emotions out, not now, and not in front of SHIELD. “What’s. Your. Point.”

“Only because you have been wronged by Laufey’s Son do I say this: he has earned a place in Valhalla for this deed. Take with you the comfort that his spirit fights on, in your honor, and he places no guilt upon you for his passing.”

A vice clamped around his heart and squeezed, and his breath hitched at the admission. With an unsteady jerk, he shook off the man’s hand. “Fuck you,” he choked out, then dove backwards into the bridge, still clutching Phil and not caring if he tumbled to his death upon his return.

The universe passed by in a blur, and Clint had only barely swallowed the lump in his throat before he landed on his back, letting out an involuntary yelp at the impact. He kept his arms tightened around Phil, didn’t dare late the body escape him.

When he looked up, he found himself and the team surrounded by SHIELD soldiers in tactical gear aiming about fifty weapons at them.

Maybe he’d get to see Phil in Valhalla, he thought darkly.

“Stand down,” emerged from behind the crowd, and Fury shoved his way through. “I said,” as no one moved, “stand down!” He yanked the gun from one agent’s hand.

Slowly, carefully, the agents surrounding them lowered their weapons and, at a sharp glare from the Director, retreated back within the Helicarrier.

Once they were gone, Fury walked forward then, and both Barnes and Natasha stepped in front of him. Clint laughed silently, but nudged his friend’s leg with his foot. She glanced at him, and then backed away. Barnes did so more reluctantly. Clint sat up and pulled Phil to his chest one last time before gently setting him down. “Sir,” he said gruffly when the Director squatted in front of him.

Fury reached out and Clint actually flinched, couldn’t help himself. Fury wasn’t reaching for him, though, he was reaching to Phil. Resting his hand on a shoulder, Fury took in the two arrows protruding from the body and then gave Clint a thousand yard stare. “Report,” he said firmly.

“Loki put me under a thrall.” It came out mechanically. “He wanted a pet hawk. He used me to kill. I…the implants did nothing to stop him.”

Fury nodded slowly, then stood. “Report,” he said to the others.

Natasha stood at attention. “Retrieval successful, sir. And Loki has been executed.”

“Asgard?”

“Undergoing an invasion. And civil war. Thor has indicated Jane Foster will placate any thoughts of retaliation.” Fury nodded as Magneto cleared his throat. “It has been suggested Magneto return with the mutants of the world,” she continued. “Should they help win the war, Asgard will find them a home.”

“Easier to simply neutralize them,” Fury muttered, but at Magneto’s cold glare, he waved a hand. “Make the call,” he told the older man. “Rather you be off the planet than waste the manpower to hunt you all down.”

“How kind,” was the reply. “There will be more, after we’re gone.”

“Find yourself a new home, we’ll start sending you batches.” The mutant nodded. “We’ll be sending Foster from New Mexico, where Thor first landed. Gather your people there. Any trouble, though, and we’ll have another Alcatraz.” Fury narrowed his eye. “With just as many survivors.”

There was a tense stare between the two, but in the end Magneto turned and walked to the edge of the carrier before lifting off and flying away under his own power.

“You sure that’s wise,” came the augmented voice from War Machine. “That many mutants-“

“He knows what we’re capable of,” Fury dismissed. “He also knows Asgard is the last chance for his people. The LEECH vaccine is already being distributed. Within two generations no mutants will exist.”

One of SHIELD’s more ambitious plans, and one the Council had wholly endorsed any and all expenses to complete, Clint knew. Barnes, beside him, reached down and, though reluctant, Clint allowed himself to be helped to his feet.

Fury ignored the actions. “Get back to Stark, Rhodes. Tell him I want those Phase Two weapons developed from this,” he tapped the armor, “stat. In Phil’s name.”

Rhodes nodded. “We’ll be in touch.” He also walked to the edge of the carrier, though it was with far heavier, echoing footsteps. At the edge, the strange jets launched him into the air and he flew off easily.

“You’re just letting him take the Tesseract,” Natasha asked.

“I’ve been wanting Stark on it from day one. The Council insisted we use Selvig. More stable, they said.” He glanced around deliberately. “Where is the scientist?”

“Dead,” Clint reported. When he felt their attention on him, Clint risked raising his gaze from Phil’s body. “You should let the Council know Selvig invited Loki to take the Tesseract. And me.” He saw both Natasha and Fury’s gaze go steely at that. “In exchange, Loki promised him the secrets behind the science of the cube.” He let an attempt at a half-smile show. “Apparently, the human mind isn’t made to absorb that information directly.”

“Good riddance.” Fury turned his attention to Barnes. “We’ll be in New York in a few hours. He’s been asking for you.”

Barnes ignored the implication and glanced at Clint. “You good?”

The laugh ripped out of him was broken. “No.”

The Soldier nodded, as if in perfect understanding.

Fury shook his head. “Barnes, take the—take Agent Coulson down to the morgue.” A strangled sound escaped from Clint’s throat, but Fury stilled his reflexive grab for the body with a look. “Barton, the Widow will take you to Medical, and then to your quarters, where you will wait for my summons.” He stepped closer and hissed, “And you will be there to answer my summons, understood?”

Clint bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Something in him softened. “We’ll sort this out.”

“Not sure I deserve it, sir.”

The smack to the back of his head came from Natasha, but from the gleam in his eye Fury definitely approved. “Get checked out. We’ll talk soon.”

Watching Barnes depart with the body of the only man who’d shown him actual love and devotion, Clint wasn’t sure if Fury’s words were a promise or a threat.

Space was at a premium on the Helicarrier, and though he knew he could get into Phil’s room, Clint deliberately avoided the larger, nicer quarters to take up residence in his official closet of a bunk. The bedding slid into the wall, as did the desk, and the bathroom—one whole shower stall—doubled as a toilet and both also folded against the wall. It was cramped and dimly lit and Clint had always, always hated it.

He sat in the farthest corner from the door and settled in to stare at the bulkheads. He’d dropped his—the Asgardian weapons off at the lab to be tested, along with the leather armor, so he was down to the usual fatigues and shirt. Due to the sensitive computer equipment, even quarters as cramped as his were near-freezing, but he didn’t bother with a blanket. He’d taken position in worse climates. So he didn’t have a bow to wrap his hands around, to ground himself.

He didn’t have a voice in his ear any more, either.

It had been a long time since Clint had felt the need to do this. Before SHIELD, he’d taken those kill shots and felt nothing but shame at the rush and thrill of ending a life. He’d curse and berate and degrade himself because that’s what he was. Unnatural, a monster barely fit to live with the rest of humanity. He’d never wanted to end his own life, but he’d thought about it, about following his father’s footsteps and getting lost in drink. He also thought about leaving that side of society, or going rogue and becoming a mercenary.

If he was going to be condemned for enjoying his work, he thought, he might as well get paid better for it.

Then the offer from SHIELD had come, presented by a handsome, competent man who had been beside him when he’d taken yet another shot, and praised him, touched him, made him shudder and gasp and understand that no, no, it wasn’t wrong. It was a gift, one that helped him cope with the ugliness of this world and the harsh reality they lived in.

Phil had brought him into SHIELD and Clint had fucking bloomed.

Phil understood him, had let him use his bow again, had taught him to fly impossible jets, had shown him the seedy underside of the world and how to make it dance like a puppet master. The man had once slaughtered an entire AIM base just—just!—to rescue Clint, even though the implants prevented him from revealing anything. Traipsing through the blood-soaked halls had finally settled it in Clint’s mind that Phil was as deeply in love with Clint as Clint was with him.

That was gone now.

He’d ended it, and though SHIELD may take him back, may let him use his bow and take out the worst of the world…

The shame was back.

And he deserved it.

He replayed the battle, his time with Loki, all over it over and over in his mind. Fury would eventually want a full debrief, and dwelling on it all hurt. It was like being stabbed over and over, but if Clint remembered nothing else, he swore to all non-existent gods that he’d never, ever forget this last week.

When Fury summoned him, Clint’s eyes felt gritty and he was exhausted. A look at the clock revealed that he’d been sitting and staring at the wall for nearly twenty hours. He really should’ve gotten some sleep.

Not that he thought he’d have anything but nightmares.

When he arrived at Fury’s office, one of the screens was showing the New Mexico desert, and though there were about fifty people crowded together with Magneto floating over them, he easily spotted Jane Foster and her assistant. A minute later the interstellar bridge slammed into Earth and that was that. Thor appeased and the mutant threat handled.

Fury finally swung his chair around. He didn’t even bother looking at the archer. “Sit down, Barton.”

There was only one other chair in the room, and it was placed such that his back would be towards the door. Fortunately, he was too tired to care, and he let his shoulders slump as he sat down. “I’m ready for the full debrief, sir.”

Fury snorted, but waved him on, and Clint dutifully reported his captivity with Loki, every sexual encounter, every execution, every detail he could pull from his memory in Asgard. It took five hours, and by the end his voice was hoarse, and he felt wrung out, beyond exhausted.

Silence reigned while Fury finished his notations and filed the report to be archived and analyzed by the Level 9’s that broke reports down to maximize resources in all ways. The room darkened when the holographic screen vanished, and Clint didn’t bother waiting for his eyes to adjust, he just shifted so that his forehead was right in front of Fury’s aim.

A pistol was pulled out of Fury’s coat and placed on the desk.

Fingers drummed against the metallic surface.

Clint blinked slowly.

When he opened his eyes, the gun was gone, and Fury was standing in front of him. He sat up in time to feel the full impact of the backhanded swing. He was knocked from his seat and tumbled to the floor. Instinct rose up, telling him to roll, to become a moving target. He fought it and went still, waiting for the next blow.

There were footsteps, then he heard a small creak, and he realized the Director was back behind his desk. Carefully, Clint pushed himself up. “Sir?”

“You think I’m gonna waste a bullet on one of my most valuable assets?” He opened up a new screen, this one a global map with markers.

Slowly, Clint hauled himself back onto the chair. “I was compromised,” he said slowly. “I killed your best agent.”

“You’ve been reprimanded.” Clint’s cheek throbbed at that. “Now get some fucking sleep and report to Agent Sitwell after seventy-two hours. And if you still look like you’re about to join my Good Eye, I’m sending Romanov to beat you into unconsciousness.”

He swallowed. “Sir, I’m not sure-“

“If I just wanted a fuck toy to keep Phil in line, I’d have gotten one.” He pinned Clint with a glare. “I sent him to recruit an agent. A god damned good one. One that fought the Black Widow and through blood and a body count convinced her to join her mortal enemies. You think your world’s over?” He nodded up. “Jump into the damned turbine. We still have work to do, and I need men like you. You’re willing to do what needs to be done to protect Earth.”

He leaned forward then, and intoned gravely, “You still belong to us.”

Clint shuddered. “Sir, yes sir,” he forced out.

With that, Fury leaned back, and the menacing aura from the moment before vanished. “Am I finally done with the handholding?”

Clint nodded and stood, trying to control the way his limbs were shaking. Aware of how precarious his sense of balance was, it took him almost five minutes to reach the door. As he laid a hand on it, he felt the Director’s gaze land on him again. This time, he let instinct take control, and he straightened up, forced himself to be still.

There was a beat of silence. “You want to build Phil a memorial?” He nodded without looking back. “Someone helped Selvig. Someone in-house. I want them found.” There was a growl. “They took my Good Eye, Hawkeye. We’re building a fucking pyre from their bodies.”

For the first time since he’d been freed from Loki, something solid and cold and definitive settled into Clint. He felt his own lips form a snarl at Fury’s words. With another, firmer nod, he opened the door and marched out of the room. If the Director was right, someone had orchestrated this entire ordeal. Phil’s death may have been incidental in their goals, but someone had set up Clint to be taken as no more than a god’s pet.

He marched past his barracks and went straight for Phil’s quarters. His, now, until the Director said otherwise. He needed to recover, to re-center himself. No more moping, no more obsessing, no more weeping. Someone had set him up. Someone had made it possible for Phil to be killed. And that someone was still in SHIELD.

If he had to burn it down to find who was responsible, so be it.

He woke up curled up in Phil’s—their—his bed almost forty hours later. He wasn’t sure if it was a residual effect from his time under Loki’s thrall, or if he was actually that exhausted. Probably both, he thought, burying his face into Phil’s pillow before groaning and forcing himself to get up.
He wasn’t surprised to find Natasha in the suite. Officially, she didn’t have the authorization to be there. Unofficially, locked doors rarely kept her from where she wanted to be, and it was only after Phil stabbed her in the thigh that she knew better than to try anything when both of them were here. Phil could be pretty intense when he’d been sleep deprived. Clint had always found it rather hot, especially with the Russian swearing that one time.
There were only two reasons she would break in. The first would be to kill him, in which case he never would’ve woken up. The second, however, would be to watch his back. It wasn’t often, most times Phil did it or, if he wasn’t around, she only did it begrudgingly. As he exited the bathroom and leaned against the sink, he saw a shadow in her gaze and tension in her shoulders. He’d been Phil’s, and she, she had always been Fury’s.

It was another reason secrets were near impossible to keep from her.

“Selvig?” His voice was gravelly and slightly hoarse.

She nodded and sat quietly while he boiled some water. He used it to gargle with a pinch of salt, then poured himself a second cup before sitting across from her at the two-man table. “Felix Blake was in charge.”

“I remember.” Blake had been one of the agents to fall when PEGASUS was raided by the Asgardian. “Too blindly loyal.”

“Hill?”

Clint snorted at that, and with a tilt of her head Natasha agreed. “Who survived?” he asked after a minute.

“Forty-six agents.” She passed over a projection cube, which brought up a holographic list of names.

He matched them with the people he had met while at PEGASUS. Three he already knew were too incompetent to be the culprits. Another twenty he ruled out for their level status. Another eleven, he noticed, met with ‘accidents’ not too long after Phil had left. Someone doling out a subtle punishment for failure, or covering their tracks.

Seeming to read his mind, she shook her head. “Not Fury’s orders.”

He frowned. “Investigation results?”

“Inconclusive.”

He blacked out the dismissed names and looked at the list of twelve suspects they had. At the top were John Garrett and Victoria Hand. Garrett had worked with Phil before, and Hand had trained with him. Phil had once mentioned they were excellent Level 8 agents, but that Clint should never turn his back on Garrett and to avoid Hand’s missions at all costs. Franklin Hall wasn’t an Agent, but he had Level 7 clearance as a researcher. He was also an amoral jackass that thought little of actual agents unless they had a couple degrees.

All too valuable to SHIELD to simply execute, and all with liens powerful enough to keep them loyal to SHIELD.

In theory.

He slumped back in the chair. “Fuck.”

She nodded at him. “That’s only the ones on-site.”

He felt himself scowl as he thought it over. He knew, if they wanted to, between him, Natasha, and Barnes, all twelve individuals could be eliminated in short order. He also knew to do that might bring the World Council on their heads, because of who these people were.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and, unable to think of anything else, simply repeated, “Fuck.”

With a wave of her hand the screen vanished from the air. “We could kill the Council first.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t bite us in the ass,” he snarked back.

She leaned forward on her elbows. “So how do we do it? How do we get revenge?”

Clint stared into space and tried to step back, to look at the big picture. Someone was responsible, and their blood would run for what they let happen to him, for what happened to Phil.

He just had to narrow the list even further without arousing suspicion.

Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.

Contingencies were.

He slid the cube back to Natasha. “Dig up what you can. Whatever hold Fury’s using, their background, everything.”

She narrowed her eyes. She never did like receiving orders, especially from him.

He just crossed his arms. “If they could help Selvig, arrange for my abduction, we need back-up.” He finally looked her in the eyes. “You get in close, narrow down our suspects. I’ll make sure we’re good when things go to shit.”

“I’m not the liability,” she said frostily.

“No, I was just the first.” He leaned forward. “Whoever it was got rid of me knowing what Phil would do.”

He could see her turn it over in her mind, and saw the instant she understood. Everyone knew what Clint meant to Phil, what he’d done to protect him, to retrieve him.

And they hadn’t cared.

If they hadn’t feared Phil Coulson, they probably didn’t fear Director Fury, either. Which meant one of three things. Either someone high enough—like a Level 8—with a lot of internal support, an external agent—like a scientist—who had hacked into the highest levels of SHIELD security...

Or they were supported by the Council. In which case, not only were they fucked, SHIELD was the last place they should be.

The Council didn’t have the ability to kill agents at the push of a button by detonating their implants. They didn’t need to. They only needed to give the order to someone who did have access to that contingency.

The words she spoke weren’t Russian, he wasn’t sure what they were, but he understood the intent behind them easily enough. “We’re good?”

With a sharp nod, she tucked the cube away in a hidden pocket on her uniform and left the room.

Clint followed her and reset the security protocols. He rested his forehead against the cool metal of the door and let his mind tumble with the possibility, of just what he had inadvertently exposed.

He was a dead man walking.

His first day back on the job, he and Sitwell took measure of each other. He’d worked with Jasper Sitwell before, and for a Level 7 Agent, he wasn’t bad. He was one of the few Phil had spoken highly of, and Clint had bonded with him over weapons on the shooting range.

Finally, the man said, “You get the job done without fucking up, I don’t care how you do it.”

“You leave me behind or abandon me to the enemy, and I’ll put an arrow through both your eyes.”

Then they shook hands, and it was back to planning missions and determining which drug cartel needed to be destabilized to gain control of the local heroin distribution.

There were times Clint snapped on his radio, expecting Phil’s voice, arguing that Phil’s way would have been better. Sitwell snapped right back, reminding him who was the handler, and that dead men couldn’t save idiot agents.

Somehow they made it work. And if sometimes Sitwell found him huddled in the safe house snarling as silent tears slid down his face, the Agent simply made a bed in the bathroom and left Clint alone.

Clint made sure not to kill too many incompetent junior agents in thanks. He knew what a bitch the paperwork was.

In his downtime, however, he continued on his contingency planning. First and foremost, he had to secure the Winter Soldier. He knew Barnes was loyal to SHIELD, but that was only because they held Steve Rogers’ life in their hands. Whoever controlled Barnes’ blond man controlled the Soldier. And Clint wasn’t going to let that glaring issue lie for too long.

He approached Akela Amador first. She had been one of Phil’s protégé’s, until she lost her eye in an AIM sting operation. Phil didn’t drop her, but she hadn’t wanted to be in the field any more. In the end, she had become Phil’s unofficial PA, handling the daily minutiae and filling his shoes when he was away on a mission. She was only Level 5, but that would do for his plans.

She had tried twice to seduce him, not out of real want but to test his loyalty to Phil. Next to Natasha and Fury, she was one of the few people he actually trusted at SHIELD.

“A secure site external from standard SHIELD facilities. Sure,” her voice was dripping with disdain, “I can rig that right up. You want a pot of gold and little green men to spruce the place up for you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Akela,-“

“Amador,” she hissed.

“It’s your job to know these things.”

“I’m not your assistant,” she growled.

In fact, her responsibilities had migrated over to Victoria Hand, who had a very stern dislike—or distrust—of Hawkeye. “No,” he lowered his voice, “but you were Phil’s.”

She stared at him, and he rolled his shoulders. She had nearly perfected the one-eyed stare of doom Fury wielded easily. After a minute of glaring, she huffed. “I’ll see if I have time to dig up something.” She glanced pointedly to the door.

He gave her a small smile and quickly left before she changed her mind again.

He approached Melinda May next a few weeks later, another of Phil’s personal team before Clint had joined SHIELD. She now worked in personnel, but he had seen her slit a man’s throat with nothing but a file folder and knew not to underestimate her. She was nearly unflappable, but she had a soft spot for Phil and his plans. Instead of approaching brazenly as he did with Akela, he took the secretary’s seat just to the left of her own.

Without even looking up from her paperwork, she said, “I’m not a field agent anymore.”

“I know,” he said, rolling his chair back and forth. “I need Phil’s files.”

“Level 8 evaluations are restricted to-“

“Not his personnel files. His other files, the ones he had you keep an eye on.” At that, she froze and looked at him. “He told me about them.” Not much, only that, with her position, Phil’d asked Agent May to identify recruits with potential. What he intended to do with them, Clint had no idea. She didn’t need to know that, though. “Just following his lead,” he said softly, trying to sound both broken and shy.

Her eyes narrowed, but without breaking her gaze, she plucked two dozen folders from the various piles and set them in a neat stack on the corner of her desk. He offered her a small smile, but as he went to pick them up, her hand locked onto his wrist. He grimaced, but didn’t move. “Thanks,” he offered.

She continued to stare at him. “These were his legacy. Fuck it up, and I’ll nail your limbs to the floor.”

He nodded. “Don’t doubt it, Agent.”

Her hand tightened on his, enough to leave bruises on his skin, and then she released him. He took the stack and made it back to Phil’s room, spreading the folders out on the table and trying to work out exactly what he needed.

Most of SHIELD thought he was nothing more than a sniper, a weapon like Widow and the Soldier. Those people were idiots about all of them. Clint was a strategist. He’d survived with flexible on-the-spot thinking, but he’d also planned ahead. If Phil hadn’t shown up when he did, Clint already had wheels in motion for his departure from the FBI and entrance into the mercenary underground.

He used those talents now in the late hours he had on base. Some files, like Grant Ward and Antoine Triplett he dismissed immediately, since they had trained under Garrett and Clint still didn’t know if he was trustworthy. He pulled out two scientists pretty quickly, a Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons. Fitz was an engineer, and would work well as Barnes’ personal expert on his arm as well as maintaining Rogers’ environment. Simmons would not only double as a doctor but someone who could continue to monitor the blond’s medication to keep him semi-cognizant and pliable to Barnes’ will.

He added Agent Carter, also known as Agent 13. She and Barnes had a mutual spiteful respect for each other, and having grown up with stories of Captain America, she felt an innate need to protect the weakened man from dangers. The Soldier had made it clear what would happen if she ever did anything to harm Rogers, or try to ‘protect’ him from Barnes himself. Since then, when on missions she tended to guard Rogers as fiercely as Barnes did. As a final addition he tossed on Sam Wilson, the ex-Falcon who had lost most of his mobility when an anti-air missile had taken out his wings during an op. The man came out the other side bound to a wheelchair and acting as one of SHIELD’s best psych evaluators. He’d even pulled a few stories from Clint with an ease and charm that made the man seem harmless. Every now and then, when Rogers surfaced while Barnes was away, he’d needed someone to ground him, help him cope with the loss of the super serum and adjusting to this time. It wasn’t often, but Wilson had been tapped once or twice, so was familiar with the case. Phil had vetted the man himself when Clint was assigned a session or two with him, and that was enough for him to trust the man with the Soldier’s prize.

It was nearly a month later when Akela approached him with a set of coordinates hidden in a standard biannual evaluation form. A base in Canada off all standard SHIELD maps and manned by one of the Koenig Life-Model Decoy’s. With a little surreptitious digging, Clint also discovered than a 084 by the name of Skye was there, under protective custody in exchange for some sort of hacking activity that went directly to the Director.

Clint approached Fury the next day and laid it out. The team—including Agent May and Akela, if they could be pulled—the base, and the reasoning behind it. Fury took it all in, then said, “How do you plan on moving Rogers?” At Clint’s tight, slightly mischievous smile, he closed the folder and said, “No, don’t wanna know.” He tossed the paperwork into the incinerator. “You have a go.”

That just left one last person. He sent a quick coded message, then sat in the mess hall and worked his way through four different flavors of pudding. He was only up to butterscotch when Barnes sat next to him, both of their backs against the wall, both staring at the table to prevent anyone from reading their lips.

Clint finished his pudding cup before saying, “Rogers isn’t safe.”

Barnes was good, he didn’t even tense up, but Clint knew the man was now on edge. “Target?”

“Unknown. Natasha’s investigating.” They’d crossed three off their list. Two with brief interviews and one because they were dead. Not Natasha’s fault, either, which made Clint nervous that maybe someone was catching on. “I put together a secure team. We just need to move him.” Clint grabbed for the vanilla, but Barnes snatched it from his hands. Clint shrugged and picked up the banana flavored one instead.

“When?”

“Soon.” Clint grimaced after taking a spoonful. “We’ll need you away at the time.”

Oh so casually, Barnes’ heel found its way onto Clint’s ankle and applied just a little pressure. Enough to know that if Clint wasn’t careful, he’d have a shattered foot soon enough. “Away,” he growled.

“Need to make sure no one can track him. And disable SHIELD’s implants. It’ll fuck with your arm.” The man seemed to stab the pudding cup with his spoon, but his foot left Clint’s so Clint let out a mental breath. “I promise he’ll be safe.”

Barnes finished the dessert and dropped the plastic on the table. He stared at it a minute, then said, “If he isn’t, you’ll wish you’d died in Asgard.”

Clint smiled, as if they’d been having a nice conversation, and watched the Soldier leave the room.

The next day, the man was in Europe retrieving some stolen meteor ore.

The day after that, a visiting SHIELD cadet by the name of Seth Dormer ‘accidentally’ set off an EMP that affected an entire city block. In the ensuing confusion, Rogers and his team easily slipped away to the new secured location without anyone the wiser.

And with a little help from Fury, Clint’s name was removed from the list of people present in need of new implants.

Clint had a feeling, though, that a countdown had just begun.

Chapter Text

It was two months later when he, Natasha, and Barnes were sent on various missions around the world. Clint ended up in Oregon to handle some bioterrorists. It was a fairly easy mission, shoot and kill and don’t let a single vial of deadly plague so much as crack. It was almost relaxing, save for the fact that Grant Ward was with him as backup.

He and Natasha hadn’t been able to clear his name, nor Garrett’s or Hand’s, or even Hall. Ian Quinn was the only other name on the list, and since Natasha was going to be in that part of the world for her mission, she was planning on interrogating him. Clint had tried to talk with Ward, just to break the ice, but the man reminded him of Natasha before they’d bonded: silent, brooding, dangerous.

Clint was reporting the mission success to Sitwell when Ward seemed to get a radio call as well. With half an ear, Clint heard the man say, “Yes sir,” before pulling his gun up and shooting Clint.

Fortunately, Clint wasn’t unprepared, and managed to dodge, the bullet only skimming his temple. Cutting off Sitwell, he brought an arrow up and shot it to the emergency fire suppression system, flooding the area with a white coolant that made visibility near impossible. He ducked around the room, looking for Ward’s shadow, when he realized he was on the other side of the room from the door.

And Ward was standing in the doorframe. “See ya round, Hawkeye,” came the smug, sneering voice, just before another gunshot and, even more terrifying, the sound of glass shattering. The quarantine alarm erupted immediately and the doors slammed shut, sealing Clint inside with a half dozen of the worst biological weapons in the world.

At least he had a gasmask, because of the mission, but he knew the biofilter wouldn’t work for all weapons, and that some didn’t even need to be inhaled. He had a minute at best, seconds at worst. He could hear the air vents become negatively pressurized, and a computer warning of sterilization to commence shortly.

Great. If he didn’t die from plague, he would burn to death.

The windows were all reinforced, too strong even for an exploding arrow. The door was four inch carbon-steel and the walls reinforced with titanium. Even an acid arrow wouldn’t eat through fast enough.

Around him, the few terrorists still conscious were yelling into their gags, panicked. One, Clint noted, was already bleeding from his eyes, shards of glass resting on his face. Direct exposure. Clint moved as far away from him as he could and tried to find an exit, any exit.

He knee bumped into one of the bases’ science experiments, some sort of insta-freeze technology designed to neutralize biological compounds based on a weather control device. It was still experimental, as the cryo-flash technology was just as lethal to humans as it was to the diseases. Clint shrugged and activated the device. It wasn’t like he had much left to lose at this rate, and the terrorists weren’t going to live past interrogation anyway.

A ten-second countdown had started along with a warning of the sterilization procedure. When the device indicated it had powered up, Clint slammed his hand on the activation button. There was a moment of silence, and then a column of pure cold burned around Clint and he clenched his teeth, half expecting his skin to flay off from the energy. Instead, it expanded outward, solidifying into solid ice across the room. At the eye of the storm, Clint felt his chest start to freeze and his vision burred just as the countdown finished and the room ignited.

Flash freeze met flash fire, with rather disappointing results.

The glacier that had encased the room melted away like soft butter, and the holographic screen indicated that the biological contamination had been exterminated. Taking a shuddering breath as his lungs started to work, Clint staggered back to the wall and slid down, taking struggling breaths through the mask.

He wasn’t stupid enough to take it off just yet. Computers had been wrong before.

Once sterilization was complete, Clint watched the door, aware he was just a little too defenseless to do anything, but unable to try and pull himself under a table or behind a cabinet. Any second Ward would come in to ensure the kill and report back Hawkeye’s death.

The door remained closed.

Trying to get his heart back under control, Clint couldn’t grip his bow but was able to pull out his gun. His hands shook, but still, no sign of Ward, or anyone. Two of the terrorists were dead, three were shaking, probably in shock. After another five minutes, Clint was able to use the wall to push himself upward, his gun aimed at the door in case Ward finally appeared.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

“Amateur,” he muttered and stumbled towards the only exit. A quick examination revealed that the seal was off, it just needed a command to open from outside. Silently thanking Natasha for beating some hacking skills into his head, he was able to override the door and get it open.

The hall was empty.

Really, was the man that arrogant to assume he’d just die? He was a SHIELD agent. He was fucking Hawkeye. And until the death was confirmed, the target wasn’t dead. Basic SOP.

Still, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and stumbled as quietly as he could to the nearest air duct. They’d arrived with a SHIELD team and Clint didn’t know who among them he could trust, especially given his condition. His radio was shot, but he had to get back to Sitwell. The man was a jackass but he didn’t deserve to die, especially by Ward’s hand.

Crawling through the building, he eventually made it to the roof and, after a quick look around, discovered SHIELD had left. No cleanup crew, no team to secure the facility, not even a call to the military that their base had been retaken. No, that wasn’t true. Squinting, he could just make out a pile of bodies. Some SHIELD, some wearing BDUs.

“What the hell,” he muttered. Part of him worried some of the weapons had gotten free, and he was just grateful he hadn’t taken off the mask yet.

All the more reason to get back and contact Fury about this. Betrayal aside, if an epidemic was just unleashed because of Ward’s amateur hour assassination…

Getting off the roof took more time than he anticipated, but when he finally got a jeep hotwired, he felt a little more in control of his body, a little less like a living popsicle. He kept to back roads and his eyes peeled as he drove to the safe house two miles away, where Sitwell had made base camp. There was no emergency broadcast and no national alert on the radio. As he approached the town he finally removed the mask and took a deep, unfiltered breath. It hurt, but it was the good kind, the recovering kind that lingered in his muscles and would make him ache for days.

It reminded him he was alive.

Abandoning the vehicle half a block from the building, he quietly climbed the fire escape to the third floor apartment and glanced in the window. He recognized Ward’s back immediately. He was talking to someone, but whether that was Sitwell or not, Clint couldn’t see. Testing the window, he found it unlocked and rolled his eyes again. It slid open silently and he crept into the room.

“Didn’t even see it coming,” the punk said, “neither did you, thankfully. Garrett made sure no one did until he made his move.”

Garrett. That was enough for Clint. Swiftly he pulled a knife and jammed it into the back of Ward’s neck before twisting it sharply, snapping the vertebrae, and roughly yanking it back out. Ward dropped like a sack of stones and Clint, not nearly as dim as the younger agent, stabbed the man in the heart.

Just to be sure.

“L-little over kill, don’t you think,” Sitwell asked.

Wiping the blade on Ward’s shirt, he stood and eyed his handler. “You good?”

“Yeah, yes.” Sitwell took a handkerchief and wiped his shaved head. “He reported back one of the vials was compromised, that you’d sealed yourself in to ensure no virus escaped.” Sitwell eyed him up and down. “You survived sterilization?”

“Ward’s an idiot.” He smirked darkly. “Was an idiot. We need to contact Fury-“

“Fury’s dead,” Sitwell interrupted.

Clint froze. “What?”

Sitwell grimaced. “That’s what he was…he was gloating about. The World Council is debating who to appoint as the head of SHIELD.”

“Fuck.” Clint ran a hand through his hair. “Right, can you get us transport?”

Sitwell thought for a moment. “Trains, possibly. Why?”

“I know a place to regroup.” He tossed what SHIELD equipment he had, then eyed Sitwell. “The implants?”

“No kill switches reported yet,” Sitwell said, but he shrugged. “Could at any minute, though. And we’ve lost contact with everyone.”

“Probably hoping he only has to take out Fury’s closest,” Clint muttered, grabbed his non-SHIELD go-bag that he brought on every mission. “You ready?”

Sitwell nodded, pulling out a non-standard Glock from his own bag and tucking it into his suit. “Let’s go.”

Clint waited until they were two blocks from the building before setting off the bomb. No use leaving evidence that might be used to create a public manhunt for him and Sitwell.

With what cash he had, he bought himself and his handler some new clothes. Getting north would be trickier. SHIELD would be watching the cameras of every major transit station. At least, the public ones.

“I was not,” Sitwell huffed, “built to jump fences.”

Clint had already charmed the local guard dog and was eyeing the cargo trains. There appeared to be an agricultural train with honest to god boxcars heading for Montana. That would work. He made a clicking noise and the dog trotted off happily as Sitwell landed heavily. “You need more time in the gym.”

“Fuck you,” he heaved between breaths. “Where the hell are we going anyways?”

“North.” He started towards the train. “I’ll let you know when we get closer.”

It was only luck that he was partially turned towards Sitwell when he said it. Only luck that he noticed the man tilt his head ever so slightly, the way he always did when listening to a radio transmission. Only luck that had him turning at that moment to only take a rebar to his ribs instead of his head.

Falling down, he wheezed and tried to pull a weapon. Sitwell stepped on his wrist and held his own gun out instead. “I’m afraid,” he said conversationally, “that I really need to know.” Clint bared his teeth. When he surged up the rebar came down and he yelped, feeling something crack in his forearm. He fell back against the gravel panting. “Come on, Barton. You had to know you couldn’t win.”

“Why,” he ground out. “Phil-“

“Was good, but short-sighted. All this spy shit takes too much time and effort.” He shrugged. “HYDRA had the right idea.”

“HYDRA,” Clint growled, “is dead.”

“Not as true as you think. We know we’re not remembered fondly.” He smiled, charming as ever. “We were thinking of the name HAMMER this time around. Putting the world to order, one strike at a time.”

“World isn’t ready for that. They’ll fight.”

“They’ll lose. Fury lost. SHIELD’s lost.” He swung the metal bar lazily over his nose. “Now, I must insist you divulge our destination.”

“Fuck. You.”

Sitwell let out an exasperated sigh as he lifted his arm. Clint readied himself for the blow, but instead a metal arm snagged Sitwell by the collar and threw him towards a set of tracks. The man landed just in time for one of the incoming trains to run right over him.

He winced, but only because the Soldier wasn’t gentle hauling him to his feet. “Hawkeye.”

“Barnes,” he hissed, clutching his ribs and holding his wrist close to his chest. “You’re supposed to be in China.”

“Jumped ship half-way. Kaminsky was acting odd. Didn’t trust it.”

Kaminsky, one of Garrett’s personally trained pilots. “Good thinking,” he wheezed. “Rogers?”

“Still secure.” His eyes were shuddered as he scanned the area. “Fury’s dead. Hill and the rest have gone to ground.”

“Fucking fuck.” He’d really hoped that was a lie. “Now what?”

The man shrugged. “I’m heading north.”

Clint could. It’d be so easy to go to ground with the Soldier and that team he’d put together. Except…

Except Garrett had sold him out to Loki, had led to Phil’s death, and now had killed Fury.

He needed to regroup if he was ever going to take revenge.

He nodded to his bag. “Help me wrap my ribs. Then find me a train south.”

He needed to get to California.

It took nearly a week between jumping trains, avoiding cameras and ducking SHIELD teams. Or HAMMER, HYDRA, whatever the hell they were called now. Barnes was able to contact him on a disposable cell and let him know the Providence site in Canada was safe, and it was Clint’s head if anyone dangerous discovered it. He was also able to reach Natasha, who sounded like she was enjoying the Louvre before jumping to another country. She mentioned something about rooting out the African encampment and that someone would be in touch.

He’d managed to hit one clinic on his way, which determined his ribs were bruised and his arm cracked, but neither were actually broken. He smiled emptily as the doctor gave him a prescription, then hopped the next train and swallowed another set of Tylenol. He couldn’t afford any drugs that could hamper his alertness or abilities. It was worse on the last leg of his journey. He couldn’t risk getting a car, which meant he had to hike the last ten miles to his target. Sunny California was beautiful and amazing and so not how he wanted to spend the day sweating when his body ached and his arm throbbed.

It was twilight by the time he reached the door of the mansion. He only knocked once before it snapped open and he found himself facing down an armored hand, the palm of which was glowing an ominous blue backed by a high-pitched whine of something charging up.

He stepped back and raised his arms, wincing slightly. “Hey, whoa, not here to fight.”

“You’re from SHIELD,” came the augmented reply. It looked almost like a sleeker version of War Machine, colored blood crimson and burnished gold. “Last time we saw them, they tried to blow the mansion into the ocean.”

He winced again. “Not me, seriously. I’m on the lamb from them.” Something nagged at the back of his mind. “Rhodes, right? As in Colonel Rhodes?” There was no response. “You were with the team that helped Phil retrieve me.”

“You killed him.”

“Not by choice. I was…I wasn’t in control.”

There was another charge up sound, and then Tony Stark was there, looking over Rhodes’ shoulder. “Who’s this?” There was an edge of desperation in the voice Clint had never heard on any of his television appearances.

“Agent Barton of SHIELD.”

“Ex-Agent,” he reiterated. “SHIELD just tried to kill me.” He lowered his arms slowly. “Like they tried with you, it sounds like.”

Stark wrinkled his nose. “You’re still SHIELD.”

Rhodes seemed to agree and stepped forward menacingly.

Clint met Stark’s doubtful gaze. “I was SHIELD, but I was Phil’s first.” The man froze at the words. “He was my…he took me in, showed me a better way to save the world.” He stepped forward, fighting the instinct to duck as a miniature missile launcher rose from the armor’s shoulder. “I know what he was to you, and what you were to him. I couldn’t…I was his, like you were his. I couldn’t hurt you. You’re someone he cared about.”

It was a half-truth. He was still SHIELD, and in the right circumstances he would end Stark’s life, but right now he was more Phil’s than SHIELD’s, and he knew he could play on Stark’s emotions for the man to bribe his way in.

Rhodes had stepped forward again when Stark said, “Yeah, okay.”

“Tony-“

“Let him in, platypus.” Stark thumped the armor’s non-missile shoulder twice before heading back inside.

Clint couldn’t help but mouth ‘platypus’ as the missile and hand quickly lowered. The faceplate of the armor came up, though, and he found himself on the receiving end of Rhodes’ glare. Clint held up his hands again. “I know. One wrong move, you vaporize me.”

“You hope I vaporize you,” he growled before stepping back into the mansion.

Clint sighed and stepped in. “Don’t suppose I could get some water and an ice pack?”

“Certainly,” came a disembodied British voice.

Clint squinted at the ceiling. “JARVIS, right?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

Stark tilted his head at that and raised an eyebrow. Clint shrugged. “Phil liked him.” The man beamed at the posthumous praise. A little further in a slot in the counter retracted and a chilled water bottle as well as a disposable ice pack rose up. With a relieved sigh, Clint gulped down the water in three quick swallows and wrapped the pack around his chest. A few minutes later he was sitting on the couch and admiring the view of the ocean.

He blinked slowly, and then focused on the holographic screen floating in midair. It appeared to be three helicopters. He nodded towards it. “SHIELD attack?”

“Bastards didn’t even try to hide it,” Rhodes grumbled, still standing, apparently refusing to remove the suit.

“JARVIS detected them about a mile out. Rhodey blew ‘em up.” Stark was mixing something together that Clint could smell from halfway across the room. “Just reviewing the footage, seeing what can be improved.”

“The armor, you mean.”

Stark gave him a ‘duh’ look. “So, what’re you doing here Locksley?” This time, Clint raised an eyebrow. The billionaire waved it off. “A bunch of SHIELD files were released on the internet.”

“What?!” He sat up, then groaned and clutched his side. “What?”

“Yeah, half the agency’s files, unveiling undercover operations and some really nasty missions.” He said it with a grimace. “It was out for about an hour. I’ve had JARVIS scrubbing it from every server on the planet.”

Clint rolled the idea over in his head and bit back a curse. “That son of a bitch,” he ground out.

“Strategic release, right?” Stark shook his head. “I doubted Fury would be so stupid, especially since it endangered, what, hundreds of undercover operatives?”

“Two-hundred seventy-three, sir.”

“Garrett,” he snarled.

“Pierce, actually.”

Clint blinked slowly. “Who?”

“Alexander Pierce.” The images of the helicopters vanished, replaced by a man who could easily be Phil’s age, but with a full head of bottle blond hair and accountant glasses. The epitome of harmless. “Apparently he’s another Level 10.”

No wonder Clint had never heard of him. Other than Fury, the other Level 10s were basically a mystery to everyone in SHIELD. “And he’s HYDRA.”

Stark nodded. “Before they kicked me out, I was able to isolate three projects he pushed to finish development ASAP.” A stream of data appeared, then highlighted bulleted text. “Project Insight, Project DEATHLOK, and Project Extremis.” The man looked at Clint expectantly.

Clint chewed his lip. “Insight was supposed to be a background-facial recognition algorithm, to identify potential global threats.”

“If it’s threats to HYDRA, that would explain my name on there.”

Rhodes’ armored hand curled into a fist.

“DEATHLOK I think was a cybernetics programmed, based on the Winter Soldier’s arm.”

Stark nodded slowly. “I remember looking at the arm, but SHIELD decided to cancel the project.”

Commandeered by HYDRA, he could tell they all thought. “I don’t know Extremis.”

“Yeah, that one I’m stuck on, too. It has something to do with a man called the Mandarin, but other than some terrorist affiliations, there’s nothing.”

Barton sighed and let his head fall back on the couch. He felt Stark sit down next to him and poke at his bandaged wrist. He grunted.

“You look like shit.”

“I’ve been on the run.”

“Obviously.” A beat, another poke. “Why run here?”

“Phil trusted you.” Silence met his answer, and Clint turned his head so he could look at Stark, who seemed both shocked and devastated. “He was proud of you, of what you accomplished for SHIELD. And he’d hate what Pierce and Garrett and the rest of them are doing.”

Something dark took root in Stark’s face. “They’re using my work to take over the world.”

Clint turned his head back and shut his eyes. “If I’m gonna make them pay for what they did to me, for allowing Phil to die and for ruining his life’s work, I’m gonna need help.”

There was a heavy footstep. “I quit so I could protect Tony. I’m not giving you my armor.”

“Don’t need your armor,” he slurred, exhaustion finally eating away at him. “Too loud. Don’t want them to see me coming.”

There was a thoughtful hum to his right. “Give me a few days,” Stark says.

He passed out at Stark’s words.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Clint ended up spending most of his time on the couch, investigating the new, overt overlord version of SHIELD that crawled across the world. There were pockets of resistance, where true SHIELD associates dealt blows and ousted HYDRA’s influence. In Canada alone he could track Barnes’ handiwork, as well as the failed retaliatory responses. Natasha seemed to have made her target North Africa, taking on the Treehouse and, from the few messages she sent, set up a field base for exposed undercover agents. Even Stark Tower in New York housed Agent Hill and a few stragglers from the main office. Between JARVIS’ defenses and their training, they’d managed to gain a foothold in part of the city, though they were constantly under siege.

Clint felt kind of useless, lying there letting his bones mend, but JARVIS could be a pretty strict caretaker for a disembodied voice.

He felt even worse when, in that same two weeks, HYDRA made another air assault, two oceanic assaults—one surface, one submarine—and three land-based ones on the mansion. Each time, Clint offered his bow. Rhodes allowed him the weapon, but told him in no uncertain terms to not leave Stark alone. And then he’d fly out in that armored suit and lay waste to anyone he deemed a threat to Stark’s safety.

The couch in the workshop was even more comfortable than the one in the living room, and it was angled perfectly so he could shoot at the garage entrance as well as the glass doors. Stark just let the battles rage on a projected screen, making adjustments and add-ons for the suit or studying what non-Earth tech SHIELD had left in his care prior to the current shitstorm.

On day sixteen he wasn’t fully healed but he felt well enough to get back out and start hunting down Garrett and Pierce. That was when Tony gave him a maniacal grin and bounced on his toes. “So, I may have been working on other projects, like a security suit for Agent because, well…” He shrugged.

Clint had noticed that, rather than face up to the emotional loss, the man tended to trail off, then change subjects. He couldn’t blame Stark. Clint was doing the same in a way, focusing on his vengeance.

After waving his hand, Stark cleared his throat. “So, I developed this new cloth that’s actually a carbon-nanotube composite enhanced with the same protective properties as the gold plating in the armor.”

Clint blinked slowly. “You invented bullet proof clothes?”

“Yes! A million dollar suit, really.” He snapped his fingers and a few screens appeared in the air. One of them showed a black uniform covering the entire body with a vest and mantle that were outlined in a non-reflective bronze. The arm and leg bands seemed part of the external armor, and had a deep jade tint behind the bronze overlay. In design it was definitely Asian influenced, a cross between samurai feudal armor and a ninja. “I call it the Ronin.”

He waggled his eyebrows at Clint and made an ‘aren’t I impressive?’ quirk with his mouth. Clint leaned against Stark’s worktable and looked over the specs. It was already designed with his measurements, and there was a file of test results for the tensile strength of the fabric. It was bulletproof, but from the looks of things it would still hurt like hell. Knowing he was waiting, Clint let out an impressed whistle. “Nice.”

He turned his attention to one of the other screens. There were technical specifications, some that looked somewhat familiar. “Is that the Helicarrier’s mirror tech?”

“Close.” Stark pulled the screen forward so it was front and center and zoomed in on various equations. “It’s the same underlying principle, except instead of panels, it’s actually nanotech interwoven into the threads that allow light to pass through so you seem invisible. There’s still some distortion, but it’s only a Mark One design, I’m sure I’ll have the bugs worked out next round. Also, it doesn’t last much longer than five minutes at a charge, but I figure, plenty of time for you, right, Katniss?”

Clint nodded. Five minutes was a huge window for most of his missions. He looked at the specs for the hood. “Variable vision enhancements?”

“Infrared, ultraviolet, the whole gamut. Ninjas can see everything, right?” Stark flipped the screen down towards the gloves. “Low level EMP, for shock value, or to knock out a camera.”

Just about everything he could need for covert operations. “What about my quiver and bow?”

“Ah, that.” He wrinkled his nose and enlarged the third screen JARVIS had pulled up. “Unfortunately, while the bow was reactive, the quiver, for some reason, wasn’t.”

Clint tilted his head. “Reactive?”

“Yeah.” He reached across the table and picked up Loki’s bow, the one Clint had turned over upon his return. “I’m still determining its full metallurgical properties, but it seems they designed it to interact with a variety of stimuli. When it’s in contact with the suit,” he jerked his chin to the screen, “it became invisible.” He set the weapon down and turned to Clint. “Not so with the quiver. Not sure why.”

Clint thought about it for a minute. “You got any other weapons from Asgard?”

Stark bounced on his feet again. “All of ‘em.”

Probably another reason HYDRA was desperate to attack the place. “Swords and dagger?”

“Should work. I’ll run a couple tests, make sure they’re like the bow.”

Another hour passed, and Clint was just doing some stretches in the new uniform when Rhodes ran down to the lab and nearly crashed through the glass door. Clint tensed, wondering if another attack was incoming, when the man said, “Hill’s on the line.”

Stark frowned. “JARVIS?”

“Transferring the call now, sir.”

A large screen took up half the wall. Clint clenched his hands into a fist as he saw the contusions and abrasions across the woman’s face. Behind her, he could make out at least one unmoving body, a few more bleeding but apparently breathing. “Stark, we’ve got a situation.”

“Did you lose the Tower?”

She pushed her hair back, exposing a barely staunched head wound. “No, but it was close. We’re gonna need repairs and some upgrades to the defenses.”

“No problem. I can have JARVIS set-up-“

“Tony,” she interrupted, “they got Potts.” The man stilled as Rhodes swore quietly. “I’m pretty sure that was their objective all along. Either to get control of the company, or to force your hand.”

Stark seemed incapable of talking, still processing that Potts had been abducted. Clint stepped forward. “Force his hand for what?”

She huffed. “They appeared to be the AIM branch of HYDRA, the ones working on Project Extremis. So far, they’re at the human testing phase, but each result ends up unstable. Considering Stark’s talent...”

“I’m not giving them Tony,” Rhodes growled. “And if they think I’m gonna let them have a functioning weapon-“

“What happens?” Stark asked quietly.

Hill didn’t bother replying, just pressed something on her side of the screen. A secondary screen appeared, and revealed about four soldiers fighting. Clint could tell at the very least they were stronger and faster than average, probably almost to the point of Natasha. Then the one on the far left started glowing, an orange that spread with smoke rising from his skin. That was the only warning before he exploded and the video went to static.

Clint shook his head. An attempt at the super soldier serum. Fury had kept research going on it, but Phil had always told him it was a last resort, since at least three experiments had resulted in enemies able to threaten the globe that had consumed half of SHIELD’s resources over sixteen years.

“They seem to be led by a man called Aldrich Killian, who also just happened to abduct the President.” At that, Rhodes stiffened. “I know, Colonel. It hasn’t become common knowledge yet. We think the VP is sympathetic to HYDRA-“

“Fuck that,” Clint swore. “If they get control of the government-“

“Yes, I’m aware.” She grimaced. “Unfortunately, we’re regrouping, and unable to get to President Ellis. Agent Hand has identified a derelict oil rig that may be his current base of operations.”

Clint mentally reviewed his list. Hand hadn’t been on the exposed files, but she also hadn’t been an active participant since the hostile take-over. “Can we trust her?”

Hill shrugged. “At this point she’s the only one with a team close enough to retrieve President Ellis.”

“And Pepper?” Stark’s voice was wooden, artificial.

“Secondary objective. I’m sorry, Tony.”

Clint saw something inside the man break, followed instantly by a spark of determination in his eyes. “Send me everything you have on Extremis.”

“Tony-“

”I’m not letting Pepper die.”

“We can’t let you do that.”

“Really? Because I think you’re living in my tower with my AI and you shouldn’t push back against my good will. Also, I’ll bet Killian will be contacting me for the ransom soon enough. Would you rather I work with him, or with you?” He rested his palms on the table. “I’m getting her back.”

Hill stared him down, but after a minute she worked another set of controls and a file appeared over Stark’s worktable. “That’s everything we have. Try not to get in the way of the rescue.”

“Ditto,” he snapped back, then cut the connection.

Rhodes crossed his arms. “If I go to rescue anyone it’ll be Ellis.” He leaned against the wall. “Not that I have any intention of leaving you, period.”

“Honeybear, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He turned his attention towards Clint. “Besides, this is the perfect test run. Good way to thank me for all my work, too.”

Clint bit the inside of his cheek to not say something smart. He had a feeling Stark wasn’t in the mood. Grabbing two the Marauder swords and tucking them into his belt, he simply said, “Got a ride?”

As it turned out, tucked away in the garage was the prototype for a personal quinjet, one that used arc reactor technology and was equipped with untested stealth plating to literally fly under the radar. With a brief salute, Clint was off and headed to the Gulf of Mexico. Getting the coordinates of the oil rig from Hill was easy, as was setting the thing to autopilot and jumping during a flyby.

Finding Potts, on the other hand, was like finding a needle in a haystack, and while Clint hated that cliché, she was apparently only one of many hostages being used to ‘motivate’ certain parties. That was familiar, he’d seen SHIELD use that technique hundreds of times, but never so openly, so blatantly. It was better to simply threaten without relocation. Drop a message inside a locked house, pick up a child at school and drive them home, even just walking by the target with a threatening smile.

Sitwell had it right. HAMMER was the perfect moniker for the reborn, too blunt HYDRA.

The first guard he came across healed completely from the blade across his throat. It threw him, shortly before the guard did. Fortunately, the Marauder weapons seemed to make him stronger, faster, and durable enough to take a hit from a man able to dent steel with his fist.

They also, apparently, were powerful enough to kill anyone stabbed in the heart.

Which was when Extremis’ flaw came front and center again. Clint got his kill, only for the body to explode and collapse a whole quarter of the oil rig. The quarter with the hostages. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he went to the edge and could just see strawberry hair under a support beam. “Stark’s gonna murder me.” It would probably be Rhodes’ hand on the trigger, but the statement stood.

“I doubt he’ll have the opportunity,” came a voice from behind him.

Clint spun around and found himself face to face with Killian. He tightened the grip on his sword. “Nice tats.”

“I’m impressed. The soldiers here were mostly stabilized.”

He smirked behind his mask. “Shot up with an experimental serum. They aren’t that stable.” He shifted the weight on his feet.

Killian threw his head back and let out a bark of a laugh, only to have his neck snap back and hurl a fireball at Clint.

He dove out of the way and the flames exploded against the debris, superheating the metal and melting half of it on impact. “Okay, that’s new.” The strange orange-red hue of Extremis seemed to pulsate beneath Killian’s skin. It was his only warning before the next blast came at him. He ducked and wove and waited for the serum to blow the bastard up.

After two minutes, the air was thick and acrid, and he could feel the residual heat through his boots. Just my luck he’s stabilized. With the next blast, Clint jumped over it and aimed to slice straight through Killian’s head. The man ducked back, only getting the bridge of his nose nicked, which immediately healed itself. “Mother fuc-“

The next spew of flames cut him off, and without time to dodge, he shut his eyes and brought up the sword in an impotent attempt to shield himself. He felt the blade heat even through the wrappings of the hilt, but he also noticed that he wasn’t flash fried. Opening one eye, he found the blade was glowing hot, but had also cut the blaze of fire around him.

Okay, mystical swords were pretty awesome.

Killian was surprised and regrouping, but Clint took the window of opportunity to vacate the area and start moving back up to the surface. The floor was beginning to sag and melt with all that heat, not to mention it was getting difficult to breathe. Of course, a wall of flame scorched his back and he rolled around a corner and took the stairs three at a time, leaping the last ten feet up as if it were nothing.

It felt…good. Really good. His hand felt fused to the weapon, melded to it, but he swore he could also hear it sing in time with his pulse. It wanted this battle, craved this, and Clint was the vehicle for its desire. It tapped into that carefully controlled reservoir of rage he’d kept portioned out to avenge Phil, and sent a surge of the emotion through him.

It took a matter of seconds, so that when Killian joined him on top of the platform, Clint was already swinging for his head. The man had enhanced reflexes too, and while Clint couldn’t spit fire, he now had the room to nimbly dodge and take stabs at the man. He reveled in each limb removed, each thrust finding its target. The problem was Killian kept regenerating, and when Clint did hobble him, he used his fire to prevent a final blow to his heart.

It was frustrating.

It was infuriating.

It was glorious.

Peripherally, he could hear more people moving, gunfire and the sound of aircraft. Hand and her recovery team. He didn’t have time for them, and he made sure Killian didn’t either. He continued their battle, forced the man to focus on him, to attack and defend rather than give orders. Other parts of the rig exploded, and a desperate gleam appeared in Killian’s eye as his plans literally went up in flames.

He barely registered the first tremor. The next ones, he completely missed because Killian had given up on the fire and was now trying to take him on hand-to-hand. It wasn’t until his head started ringing without any blows to it that Clint realized a problem with the Asgardian weapons. They enhanced him, allowed him to match Extremis, but where Extermis was self-renewing, the swords apparently could only push him so far before tapping into reserves he usually didn’t need except in the most dire of circumstances.

As in, bleeding out in enemy territory circumstances.

The moment’s distraction was enough for Killian to get a kidney shot in that had Clint wheezing and collapsing from, rolling away as the man tried to follow it with a second blow. He had a feeling without the sword that would have gone straight through his torso. As it was, his barely recovered ribs screamed at him and his back burned at the heated metal beneath his back.

His grip on the sword slackened.

“Aw, hand, no…”

Killian was prowling towards him, mouth open and aglow. Clint braced himself for fiery death, when gunshots rang out and the man jerked back at the impact. A SHIELD uniform came into view, and he found himself looking up at Victoria Hand herself, taking three perfect head shots at the dragon man. He collapsed, only to stir seconds later, his head recovering instantly.

“This is why I don’t recover assets,” she reported, taking another headshot that barely slowed Killian down. “Objective’s been met. No need to waste the manpower or resources.”

“Why,” he wheezed out.

“Widow called in a favor. Her only favor.”

Great. And it was about to get them both killed.

Hand had two more shots before she ran out of ammo, at which point she frowned and held out a hand for a sword. Clint shook his head. “It could kill you.”

“Yes, you have a good grasp of the situation.” There was the sickening sound of bone and flesh mending. “Give me the damned sword before I just throw you in the ocean and catch the evac.”

Jumping into the ocean might not be a bad idea, he thought, even as he held out his second sword. While his grip was loose, that fused feeling he felt wasn’t just the magic of the sword. Apparently, the glove had melded with the hilt due to the heat, and while his palm hurt, it didn’t feel burned. Small favor, but he’d take it.

Hand hefted the sword, tested its balance, but before she could attack the recovered Killian, Pepper Potts literally jumped onto the scene, tackled the man and threw fire from her hands, making him scream as she literally burned away his face. And she didn’t let up. Clint could see a manic satisfaction as she tried to incinerate the man’s head, the Extermis keeping him just on the verge of survival with its regenerative powers.

If he had any energy, he might actually be turned on by the show.

Instead, he coughed and said, “Stab him in the heart. Magic sword. Big explosion.”

Hand stepped towards the fighting duo. “Potts, I need you to bring Barton to extraction.”

The flames in her hands surged, and he could hear her mutter, “How’s that for a distressed damsel you misogynistic S-O-B.”

She was by Clint a second later and easily lifted him, putting him in a fireman’s hold and, if he was feeling right, groping his ass. “Hey…”

“Heroine’s prerogative,” she joked. He caught sight of Hand stabbing Killian, before running towards them. Potts followed and the three of them ducked behind a drilling crane as the explosion shook the entire oil rig. Clint shamelessly clung to Potts in the hopes that he didn’t get tumbled into the ocean, but after a few moments the rumbling stopped, though the sound of the straining metal was all around them.

When they looked, Killian was gone, along with half the platform.

Hand offered the sword back, which Clint took carefully. “You have a ride?”

Clint nodded. “Yeah. Not sure I’m hot to drive.”

Potts resettled him on her shoulder. “Tony’s personal jet?”

He nodded, then realized he was nodding at her back and said, “Yeah. Quinjet, return,” he ordered. Something in the hood transmitted, and the experimental jet pulled up alongside the edge of the facility. “You?” he asked Hand.

Hand didn’t bother responding, just walked away from them. “Tell Widow,” she called back, “we’re even.”

Before he could reply, Potts shoved him unceremoniously in the copilot’s seat and hopped in the pilot’s chair herself. “Could’ve let me finish there.”

“Sure. It’s not like I have an experimental virus in my body that could go off like a thermonuclear bomb at any second.”

Clint collapsed back in his seat as the jet rose higher and shot off towards California. “Well, if you’re gonna be logical…” He noted that Potts didn’t seem to be piloting so much as telling the mini-JARVIS where to go. “It works really well. Thought you were dead.”

“Like I’d give Tony the satisfaction. He’d probably try to pull a Frankenstein.”

He snorted in agreement, then carefully unstrapped his bracer and tried to pry the glove fused to the sword off. It stung and pulled at his skin, but he was able to ease it off after long minutes. His palm was red and tender, but wasn’t, thankfully, actually burned. That would’ve been the end of his archery, which he would’ve downed himself for.

On the plus side, he now knew something about the alien weapons, and how effective Stark’s outfit was in terms of armor and stealth. He settled back, satisfied that he definitely had the tools for the job.

Now he just had to hope Potts didn’t explode before they reached Miami.

Over the next few months Clint spent his time between Stark’s house in Miami and Stark Tower in New York. Though Rhodes still gave him the occasional fish-eye, Stark was always happy to see him and Potts made sure his favorite foods were in-house before he arrived. Genius that he was, Stark had found a way to stabilize Extremis, but it had to be done by genetically matching the virus to its host, which meant it was not something easily mass produced nor duplicated. HYDRA hadn’t figured that out yet, though, and were having about a thirty percent success ratio with their volunteers.

Thirty percent was nearly enough to take Stark Tower. Clint was there at the time, and it was a bloodbath that lasted four days and, with the failed Extremis soldiers, ended up making Manhattan look like a war zone post-terrorist attack. HYDRA—HAMMER, to the public—was playing that angle up, trying to paint Stark and Hill as allies to extremists.

It wasn’t a wise move. PR was a weapon both Hill and Stark could wield as viciously as any weapon. Hill exposed Killian’s ties to the Vice President and about a dozen HYRDA-sympathetic senators that ended up with three unexplained deaths and some very vitriolic pushback from public opinion.

The exact reason SHIELD had stayed in the shadows.

Clint had adopted Stark’s name for the uniform, Ronin, and acted both as a SHIELD agent and straight-up mercenary. In Canada, he teamed up with the Soldier to take out Department H, a miniature version of SHIELD that had fallen into HYDRA’s control. He ended up at The Fridge after Natasha called for back-up, and the two of them ended up reliving Budapest without Barnes thanks to HYDRA releasing half the prisoners. She ended up hauling his broken ass out of there and they had to write off the location as a lost cause for the time being.

They got their revenge, though. During the public backlash, Hand contacted him and asked him to run a mercenary op to retake the Helicarrier while she and her teams set up a distraction. Stark volunteered two stealth helicopters and another quinjet, Barnes and Natasha gathered their own small strike teams, and surprisingly many of SHIELD’s lesser enemies signed on to the gig. Not to support SHIELD, but because HAMMER was taking their moniker too literally and was decimating their underworld empires.

The enemy of an enemy. Clint was paying them enough and they knew exactly what the Winter Soldier and Black Widow could do if there was any betrayal in the works.

They ended up taking all three flying vehicles, and Clint got to test a new narrow-field EMP arrow that he used to take out one of the engines. The Helicarrier was currently over the Pacific at the time, and with the stealth technology no one on board had seen it coming. Strike Force Delta, back together without Phil, easily boarded, slaughtered every traitor on board, and had the ship off the radar in under an hour. It was exhilarating, and for a moment Clint actually forgot that it wasn’t the full team as he turned on the bridge, Phil’s name on his lips.

There was only Natasha, though, and she looked up from hacking through HYDRA’s firewalls long enough to give him a sympathetic grimace before turning back to the task at hand.

Clint spent the rest of the day haunting the maintenance shafts, officially to hunt out any stragglers and unofficially just to brood away from everyone else. Barnes maintained control and Natasha paid off the actual mercenaries before activating the reflective panels and making for the rendezvous with Stark, Rhodes, Hill and Hand.

SHIELD wasn’t back, but they had the flagship.

And a ton of data.

When he finally emerged in Phil’s quarters, Natasha had left a one-page printout on the table. Pulling off his mask, he picked it up and sorted through the data mentally.

It was a log of HYDRA bases. All the ones Garrett and Pierce had frequented over the past six months.

With a bloodied grin, Clint fell back onto the bed and had very satisfying dreams of finally, finally avenging Phil.

The first two bases, one in Oregon and one in Idaho, were a bust. He burned them to the ground, which made him feel a little better, at least.

He was on his way to the third base in Nebraska when the comm on the personal quinjet—a loan, Stark reminded him every time they met—activated. It was a bit of a surprise, as he and SHIELD maintained radio silence except for emergencies. When he opened the channel, though, it wasn’t Hill or even Natasha on the line.

“Let me be clear,” Potts’ voice rang in the cockpit, “I am Tony’s PA, not yours.” Her tone clearly indicated that she was so unhappy Clint could expect a visit to the burn ward if he wasn’t careful. “That said, your skill sets have been requested.”

“Kind of on a mission here,” he hedged carefully. “Did they leave a callback?”

“No.”

Clint was willing to bet she was pissed enough to have said he’d take the job. “Where at?”

“Some nowhere town called Puente Antiguo in New Mexico.”

He tensed at the name, his flight course going a little erratic as he lost control a moment. “They say what the job was?”

“They’re hiring a mercenary assassin,” she deadpanned.

If it were anywhere else, he might agree with her. Not where Thor first touched down on Earth, though. This had all the markings of a too obvious trap. “Not sure I should go, Potts. It could be a HYDRA set-up.” He paused a beat. “How much did they offer?”

There was an odd note to her voice as she said, “Strange thing, they offered you a magic bow and endless quiver. Something that vanished from Tony’s vault about a day ago.”

Clint felt his blood freeze, and then his vision went red as he pulled the jet into a sharp turn, baring his teeth. “Loki,” he growled. The weapons were his, a gift to Clint. Apparently the bastard wasn’t actually dead.

He’d make sure he was this time.

“Do you need back-up?”

He should. Barnes and Natasha at least, probably Rhodes as well since the Tesseract-powered suit could probably vaporize any threat. He should say yes, to ask for his closest allies to take on a deranged god.

Except this was personal. It was so fucking personal he snarled at the very thought of someone interfering.

“No.” He glared at the passing clouds. “Thanks,” he added as an afterthought.

The channel was silent long enough that Clint thought she had hung up, and he nearly jumped when she finally replied, “Be careful, Barton.”

“Roger that.” He cut the connection and flipped on the afterburners. There was a thrum in his body, an anger and fury that he didn’t need the Marauder weapons to tap into. Loki had unmade him, had used him.

Had forced him to kill Phil.

He intended to make the god suffer, to draw out each agonizing moment until the bastard begged for death.

He ground his teeth so hard his jaw nearly locked up.

The total trip took nearly an hour, and Clint bypassed the town, heading directly for the rune imprint in the desert where Thor had landed all those years ago. The quinjet had barely rolled to a stop before he leapt out of the ship, drawing both swords and spinning to take in the entire situation.

There were no soldiers.

There were no ice giants.

There was, however, a woman standing there, with dark hair pulled in a ponytail and a chainmail bodice over brown leather armor. She had a quiver on her back and the silver bow in her hand cast a bright reflection, signaling to the world exactly where she was.

Clint stalked towards her, keeping his senses alert for sudden manifestations or unusual sounds, his hood going through the various spectrums to reveal any illusions the trickster god was using. He stopped just beyond the edge of the circle, not lowering his weapons but finding no trace of Loki around.

“Looking sharp, Ronin,” she teased.

“Lewis.” Darcy Lewis, last seen departing with Jane and the horde of mutants to Asgard. “Or just trying on her skin?”

Her features became serious. “Fuck no. You think I’d let that bastard—no.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Loki wouldn’t bother with that. He’d just come after you himself if he could leave.”

That certainly fit with his arrogance. “So how’d you get that,” he lifted his sword, pointing it at the bow.

She held up a scroll in her other hand. “Summoning spell. Not Sif’s strong suit, but every girl knows how to get the best accessories.”

Clint mulled that over. “So, who do you want taken out?”

“Someone only the world’s greatest marksman can hit. Assuming that’s you and Heimdall isn’t messing with me.” He rolled his shoulders and waited in pointed silence. She huffed. “I’m just the messenger. They didn’t give me the details. Hela has ears on Earth.”

Probably another Asgardian. He vaguely recalled Loki mentioning her as an ally. “So the target’s here?”

“Uh, no. I wouldn’t ask you here,” she waved her arm around the circle, “unless we had to take a trip.”

Clint shifted a step back, sheathing one of his swords. “Not sure I want to go back.”

She drummed her fingers against her legs. “Look, it’s just a quick mission, and this,” she held up the weapon, “isn’t the only payment.”

Clint snorted. “I don’t need their gold.”

“How about information?” She smirked. “Heimdall sees all. He mentioned you were looking for a couple people?”

It was a good hook, and Clint silently swore as he eyed her. “That’s it?”

“Also something about SHIELD’s secret weapon to win the day.” She frowned. “Though he sounded hesitant about that.”

A way to find his targets and something to end HYDRA. It was a good deal, the best payment he’d ever heard of as a mercenary. He finally put away his second sword and took a few deep breaths, closing out the frustration at not having a chance at Loki. “One target,” he specified, “and Heimdall agrees to transport me wherever I want on Earth.” If Pierce was in the middle of HYDRA’s most secure facility, Clint wanted to be there to cut him down.

“Done, with the stipulation that the target may take multiple shots to deal with.”

He couldn’t argue with that. It was probably a creature or figure from mythology. Nodding in agreement, he took two steps forward and rested his feet lightly on the runes. Silently, Darcy handed over the weapon and quiver. Above him the clouds gathered and the multicolored light beam shot down from above.

Floating in the air, he wondered, briefly, if he should’ve bargained for a trip to Valhalla.

And then he was crossing space, and he silently vowed that after this one job, he’d finally avenge Phil.

Chapter Text

Asgard, when Clint arrived this time, was both exactly as he remembered it and completely different. His breath still misted in front of his face and there was an ethereal chill in the air despite the light within the observatory. Heimdall pulled a massive sword from the central dais, powering down the building, and the burning eyes still gazed at him with something akin to disgust and pity. He clenched the bow tighter and refused to acknowledge him, especially after the words they exchanged last time.

When the walls had stopped spinning, he stepped out onto the bridge and had to actually catch his breath. Before, Loki’s spell had left an icy sheen on buildings and evoked the wintery season. Now, entire structures were trapped in glaciers with pockets of lightning and fire trying to stave off the effects. The ocean was one solid sheet of white, except for where they were on the edge of the world. A series of gold and silver warships—a cross between space ships and actually sea vessels—had broken the arctic blockade and made a rather impressive foothold, spanning at least ten miles in either direction along the rim.

There were hundreds of people milling about, men and women in armor that ranged from Darcy’s light number to the heavy metal Thor had sported last time. They all moved with a purpose, and Clint had been on enough front lines that, despite the differences between mortal and god, some things were truly universal.

Standing by a gangplank, Darcy tilted her head. “This way, Hawkeye.”

“Ronin,” he corrected automatically.

She shrugged. “Whatever. Not like you’re actually fooling anyone.”

He considered just removing his mask, but then, he didn’t want any of these gods to recognize him. After all, he’d been Loki’s pet hawk and had killed in his name. Best not to invite any blood debts or other such Viking bullshit.

While the boat he walked onto had an intricate silver hull carved with runes and artistic vines, the surface was wood, though it was unlike any he’d stepped on before. It felt as sturdy as stone and, when he knocked on a mast, harder than steel.

“Ironwood,” she said by way of explanation. “Dwarves don’t like giants, so, you know, they threw in with us.”

“Cute.”

She smirked, but it wasn’t in jest. “It’s not a height thing. Jotun eat dwarves.”

He had a witty retort, he was sure, but just then she lead him into a large room with panoramic windows on the far wall, revealing all of space and the majesty of the stars. There was a table with maps and war plans and miniature troops. There were also, he noted, very few people in the room.

Thor was there, looking more like a war king than a mighty prince, and a weary one at that. The spear, which Loki had held with pride, Thor seemed to be using to prop himself up, and the entire right side of his face was a giant bruise. His hammer, the one that had saved them last time, was resting securely on his hip and his other hand seemed to stray to its handle every other moment.

There were two women, one with dark hair and one with light. The dark-haired one could have been Darcy’s older sister, and wore plate armor that he felt was a little too conforming to be comfortable, but she seemed to move just fine. Her eyes were wary, locking onto him the instant he entered the room and though she tried to hide it behind the shield she held, he could tell she was ready to draw her sword. The light-haired woman, on the other hand, had lighter armor, though her breastplate appeared to be of the same make as the other warrior’s. She, however, had blue swaths of fabric wrapped around her, and a shorter sword still on her hip. She had no crown or sign of position, but she had the bearing of a queen, one that was more than just a figure head.

There was something about her that actually frightened him more than the warrior woman and Thor combined.

After a moment, Thor said, “Remove your mask. They are not permitted here.”

He had the feeling if he didn’t, one of the women would, and his head along with it. Moving deliberately slowly, he pulled the mask off and tucked it into his belt. The one with dark hair scowled, but the queenly figure nodded.

“I’m told you no longer go by the Eye of the Hawk.”

“Bad association with the name, after my last visit.” No one flinched. He didn’t see any guilt or remorse or pity in their eyes. Just the way he liked it. “Go by Ronin now.”

Thor nodded dismissively. “May I present Sif, Goddess of War, and Freya, Queen of Asgard.”

Thor’s mother, Clint interpreted easily enough.

“I am merely an advisor now,” Freya said humbly. “Thor is king, he has yet to choose his queen.”

“Until I can reclaim the throne and our city, I have no right to the title or a queen.”

“My son-“

“Touching as this is,” he interrupted, and ignored the glare Sif sent his way, “I was told there’s something for me to shoot? Something not even you gods could do?”

There was a general bristle among the assembled save Darcy, who crossed her arms and shook her head. Stiffly, Thor reported, “Uller was captured early in our war. He is tortured or dead, we know not.”

Clint had no idea who that was, probably some god of archery. “Great. So what’m I shooting?”

“You dare speak disrespectfully-“

“Sif,” Thor warned.

“I cannot stand here and let this mortal-“

“A group of mortals decimated Loki’s forces with one weakened god,” Darcy said suddenly, casually, and definitely not in her usual intonation. A glance showed that her eyes had been replaced with black voids and her usual posture had become military perfect. “Not to mention, they did so just to rescue this mortal,” she indicated him, stared at him a moment, then looked to Sif. “You find it unreasonable that after his last encounter, he’s hostile?”

“He should show respect for the king!”

“He’ll show as much as I do.” There was amusement in the voice, as if her objections and frustrations were nothing but entertainment. It reminded him painfully of Phil facing off half a dozen psychopaths and megalomaniacs. “And there was nothing in the deal about respecting his employers, simply doing the job. Besides, you don’t respect him,” Darcy tilted her head, “why should he respect any of you?”

“Enough,” Freya intervened, stepping between Darcy and Sif’s glaring contest. “Sif, Thor can speak for and defend his own honor.” Her tone was soft but Clint saw the reprimand hit like a steel bat. “And you,” she turned to Darcy, “will respect both this council and its proceedings, or you will no longer be granted Lady Darcy as host.”

There was another tilt of the head and a deferential smirk. “My apologies. I’ll be sure to inform Odin an alternative host may need to be arranged. Jane Foster, perhaps?” There was a thunderclap outside and even Clint knew the voice in Darcy had overstepped its bounds.

Which was when Magneto stepped in, pulled his helmet off and let out a parental sigh. “Really, Coulson? Can’t you control yourself for five minutes?”

Clint felt the world lurch and he stumbled, reaching out to catch the edge of the table to make sure he didn’t collapse. There were shouts of concern and of mortal’s weak constitutions and then there was Darcy’s voice, clipped and venomous and threatening to end the Asgard royal family.

They were Phil’s words.

He was just catching his breath when the black, soulless eyes appeared in front of his swimming vision and Darcy’s voice said, “Pull it together, Barton.” There was Phil’s special brand of affection behind the steel order, the one he used to use on ops.

He swallowed a few times and grabbed hold of Darcy’s upper arm, the one bracing his shoulder. “Heimdall…he said you went to Valhalla.”

“Traded one cyclopean director for another.” There was a touch of bitterness to the humor.

It took Clint a moment to filter through that meaning and realize Phil now worked for Odin. Who, he remembered from Thor’s earliest debriefings, was dead. Despite the sledgehammer to his heart and the ache in his head, he sucked in a few deep breaths. “There’s a war for the dead, isn’t there.”

Darcy’s lips quirked up in a semblance of a smile. “Like I’d let that bastard win any front after what he did to you.”

Clint hissed at that. “What I—Phil, I-“

“Weren’t in control,” the steel was back and the smile was gone.

“I tried to fight.”

“I know.”

Sif’s voice cut through their moment. “Touching, but the mortal’s feelings aren’t as important as the war.”

Darcy’s head snapped to the side and though Clint just caught a glimpse of the glare, he almost smirked at the way the goddess flinched away from the gaze. “I’ll decide what’s important,” Darcy’s voice was firm and brokered no argument, “especially around gods who failed to keep their own city.” While Sif still seemed taken aback by the intensity of the look, Thor and Freya, Clint could tell, were definitely offended.

“Oh goodness,” Magneto huffed, “I understand your fondness for pawns, but can you save it until after the meeting?”

Darcy’s glare shifted over to the older man, but then she exhaled slowly out her nose and stepped back, a familiar blank persona falling into place. Even after all this time, Clint easily fell into old habits and pushed his emotions, his questions, all of his issues into a box and focused on the meeting and the mission objectives. When Darcy glanced at him, Clint nodded briefly.

There was still rumbling thunder outside, but, Clint noticed, Thor easily hid it behind a professional mask. “Our task,” he said, “is to deprive Loki of his jotun army. For every soldier we fell, two more appear in their place.”

“I’ve taken care of the Marauders,” Phil said, “so Hela no longer receives reinforcements from the dead. Jotunheim, on the other hand, is unreachable by Odin’s forces and anyone traveling there is easily overwhelmed.”

Clint looked over the map of on the table, which he noticed seemed to be a form of cartographical real-time projection of multiple war fronts. Stark, he surmised, would be impressed, and easily replicate it. Not so advanced in some ways, he thought. “So you need me to take out their magic bridge or whatever Frosty’s people are using?”

“If it were that simple,” Magneto intoned, eyes locked on a specific battle, “I would have found the mutant to pull it off already.”

“What we need,” Phil continued, “is for you to keep my promise to Doctor Banner.”

“Promise,” Clint asked.

With a pinched look as if she’d sucked on a lemon, Freya concluded, “We require you to kill the mortal within the beast you call the Hulk.”

The bark of a laugh escaped before he could smother it.

“This is not a joke,” Sif snarled.

“Yes it is,” Clint did smirk this time, “you just don’t know it. You’re fucking gods, and you can’t kill him. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“You’re the world’s greatest marksman.” Darcy’s tone was utterly serious. “Who else would I ask to shoot a soul from a body?”

Clint stared at Darcy, directly into the empty voids that were her eyes, and tried to see Phil behind it. There was utter certainty and confidence behind those words, as if Phil was asking him to make just another kill shot. “Nothing can hurt the Hulk.” He remembered reading the report way back when Banner had tried to blow his brains out. “Nothing can hurt Banner.”

Darcy’s eyebrow raised in such a familiar Phil fashion. It was reminiscent of dozens of missions and Clint easily interpreted silent communication as ‘trust my plans’ and ‘I’ve got a new toy’ that he always, always loved on their ops. Even if an op went FUBAR after that look, they still ended up fucking against a wall or in a car or over unexpected carnage.

Fuck, he’d missed that look.

Magneto rolled his eyes. “If you’re quite finished…?”

This time Darcy smirked. “Of course, Erik.”

Magneto snorted and pointed to the map, to an area away from the fighting and right on the edge of the world. “Banner has been spotted here, residing on the edge of Folkvanir by the harbor.” He dragged his finger to a cliff that, if Clint had to guess, was nearly ten miles away. “You’ll make your shot from here. The first will kill Banner. The second will allow Heimdall to transport the Hulk directly to Jotunheim through the Bifrost.”

Clint frowned. “But won’t the Hulk be dead?”

“No,” Thor intoned, just a measure of disapproval in his voice. “The beast will survive the death of its host.” He actually looked a little sickened, Clint thought. “The Son of Coul’s plan is audacious and will ensure Jotunheim’s fall, but only by creating an abomination our Father would never have approved of.”

Phil snorted. “He seemed pretty gung-ho when I suggested it.”

“You speak not of my father!” Thor slammed his palms onto the table. “Odin of Asgard would never sanction such a strategy!”

“Odin of Asgard, maybe,” Phil agreed, “but not Odin of Hel.”

“And that,” Thor growled, “is not my father.”

Phil shrugged. “He’d disagree. Especially since he considers Freya his wife, still.”

Clint wondered if Asgard had vows like ‘till death do us part,’ or if the woman was stuck with her husband even after he’d died. He certainly wouldn’t object if Phil was still bound to him, even in death.

Well, maybe with a different body.

“Great,” he interrupted as Freya once again silently restrained Thor and Sif from attacking Darcy. “So, what, I get magic arrows?”

“Pretty much,” Phil confirmed.

Clint nodded, then looked at Thor. “What if I want a different payment?” He felt the attention in the room focus on him. “I want revenge, sure.” He pointed his thumb. “I’d prefer Phil more.”

“That,” Thor intoned, “was not the arrangement. The pledge was made, and cannot be undone. If you wish the Son of Coul, a new bargain must be forged.” He leaned forward and muttered darkly, “Think quickly, for I have little time and no desire to return this mortal to life.”

Clint considered threatening the king, but he saw Sif ready to draw her sword and Magneto subtly shook his head. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Fine,” he groused, “when do we go?”

“Give me an hour,” Magneto said, “I need a little rest to make sure I don’t drop you on the trip.”

“Thoughtful,” he replied.

“I treat my weapons well. Even the disposable ones,” he said walking to the door.

As he passed, Phil grabbed front of the man’s leather armor and shoved him to the wall, eyes narrowing. “Barton,” she growled, “is not disposable. He will make it back safely, or your people will find themselves among my ranks.”

Magneto held up his hands. “Of course, Phil, of course.”

Phil’s grip tightened, like she intended to choke him, before she pushed back and let him go. “I’ll be watching,” she hissed as he departed.

Freya cleared her throat. “You have done your task, Son of Coul. Release the Lady Darcy.”

“No.” Clint saw the gods bristle. “I’ll release her once the mission is complete.” He turned to face the gods. “This,” he fisted the sleeve of Clint’s uniform, “is mine. When the pledge is fulfilled and he’s returned safely, you’ll get yours back.”

“That wasn’t part of the arrangement,” Thor bellowed.

“To paraphrase a great warrior, I’m altering the arrangement. Pray I don’t alter it further.”

Freya stepped forward then. “I can unweave the spell.”

Phil through Darcy matched her stare. “And I can have Odin weave one upon the only other eligible mortal.” There was a nasty tilt to her smirk. “Did you think Foster was an idle threat.”

There was a flash of lightning and Thor’s entire body tensed, looking as if he were about to pounce. Clint could see Phil now, staring at the gods and daring them to come after him, to harm their friend in an attempt to get to him.

Fuck, he’d forgotten how sexy he could be.

It was Freya who backed down first. “Very well.” She narrowed her eyes. “But we will remember this, Son of Coul, and you will find I am far more formidable than my husband at the art of seidhr. You can be unmade.”

She got a barely perceptible nod in answer, and then the hand on his uniform dragged him towards the door. He saluted sloppily to the other gods before he was out and Phil as Darcy was dragging him off the boats and back to the rainbow bridge. She dragged him not towards the observatory, but away from it and the crowds towards the chillier parts of the bridge. A couple hundred meters ahead he saw a barricade and about two dozen soldiers. They stopped halfway between the fleet and them.

Phil finally let go of his arm and turned. Her gaze swept over him slowly, and Clint could feel it peel away the costume and the barriers until he was squirming where he stood, half hard and so, so wanting. When he stepped forward, hands poised to clutch her shoulders, though, Phil stepped back.

The whine was completely involuntary, and made Phil chuckle. “I know,” he said through her, “but she has to be in the same condition when I return her. And while she may not object,” another evaluating look, “when in her right mind, I won’t take advantage of the situation.” Her voice turned teasing. “No matter how much I want to.”

Clint groaned and swiped a hand over his face. “Fuck, Phil.” He paced back a few steps. He could just take care of himself here and now. He’d done it before on missions and knew Phil enjoyed a good show. When he lowered his hand, behind the authority and amusement, he could see just a hint of concern in the alien gaze.

Okay, the eyes were ink black, but Clint wasn’t about to admit to himself that Phil was emanating an aura of concern. That way led to flowers and moping and Natasha laughing at him for being a girl.

Shaking off the arousal, Clint moved forward and telegraphed his movements. Phil didn’t back away this time and Clint enveloped the woman in a hug. “Phil,” he exhaled, “fuck, Phil. You shouldn’t have-“

Arms too slender wrapped around his waist and squeezed painfully before relaxing. “I always said I’d come get you.”

“I,” he swallowed, “I fought. There was a part of me that screamed and screamed but I couldn’t, I couldn’t stop myself.” Clint tightened his own arms. “My mind was blind and bound and when he said shoot-“

“You were compromised beyond your scope—beyond SHIELD’s scope of understanding.” The body leaned back so Phil could look at Clint’s face. “It wasn’t your fault.” The smile was a little broken. “Besides, I rather preferred that it was you who killed me.” As Clint’s jaw dropped, Phil’s head shook. “Better you than a jotun or soldier or that bastard who took you.” A hand came up and stroked his cheek.

Clint leaned into it, resisting the urge to kiss him. “I hated it. I woke up and you were lying there and, and I wanted to fucking flay Loki.” He blinked at the bleariness that appeared in his eyes. “And I was on autopilot and I was ready, so fucking ready for Fury to end me.”

“Clint,” there was velvet steel in the voice, “if you had let him execute you, I’d’ve kicked your ass then rained hell upon the Director.”

He knew his smile was watery. “Probably why he just socked me one instead.”

“My wrath is rather impressive.”

Clint leaned forward and rested his forehead against Phil’s. After a moment of silence, he continued with, “I was set up. I—we, I think, were set up. They had to know you’d come after me.”

“Someone on the Council,” Phil affirmed. “Fury suspected as much when he sent me to activate the Avengers.”

Clint swallowed again and hated that he had to divulge the next bit. “It wasn’t just the Council.” Her arms pulled back and she stepped out of Clint’s embrace. He ducked his head. “HYDRA’s integrated itself into SHIELD.”

Phil raised one of the slim eyebrows. “SHIELD has always borrowed source material from HYDRA.”

Clint shook his head. “No, I mean…SHIELD was pragmatic, but it worked behind the shadows.”

“To protect the world, guide it.”

“HYDRA wove itself into us. It’s taking us out of the shadow, trying to set themselves up as benevolent dictators.”

There was a scowl on Darcy’s face. “They—are they idiots?” There wasn’t nearly as much bile as Clint expected. “Overt attempts to influence the world incite rebellion and resistance. It’s one reason they failed in the first place.”

“They didn’t learn their lesson, then.” Clint wiped his gloved palm against his leg. “Fury’s dead. They took him out.”

“They would’ve had to,” Phil murmured before the entire face went blank. She looked Clint in the eye. “Casualties?”

“Seventy percent of the Academies exterminated. About forty-one percent of SHIELD loyalists fell victim to their suicide implants.” There was a cold fury building behind the blank glare. Clint could easily picture Phil in his suit, non-descript and unemotional with only the tell-tale subtle twitch that meant many, many people would die in revenge. “Fury helped me get the Winter Soldier’s guarantee out and disable a bunch of our implants.”

“Good.” There was a grim finality. “How’re we doing?”

“Stark’s been a huge help.” He waved over his outfit. “Got me this. Rhodes is guarding him and Potts recovered from her abduction. Natasha, Hill, and Hand are waging a brutal guerrilla war.” He forced himself to relax. “Before the call, I’d just helped take back the Helicarrier. I was…I was tracking down whoever set us up.”

The dark gaze sharpened. “Who?”

“Ward and Sitwell.” He saw the second name hit. Sitwell had been a close friend to them both. “They’re eliminated. Pierce and Garrett seem to be the ringleaders. And the only ones who could’ve helped Selvig make his deal with Loki.”

Phil rubbed her chin. “And the deal for revenge I’m guessing gives you their location?”

“And one free ride directly to them.” At Phil’s unimpressed look, Clint shrugged. “I’ve gotten out of tougher situations.”

“Not without me watching your back.”

“Aren’t you from, you know,” he waved his hand around them.

Phil’s snort in Darcy’s voice was just a little cute. “I’m Odin’s general in the underworld offense against Loki’s forces, led by Hela. When would I have the time?”

Clint conceded that point. He looked the host body over. “You know, you always said you’d drag her into SHIELD.”

The smirk was back on the face. “I recommended we coordinate our attacks with Asgard’s. Until he gains full control of Hel, Odin doesn’t have the power to let the dead leave Valhalla or the realm. And since mutants can actually cause harm during possessions…”

“Darcy and Jane.” Thor would never have allowed his favorite mortal to be used as a host. “Darcy always was practical.”

“She actually rather likes it. Apparently some of the gods who saw her as a joke flinch when she walks by.”

“Your doing,” Clint teased knowingly.

“I wouldn’t possibly know.” They smirked at one another, and then the gaze looked past Clint and the joviality melted away. “May I have your quiver?”

Clint unslung it from his back and handed it over. Phil placed Darcy’s hand inside and narrowed the eyes to slits. Clint took the opportunity to glance over his shoulder and find Magneto walking towards them. He waved, but they still had at least five minutes before the man caught up. “So I’m really gonna kill the Hulk?”

“Banner’s wanted to die. I did promise him some reprieve from his torment if he helped us.” She continued to concentrate on what Clint finally figured had to be a spell. “Jotuns and some of the betraying gods have come close, but he keeps recovering. I mentioned using the Hulk as a weapon against the giants, but Banner would never go for it. Which is when Odin remembered that souls could be killed without harming a body with the right equipment.”

“And without Banner,” Clint said slowly, “the Hulk would just be a mindless, eternal rage machine.”

“Freya came up with the idea for Heimdall’s arrow.” The slim hand curled as if gripping something, and pulled itself out. A trail of shadow and fire seemed to form, and as Darcy’s hand uncurled inches from the top of the quiver, a dark gleaming arrow fell against the edge. “One shot. We won’t be able to forge another one for months.”

Clint took the quiver back. “Where do I aim?”

“If he’s in human form, right between the eyes. If he’s Hulk, aim for the heart.”

Clint adjusted the strap and chuckled. “Pretty blatant symbolism.”

“They’re not a subtle people.”

Clint snorted just as Magneto caught up to them, an arrow of brass and gold floating behind him. Without thinking Clint grabbed it and tucked it into the quiver as well. “One shot, right?” The older man nodded. “Okay, I’m good.” He turned to Phil. “I’ll see you…?”

“Doubtful. Though I’m staying in this body, there’s still a lot I can coordinate.” Darcy’s body leaned forward and gave Clint a peck on the cheek. “Don’t die, Barton,” Phil whispered, “or I swear I’ll tear you a new one in Valhalla.”

“Don’t intend to,” he replied just as low, “I’ve got people to kill.” The bloodlust smile Darcy gave him was pure Phil and Clint felt something settle in his chest. Not forgiveness or satisfaction, but something that, if he dwelled on it, would probably let him finally accept Phil’s passing. Of course, that could just be knowing he was a frightening badass even in the afterlife. Either way, Clint was finally starting to feel a little better.

The hairs on the back of his arms stood up beneath the fabric as an electric field surrounded both him and Magneto. “We’ll be back,” the mutant intoned.

Phil shrugged and said simply, “If you’re not, I’ll make you watch as I slaughter each and every one of your people.”

As they lifted off in the air all Clint could think was, God, I love him. Going back to Earth, he knew, would be like ripping himself apart. This time, at least he felt he wouldn’t be on the verge of an abyss.

Testing the bow even though he knew it would be fine, Clint spared little attention to the scenery around him. Everything was dark and encased in ice with clouds hiding the stars and blood-caked snow blanketing the ground. It was impressive, but not nearly so much as if the city was free. “So how come you haven’t undone the spell,” he finally asked.

“Apparently, the energies of the Cask of Ancient Winters is tied to Loki’s heart. When he died, the spell halted. When he returned…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. “Powerful magic.” Clint thought back to their last meeting. “So, you earned yourself a home?”

This time the older man smirked. “They’re more desperate than they let on. I have been promised Vanaheim, even if Asgard remains cold and desolate.”

Clint snorted. “And you expect them to honor that?”

“That is one thing about the Asgard that you and Coulson and all of SHIELD never understood.”

“Honor?” Clint rolled his eyes. “Honor is for flashy heroes who don’t understand the real world.”

“So I’ve heard many times. And yet, I would trust Thor and his ilk over anyone from SHIELD.”

“Not sure if that makes you an idiot or wiser than most.”

“A king can’t be both?” There was some amusement as Clint noticed some greenery among the ice. Paying more attention, he saw most of the alien plants in what appeared to be a small forest trapped in glaciers just like the city. Unlike the eventual freeze of the city, though, this looked more like a flash cold front had swept in and trapped everything in a blink.

He saw a field miles away, glistening with a blue tint, and a smaller silver city where soldiers and large women appeared to be fighting Marauders. There was a curved dock leading out into water, and a lone ship with three grand bonfires burning to keep the cold away from them.

He felt them slow and scanned the area. “Hasn’t become big and green near a battlefield?”

“After four encounters all sides tend to avoid him. Unless something directly threatens his human half, the Hulk tends not to make an appearance.” They landed with a soft bump and then the field around them vanished. He noticed Magneto eyed the area around them immediately. “We’ll have been noticed. I’ll keep watch but make it quick. Loki will think we’re scouting ahead for reinforcements.”

Clint felt a shudder travel down his spine. He could only imagine what would happen to him if Loki caught wind that he was there. Shifting forward on the mountain top they’d landed on, he pulled the Ronin hood on and asked the suit to scan for heat signatures. He started approximately where Magneto had pointed on the map, then slowly panned his vision towards the docks, towards the battle, then in a slow sweeping circle in the area.

After five minutes there was a light crack of something frozen getting broken and Magneto said quietly, “Hurry up, Hawkeye.”

“Ronin. And I would if I could fucking find him.” It appeared Banner was better at hiding than SHIELD had anticipated.

“Think of something,” he hissed, “because they’ve learned to adapt and I can only hold them off so long.”

There, at the edge of his scan was a faint heat trail. It was small but pretty linear. He shifted his stance and pulled out the first arrow. They were pretty easy to tell apart. Phil’s was cold to the touch, sending a feeling of dread through his fingers. He drew it carefully in the bow as the trail started getting warmer towards a small grove, a place where some of the frost had apparently been beaten back. He had to move to get a better angle and—“Gotcha.”

Banner was on the ground and nude, his skin a strange tint as the green of the Hulk fought back against the chill of the area. He was in a meditative pose, but Clint could see him frowning. He was willing to bet the man was trying to suppress the Hulk’s survival instincts, not find inner peace. He zoomed out and made sure he had a clean shot.

A spear bounced against a sudden shield and Magneto swore in German. “Ronin!”

“Two minutes,” he murmured as he kept a peripheral awareness but focused in on his kill. Two shots, one death, one transport. If he failed either one, the Hulk would be here in two or three leaps to kill them. Not that he worried about missing. He was Hawkeye. He never missed.

Okay, maybe he worried a little.

No time for that, he thought as Magneto grunted. Lining up the shot, he took one breath, two, and on the third the forbidding arrow was standing between the doctor’s eyes.

He kept his target as he pulled out the second arrow. There was a strange overlay effect, with what appeared to be a transparent Banner hovering just a second behind his body. There was a look of utter piece on his face that, just for a moment, Clint envied.

Then the translucent Banner was gone and green rippled across the skin as an ear-piercing roar rumbled across the area. Behind him the battle paused and that was all the time he needed to let loose the second arrow. This one hit the Hulk in the shoulder as he got to his feet. It didn’t actually penetrate the skin. Instead, on impact it exploded into a multitude of spectrums that become a brilliant column painful to look at. He could actually make out the large shadowed form of the Hulk within the column fighting to get out. For a moment, it looked like he would.

And then the light shot into the sky, and left nothing but a glade slightly scorched with strange runes.

He spun on his heel and started shooting, picking out his targets mid-draw as one of the Marauder axes actually penetrated the shield. “Mission accomplished!”

“I gathered,” Magneto gritted out. “Unfortunately, I’m a little distracted.”

Clint shot a dozen more arrows, then slung the bow across his back and drew both swords. He leapt around the mutant and started taking on the soldiers directly. Unlike on Earth these enemies had similar weapons; and for a moment Clint wasn’t certain about taking on people who’d trained for centuries using them. Then the doubt faded because unlike them, he had something to live for. He wasn’t going to die by Loki’s toy soldiers.

He had people to kill.

He had Phil to avenge.

And they were in his way.

The red started to fill his vision, and the fight became nothing but tactical snapshots in his mind as he danced and parried and slaughtered. With Magneto’s influence slowing his enemies down via their armor, both he and the blades were soaked in blood in a matter of minutes. Loki’s intercept party of twenty dwindled to eighteen, thirteen, nine, and then Clint found no other enemies and he circled around, snarling and twitching the blades in his grip.

His gaze landed on Magneto.

A mutant.

A terrorist.

A target.

Before he could leap towards him, though, both weapons were torn from his grip. He stumbled, then recovered and reached for his bow, only to feel it slip from its resting position and snap back against his throat, choking him. He clutched at it, using all his strength and will to regain control from the master of magnetism.

As spots swirled before his eyes, the haze of anger faded away and, when the bow flashed and Magneto lost control, Clint nearly took his own head off trying to escape choking. Had he not been wearing the hood, the string would’ve easily cut through his neck. Panting on his knees, he squeezed out a, “Sorry.”

“Apparently, the Marauders don’t know the full potential. I’ve seen few fight like that.”

Grabbing the swords from where they hung in midair, he put them back in their sheaths and pushed himself up from the ground. “Pretty sure that’s me more than them.”

The electric field came up around them and they were flying through the air again. Magneto inclined his head. “You might want to see someone about your anger issues.”

Taking a risk, he sat along the bottom of the bubble. “Naw. I’m good.” This time, Magneto snorted. “Fine, the devil you know.”

“I know many. Though you are probably the least worrisome.”

Clint smacked the back of his hand against the man’s shin. He felt along his throat to make sure he hadn’t accidentally cut himself, but Stark’s cloth armor stood up pretty well. He could feel a few worn spots, places where the blades had nearly cut through. When he stopped by next he’d have to ask Stark to shore up the outfit a bit.

Still, for a bout with literal legends, it held up very nicely.

The icy ocean and slick-looking bridge appeared. Magneto flew them over it and barely slowed down as they approached the fleet. “We gonna stop?”

“In the observatory. You’re not very popular.”

“But-“ He stopped himself. He didn’t need to see Phil again. They’d said…well, not goodbye, but as close as they got to one. He couldn’t help himself, though, and scanned the same boats Darcy had brought him across the first time. He caught a glimpse of the woman’s dark hair and felt Phil’s gaze on him as they flew by, but then they were outside the observatory just above the Bifrost. The field didn’t vanish so much as retract.

“I’ll report our success,” Magneto intoned. “I sincerely hope to never see you again.”

“Yeah,” he said, the words tasting like ash, “me too.”

God he hoped to come again.

Maybe by then Phil could have his own body.

He dallied for a few moments, to see if Darcy’s body would come running this way, but as the minutes passed there was no sign from the boats that she was coming. Three more minutes, he saw a couple of guards look at him. After six, they loomed threateningly. He considered trying to take them on, but then decided against it.

“Right,” he muttered, turned on his heel and stepped into the building. Heimdall was waiting for him alone. “So, payment.”

The fire blazed in the man’s eyes. “The one known as Pierce has holed himself up in in the thirty-second floor of a building known as the Triskelion.”

Clint knew exactly where he was, and that he’d have to a hell of a fight to get to him. “Might be easier to just bring the damned building down.”

Heimdall either didn’t hear him or, more likely, didn’t care. “The one called Garrett has recently abandoned the Barbershop.” He tilted his head. “He has relocated to a facility that attempts to shield them from my sight.”

Clint was silently cursing in his head, since the Barbershop was at least near the United States, relatively speaking. “What facility?” There were only a few on SHIELD’s list that he could think of.

“A place called Quinn Worldwide, in…Valetta, I think it’s called.”

“Malta.” He let out a frustrated puff of air. Natasha was going to go after Quinn, and with everything else going on it sounded like she hadn’t. And now, it appeared he was in league with Garrett. Or being used by him. Either way, they were in a country hostile towards SHIELD’s activities, overt or covert. He was kind of surprised they welcomed HYDRA.

Unless the nation was already controlled by them.

“Well fuck.” He paced back and forth. Neither of his targets were easily reachable. He could feel Heimdall’s eyes on him, which was when he remembered the last bit of Darcy’s message. He stopped and narrowed his eyes at the god. “She said something about a secret weapon?”

“A weapon, yes, though not in the way you think.” He regarded Clint for a moment. “It is not a guarantee, and when you discover the truth your rage will be boundless. Are you sure you wish to know?”

“Yes I want to know!” There was a part of him that didn’t, but of all the gods, Heimdall had been the most straightforward with him. “I don’t care! My rage is already pretty fuckin’ boundless! I can’t get my hits, then I might as well find out what this secret is!”

Heimdall nodded solemnly. “Very well. I can send you to a place called the Guest House. Within it lies the weapon.” He said the last word as if it were a cross between a curse and a joke. “It is guarded well.”

“By HYDRA?”

“No.” He placed his sword in the dais and the room began to spin. “This is our final amends to you. Inform your SHIELD, should it survive, that Asgard will allow no further contact or intrusions.”

“Fine by me. Kind of sick of the place, to be honest. Too cold.”

The bridge of light shot out before Heimdall could reply, and Clint walked into it, this time expecting the disorientation as he flew across the galaxies. The blur of light lasted only seconds, and then he was on a remote mountain in the center of the strange runes facing what could only be a bunker. The Guest House, he presumed.

“Definitely a bunker.” There was only one entrance that he could see, and judging by the position it went deep into the mountain.

Then the heavy metal doors opened and out stepped two men with guns that almost looked like Phase II weapons, except they were bulkier and, he had a feeling, packed as much firepower as a tank. The one on the left said, “How was the ride from Istanbul?”

Clint wrinkled his nose behind the mask. He recognized the standard SHIELD sign-countersign security, but he’d never heard that phrase before.

The other guard scowled. “He’s Asgard. Not worth even trying.”

“Not quite.” Telegraphing his moves, he peeled off his hood. “Clint Barton. SHIELD.”

The first guard repeated, “Then how was the ride from Istanbul?”

“Look, Heimdall said there was a weapon that could help us against HYDRA.”

Both of their guns gave off a high-pitched whine. Again, one said, “How was the ride, from Istanbul?”

Clint narrowed his eyes. “A Turkish delight on a moonlight night,” he bit back.

“Wrong answer,” the second guard said.

He eyed their weapons. Phase II, but definitely Stark designed. Which meant… “Sorry. I meant to say JARVIS override Rhodes beta three Potts.”

They both looked unimpressed, until their weapons let out a different whine, one that had the guards looking at their weapons. Clint ducked down just as the guns backfired and the energy blasted both men into the carved entrance with a sickening crack. Drawing one of his swords, he made his way over and checked. The one who kept repeating the stupid phrase had snapped his neck on impact. The other was bleeding from a head wound, but seemed to be breathing fine.

Within the darkness of the building he heard a shuffle and the click of a safety unlocking. “You really want to try that? A god sent me here. I’ve got a divine mission or some shit and I really don’t want to kill my way through the whole fucking base.”

The silent atmosphere was tense, and Clint shifted his weight, ready to try and dodge whatever shot came his way. Instead, he heard the safety re-engage and then a very familiar voice say, “God damn it, Barton. What the fuck.”

Clint carefully straightened up and glared into the darkness. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Nick Fury stepped out of the building, not wearing his trench coat but otherwise still dressed as the director. “Really? A HYDRA assassin?”

True. Before he was SHIELD’s Fury had the distinct honor of being one of the few men to survive an assassination attempt by the Winter Soldier. If he couldn’t kill the Director… “So death and exaggerations and whatever.” Fury only got to nod once before Clint was on him, shoving him against the wall and pinning down the hand holding the gun. “Then where the fuck were you,” he shouted. “Ward and then Sitwell and god-damned Garrett and Pierce! And implant sabotage, the war against Hill and where. Were. You?!” He punctuated the last three words by shoving Fury repeatedly against the wall. “We needed you!”

Unflappable as ever, Fury looked him in the eye. “Agent Barton.”

He growled. “No. No, fuck you no. I’m barely SHIELD at this point because you couldn’t get your god-damned ass in gear-“

“You think I’ve just been twiddling my thumbs, Hawk?” It was the same measured tone Phil used, and Clint felt himself shake. “You don’t know shit. You want a sit-rep? Then be a god-damned agent and report.”

Clint bared his teeth. “Fuck you.” Fury didn’t blink, so Clint shoved him once more against the wall before taking a few steps back and running his hands through his hair. “Fuck you and your order. Do you know—what the hell have you been doing that you couldn’t let us know you were alive?” He kept trying to push the anger, but a note of pleading escaped in his voice.

Fury was one of the few people Phil had trusted. Clint had counted on him, had actually mourned his death.

He didn’t mourn just anybody.

Instead of answering, Fury nodded to the dead guard. “Grab him.” Fury got the other one in his arms, then kicked the guns so they were inside the doorway.

Hanging his head, Clint let another swear-storm tear across his mind, before he gathered the dead man and followed Fury into the bunker. There were two more sets of doors, one which required a keypad and thumb scan, and one that had a verbal and retinal scan. Glancing over his shoulder, Clint saw both wired up with enough enhanced C4 to bring down half the mountain.

Whatever this place was, Fury was willing to sacrifice it to keep it secret.

What sort of weapon could he have here?

Shaking his head he followed Fury through the cement corridors until they reached a small infirmary. There were two empty beds, so Clint dumped his corpse on one while Fury checked the other over. After debating internally, Clint went over and helped Fury bandage the injured guard’s head. “Sorry I broke them.”

“Didn’t know you had that little trick.”

“Rhodes is a sneaky influence on Stark’s designs.”

“Remind me to hire him.”

Clint snorted, but didn’t doubt the Director was serious. “Are…is it just you and them?”

“The others are occupied.”

With the weapon, Clint finished mentally.

Once they were done, Clint stepped back and crossed his arms. “So?”

“I don’t answer to you.”

“No, but Heimdall sent me here for a reason.”

“To be a pain in my ass,” Fury rumbled. “I went after the World Council.”

Clint’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t HYDRA kill them?”

“They killed two, the rest were HYDRA already.” Clint flinched at that. “Except for Pierce, I’ve managed to take them all out. And then I was told of a breakthrough, so I made my way here.”

“With the weapon.”

“Is that what Heimdall called it?”

“He said it was a weapon, but not one I was thinking of.”

There was an amused twist to the Director’s mouth. “I’ve heard worse descriptors.” He tilted his head towards a door at the end of the hall. “Go ahead and open the box, Pandora.”

Clint frowned, but he did as ordered and opened the nondescript door. Inside was a viewing theater, a row of chairs and a large window looking over a surgical room. Finding nothing in the room, he moved up to the window.

His breath caught in his throat.

There were three doctors, all in surgical masks operating on a body. The top of the skull was removed and a multi-armed robot with barely visible needles appeared to be stabbing a human brain at random intervals, each time with a small blue spark. There was no covering on the body, and there was a translucent bag of bright blue dripping down an IV line. The heart and brain monitor were barely functional, and Clint had been in medical enough to recognize a person in a coma near death.

The person in this case, was Phil Coulson.

“You son of a bitch,” he hissed brokenly. He clenched his fists and for a moment seriously considered killing Fury. “You couldn’t just leave him.”

“My one Good Eye? Hell no.”

“He’s fucking dead! I saw him in Asgard!”

“We’ve had him in cryostasis since you dragged your ass back.”

Clint turned to stare at the man beside him. “Those only work shortly after death. I…I carried him for hours.”

“We’ve been working on a cure for years.” He pointed his chin at the window, and Clint couldn’t help but look. “That serum is from the same source the original super soldier formula was based on. Still haven’t found that, but Coulson stumbled on this result while overseeing the project.”

“A cure,” Clint said numbly, “for death.”

“You really think I’d let some asshole god take my best man? I’ve had the docs working nonstop until I had my Agent back.”

Clint felt his forehead rest against the cool glass. He glanced at the machine. “Stimulating the brain?”

“Rewriting some things. Psychosis is a bitch of a side-effect, but erasing the fact that he was dead so long should mitigate it.” Clint felt Fury glare at him. “If he snaps, Agent, I’ll need you to pull the trigger.”

Clint jerked away. “No, fuck no!”

A second later the Director had one of his arms locked behind his back and his face pressed violently to the window. He struggled, but Fury just cracked his skull against the surface. “We’re SHIELD, and that means if our best agent turns into a fucking monster, we put him down!”

He tried to lurch back, but Fury anticipated it and simply shoved him back into the same position. “Then why didn’t you put me down?!” Loki had turned him into a monster.

“You think you’re worse than Romanov? Than Barnes?” There was mocking laughter behind his words. “They’re ten times worse than you’ll ever be, Barton.” Fury was suddenly there, his mouth inches from his ear. “Now imagine Phil like that. All that skill and focus dedicated to megalomania and rampant destruction.”

Clint ceased his struggling and stared into the operating bay, stared through it as he pictured it. Phil had always been just on the edge, everyone at SHIELD was. HYDRA had crossed that thick grey line, but they were sloppy, uncoordinated in some ways. Phil, though, Phil would burn a world for him, just not this world.

The man had gathered a small team and laid waste to Loki’s army.

With his own army and contacts on Earth, he’d be unstoppable, and everything would turn to ash.

He loved Phil, and they were more compromised about each other than anything else. Phil had reined Clint in before, and Clint had done the same. If Phil couldn’t be reined in, if he actually turned on the world, Fury was right. SHIELD would have to take him down.

And Clint would slaughter anyone who dared touch Phil. Even Fury.

He shut his eyes against the glass fogging up under his breath. “You should’ve put a bullet in my head,” he said, referring to his last return from Asgard.

“Any other agent, I would’ve.” Fury released him and stepped back. Clint didn’t move. “Phil knows me too well. I could try and take him out, but odds are fifty-fifty. You’re a blind spot.”

He chuckled brokenly. “Kryptonite, you mean.”

“Which is why I’ve moved heaven and earth to mitigate any chance of him snapping.”

Clint opened his eyes in time to see the brain needle machine be wheeled away and the doctors start to reattach the skull. He turned around and let his shoulders slump against the window. “He’ll figure it out.”

“Eventually. For now, we need him to retake SHIELD. After, we’ll see.”

Clint took a deep breath, then another, and finally said, “What do I do?”

“We’re moving him to another room once surgery’s completed. When the IV bag is empty, he should be completely healed.” Fury scowled. “Problem is, some mother fucker just sent a flare across the world by landing on my front steps.”

He did wince at that. “Sorry, sir.”

“Sorry ain’t gonna cut it. You find us a ride outta here. I’ll handle clean-up.”

Clint glanced back to the infirmary they’d come from, then realized Fury was looking through the window, and it struck him. “Them too?”

“Need to sterilize it before anyone else discovers what we have.”

Clint thought it through. “Sir,” he waited until Fury’s gaze was on him, “what exactly is this cure of death stuff made from?”

Fury’s face didn’t even twitch. “Better you don’t know. It’ll be dust when we leave, anyways.”

Any other base, and any other time, he’d probably try to dig the secret out, scout around the base and maybe ask Natasha to help him hack the servers.

Instead, he followed Fury to the small room Phil would wake up in, and sat quietly in the chair.

Phil was coming back. The Asgardians considered him a powerful weapon, and Clint couldn’t disagree with that assessment.

As the doctors wheeled him in and placed him on the bed to sleep off the magic drug, he could only hope that the man who woke up was the Agent Phil Coulson that had brought him into SHIELD all those years ago. And that Clint wouldn’t have to take the kill shots again while of his own mind. Because Fury’s orders and his own imaginings aside…

He wasn’t sure he could do it a second time, even to save the world.

Chapter Text

Phil woke slowly, which was novel in itself. He’d trained himself not to be a heavy sleeper, and to awaken at the drop of a hat. Even before his life at SHIELD, a few moments consciousness could be the only salvation against an assassin’s blade. He’d trained himself so well that when he ended up in medical, he tended to shrug off the drugs quickly, his own paranoia refusing to slack off even on a deathbed.

The lethargy set him on edge, and he debated between faking sleep a little while longer or alerting whoever was around that he wasn’t quite up to speed just yet.

The choice was taken when he felt a familiar calloused hand close over his wrist. “Sir.”

It was Clint, and he relaxed instinctively, letting his eyes open to slits. He hadn’t shaved in days, from the scruff on his face, and his eyes had dark circles that he wanted to reach out and wipe away. He also looked hopeful and terrified, which Phil wasn’t too clear on. “Thought,” he coughed, and Clint fed him some ice chips and tilted his bed so he was sitting more upright. “Thought we were past sir,” he finally finished roughly.

The smile was broken. “You usually like the term in bed.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Only when you’re in it with me.”

There were unshed tears in Clint’s eyes, and Phil was about to ask why when his chest twinged and, sucking in a sharp breath of air, his stomach spasmed. His head fell back and that was all it took to remember. The giant Hall and throne, the arrows sticking out of his body. Clint, mindless and Loki’s, and Phil helpless to free him. And then he remembered darkness, and a green cape and realized just what had happened.

He’d died.

He’d died, and now he was back.

It took a few shallow breaths before he got control of his body. His strength was returning fast, though, so he twisted his hand and latched onto Clint’s wrist with an iron vice. “How long,” he hissed.

Clint tugged once, but didn’t actually try to break the hold. He wouldn’t meet Phil’s eyes even as he admitted. “A while. You were in cryo.”

He’d been dead. And there was no way he’d been preserved minutes after the fatal shot. He narrowed his eyes. “Barton…”

The man’s shoulders hunched. “It was Asgard. It…something about dying there helped preserve you. Long enough that…that Fury gave it a shot.”

Phil kept staring at Clint. He could sense the man was hiding something, but what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. “How long,” he repeated.

Clint swallowed. “Nearly two years. Would’ve been less, but…” Phil remained silent, waited for him to continue. “SHIELD nearly fell. There was—is—HYDRA’s trying to take control.”

HYDRA was supposed to be dead, a cult Captain America wiped out in WWII. “How?”

“They infiltrated the organization. Sitwell, Ward, Garrett…all HYDRA.” Clint seemed to be bracing himself, waiting for something.

Phil didn’t roll his eyes, but he did squeeze Clint’s wrist. “I don’t need to ask.” The man finally glanced at him. “You’re mine,” he said. As far as he was concerned, that was all that mattered when it came to Clint’s allegiance.

The smile was still watery, but definitely looked more like the Clint he knew. “Always, sir.”

“Good.” He winced, then pushed himself even farther upright. “Natasha retrieved you?”

“Yes, sir. Gave me a cognitive recalibration.”

Phil chuckled. “Megalomaniac alien god, and the old anti-brainwash technique undoes all the work.” He released Clint’s wrist and felt along his chest, his stomach. They were sore, but he was feeling more and more like himself every minute. Whatever drug Fury had used, it was a hell of a miracle. It also made him wary. A war with HYDRA meant SHIELD didn’t have the facilities or time to help a convalescent recover. And if Clint was here, one of their better operatives, it was more than just for Phil’s benefit.

Fury would’ve been plenty to wake up to. Clint’s presence spoke of something about to go down.

He threw the blankets off even as Clint made a cautious noise. “I’ve felt worse,” was all he said. “You’re here, which means Fury doesn’t think I’m secure.”

Clint was about to protest when the Director walked in himself. “Glad to see that time on ice hasn’t slowed your thoughts.” He was carrying a suit which he tossed onto the bed.

“I’m not as slow as Rogers, sir.”

“Good. Because we’ve got three HYDRA strike teams on their way.”

Clint was on his feet instantly. “I can try and-“

“You stray five feet from Coulson and I’ll put you in the ground myself.” Fury pinned Clint with a glare. “You get him out of here alive and back to Stark so we can finally get Pierce and take SHIELD back. Clear?”

Phil started putting on the clothes and grimaced at the words. Pierce was just as high up as Fury, and while not Director, was only a seat away from it. Which meant he was just as lethal, as efficient, and as prescient as Fury. It was a wonder SHIELD had survived at all.

Then again, Fury was one paranoid son of a bitch. If anyone had an inkling…

“Director-“

“I’ve got a base to scrap. Besides, they don’t know I’m alive.” His grin was feral. “It’s been fun, seeing their faces.”

Phil smirked, because yeah, he’d been in that position before. “Right. How do I leave?”

“My arrival wasn’t…subtle,” Clint admitted. “I called in a ride. It should be arriving in a few minutes.”

Phil raised an eyebrow but Fury was already nodding. “Good. Get the fuck outta dodge and don’t look back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Phil wasn’t thrilled with leaving the Director behind, but he’d seen Fury get out of tighter situations. “I’ll have a counterstrike launched within a week.”

Fury rounded on him and poked him in the chest, making him flinch. “You pull this shit again, Cheese, I will haul your ass from hell and give you real suffering and damnation.”

“I gotcha,” he said with a smirk, finally putting on his jacket. In his head, though, the word ‘hell’ had triggered a nagging shadow that was trying to distract him from whatever was going on. “How long before the teams arrive?” There was a rumbling percussion that reverberated through the structure. “Never mind.”

Fury was already striding out the door, and Clint headed out after him, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was still there. Phil simply picked up the beretta Fury had left under the pile of clothes and followed his archer. They were underground, he noted, but not in a base that looked immediately familiar. Fortunately, it seemed to be a very simple facility, almost no twists and turns.

One room they passed had three bodies, all dressed as doctors, lying on the floor with execution headshots.

He grimaced, but Fury apparently wasn’t taking any chances with the secret of his return.

As they paused before three doors and two annexes that, if Phil had to guess, led outside, he finally noticed that Clint was carrying a silver bow and wearing an empty quiver. He also wasn’t dressed in his SHIELD uniform, but some black and green oriental outfit. Two swords were strapped to his waist as well as a mask that hung from his belt.

It was, Phil thought, decidedly sexy.

It also whispered in his mind, like the term ‘hell’. The bow he recognized as the weapon used to kill him. After two years, Clint obviously had no qualms using it. The sword hilts also looked familiar, probably additional Asgardian weapons gathered after the battle. That should have been it, just a memory from the fight before he died.

Instead, his mind was tugging and pulling at strands that weren’t whole in his head, at fuzzy recollections and voices that didn’t make sense.

And then the front doors blew off and there was no time to think on it further.

Fury was closest, and threw some powerful bombs right outside. They all ducked behind the wall as the explosion shook the room and threatened to bring the ceiling down. His mind catalogued the C-4 wired into the walls and realized Fury wasn’t going to let HYDRA have any secrets from this facility.

Which meant they had to get out now.

Clint whipped the hood on and rolled out the door, arrows flying. There were a few strangled cries and gunshots, but they were silenced in minutes. Phil held his weapon at the ready, but Barton merely called back, “Clear!”

Cautiously, Phil headed out. Clint had slung the bow over his back and was by what could only be described as a landing pad. There was an unfamiliar ship there, like a quinjet that had been shrunk down. As the windowed top rolled back, he realized this was the ride Clint was talking about.

Fury tackled him to the ground a second later as a missile flew overhead and took out a chunk of the mountain. “Mother fucker! Pay attention!”

Phil shook the ringing from his ears and suppressed the bloom of pain that erupted by landing on the ground. He struggled for breath and made out not only a jet in the distance, but two deployment vessels. Obviously one had dropped off the first wave of assailants. More would be here in minutes.

Clint was by him a moment later, helping him to his feet. To Fury, he said, “Sir! You should evacuate!”

“And give them the best target to take out SHIELD for good?!” Fury shoved at Clint and Phil, then turned and ran back into the building.

Phil wanted to call out to him, to make him change his mind because fuck, he didn’t want to run the world, just help Fury make it a better place.

Instead, Clint helped him half limp, half run over to the mini-quinjet and get strapped in. Clint jumped into the seat beside him and they were in the air a second later, another missile just barely avoiding them. “They can’t target?”

“Advanced stealth! Can’t be tracked by any known means,” Clint called back.

The vessel turned and Phil saw a flash of light by the door before the entire mountain started to implode. It was possible Fury had made it out, somehow.

It was just as possible Phil was now the highest ranking member of SHIELD.

“Hang on!” The ship did a half-roll and then Phil dug his fingers into the armrests as the g-forces accelerated dramatically. From the controls, he saw the same light-refracting control monitors that they had on the Helicarrier. “We should duck them around the next turn,” Clint announced after standard pressure had returned to the cabin. “I’ll contact Stark then, get us a rendezvous.”

Phil nodded and said, “Impressive.”

“Yeah. Guilting Stark really paid off.”

Phil mulled that over for a minute. “Can you give me a status report?”

“Stark and Pepper are secure. Rhodes has the Tesseract-powered War Machine suit. I made sure Rogers was secured safely so Barnes remained on our side. Natasha’s back from Europe where she hunted down HYDRA cells.” Another fancy flight maneuver that had Phil wincing at the velocity. “We lost about forty-percent of SHIELD loyalists to suicide implants being set off. Seventy-percent of Academy initiates.”

Again, there was that mental distraction along with a sense of deja vu. He could’ve sworn he’d had this conversation before.

“Hand turned out to be a loyalist. Hill, too. Before I—before you woke up, we’d just taken back the Helicarrier.”

Before you what, Phil wanted to say. He reached across the cockpit and traced the edge of the bow. “This is from Asgard,” he said instead.

Clint flinched. “Loki was dead. SHIELD’s always looking for alien tech. I just…I was so numb. I was just going on autopilot, grabbing things for the lab until I…I could carry you.”

Across the city, across the bridge, and back down to Earth. At least two hours walk. And somehow Asgard preserved his body so that when they got back, Fury could just throw him into cryo until medics could be called.

It sounded plausible.

It sounded reasonable.

He was settling back in his seat to think when Clint cursed and jerked the jet to the side. Phil grabbed hold of his armrests and spotted two missiles fly by, then curve as Clint pulled them into a sharp dive. The radar indicated they were still being followed. “I thought you said we were undetectable.”

“They’re fucking heat seekers locked onto our wake,” Clint swung around again and started inputting commands. “Come on, JARVIS, I know you have antimissile defenses here.”

Phil caught just a flash from the corner of his eye, reached over and activated the afterburners. A series of humanoid robots flew by, just missing them. “HYDRA?”

“God damned—there were rumors of War Machine-like androids in the works. Hill was sure they were months away from deployment.”

A laser skimmed the air not a foot in front of them. “Can they detect us?”

“Probably triangulating from the fucking missiles and those—Hah!”

Phil saw a new screen pop up and interceptor projectiles launch from the aft of the ship. The missiles and two of the robots were gone. Four more, however, were still there. And on the edge of the radar, he caught sight of two jets coming after them. “Looks like they weren’t as lost as we thought.”

“And the robots are following the same heat trail.” He pounded his palm against the steering column. He glared at the controls, then nodded once and steered them into a nearly vertical incline.

Phil pressed back against his seat, seeing the robots easily trail after him. “The colder the atmosphere, the easier they’ll pick us up.”

“Yeah, but I remember reading up on War Machine’s specs. The first model Rhodes had was archived in SHIELD’s systems. Stark’s kept the newer ones locked down tight.”

“So?”

Clint smirked. “The first model had a freezing error at certain altitudes.”

“Let me guess, just above the quinjet’s designated maximum altitude.”

“You got a better idea, I’m all ears.”

The problem was, Phil didn’t, not right off the top of his head. He more than anyone knew just how much technology could change in a couple of years, especially with Stark’s skills. “Can this thing handle it?”

Warning alarms started to go off and Clint shut them down. “We’re about to find out.”

Phil swore, but kept his eye on the radar behind them. Just as they passed the maximum threshold, one of the robot power sources winked out. Then a second. Clint swung them upside-down in a maneuver the Blue Angels fancy flight squad would be jealous of and leveled them out. He actually saw the third one freeze up and start falling back to Earth. By the time the fourth was dead, Clint was bringing them safely lower. There were still silent alerts of stress points on the hull and pressure damage, but the cabin was intact and the engines still functioned.

Which was when a missile exploded in front of them.

“Mother fuckers,” Clint exclaimed, arming his own weapons as Phil noted not two, but five jets trying to pen them in. “Where the hell did they come from?!”

“Just pilot, Hawkeye.” Phil easily took control of the weapons systems and began targeting. “You get us to Stark. I’ll handle HYDRA.”

“It’s sort of a new design…”

Phil raised an eyebrow and launched two homing missiles. A second later two of the HYDRA jets were destroyed.

“Right, sorry, sir. Forgot how much of a badass you are, sir.”

There was a thin lie in there, Phil could tell, but he wasn’t sure if it had to do with the strange fragments in his head, or if Clint was just trying to joke despite the pain of memories.

He could sort that out later. Another targeting solution and a third jet, and the other two backed off a bit. Out of weapons range and radar, but Phil was sure they were still being tracked. “We’re being tailed.”

“I know.” Clint ground his jaw for a moment. “I can contact Stark. Even if he doesn’t give us a location, he can send reinforcements.”

“HYDRA might be able to trace the signal.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. He’s been really good with making sure our comms are secure.”

“Clint, we’re practically invisible and still being followed. Stark’s good, but HYDRA’s not filled with idiots.”

Clint set his jaw, then shook his head. “Sorry, sir. I’m making the call this time.”

Phil wanted to argue, but in this new world of traitors, just this once he decided to let Clint take the lead. “You have the latest SHIELD files on board?” Clint nodded and tapped out a complicated command sequence. A holographic desktop appeared before his seat. Phil tuned Clint’s radio transmission out as he started to catch up on events over the last two years.

Peripherally, he heard Clint give a brief report, easily obscuring Fury’s role in the whole ordeal, and letting Potts know the mission was worth the effort.

Which was when Stark picked up the radio and said, “JARVIS is picking up scratches on the quinjet. The paint job is fucking ruined. Ruined! Do you know how long I worked on that?!”

Clint rolled his eyes as Phil smirked. “About as long as it takes to say, ‘JARVIS, make it nightshade purple’ and forget about it.”

“Ha hah. You really should learn to respect your betters.”

“I do. I respect Potts just fine.”

“Yes, okay, I concede that point, but still!” Phil could just picture Stark pointing dramatically at the air. “When you get back I’m doing a full detail and taking every dent outta your hide!”

“You mean you’ll ask Rhodes to.”

There was an indignant sniff. “Same thing.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. She’s only got some minor damage. The missile hardly strafed her.”

“Missile? Geeze, what’d you do, send a flare so every HYDRA agent could shoot down my baby?”

“Not intentionally.” There was a deliberate non-glance Phil’s way. Phil pretended not to see it, but he doubted Clint bought the act.

“I suppose we should be grateful they didn’t just nuke the damn mountain. Fucking Asgard. You’d think they’d have developed some stealth to get from world to world.”

“Not subtle, that’s them. Listen, Stark-“

“So how was the Thunder King? City still a winter wonderland of ice monsters?”

Phil felt his right hand tremble at the phrase and covered it by typing on the interface. In his mind’s eye, he remembered how the city looked as they went in to save Clint. Overlaying that, though, was the image of the same city with a lot more frost and glaciers, an armada of ships fortified on the rim of the world and mutant teams besieging the buildings.

“I’ll debrief later,” Clint snapped. “Just tell me Rhodes or someone is on their way to get HYDRA off my back!”

“Touchy, touchy.” There was the sound of someone being shoved.

“We’ve got your coordinates,” Hill finally said. “Rhodes should be there to clear house and provide escort within the hour.”

“I’ll follow his lead to the rendezvous. Barton out.” He cut the connection, then glanced over at Phil.

Phil continued to stare at the holographic interface, but he wasn’t seeing that. He was seeing a grand hall with soldiers fighting. He saw himself in a suit battling with a sword and a stave. He saw Thor and two women he didn’t know and Leshnerr at a table with a map of the realm. In a reflection he saw void-filled eyes and the body of Darcy Lewis.

He saw Clint fly overhead with Magneto to leave the world.

Clint cleared his throat and Phil made sure to keep his composure as he turned his attention towards the archer. “So, uh, I guess I forgot to mention-“

“You went to Asgard.”

He nodded slowly. “Got a formal invite and everything. They needed me for a mission. Goodwill trip. And some news about the bad guys.”

A glimpse of Heimdall sourly saying he could find Barton’s enemies as payment for services rendered and felt himself smirk in Lewis’ body.

“Good,” he forced out as neutrally as possible. “Better to have a working relationship than vague hostilities.”

Something in Clint’s shoulders seemed to relax, and Phil kept the snarl internal. Clint was hiding something. The mental tapestry was interweaving more and more strands. Valhalla, Odin, a war for the souls of the dead.

A war he was leading.

A war he was winning.

Which meant he wasn’t just in suspended animation. He’d died. He’d actually died by Clint’s shots.

Which begged the question how the fuck he was alive now. SHIELD didn’t have that kind of technology. They’d been trying for decades, but nothing had come of the research.

Though he was a pretty damned good proof of concept for someone’s mad experiment.

He pushed it to the back of his mind as two explosions occurred ahead of them, and then War Machine—probably version three or four—flew by and blasted the jets on their tail. “This is Rhodes. Sky’s clear. Coordinates being uploaded now.”

“Thanks, War Machine,” Clint shot back, adjusting their heading minutes later. “Hey, let Stark and the others know I’m bringing in a guest.”

Phil could swear he felt the sensors of the entire vessel turn on him. “Oh hell, no. You can deal with Tony on this one.”

“Thanks.” The sarcasm at least was familiar to Phil, as was the wry smile. He made an effort to match Clint’s look, and mentally plotted to get the man alone as soon as he could. He wanted—no, he needed answers. Since he was a surprise to everyone else, he had a feeling Clint was the only one who could provide them.

He let the anger of the deception simmer beneath a placid mask of vague amusement and continued to study the most recent reports archived in SHIELD’s system so he wouldn’t walk in blind wherever they ended up.

It was another hour before Rhodes flew off ahead of them. The sky rippled momentarily and the Helicarrier became visible with a landing pad lit up in neon blue. Their landing was perfectly smooth, though Phil had to hang on to Clint as they walked across the windy deck to the hatch War Machine was holding open. Once they were inside, Phil rested against the stairwell wall for a moment to catch his breath.

The pains from earlier now hurt no more than minor bruises would. He rubbed his chest and the pressure didn’t even make him flinch.

Rhodes, still in the armor, looked him over, but didn’t pass ahead. Obviously, he wasn’t entirely sure if Phil was safe to have around or not. Phil couldn’t blame him. He’d be just as cautious if one of his own agents had come back from the dead.

As Clint led them through the Helicarrier, Phil caught a number of surprised, shocked, and of course suspicious looks. There were also one or two, though, that merely raised an eyebrow. Considering Fury’s Machiavellian plots and Xanatos gambits, it wasn’t surprising a few agents weren’t shocked at his return. They probably thought he was on some undercover mission or staying safe until the eleventh hour summons to defeat HYDRA.

He really wished that was the case.

Finally, they reached the bridge, and all activity ceased as Clint stepped aside and let everyone take in his resurrection.

Stark, in what probably surprised Phil the most, was at a loss for words but not for lunging at him with a fist. Phil easily intercepted it, twisted and twirled the man away from him and directly into the arms of Rhodes, who caught the genius and held him steady. Stark glared at him another moment, then threw his hands up and stormed off.

Potts, who the files indicated could now toss fire around, simply shot him a poisonous look before following her boss. Rhodes trailed after them, his mask down the entire time so Phil wasn’t sure what he thought.

Hand, as usual, was nothing more than a mask of ice. “So much for the rumors of your demise.”

Phil shrugged. “Something like that. I’m still gathering details.”

“Good. Then you can step up as Director,” Hill said. She looked tired, which was a description Phil had never thought to associate with her. “I’m so sick of being the buck.”

Phil raised his eyebrow. “Hand is also Level 8.”

“Hand pisses off half the teams by the shoes she wears,” Hill shot back remorselessly. “They’d as soon let HYDRA end her as complete the mission. In short, a good agent, but shit Director.”

“Thank you for that eloquent evaluation.” She didn’t sound upset or clipped, just clinical.

In many ways they were alike, but Phil still cared for the people in SHIELD, the true loyalists, the ones who had proven themselves above all others. He went to war with gods for Clint. He’d do the same for Natasha, even Barnes.

Speaking of, the two of them were still seated at the table. Natasha didn’t look surprised, and he’d bet she probably knew the truth about Fury considering she was his favorite. Barnes had on his Soldier mask, assimilating the information and making it a part of his world view. There’d be no emotional fallout from those two, Phil determined, other than wanting clarification of how, exactly, he’d returned.

Something Phil intended to get shortly. “No offense intended, Victoria,” he said politely, “but you do make an excellent agent.”

“Thank you.” Again, no passion or actual appreciation behind the words. “I would agree with Agent Hill. You would make a suitable replacement for Director Fury.”

“One step at a time.” He looked over the bridge, spotting familiar agents he had personally trained up, or had kept an eye on for their efficiency and dedication. He nodded slightly. “Let me finish catching up on the situation, then we can address future plans.”

“Agreed,” Hand said immediately.

Hill huffed. “Fine.” She shot Clint a glare, obviously convinced they were off to have a quick fuck.

While what he planned could be construed foreplay, sex was not on his mind at the moment. “Natasha, Barnes, it’s good to see you again.”

“Sir,” they both replied.

“How’s Rogers?”

“Secure,” the Soldier reported. “Agent Barton gathered an excellent team, save for Agent Fitz.”

Clint frowned. “Traitor?”

“Poor soldier training.” He shrugged. “He’ll recover. One lung was undamaged.”

Natasha finally stood up and crossed the room. Without prompting Phil held out his hand, and she took it, squeezing it tightly. He squeezed back, tapping out a quick code with his thumb. Their version of confirming identity. Not that he didn’t doubt Hill had every scanner pointed towards him at the moment. When she let go, she nodded to Hill. “I’ll get samples for confirmation of his identity.”

“As long as he’s not a HYDRA robot I don’t give a fuck,” Hill replied, already turned away to look over a report. “I’ve got ops in Germany going to hell. Call me if you kill him.”

Clint glared at her back, but Natasha smirked and led him away. Clint, he noticed, followed just behind them. “So you’re playing nurse today?”

“If I let you in the infirmary they’ll never let you out. There’s a medkit in your quarters. I can take blood samples and the security system will validate your fingerprints and retinal scan.”

Phil hummed. “Hill looks…tired.”

“She’s good. Nick was grooming her.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “You were always his first choice.”

“She was the backup,” he intoned. “She can handle running SHIELD.”

“Typically.” She paused outside his quarters and let him go through the security procedures. “We’re fighting a war, Coulson.”

“We always were.”

“Not against governments, or our own support system.” She waited until Phil let them in and shut the door behind them. “She rallied most of the SHIELD survivors at Stark Tower, then lost half of them to HYDRA assault after assault.”

Phil felt his brow furrow as he took off his jacket and unbuttoned his sleeve. “That shouldn’t be an issue.”

“It’s different,” she said, taking the first aid kit Clint handed her. “Most of us have a personal vendetta. It drives us far more efficiently than Fury’s threats ever did.” She uncapped a needle as he offered her a vein. “Hill’s been fighting to keep SHIELD alive. Her vendetta is each SHIELD loyalist HYDRA has taken. Except Hand’s been doing the same thing, far more efficiently with a lot more success.”

Phil stared at the wall and let that process for a minute. “She thought Hand was going to make a power play, take control of SHIELD.”

“Something Hill has been trying to divert and refocus in our efforts against HYDRA.”

Except, as Natasha said, Hand was more efficient at it. Her teams may respect her, but if she hadn’t changed then any power struggle would leave Hand abandoned and Hill with soldiers who only jumped sides to avoid giving someone they despise more power. Which could lead to Hand defecting, so Hill would have to execute her. When they needed all the capable SHIELD agents they had.

He sighed through his nose as she finished and he set his shirt to rights, already reaching for his jacket. It wasn’t that Hill couldn’t cut it, it was that she didn’t want to play cloak and dagger while trying to win a war. She just wanted to end HYDRA. Having Phil back meant there’d be no power struggle, and the war effort could continue.

“I know,” the assassin said, already standing by the door. “I’m glad to see he was able to get you back.” Whether she meant Clint or Fury, he couldn’t tell. “You’ll have to handle Stark. We can’t have him off-sides.”

“I’ll handle Stark,” Phil reassured her. “Right after I handle a delicate matter.”

She nodded once, then left the room.

Clint smirked. “Delicate matter? You goin’ all purple prose on me?”

Phil straightened his jacket for a moment, then rushed the archer. Clint grinned at first, going with the assault even as Phil bent him over the table and twisted his arms behind his back. The man beneath him groaned in want, but Phil remained silent. He shifted his grip so he could hold both wrists with one hand, and reached up to wrap his fingers around Clint’s throat.

“Gonna show me who’s boss, boss?”

Phil tightened his grip and Clint choked. “I thought,” he intoned slowly, “that you were mine.”

“Yes, sir. I am, sir,” he wheezed.

Phil could tell he still thought this was a game. He let his voice go ice cold. “Then why aren’t you telling me the truth, Barton.” The body stilled and Phil pressed down against his back so he could hiss in Clint’s ear. “You say you’re mine, but I think you’re actually Fury’s.”

“Phi-“

He choked as Phil clenched his fingers. “When you speak,” he continued, “it will be when I want you to.” Clint struggled for a moment, before half-nodding. He let his grip loosen and Clint sucked in air through his teeth. “You’ve been lying to me,” he let venom drip into his voice. “You looked me in the eye and lied to me.”

Clint hesitated, then whispered, “I didn’t want to.”

He lifted Clint up an inch, then slammed him down onto the table. He didn’t need to ask who ordered him to. “What’s Fury hiding?” Clint remained silent. Phil slammed him down again, then hauled him up, twisted and slammed him face-first against the wall by the small dresser. Still holding Clint’s wrists, he reached over, dug through a drawer, and found what he was looking for.

They weren’t bedroom handcuffs. Neither of them were into feathers and soft leather. They were real high-security cuffs. The world was harsh and real and the biting metal reminded Clint of where he could’ve ended up, of what he’d surrendered when he gave himself over to Phil and to SHIELD.

When he locked them on Clint’s breath hitched. Phil caught the fear, but he also caught the arousal.

He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he wasn’t turned on. He was just too pissed off to enjoy it, or to give into his carnal urges.

With his hands secured, Phil flipped Clint over and held him against the wall by his neck. Clint stretched his head back, whether from years of play or to avoid his harsh glare, Phil wasn’t sure. “I remember,” he started, falling back to the collected tone that always masked his anger. “You shot me and I died.”

“You were preserved-“

Clint’s head hit the wall as Phil backhanded him, his bottom lip split. “I died,” he repeated, “and ended up in Valhalla.” Clint’s eyelid twitched. “I met Odin there, and I fought with him. There was a war for the underworld. I was a fallen god’s general.” Clint’s gaze had slipped to the side, avoiding looking at him. “Eyes front,” he snapped.

Clint immediately obeyed, then flinched and looked away again.

Phil just pulled his punch since they didn’t have time for bones to mend, but it would still leave Clint with a black eye. The man was trained to withstand torture, to never give in. That was for enemies, though. Phil knew how to burn past his defenses. He hooked his leg around Clint’s ankle and pulled, sending the man crashing to his knees. He grabbed the archer’s hair and yanked his head back, squatting so he could bring himself nose-to-nose. “I said,” he growled, “eyes front.”

Clint swallowed and shifted his weight, settling himself. He no longer looked away.

Phil kept his grip in place to make sure it stayed that way. “You arrived in Asgard for a mission.” This was where the threads were most tangled, where he started to lose everything. “We talked, and you finished the job.” He frowned. “Then what? You got a miracle cure from Thor?” That didn’t sound right. He vaguely heard echoing words saying nothing could return him from Valhalla.

Clint held perfectly still and didn’t tense up. A subtle tell, but one Phil recognized as a prelude to Clint bluffing. Most of their enemies saw fear in the stance, but it was all an act, one that didn’t work on him.

Clint had to know that. Hell, it was impossible not for Clint to know Phil had all of his tells memorized. A moment of hesitation slipped through his mind. Had Fury threatened Clint? Except there was very little that would actually intimidate the archer. So what would be powerful enough, what could frighten Clint enough that he would willingly lie to Phil?

From the scattered shards in his mind, one answer rang loud and clear: would Phil finding out the truth put one or both of them in danger? Except Clint wouldn’t care about danger to himself. Which meant the truth would hurt him, and him alone.

Clint was trying to protect him.

Phil had been in SHIELD’s upper echelons, though. He and Clint had worked ops with some of the most gruesome, soul-shaking factors and come out fine on the other side. What secret behind bringing him back from the dead was so terrible?

Clint hadn’t answered yet, though he was opening his mouth to. Phil let go of his hair and stepped back, and Clint’s jaw snapped shut. He went to duck his head before he stopped himself, remembering Phil’s order to keep eye contact.

Except now Phil couldn’t look at him. He stood up and paced the small room. He noted that Clint stayed exactly where Phil had placed him, but it was peripheral to the fragments bouncing around his head. Something about this situation was familiar.

Test subjects responding well to the serum.

Resurrection capability conclusive.

Human subjects showing signs of instability.

“Recommend terminating all further research.”

He stopped. He’d said that. He had a clear picture in his mind’s eye of standing before Fury with a report folder and a vague sense of disappointment at the words.

It wasn’t an Asgardian miracle that brought him back. It was one of Fury’s Black Projects. Something he didn’t consider viable due to the instability of test subjects. An instability that now potentially existed in him. It wasn’t Extremis, even that couldn’t bring back the dead. A variant of the super soldier serum? Except the same issue arose there. He needed to narrow it down, needed to know what weakness Nick had forced upon him.

He felt himself scowl and turned back to the interrogation. “The name of the facility I was resuscitated in.” When Clint hesitated, Phil strode over and dug his fingers into the collar of the uniform, applying enough pressure to bruise the bone beneath. “You’re still keeping things from me. I need to know.”

Clint opened his mouth once, then twice, then responded quietly, “I could lose you again.”

It was sentimental and manipulative.

It made Phil loosen his hold on the man.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who could play to the scenario.

He didn’t let go, but he did kneel across form Clint. He thought over the entire situation again, examined his perspective and took a more objective one, the one he used to debrief ops. He let the scowl melt away, but felt he was still frowning. “Fury didn’t call you. You discovered the location by yourself.” Clint went still again. “No,” Phil corrected, “someone on Asgard told you.” He vaguely remembered a rune-filled circle on the ground. “And they sent you there after your mission.”

Clint nodded, leaning back on his haunches. “Heimdall,” he paused, and Phil raised an eyebrow as a sign for him to continue, “he said there was a weapon there, one to win back SHIELD.”

Phil snorted. “Odin’s term for me.” Clint went silent, so Phil let his mind turn things over further. “You forced Fury’s hand, made him show you the weapon—me. That he was bringing me back.” Another nod, but Clint didn’t elaborate this time. It quietly clicked in his mind. “You’re Fury’s insurance. If I become unstable, you’re the termination clause.”

He could see Clint actually fight his tells this time, a surefire sign that Phil had hit at least one nail on the head. He shoved at Clint’s shoulder and the man shut his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Phil shoved at Clint’s shoulder again until he had him pinned to the wall again. He leaned in close enough that their noses were almost touching. “You’re mine,” he reiterated firmly, and then more gently, “I’m yours.” Clint took in a shuddering breath. “Will you kill me, Clint?” Pain spread across the man’s face. “Can you kill me?”

“Yes.”

“To which?”

After a moment, Clint opened his eyes and found how close Phil was. He shivered. “The second.”

That wasn’t good enough. “Will you kill me,” he repeated in a whisper.

“Please…”

“Fury gave you an order. Will you carry it out?” Clint swallowed, and Phil brushed his thumb along the front of his neck. “I need to know.”

“So you can kill me first.” There was no bite in the words.

“No.” His thumb stroked along the bottom of Clint’s chin. “So I know no one else will take that away from you.” Clint blinked a few times. “You’re mine, I’m yours. No one,” he growled, “has any right to take my life but you. I need to know you can put me down if I become—become—if it becomes necessary.”

Clint stared at him. “I’m not sure I can.”

Phil grabbed Clint’s chin. “That’s the wrong answer,” he said with steel.

“M’sorry.”

“Not good enough. I need to know you can do this, Clint.”

“Why? I’ve got you back-“

“I waged a war in Hel,” Phil snapped, “and won. Heimdall called me a weapon because he’s pretty sure I can win against HYDRA. What if I change? What if my aims don’t align with SHIELD’s? What if I become a tool for HYDRA, or worse, some psychotic madman aiming to-“

He stopped speaking.

The Guest House. He’d been revived at the Guest House, where the Super Soldier serum source had been discovered, where a resurrection program had been showing signs of success until human subjects began breaking down. Psychosis, schizophrenia, delusions of grandeur. Only ten percent survived the process without the harmful side-effects. The research had stonewalled after two-hundred independent tests. Humans simply couldn’t handle the drug.

They couldn’t handle alien blood in their system.

Project TAHITI slammed into his brain like a sledgehammer and he backed away from Clint, falling back on his haunches as the memories lapsed back into existence. There were still holes, blank spaces of time, but enough to know of the program, to remember the origins and the fallout.

He had actually yelled at Nick for wanting to continue.

And his best friend had gone and used the procedure on him.

A footnote from the research sprang to mind, that subjects unaware of the length of their time dead, of the origins of their resurrection, had a higher chance of falling into that ten-percent of stability, sometimes even after they’d discovered the truth.

He growled again. “That fucking selfish asshole!” Clint did flinch this time. “How could he do something so brazenly idiotic?! What the hell was he thinking?!”

Clint cleared his throat. “So you…remember?”

“Yes!” He glared, but for the first time in a long time, he saw something in Clint’s gaze that made him pause. Fear. Actual fear. At the fact he remembered or that he might have to kill him, Phil couldn’t tell. It was enough, though, to pull him from the red haze he’d worked himself into. He leaned forward again and held Clint’s gaze. “I remember,” he reiterated, “and I know what could happen. I need…Clint, if I start going down that path, I need you to do it.”

“Natasha would-“

“You’d never forgive her.”

“Barnes-“

“Same thing.”

Some of the defiance finally returned to Clint’s eyes. “I can live with that.”

“Can you?”

Clint bared his teeth in a half-snarl. “You don’t know me after two years.”

This was familiar territory. Quick as a flash, Phil stood and hauled Clint to his feet by the front of his uniform. “Not as well, but I know you.” He pushed Clint back and let the man stumble. “You’d destroy whoever finished me. If it’s Widow or the Soldier you’ll die retaliating.”

“Like fuck. I’ll probably thank them!” He charged forward. “Do you know what it was like?! It broke me, Phil!”

“Because it wasn’t you.”

“Because it was you!” Clint shoved his shoulder into Phil’s chest. “You martyring bastard! You’re asking me to go through that hell again!”

Phil went with the momentum and turned, bending Clint backwards over the table so he could lean directly over his face. “I’m asking you to save the world. You’re an Avenger, Clint. If Fury made me a monster, you have a job to do.” Clint did snarl this time, and struggled futilely, kicking at Phil’s shins, trying to trip him up. Phil let him thrash, pulling back just enough to keep from getting his nose bitten.

It took nearly ten minutes, but finally Clint stopped doing any more than twitching beneath him, huffing as he caught his breath and sweat beaded his forehead. Behind clenched teeth, he hissed, “Fine.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise if you become a fucking monster I will end your fucking life,” he ground out. “You fucking son of a bitch.”

Phil nodded once and stood up. Clint didn’t bother standing from his awkward position, just seethed at him as he glared. “I hope it doesn’t come to that,” he finally admitted.

“If it does I’m feeding Fury’s last eye to him through his stomach,” he said darkly.

Phil let himself smirk. “Glad to know you’d still avenge me.” Clint continued to glare, and he let the quirk of his lips fade. “You know I had to find out.”

“Fucking Fury,” Clint spat, “wish I’d gone to Pierce instead.”

“You’d be dead.” Phil frowned. “And I would’ve been very cross.”

“Fuck you, sir.”

He leaned over the table again and deliberately pressed his knee into Clint’s groin. There was still a hint of arousal there, but Clint didn’t react. He just met Phil’s stare head-on. “You’re mine.” He wrapped a hand around Clint’s throat. “Your life is mine. You don’t get to throw it away without a good reason.”

Clint growled. “I had an excellent reason. Still do.”

“And if you follow-through, we will have words.” He squeezed his fingers none-too-gently. “It won’t be pleasant.”

This time when Clint bared his teeth, it was in agreement, not defiance. “Yes, sir.”

Phil held on another moment before pulling back and straightening his suit. He eyed Clint, then ran a hand from his waist over his chest and finally cupping his cheek. “I missed you.” He didn’t mean to say it. It was impulse, a longing that rang through his head that he expressed before he could stop himself.

Clint stared at him a minute, then carefully turned his head into his palm. He shut his eyes. “Me too,” he whispered.

“Two years,” he murmured. “When this is over, I’ll make it up to you.”

Eyes still shut, the smile Clint offered him was wicked. “I won’t make it easy.”

“Exactly how I want it.” He glided his hand up to run through Clint’s hair, then stepped towards the door. “I’ll see you in two hours for our next meeting. I’ll expect you to have eaten by then.”

“Yes, sir.” Clint still hadn’t opened his eyes, and Phil took the opportunity to look his fill before unlocking the door and stepping out into the hallway.

The cuffs may have been real, but they were also something both he and Clint knew how to get out of easily enough. He trusted Clint could escape when he wanted it. He was rather impressed he hadn’t tried to during their discussion. Or maybe Clint was too thrown off to remember to.

When he turned the corner he found Stark standing there, waiting for him. He eyed him up and down.

Not exactly how he wanted to handle the next task on his mental checklist, but at least he didn’t have to hunt the genius down. “Tony.”

“Agent.” The usual joy suffused with the title was missing. Instead, the word was laced with bile. “Enjoy yourself?”

“Not really.” Stark blinked twice, a sign he’d thrown the man off. “It wasn’t that sort of meeting.”

“He said he was yours.”

“He is.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Thank you for taking care of him when I couldn’t.” He let himself smile genially. “It means a lot to me.”

Another couple of blinks, and he could see Stark’s defenses wavering. Good, all that manipulative bonding hadn’t been lost over the years. “Right, yes. Of course, if you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself killed I wouldn’t be looking at a scratched paint job and have that super hero costume back.”

“I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you with my death,” he huffed amusedly, their old banter causing the last of Stark’s barriers to fold. “Though you did get to play with the Tesseract. I hope that makes up for it in some small part.”

“Oh yes, very much.” Stark bounced on his feet. “I’m up to the Mark Four model for War Machine. Blood and gold.”

“I saw. Very…you. And impressive.”

“Of course it’s impressive. I invented it. And Rhodey makes it look good.”

“Finally get him in your bed?”

Stark didn’t flush, such embarrassment had been drummed out of him years ago. “Pepper says he glares at her and refuses to share snuggling after sex.” There was a happy satisfaction to his words. “He denies it, but I know my honey bear. One big softie.”

Phil patted Stark on the shoulder like an indulgent father. “Glad it worked out.”

“Yeah. Me too. With you and bird brain.” This time, Phil raised a disappointed eyebrow. “What? Hawkeye. It fits.”

“I’d rather you didn’t belittle his intelligence.”

“Fine. I’ll stick to Locksley. Or is he on top?” Phil just crossed his arms. “Fine, fine, don’t share. Not like I need to know. Yet.”

“Ever.”

Stark hummed in a way that said he disagreed but thought Phil didn’t know that. “So, you want to know your test results?” He stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking down a hall.

Phil followed. “Natasha brought the samples to you?”

“Brought to me, stole from the lab. Same thing.” Phil didn’t bother with the disapproving look. He’d rather Stark dissect Fury’s miracle drug than anyone else. “Not sure what some of the components are, but it looks like I saved your life.”

Phil felt himself go cold, stopped walking and grabbed Stark’s arm. “What?” Stark glanced down meaningfully at his hand, but Phil kept a tight grip. “Explain, Stark.”

The ice in his tone seemed to shake the usual ambivalence from Stark’s voice. “Right, so you know Pepper was kidnapped a while back? And Katniss went to retrieve her?” He wasn’t familiar with the term Katniss, but he recalled skimming the report on Potts’ abduction. Clint had gone to rescue her. He nodded. “So, she was infected with Extremis, which is a virus that tends to make people explode. Only I was able to stabilize her once she was back.”

Phil recalled that too. Something about making a virus genetically compatible. “So how did that save me?”

“Well, you were actually dead, right?” He nodded again. “Well, whatever unusual chemical mixture was used, it was paired with Extremis modified by my genetic tweaking. Makes sense, since Extremis doesn’t actually revive from the dead, only fatal wounds at most.”

He felt himself frown. “So you’re saying I have Extremis.”

“Stripped down version. Whoever did it took out the super strength, agility and fire powers; and just focused on the healing capabilities.”

That…was actually an interesting theory, Phil admitted. “What’re the odds I’ll blow up?”

“None. They used my modifications, so the virus perfectly integrated with your genetic makeup. You’ll be more on par with Romanov or Soldier boy when it comes to healing, but otherwise, no change.”

That explained the quick recovery from waking up. None of the other subjects from the Guest House had healed anywhere near as fast as he had. “What about other side-effects?” Stark frowned, and Phil finally released his arm. “From the unknown compounds.”

“Well, they’re unknown,” he started sarcastically, but after a minute, actually tilted his head. “Huh. Actually, that’s a good point. The Extremis was used to accelerate your recovery, but the compounds seem inert at the moment. Inert, but still present.” He frowned. “I’m not sure. Do you have any research on it?”

With the Guest House gone, he wasn’t sure where any back-up data was except in his head. And even that still had holes. “No, unfortunately.”

“Hrm. Lemme look into it. Also, how’s Fury?”

“Fury’s dead,” Phil reported dutifully.

Stark snorted. “Please. Like anyone else would bring you back from the grave.”

Phil had to concede that point. “He died making sure I got out alive.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” He clapped his hands together. “So! What’s next? Taking down HYDRA I hope. I have a few new weapons for you to try out.”

“Give me a few hours and I’ll have plenty for you to do.”

Stark grinned. “Cool. Also, good to have you back, Agent.”

“Good to be back, Tony.” The man beamed at the use of his name, then turned and sauntered off.

Phil rested against the wall a minute to collect his thoughts. Well, now he knew why Fury had risked using GH325. With Stark’s solution to Extremis, they’d probably run a few tests the last year to make sure it was a viable solution to bringing him back. The question was, did the psychosis side-effect still have the potential to overtake him?

Nick’s order to Clint suggested yes.

Fury’s faith that he’d take out HYDRA said possibly, but not enough to risk not bringing him back.

He sighed and started making his way towards the bridge. He’d just have to watch himself, make sure he didn’t fall into delusion and mutual destruction.

And while knowing that Clint was ready to pull the trigger if necessary only helped a little, he was at least satisfied knowing that Fury would be next.

Chapter Text

Clint spent another forty minutes in Phil’s room. He let himself slide to the floor, worked his way over to the bed, and rolled onto it, resting on his side as he let the occasional shudder run through his body. It had all been…well, it wasn’t an arrow in a drug lord’s eye, but having competent, aggressive Phil back was better than any wet dream he’d had in the last two years.

The emotional wringer, not so much.

Phil was right, of course. Natasha or Barnes could take Phil out, but Clint would be on their asses immediately afterward. He’d die, because fucking with those two was always a death sentence, but Phil had it right. They belonged to each other.

Their lives belonged to each other.

He squeezed his legs together, enjoying the feeling of friction, but he wasn’t nearly hard enough to come just from that. It was teasing really. The memory of being manhandled, handcuffed, threatened… The gentle touch, the feeling of possession, of being owned and cared for again.

Phil had missed him.

Phil didn’t say things like that. That it had slipped out was the equivalent of ‘I love you’ and Clint, Clint just wanted to say ‘fuck the world, fuck HYDRA, now fuck me!’

He didn’t. He could be a good agent.

Sometimes.

After letting everything settle, he decided rather than his usual tricks he’d just grab the key—still in the drawer, another sign Phil was just as distracted as him in some ways—and got out of the restraints that way.

He took a quick sponge bath and was in the mess hall ten minutes later. He ate the turkey sandwich absently, turning everything over in his head. Phil knew the truth of his resurrection, knew probably a lot more about whatever Fury did to make it possible. The question now was what exactly Clint should be looking for. Would the psychosis be subtle, a little mistake here, a poor decision there? Would it be overt, like the Red Skull?

Would he simply shut down or lose his mind, becoming nothing more than a broken shell? That thought scared Clint the most. He’d seen agents fall down that path. Sometimes, Fury had them black-bagged, but with someone like Phil, the old SHIELD would’ve put in the effort to try and salvage his psyche. They didn’t have those resources now, and Clint certainly couldn’t watch Phil suffer like that.

God, he hated Fury right now.

Natasha sat beside him with a fruit salad and ate just as mechanically as him. When he finished the last of his crusts and she had left only the pineapple in the bowl, they pushed their trays away in unison.

“You didn’t have sex,” she finally said.

“He needed to talk.”

She didn’t nod. “About the resurrection. Fury said there might be some fallout.”

“You knew?” He kept the anger from his voice, but if she knew Phil might be coming back…

“Nothing confirmed. Just that Stark’s research might help bring him back.”

Extremis, Clint thought. He growled softly. “You could’ve said something.”

“When it comes to Coulson, you can’t do discrete.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“A bigger one than you.”

Clint growled again and crossed his arms, leaning them against the top of the table. “He tell you what that fallout might be?”

“I’m an assassin, not a confidant.”

Clint hummed. That was as much a confession as anything. “Touch him, and I’ll end you.”

“It won’t come to that.”

“You’re not an optimist.”

“Coulson won’t break.”

“If he does, I’m going after Fury next.”

“Fury’s dead,” she reported dutifully.

Clint didn’t believe that one bit.

He knew she knew it, too.

He stood up a moment later and headed for the bridge, Natasha falling silently into step beside him. Barnes met them on the elevator, just meeting their eyes briefly before falling into position beside Clint. It was tempting, to fall back into the habits of Strike Team Delta again, especially with Phil to lead them.

Except at least two of them would now be reviewing all of Phil’s orders. Barnes too, knowing his levels of paranoia.

It would never be the same.

If that was the cost for Phil being back, though, Clint was definitely willing to pay it.

Stark, Rhodes, Hill and Hand were already sitting or standing at the conference table, as was Phil. Stark had taken the seat to the Agent’s left, talking a mile a minute about inventions and the latest Stark-tech developments and making Rhodes turn darker every other minute with cutesy names.

When Clint slid in on Phil’s right side, he got a brief twitch of an eyelid from Phil. Clint relaxed in his seat, putting his boots on the table as he leaned back. Rhodes glared at him and Natasha rolled his eyes, but Phil did nothing except continue to look over the holographic screens in front of him.

Forgiveness received and accepted, Clint interpreted.

It wasn’t until Potts arrived and gave Stark a stern look that shut him up that Phil finally acknowledged the assemblage. “We have two primary targets,” he started without preamble. The imager in the middle of the table immediately projected both Project Insight and Project DEATHLOK files. “Cybertek is the legitimate business supporting the majority of HYDRA’s operations, like Stark Industries is with ours, and has already deployed multiple facilities to initiate their cybernetic soldier program.”

“We’ve been hunting out as many facilities as we can locate,” Hill continued, “but as long as Garrett is acting liaison and Quinn functions as the legitimate face of the company, we won’t be able to terminate the threat. They’ll be able to rebuild any damage we do.”

“He’s currently in Malta,” Hand picked up, “and it appears Scientist Franklin Hall is either working with, or a hostage of them with the unstable element gravitonium.”

Stark raised him hand. “Two questions: who named it, and when can I play with it?”

“Hall named it, and if we don’t stop Hall from developing it into a weapon, perhaps never.” Phil changed the image to Malta itself. “Strike Team Delta, we’ll be making the incursion to eliminate Quinn and Garrett.”

Natasha shook her head. “In addition to the guards, Quinn’s developed a shield system. We’ve been unable to penetrate it.”

Apparently she had tried to go after Quinn when HYDRA fell. Clint didn’t wonder why she didn’t share her news. Quinn actually keeping her out made it personal. Clint totally understood that.

“Quinn and Garrett are our primary targets. They have to be taken out.” Phil tapped something on the table, and a new screen popped up in front of Stark, who immediately leaned forward to absorb the data. “Barring that, Stark, Hall’s research indicates gravitonium can be used to create sinkholes, if not demolish an entire island.”

Stark whistled. “A bit of an overkill just to get two targets.”

“Cutting off the head won’t work. We’re incinerating the body.” Phil shut down the map from the table. “Now that Malta has aligned itself with HYDRA, its people and government can be considered collateral damage.” The ‘and a warning to all other allies of HYDRA’ went unspoken.

Hand pursed her lips. “SHIELD prefers surgical strikes.”

“We’re at war,” Phil countered. “We’ve been cutting at the tumor, but it continues to thrive. It’s time for more direct action. Especially considering Project Insight.”

The remaining screen lit up at his words, then shrank to reveal a series of satellites.

Stark narrowed his eyes. “Those are armed—hey! Those are my weapon designs!” He didn’t growl, but Rhodes did. Potts’ skin just seemed to take on an orange hue.

“Pierce has apparently put together a list of two million people to eliminate. Once these satellites are in orbit, there’ll be no defense. They launch from the Triskelion in three days.”

“Who developed the list?”

Phil frowned at Hill. “Undisclosed. Project Insight was designed to predict global threats and neutralize them with multiple Helicarriers.”

Clint knew that bit. Barnes and he had taken out the Helicarrier bays only five months earlier, shortly after rescuing Potts. The Potomac had been neatly destroyed by the explosion of the building facility, but the Triskelion had continued to stand, identifying the imminent explosion as a terrorist attack. It was only because of its electronic shield that he and Barnes hadn’t gone in and slaughtered the HYDRA members inside. “We took care of that,” he said succinctly.

“They changed their plan, especially after Rhodes took out their mobile satellite launch center, the Lemurian Star.” A brief image of the ship in question blowing up and War Machine flying away appeared. “They’ve expanded their facility, and it’s now more heavily guarded than ever.”

“Pierce is there,” Clint added.

“Garrett’s the body, Pierce is the head.” Phil changed the image to the Triskelion again. “We just got intel that Camp Lehigh was destroyed, the rumored source of the list.” Phil glanced around the table, but no one took credit for it.

Fury, Clint answered. From the glint in his eye, he figured Phil had concluded the same thing.

“So they’re on edge,” Natasha said, leaning forward. “If we’re heading to Malta, how’re Hill and Hand going to take out Pierce and Insight?”

“The same way we’ll probably end up taking out Garrett: overkill.” The screen overhead disappeared. “The shield protecting the facility is designed to withstand earthquakes, floods, even bombs and missiles. It is not, however, intended to withstand an airplane collision.”

“That wouldn’t guarantee total destruction,” Hand said. “Even with excess fuel, there would be too many locations not immediately damaged that targets could escape.”

“He’s not talking about a plane,” Hill countered grimly. “Sir, what you’re suggesting leaves us without a powerbase.”

“They know that as well as we do. That’s why they won’t expect it, much less prepare for it.”

It took a moment for everything to click in Clint’s mind. His feet dropped to the floor as he sat up. “You’re planning to crash the Helicarrier into the Triskelion!”

The room fell utterly silent at his proclamation.

Stark whistled again. “Gutsy,” he finally said.

“Insane,” Potts muttered.

Clint glanced at Natasha and Barnes. They both looked skeptical, but he could see the longer they thought about it, the more they agreed with the concept.

It was Hand, however, who nodded. “You’re right. The manpower required to retake the facility would exhaust our current reserves. It would be a Pyrrhic victory, assuming we won.”

“The problem is the Fridge would still be in HYDRA’s hands.”

“If we can get in at Malta and retake the gravitonium, we won’t need ground forces to clear out the Fridge.”

Clint sat back in his chair and stared at Phil. It was ruthless and efficient, but not typical of Phil’s plans. Phil liked precision, with as little collateral damage as possible—most of the time. Whenever Clint was in enemy hands, if a team had been captured by a traitor, Phil could get very bloodthirsty, very dangerous.

He tilted his head towards Phil. That’s what this was. Revenge. For what HYDRA had done to him, for gutting SHIELD and putting all of them in danger. Phil was out for blood.

And nothing was going to stand in his way.

Clint finally crossed his arms. “I’m in.” Barnes nodded after that and Natasha merely grinned.

Hill didn’t sigh but Clint could see she wanted to. “What’s the plan?”

“Delta and I depart immediately on a quinjet for Malta. Hill, you and Hand evacuate the Helicarrier and set it to remote control. I want you and your team to be ready to take out anyone who flees from the Triskelion. Stark-“

“Weapons, armor, gravitonium. Give me five hours.”

“You have three.” Stark made a pained noise. “Rhodes, Potts, you bring Stark to a secure location and determine a new base of operations. We’ll be relying on Tony and his company to help us rebuild, especially since the government won’t be happy once DC is trashed.”

“Yes, sir,” both Rhodes and Potts responded.

“Faramir, stop by the lab before you go. Have some upgrades for Ronin.”

Clint glanced at Phil, who nodded. “Departure in one hour. Once we launch, maintain radio silence. Questions?” No one responded. “Dismissed.”

Part of Clint wanted to speak with Phil, but the man shot out of his seat with a sharp look at Hill and Hand, and the three disappeared around the bend. With an internal sigh, he went over to Stark, who had downloaded the files Phil had sent over into a Stark tablet and was already reading and walking, Rhodes and Potts a discrete distance behind him. Clint followed in silence, since no one seemed interested in talking to him.

At least until they were in the lab and the door slid shut. Stark spun around suddenly and poked Clint in the chest. “What the hell, Barton?!”

Clint took a step back. Rhodes and Potts, he noted, were already across the room and debating something quietly. He crossed his arms again. “Meaning what, Stark?”

“You’re just gonna let Agent waltz back into danger? After we got him back?”

Clint felt his blood run cold. “I’m not letting him do anything. He’s the highest ranking agent. It’s his prerogative-“

“Fuck that! You’re letting him go into a potentially lethal operation-“

“It’s what we do,” he countered.

“Handler! Not agent! If he’s in charge-“

“Fury didn’t always delegate, and we don’t have the manpower-“

“Bullshit. I’ve rigged the comms to be secure. He could be running the damn thing from Barnes’ bunker-

“How do you know-“

“Genius! Not to mention I’m in all of SHIELD’s systems.”

“I wouldn’t let Barnes get word. He’d end you.”

“Let him try,” Rhodes threatened.

“Not smart. And Stark—Tony, look, you think I’m happy? You—we all just got Phil back. But we have a job to do, and until HYDRA’s taken out-“

“Again, he can-“

“Potts,” he finally said exasperated.

“Tony-“

“No!” The genius slammed the Starkpad onto the nearest table and all three of them looked at him. “I lost my father to HYDRA! I don’t intend to lose another because of some self-important-“

“Stark.”

Stark’s mouth snapped shut.

Phil walked into the lab and maneuvered himself in front of the scientist. “Tony.”

“Agent,” he said stiffly.

There was a minute of silence. “Do you really think Clint would let anything happen to me?” His voice was soft, but Clint heard him nonetheless.

“His fault you died last time,” Stark said petulantly.

Clint didn’t flinch, but it was a close thing.

There was more silence. Then, in a voice colder than ice, “Apologize before I throw you into a turbine.”

Stark winced and leaned out enough to look at Clint. “Sorry, heat of the moment and all that.”

“No sweat,” Clint said, ignoring the pain lodged in his chest.

Stark nodded, then glanced at Phil before turning his gaze away. “I didn’t think—I’m just-“

“I have been an Agent of SHIELD for over twenty years,” Phil continued, voice just as frosty. “I have walked into every situation knowing the risks I take for myself and my teams.” Stark shrunk back as Phil loomed. “I do not need coddling. I do not need your protective worries. And I will not hide.” Rhodes made to step forward and Clint intercepted him, shaking his head. “SHIELD is not about protecting ourselves. It’s about protecting the world.”

“Fine, fine. I won’t try to coddle you.” Stark paused a beat. “I built you this nice suit. Bulletproof Armani. I was thinking of starting a line.”

Clint recognized the put-upon sigh Phil exhaled. “I’m sure it will do fine for the mission.”

“Of course it’ll do fine. It’ll do exemplary. You’ll see. And Barton’s suit, I think I know a way to cut the force-fields. Give me five minutes to tweak the cloaking tech-“

“Good.” Phil headed for the door. “Barton, forty minutes, then we depart.”

“I’ll be on board, sir.”

Phil nodded. Potts handed over a clothing bag silently to him, and then he was gone.

Clint took the opportunity to take a seat on the main lab bench and waited until Stark was using his portable JARVIS to scan the suit. “I blame—blamed myself.” He kept his voice low, so that Rhodes and Potts wouldn’t hear him.

“I said I’m sorry.”

“It’s not like I didn’t think you blamed me, too.” Stark didn’t pause in his work, but he did glance at Clint from under his eyelashes. “Hell, I was half expecting you to tell Rhodes to nuke me when I showed up because of that.”

“Almost did.” Clint felt the uniform electrify momentarily. “I don’t like sharing. You’re his favorite.”

He didn’t preen. He could do that later in private. “So why did you help?”

Stark continued to work. Clint started watching the screens, tried to figure out what tweaks the scientist was making and barely heard, “For Coulson. If I couldn’t help…” Another long pause. “He saved me, you know. I thought, what the hell, I can be a hero too. Just have to put this guy back together.”

“I think JARVIS did most of the work.”

“He usually does. Big mother hen.” There was a slight sizzling sound and the smell of burnt hair. “There. Press your hand against any shield and the suit will adapt to let you get through.”

“What about the invisibility?”

Stark shrugged. “Either be fine or fried. Couldn’t tell you without a few tests.”

“If I can get in, I can handle the rest.”

“Just like you’ve been.” Stark wiped his hands on a nearby rag. “Look, when you get back, if SHIELD is still running, you want to test some new arrows? Acid, hacking, sonic, maybe.”

“Once Phil’s done making up lost time, sure.”

Stark snorted. “You won’t be walking right for a week.”

“A month if I’m lucky.” He winked and Stark laughed. “And sure.” He hopped off the table, but touched Stark’s arm. Briefly. He knew the man didn’t like that sort of contact from anyone besides Rhodes and Potts. “I’ll bring him back,” he said seriously. “I don’t intend to lose him again, either.”

Stark didn’t say anything to that, but he didn’t need to. Clint saluted Rhodes and then left the room. He picked up the endless quiver, the bow, the swords and was in the quinjet five minutes early.

Phil was already there, of course. “Work things out?”

Clint ran his fingers across the back of Phil’s neck. “You nearly made him cry.”

“If Stark crying is a turn-on, that may be my limit.”

“Liar.” He took his seat in the pilot’s chair and started the pre-flight sequence. “That the suit?”

“Yup.” It was a darker shade of navy, but otherwise looked like any of Phil’s suits. He felt a lapel and the fabric was exactly like his own outfit, though it was a little thicker, like the inspirational design. “Hands to yourself.”

“Hell no, sir.”

“I can and will make you cry.”

Clint’s grin was shit-eating. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’ll make you cry if you don’t stop with the flirting,” Natasha interrupted, stowing hear gear under her seat and strapping in. Across from her, the Soldier was doing the same, though he appeared indifferent to Clint and Phil’s interactions.

“Promises, promises,” Clint teased back before settling into a mission mindset. “This is Ronin to Helicarrier. Ready for departure.”

“Departure approved. Good hunting, Ronin.”

Clint shot them off the flight deck and into the air minutes later. The Helicarrier was currently in the northern Atlantic. It would only be a matter of hours to get to Malta. He waited until he confirmed the reflective plates were active and they were on course before asking, “How’re we going in?”

“Confirming the shield is spherical in nature. If not, we jump. If so,” Phil brought up a map and pointed to a nearby harbor. “We disembark around one am. Enough illegal activity that no one will care about four additional assassins.”

“Covers,” Barnes asked.

“None.” At Natasha’s raised eyebrow, Phil continued with, “If anyone gets that close, neutralize them.”

Barnes nodded immediately. Natasha exchanged a quick glance with Clint, who shrugged back the thought that Phil usually wasn’t that violent.

“And before you two get any thoughts to the contrary,” Phil looked meaningfully at Clint and Natasha, “yes, I’m still in my right mind. We don’t have time to play nice with the natives. Especially if they’ve been compromised by HYDRA. Once we’re successful we’ll be confirming that. If it happens to be the case, either one of you or a missile will remove the current parliament from authority.”

“I vote Natasha,” Clint said immediately. “A lot more effective than any missile.”

“So kind,” she said. “I’ll only break two of your bones next sparing session.”

“So kind,” he retorted.

Barnes rolled his eyes. “I’ll do it. I’ll feel better knowing there’s one less government.”

Clint eyeballed him. “You don’t mean one less HYDRA-influenced government, do you.”

“Easier to control from the shadows when the central authority is crippled.”

“We’ll see how it plays out,” Phil said diplomatically. “We might end up triggering the gravitonium, which would make the entire argument moot if it ends up sinking the island.”

“What a shame.” Clint kept his voice casual. “I was hoping to slit Garrett’s throat myself.”

“That might not work.” Clint glanced at Phil. “I did a little digging. He may have been the first DEATHLOK project.”

“So he’s-“

“A cyborg, yes.” He glanced meaningfully at Barnes’ arm.

The man clenched his robotic fist. “Slit his throat.” He ordered. “I’ll handle the rest.”

“Sounds good to me.” Clint would be very satisfied. He might not get the killing blow, but the metaphorical one would work just fine by him.

“Agreed. Widow, you’re with me. We locate Quinn and Hall. Quinn is to be neutralized. Evaluate Hall and, if salvageable, we offer him his position back at SHIELD.”

None of them needed clarification on what to do if he wasn’t willing to return to the fold.

“Extraction plan?”

“We’re out in forty minutes, same harbor. Any longer, if Stark’s cracked how, we trigger the gravitonium.”

“Do we salvage the element?”

Phil nodded. “If we can. Bringing the Fridge down by creating a sinkhole would be more efficient than retaking a tower of powered hostiles.”

“What about the other cyborgs,” Barnes asked. “If Garrett has created an army-“

“If you can find a kill switch, activate it.”

“What if they’re there?”

Phil grimaced. “Headshots should still work, especially the eyes. Some of them have self-destruct protocols located there.”

Clint worried a little, but not too much. He had an endless quiver and swords that could remove heads in a single blow. And Barnes could definitely make those shots.

He’d feel a little better if a sniper was also going with Phil, but Natasha wouldn’t let any harm come to Phil. From the enemy, at least.

Barnes rapped his knuckles against the wall thirty minutes later. “Your plan is flawed.”

Clint didn’t turn around, but he felt his ears perk up as Phil swung his seat to face the Soldier. “In what way?”

“Quinn will have Garrett’s best weapons present to protect him and the facility.”

Phil hummed. “You think they’ve accounted for yours and Clint’s aim.”

Natasha frowned. “What’s the alternative?”

Clint just caught Barnes’ gaze in the reflection of the window. “You set off an EMP that affected the entire facility.”

“Won’t work.” Natasha leaned back. “I tried an EMP against the field. It’s immune.”

“It won’t be immune to Ronin.”

Phil tilted his head. “It’s untested.”

“But if it’s successful,” the redhead grabbed a reserve StarkPad and brought up the compound schematics, “the suit will have adapted to the EM-frequency of the shield and recorded the flux variations specific to that iteration.”

Clint shrugged. “The disaster to get Rogers out was done using one of Stark’s repulsor generators. Exactly like the ones on the ship.”

“There are four installed. I can reconfigure one without compromising flight stability.” She was already typing away on the pad.

“Except it could end up affecting the rest of the ship.” Phil glanced at all of them. “It could lead to a potential systems failure which would strand us in hostile territory.”

“It would also have to be over the compound to function,” Clint contributed. “So crashing gracefully. Stark hates losing them.”

Phil scowled. “I’m not sure I approve of this plan. Especially since it may also affect you, Soldier.”

“I don’t need this arm to kill.”

“We’re going up against cyborgs. I’d prefer to have a fist that shattered jotun down there.”

“Prefer, but not require.” Clint could tell Barnes wouldn’t be backing down. “If the shield holds, the ship crashing should deactivate it.”

“True.” The computer Natasha was using let out a wailing beep. “It’s nowhere near as strong as the Triskelion’s defense.”

Phil continued to scowl. He eventually gave a reluctant nod. “Widow, make the necessary adjustments to the repulsor. Soldier, you’ll drop us off at the pier as planned, then once you have the shield frequency, activate the EMP. If the ship’s still functional, leave it on autopilot and make sure the targets are down.”

Barnes sat back, the flicker of a smirk the only sign of satisfaction. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll have the modifications uploaded in about twenty minutes.”

“That’s good, since we’re about thirty away,” Clint added.

Phil pulled up the intel they had on the compound on his own tablet. “Now we just need Stark to come through.”

Clint didn’t doubt the man would succeed. Phil could have asked for the moon and Clint wouldn’t have been surprised to see some doomsday tractor beam set up within a day. After the scene on the Helicarrier and Stark’s issues, the man would do anything to show his value, his skill as an apology.

Stark didn’t call with the radio silence in effect, but the JARVIS-lite memory of the ship had a new data download approximately two minutes from landing. Phil’s brief nod advised all three of them that they now had an island-sinking bomb available.

Clint made sure to hover the jet at the darkest dock, then handed the controls over to Barnes and hopped out. Phil was right behind him, and once Natasha was on the ground he felt the shift in breeze that meant the quinjet was gone.

They fell into old habits easily. Even with the distinctive clothing, Clint easily masqueraded as a deadly bodyguard to Natasha, who exuded the lethal beauty of a queen in arms dealing. Phil was as nondescript as ever. Over the years he’d played both the company accountant and the willingly ignorant boyfriend. He was keeping close to Natasha, and occasionally touched her hand. To anyone looking, it would appear to be a slightly nervous lover.

A non-threat compared to him or Widow, and someone not worth remembering.

They had to duck down three alleyways and climb a steep hill to reach the security field. They hid behind a rock outcropping as a guard marched by, and Clint pulled on his mask. Night-vision immediately overlaid the area, as well as heat scanners, indicating the locations of the guard and two more in visual distance.

Nowhere near close enough to be a threat for at least two minutes.

“If this doesn’t work,” Phil checked the power level of the Phase 2 handgun, “I want you to use your stealth mode. The primary target must be eliminated.”

Clint grimaced. That meant leaving Phil and Natasha to handle the cyborgs by themselves. “We don’t know if the bionics can see through Stark’s tech.”

Finishing with the first weapon, Phil double-checked his standard Glock was also loaded. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

Natasha peered around the outcropping. “Area’s clear, Ronin.”

Clint nodded, did his own double check with the enhanced vision, then crept towards the barrier. He placed one palm up against the shield, and felt his hand tingle as he pushed against it. Small numbers appeared in the corner of his vision, and then forty-six seconds later he felt the pressure vanish and his hand slid through with nothing more than a minor ripple in the field.

Taking a breath, Clint followed his hand. There was the feeling of stepping out into the pouring rain, and then he was on the other side. He did another visual sweep to make sure he hadn’t been noticed, then sent the data to the quinjet and waited anxiously.

Stark had designed the Ronin tech to be impervious to EMPs, just like the War Machine armor. Nonetheless, there was a thread of doubt in his mind. Stark’s tech wasn’t invincible, and this plan could go FUBAR sixty-ways from Sunday. He held his breath when the quinjet’s invisibility faded and anti-air missiles were aimed towards the sky. There was a white-blue glow from one of the repulsors, and then a shockwave of energy that washed through the field and into the ground.

The shield sputtered once, then went dead.

The cries of the cyborgs, however, haunted the air.

Phil and Natasha were beside him in an instant. “Looks like they didn’t count on anything getting through the shield.”

“Hard to believe Garrett was SHIELD,” Natasha muttered.

Clint had to agree. Any of them would’ve prepared for that eventuality. “I’ll meet up with the Soldier, take care of the target.”

“See you in thirty.” Phil and Natasha strode off without saying anything else. There was a flash of light indicating a discharge of the Phase 2 weapon, and one of the men still struggling to stand evaporated instantly.

It was cool, but Clint found it a bit disappointed. Without the blood or the body, where was the fun, the thrill, the care of the kill? Phase 2 was powerful, but certainly not for him.

He jogged towards the compound, drawing one of the Marauder swords and cutting the head off any fallen cyborgs he passed. Most were in pain, lying like broken toys struggling to pull themselves together. Betrayed by their own bodies refusing to respond.

Clint knew what that was like. Ending their lives was a greater mercy than they deserved.

He finally spotted a soldier with a captain insignia by one of the armories. He plunged the sword into the still twitching leg and knelt down. “Garrett. Where is he.”

“F-forget it.” The man tried to raise his arm, only for it to spasm and fall limp. He choked on his voice. “He’s gone.”

Clint twisted his sword, nearly nicking the femoral artery. “Intel says otherwise.” He leaned forward and growled. “Where is he.”

“Hail HYDRA,” he spat, before biting down. Clint jumped back as a cloud of cyanide misted from the guy’s mouth and he fell over, limp and useless.

“Fucking fanatics.” He pulled his sword out of the corpse and began searching for another man to interrogate.

Except more of the cyborgs were laying still. He walked through, poking the occasional body. His estimation of Garrett dropped further. Employing only one form of soldier with an obvious weakness was beyond arrogant, not to mention monumentally stupid. “It’s like he learned nothing from his years at SHIELD.”

“I’m not sure if you’re disgusted or pleased,” came a honeyed voice.

Clint spun on his feet and swung his sword sharply, just barely keeping it from decapitating the women who spoke. She was dark skinned, with wide eyes and curly hair. The Stark-enhanced vision depicted her in a navy dress with white flowers printed on it. Standing in the doorway of one of the compound towers and surrounded by corpses, she appeared to be completely unfazed.

Just like Phil could be during an op.

It made him wonder if he should just execute her now and be done with it. If she was anything like Phil, she’d be more dangerous than any soldier.

“Hawkeye.”

“Got me confused with someone else. I’m Ronin.”

“You’re Clint Barton.” Her head tilted back as he let the blade press deep enough to draw a drop of blood. “I’m not your enemy.”

“I’d sooner believe Fury’s dead.”

“He is.” There was unerring certainty in her tone.

Clint smirked behind the mask. “Sure,” he muttered. “So you want to run, or eat your own cyanide capsule before I cut deeper?”

“I don’t have a termination implant, of any sort.” She reached up and pressed the palm of her hand against the blade. “You’re seeking Agent Garrett. I can take you to him.”

“Or you could tell me where he is, and I give you a running start while I hunt him down.”

Her smile was disarming and full of teeth. Alarm bells rang in his head. “I promised to see this through to the end, whatever that may be.”

A quick glance revealed thirteen minutes had passed since the mission had started. He could search the compound, but if Garrett was still mobile, he’d just be wasting time.

He needed her.

And damnit, she knew that, too.

A quick scan revealed she had no weapons on her. He was friends with the Widow, so he didn’t dismiss her as a threat. He increased the pressure against her neck and, for a moment, fear flashed across her eyes. Good. Now she knew he was willing to kill her. He pulled the sword back and nodded towards the tower. “How many guards between me and him?”

She rubbed her throat and stared at the blood on her fingers. Absently, she said, “Twenty, all down.” Then she turned and headed into the building, walking as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

Clint made sure to be one sword-length away at all times. He wanted to be able to end her instantly if it came to it.

They passed five guards on the first floor, two on the stairs. Clint drew his second sword and made sure to kill each one as he went. True to her word, they were all neutralized by the EMP. Some had fallen to their deaths on the stairs, others he could smell the burnt almonds as he passed by.

On the third floor, the woman paused. “My name is Raina,” she said.

“Don’t care.” He eyed the stairs leading up to the roof, and back the way they came. This was too easy. There had to be a trap. The problem was he hadn’t identified it yet.

“I know.” She turned the handle and pushed open the door. “I just thought you’d like to know who was leading you to Garrett.”

Clint didn’t bother responding. There were three men on the ground, obviously cyborgs. Garrett was slumped in a chair behind a desk. Behind him were four very large screens, each showing different key locations in the compound. Three just showed bodies. A fourth showed Quinn with his neck under Natasha’s heel and Phil talking with Hall.

Raina stood to the side respectfully. Clint eyed the room. No automated defenses, no additional soldiers. Just a command post, and not a very good one. Which meant the trap was either Garrett, or the girl. He sheathed his swords. “EMP caught him,” he pretended to ask.

“He was the first DEATHLOK. There were more cybernetics in him than any other.”

Clint nodded as he tapped the arrow against his leg. A moment later he had the bow off his back and had landed two arrows, one in each of Raina’s shoulders, pinning her to the wall. Her cry was genuine, as was her surprise, and the fear was finally back. He stalked forward and drew a sword again, snarling, “I’m not an idiot.” She tried to shrink back at his approach.

There was a dark chuckle from across the room. “No, I always suspected as much.” Garrett dropped the broken doll façade and sat up straight, a crooked smile on his face. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he addressed to the woman, “but I’m sure we can have that healed up once this matter is resolved.”

Clint snorted and backed away, balancing on the balls of his feet. “You really thought I’d just let your pet lure me to my death?”

“You were lured quite easily enough into Loki’s hands.” The man smirked at Clint’s growl. He stood up, and Clint noted that like Raina, he also had no weapons. “You’ve gotten better, but I’m afraid your little EMP trick wasn’t enough.”

“Seemed to work on your men.”

“Just a few. I have many more.”

Clint grabbed the hilt of his second sword. “So what, you upgraded yourself to be immune to EMPs?”

“Of course not. HYDRA hasn’t developed that. Yet. No, it didn’t work because, simply,” he shrugged, “this room is shielded.”

The three men on the floor hurled themselves towards Clint. He sprung back and flipped in midair, landed just a second against the wall, and launched himself at the trio. His first sword easily removed the first soldier’s head from his body. He drew his second sword and severed the one man’s arm in the same process before slamming the hilt into the cheek of the last soldier.

When he landed all three had fallen to the ground.

And none of them had cried out in pain. Clint skipped back as they stood up. Even the headless one, who grabbed his head, put it on, and an orange glow appeared. The one missing an arm almost instantly grew it back. “Extremis…”

“A handy little virus,” Garrett said, still standing smugly by the desk. “And far more effective than that idiot Killian’s version. By marrying it to DEATHLOK’s cooling systems and redundancy protocols, I’ve managed to render us immortal.”

Clint thought back to the people he’d passed by. “They seemed pretty dead outside.”

“We’ll solve that little EMP problem next. But once I detected a quinjet on its way, and knowing how much you, personally wanted to see me…” He laughed. “Well, I was only able to grab three others, but that will be enough to subdue you.” He turned his head. “And Phil Coulson is alive. Good for him. I thought that death of his rang hollow.” He turned his attention back to Clint. “I’ve always wanted to take him apart. I wonder, do you think your head on a platter will do it?”

Clint ground his teeth. He eyed the three soldiers, just waiting to attack him again. “So you were watching Killian.”

“Only prudent. It’s a pity the…explosive side-effect prevented us from keeping closer surveillance.”

Clint nodded. “So all you saw was SHIELD take down the oil rig.”

Garrett crossed his arms. “Let me guess, you were part of that mission, and know the secret weakness to Extremis.” His voice was mocking. “That won’t make us hesitate, and it certainly won’t save you or your favorite Agent.”

Clint felt both blades warm in his grip. “I guess I’d better surrender and beg for HYDRA’s mercy.”

Garrett raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead then. Throw down your swords. See if it saves you.”

Clint felt himself grinning. “Fine by me.” He swung back and hurled the sword from his right hand straight into the heart of second goon.

Garrett laughed again. “Did you seriously think that would work? We are practically gods!”

“Yeah,” Clint was already diving for the door as orange veins appeared to spread up the stabbed man’s chest, “and these were made for godslayers.”

He grabbed the doorframe and swung against the outside wall just as an explosion enveloped the room. The heat was off the scale of the mask’s sensors, but after a minute the flames rescinded and though warm, the temperature was no longer a threat to the Ronin uniform. Clint cautiously re-entered the room and glanced around. The primary source of heat indicated that the soldier he’d hit had completely incinerated, as had the two soldiers beside him. His sword was still on the ground, unmelted but still too warm to touch.

There was a moan from the wall. The arrows were gone and Raina was curled up on the ground. She had been burned badly, but was already recovering with hints of orange repairing her skin. The healing was moving far more slowly than it should. Maybe a version of Extremis-lite?

There was a hiss and the sound of wires and gears as Garrett pushed the desk away from him. He’d been behind it, apparently, when it’d slammed into the wall of monitors. He could see melted metal components where the skin had burned away, and his eye was definitely a cybernetic implant of some sort. “That,” he growled even as he began crawling on his elbows, “won’t stop me for long.” His grin was bloodied and charred. “I have no heart for you to stab.”

And then he was flying through the air like a robot zombie. Clint brought his sword up, felt the man get impaled, but the weight was too much, throwing him onto his back and Garrett got his hands around his neck. The suit’s fabric turned rigid under the touch, trying to deflect the pressure. It was barely working. Clint jerked his sword, but couldn’t get enough leverage to move it more than a few inches.

He couldn’t reach Garrett’s heart.

He also couldn’t breathe.

“I think I’ll leave you here for Phil to find,” there was a teasing note in his voice. “I’ll miss the look, but knowing you died by my hand, that you failed,” he whispered into Clint’s ear as his vision started growing dark, “will be very satisfying.”

Clint struggled to push the man off, but whatever muscles were damaged before, the new Extremis had already healed. He could feel the fabric around his neck give way beneath the strong hands.

“After all, you killed my boy,” he growled, “I’m just returning the favor.”

Clint felt himself try to call out for Phil as iron thumbs pressed against the front of his neck, and then there was another whirring of robotics shortly before Garrett was flying across the room. Clint coughed and gagged and reached up to scrape and grab and finally yank the hood off as he took breath after shuddering breath, trying to get air to his oxygen-starved body.

The Winter Soldier’s arm lost its Tesseract-enhanced glow as it resumed its normal power levels. Garrett was just shaking off the punch when the Soldier shot forward and slammed his fist into the Agent’s face, crushing it completely. Garrett fell down. Clint gasped, trying to hear over the sound of rushing blood. He had to warn Barnes, that wouldn’t kill him. That wouldn’t be enough.

His vision was still a little fuzzy, but he saw Barnes pick up the blade he’d thrown earlier with his robotic hand and quickly decapitate Garrett mid-heal. The head rolled away, but it looked like it was still healing, along with the body. He didn’t stop there, though. Methodically, the Soldier dismembered the Agent, and then stabbed the sword directly through the severed head, straight through the brain and into the floor.

Clint had rolled over to push up onto his hands and knees, still heaving. One hand, he noted, was trying to get back to the body. Barnes kicked it across the room, then knelt beside him. “You let your guard down.”

“F-f-fu-fuck…” He coughed and his entire body shook. He settled for giving Barnes a nasty squint and the middle finger.

The man smirked. “We still have ten minutes. Want to rest five?” Clint had just enough in him to nod before falling back to rest against the charred wall. He watched passively as Barnes observed the torso give up on reattaching the lost limbs and start regrowing them directly. He wondered if Garrett could also regrow his head, if his mind was distributed through the body like a computer, when Barnes pulled out a Phase 2 gun and incinerated it in one blast.

Still far too quick and clean, but given what Garrett had become, Clint was satisfied he’d gotten half his revenge.

Even if he hadn’t landed the killing blow.

Fucking cyborgs.

He finally got his breath back, grabbed his hood to tuck into his belt, and pushed himself to his feet. Raina, he noted, had lost the charred look but her skin still appeared pink and raw. She was gazing at what was left of Garrett’s head disappointedly. She flinched when Barnes removed the sword and destroyed it as well.

When the Soldier stood over her, she just bowed her head.

With a painful swallow, Clint said, “No.”

Barnes didn’t take his eyes off her. “She’s a threat.”

“She’s s-s-stable Ex..Ex…”

“All the more reason to kill her.”

He shook his head. “Phil.”

“Agent Coulson-“

“Phil’s. Call.”

He could see the Soldier internally debate the order, but he couldn’t see what Clint did. Her whole world had just vanished in disappointment and blood. She may have been HYDRA, but with the right motivation and a few implants, she could be SHIELD easily enough. They just had to find what she’d wanted out of HYDRA, and show they could provide it instead.

Besides, she seemed a little too different to be the average HYDRA minion. Phil would see that too, and wouldn’t be happy at letting such a valuable asset be vaporized too quickly.

Barnes finally holstered the weapon and swung the woman up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. When he got next to Clint, he wrapped his Cybernetic arm against his shoulder and carefully led him down the stairs and back towards the rendezvous. Phil and Natasha were there. Hall was unconscious at their feet.

Clint managed a raised eyebrow at the bloodthirsty look in Phil’s eyes. He didn’t like it when Clint got hurt, especially as the bruises would be vibrant against his skin. Still, he said nothing as Barnes dropped Raina next to Hall. He eyed Clint one more moment, then turned his attention to the Soldier. “Report.”

“Target eliminated. Ronin recommended this prisoner.”

Phil frowned briefly, but squatted down so he was at the same level as Raina. He eyed the faint glow and the healing skin. He spoke softly, but Clint could still read his lips: ‘Did you touch him.’

She shook her head.

‘Did you lead him into a trap.’

She flinched.

Clint could feel Phil’s attention on him even though he didn’t break his stare on the prisoner. ‘He saved you from the Soldier.’

She nodded slowly.

Phil leaned forward and Clint could just imagine the menace in his voice. ‘Be grateful I’m acceding to his wishes. Otherwise you and I would be having a very different conversation.’

She didn’t pretend to not know what he meant, just shrunk back as he applied restraints to her wrists. When he stood, he inclined his head towards Barnes. “Guard them in the rear. If they fight, throw them out.”

Barnes nodded, picked up Hall and helped Raina to her feet, then marched them towards the quinjet, which was fading into view as the stealth panels deactivated.

“Natasha, you’re piloting. Stow our cargo and start preflight.”

Now that Clint’s eyes had adjusted, he could see a rather large sealed crate on wheels. Natasha pushed it in the direction of the vehicle. The gravitonium, undoubtedly. Clint blinked and Phil was in front of him, a finger tracing the bruises on his neck. He growled. “If she did this-“

“Garrett.” His voice was hoarse. “Extremis cyborg.”

“He’s lucky Barnes got to him first.”

He had no doubt Phil would have tortured Garrett indefinitely for trying to crush his throat. He could just imagine the ways one could torment an immortal. He tried to smile but coughed and hacked instead.

Phil rubbed his chest and reached down to take his hand and open his palm. He placed a remote in it, one with two buttons: one blue, one red. It was simple, something quickly cobbled together by Natasha, from the looks of it. He raised an eyebrow.

Phil kept holding his hand. “Is he the one that got you taken?”

Clint nodded.

Phil led him to the quinjet ramp. He saw both prisoners secure, Barnes strapped in beside them. He could hear the preflight already halfway complete. He glanced at Phil, then the remote.

Phil pressed himself closer. “We took the main gravitionium stash, but couldn’t remove the amount currently in their testing lab. Didn’t have the time.” His thumb rubbed small circles against his wrist. “A lab that, if it destabilized, could sink the whole island.” He leaned forward and kissed Clint’s ear before whispering, “They bartered you to a god. They killed me.” He rested his forehead against Clint’s temple. “Avenge us.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He pushed the red button.

There was a distant rumble, and over that he could hear car alarms and shattering windows as the ground began to heave and roll. He walked up the ramp with Phil onto the ship. Natasha had them in the air moments later and, looking out the main port, he saw the compound start to cave in. As they flew away, part of the harbor fell into the ocean, and three of the tallest buildings began to fall apart.

Still struggling to breathe, Clint kissed Phil. He deprived himself of air for a few seconds, then leaned back in his seat and huffed heavily as Phil took out a portable oxygen tank and fitted the mask over his head.

Phil had rigged an island-sized bomb despite achieving their mission objectives.

It was bloodthirsty and vindictive.

It was possessive.

It was love.

If this was the new Phil, he decided he rather liked it.

Chapter Text

Clint was smiling dopily behind the oxygen mask, his eyes slightly glazed but locked onto him. Phil kept a discrete hold of his wrist, keeping measure of the man’s pulse. It wasn’t erratic or faint, but it was definitely faster than it should be. He didn’t like that, but he wasn’t about to frown at Clint, not now.

He’d just killed a half million people on top of the fifty or so in Quinn’s compound. Half a million, in revenge for taking Clint. It was…less direct than he preferred. Usually when he unleashed his anger he tended to leave a visceral blood-trail in his wake. This time it was simply a bomb. A cataclysmic bomb, but still, almost no blood directly on his hands.

It was both satisfying and not.

He gave a mental sigh. If he ended up running SHIELD while Fury hid—assuming he stayed in hiding—his usual method of diving in and handling things himself would have to be put by the wayside. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to delegate, but when it came to Clint, it was always better to handle it himself, to feel the satisfaction of warm blood staining his fingers as he protected his archer.

Maybe he could borrow the War Machine suit every now and then. He had a feeling Rhodes would understand.

There was a ping on the radio, and he felt his ear twitch as Natasha responded. It was a little unusual. Like the gravitonium bomb, Stark would just send the information through a secure line, not actually use the radio. In the corner of the quinjet, he saw the Soldier’s shoulders tense, meeting Phil’s gaze for a minute before he turned his attention back to the prisoners.

Clint, it appeared, had nodded off leaning against his shoulder. Phil peeked towards the cockpit where he saw Natasha signal him with a hand. Careful not to jostle the sleeping man Phil picked up the headset inset into the wall and put it on. The sound of the jet immediately silenced, and he heard the other end of the line as clearly as if he were in the room.

A sterile, secure room. He could sense the arrogance before he ever heard, “I’m waiting, Romanov.”

“She’s passed you up the chain, Pierce.”

There was a surprised pause. “Phil Coulson. I have to applaud the fallen Director. I never suspected you were still alive.”

“I wasn’t.” He glanced back to Natasha, who pressed some controls and a screen appeared on the wall next to him. It depicted the strategic map showing the Triskelion, the Helicarrier, additional flyers and who he hoped were Hill and Hand’s people surrounding the building at a discrete distance. “Apparently, dying in Asgard may lead to a second life.”

There was another pause. “That’s…interesting.”

“Loki neglected to mention it when you made your deal?”

“Your death was never part of our agreement. Just a likely outcome from our projections.”

“That’s what happens when you use faulty intel.”

“I’ll have our analysts executed immediately.” Phil waited through the tense silence. “You know you can’t win. The Helicarrier’s weapons are no match for our defenses.”

“We got through the shields at Garrett’s place easily enough.” Pierce was too well trained reveal if that startled him, but Phil could swear he heard a sharp intake of breath. “If you check your satellite maps, I think you’ll find Malta’s landmass shrinking dramatically.”

There were a few corresponding touch-key beeping sounds. “I’m impressed. Not that you’ve killed Garrett. That you think this will do us any harm.” The smugness had come back into his tone. “Garrett was always expendable.”

“As long as he produced results. The Extremis-DEATHLOK.” This time there was a quiet curse over the phone. “It was impressive, if dangerous.”

“Was? You haven’t stopped the program. We have facilities worldwide.”

“As well as active units in every base. Yes, I’ve been catching up on the latest reports.”

“Then you know you can’t win against them. Except, it seems, by sinking an island.”

Phil shifted his grip around Clint’s wrist to slide it under the back of the hand holding the remote. He rested his thumb beside Clint’s on the device. “We didn’t just sink it. That was just…payback.”

“For Hawkeye?” He chuckled. “Half a million people, most who didn’t know of HYDRA-“

“But the government was in your pocket.”

“Of course. Puppet governments are easier to bribe than quietly influenced ones.”

“You’re a cancer, Pierce.” He let his voice level out, defaulting to the threat assessment tone that many in SHIELD had learned to fear. “HYDRA is a disease that requires extreme measures. Healthy tissue is collateral damage.”

“If you think your extreme measures will hold a candle to my soldiers-“

“Yes, your soldiers.” He let himself grin sharply. “The Extremis-DEATHLOK soldiers, nearly invulnerable, almost certainly immortal.”

“I have hundreds at the Triskelion. Your agents will be slaughtered.”

“I think you have that backwards.”

“Meaning?”

“You were Fury’s silent second for over a decade.” He let the man mull that over for a minute.

“You gained access to the files for the soldiers.” A note of quiet panic had entered his voice. “You know how to duplicate the process.”

“We do. We also discovered how to do this.” He pressed the blue button gently.

Immediately over the phone he heard muffled explosions and the sounds of an earthquake. “What-“

“That would be your hundreds of soldiers—your super-soldiers—suddenly combusting due to coolant failure with the cybernetic implants.” He waited a beat. “Around the world.”

He could hear it now, quicker breathing, notes of panic. “You—how did you—I don’t-“

“Stark learned all about Extremis, and had dug into the files of DEATHLOK when this little war began.” He let a touch of derision creep into his tone. “Hacking the system was easy once we were in the nerve center of the project.”

“You…you didn’t bring down the shield generators. I still have hundreds of personnel ready to fight you!” He was scrambling, and then there was a yelp and the brief sound of flesh sizzling.

Phil was definitely smiling now. “Let me guess, your self-destructing guards superheated your secure office in the heart of the building.”

“You son of a—those fighters will bring down your ship long before our shield fails.”

He was yelling. Good. Phil settled back and noted that both Barnes and Natasha were listening in. She had a grin of satisfaction while the Soldier kept smirking. “You really should execute your analysts.”

“You think you can play with me, Coulson? I led the infiltration of SHIELD nearly a decade before you joined!”

“And being at the top made you soft.” He snorted. “You always were a shit field agent. You orchestrated negotiations with Loki, Clint’s departure and even my death. Contingencies, those you failed to anticipate.”

“Like I give a fuck, Agent!”

“Director,” he snapped, all relaxation vanishing.

The pause returned. “Now you show respect?”

“My title,” he tilted his head up, “is Director of SHIELD.”

“You…of course Fury, that shit-“

“That’s right. Even a dead man’s better than you as Director. Why?” He growled lowly. “Intel and contingencies. You didn’t know I was alive. You didn’t know Stark had hacked your files. You didn’t know Asgard’s weapons killed Extremis soldiers.” Phil let a pregnant pause fill the air. “Did you plan for any of that? How about my return? On all your super-soldiers going up in flame with their research and researchers?”

There was the sound of explosions on the other end of the line, along with some static. Finally, timidly, Pierce admitted, “No. Those weren’t avenues of exploration.”

There was defeat in his tone, but Phil didn’t want him just defeated, he wanted him broken. “You’re a failure, Pierce. HYDRA will fall again, without Captain America.” He leaned forward unconsciously and let anger leak into his voice. “You wanted to create gods and rule this world in your order. You thought nothing could touch you once your immortal army was up and running.”

He lowered his voice further. “I spent the last two years slaughtering gods and immortals.” He could practically see Pierce’s boxy face paling at that. “Odin feared how far I would go. I built a weapon that killed the Hulk.”

He began with a shaky, “You-“

“You will fall, Pierce, because I know what it takes to kill a HYDRA.” He let that sink in and eyed the strategic map. “I was willing to burn a world to get Hawkeye back.”

“You…” There was a hint of desperation. “You mean-”

“Captain America and I have at least one thing in common: we both understand self-sacrifice.” There was an audible swallow from the other end. “If I have to burn SHIELD to make sure no heads grow back, fine. I’ve risen from the ashes, and I can do the same for SHIELD.”

There was a gasp of understanding, and then a body heavily falling back against the chair with an almost silent sob.

There it was. A surrender, a comprehension, and bleak acceptance of the future.

He let his voice return to its normal calm demeanor. “Goodbye, Pierce.”

There was no response on the line, but the echoing rapid explosions, followed by static and a sudden disconnect told him all he needed to. He sat up and confirmed that the Helicarrier had impacted the Triskelion and the two were collapsing into an inferno on the screen.

There was a nudge at his shoulder and he glanced over to Clint, whose eyes were open to slits. “Sexy,” he said in a gravely, soft voice. “So sexy.”

Phil shifted his hand back to rest once again on Clint’s wrist so he could keep an eye on his pulse. Still, he rested his forehead against Clint’s temple. “For you.”

Clint shook his head minutely. “For us.”

Phil couldn’t argue with that.

When he finally turned his attention to the rest of the cabin, Raina had paled considerably, and seemed to be shaking, refusing to even glance in his direction. Barnes just looked smug, and, if he was to guess, slightly turned on. He had a feeling the man would be vanishing to visit Rogers as soon as they landed…wherever.

Natasha seemed to be reading his mind. “Stark just sent us secure coordinates. We should arrive in six hours.” She peeked over her shoulder and quirked an eyebrow at him.

Phil nodded back, acknowledging her silent compliment. Beside him, Clint fell back into his slight sleep and his head fell against Phil’s shoulder. Phil shut his own eyes and took a few deep breaths.

Director.

That was it. HYDRA had undoubtedly listened in, and even though Fury wasn’t dead, there was no going back now. He was the unequivocal Director of SHIELD. Any change in leadership, even Fury returning, would be a sign of weakness that HYDRA would take advantage of instantly. Until everything with HYDRA was resolved, he would probably be spending all his time at some secret base coordinating the cleansing and resurrection of SHIELD.

He’d be sending Clint out on missions without him, without the full force of SHIELD to back him up. If Clint got captured, he couldn’t run in and sterilize the target in blood and fire. He had to send someone else. He had to trust someone else to take care of Clint for him.

Then again, hadn’t he been doing that for the last two years while he’d been dead? Clint had been taking care of himself, reaching out for support when needed.

And it wasn’t just him and Clint, or him and Strike Team Delta. He had Stark and Rhodes and Hill and Hand—well, maybe not Hand. She wasn’t big on recovery. He even had Potts now, if he could convince her to join the fight directly instead of behind the scenes.

If he didn’t trust them enough to save Clint, he certainly wouldn’t trust them to rebuild SHIELD.

He may not have been here the last two years, but somewhere deep inside he did trust them. Trusted them to follow his lead. And they trusted him.

Even though he could go crazy any time with the alien blood in his veins, those in the know still trusted him.

There was another nudge to his side. “Sleep, sir,” Clint said drowsily. “I’ll watch.”

“You’re injured.” He wanted to keep tab on Hill’s progress in eradicating the survivors of the Triskelion.

“You’re tired. Haven’t slept since you woke.”

Clint was in one of his stubborn moods, just a touch of petulance in his tone. He was also, Phil had to admit, right. He pressed his thigh against Clint’s, then looked up just enough to catch Barnes’ eye. The man nodded subtly.

Trust, he thought as he closed his eyes and leaned against Clint, is a good thing.

It felt like he had barely shut his eyes when he heard Clint laugh. It was a raspy hoarse sound that reminded him his archer was injured. He opened his eyes and found both Raina and Hall unconscious, from the bruises Barnes had simply knocked them out instead of using the sedatives in the medical kit. Looking forward, he saw Natasha bringing them in for a landing, some place semi-isolated, but with signs of small-town life on the outskirts of a casino.

When he finally lifted his head to look at Clint, the bruising around his neck was stark and ugly, but the grin was genuine, if a little manic. “What’s funny?”

“I’m back in fucking Iowa.” There was history there, Phil knew, one Clint hated to even touch. It certainly didn’t explain the humor.

Natasha chimed in with, “Stark found an unofficial base set up by Fury. Rhodes has secured it for us. Nearly killed one of the Koenigs when the man tried to give him a lanyard.”

They never could get that quirk of programming fixed. He raised an eyebrow. Clint snorted and leaned back against the seat. “It’s in Riverside,” he finally admitted, mouth still twitching with laughter.

Phil had to process that a moment. The birthplace of Captain Kirk. Nick had a wicked sense of irony. Phil let himself smile briefly before the jet slowed and they rolled into a smooth landing. He unbuckled himself and moved behind the chairs, looking out the window. The base they were approaching looked like an average complex of warehouses. The cover was undoubtedly something to do with the casino and its supply needs. He knew beneath the unassuming buildings, though, was an ant’s nest layout of a base.

Something about this place had caught Stark’s attention, yet HYDRA had no clue it existed.

Still pulling strings from the shadows, Phil thought ruefully. If Fury had led them here, then this was where Phil was meant to rebuild SHIELD from. There would be supplies and intel and probably everything he needed to tear down what HYDRA had commandeered and rebuild it properly.

It was big job.

He had to admit, he was looking forward to it.

Barnes carried the prisoners, not even bothering to acknowledge Stark, Rhodes, or Potts. Koenig’s LMD, however, started fretting and frowning and trying to put a lanyard over the Soldier’s head. Fortunately, a sharp glare dissuaded that disaster from occurring. Natasha was already guiding the jet into one of the nearby warehouses, which he saw was a converted hangar.

That left him and Clint to meet the welcoming committee.

Stark beat him to it. “So Malta now has some nice new beachfront property.” He clapped his hands together. “Only sunk about 73%, but Quinn Worldwide will be more than happy to assist in the recovery and restoration efforts.” Potts let out a sigh. “Oh, I purchased Quinn Worldwide. Didn’t I mention that? I thought I mentioned that.”

“You didn’t,” Clint was smirking, “but I wouldn’t mind a summer villa.” His smirk turned lecherous. “With a nude beach. Not optional.”

“Save your voice,” Phil said, reaching up to rest his hand on the back of Clint’s neck. He stroked a thumb along the bruises and Clint shuddered at the contact. He also went quiet. “How much control?”

“Nearly sixty percent. Through about ten shell corporations. It’ll take a while to root out the HYDRA loyalists.” He bounced on his feet. “Not too long. Pepper’s ruthless. And JARVIS is already uprooting all their black ops projects and facilities. Shouldn’t be too long until there’s a list and we can send sugarpie,” he jerked his thumb at Rhodes, still in the War Machine armor, “in to clean house.”

From the gleam in Rhodes’ eye, Phil doubted the man would leave Tony voluntarily, for any mission.

“Maybe you could build Miss Potts a suit,” he said conversationally. “That way she could visit local offices and clean house.”

Stark snapped and pointed at him. “And that’s why I love you! Great idea! I’ll put it together. Tomorrow. Maybe the day after. Did I mention I also own the casino? I can comp you some rooms. Chips?”

Phil let himself smile indulgently. “Another time. We should get inside. Clint needs medical attention and I need to check in with Hill.”

“Fair enough. I’ll just-“

“You too.”

“But-“

“Tony,” he leveled his best stern stare at the man, “no casino until HYDRA’s taken care off.”

He seemed to deflate. “Fine,” he mumbled, “but I reserve the right to go golfing at least.”

“And Colonel Rhodes reserves the right to taser you to keep you safe.”

Stark pressed his hands dramatically over his heart. “Pookie, you’d never!”

“Call me pookie again, and I won’t wait until it’s necessary,” the man replied, followed by a carefully coordinated dance between the armored man and Potts to turn Stark around and guide him back into the base.

He could feel Clint quivering, this time from repressed laughter. He stroked the bruise again. “Medical,” he said lightly, “then find a place to rest.”

“Of course-“

“And no nests.” He didn’t have to look to know the man was pouting. “When you’re better.” He used his other hand to press against his ribs. The man winced. Phil started walking them towards the open door. “You fought a cyborg.”

“And won. Ish.”

“And I want to make sure you won.” He applied just a touch of pressure to the handprints and Clint groaned, his steps hitching slightly. “Find a place to rest.” He stroked the neck gently. “For both of us.”

“Yes, sir.” He leaned into Phil for a moment, but then Koenig was back and Clint was on him, asking to lead him to medical.

Natasha materialized beside him. “He’s going to medical willingly?”

“He knows the punishment for not.”

“He likes the punishments.”

“He likes sex more.”

She shrugged in agreement. “According to instruments, this place is called The Playground.”

Well, Phil was going to be toying with HYDRA and world governments from here. “Layout?”

“Defensive in nature, but otherwise standard.”

“Heavily fortified, prepared for an assault.”

“I’ll be scoping the full details once Barnes leaves.” At his raised eyebrow, she crossed her arms. “He likes sex, too. He also likes to make sure Rogers is safe.”

For a moment, Phil considered consolidating that issue, but dismissed it quickly. They were understaffed and vulnerable here. May and Akela were loyal to him. They’d let him know if the Soldier ever turned.

Well, their lack of reports would, at least.

“You’re flying him?”

“Only one quinjet with stealth tech right now. I’ll drop him off, then return. Should have a full report on the base within three days.”

He doubted it’d take her more than two, but she wanted to give him a break. It was nice. Usually, nice was suspicious. She wasn’t being nice to him though.

She was being nice to Clint.

He didn’t mind using that. “You trust me with just Rhodes and Potts?”

“Just Barton should be enough. The others are support.”

Probably true. He paused as they reached the elevator. “I’ll see you in three days, then.”

“Don’t be too rough.” She grinned at him. “We need him able to fight.”

He rolled his eyes as the doors closed. It only took a brief thumb-scan to reveal the hidden floor buttons on the touchscreen. Seven floors beneath the surface. A standard defensive layout had at least three command centers. The nearest to the elevator was actually an auxiliary one, two stories in. It was designed to be easy access for SHIELD agents, and a trap for anyone who infiltrated.

He exited the elevator moments later and took only a few quick steps into the room. There were three control consoles against the walls, along with nearly a dozen screens. One wall was internal security, and he saw both Raina and Hall had been placed in vault-like maximum security holding cells. Clint was with Koenig in the medical bay, and Barnes and Natasha had just boarded the quinjet again.

The opposite wall was in a passive mode, displaying a flat layout of the Earth with lights indicating SHIELD base locations. Some, he noted, had turned from the safe green to a violent red. A couple were a menacing grey. Both colors—compromised and destroyed, respectively—outnumbered the green ones.

On top of the main computer console, directly in front of the door, rested a small black cube. It was innocuous, something easily dismissed as a knickknack, or paperweight, except neither had a place in a SHIELD command center. Stepping further into the room, the door closed behind him. He didn’t glance back, just reached out and picked up the strange device.

A familiar blue beam scanned his face from one side, and then one of the three main screens activated, and he found himself face-to-face with Fury. He’d lost his black clothes and leather jacket, and had exchanged the eye-patch for sunglasses. He was also in a nondescript room, easily one of a million hotels.

“Director.”

There was an inelegant snort. “Nice try, Cheese. I’m retired. Forcibly.” He pointed at the screen. “It’s your gig now.”

“With you nudging us every now and then.” The man’s grin was friendly and a threat all wrapped together. “Nice work, with Project Insight’s base.”

“Took a while to find. Had to get you fixed before I could handle that problem.”

He felt his hand tighten around the cube. “You had no right,” he hissed.

“I had every god-damned right. Christ, Coulson,” he shook his head. “I needed my Good Eye.”

“You needed a puppet.”

“Fuck you. If I wanted a puppet, I’d be using Hand.” He leaned towards the screen. “You know the game. You know the stakes.”

“I know the cost.”

“So make it better. Build a god-damned monument to Captain America and shit. Just clean house. The world’s in a hand-basket.”

Phil felt himself growl. “You told Clint to kill me. Clint!”

“Wanted me to ask Tasha instead?”

It was his turn to point at the screen. “You used alien blood to fix me! Knowing Clint might have to put me down! It could’ve broken him!”

“Bullshit! Your boy’s stronger than you think.”

“You don’t know-“

“Yeah, Phil, I do fucking know,” he interrupted. “I know because I picked him. I know because I watched him. I know because I was the fucking Director of the largest covert agency in the world.” Phil felt himself grit his teeth, but before he could say anything, the former Director continued with, “I know because you left him to me.”

He felt himself stiffen.

Fury waved it away. “I wouldn’t, Cheese. He’s yours. I didn’t touch him.” He leaned back against the sofa. “I did keep him together. You built him into a damned fine Agent. I just refined him. He’d do the greater good, even if it killed him. And he’d survive.”

The worst part was, Phil couldn’t disagree with him. Hadn’t he argued not a couple days ago the exact same thing with Clint himself? He felt himself deflate a little. “Bastard.”

“Guilty.” The man smiled gently. “I’m glad it worked, Phil.”

“It’s early yet. I could still snap.”

“Not easily. Not with Barton there. He’s your anchor and all that romantic shit. It’ll keep you sane.”

“And if not, a least I’ll burn most of HYDRA with me in the fallout?”

“That too.”

Phil snorted this time. He felt the edges of the cube dig painfully into his skin and finally, he brought it up. “What’s this?”

“My black box.” Phil opened his mouth. “Shut it.” He did. “It’s a Toolbox. Everything you’ll need to find resources off the SHIELD books. Some of the higher organizational templates you never saw. Something to help you rebuild.”

He examined it in his palm. “You’ve been planning this a while.”

“Since someone took my best sniper.”

Phil turned the box over. “You coming back into the fold?”

“Hell no. I’ve got a beach with my name on it.”

Phil could think of at least three compromised bases near beaches. “Your name and HYDRA’s blood?”

“Exactly.” The man finally stood up. “Kill the beast, Coulson. It’s your ship now.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Had to leave you something in my Will.” He chuckled darkly. “Good luck.”

“You too.” With that, the line went dead. He stowed the device in his pocket and leaned against the edge of the consoles for a minute.

That was it. Fury was gone. The official transfer of power was complete.

It was a heady feeling.

It was a nauseous one.

He shut his eyes, but only until he counted to thirty. After that, he pushed himself up, straightened his jacket, and started rerouting a call through Stark satellites and a half-dozen countries. It took five minutes, but that was enough to compose himself so that when he made radio contact with Hill and Hand, he’d been able to restore the veneer of calm. “Report.”

“Sixteen-hundred dead, nearly two-hundred prisoners,” Hand reported in clipped tones. “We’re interrogating them now to determine their loyalty value. Some have admitted to not realizing HYDRA was in charge. Others have claimed they or their families were threatened.”

“Execute the ones who didn’t realize HYDRA had taken control.” They couldn’t afford that lack of observational skills. It was too much of a liability. “Corroborate the others’ stories.”

“And the HYDRA agents?”

The Fridge was still in enemy hands, and with the gravitonium they had a way to flatten it. They’d lose the facility along with the threats. Which meant they didn’t have a facility for re-education or long-term captivity. “Identify the senior agents for further interrogation. Eliminate the rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hill, status?”

There was a huff on the line, not of frustration, but of physical labor. “All escapees were tagged or eliminated. My team at Stark Tower is tracking the tags. Hopefully they’ll lead us to additional strongholds.”

“Hand reported sixteen-hundred enemy combatants dead. What’re our casualties?”

More heavy breathing. “Thirty-two dead. Another forty…fifty-six wounded but stable.”

Thirty-two out of three-hundred. Over ten-percent. Good people they couldn’t afford to lose. “Anything left of the Helicarrier or Triskelion to recover?”

“I’m sifting through the wreckage with my team now. Homeland security is trying to intervene, but the ‘terrorist attack’ of super-soldiers has all of the alphabet agencies running circles. We’ll be secure here at least twenty-six hours.”

He nodded, and made a mental note to have Stark hack into the Pentagon to get access to their findings as well. “Finish up in twenty, then you and Hand retreat to Stark Tower. Once you’ve regrouped and we’ve assessed the new situation, we’ll begin rebuilding.”

“Rebuilding, sir?”

“What else would the Director of a fallen agency be doing?”

There was a beat of silence. “Of course, Director. Will you be needing my support?”

“SHIELD needs it. More importantly, our agents need it.”

Another beat. “If that’s the case, I’ll get back to work and have an evaluation report on your desk in two days.”

“I as well,” Hand contributed.

“Good. Check-in every twelve hours. Only accept orders from Koenig, the Widow, War Machine or Potts if I’m unavailable. Coulson out.” He cut the connection and took a deep breath that he let out slowly through his nose. The door slid open behind him and he heard sure, almost-human footsteps. Almost. “Agent Koenig.”

“Director Coulson.” A lanyard with his ID badge appeared in his line of sight. Without looking up from the computer console, he took it from the outstretched hand. “Agent Barton has been treated for his wounds. The regenerative serum was able to repair most of the damage, though he’ll still be sore. His larynx was practically crushed!”

“I noticed.” Since he knew it made the android happy, he slipped the badge around his neck. “Is he resting?”

“He said he’d scout for appropriate quarters for the new Director.” The short man bristled. “As if the ones I’d assigned were inadequate-“

“Give them to Stark.”

The look on the man’s face was crushed. “But-“

“They’re refined and large, correct?”

“Of course-“

“Give them to Stark.” He straightened up. “I’ll find Barton and notify you once my new bunk is found.”

The agent’s shoulders slumped. For an android, he was very expressive. The whole point, he supposed, of Life-Model Decoys. “Yes, sir. I’ll notify Mister Stark.”

“Thank you, Koenig. Please check in every twelve hours with Agent Hill or Hand. Let me know if anything urgent comes up.” He strode towards the door.

“Directory Coulson?” He paused at the threshold and glanced back. “I…am adequate for your needs, right? I know Dir—Fury only tolerated me.”

There was always the question of how self-aware the LMD’s were. Officially, the Koenig family was huge, especially since the models barely interacted with each other. There was an embedded subroutine that made them identify each other as twins. Even when they did that, though, he’d seen reports of Koenig models hinting at their actual nature.

It should set him on edge. After all, that might hint that the baseline loyalty hardwired into the units could be faulty or in danger of being circumvented. Instead, looking at the man before him, he saw someone who, even if they knew what they were, would be utterly devastated to know they weren’t up to SHIELD’s new Director’s standards. He took a step forward and placed both hands on his shoulders. “Billy,” there was happy surprise at the utterance of his name, “You and your brother have served SHIELD exceptionally during this…civil war. Fury may have only tolerated you, but he trusted you. That, and your family’s dedication to the safety of SHIELD personnel, is more than adequate for anyone under my service.”

The man’s enthusiasm was more restrained than Stark’s, but shone through just as well. “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! I’ll let Stark know about the new rooms. He’ll be thrilled. Been complaining he needed more bed space.”

Phil patted the man on the back as he left and glanced at the internal security screens. He found Clint not near the surface, as usual, but on the sixth sub-story of the facility, prowling around the rooms. He left the command center and called for an elevator. When it arrived, he buried his surprise and just let out a huff as he boarded the car.

Once he was in, he pressed his destination, and the elevator moved for a moment before the lights dimmed, then flickered in an otherworldly green, as if candlelight was the source of illumination. “Do you really need the dramatics?”

Beside him, Odin chuckled. “I am the Lord of Hel. Some rituals must be observed.”

Phil guessed as much. His armor was the same, but there were more bloodstains. The green cape fluttered quietly and, instead of a helmet, he now wore a matching mask that looked more like a masquerade piece with its angular edges and runic script. “I suppose I should apologize for my abrupt termination to your service.”

“Nonsense. You had no control over mortal affairs of your body. Much less what was…done.” There was a hint of disgust in his tone. “I have been told the method has been destroyed.”

“It appears so.”

“Good. Some powers were not meant for your hands.”

Phil only barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “To what do I owe the visit? It sounds as if you’ve won the war of the Underworld.”

“So I have. Your Hulk plan was most successful. The jotun spend their time holding off its rage, and abandoned Laufey’s Son soon after your disappearance. Thor and your Magneto were able to turn the tide. A…mutant? Yes, mutant of ice sacrificed himself for control of the Cask of Ancient Winters. Asgard has been reclaimed and your powered mortals have colonized Vanaheim.”

Phil nodded. “And you’ve come for help to reclaim your throne?”

“Thor may have the throne. I have my own realm, and though it currently pales in comparison, I shall remake it so that its terrible splendor is at least as magnificent.”

It actually sounded frightening, and a bit like what Phil was embarking on with SHIELD at the same time. “So, what are you here for? You’re the second former boss that’s contacted me today.”

“I have come to thank you for your efforts, Son of Coul. Hela’s bones line my dais and my crown holds her power. For that, should you need aid, while Asgard shall not heed your call,” one of the eyes in the mask flashed red, “Hel will.”

That could be remarkably useful. “You have your own Heimdall?”

“Spill blood outside of battle and invoke my name. It is a simple, but effective ritual. Midgard is still connected to the realm of the dead, after all.”

“And how will I know my enemies won’t use you against me?”

“You don’t.” The smile was more skeletal than human. “And I would not object to my favored General returning to my service.”

Phil tucked his hands into his pockets. “Force the issue, and you won’t be the one wearing that mask.”

That earned him a hearty laugh. “I don’t doubt it!” Odin’s cape seemed to flare behind him. “Which is why any enemy of yours who invokes me shall find themselves upon your mercy.”

“Easier to just kill them.”

“Your methods are more…entertaining.”

Phil hummed in agreement as the elevator stopped, but the doors didn’t open. “Anything else I can do for you, Lord Odin?”

“We had a Pact, Son of Coul. You aided in the fall of Hela and my ascension to its throne. Thor has just delivered a fatal blow by which I can finally fulfill my end of the oath.”

Phil turned slowly towards the god. “A Pact.”

“Yes.” He inclined his head. “Your Hawk has just discovered the delivery a few rooms down the corridor.” He started to fade into the shadows. “I look forward to your chosen method of ending this life. It will be…quite enjoyable.”

The flickering lights solidified and returned to their standard fluorescent shade. Odin was gone, and as the doors opened Phil knew immediately which room Clint was in. All the dormitory passages were closed except for one, which had fog gently wafting from its open doorway. Phil pulled out his gun and approached the room cautiously. He remembered working for Odin, remembered the war, even Clint visiting.

He didn’t remember the details of the Oath.

He stopped himself just beside the door and took a deep breath. Odin delivered something, someone, obviously. What would Phil demand as payment for being his General? Something big, but something he’d be willing to part with. Something that had to be enticing enough, other than resurrection, to make Phil swear allegiance to the dead God.

It had something to do with Clint. It was the only thing he’d consider valuable enough to trade on.

He wouldn’t get any answers standing in the hall. Flicking the safety off, he pivoted on his foot and shifted into the doorway. His eyes landed first on Clint, who was still wearing the Ronin uniform but had unsheathed a sword. The man glanced his way, then returned his gaze to the floor.

At the tip of the sword, Phil found a creature of blue skin and dark hair. There were burnt patches upon the human-sized person—man, it appeared. Its neck, wrists, and ankles were in golden manacles connected by dark chains, forcing it into a fetal position that exposed its back and neck. Its teeth were bared, sharp and pristine, and its red eyes glowered at Clint and his weapon.

It was a jotun.

It took Phil another moment to recognize that it was Loki.

“Phil,” Clint asked cautiously.

A slow, predatory smile crept along his face, and he holstered his gun. “I see,” he muttered. “It appears I didn’t just work for Odin. There was an Oath.” He approached. The fog was from the cold of Loki’s skin interacting with their atmosphere. “Loki, apparently, is mine to deal with.”

Clint’s sword inched forward and tucked its point under the god’s chin. “He’ll just come back.”

“Not this time.” He squatted, looking over the now-nude figure that had taken his archer. “When he dies this time, there won’t be any return.”

Clint’s throat rumbled as he said, “Good.”

Loki had remained silent, and Phil noticed a shining emerald just over the front of the throat, probably some magical silencer. Though Loki’s head was tilted back at a painful angle thanks to Clint’s sword, his gaze had turned towards Phil. There was anger, arrogance, and disdain.

There was no fear.

Phil would correct that soon enough.

“I should turn you over to Stark,” he began conversationally. He held his hand out and felt it shake at the chill, confirming that even weakened, Loki’s skin was too cold to touch. “You could be a valuable resource. Testing biological weapons, intel on Asgard, even a source for magic.” The snarl was silent, but obvious. “Except I’ve seen what happens when we do that. The potential disasters.” He lowered his hand and sat back on his haunches. “We won’t be doing that.”

Clint dug the blade just enough into the skin that a drop of black blood emerged and froze on the skin. “What’s the plan, boss?”

Phil studied Loki again, then shifted over so he was directly looking at the god. “You broke your Pact with Earth. I can forgive that. I could even overlook you taking the Tesseract, though I’d still be pissed.” He leaned forward. “You took something of mine, though, took him and used him.” The grin he got at that was feral and lascivious. Phil stretched his arm towards Clint. A dagger, slightly ornate and copper looking, was placed in his hand and he brought it before Loki’s face. “Normally, I’d just kill you.”

He traced the flat edge of the blade along Loki’s shoulder. The cold didn’t travel up the metal, but the general chill of the body still caused a touch of frost upon his knuckles. “That’s too good for you.” He stopped at the elbow, tilted the weapon, and then slowly flayed the blue skin down the side of the arm. Loki didn’t make a sound, and when Phil pulled away, the seeping blood dribbled only moments before it too froze. “I wish I had time for you. Days.”

He suddenly stood and stepped back. For an instant, confusion flashed across the alien face. “I do, actually. But I have more important things to do than torture you.” He circled around the body, then flicked his wrist. The dagger embedded directly into the middle of the back, where a human’s spinal column would be. This got him a soundless howl as the weapon buried up to the hilt. “You took something from me, but you took more from him.” He stepped back and crossed his arms. “And it’s only fair that he takes the revenge. For both of us.”

Clint stared at him for one moment, blinking twice. It was another whole moment before he pulled his sword away, then slashed it across Loki’s chest. He kicked the creature’s shoulder, making him land on his back, digging the dagger in deeper and presenting Clint with plenty of vulnerable spots. He started with quick thrusts, shallow stabs along the chest, the stomach, the shoulders. A twist and he brought the flat of the blade down viciously on Loki’s hands, and Phil could hear the bones of the fingers shattering.

With a grunt, Clint repositioned Loki with a kick then pulled out his second sword. He drew two deep gashes along the sides of Loki’s legs, then his arms. He growled as he tucked his sword between Loki’s legs. That made the fallen god flinch, and Phil wondered if Clint would actually castrate him. He definitely wasn’t opposed to the idea.

Clint apparently was, though he teased the threat, creating uneven nicks and cuts along the inner thigh with the very tip of the sword mere centimeters from the groin. Loki flinched again as Clint smashed the flat of the blade against the genitals before moving on. He returned to the shallow incisions along his chest, working his way up until he reached the neck. With a snarl Clint dug the points of both blades into Loki’s collarbone, carelessly carving into skin that peeled away under his deft hands, leaving a collar of frozen blood.

It was always a beautiful thing, watching Clint work over a target. All that lethal strength and deadly cunning on display for him. The only thing missing to make this sensual danse macabre complete was if Clint’s victim actually played his part.

Loki wasn’t breaking. He was in pain, and he may have the concept of fear, but Phil didn’t fool himself. Loki believed himself a god, and whether this was the final death or not, Phil had neither the time nor the instruments to truly break this creature before offering the mercy of death. All he would do was suffer, and then be snuffed out.

It would have to do.

A few more kicks and Loki was on his knees, bent over, a dark stain oozing and spreading across his back with the dagger hilt at its center. Dropping a sword Clint fiercely yanked it out, then plunged his other sword back into the wound. That made Loki choke and Clint snarled. He pulled the blade out, then stabbed him again, and again. Four, five, seven, ten times. Loki was starting to go limp, the cold of his body unable to freeze over the blood fast enough.

Clint loomed over the god, breathing hard. He used his gloved hand to yank on the messy hair. His hand, Phil was relieved to note, didn’t freeze instantly.

Clint brought the sword in front of Loki’s face. “You took my will. You took my voice. You took my Phil.” He snarled again and smashed the hilt into the creature’s nose, crushing it entirely. “He beat you. I beat you.” He shoved the head down, and black blood crystalized on the floor as it dripped down.

The jotun was wobbling, even kneeling. Clint wrapped the strands of hair around his fist and pulled and pulled until Loki was upright, both the collar and his neck exposed. “I was never yours. I wear his jesses. His hood.” He pressed the sword against the throat. “And my talons, are his, and his alone!” He dug the blade deep into the cold flesh, then slid it out and shoved Loki away.

The creature was still breathing, but Phil could tell he was on his last legs. Instead he turned his attention to Clint, who was panting, his eyes an ember red that Phil could only conclude was supernatural. When he stepped forward Clint spun around, sword coming up. Phil easily ducked it, grabbed Clint’s wrist and twisted it as he brought it sharply against his knee.

The sword fell.

Clint tackled him. He was feral and lethally agile but Phil knew him, knew how to get to him. Phil shifted the balance on his feet so he caught Clint’s momentum and threw him over his head. Clint broke out of his grip and rolled, landing in a crouch at the foot of the bed. The glow was fading from his eyes, but it was still present. When he leapt forward again, Phil caught him, twisted, and threw the man onto the bed, then jumped on top of him.

Clint thrashed and snarled, but Phil was having none of it. It took a couple of rolls, but he finally straddled Clint and slammed the back of his hand against his cheek. Clint growled and grabbed for his lapels. Phil caught the wrists, twisted them again and pinned Clint on his front, yanking the arms up sharply enough that when he jerked Clint let out a yell in pain. Phil took the momentary distraction to whip off his tie and quickly wrapped it around Clint’s wrists, tying them together.

Clint struggled again, but some of the reflexive feeling of it faded. When Phil fell forward and wrapped his hand around Clint’s bruised neck, applying just a touch of pressure, Clint hissed and went still. There were one or two more cursory struggles, and then he submitted, pressing his face into the mattress as he let out a sob.

Phil took a moment to make sure his tie would hold, then he released the neck so he could run his hand through Clint’s hair. The man’s body was wracked with shakes as he yelled into the blankets. It took nearly five minutes of Phil soothingly petting him before he went still. After a moment, he turned his head to the side, cheeks wet but eyes dry. He pulled briefly at the restraints. “I’m good. I’m good now.”

Phil pet him another minute, then shook his head. “Not yet.” With a little nudging he got Clint to roll over, and Phil kissed both of his tear-stained cheeks before capturing his mouth in a gentle kiss.

Clint’s body relaxed beneath him and let out a half-sob, half-moan when he pulled away. “Please, Phil.” He blinked slowly, his eyes normal once more.

Phil kissed him more desperately this time, biting Clint’s bottom lip as he undid the sash along Clint’s waist. There was no wet desperation when Clint moaned this time, and he only needed one or two queues for Clint to toss the belt and sword sheaths off to the side. He guided Clint up so he could push the vest-coat off his shoulders, and slid his hands along the armored torso. “How do you get it off,” he whispered, nipping at Clint’s jaw.

Clint hissed and then stuttered, “Ronin, standard cl-clothing mode.”

Phil could feel an electrostatic tingle everywhere he touched Clint, but when he reached down to slide the armored shirt up, it disconnected from the pants and allowed him access to the scarred chest beneath. It was another minute to have it lifted up and over Clint’s head, using it and the vest as a second layer of bindings to trap his arms. He pushed Clint back down and kissed his chest. “Good boy.”

“When am I not?”

He bit Clint’s shoulder in retaliation and got a shaky grin in return. Phil resumed his exploration of Clint’s body. When Clint started to get too loud Phil pressed his hand against Clint’s neck and he quieted down, like a tamed animal. Phil laid on top of Clint and pressed his lips against Garrett’s bruising prints. “You’re mine, Clint?”

“Yes, sir. Always sir.” He shook at each contact of the inflamed skin.

“My hawk.”

Clint sucked in a sharp breath. “Yes.” A glance up revealed Clint had closed his eyes. “Yes.” He let out a choked cry when Phil palmed his crotch. There was a cup, of course, but pressing down he felt resistance. “All yours.”

“My jesses. My hood.” He pushed the waist of the armor down, tossed the cup aside, and tore open the boxers so he could run his hand along the growing erection. He lifted his head to look Clint in the eyes. “My talons.”

“Yes, yes, always,” he hissed, angling his head to try and kiss him. Phil pulled just out of reach and Clint whined before falling backing, panting as Phil curled his fingers around Clint’s length. “Please,” he pleaded.

“You’re my hawk.” He let go of Clint, which earned him another inarticulate cry. “What am I, Clint?” He shifted so he was kneeling over the archer, careful to keep any part of him from touching any part of Clint. He loomed over Clint. “What am I to you?”

Clint thrust his hips once, twice, and then he bared his teeth and looked Phil in the eyes. “You’re mine!” He lurched up kissed Phil, then wrapped his legs around Phil’s and jerked, twisting them so he fell onto his side and Clint was plastered against him. “My handler. My agent. My Phil!”

He was rutting against him now, and though it felt good, Phil forced himself to pull away. Clint growled and jerked forward, but Phil had enough control to keep him away. His arms strained in the restraints, and although Phil knew Clint could get out, that wasn’t the name of this game. “I’m yours. You’re mine.” He kept a hand on Clint’s neck to keep him still and kissed him gently. “I take care of what’s mine.”

And then he got off the bed.

Clint howled, but another press against the throat had him stilled again, though he was snarling. Phil crossed the room and picked up the dagger from the floor, reaching just far enough to close the door. He could hear Clint shift himself on the bed, roll over so he could see what Phil was doing. That was fine. Phil walked over calmly to Loki. The blood was no longer pooling, and it was obvious he was still alive from the shallow, barely audible wet gasps.

Phil looked up so he met Clint’s eyes, carefully positioned the dagger, then shoved it into Loki’s ear, straight through to the brain.

Loki froze immediately and slumped, still, quiet.

Dead.

Clint’s cock twitched and released a drop of pre-come onto the bed.

Phil yanked the dagger out, stood, and walked over to the bed. Clint’s eyes followed the bloody dagger, followed it as Phil knelt and used the corner of the quilt to wipe off the jotun blood. Watched as the blade seemed to emit a touch of heat and then gleamed pristine in the darkened room.

Phil pushed Clint onto his back and repositioned his body, then he placed the dagger carefully on Clint’s chest.

The man’s breath hitched.

Still kneeling by the bed, Phil whispered in his ear. “I’ve been wanting to do that since he took you from me.” Clint shut his eyes. “Can you feel that weight, the death of that monster in the blade?” Clint nodded his head, swallowing loudly. “I’ll always come for you, Clint. I’ll always make them pay for taking you. Director or not,” he pressed on the hilt hard enough for the metal to bruise Clint’s stomach, “I swear, on my life, on this dagger, on Loki’s blood. You are mine, and that’s an oath I will always keep.”

There were tears at the corner of Clint’s eyes again. Phil set the dagger on the bedside table before running his hand through Clint’s hair.

“I swear,” Clint started.

Phil kissed him. “You gave me your oath a long time ago.”

Clint shook his head. “I swear,” he swallowed, “to always come after you, to burn the fucking world if I have to, because I need you. You’re mine and I need you.” He blinked up towards the ceiling. “I can’t lose you again.”

Phil pressed his forehead against Clint. “You won’t.”

It was an empty promise, on both accounts, but the best they could do in their line of work.

Phil stood up then and slide out of his jacket. Clint, he noted, watched him through lidded eyes, and his cock, softened from their touching moment, began to perk up again. Phil made a show of pulling out a small tube of lube from his pocket, and crawled up onto the bed between Clint’s legs. Still watching him, Phil undid the top button of his shirt, the cuffs of his sleeves, and rolled them back so his forearms were showing.

Clint let out a quiet moan.

It only took a few short strokes, to send Clint back into the haze of sexual bliss. When he’d closed his eyes again, Phil popped the cap on the lube and squeezed some onto his finger. Clint liked it rough at times, but that wasn’t what this moment was about. At his first finger, Clint’s moan was louder, pained. “Been a while?”

“So fucking long,” Clint panted.

It didn’t take long to stretch Clint enough for the second finger. “You’re so good, Clint. So good that I’m going to take you apart over the next three days so you know just how much you mean to me.”

“Yes,” he hissed, “please, sir. Yes.”

At the third finger, Clint jerked and tried to press down. “Stay.” He got a throaty whine in response. “Clint.”

“It’s so good, I don’t wanna.”

Phil crooked his fingers and Clint’s entire body spasmed. More pre-come spilled upon his stomach. “It’s my show, Clint.” He withdrew his fingers.

Another needy whine. “I’ll be good, I swear, I swear, just, please…please…”

He let the opening of the zipper fill Clint’s senses, then took only a moment to slick himself up before picking up Clint’s legs and pushing into him. Clint groaned in pleasure and bore down, shoving Phil as deep in as possible. Phil let him, but he slapped Clint’s inner thigh as a reprimand.

“Oh fucking gods yes, yes I missed this.” Clint grunted as Phil pulled out and thrust back in again. Clint grunted. “Fuck, sir. Faster, please.”

Phil didn’t answer, just kept up a slow and steady pace. Clint’s eyes were still closed, so he didn’t see Phil maneuver them forward on the bed. He was completely startled when his head fell back, dangling over the edge of the mattress. “Wha? Fuck, sir-“

“Open your eyes.”

“Can’t see you when-“

Phil leaned forward and pressed his hand over Garrett’s bruises. “I said,” he growled, “open. Your. Eyes.”

Clint obeyed and sucked in a quiet gasp at the direct view of Loki’s corpse he now had. “Fuck-“ He quieted at the pressure Phil applied, just panted and moaned as Phil started moving faster and faster, losing himself into the rhythm and feeling Clint’s body respond to the blood and possession, the picture of pure vengeance before them.

A small, lust-free part of his thoughts was mindful of Clint’s damaged neck and made him pull his hand away. Clint remained silent though, and there was a vague layer of new bruises on the neck. Phil’s bruises. Phil bared his teeth and shifted his hand so he could grab Clint’s erection and start pumping him.

Clint reacted by thrusting into it and soon his whole body was arching, moving as gracefully and powerfully and as unified as it was when he shot a bow. Phil thought it was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen, which was why he decided to give two shits about his suit, leaned over Clint and growled. “Come. Now.” And bit him in the shoulder hard enough to draw blood.

His archer yelled, at the pain, at the release, and Phil felt the threads of come splash against his shirt. His own orgasm was seconds later, and his teeth dug into the muscled flesh even harder as he jerked sharply through those final throws or ecstasy.

His world didn’t white out, but it was a close thing.

Eventually, he relaxed his jaw and lifted his head up. He’d drawn blood, and the indentations were deep enough there might actually be scarring. Good, he thought, and licked at the blood carefully.

Clint was still shuddering, letting out blissful, contented sounds between a moan and a sigh. He wasn’t moving, but he didn’t need to. He knew Phil would take care of him, and that was exactly how Phil liked it.

Finally, he rested his ear against Clint’s chest, listened to his staccato heartbeat until it eventually resumed its normal rhythm. He pressed his palm to Clint’s chest. This was his, and he would protect it.

“Yours,” Clint murmured, as if he could read Phil’s mind.

“Mine,” he confirmed.

“Mine,” Clint parroted.

“Yes,” Phil agreed. “All yours.”

He fell asleep after that, where he dreamed of strange hexagonal shapes and the world burning, but none of that mattered because he had Clint beside him.

And that was all that mattered.