Clint grunted as a splatter of sparks descended upon him. He bit his lip, a frown creasing his forehead, before he leaned around the pedestal to take his next shot. His aim was true, leaving one last hostile: the one using the kid as a human shield.
"Throw your weapon out or I'll put one in the kid!" demanded the man.
"Do that, and it will be the last thing you do," countered Barton, checking his back up gun and tucking it behind his back. He weighed his options as he listened to the kid struggle under the gunman's grasp.
"Maybe this'll expedite your decision," called the gunman, before a series of clicks and beeps sang the activation of the device above Clint's head and an automated countdown sequence initiated. "Whatcha gonna do now hero?"
Clint peered around the bomb. The tell tale discolor of the energy field was gone, giving the gunman a clear exit with both the kid and the detonator. "Awe screw it," muttered Barton, sliding his gun across the floor towards the gunman. Slowly he stood up with his hands raised in a nonthreatening manner. "Now why don't you let the kid go and call it a day?"
"This little shit's my ticket out of here, but you don't have to worry about that," countered the gunman. "We were aiming for Stark, but I guess you'll do." The gunman smiled as he moved the gun away from the kid and towards Hawkeye.
The moment the gun cleared the small boy's head, Clint dropped his hands, pulling free his own backup gun tucked behind his back. Three shots were fired. One in the gunman's shoulder, another in his knee and the last one belonging to the thug himself, went wide. The target fell to the floor with a cry of agony, releasing his hold on the child.
Barton had been all fluid motion, stepping around the bomb towards his target, gun in hand. Satisfied that the enemy wasn't going to be doing anything threatening in the immediate future, Clint pocketed both weapons. In a flash he was by the kid, hands searching for any sign of injury. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
The kid shook his head frantically, visibly shaken. His eyes were wide as saucers, fixed on the injured man the rapidly spreading pool of blood on the floor.
"Don't look bud," whispered Clint, cupping the kid's face and burying it in his chest. Carefully he picked the boy up and walked out into the hall. Placing him down gently so his charge was on his feet, Clint knelt down so they were at eye level. "What's your name?"
The boy worried his lip. "Benjamin." It sounded more like a question than a definitive answer, as the child shank in on himself.
"Benjamin, I'm Clint, and here's what I need you to do," stated Barton, his voice even and calm but with enough authority to penetrate the fog of shock enveloping the child. "I want you to take the elevator down to the main floor. There's going to be men in suits there. Don't be scared, they're going to take you out of the building, alright."
Ben's eyes perked up. "Just like my dad? He had to wear a suit to work today."
Barton ruffled the kid's hair. "Just like your dad."
"You sure they're going to help?" asked the small boy.
"Yeah," assured the archer. Pointing to the SHIELD emblem on his uniform he said, "You see this symbol, that means they're the good guys." Pulling a small pocketknife out of his boot, he began to cut out the badge from the fabric covering his armor. He then pressed it into the boy's shaking hands. "You show them that, and nothing's going to happen to. I promise. Now get out here."
The kid didn't need to be told twice. With the badge held tight in his hot little hands he took off towards the elevator. Clint tapped his comm. device. "Did you catch that Brody? One civilian coming down the elevator."
"Copy that Barton."
Clint strode over to the armed bomb, a foreboding feeling welling in his gut. All the best training SHIELD had to offer, a million simulations and a couple dozen live disarming under his belt and it never lost the sheer terror that accompanied staring at a live bomb. "Stark, what the hell is this addition?" he asked, making sure his phone camera got a clear shot.
There was a pause before Stark came back on the mic. The inventor made some non intelligent noise followed by the rapid clatter on a keyboard. "I can't tell from here," he confessed. "But just hang on I'm going to come to you."
"You're going to what?" interrupted Rogers, cutting into their conversation.
"I don't think there's going to be time for that Stark. Genius here armed the damn thing. I have like seven minutes."
"I'll be there," insisted Stark.
"Brody is the building cleared?" asked Rogers desperately, in hopes of providing Barton with a backup plan.
Regretfully Brody joined the radio conversation. "No. There's a daycare on the fiftieth floor that a team of hostiles are guarding. There are forty-three children in there that we haven't been able to clear yet."
"Can you disarm it, Clint," chimed in Romanoff.
"Hold on a second," snapped the archer. He pulled his gun, pointing it at the thugs who had propped himself against the wall while holding his shoulder. "What's this do?" he growled, pointing to the mystery device attached to the already highly deadly device.
"Fuck you," replied the thug.
Clint released the safety off his weapon with a click. "What kind of force can this energy field withstand?"
"Go ahead," snarled the man, "pull the trigger."
Barton thought about it for a second. The sheer satisfaction of wiping the smug smirk of the man's face was tempting but it wouldn't change the situation and offer nothing but a split second of personal satisfaction that would taint his soul. With a frustrated sigh, he began to examine the extra surprise thrown his way. "Stark, what's this thing been repurposed to do?"
Tony looked over the video feed and scans Barton was providing and even with JARVIS in his ear, the inventor was at a loss. He could figure it out, that wasn't the question, but in six minutes without being there? He wanted to he could figure it out, hell, he knew every inch of the bomb component of the device, but this wasn't the time or place for an ego trip. "I… I got nothing," he confessed in a low voice. "But hold on I'll be right there. JARVIS, how long till I have a suit?"
"Brody, clear that daycare!" ordered Romanoff, as though her sheer will could force the situation the resolve itself.
"Hawkeye, just hang on, Thor and I are coming," added Captain America.
"Can you still disable the explosive component?" demanded Black Widow, foregoing any attempt at remaining calm and collected.
An eternity passed in silence before Hawkeye came back over the comm. "Not without risking setting this thing off. Brody the kids?"
"The agents are moving in now, there's no way they're going to get them out of the building in time."
"Thor, can you help get the kids out?" asked Rogers.
"Aye. Regrettably not all at once," apologized the god, rushing to offer any aid that might ease the situation.
"Barton, Thor's going to try and get the kids, you have four minutes to get out of there. You should take it," suggested Brody, as helpless as the rest of them.
Clint looked at the timer boldly counting down the seconds; he didn't spare a single glance at the door. Looking back at the thug bleeding out in the corner, he asked, "Can the field withstand the blast?"
The gunman spat out a blob of blood and glared at Hawkeye like a hungry wolf. "You gonna take that chance, hero?"
"Stark, can it?"
"Based on my calculation, it would contain the blast from my design. I can't guarantee it will work now." The telltale metal clicking foretold Iron Man's suiting up. "I'll come, I'll make sure it can."
"At the very least it'll give Thor the extra time to grab those kids, even if it doesn't hold for long," added Brody.
"That's what we're doing then." Hawkeye walked over to the dead gunmen who still had the remote for the field clenched in his hand. Prying it out of the man's hand, he stepped over the threshold of the field. "I guess this is where we say goodbye," offered Hawkeye. The thug just snarled in reply.
He pressed the button; a sharp crackle filling the air but the field didn't activate. He tried again. Nothing. "Son of a bitch," he huffed, marching towards the generator. Clint wanted to bash his head against the wall as he took in all the bullet holes in the device. Not ready to throw in the towel just yet, he pried off the access panel to take a look at the wiring within. A sliver of hope plunged through his heart at the sight of a backup switch. Pressing down on it the field flickered to life.
Hawkeye's hope was short lived. The button failed to lock in place, deactivating the field the second he moved his hand away. With a minute and a half left, he was out of options. "I don't suppose you want to come over here and hold this down for me, do you?" he asked the gunman. His companion dutifully flipped him off. "I didn't think so."
Clint was oddly okay with what was about to happen, the team wouldn't be but he found himself floating in a sea of calm. Nodding to himself he placed his hand back on the button and opened his comm. line. "There's a back up to initiate the field but it's on dead man switch. I'm going to keep the field up. Get those kids out of here."
The command van was deathly silent in the wake of Barton's admission. Even Rogers and Romanoff who had been working so hard to make it from the first building to the one Barton was in paused in their efforts just to look at each other. No one said it, but everyone knew.
"I'm suited up Barton," chimed in Iron Man as he burst from the van. "We'll rig it so it stays up without you there." There was panic in his voice; the universe was moving at its own accord and nothing he had to offer was going to derail its course.
"Tony, stop," Clint said, low and even as he sat down next to the generator. Peering over at the bomb, he took in the time; his sharp eyes missing nothing. "There's less than a minute. You can't do anything."
"That's not true. You're not a genius, you don't know. I could…" protested Iron Man, only to be cut off by Black Widow.
"Clint?" It was heavy with a thousand questions.
"It's going to be alright Natasha, you'll see. I'm going to keep trying to disarm this thing but I have to keep the field up." His lips were making promises he wasn't sure he could keep, but he'd say anything if only it could put hope back in her eyes for a moment.
"I'm coming." He wasn't going to say it, but she knew what he was doing. If someone was going to stay and hold that button till the end, it was going to be her, not him. Hawkeye wasn't mean to go out like that and it was the least she could do to make up for the things she had done in her life. It would be a drop in the bucket of what Natasha owed Clint but it was something she had to do for him.
"Keep her there Cap," pleaded Barton. "Don't let her in the building!"
"Are you sure, Clint?" asked Rogers, not wanting to lose a friend but knowing exactly what that moment felt like.
"Someone's got to do it Steve. Nata…a I'm….rry." The radio filled with static, garbling his words until he lost all contact with the people most important to him. That was probably the worst part. He couldn't properly apologize to Natasha for breaking his promise to her.
The numbers of the clock didn't care if his loose ends were addressed; they just continued to count down. Clint let out a long breath and as the timer reached the last three seconds, he closed his eyes.
The air surrounding the building was filled with indecision. Everyone needed to move to do something, but no one knew what to do. They could fight almost any enemy but time just wasn't one they could defeat. As a bright green light poured out of the floor all eyes were glued to and the building structure remained intact, a little piece of everyone died.