Your Ride Is Here
Famous last words: This was supposed to be a milk run.
After all the shit that went down in New York, after Phil getting resurrected and mending the relations with the Asgardian people, after Phil and Clint finally settling their issues (with Natasha literally standing in guard), Clint thought they’d get some nice, easy time off.
Yeah. As if.
”It’s a milk run, really, but it would do you good,” Fury had said before leaving Phil’s office with a dramatic flare of his coat. Clint had dropped from the ceiling when Phil had pushed a chair to the side and wordlessly pointed at it while leafing through the file.
”Lithuania,” he’d said.
”We could travel via Sweden if you’d like,” Phil had said. ”I hear Princess Estelle is a charming young lady.”
Clint had narrowed his eyes at Phil’s mild tone. So what if he liked the Scandinavian royalty and followed all the young princes and princesses on Facebook? They were all so pretty and happy. Must be all the healthy Nordic air they breathed.
”Can we at least take Nat?” he’d grumbled
Phil had given him a gentle, chiding look and said, ”Did you really think she’d let us leave without her?”
It was supposed to be a milk run: an old-fashioned, by-the-book mission, easy in-and-out, accompanied with familiar banter and Phil’s calm voice in their ear. A routine gig that would leave them more than enough time to play tourist on their way back. But then someone had royally (ha!) screwed up their info, safe house, and back-up, and they were in neck deep.
”Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Clint chanted under his breath and snuck a glance around the pile of wood. The view was exactly the same as the last time he’d checked: thirty-five goons with machine guns and something extra—he hadn’t seen it necessary to risk a bullet in the head to look closer.
”Perhaps later,” Phil said calmly, but Clint knew him well enough to hear the strain. Phil wasn’t back to 100% yet and their mad dash to cover had taxed him more than Clint liked.
”Please don’t,” Nat said as she crawled into their makeshift shelter from somewhere left from Clint. He swore he hadn’t seen anyone there just a moment ago, but it was Nat.
Nat, who was bleeding heavily from her leg.
”Report,” Phil greeted her.
”I’m out of ammo, I’ve used all my Widow’s Bites, and I think my left femur is broken,” she said coolly and wrapped the strap Clint handed her around her thigh, grunting as she tightened it. ”Also, they have something that busted my comm-link.”
Phil nodded. ”I noticed. Some kind of electromagnetic pulse that killed our phones.”
”So…we’re just gonna sit here then?” Clint asked.
”I never thought I’d be captured in a collapsed barn in a crossroads next to a Lithuanian field,” Nat grumbled. ”Rather pedestrian.”
Clint snorted and then stopped. ”Wait, crossroads?”
Nat raised a brow. ”Yes, it would seem so. Why?”
”I know a way out.”
Well, in all honesty, Clint didn’t know a way out. He just knew a way to contact someone who might help. Perhaps. Maybe.
”So, what are you doing again?” Nat asked, raising a brow at the little box of stuff Clint had collected in a rusted-out sardine tin he’d found under the barn.
”Um, making a call?”
”To whom?”
Clint rubbed the back of his neck. ”Ah…he’s an acquaintance I met some time ago.”
”Where?” Phil asked, staring somewhat bemused at Clint burying the tin on the ground.
”So, a funny thing,” Clint started, ”remember that undercover op you wanted me to go back to after the New York shit storm, the one with the circus and the demons?” He patted at the ground on top of the buried tin and hoped his information was valid.
”Hello boys,” said a familiar voice from behind him a short moment later. ”And the lovely lady, of course.”
Neither Nat nor Phil twitched when they saw a stocky, suit-clad man appear out of nowhere.
”Soo…the acquaintance I told you about?” Clint said. ”Phil, Nat, meet Crowley. Crowley, my team.”
”Lovely,” Crowley said. ”And why did you call me again? I’m really busy you know, ruling Hell and everything.”
Nat let out a string of Russian expletives under her breath.
Crowley raised a brow. ”My my,” he purred. ”I do love a lady who has a way with her words. Tell me, is that even anatomically possible?”
The glare Nat sent Crowley’s way made Clint blanch and it wasn’t even directed at him. ”Um, we’re a bit on a tight spot here, surrounded, about to die, and all that jazz,” he hurried to explain. ”I was wondering if you could help us?”
Crowley sniffed and brushed his nails on his jacket. ”I could but why should I?” He cocked his head and raised his brows. ”Or are you willing to make a deal, Mr. Barton?”
”Njet!” Nat interrupted and ground out another word that sounded a lot like chewing gravel.
Crowley’s eyes widened and his lips drew in a slow smile. ”Or perhaps there’s another deal I could make.” He stared at Nat for a long while before heaving a deep breath. ”I’ll help you out and replenish your ammo and…whatever else you might need, on one condition. Miss Romanova shares the night with me.”
Clint’s eyes went wide. ”What the fuck? Nat, no, you don’t have to—”
Nat didn’t take her eyes from Crowley’s. ”Shush now, Clint. I’ll be alright.” She inclined her head. ”Fine.”
”Excellent!” Crowley purred and stepped forward. ”It’s traditional to seal the deal with a kiss,” he reminded.
”Of course,” Nat said, amused, and extended her hand.
Clint blinked several times and watched as the King of Hell bent down and kissed the Black Widow on the hand.
What the fuck?
Crowley didn’t let go of Nat’s hand but helped her to stand up before glancing at Clint and Phil. ”Shall we?” he asked and raised a brow.
”What about the Hydra agents?” Phil asked, suspicious.
”Who?” Crowley asked airily.
”The men who tried to kill us?” Phil said. ”The ones on the field, just around the corner?”
”Ah, those agents,” Crowley said and brushed an imaginary fleck of dust from his jacket. ”Already taken care of. Why, did you think they were just waiting for us to be done with our negotiations?” He gave Phil a condescending look and shook his head.
Clint stood up and took a look around. All the Hydra goons were lying on the ground, very dead, and with extremely unpleasant looks on their faces.
Crowley cleared his throat. ”Shall we?”
He didn’t wait for an answer and before Clint realized what had happened, they were swept into a vortex of darkness and cold that seemed to slither over and into his skin in oily brushes of something that made him want to scream. Just when he thought he couldn’t handle it any longer, the darkness receded, leaving them reeling.
”Where are we?” he asked, fighting back nausea.
”Sweden. I’ve heard it’s a…magical place,” Crowley intoned, giving Phil a wide-eyed look of innocence.
”Really?” Phil asked flatly.
Crowley grinned. ”Sorry, mate. I just couldn’t resist.” He spread his hands wide. ”Welcome to one of my humble residences. You’ll have the royal suite at your disposal for as long as you want to. On the house, of course.”
”And you?” Clint asked.
”Well, Miss Romanova and I will spend the night elsewhere.”
Clint really wasn’t okay with any of this. Or well, he was okay with being alive, but he wasn’t okay with what Nat was being forced to do. He grabbed her arm and managed to drag her exactly three and a half steps before he let go just to preserve his life.
”Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he whispered. ”He’s a demon, for fuck’s sake!”
”And what makes you think he’d be worse than anything I’ve already encountered?” Nat whispered back.
”But…you…he wants you to sleep with him!”
Nat scoffed. ”Who said anything about sleeping with him? He wants to spend the night with me and that exactly what he’ll get.” A cold, cruel smile spread on her face and she gave Crowley a coy and thoroughly false smile.
Sometimes Clint forgot how freaking terrifying Nat could be.
He also realized he’d never told Crowley her last name.
”What do you think will happen?” Clint asked later, resting his head on Phil’s chest. It was a position he always ended up, pressed as near as he could to listen to Phil’s heartbeat.
”I have no idea,” Phil muttered. His fingers carded soothing circles on Clint’s scalp and he pressed into the touch. ”Would you like to explain how you know…what did he call himself? The King of Hell?”
”Eh…I might have left some things off my mission report?”
Phil let out a sigh.
”Well, how was I supposed to explain a rogue demon and his pissed-off boss who is all for rules, proper protocol, and good work ethics?”
”He sounds like a reasonable guy,” Phil mused.
”Well, fuck you,” Clint muttered.
”Only if you do all the work.”
Clint rolled his eyes. ”Ha ha ha,” he said flatly but when Phil raised a brow, he blinked. ”Wait, seriously?”
”I’m a serious man.”
Clint narrowed his eyes and decided to do his everything to wipe that calm look off Phil’s face. It might require some work but he was good at that. Working.
Yeah.
It was almost noon and they were on their third pot of criminally good coffee and Clint was about to stuff his face with yet another eclair when they heard a faint pop. Nat appeared in the middle of the room, accompanied by Crowley.
”Nat!” Clint exclaimed and nearly choked on his eclair. ”Are you alright?”
She gave him a fond smile. ”Why wouldn’t I be? Oh, eclairs! Did you leave me any?”
”Would you want me to order more? I’ll order more,” Crowley said, marched to the phone, lifted the receiver to his ear and merely yelled ”ECLAIRS!” before putting the receiver down.
”Why, thank you, Fergus,” Nat said.
Clint wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or if the King of Hell blushed.
A short moment later, they heard a knock on the door and Crowley hurried to deal with the room service.
”What the hell happened?” Clint hissed under his breath, nervously tapping his fingers on his knee while Nat calmly poured herself some coffee.
”He has a…thing about domineering redheads,” Nat said. ”Must be some kind of an Oedipal complex. Anyway, it really wasn’t a chore to share the bed with him after I lay down some rules.” She paused when Crowley stopped by her side and offered her a tray full of eclairs. ”Good boy,” she murmured.
Crowley practically beamed.
Clint’s jaw dropped and he shared a panicky look with Phil.
Suddenly, he didn’t want to hear another word of how Nat’s night had gone.
Not a word.