mafiabro: yay!

Jesuslovesmarina : oh, that's nothing. You'll really hate me after this

Batghost :poor Peter... Poor Tony...

I'm the lonely life : oh, if you think that's mean, you ain't seen nothing yet. Have you read my Hawkeye Initiative by chance? If not then Where the World's Burn and oh so many others will screw you up for life:) I have an incredible knack for picking up movie details prior to them being put in the movies too. All about knowing your character

ELOSHAZZY: oh what happened indeed? Prepare... Rough seas ahead...


Chapter 9

Clint kept pushing, swinging, further back until Tony was against the wall with nothing but Clint Barton standing in front of him. Hawkeye had Tony's shirt gripped in his fist while the archer pulled up and launched forward punch after punch across Tony's face. The sunglasses went askew, then they bent, shattered, and at last hit the floor. Realizing he was in a fight for his life, Tony suddenly struck back.

His knee came up between the two of them and he kicked Clint in the stomach. With the archer lurching down, Tony brought his right hand across Clint's temple, snapping his head sideways and sending Clint to the floor. Barton recovered in an instant. He barreled forward, shoulder first, clipped Tony off at the knees and the both of them hit the floor together.

"Stop!" Peter shouted over and over again, wrenching his hand against the magnetized web fluid. He watched on in horror as the two Avengers wrestled each other on the floor. Torqued noses, ripped faces bled onto the cement.

"Clint!" Stark exclaimed, using his whole body to wrap around the archer. He grabbed one of Clint's elbows, extending it out in an arm bar. "Clint, Quit it! What the hell are you doing here? Talk to me!"

"Why?!" Clint roared. He twisted his face just enough to find a bare piece of Tony's calf to sink his teeth into.

Stark screamed. His grip slackened and Clint shoved away from him. He cradled his arm against his chest, weighing whether or not he could still use it.

Tony scrambled a few feet away but stayed on the floor, his hand outstretched. "Whoa, easy, EASY!" he shouted.

Clint made a move to come at him again, and Tony reluctantly squeezed his hand into a fist. The large red and gold ring on his finger shifted to encompass his entire hand in a miniature repulser. Clint stopped short of reaching him, but still stood over the Avenger, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Easy," Tony said again, more calmly than before. He took a deep breath, as much to steady himself as it was to calm Clint if even for a moment. "We can talk this out—"

"Do you think that's going to stop me?" Clint asked suddenly, indicating the blaster. "You think that's all it's going to take. You think you could kill me, Stark, is that it? I'm ready to hit you until I feel you go limp. Then I'm ready to keep on hitting until I can't recognize you anymore. That's what I'm going to do."

Tony's face paled involuntarily. He chanced a glance toward Peter who was in no position to lend assistance. It wasn't that Tony necessarily needed it, he was just trying to understand what the hell he'd walked into. In the back of his mind, he was thinking about Happy who had likely heard the alarm in the car which sounded anytime Tony activated one of his miniature devices. Happy had the full fledged Iron Man gear and a Glock 45 ready for backup at a moment's notice.

"You've been here," Tony said calmly, "Helping out. Plain sight, I should have thought of that."

"Don't patronize me—"

"I'm not!" Tony insisted. His hand was still up, repulser buzzing in his palm, ready to stun.

"Yes you are, that's all you do. Your way or the highway. In or out. No middle ground."

Without warning, Clint shot forward, faster than Tony could blink. His hand triggered the repulser, but Clint dodged it, slammed Tony's hand to one side, and clamped down on Stark's throat. He squeezed, not enough to hurt him, but enough to make Tony's eyes go wide in fear.

"Don't!" Peter exclaimed. He looked around him, found one of the woodworkers chisels, and began prying the web fluid off the desktop. "Stop! He doesn't know! He didn't know anything! Mr. Barton! Please, let him go!"

Tony's eyes flicked between Peter and then back to Clint.

Clint only nodded. "Go ahead," he whispered, his grip tightening enough to make Tony gasp. "Think about it. Think long and hard. Think about everything you made us give up for your grudge match with Cap."

Tony tried to break Clint's grip, but the ex-Avenger was waiting for that. He mercilessly snapped two fingers on Tony's hand, forcing the repulser off it. Stark's other arm was pinned beneath Clint's knees as Hawkeye lorded over him. Trapped.

"He—" Tony swallowed, flexing his neck muscles to try and gain a fraction of air from Clint's merciless grip. "He—covered up—my parents'—my parents' murder."

"So what?!" Clint snarled. "So you lost your family. You didn't get love enough. You grew up alone. To hell with you, Stark, you had a family until you were old enough to run out on them and had enough money to afford it. I was seven when my parents died! I got a slap in the face and an orphanage. You tore us apart for what? For your own ego!"

"You—had—a—choice," Tony ground out.

"Cap shows up on your doorstep asking for help, and you think I had a choice?" Clint whispered. "I asked for help too. You know what I got?" he pressed a little harder. Tony watched as the edges of his vision began to go dark. "Nothing. You. Cap. Nothing. No one. They're dead Tony. My wife. My kids. They're dead and it's all your fault."

Tony could feel reality slipping away from him the harder Clint squeezed. Regardless, the words had all the impact Clint expected them too.

"No," Tony whispered.

"Dead," Clint repeated, shaking to his core. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. Behind him, Parker was nearly free. The kid was using all his strength to stretch the final tendrils of web fluid. Up the hall there were echoes of running footsteps. Reinforcements.

"It wasn't going to stop at the Sokovia Accords, Tony, you knew that. Ratifications. Round ups. Lists. Catalogues of any powered being. They found my family, Tony, they found Laura, and because of her, they found my kids."

Tony could feel Clint's resolve shaking. Though the archer's grip on him loosed, Tony didn't find breathing any easier. The full impact of what Clint was saying to him hit full force. They were dead. Clint's perfect family, who wasn't always perfect. The little girl in the pink tutu's carrying Thor's hammer. The little boy, dyslexic, building out Tony's spare hover fliers. The baby. Clint knew what loss was. He and his wife buried babies they'd lost trying to make a family of their own. It wasn't sunshine or rainbows, but it was theirs and secretly, and not so secretly, Tony always envied them.

Suddenly Clint hit him. It wasn't hard, not like before, but enough to get Tony's attention.

"Stop it," Clint shot at him. "Stop making this about you!"

"Clint—" Tony gasped.

Clint hit him again. He was pulling punches now. His arm was cocked for another but he didn't let it fly. Tony was a sight to see, flattened out beneath him, covered in blood, with Clint's free hand on his throat. Tony could breathe now, could see through the haze of red stinging through his eyes. In a moment, Clint would roll off of him if Tony gave him the time to return to his senses.

There was a flash of black suit filling the doorway. A silver and red briefcase hit the floor. Parker screamed. Tony remembered trying to sit up. He shouted, "No, no, no!" at the bodyguard who arrived to save him. It was too late. Before he could be stopped, Happy did the only thing that made sense given the scene he walked into.

He fired the first shot.

Tony looked up as Clint pitched forward, arching his back. His right hand reached behind him, as if to feel for the sudden hot sting that burred a hole through him. Red exploded in the center of his chest. His pupils dilated like dish pans. All at once his body began to grow slack and fold in on itself. Still screaming, Tony shot upright and cradled Clint into his arms. Blood, tissue, frayed and splintered bone rested around that new hole in Clint's shirt. Tony's hand hovered over it, unsure whether pressing down would cause more harm.

"No, Clint, don't you dare. Don't you dare leave like this," Tony muttered. He lifted his head to the smoking gun in the doorway and the young hero frozen in place. "Call an ambulance! He isn't dead, get someone the Hell down here!"

"Oh my God, it's Clint," Happy gasped. His hands dropped to his sides. The gun clattered to the floor.

"HELP!" Tony screamed. His mind blank in pain and emotion. "He's dying, someone do something!"

Peter grabbed his suit out of his bag and was dressed instantly. This time, he had to be the hero.


O.

M.

G.

What will happen? How evil will I be? Will Clint live? Will Tony ever forgive himself? Where is the rest of the team?! Stay tuned! Only one. Chapter. Left. (or is there?)