Author's note: Thank you so much to the people who read the last chapter! It was a much better reaction that I had expected :D and I already have a decent start on chapter 3.
So again, favorite and follow if you want to see this story continue, or leave a review with any thoughts :)
Disclaimer: all characters and organizations featured in this work are properties of Marvel and no copyright infringement is intended.
Holy shit he's fast. Was all Clint could think of as he burst out of the stairwell and onto the roof. Barnes was already at the edge, his eyes darting between Clint and the alleyway five stories below.
Clint took the man's hesitation to finally get a good look at him. Whatever happened at the Triskelion had clearly caught up with his body. His face looked so sickly Clint swore he could have collapsed right there, and his whole body seemed to shake frantically as he held his right arm awkwardly to his chest. He couldn't help but glance at the other arm, the one mentioned in the file, with it's metal fingers poking out of his sweatshirt.
For Clint, the worst part wasn't his appearance. It was the haunting sense of Deja vu that kept him frozen where he stood. His mind trailed back to all those years ago where the person in front of him was a fiery red-head, a woman whose story was not unlike his own. An assassin who had been used so many times she forgot who she was before.
Unmade.
Clint saw the same desperate longing in Barnes eyes, the one that made him decide to throw his bow to the ground.
As soon as the metal hit the concrete Barnes's face furrowed in confusion, and Clint took his chance.
"I know who you are. Let me help you." For a moment, Clint was sure his words worked as the man stepped down from the edge. However as soon as Clint relaxed and took a step towards him, he snapped. His eyes darting away as if he realized something. In a split second, he turned and started to step off the edge.
It was that desperation Clint saw that made him ignore the fact that he was helping one of the world's most deadly assassins and run forward.
Clint barely had a chance to call out as he ran. His fingers just grasped Barnes hand as he dangled down the side of the building, and he knew before the yell pierced the air that he had grabbed the wrong arm. The sound lasted a second before Barnes was desperately trying to grasp the smooth surface of the wall with his free hand, failing as the metal scratched uselessly at the concrete.
Clint didn't think twice when he threw his other hand down.
"Take it!" His voice strained as he reached down. It took a moment longer than he liked as he struggled with the man's weight, but Barnes gave up and Clint felt the cold grasp of his metal hand. With a groan he pulled him up. They both lay on the roof, Barnes hunched over on his knees and holding his right shoulder while Clint sat back and watched him. Silence filled the next few minutes as both men tried to grasp what had just happened.
When Barnes finally looked up at Clint, his eyes lacked the frantic gaze of before, now the man just looked at him with curiosity.
"Why?" Barnes croaked out.
"Uh... no," Clint started. "I get to ask that first." The man looked taken aback as he sat up to face Clint. "Why the hell were you watching me?"
The truth was that Clint turned the tables simply because he couldn't admit what he saw in Barnes. He hadn't even told Natasha the full story as to why he made that call on her life, and he definitely wasn't ready to tell the man in front of him.
"I… I thought you might... " Barnes couldn't finish his words, but Clint knew the truth.
"Help you?"
"Maybe." Barnes Sighed as Clint watched on. "But why did you? If you know who I am...what I've done… you should have let me fall." His last words forced Clint to look away as he thought.
It was Clint's turn to sigh as he answered. "Maybe one day I'll tell you, but right now?" He got to his feet. "You have a choice, you let me take a look at that arm and we'll take it from there..."
"Or?" Barnes stood up and looked Clint in the eyes.
"You piss off." Clint couldn't help the small smirk that came. "And if we're lucky, you won't hear from me again."
Barnes turned and started to wonder around the rooftop, lost in thought.
A choice. He mused. It was almost funny, for years all he could remember was orders, being treated as a weapon without a mind of his own. Then all of a sudden he finds a man who offers him a choice. He knew the man had some dark secrets that rivaled his own, just the way he walked screamed a history death and blood. But can I trust him?
He was pulled out of his thoughts when his eyes caught the other man collecting his bow from the ground. For a second, Barnes tensed, thinking he would finally use the weapon, but relaxed when he only hooked it over his shoulder.
Clint noticed the change and made his own decision, realizing that pushing him would only make things worse.
"Look kid, I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't want to do. God knows you've had enough of that already." Clint admitted. "Whatever you decide, well, you do know where I live."
Clint let his words hang in the silence as he turned away from the man and into the stairwell, not knowing if he'd ever see Barnes again.
Clint's last arrow struck the target with deadly precision. If there was one thing that could calm him down no matter what, it was making perfect shots - or showing off as Natasha had called it.
Clint collected the arrow as a thunderstorm rolled on and pummeled the windows with rain. It had been a full seven hours since his encounter with the Winter Soldier, and three hours since he had given up waiting for a knock at his door. A particularly loud crash of thunder led Clint over to the stereo, where he turned up the Guns n' Roses CD to drown out the passing storm. Throwing himself onto the couch, the archer ran a hand down his face. Two hours of sleep was not enough to keep his body running for a whole day. Not bothering to take his hearing aids out, Clint let his consciousness fade.
Before he even opened his eyes, Clint reached his hand back to grasp the hilt of his knife. His sudden fear had nothing to do with the psychopathic Norse god that often haunted his dreams. He risked a glance at his surroundings with narrowed eyes as he tried to determine the source of his unease. It took a moment longer than it should have, as his head cleared from the grogginess of sleep, but Clint eventually focused on the stereo to his left. The CD was still playing, the outdated machine delivering the notes of Paradise City. What tightened his hand around the knife was the fact that it was playing at a considerably lower volume than what he had fallen asleep to.
Clint didn't fully register his actions as he saw the shadow move across the wall. In one swift movement, he stood and hurled the knife towards the kitchen behind him, watching as it dug into the wall next to the fridge. Seeing his intruder, he released the breath he'd been holding and mentally thanked himself for not aiming at the man's head. A moment passed before either man spoke.
"You made up your mind?" Clint asked, breaking the silence between the two men.
"One condition." Barnes started. "You help me find what I'm looking for, then I'm gone. No questions."
The archer took a moment to process the man's words before he answered, not entirely sure if he was doing the right thing.
"Deal. Now let me check out that arm."
