So here is the new Chapter One! I read back over everything I wrote and didn't like it so I basically rewrote everything. Reviews are very much appreciated. This is also unbetaed so I apologize for the mistakes that there are (cause there are definitely some. I'm a horrible proofreader)

Disclaimer: Neither Marvel nor Mission Impossible are mine, as much as I want them to be.

Will and Clint were backed up against a wall. They had been cornered in the alley by the agents.

"20 agents and 3 snipers on the surrounding rooftops," Will muttered.

"Noted," Clint replied.

"Lower your weapons," a man in front said."You are outnumbered. Our orders were to bring you in alive, but exceptions can be made."

Clint didn't like the smirk on the man's face.

"Just put your weapons down."

Will glared, "I'm getting real tired of hearing your voice."

"And I'm getting real tired of having to repeat myself," the man snarked back.

The two brothers tightened their grip of their weapons. There was no way they were going down without a fight.

The agent noticed this and shrugged, "Have it your way." Before the two of them could react there was a blinding flash of light and then nothing.

Clint awoke to a dull throb behind his eyes. He tried to ignore it, but it was relentless and starting to get very annoying. He opened his eyes, squinting at the light that assaulted them. As they adjusted he slowly sat up, mindful of the throbbing in his head that had increased in intensity.

The first thing he noticed was that he was in a padded cell. That was also brightly light meaning his headache was only getting worse. Bastards. He stood up and walked around the room. It was small, white, and bare. He could see the outline of the door but there was no handle. He pushed on it, but it didn't budge. He started checking the corners, looking for weaknesses. Clint was on the third corner when he heard the door move. He spun around and took a defensive stance, but only a little window appeared. A small tube was pushed through the opening.

"Oh come on!" he shouted. "Is knocking me out again really necessary!?" The only response he got was the sound of gas being released into the room. Clint tried to hold his breath as long as he could, but it only took a few minutes for spots to dance before his eyes and he blacked out again.

A heavy pounding woke him up this time. His headache had increased tenfold.

"Assholes," he muttered before he was fully awake.

A voice to his right made him jump, "Glad you could join us Clinton. Hope you slept well." Clint tried to sit up and face the man, but he was strapped down to a table. And he was in a straight jacket. Fricking seriously.

He turned his head to look at a tall black man with and eyepatch, "This a mental institute or something? What's all the toys you got Roberts?"

The man cocked his head, "Dread Pirate Roberts? Didn't think people on the run got the chance to see a ton of movies."

"Only the goods ones," Clint snarked. "What do you want?"

"You," 'Roberts' said simply.

"What about my brother?"

"Someone else is interested in him."

"What the hell does that mean!? What are you doing to us? Where is he?"

"Don't worry. You and your brother are safe. He's already been transferred."

"What do you mean transferred? Where is he!?"

The man moved past Clint and presumably spoke to someone on the other side of the glass that was on the wall across from him. Clint took this opportunity to look around the room. It looked like an x-ray room. The man turned back to Clint.

"Just relax. This won't hurt. And afterwards you won't be worried about your brother. I promise."

Clint struggled in his bonds. "What do you mean!? What are you doing to me!?" he shouted after the man.

'Roberts' turned and looked back at Clint as he exited the room, "See you on the other side," and the door slammed shut behind him. Clint yanked hard at the restraints but they didn't budge. A man in a lab coat walked into the room.

"Who are you!? Let me-urmpf!" The man shoved a thick, leather strip into Clint's mouth and tied it behind his head. Clint only struggled harder, bucking against the restraints, but the jacket didn't allow for much movement. He was starting to panic now. He screamed behind the gag as the guy positioned a machine on either side of his head. Clint slammed his head on one of the machines before the guy strapped his head down too and then left the room. Clint was still thrashing, but he was almost completely immobile. He froze when the machines turned on with a whirring sound. It felt like a pulse was being pushed through his head. He passed out a few seconds later.

His eyes slowly fluttered open and were met with dim lights and a white room. He was lying on a soft bed and he could feel an IV in his arm. He sat up slowly and looked around. 'Where am I? he thought. He couldn't remember what happened. The next second he froze. He couldn't remember anything! His name, his age, who he was, how he ended up in this hospital like room! He jumped as the door was pushed open. A tall, black man with an eyepatch entered the room. His presence was intimidating. He kept the door open slightly which made the man in the bed relax slightly, though he didn't know why.

"I'm glad to see that you're awake. How are you feeling?" The man asked.

"All right I guess. Who are you? Where am I? Who am I?"

"My name is Nick Fury. I'm the director of SHEILD," he smiled slightly at the confused look on the man's face. "SHEILD is a covert government agency and you, are one of our best agents. Clint Barton. You were in a fight and got hurt pretty badly, hence the memory loss. It should return in time."

Clint rolled the name around in his head. It sounded familiar. "How do I know I can trust you? You I was in a fight but I have no injuries."

"You have been out for a while now. The injuries you had were mostly superfical, so they have already healed. It was the head trauma the caused the most damage," Nick Fury replied. "But as your memory returns you'll remember this stuff for yourself."

Clint was hesitant, but already little things were coming back to him. He had a memory of this room and sneaking out of it and the man in front of him yelling at him about it. He also remembered a sharp pain in his head and then blacking out.

Fury turned to leave the room, "Get some rest Clint. We need you back on your feet." Then he was gone. Clint laid back down and tried to remember more, but gave up when it made his head hurt. His closed his eyes to sleep but couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was forgetting something very important.