The static woke Bucky up and he swung his legs over the edge of the motel bed, alert, hand pressed against the stolen comm nestled in his right ear.

"New intel," a voice said, distorted by distance and interference, but the words clear.

"Yeah?" another voice answered.

"One of them has a family. Location was buried but we dug and uncovered it."

"Close?"

"We could have a team together in the air in less than thirty minutes."

"Risk?"

"Minimal. Target's not powered and we'll have the element of surprise."

Not powered narrowed the list – Barton or Wilson or Romanov. He'd researched them all. Wilson didn't have many secrets, Romanov was only secrets, and he'd hit a brick wall when he'd dug deeply into Barton's past. A stint in a circus, brother who sounded like a complete asshole and a run-in with authorities that caught the eye of an Agent Coulson and then it was like his entire life was SHIELD. Nothing else. No address. No paper trail. No nothing. Romanov being hard to get a read on made sense – she was a Black Widow, a spy, and all around terrifying. He didn't look forward to ever coming face to face with her again, especially after he'd put a bullet or two in her. Barton, however, didn't make much sense. A career SHIELD agent with no family shouldn't have a life locked up tighter than Fort Knox. His gut told him that was the way to go.

"Shit," he muttered as he dug his gear out from under his bed. He'd been working his way through the ranks of HYDRA for the last couple years, whittling away at the support structure, just waiting for the right moment that it would all topple to the ground in ash. Those missions had been dangerous and bloody and vengeance gave him a purpose. This felt different, though. He didn't know this Barton guy from Adam, but his broken mind had pieced together some of Steve Rogers and made him matter more to him than he wanted. Barton was Rogers's friend, ally, and teammate. He couldn't let the guy just get ambushed because it would be easier, cleaner to just ignore it and look the other way.

He wasn't far from the HYDRA base the conversation originated from. If he was lucky, he could hitch a ride with their strike team. If he was unlucky … well, he had Rogers's number on speed dial even if he'd only kept it there as his "break glass in case of fucked up emergency you have no hope of getting out of" backup. So far, he'd avoided needing to use it.

"Coward," a voice in his head mocked.

"Fuck off," he muttered under his breath.

He had a feeling his two years of luck were about to run out, but he had to focus on his new mission and worrying about coming face to face with a past he barely remembered was a distraction and distractions got you killed or captured or worse.

XxXxXxXxXx

Bucky was in the cargo hold of a HYDRA-modified military transport. The roar of the engines muffled the voices above, but the serum was good for hearing things he wasn't supposed to.

"Kids?" one agent asked. The guy sounded young.

"Report says three," a gruffer voice answered. His voice was familiar and tugged at the edges of Bucky's memory.

"And …?"

"Warnings make more of an impact when you've got innocent blood spilled. Wouldn't you agree, soldier?"

The other guy hesitated, but only for a second. Weakness didn't get you brownie points in HYDRA. He was lucky his superior didn't put a bullet in his brain right there. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"Maximum carnage. Maximum casualties. The works. I want Barton and his dead family plastered on page one of every fucking paper in this country when the sun comes up."

"Do people even read the newspaper anymore, sir?"

"Fine, trending on twitter or whatever in the fuck it is. Are you actively trying to piss me off, kid?"

The conversation ended and everyone above grew silent. Bucky didn't even realize he'd pulled out his cell phone, but the soft glow from the screen drew his eye. He'd hit contacts at some point, his thumb hovering over Rogers's name. He took a deep breath and closed the icon, selecting MESSAGES instead.

He typed one-handed, trying not to make too many mistakes. "Barton compromised. HYDRA knows about family. Heading there now. Their mission is to eliminate everyone."

Steve answered quickly. "Who is this?"

"Doesn't matter now. Get team to Barton location ASAP."

The phone started to vibrate. Incoming call. Rogers. Of fucking course. Bucky quickly hit end and started typing again.

"Not a good time to talk. Radio silence. Talking would compromise my location."

There was a long pause and for a second he thought they'd hit a patch with no service. Then the phone vibrated with a new message.

"Bucky?"

Bucky stared at the phone, torn between laughing and groaning.

"Christ, Rogers. Focus," he typed as he rolled his eyes.

"Already on it. Team scrambling. Are you safe?"

"For now."

"What does that mean?"

"About to find out just where your pal with the bow lives. I'll take out as many as I can. Think there are 2 transports full. Not sure how far out."

"Farm in Iowa. House. Barn. Two older kids, one baby. Wife. Dog. Barton should be on site."

Bucky stared at his phone. Rogers didn't even hesitate to give him the intel – either Steve was incredibly trusting or incredibly stupid.

"Can't forget the dog," he typed back.

"He's a hell of a dog," Rogers answered and despite the tense situation, Bucky grinned as he typed.

"Got it. Kids. Dog. Mrs. Barton. Hawkguy."

"Eye."

"Whatever."

The screen eventually went dark, shutting itself off. Bucky leaned back, resting his head against some cargo boxes that were strapped to the floor.

The phone buzzed after a few minutes. "Be careful."

"Do my best." He hesitated before adding, "Tell Barton not to shoot me."

He hit send and then tucked the phone into his jacket pocket. He wasn't sure if they were close, but his gut told them they were. Everyone above had grown quiet, except for the familiar clicks and pings of soldiers checking their weapons. His fingers itched to do the same with his own, but he knew everything was secure and in place and ready to fire.

"Five minutes," one of the guys announced and Bucky closed his eyes, picturing a farmhouse and barn and kids and a family. He could do this. He had to do this.

Redemption had a way of showing up when he least expected it and he certainly hadn't expected it to involve a dog.

XxXxXxXxXx

Something smacked him in the head. Groaning, Clint smashed his face deeper into his pillow and rolled over. That earned him a second smack.

His wife, Laura, pressed herself up against his back as she reached over his shoulder, blindly groping for something on the end table. His phone. Once she had it, she tapped him on the forehead with it. She leaned closer to his ear, her breath warm against his cheek. "From the way your phone has been going crazy for the last five minutes, you have at least a thousand texts. Answer them," she said, her voice muffled but the words clear. Raising his head, he activated the screen and tapped the messages icon and opened the newest one – a text from Natasha.

"Get your ears in, we have to talk," was all it said. A quick glance at the clock told him it was o'dark thirty and not Nat's normal chat time.

Groaning some more, he pulled himself up against the headboard and reached over to grab his hearing aids. He had them switched on and in place as he waited for the call to connect.

She answered before the first ring finished. "Sorry," he explained. "My night to sleep and ignore the baby's crying."

"Your location is compromised," Natasha cut in and it was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped down his back. Laura could tell something was up – her eyes growing wide in the moonlight filtering in through the curtains, her shoulders tense.

He tucked his phone between his ear and shoulder and signed, "Get the kids. Now." Laura nodded and took a deep breath, hesitating. "We got this," he signed. "We planned for this. No one is hurting this family." He added a smile that he hoped looked a lot more encouraging than it felt.

"I know," she signed back before she jumped out of the bed and disappeared down the hall.

"Source?" Clint asked Natasha as he got out of bed.

"Unverified, but if it is who Steve thinks it is, we trust him. For the moment."

He went to the window, staying off to the side, peering through the lace curtains. The yard was empty, just the tractor that had stalled two days ago and he'd been too lazy to fix-up enough to get it to the barn. He took a breath and held it, listening – putting Stark's high tech hearing aids to good use. Faint, in the distance, he could hear the dull roar of an engine – maybe several engines. Hard to tell exactly, but there was definitely something out there in the usually quiet Iowa darkness. Natasha's call bought them a couple of minutes, tops.

He moved to the closet, opting not to click on the light. The first thing he did was grab his Chucks, choosing them over his heavy boots. If they were lucky, the hostiles wouldn't suspect that they were on to them and any level of stealth he had over them will give him an advantage, however small.

"How many bad guys?" he asked as he reached behind the clothes, fumbling a bit until he found the lever he was looking for. Pulling on it, the wall of clothes shifted and slid, disappearing into the wall and revealing a small arsenal of guns, arrows, bows and supplies.

"Unclear. Possibly two transports full of hostiles." She paused and he stopped what he was doing. Natasha never paused. "It's HYDRA," she finally said.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath as he grabbed three handguns, tucking two into his waistband and reserving one for Laura. He filled his pockets with ammo clips, suddenly glad he'd chosen sweatpants to sleep in that night.

"Language," Natasha said and he could picture her smile, wobbly as she tried to pretend the shit wasn't hitting the fan. "What would Captain America think if he heard you talk like that?"

"I'll give you a dollar for the swear jar when you guys get here," Clint answered, securing his quiver over his shoulder, the strap digging into his skin through the threadbare t-shirt he wore to bed. He grabbed his bow, the weight not steadying his nerves like it normally did. This was his family. This was different.

"One last thing," Natasha said, "don't shoot the guy with the metal arm."

"The who with the what?"

"Long story."

"Tell me it later, over the world's strongest cup of coffee."

"Deal." He heard her draw in a deep breath. "Clint, I …" Her voice trailed off.

"Me, too, Nat," he said quietly. "Me, too."

He ended the call just as Laura returned, baby Nathaniel held tight to her chest by a baby sling, Lila and Cooper following. She'd had them throw sweatshirts over their pajamas and they were both wearing their sneakers, laces dragging on the floor. Lucky brought up the rear, the dog usually curled up with Lila at night.

"Hey, boy," Clint said as he scratched Lucky behind the ears. "You're gonna help me protect this crew, right?"

He got a quiet woof from the dog before he turned to stand by the door, silently watching the darkness with his one good eye, tail still, on alert.

Clint went to Lila and Cooper, giving them quick hugs before kneeling down in front of them to tie their sneakers. "You guys remember the drill, right?"

They nodded. "The tunnel in the basement that leads to the secret room under the barn," Lila said, twisting one of her braids in her fingers.

Clint nodded. "That's right, kiddo."

Once Fury had agreed to help him keep his family a secret and keep them safe, Nick had insisted on outfitting the house with top of the line security measures. Until now, secret passageways and hidden rooms had been cool for hide-and-go-seek, now his family's lives depended on them.

"And if you can't get to the basement?"

"In the woods. The cave that's two turns from the big oak that fell down last winter," Cooper said, trying to make his voice strong. Cooper was holding onto his sister's hand and Clint had a sudden flash of himself at eight, clinging to his brother Barney as they fled into the night – escaping the group home for an unknown future. He'd tried to be brave – tried so damn hard, but the tears came, trailing down his face, clogging his nose up until he couldn't breathe. Barney pulled him aside, told him to calm down, promised to take care of him and then he'd done something Barney never did again after that night – he'd hugged him hard, his fists digging into Clint's shoulder blades as they clung to each other and cried.

He didn't want that for his kids – he never wanted them to be scared. But he'd failed them; at some point his perfect plans to keep them safe had broken down. He didn't know how the information had gotten out, but it had. That was what mattered. The who and the what and the why would have to wait. His family. His responsibility. The blame would lay at his feet regardless of the cause.

He stood and turned to Laura. She was holding it together. He walked over to her and reached out, one hand settling on baby Nathanial's back, the other cupping his wife's cheek. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

She leaned forward, her forehead resting against his. "Nothing to be sorry about."

He handed her the gun and a pre-packed bag of supplies he'd pulled out of the hidden armory. "Never a dull moment, huh?"

"You have your moments," Laura said as she pulled the straps of the backpack over her shoulders, tightening them. She took the gun, doing a quick check of the chamber and clip like he'd taught her. Hell, he'd taken her to a shooting range on their second date and she'd confessed a couple of years later that was when she knew she'd marry him. "Any guy who would take a girl to a shooting range for a date and then proceed to show her the 8 billion ways to incapacitate or kill someone … well, that's someone worth holding onto."

The engine sound grew louder and Clint glanced out the window, watching as a dark shape eerily descended behind some trees. "Shit, thought we'd have more time," he said. He nocked an arrow on the string of his bow as he walked Laura and the kids to the door. "Get them to the basement and the barn. Move as quickly as you can. I'll be covering you."

Laura leaned forward and kissed him. He tasted tears and could feel her trembling. "I love you," she said.

"I know," he answered, the old joke catching in his throat.

They were a few feet from the stairs when he whispered. "Oh, don't shoot the guy with the metal arm."

"What on earth does that mean?" Laura whispered back and he shrugged.

"Ask Nat."

XxXxXxXxXx

The transports landed a couple hundred yards from the farmhouse, in a clearing. Bucky was out of craft and running before the main doors had even opened. Hopefully the STRIKE team would opt for a steady, silent approach that would buy him some precious minutes. As far as they knew, this was an ambush and no one knew they were coming. Not only did Bucky know, but hopefully Rogers had alerted Barton as well. Still a clusterfuck, but it could be worse.

He made quick work of the front door and was inside without incident.

The house was dark and quiet. Not a creature was stirring, suddenly popped into his fucked up brain and he shook his head, not in the mood for weird flashes of crap that made no sense.

He stood for a minute, letting the dark recede and shapes begin to form as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Something moved on the steps and he brought up his gun, finger hovering over the trigger. Four figures were on the staircase, hugging the banister. Two kids, a woman and a dog.

The woman noticed him and raised the gun she was holding. She stepped in front of the two kids and the dog softly growled, also on alert.

Bucky raised his hands in surrender, hoping she could see the gesture in the darkness. The moonlight caught the metal of his arm when the sleeve slipped down and he heard her take a breath.

"Who are you?" she whispered instead of taking a shot.

"I'm a friend … of, um, Captain America's," he said awkwardly, the words feeling like a lie.

The little girl tugged on her mother's shirt. "Is Uncle Steve here?" she asked.

"No, sweetie. I wish he was," the woman said, her eyes not leaving Bucky, the gun still trained on him.

Something suddenly whistled through the air and thunked into the wall behind Bucky's ear. He didn't flinch. An arrow.

"I didn't miss," a new voice from the darkness announced. "Second one goes through your eye." His swiss cheese memory supplied the data: Hawkeye. Expert marksman. Weapon of choice – bow and arrow. Do not underestimate.

Bucky didn't move his hands, silently praying these people would find a reason to trust him. "I got ya, pal. I'm not here to hurt you."

"What? You're here to save us?" Barton gave a sarcastic laugh and Bucky's mouth twisted into a grin. This was one fucked up situation.

"That's the plan," he said. "And we're about to have a shi-" He glanced at the kids and corrected himself. "Uh, a whole lot of trouble in about thirty seconds or so. You got a way out of here that's not the front yard?"

Barton lowered his bow, his wife hesitated but lowered her gun and Bucky finally let his arms drop, the motors in the left one whirring as it straightened out.

"There's a tunnel in the basement," Barton said, keeping his voice low, obviously deciding to trust him. "Leads to a room hidden under the barn."

"Safe?"

"Nick Fury helped build it. Not sure if his name means anything to you."

"Heard of the guy, yeah." Pretty sure I killed the guy, too, he thought.

"It'll do," Hawkeye said. The woman and kids resumed their descent and Bucky turned his attention to the window behind him. The yard was empty but that didn't mean anything. Time was running out.

Hawkeye followed his wife and kids through a door into the next room. Probably the kitchen if the layout made any sense. Typical farmhouse, with a state-of-the-art panic room built beneath it.

A minute later, Hawkeye joined him at the window. "They made it. They'll be safe."

Bucky didn't answer. Whole thing sure as shit didn't feel safe, but he didn't want to be the one to say it.

Hawkeye slung his bow over his shoulder and pulled out a gun, checking it before tucking it back into his pants. He nodded at Bucky. "Barton," he whispered by way of introduction.

"Barnes," Bucky offered.

"Friend of Steve's?"

"That's what the history books say."

"I seriously need to talk to Nat after this is over," Barton muttered under his breath.

There was a thud on the floor above them. Amateurs, Bucky thought. Hydra must be skimming the bottom of the barrel at this point for recruits. Amateurs or not, it won't take them long to realize the rooms upstairs are empty and that their easy hit was about to become a whole lot more complicated.

Bucky motioned to the window. Assuming Mrs. Barton made it to the barn, the house was clear and their best bet was to pick off the HYDRA goons from the outside. They still had the upper hand and right now the house was crawling with soldiers, like a bunch of rats in a trap. He thought of the grenades attached to his belt. Would be a fucking surprise, that's for sure.

XxXxXxXxXx

Laura backed up, Lucky shadowing her steps, both of them staring at the door as though they were afraid to take their eyes off of it.

Reinforced steel, Fury had promised. Could withstand the Hulk, he'd said. She'd heard those kinds of promises before from her husband. "Simple op. Nothing will go wrong. Cap and Tony have my back. Don't worry." Don't worry. Right. She'd spent more hours than she could fathom waiting for him to come home, praying he'd come home and then countless more trying to put the pieces back together when he did come back to her broken and bloody.

She didn't feel safe.

She kept her gun out, at ease but ready to fire at anyone who tried to come through that door. The kids were holding it together, better than she was. They were on the low bunk built into the wall, silently talking to each other in that way kids had.

Nathanial started to squirm against her, his little legs kicking as he made that sound like a plane gearing up to take off. He was seconds from screaming and she debated whether or not to put him down in the playpen sitting next to the bunk. She didn't want to let him go.

"Shhh," she whispered as she rubbed his back in gentle circles. "Daddy's coming. This'll all be over soon."

XxXxXxXxXx

A knife to the throat made quick, silent work of the two guards on the porch. Barton's arrows found three more who were standing off to the side and dropped them silently.

The beat up tractor sitting in the yard between the house and the barn made good cover as Bucky and Barton crouched down to regroup. Bucky held out his hand, four round silver balls with sizeable blast radiuses rested in the palm of his metal hand.

"Shit," Barton said, shaking his head. "I … can't. It's my home."

"It's compromised," Bucky said.

Barton leaned back against the tractor, staring at the sky. "I can't look. Just do it."

Bucky's aim was true. Two grenades shattered through windows on the ground floor and two went crashing through windows on the second.

Clint wished he'd had a chance to shut off his hearing aids before the blasts shook the night.

XxXxXxXxXx

Laura turned to check on the kids when an explosion from above shook the room and the lights flickered.

Lila whimpered as Lucky started to bark. Nathanial was crying and Cooper was at her side, tugging on her shirt. "Mom."

Under the commotion, she could hear a beeping, like something was counting down. "No," she cried. "Under the bed," she ordered as she herded everyone to the floor, cramming them under the bunk. She had her back to the room, shielding her kids.

Lucky stood guard, growling ominously.

The beeping stopped and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting the world to come crashing down. A muffled blast sounded on the other side of the door and then nothing … silence. She peeked over her shoulder. The room was intact. No damage at all. So far, Fury's promises were holding true.