Prismatic ⇒ Avengers [ 2 ]

Fly Guys

"Achilles glared at him and answered, "Fool, prate not to me about covenants. There can be no covenants between men and lions, wolves and lambs can never be of one mind, but hate each other out and out and through. Therefore there can be no understanding between you and me, nor may there be any covenants between us, till one or other shall fall."

"What are you reading?" Clint asks, glancing briefly at me as the car weaves through the streets.
I look up, blinking briefly. Even with the slightly tinted windscreen of the car, the light is still too bright for my sleepless eyes. "The Iliad." Clint gave us all phones, though he warned against using them except for in emergencies. Killian's already taken about a hundred photos of Lee, who's sitting behind me, scowling.
"Very cultured." Clint comments. I smirk, turning the phone off.
"Well, I'm the smart one." I murmur, glancing in the mirror outside the window.
"Relax," he cautions. "We're not being followed."

I should hope not, we've made so many turns I'm feeling slightly dizzy. It doesn't help that I barely slept, even though Clint's couch, though it may not look it, is remarkably comfortable.
"Annie are you okay, will you tell us, that you're okay-" Lee sighs very audibly as Killian continues to sing along to the radio- something that hasn't halted, no matter what the song is.
Leaning forward in his seat, he pushes his head through the gap between mine and Clint's seats.
"Is it much further?" He asks, his copper voice sounding pained. Clint snorts.
"Not really, it's just-"
"You've been hit by, you've been hit by, a smooth criminal-"
"A few blocks to go." Clint says, his eyes concealed by sunglasses. Lee groans and flops back into his seat as I chuckle. He's not actually that bad at singing.
"If I have to listen to any more Michael Jackson renditions, I'm gonna join HYDRA." Lee deadpans as the song finishes. Killian pouts, his arm snaking around his boyfriend's shoulders, careful not to touch his covered wings.
"That's no way to talk about the King of Pop." He jokes, kissing Lee's cheek, whose annoyed expression softens slightly.
"No snogging in my backseat." Clint says as we turn down a very suburban street. There are kids playing with a ball on the corner, and I can see a man hanging out washing in one of the back gardens, over a small white fence.

We turn again, and pull up by an ordinary looking house. I climb out, slamming the door of the car and shoving the phone into my pocket. One of Captain America's friends lives here? I'm aware that not everyone can live like Tony, but even Clint's safe house had an aura of mystery. This looks like a very normal house on a very normal street- and maybe that's just what it is. He might not be a superhero.

Clint leads the way around the back of the house, up some steps onto a porch, where we all huddle awkwardly in front of a mirrored door. Lee reaches out and knocks on it, moving his hand back quickly. I realise, looking at our reflection, how ridiculous we look, an avenger and three teenagers, one of whom looks like they have the worst hunchback of all time.
The door opens a crack, and I flash my most hopeful smile at the man at the door.
"Sam Wilson?" Clint asks. "Clint Barton- and company." He adds. What, I don't get an introduction?
"Yeah, I was told about you." The door opens wider, and the man steps aside. "Come on in."

Sam Wilson is tall, muscled, with a bright, butter-yellow voice that I immediately like. He doesn't look at us like we're the weirdest thing he's seen all day, which is also a bonus.
"Hey, I know you- aren't you Tony Stark's kid?" Sam asks suddenly, glancing at me as he reaches up into a cupboard in the kitchen we've intruded on. "Can I get you anything, by the way?"
"Got any orange juice?" Clint asks, pulling the fridge door open.
"Go for it, man- is that a superhero thing? Steve wanted the same." He tosses a plastic cup towards Clint, who catches it without looking.
"Judging by your dwindling supply of chocolate milk, I can guess what Nat went for." Clint comments, pulling out a carton of juice. "Anyone?"
"Yeah, if it's okay." I'm thrown by how casual Sam Wilson appears to be about this whole scenario. You get one avenger turn up at your house, and you've seen it all, I suppose.
"Me too."
"Me three." Sam slides three glasses towards me, and I pick one up, turning and leaning against the counter.