"Fudge-buckets," Captain America said under his breath as the sky continued oozing aliens. Him, Clint and Natasha stared up at the tower with its bright blue beacon splitting the heavens. It seemed impossibly far away.

Around them, chaos reigned as aliens attacked and destroyed everything and everyone in their paths. Scared screams and shouts of terror echoed throughout New York as people ran to get to safety. The sane part of Clint stared at the massive alien ships diving through the fissure and urged him to follow the civilians and hide. Fortunately, Clint had long since gotten exceptionally good at ignoring his saner self.

When Captain America ran off to help organise the police and get civilians to safety, Clint considered morphing into something bigger. Perhaps something with fangs or claws at least. His arrows, as effective as they were, were going to run out sooner than later if the sheer number of aliens approaching their position was any indication. And honestly, he had some pent up rage that needed to get out.

Natasha's handguns succeeded mostly in simply annoying the bastards, their thick hides easily shrugging off anything that was not centred firmly on their foreheads. He handed her an extra clip before going to help some people stuck in a bus. Seeing a man clutch his little girl, desperately running for a building and relative safety, was all Clint needed to strengthen his resolve. Yup, that's why he did this.

"Just like Budapest!" Natasha called to him over the clamour of yells and gunfire.

He shot her an incredulous look before focusing once more on the task on hand. "You and I remember Budapest very differently," he stated, loosing arrow after arrow, each finding their intended mark. He threw himself into the fight, losing himself to the heat of battle. His reactions sped up; his senses sharpened. He could smell blood and taste it in the air. A part of him revelled in the rush of the adrenaline and the violence and the hunt. Every take-down was a small victory; every victory was a tribute to her. He gave his instincts free reign as he punched and kicked, swung and dodged, killing aliens just as one would if one had been doing it since thirteen years of age.

Sometime during the fight, they were joined once more by Captain America. Clint hadn't noticed him approaching; he was simply suddenly there and Clint flawlessly adjusted his fighting style to accommodate a larger team, watching the heavy-hitter's back and knocking down strays that got too close to Natasha. Bolts of lightning shredding through the half a dozen remaining aliens surrounding them announced the arrival of Thor and Clint immediately seized the unexpected lull in battle to collect some of his arrows. An archer running out of arrows… the horror.

Banner also decided to make an appearance, and right on time since Tony Stark arrived with one of the gigantic, alien-spawning ships hot on his tail. He jokingly referred to it as a 'party'. Clint was not amused.

And neither was Nat. "I don't see how that's a party."

Before their eyes, Banner became the Hulk, and Clint couldn't help but admire the smoothness of the transformation. It made even Cassie's morphing look ugly in comparison. A sharp pang of longing swept through him. What he wouldn't give to have them all fighting by his side once more. But half of them were dead and the rest had other responsibilities, families, even.

At least, a Hulk was significantly better than a tiger on the power scale. And power was what they needed as more and more alien ships poured from above. Clint's bones turned to ice at the sight.

"Call it, Captain," Tony broke them from their reverie, and quickly, Captain America stepped up into the leader role, doling out jobs and instructions, trying to utilise them all and their respective skills as best he could. It was startling how much Steve reminded him of Jake. The maturity, the level-headedness, the ability to effortlessly inspire others. Also, both Jake and Steve were always great at playing to people's strengths. Captain America sent Clint up, which was exactly what he wanted.

"Want to give me a lift?" Clint asked Tony, who did just that and deposited him on a nearby rooftop. It felt good to be nearer to the sky.

At first, it seemed to be working. They, the team, were definitely slowing things down, but as soon as they killed one alien, three more took its place. Clint tried to use his arrows sparingly and as effectively as possible, shooting down the flying bicycles in favour of targeting individuals. Being up high put him in a much safer position than his comrades, though, as well as gave him the perfect vantage point for when they got hurt.

Before he realised it, he pulled out his last arrow. "Shit," he swore to himself and loosed the explosive at a group of aliens heading for a small café, filled with cowering people. Maybe he could borrow one of Nat's… his gaze swept across the battlefield until he found the familiar sight of the redhead. Adrenaline spiked. Two aliens had her pinned down, one of their energy weapons aimed at her head. Clint didn't blink. He didn't think. He simply acted.

He jumped.

He flew.

Tseerr!


My goodness! I am so unbelievably happy to know that I am not the only one left! Yup, Animorphs - good times. Anyway, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but I decided to go a bit further, with some proper nods to the Animorphs. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. Special thanks to FireSpiritHiki, who gave me hope that I was indeed not alone and basically, gave me the incentive to write more. Oh, and for the Guest, who summed up my own feelings so accurately. Yes, after all these years, it still hurts. :) Thank you so much!