Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers
Authors Note: I want to thank all those who reviewed, JRBarton, Hawaiichick, Lollypops101, Kimbee, Janechen88, DesignedByFate, R. .
And also everyone that had added this story or myself to your favourites. You ALL rock!
This is also my first beta'd chapter, so a big thanks to DevinBourdain, your AWESOME!
Hope you enjoy!
Phil frowned, as he watched the camera feed SHIELD had hacked into, at what was happening to his younger agent. Phil was sitting in the back of a black van with all the high-tech gadgets for surveillance. He couldn't hear anything but he didn't need to hear what was said to know that his charge wasn't doing so well.
The handler knew Clint could handle anything thrown at him, but even in the few days that Barton had been there, Phil could see the darkness seeping out of the younger agent, just so he could blend back into that life. Coulson was just hoping it wasn't permanent.
They had a signal that would alert Phil to any problems and Clint's need for an extraction, otherwise Phil would just be keeping his eyes peeled for Clint taking out Dexter and needing his exit plan.
The young agent had already been shown which vents would lead him outside. He had the route memorized, but getting to the vent was going to prove tricky, that was Coulson's cue to provide a distraction so the archer could slip out undetected.
He wished they had been able to communicate with each other. Sometimes that was all Clint really needed, someone that he could vent his frustrations to. Phil had been helping him deal for the past two years, now Phil found that he was the one that needed to hear Clint's voice just to know that his agent was alright.
He had to be, or everything the handler had worked for over the last two years had been for nothing. Phil wouldn't accept that.
Clint would make it out of this mission or Phil would kick Fury's ass.
Phil smirked to himself and sat up straighter in his chair; Fury wouldn't even see him coming.
Clint sat in the mess hall the next day in the furthest corner of the room. He really didn't need a repeat of the other day; for him not to fight his hardest, to let the other guy beat him down, was not what Clint was used to. And if it happened again he wasn't sure he could hold himself back.
He ate quickly, his eyes darting around the room for any potential threats. The two guys from yesterday came into view, though they didn't bother to give a second glance; the archer let out a sigh of relief.
He froze when he heard someone's voice behind him; his insides clenched painfully and he forced himself not to turn round. He counted to ten in his head and when he was sure they'd walked past him, he turned and watched them walk out of the mess hall. Clint closed his eyes and breathed deeply, it couldn't be him. It just couldn't.
He was about to stand when a hand gripped his shoulder. He almost groaned at his luck and was about to push the hand away when he saw who it was.
"Lucas." Barton breathed a sigh of relief.
Lucas chuckled and sat next to him while Fredrik sat across. Fredrik acknowledged Clint with a brief nod and started digging into his slop like it was actual food.
"You look like you've seen a ghost kid, you alright?" Lucas made a disgusted face as Fredrik finished his food in three bites, before pushing his own bowl over to his cousin, receiving a nod of thanks before the other inmate scarfed that one down too.
"Something like that. Just thought I saw someone I knew," Clint offered without too much detail.
"Well, as long as they don't give you any trouble," Lucas told him with a smile.
Clint sighed and stood. "If it is who I think it is, there's gonna be trouble."
"Give us a shout if you need anything Clint."
Clint smiled at Lucas and gave Fredrik a nod; he couldn't believe the man actually ate all of that so called food. If Clint didn't get out of here soon and get a proper meal, he was sure he might just kill someone, Dexter preferably.
The young archer walked out of the mess hall quickly and headed for his cell. Dexter should be out sometime today, so he had to be ready. He'd only been here three days and it was already three days too many. He laid on his bunk and thought about the voice he'd heard, it couldn't be who he thought it was, that would just be his luck; but then again, when did anything ever go right for him?
He guessed he'd find out soon enough, he just hoped that he would be out of here before that confrontation. The archer didn't think he'd be able to handle it all that well.
Clint lay awake most of the night again, he didn't dare let himself fall into a deep sleep here; you never know what could happen. He'd already been running on fumes for the past few days, barely getting more than an hour's rest, so without his approval, his body decided it needed more than an hour, and Clint found himself battling an invisible enemy.
The young archer saw the dagger coming towards him, he raised his hands to defend himself but there was nothing there. He felt the familiar pain in his chest and raised his hand to touch where it was originating from. His fingers touched something wet and when he pulled his hand back all he saw was blood.
He looked down at his chest and cried out when he saw the dagger buried in his chest, the pain felt like it had all those years ago, burning through him and the darkness threatening to pull him under.
Barton's eyes snapped open and all his muddled brain could comprehend was a figure standing in front of him; he vaulted off the top bunk, landing a little more unsteadily than he would have liked. He glared at the man in front of him even as he reached up to touch his chest where the knife had been.
There was nothing there.
Goliath as Clint had nicknamed him, watched with something close to concern. "You alright buttercup?"
Clint just glared at the man, for asking a stupid question and also the nickname.
Goliath grunted and sat back on his bunk. "You were crying out in your sleep, someone named Barney."
Clint closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before staring back at the larger man. "Mind your own damn business."
The large man chuckled. "I wish that were possible, but as you can see…" He gestured around the small cell with his arms spread wide.
Barton sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair while the other rubbed across the old scar on his chest. That was all he needed now, to start remembering that fucked up night. He splashed some water on his face and pushed the last remnants of the nightmare out of his head; he needed to focus, get Dexter and get the hell out of here. He had the sinking feeling that it wouldn't be that easy.
The cell doors opened and Goliath stood. "Breakfast time." Goliath actually seemed to smile at the thought. Clint grimaced as he thought of what they considered food in prisons. He'd get Phil to grab him a burger when he got out of here, something big and greasy. His mouth watered at the image.
Now he just had to wait for Dexter to make an appearance and he could make his move.
Little did he know he was already being watched. A figure lurked in the shadows as the young agent sauntered past and disappeared into the mess hall. After a few moments man slithered behind, maintaining their surveillance and biding his time. Fingering the shiv in his pocket, he knew retribution would be swift in coming; all he had to do was get the archer alone. With a twisted smile plastered on his face, he disappeared into the crowd of inmates waiting in the breakfast line.