Hey everyone! I'm so sorry at how long this took! Life has just been CRAZY! My niece was born at the beginning of November and she and her parents are living with us. Added to that, I was also working on my Application for my Master's Degree in Library Science (which I got into! *throws confetti*) AND I have a job...ya, things have just been a bit hectic! But still, I am so sorry it took this long!
Anyway, this is a storyline Aggie and I have been wanting to do for a while now and I'm honored to be the one entrusted with it! It's not too long but it's funny with just a touch of angst! Also, Aggie helped beta this and trust me, you are getting a much better version because of that!
*Insert obligatory sentence about not owning anything here*
So without further ado: HERE'S PART 8!
Henriksen: "You think you're funny."
Dean: "I think I'm adorable."
Folsom Prison Blues, Season 2 Episode 19
"Aw, Hell," Dean said, slamming on the breaks.
Sam lurched forward from where he'd been dozing off in the passenger seat.
"What is it?" he asked.
Dean pointed ahead to the long line of cars on the road in front of them.
"There's a check point ahead."
Sam sat up straighter. "FBI?"
"Judging by the big yellow letters on their jackets, I'd say that yeah, Sam, they're FBI. But, how did Henriksen figure out we were here? We've been on the road for days and we've only used cash. Hell, we've been sleeping in the freaking car."
"We don't know it's him, Dean. It could be something else."
Dean gave him a sour glance. Sam's ability to always be the voice of annoying reason was, well…annoying.
"Yeah, but we're in their database so there no chance we're getting by that," he muttered.
Dean checked behind him, putting the Impala in reverse, and backed down a side street before coming out the other side and high-tailing it away from the roadblock.
Sam tuned the radio to the local news station. The newscaster stated that the FBI had cordoned off the entire city in search of two suspected fugitives. Dean didn't even need three guesses to know who those two suspects were.
"Well, I guess that answers that question," Sam said, turning off the radio. "Now what do we do?"
"Find a place to lay low, for one," Dean replied, mind already sorting through their options.
"But for how long?"
"As long as it takes."
"But Dean, we can't just lay low forever. If we can't get out of the city, then he's going to find us eventually."
"Well, we happen to know someone who could help who also happens to live nearby," Dean pointed out with a half grin even as he snatched his phone off the dash.
"He's a spy, Dean. He's probably half way around the world right now doing something a bit more important than helping out the two of us."
"Do you have any threes?" Clint asked, peering over his cards with narrowed eyes.
"Go fish," his opponent replied immediately.
The archer picked up a card from the pile between him and the redhead as they sat on the infirmary bed she was restricted to for the next week. Turns out skiing backward through a forest to shoot at bad guys wasn't as easy as it had seemed.
"I don't see why I have to stay here," Romanoff argued. "I can make my way around with crutches just fine."
"But then how would I pin you down to finally teach you all the card games you've missed out on, my sheltered little Russian assassin?" Clint countered.
The spy gave him a look that told him exactly what he could do with his card games. But Clint just smirked, knowing she didn't hate them nearly as much as she pretended.
"Have any Jacks?" she asked, sharp green gaze unreasonably analytical as she stared him down.
Just then Clint's phone rang, filling the room with Rush's Ghost Rider.
"Nope," he replied. "But it looks as if I have a joker." He laughed at his own cleverness even as he clicked a button on his phone. "What's up Dean?"
Clint climbed out of the nondescript black SUV he had checked out from the SHIELD garage and approached the lead FBI agent standing at the roadblock.
"Agent Henriksen," he said, straightening the suit he was wearing and staring down the man through his sunglasses. Sunglasses hid the direction of your gaze, which was a great intimidation technique. Phil did it all the time when he was being all official.
"Special Agent. And who the hell are you?" the dark-skinned man asked defensively, subconsciously standing a little straighter as he felt his authority about to be taken into question.
"Agent Phil Coulson." He held out a card with his handler's "FBI credentials" on it.
Henriksen took it.
"What can I do for you?" he asked, eyeing him warily, obviously still on edge.
"What you can do is take down this roadblock," Clint replied sharply, like Henriksen was an idiot for not already knowing. He'd heard Fury talk like that before, and it always got results.
"Excuse me?" Henriksen demanded. "Who gave you the authority to tell me what to do in my own investigation? I've got two high priority suspects on the loose."
"Your boss," Clint shot back firmly. "Actually, your boss' boss. You are to remove this blockade and head to the FBI Field Office in Knoxville, Tennessee where another case awaits you. One that won't waste the Bureau's resources on a useless manhunt."
"Useless?" Henriksen challenged angrily. Though the mention of the director of the FBI seemed to have made him nervous because he fidgeted with his tie. "I have a solid lead on the Winchester brothers. A source puts them in this town. Surely the director-"
"The director," Clint interrupted him, "sent me here herself. But if you'd like to call her and second guess that directive, be my guest," Clint offered, holding out a phone to the agent.
Henriksen took the proffered phone, staring at the name highlighted in Agent Coulson's list of contacts. Clint kept his expression stern, but he had to fight down the urge to smirk. He knew not many people could brag to have a direct line to Madeline Cooper herself.
Henriksen hesitated and then pressed the button putting the phone to his ear. Clint waited while it rang and saw Henriksen almost imperceptibly tense when the call was answered.
"Cooper," a terse female voice snapped.
Henriksen licked his lips. She did not sound happy.
"Director Cooper, this is Special Agent Victor Henriksen-"
"Henriksen!" she barked, her tone had him fighting down a flinch. Across from him, Agent Coulson poorly hid his smirk. "You better have a damn good reason for interrupting me during a very important meeting."
Henricksen resisted the urge to wipe at the sweat he felt bead on his forehead.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I wanted to confirm Agent Coulson's order about dropping my fugitive investigation in New York and relocating to Tennessee."
There was silence for a beat. And then, "Do you make it a habit to question orders from a superior, Agent?"
"Then I expect you to be in Knoxville by tomorrow and the only thing I want to hear about you is what a good little agent you are being. Is that understood?" she snapped.
"Good. Now hand the phone to Agent Coulson and order your men to pack up shop."
Without another word, Henriksen gave the phone back to its owner and started issuing orders to have the roadblock taken down.
"That went well," Clint smiled as he walked back to the car.
"That was easy," his partner, the highly talented Natasha Romanoff, corrected. "I thought you said this would be a challenge."
"It was!" Clint defended as he climbed back into his SUV. "There was no way to be sure if this guy had ever spoken to Cooper before. This whole thing might have blown up in my face."
"That's not a challenge, Barton. That's chance."
"Well they both start with 'c-h-a', so..." he trailed off and shoved the key into the ignition.
He heard her sigh over the phone and smirked. Riling her up had become a favorite pastime.
"Just shut up and get back here before he realizes you tricked him. We have a game to finish."
"I thought you didn't like card games," Clint reminded her. He could practically feel the scowl she was giving him. He chuckled. "I just have one more stop to make before I head back," he continued, as he shifted the car into drive. "And you better not have looked at my cards," he added accusingly.
All he head was a murmured "идиот" before the line went dead. (Idiot) Clint figured that was about as close to a term of endearment as he would ever get from the fiery redhead.
Dean looked out of the broken window of the abandoned warehouse where they were hiding in to see a black car, its headlights flashing.
"That's him," he announced. "Open the door, Sammy."
Sam pulled on the chain to raise the large roll-up door, allowing Clint to drive inside.
"So how'd it go?" Dean asked before his friend had even climbed out of the SUV.
"Easiest mission I've had in a while," Clint replied with a smirk. Then after a moment, "Easiest mission I've had ever actually."
"Thank you," Sam said, "for coming and helping us out. We know you're busy."
"Actually, you couldn't have timed it better. My partner's laid up with a broken leg so we have some time off."
Dean arched an eyebrow.
"Partner?" Dean asked. "You talking about Coulson?"
Clint shook his head.
"No, actual partner."
"When did that happen?" Dean wondered, feeling suddenly out of the loop. It wasn't fair, though. He couldn't expect Clint to update him on every change in his life when Dean didn't offer the same courtesy.
"It's a long story," Clint replied, eyeing Dean with a suddenly critical look. "Speaking of long stories, when were you going to tell me you scored a spot on the FBI's Most Wanted?"
"Technically, I did," Dean answered with a smirk. "That's why you rode in on your white horse like the knight in shining armor you are to save our bacon. And now that that's done, you can tell us your long story over beers. Sammy's buying."
They both ignored the tall man's indignant scoff.
"Sorry, not this time. My partner gets a little stir crazy when she bedridden and I can't, in good conscience, subject the infirmary staff to that."
"She?" Dean's eyebrows flew up. "Just what kind of partner are we talking about here?" he smirked suggestively. "A partner or a partner?" His smirk widened as every sexy spy scenario he'd ever seen or heard of sprung to life in his head.
"Trust me, she's not that kind of partner. It's strictly professional. And before you get any ideas, she's way out of your league. Like, you're not even playing in same stadium. Hell, not even the same sport. It's like you're playing pee-wee football and she's starting in the World Series."
"Well that's a little harsh," Dean said to no one in particular. Clint and Sam shared a smirk.
"I've been doing a bit of research about supernatural-type stuff," Clint commented to Sam. "Just so I'm not caught off guard again and there's this one bit of lore that's got me stumped. Give me a hand?" Clint gestured vaguely to the back of the SUV.
"Yeah, sure thing." Sam stepped forward like an eager puppy.
Dean threw up his hands. He could tell when he wasn't wanted.
"And on that note I'll go make sure all our stuff is packed. You two nerds have fun." He walked further into the warehouse to where the Impala was parked.
"What can I help you with?" Sam asked.
Clint waited for Dean to get out of earshot before he continued.
"Faust. Legend says that he made a deal with the devil. Now, some sources say his soul was taken, but others say he was able to get out of it. Do you think this could be a way to save Dean?"
Sam sighed. "I already looked into Faust. There's nothing there that can help. I killed the demon who took his deal and even that didn't work. Apparently the contract is being held by some other, more powerful demon."
"So we go and kill the bastard."
"Clint, it's not that simple-"
"What's not that simple?" Dean asked, walking up to them and twirling the Impala keys on his finger.
"Using Google to find all things ghostly," Clint answered without missing a beat. "Sam says it's unreliable but I call BS."
Dean eyed them for a second but seemed to accept their story.
"As much as I hate to say it, Clint, Sam's right. You're much better off using 'Search the Web' or 'Websummon'. Less monster movie, more Grimm' Fairy Tales."
"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."
"So rain check on that beer?" Dean asked, a hopeful light in his eyes that had Clint's gut clenching.
"I don't know. As soon as my partner is up and kicking, we've got a mission waiting. SHIELD is keeping us pretty busy. But I'll try to get a little bit of vacation soon. I promise."
None of them needed to hear the words to know they were all thinking the same thing. Dean didn't have much time.
The clench in his gut tightened and twisted.
"You know what," Clint amended, "she can learn to live without me for a couple more hours. Let Phil keep her from climbing the walls. C'mon, I'll drive." It would be best not to draw attention to themselves with the Impala what with the FBI still in the area.
Dean clapped his hands together and rubbed them.
"Sounds like a plan! So what are we talking here? Blond, brunette?"
Clint smirked, not even stumped by the non sequitur. Dean was as predictable as they came, when it came to women at least.
His smirk grew to a full blown smile when Dean gave out an appreciative whistle. Yeah, Natasha Romanoff had that effect.
"You got in pretty late last night," Phil noted as they made their way to the gym for an early-morning sparring match. With Natasha benched for the time being it was nice for the two men to have some time on their own. "You know, I had to finish your game with Romanoff last night. She was pretty pissed."
Clint smirked. "I bet she was." He took a swig of his blue Gatorade. "I was just catching up with some friends."
"Dean and Sam?"
"They were in the state, figured I'd take advantage." The less Phil knew about Clint's impromptu undercover operation the better.
"How much time..." Phil trailed off, apparently unwilling to finish the sentence.
"Six months." Clint felt that clenching in his gut again. He felt so useless in this. Demons, deals, it wasn't his world. He didn't know how to help. Give him a cartel leader or an arms dealer, then he'd know what to do.
Phil seemed to regret bringing the whole thing up and reached to squeeze Clint's neck. Whether it was an apology or offer of comfort wasn't clear.
"I've seen how much research you've been doing. Between you and Sam I know you'll find a way to save him," Phil smiled encouragingly.
"Yeah." But Clint wasn't so convinced. Time was ticking away and they had nothing to go on.
Phil was trying to figure out what to say, if there was anything he could say, when his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.
"Why am I getting a call from the FBI Field Office in Knoxville?" He gave Clint a question glance. Some instinct told him his agent had something to do with it.
"Oh!" Clint lunged forward, snatching the phone out of Phil's grasp. "That's for me." He pressed the answer button and put the phone to his ear. "This is Coulson."
Phil stared, caught between giving Clint a scolding glare and being incredibly curious about what the hell was going on. Clint pretended not to notice the sharp look and continued with his conversation, his tone pitched low and painfully professional.
Phil couldn't hear exactly what was said on the other end of the phone, but the speaker did not sound pleased.
"Well there must be a glitch in their system, Henriksen. You heard Director Cooper-" More yelling. "Well I know for a fact that there is a nasty drug trafficking ring operating in the area and I'm sure the Bureau would appreciate your assistance with their investigation, whether they requested it or not." He hung up the phone and gave it back to Phil without offering an explanation.
"Did that have anything to do with that suit that went missing from my closet yesterday?" he asked. "And the SUV you signed out?"
Clint shrugged, unconcerned.
"It might have, yes. But I won't bore you with the details. Though I would change my FBI phone number if I were you."
Phil just gave him another look before they pushed the gym doors open.
So what did you guys thing?! This will also be posted under Aggie's profile as "Arrows and Impalas" so please drop a line here AND there if you feel so inclined! We would both be very appreciative if you did! THANK YOU!