Hawkeye
Sometimes, being a superhero sucked. Other times, it was really fun. Shooting things with reckless abandon was high on the list of fun times. Clint Barton was having one of those fun times, because he got to shoot things. People may say there was something deeper meaning behind his choice in weaponry, and general glee at being allowed to shoot things with arrows, but Hawkeye the Avenger would tell the people to stick their deeper meanings up their asses. Shooting shit with arrows is fun.
Currently, Clint was shooting ducks, but they weren’t normal ducks. They were mechanical ducks. Realistic looking as they were, when Clint shot one, the duck exploded into bits of metal and glitter. He was confused by the glitter part, but Clint was a professional. Evil ducks were attacking the innocent citizens of the city with glitter. Glitter was difficult to clean up. Difficult clean ups were annoying. Clint didn’t like annoying things. Ergo, it was his solemn duty to destroy the ducks. Damn glitter.
The city was literally sparkling under the afternoon sun. Children ran around, stomping in piles of glitter. There were a lot of ducks. Clint was having difficulty being everywhere at once; otherwise, the city totally would be glitter free. As it was though, he could only shoot whatever he saw and move on. Sure, a couple of pigeons here and there suffered from the rush, but it was their fault for flying into an arrow. Stupid pigeons.
Despite his speedy, and accurate, movement across the city, however, some ducks escaped his arrows. Sometimes, though more like twice or some low number like that, Clint’s arrow went wide, and the duck found its target. But really, that glitter made the shelter much prettier.
So it wasn’t the occasional miss that irked Clint. He was only human after all, and the other Avengers were off prancing around a foreign country destroying tyrannical shit. It was just Hawkeye, and honestly, he knew he was doing an awesome job taking care of business. That was why Hawkeye wanted to shoot Banner’s dumb, albeit cute, dog. The furry bastard, or bitch, as would be more accurate, would laugh at him whenever he missed. Hawkeye couldn’t tolerate a dog, let alone one named Waffles, mock him. However, whenever Clint tried to shoot the dog when it popped up, Waffles disappeared, barking chuckle echoing in the wind. Hulk’s fury be damned, he was going to kill that dog. Nobody mocked Hawkeye.
“Damn ass duck!” Clint shouted as an arrow barely missed a duck.
He kept his bow poised, slowly scanning the surrounding area. His muscles tensed, sweat beading across his brow, as the silence threatened to suffocate him. A duck had just whizzed by and showered the community center with glitter. Any minute now, the dog was going to appear from behind a bench, or a tree.
“Hawkeye.”
The sudden sound most emphatically didn’t startle Clint and make him release an arrow. He was just so freaking prepared, he whipped around and let an arrow fly by pure instinct.
“Good afternoon to you too.”
Loki stood but twenty feet from Clint, nonchalant and infinitely amused, holding the tip of an arrow a fraction away from his eye. He drew the arrow from his face and lightly rubbed his finger over the metal tip. Clint really wasn’t glad that it was Loki, since Loki was a bad guy, a marvelously quick reflexed bad guy, and he wasn’t happy about bad guys on principle.
“The hell you doing here?” Clint demanded. “These ducks your doing?”
With an elegant shrug of the shoulder, Loki walked forward and handed the arrow back to Clint.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he replied. “Oh, and do look over you shoulder.”
Clint didn’t want to look over his shoulder. Something he didn’t like was going to be over his shoulder. But let it never be said, Clint was afraid. He was Hawkeye and he looked death in the eye everyday and laughed. Only, it wasn’t him laughing. It was Waffles.
“Dammit, Loki!”
Loki chuckled.
“Pay attention, Hawkeye, or you are going to miss another.”
There was a robotic quack from somewhere in the sky. Clint was not going to let the dog psyche him out. He notched the arrow Loki had given him and let it loose. In the far distance, there was an explosion of sparkles. It was pretty.
“Excellent marksmanship,” Loki drawled, clapping slowly.
Clint wasn’t sure if Loki was being serious or sarcastic, or even both, but he didn’t have the luxury of standing around, so he just assumed it was close enough to praise as he would ever get from the god of mischief, a.k.a. god of really annoying little brothers. But Loki was a bit of a marksman as well, and Clint had to respect that. Not only could he throw a blade with unnatural accuracy, he could also throw people out of windows with the same accuracy. Clint could lay claim to being the only Avenger that hasn’t been thrown through a window by Loki. Yeah, that’s called respect.
“So why the ducks?” Clint asked. “Doesn’t really seem your style.”
Loki hummed thoughtfully, eyes scanning the skyline.
“Astute observation,” he said wryly, a small blade materializing in his hand. “Ducks would not be my first choice. Snakes, or wolves, would be a far better choice. Ooh, or how about ferrets.”
With a fluid flick of the wrist, Loki’s blade lodged itself in the side of a duck. It didn’t explode on impact like should of. Instead, it began circling overhead, muck like a hawk, and wasn’t that an interesting thing to watch. However, Clint would not be distracted. Besides, Loki was always doing weird shit, and it was always best not to ask. Tony was the only one who questioned him. Tony was an idiot who had the highest count for being thrown out of windows.
“Okay, so ferret’s would be awesome,” Clint admitted. “I always wanted a ferret, but I couldn’t have one at the circus ‘cause it would have been eaten by the lion, or set on fire, or disappear during a magic show. And now that you know about this, don’t ever think about doing anything related to this.”
“I would never,” Loki swore, hand open in surrender. Unfortunately, the tiny smirk ruined the image perfectly.
Staring intently at Loki, Clint absently notched another arrow, not believing it for a minute.
“You’re not fooling me,” he said unnecessarily. Clint shot another duck. “So, back to my point. If ducks aren’t your thing, why the ducks?”
“The ducks,” Loki explained, “Belong to Doom.”
“Sooo…” Clint drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Doom ducks? Glitter Doom Ducks? This is his work?”
Loki didn’t seem to find it funny. If anything, he looked pissy and smug. Clint never looked too closely at how Loki and Doom picked on each other.
“Hmph. He intended for the ducks to destroy critical points in the city, and declare war,” Loki said.
Clint frowned.
“He’s going to declare war through glitter? And why ducks?”
“They would be more difficult to detect. The glitter was my doing,” Loki scoffed. “That fool would dare to insult me…”
The last part was a quiet mumble, more reminiscent of Loki’s earlier days when he was still finding his way as a super villain, and a bit more mentally unhinged. While it wasn’t nearly as bad, it was close enough to make him uncomfortable. Clint didn’t like that Loki. He didn’t like this Loki either, no matter what Coulson said otherwise, but he was less homicidal and much happier. And bad guy or not, Loki should be allowed to be happy. Clint wasn’t heartless after all.
“So, how did he insult you?” Clint asked, honestly curious. He was also a good listener. Plenty of women said so.
“He said I was tacky!” Loki practically shouted. “As if he is one to speak of aesthetics. Have you seen the interior of his castle/ do not speak to me of those green drapes. If anything is tacky, it is the drapes. And what of his fashion? He might as well be wearing the drapes! And who actually speaks in the third person and wishes to be taken seriously?”
Clint was aware he was openly gaping at Loki. He knew that was kind of rude and all kinds of unprofessional, but he felt he was a little justified in his reaction. There were exploding glitter ducks because Loki was insulted. There was something more to it beyond a thoughtless comment, but Clint could never know since there was no possible way to understand Loki’s mind. All he knew was that Doom was a jerk.
“Anyways, I altered his weapons to shower the city with glitter. Now who is going to be called tacky?” Loki continued as if he had not just had a minor psychotic outburst. “After this day, let the world know forever Victor von Doom is tacky.”
“How’s the world supposed to credit this to Doom?” Clinst asked. He was relieved Loki was back to his usual calm, smug, arrogant self.
“Because, my dear Hawkeye,” Loki purred. “Take a closer look at a duck.”
Clint wasn’t sure he wanted to, but he was curious, so he waited for another duck to fly by. When he finally spotted one, he fired at it, and in the explosion of glitter that followed, bit of metal scrap fell to the ground as well. He hand’ noticed it before, but the scraps were more like a single scrap with something scrawled on it in green ink.
“Made in Latveria. Doom Corporation...it’s copyrighted,” Clint mused. “What the ever loving shit?”
“Every duck launched at the city has this on them,” Loki explained gleefully. “Let that be a lesson.”
Arching an eyebrow, Clint dropped the scrap metal and shouldered his bow.
“How many ducks are left?” he asked, not really caring all that much.
Loki tapped his chin thoughtfully.
“I believe the only remaining ducks are aimed at the Baxter Building,” Loki said. “Are you going to warn them?”
“Why? They’re superheroes and super powered,” Clint shrugged. “Ain’t my problem.”
That made Loki smirk. Clint was really glad he decided not to warn the Fantastic Four. He had a feeling he was going to get some funny news about them in them in the near future.
“Excellent,” Loki chirped. “Now, I must leave. I suggest watching the evening news.”
He clapped his hands once, the sound echoing too loudly to be anything but magic. And sure enough, the one duck that still had Loki’s blade embedded in it suddenly exploded. Before Clint could ask what that was all about, Loki disappeared from the city. Sighing at what he had to put up with, Clint took a moment to watch the glitter descend. He was man enough to admit it was kind of pretty.
After making sure everything was how it should be after a glitter assault, Clint had every intention of hiding in his apartment until Coulson dragged him away for a debriefing. However, he faltered in his steps when he noticed the glitter wasn’t dispersing in the wind. Instead, it was coalescing into a cloud and floating towards Clint. Any other time, Clint would have moved and found a way to turn the glitter cloud into a pin cushion. But this wasn’t any other time, because a glitter cloud was approaching him.
It went against Clint’s better judgment, but he reached forward and tried to poke the glitter cloud. His curiosity piqued when the cloud seemed to solidify into a compact mass. Self-preservation be damned, he just poke a glitter cloud.
And then, in what could only be described as a magic poof, the glitter morphed and dropped at Clint’s feet.
“Hot damn,” he whispered.
Staring up at him with black, beady eyes was a ferret. Clint stared at it, so very tempted to pick it up, but manfully resisting. As appreciative of the intention as he was, Clint couldn’t take it home. He didn’t know how to take care of a ferret, and there were enough fury critters residing with the Avengers. But then, the littler ferret squeaked and began bouncing around. It danced like an idiot, but Clint found himself bending forward to pick it up; grudgingly, of course. The ferret scurried into his outstretched hands, warbling scream of approval aimed at Clint.
“Noisy little bastard,” Clint mumbled idly as he stroked the ferret’s head.
Clearly, the responsible thing to do would involve running tests on the ferret, and then finding a good home for it. Clint had every intention of being responsible. He kept telling himself that all the way back to SHIELD Headquarters, and even told Coulson this. While he was currently listing all the reasons why keeping a magic ferret was a bad idea, Coulson nodding understandingly and smiling the whole time, the magic ferret got out of the office. Clint did not panic. He merely responded in a manner befitting an agent of SHIELD. Running up and down the halls shouting for his glitter ferret was perfectly normal.
Internally, he panicked about finding the ferret. What did that say about Hawkeye if he couldn’t even keep track of a single ferret? And what would he tell Loki when he saw him again? Also, why was he so concerned about disappointing Loki?
These questions plagued his mind, distracting him from the other Avengers who had just arrived. He brushed past Banner and his stupid laughing dog, barely acknowledged Thor’s booming greeting, and ignored Captain America’s inquiries. It was going to be impossible to find the ferret. Clint was disappointed, most definitely not despairing.
“What the hell?!”
Tony’s shout plus one warbling scream spurred Clint into action. Iron man better not have hurt his ferret, or iron man was going to be introduced to Clint’s super special armor piercing arrows.
“Glitter ferret!” Clint shouted.
Scrambling out of a room, the ferret dodged an Italian leather show flying at its head. It jumped up Clint’s leg, climbing into his waiting embrace, just as tony stomped out of the same room, rubbing his head.
“That rodent is a menace,’ he growled. “It snuck up on me, screamed in my face, made me hit my head, then bit me, and left the weirdest, smelliest piece of shit in my shoe!”
Clint noted the flustered breathing and the blood freely flowing from several puncture wounds on Tony’s hand. It apparently had something against Tony. Clint snuggled the ferret.
“You cannot keep that thing. It goes, now!” Tony shouted.
“That would be unwise, Mister Stark,” Coulson interrupted, approaching with a folder. “Seeing as the ferret is a direct result of Loki’s magic, it’s of the utmost importance we keep it close to make sure nothing happens. Mister Stark, you can come with me for your debriefing. Agent Barton, here are the necessary registration papers.”
Tony sputtered more indignities as Coulson herded him towards a meeting room. Clint looked at the folder of papers. He had told Coulson to get him disposal papers. The man was good.
“So, I think I’ll name you, Phil,” Clint told the ferret. “Let’s get something to eat, and then watch the news, Phil.”
And if by the next morning, the entire SHIELD Headquarters knew of Phil, Tony’s hand was still throbbing, doom was being mocked all around the world, and the Baxter Building was permanently glittery until they found a way to remove magic glue, then Clint knew all was well in the world. He was Hawkeye, and he had a magic glitter ferret named Phil. Yeah, he was totally awesome.