Who: Clint Barton & Phil Coulson What: Surprise, it's a teenager When: Wednesday night Where: Outside Phil and Kitty's place Warnings: Language, Teenage Clint Barton Status: Closed/Ongoing
The alley was dark, the only light was a bulb over a door that was so dim it barely illuminated the frame below it. The stillness was broken by the sound of shoes slapping against the concrete as a teen turned and ran down the alley, panting hard as his eyes darted around for a hiding spot. A pallet propped up against a wall provided a quick route for him to pull himself up to the small roof, and he plastered himself to the tar-covered concrete just as two patrol officers rounded the building. Their flashlights shined brightly, startling the sleeping transient by the dumpster, and sending rats scurrying further down into the darkness.
"We fucking lost him," one of the cops muttered, flicking off his flashlight.
The other followed suit, calling it in that they were giving up the chase. "He didn't get away with anything, I saw him toss the bag when he slid under the truck." The laughter that followed had a mean bite to it, and Clint watched as they left, talking shit about him as they did.
He waited thirty seconds before sliding down, dropping a $5 bill to the homeless guy before heading deeper into the alley. Clint knew there was a parking garage down here, and he could find either an abandoned or long-term parked car to crash in for the night. He found the door to the stairs easily enough and glanced around for the cops one more time before shoving the door open and walking through.
Except, it wasn't a dark and piss-scented stairwell that he walked into, it was a large, brightly lit building. Clint recognized the type, this place just screamed 'small town city hall', and the windows outside showed it was still dark outside. Clint pinched himself several times, but he wasn't waking up, so he wasn't sure what sort of nightmare this was. He about punched the poor guy who approached him, but took the bag he was handed and half-assed listened to the speech about where he was and how they were going to contact a guardian for him.
Of course, as soon as the man's back was turned, Clint booked it and was out in the street before the guy could finish calling for help. He was several streets away and crouched in a dark doorway before looking at the stuff he was given. One item resembled a phone, but nothing like he had ever seen in 1988. It resembled something from that Star Trek show. He just shoved it in the inside pocket of his jacket, along with the papers listing his 'guardians'. Clint figured he could find a place to fence it later on.
He wandered around the city for a bit, managing to get directions to the address listed on his papers and then catching a ride on the bus up the hill to where he had to go. The bus dropped him off in a suburb, rich fucker looking neighborhood, and Clint cut through yards and greenspaces until he ended up in the backyard of a two-story house that looked like something on a real estate magazine.
Clint snuck up to the deck and was peeking into the windows, trying to get a hint of what type of freaky assholes he'd been assigned to in Nightmare World.