A/N: I was supposed to launch this tale AGES ago. BUT, here we are, AT LAST. Yay? Before getting to the actual thing, though…

DISCLAIMER: Me owns NOTHING. If I did we would've seen Hawkeye in the 'IW' trailers… Kudos to the genius behind the image I chose for the story!

WARNINGS: Descriptions of violence and injury… Adult themes… Language… (Sorry, Steve…!) DEFINITELY quite a bit of general weirdness.

SOOOO… Let's go, shall we? Before I chicken out. (chuckles) I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

TAKES PLACE a little while after 'Winter Soldier'.

Bird of Fire

Catching Fire

It certainly wasn't the most challenging mission Clint had ever taken. Especially after joining gods, super soldiers and men in iron suits against an army from another realm. Dr. Annabella Scott got into a trouble due to hints of some extremely shady scientific experiments. When she popped up on the radar of what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D, the archer was stupid enough to expect it to be a walk in a park. Of course he wasn't allowed to be quite so lucky.

Finding Dr. Scott's main laboratory wasn't much of a challenge with his skills and resources. He actually snorted upon arriving on the tiny island that had a massive laboratory-building standing on a hill made mostly of stone. It was definitely a 'mad scientist from a bad comic book or film' cliché. All that was missing was a middle aged or older man with a ridiculous hairdo and hideous glasses.

What Clint found inside made whatever amusement he may have felt fade away. All the loud evidence of human experiments… He wondered, with nausea swelling in the pit of his stomach, how anyone could do such things to another human being. What sort of sick minds operated in that building?

He didn't have to search long to find out. The hair in the back of his neck rose when he discovered a file that held a Hydra-symbol. To make matters worse, he wasn't alone.

He felt a breath of air but didn't even have the time to look over his shoulder. Something hit him from behind like a sledgehammer. While his head was still spinning a needle pierced the back of his neck.

"Shh…", a male voice hissed at him.

Clint knew nothing more.

From then it was a game of sliding in and out of consciousness. People in laboratory coats and surgical masks were there whenever he was awake. Drawing blood. Poking at him in ways that made him want to hiss, scream and snarl. The worst were the injections.

Whatever it was they gave him couldn't be good news.

Clint, however, decided firmly that he was going to make it out of this mess. Especially when he wasn't in it without any help, despite being on a solo-mission. In his ear, so subtle that there was no way his captors would've noticed, was an ear comm Tony developed. He wasn't able to activate it without alerting the people around him and watching him via security footage. But the comm was equipped with a tracking device. As soon as Tony would receive hints that he'd gotten his feathery behind (the billionaire's choice of words, not his) into a trouble again the man would start looking. Until then he'd just hang on tight and endure. And work constantly to find a way out by himself, because his ego would be severely bruised and Tony would be entirely too amused if he'd be saved like some damsel in distress.

Once he almost made it to safety. One of his captors was stupid enough to loosen his restraints when he manipulated well enough. Within six minutes Clint had knocked down five security guards and was less than ten steps away from the door to safety.

And then he actually heard Dr. Scott's voice for the first time. "Excellent. I'd call that a very successful test-round." She lifted a small device to her lips. "Subject HY645 is responding well to sample Delta. Heightened speed and improved reflexes can already be seen. Evidence of improved strength and stamina unclear."

Clint felt incredibly cold while those ominous words washed through him. Of course he should've ran, should've taken her down, should've attacked. But what he just heard… "What the hell have you done to me?" he hissed, every single one of his muscles tensing up for a fight.

Dr. Scott smiled. "Congratulations, agent Barton", she purred, her tone smoother than velvet. "When we finally introduce the new you to the world… You're going to make history. And you're going to save a life in the process. Doesn't that bring a smile to your face?"

Clint snorted. And here he thought that this whole thing couldn't get worse… "You know what? It doesn't." She was irritating him and he had a feeling that he'd be even less pleased by the backup she was bound to get soon. The door to safety was tantalizingly close. It was time to bring an end to the chitchat.

Well, time was certainly running out. Because exactly a second before Clint would've made his move there was a set of three sharp, demanding beeps. Dr. Scott made a face. "Sorry, sweetie. This one is going to hurt. A lot."

A hellish surge of electricity shot through him, radiating from the metallic collar around his neck. Clint's lips opened. He went down before he could make a sound.

Clint was barely conscious when voices carried to his ears, muffled by whatever he'd been drugged with. He couldn't be quite sure if he was dreaming or if it was all real. It felt like a nightmare.

"… DNA was already exceptional … changing far too rapidly … not sure if his body can withstand … not much can be done for either of you …"

"… we're both dying …"

"… sorry …"

By then he was able to hear far more clearly. And quite soon wished he wasn't. "Dr. Malus… Name someone who can help me. Or I'll have to result methods neither of us would like."

There was a shiver. Until the man, Dr. Malus apparently, finally sighed heavily. When he spoke again he sounded older, somehow. "I do know someone… But I'm not sure if he'll agree to help."

"Haven't you learned by now?" Dr. Scott's voice was equally amused and threatening. "I'm very, very good at persuading people."

A long period of unconsciousness, two fever-induced seizures and a couple of other medical emergencies later Clint found out just how good at persuading Dr. Scott really was. He was once again only half-conscious when his bleary eyes spotted someone approaching him. Then, in a flash, everything became far too clear and he distinguished the apologetic, pale face of… "Bruce?"

Bruce Banner looked like he hadn't slept in days, as well as nauseous. The scientist gulped laboriously. "I… Clint, I'm so sorry…! I…" The man's lips continued to move, but barely anything came out. Not that the archer would've been able to focus on words.

Because finally, finally he registered the needle and the syringe. Realized what they meant. And fear, the kind that was barely even human, flooded through him. Mixed with rivers of betrayal, shock and confusion. What the hell was his friend doing…? "No, Bruce, don't…!" Surely there was another way…! Something, anything…!

The look in Bruce's eyes revealed that there wasn't. Quickly, and surprisingly painlessly, the needle found its mark. Their eyes remained locked the entire time, the scientist's suspiciously moist. The man seemed to be in some state of shock while chanting 'I'm sorry' over and over again.

It was funny, really. Clint had heard about the five stages of accepting one's own demise, several times over. It was surprising how quickly he glided to acceptance. Realized that while there may not be a way out for him anymore, Bruce was a different story.

So he gave up the one beacon of hope he'd had left. The ear comm. He slipped it to Bruce's hand so subtly that there was no chance any people or cameras caught the motion. And wished, from the bottom of his heart, that it'd do his friend more good. That at least one of them would walk out of this horror story alive.

Clint could've sworn that he felt Bruce holding his hand but it was far more likely simply wishful thinking. The whole world was falling away alarmingly quickly. The last thing he saw before darkness was his friend's distancing back and a set of shoulder pressed down by the weight of the world.

Clint was almost certain that he had no way out of this. But his final thought was that he'd have to try. Because if he died here, like this… Bruce would never forgive himself.

Later Clint had very little memories of what happened next. And how much of those tiny fragments were a trick of imagination. He remembered another jolt of electricity. More fever and pain. Bruce, sitting beside him with a frown, appearing far older than his years. But perhaps more clearly than anything else he remembered his friend's voice, barely audible to him.

"… trust me …"

I do trust you, he would've said if he could've.

Then there was a bullet. Clint had no idea how he got shot. But that tiny item finally did end it all – almost his life as well.

Almost.

Waking up properly felt like coming back to life. After a mighty struggle Clint managed to open his eyes halfway. There were people around him and he blinked again, feeling extremely uncomfortable while his eyes adjusted infuriatingly slowly, like brand new. He relaxed slowly upon finally recognizing his friends. Including Thor, whose hair had been braided. Clint would've laughed out loud at the sight if he had the strength. His tongue was as clumsy as his eyes, and it took a mighty while before he found his voice. Or at least a hint of it. "… the hell 'ppened to your hair?" he slurred.

For a while his friends stared. Clearly as astonished by him being alive as he was. Then a wide grin appeared to Tony's lips. The barely distinguishable moisture in the billionaire's eyes was a clear indication to how dire things had been. As were the hysterical giggles. "You know what, guys? Tweetie's just fine."

Of course Clint wasn't 'fine' quite so soon. Neither was Bruce. One was recovering physically and they were both recovering emotionally. On the ridiculous hours of one rainy night the two were suffering from insomnia. They ended up to the Tower's kitchen area.

Bruce fidgeted before he could stop himself. Of course a man who went by the name Hawkeye noticed and winced. "I look like shit, huh?" The archer was still very pale and had loud traces of both pain and sleepless nights on his face.

"Just tired." Bruce shifted again. "Are you… sure that it's a good idea, to be out of the bed alone?"

Clint shrugged carelessly. "Probably not. But I'm not alone, I've got you to babysit me."

They were tense and tired. But at least they had coffee. It kept them occupied until Bruce found himself speaking. "I'm… sorry, if I've been avoiding you lately." Pretty lame, but it was a start.

Clint groaned and rubbed at his face tiredly. Evidence of recently removed needles were still visible on the back of his hand. "I'm not much good at these… talks. But since I've had a lot of spare time lately, I've been flipping through Dr. Scott's medical file. And I've pestered Tasha and Steve for answers. Just… Let me know if I've got this right." The man took a deep breath. Apparently staying upright and concentrating still took up a lot of energy. "About… what, a year, or two, ago Dr. Scott had an accident pretty similar to yours. She invited you to that laboratory to see if you could help her. But her cancer had spread pretty much everywhere, so there was nothing you or anyone else could do."

"She didn't take 'no' for an answer." Bruce glared into his coffee, so lost in dark memories that he didn't notice the way his hands shook. "She… told me to come up with something. Or she'd harm you. And… When I finally had something…" He wiped at his eyes when they blurred and frowned at his fingers as they came back moist. "That injection I gave you… If it wasn't you, she would've tested it on her daughter. On her own little girl. How…" He shook his head. "How sick do you have to be, to use your own child…?" His voice broke.

For a few seconds Clint was alarmingly still. Then sighed. "I… was dreading as much, since hearing that her kid was there." The Hawk met his eyes firmly. "Bruce, I'm not letting you beat yourself up over saving a little girl. Got that? She lost her mother and she's traumatized. But you kept her safe and now she gets to grow up with a dad who loves her. I'm safe, too."

"You got shot because you decided to take a bullet for me!" Bruce knew that losing control was a horrible idea, but… "Does it say that in any file, huh? The team was already almost there when a guard showed up. He held a gun at me, would've taken a shot. But… You were out of it, didn't remember that it wouldn't have harmed me. And took it." The feel of his friend slamming at him, falling into his arms with blood pouring out of a gunshot wound… It'd never leave Bruce.

"Maybe I was out of it. Or maybe some part of me considered you worth protecting." Clint took a sip of coffee. And clearly sensed his disagreement, because the man went on. "Fine. Let's think about this practically. If you did get shot, Big Green would've definitely been unleashed. I would've probably gotten hurt right there, or worse. Maybe the rest of the team, too. And the whole building might've been taken down. Then what would've happened to Dr. Scott's daughter?" The archer let it all sink in for a while. "You just did what you had to. So did I. And here we are, still alive."

As little as Bruce still liked it, he figured that he'd probably have to take that as a victory. Still alive. That wasn't such a bad outcome, was it?

"You know… That kid explains how Thor got his hair braided." Amusement colored Clint's tone. "Doesn't explain why he kept the braids for three days, though."

Bruce found himself feeling lighter than he had in ages.

"So, that's what it looks like."

Bruce blinked once. Twice. "What does?"

"Your smile."

How about that. Bruce hadn't really, honestly smiled in so long that he'd almost forgotten how it felt. When he put away the empty mug his hands were steady. "Thanks for the coffee. It was stronger than I'm used to, but I liked it."

Clint frowned. "What? I thought you made the coffee."

From a safe distance two pairs of eyes observed the exchange. Relief was visible on the faces of Steve and Natasha. "Clint should be resting", the soldier pointed out.

"I know. And I'll make sure that he knows, too. Later." Natasha didn't smile but her eyes were uncharacteristically soft. "But they both needed this."

"Enough with the chic-flick moment." Clint's voice was equally amused and irritated. "Stop worrying and eavesdropping, and come here. There's enough coffee for four."

They were all too relieved to question how Clint had been able to hear them. It was a moment of calm they definitely needed. It was a small mercy, really, that they had no idea the stress was far from over.

Three weeks later Bruce was giving Tony's latest project a look when the laboratory's door opened. He blinked with surprise upon discovering Clint. "Hey. I thought that you were still on a vacation." Which the archer refused to call a sick leave. The look on his friend's face made him frown while cold filled the pit of his stomach. "Clint? What's wrong?"

Clint swallowed thickly. "I was, ah… hoping that you and Tony might be able to help me." Slowly and hesitantly the man outstretched his hands. There were tiny flames in various colors dancing above the archer's fingers, nearly cocooning them. Actually… The fire was coming from the Hawk's hands. Under different circumstances the sight might've been incredibly beautiful. "What's happening to me?" That was, perhaps, the first time the scientist heard his friend sound scared.

Bruce really, really wished that he had an answer.

TBC

A/N: That SOOOOO doesn't sound good…! But it DOES sound kind of cool… (smirks) Poor Clint!

What's the verdict, guys? Would you like to read some more of this? PLEASE, do let me know! I LOVE hearing from you.

In any case, THANK YOU so much for reading! Who knows. Maybe I'll see you guys again one day.

Take care!