Chapter One

IMPORTANT NOTE: So if any of you started to read the story I posted a long while ago, Mirage, I want to let you know that that story has been replaced by this one. *throws hands in the air* Wait, wait! Let me explain before you kill me! The story Mirage had a very confusing plot that ended up contradicting itself. The story wasn't going to work, so I decided to delete it and start fresh. Clarcy Barton will remain in this story, except she is named Ella instead. She is still the younger sister of Clint Barton, though, and this story will be much shorter than Dancing In the Darkness. Anyway, onto the story!

Ella:

Lesson of the day: idiots will be idiots. They're stupid, don't like to completely think things through, and are always trying to be the hero. They don't listen, they do what they want, and ten times out of ten, it gets them killed. Or, in this case, extremely injured.

"Dammit, Ella!" Clint said, flinching away from me as I attempted to pull a bullet from his shoulder. It was deeply embedded, and would only cause more damage if it wasn't removed. "Stop, it will you? That burns!"

"Well, maybe if you had been more careful, like I told you to be, this wouldn't have happened," I said, directing the long tweezers back towards his shoulder. "Now hold still, and stop fidgeting. You're only gonna make it worse if you keep squirming like that."

"I'm gonna make it worse?" Clint said, trying to maneuver his shoulder away from me. "You're gonna make it worse, coming at me like that with those things. Trying to rip my entire shoulder off, are you?"

I rolled my eyes. "I swear to you, Clinton," I said, my voice showing how highly irritated I was. "If you don't shut your trap, I'll rip off your whole damn arm with these things." I snapped the tweezers together menacingly for emphasis. "Now hold still before I call Fury in here."

Well, that was a threat that worked. Granted, he still had a pout on his face, but he kept his arm still as I tried to locate the bullet. "How did you manage this, anyhow?" I asked, my eyes glued onto his bloody wound. It wasn't the worst injury he'd ever received, but it wasn't very pretty, either.

"Sniper," he said, and winced inwardly as I began to dislodge the bullet from his muscle. "Pretty bad one, too. I think he was aiming for my head. Sucks for him."

"Well, you should send him some flowers then," I said, pulling the bullet from his flesh. He winced in response. "You lucked out, kid. An inch to the right and he would've broken an artery, and you would've lost an arm."

"Lovely," Clint said dryly as I plopped the bullet onto the metal table next to me, fishing some bandages from the drawer. "What are you still doing here anyways?" he asked. "I thought your shift was done at nine."

"It was," I said, pulling the bandages and gauze from the drawer. "I had to file a bit of paperwork, which didn't take too long, but then I heard that you—you stupid idiot—were shot. I figured I might as well stay until you got here so I could make sure you were alright."

I unwound some of the gauze, carefully twisting it around his shoulder to cover the wound. The absorbent material began to dot red with blood.

"Aww. And here I thought my baby sister didn't care about me," Clint said, his voice etched in mock appreciation. I sent him a glare.

"I'm nineteen, Clint," I said, taping the gauze into place. "I think I'm a little too old for you to still be calling me baby sister."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Please," he said. "Even when you're forty, I'll still call you baby sister."

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. "What? Does it bother you?" Clint taunted. I chucked his shirt at him, turning my back to put my medical equipment back into the proper drawers.

"You know it does," I said. "That's why you haven't stopped doing it all these years."

That's right ladies and gentlemen, I was Clint Barton's little sister. Ten years younger, to be exact, but our age difference didn't really matter. He and I had always gotten along. Well, for the most part. Clint enjoyed humiliating and pulling pranks on me, most of which I would walk right into. He would shun me and push me down the stairs when we were little, and by some weird miracle, I still looked up to him. He was my role model. And only a few years after he joined S.H.I.E.L.D., so did I. I graduated high school early, and became a medical intern at S.H.I.E.L.D. only a year ago. I was still learning how to deal with some of the more brutal wounds, but I'd slowly built up the stomach for it and gotten the hang of things around here. I'd helped with some of the other agents, but most of the time, yours truly was patching up her idiot brother.

I turned back to Clint. "Now, I want you to put fresh bandages on that before you go to sleep, and do the same thing when you wake up again. I don't want you to have the same bloody bandages on you when you wake up," I said, giving him my best motherly look. "And I'll be here tomorrow, so I'll know if you do or not."

"What are you, our mother?" Clint asked. I could hear the annoyance in his tone as I turned to get my coat.

"No," I said, not missing a beat. "But I should be. You've always needed someone to look after you. That's why your partner is Natasha."

"I'm going to choose to ignore that," Clint said. He eyed my navy blue scarf as I tossed it over my shoulder. "You leaving now?"

"Yup," I said, popping the 'p,' as I snatched my bag up off the floor.

"You want me to walk you to your car?" he asked. I shook my head. Looking back, I should've accepted his offer.

"Nah. I knew I'd be working late tonight. I parked right by the building."

Clint nodded. "Alright," he said. "Well, see you tomorrow, little sis." I saw that familiar glint in his eye, and it tried to move out of his way. But, as usual, I wasn't quick enough. His arm locked around my shoulders and he pressed his other fist into my head, giving me a rough noogie. That was his way of showing me that no matter how old I got, no matter how grown-up I thought I was, he was always going to be bigger and stronger than me. He reminded me of this on an almost daily basis.

I squirmed in his tight grip until he finally released me. I glared at him. "You can't ever resist yourself, can you?" I said, trying to flatten out my strawberry blonde hair. Lord knows it probably looks like a bird's nest right now.

"Nope," he said, and I rolled my eyes. Children will be children, and Clint was still twelve at heart.

"Bye, Clint," I said, walking out the door before he could keep me there any longer.

The corridors of S.H.I.E.L.D., rather surprisingly, were bustling with activity, especially during the night hours. Agents exchanged information about their missions, nurses raced back and forth with different medicines, and occasionally you could find the occasional Avenger roaming around.

"Hey, Ella!" Natasha called. My eyes snapped to the redhead agent seated in one of the nurses' rooms. "Patch your brother up yet?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yup. Just got done with it, actually," I said. My dark eyes swept over her. Natasha herself was getting her own treatment for a rather deep-looking gash on her bicep. Anyone else would have been panicking over it, but not Natasha. She didn't even seem fazed by it. "He was being a baby about it," I told the agent. "But he should be good as new in a week or two."

"What got him?" Natasha said.

"He told me it was a sniper," I responded. "But you know how he is. For all we know, he could've accidentally shot himself."

Natasha laughed, a warm, hearty sound. Natasha, despite being ridiculously hardcore and tough as nails, was one of my best friends. I found myself laughing with her probably more than anybody else, and often at Clint's expense.

"I'd love to stay and chat," I said, and jerked my thumb towards the door. "But I've gotta run. Kibbles needs his dinner," I said, referring to the little kitten I'd just rescued from the pound no more than a month ago.

"Damn," Natasha muttered. "Either way, I'll see you tomorrow." She sent me off with a little wave, and the nurse tending to her arm began to scold her in harsh Russian.

I carried myself out of the S.H.I.E.L.D. building quickly and quietly after my encounter with Natasha. Honestly, the only thing on my mind then was to get home, cook some pasta, and curl up on the couch with Kibbles and watch some silly soap opera to unwind from today's stress. I didn't even consider the events that were going to take place next. It's so interesting how just ten seconds can change a person's entire life.

The cool air hit me as I walked out of the building. The wind was brisk with fall and the coming of winter. I smiled inwardly. It was my favorite time of the year. I saw my car parked in one of the very front rows, so close to the building that I could see the tiny prism that dangled from my rearview mirror the moment I walked out the door. I made a beeline for my little red car, pulling out my keys as I did so. I didn't even hear the man walk up behind me.

I gave a scream of shock as a firm hand sank into my shoulder, shoving me up against the side of my car. "Do you work for S.H.I.E.L.D.?" he growled. His words were gruff and demanding. A cool object pressed roughly against my throat. I realized it was a knife.

I gulped. He was going to kill me. "Yes," I gasped, my words all strung together. "I-I work for S.H.I.E.L.D.. Please, don't kill me. Please! I-I'm just a nurse!"

Apparently, that was exactly the wrong thing to say. My attacker's eyebrow raised in interest. I began to speak faster. "Please," I went on, my voice shaky and gasping. "Wh-what is it you want? You can have my car, or my purse, or my phone. Any-Anything you want. Just please, don't hurt me…"

"Shut your trap," the man hissed, pressing the blade further into my throat. I yelped; I could feel it cutting into my skin. "You said you're a nurse?" he said thickly. "What's your name?"

"E-Ella," I choked out. "Ella Barton. Please don't kill me..."

The man chose to ignore my plea for life. Instead, an awfully wicked smile tore at his features. "Oh, you're more then just fine," he said, a sickening undertone to his voice. I had a feeling he was talking more to himself than to me. "You're perfect," he hissed. He raised his arm up, and brought his fist down on my head.

I blacked out.

Ahhhh I'm so excited for this story! I might not update it as often as I want because I'm working on another story Dancing In the Darkness as well, but I'll try to update as often as I can! I hope y'all enjoyed it so far, and this one will mainly involve Bucky/Hydra, so for those of you who like that kind of stuff, stick around! I hope I did good, please follow/review/favorite! Until next time.

-Charlotte