Title: Scars – Chapter One
Author: Lucky Gun
Beta: SpenChester
Summary: A trip to Asgard to keep Barton out of the Council's reach after the Battle of New York places the agent in more danger than anyone could have ever imagined. Face to face with demigods capable of reading his very soul, Hawkeye is forced to protect his teammates and himself from Loki's growing influence while on the prince's home world. Sequel to Bruises. AU. Contains whump, language, and torture.
A/N: It's been awhile, my friends, and in this time I have lived and loved and learned and all that sweet, sweet jazz. This story picks up just as Bruises ends and I will be making a grand attempt at reconciling Nordic mythology with Marvel canon. Of course, some things won't mesh up, but I'll do my best. Again, this story is going to be Clint-centric, hurt/comfort/angst, and will deal with the fallout from Bruises. Please leave a review if you can! They're my crack.
It was quiet in the throne room, the golden floors echoing nothing but the breathing of the guards and the subsonic thrums of heartbeats. Upon his mighty seat, Odin Allfather sat silently, reflective in the request his audience had placed. His years rested lighter than usual on him with the knowledge that his firstborn was returning home this day, but the leaden words that had echoed through the room minutes before still pounded in his head.
"What urged you to ask such a thing, Forseti? Surely my discretion and Thor's would be sufficient in this matter for all citizens of Asgard," he finally responded, his calm voice carrying through the room.
Standing respectfully at the base of the stairs leading to the throne, the tall blond leaned slightly on his rigid staff, the thick dark cloak on his back barely shifting with his movements. The movement did reveal a sharp sword on one hip and a small shield on the other, the silver of his armament contrasting beautifully with his black clothing. He had an air of patience about him and seemed genuinely regretful to be making such a petition.
"I do defer to your greater wisdom and Thor's personal experience in this matter, but the facts cannot be ignored. In this tragic case, there is a very thin line between guilty and not. He may have been stopped, arguably at the cost of his own life, but the truth is simmering just below the surface. I cannot leave this wound to fester, my king. You know this."
A silent sigh passed through Odin's lips and his shoulders fell.
"I know you are honor-bound to deliver justice in the fairest terms allowed by nature, and I will not attempt stop you. I simply wonder what made you ask such a thing."
There was an apologetic smile on Forseti's face, knowing that the answer would further complicate his king's future.
"Sigyn requested my review of the situation, my lord. I cannot say no."
Indeed, the weight hanging around the king's neck seemed to double. He sighed again, audibly this time, and he finally nodded.
"Just as I cannot deny the validity of her request. You and I are both intimately aware of the crimes perpetrated on Earth, Forseti. What can be the outcome of such a trial?" the king asked softly, the question low with his weary voice.
His smile turning a bit more grim, Forseti took a moment before he responded, "Victim or accomplice. The decision shall ultimately be left to destiny, no matter the strength of my scales, the power of your command, or the might of Thor's words. If he is a victim of your son, then he shall not be harmed. If he is an accomplice, he shall join him."
Closing his eyes tightly, Odin took a few moments to reconcile the situation within himself, determining the truth in his friend's words.
"I understand. Answer me honestly, Forseti, with nothing but your heart on your tongue. Does Loki have any chance of being saved?"
Forseti blinked and looked away, separating the deity within from his own soul. After a moment, he returned his gaze to his tired king, seeing a father instead of a lord upon the throne.
"Allfather, neither Sigyn nor you nor Thor nor myself can save Loki from his own doom; his crimes are determined and he is sentenced, and that mandate shall never be transmuted. This review may see an ebbing of his pain at the cost of another's agony." He paused, then tempered his words by adding softly, "But the only foolish hope is abandoned hope."
Odin said nothing and did not move, but a few moments of silence was easily read as a dismissal. Forseti bowed low and turned, exiting the chamber swiftly. His own words rang mercilessly in his head, and he strode from the palace in distraction. He didn't spare the stars above or the water below more than a quick glance as he mounted his horse, the group of demigods around him loud with anticipation. The four warriors spurred their mounts on ahead, trotting along the bridge with excitement. He hung back, his own steed taking his silent cue for a unhurried walk, and he sensed the moment his riding companion's horse fell in step with his. The six unladen horses tethered behind them followed them dutifully, their steps filling the increasingly long quiet until a soft voice broke his reverie.
"I have rarely seen you so upset, my son."
Forseti turned to look at his father with a small smile, the other man's ability to read his moods so perfectly a welcome addition to his world at the moment. Astride the other horse, Balder gave an answering smile, his shoulder length brown hair waving gently in the sea breeze. His shimmering brown leather armor gave him both a war-ready and gentle look, and peace enveloped the very air he exhaled.
"I simply mourn for the days ahead, for the pain that must be felt by all involved for nothing more than a smitten maiden. My heart tells me that the crimes were true, the intent impure, but logic dictates I must meet the soul and determine it for my own. Such a trial for one who has already been through much..."
Balder nodded slightly, his eyes conflicted as he responded, "Do not believe he is innocent in everything, child. In this, perhaps. But he has his own sins to atone for, and some would say he desires the punishment that you can deliver to him. You must determine if he deserves such a thing or if he has suffered enough."
Frowning, Forseti asked, "Isn't any drop of suffering too much, father? Even Loki's punishment, deserved and blessed by destiny though it is, is enough to make my heart ache. He may be beyond saving, but he is still our king's son, our prince's brother, a lord himself."
Exhaling slowly and softly, Balder took a few seconds to answer, "Justice, even when it is apt, can be painful. But harmony does not mean the absence of pain. It simply means that it is accepted, risen to, and embraced. How one deals with strife is the factor we must account for when we seek balance, not the strife itself."
Nodding slightly, Forseti considered his father's words before he asked, "I can't let him know, can I?"
They were nearing the rebuilt Bifrost, and Balder tugged the reigns slightly and his mount came to a steady stop. He turned unreadable eyes to his son, and Forseti sighed a bit.
"Right."
The warriors in front of them had long since dismounted and walked into the bridge chamber and father and son made to follow. They all gathered within the golden hall, greeting the Gatekeeper with silent nods, and waited no more than ten minutes before the chamber began spinning at Heimdall's order.
For better or for worse, Asgard was about to play host to humans.
The room they were in was gold, round, and bigger than he could have adequately guessed; the floor was dark and still yet simultaneously threw too many shadows for him to measure the area accurately. There was speed and movement and flashing light behind him, and he turned sharply, fingers twitching. He froze when he saw the arrow-like tunnel spinning slower and slower, winding down as it returned to a vertical position at the top of the room. He glanced at it once before dropping his gaze, his hand coming up automatically to wipe his lips with the back of his palm. The taste of bile was still heavy on his tongue, and he swallowed reflexively.
He decided that vomiting in front of a welcoming delegation of demigods wasn't something he'd tell Phil Coulson about; he was sure there was something entirely against the act in his old cultural relations studies. But Coulson was back on Earth with Director Fury, tracking down the SHIELD agents who'd attempted to kill him, and he was stuck on Asgard with the rest of the Avengers for the next three weeks. It had been a long time since he'd been absolutely mortified, and having half his team staring at him while the other half pointedly looked away was quickly making his cheeks color.
"You okay, Robin Hood?" Tony Stark asked, his head ducked slightly so that he could stare at the archer over the tops of his mirrored Aviators.
The assassin known as Hawkeye nodded and pulled off his black framed, red lens Oakley Gascans and shoved them into his inside jacket pocket, angry with himself, his team, and the universe in general. He didn't want to be on Asgard. He didn't want to travel God knows how far across space to get away from a few bastards who were making his life just slightly more hellish than usual. And he sure as hell didn't want to throw up all over the freaking entry room for the Bifrost thing Thor had told them about a few million light years ago.
But he was there, his boots touching the same floor Loki had walked, his eyes seeing the same walls Loki had memorized, his lungs sucking in the same fresh air Loki had breathed. He wasn't going to be able to leave anytime soon, and he was a SHIELD agent, an assassin with a highly regarded reputation to protect, and he decided he damn well better start acting like it and defending it properly.
"Yeah, just not quite used to galactic travel on an empty stomach." he said as he glanced around, eyes lingering on his partner for a little longer than was necessary.
Natasha nodded once as she switched her duffel from one hand to another and shifted the weapons backpack she carried, an action he mimicked unconsciously. He looked to Bruce next, who looked like a kid in a candy shop, and Steve nodded slightly even as he looked a little green around the gills himself. Tony said nothing though his eyes were tracking around the room with a nervous energy that Clint was definitely coming to understand.
The floor below his feet gave a rainbow response as he shifted and concentric circles of light, like ripples in a pond, gave a bit of an optical illusion that threatened to give him a headache. Blinking against the afterimage, Clint took a combat review of the area, taking in the seven unfamiliar people and the exit they were blocking. Glancing down, unsure as to how he was supposed to go about cleaning up his mess, he was surprised to find it nowhere in sight. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he simply straightened and tried to find his metaphorical balance in the situation.
He wasn't surprised when Thor was the first one to move. At the front of their little group, the demigod had a wide smile upon his face as he turned to the people assembled before them. Throwing his arms open, his hammer in one hand, he rushed towards them, his relief and joy palpable in the air. Clint gave the unknowns a second look, slightly uneasy when he realized everyone was armed. He recognized four of the seven as ones he'd seen in New Mexico a year and a half before, the 'Renaissance Fair' troupe doing their damnedest imitations. He saw the fencing foil, the mace, the axe, and the staff, and he relaxed marginally. Then he looked at the other three, all standing with an air of disconnection and pomp, and he tensed up again.
"My friends! It is good to see you hale!" Thor shouted as he enveloped and was equally crushed into an embrace with the four other heavily armed fighters.
The three men, one almost as big as the Hulk, and one stick-thin woman laughed merrily and spoke in odd terms to each other as they exchanged a mass of greetings. Off to the side, two men in regal robes stood silently with patiently amused looks on their faces. At the top of the central podium, a dark man in shimmering metallic armor pulled a massive sword from the contraption at his feet and regarded the newcomers without much expression. Swallowing a wave of discomfort, Clint found himself meeting the man's penetrating gaze steadily, finding a sort of intensity that he hadn't expected to see in any eyes but his own. Then Thor drew his attention again, and the archer dragged his focus from the silent sentinel.
Waving the Avengers forward, the god of thunder eagerly said, "Come! Do not be shy; they will not bite. Well, Volstag might, if it has been too long since his last meal."
The jest was greeted with a round of raucous laughter by the axe-wielding mountain of a man, and Thor's smile grew even larger.
"My friends, you are all well met. This is Sif, the finest warrior-maiden in the land. This is Fandral, Hogun, and, of course, Volstag. Here they are called Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, my lieutenants and dearest friends."
The four Asgardians regarded the team warmly but distantly, natural suspicion fostering in their eyes.
"These are the fighters I told you about when I returned Loki. On Earth they are called the Avengers."
Taking over the introductions in his usual manner, Tony stepped forward as he slipped his sunglasses off his face, tucking one arm over the collar of his Blue Oyster Cult tee shirt and hanging them there. They dangled just above the very visible ring of energy that glowed in his chest.
"Yeah, Tony Stark, superhero and Iron Man supreme. Pleasure to make the acquaintance with honest to God alien entities."
Stepping forward, Bruce gave a winning smile even as he growled through his teeth, "They're demigods, Stark. Mind not pissing them off so quickly?" Lifting his hand in a wave, he said louder, "Bruce Banner, scientist and owner of, uh, the other big guy."
Hanging back a little, Steve nodded politely and said, "Steve Rogers, Captain, United States Army."
The four warriors gave small nods and glanced at the two silent assassins behind the group, and Clint knew Natasha had sensed his tense posture when she took over their own introductions.
"Agent Natasha Romanoff, level eight SHIELD operative, codename Black Widow. This is Agent Clint Barton, level nine SHIELD operative, codename Hawkeye."
At Clint's agent handle, the two demigods who'd been silent to the side straightened, and one stepped forward slowly, a soft and strange look in his green eyes. He had brown hair that hung to his shoulders, small braids adorned with beads scattered throughout. His clothes were a deep brown that glistened as he moved, his armor more leather than metal. He cocked his head slightly and regarded the archer with a deep interest.
"So this is the one who was able to break through the strongest magic known to our realm. Interesting. Very interesting."
He came closer to Clint and the archer instinctively shifted backwards and to the side, putting his back to Natasha, confident she would watch it. Thor was silent but studying the situation carefully, eyes tracking the other demigod with no fear and only a small amount of concern. Keeping his eyes locked on the approaching man's jade eyes, Clint forced himself to betray none of his own discomfort, falling back on years of training and instinct.
So when the Asgard abruptly reached a hand forward and placed a finger on that still-tender wound on the agent's chest, Clint managed to keep himself from reacting. When the telltale warmth of magic penetrated his skin and started coursing through his veins as his heart pumped rapidly, he jolted only slightly.
His smile maybe a little tight and forced, Barton said between clenched teeth, "I don't think we should move to second base until I at least have your name."
The green eyes locked on his twitched at the corners with some unknown sort of recognition, and the demigod pulled back, his hand dropping, the flush of magic disappearing almost instantly as he smiled with a bit of chagrin.
"Forgive me, friend. I did not mean to cause you unease. I have never met a human before, much less one with your strength of will, and I couldn't restrain myself. I am Balder, the keeper of peace within this realm." Gesturing towards the other man he'd been standing with, he continued, "This is Forseti, the keeper of justice, and my son. He requested to be present for the arrival of the Avengers."
Nodding slightly at the man, the man an almost carbon copy of Balder save for his youth and light hair, Barton responded automatically, "It's a pleasure."
Thor apparently decided that was as good a time to introduce that last Asgardian in the room, the one who stood with the huge sword in his hands.
"And this is Heimdall, Gatekeeper of Asgard and protector of the Bifrost. He sees all."
A smirk was over Tony's face and he said, "Hey, what a coincidence. Looks like you've got some competition here, Katniss."
Refusing the respond to the barb, Clint dropped his gaze and said nothing. A few more words were spoken between the demigods but he ignored them, instead focusing on that warmth that had slipped through his skin, on the waves of energy that had skirted between his red blood cells and glided through plasma. He mindlessly raised his hand and rubbed firmly at his chest, the flash of pain welcome as it served to chase away the unnatural feeling. He could feel the echo of it still emanating from his heart, the heat pooling somewhere behind his eyes, and he reflexively replaced his sunglasses, needing to hide behind their safety. The group was walking from the room, Thor's laughter leading to way, and he followed along behind them as casually as he could, feeling Heimdall's gaze on his back. It was only after they were outside of the room and on the long road that he felt he could breathe again.
Then he froze beside the rest of the Avengers, words failing to describe the sense of wonder and shock as he stared across the realm before them. It was whatever version of day Asgard fell under, though the outer edges of the world where they were was dark as night. The castle that dominated the skyline shone like a diamond in the rough and took his breath away. With his vision, he could make out individual buildings and wings, chunks of what he assumed was art floating above ponds, the movement of people distant enough to be nothing but a single speck of dust. Clint could also smell the salt of the sea, the deep burn of roasting meat that made his mouth water, and the sweetness of liquor that was good enough to be called ambrosia. The sounds of the sea crashing over rocks and disappearing into space below was enough to make him smile.
Then reality came crashing back as he realized that Loki still claimed dominion over everything he'd just observed.
Before he could stop it, he felt a haze of white cross his vision and a more familiar burst of magic rushed through his veins, the vivid nothingness in his gaze turning a nauseating shade of blue. Something deep within his mind shifted and he felt he was falling but he couldn't bring himself to care. A plethora of sensations and sounds assaulted him and he closed them off, ignoring everything to fight off the ocean of familiarity that flooded through him.
So good to see you again, Agent Barton. Have you been well?
Gasping out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, Clint jerked and opened his eyes, finding himself a good twenty feet behind the rest of the group, Natasha standing five feet away and watching him worriedly. Whipping around, Clint stared at the Gatekeeper who was just a few meters away, sword standing upright in front of him, hands wrapped around the hilt. Desperately trying to bring his breathing under control, Barton barely kept himself from begging the man to let him go home.
Heimdall observed him with his copper irises silently before he quietly said, "Sometimes the best way out is through, Agent Barton."
Still breathing harshly through his mouth, Clint found himself responding, "So you watched Robert Frost for awhile, I take it."
Moving nothing but his mouth, the demigod still seemed to shrug as he answered, "For a human, he had uncommon clarity of thought in some things. You would do well to take his advice."
Finally able to breathe without hyperventilating, Barton nodded slightly and turned back around, the red-tinted world tilting a bit in his gaze before it resettled on its axis. He said nothing as he continued along the bridge, his fingers itching for his bow. The sense of serenity that had descended upon him before had disappeared behind a wave of panic and danger. Everything, from the waves of the ocean to the breeze in the air, now seemed to have a tinge of malevolence to it. It seemed to breathe in his soul that this was Loki's home and it would fight him with everything it could muster.
Turning his gaze from inward to outward in an attempt to balance himself, Clint stared past the people ahead to a large group of horses waiting a few dozen yards away, and as everyone leisurely wandered towards them, Natasha lingered back with Clint.
Her focus was on their surroundings as she asked lowly, "What happened back there?"
The question was all encompassing and something he wasn't sure how to answer. Working some moisture back into his dry mouth, Clint refused to look behind him at the man he knew was still watching him.
"This was a bad idea, Tasha. This was a really bad idea," he whispered, swallowing harshly. She nodded slightly beside him and murmured, "I know. We ran out of options, though. Here you're safe from the Council, the men on the helicarrier, a forceful debrief. They can't get you here."
Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, the crimson tint of his sunglasses making her hair much more vivid than usual, he breathed, "I'm not safe from me, though."
Silently, he screamed, And I'm not safe from Loki.
She stared straight at him, an unreadable expression on her face, and she nodded slightly.
"I know."
And he knew she'd heard his unspoken words. But there was nothing more to say, and they both knew it. So she shut her mouth and he hefted his bag a little higher on his shoulder, gripped the strap of his duffel a little tighter, and brushed past her towards where the rest of the team was waiting near the horses. He said nothing in response to Tony's quick glance and soft frown, instead content to keep his lips pressed tightly together and his tongue firmly between his teeth. Thor had noticed their lagging and was just finishing up a short explanation of the construction of the wall surrounding the great city to buy his friend time to recover himself.
"And I struck down Hrimthurs with a blow to the head after he revealed himself to be a deceptive Frost Giant of Jotunheim," he finished, and Steve blinked, still coming to terms with the world he'd awoken into, and Bruce just nodded his head a little bit.
"That's nothing. One day I'll explain the bitter war between me and the evil Board of Labor Unions, Malibu, 1999. Much blood was shed and percentages were raised beyond most mere mortals' comprehension. There was no happily ever after with that one," Stark declared, his words making the demigods regard him curiously.
"Labor unions?" Forseti asked quizzically, but before Tony could launch into a tirade about the ins and outs of contract negotiations on the construction of his mansion, Thor raised a hand to call for silence.
"Peace, friends. We have much time to regale each other with tales of conquest befitting our own strengths. But first I am eager to see my father. We shall retire to the castle this evening and feast as the warriors we are," he said to the delighted cheering of his lieutenants.
It was an exercise in hilarity to watch Steve and Bruce attempt to get on their mounts, neither having much reason before to ever ride a horse. Bruce seemed more terrified of the thing than it was of him, and Steve kept following the animal around in a circle with a flustered expression, one foot in a stirrup and the other hopping along the ground. The incident was enough to keep everyone thoroughly distracted while Clint walked to the side of the bridge and stared down at the rapid water below him, trying to get his bearings. He unthinkingly crossed his arms over his chest as the wind tugged at him, pushing him towards the edge, a mirthless warning seeming buried in the air.
He was just about to convince himself he wasn't seeing Loki's face in the waves or hearing his voice in the current when a hand fell on his shoulder, making him jump. He looked up, expecting to see Russian eyes, and was shocked to see a very different face instead.
Giving Barton a small smile while his hand tightened in a friendly way, his fingers missing the burn that was still healing along his collarbone, Tony Stark asked him quietly, "You okay? We've lost you a couple times since we got here."
Clint tipped his head back towards the horses for a moment, the sounds of laughter doing nothing to drown out the cultured white noise that drifted over his mind like broken glass. Natasha was busy strapping their few bags to one of the horses, though her attention was focused on her partner.
Returning his attention to Stark, he tried for defensive normalcy and nodded, "Haven't gone anywhere, last time I checked."
Frowning slightly, Tony didn't pull his punches and said, "You don't have to do that, you know. I get it. If you put me back in Gulmira or in that cave, I think I'd look a little bit like you right now. You seeing him?"
Throat going bone dry, Clint blinked back an unexplained rush of moisture in his eyes and grew increasingly thankful for the thick lenses. He kept his gaze forward and his body tensed so tight he knew he couldn't hide it from the hand that Tony still had on his shoulder. Against all reason and common sense, he found himself answering honestly.
"Not like in the subway or on the rooftop. But this is his home. He's stood here before. He's seen what I'm seeing. And it's like he's still here in my head. I can see him and hear him in everything. He lived in this place and it wants me dead," he said softly, his tongue so heavy he barely found the strength to move it. Tony's grip tightened again, this time almost painfully, and Clint murmured, "The second I stepped out of that chamber it's like this place knew who I was and what I had done to its prince and now it's figuring out how to get me gone."
Glancing over at the usually brash playboy, he asked quietly, "Am I crazy?"
Stark's hand loosened and he shook his head as he responded, "No more than the rest of us, though I'm not sure how great a reassurance that is. I don't know much about all the science being magic being science aspect of this world yet, but I do know that if you're right, if this place is out to get you, we won't let it."
Lips quirking downward into something that only Barton could pull off as a smile, the agent said, "I'm not having paranoid delusions, Stark."
Finally dropping his hand to Clint's arm, Tony pulled him towards the group that was mostly in the saddle behind them as he nodded and said, "Never thought it for a moment, Katniss. Now let's head out of here and get this meet and greet with Thor's daddy over with. I'm dying to see what the food of the gods tastes like."
Shaking his head slightly, Barton let himself be led away from the edge of the bridge, grateful to Thor who had once again distracted the group from his absence with a tale of Asgard.
"So I bashed in his head until he stopped snoring. Not unfortunately, he also stopped breathing, and we managed to finish our journey to Jotunheim," he finished, and Steve, now firmly seated on a horse, just chuckled and commented, "It appears your ready answer is to bash in the head of whatever is annoying you at the moment."
Thor shrugged atop his own steed and nodded as he said, "In my experience, it tends to work. And I prefer to stick with things that work."
Tony took only two tries to get into the saddle of the horse that Thor was holding for him as he added his two cents, "That's an attitude that I attempt to get my employees to follow, but they usually drop it by the third or fourth repeat."
The demigod watched Clint as he walked towards the last horse and swung himself up onto it without much thought or effort, his own eyes tinged a bit with sadness, but he wiped it from his features by the time the archer had turned to look at him.
"It will take us half an hour to get to the castle at a trot, unless you all are willing to ride a bit faster than that," Balder said genially, and while Steve, Bruce, and Tony groaned softly, Clint and Natasha actually looked at each other and smiled a bit, something unspoken passing between them.
Seeing this, Thor gave an answering grin and glanced at his own lieutenants, all but Volstag readying themselves for the ride.
"Very well. Forseti, Balder, Volstag, would you be so kind to accompany my friends to the stables? I feel this is a challenge that must be met," he said as he swung an arm, throwing Mjollnir to the sky, knowing she'd return to his quarters as he ordered.
Bowing his head graciously, Forseti responded, "It would be a delight and an honor, my lord. We shall see you there."
Clint ducked his head for a moment as his horse twitched under him, though it wasn't with the angry, vengeful energy he'd sensed when they'd left the Bifrost chamber. Instead the steed seemed to come to life with his rider's anticipation, giving an animalistic affirmation that it would run to his call so long as Clint gave him his head. Smiling softly as years of circus training and equestrian experiences came back to him, the archer grabbed the reins in loose hands and shifted to urge the horse into the impromptu line that had formed up. As the horses bucked and snorted and silently begged to be let loose, Barton wondered if he would be able to ride fast enough to escape Loki's voice that flowed in the wind.
He figured it couldn't hurt to try.
So when the horses took off, he handed himself over completely to the creature beneath him, responding to it innately, caring for nothing but the freedom that came with the cessation of familiar words in the air. The world passed in a welcome blur around him, his senses discarding the rapidly changing environment in favor of internal noise, and his heartbeat thrummed pleasantly in his head. His breaths jarred from his lungs with every lunge of the muscular animal below him, and wounds that had been long silent in their healing began screaming to life. The smile slipped from his face but he dealt with the pain as long as he deemed necessary, finally grimacing as he pulled back on the reins, yanking the horse back to a gentle canter instead of a full-out sprint. His surroundings came back to him in a familiar technicolor and the soft sounds of his re-emergent ghost echoed once more in his head.
You thought to try and outrun me once before, Agent Barton. That didn't end so well for you, did it? Remember the dash through the forest in your head, the hunt between the trees, the spring of memories I threw you into when I caught you at last? What I have planned for you will make that seem a child's game.
The horse shifted and shied a bit as the other horses thundered past them moments later, Clint thoughtlessly waving Natasha on before he placed a trembling hand against his left side, directly over the thick scarring that was aching and throbbing.
I know, he thought slowly, wondering if he was indeed insane.
His back burned, the long strips of new skin tight with the horse's movements, and he ignored the creeping agony in his left leg that reminded him the limb was still unused to much stress and strain. Instead, he forced himself to focus on the motion beneath him, the repetition giving him a sense of balance that was destroyed the minute that voice spoke through his thoughts again.
You won't recognize yourself when I'm done with you, Hawkeye. Not even your beloved Natasha will recognize you.
Forcing himself to breathe in and out and blink when his eyes burned, Clint responded, I know.
A few moments later, the wind brushed against his face again, this time bringing with it the heat of fire, the smell of ash, and the taste of blood.
You are going to die here, Clinton Barton.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Blink.
I know.
End Chapter One