Okay, this looks bad, Clint thought.

He had no idea where he was or what the hell he was supposed to do next as he sat huddled between some trash cans and a set of low concrete steps, his back pressed up against the wall as he stared out at the sidewalk, shivering. The fact that his team hadn't found him yet was troubling. He'd had a GPS tracker chip embedded in his field suit, as well as one in the heel of his boot, but as he was no longer wearing either of them and had no idea where they'd disappeared to …

I'm a fucking dog. A fucking dog! he thought furiously. He'd already given up hope that he was dreaming because even in his most fucked up nightmares, he would never come up with something as ridiculous as this. He still felt like himself. Mostly. The conflicting instincts were annoying, though. He wasn't sure where the urge to run had come from since he usually had much better control over his fight or flight instincts, he kept sniffing at things a lot—the trash beside him was pretty disgusting and smelled like cabbage—and he'd had to shake himself twice to keep from chasing after a stray cat.

He sat back on his haunches and twisted his body, scratching behind his ear with his stubby back-right paw. Great, I probably have fleas now, too. Useless short, stubby legs and fleas. Fuck me, he groaned. He supposed it could have been worse. At least he wasn't a Pomeranian.

Yeah, Barton. Way to look on the bright side.

And speaking of bright, God, his eyesight sucked! It wasn't so much the loss of color perception—everything looked sort of bluish and gray in the dark anyway—but the loss of visual acuity. He'd practically had to put his paws on the back bumper of a car before he could read the damn license plate. There was no way he was going to be able to read street signs, and while he supposed he could try to guess which avenues were which and try to find Times Square as a reference … . He glared down at his stubby legs and bit at something stuck in his paw.

He was sure he had enough stamina to make it. But people would stare at a dog, especially one without a leash or an owner. Shit. If he was picked up by the cops or whatever passed as animal control in the city, especially without a collar and tags, he was completely fucked. Hard to pick locks without hands.

He resisted the urge to rest his chin on his paws and watched as people walked by at scattered intervals, their conversations unusually animated and loud. At least he could understand them, and he was relieved to discover that the rest of his team had been successful in containing the jellyfish things. A few passersby glanced at him and made gestures and cutesy cooing noises at him, but he growled low in his throat and they backed away with a shrug or a "dumb dog."

The street was quieter now, and he settled back in his temporary hiding place, thinking. He'd been in more fucked up situations in his life than he could count, but this one kind of took the cake. His team would be searching for him, but they sure as shit wouldn't be looking for a dog, and even if they walked right up to him, what was he supposed to do? Bark at them? Bite Tony? Lick Coulson's face or bury his nose in Coulson's crotch? Well, that might not be so bad. Oh, shit, he had not just thought that. Ugh. Think, Barton! Maybe he could try tapping out Morse code with his paws.

Ah, who the hell was he kidding; Coulson was going to murder him. That is, if he ever found him. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

"I'm starting to rethink our decision about keeping Christmas here. Maybe we should go home like we usually do."

"This is home, Moony. Teddy's been looking forward our first Christmas here, and really, if anything, this is a good sign. Crazy Muggle attack today means we've got at least a month before the next one, and he'll be back at Hogwarts by then. C'mon. We've talked about this before. Even if a giant robot squid attacked next, we can protect him. The house has a dozen protection spells on it already, and it's easy enough to cast a Confundus Charm if any strange Muggle gets too close. And you know we can always Apparate if anything ever got out of hand."

"I know, I know. It's just … there isn't a manual for this kind of thing. He's a child. Our child."

"And a brilliant one. He's always scored Outstanding in Defence, and he's had us to supplement his teaching. He can hold his own against Muggles and their daft inventions."

"Sirius! He's thirteen!"

"Have you forgotten what we were like at thirteen?"

"Of course I do! Why do you think I'm so bloody nervous? He'd be so excited I'd have to use a Full Body Bind to restrain him. I'm just glad we were all visiting with Harry when those other bloody things attacked last summer. He's nearly as bad as you were at his age."

Clint listened to the two men as they walked slowly past and stopped in front of the stairs as one of them laughed. Against his better judgment he crawled out to get a better look, eyes narrowing and ears pulled back with suspicion. He'd heard some strange shit in his time, but damned if he could understand even half of what the hell they were talking about. What the fuck was a muggle? It sounded familiar, though.

"C'mere, you old worrywart."

Clint watched as the one in the darker coat pulled other man close and kissed him gently on the lips.

"I know I'm being irrationally overprotective, Pads, but I'm still not ready to be a parent to a teenager."

"You're a wonderful father, and Teddy's a good kid. Bright and inquisitive. And he loves you."

"He loves you, too, you daft bugger."

"Of course he does. I teach him all the good spells."

Clint's ears pricked up. Spells? Could they be Asgardians? No, he'd have known if there were other Asgardians on Earth. Thor would have told them. They didn't talk like Thor, either.

The man in the light-colored coat snorted. "You haven't secretly taught him how to Apparate, have you? Because then I might have to kill you."

The man's tone just then was so reminiscent of Coulson that Clint must have made some sort of involuntary noise. Both men glanced sharply over at him, expressions tense, and one of the men reached for his coat pocket.

"S'ok, Moony. Just a pup. Hey there, little pup," the dark-coated man said, stepping over toward Clint. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

Clint backed up slowly, ears flat and a low growl forming in his throat.

The man laughed, bending down and slowly reaching out his hand. "Oh, stop that, daft dog. I'm certainly not going to hurt you."

"Kindred spirit, I see," the other man said from behind them. "I've never seen anyone on our street with a Corgi before."

Clint growled and barked loudly. "A Corgi? I'm a fucking Corgi? Fucking psycho magician asshole can't even manage a real fucking dog? I should have been a Rottweiler! Or at least a Pit Bull if it was a height thing. Jesus Christ, I'm not that short."

"Hush, pup, it's all right," the man said softly. "No, I know all the dogs around here. This one's not from around here, are you, pup? No collar, either." He stared at Clint, frowning slightly. Clint growled louder.

"He's frightened," the man said softly.

Clint snorted and barked. "Who the fuck are you calling frightened, asshole?"

The man's frown deepened and he tilted his head, continuing to stare. Clint backed away until his rump was pressed flat against the building. He didn't like being scrutinized like this. Just leave me the fuck alone so I can die in peace, already, he thought. Maybe if he bit him …

The man stood up abruptly and walked back to his companion, whispering. Clint couldn't hear what they were saying, but at this point he didn't care. He heard them move off and he relaxed a bit, sitting back on his haunches—

—only to let out a screeching kind of yowl a moment later as a large black shadow loomed menacingly over him.

"What the fuck, man?" he barked, angry as he looked up into the jowls of a very large black dog that looked like it could eat him in three bites."Er, nice doggie."

"Hah! I knew it!"

"Knew what? Who the hell are you? And whoa! Dogs can really talk to one another? Like on Dog Cops? This is totally freaky."

The black dog snorted, and Clint could have sworn it rolled its eyes. "Are you thick or something?"

The dog bent down and nosed him with a muzzle that was bigger than Clint's entire head. Well, maybe not that big, but still.

"Hey, get off me! I don't stink, it's the fucking garbage."

The black dog sat down and lolled its tongue. "Oh, I get it. First time, eh? Takes a bit of getting used to. I didn't know there were other wizards living in the neighborhood." The dog raised its paw. "Sirius Black. Or Padfoot when I'm a dog."

Clint stared. "Wizards? What the fuck, man? No, really, what the fuck are you talking about? What do you mean, 'when you're a dog'?"

The dog stared back. "But you're an Animagus, too, aren't you?"

"An aniwhatmas?"

The black dog stood up and nosed him again, sniffing him all over. Clint stiffened, growling low in his throat. He didn't know whether he wanted to attack or play. Or maybe both. He arched his back, ready to pounce, and without warning, his tail started wagging as Padfoot snuffled in his ear. He felt … happy, cheerful, and it was disconcerting to have his body so at odds with his mind.

"Hey! Cut that shit out!"

"Bloody hell! No way you're a Muggle. Unless …" The dog looked over its shoulder and barked out "Moony! Get your arse over here."

"What's a muggle? Oh, wait! Now I remember. That other asshole used that word! Whatever it is, I'm definitely not one, because that shit sounds nasty."

Wait a minute. Moony? One of the men from just before had called the other one Moony, and sure enough Clint looked up to see the man with the light-colored coat with his hand on the black dog's ruff, looking worried.

"What is it, Pads? You know I can't understand you like this."

He should have known. Something was definitely fishy about those two. Spells and weird words he'd never heard before. What if they were in cahoots with the asshole who zapped him? He growled at the big dog and snapped at his muzzle, then turned and darted through the narrow space behind the second trash can.

"Oh, no you don't," the man said, grabbing him around the middle and picking him up. Clint struggled and tried to bite him. "Padfoot!"

The black dog—Padfoot—jumped up onto his hind legs, leaning against the man's shoulder and grabbed the ruff at the back of Clint's neck between his teeth, tugging hard. "Don't make me bite you, little pup."

"Then tell your owner to put me the fuck down!"

"He's not my owner, and while you may not be an Animagus, you're definitely not a normal dog. You end up on the wrong side of a wand or something?"

Clint stilled.

"Who are you?" Padfoot asked again.

Clint didn't answer. There was no way in hell he was trusting this strange man and this dog, who, Clint was starting to realize, probably wasn't a normal dog either.

"We're trying to help you, you idiot."

"What, turn me into a Schnauzer next?"

"Everything all right there, Mr. Lupin?" someone called down from a window above.

Clint twisted to look up at an elderly man sticking his head out of a second story window.

"We're fine here, Mr. Shapiro. Sorry to have bothered you. We're, ah, dogsitting for a friend, and he got a bit skittish."

"Aw, he's a cute little fella. Padfoot seems to like him. It's no bother. Can't be too careful these days, if you know what I mean. Never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd have to worry about lizard men and flying jellyfish from outer space. We were watching the news. Crazy world we're living in."

"Indeed," Lupin said.

"No, no, Ethel, it's fine. Go back to your movie. It's just that nice Mr. Lupin from next door. No aliens rootling through the trash," Mr. Shapiro said over his shoulder.

"Er, would you like me to put your rubbish bins on the curb, Mr. Shapiro?" Remus asked.

"That would be awfully nice of you, young man, thank you."

"You're welcome. Have a good evening."

"You too, and watch out for aliens. Streets aren't safe anymore. Crazy times, I say," Mr. Shapiro said, ducking back in and closing the window.

"They weren't aliens. The jellyfish," Clint half-barked, half-growled. "And I don't think you're a dog, either"

Padfoot dropped down onto all fours. "Oh, I'm definitely a dog. But only when I want to be," he barked, then bared his teeth in a grin.

"Huh?" A talking, grinning, part-time dog. He had no idea what to make of any of this.

Lupin dragged the cans to the curb, one at a time, one hand still tight around Clint's midsection, as if everything were perfectly normal. Clint thought about trying to run for it. He could possibly work himself free, but it was a long drop to the ground for his short legs. He didn't trust the man or the dog, the dog who sounded suspiciously like the man in the dark coat from earlier—the man who had seemingly disappeared. His instincts told him to squirm free, to run, but he fought them this time. There was some weird shit going on, and he needed answers.

"You're not a wizard," Padfoot barked.

"Last time I checked? No. Is that a thing? Wizards?"

"If Moony puts you down, are you going to run again? Because don't think we can't catch you if you do."

"Are you dognapping me?"

Padfoot snorted.

"Padfoot," Lupin said, looking around, "We can't stay outside much longer. You're both too loud and we're attracting too much unwanted attention."

"I told you. We can help you. And no, I don't usually bring home strays. Don't want my partner to get jealous."

Strays. Huh. The sad thing was, it was true. He was. At least for now. Shit. "You're the man from before," Clint barked.

"Now you're getting it, pup."

"Stop calling me pup."

Padfoot nudged Lupin's thigh, and they walked to the brownstone two doors down. "Don't know what else to call you. You haven't told me your name."

Lupin touched his hand to the door and muttered something, and the door opened. Clint stiffened again, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into. Wizards? Living in New York? He'd seen enough magic shit with Loki. But somehow that was different. Loki wasn't human for one thing.

He looked up at Lupin, who was petting him gently on the head as they walked inside, and almost growled at his traitorous tail, wagging like it hadn't a care in the world. He wasn't the best judge in his present state, but the man looked to be about Coulson's age or so, and he smelled nice. Calm. Safe. His coat smelled like coffee. He felt a pang at the thought of Coulson but tucked that away for later. He had other things to think about right now. This Lupin looked and smelled human to his canine nose. But Thor and Loki looked human. Mostly. He'd never bothered to sniff them, though.

And that thought right there was something he never wanted to think about again.

Lupin muttered something again and the door closed, locking behind them, and Lupin set him down on the floor, then took off his shoes and coat, and hung the coat on a rack beside the door. He looked at the two dogs.

"I'll go fix supper. I presume you can handle this on your own now, Pads, so you two can join me in the kitchen when you're ready."

Clint turned and stared at the door as Lupin left them, and Padfoot nudged him with his nose. "I'll take you out for a walk later after we eat. Told you. You're not a bloody prisoner. Arse."

"A dog walking a dog? Also, I am not eating any fucking dog food, so don't go getting any ideas."

"We don't even keep dog food in the house. I'll need to talk to Moony and let him know what's going on, but first we should do something about your furry little problem." He barked out a laugh, and Clint growled. "Sorry, that's a bit of a personal joke. Nothing on you, mate. Right. Don't—what's the expression you Yanks say? Don't freak out."

"Sure. No problem. I don't know what you usually get up to, but hey, this has been a completely normal day for me."

Padfoot laughed again and Clint twitched his nose. Jesus fucking Christ. He was definitely living in a Dog Cops episode.

"At least you have a sense of humor about it. You gonna tell me your name? Or a name?"

Clint sighed. He was getting tired of "pup." What the hell. He could do that without compromising himself. "It's Clint."

Padfoot nodded, and Clint watched in disbelief as he then stretched up onto two legs and morphed into a man. The man from before in the dark coat, as he'd expected. Shit. Why can't I do that? he thought, jealous. Then he wondered how Sirius was fully dressed and thought of his own clothes, wondering again where they were, since he didn't remember seeing them lying on the sidewalk. Only his bow and quiver.

"Nice to meet you, Clint. As I said earlier, I'm Sirius Black. Sirius like the star, not the adjective, since you've mangled our language and seem to pronounce both the same way. Or Padfoot. You can call me whichever you prefer. And my partner," he pointed his thumb over his shoulder down the hall. "Remus Lupin. Also Moony, but you're not allowed to call him that, only me, so Remus or Lupin will have to do.

"Now," he continued as he took off his coat and shoes, "let's see if we can turn you back." He pulled a long, narrow stick of wood from his pocket and Clint yelped, backing away, his tail tucked between his legs.

He ran between Sirius' legs and threw himself against the door, barking. "Get that thing the fuck away from me and let me out of here, you bastard. I knew I shouldn't trust you."

"Clint, hey, stop it, you're going to hurt yourself. Hey, I said stop—Ouch! Quit that you little bugger!" Sirius yelled as Clint bit his finger.

"Everything all right out there?" Remus called from down the hall.

"Fine, Moony. Don't worry about us," Sirius called back. He backed away from Clint slowly, looked at the piece of wood in his hand, and bent down and placed it on the floor. "I take it you've seen one of these before. It's a wand, and I'm not going to lie and say it's harmless. I am a wizard, and a damn good one at that, but I really wasn't going to hurt you. Go on," he said, backing away. "Smell it."

Clint stopped growling and eyed Sirius. He looked down at the wand lying on the floor. Magic wands. Jesus Christ. He took a tentative step forward, sniffing at the ground.

"Ebony with a dragon heartstring core. Fifteen inches. Inflexible and robust, or so I was told. Rather like its owner, as I've also been told," Sirius said lightly.

Clint had no idea what the hell Sirius was talking about as he sniffed the wand. It smelled like wood and something sharp that he couldn't identify, and it also smelled like Sirius himself. He nudged the wand with his nose and felt a slight tingle as a spark shot from the tip. He jumped back and barked at it. "What the hell was that?"

"What did you do to it?" Sirius said. "It never does that."

Clint heard a sound like a soft exhalation of breath and Padfoot stood before him.

"You said you weren't a wizard."

"I'm not a fucking wizard. I'm a human being, or I was until some asshole stuck a-a fucking wand thing with lights in my face, and then I wasn't. And if you think I'm going to let you point that thing at me and turn me into a toad next—"

"All right, all right. I'm not going to turn you into a toad. Toads are shite anyway."

Clint growled.

Padfoot shrugged his shoulders. "Well, they are. Listen. It's obvious that some wizard turned you into a dog, and the only way I can turn you back is to 'point that thing at you' and change you back. Unless you want to stay this way, of course. Remus thinks you're cute. He'd probably like another pet."

"Fuck you, Black, I'm nobody's pet. And don't ever fucking call me cute."

Padfoot lolled his tongue and laughed. "I think I'm starting to like you. And I don't like many people."

Clint thought Sirius was kind of an asshole, but he was also not in a position to blindly turn away help. Not when he was stuck like this. He pushed away thoughts of Loki and his spear. Fucking magic. "You can really change me back?"

Padfoot huffed. "Of course I can. Transfiguration is child's play. I was the world's youngest Animagus, you know."

"Yeah, whatever that means. Don't fuck with me. If you change me into a toad or a newt or whatever the fuck it is you wizards do for fun, I swear I'll kill you."

"Yeah, yeah." Padfoot huffed. "Muggles. You're a real charmer, aren't you? Try to help a bloke out, and he threatens to kill you. I'm going to change back now. If you bite me again, I won't change you into a toad, but I might turn you into a flobberworm. They don't have teeth," he added, twisting his mouth and showing his own sharp teeth.

Clint had never seen a dog smirk before. Learn something new every day. "Whatever." He took a deep breath. He could do this. It wasn't as though he had many choices. "Just change me back."

Sirius changed and picked up his wand. "This won't hurt a bit." Clint stiffened, and Sirius lowered his wand. "No, I mean it. It shouldn't hurt at all. It just might feel a bit strange. Ready?"

Clint nodded and braced himself not to flinch. Sirius pointed his wand, muttered some nonsense words, and flicked his wrist, and a narrow beam of light shot out and enveloped Clint. He felt something tugging, like his body was trying to stretch itself out of his skin, and then … nothing. The light faded and he was still a foot tall and furry. So much for the great and powerful Oz.

Sirius frowned. "Fuck. That's never happened before. I could see it starting to work, but then it just stopped. Let me try that again."

After three times, Clint just huffed at him and glared.

"Merlin's balls, what the fuck kind of spell did he use on you?"

Clint snorted, a dozen impotency jokes on the tip of his tongue, but useless while Black was in human form. He sniffed again and trotted off down the hall, following the scent trail. He could smell something delicious cooking, and his stomach was rumbling.

"Fine, food first. We'll figure this shit out later, because now I'm really fucking annoyed. Hey, Moony, meet our new friend, Clint. He's a Muggle, by the way."

"He's a Muggle? Then how the hell did he ... ? Sirius, he's a dog."

"Well, yes, that's rather obvious. He hasn't told me exactly how that happened yet, but he apologizes for trying to bite you earlier—"

"I did no such thing!" Clint barked and came to a screeching halt as he took in the kitchen, staring with wide eyes.

"Can't understand you like this, pup, but I'll take that as a 'he apologizes profusely and thanks you for feeding him' because clearly our friend Clint is a stand-up kind of bloke."

Clint blinked. He closed his eyes and counted to ten and then opened them again while Sirius and Remus carried on their conversation as though everything was perfectly normal.

Remus stepped away from the stove, giving Sirius a quick kiss. "Yes, and I'm sure I'm glad I don't speak dog. But you should have at least told me he was a Muggle. I thought he was just a new Animagus who was stuck in phase." He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You could at least change him back so he can sit at the table with us for supper."

"I tried," Sirius said, twirling his wand in his fingers. "Whatever he was hit with wasn't a normal Transfiguration spell."

Remus cleared his throat, and Clint saw them briefly exchange a look he couldn't read before he went back to gawking.

"All right, then. We'll figure something out. Now go wash your hands before you touch anything. They were all over the street, and I'm sure they're filthy." Remus looked over at Clint in the doorway with an expression of sympathy. "Make yourself at home, Clint. I'm sure it's not what you're used to, but …"

Remus banged around the cupboards, pulled out a silver dog bowl, and filled it with bottled water from the fridge while a placemat went zooming over to the corner of the room, settling on the floor. Remus set the bowl down on the mat along with some kind of cookies. Clint really hoped they weren't dog biscuits.

"Here," Remus said. "They're digestive biscuits in case you're feeling a bit peckish. Dinner will take another twenty minutes or so. I'll make yours without garlic and onions."

Clint continued to stare around the kitchen, barely registering what Remus was saying. He knew his eyesight was off as a dog, but seriously, this whole thing was just bizarre.

On one counter, a knife was chopping vegetables on a cutting board, which deposited the chopped vegetables into bowls before setting itself back down on the countertop. At the sink, the water was running, and a soapy sponge was washing the dishes. He watched as Sirius walked over and the sponge jumped into his hand, scrubbing its way halfway up his arms.

"Oi! That's enough, you little bugger. I'll have a proper bath later." Clint could swear the sponge looked chastened as it flew over to the soap dispenser—which promptly squirted more detergent—and went back to scrubbing pots while Sirius rinsed the suds and dried his hands on an ordinary looking dishtowel. Well, that was something at least.

The kettle whistled just then, and two teacups flew from the cupboard, floating as Remus spooned loose tea into them and the kettle poured water before setting itself back down at the back of the stove.

This wasn't Dog Cops, or even Oz. This was a Disney cartoon and Alice in fucking Wonderland on LSD. He half expected the dishes and plates to start singing and dancing any minute now.

Sirius glanced at Clint and shook his head. "Yeah, sorry. Probably a bit much. You get used to it. Just watch out for the knife, she can get testy when she chops onions." He pointed to the placemat on the floor in the corner. "Go on. It's not poisoned." He walked over, bent down, and picked up one of the biscuits, popping it into his mouth. "S'good. I promise."

"Padfoot," Remus chided as he set down two mugs of tea on the table, "Stop eating Clint's food. You know perfectly well where the tin is."

So, probably not poisoned, Clint thought as he trotted over to the mat and tentatively stuck his tongue in the water. The bowl didn't sing or dance or do anything at all except sit there, and the water didn't taste off, so he shrugged and drank, trying not to slobber all over himself too much while Sirius filled Remus in on their canine conversation from earlier and dinner apparently cooked itself, sizzling on the stove. He turned to look at the chopping knife, but it had finished its work and was busy flirting with the sponge over at the sink. Right. Nothing unusual at all. He was in medical and someone had clearly given him the good drugs.

Turning back, he sniffed at the biscuits. They smelled nice, so he ate one, licking the crumbs first from his muzzle and then from the floor before he realized what he was doing. He might be a dog, all right, but this was fucking degrading. He lay down on the floor and covered his eyes with his paws. No way was he going to let his team see him like this.

"Don't worry, it's clean," Sirius said, chuckling.

"Stop teasing him. It took you weeks before you got used to it, and you did it on purpose. Not that you ever cared much about clean floors, though."

"Yeah, but Prongs was worse. Remember how he kept getting his antlers stuck in the bed curtains?"

Clint peeked out from between his paws and raised what passed as his eyebrows. Antlers?

Remus laughed and looked down at Clint. "Our friend, James. Sirius here became a dog, but James turned into a stag. It was a bit … unwieldy. Especially in the dormitory."

"Boarding school," Sirius explained. "Moony and I have known each other since we were eleven."

Huh. Clint thought briefly of the people he knew when he was eleven and shuddered. He couldn't imagine spending any time with them now, much less wanting to. It must be nice, he thought, to have someone who knew you that well, for that long, and still wanted to be with you. His thoughts turned to Coulson and the recent developments between them. Yeah, it was pretty nice, he thought with some surprise. Damn it, he didn't want to think about that right now. He couldn't afford to.

"We can talk more about your predicament after supper," Remus said, "but is there anyone that we should contact for you? Your family is probably worried. Do they even know what happened to you? Although I suppose not, considering how we found you."

Clint just sat there, though he felt his tail twitching in a half-wag. He knew damn well he needed to get in touch with his team—with Coulson—and should have already tried, somehow, but … He turned his head away, staring at the baseboard molding along the wall. Despite his seeming unflappability, Coulson would be well past worried by now and had probably called out the National Guard for reinforcements. S.H.I.E.L.D. would be fully mobilized, and he could picture Natasha tearing down buildings with the Hulk's help looking for him. And the others as well; Tony, Steve, and Thor. They weren't quite family yet, not like Nat and Phil—fuck, Phil was really going to kill him—but they were his in a way that made him fret at causing them grief.

But I'm a fucking dog. Did S.H.I.E.L.D. even have protocol for this? Why couldn't evil supervillains do what they were supposed to do and just abduct him and torture him for information? Sure, that sucked, but at least then he would be on familiar ground.

"Clint?" Remus said softly, sitting beside him on the floor and gently stroking the fur on his back.

Clint sighed and rested his chin on his paws. He didn't know these strange men at all, and this whole situation was so far beyond FUBAR that he still wasn't sure it was real. He didn't really trust them either, despite his instincts telling him they were all right. Still, they had welcomed him into their home when the alternative was him freezing outside, scared, confused, and alone. They hadn't poisoned or drugged him, and Sirius hadn't turned him into a newt … yet. All things considered, as bad as it was, it really could have been worse, which didn't bear thinking about at all.

He knew the second his team learned his location, they'd descend like a … well, a pack of dogs. What if his instincts were wrong and he was just being lulled into a false sense of security? Sirius was a dog, at least sometimes, so Clint couldn't rule out that Sirius would know exactly how to trick him. And while this magic shit was way beyond anything he was equipped to deal with on his own, especially now without any weapons and stuck in this form as he was, there was still the possibility that these two were in cahoots with the asshole who'd done this to him.

It seemed unlikely, given everything that had happened so far, but instincts be damned. He had no idea what their capabilities were, the extent of their powers. While he was fully confident in the strength and abilities of his team, he was hesitant to bring them hell-bent into a situation with so many unknown variables and potential dangers. He needed more intel, and he'd have to talk to Sirius again. Interrogation wasn't his strong point, but he had plenty of experience on the receiving end.

Remus was still petting him, making soft, soothing noises, and it was hard to resist pushing up into his hand.

"It'll be all right. I know you're probably frightened by all of this magic. We didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, and if I'd known you weren't a wizard when I started making supper, I'd have done it the Muggle way."

There was that word again. He tilted his head back and looked at Remus. He wasn't the most handsome man, but he had a pleasant face despite the tiredness in his eyes. And he was kind, so there was that as well. Maybe he could get him to explain a few things. He tried the "raised eyebrow" expression, and Remus smiled.

"Right, you probably have no idea what a Muggle is. Sorry. I forget sometimes."

Clint huffed, set his chin back down, and wriggled his body a little bit closer. Remus was scratching behind his ears and it felt fantastic.

"Like that, do you? I've had a lot of practice, as you can imagine. Sirius has been an Animagus—that's a wizard who can turn himself into an animal at will—since he was fifteen. And a Muggle is just our word for people who aren't magical."

It's a stupid word, he thought, eyes closed in bliss, tail wagging. Traitorous body. It was completely fucking with his finely-honed sense of suspicion.

"I also think," Remus continued, his fingers hitting all the right spots, "that you should let us contact your family. I'm guessing you don't want them to see you like this, but if Sirius is right and this is some kind of dark spell …" Remus trailed off, sighing. "We can send them an owl—or no, that wouldn't be a very good idea, would it? I suppose we'll have to use Sirius' iPhone, ring them up and let them know you'll be gone for a few days at the very least. Sirius will change back after supper, and you two can talk a bit more. He'll be right down, he's just gone upstairs to get Callie."

Dark spell? Days? Send an owl? Was that some kind of code? Half the time it felt like they were speaking a completely different language, and he hated the confusion he felt. He shuddered, and Remus rubbed his neck, smoothing the fur at his ruff. Damn. That was going to be one hell of a phone call, and easy as shit to trace. He'd have to think more on that. And who was Callie? Christ, he hoped it wasn't a cat. He could already feel the instinct to chase it thrumming through his body, and he sighed. This really was humiliating. He didn't even want to think about the fact that a strange man, no matter how nice he seemed, was petting him, or the fact that Clint was letting him and enjoying it far too much.

The wooden spatula clanged against the side of the frying pan, and Remus got to his feet. "Don't get up. I'll make you a plate."

Clint heard a hooting sound. He raised his head and saw an owl sitting on Sirius' shoulder as he walked back into the kitchen. The own hooted again, stretched its wings, and flew off to a five-sided open cage halfway up the wall that Clint hadn't noticed earlier, perching on a bar. It pecked at a bowl and hooted again, and Clint got the distinct feeling it wasn't happy.

"No need to get tetchy, I'm getting your food," Sirius said, taking the bowl and bringing it to the counter. He took a box from the pantry and poured some of the contents into the bowl. Remus ladled something in on top, and Sirius flicked his wand and sent the bowl zooming back into the cage. The owl hooted again and started eating.

"You'd think she'd be happy with all the rats she finds, the little glutton," Sirius said, and the owl lifted its head, hooted, and gave him a baleful glare as though she understood that she'd been insulted.

"Padfoot, let her eat. I'm just glad she wasn't out flying with those things. She could have been hurt." Remus set a bowl of stew meat and a cut-up baked potato covered in gravy on the placemat next to the water dish. "Here you go, Clint. Don't worry about making a mess. You could hardly do worse than Padfoot did in the beginning. Just let it cool for a moment; I don't want you burning your tongue. Oh, and that's Callie, our owl."

Clint blinked. Send an owl. So it hadn't been code after all; Remus had meant an actual owl. They had a pet owl. In New York City. Sure. Why not? Probably more fun than a parakeet.

Sirius and Remus sat down at the table to eat, and he walked over to the bowl and sniffed. It smelled really good, and he licked tentatively at the gravy. It was delicious, but still a bit hot, so he waited. He was starving but his tongue was like three times its normal size, and the last thing he wanted to do was burn himself. He sighed and lay down on the floor.

Okay. Remus said they'd call. What the hell were they going to say? "Hello, Agent Coulson, you don't know me, but I'm a wizard and your friend Clint has been turned into a dog. We need to keep him for a few days so that we can figure out how to change him back, since it didn't work the first four times we tried. I hope you don't mind. Oh, and don't worry, he'll be perfectly safe with us. He says to tell you hello and not to come after him."

He snorted. Sure, they'd buy that. Right. Not even if he told Remus to use every single safeword code phrase they'd come up with between them over the years during the conversation. Barking into the phone sure as hell wouldn't do any good.

Shit. They weren't going to trust anything, not until they saw him with their own eyes. And that was a problem. He glanced over at Remus and Sirius, who were engaged in a quiet conversation as they ate. Sirius was kind of an asshole but no worse than Stark, and despite Clint's misgivings, he kind of liked Remus. They'd barely blinked at his predicament and were taking the whole thing pretty calmly. His team, on the other hand, was probably going to freak the fuck out. Well, probably not Thor. Oh! Maybe the Allspeak worked on dogs. He'd never thought to ask. That could be helpful.

And really, after Loki and his magic, this shouldn't be a huge leap, but Loki was from another planet. Another realm, Thor had said of Asgard and the others worlds. But this wasn't Asgard; this was Earth. Wizards were alive and well and living under their noses here in New York City. And elsewhere, he realized. Sirius and Remus were obviously English, and that asshole had cursed in some foreign language.

Even if Sirius and Remus weren't a threat to him personally, their kind could be a threat to national security. That asshole who'd done this to him definitely was, and who was to say there weren't a hundred or even a thousand others like him? Shit. Wizards. Magic. On Earth. This had the potential to be huge, and if Fury got wind of it—or worse, if the fucking trigger-happy assholes on the World Security Council got wind of it … Christ, they'd probably send another nuke to New York.

He sighed again. This was far more responsibility than he wanted, especially in his present state. It was crazy and confusing as shit and too much to process all at once, but his instincts kept telling him that these two were okay, and if they really were okay, he'd be bringing the worst kind of shit down on them. Of course, there was the other little problem; he didn't trust his instincts right now.

Well, except for the one that told him he was fucking starving. Probably not poisoned, he thought again as he stood up and began to eat his supper. He might be a dog, but at least his mind was still his own. Thank God for that. He'd deal with wizards and magic and impossible phone calls soon enough.