A/N: This actually came to my mind while I was strolling through the fields near our house and it was a rainy day and I forgot to take a brolly and as luck would have it the storm started just when I was in the middle of my walk, no trees in sight to hide under so when I came back I was soaked to the bone. Thought that would make a nice story. It's for both day 5 (fact) and day 6 (fiction). Don't know if it actually fits the two themes (I tried but well, the story was there first, then the idea to try and include the themes) so perhaps my attempt at that does sound a bit clumsy but it's Winterhawk, so I'm good, aren't I? ;D
This is for AvaKelly! For liking my silly Clint and because without you I would have missed WinterHawk Week. Hope you like it :D
It's not an actual hurricane, of course, more a very heavy storm.
Category 5
All Clint wants is silence. Silence and a little space to himself. He needs to think.
This is why he grabs his jacket without further ado and disappears through the back entrance of the safe house, making sure not to cross Barnes' way. Actually, Barnes is the cause for his unease, not because anything grave happened between them, no, all he did was kiss him.
That happened a while ago and Clint almost, almost finally forgot about it until Steve decided that a mission required their joint skills. Sniper skills.
Clint sets out for his usual route in the fields not far away from the safe house and his mind rolls four months back. The situation had been similar to the one he's currently trapped in only that Nat, Steve, and Bruce had been part of the team back then. A simple in and out, collect the information, kill only if necessary, that's what they were promised and granted, the mission had been as simple as that. Just that Clint hadn't been warned that he'd be trapped in the room where they were supposed to find the delicate data with the former Winter Soldier, the area surrounded by HYDRA agents and without any prospect of a way out. And that hadn't even been the worst part. Because Clint hadn't either been warned that – in order to keep him quiet as he later elaborated – Barnes would grab him by the arms and then simply kiss him.
After that Clint had avoided Barnes as best as he could and right now he wishes he'd smacked him for doing what he did. On second thought, he wishes to have smacked Steve as well for sending him out with Barnes again.
Four months without even a single word being exchanged between them and now they have to complete a mission together. What does Steve think, honestly? Well, Steve doesn't think anything considering that he doesn't even know about the incident. Which is probably for the better. Barnes hasn't mentioned it yet but Clint can't get rid of the feeling that this topic is going to be an issue between them sooner or later on this trip to the middle of nowhere.
But then, why would he even bring it up? It's been four months and he hasn't dropped the semblance of a remark about it. Anyway, it was to keep him from making unwanted sounds (which could only have been caused by the nasty gash on the side of his leg) that would have betrayed their location to the enemy, so it doesn't really need further discussion.
Clint buries his hands in the pockets of his jacket and walks on, grumpy-faced and ill-humoured and on top of that feeling slightly cold around the shoulders.
He's just forgotten to consider that someone else might know his favourite route. That being said, the call for his name comes unexpectedly.
"Barton."
Clint stops, for the blink of an eye, but because he knows that only one person in this world who knows his name is currently on this same godforsaken piece of land he doesn't turn and just pretends he hasn't heard him.
"Barton, wait!" Barnes calls out a second time and then he's at his side, easily keeping up with the marginally quicker pace Clint's resumed.
Clint figures he can't very well ignore him now so he just grumbles incoherently and what actually leaves his mouth properly sounds like "What you want?"
Barnes doesn't hesitate. "Talk to you."
"I'm not in the mood for talking." No, Clint really isn't, that's for fact, and the clouds above them are looking slightly angry. Or is he only imagining that?
"Well, I need to talk to you anyway." Okay, he's made it clear, he's not going to give up easily.
Great.
Er, where's the silence Clint wanted?
No, he's definitely not imagining the approaching storm and the dark grey clouds do look very dissatisfied. He sighs, accepting his fate. "Well, whatever. We should probably keep walking unless you wanna be engulfed in a storm. You're fine with walking and talking?"
"I'm fine with anything as long as it involves talking to you."
Clint sighs dramatically. "Oh, my." This is going to be serious. "Go on, then."
Again Barnes wastes no time and goes straight ahead but nevertheless Clint thinks to hear something in his voice, something he can't quite put his finger on.
"I should probably start with apologising for what happened. Between us. But I'm not."
At first Clint misses the last sentence, then the rough wind finally carries it to his ears and he stops dead in his tracks. For the first time he actually turns and looks at Barnes when he asks, taken aback, "What did you say?"
"I'm not sorry." The reply comes without hesitation and Clint can tell from the look in his eyes that the other is struggling to get a grip on what is surprising Clint so much.
The archer blinks in confusion, realisation dawning on him that first, he was right about the topic coming up (this is a very soon sooner or later for his liking) and second, this not being sorry sounds like there was intention behind the action.
Hmpf.
"It had to be done, was the only way to keep you-"
Third, what was that? Clint's already drowned out the voice next to him, his ears don't perceive the words. Instead he's focused on a spot a few yards away, the drizzling rain not doing much yet to obscure his vision.
"Barnes." Clint's probably interrupted him but he doesn't care. "Did you see that?"
The soldier comes to a halt next to where Clint's stopped walking and narrows his eyes, following Clint's but the question comes nonetheless. "See what?"
"I think something just happened there." Clint raises an arm to point out the spot he's staring at but either HYDRA's fucked with Barnes' eyes, too or the rain is getting a little heavy to grant an unobstructed vision.
"Where? I don't see anything."
Clint lets out an unnerved sigh of exasperation, throwing his arms up for reinforcement. "Are you blind?"
Barnes, however, remains calm and cold, merely shrugging his shoulders. "Barton, I think you're imagining things. Messing up fact and fiction."
Yes, well, no. "Fiction?! I'm not imagining things! I – oh, just shut up!" Clint decides that this man isn't worth waiting for and because he can trust his eyes (don't call him Hawkeye for nothing) and because he's intent on finding out what happened he simply quite literally leaves Barnes standing in the rain and heads for the point of the apparent incident.
"For god's sake, Barton, wait!" The soldier sounds angry and immediately comes after him, adjusting to the running Clint has taken up.
On top of that the rain is now falling in torrents, the clouds breaking open all at once and releasing their wet content on the two snipers. Clint feels the water drip down his neck and he reminds himself to check the weather forecast next time he decides on a stroll in an area without fucking trees to provide shelter. A harsh breeze of cold, rough wind almost pushes him off the track and Clint stumbles, vaguely wondering when he turned into a toy to be thrown around. Barnes shouts something over the storm but Clint can't make out the words, there's nothing but random noise in his ears and did he take the waterproof aids…? He turns around in order to search Barnes out and he spots him a few metres away to his left.
"And the fucking hurricane?" he shouts. "Am I imagining that, too?!"
Barnes fights his way over to him, metal arm lifted like a useless shield against the rain, and his features are contorted into a grotesque mask while he's squinting against the water in his eyes and the wind whipping wet brown strands of hair into his face. "Point taken." He spits out water accompanying the words and grimaces at the squishy mud rather quickly soaking through his shoes and the lower parts of his jeans. "Any suggestions?" he yells against the storm.
Clint almost laughs at that. "Yeah. Get back!"
He still wants to know what it was that he saw – because there was something, he saw movement – but considering their current state of beginning disorientation he ventures to think getting back to the safe house and wait out the storm would be the more sensible idea.
Speaking of disorientation.
"Fuck!"
He only realises that he's said that out loud when Barnes – now standing dangerously close to him (well, he does make a half decent shield) – blinks at him in slight confusion.
Clint's eyes dart rapidly over the landscape and his body turns full circle but-
"You don't know where we are." The realisation comes like a revelation and now Clint definitely wants to smack Barnes in the face. He notes that down for later.
Clint goes still for a moment, straining his eyes against the wind and rain but even Hawkeye can't see through a wall of water. Instead, he tries to concentrate on remembering where they came from but having forgotten about the direction he was heading for doesn't really help matters. And since this is a goddamn field with nothing grown taller than a few inches to look to for support in finding one's way, Clint comes to the inevitable conclusion that they're fucked. Nevertheless, it's worth a try.
"That way, I think" he shouts and points into the direction he thinks they came from. Thinks. Because he's spun around too many times now to exactly pinpoint the right direction.
"You sure?" Yeah, well, further questions don't really help, thank you very much.
"Just follow me and shut up!"
For once, the soldier complies without protest and keeps close to Clint's side and the archer thinks they both know that he has no idea where they're going. At least, Barnes is so kind to not mention it.
"Why does this always happen to me?"
"What, you been caught in a hurricane before?"
Oh, so he's said that out loud and Barnes heard him. Well, he might as well get an answer.
Clint throws him a sideways glance and isn't that the ghost of a grin tucking at the corner of his mouth. "Nah, been stuck with a top-trained Russian assassin before" he quips, faltering for a moment before he adds, "Just that I'm not sent to kill you."
Barnes huffs out a laugh at that. "And if I were sent to kill you?"
He's killed him already, that's one thing Clint knows for a fact in all this chaos. Well, he's just realised. He chances another glance and damn it, even through the roaring storm, Barnes looks attractive.
Clint just snorts, keeping his face blank. "Nah, Steve wouldn't allow that. He loves me too much."
Clint doesn't hear the words that pour out of Barnes' mouth for the explosion is too loud. They both stumble backwards, staggering through a cloud of dirt and mud and Clint feels an iron grip on his arm pulling him sideways before another detonation blows the ground up right next to where he was standing. The rain clears the air quickly and then they both realise what they're standing on.
"Watch your step, Barnes!" Clint calls out while he twists his arm out of the vice-like grip and eyes glued to the ground he puts one foot in front of the other, careful to avoid any lethal pyrotechnic traps.
"I know what a minefield is, thanks Hawkeye!" comes the shouted reply behind him.
Who the hell put a minefield in the near of the safe house?
Clint doesn't bother to consider whether he should rather ask the question of who the hell built a safe house next to a bloody minefield but it doesn't really matter because–
The blast sweeps him off his feet, throwing him into the air and he lands in the mud with a surprised gasp, too taken aback to wonder if he's landed straight on another hidden mine. Coughing and spitting out dirt and water he heaves himself up on his knees, bending forward and gulping down breaths, furious that he inhales more water than air. The explosion happened right next to him and there's a screeching noise in his right ear before the world goes silent on that side and Clint knows his hearing aid just went dead. He rips the damn thing out and throws it away, eyes scurrying over the cratered field and then his mind processes the information, the desperate scream of "Barnes!" that leaves his mouth echoing in his good ear.
It's still raining dirt and Clint staggers through the debris, not really knowing where he's going and not paying attention to possible traps either. Somewhere in front of him, a few metres away, he spots a pile of something and when the pile starts moving Clint runs.
Falling to his knees beside him, Clint reaches out a hand, another frantic "Bucky!" ripping apart the air between them.
The soldier coughs, bracing himself up on his metal arm, his face a muddied grimace of pain. "I'm fine" he croaks and Clint breaks a little because he can't lose him, now can he?
Bucky tries to get up and when a wave of pain rushes through his body protesting against the sudden movement, he swears colourfully and Clint lets out a shaky laugh. "Language, Sarge."
Clint doesn't remember how exactly they made it back to the safe house in one piece. They were able to figure out that the first two explosions had been caused by shots fired at them which meant that they're not alone but with one of them severely wounded and the other effectively only hearing half of what's going on around him they figured that getting back to the safe house was number one priority.
So Clint wasn't all wrong when he thought to see something moving in the field. He decides to go take another look as soon as the storm has died down.
Now Clint is leaning against the wall right next to the door of the back entrance and with the storm shut out he can finally breathe regularly again without swallowing buckets of water and mud. Bucky is sitting next to him, his flesh arm hanging limp and uselessly at his side, the skin ripped apart in several places and blood dripping down onto the floor. They're both covered in brown dirt and there's not much left of their clothes but at least for the moment, they're safe.
Clint is the first to speak, the sentence coming out rushed between the panting. "You know what?"
Bucky turns to look at him and Clint squints, tilting his head so that he can hold the gaze. "I'm not sorry either."
Bucky… Bucky just blinks, a quizzical expression on his face but when Clint doesn't seem to be about to move anytime soon, he asks, voice clearly carrying his puzzlement, "Is that… an invitation?"
Clint shrugs, not sure if he knows what he's doing here, his eyes flickering between Bucky's, and a shy smile playing on his lips. "Probably" he stutters. "Might as well be a request." His voice is hoarse and it cracks several times through the sentence and Bucky's face is smeared all over with dirt and blood but it's just now that Clint realises how far gone he is already for Bucky I-need-to-talk-to-you Barnes.
It's not necessarily the fact that they both nearly died but rather the look Bucky is giving him right now, one eyebrow raised questioningly and strands of his sticky brown hair dangling into his face. Even now, exhausted, and wounded, and dirty, Bucky looks gorgeous. Clint resists the urge to brush those stray strands out of his beautiful face.
Then he acts completely on instinct when he clumsily reaches out to slide a hand around Bucky's neck and shifts closer. "It's definitely an order" he breathes and he isn't sure whether it's him or Bucky who erases the last inches of distance between them but his eyes slip shut and his heart flutters in his chest when gets the second taste of Bucky's lips.
And by god, that man knows how to kiss.
Four months is definitely too long a time of denying.
In the back of his mind Clint wonders how Bucky managed to seduce him without doing so much as merely being there, occasionally glaring at him or yelling at him through roaring rain.
Well, he did kiss him in the first place.
And while Clint's lips are moving slowly and sweetly against Bucky's he wonders whether Bucky was right and he's only imagining this because Bucky's lips on his own is a feeling way too good to be true and a sudden wave of hot panic washes over him. His head is spinning and he feels himself lose the grip on consciousness, all of the stress and strain and fear of the day finally getting the better of him, and the last thing he thinks is that he doesn't want this to be a dream, fiction, and Clint pleads to god to let this be real.
When he blinks into wakefulness again, Bucky's face is hovering only inches away and Clint feels the tight hold of the metal arm wrapped around his middle. His head is leaning against Bucky's shoulder and he feels safe and warm.
"I never thought I could actually kiss someone senseless."
This is perhaps the most stupid thing Clint's ever heard out of someone's mouth but because he's missing a hearing aid it sounds terribly cute and he just smiles sleepily.
Half an hour and a decent shower later, Bucky is sitting on a chair in the kitchen with Clint bustling about around him, busy to attend to Bucky's injured arm as best as he can. Bucky watches him attentively and Clint tries very hard not to be distracted by those beautiful grey eyes following his every move.
"Why did you never tell me?" he finds himself asking quietly at some point, knowing Bucky understands the question.
Bucky snorts, bemused. "Well, you didn't speak to me for four bloody months."
Clint chuckles. "Doesn't mean you can't open your blasted mouth. You don't need permission for that."
Bucky winces when a cloth soaked with alcohol is brushed against his ripped skin. "Felt like I did, Hawkeye."
"Are we back to formalities now, Sergeant?" Clint quips, eyes playful and brows raised but the expression soon fades when he gets a glimpse of Bucky's puzzled face.
"Something the matter?"
"Are you deaf?"
"Yes, make fun of the hearing impaired."
"You really didn't get what I just said, did you?"
"You didn't say anything."
"I said I love you."
Clint freezes. Now that's definitely not real. Clint's been bewitched and is now trapped in a book of some kind where he's having the weirdest day of the tragedy he calls a life. But it's a wonderful story.
Silence descends upon them and next thing Clint knows is that he's being dragged down, lips colliding clumsily with Bucky's.
He sighs happily into the kiss.
"You know, I didn't just do it to keep you quiet" Bucky mumbles when they're lying in bed together, Clint curled up next to him, back firmly pressed against Bucky's chest, head resting in the crook of his metal arm, the wounded one draped carefully around his waist.
"Yeah, I figured that much, punk." And with a moment's hesitation he adds, "Who's messing up fact and fiction now, eh?"
It earns him a fond jab in the ribs.
"I sent you out on that mission to get the damn thing done, I can't remember saying anything about blowing up the safe house or you two gits hooking up, how did that happen, anyway, I thought you hated each other?"
Steve isn't really angry judging by the way he's grinning at Clint leaning against Bucky, perfectly innocent smile on his face, and said soldier pressing a light kiss to his temple.
He's just acting.
Well, Captain America is miserable actor.
"So, you're actually a thing now?"
Remind Clint to smack both Bucky and Cap twice.