Clint and Natasha
Sometimes Clint wasn't sure if it was the hotel itself that was watching. Stranger things would happen here. Between the crazy sentient town possibility and the alternate realms thing, it wasn't too much of a stretch to have a living building, not really. And those creepy movies always had some aspect of eyes following you everywhere. Even if it was just the paintings.
"The quiet ones always are the wild ones," or so he'd been told, Clint rarely got to find out anymore. "I'm not really 'man with a plan' material." He was absolutely 'man who ate everything in sight' material. "I could be a coward for a weekend." Or just the comic relief. Then again, that wasn't too far off the mark.
The further they went, even in the dark, the colder it got. When they got to a fork in the corridor, one lone light hanging between the separation like it wasn't eerie enough, Clint frowned. "This wasn't here. This hasn't ever been here. All the corridors take a left, none of them split like that." Because the entire building was a circle, or a square more accurately, and every hall led back to the beginning and only took you in one way.