Fic: Follow You Into The Dark 2/2 (Avengers/Supernatural, R)
Title: Follow You Into The Dark
Author: misachan
Fandom: The Avengers/Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Coulson/Clint/Natasha, Crowley, Fury, Hela
Rating: R
Warnings: Character death, depictions of torture, disturbing imagery and general hell unpleasantness.
Word Count: 6262
Spoilers: Post-movie for Avengers/Vague season 6 references for Supernatural
Summary: On a cold, windy night Clint Barton goes to a crossroad to wipe some red from his ledger.
Despite his best efforts Coulson fell into an exhausted sleep behind his desk, his mind filling with confused fever images: coming to tied to a chair in Rabat, feeling calloused hands cradle his head. Come on. C'mon, Coulson, talk to me. Say something so I know it's you. The memory lurched as their positions reversed, changing to finding Clint broken and bloody but it's too late, he's not Clint any more, he's a black-eyed thing.
"Your dreams are troubled."
Coulson startled awake, his heart hammering in his chest. He looked around the room but saw nothing but shadow. "Who's there?"
"You sought me, Philip Coulson. Have you forgotten so quickly?"
He stood and finally spotted her as she leaned forward, lounging in one of his office chairs across the room, the shadows clinging to her like a dark shroud. "Hela Lokidottir, is that correct?" he said, clearing his throat.
The temperature of the room dropped ten degrees when she smiled. "Close enough. And I commend you, your accent is exquisite."
"I've practiced. I...didn't expect a personal audience."
"I have no need of the Bifrost the travel to Midgard. And I confess I was curious. My uncle's appeal was urgent and it's been long since my presence was desired by one such as yourself." He moved to stand in front of his desk and she rose from her chair, walking toward him with smooth movements like a snake who'd learned to mimic humanity. Coulson remembered one of the other children the myths credited to Loki, Jormungandr the serpent that would swallow the world, and wondered if all of those old stories were true.
She was tall, the way all the Asgardians were tall, and Coulson had to take a step back to avoid craning his neck to look at her. She was clad in form fitting green armor that covered her from the neck down and gleamed dully under the fluorescent lights and a matching green cape that looked like it was lined with shadow. Her helm was also green, reaching low enough to hide her eyes; it was antlered like her father's, although instead of backward facing hers stretched out horizontally, bending in hard, geometric angles. "There's no need to explain your petition," she said. "Your dreams made it all quite clear." He must have not done a good enough of hiding his alarm at that because she smiled again. "It was expedient. And I think you would agree that time is of the essence, is it not?"
"If you know why I called you then you know what I want to ask you."
"I do know. Mixing cosmologies is messy."
Coulson didn't expect the disappointment to hit him quite so hard. "Are you saying you can't?"
"Oh, I can take you into the realm you call hell. I only said it could be messy. And it would require a price."
"Yes, I was told that. If you're after my soul we're going to have negotiate other terms. There's been too much of that going around."
She tilted her head to the side. "I'm no demon. Your soul will come to me when you die or it won't. I can afford to be patient."
Coulson swallowed, trying and failing to read her. "So what is it you want?"
"Something much more precious. A memory."
Nothing in any lore he'd found had ever mentioned that. "All right," he finally said. "Which one do you want? How do we do this?"
Coulson felt a chill rush through him when she pressed her icy fingers against his temple. "If you get to choose it isn't much of price." Before he could say another word he felt her mind slide into his like a pry bar, tearing him open until she found what she wanted.
Coulson feels a sea breeze lull him awake, the sound of French and Arabic being spoken drifting up from the street below. He opens his eyes and finds himself in a slowly rotting hotel room, a long crack running across the ceiling and a chipped painting of the Hassan Tower decorating the adjacent wall. It takes a few drowsy moments for the previous night to come back, helped along when he looks down and sees Clint stretched out across most of the bed with one arm locked tight around his waist, the sheets pooled around them.
He looks up and sees Natasha perched on the window sill, wearing his shirt and her legs bare, her gun in her lap as she keeps watch. "I've never seen him sleep more than two hours at a time before."
Coulson strokes his fingertips along Clint's hairline, careful not to wake him. "We probably shouldn't have done that."
"We do many things we're not supposed to."
Coulson supposes that's true. He remembers the touch of Clint's lips against the taser burns on his chest, soothing the pain away. He traces the callouses decades of archery had left on Clint's fingers and he begins to stir, his eyes fluttering. "Phil?" he murmurs, his voice sleepy and muffled. "We moving out?"
Clint's never called him by his first name before. He strokes his fingers through Clint's short hair until the other man relaxes against him. "We have time yet. Go back to sleep."
Clint nods, snuggling closer and stealing what's left of the covers. After a few more moments Coulson lets his soft breathing lull him back to sleep, too.
Coulson staggered back, bracing himself against the desk. The new hole in his mind burned and he couldn't keep back the pained whimper, barely feeling it when Hela tipped his chin up. "You have a tender heart, Philip son of Coul. And steel in your spine to have done this. Most warriors can boast one or the other; to possess both is a rare gift."
"My father's name was Kevin, actually." Every inch of him shook and it took every once of his self control to not burst into tears, something he hadn't done since he was a child.
She nodded, a knowing expression on her face that was almost but not quite human. "You were correct when you told the creature bound below us that he had no claim on your soul. What you aren't aware of is that those above had no claim either." She splayed her hand flat against his chest. "You fell in glorious battle against Loki son of Odin. That earned you a seat in Valhalla and your soul bears my mark. This is my oversight. If only for that alone I owe you my aid." She drew back, letting him regain his composure. "Come, Philip Coulson. Gather your allies. I'm keen to rattle the Daystar's cage. "
***
Coulson balanced the energy rifle against his shoulder as he walked back into the sub-basement to face Crowley again. It wasn't until Fury pointed it out that he'd realized it was the same gun he'd brought to bear against Loki, proof he needed to get his shattered focus back. He hoped the gun brought him better luck this time.
Crowley smiled when they lined up in front of him again, he and Fury and Natasha. "Did you forget something? Was all that before just a rehearsal? Because I thought you did very well. Very intimidating."
Fury motioned to the guards to exit, leaving the three of them alone in the room against the demon. "One more time," Coulson said. "Release Clint Barton from your custody."
"No. Now what?"
Coulson heard a rustling sound and before he could blink Hela was suddenly there between them and Crowley. "Fergus McLeod," she said, and Coulson saw Crowley's expression go sour. "Yes, I know your true name."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "And what are you supposed to be?"
"I am Hela, Loki's daughter, Queen of the dead," she said with a prideful flourish that reminded Coulson very much of her father.
"Am I supposed to be impressed?"
"You will be silent." From the surprised look on Crowley's face Coulson didn't think she was giving him much of a choice in the matter. She walked up to the demon, right through the laser grid trap; Coulson held his breath for a moment but Crowley didn't move. "You are small. You are a ghost wrapped in delusions, created by a being who despises you." She tilted her head to the side. "But you have your uses."
Coulson took a step forward. "What are you going to do?"
"Not kill him, much as I would prefer to." She looked over her shoulder at him, almost a fond expression on her face. "This creature isn't much of a king, but even the most minor monarch has a connection to his realm." She turned back to Crowley, placing one palm against the demon's forehead. "He's going to be our doorway."
Coulson saw a glowing vertical line form down the demon's body, expanding slowly until it enveloped him entirely. He felt a rush of searingly hot air and the stomach churning stench of rot; from beyond the portal came a cacophony of screams and other, lower, darker sounds that he knew were nothing close to human. "Only blood-bound companions may enter," Hela said, raising her voice over the din. "Take only what belongs to you. Your presence will be masked from the demons until then."
Coulson didn't know what she meant by "blood-bound" but he looked to Natasha and she nodded back. As they stepped forward Fury tried to join him and Coulson put out one hand to stop him. "Sir, no. If we don't come back SHIELD needs you."
Fury's jaw tightened - Coulson could almost feel the desire to fight demons in hell coming off him in waves - but he didn't argue the point. "You two don't come back I'm digging you out myself. With my bare hands if I have to."
"Understood, boss. Wish us luck."
"We're SHIELD. We don't need luck."
Coulson nodded as he stepped through the portal, the rifle braced against his shoulder.
***
He lost his bearings the moment his feet touched the ground. There was red-tinged light but no sun, what passed for a sky close over their heads like a lingering threat. He could already feel the dry heat of the place leech the moisture from him; it had been barely thirty seconds and his mouth already felt stuffed full of cotton. He looked behind him only to see that the portal had closed, leaving nothing but empty space. "Guess we're on our own, then."
"Did you expect anything else?"
"It would be nice for once." He looked around; the landscape was forbidding, Death Valley at dusk, and as he watched landmarks shifted, growing and changing like they were alive. "Guess it's a good thing we're already lost."
They'd barely made it thirty feet before someone spotted them. "Help me."
Coulson spun around; the voice had been faint, behind him and to the right. "Did you hear that?"
He felt Natasha grab his arm. "Don't listen."
He pulled away and went toward the voice anyway, coming around a bend to find a woman tied down to a dissection table with barbed wire and covered in bleeding wounds. "Oh, God," she breathed, her eyes going wide when she saw him. Eye. One eye had been gouged out so recently it was still bleeding and as he came closer he could see that the side of her face was covered by a blistered third degree burn. "I knew I heard voices. Please help me. Before they come back, please."
Coulson nodded, reaching out to start undo the wire when Natasha grabbed him hard enough to spin him around. "We can't."
"I can't just leave her like this."
"You have to. What belongs to us, remember? That's Clint. We need to focus or none of us are leaving here
"But..." He looked behind again only to have her grab his chin and gently turn him to face her.
"This is why I had to come," she said, not letting him break eye contact. "Right?" He swallowed hard and nodded. "Good. Keep your eyes forward. One foot in front of the other."
He nodded again, taking one step forward.
"No!" he heard from behind. "No, please, don't leave me like this. Please, please, you don't know what they're doing, please!"
"Eyes on me," Natasha said, backing away. "Don't look at anything except me. Don't listen to anything except me. One step, then the other."
Coulson tried to shut out the frantic screams (don't leave me here I'm not a bad person I'm not you said you'd help please) and followed Natasha back around the way they'd come, not daring to take his eyes off of her. When they made it back out of sight of the woman Coulson slumped down again wall, his stomach an aching chasm. "How do you do this?" he whispered.
"I don't remember a time when I didn't have to." She reached out a hand, helping him back to his feet. "And don't you ever dare get good at it."
They were still close enough to hear when the screaming started, high, piercing shrieks that made the air so thick Coulson couldn't breathe. Natasha gave him a moment, then she put one hand on his arm, startling him enough to break out of the daze.
Then they continued on.
Coulson quickly lost track of time passing; they could have been down there for hours or even days already, he couldn't even begin to guess which. Despite the heat he didn't feel thirsty (although souls he passed begged for water, the ones still capable of speaking. He'd told Natasha he thought leaving them behind would have begun getting easier, not harder, but all she'd said in response was Good.) which at least gave him hope that they wouldn't starve to death, but every inch of him ached. He couldn't remember ever feeling so tired in his life, not even after he'd dug himself out of his grave; all he wanted to do was lie down and never move again.
Which of course he knew was what the demons would want. They wanted the two of them to give up, to just leave Clint here to slowly rot the way all the other souls they passed had, staked down and left to bake in misery. He wouldn't give in to that. Every damned person they passed just hardened his resolve, not weakened it.
Which did did nothing to kill the ache deep in his bones. "How're we going to find him?" he said, half hoping Natasha actually had an idea and half just to hear a voice that wasn't moaning in agony. "We need a plan. We're wasting too much time, this place is endless. Maybe we should climb up somewhere to get a better look."
For a second Coulson thought she hadn't heard him, then she stopped short, swearing softly under her breath in Russian as she sprinted to the right. Coulson rushed after her and found her looking down into a crevasse they'd passed earlier. "No," she said, and when he stepped next to her he could feel how hard she was shaking. "We should climb down."
The sense of that hit Coulson like a truck. Of course they would have to go down. Clint loved being up above everyone else; he lived for the high ground, for the ability to take in a situation in one sweeping glance.
Of course Clint Barton's hell would include not being able to see the sky.
Coulson strapped his gun securely to his back as Natasha started the descent, finding handholds and footholds for him as she went. Coulson followed down slowly; he wasn't dressed for free climbing and slipped twice, catching himself at the last second. He kept a close eye on Natasha, stepping where she stepped, the unwieldy gun threatening to throw him off balance with each movement; there were more souls chained to the ledges and he felt hands reaching for him as he passed, clutching at his sleeves and leaving bloody handprints on his clothes. When he finally found himself safe on the lower edge beside her it felt like a minor miracle.
They had to climb down two more ledges, thankfully neither of them as steep as the first; the ambient light dimmed until it was barely enough to see by and when they reached the lower level the rocky outcroppings arched over them, creating a claustrophobic tunnel.
Coulson didn't know why, but the moment his feet touched the ground he felt this is it down deep in his bones. He looked to Natasha and saw her hand curled tight around her gun; he nodded to her and she took point, Coulson covering her with the energy rifle.
They had to go slow. Coulson felt the glacial pace spread through him like a swarm of insects but there was nothing to do about it; the narrow, winding path bucked and yawned like a living thing trying to throw them off, one moment erupting in razor sharp spires coming within inches of spearing them to the ceiling, the next breaking open into seemingly endless chasms they had to pick their way around or risk being swallowed down to even lower levels. The entire time Coulson tried to prepare himself for what they would find at the end of their search, tried to picture the other wrecked souls they'd passed with Clint's face.
It didn't work. Coulson didn't even know why he'd tried.
All it took was a moment of hesitation from Natasha for Coulson to know they'd finally found him, the way she paused midstep and off-balance could mean nothing else. He pushed the rifle back over his shoulder and caught up with her, taking a deep breath of sulfuric air before looking up.
Coulson had wondered once or twice what it felt like to be Bruce Banner, not about the genius (he'd met enough of those through SHIELD to know it wasn't something to envy) but the rage. What it felt like to have that kind of anger simmering under your skin, enough to turn you into a monster.
He didn't have to wonder any more. Clint was hanging from chains ten feet above him, hooks skewered through both shoulders, through his elbows, one final, barbed one ripped his side. The skin had been flensed entirely from his right arm, three of the fingers on that hand reduced to bone. Blood dripped down into a slowly growing pool at their feet; his breathing was shallow, his eyes hooded and blank.
It hit Coulson with a sudden, sick lurch that he was looking at Clint's soul hanging there with pieces missing. He didn't know what had pulled the demons away but an ugly part of him he'd never known existed hoped he would get to cut pieces out of them. Or even better, watch Natasha do it for the both of them.
He pushed that deep down; revenge couldn't help anyone now, Clint least of all. Before he could even say a word to her Natasha scaled the wall, balancing on the narrow ledge and pulling a handheld acetylene torch from her belt. He almost wanted to thank God that she'd thought to bring it, he knew it never would have occurred to him, but Coulson wasn't feeling very charitable toward the Almighty at the moment. The moment she touched the first chain Clint startled back to consciousness, a low, wet moan bubbling out of him. She paid it no heed and started cutting, and to Coulson's relief the torch cut through the first link. He had no idea what they would have done if mundane tools didn't work in hell.
Clint groaned again, craning his head toward the source of the pain and the instant he saw Natasha he reared back like a wounded animal, his lips pulled back in a snarl. "Get away from me. Don't touch me."
"It's me," she said, and Coulson had no idea how she could keep her voice so calm. "You know me."
"It's never you." He tried to pull away again and Coulson winced when the hook through his side started to tear a jagged hole through the flesh.
"Agent Barton." He put an edge to his voice he hadn't needed to use with Clint for a long time. Clint's eyes had looked very dark for a moment and Coulson couldn't stop thinking of his dream. "I need you to focus on the mission."
The anger bled from Clint's face, leaving vague confusion. "Phil?"
Coulson's chest went tight. He and Clint had fallen into the habit of using each others' last names; the only other time Clint had called him Phil had been.... Coulson felt cold claw through him as he realized he couldn't remember. He wondered if he hadn't given Hela a piece of his soul after all. "That's right," he said, pushing that aside. It wasn't as if he wouldn't pay that price a hundred times over to be standing here now. "You were captured. Tasha and I have been trying to find you for a long time."
"I...no, that's not...." He blinked at Coulson as if he expected him to melt away. "You can't be here." He saw Natasha's eyes widen as the chain gave way before she'd expected and Clint screamed as he swung free from the wall for a second.
"Barton!" He waited until Clint's eyes focused back on him. "Focus on my voice. We're going to get you free, you just need to hold tight until then. Just follow my voice."
"S'what...always do." He whimpered again when she started on the second chain, his eyes starting to roll back.
"What's your name?"
Coulson could see Clint dragging himself back to awareness. "C-Clint Barton."
"What's your rank?"
"Special agent, first class."
Coulson walked him through the rest of the call and response all agents learned to stave off shock, keeping one anxious eye on Natasha. Clint groaned again when the second chain gave way. "Can...y'hurry it up?"
Coulson couldn't keep back the grin; Clint having enough in him to complain was a good, good sign. "We're almost there. I'm going to keep talking you through this, then we're all going to go home."
The third chain was thinner than the rest an it wasn't long before Natasha said, "I'm almost through. The last one isn't going to hold, it's already pulling out of the wall."
Coulson stepped underneath Clint. "Go ahead. I'll catch him."
Natasha made the last cut and Clint fell. Coulson dropped down to one knee under Clint's weight but held him up, closing his eyes as Clint moaned against his shoulder. "Shh. I have you."
Clint nodded, wrapping his less damaged arm around Coulson as if he still couldn't believe he was real. "I lost my bow," he murmured, his voice hazy.
"We'll commission you a new one." He stroked his fingers through Clint's short hair, feeling him shake. It was hard to remember Clint was just a soul, not when he could feel Clint breathing against him. "You should've left that book alone."
Clint shook his head. "Worth it."
Coulson knew they didn't have time to go into all the ways that wasn't true. Natasha scrambled back down and Coulson helped drape Clint's arm over her shoulders as he picked the rifle back up. "How are you so heavy?" she said, settling him more securely in place.
"Missed you too."
Coulson saw the ghost of smile come and go on her lips, and if she had tears in her eyes Coulson certainly wasn't going to mention it. "All right, agents. Let's go home."
"How are we getting out?" she whispered to him over Clint's head.
"How are we getting him up?" Coulson answered, looking up at the steep ledges. "Let's take care of that first, then worry about out."
As soon as the words came out a driving, piercing wail rushed through them like a wind. "I think I'll worry about out now, if that's okay with you."
"On second thought, I think I agree with you."
The wailing came again and this time Clint picked his head up. "Go," he rasped out, his eyes wide. "Both of you, get out."
Instead they closed ranks around him and ignored how he swore at them for it, Natasha crouching over him with her gun drawn and Coulson leveling the energy rifle against his shoulder. Within seconds Coulson saw a solid wall of smoke come rushing toward them, a roiling mass of shadowy faces and pitch black eyes. "Here they come."
The rifle had never been tested for range, at least not while Coulson had been alive to see it, so he found himself having to estimate how close to let the wall of demons come.
Frankly, they were already too close. He pulled the trigger and staggered back as a bolt of plasmic energy ripped out of the rifle and punched a hole through the demonic horde. He turned around and saw Natasha giving him a what the hell was that? look. "Sorry. I'll say duck and cover next time."
Natasha turned back around and sucked in a breath. "They're coming from both sides." She fired her gun but the bullets did nothing; the two of them pulled closer to Clint, Coulson counting the seconds until the gun recharged as the wall of demons reformed and rushed forward.
"It was an honor working with the two of you."
It was strange to smile at a time like this, but he couldn't help it when he heard Natasha's groan of dismay. "I don't believe you said that."
"It's a classic. Someone had to." Coulson closed his eyes; aiming didn't matter so much with this rifle and there were some things he didn't need to see coming. He counted down the seconds until he could pull the trigger one last time.
Suddenly he heard a rustling sound and everything went very quiet. He opened his eyes to find Hela standing in front of him, her shadow lined cape billowing out and everyone else frozen like she'd pressed a universal pause button. She looked over her shoulder at him, a smile playing at her lips that looked like she'd copied it from a skull. "You should have more faith, Philip son of Kevin."
"You did take your time."
The smile widened and Coulson regretted saying anything. "Then allow me to make it up to you." Time unstuck and he saw the demons coiling in their smoke cloud in confusion. "You should tell your comrades to close their eyes and deafen their ears."
He looked behind and saw that Natasha didn't need anymore prompting, squeezing her eyes shut and ducking her head to cover her ears and Clint's as best she could. "Only them?"
Hela nodded. "Your soul carries my mark. You must bear witness."
"Can you take all of them?"
She lifted her chin, that prideful air back around her. "Demons cannot harm a child of Loki." The demons seemed determined to test that, rushing back forward in a wave, and she laughed like someone rattling a jar full of bones. "Come closer, creatures," she said. As Coulson watched the shadows spread from her cloak, forming enormous wings of darkness that stretched the length of the corridor. She lifted her helmet off, dropping it to the floor with one smooth motion and Coulson took a step back as blindingly white light erupted from her eyes. "My father sends his greetings."
Then she opened her mouth and screamed. Coulson heard Natasha cry out behind him but there was nothing he could do; his own ears ached from the sound, a high siren wail that climbed in pitch and volume with each second. The columns of demons disintegrated under the assault, either incinerating in the light or twisting and withering before the sound. Even the landscape couldn't escape, the very rocks melting before her power.
It felt like she screamed for years. Considering where they were, Coulson knew it was entirely possible she had. Finally she stumbled forward, out of breath at last; the whole area around them had transformed into trampled down basin, like they were standing in the center of a nuclear explosion. He checked on Natasha and Clint as she replaced her helmet; they were both unconscious but breathing, frankly the best he could hope for under the circumstances. "I'd never read that Loki cared one way or another about demons."
She was quiet for a moment, as if lost in thought. "Did you know that the one who slew you wasn't the only entity to bear that name?" Before he could even begin to question what that meant Hela knelt beside Clint. "This doesn't mean he lives, you know. Or that this realm's claim on him is erased."
Coulson realized how much he'd been hoping that would be the case. "Can't you...."
She raised on hand, cutting him off. "We bartered for passage, not deliverance."
Coulson stared down at Clint, hearing the echo of him saying this pain had been worth it. "I said I would get him home."
"Not all promises can be kept."
He couldn't leave Clint here. He would almost say he'd trade places, but he knew that would only start the whole cycle again.
And suddenly it seemed so obvious. "You said I carried your mark," he said slowly, the idea coming together as he spoke. "That I have a spot in Asgard."
Hela nodded. "In Valhalla, yes."
Coulson nodded toward Clint. "Transfer it to him. He fell in battle, that's the real requirement, isn't it? If I can't...if I can't bring him back with me, at least he won't be here."
He felt her study him, her expression inscrutable under her helmet. "You would give up your reserved place? There is no guarantee you will earn another."
Coulson shrugged. "I was just doing my job. Either of them deserves it more than I do."
She smiled again. It was like looking into a chasm. "I don't have a reputation for generosity," she mused, as if speaking to herself. "But you have provided me a service this day." She surveyed the destruction around them. "The one called Lucifer stole from me, once. It gives me great pleasure to rob him in his own realm, even a theft as petty as this."
"That's right. Hell is named after you, isn't it."
Hela nodded. "Yes. There is that as well." She stood back over him. "Close your eyes, Philip Coulson," she said, placing her hand against his forehead. "I may not be generous, but I am a queen. And a queen repays her debts. Remember me to my uncle." Coulson felt like he was being hurled through a tunnel. The last words he heard before passing out was a dire promise: "Until we meet again."
***
Coulson saw the nightmare start, Clint's eyes moving back and forth under his lids, his hands twitching on the bedsheets. Coulson leaned down and whispered, "Barton, you're dreaming." Twice now that had settled him but this time it wasn't enough; Clint's head tossed on the pillow, a soft, strangled moan working its way out of his throat. "It's a nightmare. You're fine." That didn't work either and he put his hand on Clint's forehead. "It's not real. Go back to sleep."
Instead Clint startled awake, his eyes darting around the room like he was looking for threats, then he groaned. "That was fun," he said, sagging back into the pillows.
"You told me once you didn't have nightmares."
"Haven't made friends with these yet." Clint glanced up him then over to Natasha curled up in a chair on the other side of the bed. He ran one hand over his chest, and Coulson guessed he was looking for the scar from the rebar punching through him. None of the injuries from hell had transferred and injuries that had sent him there in the first place were healed, although Coulson saw him roll his shoulder as if he could still feel the hook. "How’m I alive?" he said, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
"I'm not exactly sure what happened back there and I'm not going to look at that gift horse too closely."
Clint stared at him for a few long moments, his eyes wide. "Tell me this isn't a trick."
"This is real. I promise. Do you believe me?"
Clint hesitated for a second, then nodded. "That's one of the things they did. Trick me. Let me think I'd escaped then I'd...then I'd just be right back. Stopped trying after a while," he whispered.
"That's a normal response. That kind of manipulation's a common tactic."
Clint let out a long breath. "It's a pretty effective one." He looked back up at Coulson. "Tell me again this isn't a trick."
"It's not a trick. I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it."
"You'd get bored after a while." He'd seen Clint holding himself together with nothing more than raw willpower enough times not to recognize it now. "If this turned out to be a trick I don't...."
"It's not."
Clint nodded again, visibly burying that fear as deep as he could. His eyes narrowed as he studied Coulson. "You look like crap," he finally said, running one finger along the days worth of stubble on his jaw.
"They kept you sedated for two days. The doctors wanted to make sure you...you know, I don't think they knew what they were testing for. I started to get the feeling they just felt like they should be running tests." Coulson tried to stretch the crick out of his neck; he and Natasha had taken turns sleeping in shifts and he wasn't twenty anymore, sleeping in chairs wasn't something his lower back could handle without rebelling. "Fury had to give the M.E. paid leave when she started raving that death was a lie."
"Guess Fury has a harder time explaining me away than he did with you."
"The damage control has certainly been creative." He stroked his fingertips through Clint's hair. "The rest of the team wants to see you, when you're up to it."
"Surprised you didn't bring them all down there with you."
"We decided that the risks of letting Stark and Banner loose in hell outweighed the rewards."
That got a fleeting smile out of Clint because it was undeniably true. "That was stupid, what the two of you did."
"SHIELD can't have its agents turn into demons. There's too much paperwork."
Clint flexed his right hand, staring at it like he barely recognized it. "They always started on my hands first," he whispered like he was talking to himself. Coulson could hear the horror creeping back into his voice. "Then my eyes. They always told me one day they'd leave me useless like that."
Coulson took his hand, squeezing tight once. "None of that would make you useless." Clint gave him a disbelieving look that Coulson narrowed his eyes at, staring Clint down until he looked away. "Fury's giving the three of us a month's leave," he said, changing the subject.
"Come back from the dead, get a month off. Seems fair." He shifted on the bed, lacing his fingers through Coulson's.
Clint's hand was shaking hard enough that Coulson squeezed just to steady him."I thought we all could go to Morocco," he said softly. "Get away for awhile." The empty hole in his mind ached like a phantom limb. "I have some memories that could use refreshing."
Clint smiled, a true one this time. "Still my favorite debriefing." His eyelids started to flutter. "Why am I so tired if I've been asleep for two days?"
"I'm told trauma does that. Go back to sleep."
"Yeah, 'cause that sounds like something I want to do." He squeezed Coulson's hand. "Slept the best night of my life in Morocco," Clint said, the suggestion unmistakable.
Coulson sighed. "The medical bay is monitored."
"I disabled the camera," Natasha said, still curled up in her chair, her eyes closed.
Coulson hadn't risen as far as he had in SHIELD by fighting losing battles - especially not ones he didn't want to win. He slid into the bed, propping himself up so Clint could lie with his head on his chest. "Better?"
Clint nodded, his hand still locked tight around Coulson's. Gradually his breathing deepened, his weight settling. He didn't think this position was any better for his back than sleeping in the chair had been but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"The jet takes off for Rabat-Sale in two days," Natasha said, her voice soft in the quiet room.
He wondered if Natasha had known that was where he'd want to go before he had. "There's room on the bed," he offered.
"Not very much of it," she said, a teasing lilt to her voice as she finally gave up the pretense that she'd been sleeping during any of that. "It's my turn to keep watch. You need sleep too." She paused for a moment, purely for dramatic effect. "And we both know Clint steals the covers."
"Let him." His eyes were heavy, now that she mentioned it He fell asleep to the soft rhythm of Clint's breathing, secure that no nightmare would dare attack under Natasha's watchful eye.
And if hell decided to try stealing Clint back Coulson dared them to come. This time he would be ready for them.
-fin
Back to part one
Back to Masterpost
Author: misachan
Fandom: The Avengers/Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Coulson/Clint/Natasha, Crowley, Fury, Hela
Rating: R
Warnings: Character death, depictions of torture, disturbing imagery and general hell unpleasantness.
Word Count: 6262
Spoilers: Post-movie for Avengers/Vague season 6 references for Supernatural
Summary: On a cold, windy night Clint Barton goes to a crossroad to wipe some red from his ledger.
Despite his best efforts Coulson fell into an exhausted sleep behind his desk, his mind filling with confused fever images: coming to tied to a chair in Rabat, feeling calloused hands cradle his head. Come on. C'mon, Coulson, talk to me. Say something so I know it's you. The memory lurched as their positions reversed, changing to finding Clint broken and bloody but it's too late, he's not Clint any more, he's a black-eyed thing.
"Your dreams are troubled."
Coulson startled awake, his heart hammering in his chest. He looked around the room but saw nothing but shadow. "Who's there?"
"You sought me, Philip Coulson. Have you forgotten so quickly?"
He stood and finally spotted her as she leaned forward, lounging in one of his office chairs across the room, the shadows clinging to her like a dark shroud. "Hela Lokidottir, is that correct?" he said, clearing his throat.
The temperature of the room dropped ten degrees when she smiled. "Close enough. And I commend you, your accent is exquisite."
"I've practiced. I...didn't expect a personal audience."
"I have no need of the Bifrost the travel to Midgard. And I confess I was curious. My uncle's appeal was urgent and it's been long since my presence was desired by one such as yourself." He moved to stand in front of his desk and she rose from her chair, walking toward him with smooth movements like a snake who'd learned to mimic humanity. Coulson remembered one of the other children the myths credited to Loki, Jormungandr the serpent that would swallow the world, and wondered if all of those old stories were true.
She was tall, the way all the Asgardians were tall, and Coulson had to take a step back to avoid craning his neck to look at her. She was clad in form fitting green armor that covered her from the neck down and gleamed dully under the fluorescent lights and a matching green cape that looked like it was lined with shadow. Her helm was also green, reaching low enough to hide her eyes; it was antlered like her father's, although instead of backward facing hers stretched out horizontally, bending in hard, geometric angles. "There's no need to explain your petition," she said. "Your dreams made it all quite clear." He must have not done a good enough of hiding his alarm at that because she smiled again. "It was expedient. And I think you would agree that time is of the essence, is it not?"
"If you know why I called you then you know what I want to ask you."
"I do know. Mixing cosmologies is messy."
Coulson didn't expect the disappointment to hit him quite so hard. "Are you saying you can't?"
"Oh, I can take you into the realm you call hell. I only said it could be messy. And it would require a price."
"Yes, I was told that. If you're after my soul we're going to have negotiate other terms. There's been too much of that going around."
She tilted her head to the side. "I'm no demon. Your soul will come to me when you die or it won't. I can afford to be patient."
Coulson swallowed, trying and failing to read her. "So what is it you want?"
"Something much more precious. A memory."
Nothing in any lore he'd found had ever mentioned that. "All right," he finally said. "Which one do you want? How do we do this?"
Coulson felt a chill rush through him when she pressed her icy fingers against his temple. "If you get to choose it isn't much of price." Before he could say another word he felt her mind slide into his like a pry bar, tearing him open until she found what she wanted.
Coulson feels a sea breeze lull him awake, the sound of French and Arabic being spoken drifting up from the street below. He opens his eyes and finds himself in a slowly rotting hotel room, a long crack running across the ceiling and a chipped painting of the Hassan Tower decorating the adjacent wall. It takes a few drowsy moments for the previous night to come back, helped along when he looks down and sees Clint stretched out across most of the bed with one arm locked tight around his waist, the sheets pooled around them.
He looks up and sees Natasha perched on the window sill, wearing his shirt and her legs bare, her gun in her lap as she keeps watch. "I've never seen him sleep more than two hours at a time before."
Coulson strokes his fingertips along Clint's hairline, careful not to wake him. "We probably shouldn't have done that."
"We do many things we're not supposed to."
Coulson supposes that's true. He remembers the touch of Clint's lips against the taser burns on his chest, soothing the pain away. He traces the callouses decades of archery had left on Clint's fingers and he begins to stir, his eyes fluttering. "Phil?" he murmurs, his voice sleepy and muffled. "We moving out?"
Clint's never called him by his first name before. He strokes his fingers through Clint's short hair until the other man relaxes against him. "We have time yet. Go back to sleep."
Clint nods, snuggling closer and stealing what's left of the covers. After a few more moments Coulson lets his soft breathing lull him back to sleep, too.
Coulson staggered back, bracing himself against the desk. The new hole in his mind burned and he couldn't keep back the pained whimper, barely feeling it when Hela tipped his chin up. "You have a tender heart, Philip son of Coul. And steel in your spine to have done this. Most warriors can boast one or the other; to possess both is a rare gift."
"My father's name was Kevin, actually." Every inch of him shook and it took every once of his self control to not burst into tears, something he hadn't done since he was a child.
She nodded, a knowing expression on her face that was almost but not quite human. "You were correct when you told the creature bound below us that he had no claim on your soul. What you aren't aware of is that those above had no claim either." She splayed her hand flat against his chest. "You fell in glorious battle against Loki son of Odin. That earned you a seat in Valhalla and your soul bears my mark. This is my oversight. If only for that alone I owe you my aid." She drew back, letting him regain his composure. "Come, Philip Coulson. Gather your allies. I'm keen to rattle the Daystar's cage. "
***
Coulson balanced the energy rifle against his shoulder as he walked back into the sub-basement to face Crowley again. It wasn't until Fury pointed it out that he'd realized it was the same gun he'd brought to bear against Loki, proof he needed to get his shattered focus back. He hoped the gun brought him better luck this time.
Crowley smiled when they lined up in front of him again, he and Fury and Natasha. "Did you forget something? Was all that before just a rehearsal? Because I thought you did very well. Very intimidating."
Fury motioned to the guards to exit, leaving the three of them alone in the room against the demon. "One more time," Coulson said. "Release Clint Barton from your custody."
"No. Now what?"
Coulson heard a rustling sound and before he could blink Hela was suddenly there between them and Crowley. "Fergus McLeod," she said, and Coulson saw Crowley's expression go sour. "Yes, I know your true name."
Crowley rolled his eyes. "And what are you supposed to be?"
"I am Hela, Loki's daughter, Queen of the dead," she said with a prideful flourish that reminded Coulson very much of her father.
"Am I supposed to be impressed?"
"You will be silent." From the surprised look on Crowley's face Coulson didn't think she was giving him much of a choice in the matter. She walked up to the demon, right through the laser grid trap; Coulson held his breath for a moment but Crowley didn't move. "You are small. You are a ghost wrapped in delusions, created by a being who despises you." She tilted her head to the side. "But you have your uses."
Coulson took a step forward. "What are you going to do?"
"Not kill him, much as I would prefer to." She looked over her shoulder at him, almost a fond expression on her face. "This creature isn't much of a king, but even the most minor monarch has a connection to his realm." She turned back to Crowley, placing one palm against the demon's forehead. "He's going to be our doorway."
Coulson saw a glowing vertical line form down the demon's body, expanding slowly until it enveloped him entirely. He felt a rush of searingly hot air and the stomach churning stench of rot; from beyond the portal came a cacophony of screams and other, lower, darker sounds that he knew were nothing close to human. "Only blood-bound companions may enter," Hela said, raising her voice over the din. "Take only what belongs to you. Your presence will be masked from the demons until then."
Coulson didn't know what she meant by "blood-bound" but he looked to Natasha and she nodded back. As they stepped forward Fury tried to join him and Coulson put out one hand to stop him. "Sir, no. If we don't come back SHIELD needs you."
Fury's jaw tightened - Coulson could almost feel the desire to fight demons in hell coming off him in waves - but he didn't argue the point. "You two don't come back I'm digging you out myself. With my bare hands if I have to."
"Understood, boss. Wish us luck."
"We're SHIELD. We don't need luck."
Coulson nodded as he stepped through the portal, the rifle braced against his shoulder.
***
He lost his bearings the moment his feet touched the ground. There was red-tinged light but no sun, what passed for a sky close over their heads like a lingering threat. He could already feel the dry heat of the place leech the moisture from him; it had been barely thirty seconds and his mouth already felt stuffed full of cotton. He looked behind him only to see that the portal had closed, leaving nothing but empty space. "Guess we're on our own, then."
"Did you expect anything else?"
"It would be nice for once." He looked around; the landscape was forbidding, Death Valley at dusk, and as he watched landmarks shifted, growing and changing like they were alive. "Guess it's a good thing we're already lost."
They'd barely made it thirty feet before someone spotted them. "Help me."
Coulson spun around; the voice had been faint, behind him and to the right. "Did you hear that?"
He felt Natasha grab his arm. "Don't listen."
He pulled away and went toward the voice anyway, coming around a bend to find a woman tied down to a dissection table with barbed wire and covered in bleeding wounds. "Oh, God," she breathed, her eyes going wide when she saw him. Eye. One eye had been gouged out so recently it was still bleeding and as he came closer he could see that the side of her face was covered by a blistered third degree burn. "I knew I heard voices. Please help me. Before they come back, please."
Coulson nodded, reaching out to start undo the wire when Natasha grabbed him hard enough to spin him around. "We can't."
"I can't just leave her like this."
"You have to. What belongs to us, remember? That's Clint. We need to focus or none of us are leaving here
"But..." He looked behind again only to have her grab his chin and gently turn him to face her.
"This is why I had to come," she said, not letting him break eye contact. "Right?" He swallowed hard and nodded. "Good. Keep your eyes forward. One foot in front of the other."
He nodded again, taking one step forward.
"No!" he heard from behind. "No, please, don't leave me like this. Please, please, you don't know what they're doing, please!"
"Eyes on me," Natasha said, backing away. "Don't look at anything except me. Don't listen to anything except me. One step, then the other."
Coulson tried to shut out the frantic screams (don't leave me here I'm not a bad person I'm not you said you'd help please) and followed Natasha back around the way they'd come, not daring to take his eyes off of her. When they made it back out of sight of the woman Coulson slumped down again wall, his stomach an aching chasm. "How do you do this?" he whispered.
"I don't remember a time when I didn't have to." She reached out a hand, helping him back to his feet. "And don't you ever dare get good at it."
They were still close enough to hear when the screaming started, high, piercing shrieks that made the air so thick Coulson couldn't breathe. Natasha gave him a moment, then she put one hand on his arm, startling him enough to break out of the daze.
Then they continued on.
Coulson quickly lost track of time passing; they could have been down there for hours or even days already, he couldn't even begin to guess which. Despite the heat he didn't feel thirsty (although souls he passed begged for water, the ones still capable of speaking. He'd told Natasha he thought leaving them behind would have begun getting easier, not harder, but all she'd said in response was Good.) which at least gave him hope that they wouldn't starve to death, but every inch of him ached. He couldn't remember ever feeling so tired in his life, not even after he'd dug himself out of his grave; all he wanted to do was lie down and never move again.
Which of course he knew was what the demons would want. They wanted the two of them to give up, to just leave Clint here to slowly rot the way all the other souls they passed had, staked down and left to bake in misery. He wouldn't give in to that. Every damned person they passed just hardened his resolve, not weakened it.
Which did did nothing to kill the ache deep in his bones. "How're we going to find him?" he said, half hoping Natasha actually had an idea and half just to hear a voice that wasn't moaning in agony. "We need a plan. We're wasting too much time, this place is endless. Maybe we should climb up somewhere to get a better look."
For a second Coulson thought she hadn't heard him, then she stopped short, swearing softly under her breath in Russian as she sprinted to the right. Coulson rushed after her and found her looking down into a crevasse they'd passed earlier. "No," she said, and when he stepped next to her he could feel how hard she was shaking. "We should climb down."
The sense of that hit Coulson like a truck. Of course they would have to go down. Clint loved being up above everyone else; he lived for the high ground, for the ability to take in a situation in one sweeping glance.
Of course Clint Barton's hell would include not being able to see the sky.
Coulson strapped his gun securely to his back as Natasha started the descent, finding handholds and footholds for him as she went. Coulson followed down slowly; he wasn't dressed for free climbing and slipped twice, catching himself at the last second. He kept a close eye on Natasha, stepping where she stepped, the unwieldy gun threatening to throw him off balance with each movement; there were more souls chained to the ledges and he felt hands reaching for him as he passed, clutching at his sleeves and leaving bloody handprints on his clothes. When he finally found himself safe on the lower edge beside her it felt like a minor miracle.
They had to climb down two more ledges, thankfully neither of them as steep as the first; the ambient light dimmed until it was barely enough to see by and when they reached the lower level the rocky outcroppings arched over them, creating a claustrophobic tunnel.
Coulson didn't know why, but the moment his feet touched the ground he felt this is it down deep in his bones. He looked to Natasha and saw her hand curled tight around her gun; he nodded to her and she took point, Coulson covering her with the energy rifle.
They had to go slow. Coulson felt the glacial pace spread through him like a swarm of insects but there was nothing to do about it; the narrow, winding path bucked and yawned like a living thing trying to throw them off, one moment erupting in razor sharp spires coming within inches of spearing them to the ceiling, the next breaking open into seemingly endless chasms they had to pick their way around or risk being swallowed down to even lower levels. The entire time Coulson tried to prepare himself for what they would find at the end of their search, tried to picture the other wrecked souls they'd passed with Clint's face.
It didn't work. Coulson didn't even know why he'd tried.
All it took was a moment of hesitation from Natasha for Coulson to know they'd finally found him, the way she paused midstep and off-balance could mean nothing else. He pushed the rifle back over his shoulder and caught up with her, taking a deep breath of sulfuric air before looking up.
Coulson had wondered once or twice what it felt like to be Bruce Banner, not about the genius (he'd met enough of those through SHIELD to know it wasn't something to envy) but the rage. What it felt like to have that kind of anger simmering under your skin, enough to turn you into a monster.
He didn't have to wonder any more. Clint was hanging from chains ten feet above him, hooks skewered through both shoulders, through his elbows, one final, barbed one ripped his side. The skin had been flensed entirely from his right arm, three of the fingers on that hand reduced to bone. Blood dripped down into a slowly growing pool at their feet; his breathing was shallow, his eyes hooded and blank.
It hit Coulson with a sudden, sick lurch that he was looking at Clint's soul hanging there with pieces missing. He didn't know what had pulled the demons away but an ugly part of him he'd never known existed hoped he would get to cut pieces out of them. Or even better, watch Natasha do it for the both of them.
He pushed that deep down; revenge couldn't help anyone now, Clint least of all. Before he could even say a word to her Natasha scaled the wall, balancing on the narrow ledge and pulling a handheld acetylene torch from her belt. He almost wanted to thank God that she'd thought to bring it, he knew it never would have occurred to him, but Coulson wasn't feeling very charitable toward the Almighty at the moment. The moment she touched the first chain Clint startled back to consciousness, a low, wet moan bubbling out of him. She paid it no heed and started cutting, and to Coulson's relief the torch cut through the first link. He had no idea what they would have done if mundane tools didn't work in hell.
Clint groaned again, craning his head toward the source of the pain and the instant he saw Natasha he reared back like a wounded animal, his lips pulled back in a snarl. "Get away from me. Don't touch me."
"It's me," she said, and Coulson had no idea how she could keep her voice so calm. "You know me."
"It's never you." He tried to pull away again and Coulson winced when the hook through his side started to tear a jagged hole through the flesh.
"Agent Barton." He put an edge to his voice he hadn't needed to use with Clint for a long time. Clint's eyes had looked very dark for a moment and Coulson couldn't stop thinking of his dream. "I need you to focus on the mission."
The anger bled from Clint's face, leaving vague confusion. "Phil?"
Coulson's chest went tight. He and Clint had fallen into the habit of using each others' last names; the only other time Clint had called him Phil had been.... Coulson felt cold claw through him as he realized he couldn't remember. He wondered if he hadn't given Hela a piece of his soul after all. "That's right," he said, pushing that aside. It wasn't as if he wouldn't pay that price a hundred times over to be standing here now. "You were captured. Tasha and I have been trying to find you for a long time."
"I...no, that's not...." He blinked at Coulson as if he expected him to melt away. "You can't be here." He saw Natasha's eyes widen as the chain gave way before she'd expected and Clint screamed as he swung free from the wall for a second.
"Barton!" He waited until Clint's eyes focused back on him. "Focus on my voice. We're going to get you free, you just need to hold tight until then. Just follow my voice."
"S'what...always do." He whimpered again when she started on the second chain, his eyes starting to roll back.
"What's your name?"
Coulson could see Clint dragging himself back to awareness. "C-Clint Barton."
"What's your rank?"
"Special agent, first class."
Coulson walked him through the rest of the call and response all agents learned to stave off shock, keeping one anxious eye on Natasha. Clint groaned again when the second chain gave way. "Can...y'hurry it up?"
Coulson couldn't keep back the grin; Clint having enough in him to complain was a good, good sign. "We're almost there. I'm going to keep talking you through this, then we're all going to go home."
The third chain was thinner than the rest an it wasn't long before Natasha said, "I'm almost through. The last one isn't going to hold, it's already pulling out of the wall."
Coulson stepped underneath Clint. "Go ahead. I'll catch him."
Natasha made the last cut and Clint fell. Coulson dropped down to one knee under Clint's weight but held him up, closing his eyes as Clint moaned against his shoulder. "Shh. I have you."
Clint nodded, wrapping his less damaged arm around Coulson as if he still couldn't believe he was real. "I lost my bow," he murmured, his voice hazy.
"We'll commission you a new one." He stroked his fingers through Clint's short hair, feeling him shake. It was hard to remember Clint was just a soul, not when he could feel Clint breathing against him. "You should've left that book alone."
Clint shook his head. "Worth it."
Coulson knew they didn't have time to go into all the ways that wasn't true. Natasha scrambled back down and Coulson helped drape Clint's arm over her shoulders as he picked the rifle back up. "How are you so heavy?" she said, settling him more securely in place.
"Missed you too."
Coulson saw the ghost of smile come and go on her lips, and if she had tears in her eyes Coulson certainly wasn't going to mention it. "All right, agents. Let's go home."
"How are we getting out?" she whispered to him over Clint's head.
"How are we getting him up?" Coulson answered, looking up at the steep ledges. "Let's take care of that first, then worry about out."
As soon as the words came out a driving, piercing wail rushed through them like a wind. "I think I'll worry about out now, if that's okay with you."
"On second thought, I think I agree with you."
The wailing came again and this time Clint picked his head up. "Go," he rasped out, his eyes wide. "Both of you, get out."
Instead they closed ranks around him and ignored how he swore at them for it, Natasha crouching over him with her gun drawn and Coulson leveling the energy rifle against his shoulder. Within seconds Coulson saw a solid wall of smoke come rushing toward them, a roiling mass of shadowy faces and pitch black eyes. "Here they come."
The rifle had never been tested for range, at least not while Coulson had been alive to see it, so he found himself having to estimate how close to let the wall of demons come.
Frankly, they were already too close. He pulled the trigger and staggered back as a bolt of plasmic energy ripped out of the rifle and punched a hole through the demonic horde. He turned around and saw Natasha giving him a what the hell was that? look. "Sorry. I'll say duck and cover next time."
Natasha turned back around and sucked in a breath. "They're coming from both sides." She fired her gun but the bullets did nothing; the two of them pulled closer to Clint, Coulson counting the seconds until the gun recharged as the wall of demons reformed and rushed forward.
"It was an honor working with the two of you."
It was strange to smile at a time like this, but he couldn't help it when he heard Natasha's groan of dismay. "I don't believe you said that."
"It's a classic. Someone had to." Coulson closed his eyes; aiming didn't matter so much with this rifle and there were some things he didn't need to see coming. He counted down the seconds until he could pull the trigger one last time.
Suddenly he heard a rustling sound and everything went very quiet. He opened his eyes to find Hela standing in front of him, her shadow lined cape billowing out and everyone else frozen like she'd pressed a universal pause button. She looked over her shoulder at him, a smile playing at her lips that looked like she'd copied it from a skull. "You should have more faith, Philip son of Kevin."
"You did take your time."
The smile widened and Coulson regretted saying anything. "Then allow me to make it up to you." Time unstuck and he saw the demons coiling in their smoke cloud in confusion. "You should tell your comrades to close their eyes and deafen their ears."
He looked behind and saw that Natasha didn't need anymore prompting, squeezing her eyes shut and ducking her head to cover her ears and Clint's as best she could. "Only them?"
Hela nodded. "Your soul carries my mark. You must bear witness."
"Can you take all of them?"
She lifted her chin, that prideful air back around her. "Demons cannot harm a child of Loki." The demons seemed determined to test that, rushing back forward in a wave, and she laughed like someone rattling a jar full of bones. "Come closer, creatures," she said. As Coulson watched the shadows spread from her cloak, forming enormous wings of darkness that stretched the length of the corridor. She lifted her helmet off, dropping it to the floor with one smooth motion and Coulson took a step back as blindingly white light erupted from her eyes. "My father sends his greetings."
Then she opened her mouth and screamed. Coulson heard Natasha cry out behind him but there was nothing he could do; his own ears ached from the sound, a high siren wail that climbed in pitch and volume with each second. The columns of demons disintegrated under the assault, either incinerating in the light or twisting and withering before the sound. Even the landscape couldn't escape, the very rocks melting before her power.
It felt like she screamed for years. Considering where they were, Coulson knew it was entirely possible she had. Finally she stumbled forward, out of breath at last; the whole area around them had transformed into trampled down basin, like they were standing in the center of a nuclear explosion. He checked on Natasha and Clint as she replaced her helmet; they were both unconscious but breathing, frankly the best he could hope for under the circumstances. "I'd never read that Loki cared one way or another about demons."
She was quiet for a moment, as if lost in thought. "Did you know that the one who slew you wasn't the only entity to bear that name?" Before he could even begin to question what that meant Hela knelt beside Clint. "This doesn't mean he lives, you know. Or that this realm's claim on him is erased."
Coulson realized how much he'd been hoping that would be the case. "Can't you...."
She raised on hand, cutting him off. "We bartered for passage, not deliverance."
Coulson stared down at Clint, hearing the echo of him saying this pain had been worth it. "I said I would get him home."
"Not all promises can be kept."
He couldn't leave Clint here. He would almost say he'd trade places, but he knew that would only start the whole cycle again.
And suddenly it seemed so obvious. "You said I carried your mark," he said slowly, the idea coming together as he spoke. "That I have a spot in Asgard."
Hela nodded. "In Valhalla, yes."
Coulson nodded toward Clint. "Transfer it to him. He fell in battle, that's the real requirement, isn't it? If I can't...if I can't bring him back with me, at least he won't be here."
He felt her study him, her expression inscrutable under her helmet. "You would give up your reserved place? There is no guarantee you will earn another."
Coulson shrugged. "I was just doing my job. Either of them deserves it more than I do."
She smiled again. It was like looking into a chasm. "I don't have a reputation for generosity," she mused, as if speaking to herself. "But you have provided me a service this day." She surveyed the destruction around them. "The one called Lucifer stole from me, once. It gives me great pleasure to rob him in his own realm, even a theft as petty as this."
"That's right. Hell is named after you, isn't it."
Hela nodded. "Yes. There is that as well." She stood back over him. "Close your eyes, Philip Coulson," she said, placing her hand against his forehead. "I may not be generous, but I am a queen. And a queen repays her debts. Remember me to my uncle." Coulson felt like he was being hurled through a tunnel. The last words he heard before passing out was a dire promise: "Until we meet again."
***
Coulson saw the nightmare start, Clint's eyes moving back and forth under his lids, his hands twitching on the bedsheets. Coulson leaned down and whispered, "Barton, you're dreaming." Twice now that had settled him but this time it wasn't enough; Clint's head tossed on the pillow, a soft, strangled moan working its way out of his throat. "It's a nightmare. You're fine." That didn't work either and he put his hand on Clint's forehead. "It's not real. Go back to sleep."
Instead Clint startled awake, his eyes darting around the room like he was looking for threats, then he groaned. "That was fun," he said, sagging back into the pillows.
"You told me once you didn't have nightmares."
"Haven't made friends with these yet." Clint glanced up him then over to Natasha curled up in a chair on the other side of the bed. He ran one hand over his chest, and Coulson guessed he was looking for the scar from the rebar punching through him. None of the injuries from hell had transferred and injuries that had sent him there in the first place were healed, although Coulson saw him roll his shoulder as if he could still feel the hook. "How’m I alive?" he said, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
"I'm not exactly sure what happened back there and I'm not going to look at that gift horse too closely."
Clint stared at him for a few long moments, his eyes wide. "Tell me this isn't a trick."
"This is real. I promise. Do you believe me?"
Clint hesitated for a second, then nodded. "That's one of the things they did. Trick me. Let me think I'd escaped then I'd...then I'd just be right back. Stopped trying after a while," he whispered.
"That's a normal response. That kind of manipulation's a common tactic."
Clint let out a long breath. "It's a pretty effective one." He looked back up at Coulson. "Tell me again this isn't a trick."
"It's not a trick. I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it."
"You'd get bored after a while." He'd seen Clint holding himself together with nothing more than raw willpower enough times not to recognize it now. "If this turned out to be a trick I don't...."
"It's not."
Clint nodded again, visibly burying that fear as deep as he could. His eyes narrowed as he studied Coulson. "You look like crap," he finally said, running one finger along the days worth of stubble on his jaw.
"They kept you sedated for two days. The doctors wanted to make sure you...you know, I don't think they knew what they were testing for. I started to get the feeling they just felt like they should be running tests." Coulson tried to stretch the crick out of his neck; he and Natasha had taken turns sleeping in shifts and he wasn't twenty anymore, sleeping in chairs wasn't something his lower back could handle without rebelling. "Fury had to give the M.E. paid leave when she started raving that death was a lie."
"Guess Fury has a harder time explaining me away than he did with you."
"The damage control has certainly been creative." He stroked his fingertips through Clint's hair. "The rest of the team wants to see you, when you're up to it."
"Surprised you didn't bring them all down there with you."
"We decided that the risks of letting Stark and Banner loose in hell outweighed the rewards."
That got a fleeting smile out of Clint because it was undeniably true. "That was stupid, what the two of you did."
"SHIELD can't have its agents turn into demons. There's too much paperwork."
Clint flexed his right hand, staring at it like he barely recognized it. "They always started on my hands first," he whispered like he was talking to himself. Coulson could hear the horror creeping back into his voice. "Then my eyes. They always told me one day they'd leave me useless like that."
Coulson took his hand, squeezing tight once. "None of that would make you useless." Clint gave him a disbelieving look that Coulson narrowed his eyes at, staring Clint down until he looked away. "Fury's giving the three of us a month's leave," he said, changing the subject.
"Come back from the dead, get a month off. Seems fair." He shifted on the bed, lacing his fingers through Coulson's.
Clint's hand was shaking hard enough that Coulson squeezed just to steady him."I thought we all could go to Morocco," he said softly. "Get away for awhile." The empty hole in his mind ached like a phantom limb. "I have some memories that could use refreshing."
Clint smiled, a true one this time. "Still my favorite debriefing." His eyelids started to flutter. "Why am I so tired if I've been asleep for two days?"
"I'm told trauma does that. Go back to sleep."
"Yeah, 'cause that sounds like something I want to do." He squeezed Coulson's hand. "Slept the best night of my life in Morocco," Clint said, the suggestion unmistakable.
Coulson sighed. "The medical bay is monitored."
"I disabled the camera," Natasha said, still curled up in her chair, her eyes closed.
Coulson hadn't risen as far as he had in SHIELD by fighting losing battles - especially not ones he didn't want to win. He slid into the bed, propping himself up so Clint could lie with his head on his chest. "Better?"
Clint nodded, his hand still locked tight around Coulson's. Gradually his breathing deepened, his weight settling. He didn't think this position was any better for his back than sleeping in the chair had been but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"The jet takes off for Rabat-Sale in two days," Natasha said, her voice soft in the quiet room.
He wondered if Natasha had known that was where he'd want to go before he had. "There's room on the bed," he offered.
"Not very much of it," she said, a teasing lilt to her voice as she finally gave up the pretense that she'd been sleeping during any of that. "It's my turn to keep watch. You need sleep too." She paused for a moment, purely for dramatic effect. "And we both know Clint steals the covers."
"Let him." His eyes were heavy, now that she mentioned it He fell asleep to the soft rhythm of Clint's breathing, secure that no nightmare would dare attack under Natasha's watchful eye.
And if hell decided to try stealing Clint back Coulson dared them to come. This time he would be ready for them.
-fin
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