An Incredible Machine
Title: An Incredible Machine
Rating:PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Avengers movieverse/Supernatural crossover...though it doesn't crossover till part 3 or 4; Clint/Coulson
Warnings: some language, probably
Word Count: 826
Summary: In trying to hide from the new reality he's found himself in, Clint just might have stumbled onto his answer. That is, if he's willing to take it. (Part 4 of my All the Devils Are Here verse.)
A heart that beats,
An incredible machine
Made of blood and love and hope and lust and steam
-Incredible Machine, Sugarland
There’s a multitude of reasons he shouldn’t be where he is. He’s famous now, a proper hero, and heroes just don’t do this. It’s gotta be why they’re so dysfunctional, honest to God because if they don’t flip the fuck out they just bottle and yeah, he’s been bottling shit his whole life and letting it come soaring out off his bowstring but this, this is too goddamn much. He’s more than tired, and even if he’s already sorry he told Steve to mind his own fucking business, he’s not sorry he said he needed some space. There’d been a glint to Tony’s eyes for a second that almost told him he was about to get decked, it was so close, but then Tony was shoving keys in his hand and saying, fine, get out.
Two states later he almost called to apologize, but he knew they’d just ask him back and no, not yet. Not yet. He knows he’s being watched, knows there’s someone on his tail and back home Fury’s probably in with some suits and shrinks as they hash out whether his latest outburst makes him unfit for duty. There’s a part of him that’s scared shitless by how little he cares what the answer will be, but he keeps shrinking it with every drink. Whatever ‘rehab’ they come up with for him, it’ll probably be just as effective as the rest.
At five months after, the assclown doing his psych eval had said, “I know it’s hard losing a spouse”, and he’d stood up and put the man’s paperweight through the window.
“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?”
He’s in Georgia, in a dive playing Your Cheatin’ Heart, and he’s halfway wasted and thinking how Tony’d approve and how Phil wouldn’t and fuck, even now it’s just that one damn thought and everything blurs. Before this, he hadn’t cried since he was a boy. Now, he’s lost all predictability. He wakes in the night with it, cold and gasping and frightened of specters he couldn’t begin to describe. Growing up, he never had a home. It’s a hard thing, now, to be faced with the only one he ever had that’s suddenly become just a house.
He never got the chance to have a husband to lose. He could blame his work or Phil’s father or the fact that they were always on the move but none of it sticks. No, the blame only feels right where he’s sure it belongs: squarely on his own shoulders.
“Those drinks aren’t cheap you know.”
The man on the stool next to him is all blurred lines in the dark of the bar, dark eyes in a deep brown face that’s almost smiling at him like he thinks this is simple, like Clint’s just had a bad day and if he buys him some Jäger Clint’ll follow him home. In one draw, he finishes the drink.
“Good thing it’s not your money.”
“it could be.”
On some level he realizes the kind of man he’ll never be, because the guy’s attractive and he sees it and he’s drunk and it’s been months and the thought of this man’s hands on his body still makes his stomach turn. He’s still in love, goddamn hopelessly in love, and he’s starting to suspect it might be a lifelong condition.
“No offense, buddy, but you’re wastin’ your time, alright? Try it out somewhere else or go to hell, it’s all the same to me.” it isn’t, of course it isn’t and something in him tells him he’s not cruel, he’s never cruel, but maybe that matters less now that everything has changed. The man only chuckles, low and soft, and Clint doesn’t even look up. “Think that’s funny?”
“A bit, Mr. Barton.”
With that, the man earns himself as much attention as Clint’s distracted mind can offer. “So who sent you, Fury? Loki?” if it’s the latter, he’ll send a message of his own right back. If it Fury, well, Clint’s been taught how to disappear.
“You know it’s actually neither, but I’ve got my own reasons.” there’s something in it a little too taunting, and when Clint finishes the first sip of his fresh whiskey he looks over. The eyes he meets flash red, so quick if he didn’t trust his eyes so much he’d have thought it was just the drink. He’s not quite as gone as he thought, because before the first breath’s out he’s got his hand wrapped around the switchblade in his pocket.
“Who the hell are you?”
Still, he hasn’t lost his smirk. He raises his hands in mock defeat, grinning like he’s got all the cards.
“Oh I’m just a business man. I’m here to talk to you about a deal…about Phil Coulson, and all those years you think you missed.”
Rating:PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Avengers movieverse/Supernatural crossover...though it doesn't crossover till part 3 or 4; Clint/Coulson
Warnings: some language, probably
Word Count: 826
Summary: In trying to hide from the new reality he's found himself in, Clint just might have stumbled onto his answer. That is, if he's willing to take it. (Part 4 of my All the Devils Are Here verse.)
A heart that beats,
An incredible machine
Made of blood and love and hope and lust and steam
-Incredible Machine, Sugarland
There’s a multitude of reasons he shouldn’t be where he is. He’s famous now, a proper hero, and heroes just don’t do this. It’s gotta be why they’re so dysfunctional, honest to God because if they don’t flip the fuck out they just bottle and yeah, he’s been bottling shit his whole life and letting it come soaring out off his bowstring but this, this is too goddamn much. He’s more than tired, and even if he’s already sorry he told Steve to mind his own fucking business, he’s not sorry he said he needed some space. There’d been a glint to Tony’s eyes for a second that almost told him he was about to get decked, it was so close, but then Tony was shoving keys in his hand and saying, fine, get out.
Two states later he almost called to apologize, but he knew they’d just ask him back and no, not yet. Not yet. He knows he’s being watched, knows there’s someone on his tail and back home Fury’s probably in with some suits and shrinks as they hash out whether his latest outburst makes him unfit for duty. There’s a part of him that’s scared shitless by how little he cares what the answer will be, but he keeps shrinking it with every drink. Whatever ‘rehab’ they come up with for him, it’ll probably be just as effective as the rest.
At five months after, the assclown doing his psych eval had said, “I know it’s hard losing a spouse”, and he’d stood up and put the man’s paperweight through the window.
“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?”
He’s in Georgia, in a dive playing Your Cheatin’ Heart, and he’s halfway wasted and thinking how Tony’d approve and how Phil wouldn’t and fuck, even now it’s just that one damn thought and everything blurs. Before this, he hadn’t cried since he was a boy. Now, he’s lost all predictability. He wakes in the night with it, cold and gasping and frightened of specters he couldn’t begin to describe. Growing up, he never had a home. It’s a hard thing, now, to be faced with the only one he ever had that’s suddenly become just a house.
He never got the chance to have a husband to lose. He could blame his work or Phil’s father or the fact that they were always on the move but none of it sticks. No, the blame only feels right where he’s sure it belongs: squarely on his own shoulders.
“Those drinks aren’t cheap you know.”
The man on the stool next to him is all blurred lines in the dark of the bar, dark eyes in a deep brown face that’s almost smiling at him like he thinks this is simple, like Clint’s just had a bad day and if he buys him some Jäger Clint’ll follow him home. In one draw, he finishes the drink.
“Good thing it’s not your money.”
“it could be.”
On some level he realizes the kind of man he’ll never be, because the guy’s attractive and he sees it and he’s drunk and it’s been months and the thought of this man’s hands on his body still makes his stomach turn. He’s still in love, goddamn hopelessly in love, and he’s starting to suspect it might be a lifelong condition.
“No offense, buddy, but you’re wastin’ your time, alright? Try it out somewhere else or go to hell, it’s all the same to me.” it isn’t, of course it isn’t and something in him tells him he’s not cruel, he’s never cruel, but maybe that matters less now that everything has changed. The man only chuckles, low and soft, and Clint doesn’t even look up. “Think that’s funny?”
“A bit, Mr. Barton.”
With that, the man earns himself as much attention as Clint’s distracted mind can offer. “So who sent you, Fury? Loki?” if it’s the latter, he’ll send a message of his own right back. If it Fury, well, Clint’s been taught how to disappear.
“You know it’s actually neither, but I’ve got my own reasons.” there’s something in it a little too taunting, and when Clint finishes the first sip of his fresh whiskey he looks over. The eyes he meets flash red, so quick if he didn’t trust his eyes so much he’d have thought it was just the drink. He’s not quite as gone as he thought, because before the first breath’s out he’s got his hand wrapped around the switchblade in his pocket.
“Who the hell are you?”
Still, he hasn’t lost his smirk. He raises his hands in mock defeat, grinning like he’s got all the cards.
“Oh I’m just a business man. I’m here to talk to you about a deal…about Phil Coulson, and all those years you think you missed.”