Clint pulled up to the edge of the compound in his hotwired car. It was a risk, he knew, but he might need a quick escape route. He slid knives into all his sheaths, right down to the one in his boot, and slid a gun into his holster. A set of lockpicks went into his pocket, and another was hidden in the bottom of his quiver. He shouldered his quiver and, bow in hand, crept toward the compound. A few feet from the main building, he stopped, hidden behind a cluster of bushes. He looked at the wall, his trained eyes sweeping it for entrance points and weak spots. Spotting a vent at the back of the building, Clint crept slowly forwards. When he reached the vent, he pulled the cover off, freezing as it made a grating sound. Several minutes passed without anyone coming to investigate. Glad for the lax security, Clint pulled himself into the vent shaft and replaced the cover loosely behind him. He crawled forward slowly, careful to make as little noise as possible.
Eventually, he came across a vent looking down into one of the rooms. It looked like a bedroom, with bunks crammed closely together in order to fit as many as possible. Clint was considering removing the vent and taking a better look around the room when he heard the door creak open. He pushed himself backwards with his hands until he wasn't visible through the vent cover and watched as a line of children in worn out clothing were herded into the room by a tall, dark haired man wearing a blue pinstripe suit. The man left the room and Clint followed him from his position in the vents. He tracked the man through the building to a room on the opposite side of the compound from the children. Peering through the small vent set in the wall, Clint watched as the man in the suit stopped just inside the door.
"Are you ready to tell us who sent you?"
"Never!" It took all of Clint's training to keep him from gasping as Coulson answered.
A loud smack echoed through the room. Although Clint couldn't see him, he assumed there was another man there, and that the unseen man had just smacked Coulson.
"Who sent you?"
Coulson didn't reply and received another slap for his silence.
"Tell me who sent you, or I'll have James snap your wrist." The man's voice was collected and frighteningly cold.
Clint managed to maneuver himself so he could see Coulson tied to a chair in the center of the room.
"It doesn't matter what you do to me. I'll never tell you." Coulson replied. Clint could see that his jaw was bruised and swollen.
Another man, presumably James, enter Clint's vision and grabbed Coulson's wrist. At a nod from the man in the suit, he snapped it. Clint could hear the unmistakable sound of bone breaking and bit his cheek to keep himself focused.
"I'll be back. And if I were you, I'd tell me what I want to know. Otherwise, you'll have more than your wrist to worry about." With that the suited man strode from the room. James followed behind like an obedient dog and Clint heard the lock on the door click into place. He waited for several minutes to make sure no one was coming back. Hearing no one, he slipped the vent out of place and poked his head through the opening.
"Agent Coulson." He whispered.
Agent Coulson looked up, his eyes roaming the room for a minute before coming to rest on the vent, where Clint's eyes glowed slightly in the semi-dark room.
"Barton. What are you doing here?"
"Rescuing you."
"You're going to get yourself killed."
"No. No one is dying tonight. Except maybe the guys running this thing."
Coulson stared at him for a minute, trying to decide if Clint knew what he was doing. Eventually, he nodded.
"Now that that's settled, here's what we're going to do."
Clint quietly unscrewed the vent cover in the hallway in front of Coulson's room. He pulled the cover up until he could slide it into the shaft across from him. Laying an arrow across his bow, he dropped down into the hallway. There was no one in the hall as Clint shouldered his bow and set to work picking the lock. Within a minute, he was in. He eased open the door, not wanting it to make a sound and give him away. Slipping inside, Clint turned to face Coulson.
"You look like crap." Clint said, pulling a knife from his boot and cutting through Coulson's bonds. He shrugged out of his jacket and, after removing all the knives, used it to create a makeshift sling for Coulson's arm. "Did you know there were kids being kept here?"
"How many?" Coulson asked. Clint could hear the pain in his voice, but didn't say anything as he finished tying off the sling.
"I saw about ten. There could be more though." He pulled Coulson's uninjured arm around his shoulder and pulled the other man to his feet. "I'll boost you up into the vent shaft. It's not ideal, but we can't risk detection."
They stepped out into the hallway. Clint laced his fingers together into a step. With more strength than his lean frame suggested, he pushed upwards Coulson towards the vent shaft. Coulson grabbed the edge with his uninjured hand and pulled himself slowly into the shaft.
"Wait for me at the first turn. I have to do one thing and then I'll join you." Clint ordered, pulling his lock picks out of his pants pocket and beginning to relock the door. Satisfied, the lock was firmly in place, he pulled himself up into the vent shaft and screwed the cover back into place. He caught up to Agent Coulson quickly. They crawled along in silence, only broken by Clint's occasional whispered directions. They reached the vent and positioned themselves on either side of it so they could look into the children's room.
"Do you have a plan?" Clint asked.
"What supplies do you have?"
"Knives, my bow and a quiver full of arrows. Oh, and a pickup truck parked on the edge of the compound."
"Good. I'll get the children up into the vent shaft. Once they're here, take them to the truck and be ready to go. I'll follow behind."
"That's a good plan except for one thing."
"And what's that?"
"I'll go in. You drive the truck."
"Barton, I can't allow a trainee to do such a dangerous operation."
Clint smiled dangerously. "You're not allowing me to do anything. You just can't stop me."
Before Coulson could reply, Clint had removed the vent cover and dropped down into the children's room.
"Shh… I'm going to get you out of here." He said as the children stared at him. "My friend is waiting up there. He's going to lead you to a truck and take you far away from here."
"Who are you?" One little girl asked, her voice quivering.
"Clint." Raising his voice a little so he could address everyone, he continued, "Here's how this is going to work. I'm going to boost you up into the vent shaft. Once you're outside, you're going to run for the pickup truck on the edge of this compound. Don't look back, no matter what you hear. If need be, the older kids can carry some of the younger ones."
He began ushering them into a line, trying to get them to move quickly and quietly.
"Agent Coulson, I'm going to start boosting kids up now." He whispered.
Agent Coulson gave him a thumbs up and Clint locked his hands together to form a step. One by one all the kids were lifted into the shaft. Just before he boosted the last kid up, a girl who seemed to be about sixteen, and whispered, "Once everyone is in the truck, you all need to leave. Agent Coulson probably won't want to until I'm there. I don't care if you have to lie and say I'm in the truck bed, just make sure you all get out of here. I'll meet up with you all in town." He boosted her up into the shaft and tugged the vent cover back into place.
"What are you going to do?" She asked, her face distorted by the vent cover.
Clint nocked an arrow. "I'm going to buy you some time."
Agent Coulson slid into the driver's seat and started up the engine. The last child sat next to him in the passenger's seat.
"That's Barton's seat."
"Clint's in the truck bed with some of the kids. He asked me to tell you to get us out of here." Coulson hesitated for just a moment before turning the truck around and heading towards the main road as fast as he could without drawing attention to them.
"I'm Gracie the way."
Clint kicked open the double doors and marched into the lounge he had spotted while he was following the man in the suit. Several of the men inside dropped their cards in surprise as he marched in, aiming his arrow at them.
"Where is Alexander Messino?" Clint demanded.
One of the men started forward, pulling a gun from his waistband. Not missing a beat, Clint drew his bow and fired an arrow. At the last second, he moved the aim from the man's heart to his shoulder. The arrow buried itself in the man's shoulder and he stumbled backward, falling into one of the newly vacated chairs. Before anyone could blink, Clint had another arrow nocked.
"I'm not going to ask again; where is Alexander Messino?"
"Right here." The man in the suit replied, stepping through a door on the opposite side of the room. "I seem to be at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don't know yours." He continued in a honeyed voice.
Clint didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he leveled his arrow at Alexander's chest.
"You have two options here. You can either order your men to strip down to their underpants and sit down in these chairs, or I can shoot you all right now."
Mr. Messino made a signal at his men and they complied with Clint's orders, the injured man complaining the entire time. Clint grabbed several lengths of rope. He tied Alexander's hands and feet together. With the rest of the rope, he tied Alexander's men to their chairs.
"You and I are going to take a little trip." Clint said as he cut a strip from the tablecloth with his knife.
"Is a blindfold really necessary?"
"Yes." Clint replied, his voice hard and emotionless as he tied the blindfold around Alexander's head. Spotting a pair of keys hanging on a hook by the door, Clint grabbed them and led Alexander outside. After a few tries, he found the car the keys belonged to. He shoved Alexander into the back seat. Sitting down in the driver's seat, he gunned the engine and took off for the Shield base a few miles outside of town.
When Agent Sitwell stepped outside to take a walk, he was greeted by a strange sight. Bound, gagged, blindfolded, and tied to the bike rack with a length of rope was Alexander Messino. Duct taped to his forehead was a note:
'This is Alexander Messino. He is the leader of the trading ring your Agent Coulson was sent to shut down. Their headquarters are about ten miles southeast from here. They were trading children made orphans by the war for guns and money.
Hawkeye
P.S. Next time, don't give your agents such crappy intel.'
Sitwell smiled. Whoever this Hawkeye was, he had just done Shield a favor. Sitwell pulled a knife from his sheath and cut the rope connecting Alexander to the bike rack.
"Come on, Mr. Messino. I'm sure you have lots to tell us." He started towards one of the interrogation rooms. He had only gone a few feet before he stopped, curiosity getting the better of him.
"What did the guy who caught you look like?" Sitwell asked, loosening the gag slightly so Mr. Messino could answer.
"He had light brown hair and stormy grey eyes and he carried a bow."
Sitwell chuckled. "I'd heard the arrow assassin, Hawkeye, had gone straight. Guess the rumors were wrong."
"Please sir. I don't know why I'm -" Alexander began in a honeyed voice.
"Save it." Sitwell replied, replacing the gag and resuming his walk towards the interrogation rooms.
Clint ditched the borrowed car on the outskirts of town and jogged the few blocks to Coulson's safe house. Seeing the truck already parked in front of the small house, Clint went around back and pushed the window open just enough for him to slip inside. He found himself in a small bedroom. Quickly, he grabbed the first aid kit from the closet. Easing the door to the main room open, Clint walked through, trying to be inconspicuous. He looked around the room and saw the children they had rescued sleeping on the various couches and chairs. Agent Coulson was sitting at the kitchen table, staring off into space. Clint hesitantly walked over to the table and set down the first aid kit.
"Do you want me to take a look at your wrist now?"
"You lied to me."
Clint sighed. He really didn't want to be having this conversation now - or ever. "I knew you wouldn't want to leave unless I was there."
"You're damn right. You're my trainee, which makes you my responsibility."
"We never would have made it out without a distraction. I was the least valuable person there, it made sense for me to be it."
Coulson fell silent as Clint said this. Clint pulled a roll of gauze and a brace out of the first aid kit. He gently pulled Coulson's arm out of the makeshift sling. Picking up the gauze, he wrapped it loosely around Coulson's wrist. With a piece of tape, he secured the end in place, before carefully placing his S.O.'s wrist in the brace.
"Do you know if there are any slings here?" Clint asked.
"There should be one under the bathroom sink." Coulson replied distractedly.
Clint returned a moment later carrying several damp cloths and a sling. He set the cloths on the table and fastened the sling over Coulson's shoulder. Coulson slipped his arm into place and picked up a cloth from the table.
"You weren't the least valuable person there, you know."
"I was, actually. You are one of Shield's best agents. I'm just an ex-mercenary with red in my ledger."
"You don't think I have red in my ledger? You don't think every damn person in this organization doesn't have red in their ledgers?"
"That's different. You all might have a little red; a failed mission here, a slip up there. Those you can wipe out. But my ledger… my ledger is full of red. You can't wipe out that much red."
For the first time, Coulson caught a glimpse of Clint without all his walls in place. He could see how much the younger man's dark past bothered him. The odd conversation he had had with Barton during one of Barton's midnight workouts was starting to make more sense.
"You should get cleaned up. We need to be out of Serbia before dawn." Clint said brusquely.
"How do you propose we do that? A group as large as ours is bound to be noticed." Coulson replied, part of him grateful for the subject change.
"I have a plane stashed nearby. It should get us as far as London. I have an… acquaintance there who should be able to help us."
Coulson shook his head, smiling. Barton never ceased to amaze him. He started cleaning dried blood from a cut along the side of his face with the cloth. Clint picked up the other cloths and the first aid kit and began cleaning and bandaging the children's cuts and scrapes, doing his best not to wake them. When he was finished, he stood and tossed the dirty cloths into the trashcan.
"Does Shield usually keep food in their safe houses?" Clint asked.
"A few non-perishables; bottled water, granola bars, things like that."
"I'll be back." Clint said. He left, pulling the door shut behind him.
Twenty-five minutes later, Clint returned, carrying a bag of warm muffins. As the delicious smell wafted through the small house, the children began to wake up. Clint pulled a stack of napkins from the bag and passed out the muffins. He sat down on the countertop and took a bite of his muffin, savoring the flavor of melted chocolate. Once everyone had finished eating, Clint stood.
"Time to go."
The plane leveled out at 30, 000 feet. Glancing at the compass, Clint banked left. Satisfied they were on the right course, he relaxed a bit and pulled a coin from his bag. Absently, he began rolling it over the backs of his fingers as he stared out the window.
"Neat trick." Coulson said, taking a seat in the co-pilot's chair.
"You pick up lots of things working for the circus." Clint replied without glancing at Coulson.
"Where'd you get the plane?" Coulson asked. "It's not one of Shield's."
"I 'borrowed' it from Stark Industries."
"Why didn't you use one of Shield's quinjets?"
Clint didn't respond. Instead, he twisted his chair, so his back was mostly to Coulson and kept rolling the foreign coin back and forth across his knuckles.
"Barton, why didn't you use one of Shield's quinjets?" Coulson asked, hints of suspicion and worry tinging his voice.
"I don't want to have this conversation right now." Clint replied.
Coulson heard the exhaustion in his voice and his face softened. "You should get some sleep."
"I'm fine."
"It wasn't really a suggestion Barton. The plane is on auto-pilot and I'll wake you up if anything happens."
Too tired to argue, Clint leaned his head back and almost immediately fell asleep.
Clint had been asleep for about two hours when Coulson noticed a change. He was muttering things under his breath and shaking his head like he was trying to get rid of something. Coulson leaned forward and placed his uninjured hand on Clint's shoulder. At his touch, Clint jolted awake.
"Who's Melody?" Coulson asked, sitting back in his chair.
"My sister." Seeing the unspoken question on Coulson's face, he continued. "She's dead."
"I'm sorry."
Clint just took the plane off autopilot and focused on flying.
I posted this last night, but Fanfiction decided to glitch and replace the body with a few lines of code, so sorry about that. Anyway, here is Chapter 6. Chapter 7 will be up soon.