Happy late Halloween everyone! I know how I said I wanted to have this story completed before the next Thor movie and I'm here to say... that's definitely not going to happen. Oh well, as long as I keep plugging along. I want to thank Midnight Spiral for beta reading and to thank you guys for your support for this story!

Some of you wonderful reviewers have asked me how many more chapters till Thor meets up with Loki. I'm afraid to say that it won't be for a while. Five to ten chapters at most. Why? I really want to focus on 'Luke' experiencing what it is to be human because believe me, in part 3 it's going to come back and hit him like a six wheel truck. Also, I want Luke to be more than just a marysue or should I say marysam? But don't worry, the plot will bring them together that will only promise headaches for Fury, lol.

Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers, Supernatural or Arctic Monkeys.


Chapter Eleven: Cat and Mouse

"Your past times consisted of the strange and twisted and deranged
And I love that little game you had called cryin' lightnin'
And how you like to aggravate the ice-cream man on rainy afternoons"
- Crying Lightening, Arctic Monkeys


"I hate hospitals." Clint mumbled to himself as a portly man sneezed on him. Wiping the specks of snot from his neck, Clint continued to wait for the nurse to return with the requested file. Taking notice of all possible exits, Clint suppressed a tired yawn from his red-eye flight from SHIELD's headquarters. It was with Bruce's help that Clint and Natasha were able to narrow down their search of Loki in which led them to a small town of Ely, Minnesota. They were able to find the only hospital that had a recent admittance of one John Doe easily enough.

Fingers drummed on the countertop as he patiently waited in the hospital lobby.

"Mr. Jones?" Instead of the nurse, an older woman approached him. "Hi, I'm Doctor Lang. I was John Doe's attending. Please follow me; I know I have that file somewhere in my office." Clint nodded and after a moment of tugging on the edges of his plain black suit followed her lead. Falling in step behind her, he automatically took in her physique: A little over five feet tall, Caucasian, early forties and barely a hundred pounds. A tear in her stocking tear on her left calf caught his attention along with scuff marks on what looked like new black loafers.

Before he can make any more observations, they come to a stop in front of a glass door that plainly read 'Dr. Grace Lang'. Bringing out her keys from her white jacket pocket, she stumbled through ten keys to unlock her office door. They entered the fairly cluttered office decorated with potted flowers as lights automatically flickered on. Clint gazed the office over as Dr. Lang shifted through folders and piles of papers that towered dangerously on her desk.

"So, what does the FBI want with a John Doe?" She gives an impression of the typical nurturing doctor that one would see on TV.

So why does he feel so uneasy?

"He's part of an ongoing investigation ma'am." Clint replied nonchalantly as he idly rubbed a dead leaf between his fingers.

"Well, if you do find him I hope you'll let me take a look at him. That poor boy came in lookin' like he went through hell." The doctor lets out a soft 'aha' and pulled out a blue folder and flipped through the papers before handing it to Clint.

"So, what happened?" Clint questioned as he scanned the file.

"Three people went missing in the national forest, but the only one rescued was Mr. John Doe. The strange thing is he wasn't part of the missing party."

"He was in critical care?" Clint inquired, trying hard not to sound pleased.

"Oh yes. Attacked by a bear, I believe. Unfortunately, the other victims were eaten." She answered as she smoothly sat on the edge of her cluttered desk staring at him intently. "His right leg had severe muscle damage not to mention he was dehydrated and malnourished."

"Why did you release him if he was in such critical condition?"

"Two men that rescued him signed release forms and took him into their care. I assumed they were family."

"Can you describe these men?"

"Good looking men, they were. Both white males, one six foot while the other I would say five-five. I believe their names were Sam and Dean Winchester." Clint paused in his reading and looked up to the doctor only to see the gleam in the doctor's eyes seemed to intensify.

"The papers say Chuck Wesson and Jean Smith."

"Does it? I must have misheard." The doctor drawled. Her slender fingers drew delicate patterns against the oak desk.

Liar. She is lying through her teeth and what irked Clint was the lack of any effort into her half-assed answers. But Natasha needs time so for now he puts on a look of innocent curiosity for time's sake.

"How long have you been working here, Dr. Lang?"

"Awhile." Doctor Lang vaguely replied. Clint let his fingers slip from the dead plant and turned his full attention to the Doctor.

"It's strange." Clint commented and gave her his full attention.

"What's strange?" the doctor purred.

"You have an advanced book on gardening on your desk but all of your office plants are dead. You have different sets of keys but don't even know which key is yours. And the attending doctor for my John Doe was not you but Doctor Kingsley. In fact your schedule is posted right there" Clint motions to the white wash board behind her desk.

"I wouldn't call that strange." Doctor Lang said. "What is strange is a SHIELD agent posing as an FBI agent in a sad excuse for a town."

A beat and then, "Who are you working for?"

The doctor sighed and slipped off the desk as if Clint's accusations were nothing but a small annoyance.

"You just couldn't leave it alone, could you?" In an instant her eyes were engulfed by darkness. Clint was thrown off by the solid black irises as he watched the woman's face turn into pure malice when the woman grabbed his throat and lifted him completely off the floor with one hand. "Who I am is none of your business, agent Barton and it would be in the best interest of your people to stay away from our John Doe."

Choking, Clint immediately grabbed the woman's forearm with both hands as he felt his feet dangle in the air. Using a well-placed kick at her stomach gave the reaction he desired. Lang released Clint as she bent over trying to regain her breath. Gasping, Clint kicked her knee out which she responded with an uppercut to his diaphragm. A spluttering noise gurgled out and Clint resisted the urge to heave on the floor by blocking a manicured fist. maneuvering his hands with practice ease, he puts Lang in a arm bar shortly before breaking it. She cried out while Clint, using the momentum of his waist, back fisted in a downward arc which landed against her temple. The woman collapsed to the pale blue tile floor without so much of a twitch.

"Clint."

Clint turned to the doorway and found Natasha slightly out of breath, crouched and ready for battle.

"Did her eyes turn black too?" Natasha gestured to the still form of the doctor.

"Yeah." Clint grabbed the file from the floor and quickly exited the office as the door clicked behind him. "Please tell me we're not under another alien attack?"

"I don't know, but I just had four nurses attack me."

They walked quickly to the rear exit of the building which earned them a few curious looks but nothing more.

"We have what we came for, so let's just get back to headquarters." Clint said as they finally reached the exit. The night air greeted them as they exited the building. Unfortunately it was not the only thing that greeted them.

Five figures, including Doctor Lang, surrounded them blocking their path to their car. Wondering how the hell the doctor reached the outside exit before them, Clint rolled the file and tucked it into his belt behind his back while Natasha pulled out a switch blade.

"Ready for round two?" Natasha asked Clint cheekily as red lips pulled themselves into a smirk. Clint groaned and roughly slipped out of his business suit jacket. Rolling the white pristine cuffs to his elbows he silently cursed at Natasha for convincing him for switching roles from assassin to undercover. Eyeing the black eyed obstacles he cracks his knuckles, assessing.

"I really hate hospitals."


So what do you guys think? I'm still a beginning in the marvel universe and the Avengers movie didn't really let Hawk Eye's personality play much. I guess its understandable since he spent a good chunk of it being a mindless slave to Loki.

Lucky bastard.

Anyway, I realized that some of my already written chapters/ideas that don't really fit in this story line. A friend of mine suggested doing a sequel after this story (a sequel of sorts) and post all of them on there. But maybe if Guns, Salt and Magic hits the 100th review, I'll post one of my already made one shots as an omake at the end of a chapter? Sound interesting? Definitely not a bribe. Nope. Sooo... comments, questions, critques?