Work Text:
“Phil?” Maria called, clicking her claws irritably as she made her way towards the chamber of the one in question. He was probably running around with Jasper somewhere, again, which meant that he was missing out on the practice she and his sisters had spent hours already working on, again. Honestly, King Fury’s youngest child, the only prince among seven children, was impossible. Maria was, in a way, quite happy that he would be the one to inherit, because he definitely had all the skills needed to run a kingdom efficiently down pat, but the little merman just had no idea how to have fun, it seemed.
Though the last time she’d told him that, he’d given her a very pointed look, and she had mentally conceded the point that she was not in possession of what most normal sea creatures would classify as a “sense of humor.” But at least she appreciated music. And could carry a tune.
Phil was, to put it delicately, completely tone deaf. It made his sisters, who loved huge musical numbers, quite upset, because he choreographed fantastically but flatly refused to actually show up to practices where he might possibly be suckered into being involved in non-backstage parts of the performance.
So now, because Larry the octopus, had gotten an arm stuck under an anchor the day before and wasn’t going to have the limb grow back before the performance, when they actually needed Phil to help, he was nowhere to be found.
Which, apparently, included his rooms. Scowling, Maria turned around and scuttled back to report to King Fury that his only son had gone missing again. Probably with Jasper, come to think of it. Phil and the small fish had always gotten along pretty well in their mutual desire to avoid being on stage, and were excellent at getting themselves into mischief (and then out again, so she wasn’t as worried as she maybe should have been, but it was still irritating that they had gone missing).
Maria’s guess had indeed been right, and Phil and Jasper were both together and getting themselves into mischief. “Mischief,” in this case, involved exploring an ancient, decaying shipwreck. Jasper was set up as a perimeter guard against sharks, and Phil was looking for interesting things to get Tony to explain to him. He was pretty sure that about 90% of the things that Tony told him about human artifacts were complete bullshit (the actual numbers ran something closer to 95%, but that’s mostly irrelevant), but the gull was undeniably a genius and, if you got past his tendency to be extremely easily distracted he was fantastic at building things out of what most people would call junk. Who cared what the humans used it for, when Tony could turn it into a watertight ball that exploded on contact with seaweed, explaining theoretical astrophysics as he worked? Phil was practical like that, and was perfectly content to listen to the gull’s inane ramblings for the shards of genius that never failed to show through.
Today, he’d found a really interesting metal stick with multiple tines sticking out, like a miniature version of his father’s trident, but without magic. Phil had put that one directly into the small shoulder bag he always carried with him in case of emergencies, tucking it in among a few of Tony’s inventions, some miscellaneous junk and several dozen pieces ofstring. It looked like something that could be used to stab someone in emergency; he appreciated that sort of thing. He’d also found some scrap metal and a stick of a weirdly smooth substance with a piece of string sticking out of one end, looking – oh, what was that word? Burt, yes, it looked burnt. Like only the string had been set on fire, and the rest of the stick had melted.
Tony always did well with things that involved fire, Phil was looking forward to what he’d come up with.
Just as he reached another shiny thing that had caught his attention, he heard Jasper’s squeak of alarm, sounding genuine. Sighing, Phil grabbed the shiny thing and stuffed it into his bag before swimming quickly towards his friend in time to spot the shark swimming towards the small fish. He took one look, and pulled out the mini-trident-thing he’d found in the wreck out of his bag as he swam faster. Catching the shark from behind, he stabbed the human-thing into the shark’s eye – it writhed in pain, and swam off immediately, caught by surprise and suddenly half-blinded.
Phil was a little disappointed to loose such an interesting thing, but it was worth it that Jasper was completely fine. The little fish was very brave, but also well, little, and lacking in useful things like hands, which made fighting a less viable option against something with a shark.
Trouble mostly avoided, the two of them headed off to see Tony, completely unaware of eyes watching them closely.
“Happy birthday, your highness!”
All of the sailors smiled widely as they chorused greetings. Clint rolled his eyes internally, but was too nice to do so externally and instead just returned the smiles. He really hadn’t wanted such an extravagant party – a ball on the royal family’s nicest, largest ship, full of eligible young women his mother hoped he’d take a fancy to (and who he had absolutely no interest in.)
It’s not that they were woman, though he would have been fine with a man if his parents clued into that (of course they hadn’t, they’d barely been in his life growing up. He’d been left mostly in the care of his most loyal servant, Natasha, who was mysteriously as young as when she’d started caring for him - about half an hour after he’d been born). It was that they were all vapid and boring. And clueless – Clint would be the first person to admit that whoever he married would have to be way more responsible about paperwork than he was if the kingdom was to have any sort of success: a match between himself and someone even less responsible was really just a bad plan.
Natasha, walking half a pace behind him and subtly terrifying everyone around for reasons they couldn’t quite identify (reason number eighty seven he liked her best!), seemed to sense what he was thinking and subtly managed to knock her hand against his in reassurance that would have gone unseen – and thus uncommented on – by the court.
Clint was grateful, but the bubble of contentment only lasted until his father’s steward (apparently running the kingdom was still more important than your son’s birthday, for the twentieth time in a row – his seventh birthday had been the last his father had managed to attend) dramatically unveiled a statue of Clint posing heroically, holding a sword expertly out in front of him.
Just more proof his parents paid no attention – nor anyone else, since Steve was the only one, aside from himself, who flinched at all at the image of him holding the weapon confidently (when he was totally uncomfortable with swords and generally speaking more likely to stab himself than an enemy with a close-range weapon. He preferred bows). Steve, bless his little doggy heart, had actually growled at the pretty marble thing.
Steve was the third member of the rag-tag group Clint thought of as “family” as a result of his basically entirely absent parents, a shaggy sheepdog who’d turned up on the beach one morning and had followed Clint home and both brightened everything up and saved him from assassins that one time Natasha had ended up with a broken leg.
Even Natasha liked the friendly dog, and would sometimes slip him table scraps, which said a lot. Natasha didn’t like anyone except Clint.
In any case, this was shaping up to be another miserable birthday, a sentiment that was solidified when Clint felt the first raindrop hit his nose.
Quickly, the storm worsened, and the sailors ushered everyone into the elegant ballroom with the huge glass windows. Clint didn’t approve of the tactical decision, per say, because broken glass would be a huge risk, but at least it was dryer. After an hour, he slipped out into what was now quite clearly a gale, the ship miraculously sailing smoothly even as the seas around them churned. Clint took a moment to be reluctantly impressed before wandering over to the rail, Steve prancing behind him. He knew that Natasha was hanging back by the doorway, fending off questions of his whereabouts with a charming smile that threatened violence (reason number fifty six he liked her best), and was glad of the chance to be alone.
There was a huge flash of light, overlapped with the biggest rolling clash of thunder Clint had heard in years. The ship shook violently, and then began to seriously pitch along with the waves – apparently the engineering magic didn’t hold up to the real wrath of thunder and lightning. Suddenly feeling very apprehensive, Clint called for Steve, right before a wave rose and swamped the boat completely, washing him off of the boat.
It took him a moment to realize that he was underwater and couldn’t breathe, and then he was swimming towards the roiling surface as efficiently as he knew how. Breaking the surface, he was just in time to watch the boat be ripped in half dramatically by another wave.
He trusted Natasha to get herself out safely, but his heart stopped when he heard Steve’s frantic barking over the noise of the storm and ocean. Cursing, he swam towards his dog as fast as he could, reaching him in time to free him from a coil of rope before the dog got tangled enough to be unable to swim. Spotting a piece of drifting wood, Clint managed to get Steve slung towards it, before a piece of the mast collided with the back of his head and his world went dark.
Phil had been watching the party from what he and Jasper had judged to be a safe distance when the storm started. He’d been attracted by the music – it had a different tempo than what was common under the ocean, and he could already see the movements in his mind’s eye, he’d wanted to see what the humans danced to.
Maria popped up as the storm swamped the ship, already shouting angrily. Phil ignored her, watching in fascination as the man he’d seen sulking out in the storm earlier managed to surface, and suddenly swam back towards the wreckage as a dog’s barking sounded increasingly frantic.
“PHIL! Are you even listening to me, you can’t be here, your father can’t know you’ve gone to the surface, oh god he’s going to kill me! Do you hear me? Fury is going to have my shell for this if he finds out! I know you’ve been wandering off to Tony, don’t you think I don’t, and he’s going to kill me for that too, for keeping this from him!”
“So don’t let him find out.” Phil pointed out calmly, watching approvingly as the human escaped the worst of the wreckage with a dog paddling along beside him, well for all appearances. His admiration grew as the human made sure the dog was headed for a floating piece of debris, and Phil noted with interest that the human was certainly not unattractive. But not even a moment later, a large chunk of something clocked the man on the back of the head, and he sunk. When he didn’t come back up for a moment, Phil felt concern rising, and ducked under the waves, not hearing Maria’s frustrated scream as he disappeared.
The man was floating peacefully as he sunk, eyes closed and body relaxed, by all signs unconscious. It was totally against the rules to interfere, but… the human had put his dog before himself, Phil at least owed the world on land that kind of self-sacrificing person. It wouldn’t be right not to save him.
So he swam over and scooped the man up, funny land clothes swishing gently in the current. Mind made up, he swam off towards land, gliding just under the surface while keeping his burden’s head above the water.
Leagues later, he made it to the beach and as the sun rose over the mountains spectacularly, Phil managed to drag the stranger out of the reach of the tide with no small amount of effort. Jasper watched calmly from the shallows, while Maria scuttled around the flounder in frantic circles, still muttering about how much Fury was going to kill her.
Phil regarded the human’s face curiously, memorizing attractive features and hair that was probably lighter when dry, but no less wild. The man had callouses that spoke of weapons Phil wasn’t familiar with, which probably meant distance weapons – significantly different underwater, where it took more effort for things to go anywhere.
Sighing, he settled awkwardly onto the sand, tucking his long grey tail into as much of a compact form as he could manage.
“I’d do something sappy like sing at you, but I’m definitely not my sisters and you wouldn’t want to hear my singing voice even if I was. Um. You’re not awake so I can’t show you choreography. Who am I kidding, you probably don’t care anyway.
“The only other thing I’m any good at is paperwork and management, I’m afraid. I don’t even really like paperwork, but it’s much simpler than dealing with people. God, I can’t relate to people. We’re in real trouble if I inherit and can’t deal with people. Oh well, Fury’s not dying any time soon, hopefully.
“But uh. I could tell you about our trade with the Indian Ocean, if you want? I guess I’ll do that. Our ambassador, Bruce, is fantastic, and everything’s been going really well, and we’ve reduced import taxes on most teas by 2.5 percent this year to encourage further good relations…”
Phil continued to ramble about administrative issues for almost an hour, when the man stirred, Curious, he leaned over the man and peered closely at the shifting patterns his eyelashes made as he twitched. Those eyes snapped open suddenly, and Phil momentarily drowned in bright blue eyes before remembering that he was already breaking about eight rules and the Big One – not being seen – was really not one he should add to the list. Frantically, he scrambled backwards, managing to get to the water before the man sat up, and was immediately glad for it, because as the stranger was looking around frantically, someone shouted “Clint!” as they rounded the corner.
Clint, apparently, knew the person, because he immediately called “Natasha!” and shakily got to his feet, starting to walk towards the woman who suddenly appeared much calmer.
Hiding behind a rock, Phil watched as a large dog bounded around Clint’s feet, who laughed and knelt to embrace the shaggy creature. Realizing that this must be the dog that Clint had gone back for the night before, Phil smiled and watched them in their happiness.
Maria grumbled unhappily beside him, and Phil, feeling confident that Clint would find his way home safely with the dog and the woman, Natasha, who radiated danger to anyone who paid enough attention to such things.
It was a good morning.
Unfortunately, he reached home to find his father standing angrily over the collection of thing’s he’d collected and gotten from Tony over the years. Wincing, Phil nudged Jasper sharply when he seemed about to defend Phil’s actions that morning and the night before, and swished his tail only just enough to keep in the same spot, with no other movement, as he listened to Fury rant about the dangers of associated with humans.
“We seek to keep our society safe,” Fury shouted at him, “which we cannot, in fact, do if you go around being so close to motherfucking land-dwellers! And Tony, who’s frankly not any better than them in terms of danger. The humans can’t know about us! Do you know what they’d do, given the chance? They’d put us in glass filled with stagnant water, to be stared at and prodded at and not treated like a person. Humans are bad news, Phil, and you can’t associate with them, or their things, and still protect this kingdom! You’re confined to quarters, Maria’s on guard duty for not letting me know, don’t let me catch you outside for at least a week.”
Rant over (for now) and punishment dealt, Fury glided away, pitch black tail slicing angrily through the water. Jasper, wisely, had made himself scarce after Phil had nudged him the first time, so it was just Maria and Phil left to make their way back to Phil’s quarters.
Maria followed him as he glumly made his way back, plans to go tell Tony about all he’d seen now brutally squashed, but was thankfully quiet.
About halfway there, just outside of the area where most people lived, a form appeared out of a shadow and glided neatly into place in front of Phil, multitudes of legs waving gently in the current as he smiled a sharp, dangerous smile.
Kraken, Phil’s mind instantly supplied, and he felt Maria go very still next to him.
“Hello, little fish.” said the kraken, smile widening but not getting any less sharp or disturbing. “I see you have a bit of a problem. Perhaps I can help.”
“Perhaps not,” Phil said, with his blandest smile, before making to swim around the stranger.
“Oh, but I think I can.” Green eyes twinkled at him, full of an icy sort of mirth. “My name is Loki, little fish, and I am something of an expert at getting people what they want. You seem quite taken with the prince, what with saving him at all. And the only way to get what you want is to become a human yourself.”
Despite himself, Phil stopped, and reluctantly asked in the mildest tone of voice he was capable of producing asked, “You can do that?”
“Well, of course, little fish! It’s simple.” The smile turned shrewder than anything else, and oh, Phil knew that this was undeniably a Bad Idea, but he was completely intrigued. The humans couldn’t be all bad, and a more open existence would probably be beneficial to both sides – and besides, if he was honest, he was “quite taken with that prince.”
Phil liked being honest with himself, so he didn’t start swimming away, waiting for the catch. “What do you want?”
He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Jasper had returned, hovering nervously to the side with Maria, but most of his attention was on the kraken.
“Oh, little fish. I only want to help you. How about a deal?”
“Spit it out, or I’m leaving. There’s obviously something you want, or you wouldn’t offer.”
The kraken laughed, and then relented, “Very well. I will make you human, but it will only last for three days without the first kiss of true love to seal it – you’ll have to get your dear prince to kiss you! And in return,” he loomed, smiling sharply, “all I ask is for the object you took from the shipwreck last week.”
“What-“ Phil suddenly remembered the shiny thing he’d unthinkingly shoved into his pack, and tightened his grip on the strap, quickly changing his question. “What would you want with something like that?”
“Does it matter, little fish? You’ll get what you want, I’ll get my trinket, and everyone will be happy! It’s clearly the best choice.” He flicked his wrist, and a scroll filled with the fine print of a contract and ending with the ominous “for all eternity” at the bottom appeared.
“Just sign on the dotted line, and we’ll be done here.”
“Phil, don’t-“ Maria started, but the kraken flicked a finger at her and she abruptly stopped talking. He smiled again, teeth shinning in the sudden darkness.
“It’s for the best, little fish.” He offered both the contract and a pen.
Phil idly noticed the pen was made of fish bones, was instantly even less comfortable with being called “little fish,” and settled down on a nearby rock to read the contract.
“What are you- oh, oh I see. Fine then. Be like that. Be the only person in the entire ocean who would read the damn contract.” The kraken muttered darkly, smile vanishing. “C’mon, hurry up, time’s a wasting and I’m a busy guy.”
“Then I’ll just go home and you won’t get your ‘trinket.’” Phil pointed out mildly, taking his time as he read. “I don’t think I like these terms anyway.”
The kraken actually scowled at that. “Why-ever not?”
“Because even if I don’t manage to make the change permanent, you’ll still get the shiny thing forever. And my soul will belong to you, that doesn’t make me too comfortable, either. What about something less… permanent?”
The kraken considered, then grinned mercilessly. “Fine then, be that way. Give me your voice, and I’ll keep my end of the bargain. If you don’t get the prince to kiss you, your life and soul will remain yours, though you’ll be unable ever to go to the surface again, and I’ll get the ‘shiny thing’ as well as your voice. Succeed, and you can have your voice back and give me the ‘shiny thing’ after the change becomes permanent. Deal?”
Phil thought carefully for a moment, before agreeing quietly, “Deal.”
It wasn’t like his voice was any good, anyway.
The grin widened impossibly.
“Excellent.”
Everything after that was searing pain, and then Phil found himself waking up on the beach with the prince’s dog liking his face.
Steve had run off all of the sudden, so Clint decided to follow him. Spotting the sheepdog frantically licking the face of a man who was, Clint realized after a moment, lying on the beach without any clothes on and with blood seeping into the sand under him.
Suddenly much more aware of his surroundings than he had previously been in his lazy walk, Clint rushed forward, pulling off his jacket as he ran.
The man on the ground opened his eyes while Steve barked happily, and peered blearily upwards at Clint as he knelt beside the stranger and gently slipped an arm underneath the man’s shoulders, trying to get what was probably a bad wound out of the sand (which couldn’t be good for it) and hopefully fix it up at least a little before getting the man to one of the royal doctors (one of the few advantages to being heir apparent).
The man twitched, one hand reaching towards a bag Clint hadn’t previously noticed, but in any case moving more than necessary was probably bad. “Shhh, shhhh, it’s okay, I’ve got you. My name’s Clint. Please don’t try to talk; we don’t want you to jar anything. I’m just going to move you a little so that I can see how bad you’re- oh, that’s not good.”
He caught the sidelong look leveled pointedly at him and immediately understood what was meant. “I mean, it’s way better than I thought it would be with this much blood. It looks pretty surgical, actually, like someone was trying to get to something specific, but why they would go through your back, I don’t-“
The man made a weak gesture towards his throat, mouthing something, and Clint frowned for a moment, trying to read his lips, before hazarding a guess. “Your voice? Whatever did this, took your voice? That doesn’t make any sense, but okay. Say I believe you. Or don’t say, since apparently you can’t, but whatever. What would someone want with your voice?”
The man shrugged, and then winced as the movement started the flow of blood again. Clint tore off the stupid cravat some random servant had foisted on him before allowing him to leave the palace, wadding it up and pressing it firmly to the wound. “Perhaps you shouldn’t do that again.” Clint suggested mildly, and the man rolled his eyes expressively at him.
“Well, I’m going to tie my jacket around your waist and give you some semblance of dignity-“ the man snorted at that, and Clint privately agreed, but didn’t say anything about it, “- and then I’m going to carry you back to the palace so we can get you actual clothes and medical attention. Sound good?”
The man hesitated, and then nodded, waving a hand gently and carefully at the bag that was just out of his reach. Clint had totally forgotten about that, but nodded. “Sure, Steve here can take it. Steve?”
The dog cheerfully scooped the bag up, slobbering over the strap, and the man winced but allowed Clint to gently pick him up, maneuver the jacket delicately into place, and carry him to the palace.
After the man had gotten his back sewn up by the royal physicians, Clint obtained Natasha (lip reading and body language expert, reasons number eighteen and ninety three, respectively, he liked her best. Also, she called bullshit faster than anyone else he’d ever met, which was reason number two, right behind her ability to kill people with a wet noodle and callous glance), a pen, and a pad of notepaper (as well as some clothes the royal tailor assured him would fit perfectly).
Putting the beautiful suit down neatly on a side table, Clint handed over the pen and paper and was disproportionally proud of himself for how he managed to avoid completely embarrassing himself with the simple gesture.
The stranger moved with an economy of movement that spoke of competence, but there was a strange hesitance in the way he’d walked when the doctors had asked him to do so, like he wasn’t quite sure how the mechanics were supposed to work.
The man took the pen and paper with a smile, and then gestured to the clothing with a questioning expression, though he was still smiling.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, those are for you – I’m told they’ll fit, but we’ll try that in a bit. Um. Can you write?”
Losing the smile and looking confused, the man nodded hesitantly.
“Excellent. Look, I’m really sorry about asking you a bunch of things right after you’ve showed up on the beach without a voice or clothing, and with a really nasty stab wound in your back, but um. We- I’d like to know why those things happened. And who you are. It’s just. You look really familiar, like something important I was supposed to remember. So um.”
“What’s your name?” Natasha interrupted, to Clint’s eternal gratitude, all business and no fuss as usual.
The man scribbled something down and then flipped the notepad around to reveal Phil in neat, cursive handwriting that was extremely legible and seemed like it was really efficient to write in. Clint was impressed – his own cursive was a sorry sight, and his normal handwriting was little better than chicken scratch. There was a reason Natasha wrote out a lot of his correspondence – it just wasn’t seemly for a prince to have illegible handwriting.
“Okay then, uh, hi, Phil.” Clint managed to say with minimal embarrassment, and then remembered that Natasha hadn’t been introduced, and stumbled over himself trying to correct that.
Phil shook slightly and his smile returned, curling with amusement over his lips. It took Clint a moment to realize that what was happening was soundless laughter and for all that it was really embarrassing to be laughed at by the only person in the world he apparently couldn’t talk at properly, it was also weirdly endearing, and Clint found himself grinning back.
“Why are you here?” Clint asked after Phil had gotten a chance to compose himself, and immediately regretted it when the sweet smile disappeared. Phil broke eye contact and focused on the paper, holding it up with a questioning look that didn’t hold much hope and broke Clint’s heart a little bit – he felt like he’d let Phil down, and he really didn’t know the guy at all, but somehow this was important.
What do you know about magic?
“Not much,” Clint admitted, frowning, “But I could try and understand what happened if you explained it?”
Phil considered that for a moment, before nodding and making an impatient motion at Clint. It took a moment, but then the gesture clicked and Clint allowed the beckoning of Phil’s hand to draw him around the bed to watch over Phil’s shoulder as he wrote.
Interrupt if you’re confused, okay?
“Sure.”
The easiest way to put this is… I made a wish. To change something about me, so that I could – never mind, it’s just important that I made a wish and there was a price. I like legalese, though, so I read through the contract and didn’t agree to the terms at first.
Having been told to interrupt, Clint didn’t feel bad about interjecting a question as Phil wrote out the word “terms.”
“What terms?”
The one who did the magic wanted to trade a thing I had found for the change. But there was a lot of stuff about how if it didn’t work out I’d never get either of the things I wanted – my family, and the new world to explore.
“New world?”
I don’t think I can answer that. I’m very sorry.
“Nah, it’s okay. So, you read the contract and…?”
I didn’t agree, so the terms were changed. I traded my voice for a… trial run of the change. If I can make it stick, I get my voice back and he gets the thing. If I can’t make it work, I get my voice and my life back, and he still gets the thing.
I’m just sort of worried about it, because he seemed very insistent, and I have no idea what the thing does.
“Maybe someone here does? Do you have it with you?”
In the bag I had with me.
Clint grinned and walked over to the other side of the room, retrieving the bag from in its corner and setting it down on the bed next to Phil. Phil smiled, thanks clearly expressed, and then started to root around in the bag.
Clint watched in fascination as a wide variety of string appeared, followed by contraptions that looked dangerous for all they seemed to be made out of old, rusted junk and some hope, and lastly, with a smile and an exhale of breath that – had it been audible – probably would have told of triumph, a shining blue… cube thing.
“That’s… very strange. Natasha?”
“I don’t know.” Natasha sounded nervous, which was never a good sign. “But I have a friend who might. Give me fifteen minutes to find him, he’s in the kitchens.”
“Thanks, Nat.”
Natasha graced the two of them with a rare smile, and then disappeared silently out the door.
“So um.” Clint said, apparently instantly awkward again. “Would you like to try on the clothes?”
Phil nodded, smiling in thanks, and then, suddenly looking sheepish, scribbled something that had Clint dashing back to read over his shoulder.
I’m very sorry, but I don’t think I know how they work. We have different things where I’m from.
“Where are you from?” Phil just smiled mysteriously, and Clint was instantly struck with how much that smile made him want to discover absolutely everything about the enigma of Phil. Clearing his throat, he attempted to recover. “Uh, it’s pretty simple. Pants go on legs, shirt goes on top, jacket goes over shirt. Uh, just shout if- I mean, stick your head out if you need help with buttons or shoes, or the tie or something, and um. I’ll be outside so just. Yeah.”
Clint backed towards the door as he babbled, and escaped with what he felt was not much, but at least some, of his dignity.
This was going to be a bit of a trial, he could tell.
Phil waited a beat, to be sure that Clint wasn’t going to come rushing back in, and then carefully got up, mimicking the way he’d seen humans walk from afar – and now up close, he realized with a sudden start of happiness.
It took him a moment to sort it out, but eventually he figured that the things with longer tubes would belong on legs, which were also longer than arms, and thus must be pants. The thinner material probably went inside, which made it the shirt, and after a minute or so of struggling he got all the buttons worked out. It still looked sloppy in the mirror set up on the back of the door, so he tried to smooth everything out and wound up shoving the shirt into the pants and tugging until it looked more tidy. He shrugged the jacket on over the shirt, like Clint had said, and winced as it tugged at the stiches royal physicians had put into his back.
He had no clue what the last things on the chair were, so he poked his head outside like Clint had told him too and discovered that Clint was facing the wrong direction.
Phil sighed, and was extremely disappointed that no noise left his mouth even with a simple exhale of air. A whistle got the same treatment, but when he tried clicking his tongue against his teeth he was astonished to see that it worked, and gratified when Clint turned around immediately.
Clint grinned to see that he’d managed everything described, then gestured for Phil to lead the way back into the room. “Ties are tricky, I agree. You don’t have to wear it if you won’t want it, but shoes are probably important.”
He waved a hand, signaling for Phil to sit down on the bed, and Phil obeyed, curious. He was tossed two tubes of fabric with the ends sewn together.
“Pull those on your feet.” Clint instructed, loosening the ties on the other things that, now that Phil considered them in a new light, did indeed appear to be the things that humans wore on their feet. He hadn’t known there was another layer in between, though, and he pulled the tubes on carefully, fascinated. “Here, give me your foot.”
Clint carefully maneuvered the – shoe? That was what he’d called it, right? – the shoe onto the foot he’d taken and set on his lap, then tightened the strings and did them up in a neat bow. “Other foot.” He commanded softly, and Phil switched feet compliantly.
“Ta-da.” Clint grinned, setting Phil’s foot down after completing the same treatment he’d given the other one. “So, do you want to wear the tie?”
He held up a strip of fabric, and Phil frowned, not knowing what it was for.
Correctly guessing the expression and sentiment behind it, Clint said, “It goes around your neck and looks nice. I don’t like wearing them, though, they can be sort of restrictive.”
Phil considered for a moment, and then held out a hand.
“You want to wear it?” Clint asked, apparently just confirming, and Phil nodded. He was curious, this was a human thing, and he wanted to understand. “Okay. They’re sort of hard to tie, so c’mere.”
Phil went there, and Clint looped the fabric around his neck, messing with the ends and doing some strange folds before messing with it for a few moments until he was satisfied with the way it laid. His hands lingered on Phil’s coat, and the newly-minted human was struck by just how close they were. Maybe this getting a kiss thing wouldn’t be so hard.
Of course, that was when Natasha chose to walk in, towing her “friend,” who turned out to be a giant of a man with shoulder length blonde hair and a booming voice, named Thor.
Thor examined the cube closely for a moment, and then frowned deeply. “This is an artifact of deep power. Where did you come across it, and who desires to take it from you?” Perhaps seeing Phil’s hesitation to divulge the particulars of exactly what had happened the large man’s expression softened, and he offered, “If you would write out your response – Natasha tells me you do not have a voice, and that is why this artifact – it is called the Tesseract, by the way – is so important to you. Very well. Your secrets are yours alone, I will take your papers and destroy them. You need not give away your past.”
Glancing at Clint, who nodded encouragingly, Phil retrieved the notepad and pen from the bed and scribbled.
I found it in an old shipwreck. I thought it was pretty and looked like it might be able to be something useful, so I grabbed it. I don’t know the name of the one who wants it, but he is a kraken, with dark hair and bright green eyes. He smiles too much.
“That is grave news, indeed. I am sorry you have been mixed up in this. I believe the one you dealt with was named Loki. Did you sign a contract with him?”
Phil hesitated, then wrote, No, I didn’t like the terms and didn’t sign it. But I did say ‘deal’ to the second offer, out loud.
“That is good. Such oaths can be broken, if we beat Loki at his own game and play a trick on him. Did he call the Tesseract by name?”
No, he only called it things like “the shiny thing you found.”
Thor beamed. “That is most excellent news! You just have to give him something else that fit’s that definition. I presume you’ve found other shiny things?”
Phil smiled back, then reached into his bag and fished around in it for a moment, coming up with a gleaming fish hook.
“Perfect!” Thor boomed, then turned to include Clint and Natasha (who could not have failed to overhear, what with how loud Thor was, but were politely pretending otherwise) in the conversation once more. “Natasha, your highness, this is a very dangerous artifact and should be returned to the king of the sky, the All Father. I have the power to do so, fortunately. So, as long as Phil succeeds in the rest of his part of the bargain, that fishhook will serve us quite well! There is but little to worry about!”
All seemed relieved by this, and Natasha and Thor vanished with the Tesseract to dispose of it, or send it to the Allfather somehow. That must be a land thing, Phil hadn’t heard of it, but he didn’t really feel like asking and possibly ruining his chance.
Clint smiled warmly at Phil, and Phil felt his insides melt the way they had when the prince had gone into wreckage he’d just escaped to save his dog.
“So, would you like something to eat?”
Eating was, unfortunately for Clint, initially quite awkward when it arose that Phil didn’t eat any meat.
But they got past that quickly enough, and Clint saw Phil safely to a bedroom overlooking the sea as the sun went down, then went to bed, feeling good about the way the day had gone.
The next day was even better. Phil’s back was still painful, but one of the physicians gave him a salve for the stiches with seemed to help a lot. Phil joined Clint on his morning walk with Steve, and that was going very well.
Right up until a seagull appeared out of absolutely nowhere and immediately landed on Phil’s head, demanding attention in the annoying noises only seagulls were capable of making. Steve started barking, and Clint winced, but Phil didn’t seem to mind, simply reaching up to gently grab the bird and hold it at eye level, staring at it intently and – Clint realized after a beat – listening to it.
“You understand it?”
Phil gave him a surprised look, ‘you don’t?’ clearly written all over his face, but nodded hesitantly.
“That’s… that’s pretty cool, actually. What’s he say?”
In response, Clint received an armful of sea bird while Phil dug in pockets for paper and pen. The bird flapped once in indignation, but Clint held on as gently has he could and it quickly settled. Phil wrote quickly, and held up the finished explanation so that Clint could see clearly.
His name is Tony. He’s angry about the deal I agreed to. But it’s okay, because Thor found a way around it. Would you tell him that?
Feeling slightly ridiculous, Clint obeyed and read Phil’s note out loud for the benefit of the seagull. The gull, Tony, apparently satisfied, flew off, and the whines coming from Steve finally stopped.
“Well, that was fun.” Said Clint, stretching his arms above his head and resting one gently on Phil’s waist as he brought them down. To Clint’s astonishment and gratitude, Phil only startled a little bit before relaxing and actually leaning into the embrace, and okay that was awesome.
They made their way back to the palace, and Clint thought about waiting to ask but Phil had scribbled something about making the change permanent and he didn’t want to lose something he never got a chance to have, so he decided ‘fuck it,’ leaned over, and kissed Phil gently on the lips as the palace came into view around a bed in the shoreline.
Green and blue lights flashed around them immediately, and a voice, oozing displeasure and contempt, spat out, “Oh, well then. Con-grat-ulations. You win. Good job. Give me my prize, and you can have your voice back.”
The two men spun towards the ocean, going tense and ready as a shadowy figure loomed out of it. It crept forwards through the shallows, at last reaching the beach and stopping, countless tentacles supporting it or waving delicately through the air. The top was less strange, but somehow more threatening, a dark-haired, pale man with the most vicious smile Clint had ever seen – and he’d watched Natasha grin at people she was plotting to murder later that evening because they kicked puppies. A green and gold scarf was draped neatly around thin shoulders, and green eyes illuminated his face with a strange, haunted quality.
“C’mon then, we had a deal, little fish. You gave me your word.”
Phil, to Clint’s amazement, didn’t back down an inch, just reached into a jacket pocket and produced a shining, well-polished but seemingly old fishhook – the same one that Thor had been talking about the evening before – and offered it to the strange creature.
The creature scowled. “You dare?” he hissed threateningly, “You dare try to slight me, you will-“
“That was the deal, Loki.” A voice sounded from further down the beach, and Clint turned to watch in astonishment and Thor stalked towards them, hair flowing out behind him dramatically, dressed in shining armor and a sweeping red cloak. Natasha followed him, carrying something, and Clint realized with relief that it was his bow and a handful of arrows. He felt much more comfortable as they reached him and Natasha slipped him the weapons.
“You asked only for a shiny thing that Phil had found. That is what you will receive. The Tesseract will remain with the All Father – it never should have fallen to earth or sea in the first place.” Thor continued, raising a hammer. “Now, return Phil’s voice and go in peace. Do not be bitter because someone bothered to read one of your contracts for the first time in a thousand years.”
“I knew you’d be trouble.” Loki spat at Phil, but raised his hand and a spear appeared in it. Everyone on the beach immediately bunched closer together, expecting trouble, but Loki just tapped his free hand against the spear’s tip, flicking the glowing blue that it produced at Phil.
Phil made a face, then started to cough. Loki, laughing hysterically, shouted at him as he fell to his knees. “I may not have the Tesseract, but I have one in some small way, little fish. The sea will reject you, forevermore, and you won’t be able to speak to your family anymore. That voice is good only for humans now, nothing else!” With one last giggle, he vanished in a swirl of green light and darkness, and suddenly it seemed like Phil could breathe again.
Phil gazed out sadly at the ocean, and cautiously opened his mouth to speak when he sensed Clint kneel down beside him. “I suppose now I can’t ask my father’s blessing to stay with you.”
Clint blinked at him, and then suddenly enveloped him within a hug. “God, Phil, I’m just glad you’re okay. That was… weird, and I would have been more than happy to stick an arrow in Loki’s eye just now. But you’re okay, and we’ll figure something out with your family. You said you didn’t want to have to choose between what – them and land, right?”
Phil nodded into Clint’s shoulder, miserable and elated all at once and unwilling to give up the small the embrace offered.
“Thor? Nat? Steve? Ideas?” Clint asked, rubbing circles around the wound that had apparently remained on Phil’s back, if the odd way he was holding his shoulders was any indication.
“I can speak across all barriers, I shall try.” Thor, heedless of the damage to his wonderful cloak and armor, waded into the ocean and Clint found himself wondering just why they had such a clearly powerful being working in the kitchens, of all places.
Natasha, ever the mind reader, muttered to him quietly, “Apparently, Chef Jane and the maid Darcy, who was helping her that day, accidentally opened some sort of spell barrier by the order they put ingredients into some sort of pastry. I don’t understand, but he seems content.”
Clint shrugged, accepting the bizarre story, and went back to just watching Thor shout at the ocean.
Eventually, a small crab popped up to argue with him, followed by a bright yellow fish. The conversation must have been interesting, because Tony the gull reappeared, squawking something at Phil and looking incredibly put out when Phil gave no sign of having understood. After a while, the crab disappeared, and Thor and the little fish made their ways to the shadows.
“The little one, Jasper?” Phil nodded in confirmation, and Thor continued, “He says that he will miss you very much and that Maria will too, even if she won’t say it. They would like for you to be happy in your new life.”
Phil’s smile by rights should have split his face in half at that, and Clint was relieved to see it, as Phil thanked Thor profusely and then abruptly stopped talking when he saw the stranger approaching the shore.
The newcomer was a huge, dark skinned mermaid with a pitch black tail and a matching eye-patch over his left eye, the edges of which revealed scars that looked disturbingly like a shark bite. He and Thor talked for a bit, and Phil remained nervously seated on the sand, so Clint kept a reassuring arm over his shoulder. At last, the merman nodded, and beckoned Phil forward, embracing him.
When he spoke next, all understood, though most were unsure why (especially Steve who, while bright, was still a dog and typically only got the tone of what was being said to him). “Philip, I regret to send you off to rule elsewhere, but I daresay Pepper will do fine with Maria and Jasper helping her. This prince seems like a decent sort, so I will give you both a gift. In some ways, my power does supersede Loki’s, and I am happy to return your knowledge of the language of the ocean’s beings, Phil, and to bestow such knowledge upon your beau as well.”
Phil looked up in disbelief, and Clint startled badly as he heard Tony pipe up, “Well, it’s about time you showed up, Fury, geez, way to give us all heart attacks about what was going to happen! Hey, did you see my last thing I got to blow up? I took out half a sandbar, it was awesome!”
Clint blinked, before whispering to Phil, “I’m not so sure this is a gift.”
Phil laughed, and Clint finally got to hear what it sounded like, rather than just watching its effects.
He decided he liked it, and would be perfectly content with this happily ever after.