Fic: Tell Me About Phil, Ch. 2/4
Jun. 15th, 2012 03:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: Tell Me About Phil, Ch. 2/4
Summary: Phil hasn't gone missing. Phil is gone. Clint is going after him.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: ~12500 (story)
Rating/Contents: NC-17, fusion, mindfuck, references to mental health issues and drug-induced self harm
Pairing: Clint/Coulson, Tony/Pepper
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: More of the same, only weirder. Just go with it.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
"If people are disappearing like this, we have a few options to consider," Bruce says, standing up at the head of the conference table and flipping through something on his tablet.
"I'm going to go on and guess it wasn't gamma radiation," Steve says, and Clint can't decide if he's trying to sound sarcastic or hopeful.
Either way, Bruce doesn't dignify that with a remark. "Now, if we want scientists who are smart enough and have enough resources to do something like this, we've essentially got Tony-"
"No applause, just throw money-"
"-and Reed Richards. Now, I've checked, and Richards has been on his space station for the last three weeks."
"Leave it to Reed to be dicking around in space when we actually run into aliens," Tony says, rolling his eyes.
"Since that's out, then we've got to consider other options." Bruce takes his glasses off, putting his tablet down on the table. "To that end, I," he says, looking faintly embarrassed, "I know this guy."
"Why aren't we going to like this guy?" Natasha says.
"You picked up on that," Bruce says, smiling in that bashful way of his. "The thing about this guy is that he's a sorcerer. Sorcerer Supreme, as it happens." The room goes silent. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
There's more silence, but Clint finally breaks it; he sighs, rubbing his eyes. "If there is a magical force erasing people, it would not be weirder than this already is."
"His name is Doctor Stephen Strange, and he's in New York," Bruce says. "Well, his townhouse is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside, so it's possible he's somewhere else entirely."
"Doctor who?" Clint says, unable to resist, and Tony gives him a look. "What, I'm not allowed to watch BBCA now?"
"I think I can get us a meeting, but it can only be one or two people at most," Bruce tells them. "He always said it was because there were too many dangerous artifacts in his house, but mostly I think he just doesn't like to be bothered."
There's a knock on the wall near the doorway. "Tony," Pepper says, sticking her head in. "I need to talk to you for a minute."
"Can it wait?" he asks, in a 'Just five more minutes, Mom' voice. "I'm doing Avenger stuff."
"No," Pepper tells him. "I wouldn't have bothered you otherwise."
"Go on without me, I'll catch up," Tony says, standing up from the table.
"Clint should go, then," Steve says. "It's only fair."
"I don't know about 'fair,'" Clint says; he doesn't really want to go sit and talk with a magic man, but if that's what he's got to do to get some answers, he'll do it. "But I'll give you 'necessary.'"
"I'll talk to him," Bruce says. "I don't know how soon he'll be free, but I'll try."
Clint nods. "Do it."
It's two agonizing days before the guy will see him. When Clint gets to the address he's been given, it's a perfectly normal-looking brownstone with a big bay window. Clint walks up the steps and rings the bell, but before he even takes his hand away, a woman answers the door; she's young, but her hair is pure white, and everything about her is ethereal, otherworldly. Clint's already got spooky on his mind, and he wonders a little if she's actually a person at all.
"You are Clint Barton," she says. "I am Clea. You are here to see my husband."
"Uh, yeah, that's right," Clint says; he's not all the way into the building and these people are already weirding him out a little. "Nice to meet you."
"A pleasure," she says. "Please follow me."
Bruce wasn't kidding when he was talking about artifacts; Clint's reminded of Hoarders again, just a little. The hallway, which yeah, is definitely longer than it should be, is so chock full of weird objects that Clint thinks- doesn't know, thinks- the walls might be glowing faintly.
He sees why Bruce didn't dismiss this guy out of hand; this is a long way to go for a haunted house.
Clea shows him in to what must be Strange's study; a tall, thin man is waiting to receive him. He looks like no one so much as Vincent Price, and he is- Jesus Christ, here we go- wearing a cape, complete with a big stiff collar and a massive brooch at the closure.
"Mister Barton," the man says. "I am Doctor Strange. It's an honor to meet you- I understand you're part of the reason I didn't lose my home to Loki."
"Just doing my job," Clint says uncomfortably.
"Well, as long as someone can keep that annoying little pissant in line, I'm very happy. My hands are, unfortunately, tied on that score." While Clint is still wondering what the fuck, Strange extends an arm towards the straight-backed chairs that sit across from the window. "Won't you have a seat?"
"Thanks," Clint says; the chair is oddly comfortable, despite the look of it, and Clint automatically suspects magic. He's just in that mood.
"Tell me about the man you're looking for," Strange says, cutting to the chase. "I need you to be as specific as you can."
"His name is Agent Phil Coulson," he says, because he's clinging to the present tense with both hands. "He's my handler at SHIELD. He's the one who gives me missions, watches my back. He's also my- I don't know, we don't hold hands in the hallways and wear each other's letter jackets, I don't call him my boyfriend." He sighs; this is the wrong stuff to be telling him. "He's about my height, brown hair, receding hairline, medium build. If you hear somebody being really dry and sarcastic, that's him. Even in the-" He stops, not knowing what comes after that, not wanting to think about it. "Even if he's not on Earth, he's probably still wearing a really nice black suit. Be careful if you sneak up on him, because he's more dangerous than he looks, and if he can pick it up he can use it as a weapon."
Strange gives him a soft look. "You smile when you talk about him."
"Good," Clint says, because every time he does, he feels like he wants to break down all over again.
"Why do you want to find Phil?" Strange asks. "Why would you bring him back?"
Clint realizes that nobody's asked that question; they've just worked for it, done what they can just based on of a couple of bloodied trading cards, fascination, and some hope. His heart is torn up at the thought, the idea that these people, some of whom he barely knows, have his back like that. "Because it's not right," he says. "Because he matters too much to too many people, even if they can't remember that. Because he deserves it. Because I'm fucking selfish and want him back. I don't care if that's a bad reason or not." Clint shakes his head. "I just want him back."
"Selfishness makes the world go 'round," Strange tells him. "Selfishness drives us to love, and love makes going on worthwhile." He nods. "I'll help you." Clint goes to speak, but Strange waves him off. "This isn't a parlor trick or a game. I won't take your money and I won't hold a big spooky seance for you."
"Seances are for dead people," Clint says coldly. "I'd rather you not."
"Mister Barton," Strange says. "I won't hold back the truth from you. If he is dead, I won't sugarcoat it."
"I don't want you to," Clint says, shaking his head resolutely. "That's not fair to me or him."
"There's no guarantee I can find him or bring him back," Strange tells him. "I may not even find an answer to what has happened."
"Look, I'll take any help I can get," Clint says. "If there's any chance at all that you could find him or even find anything out, then I want you to do it."
"Then it's settled." Strange stands up. "I'll be leaving this plane for a while to look for him," he says, like it's no big deal, like he's going down to the corner store. "Time there doesn't pass like it passes here. A blink of an eye here could be a thousand lifetimes there, or five minutes there could be an age on Earth. You can stay as long as you like, but I won't be offended if you leave."
"I'll stick around for now," Clint says. "I'm not staying an age though."
"Good idea," Strange says, smiling. He walks over towards the window, arranging himself in the nest of pillows there, adopting the lotus position. Now Clint knows where Bruce got it; he imagines Bruce probably asked this guy for meditation tips, not help with astral projection. "Clea," Strange says, and it's only through a lot of practice that Clint doesn't jump out of his skin. She's standing right beside him, and he has absolutely no idea how long she's been there. "I'm going out."
"Of course, my love," she says. "I will look after Mister Barton while you are gone."
He smiles warmly at her. "See you on the other side," he says, extending a hand, and all the candles around his nest flicker to life. He shuts his eyes, breathing deeply for a few moments; Clint can't pinpoint the time when Strange goes into trance, but he suddenly knows that Strange is, that he has been.
"There is fresh coffee in the kitchen," Clea tells Clint. "We also have tea and cake."
So that's how Clint ends up in the Sorcerer Supreme's kitchen, drinking peppermint tea and eating the best goddamn cake he's ever had, leafing through a tattoo magazine that was laying on the table.
Then again, Clint's probably never had a normal moment in his entire life.
Maybe an hour later, Clea gets up; she takes a tray down from the top of the refrigerator, putting the coffee urn and a cup on it, cutting a huge wedge of cake and adding that too, along with a napkin. She carries it out and Clint follows her, curious.
Of course, when they get back to the study, Strange is coming out of his trance; she sets the tray down out of the way and helps him to lie back, making him take a few sips of coffee and eat a few bites of cake. Clint kind of feels like he's intruding then, pushing in on something private.
It's several minutes before Strange sits up, looking pale, ravenously eating cake and guzzling coffee. He puts down his plate, wiping the corners of his mouth. "Mister Barton," he says, like he's surprised to see him. "I didn't think you'd stay."
"It's only been," Clint says, looking at his cell phone- of course he has no reception, and the screen keeps flickering, but the clock seems to be fine-ish. "It's been fifty-five minutes."
Strange shakes his head, as if to clear it. "That was a very short time for a very long journey."
"If you need me to go-" Clint starts, though it is exactly the opposite of what Clint needs.
"It's fine," Strange says. He looks at Clint, and Clint can already see the bad news in his eyes. "I need you to understand something. Sorcerer Supreme is not a title I made up for my business cards. I am the defender of Earth from all magical threats. For all practical intents and purposes, I am the most powerful magician on this planet." His face is deadly serious, drawn. "I have looked everywhere. I have touched the minds of the most adept, people whose abilities rival my own. I have faced forces that even you, who have fought Thanos-" a name Clint has never heard, which scares him- "cannot begin to conceive of." He sighs. "I have not found him. There is no force that could shield him from my eyes, but I have not found him."
Clint's shoulders slump. He knows all about disappointment; he'd been trying really hard not to get his hopes up, but he'd done it anyway, and even the little flicker he managed turned out to be too much. He feels tired, so tired, and he wonders how long he can keep this up, how many times his hope can be extinguished before it's put out entirely.
"I'm sorry I wasted your time like this," Clint says, standing up; he's jumpy, all of a sudden, underneath the exhaustion, that feeling that he usually only gets after a lot of sleep dep.
"If this has brought you any closer to finding him, then this wasn't a waste of anyone's time." He stands up slowly, extending a hand. "I hope our paths cross again, Mister Barton."
"If you need me, you know where to find me," Clint says, shaking it. "I mean, I don't think I probably have to tell you."
Strange smiles wryly. "I can see Stark Tower from here. It's not a particularly difficult inference." Clint tries to smile, but he can feel that it's not working. Strange puts a hand on his shoulder. "I have met many, many madmen in my time, but you don't strike me as one. If you need to do this, then don't stop. Deluding yourself is better than losing all your hope."
"Thanks," Clint says shakily.
"Clea," Strange says. "Why don't you show Mister Barton out?"
When he gets back to the tower, nobody asks him what happened; the answer is written all over his face. Clint takes a very long nap, and then he calls everyone together again. They look considerably less excited this time, much less focused.
"Back to square one," Steve says, without prompting. "We need a new game plan."
"It's my turn," Tony says, sighing. "I know this guy."
Clint stares at him for a moment. "Why didn't you 'know this guy' before I spent my morning drinking tea with a wizard?"
"Because one, he's weird and two, I don't trust him," Tony says, without hesitation. "His name is Garabed Bashur, calls himself Black Box. Really fascinating guy, says he has the power to collect electronic signals from all over the world, so if anybody's talking about our missing agent, he'll know about it. Pretty sure all that information would drive me insane," Tony adds. "I don't know if he is, but I wouldn't make any sudden movements, just to be sure."
"Where is he?" Bruce asks.
"Bumfuck, Ontario," Tony says, "which is reason three I didn't bring him up. Natasha, Clint, grab your passports, the plane is already gassed up."
Sometimes it's really convenient to know a billionaire who's just as crazy as you are.
The sun is starting to set when they get off the plane, and by the time they get out into the sticks, it's almost dark. The place is set back off the road a little, not very big, with a slightly shaggy lawn and bars on the windows.
"Does this guy know we're coming?" Clint says, carefully assessing the front of the house; he wants to case the whole thing, but there's protocol about this type of stuff, and plus it's a really, really bad idea to leave Tony Stark unsupervised, even with Natasha.
"I texted him," Tony says. "Actually, I texted Pepper, but he'll get it. He's that kind of guy."
Natasha stops suddenly. "What did you say his name was?"
"He's-" Tony stops. "Wait, who are we talking about?"
"What are we doing here?" Clint asks.
"Yeah, they got Black Box," a man's voice says; a figure jumps down from the roof, apparently unconcerned about the fact that there are two assassins pointing guns at him. "Kinda ironic, right? The black box is the one thing you're supposed to be able to find."
"Clint," Natasha says, "do you remember this asshole?"
"I do now," Clint says. Beijing was not a fun trip.
The man's wearing a full face mask, red and black, but somehow it's really obvious that he's smiling. "Hi, I'm Wade Wilson, and I'll be your deus ex machina this evening." He looks contemplative for a moment. "Yeah, I like that. It's got 'god' in it. And 'machine.' And 'ex.' 'Ex' might be the best part."
"What are you doing here?" Natasha demands. "What is Black Box?"
Wade turns, looking at you. "Did you notice nobody remembers that Pepper was gone? That's my favorite part," he says. "It's not a fuck-up. All of the fuck-ups in this story are unintentional, including the part where it doesn't make any sense." He thinks about it for a second. "Maybe that one is intentional. Maybe the author just doesn't care."
Tony grabs him by the arm, pulling him back over. "Wait, what did you say?"
Wade's face doesn't move for a moment. "Can you hear me when I do that?"
"Yeah, you said something about Pepper being gone," Clint said.
"Who the hell is writing this?" Wade asks. "I never know if people are gonna hear me or not. Somebody needs to make a decision."
Clint glares at him. "Stop fucking around for five seconds and tell us what's going on."
"Here's the rundown," Wade says. "Coulson is gone- Coulson, great character, by the way, glad to have him in 616, look forward to antagonizing him- and nobody remembers him but Barton. Pepper was gone, but now she's back and nobody remembers she was gone- you people need to start leaving each other notes. Black Box is gone, and apparently I'm holding it down on that one. But then, I'm unstuck in canon." He opens his hands. "And that's pretty much that."
Natasha gets up into his face, pressing her gun into his stomach. "That's not everything," she says. "You're going to tell us every single thing you know, or you are going to be very, very unhappy."
"But there are thousands of more words to go in this story, and the end is a killer," Wade protests, apparently unconcerned with whether or not Natasha is going to shoot him. "Look, here's what you need to know: Tony Stark is the only nerd in the entire world who has never seen World on a Wire or The Matrix, not even to look at The Oracle, meow."
"I don't like cyberpunk," Tony says, unhappy and confused, "and Keanu Reeves is an asshole."
"That is a damn shame," Wade tells him, "because brother, you have landed yourself in the wrong story."
"This isn't a fucking story," Clint says, and Natasha cocks her gun. "This is serious."
"Nobody said it wasn't a serious story," Wade says. "Or it was until I got here. Sorry about that, folks."
"If it's a story, then tell us how it ends," Natasha demands
"Sorry, I like it too much," Wade says, so Natasha shoots him in the knee, which is her usual method of dealing with situations like this. Wade staggers for a second, but doesn't fall. "That was just mean," he says, taking something off his belt; it turns out to be a grappling hook, and he shimmies up the rope and back to the rooftop, strolling away across it. "Don't give up looking, kids. I wanna see if the author pulls it off!"
"Well that was a hell of a thing," Tony says, watching him go.
"Yeah, that was," Clint says. "Something."
"Should we go after him?" Natasha asks.
"I don't see how it would be worth it," Clint says, sighing in annoyance. "If he can shake off getting shot in the knee, then there's probably no way we can get any information out of him. Plus I'm pretty sure he's crazier than a shithouse rat."
"But he knew about Phil, and apparently he knew why we're in the middle of nowhere to meet someone who none of us have ever heard of," Tony says. "I'm not saying he's not crazy. I'm saying that apparently we have to go force ourselves to look at Keanu Reeves for two hours." He waves a hand. "Do your secret agent thing and find out what's in the house."
There's nothing in the house, nothing of interest; the front door is unlocked, keys sitting in a bowl beside it. There's a room with a bunch of TVs in it, but that's the strangest thing in there. Natasha calls it, and it's back on the plane, back to the tower.
Watching Steve Rogers watch The Matrix is a fascinating experience; Clint's already seen the movie at least twice, so watching him is much more entertaining. "What did I just see?" Steve says, when they're done; his eyes are big, and he looks terrified.
"Stick with the broad strokes, big guy," Tony says. "This world's not real, there are mechanical squid monsters out to get you, Neo is an anagram for 'one.'" He rubs his hands together. "Who wants a drink?"
"I don't need you to drink, Stark," Clint says, getting into his face; this is all fucking ridiculous, but they have this one thing and nothing else, one shot, one clue. "I need you to focus up."
"On what, Barton?" Tony says, his face going hard, and Clint knows instantly that he did the wrong thing. "Tell me exactly what I should do right now. Let's take a cryptic tip from a fucking lunatic and say that this entire world is an illusion. Let's say for one second that there's somebody above us, somebody who can pick people up at will and make it like they never existed. If they can do that, they can do anything. They could make us forget each other if we got too close. They could pick one or all of us up. They could put somebody else down who could stop us." Something dawns on Clint, and he can see Tony get it too. "Oh my God, he was right. If people come down and go up, then there are entrances and exits. We have to find one."
"The Tesseract," Clint says.
Tony shook his head. "Tesseract's gone. How did Goldilocks get here in the first place?"
"New Mexico," Clint tells him.
Tony lifts an eyebrow at him. "Gonna need you to be a little more specific here, Barton."
"Let me finish," Clint says. "He touched down in the desert in New Mexico. He used something he called the Bifrost, I don't know, some guy just picked people up and-" Clint resists the urge to smack himself in the forehead. "Wow, I should have thought about that a long time ago. But Foster and Selvig said it was an Einstein-Rosen bridge, connecting here and Asgard."
"Is nobody else bothered by the fact that the world might not be real?" Steve says, sounding very, very paranoid.
"Look, we can have an existential freak-out later, we're on a roll right now," Tony snaps, waving a hand at him. "So we start looking for the same energy signatures."
"That's all you and Bruce," Clint says. "Get us where we're going, and we'll figure it out from there."
"You heard the man, Banner," Tony says to Bruce, who still looks kind of lost. "Let's get to it." He steers Bruce out of the room, talking at him a mile a minute.
"Can I freak out now?" Steve asks.
Clint sighs. "Yeah, go ahead, man."
"Oh, good," Steve says. "Because this is all very scary and confusing."
Clint thinks about it for a second. "Scary, yeah. Confusing, scarily not."
"I don't think it's that scary," Natasha says. "If this world isn't real, I don't really care." Her face is unreadable. "It means I could change a lot of things that need changing, if I figured out how."
"Yeah," Clint says. "If it means we can actually change the world, then I'm pretty much fine with it."
"You people are really scaring me right now," Steve says.
"Honey," Natasha says, as sweet as she can manage, "we've had a lot of practice with this idea." She gives him a concerned look. "Do you want me to take your cell phone, just in case? I'm pretty sure the tower doesn't have any landlines."
Steve pulls it out of his pocket and hands it over. "Do you think we have any blue pills in the house?" he asks tentatively, and nothing about his manner suggests that he's kidding. "Because I don't want the red one."
Clint doesn't even make a Viagra joke. "You know what? Just for you, buddy, I'm going to go check the medicine cabinet."
Steve sighs. "I know it's really stupid, but thanks." Clint gets up, patting him on the shoulder.
Clint already knows there won't be.
On to chapter three
Summary: Phil hasn't gone missing. Phil is gone. Clint is going after him.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: ~12500 (story)
Rating/Contents: NC-17, fusion, mindfuck, references to mental health issues and drug-induced self harm
Pairing: Clint/Coulson, Tony/Pepper
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: More of the same, only weirder. Just go with it.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
"If people are disappearing like this, we have a few options to consider," Bruce says, standing up at the head of the conference table and flipping through something on his tablet.
"I'm going to go on and guess it wasn't gamma radiation," Steve says, and Clint can't decide if he's trying to sound sarcastic or hopeful.
Either way, Bruce doesn't dignify that with a remark. "Now, if we want scientists who are smart enough and have enough resources to do something like this, we've essentially got Tony-"
"No applause, just throw money-"
"-and Reed Richards. Now, I've checked, and Richards has been on his space station for the last three weeks."
"Leave it to Reed to be dicking around in space when we actually run into aliens," Tony says, rolling his eyes.
"Since that's out, then we've got to consider other options." Bruce takes his glasses off, putting his tablet down on the table. "To that end, I," he says, looking faintly embarrassed, "I know this guy."
"Why aren't we going to like this guy?" Natasha says.
"You picked up on that," Bruce says, smiling in that bashful way of his. "The thing about this guy is that he's a sorcerer. Sorcerer Supreme, as it happens." The room goes silent. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
There's more silence, but Clint finally breaks it; he sighs, rubbing his eyes. "If there is a magical force erasing people, it would not be weirder than this already is."
"His name is Doctor Stephen Strange, and he's in New York," Bruce says. "Well, his townhouse is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside, so it's possible he's somewhere else entirely."
"Doctor who?" Clint says, unable to resist, and Tony gives him a look. "What, I'm not allowed to watch BBCA now?"
"I think I can get us a meeting, but it can only be one or two people at most," Bruce tells them. "He always said it was because there were too many dangerous artifacts in his house, but mostly I think he just doesn't like to be bothered."
There's a knock on the wall near the doorway. "Tony," Pepper says, sticking her head in. "I need to talk to you for a minute."
"Can it wait?" he asks, in a 'Just five more minutes, Mom' voice. "I'm doing Avenger stuff."
"No," Pepper tells him. "I wouldn't have bothered you otherwise."
"Go on without me, I'll catch up," Tony says, standing up from the table.
"Clint should go, then," Steve says. "It's only fair."
"I don't know about 'fair,'" Clint says; he doesn't really want to go sit and talk with a magic man, but if that's what he's got to do to get some answers, he'll do it. "But I'll give you 'necessary.'"
"I'll talk to him," Bruce says. "I don't know how soon he'll be free, but I'll try."
Clint nods. "Do it."
It's two agonizing days before the guy will see him. When Clint gets to the address he's been given, it's a perfectly normal-looking brownstone with a big bay window. Clint walks up the steps and rings the bell, but before he even takes his hand away, a woman answers the door; she's young, but her hair is pure white, and everything about her is ethereal, otherworldly. Clint's already got spooky on his mind, and he wonders a little if she's actually a person at all.
"You are Clint Barton," she says. "I am Clea. You are here to see my husband."
"Uh, yeah, that's right," Clint says; he's not all the way into the building and these people are already weirding him out a little. "Nice to meet you."
"A pleasure," she says. "Please follow me."
Bruce wasn't kidding when he was talking about artifacts; Clint's reminded of Hoarders again, just a little. The hallway, which yeah, is definitely longer than it should be, is so chock full of weird objects that Clint thinks- doesn't know, thinks- the walls might be glowing faintly.
He sees why Bruce didn't dismiss this guy out of hand; this is a long way to go for a haunted house.
Clea shows him in to what must be Strange's study; a tall, thin man is waiting to receive him. He looks like no one so much as Vincent Price, and he is- Jesus Christ, here we go- wearing a cape, complete with a big stiff collar and a massive brooch at the closure.
"Mister Barton," the man says. "I am Doctor Strange. It's an honor to meet you- I understand you're part of the reason I didn't lose my home to Loki."
"Just doing my job," Clint says uncomfortably.
"Well, as long as someone can keep that annoying little pissant in line, I'm very happy. My hands are, unfortunately, tied on that score." While Clint is still wondering what the fuck, Strange extends an arm towards the straight-backed chairs that sit across from the window. "Won't you have a seat?"
"Thanks," Clint says; the chair is oddly comfortable, despite the look of it, and Clint automatically suspects magic. He's just in that mood.
"Tell me about the man you're looking for," Strange says, cutting to the chase. "I need you to be as specific as you can."
"His name is Agent Phil Coulson," he says, because he's clinging to the present tense with both hands. "He's my handler at SHIELD. He's the one who gives me missions, watches my back. He's also my- I don't know, we don't hold hands in the hallways and wear each other's letter jackets, I don't call him my boyfriend." He sighs; this is the wrong stuff to be telling him. "He's about my height, brown hair, receding hairline, medium build. If you hear somebody being really dry and sarcastic, that's him. Even in the-" He stops, not knowing what comes after that, not wanting to think about it. "Even if he's not on Earth, he's probably still wearing a really nice black suit. Be careful if you sneak up on him, because he's more dangerous than he looks, and if he can pick it up he can use it as a weapon."
Strange gives him a soft look. "You smile when you talk about him."
"Good," Clint says, because every time he does, he feels like he wants to break down all over again.
"Why do you want to find Phil?" Strange asks. "Why would you bring him back?"
Clint realizes that nobody's asked that question; they've just worked for it, done what they can just based on of a couple of bloodied trading cards, fascination, and some hope. His heart is torn up at the thought, the idea that these people, some of whom he barely knows, have his back like that. "Because it's not right," he says. "Because he matters too much to too many people, even if they can't remember that. Because he deserves it. Because I'm fucking selfish and want him back. I don't care if that's a bad reason or not." Clint shakes his head. "I just want him back."
"Selfishness makes the world go 'round," Strange tells him. "Selfishness drives us to love, and love makes going on worthwhile." He nods. "I'll help you." Clint goes to speak, but Strange waves him off. "This isn't a parlor trick or a game. I won't take your money and I won't hold a big spooky seance for you."
"Seances are for dead people," Clint says coldly. "I'd rather you not."
"Mister Barton," Strange says. "I won't hold back the truth from you. If he is dead, I won't sugarcoat it."
"I don't want you to," Clint says, shaking his head resolutely. "That's not fair to me or him."
"There's no guarantee I can find him or bring him back," Strange tells him. "I may not even find an answer to what has happened."
"Look, I'll take any help I can get," Clint says. "If there's any chance at all that you could find him or even find anything out, then I want you to do it."
"Then it's settled." Strange stands up. "I'll be leaving this plane for a while to look for him," he says, like it's no big deal, like he's going down to the corner store. "Time there doesn't pass like it passes here. A blink of an eye here could be a thousand lifetimes there, or five minutes there could be an age on Earth. You can stay as long as you like, but I won't be offended if you leave."
"I'll stick around for now," Clint says. "I'm not staying an age though."
"Good idea," Strange says, smiling. He walks over towards the window, arranging himself in the nest of pillows there, adopting the lotus position. Now Clint knows where Bruce got it; he imagines Bruce probably asked this guy for meditation tips, not help with astral projection. "Clea," Strange says, and it's only through a lot of practice that Clint doesn't jump out of his skin. She's standing right beside him, and he has absolutely no idea how long she's been there. "I'm going out."
"Of course, my love," she says. "I will look after Mister Barton while you are gone."
He smiles warmly at her. "See you on the other side," he says, extending a hand, and all the candles around his nest flicker to life. He shuts his eyes, breathing deeply for a few moments; Clint can't pinpoint the time when Strange goes into trance, but he suddenly knows that Strange is, that he has been.
"There is fresh coffee in the kitchen," Clea tells Clint. "We also have tea and cake."
So that's how Clint ends up in the Sorcerer Supreme's kitchen, drinking peppermint tea and eating the best goddamn cake he's ever had, leafing through a tattoo magazine that was laying on the table.
Then again, Clint's probably never had a normal moment in his entire life.
Maybe an hour later, Clea gets up; she takes a tray down from the top of the refrigerator, putting the coffee urn and a cup on it, cutting a huge wedge of cake and adding that too, along with a napkin. She carries it out and Clint follows her, curious.
Of course, when they get back to the study, Strange is coming out of his trance; she sets the tray down out of the way and helps him to lie back, making him take a few sips of coffee and eat a few bites of cake. Clint kind of feels like he's intruding then, pushing in on something private.
It's several minutes before Strange sits up, looking pale, ravenously eating cake and guzzling coffee. He puts down his plate, wiping the corners of his mouth. "Mister Barton," he says, like he's surprised to see him. "I didn't think you'd stay."
"It's only been," Clint says, looking at his cell phone- of course he has no reception, and the screen keeps flickering, but the clock seems to be fine-ish. "It's been fifty-five minutes."
Strange shakes his head, as if to clear it. "That was a very short time for a very long journey."
"If you need me to go-" Clint starts, though it is exactly the opposite of what Clint needs.
"It's fine," Strange says. He looks at Clint, and Clint can already see the bad news in his eyes. "I need you to understand something. Sorcerer Supreme is not a title I made up for my business cards. I am the defender of Earth from all magical threats. For all practical intents and purposes, I am the most powerful magician on this planet." His face is deadly serious, drawn. "I have looked everywhere. I have touched the minds of the most adept, people whose abilities rival my own. I have faced forces that even you, who have fought Thanos-" a name Clint has never heard, which scares him- "cannot begin to conceive of." He sighs. "I have not found him. There is no force that could shield him from my eyes, but I have not found him."
Clint's shoulders slump. He knows all about disappointment; he'd been trying really hard not to get his hopes up, but he'd done it anyway, and even the little flicker he managed turned out to be too much. He feels tired, so tired, and he wonders how long he can keep this up, how many times his hope can be extinguished before it's put out entirely.
"I'm sorry I wasted your time like this," Clint says, standing up; he's jumpy, all of a sudden, underneath the exhaustion, that feeling that he usually only gets after a lot of sleep dep.
"If this has brought you any closer to finding him, then this wasn't a waste of anyone's time." He stands up slowly, extending a hand. "I hope our paths cross again, Mister Barton."
"If you need me, you know where to find me," Clint says, shaking it. "I mean, I don't think I probably have to tell you."
Strange smiles wryly. "I can see Stark Tower from here. It's not a particularly difficult inference." Clint tries to smile, but he can feel that it's not working. Strange puts a hand on his shoulder. "I have met many, many madmen in my time, but you don't strike me as one. If you need to do this, then don't stop. Deluding yourself is better than losing all your hope."
"Thanks," Clint says shakily.
"Clea," Strange says. "Why don't you show Mister Barton out?"
When he gets back to the tower, nobody asks him what happened; the answer is written all over his face. Clint takes a very long nap, and then he calls everyone together again. They look considerably less excited this time, much less focused.
"Back to square one," Steve says, without prompting. "We need a new game plan."
"It's my turn," Tony says, sighing. "I know this guy."
Clint stares at him for a moment. "Why didn't you 'know this guy' before I spent my morning drinking tea with a wizard?"
"Because one, he's weird and two, I don't trust him," Tony says, without hesitation. "His name is Garabed Bashur, calls himself Black Box. Really fascinating guy, says he has the power to collect electronic signals from all over the world, so if anybody's talking about our missing agent, he'll know about it. Pretty sure all that information would drive me insane," Tony adds. "I don't know if he is, but I wouldn't make any sudden movements, just to be sure."
"Where is he?" Bruce asks.
"Bumfuck, Ontario," Tony says, "which is reason three I didn't bring him up. Natasha, Clint, grab your passports, the plane is already gassed up."
Sometimes it's really convenient to know a billionaire who's just as crazy as you are.
The sun is starting to set when they get off the plane, and by the time they get out into the sticks, it's almost dark. The place is set back off the road a little, not very big, with a slightly shaggy lawn and bars on the windows.
"Does this guy know we're coming?" Clint says, carefully assessing the front of the house; he wants to case the whole thing, but there's protocol about this type of stuff, and plus it's a really, really bad idea to leave Tony Stark unsupervised, even with Natasha.
"I texted him," Tony says. "Actually, I texted Pepper, but he'll get it. He's that kind of guy."
Natasha stops suddenly. "What did you say his name was?"
"He's-" Tony stops. "Wait, who are we talking about?"
"What are we doing here?" Clint asks.
"Yeah, they got Black Box," a man's voice says; a figure jumps down from the roof, apparently unconcerned about the fact that there are two assassins pointing guns at him. "Kinda ironic, right? The black box is the one thing you're supposed to be able to find."
"Clint," Natasha says, "do you remember this asshole?"
"I do now," Clint says. Beijing was not a fun trip.
The man's wearing a full face mask, red and black, but somehow it's really obvious that he's smiling. "Hi, I'm Wade Wilson, and I'll be your deus ex machina this evening." He looks contemplative for a moment. "Yeah, I like that. It's got 'god' in it. And 'machine.' And 'ex.' 'Ex' might be the best part."
"What are you doing here?" Natasha demands. "What is Black Box?"
Wade turns, looking at you. "Did you notice nobody remembers that Pepper was gone? That's my favorite part," he says. "It's not a fuck-up. All of the fuck-ups in this story are unintentional, including the part where it doesn't make any sense." He thinks about it for a second. "Maybe that one is intentional. Maybe the author just doesn't care."
Tony grabs him by the arm, pulling him back over. "Wait, what did you say?"
Wade's face doesn't move for a moment. "Can you hear me when I do that?"
"Yeah, you said something about Pepper being gone," Clint said.
"Who the hell is writing this?" Wade asks. "I never know if people are gonna hear me or not. Somebody needs to make a decision."
Clint glares at him. "Stop fucking around for five seconds and tell us what's going on."
"Here's the rundown," Wade says. "Coulson is gone- Coulson, great character, by the way, glad to have him in 616, look forward to antagonizing him- and nobody remembers him but Barton. Pepper was gone, but now she's back and nobody remembers she was gone- you people need to start leaving each other notes. Black Box is gone, and apparently I'm holding it down on that one. But then, I'm unstuck in canon." He opens his hands. "And that's pretty much that."
Natasha gets up into his face, pressing her gun into his stomach. "That's not everything," she says. "You're going to tell us every single thing you know, or you are going to be very, very unhappy."
"But there are thousands of more words to go in this story, and the end is a killer," Wade protests, apparently unconcerned with whether or not Natasha is going to shoot him. "Look, here's what you need to know: Tony Stark is the only nerd in the entire world who has never seen World on a Wire or The Matrix, not even to look at The Oracle, meow."
"I don't like cyberpunk," Tony says, unhappy and confused, "and Keanu Reeves is an asshole."
"That is a damn shame," Wade tells him, "because brother, you have landed yourself in the wrong story."
"This isn't a fucking story," Clint says, and Natasha cocks her gun. "This is serious."
"Nobody said it wasn't a serious story," Wade says. "Or it was until I got here. Sorry about that, folks."
"If it's a story, then tell us how it ends," Natasha demands
"Sorry, I like it too much," Wade says, so Natasha shoots him in the knee, which is her usual method of dealing with situations like this. Wade staggers for a second, but doesn't fall. "That was just mean," he says, taking something off his belt; it turns out to be a grappling hook, and he shimmies up the rope and back to the rooftop, strolling away across it. "Don't give up looking, kids. I wanna see if the author pulls it off!"
"Well that was a hell of a thing," Tony says, watching him go.
"Yeah, that was," Clint says. "Something."
"Should we go after him?" Natasha asks.
"I don't see how it would be worth it," Clint says, sighing in annoyance. "If he can shake off getting shot in the knee, then there's probably no way we can get any information out of him. Plus I'm pretty sure he's crazier than a shithouse rat."
"But he knew about Phil, and apparently he knew why we're in the middle of nowhere to meet someone who none of us have ever heard of," Tony says. "I'm not saying he's not crazy. I'm saying that apparently we have to go force ourselves to look at Keanu Reeves for two hours." He waves a hand. "Do your secret agent thing and find out what's in the house."
There's nothing in the house, nothing of interest; the front door is unlocked, keys sitting in a bowl beside it. There's a room with a bunch of TVs in it, but that's the strangest thing in there. Natasha calls it, and it's back on the plane, back to the tower.
Watching Steve Rogers watch The Matrix is a fascinating experience; Clint's already seen the movie at least twice, so watching him is much more entertaining. "What did I just see?" Steve says, when they're done; his eyes are big, and he looks terrified.
"Stick with the broad strokes, big guy," Tony says. "This world's not real, there are mechanical squid monsters out to get you, Neo is an anagram for 'one.'" He rubs his hands together. "Who wants a drink?"
"I don't need you to drink, Stark," Clint says, getting into his face; this is all fucking ridiculous, but they have this one thing and nothing else, one shot, one clue. "I need you to focus up."
"On what, Barton?" Tony says, his face going hard, and Clint knows instantly that he did the wrong thing. "Tell me exactly what I should do right now. Let's take a cryptic tip from a fucking lunatic and say that this entire world is an illusion. Let's say for one second that there's somebody above us, somebody who can pick people up at will and make it like they never existed. If they can do that, they can do anything. They could make us forget each other if we got too close. They could pick one or all of us up. They could put somebody else down who could stop us." Something dawns on Clint, and he can see Tony get it too. "Oh my God, he was right. If people come down and go up, then there are entrances and exits. We have to find one."
"The Tesseract," Clint says.
Tony shook his head. "Tesseract's gone. How did Goldilocks get here in the first place?"
"New Mexico," Clint tells him.
Tony lifts an eyebrow at him. "Gonna need you to be a little more specific here, Barton."
"Let me finish," Clint says. "He touched down in the desert in New Mexico. He used something he called the Bifrost, I don't know, some guy just picked people up and-" Clint resists the urge to smack himself in the forehead. "Wow, I should have thought about that a long time ago. But Foster and Selvig said it was an Einstein-Rosen bridge, connecting here and Asgard."
"Is nobody else bothered by the fact that the world might not be real?" Steve says, sounding very, very paranoid.
"Look, we can have an existential freak-out later, we're on a roll right now," Tony snaps, waving a hand at him. "So we start looking for the same energy signatures."
"That's all you and Bruce," Clint says. "Get us where we're going, and we'll figure it out from there."
"You heard the man, Banner," Tony says to Bruce, who still looks kind of lost. "Let's get to it." He steers Bruce out of the room, talking at him a mile a minute.
"Can I freak out now?" Steve asks.
Clint sighs. "Yeah, go ahead, man."
"Oh, good," Steve says. "Because this is all very scary and confusing."
Clint thinks about it for a second. "Scary, yeah. Confusing, scarily not."
"I don't think it's that scary," Natasha says. "If this world isn't real, I don't really care." Her face is unreadable. "It means I could change a lot of things that need changing, if I figured out how."
"Yeah," Clint says. "If it means we can actually change the world, then I'm pretty much fine with it."
"You people are really scaring me right now," Steve says.
"Honey," Natasha says, as sweet as she can manage, "we've had a lot of practice with this idea." She gives him a concerned look. "Do you want me to take your cell phone, just in case? I'm pretty sure the tower doesn't have any landlines."
Steve pulls it out of his pocket and hands it over. "Do you think we have any blue pills in the house?" he asks tentatively, and nothing about his manner suggests that he's kidding. "Because I don't want the red one."
Clint doesn't even make a Viagra joke. "You know what? Just for you, buddy, I'm going to go check the medicine cabinet."
Steve sighs. "I know it's really stupid, but thanks." Clint gets up, patting him on the shoulder.
Clint already knows there won't be.
On to chapter three