Another brilliant part of the series makes it's way into the Clint Winchester 'verse. BTW, if you haven't read the others is my little series, please go read those first. They'll make more sense that way. I actually want to mention that my final exams end on the 26th of this month (!), and I'm actually going on vacation with my family as soon as I'm done with this semester. After that, I'm getting a summer job in my hometown, so I'm not exactly sure what my writing schedule will be like. I just want you to know that I most likely won't update all summer, until my classes start up again. But, we'll just have to see how things go. So enjoy the last of the Clint Winchester series! (At least for now)

Happiness is a warm gun, yes it is
(Bang bang, shoot shoot)

May 2nd, 2007

It was three in the morning in Cambodia, of all places, when he received Dean's call.

It was an undercover mission, which meant he was currently posing as a simple janitor in a highly prestigious office building that may or may not be trying to steal some Stark tech. He was on watch during the day, and Bobbie Morse (code name Mockingbird) took over from him at night.

So imagine his surprise when the shrill ringing of his cellphone interrupted his precious sleep. He answered it grudgingly after making sure his hearing aids were in place.

"Yo," he greeted with a yawn.

"Clint," came his younger brother's voice, raw and hoarse. "I, I need you to know… What's happened, it's all my fault. I'm gonna fix it."

Clint straightened up from his position in bed, his heart beating fast and a sick feeling in his stomach.

"Dean, what are you going to do?" he said, his tone coming out a little harsher than intended. "What's happened?"

Dean gave a humorless laugh.

"Sammy's dead, big brother. He got a knife in the back last night and I'm gonna fix him."

A feeling of absolute dread washed over the archer at Dean's words. Sam was dead. Sam was dead. But then his brother's other words hit him with full force.

"How are you going to fix him?"

"We'll be seeing you soon, Clint." Dean's voice was deadly calm.

Clint swore to himself as he nearly tripped trying to untangle himself from the bedcovers and plant his feet on the ground, at the same time trying to dial Coulson's phone.

"I need you to send in someone to replace me," he said in a rush as soon as he heard Coulson answer the phone.

"Wha- Hawkeye, are you hurt?" Coulson's voice was full of concern.

"No! No, I'm fine, it's my brothers, my baby brothers, Coulson, please." He was practically begging, and didn't even think of the fact he'd just revealed, a fact that he'd been hiding since he joined the organization.

"Brothers? Agent Barton, please explain what's going on!"

"What's going on is that my baby brother is dead, and my other brother is probably going to do something stupid, and I don't even care about this stupid mission anymore, I'm going to them!" He was breathing heavily, and he slightly red in the face.

On the other line, Coulson let out a sigh. After a slight moment of silence, he spoke.

"Agent, I," he cleared his throat. "Alright, you may go. We'll send in another agent to take your place, but you need to meet with Director Fury and I as soon as you are able."

"Thank you," was all that Clint said, and he ended the call.

He had the S.H.I.E.L.D. tech people track the signal from Dean's cell, and he soon found himself by an old town called 'Cold Oak'. He didn't know quite where his brother was, until he saw Dean's Impala pull into an old – and more than likely abandoned – motel parking lot.

"Dean," he called to him, his face unreadable.

Dean jumped a little, and turned to his older brother with a slightly guilty expression.

"Hey, Clint," he said cautiously as the agent walked up to him. "I, uh, you didn't have to come."

Clint crossed his arms at him.

"What the hell did you do?" he growled, and his younger brother flinched.

"I made a deal." He confessed, his voice almost a whisper. "I went to the crossroads and sold my soul to a crossroads demon to get Sam back. Happy?"

The archer stared at him in shock.

"You did…" he trailed off, staring in horror at his brother's face. "So, ten years to live, then?"

Dean paused, and then shook his head, not looking his older brother in the eyes.

"One." He whispered. "I get one."

Clint didn't know whether to slap him or hug him, so he did neither. He simply walked into the motel room with the younger man. He saw Sam, standing in front of a mirror and examining a fresh scar on his back.

Dean's face morphed into relief as soon as he saw his moose of a brother.

"Sammy? Thank god."

Sam looked at him, brows slightly furrowed.

"Hey," he said, his eyes darting between both of his older brothers.

Dean moved forward and pulled the tall young man into a tight embrace, and Sam winched a little.

"Owwww," he complained. "Uh, Dean?"

Dean released the younger man, looking like he might actually cry.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm sorry, man. I'm just… I'm just happy to see you up and around, that's all."

Sam nodded at him, looking puzzled. Clint couldn't take his eyes off of him, knowing just how close he was to losing his younger brother. The three Winchester brothers sat down, and Sam shot a look to the oldest before returning his gaze to Dean.

"Okay," he said. "Dean, what happened to me?"

Dean hesitated, his eyes flicking briefly and catching Clint's gaze.

"Well," he ventured, "what do you remember?"

Sam's brows scrunched together as he attempted to remember. Clint leaned forward slightly. Would Sam remember that he'd been dead for an entire day?

"I, I saw you and Bobby, and… I felt this pain." Clint's breath hitched a little as his brother spoke. "This sharp pain, like, white-hot, you know, and then you started running at me, and… that's about it." He finished his recount, and stared at Dean expectantly.

Dean nodded, the look on his face making it clear that this was not a good memory for him.

"Yeah, that," he swallowed, "that kid stabbed you in the back. You lost a lot of blood, you know… It was pretty touch and go for awhile."

What kid? The archer thought to himself.

Sam looked confused again.

"But Dean, you can't… you can't patch up a wound that bad."

"No," Dean confessed, and for a moment Clint thought he would tell the truth. "Bobby could. Who was that kid, anyway?"

Again, what kid?

"His name's Jake," Sam said. "Did you get him?"

Dean shook his head.

"No, he disappeared into the woods."

Sam stood up.

"We got to find him, Dean. And I swear I'm gonna tear that son of a bitch apart.

The other two brothers exchanged worried looks.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Dean said. "Easy, Van Damme."

"You just woke up, all right?" Clint added. "Let's get you something to eat, huh? You want something to eat?" Sam nodded.

"I'm starving," said Dean. "Let's go."