A/N: SO… This idea's been sitting on my mind for MONTHS. And now, FINALLY, it's HERE! (shudders from excitement) I REALLY hope that you'll be at least one tenth as excited as I am! First, though…

DISCLAIMER: PLEEEEEEEEEEASE! I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that I had enough money to hire Renner, even for five minutes, but… (POUTS) And sadly I'm not one of the Marvel-masterminds. SO, I own nothing! (Typing that HURTS, ya know?)

WARNINGS: adult themes, superpowers, language (sorry, Steve…!), weirdness, CLAURA (although it won't be HEAVILY present, more like mentions)… anyone out there…?

Awkay, because it's WAY too late… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

Brothers of Fire and Ice

Burn marks and Frostbites

/ Clint was only five-years-old. Far too young to understand the punishment he received. In pain and absolutely terrified.

"… a freak, just like your mother …"

"Daddy, please…!" Clint whimpered. Unable to stop the tears running down his cheeks. "Please, not again…! I swear…"

"You have promised. Time and time again. And you know what? I'm sick and tired of it!" A heavy, metallic door was opened. "Now get in. We'll see if you still feel like acting up in a few hours."

"Daddy, please…!"

But he was thrown mercilessly to the stone floor. And the door was slammed closed. Leaving him into dark and incredible, breathtaking cold. /

Clint Barton crashed through a window, rolled and bounced up elegantly, already prepared. Shoot an arrow. Kick. Punch. Repeat. The first ten hostiles went down easily. "I'm in", he announced to his ear comm and walked on, his steps unhesitant.

"Good." Steve's voice carried a great deal of tension. "Widow's signal is coming from two floors down."

"Keep telling me the way", Clint commanded, his own voice hard and determined.

Natasha had disappeared in the middle of a mission two days earlier. Twelve hours ago her tracking signal finally activated, announcing that she was definitely in a trouble. It was time to bring her home.

He was called Hawkeye – but there are only so many things a human being can see. He saw five hostiles and took down them all. He didn't see the sixth.

Danny D'Orrey was an average man in every way. An average criminal, with average intelligence, with an average background story of a drunk father and a mother who didn't care. And then Black Widow killed his wife.

He sneered at the Widow's battered face when she began to open her eyes. "Joining me again?" he inquired in a heavily accented voice. He sighed at her glare. "Too late, I'm afraid. I had to get us some company to keep me entertained."

He let her get a long, good look at the slowly waking up man behind him. Savored the look of helpless rage that appeared to her eyes. He'd enjoyed pummeling her with his fists. This torture… was something so much better.

"I wonder what I should do with him", he mused out loud. "Maybe I should cut him open like a fish. Or better yet… Maybe I'll chop him into teeny, tiny pieces…"

"I'm not going to let you touch him", she growled.

Danny laughed, loudly. "And how are you going to stop me? You've been beaten to a point where you're barely conscious. You're tied up and unarmed. So, I'm asking again… How do you imagine that you'd be able to stop me?"

The smell of something burning was his first warning. "She may not be able to stop you." The archer who'd been unconscious mere moments earlier now stood behind him. The ropes the man had been tied with had been burned horribly. Flames still danced all over the Hawk's hands and in his eyes. "But I am."

It took no more than a simple, stone hard punch to knock Danny out.

Clint breathed hard as he stared at the unconscious man, whose cheek now held a fist shaped burn mark. Adrenaline coursed through his veins in waves, making him feel dizzy. He could still feel the tingle of flames on his hands, even if the last flickers had disappeared almost a minute ago.

It'd been a while since he last used his powers…

Soon he shook himself out of those chaotic thoughts. There were far more important matters to be dealt with, after all. He took a deep breath, then moved to Natasha who seemed a little more aware by then. She still seemed incredibly dazed, though. "C'mon", he murmured, and activated his powers again. This time the flame on his hand was a warmer and gentler kind as it began to nibble on the binds trapping the Widow. "Let's get you home."

Clint was so preoccupied by saving her that he didn't realize they had audience. Not until he had her in his arms and turned around. He froze.

Steve and Tony, who'd clearly rushed for their aid, stood by the room doorway. The looks on their faces revealed that they'd seen far too much. "What… What the hell did you just do?" Tony sputtered.

Clint gulped laboriously. Cursing his stupidity and carelessness. Then again… He guessed that the truth was bound to come out, sooner or later. "I, eh… I suppose that I've got some explaining to do."

Elsewhere, far away in the filthy cellar of a building no sane person would've wanted to enter, thirty-five junkies lay passed out, several of them in their own filth. It was the city's biggest drug den. A place where no one heard or cared about the chilling screams coming from the back room.

"I'm asking you again…", a barely human voice growled. "A one more time… Is it true, that Clint Barton is still alive?"

"Yes… Yes… YES!" The other man whimpered miserably, nearly rendered unconscious by the agony. "God, please….! Please stop…!"

"Haven't you taken a look around?" Ice traveled on the first man's hand, as well as in those eyes. "God… has absolutely no place, in a place like this." His eyes narrowed. "Where… is… he?"

The victim emitted a yet another pitiable moan of pain and defeat. Surrendering to his fate. "In… In New York… Please…!"

"Thank you, for your cooperation."

The other man's lips opened but by then it was too late. The ice rushed on, quickly and mercilessly. Freezing the terrified man into a macabre, chillingly beautiful sculpture.

Barney Barton didn't look back as he left. His steps were soundless and unhesitant as he made his way out of the building, never casting the disgusting view around him a single glance. He rinsed his shoes in a puddle of water as soon as he was outside and disappeared into the rain.

TBC?

A/N: How's that for a start? Any good, at all? I've said my piece. Now it's your turn. (grins, slightly nervous)

In any case… THANK YOU, so much, for reading! Who knows. Maybe you'll stop by again…?

Take care!