Hello everyone, sorry for deleting the story, I wanted to make some changes to make it better, just things that popped in my head and couldn't put it before.

Thanks to my Beta: Anna575 for all her help and patience.

I apologize before hand for this short chapter, but this is just the prologue, the rest of the chapters will be larger, I promise.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or his Characters they belong to Marvel and Stan Lee.

It was supposed to be an easy job, this one.

Locate the target. Confirm what small Intel SHIELD had acquired on the dirty jobs. Take out the target and head back to HQ until the next mission was sent their way.

It was so fucking easy they only had to send half of the Avengers to do the job; obviously, Fury chose his teammates and even so he cared and loved all the Avengers. This team was the worst of them all, probably because of all the banter that sprouted from the three of them. Even knowing this, they took the mission without hesitation.

They were the most fearsome team of superheroes in the whole world for god's sake… but he had learned that easy jobs were always tied to end in disaster. The fatal kind of disaster.

Fourteen years working with SHIELD and a year and a half working with the Avengers have proven how hard the whole 'the saving the world' part was. Especially for some people like him that had no super serum, or godly type of powers. Not even a green rage monster to cover his back.

So for Agent Barton, waking up in a dark, cold, and damp cell wasn't anything uncommon. The weirdest part of it all was being in there with no recollection of what had taken him to this blackness. Surely he remembered the arms dealer they had been sent to take out and the warehouse. The team's plan to take the man down and even the interjection of another assassin before the target and the new intruder had been taken out. He could recall some of the jokes thrown out after the job was done, but nothing besides that. All his other memories of the event had gone blank. There was just nothing in his brain. It frustrated him, but he tried not to think about it. He needed to focus on getting out of here.

He made an attempt to move his arms only to find them bound over his head with chains around his wrists, feeling a little numb from the awkward position. The movement still got the archer to hiss in anger and pain. He'd obviously been hanging like that for quite some time now. Lowering his eyes, he discovered his jacket and all the damn weapons he normally carried on himself missing.

His head was swimming into a pool of fogginess that seemed to be his constant companion, a sure sign that drugs were used to knock him out. The cold around him suggested they were still on friggen Canada. Clint blinked several times, succeeding on getting rid of the blur and dizziness. He was finally able to focus on his surroundings, doing a quick scan on the place. It was just your typical dim, cold and wet cell.

His trepidation only doubled when he noticed the bodies of his team scattered on the floor exactly a meter away from him.

Tony, being the closest one, was laying on his side facing him. The billionaire's hands were bound with a pair of handcuffs, and a thin line of dry blood trailed from his temple down his eyebrow and into the floor. Small bruises and cuts littered his body, and his right shoulder was bent at an awful angle. Clint was sure it will hurt like hell when Tony wake up. The movement of his chest pointed out his even breathing, and there was a cut on the same injured shoulder that was bleeding, but not profusely thankfully. His armor was gone probably to the same place Clint's bow and weapons were.

Most to his right Steve was slumped in a corner. The captain was sitting with his back against the wall, legs spread out in front of him and his chin resting on his chest. A rope was wrapped around his upper body, and a similar pair of handcuffs like Clint's were noticeable on his wrists. He didn't seem harmed, either. Just the same amount of scrapes and bruises as Tony, except for the shoulder injury. The Captain was probably the most complete piece of the three of them, Clint thought.

Clint felt the wave of happiness and relief engulf him knowing that Natasha, Thor, and Bruce were safe back at the Avengers Tower, seeing as this supposedly simple mission only needed a super soldier, an Iron billionaire, and a skilled sniper. Even so, he was becoming very pissed off with their current predicament. If only the rest of the team were there. At least with Bruce they would have had a better chance of getting out. Not that he blamed them, of course, for staying, letting the more competent half of the team go into a suicide mission.

"Well, look who's awake," chimed a voice from his front. Clint's head snapped to glare at the owner, immediately regretting the action when his headache made itself known, forcing him to hiss in pain and let a small curse escape his lips. "That is definitely not the way to thank the man who saved you and your team," the voice chided.

"Who are you?" grunted Clint, fighting with his restrains. The faint light from the hallway didn't offer enough for the archer's eyes to define the features of the man, and added with the drugs and the probable concussion, it was just impossible. Clint just barely managed not to sigh with exasperation."What do you want with us?"

"All due time, Clinton, all due time." The man stepped closer, and his hands found their way up to Hawkeye's face, forcing him to look straight at his darkened face. "I must say, I was expecting to bring only one trophy home. You could imagine my surprise when my team brought back not only our target, but the famous Hawkeye and Captain America along. Too bad we're still missing half the members of the Avengers. But this is enough for right now. At least I have you."

"Three members that are looking for us," Clint said tensely, "and I can swear to you, when they find us, you won't like it."

"Last time I checked, I did like to stumble with the best heroes of the world; I have been planning for this reunion for a long time now. Well, this time you ain't got anyone to aid you." The man took a step back, admiring his other prey before facing the agent again, his eyes suddenly shimmering with the anger he was feeling. "Tell me Clinton, how will you pretend to escape this time?"

"This time," Clint repeated to himself, fishing through his memories. The voice of the man seemed familiar somehow, but he couldn't pin point from where. The drugs were not helping, and his head just wasn't cooperating like it should. Clint hated how the man managed to kill most of his senses. He needed those if he was going to get himself and Steve and Tony out.

"Huh?" the man mocked. "Seems like that head of yours is having difficulty remembering me. Of course," the man continued, shrugging, "I don't blame you. It's been a long time since we have seen each other, and those drugs aren't child's play either, so it doesn't matter." The man turned his back to the archer, walking to the exit. He stopped at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. He smiled, and Clint knew it was not the good kind. "You will suffer anyway, and your team will be here to share the pain with you…Now you will know what it feels like when someone messes with you. When someone tries to kill you. This time, there will be no vent to hide you, no secret organization to take you away, no stranger to pick your sorry ass from the waters of my hatred."

Clint eyes widened in fear and realization, the cold laugh of the man drilling on his head as the door closed again. The air seemed to be lost for a moment, and his body lost all the fight it had left. Again, the sensation of swimming in murky waters returned with the memory of the familiar man…the snake that broke all his dreams that were already scratched, but not shattered. The same man that had taken away his pride, humiliated him, and turned him into a monster without Clint wanting to become one…

He felt like his own blood was turning cold inside of him. Hawkeye knew he was back to finish what he had started fourteen years ago.

"No…it can't be," Clint whispered to the walls of the cell numbly. "God, please don't let it be, he is supposed to be dead. HE WAS DEAD!" Clint shouted hoarsely.

Looks like today's job wasn't going to be an easy one after all.

END OF CHAPTER ONE