#hellfireandice

They found a kid, no older than fourteen. Things escalated, there was fighting and running and a rushed exit.

They’d made it to medical, not without its struggles. The kid they found turned out to not like medical at all, it took a lot of trial and error to even let them do a physical exam on him and patch up injuries from the day. He was sitting in a corner on the floor carefully eyeing up anyone that got too close. Clint had lost a hearing aid, which made some parts a little more difficult. His audiologist was going to kill him. Maybe he needed to change from behind the ear to something more compact and secure.

Isleif and Natasha weren’t overly fond of medical either, not that he could blame either of them. Between their curiosities about Isleif and the involuntary medical procedures done to Natasha, they both had more than enough reason to dislike the poking and prodding. “He’s not gonna trust anybody if we move him to a safe house.” Partially observation and partially a question. 

It wasn’t that Tara was especially good at this already, it was more that she knew how to start digging and was just a stubborn little shit. She had followed the official Hawkeye instagram ages ago and it’d started posting again. That was the first breadcrumb. That led her to a joke picture of Clint Barton (The Clint Barton) in a car with a dog, him reading a book about teaching dogs to drive. The photo had a sign in the background with a name that just gave off business vibes, so she’d googled it.

That got her to Brooklyn. From there it was a game of matching tiny details from the instagram photos to scenery until she’d found the building, and the very reluctant avenger. “Technically,” he’d told her. “I’m retired.” And he’d tried to talk her out of it, but she must have been convincing. Either that or she was just really annoying, because eventually he’d sighed and scribbled an address, date, and time. Telling her to be there and not be late.

She was skipping school for this, sitting in Sway Café in Queens half-expecting her phone to go off with an unfamiliar number telling her not to take advice from strangers and to go back to being a normal sixteen year old girl. She hadn’t been given any instructions apart from being there. Already she knew this wasn’t like the old movies her dad used to watch. No clever code phrases or meaningful looks from strangers. She’d ordered something (a matcha latte and the parma sandwich), partially to not be suspicious and partially to just not be rude loitering in the café waiting in the corner. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Taylor was surprised at the box his friend had presented him with. Yeah, it was his birthday and all, but he really wasn’t expecting a present. He was sure she’d want to know what he thought of it, whatever it was (it felt a little heavy), so Taylor tore through the thin paper and opened up the box.

     “Fuck...off,” the man grunted, bashing his forearm against another man’s skull in an outward swing. The victim went crashing into the ground only to slide a good few feet until conking out. “Yeah, who’s next, ya cunts!”

     As he saw more goons beginning to surround him, Roman flicked his arm out, causing sparks to fire off of it as volts of electricity climbed up his sleeve. He was charging up. He normally didn’t like using his electric powers but he was starting to get outnumbered. 

     “Get this fucking mutant,” one of the men yelled.

     They started to charge him with knives, bats, and pipes. Roman took in a deep breath, feeling the trickle along his right arm as sparks dripped off of him. The vibrant blue surge grew more and more as they got closer until he found one in arms reach. In a quick instant, Roman punched him in the stomach to make a loud crack of thunder before they were sent flying into two more men.

     A leg kicked out to slam his boot into the knee of an enemy behind him, snapping it in the reverse way it was suppose to bed. He heard the man yell in pain but a followup punch to the side of the head finished off the cries. It was going to be a long fight.

     Still, Roman wasn’t complaining.

Morgan isn’t supposed to be in the medical branch, but the five-year-old has become very good at sneaking through the Avengers’ compound. She finds her way to Islief’s bed and peeks over.

“You seem to forget that demon blood also came from above,” the fallen angel huffed, almost in amusement. “Not all of us are here by choice, and judging from your face, you can understand that.”

@hellfireandice // my muse is dozing off. Send me  “CARRY”  for my muse’s reaction to yours picking them up and carrying them to bed.

    Peter’s trying to HIDE how exhausted he is, but in reality, anyone could probably tell from a mile away. The kid’s not exactly subtle, and with the way his head slowly lolls to the side, eyelids dropping, he might just pass out any second. He lands against Isleif’s shoulder, unable to contain the yawn that escapes him, and the way he curls up just a bit closer. He’s been tired lately, even MORE tired than normal, with just how much he has to do, how much he carries. And with how little sleep he gets, it only makes sense to start dozing off.