Categories > TV > Supernatural > Comes Knocking
They waited for Tony and the Winchesters to leave the room before launching into an assessment.
"That wasn't too bad. Aside from the whole 'Meg' bit, which was both insulting and confusing."
Clint liked Sam and Dean. He knew he was going to get along especially well with the older Winchester and he didn't think either brother would have a problem fitting into the tower for the next few days.
"You're just happy they didn't make a bid for that stupid chair." Natasha rolled her eyes and relaxed into her seat.
Well, her muscles went through the motions of appearing relaxed, though truthfully she was anything but. Sparring with Bucky in the gym had helped settle her mind and forced her body to convert her anxiety into adrenaline, but the reappearance of the two Winchesters had served to bring back the overwhelming panic of earlier.
Neither she nor Bucky had spoken a single word to each other while they sparred. Empty platitudes weren't going to help. Cut from the same shredded and blood-stained cloth, the only thing that would bring a sense of normalcy was fighting. The only purification they found in life was through bleeding and their only release was found in the guttural screams of attack. They both lost themselves in the melodic soundtrack of splitting skin, the heavy bass of blows, and the sharp snap, crackle, pop of joint and bone. While she couldn't afford to be on the mend with a broken bone for a few weeks, the serum ensured any bones Bucky broke would be healed within an hour. In total they listened to the symphonic song of 6: with significant effort she managed to crack 4 of his ribs, while he purposefully shattered two of his fingers by punching the wall, needing the pain for clarity.
Fighting each other wasn't the act of inflicting pain, it was the act of granting pain. In a twisted form of self-harm, they were each the blade the other used for cutting when it all became too overwhelming. It wasn't something they discussed aloud. Ever. The team had no idea and couldn't know that this was their only real coping mechanism when the memories their past wouldn't leave them be.
At some point, familiarity breeds contentment. They had both been held hostage by pain for so long that Stockholm syndrome inevitably kicked in. Pain became the one thing they truly understood in a world drowning in chaos and, as a result, it became a safe haven. Steve wouldn't get it and Bucky thanked his forsaken God every day that Steve wouldn't be made/forced to understand. If he had to endure another 70+ years of torture under Hydra just to prevent Steve from tasting one day of it, he would. Steven Rogers was the best thing about Bucky. That Steve was fool enough to consider him his friend was Bucky's one redeeming quality. Steve loved Bucky and was his brother in everything but blood, but he wasn't the person who knew him best.
Observing said person deepened the frown on Bucky's already scowling face and he nudged her in an attempt to draw her attention outwards away from thoughts of eternal hell.
Compartmentalization was the foundation of Natasha's sanity. The Red Room destroyed most of who she was, but a miniscule bit of her true self managed to survive only by being safely locked away in one of her many compartments. But in the span of one afternoon, her mind had been blown and all the compartments blown with it. Every terrible act inflicted upon her and those which she inflicted upon others flooded her senses until she was insensate to anything else.
Natasha didn't know how she was going to cope with her new reality and was afraid that she wouldn't be able to; that she'd break completely drowning in fear.
To be afraid was unfavorably human and considered by the Red Room as failure. She had thought the Red Room had eradicated her ability to feel fear, even in the face of death, which was simply a workplace hazard for an assassin. Death itself didn't instill fear, it was what came after it that could make an assassin hesitate, stumble, and fail. Assassins who don't assassinate are bad for business, so in regards to an afterlife, the Red Room preached nonexistence; after all there's no point in fearing something that doesn't exist. After the years Natasha stopped counting everything they stole from her: her innocence; her virginity; her potential children, the list was endless. But stealing her humanity and twisting it into something monstrous was by far the worst thing they did to her because monsters don't get to go to heaven.
They say as soon as you're born you start dying. Without knowing it, she's spent most of her life just dying to go to Hell.
A well-timed nudge from Bucky yanked her out of her head, allowing her to pick up what Steve was saying and contribute as though her very seams weren't ripping apart.
"Well, we came off a bit more…" Steve paused, searching for the right word.
"Ridiculous?" Natasha provided.
"Squabble-y?" Bucky helpfully supplied.
"Awe-inspiring?" Clint was delusional.
"- juvenile then I would've liked, but at least they seem more comfortable around us now."
Steve was glad they had gotten a few moments to connect with the Winchesters without discussing the reason they were here in the first place. They had all consciously avoided the demonic elephant in the room.
If they were to trust each other, then a rapport definitely needed to be forged first and foremost. It helped that they seemed like upstanding men. The fact that they dedicated their lives to helping people garnered them his respect. Not only were they selfless and brave, but they were smart. When going over their background, Fury and Coulson had revealed that Sam had sacrificed his Ivy League education and, thus, a potentially lucrative law career, to fight living, breathing nightmares. Looking around at the group, he was a bit saddened that Bruce had opted out of welcoming the brothers.
"I'm with Barton on this - we create a very majestic and intimidating tableau." Tony sauntered back into the room, having escorted Sam and Dean to their quarters.
Sitting down, he asked, "Anyone here know what the hell 'Magic Fingers' are?"
He knew it was a plebe invention the moment Natasha sighed in exasperation and Clint perked up with excitement.
"OMG! Fucking 'Lightbulb'!" (Gru voice included. Barton was a damn moron) "You're completely wasted as tech support."
"Tech Support?!" Tony was aghast at his dumbed down designation.
"Instead of making me arrows and armour, make me Magic Fingers! They're amazing. The best thing about this planet. I know we say we fight for all mankind, etc., wife, kids, blah blah, but I've really, subconsciously, been fighting to save the Magic Fingers. A world without them isn't a world worth living. You should make each of us one."
Tony looked on in weirded out confusion as Barton waxed poetic with an enthusiasm that mirrored Dean's and asked, "But what are they exactly?"
"It's essentially a mattress full of massaging vibrators." Natasha deadpanned. "Clint's a pervert. He almost missed tailing a mark in Wisconsin because of a sexed up bed."
Clint glazed over dreamily in remembrance, "Coulson was livid, but it was so worth the lecture and extra paperwork."
"I am not making you a jumbo-sized sex toy, Barton." Tony was no blushing bride, but he could feel the tips of his ears getting a little hot. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm inclined to call HR."
Looking at their resident geriatrics, he saw that Steve looked like his very flower was being threatened while Bucky appeared simultaneously uncomfortable and intrigued.
Put out, Clint relented, "Fine. You don't have to make one for each of us. Just make one and put it in the recovery room where we can all take turns."
Jumping to his feet, Tony decided it was time for him to depart. On his way out, he grabbed Steve's wrist and hauled him up.
"I'm leaving and I'm taking our precious Steven with me."
Steve, turning redder by the second, was more than willing to go. He shot Bucky a glare as he laughed at him.
"Aw Stevie, didn't you learn anything doing those PSAs? It's natural to feel urges. You should try being something other than vanilla. Actually, vanilla is too spicy for you. You're more like room temperature oatmeal."
"You're one to laugh, Buck-o. Remember Carleeta? Or should I say just Carl-"
"OK! OK!" Bucky blanched and then turned a little green at a reminder of his drinking disaster hookup in 43'. Taught him to stay away from the docks after dark. "Jesus, Steve. Be as oatmeal as you want."
"…just to be clear," Clint spoke up, "It's a 'no' to the team bed, right? I mean, Cap could probably use a little relaxation."
Tony reached up, clamped his hands over Steve's ears with a shouted, 'Don't listen, Steven!', and proceeded to drag him towards the elevator to safety.
"Ack! Tony!" Steve tried to yank Tony's hands off his ears, but Tony just clamped down harder with hands like a vice. "Tony! Get off!"
Bucky couldn't help himself, "He could if he was on the team sex bed."
----------
These rooms were amazing. Luxury the likes of which Sam had never seen. For one jarring moment, Sam felt himself seize up with regret and impotent anger. Regret for leaving Sanford and not pursuing a career which would have afforded him at least an approximation of this luxury, and anger that he was forced to resort to sleeping in cars or shitty motel rooms, paid for by scamming. Just a split second of selfishness which abruptly ended when Sam looked at himself in his bathroom mirror after washing his hands. He looked at the bruise forming on his chin from where Edward's ghost had thrown him across the room just that morning and smashed his face on a jutting brick. He looked at his hands which were cut up from the glass of shattered lamps. He looked at left thumbnail which was black and blue, probably going to fall off in a few days, as a result of Edward slamming a cabinet door on it. He'd forgotten about Edward and the case that had brought him to Manhattan. The shine of the Avengers and the tower had blinded him for a second, making him forget that luxury items weren't the point of his life. Sighing deeply, he dried his hands (electric hand dryer was nice, though) and went to go meet Dean in the living room.
Eyes closed, fuzzy slippered feet up, and robe already on, Dean looked like he was on vacation. Sam let out a little smile, happy his brother was finding a moment of peace. After 10 additional seconds, he decided that was enough peace and woke Dean up to discuss the situation.
"DEAN! WAKE UP!" Sam made sure to shout directly into Dean's slumbering face to ensure optimal annoyance. He jerked back as Dean sat up in an ungraceful flail.
Looking around for threats, Dean was met with the smirking face of Sam.
"Dude, seriously?!" Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Dean groggily asked, "J, my man, what time is it?"
"Dean, you can't ask Jar-"
"It is 7:30pm, Thursday, October 21, 2017, sir." Jarvis relayed in his usual soothing tones.
Sam was speechless for a second. "Umm…Hi, Jarvis." He gave a small wave at the room in general.
"Good day, Mr. Winchester."
"So we can literally ask you anything?" Sam inquired.
"Correct, sir. I am happy to answer any inquiries to the best of my ability."
Dean smiled at the ceiling. "Thanks, J."
"You are most welcome, sir."
Sam watched as Dean shuffled over to the mini-fridge set up in the corner by the kitchenette, tightening his robe as he went.
"You seem pretty cozy and settled." Sam observed.
Grabbing a beer from the plethora of selections, Dean cracked it open as he turned to Sam, "Are you kidding me? Look at this place!" He waved his arms, sloshing a bit of beer on the floor as he went. Wiping it up with a fuzzy slipper, he continued, "When are we gonna enjoy the likes of this kind of fancy again? My money's on never. So, obviously, I'm gonna live it up. We can discuss demon crap tomorrow at SHIELD."
He then floofed back down on the couch and grabbed the remote, which was a decked out Stark Pad.
Looking it over closely he informed the A.I., "I'm probably gonna steal this when I leave, Jarvis. FYI."
"Very good, sir."
He turned on the TV, but before he could properly ensconce himself in what would probably be multiple episodes of Dr. Sexy, Sam interrupted.
"Dean, I hate to interrupt your Shangri-La moment, but we seriously need to figure this out. We're here as consultants, but we don't actually know what's going on. What the hell was that demon talking about serving someone who wasn't Crowley? Why did he make such a scene? Demons stay under the radar for a reason – if people know they exist, they won't make deals." Sam watched in growing frustration as Dean just kept clicking through channels.
"Sam, do you see what I'm wearing?" Dean asked, not bothering to avert his eyes from the television.
"Yeah, a robe over jeans and two layers of flannel. Not to mention a pair of ridiculous boudoir slippers."
"No, Sam. I'm wearing my leisure suit, which means I'm leisuring." Dean stated matter-of-factly, as though Sam was an incompetent for not understanding the situation.
"…" Sam just blinked at his older brother.
"Jarvis, have you heard of Dr. Sexy?" Dean was clearly done with Sam.
"Ok, no." Sam launched himself at Dean and grabbed the remote. Next thing he knew, he and Dean were on the floor wrestling like a couple of 5 year olds, fighting over the remote, screaming and hollering at each other.
"Sam! What are you doing?! Can't you see I'm leisuring! Let me fucking leisure in peace, you big bitch."
"Dean! Let go! We need to – ack! Stop pulling – ow! My hair! –OW!"
Dean had shoved the remote down his pants so Sam couldn't turn off the TV and proceeded to grab a fistful of Sam's hair.
"I keep telling you to hack off this damn mop! I've got my switchblade in my pocket, one sec and I'll even do it for you!"
------
Jarvis, being the omnipotent presence that he was, observed the newest additions to Sir's tower with a vague sense of bemusement. They were very…lively. He had witnessed several similar brawls between members of the Avengers in the gym areas before, but not quite like this. Jarvis was coded with a violence protocol: Sir was to be informed when any signs of violence happened outside of the designated fighting areas.
"Sir, I must inform you of a physical altercation currently taking place in the quarters of Sam and Dean Winchester."
Tony was in his workshop trying to get Dummy to stop shoving petrol-based smoothies in his face, while Steve was on the couch sketching. They both jumped up and rushed to the elevator.
"What's happening, J? Are they under attack?"
"Not by any outside assailants." Jarvis informed.
"What does that mean exactly?" Steve asked, confused.
He and Tony stepped out of the elevator onto the common floor to see everyone still sitting around where they had left them earlier.
"Ha! I knew you'd reconsider." Clint perked up at the sight of them, but immediately shut up at the serious looks on their faces. "What's up?"
"Sam and Dean are in trouble." Steve quickly supplied.
Bucky, Clint, and Natasha rushed to follow the running figures of Tony and Steve as they made their way down the hall. As they neared the room, they could hear the brothers yelling, and the words being exchanged had the group stopping just outside the door.
"You goddamned Moose, I'm LEISURING!"
"Let go of my hair, Dean! God, you fight like a 5 year old! If you start biting, I'm calling Cas."
Tony softly unlocked the door and let it swing quietly open, revealing the source of the racket.
Dean, robe pulled half off and trapping his right arm, was attempting to bob and weave his head away from the frilly slipper Sam was pummeling him with. Sam couldn't really see if he was hitting with any accuracy as he was almost bent completely in half trying to ease the tension from Dean's death grip on his hair. It was from this vantage point that he noticed that he and Dean had an audience.
He immediately stopped hitting Dean and hissed, "Dean! Shut up!" (He was still going on about leisuring and the rules inherent to wearing a leisure suit.).
This change in Sam's behaviour had Dean looking at the door. He immediately and whole-heartedly wished he hadn't. Not only because he and Sam were caught in such a juvenile jumble, but because he was standing in front of Tony Stark with a Stark Pad protruding obscenely from the front of his pants like some grotesque endowment.
The two parties stared at each other in silence until Tony spoke,
"Is that a Starkpad in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"
Sam's eyes closed in utter mortification.
Beside him, Dean's voice faintly asked, 'Jarvis, I can ask you anything, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"…can you please kill me?"
"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary, sir, as you appear to be dying of embarrassment already."
"Years of hard work and billions of dollars and instead of an A.I., I've created the world's most expensive troll." Tony stated proudly. "You've done pop-pop proud, J."
"I'm here all night, sir."
Tony turned back to the boys and, pointing at Sam, ordered, "You, drop the slipper and step out of biting range." Pointing to Dean, he chastised, "Hair pulling? Really? And take the Stark Pad out of your pants. Tech is sexy, believe me, I get it, but my tech isn't that easy. You need to at least wine and dine it first."
Sam and Dean hastily did as they were told. Dean, having to turn around and unzip his pants to wretch out the Stark Pad, while Sam tried to smooth out the knots Dean had made in his hair.
"Clearly, you two need adult supervision, so you're coming with us –"
"Do we qualify?" Barton muttered.
"You never qualify, Barton." Bucky shot back.
" – to eat dinner. It's Bruce's turn to cook, but he's a little too grumped up, so we've ordered in from his favourite place. Be warned, it's vegan and gluten-free."
Sam looked happy at the prospect while Dean tried to hide a grossed out grimace.
"Sounds…yum..."
"It's not." Clint advised. "Bucky and I usually grab burgers down the street when it's Bruce's vegan and gluten-free night. Wanna come?"
"Yes!" Dean's relief infused voice was quick to answer.
"Great! Ok, you deal with all…that" Clint waved his hand in a circular motion at Dean's questionable ensemble, "and meet us in the common room in 5."
With that, the group left Sam and Dean to themselves.
Dean looked down at himself and was quick to remove his janked up robe and his one remaining slipper.
Shaking his head, Sam sat down on the couch. "Well, that just happened."
"Yeah, what the hell, Jarvis?" Dean cast a betrayed look at the ceiling.
"Apologies, sir; however, it is protocol to alert Mr. Stark in case of violence outside of the gym. It is to prevent in-team fighting, which used to be a significant issue during the initial months of residing in the tower."
"Huh. Still hurt, J."
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and stood up. "Let's just go eat."
-------------
Walking down a busy Manhattan street with Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier was a bit of an eye opener for Dean. They looked like they were about to hold up a bank. Both of them were wearing big sunglasses, baseball hats, and hoodies. Bucky was slightly hunched over in a fruitless attempt to make himself appear smaller and less threatening. Despite all the incognito, they were still garnering second glances from people.
They had exited the tower through an underground tunnel which put them in the building next door and able to walk outside without alerting the handful of paparazzi and fanatics always camped in front of the Avengers Tower.
"Is this how you guys always have to travel?"
Clint shrugged, "Unless we want to get mobbed by adoring fans and enemies alike, then yeah. You think this is bad? You should see when Bucky and Steve go out together. No matter what they wear or how they try to hide, America has had decades to memorize what they look like together, so they get spotted and called out almost every time."
"Shitty." Dean surmised.
Bucky just grunted in agreement.
"So, Dean-o, not a health-nut like your brother?" Clint changed the subject.
"Hell, no." Dean scoffed at the idea. "Sammy's a granola-head, through and through. Salads, protein shakes, vegan, gluten-free, fat-free…it's all taste-free to me, but he loves it."
"Yeah, Stevie, too." Bucky input. "Guy's built like a brick shit house and he still watches what he eats. He could literally eat sticks of lard all day every day and the kid wouldn't lose an ounce of muscle."
"Well, him and Sam should be two healthy little peas in a pod soon enough." Clint predicted. "Ooh, we're here."
'Here' being "Bob's Burgers" – a food truck parked on a corner a couple blocks away from the tower.
"Best burgers in town." Clint boasted. "Bob always has some crazy special."
Even Bucky perked up and started grinning at the brightly coloured truck.
Walking up to the window, Clint called out, "Hey, Bobby! What special you got today?"
A beleaguered looking dark-haired man poked his head out the window and answered, "Today we have a delicious 'If Looks Could Kale Burger'. It comes with oven roasted garlic kale instead of lettuce."
He looked inordinately proud of his creation.
Clint looked at his two compadres (who both subtly shook their heads) and answered, "Uh, sounds like a good time, but I think we'll just go for 3 of your tried and true classic bacon cheese burgers."
Looking a little put out that nobody wanted to order his kale kreation, Bob upsold, "Fine. But you're ordering fries and onion rings." With that he stomped to the back of the truck and started firing up their food.
"What customer service." Dean was happy enough to have onion rings and fries forced upon him.
"He's just really passionate about burgers." Bucky excused.
A few minutes later they were armed with their food and Clint led the three of them to a bench located a few feet away from the truck. Sitting down he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
"You are in for a real treat, my friend." He said to Dean.
Taking a bite, Dean moaned. "Oh my god. So freakin' good." Before he took another bite, he warned, "Things are about to get real indecent fellas, avert your eyes." With that he took an enormous chomp and, unable to close his mouth due to the sheer volume, proceeded to chew with his eyes closed and mouth wide open, moaning the entire time.
"Dean-bean, you're a pretty gross dude." Clint stated, watching the way people were grimacing as they walked by the spectacle that was Dean enjoying himself a hamburger.
Dean could not care less. Still chewing, he finally opened his eyes and took in the sights and sounds of New York in complete bliss. He went to take another murderous chomp when he caught sight of a pick-pocket stealing a wallet out of an elderly woman's purse.
"Oh, Son of a bitch!" With that, Dean, burger in hand, took off down the sidewalk.
Bucky and Clint were completely surprised when Dean leaped off the bench and ran down the sidewalk yelling "Hey! Asshole! Yeah, I see you! Get back here!"
They watched as a man started running for his life when he saw Dean was after him.
"What is happening?" Clint asked Bucky, still watching the scene.
"I have to idea, but for a guy who eats nothing but fast food all day, he's got some speed to him."
They both flinched simultaneously and let out "Oohs!" when Dean caught up to the guy and tackled him. They could hear Dean cussing up a storm as the guy pulled out a baton and started hitting him.
"We should probably do something, right? I mean, we are Avengers." Clint asked, still eating. "Oh, nevermind."
Almost as soon as the fight had started, Dean had ended it. Once the guy pulled out the baton, Dean smashed his searing hot burger in the guy's face, nearly suffocating him with burning meat and cheese, and punched him the stomach.
As the guy was moaning and groaning in pain on the ground, Dean riffled through his pockets looking for the items he'd picked. He found 6 wallets in total, including the flowered one from the elderly lady. Standing up, Dean finally noticed the crowd standing around him. People had their phones out taking pictures and video of him chasing and tackling the guy.
"Uhh…anybody lose their wallet?" He held them up. The crowd answered him with clapping, cheering, and whistling.
He noticed the little, old, blue-haired lady approach the back of the crowd and he pushed his way through towards her. "Here, Ma'am, I think this one is yours."
She thanked him profusely in her sweet, crinkly voice. "Thank you, sir. You're very brave and kind. I cannot tell you how thankful I am."
"For a sweetheart like you? Anytime." He winked at her (she'd be telling the girls at bridge about this tomorrow) and then turned to see two police officers had arrived. One was hauling the perp up while the other was speaking to witnesses.
Dean made his way to the second one. "Here. These are the wallets I found on him."
The officer took them. "Thank you, sir. Nice move with the burger. One of Bob's, I presume?"
Dean looked sadly at the mangled mess of his dinner laying on the ground. "Yeah."
The cop clapped him on the back. "It's a shame it was wasted on this guy, huh? Maybe Bob will give you another. In the meantime, I need to take your statement."
Dean relayed everything from his point of view and then made his way back to where Clint and Bucky were still sitting on the bench, polishing off their last bit of fries.
He sat down beside them and looked glumly at their food.
Bucky rolled his eyes and handed Dean a fresh hamburger. "Here. We got Bob to make you a new one as soon as we saw you had weaponized yours."
"Oh my god. You're the best. I love you." He then demolished the burger in record time.
"I don't know if he meant me or the hamburger." Bucky said to Clint, watching Dean eat like a starving man.
Clint clapped Bucky on the back and said, "I think we both know he's talking to the hamburger."
-------
Agent McKinley called Coulson from where he sat across the street on a bench, tailing Dean, Clint, and Bucky.
"Yessir, that's right, he took out a pick-pocket in a matter of seconds."
He had to stop himself from sighing into the phone when he confessed, "No, sir, I hadn't noticed the pick-pocket myself, but neither had Barton or Barnes."
He clenched his hand when Coulson spoke again, "Yessir, I understand. Constant vigilance, sir."
Agent McKinley's dark brow furrowed as he listened to Coulson, "My pocket, sir? No. My wallet's right…" He couldn't stop his sigh of defeat when he went to retrieve his wallet only to find it missing.
"The pickpocket was SHIELD, sir?"
Agent Coulson couldn't keep the grin off his face or out of his voice when he spoke to his agent, "Yes, McKinley. It was a test. Mostly for Dean, but also for you. Guess who failed."
With that he hung up and leaned back in the chair he was occupying in Nick Fury's office. Looking at Nick's face he stated, "We really need to look into that pie contingency."
------
A/N: Leisure Suit! Stole it from Jenna Marbles!
"That wasn't too bad. Aside from the whole 'Meg' bit, which was both insulting and confusing."
Clint liked Sam and Dean. He knew he was going to get along especially well with the older Winchester and he didn't think either brother would have a problem fitting into the tower for the next few days.
"You're just happy they didn't make a bid for that stupid chair." Natasha rolled her eyes and relaxed into her seat.
Well, her muscles went through the motions of appearing relaxed, though truthfully she was anything but. Sparring with Bucky in the gym had helped settle her mind and forced her body to convert her anxiety into adrenaline, but the reappearance of the two Winchesters had served to bring back the overwhelming panic of earlier.
Neither she nor Bucky had spoken a single word to each other while they sparred. Empty platitudes weren't going to help. Cut from the same shredded and blood-stained cloth, the only thing that would bring a sense of normalcy was fighting. The only purification they found in life was through bleeding and their only release was found in the guttural screams of attack. They both lost themselves in the melodic soundtrack of splitting skin, the heavy bass of blows, and the sharp snap, crackle, pop of joint and bone. While she couldn't afford to be on the mend with a broken bone for a few weeks, the serum ensured any bones Bucky broke would be healed within an hour. In total they listened to the symphonic song of 6: with significant effort she managed to crack 4 of his ribs, while he purposefully shattered two of his fingers by punching the wall, needing the pain for clarity.
Fighting each other wasn't the act of inflicting pain, it was the act of granting pain. In a twisted form of self-harm, they were each the blade the other used for cutting when it all became too overwhelming. It wasn't something they discussed aloud. Ever. The team had no idea and couldn't know that this was their only real coping mechanism when the memories their past wouldn't leave them be.
At some point, familiarity breeds contentment. They had both been held hostage by pain for so long that Stockholm syndrome inevitably kicked in. Pain became the one thing they truly understood in a world drowning in chaos and, as a result, it became a safe haven. Steve wouldn't get it and Bucky thanked his forsaken God every day that Steve wouldn't be made/forced to understand. If he had to endure another 70+ years of torture under Hydra just to prevent Steve from tasting one day of it, he would. Steven Rogers was the best thing about Bucky. That Steve was fool enough to consider him his friend was Bucky's one redeeming quality. Steve loved Bucky and was his brother in everything but blood, but he wasn't the person who knew him best.
Observing said person deepened the frown on Bucky's already scowling face and he nudged her in an attempt to draw her attention outwards away from thoughts of eternal hell.
Compartmentalization was the foundation of Natasha's sanity. The Red Room destroyed most of who she was, but a miniscule bit of her true self managed to survive only by being safely locked away in one of her many compartments. But in the span of one afternoon, her mind had been blown and all the compartments blown with it. Every terrible act inflicted upon her and those which she inflicted upon others flooded her senses until she was insensate to anything else.
Natasha didn't know how she was going to cope with her new reality and was afraid that she wouldn't be able to; that she'd break completely drowning in fear.
To be afraid was unfavorably human and considered by the Red Room as failure. She had thought the Red Room had eradicated her ability to feel fear, even in the face of death, which was simply a workplace hazard for an assassin. Death itself didn't instill fear, it was what came after it that could make an assassin hesitate, stumble, and fail. Assassins who don't assassinate are bad for business, so in regards to an afterlife, the Red Room preached nonexistence; after all there's no point in fearing something that doesn't exist. After the years Natasha stopped counting everything they stole from her: her innocence; her virginity; her potential children, the list was endless. But stealing her humanity and twisting it into something monstrous was by far the worst thing they did to her because monsters don't get to go to heaven.
They say as soon as you're born you start dying. Without knowing it, she's spent most of her life just dying to go to Hell.
A well-timed nudge from Bucky yanked her out of her head, allowing her to pick up what Steve was saying and contribute as though her very seams weren't ripping apart.
"Well, we came off a bit more…" Steve paused, searching for the right word.
"Ridiculous?" Natasha provided.
"Squabble-y?" Bucky helpfully supplied.
"Awe-inspiring?" Clint was delusional.
"- juvenile then I would've liked, but at least they seem more comfortable around us now."
Steve was glad they had gotten a few moments to connect with the Winchesters without discussing the reason they were here in the first place. They had all consciously avoided the demonic elephant in the room.
If they were to trust each other, then a rapport definitely needed to be forged first and foremost. It helped that they seemed like upstanding men. The fact that they dedicated their lives to helping people garnered them his respect. Not only were they selfless and brave, but they were smart. When going over their background, Fury and Coulson had revealed that Sam had sacrificed his Ivy League education and, thus, a potentially lucrative law career, to fight living, breathing nightmares. Looking around at the group, he was a bit saddened that Bruce had opted out of welcoming the brothers.
"I'm with Barton on this - we create a very majestic and intimidating tableau." Tony sauntered back into the room, having escorted Sam and Dean to their quarters.
Sitting down, he asked, "Anyone here know what the hell 'Magic Fingers' are?"
He knew it was a plebe invention the moment Natasha sighed in exasperation and Clint perked up with excitement.
"OMG! Fucking 'Lightbulb'!" (Gru voice included. Barton was a damn moron) "You're completely wasted as tech support."
"Tech Support?!" Tony was aghast at his dumbed down designation.
"Instead of making me arrows and armour, make me Magic Fingers! They're amazing. The best thing about this planet. I know we say we fight for all mankind, etc., wife, kids, blah blah, but I've really, subconsciously, been fighting to save the Magic Fingers. A world without them isn't a world worth living. You should make each of us one."
Tony looked on in weirded out confusion as Barton waxed poetic with an enthusiasm that mirrored Dean's and asked, "But what are they exactly?"
"It's essentially a mattress full of massaging vibrators." Natasha deadpanned. "Clint's a pervert. He almost missed tailing a mark in Wisconsin because of a sexed up bed."
Clint glazed over dreamily in remembrance, "Coulson was livid, but it was so worth the lecture and extra paperwork."
"I am not making you a jumbo-sized sex toy, Barton." Tony was no blushing bride, but he could feel the tips of his ears getting a little hot. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm inclined to call HR."
Looking at their resident geriatrics, he saw that Steve looked like his very flower was being threatened while Bucky appeared simultaneously uncomfortable and intrigued.
Put out, Clint relented, "Fine. You don't have to make one for each of us. Just make one and put it in the recovery room where we can all take turns."
Jumping to his feet, Tony decided it was time for him to depart. On his way out, he grabbed Steve's wrist and hauled him up.
"I'm leaving and I'm taking our precious Steven with me."
Steve, turning redder by the second, was more than willing to go. He shot Bucky a glare as he laughed at him.
"Aw Stevie, didn't you learn anything doing those PSAs? It's natural to feel urges. You should try being something other than vanilla. Actually, vanilla is too spicy for you. You're more like room temperature oatmeal."
"You're one to laugh, Buck-o. Remember Carleeta? Or should I say just Carl-"
"OK! OK!" Bucky blanched and then turned a little green at a reminder of his drinking disaster hookup in 43'. Taught him to stay away from the docks after dark. "Jesus, Steve. Be as oatmeal as you want."
"…just to be clear," Clint spoke up, "It's a 'no' to the team bed, right? I mean, Cap could probably use a little relaxation."
Tony reached up, clamped his hands over Steve's ears with a shouted, 'Don't listen, Steven!', and proceeded to drag him towards the elevator to safety.
"Ack! Tony!" Steve tried to yank Tony's hands off his ears, but Tony just clamped down harder with hands like a vice. "Tony! Get off!"
Bucky couldn't help himself, "He could if he was on the team sex bed."
----------
These rooms were amazing. Luxury the likes of which Sam had never seen. For one jarring moment, Sam felt himself seize up with regret and impotent anger. Regret for leaving Sanford and not pursuing a career which would have afforded him at least an approximation of this luxury, and anger that he was forced to resort to sleeping in cars or shitty motel rooms, paid for by scamming. Just a split second of selfishness which abruptly ended when Sam looked at himself in his bathroom mirror after washing his hands. He looked at the bruise forming on his chin from where Edward's ghost had thrown him across the room just that morning and smashed his face on a jutting brick. He looked at his hands which were cut up from the glass of shattered lamps. He looked at left thumbnail which was black and blue, probably going to fall off in a few days, as a result of Edward slamming a cabinet door on it. He'd forgotten about Edward and the case that had brought him to Manhattan. The shine of the Avengers and the tower had blinded him for a second, making him forget that luxury items weren't the point of his life. Sighing deeply, he dried his hands (electric hand dryer was nice, though) and went to go meet Dean in the living room.
Eyes closed, fuzzy slippered feet up, and robe already on, Dean looked like he was on vacation. Sam let out a little smile, happy his brother was finding a moment of peace. After 10 additional seconds, he decided that was enough peace and woke Dean up to discuss the situation.
"DEAN! WAKE UP!" Sam made sure to shout directly into Dean's slumbering face to ensure optimal annoyance. He jerked back as Dean sat up in an ungraceful flail.
Looking around for threats, Dean was met with the smirking face of Sam.
"Dude, seriously?!" Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Dean groggily asked, "J, my man, what time is it?"
"Dean, you can't ask Jar-"
"It is 7:30pm, Thursday, October 21, 2017, sir." Jarvis relayed in his usual soothing tones.
Sam was speechless for a second. "Umm…Hi, Jarvis." He gave a small wave at the room in general.
"Good day, Mr. Winchester."
"So we can literally ask you anything?" Sam inquired.
"Correct, sir. I am happy to answer any inquiries to the best of my ability."
Dean smiled at the ceiling. "Thanks, J."
"You are most welcome, sir."
Sam watched as Dean shuffled over to the mini-fridge set up in the corner by the kitchenette, tightening his robe as he went.
"You seem pretty cozy and settled." Sam observed.
Grabbing a beer from the plethora of selections, Dean cracked it open as he turned to Sam, "Are you kidding me? Look at this place!" He waved his arms, sloshing a bit of beer on the floor as he went. Wiping it up with a fuzzy slipper, he continued, "When are we gonna enjoy the likes of this kind of fancy again? My money's on never. So, obviously, I'm gonna live it up. We can discuss demon crap tomorrow at SHIELD."
He then floofed back down on the couch and grabbed the remote, which was a decked out Stark Pad.
Looking it over closely he informed the A.I., "I'm probably gonna steal this when I leave, Jarvis. FYI."
"Very good, sir."
He turned on the TV, but before he could properly ensconce himself in what would probably be multiple episodes of Dr. Sexy, Sam interrupted.
"Dean, I hate to interrupt your Shangri-La moment, but we seriously need to figure this out. We're here as consultants, but we don't actually know what's going on. What the hell was that demon talking about serving someone who wasn't Crowley? Why did he make such a scene? Demons stay under the radar for a reason – if people know they exist, they won't make deals." Sam watched in growing frustration as Dean just kept clicking through channels.
"Sam, do you see what I'm wearing?" Dean asked, not bothering to avert his eyes from the television.
"Yeah, a robe over jeans and two layers of flannel. Not to mention a pair of ridiculous boudoir slippers."
"No, Sam. I'm wearing my leisure suit, which means I'm leisuring." Dean stated matter-of-factly, as though Sam was an incompetent for not understanding the situation.
"…" Sam just blinked at his older brother.
"Jarvis, have you heard of Dr. Sexy?" Dean was clearly done with Sam.
"Ok, no." Sam launched himself at Dean and grabbed the remote. Next thing he knew, he and Dean were on the floor wrestling like a couple of 5 year olds, fighting over the remote, screaming and hollering at each other.
"Sam! What are you doing?! Can't you see I'm leisuring! Let me fucking leisure in peace, you big bitch."
"Dean! Let go! We need to – ack! Stop pulling – ow! My hair! –OW!"
Dean had shoved the remote down his pants so Sam couldn't turn off the TV and proceeded to grab a fistful of Sam's hair.
"I keep telling you to hack off this damn mop! I've got my switchblade in my pocket, one sec and I'll even do it for you!"
------
Jarvis, being the omnipotent presence that he was, observed the newest additions to Sir's tower with a vague sense of bemusement. They were very…lively. He had witnessed several similar brawls between members of the Avengers in the gym areas before, but not quite like this. Jarvis was coded with a violence protocol: Sir was to be informed when any signs of violence happened outside of the designated fighting areas.
"Sir, I must inform you of a physical altercation currently taking place in the quarters of Sam and Dean Winchester."
Tony was in his workshop trying to get Dummy to stop shoving petrol-based smoothies in his face, while Steve was on the couch sketching. They both jumped up and rushed to the elevator.
"What's happening, J? Are they under attack?"
"Not by any outside assailants." Jarvis informed.
"What does that mean exactly?" Steve asked, confused.
He and Tony stepped out of the elevator onto the common floor to see everyone still sitting around where they had left them earlier.
"Ha! I knew you'd reconsider." Clint perked up at the sight of them, but immediately shut up at the serious looks on their faces. "What's up?"
"Sam and Dean are in trouble." Steve quickly supplied.
Bucky, Clint, and Natasha rushed to follow the running figures of Tony and Steve as they made their way down the hall. As they neared the room, they could hear the brothers yelling, and the words being exchanged had the group stopping just outside the door.
"You goddamned Moose, I'm LEISURING!"
"Let go of my hair, Dean! God, you fight like a 5 year old! If you start biting, I'm calling Cas."
Tony softly unlocked the door and let it swing quietly open, revealing the source of the racket.
Dean, robe pulled half off and trapping his right arm, was attempting to bob and weave his head away from the frilly slipper Sam was pummeling him with. Sam couldn't really see if he was hitting with any accuracy as he was almost bent completely in half trying to ease the tension from Dean's death grip on his hair. It was from this vantage point that he noticed that he and Dean had an audience.
He immediately stopped hitting Dean and hissed, "Dean! Shut up!" (He was still going on about leisuring and the rules inherent to wearing a leisure suit.).
This change in Sam's behaviour had Dean looking at the door. He immediately and whole-heartedly wished he hadn't. Not only because he and Sam were caught in such a juvenile jumble, but because he was standing in front of Tony Stark with a Stark Pad protruding obscenely from the front of his pants like some grotesque endowment.
The two parties stared at each other in silence until Tony spoke,
"Is that a Starkpad in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"
Sam's eyes closed in utter mortification.
Beside him, Dean's voice faintly asked, 'Jarvis, I can ask you anything, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"…can you please kill me?"
"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary, sir, as you appear to be dying of embarrassment already."
"Years of hard work and billions of dollars and instead of an A.I., I've created the world's most expensive troll." Tony stated proudly. "You've done pop-pop proud, J."
"I'm here all night, sir."
Tony turned back to the boys and, pointing at Sam, ordered, "You, drop the slipper and step out of biting range." Pointing to Dean, he chastised, "Hair pulling? Really? And take the Stark Pad out of your pants. Tech is sexy, believe me, I get it, but my tech isn't that easy. You need to at least wine and dine it first."
Sam and Dean hastily did as they were told. Dean, having to turn around and unzip his pants to wretch out the Stark Pad, while Sam tried to smooth out the knots Dean had made in his hair.
"Clearly, you two need adult supervision, so you're coming with us –"
"Do we qualify?" Barton muttered.
"You never qualify, Barton." Bucky shot back.
" – to eat dinner. It's Bruce's turn to cook, but he's a little too grumped up, so we've ordered in from his favourite place. Be warned, it's vegan and gluten-free."
Sam looked happy at the prospect while Dean tried to hide a grossed out grimace.
"Sounds…yum..."
"It's not." Clint advised. "Bucky and I usually grab burgers down the street when it's Bruce's vegan and gluten-free night. Wanna come?"
"Yes!" Dean's relief infused voice was quick to answer.
"Great! Ok, you deal with all…that" Clint waved his hand in a circular motion at Dean's questionable ensemble, "and meet us in the common room in 5."
With that, the group left Sam and Dean to themselves.
Dean looked down at himself and was quick to remove his janked up robe and his one remaining slipper.
Shaking his head, Sam sat down on the couch. "Well, that just happened."
"Yeah, what the hell, Jarvis?" Dean cast a betrayed look at the ceiling.
"Apologies, sir; however, it is protocol to alert Mr. Stark in case of violence outside of the gym. It is to prevent in-team fighting, which used to be a significant issue during the initial months of residing in the tower."
"Huh. Still hurt, J."
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and stood up. "Let's just go eat."
-------------
Walking down a busy Manhattan street with Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier was a bit of an eye opener for Dean. They looked like they were about to hold up a bank. Both of them were wearing big sunglasses, baseball hats, and hoodies. Bucky was slightly hunched over in a fruitless attempt to make himself appear smaller and less threatening. Despite all the incognito, they were still garnering second glances from people.
They had exited the tower through an underground tunnel which put them in the building next door and able to walk outside without alerting the handful of paparazzi and fanatics always camped in front of the Avengers Tower.
"Is this how you guys always have to travel?"
Clint shrugged, "Unless we want to get mobbed by adoring fans and enemies alike, then yeah. You think this is bad? You should see when Bucky and Steve go out together. No matter what they wear or how they try to hide, America has had decades to memorize what they look like together, so they get spotted and called out almost every time."
"Shitty." Dean surmised.
Bucky just grunted in agreement.
"So, Dean-o, not a health-nut like your brother?" Clint changed the subject.
"Hell, no." Dean scoffed at the idea. "Sammy's a granola-head, through and through. Salads, protein shakes, vegan, gluten-free, fat-free…it's all taste-free to me, but he loves it."
"Yeah, Stevie, too." Bucky input. "Guy's built like a brick shit house and he still watches what he eats. He could literally eat sticks of lard all day every day and the kid wouldn't lose an ounce of muscle."
"Well, him and Sam should be two healthy little peas in a pod soon enough." Clint predicted. "Ooh, we're here."
'Here' being "Bob's Burgers" – a food truck parked on a corner a couple blocks away from the tower.
"Best burgers in town." Clint boasted. "Bob always has some crazy special."
Even Bucky perked up and started grinning at the brightly coloured truck.
Walking up to the window, Clint called out, "Hey, Bobby! What special you got today?"
A beleaguered looking dark-haired man poked his head out the window and answered, "Today we have a delicious 'If Looks Could Kale Burger'. It comes with oven roasted garlic kale instead of lettuce."
He looked inordinately proud of his creation.
Clint looked at his two compadres (who both subtly shook their heads) and answered, "Uh, sounds like a good time, but I think we'll just go for 3 of your tried and true classic bacon cheese burgers."
Looking a little put out that nobody wanted to order his kale kreation, Bob upsold, "Fine. But you're ordering fries and onion rings." With that he stomped to the back of the truck and started firing up their food.
"What customer service." Dean was happy enough to have onion rings and fries forced upon him.
"He's just really passionate about burgers." Bucky excused.
A few minutes later they were armed with their food and Clint led the three of them to a bench located a few feet away from the truck. Sitting down he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
"You are in for a real treat, my friend." He said to Dean.
Taking a bite, Dean moaned. "Oh my god. So freakin' good." Before he took another bite, he warned, "Things are about to get real indecent fellas, avert your eyes." With that he took an enormous chomp and, unable to close his mouth due to the sheer volume, proceeded to chew with his eyes closed and mouth wide open, moaning the entire time.
"Dean-bean, you're a pretty gross dude." Clint stated, watching the way people were grimacing as they walked by the spectacle that was Dean enjoying himself a hamburger.
Dean could not care less. Still chewing, he finally opened his eyes and took in the sights and sounds of New York in complete bliss. He went to take another murderous chomp when he caught sight of a pick-pocket stealing a wallet out of an elderly woman's purse.
"Oh, Son of a bitch!" With that, Dean, burger in hand, took off down the sidewalk.
Bucky and Clint were completely surprised when Dean leaped off the bench and ran down the sidewalk yelling "Hey! Asshole! Yeah, I see you! Get back here!"
They watched as a man started running for his life when he saw Dean was after him.
"What is happening?" Clint asked Bucky, still watching the scene.
"I have to idea, but for a guy who eats nothing but fast food all day, he's got some speed to him."
They both flinched simultaneously and let out "Oohs!" when Dean caught up to the guy and tackled him. They could hear Dean cussing up a storm as the guy pulled out a baton and started hitting him.
"We should probably do something, right? I mean, we are Avengers." Clint asked, still eating. "Oh, nevermind."
Almost as soon as the fight had started, Dean had ended it. Once the guy pulled out the baton, Dean smashed his searing hot burger in the guy's face, nearly suffocating him with burning meat and cheese, and punched him the stomach.
As the guy was moaning and groaning in pain on the ground, Dean riffled through his pockets looking for the items he'd picked. He found 6 wallets in total, including the flowered one from the elderly lady. Standing up, Dean finally noticed the crowd standing around him. People had their phones out taking pictures and video of him chasing and tackling the guy.
"Uhh…anybody lose their wallet?" He held them up. The crowd answered him with clapping, cheering, and whistling.
He noticed the little, old, blue-haired lady approach the back of the crowd and he pushed his way through towards her. "Here, Ma'am, I think this one is yours."
She thanked him profusely in her sweet, crinkly voice. "Thank you, sir. You're very brave and kind. I cannot tell you how thankful I am."
"For a sweetheart like you? Anytime." He winked at her (she'd be telling the girls at bridge about this tomorrow) and then turned to see two police officers had arrived. One was hauling the perp up while the other was speaking to witnesses.
Dean made his way to the second one. "Here. These are the wallets I found on him."
The officer took them. "Thank you, sir. Nice move with the burger. One of Bob's, I presume?"
Dean looked sadly at the mangled mess of his dinner laying on the ground. "Yeah."
The cop clapped him on the back. "It's a shame it was wasted on this guy, huh? Maybe Bob will give you another. In the meantime, I need to take your statement."
Dean relayed everything from his point of view and then made his way back to where Clint and Bucky were still sitting on the bench, polishing off their last bit of fries.
He sat down beside them and looked glumly at their food.
Bucky rolled his eyes and handed Dean a fresh hamburger. "Here. We got Bob to make you a new one as soon as we saw you had weaponized yours."
"Oh my god. You're the best. I love you." He then demolished the burger in record time.
"I don't know if he meant me or the hamburger." Bucky said to Clint, watching Dean eat like a starving man.
Clint clapped Bucky on the back and said, "I think we both know he's talking to the hamburger."
-------
Agent McKinley called Coulson from where he sat across the street on a bench, tailing Dean, Clint, and Bucky.
"Yessir, that's right, he took out a pick-pocket in a matter of seconds."
He had to stop himself from sighing into the phone when he confessed, "No, sir, I hadn't noticed the pick-pocket myself, but neither had Barton or Barnes."
He clenched his hand when Coulson spoke again, "Yessir, I understand. Constant vigilance, sir."
Agent McKinley's dark brow furrowed as he listened to Coulson, "My pocket, sir? No. My wallet's right…" He couldn't stop his sigh of defeat when he went to retrieve his wallet only to find it missing.
"The pickpocket was SHIELD, sir?"
Agent Coulson couldn't keep the grin off his face or out of his voice when he spoke to his agent, "Yes, McKinley. It was a test. Mostly for Dean, but also for you. Guess who failed."
With that he hung up and leaned back in the chair he was occupying in Nick Fury's office. Looking at Nick's face he stated, "We really need to look into that pie contingency."
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A/N: Leisure Suit! Stole it from Jenna Marbles!
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