[4]
Clint checked himself out of the hospital a couple of hours after Fury left.
It wasn't really hospital, so the checking out process was a lot easier than it normally was for Clint. Back at the SHIELD base in D.C. the medical team there knew not to leave Clint alone in his room for more than a few hours, especially when he was seriously injured. Clint had developed a bad habit of leaving before the doc had given him a green light to do so.
He didn't like hospitals, sue him.
Someone, Maria probably, had made sure a set of clean clothes and his go-bag from Utah was left in the room. Clint dressed without even really noticing what he was doing, but it felt good to be out of the flimsy hospital gown and in a clean pair of pants and shirt.
He left the small room without a backward glance. He had no fond memories of hospitals, and apparently never would thanks to Fury.
Clint was livid as he stalked down the halls of Fury's compound. He could feel the anger flowing through his veins, making his fingers tingle with it. He kept his clenched hands down by his sides as he walked, trying to stay in control.
He hadn't had a great day (or however long it had been since Matthews had stabbed him) and now Fury was acting like the asshole that most people thought he was.
Obviously, Clint knew that he could easily leave and not look back. Fury wouldn't keep him here against his will. SHIELD was gone, and his contract with them probably wasn't binding anymore.
But.
Clint didn't exactly want to leave either.
He hadn't been a good man before Coulson had found him and dragged him from that life. Coulson had been the one to set him on the right path, keeping his focus on what was important and good. But Coulson was gone now, and all that was left was Fury and SHIELD to keep him in check.
In truth, he was a coward, too afraid to see who he was without the leash that SHIELD and Fury had created to hold him back.
"Hey, Barton, you're alive."
Clint looked up. He had wandered into the mess hall of the compound. It was only half-full, but Clint briefly wondered if this was the extent of Fury's trusted men.
Clint shifted his eyes to the speaker. He vaguely recognized the man. Todd Something.
He gave a wave at the man, preparing to move along, but Todd Something gestured to the empty spot at his table.
Clint hesitated for a beat, eyeing the group of agents, who had never been his friends back at SHIELD.
"C'mon, man, we haven't seen you in ages. We thought you might have died."
"Or that you were HYDRA," one of the others muttered into his food.
Clint's eyebrows pulled low and he glared at that man's back. The man squirmed a little as if he could feel Clint's ire.
After a beat of glaring at the man, Clint took a step forward and then slid into the edge of the offered bench. The other agents, scooted making room for him.
Todd Something pushed his plate of food aside, leaning his elbows onto the metal table, giving Clint a long look.
"So," he said lowly, "where were you when it happened?"
Clint eyed the food, his stomach giving a growl. How long had it been since he had eaten? The hospital hadn't even given him its usual jello and other nasty food, and Clint was starving. "When SHIELD fell?"
"Yeah, man, what else?"
Clint looked back up to Todd, giving him a shrug. "In the States, with my handler."
"Mission?"
"Yeah," Clint said. "Didn't finish it." He briefly wondered what had become of his mission in Nevada. It had been small time, and really hadn't been worth his attention, but it was clear now why he had been sent out there; HYDRA had wanted to keep as many of Steve's possible allies far away from him.
"We were lucky enough to be in the New York base," Todd said, nodding to his fellow agents. "Fought like hell to keep it out of HYDRA's hands."
"Great," Clint said, reaching forward and snagging an apple slice off Todd's plate. "Do you mind?" He didn't wait for a confirmation before he chomped into it, crunching on it loudly.
He looked to his left at the agent who had accused him of being HYDRA. He gave the man a grin, mouth full. The man averted his eyes.
"What about you? How did Fury find you?" Todd persisted.
"Why you wanna know, man?" Clint said, swallowing the apple and going for another.
Todd shrugged. "There's not many of us down here. Certainly not a high level agent like yourself. We just figured that you would have gone back to Tony Stark's Tower. You're one of the Avengers, right?"
Clint's eyes narrowed, even as his heart gave a painful thump against his ribs at the thought of his teammates.
"Sure," Clint said with a noncommittal shrug. "But Fury needed me so here I am." He stood up, reaching for the uneaten half of Todd's sandwich. "Thanks."
He spun on his heel, feeling their eyes on his back as he exited the mess.
Either they doubted his loyalty or were just a bunch of gossiping jackasses. Well, fuck 'em; Clint didn't owe them an explanation.
The sterile hallways of the compound almost felt comforting and soothed Clint's ruffled edges as he chewed on the sandwich. It felt a little like home—well, no. SHIELD had never really been home, but it had been somewhere were Clint didn't have to pretend, and had been mostly accepted for who he was.
It was hard to think that he might not ever have that again if he decided to leave SHIELD.
What he hadn't told Todd Something was that the Avengers had mostly disbanded after New York. Clint had spent some time in the Tower, but not enough for him to let his guard down and fully get to know the others.
He was so different from all of them. He was just a guy who wasn't all that special. At least Nat had the background to justify her position with the team; Clint just had an insanely good aim and happened to be in the right place when Steve Rogers had asked if Natasha could fly the quinjet.
So was he even really part of the team? Probably not.
Clint wasn't paying attention to where he was going, just blindly walking as he focused on not having a mental breakdown in the middle of everything. Not that there were many people around to witness it if he did, but still.
He had turned at least three corners and was down a level, but it was still a bit of a surprise when he almost walked into a thick metal door.
It didn't open under his hands when he tried it.
Clint eyed the door, and if this had been a functioning SHIELD compound it would have had some fancy thumbprint reader or something of that sort, but because this was just a bunker that Fury had probably bought in a fit of paranoid worry, it was just a locked door.
There was a sign on the door, but Clint didn't bother reading it.
He could read, despite popular belief, but he also didn't love being told what he could and couldn't do, which most signs tried to do. So he ignored them and could feign innocence when his superiors demanded just why in the hell he didn't read the sign.
Clint set to work on the lock with his set of picks. Maria really had made sure that everything he had with him in Utah had been in the hospital room, bless her. He wondered if his bow was in his pack too, or if not that, than his Glock. He really should have looked.
The lock was child's play really, and Clint had it opened in 30 seconds flat. He put his picks away, mentally making a note to tell Fury to get better security.
Clint spent a beat or two debating whether or not going through the locked door was actually a good idea. Who knew what Fury kept under lock and key in an secret compound; it could be dangerous.
Clint almost laughed at that thought; he had faced far worse than whatever Fury was hiding away. Probably.
He reached for the handle and the door swung open easily. Clint squinted into the room for a brief moment and then took a step inside the dark room.
It looked like the inside of a warehouse if Clint was being honest, but he knew that they were underground somewhere and so it couldn't be an actual warehouse.
But it was a large space. Large enough that it held a strangely lit glass cage in the middle of it.
Clint cocked his head to the side, sliding further into the room.
The cage was about as large as his hospital room had been, and from where he was standing he could see that it held a cot and a small toilet and sink. So it was a prison. Not super surprising considering who Fury was.
He took another step into the room, eyes glued to the box. He couldn't quite see, but he knew someone was lying on their side on the cot, head tucked down to their chin.
Clint knew that Fury wouldn't have locked this person up here if they weren't dangerous, and he hadn't been briefed about this particular prisoner because of whatever reason Fury had, but Clint was in a what the hell mood, so he shuffled closer, years of practice keeping his movements silent.
He hovered just outside the glow from the cage, eyeing the cage's occupant. The person was lying so still, Clint wondered if they were even alive.
"I know you're there."
The voice startled Clint and he almost jerked away, but stilled his movements at the last second.
He cleared his throat and stepped into the glow of the cage, close to the glass. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you, man." Ha, what a fucking lie that was.
There was a snort from inside the cage, the man clearly detecting the falseness of that statement.
"Did Fury send you?" he asked, still not moving from his position on the cot. "Tell him to go fuck himself. The answer is still the same."
Clint's eyebrows rose. "I will definitely tell him that. I'm sure he'll love it. He always does when I tell him that same thing."
The man in the cage let out a startled laugh, lifting his head for the first time to actually look at Clint.
Clint squinted at him; he looked familiar, but Clint couldn't place him.
"You don't like him?" the man asked.
Clint shrugged, scooting closer to the cage. "It's not that I don't like him. It's more like he's a dick and sometimes I don't love that."
"Hmm," the man said, frowning a bit. He shifted on the cot, and then sat up, getting to his feet a moment later. He faced Clint fully, eyeing him up and down with piercing eyes that took note of everything.
Clint did the same to him, eyeing the bare feet and tank top that covered scarred flesh. Exactly two seconds later, Clint's breath froze in his chest and his eyes widened.
The man had a metal arm melded to his body. It whirred as if it could feel Clint's incredulous eyes on it.
He blinked once. Twice. And then flicked his eyes up from the arm to the man's impassive face.
"Holy shit," Clint breathed, stepping even closer to the glass. He pressed both of his hands against the side of it. "You're the Winter Soldier."
.
.
Tony felt a little out of place, standing next to Steve and Sam inside the Avengers' main living quarters, watching the same picture of Steve and Sam being shown on the TV screen again and again.
He could feel the tension rolling off Steve in waves, even while Sam was relaxed standing next to him.
Tony eyed Steve as casually as he could without seeming too obvious.
Steve was standing with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, hands clenched into fists. His neck was corded as if he was holding weights, which Tony supposed he kind of was, metaphorically of course. His eyes were glued to the screen, narrowed and angry.
Tony cleared his throat. "You know if you don't relax, the chiropractor is going to have a field day with you."
Steve blinked and then tore his eyes from the TV to look at Tony.
"What?" Some of Steve's frown eased in the wake of his confusion.
Tony gestured at Steve. "You're all tense, buddy. It's gonna wreak havoc on your back and neck."
Steve was still giving him an exasperated and semi-confused look, but Tony could see Sam behind Steve, hiding a slight smile.
"Tony," Steve started, shaking his head.
"Eh, it's your old man back at risk; do what you want," Tony said, cutting in. He paused and then added, "But, really, Steve, this isn't a big deal. The public knows that Avengers come and go from here. It isn't big news."
"Apparently it is," Steve said, nodding at the TV with a dark look.
"They'll be over it soon," Tony said with a dismissive wave. "I think we have more important things to discuss. Like your old pal, or maybe the other Winter Soldiers that our cunning red-haired friend told us about."
Steve gave Tony his full attention. "What?"
It seemed that Steve had almost forgotten that at some point during this glare-fest, Sam had quietly informed Tony what Natasha had told Steve. Tony had been standing in the living room with the other two, wondering how they could be so calm with more Winter Soldiers out there. He was practically vibrating in a fit of nervous energy at the idea.
"Well, we need to decide who we're going after," Tony said, as if that was obvious. "Your friend or the others. They're both threats as far as I'm concerned."
Steve's eyebrows rose, and Tony internally winced; he hadn't meant it that way. Well, he kind of did. Whoever the Winter Soldier was, he wasn't Bucky Barnes anymore. He wasn't Steve's oldest and closet friend, and the fact that Steve couldn't see that worried Tony more than he knew how to say.
Bucky Barnes was an unknown factor in Tony's mind, but he was still very much a dangerous one, and if Steve refused to believe that, than it was up to Tony to make sure that fact didn't get pushed under the rug.
"Tony—," Steve began, eyes narrowing.
Tony held up a hand. "No need to go through it again, Steve. I heard you the first time. Yes, he's your friend, but he's also the man who tried to kill you and almost succeeded. He's been brainwashed and tortured by HYDRA for longer than I've been alive. It's going to take more than saving you from the river to bring back the man you knew."
Steve's mouth worked as he chewed on his tongue, but he kept quiet, waiting for Tony to continue.
"I think the main threat that we should be pursuing is these other Winter Soldiers that Natasha heard about. We don't know anything about them, but if they're anything like your friend, than they're dangerous and could kill a lot of people before we even have the chance to react."
"So what are you saying?" Steve said, his focus completely on Tony now.
"I'm saying that your friend will be okay for a little while. We need to focus on these other guys."
Steve shook his head. "Bucky could be—"
"Steve, he's right," Sam interjected from behind Steve's bulk.
Tony and Steve both turned to include Sam into their small circle. Sam gave Steve an apologetic look and shifted closer, closing the gap.
"We know that Bucky can take care of himself," Sam said. "And if he got away after D.C. then he'll be okay. We need to focus on the threat here."
"But we don't even know that they're real. Nat only has rumors to guide us." Steve was grasping at straws and they all knew it.
Tony wished that he could give Steve the answer he wanted, but his job as Iron Man and an Avenger was to protect the innocent, and that meant putting Steve's feelings behind him and focusing on what was important.
"Steve, I know this isn't easy," Tony said, after a beat of tense silence. "I know that losing someone is hard." His eyes flicked behind Steve to one of the many couches in the living room. It was hard talking about his emotions on the best day, but doing it in front of a stranger (yes, he had been introduced to Sam more than once, but he still hardly knew him) and having to watch Steve's pity take over his face was making it harder.
"When I lost my parents...when I lost my mom," Tony continued, eyes firmly on a point over Steve's shoulder. "I can't imagine how I would react if it turned out she was actually alive and I couldn't go to her."
He swallowed roughly, looking back to Steve. He was mildly surprised not to see pity coming from Steve. Instead, Steve's face was doing a funny little dance, which Tony couldn't really make sense of.
He was also relieved to see that Sam had silently moved away from them and was standing near one of the large windows, giving them some privacy.
"Tony," Steve said, taking a deep breath. His face was set, but Tony could see the emotions swirling beneath the skin. "There's something I need to tell you."
Tony's heart immediately picked up its pace, and he frowned at Steve. "What?"
Steve didn't say anything for a moment and he looked away from Tony's face, something that wasn't normal for Steve.
A beat later, he looked back up and opened his mouth.
But Tony never got to hear what Steve was going to say because at that moment a bullet embedded itself into the thick glass where Sam was standing with a loud cracking sound.
.
.
"You know who I am?" Bucky asked, leaning closer to the glass to get a better look at the man outside. He didn't look familiar, but like Bucky had already established, that was hardly surprising.
He looked like he could be a formidable opponent. He held himself like a soldier, and Bucky knew that the man had already noted the different ways out of the room (two) and could come up with a weapon of some kind in the minimalist room (trash can near the door—Bucky didn't question why there was a trash can in the room). Plus, there was no telling what was in the pack that hung on the man's shoulder.
If Bucky had to guess, he would say that the man might be able to hold his own against the Soldier for a minute or two. Maybe less. Still, that was not bad, considering most people died under the Soldier's hands in less than a minute.
"Everyone knows who you are," the man said. He paused and then shook his head. "Okay, no, that's not true. But, yeah, I know who you are. Nat and I do talk occasionally. Not recently though." A thoughtful and almost mournful look passed over the man's face.
Bucky didn't know who this 'Nat' person was, but the man spoke as if he should know. Bucky frowned and shook his head.
"Who are you?" Bucky asked instead, nodding at him through the glass. "It's only fair. You know me, but I don't know you."
The man shrugged. "True."
If he thought it was a bad idea to give his name to the Winter Soldier, he didn't show it on his surprisingly open face.
"I'm Clint," he said, pressing a quick hand to his chest.
Bucky waited for a last name, but wasn't given one.
Clint let his backpack drop to the ground from his shoulder, still eyeing Bucky through the glass. "So how'd Fury get his hands on you?"
Bucky tensed and briefly considered not answering, but despite himself he found that he wasn't annoyed by this Clint person. "I was drugged when they found me."
Clint nodded wisely. "Been there."
Bucky felt a laugh itching in his throat, but he swallowed it down. He would not laugh when faced with a potential enemy.
"Fury chewed my ass out for that one too," Clint said with a slight frown, eyes looking past Bucky into some distant memory. "Doesn't matter that it wasn't my fault."
"It wasn't my fault either," Bucky offered without really knowing why.
Clint nodded again. "It's a lot more common than Fury seems to think." His eyes shifted from Bucky's face to his metal arm again, paying close attention to where the flesh met the metal. Bucky couldn't tell what Clint was thinking, a mask suddenly seeming to appear on his still earnest face.
He waited for Clint to say something, to ask about the arm, but he didn't and silence fell between them.
After another long moment, Clint tore his eyes from the arm and looked back to Bucky's face.
Bucky raised his eyebrows and turned a little to give Clint a better view of the arm.
Clint's cheeks colored slightly as he shifted uncomfortably. He winced, hand going down to his side. Bucky noted the movement.
"Got stabbed," Clint said, eyeing Bucky and removing his hand from the spot. "Hurts a bit."
"Been there," Bucky said, lips quirking.
Clint's eyes widened and his mouth opened in delight. He jabbed a finger into his side of the glass, tapping it.
"I can't believe I just heard the Winter Soldier tell a joke! No one will ever believe me."
Bucky didn't answer, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the idea that Clint would leave the room and tell other people about their conversation. Not that he was naïve enough to think that Fury didn't have the room lined with cameras, and could hear and see this whole conversation, but still, it had been nice to pretend that Clint didn't work for Fury and would be reporting all this back to him when he left.
That thought put a sour taste in Bucky's mouth and he frowned, moving away from the glass. He turned his back to Clint, looking at his unmade cot instead.
Fuck, he needed to get out of here.
With his mind working better than it had in years, Bucky finally felt like he might actually have a shot at something close to a life outside this place. Of course, he wouldn't just let HYDRA go on skulking in the shadows, so any semblance at a normal life was out of the question, but the thought of life, and not just a half life like he had been living before Fury had taken him, was appealing.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Clint asked, and for the first time since their short conversation started, his voice turned serious, and even Bucky, who hardly knew this man could hear the shift. "What does Fury want with you? There's a reason behind everything he does, and I know that he wouldn't just take you from wherever you were just to keep you locked up. That's not his style."
Bucky didn't answer, but he could feel his shoulders tensing at Clint's words. He bowed his head, hair falling into his face.
"He knows you're dangerous," Clint continued. "He wouldn't just leave you out there in the real world. But he likes to use whatever weapon he finds." He paused, working through the different possibilities. "He's not going to just leave you in here to rot, is he?"
Bucky turned back around, a dark glare on his face. Clint didn't flinch away like Bucky thought he would. Instead, he stared back steadily.
"It's okay," he said quietly. "I was a weapon too. Found and brought into Fury's arsenal." He shrugged. "Granted, most of it was my choice. Something I'm sure you didn't have."
Bucky didn't say anything, but he was trying hard not to be surprised at Clint's sympathy.
Clint eyed him for a long beat. "Steve doesn't know you're here, does he?"
Bucky ignored the way his heart beat against his ribcage at the idea of Steve. He didn't really remember his friend, but what he did remember was enough to know that Steve was home.
Bucky wouldn't have answered Clint's question, but he wasn't given a chance to do anything more than shift his barefeet against the tile floor.
The doors behind Clint banged open with a crack, and Hill and Fury stalked across the space towards the cage. The looks on their faces were murderous, and Bucky suddenly wondered if Clint was actually supposed to be in this place. Maybe he hadn't been sent like Bucky had assumed. Maybe he wasn't the potential enemy that Bucky had thought he was...maybe he was an ally.
Clint glanced over his shoulder at the two other agents before looking back at Bucky with a resigned look. He stooped down and picked his bag back up, slinging it over his shoulder.
"Looks like that's my cue. But hey, it was an honor to meet you. Steve never talked about you, but I grew up reading about the Howling Commandos. You were something like a personal hero of mine." He leaned close to the glass, the light from the cage falling onto his face. "And one sniper to another, we should really get out on the range someday and see who the best really is." He gave Bucky a grin. "Hang tight, buddy, I just have to deal with this shitshow and then I'll see what I can do about getting Steve." He turned on his heel to face the oncoming agents.
Bucky blinked at Clint's back, uttered baffled by the man. It was hard not to feel like he had whiplash from the conversation they just had.
But it was Clint's last few words that were echoing in Bucky's head as he watched Hill grab Clint by the arm and bodily drag him out of the room, hissing low words at him. Fury stayed behind, staring hard at Bucky, before whipping around to follow Hill and Clint out.
Steve.
Maybe freedom was closer than Bucky thought. And maybe, he wouldn't have to kill anyone to obtain it. The thought was foreign to him, but it also filled him with a sense of quiet relief.
Death had always followed him around in a thick cloud, even before HYDRA had taken him. Bucky couldn't remember much of those early days, but he knew that he had been a soldier then too. It seemed like killing was all he knew.
But maybe with the right allies, he would be breathing clean, fresh air sooner than he thought. And without getting his hands red with blood.
The idea almost scared him.
.
.
A/N: So I almost didn't get this chapter done in time for Monday! Speaking of my (so far) quickish updates...I have to work all week and weekend. Literally every single day for the next week/weekend, so I really don't know when I'm going to have time to write. So maybe don't expect a chapter next week.
Also, singbrina suggested that I change this fic's category. So take it from the Avengers category and put into Captain America's. I'm gonna do that when I post this new chapter. I don't know that it would confuse anyone who's already following this story, but I just wanted to say something. Also, thank you, singbrina, for the suggestion!
I feel like I had more to say, but I can't remember now. So just enjoy the chapter and thank you to everyone reading/reviewing/following/favoriting!