People tended to think the Avengers led very glamorous lives, but the truth was even the Black Widow had to do her grocery shopping. Since her face had become famous, she’d started doing it with a brunette wig and a pair of big sunglasses, and she was still wearing them as she got out of her car and grabbed a pair of re-usable shopping backs, bulging with food, out of the back. She kicked the door closed and turned to climb the steps towards her apartment, only to stop dead... there was a dog on her step. It wasn’t her dog, she didn’t have a dog, and if she had, it certainly wouldn’t have been that one. It was huge, of indeterminate breed, and looked like it had never had a bath in its life.
Congrats, you have a son & he’s a criminal || Closed
Partly plotted starter for @becausearrows.
Francis slouched so far down the chair that he’d almost managed to fallen asleep, despite being at a police station and still being handcuffed. Wasn’t there like a rule for handcuffing minors? It wasn’t something he’d ever checked, he usually managed to not get caught, but not this time. The door to the store had practically been open, it shouldn’t really count as breaking and entering then. Okay so maybe the fact that he’d also had lock picks and a couple of knives on him added to it, and the fact that he was a minor and he couldn’t even try to lie about it. There was no way anyone would believe he was eighteen, though that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try, because he knew if they found out who he was, they’d contact social service and he’d be back into the system quicker than an alcoholic emptying a bottle of Scotch.
His almost slumber like state was disturbed as the door opened and a guy entered. It was the same guy who had arrested him. At least the guy was skilled for being a cop, so he should have credit for that. Meeting the man’s gaze, Francis smiled. “I’d like to order now, pizza and a coke.” Yes, he was being a lill’ shit, though he was hungry, and maybe if he was obnoxious enough, they’d let him go. Probably not, but it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?
It had nearly been three weeks since the world found out about them. Found out that some supernatural creatures really existed, Unfortunately, that hadn’t been the only thing revealed to the world, there had also been a list of known supernaturals and Tony had been on that list. The entire world now knew his dad had been a vampire and that he therefore was a half-blood. These news had brought chaos and a steep increase in vandalism and violence, including murders. Nearly twenty percent of the SI employees had quit, things bearing the SI logo was destroyed and each time he’d stepped outside his home someone had tried to harm him. Though all of this was things he could live with, but then the government put the final nail in the coffin by making a law that forced all supernaturals to get registered and chipped, like some kind of pet. Before he could disappear, there had been agents at his door. Through equal part skill and luck, he’d managed to escape before take could take him to a place where he could be chipped and imprisoned.
Three days had now passed since that and unable to use any technology, in case they managed to track him, or bank card it had been a bit of bumpy three days. He’d exchanged his clothes for something that didn’t scream rich dude fully as much and even bleached his hair, which made him look ridiculous, but he also didn’t look much like Tony Stark anymore. He hadn’t been really sure where to go at first, knowing he couldn’t go home and he didn’t want to put Pepper or Rhodey in danger, plus hiding ‘criminals’ wasn’t exactly something either of them were skilled at. However, he did remember something Clint had said and he had decided to get to his place. Now, he stood outside his door, dressed in ill-fitting clothes with the hood covering part of his pale face.
“Hi, Barton, mind if a crash for a bit?” he asked, trying to appear like his normal sassy self and he could probably fool most people, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t fool Clint. Not only was he on the run due to people like him being persecuted, it had also been hard to get food, of both kinds. It was odd being one of the richest people on earth, but still being without cash. Without cash he couldn’t buy black-market blood, security at blood banks had increased substantially and he would never willingly bite a non-consenting human. This meant he’d been forced to live on animal blood. It kept him alive, but not in the best of health. “I was going to buy you flowers, but the store was out of cacti.”
Bruce let go of the man's wrist and sighed. "Have anyone ever told you you can be a bit of an ass?" Of course he liked Clint. He wasn't sure if the Archer viewed him as a friend, but he saw Clint as one. That didn't make him any less annoying when he decided to be that way. Turning towards him, Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. "I can hear, just not perfectly, and you could've just asked instead of doing your tests. It's not a secret." Though it wasn't something he talked about either. Tony knew, but they worked together a lot, so it would've been dd if he hadn't noticed, especially when they played music as they worked. "Anything else you want to ask?"
It had been a long, annoying mission. The shady laboratory Nat had been investigating had been even shadier than she’d imagined, home to at least one very, very mad scientist, and thanks to some very poor timing, Natasha had found herself captured. The people there hadn’t given her time to escape, either. They’d just hauled her over to a table to be a subject of one of their uplifting experiments, to see if they could make the process work in reverse.
Now she needed help. And she knew exactly who was enough of a sucker to give it to her... especially when all he would see when he came home was one of his favourite things in the world.
[✉ → Big Birb] I think my milky eyes revealed that fact.
[✉ → Big Birb] And I walked into a door.
Francis was gonna pretend it had been on purpose. It was embarrassing, but he was really blind and the noise had been too much and they had taken his cane and Taco was at home.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He hadn’t meant to even be up that late, if he was honest. But Clint had come over, antsy about something, and Barney had woken on the sofa just after 11pm with a blanket sliding off his lap. Barney is too old to be sleeping like this (a fact his back was reminding him of, loudly). His shoulder aches, bound heavily under his shirt, arm half out of the sling he is still getting used to.
His eyes have just adjusted to the dark apartment when he hears it. Scratching at the door.
He’s up immediately then, ignoring the flare of pain. His gun isn’t at his belt and he swears softly. Until he hears the scratching again.
The knife from the sofa will have to do. He stands, slowly, warily, and of what he expects to find Lucky and a full-sized wolf are not it.
Barney can’t help but stare, dumbstruck.
The wolf scratches again, pacing now, caged and irritated. Lucky glances at Barney and crawls over on his belly, tail wagging and whining softly. The wolf whines in response, low, feral.
Barney squats then to set his gun down and grab Lucky’s scruff, hauling him back and away. “Livin’ up to your name, dog, c’mon…” But Lucky whines, louder, digging his claws in. It’s a struggle to get the mutt over.
Finally he loops his arm around the animal, falling on his ass to do so, and Lucky, frustrated, yelps. It startles him. More importantly, it finds two wolfish eyes on him, glaring and dark.
The wolf GROWLS.
It raises the hair on Barney’s neck and sets off more than one alarm in his head. He swears internally. His good hand goes for the gun, bad arm abandoning the sling in a poor attempt to stop Lucky from squirming backwards.
Lucky, for all his laziness, manages to move when he’s motivated. Which he apparently is now, to get back to the wolf and give Barney sad, betrayed eyes. Barney swears, out loud, this time. “Fuck!”
The wolf growls again as Lucky nudges at the wolf’s neck and Barney starts consigning himself to the fact his apartment is going to be that scene from The Revenant real soon when his eyes fall on the clothes by the sofa. A familiar pair of jeans. A purple shirt. A pair of converse he’s loathe to call shoes for the number of holes in them.
He frowns. Reaches over to touch the clothing and finds they’re still warm. “Clint?”
There’s no answer in the apartment. (A good try, though he suspects the hearing aids are somewhere in the jean pockets.) When he turns back to Lucky, however, Lucky has his head cocked. Barney hesitates, “Where’s Clint, Luck?”
And Lucky, tongue lolling, nuzzles at the wolf.
Barney narrows his eyes. “Clint?”
Lucky repeats it.
Of fucking course. Barney stands then, with effort. His shoulder throbs and he feels a headache building. The gun stays on the floor, which is perhaps why Lucky tries again. Worming over and jumping to lick at Barney’s good arm. He gives the dog’s ears a rub, watching the wolf. The wolf watches him back, warily.
Curious, he snaps his fingers. Isn’t surprised when the wolf doesn’t respond. So he signs, slowly,
Still, he can’t have a wolf Clint in his apartment like this. It’s not fair to Clint, nor to his door (if the scratches in the wood are any indication). So he stands and telegraphs his steps carefully. Clint skitters away, eyeing him carefully, lips curled up. Barney isn’t quite ready to turn his back on him. But he will unlock the door and step aside when it swings open.
Clint watches him for a long moment. Barney watches him back. Lucky, looking between them both, whines happily and then dashes forward, out into the hallway and toward the door. With a leap of strong legs, Clint is after him. The two vanish with little more than soft whines wisping back.
Barney sighs, glancing at the pile of clothes, the claw marks on his door, the dog hair everywhere. In the morning, he’ll call Clint. For now, however, he closes the door and resets himself on the sofa to wait for when/if they come back.
