On the title… it's from Bruce Springsteen's song "Badlands", aka that song is my Winterhawk anthem and I'll stand by that to the end of my days.
As always, I don't own the Avengers. Or "Badlands".
This fic has also been cross-posted to AO3 (under the same username) and tumblr (bookdancerfics). Both have direct links to the art with them, as well.
I wrote this for the 2017 WinterHawk Reverse Bang.
Finally, this fic wouldn't exist without sleepwalkerindreamersclothing (tumblr url), who created the amazing art that sent this fic on its way! Please make sure to stop by and give her all the love!
This is as historically accurate as an Avengers fic could be, with one exception: homophobia doesn't exist. I hope you all enjoy!
Trouble in the Heartland
Bucky walked towards the two-room law enforcement building with as much determination as he could manage. He stood tall and rested both of his hands, one flesh and one metal Tony Stark-patented prosthetic, on the pistols holstered at his waist. Although Bucky couldn't feel or see the metal star pinned to his vest without looking down, he forcefully reminded himself of its presence, reminded himself that Steve chose him to be a deputy for a reason. Whatever the reason, Bucky didn't particularly care, he was just glad to have a job. So many of his fellow Union soldiers were still looking for work after the war, but although the town would talk, it certainly paid to have your best friend and the sheriff be one and the same.
First day on the job… he could do this.
Deputy Sam Wilson walked out as Bucky walked in, and the two exchanged nods.
"Deputy," Bucky greeted.
"Deputy," Wilson said back, and jerked his head back to where Steve sat hunched over his desk in the middle of the room. "Sheriff wants to see you."
"Will do."
They both took a step, ready to continue about their day, but Wilson stopped abruptly and Bucky instinctively stopped as well, looking back at his new colleague.
"Barnes," Wilson said, and then hesitated, tapping a finger against his own holster while he thought. "I know we've never really been friends… but for what it's worth, I'm glad you accepted the position when Steve offered it to you." He held out a hand and Bucky grasped it. They shook hands once, firm and solid, before parting again. "Do good work," Wilson finished.
"You, too," Bucky answered, and finally they both turned and walked away.
Bucky surveyed the room carefully. Although his own father had been a deputy once, and Bucky had subsequently played in the room as a child, it looked different as an officer. The sheriff's desk still stood in the middle of the back wall, but the number of surrounding desks had grown with the town's population. Deputies occupied a quarter of the desks, while the other deputies were likely off-shift. A sign reading "Brooktown Law Enforcement"* hung above the sheriff's desk, and the sun half-heartedly streamed light through dirty windows to illuminate the space. A low hanging electric light hung in the middle of the room, which would remain off until dark. A door led back to the holding cells in the back corner.
Bucky approached Steve's desk and touched the brim of his cowboy hat in respect. Steve may have been his best friend, but he was still the sheriff.
"Deputy," Steve said, but didn't look up from his paperwork.
"Sheriff," Bucky answered.
Steve pushed a small dossier across the desk. The words "Thefts: Jun.12-?" stood out on the top, written in Steve's handwriting.
"Exactly what it says," Steve said. He finally looked up, pinched eyebrows the only sign that he felt stressed. "Look into it and take care of the problem. I know this is only your first day, but we've been spread pretty thin lately and I can't spare anyone else. Also…" Steve smiled. "I trust you, Bucky. I chose you as our new deputy because I knew you could make it here, not because you're my best friend. Prove me right, will you?"
Bucky nodded and brought the folder of information to his own desk. A nameplate, reading Deputy James Barnes, rested on the front of his desk, but the rest of the desktop stood bare. Bucky let the dossier drop and then sat down, pulling the folder's contents toward him.
Missing: Jewelry - July 12, 1865 - Richards
Missing: Cash Money - July 12, 1865 - Stark
Missing: Silverware - July 13, 1865 - Van Dyne
Missing: Paintings (stolen without frames) - July 13, 1865 - Jameson
Missing: Two Horses - July 14, 1865 - Grimm
Missing: Jewelry - July 14, 1865 - Potts
Each page in the dossier was a report of missing items and, in one case, two horses. From the records, Bucky surmised that two houses got robbed each night. The jewelry, silverware, and cash were likely taken because they couldn't be traced, not if the thieves pawned it off far enough away. The paintings didn't seem to be well known, so they were probably taken for the same reason. The horses, though… Bucky frowned at the report. What idiot would steal a horse around these parts, let alone two? Anyone who knew anything should have known that the horses would be marked for easy identification. Most of the time the method was just a precaution in case a horse escaped, but there was always a first time for everything.
Bucky frowned and tapped his pen against the folder. Maybe the thief stole the horses because they didn't know about horse identification? A sideshow arrived on the outskirts of Brooktown just less than a week ago, bringing excitement, music, and games with it. Could it have brought a thief, or even thieves, with it, too?
The northern outskirts of town, usually just grassland with a couple trees, thrummed with energy, tents, and people. Some of the townspeople walked up to him, congratulations on their lips, and he shook their hands even while he kept an eye out for anything suspicious. Small tents, each set up with games, surrounded one large tent. Music came from inside the larger one, which was obviously meant to be the center of command. A hulking figure stood outside with his hand on a pistol. Although he looked like he may have just stopped to survey the sideshow, Bucky knew that he hadn't moved since Bucky had arrived.
Bucky only stopped long enough for the guard to see the star on his chest, and then pushed his way into the large tent. Movement caught his eye and he turned to watch a boy run to the other side of the tent. Bucky almost dismissed the action until he saw who the boy stopped next to: a tall, skinny man with enough lean muscle on him to make anyone realize he was dangerous. A sword hung on his hip, and his stance, confident and self-aware, made Bucky instinctively dislike him. As he watched, the swordsman glanced Bucky's way and then handed the kid something… a candy bar? Was it coincidence, or a payment?
The swordsman crossed the tent with the familiarity of a long-time performer, dodging any animal, person, or prop that darted in and out of his way. He finally stopped in front of Bucky and flashed a smile.
"Good evening," the swordsman said. "Unfortunately we aren't allowing spectators in the Big Top right now, but you're welcome to return for tonight's performance."
Bucky smiled through his teeth and tapped the star on his chest. "Town deputy," he said. "You folks are staying rather long for such a small town, are you not?"
The swordsman smiled back, predatory. "We like to get as much out of a town as we can. Now, is there anything we can do for you, Deputy…?"
"Barnes," Bucky said. He folded his right hand over the hilt of his pistol. "Deputy Barnes."
"Deputy Barnes," the swordsman repeated. "Jacques Duquesne."
Bucky nodded at him and then made a show of looking around. "Mind showing me around the place? I just want to make sure everything is in tip-top shape, and I would hate to have to make this more complicated than it has to be."
Duquesne smiled again, lips curling coldly. "As I said, we have a show tonight, and I must return to my duties. Perhaps I could show you around tomorrow?"
"Yes," Bucky said. "I suppose that will do." He turned, tipping his hat at the swordsman as he left. "I'll see you at tonight's show, Mr. Duquesne."
As Bucky had promised, he returned to the sideshow's site just as streaks of pink, orange, and purple began to stretch across the sky. If the grounds had thrummed earlier, they thrived now, the whole area beating out an upbeat tempo of music and laughter. He'd gotten Wilson to try and get a search warrant from the town's magistrate, Judge Murdock, but Bucky doubted there'd be anything left to find after his talk with Duquesne.
Bucky frowned as he wandered around the grounds, ducking around the games and people as he looked for anything suspicious. He had definitely made the wrong move earlier. If Duquesne and the rest of the sideshow was guilty, and he was sure they were, then all Bucky had done was tip them off. Wilson hadn't said anything, but Bucky knew he was thinking the same thing. Maybe Steve had been wrong, maybe Bucky wasn't cut out for this kind of work. At least not yet. First day and he had already made a mistake that could cost them the whole case, not to mention several townspeople's property.
A trumpet's noise echoed through the night, and Bucky instinctively looked around to see where it came from.
One of the sideshow workers pointed at the largest tent, yelling loud enough for everyone around them to hear. "Show's about to start! Please make your way into the big top and find your seats!"
Bucky followed the crowd into the tent only to see that brightly colored lights transformed the interior from before, turning it from a sandy desert into an oasis. Wooden stands wrapped around the circular center stage, but Bucky didn't sit down. Instead he stayed by the tent entrance and leaned against one of the stands, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. His gut churned and Bucky did his best to calm it. He was only here to watch the performance and to keep an eye on the sideshow, nothing more. There was no need for nerves.
The lights began to go out one by one, until only one remained, shining down on the middle of the stage with the rest of the tent enveloped in shadows. A tall man stepped into the spotlight. He wore a suit with long coat-tails and a colorful top hat sat on his head, which tipped back as he beamed up at the audience.
"Hello to Brooktown!" he waved, turning in a circle so that everyone was included, and Bucky figured that he must have been the ringmaster. "We have a lot of events planned for tonight, each with their own special acts and performances, so let's get started! Allow me to present… the greatest show on earth!"
Bucky, to put it simply, didn't pay attention to the actual show. Instead he watched as the lights switched from green to blue to red to purple to the whole rainbow, each set lighting a different act. The rest of the big top stayed dark, but he could hear the oohs and ahhs of the townspeople.
One of the trapeze artists pretended to fall, bringing a collective, sharp gasp from the audience, only to be caught before she hit the ground. Bucky's eyes narrowed as the trapeze artists finished their performance and bowed in another one. The sideshow as a whole seemed bold, daring… and dangerous. He had no doubt that they possessed the skill-set necessary to pull off the heists in town. But how to prove that they'd actually done it?
The lights turned purple, illuminating a figure standing at the edge of the center stage. A purple tunic covered the performer's torso and thighs while a lack of sleeves and two arm bands helped define his biceps. A mask, also purple, stretched across his face.
Bucky's investigative thoughts stopped. He couldn't help but stare at the performer, who pulled a bow from over his shoulder and held up three arrows, all clutched between the fingers of his right hand. More purple lights showed three targets positioned around the stage, each smaller than the last. Bucky sucked in a shaky breath when he realized that an audience member sat directly behind each target. If the archer missed, someone could die.
The performer turned away from the targets, the arrows still held up in the air. Suddenly he whipped back around, and before Bucky could blink or even try to follow the path of each individual arrow, the target lights turned white. Bucky could only stare, gaping, at the arrows sticking out of each target.
Bullseye.
Bullseye.
And a third bullseye.
The archer pulled an arrow from a quiver hanging off his hip and promptly shot it at the first target. The target's light turned purple, and the arrow split down the middle of the first one. Second target, same thing. The performer turned towards the third target, the smallest one, and the whole audience stood on their feet, yelling encouragement.
The arrow left his bow and the third target's light turned purple again.
Bullseye, for the sixth time on only three targets.
The show wasn't over yet, though, as the purple lights swung from the stationary targets to the end of the tent. Bucky stepped to the side so that they just missed him. Above him, five more targets were lowered from the tent rafters, each ending up at a different height. At first, Bucky couldn't tell what was so special about these, except that they were at a greater distance than the first three.
Then the five targets began to move.
Bucky caught a glimpse of the ropes pulling the targets back and forth, then followed them back to the shadows, where he could just make out people pulling on them.
An arrow thunked into one of the targets, bullseye, and Bucky whipped his gaze back to the archer. The crowd, still on its feet from earlier, cheered again, and the archer held up two more arrows, positioning one on the string. Two more thunks echoed through the tent, the second arrow leaving the archer's bowstring even before the first one hit its target.
Bucky couldn't find it in himself to look away as the archer swung himself into a no-handed cartwheel, shooting the arrow as soon as he landed.
Another bullseye.
Then the archer made a show of taking off his shoes, waving each one around after it was off. Glancing around, Bucky could tell that no one else had any clue as to what the archer meant to do.
One of the lights moved to the side of the tent, where one of the workers walked out with a contraption that looked like a 'Y'. The worker waved it around once he got to the archer, then placed it on the ground and fiddled around with it, likely making sure that the contraption was stable.
As soon as he stepped away from the contraption, the archer raised one leg and placed his bow in between his toes. He grasped the points of the 'Y'-contraption and lifted himself into a position somewhat like a handstand.
Then his free foot reached toward the worker, who placed an arrow between the archer's toes. Bucky sucked in a breath, his eyes widening.
Slowly, obviously making sure he didn't make a mistake, the archer bent his body so that his head and legs curved in the same direction, his head bending toward his back. Once the arrow was in place, the bow drawn, the archer watched the last moving target, waiting for the moment to shoot.**
Another thunk, and Bucky stared at the last bullseye as the rest of the crowd cheered and the archer swung back down to land on his feet. The archer had just made a shot many would say was impossible.
The performer waved at the audience, a smile on his face, then left the stage as the ringmaster returned.
"What a performance!" the ringmaster yelled. The audience roared their applause, still on their feet after the archer's act. "But we're not done yet! I'd like you all to welcome two of our best, the Swordsman and his partner, Trickshot!"
The lights turned red, but Bucky didn't stay to watch. Instead he quietly turned and left the big top.
His thoughts whirled around the archer. Suddenly, Bucky couldn't help but hope that the whole side show wasn't involved in the robberies. His heart thudding, Bucky felt the need to prove to himself that the archer was innocent. He had to be. That performance… Bucky swallowed and let his feet take him around the big top, towards the performers' entrance. He couldn't explain it. He just knew that he needed the archer to be innocent.
Bucky rounded the corner just in time to watch the archer, still in costume with his bow and quiver, exit the big top and walk toward the sideshow's caravans. The large wagons stood on the outskirts of the grounds, out of the way but still close for the performers and workers of the sideshow.
Bucky glanced around, tugged his cowboy hat so that it shadowed his face, and then followed the archer. They walked for a couple minutes before the performer stopped beside one of the larger wagons. It looked more fancy than the others, and Bucky felt a brief pang of despair beat through his chest. It certainly looked like a wagon that could only be bought with more money than a sideshow performer could put together. Evidence of him being a thief? Bucky hoped not.
Just like Bucky minutes earlier, the archer looked around carefully, turning in a full circle before he seemed to be satisfied. Bucky ducked behind another wagon just in time to avoid being spotted. When he dared to look again, the archer was just disappearing up the steps into the wagon.
Bucky breathed in deeply, dropping his hand to the pistol at his side in reassurance. There was only one way to guarantee the archer's innocence, he told himself. Walk up there and talk to him.
He steeled himself and walked to the side of the wagon, knocking as loudly on the support post as he could.
No answer.
Bucky frowned and knocked again, but again, no one exited the wagon or said anything.
Finally walking up the steps and looking in the wagon, Bucky saw the archer crouched over a large, open chest. Jewels, silverware, and other valuables piled up from inside the chest. Amongst them, Bucky could clearly see two rolled up canvases, likely paintings.
Disappointment dropped into his stomach, sitting as heavy as the pistol at his side.
Somehow, Bucky managed to march into the wagon and yank the archer to his feet, tightening a pair of handcuffs around the archer's wrists.
"You're under arrest for theft," Bucky said, his voice dull even to his own ears. His first arrest, and it was the one person in this sideshow who he had wanted to be innocent. "I'm taking you back to the sheriff."***
"What?" the archer said, trying to twist and look at Bucky.
Bucky's heart jumped at his voice, and he focused on leading the performer out of the wagon in order to avoid meeting his eyes.
"Let me explain," the archer protested.
"You can tell it to the sheriff," Bucky said.
"Please," the archer continued, but Deputy Wilson approached them from the direction of the big top, waving papers at them.
"Got the warrant," Wilson greeted.
"Got the loot," Bucky said in return. "In the wagon, a whole chest of it. The horses are probably around here somewhere." He jerked his head toward the archer. "Got the thief, too. Or at least one of them."
Wilson nodded, smiling. "Good work, Deputy. Take him back to the station, I have other deputies with me to take care of things here."
"Can I explain?" the archer asked again, but Bucky just led him back toward the town.
Bucky marched the archer through the law enforcement building to the cheers of everyone else. Even Steve sat back, arms crossed over his chest, and beamed over at Bucky with all the pride he could muster. Bucky wished he could summon his own pride, it was his first official arrest as a deputy after all, but all he could think about was who he had arrested.
As soon as they walked into the room of holding cells, the archer jolted in his cuffs.
"Please," he said again, trying to look at Bucky. "Let me explain."
Bucky just grunted and dumped the archer's bow and quiver on the table. Then he unlocked both the cell and the handcuffs, pushing the performer inside. "I'll get the sheriff."
"Just give me a chance." The archer finally turned to look at Bucky. His eyes focused on Bucky's lips, and Bucky's heart leapt.
"Sheriff," Bucky managed, his mouth dry.
He locked the cell, still staring at the archer, and then stumbled back into the main room on shaky legs.
Steve looked up when Bucky stopped in front of his desk.
"Congratulations," Steve said. A broad smile spread across his face until it lit up his eyes.
Bucky just looked down at his own feet, rubbing his fingers over his pistol. Part of him knew it was a bad habit, to be so reliant on the knowledge that he had a weapon. The other part protested that a weapon was the only thing that kept him alive in the war. His pistol, and sheer dumb luck.
"What's wrong?" Steve asked, and Bucky didn't even need to look up to know that Steve's smile had turned into a frown.
Bucky shook his head and tugged his cowboy hat so that it sat more snuggly over his head. "Nothing. The suspect wants to talk to you."
"Bucky." Steve's voice was low, the one that said he knew Bucky was hiding something.
Bucky grunted and finally lifted his head, meeting Steve's eyes.
Steve just frowned harder at him.
Bucky sighed. "He wants to explain something, although I caught him with the goods so I'm not sure what else there is to explain."
"And?"
Bucky shifted, self-conscious. Screw Steve and his disappointed voice. "And he didn't specifically ask for the sheriff, I just said I'd get you."
Somehow, Steve's frown deepened even more. "I'm not going to ask why you decided to neglect the end of your first case in such a way. At least not right now. But I assigned you this case, Deputy Barnes." Steve, no, Sheriff Rogers, jerked his head back toward the holding cells. "How about you go finish it."
"Yes, sir," Bucky answered. He almost apologized, he knew that Steve was disappointed with him, but he also knew that the real apology Steve wanted was the conclusion of the investigation. If that was really the case, then the best thing Bucky could do was stop dawdling and go question the suspect.
Bucky walked toward the holding cells and stopped just outside the door, steeling himself. Then he opened the door and entered the room. He walked in with as much confidence as he could muster, nodding at the performer in greeting and then seating himself at the one table in the room. It only had two chairs, typically used for questioning, but Bucky didn't know what he would do if he actually had the archer sitting across from him. Self-combust, maybe. In any case, Bucky didn't want to risk it. He'd just have to leave the archer in his cell and question him from there.
Bucky swung his feet up on the table, crossing them at the ankles, and leaned back with his hands behind his head. The position never failed to ooze confidence, no matter how anxious someone was while using it. Bucky had grown up watching Tony Stark perfect it.
The archer stood up from where he'd been seated on the cot, closing his hands around the bars.
"Sheriff?" The performer asked. "That is who you went to get, right?"
Bucky shrugged, raised his eyebrows at the other man, and smirked lightly.
The archer came as close to huffing in annoyance as Bucky had ever seen.
"Just let me explain," he said.
"So you've said," Bucky replied. "Doesn't mean I have to believe you. And the sheriff's not coming, so I guess you're stuck with me."
The archer stared at him blankly. "What?"
"So you've said," Bucky repeated. "Doesn't mean -"
"No," the other man said. "I can't catch all those words just by lip reading."
Bucky stopped abruptly, blinking in surprise. "What?"
"I'm deaf," the archer said. "Find another way to communicate that doesn't involve me staring at your mouth and only catching half of what you say." This time, he was the one to smirk. "I don't really mind having to stare at your mouth, but I really would like to know what it's saying."
Bucky felt his chair start to slide out from under him as he lost concentration on balancing. Only a quick grab for the table saved him from falling on his ass and humiliating himself.
"I…" he started, stared at the way the archer's eyes followed his lips, and blushed so hard he felt it heat up his cheeks and spread down his neck. The archer only looked amused. "Yes. I can do that… Give me five minutes."
The other man tilted his head, a questioning look on his face.
Bucky flashed a thumbs up at him and then held up all five fingers of his right hand. The archer nodded.
Bucky returned in even less time than he said, a piece of paper and a pen in hand. He unhooked the cuffs from where he'd put them back on his belt and then gestured at the archer to move to the other side of his cell. Once the performer followed his instructions, Bucky unlocked the cell and walked inside. He closed one of the cuffs around the archer's left hand and then led him to the table, cuffing him to one of the table legs.
The archer sat in the chair closest to him, while Bucky sat in the other and pulled the paper and pen closer to himself.
name?
"Clint Barton."
occupation?
"Do you really need to ask that?"
Bucky shrugged.
"… Sideshow performer."
whose wagon did i find you in?
"That'd be Jacques's, he's the Swordsman."
so why were you there?
Clint leaned closer, resting his one free elbow on the table. "You want the truth?"
that is why i'm taking your statement. Bucky raised an eyebrow at the other man.
"I wanted to steal it from him."
Bucky paused, his pen hovering over the paper. He looked up at Clint, who stared back with determination in his eyes.
you mean…
"He ran the crew who stole everything. From this town, from other towns… it's a whole sideshow of crime."
who's in the crew?
Clint shrugged. "The Swordsman and Trickshot run the crew, everyone else fits in when necessary."
the whole sideshow?
Clint shifted, a guilty look crossing his face. "The whole sideshow."
Bucky frowned back.
so you confess to stealing from the town?
"Yes? It's complicated."
Bucky didn't hesitate.
so un-complicate it
Clint sighed and tapped his fingers on the table. "I never meant to become a thief. My brother, Barney, and I… we ran away from an orphanage when we were just kids. The sideshow took us in, treated us like family. At least until we figured out they were just using us. By that time it was too late, though. We were already working for the Swordsman."
why didn't you go to the law?
Clint snorted. "And turn ourselves in? No, thanks."
Bucky didn't even have to say anything; he just gave a pointed look around the room and then looked back at the archer, who sighed.
"I didn't say it was a good plan. Anyway, Barney… he got used to it. I think if he got an out he'd take it, but for now it's how he survives. And if Barney's good at anything, it's surviving."
so why steal the loot?
Clint shrugged. "I got tired of being the crook. All my life, I've heard stories of heroes. Maybe I can't be a hero, but I can at least stop breaking the law, right?"
you expect me to believe that you're a crook going good?
"Believe or not, it's happening. And you'll let me out of here in the end, trust me on that."
we'll see. so… the loot?
For once, the archer actually looked sheepish. "If I were to make a living off of already stolen items, then I'd have enough to get by on for a few months at least, if not a full year. It would give me time to set Barney and I up someplace nice. Then we'd go straight. At least in terms of good versus evil." Clint winked, and Bucky felt himself blush again. Damn that archer and his smooth words.
the horses?
Clint looked puzzled. "What about them?"
why steal them if they can be identified?
"They're my getaway horses. We can't be expected to escape on foot, right? Besides, I've got a dog that I left with a friend****. I should have picked him up weeks ago, I need to get back as soon as possible."
Bucky nodded and tapped his pen against the table, thinking. It at least sounded like the archer was telling the truth. But there was no way to figure out if he was lying, either.
why should i believe you?
Clint sat back, pausing in his explanation. Finally he settled back in, like he'd just decided something for himself. Bucky hoped it was the decision to tell the truth.
"Because some of the crew is planning on robbing the bank tonight. And you'll need my help to stop them."
the bank can't be broken into
Clint shrugged. "Not from above ground, no. But these jobs we've been pulling all week… you didn't really think they were just for the loot, did you? They were a distraction. We've been tunneling in from the alley and scoping out our exit."
Bucky frowned, trying to figure out if that would, in fact, be possible. Nothing he knew said otherwise.
He held up his index finger, one second. Clint nodded, and Bucky left to find Steve.
Steve gave him an unimpressed look when he stopped at the sheriff's desk.
"Back so soon?"
"Barton confessed to everything," Bucky replied.
"We have a name, then?"
"We have a name," Bucky agreed. "Clint Barton, he's one of the performers at the sideshow."
"And what did he have to say?"
"The robberies have only been distractions… Steve, they're planning on robbing the bank."
Instead of automatically protesting, like Bucky had, Steve just looked contemplative, rubbing one hand over his chin. "Are you certain that Barton is telling the truth?"
Bucky sighed, shrugging. "Honestly, no. But if he is…?"
He didn't need to finish the sentence. Steve already knew.
Bucky could pinpoint the exact second that Steve began to channel his inner-sheriff, standing up with his shoulders back and his spine straight.
"Deputy Wilson, choose three of our best deputies and tell them to get ready for a briefing. Let all of the other deputies know that they should be on standby should we need it. Deputy Barnes, get Barton ready for the briefing. We're going to need as much information as we can get for this one."
"Yes, sir," Bucky and Wilson echoed each other.
Bucky barely resisted the urge to salute, instead spinning on one heel and walking back to the holding cells. Behind him, he knew that Wilson would be following Steve's orders.
"Barton," he started, and then stopped, staring. Clint looked up from his seat. From Bucky's seat, technically. The handcuffs, previously cuffing the archer to the table, now dangled from his fingers.
"Sorry," Clint smirked. "I just couldn't help myself."
"If the Sheriff found out," Bucky hissed, forcefully standing Clint up and swinging him into his original seat. He snatched the cuffs from the other man and then locked Barton's hand to the table leg again.
"I can't hear you," Clint sang, his voice mocking.
Bucky grabbed the paper and pen, then stared as passive aggressively at Clint as he could while he wrote.
you're lucky the sheriff didn't see that
Just then, Steve, Wilson, and three other deputies walked in, and Bucky scrambled to hide the last line that he had written with his arm, leaning on it as casually as he could.
The other five officers stood against the wall or the cell bars, arms crossed over their chests.
Steve nodded at Barton. "Tell us everything."
"Tell you… what?" Clint said.
Bucky glanced up at Steve. "He's deaf, Sheriff." He flipped the paper over and slid it toward Steve, who grabbed the pen.
tell us everything
Clint leaned forward, reading the words. He frowned. "Didn't Mr. Deputy over here already tell you?"
tell us everything what we need to know to catch them
Barton shrugged. "They'll be robbing the bank at midnight tonight, through a passageway that they've been digging from the back alley. We picked up some explosives a few towns back, they'll be using those to blow a hole through the wall of the vault. It's supposed to be an in-and-out job after the explosion, maximum of five minutes." He glanced up at the sheriff and deputies. "Your average response time."
Steve nodded, waving a hand to tell Clint to continue talking.
"They know I was arrested, but they also know that they're all under suspect. They'll probably attempt the robbery thirty minutes to an hour early, to catch you off guard. They'll also come armed with extra weapons." Barton shifted, then looked Bucky in the eye. "You should expect a firefight."
"We'll go prepared, then," Steve said. "It's already ten o'clock, and we should set up early. Barnes, you're with us. Meet us out back after Barton is back in his cell." He clapped one hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I'll get your horse ready."
Bucky watched as Steve, Wilson, and the other deputies left the room, then turned to Barton.
if i leave you here
Bucky hesitated, looking at Clint. But the archer did seem to have good intentions.
if i leave you here, you can take care of yourself?
Clint's eyes widened, staring at the words and then up at Bucky. He nodded, but grabbed at Bucky's wrist when he reached for the paper.
"Name?" Clint asked.
Bucky blinked at him, then reached for the pen.
Bucky Barnes
Clint nodded. "Good luck out there, then, Barnes."
Bucky could only nod in return, tucking the paper into his pocket before leaving.
He could only hope that Barton understood exactly what he meant by "take care of yourself".
Bucky, Steve, Wilson, and the other three deputies left their horses tied to posts outside the saloon, then took up watch at a table near a side window. It gave them a good view of the alley behind the bank, even with the weak light from the candle on their table.
At 11:30, eight figures snuck into the alley. Wilson noticed them first, tapping the table to catch everyone else's attention and then pointing out the window. Within seconds, Steve was waving them all through the side entrance. They had discussed the possibility of catching them in the vault itself, but none of them wanted to risk property damage that the whole town would have to pay for. Instead, they wanted to trap them all in the tunnel, where they couldn't all resist at the same time.
When Bucky emerged from the saloon, Steve already had one of the eight thieves pinned against the bank wall, cuffs twisting over his wrists.
"Exit the tunnel one at a time!" Wilson yelled down the tunnel. "You're all under arrest!"
A bullet answered him, narrowly missing Wilson's ear and embedding itself into the saloon wall. Wilson fired back and a cry of pain echoed from the tunnel.
Steve shoved the handcuffed thief at Bucky. "Take him into the saloon," he yelled. "Tell Cage to clear out any customers and lock the front door."
Bucky hauled the thief through the saloon's side door and automatically caught the owner's attention. "Luke! Clear the place out and lock the front door. We'll be using your saloon as a holding area for now."
Bucky barely waited for Cage's response, just took note of the other man ushering his customers out the front door. Part of Bucky felt guilty, knowing that the saloon owner would likely lose business for closing early, but hopefully he could convince Steve to reimburse Cage for his help and cooperation.
Bucky emerged into a true firefight. The seven remaining thieves were determined to make a clean getaway while Steve, Wilson, and the other deputies tried to keep them pinned down by the tunnel.
Outnumbered, the officers tried to turn the fight into one of close combat. Steve grasped a round, metal trash can lid***** and hurled himself into the mouth of the tunnel. He bowled over the thieves, somehow ending up between them and the bank vault. Moonlight glinted off of the raised trash can lid.
"Rogers!" Wilson yelled in what was likely admonishment, quick to follow.
Bucky barely registered joining the other deputies at the tunnel, throwing a punch with his prosthetic arm. The town blacksmith, Tony Stark, had personally reinforced and improved the prosthetic that Bucky received with his pension from the Union, demonstrating its reinforcements by literally punching his way through a wooden block.
The prosthetic didn't fail him - a loud crack echoed through the tunnel, and the thief screamed as he fell to the dirt floor. Bucky slapped cuffs on him as fast as he could and then shoved the crook at one of the other deputies.
"Barnes!"
Bucky turned only to get shoved to the floor right as a shot exploded, loud in the tunnel. His back hit the floor and someone landed on top of him, knocking the breath from his lungs. Somehow he managed to throw a punch. It was weak after his fall, but still made contact with whoever had tackled him.
His fist plowed into the other man's muscled bicep. A soft cry answered him, and all of a sudden Bucky recognized the voice that had called his name.
Something wet dripped onto his right hand.
"Barton?" he asked, almost afraid to get an answer. None came, but that only made his stomach churn with more nerves.
Reaching out, Bucky grasped the shoulder of whoever lay on top of him.
"Son of a -" Clint gasped.
"Shit," Bucky hissed. Warm liquid coated his palm and fingers from where he gripped at Clint's shoulder.
"Barnes?" Clint said.
Another shot fired above them, interrupting Barton, and then someone tripped over them. Bucky shoved at the ground, pushing himself up. Barton did his best to follow, his moonlit silhouette hovering over Bucky before his left arm gave out. He collapsed back onto Bucky, who cursed again when Clint's head made contact with his own shoulder.
"Shit," Barton muttered, unknowingly echoing Bucky. "Barnes?" he said again.
Bucky tapped his cheek in acknowledgement, and Clint peered forward in the darkness.
"I'm gonna assume that's you," Clint said. "Looks like your hat anyway. What I can see of it, I mean."
Bucky grabbed Clint's hand with his prosthetic. Clint's breath of relief barely reached his ears with the sounds of battle around them.
"I've been shot," Clint said next, and Bucky snorted, his whole body jerking with the force of it. As if he didn't already know that. "Don't laugh."
Bucky rubbed the back of Clint's hand in a silent apology, then helped to lever the archer to his feet. More gunshots went off, but Bucky couldn't see where they came from, and the best he could do was press Clint to the tunnel wall, shielding the archer with his own body.
Peering around, Bucky's eyes finally adjusted to the dark. Clint's tackle had moved them further into the tunnel, where the moonlight couldn't reach, but now he could make out the distinct shapes of people all around him, crowded in the tunnel.
The trash bin lid, wielded by Steve earlier, careened past Bucky's nose and took out one of the crooks at the waist. Bucky took advantage of the path it cleared and dragged Clint toward the tunnel entrance, his fingers entangled with Clint's.
They emerged from the tunnel only to stumble right into Steve. The sheriff grabbed at Bucky's shoulders, scanning him to make sure he was ok. Bucky ran his own eyes over Steve but didn't see anything to worry about. The worst injury looked like a scrape on Steve's jaw.
Clint's fingers tightened in Bucky's when Steve turned his attention to the archer.
"We'll talk later," Steve told Bucky, his voice stern. Bucky found himself nodding without thinking about what those words might mean. "For now get Barton to the infirmary."
Bucky nodded again, already turning away from the firefight. Steve clapped a hand on Bucky's shoulder.
"Make sure you lock him up properly this time!" Steve's voice called after them, and Bucky somehow winced and blushed at the same time.
Clint glanced up at Bucky, as if he was actually worried about him. Bucky reminded himself that Clint wouldn't have heard what Steve said. Then Clint tripped over his own feet, and all Bucky could do was catch him.
Bucky was fully aware that it now looked like they'd been dancing, like Bucky had dipped the archer, their fingers still folded together and Bucky's prosthetic keeping Clint from falling.
"Your eyes are so pretty," Clint said, staring up at Bucky.
"… what?" Bucky managed. He considered it a miracle that he hadn't dropped Clint.
"Shit," Clint said. "Did I say that out loud?"
Bucky nodded, his whole body numb.
"… can I blame the blood-loss?"
Bucky shook his head. If it was just the blood-loss then Clint didn't really like him. Not like that, anyway.
"Shit."
"Get him out of here!" Wilson yelled, passing them as he ran out of Cage's saloon.
Bucky only nodded and pulled Clint upright again, then continued dragging the other man toward the front of the saloon. They reached his horse and Bucky quickly tightened the saddle's girth, previously loosened for his mare's comfort. Then he unhitched the horse, mounting easily. Bucky settled into the saddle and tightened the reigns as his horse took a nervous step back. Finally, he held his hand out to Clint.
The archer stared at it, then looked back to where they both knew the fight was winding down. Bucky had every confidence that the thieves would all be rounded up sooner than later. Clint didn't hesitate any longer, though, grabbing Bucky's hand and letting Bucky pull him up behind the saddle. Clint's arms wrapped around Bucky's waist, and Bucky started them off toward the infirmary.
Bucky called for help the moment they trotted up to the infirmary. Clint's grip on his waist had progressively loosened with every street corner, until the only thing keeping the archer on the horse was Bucky's arm looped in his.
Claire Temple, the best doctor their town had, rushed out of the infirmary with gloves already on and blood coating her apron. One of the deputies who had been at the firefight, James Rhodes, followed her, a grim look on his face.
Bucky shot him a questioning look.
"One of the thieves just died," Rhodes answered, and Bucky sucked in a breath when he felt Clint tense against his back.
"B'ney?" Clint asked. Bucky looked back at him to see his face white and eyes locked on Rhodes's lips.
"Barney Barton?" Bucky said. Rhodes shook his head.
Clint relaxed, his grip slackening even more, and Bucky felt Clint's body slip sideways as he finally passed out. Bucky instinctively grabbed for him as his arms slid from Bucky's, but Claire was already there, catching Clint before he hit the ground.
"Rhodes," she called, and the deputy hurried to her side, slinging Clint over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Then she turned back to Bucky. "Hitch your horse up and then come inside. There's more of these crooks on my cots than there are left in that alley."
"Will do," Bucky said. He didn't bother protesting that Clint wasn't one of the crooks. Until today, he had been.
As soon as Claire pronounced Clint stable, if a bit disoriented from blood loss, Bucky sat at the archer's side and refused to move. Claire patted his shoulder in understanding and then busied herself with the other men's injuries.
Clint would be okay, the bullet had only grazed his arm and infection would be staved off by how quickly they got him medical attention. But Bucky couldn't help but replay the past few hours in his mind, anyway.
He had purposefully left Clint locked to the table instead of inside his cell, knowing that the archer had picked his handcuffs before and could certainly do it again. If anyone ever found out, then Bucky would be fired with no questions asked, maybe even get locked up himself. Of course, he hadn't expected for Clint to go straight to the firefight, but that's what had happened nonetheless.
It was Bucky's fault that Clint was injured, that Clint was handcuffed to his infirmary cot.
Bucky buried his face in his hands.
"Barnes?"
The voice was soft, almost weak, but definitely the archer.
Bucky looked up, and Clint looked back.
Clint wiggled his handcuffed hand back and forth, the metal clinking. "Again?" he joked. "Aren't we moving… a little too fast?"
Bucky shook his head in barely contained amusement, already reaching for the paper and pen that Claire had left.
very funny
"I live to amuse," Clint smirked.
Bucky paused before he continued writing. While he had waited for Clint to wake up, numerous thoughts had run through his head, most of them dismissed by Bucky himself. But one had risen to the top, refusing to go away.
what if you didn't?
"What?"
Confusion painted Clint's face, but Bucky pushed on.
you're going to be sent to jail. not just a cell, actual jail. you already incriminated yourself. and now you have not just one, but two officers watching your every move. you won't be able to pull the same stunt again.
"What's your point?" Clint's voice came out stiff, and Bucky doubted he'd thought through his plan before arriving at the firefight.
why did you come to the bank?
Clint shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. "I know these crooks, you don't. I…" He picked at the sheet covering his legs. "I wanted to make sure you'd be alright."
why did you save me?
"Instinct," Clint said. He said it so matter-of-factly, Bucky couldn't believe it'd been anything else. "What does this have to do with me going to jail?"
what if you didn't?
"Stop answering my questions with -" Clint stopped, reread the question, and then looked up at Bucky with a startled expression on his face. "What?"
i owe you one. and maybe a little more than that.
"You are the literal law," Clint said. "Why would-"
Bucky looked around, making sure that Claire wasn't in the room. Then he leaned in and kissed Clint. One of the other crooks wolf-whistled, but Bucky ignored him. The only one he was worried about was Clint, who wasn't responding, who sat frozen, who -
Bucky moved back, his face hot with shame. Obviously Clint didn't like him like that. Obviously he hadn't actually been flirting with Bucky. Obviously -
Clint reached out, grabbed Bucky by his button-up vest, and yanked him back down. Bucky practically fell on top of the archer, barely managing to stop his own fall with a well-placed arm. And then Clint kissed him.
During the war, there had been several days when Bucky's unit didn't have access to clean water. Some of his fellow soldiers had succumbed to their thirst, drinking the dirty water only to die of disease, but Bucky and the rest had managed to wait. When they finally drank for the first time in days, it had felt like Bucky was submerging his whole body in water instead of just his mouth. He hadn't thought that feeling could ever be beaten.
He'd thought wrong.
They parted only after their lungs cried for air, their chests heaving. Clint licked his lips, and Bucky leaned in to give him one more kiss, lingering as he left.
"Oh," Clint breathed.
"Oh," Bucky echoed, and watched Clint's eyes follow his lips again.
In the end, the two officers watching all the crooks didn't matter. Bucky was one of them, after all, and although he felt a little guilty hitting the other deputy over the head, the guilt didn't have a chance against how his heart beat overtime with Clint's hand in his.
Everyone else slept soundly, not even waking when Bucky creaked the door open. He and Clint slipped outside so easily that Bucky almost worried it was a trap.
They paused by Bucky's horse, Bucky grabbing the saddle blanket so he could get the mare ready.
"What about Barney?" Clint asked. He leaned against the hitching post, arms crossed over his chest. Bucky couldn't see it, but his eyes were drawn to the white bandage that he knew covered Clint's shoulder.
But no matter how guilty Bucky felt, he knew the answer.
"No," he said, tightening the girth around his horse's barrel chest.
He remembered Steve entering the infirmary, remembered getting scolded for not locking Clint up properly. Remembered asking about a Barney Barton.
"All locked up," Steve had said. "Confessed, even. Said your Clint Barton was the mastermind behind it all. Guess that's why they didn't take too kindly to being sold out."
"What?" Bucky had said.
Steve had looked at him, eyebrows drawn together. "Barney's the one who shot Clint."
"No," Bucky told Clint again, then got out the paper to write.
i'm sorry. but he's lost. and i don't think he's coming back.
Clint stared at the paper, then up at Bucky, like he'd somehow misread the words and hoped Bucky could explain them.
Bucky couldn't. He didn't know how to.
"I'm going to teach you sign language," Clint said. He turned his back on Bucky, clutching at the hitching post with both hands like it was the only thing he knew for sure. "And then you're going to explain that to me."
Clint couldn't hear Bucky. He couldn't even see if Bucky was writing, wouldn't be able to read the words unless he turned around.
"Alright," Bucky said anyway, and squeezed Clint's shoulder.
Finally Clint turned around, falling into Bucky's arms like they were the only things that could put him together again. Bucky held him tight just in case they were.
They stopped on the outskirts of town, Clint's arms wrapped around Bucky's waist again. Their only possessions were the mare, food and water in the saddlebags, and the clothes on their backs.
Bucky could see the electric lights of the law enforcement building from where they stood, and he instinctively brought a hand up to touch the metal star on his chest. Starting tomorrow, he would need to take it off.
All his work to get where he was, undone in one night.
Somehow, as Clint's arms tightened around his waist and Bucky spurred their horse forward, he couldn't find it in himself to care.
Sometimes things just got left behind. Bucky could only hope he held onto this, onto Clint, forever.
A/N:
* So I made a brief attempt to look up small towns in California 1865 only to scrap that idea as fast as it came. Instead I made one up: Brooktown, both an homage to Steve and Bucky's hometown of Brooklyn and a name that screams "small town".
** So the whole 'shoot an arrow with your feet' thing is completely possible! There's a bunch of videos on YouTube if anyone wants to look it up.
*** The Miranda Rights weren't created until 1966.
**** Would these happen to be Lucky and Kate Bishop? Why yes, yes they would.
***** When? Were trash cans invented? (I looked it up but couldn't find anything… I decided to go with metal ones for the Captain America shield aesthetic lol)
In regards to Clint and Bucky, I am an able-bodied author writing characters with disabilities. Please, if you feel like I messed up in any way, tell me and I will do my best to fix it.
Again, please make sure to stop by sleepwalkerindreamersclothing's tumblr blog! Her art is absolutely incredible and it deserves all the love.
Finally, I have a tumblr now! Stop by bookdancerfics to ask questions or to get writing updates.