Kind of Ridiculous Thor Fic...
I really have no idea what this is, except that I got the idea of drunk!Coulson, God of Government Bureaucracy. And I wanted a little more Clint Barton.
And how fucking inadequate would you feel as, y'know, Coulson & Barton on a team of Gods and Super Soldiers and Billionare Geniuses in Metal Suits? Clint may be wildly OOC, because what can you get from a couple lines of dialogue and a bow?
Also: "Do you want me to take him down or would you rather send in more guys for him to beat up?" "I'll let you know" = kind of BFF.
Clint Barton knows it’s going to be a bad day when he enters his apartment at the end of shift to find Agent Coulson sitting on his couch nursing a beer.
“Barton,” he says, in that way that implies he has every right to break in to Clint’s apartment and drink his beer.
“Coulson.”
Clint shrugs and tosses his keys in to the bin on the kitchen counter. His aim is perfect as ever and this is why he and Coulson can (usually) get along: they’re normal guys who are extraordinarily good at what they do. Even if Coulson’s skill set is sometimes harder to pin down. Like...
“Should I ask how you got in here?” Clint asks on his way to the refrigerator.
“You can ask,” Coulson replies, and it’s a perfect Coulson answer: ambiguous and vaguely threatening. Bastard. Clint opens the refrigerator and glares at the single bottle of Bud on the top shelf; didn’t he have a six pack in here yesterday? He takes the remaining beer and glances in the trash; no bottles, but then Coulson wouldn’t leave evidence.
“Uh-huh. This Stark related?”
Because the only other time he’s seen Coulson drink was when Tony Stark blew up New York. He’d gotten drunk and even more quiet, which was honestly just creepy. Barton opens his bottle and tosses the cap over his shoulder as he sinks on the sofa, trusting that it’ll land in the garbage. He’s not the world’s greatest marksman for nothing.
“Not entirely.”
“Tangentially Stark related, then, so Avengers Initiative bullshit. Fury on your ass?”
“No.”
Barton rolls his eyes and takes another swig of beer; he isn’t a sharing, caring kind of guy, but talking to Coulson is sometimes fucking impossible.
“I believe he may be mildly confused about what to do with me,” another voice speaks up, and Clint is on his feet immediately. He’s a soldier and damn hard to sneak up on, so where the hell did that voice come from?
And that’s when a man in black and green...is that armor? appears in his beat-up recliner. Clint glances at Coulson, who looks as impassive as ever.
“Right. And you are?”
“Loki,” the other man drawls, in a tone that states he believes Clint to be an idiot.
“God of Mischief,” Coulson adds, and Barton looks from one to the other. “Brother of Thor.”
“The big blonde guy with the hammer?”
Loki gives him a withering look that confirms his certainty that Clint is a complete idiot.
“That’s the one,” Coulson speaks again. Clint hasn’t seen the other man drink, but his beer is now empty.
“Huh, small world. You got a hammer too?”
Loki glowers, and Barton thinks to himself Do you see a hammer, Clint?
“My gifts are more...subtle.”
Clint nods and slumps back on to the sofa; he’s beginning to see why Coulson showed up. Why he drank all the beer. Damn, he really wants another beer.
And that’s when a six pack appears on the table.
That’s a talent, Barton thinks, and grins at Coulson: “Hey, we need another Avenger?”
And how fucking inadequate would you feel as, y'know, Coulson & Barton on a team of Gods and Super Soldiers and Billionare Geniuses in Metal Suits? Clint may be wildly OOC, because what can you get from a couple lines of dialogue and a bow?
Also: "Do you want me to take him down or would you rather send in more guys for him to beat up?" "I'll let you know" = kind of BFF.
Clint Barton knows it’s going to be a bad day when he enters his apartment at the end of shift to find Agent Coulson sitting on his couch nursing a beer.
“Barton,” he says, in that way that implies he has every right to break in to Clint’s apartment and drink his beer.
“Coulson.”
Clint shrugs and tosses his keys in to the bin on the kitchen counter. His aim is perfect as ever and this is why he and Coulson can (usually) get along: they’re normal guys who are extraordinarily good at what they do. Even if Coulson’s skill set is sometimes harder to pin down. Like...
“Should I ask how you got in here?” Clint asks on his way to the refrigerator.
“You can ask,” Coulson replies, and it’s a perfect Coulson answer: ambiguous and vaguely threatening. Bastard. Clint opens the refrigerator and glares at the single bottle of Bud on the top shelf; didn’t he have a six pack in here yesterday? He takes the remaining beer and glances in the trash; no bottles, but then Coulson wouldn’t leave evidence.
“Uh-huh. This Stark related?”
Because the only other time he’s seen Coulson drink was when Tony Stark blew up New York. He’d gotten drunk and even more quiet, which was honestly just creepy. Barton opens his bottle and tosses the cap over his shoulder as he sinks on the sofa, trusting that it’ll land in the garbage. He’s not the world’s greatest marksman for nothing.
“Not entirely.”
“Tangentially Stark related, then, so Avengers Initiative bullshit. Fury on your ass?”
“No.”
Barton rolls his eyes and takes another swig of beer; he isn’t a sharing, caring kind of guy, but talking to Coulson is sometimes fucking impossible.
“I believe he may be mildly confused about what to do with me,” another voice speaks up, and Clint is on his feet immediately. He’s a soldier and damn hard to sneak up on, so where the hell did that voice come from?
And that’s when a man in black and green...is that armor? appears in his beat-up recliner. Clint glances at Coulson, who looks as impassive as ever.
“Right. And you are?”
“Loki,” the other man drawls, in a tone that states he believes Clint to be an idiot.
“God of Mischief,” Coulson adds, and Barton looks from one to the other. “Brother of Thor.”
“The big blonde guy with the hammer?”
Loki gives him a withering look that confirms his certainty that Clint is a complete idiot.
“That’s the one,” Coulson speaks again. Clint hasn’t seen the other man drink, but his beer is now empty.
“Huh, small world. You got a hammer too?”
Loki glowers, and Barton thinks to himself Do you see a hammer, Clint?
“My gifts are more...subtle.”
Clint nods and slumps back on to the sofa; he’s beginning to see why Coulson showed up. Why he drank all the beer. Damn, he really wants another beer.
And that’s when a six pack appears on the table.
That’s a talent, Barton thinks, and grins at Coulson: “Hey, we need another Avenger?”