"Throws you off, doesn't it?" Hawkeye keeps his balance along the slick, narrow building ledge, steady regardless of the wind and rain whipping past him. He crouches once he reaches the Devil's perch, arm twisting to compensate for the length of the bow in his hand.

Clint usually respects the boundaries between the defenders of Hell's Kitchen and the rest of Manhattan, after all, you can't have 'heroes' stepping all over each other's feet... they were surprisingly territorial. But the criminal he's after is an Avengers problem, if an incredibly elusive one-- And Clint's not past asking for help rather than demanding that the masks here stay out of his way.

It's why he's the one here rather than the others.

"Anything?" His eyes scan the streets below; neon light refracting off of wet windows and deep, rippling puddles, steam pouring up from sewer grates and manhole covers. They'd tracked the guy this far.