Chapter Text
Jason sprinted down the street. It wasn’t subtle, it wasn’t clever or manipulating the situation to his benefit, it wasn’t anything he had spent years learning in the League of Assassins. It was desperation, and panic, and green acid rushing through his veins.
Jason vaulted over a hot dog cart, sending buns flying and adding the furious seller to his pursuers for a few steps. He didn’t take the time to pause, or look back, or shout an apology. He’d be caught if he did, and he could not be caught. Being caught meant returning to the League or being arrested, depending on who, exactly, was chasing him, and while one of those was way worse than the other, neither of them sounded appealing.
Jason darted into an alley, flinging himself bodily at the fire escape and hauling himself up as quickly as possible. His breath was coming hard and fast, and he sprinted a few stories up before his pursuers entered the alley and he froze. Jason barely dared to breathe, pressed hard against the brick wall as the pair searched the alley. They looked up, and he waited for the cry that would announce his position, for the chase that would begin once more. But they just looked around the buildings and then turned around and left. Jason didn’t move for ten long minutes. When he was sure they were gone, he breathed a sigh of relief and began his slow ascent, moving carefully now so that his boots wouldn’t make a sound on the rusty metal.
The wind whipped his face as he hauled himself up the last ten feet from the top platform of the fire escape onto the flat roof, and Jason put his hands on his hips and tilted his head back, breathing it in. He had made it. He wasn’t out of the woods yet -- he still had to get out of the city without getting caught and lay low for a while -- but he had lost his tails and could start actually working to leave the city.
The sound of jet propulsors was so sudden that Jason didn’t even have time to tense before he was being grabbed under the arms. He immediately lashed out, twisting and writhing, but the arms holding him weren’t flesh and blood: they were titanium and gold, and they didn’t budge. In a split second they were midair, hovering dozens of feet above the rooftop, but that didn’t stop Jason. Now he knew without a doubt who his attackers were, but the Avengers were only a little better than the League. He snatched one of his knives out of his belt and slashed at whatever he could reach, but being held under the arms from behind really negated a lot of movement. Iron Man’s forearms went straight up his shoulders and his hands wrapped around the back of Jason’s head, pushing it down. He couldn’t even reach the vulnerable elbow joints where they were hooked around his armpits, and it was all too easy for Iron Man to ignore his attacks. Jason growled. He had to take advantage while the man was still vertical, and try to use the forward push the man’s grip was providing; as soon as he started flying and leveled out, dangling Jason below him, it would be much harder to get any leverage. He jerked forward as far as he was able, kicking his legs back to wrap around Iron Man’s waist. It made his shoulders scream in protest, but he had long legs and he was able to wind them around and lock his ankles.
Iron Man huffed. “What are you doing?” He sounded amused, and Jason tightened his grip automatically. His legs were one of his strongest points; if it was a normal person holding him up, they’d be losing their breath and struggling to get him off. Stupid armor. Jason reached up and jabbed at the fingers behind his head. It was awkward and dangerous, since they were pressed to his head, and Jason gave up the jabbing after a few moments, trying to wiggle and pry under a plate. Iron Man snorted and leveled out, jetting deeper into the city, and Jason’s left shoulder gave way with the sudden shift in position. The loud crack rang in his ears, accompanying the burst of pain, and Jason let his legs drop before his other arm could join the first.
Shit.
The interrogation room was just like all the others he had seen in his life. Metal table and chairs bolted to the floor, handcuffs, bright light, and one-way mirror. Jason stared at the mirror, resisting the urge to break out of the handcuffs just to prove a point. He had been searched very thoroughly upon arriving at what turned out to be S.H.I.E.L.D.’s New York headquarters, but they still hadn’t noticed the thin bumps under the skin at the insides of his wrists. If he really needed to, he could rub the skin away and get the picks out, but that meant he would be bleeding and need medical attention, as well as slowing his response time and giving away those secret tools just because he was bored. Not worth it. But if he had to sit here for another hour without so much as a threat he was going to lose his mind. Not that he let any of that show, of course. He wasn’t a rookie.
“Mr. Bennet,” a man said, opening the door. Jason eyed him. White, middle-aged, receding brown hair, unremarkable face, unremarkable voice, unremarkable suit. This was a person who was designed to be inconspicuous, and that meant he was dangerous. But Jason didn’t need to let him know he was onto the game.
“Hi,” he said, sprawling further into his seat, ostensibly relaxing now that he knew his interrogator wasn’t a threat. His shoulder twinged at the motion, but Jason ignored it with the ease of long practice. They had relocated his arm after searching him, and the pain was steadily receding. Stark had actually looked apologetic, even though Jason had given no indication of pain while they did it. Heroes. Jason restrained a derisive snort. Always so soft-hearted.
The man had a file under his arm, and he placed it on the table as he took the seat opposite Jason. “I am Agent Coulson, and I’ve got a few questions for you.”
“Figured.”
Coulson was unfazed by his bad attitude, flipping open the file and spinning it to face Jason. “Is this you?”
Jason didn’t bother sitting up to actually look at it, barely letting his gaze skate over the image. “Nah,” he said, back to staring boredly at the one-way mirror. As if Coulson wasn’t even there.
Most people would get frustrated at that, a tick of the eyebrow, a tightening of the mouth, but Coulson was giving him nothing, and Jason raised his estimation of danger a little higher.
“I see.” Coulson folded his hands on the table. “I must tell you, Mr. Bennet, that we do have security footage placing you at the scene, as well as the testimony of several of our agents and Iron Man.”
“Iron Man picked me up on a rooftop,” Jason said. “I didn’t do anything, and he just, woosh,” he moved his hand like an airplane and snapped his fingers, “and nabbed me. Dunno why.”
“Of course,” Coulson said pleasantly. “And the armor and weaponry on your person?”
“I’m a parkourist.”
“The weaponry?”
“Self defense.” Jason let a rather nasty smile spread across his face. They both knew he was lying, and he was curious what the limits of the man’s calm composure was. “Never know what types are lurking around the city, you know. Gotta be careful.”
Coulson hummed, flipping a page. An image of a gun was on the next page, and Jason recognized it instantly. He had bought it off a guy in a back alley three days ago. It was a shitty piece, but it got the job done. “We retrieved this from the sewer; ballistics match the weapon used to kill Benedict Windrich.”
“Never heard of him. And that sounds like a police problem.”
“The modus operandi matches that of a few other murders committed throughout Europe and the United States over the past several months,” Coulson said, flipping another page. “As such, S.H.I.E.L.D. has taken an interest.” Jason fought not to stiffen in his seat. Shit. He had been getting sloppy if they were making patterns. He had been so drunk off the heady feeling of freedom from the League that he might have gone a bit overboard, now that he could kill only the people he wanted to kill, only the ones that deserved it.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“You were at the scene of the crime,” Coulson said pleasantly. “You have a large amount of weaponry, armor, and scarring on your person consistent with a mercenary. You ran when our agents approached you.”
“So would lots of people,” Jason interrupted. “Two suits coming at me with cop cars coming screeching in? Clearly something bad happened. How was I to know they weren’t involved and were going to shank me for being there?”
“And of course,” Coulson continued, still unfazed. It was starting to piss Jason off. “We have this.” He flipped another page, and Jason’s eyes widened despite himself. The photos were clearly stills from a video camera, and they were very clearly of him, inside Benedict Windrich’s office, shooting him. There was an impossible camera angle that looked like it was from Windrich’s perspective, and Jason’s face was clearly visible. Jason clenched his jaw, struggling not to show any reaction. “We took note of your targets,” Coulson said. “The rich and powerful who finance and profit from, shall we say, morally-dubious practices. We took precautions and added surveillance accordingly.”
“And yet you didn’t stop me,” Jason said, dropping the innocent act. There was no point. All the stubbornness in the world couldn’t change the picture of his face. He hadn’t bothered to wear a mask. They reminded him too much of the League, and those who saw his face generally didn’t live to tell the tale. He supposed Windrich hadn’t, at that, but he hadn’t expected the cameras. They hadn’t been there on his initial recon sweeps, which made it more likely that the camera actually was from Windrich’s perspective; something on his clothes, probably. “Why?”
“S.H.I.E.L.D. has its own priorities,” Cousin said, which was a nice non-answer.
Jason sat back in his chair, handcuffs clinking. “So what now?” They weren’t going to just ship him off to prison; no, if they had been planning that, they would have just done it already, slapped him and the evidence into the waiting hands of the NYPD and fucked off. He was still here, which meant they wanted something.
“You have a very interesting set of skills, Mr. Bennet. We have been keeping an eye on your movements. You have carried out seven high-risk hits across Europe and the United States and gotten away cleanly, despite local authorities and Interpol’s best efforts. S.H.I.E.L.D. is willing to make an offer.”
“What kind of offer?” Jason wasn’t stupid. He had just gotten out of one cultish organization specializing in espionage and assassination. He wasn’t about to sell his soul to another. But...if he was being honest with himself -- which he did try to be on occasion -- he was tired. The past months had been amazing and freeing and absolutely exhausting. Constantly on the run, first from just the League, then from law enforcement in a variety of countries. He could never stop, never just stay in a city for a few days and rest. The closest he had gotten to a break was the hours of surveillance he put on his targets before taking them out. But if he was working for S.H.I.E.L.D. he would be much harder for the League to spirit away. He’d have people to report to, people that would notice if he went missing. It was as much a downside as it was a benefit, but Jason was confident that if they got too overbearing he could easily break out. After all, the only reason he’d been caught in the first place was because Iron Man decided to show up and fuck him over.
“You would come to work for S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Coulson said predictably. “You would be put on a team under a handler and carry out a variety of missions, including espionage, retrieval, rescue, and assassination. In exchange, S.H.I.E.L.D. will expunge your record and provide you with room and board, as well as a monthly salary, insurance, and regular medical and psych evaluations. The equipment required for missions and basic furnishing requirements will be provided by S.H.I.E.L.D.; any other personal effects are your responsibility.”
Jason considered. It was a good deal, in theory, especially since the alternative was to be hunted by them after breaking out of prison, but…. “What level of freedom would I have?”
“You would have a trial period,” Coulson explained. He gave no indication whether Jason’s apparent amenability to the offer pleased him. “The duration will be determined by your handler and depend on how trustworthy you prove yourself. Initially, you would be under guard and closely supervised at all times. If you attempt to escape or harm these guards or anyone else in the facility, the deal will be off and you will be treated as a hostile. You will have a set of rooms to yourself and be given the chance to furnish them as you desire once your trial period is completed.”
“And until then?”
“You will be in one of our long-term holding cells. Any attempts to disable the security on or in the room, including surveillance equipment, will terminate the deal.”
He was being impressively forthcoming about all of this. But that didn’t mean Jason was just going to roll over and accept. He leaned forward a little, planting his elbows on the table. “I’m not gonna be one of your faceless suits,” he said. “That’s not how I work.” Never again.
Coulson watched him impassively. “Should you pass your trial period, that will not be an issue. Until that point, you will be working in one of our standard teams. This is non-negotiable.”
The green curled up his spine, threatening to twist his face into a snarl, but he forced it down and thought about it. This is a stupid idea, part of him yelled. We just got out, and you want to go right back to be a faceless goon for a killing organization? Why, because you’re scared?
“I have conditions,” he said finally.
Coulson made a ‘go on’ gesture.
“Protection,” Jason said. “I have made...powerful enemies, in my time. S.H.I.E.L.D. has to be willing to protect me from them.”
Coulson tilted his head in acknowledgment. “S.H.I.E.L.D. strives to keep all of its agents safe. Anything else?”
Jason eyed him, trying to do the math on how valuable he was to them. Fuck it, it was worth a shot. “I want veto power on missions,” he said. At that, he got a reaction, just the slightest eyebrow twitch. Jason kept his smirk on the inside; it wouldn’t do to make the man think he was just trying to get a rise out of him. That was just a nice bonus.
Despite his minuscule slip, Coulson’s voice was as placid as ever when he said, “That is an unusual request for one in your position.” Don’t push it.
Jason was an expert at pushing. “It’s the one I’m making.”
“May I ask why?”
Jason folded his arms as much as he was able with his cuffed hands. “You’ve seen my work. You know I have a code,” he said. The green swirled in his stomach. “I’m not going to be a weapon in someone’s hands, pointed wherever they want for any reason. I choose who I kill.” Woops, he’d let his voice get too heated there, giving away the emotion that ran deep under that statement.
Coulson watched him for a long moment. “May I assume you have had experience with that in the past?”
“Assume what you want,” Jason growled, slumping back in his seat. The handcuffs brought his arms up short and he gave them a sharp, frustrated jerk, the green refusing to simmer down to the low level he had been keeping it at so far.
“I will see what I can do,” Coulson said. “I assume this veto power applies to assassination missions only?”
The slightest change in tone tipped Jason off that this was the place to stop pushing. “Yeah,” he said. Honestly, he was surprised they were even considering it. Ra’s would have had him killed immediately for his audacity. Talia was more amenable to his principles, but she still would have had him punished if he was too rude about it.
Coulson nodded. “Anything else?”
Jason considered for a moment. Nothing that wouldn’t push too far. He didn’t want to lose the concessions he had already gotten. “I want it all in writing,” he said.
“Of course; we’ll have a contract written up for you immediately.”
Jason had no doubt. He’d be willing to bet that behind that mirror was a person from legal or HR or whatever the fuck international intelligence agencies had who was frantically editing whatever standard contract they had. He would be reading it thoroughly before he agreed to anything.
“Now, we do have a few questions,” Coulson said, and Jason subtly took a deep breath and forced the Lazarus Pit down. He needed to be on his toes, or he’d end up giving them so much more than he’d wanted. “You are in fact legally able to sign the contract? You don’t have a guardian we need to contact?”
Jason snorted. “Yeah, I’m legal.” Lie. But what was he supposed to say? ‘No, I’m actually 17, but I’ve been a missing person since I was 9 so I’m not actually sure who has legal custody of me or if I’m even legally alive. Maybe the woman who was in charge of my training, but she’s one of the people I’m on the run from so there’s no way she would agree to this and there’s no way I’m letting her get close enough for you to ask’? Yeah right.
Coulson nodded and didn’t look too fussed at taking Jason at his word. It probably wasn’t too unusual for an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D.. Jason could forge a birth certificate and SSN if he needed to, but hopefully they would just take the driver’s license they had learned his alias from as good enough.
“Are you an American citizen?”
“Yes.”
“Who trained you?”
“Lots of people,” Jason said. He wasn’t about to tell them the truth. That meant they would go digging, and the League would definitely notice and then it would be traced back to him and he’d lose any hope at keeping his location secret.
“Were any of those people affiliated in any way with Hydra, the Ten Rings, AIM, or the Hand?”
“No.” The League had been pinning their actions on the Hand for decades, ever since people started actually noticing them. They were a convenient scapegoat, but they weren’t actually affiliated with the League. As for the others, he was sure the League had some connections, even if it was just sleeper Shadows on the inside. Ra’s tolerated the other organizations; he wasn’t a eugenicist per se -- he wanted all of humanity whittled down, not one specific group -- but mass murders helped his own agendas, so as long as the others didn’t get in his way, he let them do their thing. But none of Jason’s teachers had ever admitted to being in any of said groups outright. That one guy with the metal arm who had taught him sniping years ago had been...weird, and he was pretty sure he’d caught a glimpse of a very familiar armband on the guy who was bossing him around, but he wasn’t sure. And even if he was, he wasn’t about to admit it to S.H.I.E.L.D..
“How long have you been working in this line of business?”
Jason hesitated. “Long enough,” he finally settled on.
Coulson’s eyes flicked up to him, his pen hovering over his notes. “More or less than five years?”
“Little less,” Jason admitted. His first real mission had been when he turned thirteen.
Jason could see Coulson doing the math. Even with the two years he had added onto his age for his fake ID, that number was way too young for comfort for most people.
“What was your primary assignment type during your previous employment?”
“Infiltration.”
Coulson glanced up again, those calm eyes boring into his. “To what end?”
Jason shrugged. “Assassination. Espionage. Enforcement.”
“What is your preferred mission type?”
Jason shrugged again. “I prefer assignments that don’t require a honey pot,” he offered. This was both true and had the benefit of making them think he was being open and honest about all of this.
Coulson’s face didn’t budge, but his eyes shot up to Jason fast enough that he knew that math was even less appealing than the previous set. “S.H.I.E.L.D. does not require its agents to take on that role,” he said. “Should you encounter a situation that requires it, it is up to your discretion, and your choice, whether to go through with it.” Jason kept his own face neutral. Well that was nice of them. ‘Oh yeah, we won’t force you to put out for the mission, it’s totally your choice whether to complete the mission or to back out because you couldn’t handle it.’ Right.
“Have you worked with teams before?”
“Worked with them; led them.” Jason folded his arms. The extent to which he had experience might be good information to keep to himself, but dammit he wasn’t going to go into this team trial with them thinking he was totally green. He had led complex missions with dozens of subordinates. He wasn’t an idiot and he wasn’t going to act like one.
“How many missions have you successfully led?”
“Twenty-three.” That was unusual even in the League. It was only because he was Talia’s protege that he was allowed the chance so young and so often, but he had proven himself time and again.
“And how many people did you have working under you, on average?”
“Between two and thirty.”
Coulson’s eyebrows twitched up an inch before dropping again. Jason allowed his proud smirk to show. That was an impressive number and he knew it. Coulson might as well know off the bat that he wasn’t going to mess around with his credentials. No matter how much of the truth he hid away, he was going to make damn sure he wasn’t being relegated to some newbie position.
“Impressive,” the man allowed, surprising Jason with the compliment. He nodded back. “Where do your loyalties lie?”
Jason raised one slow eyebrow. What was he supposed to say to that? The United States? Fuck no. S.H.I.E.L.D.? Yeah right. After a long moment he shrugged. “Myself.”
“Is that all?”
Jason smiled a little, tilting his head to the side. “No one else has shown themselves worthy of it.” Coulson hummed, scratching on his notepad. Jason rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not going to attack you or your people, because that would be bad for me. You’re giving me a decent offer.” Way better than the one I had before, he added silently. “You’re making it worth my while to have an alliance. Keep making it worth it and we won’t have any problems.”
Coulson surveyed him for a long moment before tilting his head in a nod. He stood up, collecting his papers and tucking them back into the folder. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Bennet. I’ll be back as your contract is prepared.”
The contract signing went pretty smoothly. Jason had a few clauses that he demanded to be reworded before he would put pen to paper, but Coulson merely asked for his reasoning and then left to fetch a new copy with the requested edits. After Jason had scrawled his name in Jay Bennet’s pointy handwriting, he was given a whole stack of other forms to work his way through. He kept his birth date the same, tweaking the year to match his driver’s license, placing him solidly at nineteen. He would have preferred twenty-one, but this alias was not well-documented -- the effort hadn’t seemed worth it when he was only supposed to be in the city for two weeks -- and he really needed S.H.I.E.L.D. to just accept the identity. He used to have lots of identities, each one made when they were needed and then stored carefully away, but all of those were tied to the League. If he dared to use any of those, they’d be on him in a heartbeat. He left the SSN and address blank, and hoped he wouldn’t be called out on it before he was able to hack the SSA. It wouldn’t be difficult -- hacking was one of the first things he had been taught, as a tiny malnourished nine-year-old who needed to be able to get through the warm-up exercises without hyperventilating before he could start his real training -- but it would be annoying.
Thankfully, Coulson merely took the papers, glanced through them, and tucked them away. “Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Mr. Bennet,” he said.
Jason shook his hand.