Clint and Natasha
Clint was so done with all this nonsense, the spooky, haunted, creepy, horror cliché bullshit was right on his last nerve and he was going to end up just dropping right off that crazy plate the psychs were watching him for. He'd figured the hotel would be fine, it was moderate level creepy and Clint didn't mind moderate level creepy. He was definitely not going into the gore level creepy that was the hospital ever again if he could help it, but this?
"Do you ever wonder if the universe just thinks up ways to shit on you?"
He had his handgun, and his bow, quiver stocked with training arrows that Hansel had constructed ages ago that Clint just couldn't be bothered testing until now. He doubted he'd get much use inside, but the hell was he wandering around places that could eat you alive without something to bash things in the face with. "So are we following the creepy ghosties or do you have other plans?"