[ buckshot is my bread, and I'll drink whiskey instead of water ] [ OPEN ]

[nailsthetarget]

WHO: nailsthetarget and YOU
WHAT: Clint healing. Crankily.
WHERE: Fratvengers house
WHEN: anytime after Clint gets back
WARNINGS: Clint
SUMMARY: The Fratvengers couch has been taken over by a huge, angry archer. Good luck getting the remote back.

Comments

[youmakemesmall]

[Even though she is mad at him, guess who is bringing snacks? This woman. Who is still angry. But loving, anyway. Everything Jan does is for his own good, whether he likes it or not.

She fairly throws the bag onto his lap.]

Here.

[Jan looks at the TV.]

Spoiler: He throws her out a window so he doesn't have to pay child support.

[nailsthetarget]

[ And even though he's mad at her for locking him out of his room, he takes the bag graciously enough. It's full of terrible junk food. Jan knows him---and his high-capacity, iron stomach. He makes a low, vaguely happy noise and rips into the chips. ]

Yeah, I know. I'm pretty sure I've seen this one. Or lived it. Whatever, it gets kinda hard to tell sometimes. [ he says it casually, through a mouth full of chips. ] Are we talking again?

[youmakemesmall]

I guess so. If you lost me your friend count would be in the negatives.

[She takes out a cigarette. Lately, she has been smoking ALL the cigarettes.]

By the way, I found your note.

[For good measure, she punches him in the arm.]

"Be back later, feed the dog"? You're a dick, Clint.

[nailsthetarget]

Hey, I did come back, didn't I?

[ It'd been incentive to. If he'd called her and said goodbye, he would have been accepting the fact that he might die. He didn't have any intention of that, so no call.

And he knows Jan. She would have wanted to come with. He couldn't have her doing dumb shit like that. ]

Jesus, Jan. I'm already injured. Cut me some slack.

/peeks in here

[allonmybirthday]

[Okay, so the guy was kind of a jerk, but Rapunzel's learned a lot about the difference between the way people presented themselves and the way they actually were. And she had been here for that great Easter party, so it wasn't like there was any real danger.

And also she could probably beat him over the head with the frying pan if it got really ugly. Which is the entire reason she steps confidently into the room after being let in, rather than hanging back.

...Oooh boy, he looked angry.]

Um... Hi.

i'm so sorry.

[nailsthetarget]

[ Clint looks at her. Really looks at her, squinting behind his glasses, because he doesn't think that he could be seeing what he thinks he is seeing right now.

This can't be real.

Shit like this doesn't exist in the real world.

Nobody has that much hair.

Unfortunately, Hawkeye the dog takes this moment to come running to see his master---and, well, the corgi has a ton of spunk, but very short legs. All that hair and his tiny legs don't mix well; Hawkeye gets tangled up with a yip. ]

What the---jesus!

[ Clint stands up, clutching his bandaged-up belly ]

My fucking dog! You---that---your hair's a fucking fire hazard!

never be sorry

[allonmybirthday]

[Well, this is going about as well as she thought it would.]

Sorry! [She kneels down catching the puppy up and carefully extracting him from the hair. The puppy squirms a little, making the process more difficult, but she manages to get him untangled and set back down on the ground.]

Whew, there! [She starts to gather up her hair in her arms, to prevent further tangles. Thankfully it's all in the same room so at least no one will be stepping on it! ...Probably...]

[nailsthetarget]

[ he's still looking at her with such a face. He's beyond annoyed. What the fuck is she doing here, with all that hair and pink and offensive niceness? He can't handle this. He can't handle the fact that people like her are real.

But he knows that if he messes with her too much, Fury'll come. He'll just appear. Clint fully believes that he'll drop out of thin air just to chew his ass out and tell him to be nice to the sparkly bitches.

Clint had taken about twice the amount of painkillers that Jan had prescribed. And Jan was pretty liberal about painkillers to begin with, so Clint was pretty loopy. ]

Why the fuck is your hair everywhere? Is that all yours? Christ.

[deadlieststing]

[ In theory, this was could be classified as checking up on him. Natasha preferred to call it a friendly visit. She doesn't knock or ring doorbells, just arrives without warning at all. For a few minutes, she stands motionless in the doorway. He still looks a mess. Her eyes linger on his hands, trying to gauge the severity of the injury and the progress of his recovery.

She doesn't say anything. Just waits to see what he'll say. ]

[nailsthetarget]

[ Like any stable adult, Clint has been dealing with his physical and emotional problems by taking a lot of oxycotin and eating Froot Loops. He's been flipping in-between Spongebob and Murder She Wrote, too spacey to pay attention to either. On a good day, his ADD has him scattered. Add a little drug abuse into the mix and he's just everywhere.

Hawkeye the dog has been his constant companion. He sets his bowl on the couch next to him so that the puppy can finish it off. Hawkeye does this happily, long tongue lapping the sugary milk.

Until, that is, he smells the new arrival. That's when his training kicks in.

Hawkeye's ears stand straight up, and he starts barking. He knocks the bowl away with a clatter, getting up on the back of the couch. And then, he launches himself from it, yipping madly.

It's in that moment that Clint knows his dog is SHIELD material. ]

[deadlieststing]

[ Natasha's expression literally cannot be any less impressed. Really, Janet? Really?

The second the dog starts barking, Natasha gives up all hope of this actually going well. Tasering Clint's dog is probably not going to help anything at all, but Natasha likes these boots. She'd prefer them (and her ankles) without teeth marks.

So she tasers Clint's dog with a quick shot from her wristlets. Yup. Sorry Clint. ]

[nailsthetarget]

MARY, MOTHER OF---!

[ Hawkeye yips once before he's knocked out, short legs twitching. Clint gets up way too quickly for his injuries, bellowing a steady stream of swear words.

Who the hell tasers a puppy? Black Fucking Widow, apparently. ]

What is your fucking problem? Jesus christ!

[mayhavepeace]

[ There's some redhead sitting cross legged in front of the coffee table, which contains duct tape, a few interestingly shaped bits and pieces of metal, three or four cans of hairspray, and a zippo lighter. She's ignoring Clint completely, offering no explanation for how and when she got into the Fratvengers house, or what she's doing. ]

[nailsthetarget]

[ he's never seen her before and really doesn't care, but...well, he's made a lot of weapons in his time. He knows base components when he sees them.

After a few seconds of struggle, he gets up off the couch and disappears into the other room. When he limps back, he's got an armful of stuff.

Clint eases himself back down with a soft groan. Painkiller time's juuuust around the corner. ]

Hey. If you're gonna do that, do it right.

[ he holds up the roll of tape ]

Gaffer's tape. More expensive, but everyone should have some lying around. The texture's easier to keep a grip on. Wrap the whole can, then mount the cap on the side near the bottom.

[ he wraps a pencil in the tape, cutting it off with his teeth. Then he rolls up a paper towel, folds it into a compact square, and secures it to the end of the pencil. ]

This is your wick. It'll last longer than you'd think---plus, you won't have to fuck around with the lighter. Tape it to the cap on the bottom and you can set fire to the countryside with one hand. Safely, too.

[mayhavepeace]

[ Rikki stares at him. ] Yeah, that's what I was going for. [ More staring. ] Hairspray and a lighter is what I used the first time, so I was going from experience. [ She's been practicing her technique, too, and her fingers are shiny with blisters and burns. ]

...So, do you build flamethrowers often? [ She can't believe she's not getting a "what the fuck are you doing?" and having her stuff confiscated, honestly. ]

[nailsthetarget]

[ he smiles crookedly, taping up one of the cans. CONGRATS, RIKKI: YOU JUST MET THE BEST WORST INFLUENCE. ]

Yeah, a lighter and hairspray is what most people use when they decide to make homemade flamethrowers. And it works, sure, but a little planning and know-how can save you some fingers. Or your face, if you catch flashback.

[ his smile grows. Just a little. ]

I can't legally answer that. Let's just say I can do some great shit with what most people keep in their kitchen.

[quiptionary]

"Silly Hawkeye. Those trix are for kids. Or kids at heart. Such as me. Mainly me. Actually, just forget the other kids."

Fruit Loops, technically, but Peter was never one to let a little thing like facts stop a good joke. Nor to let death glares and a near physically oppressive aura of grump and rage put him off from completing his daily tradition of crouching on the arm of the couch and watching terrible daytime TV. Clint would have to really step up his game to put Peter that far off his schedule. This Spider'd been roommates with Wolverine and, despite the Canadian actively alternating between hitting on/insulting Peter's wife, had managed to come out on the other end with something nearly resembling a bro-ship. Cranky, injured alternate-Avengers were just another part of the day in the life of at this point.

[nailsthetarget]

It was difficult to hate on Spidey. This Spidey, at least, who was an adult in body if not wholly in mind. He preferred this Parker to the one in his world, but that wasn't saying a hell of a lot.

He'd shot the Spider-Man in his world. More than once. That was kind of the way Clint was.

He continued to eat his cereal, unfazed.

"I have to eat four or five thousand calories a day to keep from dropping weight," he said with a shrug. "I can eat all the sugary crap I want. Besides, cartoons and cereal? Perfect fucking combo."

Clint hadn't always been a crazy rage-machine. There had been a time not so long ago that his off-duty time had been spent with Nickelodeon, fruit roll-ups, Legos, and his kids.

[quiptionary]

Despite the confusion over the whole Ronin-Hawkeye-Ronin hey-weren’t -you-dead thing back home, Peter’d generally liked Clint. Being a Secret Avenger or New Avenger or plain ol’ Avenger or whatever the remains of the resistance were calling themselves on any given Tuesday hadn’t been the best of times, but he’d liked the people well enough. So far, despite the hair cut and facial bling, this one had pretty much kept up with that theme of possessing that odd likability that came with being a hero wielding medieval weaponry in the modern era. And this one liked fruit loops.

“Aren’t you manly paramilitary types all about the protein bars and hating on joy and toucans everywhere? I’m pretty sure I saw that in the SHIELD sign-up fine print. Somewhere. You know, in the back.”

Peter looked at the box of sugary goodness that was oh, oh so close, then rolled his head back to look at the kitchen, which was only a good flip and a scuttle across the ceiling away, but at the moment that was so far. A decision was made in an instant, and rather

[nailsthetarget]

"Most of us are, but me? I like cereal. I'm man enough to start my day with a magically delicious sugar rush. Can't say that I'm surprised that you do, too."

Saying that he was young at heart was something of an understatement. Usually, Clint would have ribbed him some, but he was tired and drugged and more interested in watching Maury reveal who the real father was.

"You're from the world where Fury's a white guy, right?"