Owner	Pose
Clint Barton	Clint sighed when he got the text. One of the weirder division's consultants had popped in unexpectedly for a visit and because Clint was in the building, he'd been given the job of playing host. Greeat. So where do you take a weirdo while they dig up his equally weird contact in SHIELD? The cafeteria, everyone's got to eat right? "Yeah, I don't know if you do the whole Thanksgiving thing," he says giving his charge a quick look up and down, "But they've got a pretty good spread right now, word is there's still some pumpkin pie left."
Castiel	Castiel. Angel of the Lord. Or formerly so. His actual status was something of an enigma in many ways. Fallen, falling, and yet still with enough of his angelic nature that he wasn't human either. At least not in the strictest sense. He'd popped in on the Triskelion with intent. Not that he'd informed Agent May - after all, she said he should phone her if he intended to drop in on her, or any others of the very small list of numbers in his phone. As he had no intentions of bothering any of them, he'd merely bypassed all SHIELD security and appeared in the Triskelion itself. Once again noting the appalling lack of warding on the place. Which was, ultimately, why he'd come today in the first place. The greeting committee, however, left a lot to be desired. What was this Thanksgiving the man spoke of? And a spread? The only spread the body seemed inclined to inform of was a vague notion of a crowded smoky room, flat beer, and horses chasing one another down a circular track. There was something vaguely niggling about the fleeting memory, but nothing he was able to pin down, or isolate. "I wish to speak to who is in charge," the man uttered in his rumbling gravel of a voice, hands shoved deep into his trench coat pockets, shoulders held in a hunch that both drew the oversized thing tight across his back and left it hanging loosely about the rest of him, only adding to his dishevel. "Where is this person?"
Clint Barton	This guy was definitely weird. "You want to talk to Fury?" Clint asks eyeing Castiel again. "Well if that ever happens, I want to be there, front row, but it's not going to happen now. So, how's about we take a seat somewhere and have a bit of dinner, okay?" he offers the man. "I'll even get it for us, if you can tell me how you got in here like that. The guys you surprised said you just appeared? You a teleporter or something?" he asks, leaning against one of the nearby tables arms crossed. Clint wasn't sure if this guy'd ever be in the same room as Fury, but Clint sure was after this and he wanted to have more answers than, yeah boss, this guy was sort of weird.
Castiel	"This Fury? He is who is in charge?" Castiel seems uncertain if it's a name or an attitude. Given Angels and Demons, it isn't outside his real of experience that it might be either or both. The offer of dinner met with the angel's craggy brows knit into an unruly line of consideration, the man standing there silent and unmoving as he regards Clint. The pause growing longer, and longer, until it seems Castiel will not answer at all, only to have him speak up abruptly, "I do not need the dinner." And further, an irritated growl of, "I am an angel, you asshole. Not a teleporter." As though teleporter were a type of being, and not a thing one does. Teleporting, in fact, being exactly how he arrived in the Triskelion, a thing he does not admit to.
Clint Barton	"Yep, Fury's the guy in charge," Clint says with a nod, continuing to eye Castiel because the guy hadn't gotten any less weird. Clint kept up the staring contest, he was standing for SHIELD, and so he felt he owed the company that much, when he relents, and Castiel says he doesn't want dinner, then Clint nodded. "Fine by me. Wait one, we'll get back to this teleporter business in a sec," he begins to turn before Castiel's reply has him turn again. "Wait, say what now? You think you're an angel?" he asks.
Castiel	Castiel bristles. If he were irritated moments before, he was acting nearly insulted now, shoulders drawing back and the man standing to his full height. It wasn't a formidable height, only average for a man, and yet, there was something about him that spoke of more. Just the barest hints of it. A resolution to his stance. A defiance. The depth and feel of a man who had faced a thousand Clint Barton's in his lifetime and not shrunk before a single one. "I do not think I am, you idiot. I know I am. Where is this Fury. I grow tired of this."
Clint Barton	Clint takes a step back and to him that's one too many. Again, he was repping SHIELD here, and it wouldn't do to be overawed by whoever this guy was. Clint takes him in, there was definitely something 'other' about the guy, as though there might be something else to him than just a nut job with delusions of grandeur. Though you could say the same about Thor and Clint routinely shot arrows at the guy on weekend training sessions. Clint squares his shoulders but steps back with his leading foot, giving a bit more ground, but it was tactical, he didn't know what this guy could do. "Listen pal, angel, whatever, you're not seeing anyone if you don't calm your ass down and sit," he says pointing to a chair. "Then we can talk this out like regular people until someone comes to collect you. Sound good?" he asks, looking Castiel straight in the eye. Sure, some of that was intimidation, the rest was just good sense, if he was going to make a move, that's where Clint would see it first.
Castiel	"You do not believe," Castiel says simply, still holding his stance. "I tire of this discussion." It's not said in an entirely dismissive tone. Certainly he's said he's done, but there's a quality to his voice that suggests there is about to be a shift. That Castiel has decided this argument can best be shortened by other means, and while he's been wont to merely let his angelic nature shine forth in the past, the angel is also keenly aware that the Agent May will take it upon herself to lecture him if he upsets too many of those that dwell within this place. The answer is quite simple: The man before him is an impediment to Castiel speaking with the man Fury, by merely removing them both to a less fraught ground, a different discussion can begin. One without the tall, blonde one's posturing. He hadn't been a Warrior of the Lord for eons to merely shrink away from one such as Clint. Castiel reaches out, and places his hand upon that pointing arm and... One moment the pair are in the Triskelion. The next? The next they are in a darkened apartment. One devoid of all the trappings of occupation. There's sudden flash in the darkness, followed by a fading to a lowlit glow. Something of a spirit light. The angel no longer holding Clint's arm, merely standing in front of Clint, watching him with a piercingly calm blue gaze.
Clint Barton	Clint doesn't believe? "No shit," Clint replies. "The Avengers get like two of you a week coming by claiming to be a big deal because they have powers. FYI most go for 'god' not 'angel' I mean if you're going to be nuts, why not go all out?" Clint may not believe in angels, but he does believe in his instincts, and when he senses that shift in Castiel he begins to move back, gain some room to move for the fight he thinks is coming. What he didn't expect is teleportation. One moment he's in the cafeteria the next he's in this dark room. Clint jerks backwards when his hand is released, glancing around in the pale white light. His uncertainty shows through, he's weighing options and trying to gague just what the hell he's gotten into right now. The room seemed empty, but terrestrial but who knew what was what when powers were concerned, he turns back to Castiel blinking in the face of that gaze, "We still on Earth?" he asks.
Castiel	Castiel is still that calmness, regarding the tall blonde man before him, aware that the other thought to prepare for a fight. More than aware that his move to bring Clint to his personal dwelling space might have pushed the man over the edge fro contemplating an altercation to fully forcing one. Still, Castiel himself does not seem inclined to make any move in that direction, his objective seemingly reached: Neutral ground. If you could say Castiel's apartment qualified as nuetral. "I would not take you elsewhere," the angel says simply, the gravel of his tones less irritated now, even if they carry hinted edges of that, the blue of his gaze remaining intent. "It seemed simpler to merely not be there. You wished to speak. I assure you, I am what I say I am."
Clint Barton	Clint was waiting for one thing, confirmation that he was still on Earth. When he gets it he says, "Good," then swings hard at Castiel looking to follow that swing up with a kick. Castiel can likely see the cue to these attacks from his experience, but they are sharply delivered. And if they land Clint will make a dash for the window. He figures he has a better shot there than the door, quicker, but there's the chance they are way high up too.
Castiel	It's with insultingly casual ease that Castiel blocks the blow, and ignoring the kick, merely grabs Clint's arm, turning his body, and tossing the other into the closest apartment wall. Sadly, for Clint, it isn't the wall with the windows. Nor the door. And as Castiel is situated, the angel can and will reach either before an attempting to flee Clint. "No harm is meant," the angel grinds out, the ease replaced by that odd tense stillness the man carries himself with. "But I will fight if you continue. You wished to talk. I have brought us where we both may speak without the upset of the Triskelion." The angel now a slow advance on Clint, seemingly intent upon the man, a hand held out in offering. An odd thing to do if one considers Clint may very well wish to continue the engagement. "Are you hurt?" The question a considered sympathy for the man he's just thrown into the wall.
Clint Barton	Clint hits the wall with a THUD. There's probably a dent and a little powdered plaster in the air now too. Also there is a fair bit of pain. Clint rolls to his knees, but the sudden spasm in his back, which had taken the bulk of the blow keeps him from standing. ~Fuck and he was holding back~ So when Castiel comes extending a hand, Clint is more receptive. He chances it, reaching out to grab on and yank himself to his feet. It hurts, but he grits through it, "Oh sure rub it in. Of course I'm hurt, you threw me into fucking the wall!" he growls, annoyed.
Castiel	"You would have struck me," Castiel says with infuriating calmness. "I did not think you wished to be put to sleep. But your injury I can heal." The offer is made in softer tones - not apologetic ones, to be certain, but softer. Mollifying, perhaps. CAstiel glances over at the wall. "The wall I can not fix so easily. You have dented it."
Clint Barton	Clint stares daggers at th guy, he was so damn calm. It's annoying. Especially when he's just kicked your ass and your heart is racing because you know there's a good chance if this guy's an asshole, you're dead. Clint pushes that out of his mind, translating it all into that thing he knows best, anger and snark. "Nah, I'll be fine, good doctors at SHIELD," he says, clearly not fine. "And hey, /you/ dented the wall you just did it with my back."
Castiel	Again, as in the Triskelion, Castiel's brows knit together in a ragged line of consideration. "That is not necessary. I did not wish you injured. I do not wish to force you to accept the help, but you are not as well as you claim. I find I must insist." He fails to appreciate the semantics or the humour of Clint suggesting he, himself, had dented the wall... albeit with Clint.
Clint Barton	Clint lets out a sigh, thinks a moment then nods slowly. If the guy was going to kill him he didn't have to pretend to heal him. That was the thought anyhow, so he'd roll those dice. "Alright, angel-guy, heal away," he says, presenting his back to Castiel. Part of him told him this was a suckers move, the rest, well, the rest was curious.
Castiel	"Castiel," Castiel says quietly, reaching out now to lay a hand upon Clint. "I am called Castiel." It isn't an immediate fix, but neither is it a long one, the injuries not being so severe as to be complicated or taxing. Castiel taking time while he is already there to ascertain all else is well with the man and tending to any other ill that there might be. It's not a thing he announces, merely one he does, only removing his hand once he is finished. "You did not give your name."
Clint Barton	Clint blinks, as he feels the healing touch on his back. That's what heals first the soreness in his back, easing slowly until it fades away to nothing, then other hurts go, sore spots on his hands from the morning's archery practice, a few errant scratches on his back and shoulders, then deeper stuff, the building damage from years of pushing his body to the limit. "Jesus," Clint swears as the hand is removed and he is no longer lost to the sensations of his body knitting itself back together. Maybe, Jesus was too close to the mark there, he turns, holding up a hand. "Sorry," he says on the off chance the guy wasn't nuts. while he takes a moment to adjust and feel the changes the healing had wrought. When he's done, he looks up, "Castiel huh? Clint Barton," he offers Castiel a hand.
Castiel	"Not Jesus," Castiel offers in nearly flattened tones. "An angel of the Lord." then he corrects himself, "Formerly an angel of Lord. Once of the Choir." He does not nod the way another might to Clint's introduction of himself. Nor does he take the hand as offered, staring at it for long moments before there is a subtle adjustment of stance as the angel relaxes some, the odd motions of his body seemingly banished as a hand is offered back. As though the body remembers what the angel himself does not know. "There are old wounds I may banish from you if you wish. The scars. They would take more time, though. You have held many of them for too long." It isn't an apology, merely an observation.
Clint Barton	Clint can't help but smirk a little at how Castiel talks like Jesus is just some guy, not a story. "So, what? You know the guy?" he asks, which is an odd thought, even for someone used to Avengers level weird. He takes a breath, "So what happened, why are you on the outs with the big guy?" For all Clint didn't believe, he felt great. Whatever meta power or magic this guy had it did the trick. So, when the other offer comes after the world's awkwardest handshake, he accepts. "Really? My scars too?" he asks hesitating a moment before he nods, "Sure, why not."
Castiel	Castiel regards Clint calmly, head canted fractionally to one side, his shoulders set an an off angle to his body, almost as if he were considering leaning in to tell a secret, or equally, like he might be considering to shoulder his way through Clint like a linebacker. "I am an angel of the Lord, once of the Choir. I could hardly not meet the Saviour. Even less, not know of him." There's a pause. "You do not understand angels, do you?" He doesn't wait long for an answer, though, turning his regard upon the other matter. "It is only time and some small effort," Castiel nods. "They are not a mortal affliction, but also not as simple as closing a wound. Your body remembers the scars. We will remind it of how it was before them." A rather cryptic way of saying the scar tissue needs to be replaced with fresh, healed cells, and there may be some small adjustments Clint will find himself making as his body no longer need compensate for old wounds at skin and joins. Castiel gestures that Clint should sit, and with the lack of furniture in this space, it will have to be on the floor. Castiel kneeling down beside him and laying on his hands to begin the healing process.
Clint Barton	Clint is still not sure what to believe when it came to what Castiel was saying, but his lips twist wryly, at the whole talk of meeting the savior. "Yeah, not much up on angels, they tried to teach me some when I was in the boys home, but it didn't stick." The rest, about the healing, that does resonate, he takes a look down at an old scar on his arm. It was very old, one of the last his father had given him, a ragged reminder of a past he'd rather forget. "Yeah," he says. "Let's do this. He sits down as instructed. Still not sure what he thought about any of this, but his first round of whatever this guy did had been alright, so he was willing to try more.
Castiel	It is, as Castiel said it would be: slow, but not painful. And even as such things go, there have been loner matters to heal in Castiel's sojourn as an Angel of the Lord. Even as recently as within weeks ago, having healed CyberDragon's host body. Castiel, knelt beside Clint, concentrates on replacing scar tissue with tissue that is not marred by having been formed in response to an injury, but is fresh, as though the body had merely regenerated itself on a regular basis where no injury had been. And further, though Clint may not have noticed it yet, there is another small matter that the angel has tended to: Clint's hearing. The deafness of childhood having been healed away. He might no longer be able to raise the dead, but there are still some very wonderous things the angel can still do. The angel is silent while he works, focused on the task at hand. And when he is done, he merely drops his hands away, and calmly regards the taller, blonder man. "There. I have done what I can." His gruffness not holding the snap and crackle of his earlier irritation, but, instead, a subdued gentlness. There's a sense that both these things become Castiel, the duality of his nature as a Warrior and a Guardian.
Clint Barton	The healing feels like a cold shiver starting at where Castiel's hand presses against his skin and spreading throughout Clint's body until he feels it everywhere. It wasn't unpleasant, in fact it was rather relaxing, and if Clint wasn't aware of where he was who he was with he might have let it carry him off to sleep. Instead he fought that part of it, keeping his eyes open staring at the pale light that makes it through the draw curtains. It was, as Castiel said a slow process and with nothing to occupy his mind Clint can feel the cold gather at each of his wounds one by one, like flotsam stuck on a rock in a stream until, slowly, inexorably, the chill removed the wound and the rock went away, the whatever it was that was doing this free to pass down the river to the next rock, then the next. When the healing sticks at his hears ears he lets out a sharp breath and his eyes go wide. He'd almost forgotten he hadn't always been deaf. He'd been six when it happened, the 'accident', that's what they'd called it, that took his hearing from him. For a moment, he considers asking Castiel to stop. It'd become familiar, normal for him not to hear, but then like the wound on his arm he lets it go. If he could fix it, then why not? What good did clinging to old wounds do? Slowly, the noises around the room grow louder, and when Castiel speaks, when the thing is over, Clint has to flinch away. "Fuck," he curses, digging into one ear and then the next to remove the tiny hearing aids that let him hear until now. He looks at them in his palm, hearing clearly the noises outside the apartment then he takes a long slow breath. Turning back to Castiel he looks towards Castiel with eyes that had gone damp with the sensation of the healing. He wipes them dry with the back of a gloved hand. "Holy shit," is the only thing he can think to say.
Castiel	The gentleness remains, the angel's stance ever so much more relaxed as he stands, watching the reaction of the man before him as he takes in the first full breaths and sounds of being returned to wholeness. Even the wiping of his eyes garners a gentled response from Castiel, the angel's lips turning up at the corners in a sugggestion of a smile. A thing the body remembers more than the angel himself, but there must be something of smiles in heaven, for the gesture settles and remains, even reaching the blue of his eyes. "It was something I almost overlooked. An injury that had healed," he offers in quiet, subdued tones. "Those things, they were your ears?" He gestures with a flick of finger towards the hearing aids that Clint holds. Other than that, he allows Clint to come to terms with his healing.
Clint Barton	Clint does need a moment, truth be told, he could use a dozen, maybe a hundred, but he settles for one, breathing deep and /hearing/ it. His lips turn upwards at the sound, and even a little laughter escapes his lips. He sighs then, turning, smile still in place as he registers Castiel's question. "These?" he asks, holding open his palm, displaying the tiny little devices to the whatever Castiel was. "Yeah, my ears. The old ones I had were bigger, these are new, Stark Tech. If what you did," he can't quite bring himself to say, 'the healing' because then that'd make it all real. "That doesn't wear off does it?" I mean, I'm done with these?" he asks.
Castiel	He doesn't so much shake his head as there is a suggestion of shaking his head, the merest of motions as the angel allows those tiny bits of turned up edges of lip to turn into a full on smile that leads him to chuckle. "It would hardly be Divine to offering healing that faded. No. Your ears are as they once were. Fully functional until or unless you injure them to the point of severe harm again." There's a pause, and even if Clint doesn't understand or appreciate it, it is a thing some few others might, as the angel allows for a moment of joking, "I would not take it kindly were you to do that." He makes an almost gesture, there being an odd movement of his hand as he puts it back into his trench coat pocket. The angel back to a nearly serious mein again. "I have marked you. Should you find yourself in need, you may call." And, again, with that sudden and unexpected levity, Castiel pulls his hand back out of his trench coat pocket to offer a cell phone. "Agent May insists. I do not require you use it. It is enough to merely vocalize or think. She would say you should give me your number, though." Ah, yes. Agent May. Always with the 'Call before you pop in, Castiel. Don't make me shoot you'. She's all about the extreme love.
Clint Barton	Seeing Castiel smile was strange thing, not that Clint had known him long but he suspected smiles like he was seeing didn't come around much with him. Clint snorts about the healing, "Yeah, guess an expiry date would cheapen it a bit, huh?" he says with a smile of his own before he looks down at the hearing aids in his hand. His first instinct? Drop them on the ground and crush them with his boot but that seemed like bad manners. He slips them in his pocket for now. The marking is met with a slight furrowing of his brow, as do the instructions on how to use it. "Wait who else can see this mark? And I just think or say your name? Does that mean you can just read my thoughts?" The phone though and that May was the one to convince him to use it makes him smile. "Sure, the number I can do," he says taking the phone and punching in the number while he waits for other answers.
Castiel	Castiel straightens, held erect now, but still with more of a relaxed stance than when they first met. "Some few might recognize the mark. It is of the Divine, and of me. Not a thing many would look for except perhaps my kind, or perhaps demons of greater echelons. You may be the first to ask that." It's a thing that seems to bemuse the angel, though it isn't precisely a smile that he gives. It's mostly the sense of the space around him that feels lighter. As though amusement had entered into it, rather than the emptiness of the space. "There is a number that is mine. I do not enjoy the phone, however, and the other suffices." To the question, there is the most fractional rise and fall of shoulders from the man. "I am able to discern surface thoughts. There are times that is useful. But the mark is the sign of my watching over you. A pact between us, if you will. I have agreed that I will keep you safe, and that is my covenant. It will not harm you."
Clint Barton	Remembering the remark about not doing further damage to himself and undoing Castiel's work, Clint offers a self-deprecating smile as he says, "I'll do my best. But some of what you fixed, it couldn't be avoided, y'know, lives in the balance and all of that." Clint considers the mark and what Castiel says about it before giving it a half-shrug. "Well if any demons are close enough to see the mark, I guess I'll have bigger problems, as for your kind, well, I haven't had a problem with you yet." That he's the first to ask makes him laugh. He taps his head, "Guess, you haven't dealt with a mind as brilliant as mine," he says. "But really, just standard spy stuff, we don't like VDM. Visually distinguishing marks, so it only made sense to see who could see your tag. I think we're okay if it's you, angels and demons," he says, before is expression turns wry. "I can't believe I'm talking about this stuff," there's an implied like it's real, but y'know, manners. He takes a moment to appreciate the shift in the room as Castiel does his approximation of a smile. He might not be ready to buy the whole angels, demons, your Sunday school teacher was right deal, but Castiel wasn't just some nut. He was... something, and Clint was willing to wager it was something good. Clint remembers he's holding Castiel's phone when the angel brings it up, and he nods, "Oh right, and don't worry, I'll ring you your way," he grabs Castiel's number, hands the phone back then pulls out his old Starkphone 5 with the cracked screen and enters in the number. He briefly thinks to ask if Castiel heals phones, and laughter flashes across his eyes, but he holds it back. It was a cheap joke, and whatever happened here wasn't cheap. The stuff about his thoughts, earns a sudden inward cringe. "I guess you heard the crack about the phone," he mutters before he taps in the last number and puts the phone away. "My head, I just joke to help me process, and well, tonight, that's a lot to process." The rest, the details of the mark and what it means. "Je-" he begins but stops himself short. "Wow. That's some bond to make with a guy who tried to punch you a while ago," he says looking up to consider Castiel a moment before saying the one thing he hadn't yet: "Thanks." There's a pause before Clint speaks again. "It's not a sacred pact or anything, but if I can help you, let me know. I'll do my best."
Castiel	Castiel's reaction to Clint's joking is bland. "I do not heal the phones. You may ask Agent May if you wish." Bland, yes, but seemingly capable of joking if he wishes. He doesn't explain the cryptic remark, though, taking his own phone back and shoving it into his pocket, leaving his hand there, as is his usual wont. "You may help. I wish to speak to the Fury. There are some matters he should be made aware of." The lightness fading to serious, though he doesn't seem so inclined to merely barge his way in like a bull in a china shop anymore.
Clint Barton	Clint guffaws at the joke. "That's not bad," he says. "And I'll tell May you mentioned it. How do you know her anyhow?" he asks. Whatever the answer he is definitely planning to sit down with May and discuss this, because it was something he doubted anyone who hadn't met Castiel was really going to get. That talk with Fury, he mulls it over. "Fury is hard to pin down, but if May's on board we might be able to arrange a meeting, if nothing else, he'll definitely want to speak to you after tonight, but, what do you want to speak to him about? It'll be easier if I can let him know ahead of time."
Castiel	"I am learning the humour," Castiel says dryly. Which was true. Though he still did not understand it. Not truly. Even with Mercy introducing him to 'the cinema'. he contemplates a long while, his body held still, motionless but for the flicker and dart of his gaze over Clint. "Agent May has helped my charges. We did not meet well. I do not believe she, how you would say it, likes me." And she probably doesn't. He is the 'pain in her ass' as he's once remarked. It probably had to do with him dropping in on her, in her quarters, while she was sleeping, unannounced, to have a little chat about a certain Dean Winchester. "There are things about the Triskelion I wish to discuss with the Fury. It is a matter of security."
Clint Barton	Clint snickers, 'the humour', "Sorry. That's just a funny way to put it, but you're got some basics down," he says, knowing despite his laughter, Mr. Mind Reader could tell he is being honest. Clint nods, "May's like that. I am not sure how much she likes me despite knowing her on and off for nine years. I just assume if she hangs around when she doesn't have to, then it's a good sign." Clint's smile broadens a bit at Castiel's answer, "I hope I get to watch this chat if I can set it up, watching you and Fury out cryptic each other is going to be amazing. So these issues with security, wouldn't have anything to do with how you teleported in and out like it was no big deal, would they?"
Castiel	"Agent May considered shooting me," Castiel remembers. "She did not appreciate my dropping in. It seems she felt I was being the pain in her ass." He doesn't shrug, but there is a minute adjustment of his shoulders. Just a twinge of the fabric shifting along his back then falling back into place in its dishevelled lines. "There are things that can cross into your Triskelion," Castiel says with calm, succinct regard, "That you would not be able to stop before they harmed many of yours. Were I willing to do such things, you would not have been able to stop me. It is a serious breach." Even if there is some irony to bringing up something that may well stop himself from dropping in whenever he pleases and forcing the angel to use the front door and proper security like everyone else. But it's true, it's a gaping hole to the place.
Clint Barton	Clint seems unfazed by the notion May planned to shoot Castiel, in fact he laughs, "You just appeared while she was sleeping? Lucky she only wanted to shoot you. Most people, they don't like being woken up by people showing up in their rooms. It's a thing with us." The confirmation about the nature of the breach is met with a nod. "Yeah, well I'm standing here instead of there, so I agree, pretty big breech. I think Fury will agree too, so if you have advice to lend, I am sure he'll listen to it if nothing else."
Castiel	"There are things that can be done," Castiel allows. "There are things that may one day take notice of the Triskelion. It would be better to be prepared than to discover the oversight through carnage." Castiel's brow furrows as he speaks. If the seals break - when they break - all manner of things unpleasant can and will happen. Angels dropping in unnanounced are the lesser evil in that scheme of things. "Agent May informed that you do not like this showing up without knocking. The doors, it seems they exist for human reasons. Much like the wards that are missing at your place of work."
Clint Barton	"I'm with you on that, 100," Clint agrees. Remembering how overmatched he was he can taste the fear in his mouth again, and imagine how things would have went if Castiel had really wanted him dead. "So, we'll get those things done." Those furrowed brows? They've got a twin on Clint's forehead as he sees the angels concern, "It's probably good news for me that I can't do what you do and read minds right now, isn't it?" he didn't want to know what kept angels up at night. "Yeah, they do and I get the analogy. We're wide open to whatever comes calling from your end of things. I'll make that point to Fury, make him understand he needs to talk to you and get this done. That's what you're asking right? Not just that I set up the meeting, but he actually listens."
Castiel	Castiel's brows remain that knotted line of consternation across his forehead. "You would do well not to know all I know, but yes. There are things that keep even angels up at night." Even if he doesn't need to sleep, and were he fully angelic, the notion would be even more absurd. However, as one trying to learn about humanity, and with some need to emulate them, sleep is yet another thing the angel needs to learn to understand. The possible joke of his words goes completely over his head. "Your Fury, he would be an idiot not to listen. I do not wish to demonstrate the danger, but I will." And he could. He's got means at his disposal that aren't lethal, and can certainly hold his own in a fight. The guns, however, he doesn't understand so much, but it would still take a lot to take the host body down given the ability to heal that he has. He could wreak enough carnage to impress upon the Fury just exactly how dangerous this breach was.
Melinda May	It's been thirty minutes. The Triskelion was on high alert for the first twenty of that until May landed from her most recent ferrying assignment, and she's spent the past ten minutes trying to get Fury to calm the hell down and give her a chance to track both men's phones to locate them. She has an easy way to do so. Almost simultaneously, both men's cell phones start ringing. May HATES talking on the phone while driving almost as much as she hates coffee, but she's going to do so now. Answer, damnit.
Clint Barton	Clint's expression pulls into a grim line as he ponders what all Castiel might know. He shivers. "Yeah, sort of happy I don't know what you do." "I get it, and I'll set up that meeting, but no demonstrations, Fury'll get his back up and then it'll be that much harder to get him to listen. So, just let me finesse this, and we'll be-" Their phones start ringing. Clint jumps at the sound, the motion, sets off some vertigo and leans against the wall to steady himself. "Probably May, you should get that."
Castiel	Clint is regarded calmly, as though any suggestion that he might 'demonstrate' or be unreasonable is a total fabrication. He's positively the poster child for behaving. "I have been patient," he tells Clint. "I am tired of the being patie--" There's that annoying buzz in his pocket, the phone May having given him (the second phone, Castiel having destroyed the first one already) set to both vibrate and give a ringtone. Darcy, being Darcy, had set Castiel's to 'It's Raining Men' and the angel had yet to figure out how to turn either ring or buzz off. Once he does, one imagines both will be turned off, Catiel's patience not reaching to all things technological. It's barely present in the face of all things human most days. And it likely is May. She's one of the few with his number. Which is why the angel does not make an immediate move to answer his... Except it's patently clear Clint is having issues adjusting to his new hearing. One can almost hear the sigh the angel doesn't give in the whisper of fabric on fabric as he reluctantly takes his phone out of his pocket, and turns it on, answering as May had shown him. "I do not like the phone," He intones in an irritated gravel. "And that woman made it worse. I do not understand raining men. Locusts and frogs. Not men."
Melinda May	May ALMOST asks Castiel what the hell he's going on about, but dismisses it for the more immediate concerns. "Castiel, tell me where Agent Barton is. Now." Her tone has that 'you had better listen to me or you'll regret it tone' that would likely make Clint cringe if it had been his phone that was answered.
Clint Barton	Steadied Clint sits back against the wall. "She's pissed right? Tell her it's all clear, code sierra-326, and I could use a lift, or whatever, I am not sure I can walk just now." Sierra-326 what it sounds like, an all clear code.
Castiel	Castiel is annoyed again. It fairly ripples in the air between the two men. "I did not take the Agent Clint hostage," he growls into the phone. Telling Clint, "She is about to explain all the ways I am the pain in her ass." In other words, yes. Agent May is pissed. Terribly pissed. "He says it is all clear, code sierra-326, and he could use a lift.." Again Castiel looks to Barton. "I did not intend on leaving you here. We can return?" It's the other that draws concern from the angel. "You should not be moving quickly. You have not used those ears for too long. Or the places where the joints were injured. It will take time to adjust."
Melinda May	Knowing Clint is all right is ONE relief. But May's not done. "Stay where you are, and tell me where. That. Is. Immediately, Castiel."
Clint Barton	"I bet," Clint says shrinking back from the effect the annoyed angel is having on the room. He's sort of glad he didn't land a serious blow now. "I figured you weren't going to just ditch me, but you popping back into the Trisk is the last thing we need if we want to get Fury to listen." Clint nods, just a slight shake of his head, "I'm learning that."
Castiel	Where is he? The answer is puzzled over for his too-long moments before giving his answer, "I am at my place of residence." The residence that he hasn't got on file at SHIELD because nobody has actually impressed upon him certain things, and really, as a consultant (is he a consultant?) things often slip through cracks.
Melinda May	Taking a last-moment chance to pull into a parallel parking space, May stops the SHIELD-issue SUV she's driving in an attempt to not completely lose her composure. "Castiel, please hand the phone to Barton." Her voice is so tightly controlled, it's audible.
Clint Barton	Castiel's answer, Clint just flinches there. Yeah, May's going to be pissed. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens the map app. It takes a second for the GPS to home in on them but when it does he says, "3838... you know what just go get her. We'll figure things out from there."
Castiel	You'd think Castiel was smug at this moment. Perhaps for getting May's goat? More likely for being divested of the hated phone. He hands Clint his device. "Agent May is not yelling at me." Understatement of the year.
Clint Barton	'Greeeeat' mouths Clint as he takes the phone. "Hey, May," he greets. He sounds tired but otherwise unhurt. "Where are you?"
Melinda May	May waits IMpatiently as the phone is handed across, and says in not at all angry but decidedly clipped tone, "I'm a mile out from the Triskelion. Please give me your location." And remove all sharp objects from easy reach.
Clint Barton	Clint is all business on the phone to May. He gives her the address he found on GPS, before looking to Castiel. "What's the apartment number?" At least it's enough for May to find the building.
Castiel	Castiel? Is very happy to have the phone gone. With luck, it won't be returned to him. And now that he's heard Clint deliver the message, he suddenly understands what it was Agent May was asking for: The address of the place where they are. Crossed wires. More of that 'the subtleties of being human' having gone over his head. He hadn't even had an apartment last he talked with Agent May. Perhaps he can be forgiven. Clint is given Castiel's address. The angel's irritation drifting back to a more subdued thing. Agent May was going to be.. well, He'd dealt with vast amounts of angry beings in his time. Castiel was fairly convinced Agent May could hold her own against them.
Melinda May	Knowing the area, May gets the SUV underway again, getting through the traffic almost as efficiently as a veteran cabbie. It takes probably another twenty minutes for her to get to that apartment building, which likely feels like a long time to the two men waiting there, but is frighteningly fast considering Manhattan traffic patterns. Twenty two minutes later there's a knock on the door.
Clint Barton	Clint almost asks Castiel if his door is locked, but given Castiel's lack of understanding when it came to human things, he takes a guess. "May, come in!" he shouts. If he's wrong, well it's not like he can get the door anyways.
Castiel	You lock doors? Really? Its not like Castiel actually *uses* his door. Well, he has, but its not his usual means. As luck would have it, though, hes used it recently enough that its been left unlocked, and May can silently storm her way in. Or, you know, be the advance of all things cold and wintery, and the very likely possibility of a lecture thrown Castiels way. And.. if it isnt May (it is, hes checked), Cas isnt without recourse. There are any number of tricks Clint hasnt seen yet.
Melinda May	And if the door had indeed been locked, does anyone really think that would have stopped her? It's probably for the best that it wasn't. Upon hearing Clint call out, she enters the closes the door behind herself in that calm and quiet way that would likely make the archer try to hide behind a piece of furniture. Under normal circumstances. As it is, there's a distinct lack of furniture to hide behind. May's eyes land on Barton and study him where he's sitting on the floor against the wall. "You said you were fine." NOW there's the faintest tinge of accusation in her voice.
Clint Barton	Clint looks over when May enters, he'd seen his share of /looks/ on May's face but this was definitely top 10. Lacking a place to hide or, to be honest, any certainty of the ability to stand he meets it with a wave. "Hey, May, and I am just dizzy, it's complicated." Other than the fact he's sitting against a wall with a Barton sized dent in it, he does look okay, just, dazed. He's even got his sidearm on him, the ICER gun in the holster clipped to his belt.
Castiel	Castiel's look for May is calm. Even with the look of death hovering in her eyes. "He is fine. I have fixed all there was to fix." Understatement there, really. Really, if he were anyone else, or, you know, more aware, he'd run while he still can.
Melinda May	'Fixed all'? Oh, May does NOT like the implications of that. She turns and looks at Castiel for a long few seconds, then turns back to Clint. Yes, there is still murder in her eyes for whose who know what that looks like, but it's not aimed at the archer. "Let me guess. Your inner ears are suddenly ? better." She manages to make that sound like a bad thing.
Clint Barton	Clint bobs his head before flinching as the room starts spinning. "Yeah. Good guess," he says to May as he closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall. "Hearing too," he taps his ear. "No hearing aids and you're coming in loud and clear."
Castiel	Castiel.. is oblivious to the problem here. But he's not oblivious to what he's reading off of her now. There is now complete awareness that the woman is unhappy about a myriad of things, and most of them center around him. The angel furrows his brows at May. "I do not see the problem? He consented to his old injuries being healed. I merely healed them?" It's not that Castiel isn't unaware that there would be some adjustment for Clint. He is. He even suggested to the tall blonde that he would find things different now, as the angel had healed not just surface scars, but those places on joints and bones where things have been harmed and healed over. He'd even asked permission! Wasn't that one of the things that had been impressed upon him? That he should ask first? Of course, there is a Clint sized dent in the plaster of his apartment walls. Good thing Castiel isn't really up on the notion of security deposit. That's money he's not seeing again.
Melinda May	"Lie down flat, Barton. It should help." May can't really say how much it'll help, but it should. She then turns to Castiel. "Your unannounced arrival at the Triskelion and then abrupt departure taking Agent Barton with you has upset a lot of very high ranking SHIELD personnel. And because I was the one to petition for your admission as a WAND asset, the blame falls on me." She doesn't mention what the consequences are, giving the angel a chance to figure those out for himself.
Clint Barton	Clint takes May's advice, shifting, wading through the vertigo, then laying back and wading through some more. He breathes, listening to the conversation going on around him. He feels for May having to own this whole mess with Fury so he offers, "I own some of that May. Besides, Cas," yes he called him Cas "Had a good reason to visit. He was warning us about our vulnerability to well, what he did."
Castiel	Castiel isn't seemingly bothered by being called Cas. The boys often do (and worse). Frankly, May's very prim, proper, and businesslike 'Castiel' is almost worse in some ways. "I was looking for your Fury to speak to him about the lack of wards." Castiel is not repentant at all. If anything, he's just as stern and businesslike and restrained as Agent May at this moment as he speaks about the appalling lack of security at the Triskelion on that particular level. "If I had wanted to decimate the place, or cause harm, I would have done so long before any of your agents could stop me. Not all who can approximate my abilities have good intentions. I have tired of waiting for the matter to be addressed." And he has. It's a thing he's been aware of since he dropped in on the sleeping May. And later, as well, when he visited a certain Sam Winchester in the Medical Bay. Those being only two of the times he's bypassed security proper and merely appeared in any place of the Triskelion that he's wished to access. That he had no intention of stealing anything, harming anyone, or destroying the place is really neither here nor that. If he can get in, so can all manners of others that SHIELD is aware of, and if they're not, they should be. It is, he may realize with some irony, shooting himself in his own foot - the gaps, once closed, may prohibit him from teleporting in at will.. At the very least, demons and other such creatures should be accounted for. Why have a consultant if you don't plan on using them?
Melinda May	"Castiel, I have been working with my superiors to schedule a time for you to assist with putting wards and protections on the building. Now I can only hope Fury won't tag you as a menace and refuse to have anything to do with you." As May says this, she takes off her jacket and with more care than would seem necessary (if you're unaware of what all she has hidden in said jacket), folds it over one arm. She steps over to kneel next to Clint and with the utmost care tucks the jacket under his head so he's not completely flat on the hard floor. That's not saying the jacket is a whole lot better, though. "One of the main concerns that SHIELD has and why there's not been a consensus yet is that there is a minor division that has agents with ... special needs." She phrases this carefully, in case Clint hasn't yet been read in on the BPRD.
Castiel	Whatever May's intent, Castiel doesn't seem inclined to acquiesce to her 'peace' offering, merely holding his position and watching her make the not taking his newly working again ears so well Clint more comfortable. "You have made no mention of this," he rumbles, still sounding displeased with matters. "I am merely wishing to point out a flaw that endangers many." His brows furrow and unfurrow as he considers the rest of what she says, the rest of him a motionless regard from the middle of the empty room. Hands deep in his pockets. Trench coat an unweildly rumple along his frame. "I do not see the problem. Wards may be created to allow those you wish to pass through. If it is a matter of knowledge.." His words drift off without finishing, merely leaving implication behind.
Clint Barton	Clint's eyes had drifted closed but when May slips that jacket under his head, they open. "Oh, hey, slipped off there. What's happening?" he asks looking around
Melinda May	Seeing that Clint apparently still retains that enviable ability to fall asleep almost anywhere, she straightens again and moves toward the kitchen so they're not talking right over the man. "Then you have the knowledge to make wards that will allow a major demon through?" At least she thinks that that one red guy is a demon. She's never spoken with him so she can't tell firsthand. When Clint speaks up she looks back over. "Go back to sleep, Barton."
Castiel	There's what might be a shrug from the man, his shoulders giving a fractional movement that only makes it far enough that the fabric of his trench coat is tugged at, and no more. The gesture more in implication than execution. "It is possible." Though he does scowl faintly. "You trust these demons?" He asks like he himself hasn't had several separate occassions of late to not smite a demon and cast it back to hell. One notable exception had him going out on what many would term 'a date' with a demon. Not that Castiel was aware. Still, it happened.
Clint Barton	Clint snorts. "I'm alright," he says blinking bleary eyed. "Though I may have to amend that if the word 'demon' gets thrown around any more." Cause they're not real. Right?
Melinda May	"There is at least one individual with a long-standing record of collaboration with SHIELD, dating back to the SSR. It's why Winchester's initial attempt to ward the building was stopped. He made the doorways impassable." May steps into the kitchen proper and realizes there isn't even any dishware. "Castiel, how long ago did you claim this residence for your uses?"
Castiel	Castiel looks about his apartment, blue eyes following May's path towards the kitchen. "I do not recall. Some of your weeks ago?" He tried to remember. Was it weeks? Or longer? Less? "You like my digs?" He'd heard that in a movie, that line. Some fellow inviting his friends into his new place, asking how they liked it. Castiel was almost pleased with his acquisition. Humans had apartments. He had an apartment. It was a step forward in understanding them. Wasn't it?
Clint Barton	Clint smirks at Castiel's attempts to speak 'the normal' and he chuckles, if a little painfully "A little sparse in here Cass. Remind me to send you a chair or something."
Melinda May	"Your ... digs." Yeah. That is a phrase that should probably never be uttered by May again. "Barton does have a point. Think about other residences you have visited. What did they all have that your residence is lacking?" And, since Barton's not trying to go back to sleep, she gives up on trying to get him a glass of water (where there are no glasses) and walks back over sit on the floor near the archer.
Castiel	Castiel thinks back to the places he's visited, and other than May's, they've all had one thing in common.. "They all have the beer," Castiel answers. Totally missing the more obvious point of furniture. Even with Clint's suggestion of sending a chair.
Clint Barton	Clint laughs into a sigh. "It's hopeless May," Clint says before he turns his head slowly, to look at Castiel. "But I can help you with the beer thing. Least I can do."
Melinda May	May just stares at Castiel for a moment, and she can't help but internally agree with Clint. It could well be hopeless. But. "Furniture, Castiel. Chairs, tables, sofas, beds." She's wasted enough time already though. "We need to get back, Barton. You ready to move?"
Clint Barton	Clint takes a moment to assess May's question, then brings himself slowly into a sitting position. The room swam, but he managed not to fall right over. "Going to need a hand up," Clint says. "But I think I can make it." He looks to Castiel, his expression more serious, "Thanks," he says, meaning for, well, all of it.
Castiel	That sinks in. Those.. other things. He'd never really thought about them before. They'd merely seemed a lot of window dressing. Like the clothes. Just background noise in an otherwise noisy place. "You mean that I should get the furniture." Which suggested a totally foreign thought to the angel - what kind? it occurred to him that he didn't know what it was he liked. Left up to himself, he'd buy the first things he found and be done with it. Somehow, Castiel didn't think that was what Agent May meant. "I see. Though I do not know what furniture it is to get. This is a human thing, is it not?" He nods to himself, knowing it is. "I can return you to the Triskelion. But I must think on this furniture. I am unfamiliar with the idea of taste. It is not a necessary thing in the Choir."