hello all! I'm super excited to tell you that I've finally gotten an invite to AO3. You can find me there under the same username. (Cazio) Don't worry, I will be uploading to both sites, so everythind will be updated at the same time.
Thank you so much mjmcca for the invite, I can't thank you enough for your kindness.
I love you all, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. I apologize in advance. :)
Clint sat in his perch, his arms crossed and propped on the low safety railing as he looked out at the communications room. Nick had built it especially for him, as the communications room was the loftiest space besides the warehouses, and Nick had correctly assumed that Clint would rather watch people than boxes. Heights had always been a comfort to him, he didn't really know why. Probably because when he was little going up high was the only place he could escape the people who tormented him. A fear of heights seemed to be ingrained in human nature, but Clint had the opposite. Actually, being on low ground for too long made him nervous, if he didn't have someplace to go that was up high he would probably go crazy.
The agents working below him didn't notice his presence, they continued working an scrambling around to get supplies to the construction crews that were surveying the damage Thor and Loki had left behind. The archer shifted, flexing his fingers to hear the creaking of his leather gloves. His bow sat next to him and he had his arrows strapped to his back. Not his usual setup, but he felt a strange sense of unease. Something about the way Thor had reacted to him made him suspect something was very wrong. The god hadn't shown up again but Clint still couldn't shake the feeling. He couldn't wait until the horsemen were dead and all of this was behind them.
He heard a tiny creak from the rafters. To anyone else it would just sound like a normal building noise. Which was exactly why normal people weren't covert operatives.
"It's been almost an hour," he said into the space in front of him.
"Sorry, I had to sort some things out," Natasha replied, slipping into the space next to him. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at her, trying to place what exactly she had been up to. Her expression was normal; all traces of the briefing were gone. Her hair looked different too and when she moved to dangle her legs over the side he smelled shampoo.
"You going to be okay?" he asked with concern.
"Oh, yeah. Like I said, I had to sort some things out." She looked down at the people below and avoided his gaze.
"You had me scared for a minute there," Clint smiled lightly.
"I'm sorry. I think I was just in shock, War's power hadn't worn off yet or—"
"You don't have to apologize, Nat," he cut her off. "I thought I was going to have to retrain you to control your facial expressions," he joked gently. She elbowed him hard in the ribs and he grimaced away.
"You too, I thought you were going to go on a table-flipping rampage," she smirked.
"Nah, not my style," he replied with a short laugh.
They sat in silence for a few moments, busying themselves at pretending that the briefing had never happened, that the horsemen had never happened. Clint's eyes kept drifting to her hand and Natasha noticed, covering it by crossing her arms.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked.
"No. It doesn't hurt." Her voice was flat and she kept her gaze ahead.
In a moment of sheer stupidity he reached out and gently grasped her wrist. He expected to be smacked in the face, or to receive another elbow to the ribcage, but Natasha did not do either of those things. Instead, she let him take her hand in his. He lifted it closer and examined the strange burn mark on her skin. It was a soft pink scar, healed but permanent. He had plenty of them littered across his own body, various nicks and cuts from malfunctioning weapons and enemy fire. Natasha's wound seemed worse than the usual; it was so visible that he feared it would be a constant reminder to her as to what had caused it. He had no idea what was running through her mind when she looked at it, but it was probably much more painful than remembering a bullet zipping past or a piece of shrapnel piercing the skin.
"What did he do to you that affected you so much?" Clint asked gently as he glanced up at her.
"He didn't do anything. It was that he knew everything about me. It wasn't like Loki; he didn't just have your side of the story. He knew everything, even the things I've never told anyone. Things I forgot I knew." Her eyes were distant as she spoke and her hand tensed but she did not pull away.
"You'll remember it every time you see it, won't you?"
"I've got bad memories with every scar, Clint," she returned, locking eyes with him. He swallowed with a slight nod of his head.
"I know."
"If you know, stop treating me like a child," Natasha's voice lowered as she spoke.
Clint shook his head. "Don't start with that." She always reverted back to her defensive side with him when she was uncomfortable. Her eyes flicked back to the floor below. He almost thought she was going to yank her hand away, but instead his eyes widened in surprise as she interlaced her fingers in his. Her grip tightened and he saw her blink he beginnings of tears away.
"Hey, Tash, I'm here." He knew better than to tell her it was okay when they both knew it wasn't.
"I told myself I wasn't going to come up here." Her gaze was still locked on the ground. "Just because you knew I would."
"I do know you better than anyone else here."
"And that makes you a liability." His lips twitched, but he managed to keep himself from wincing at her words.
"A liability." He ran the word along his tongue.
She finally looked at him with a half smile on her face. It vanished when she noticed the hurt in his eyes that he was trying so hard to conceal.
"Clint, that's not what I—"
"No, I understand," he flashed a weak smile. "But I'm your friend too, right? Not just a liability?"
Her lips parted, but she couldn't seem to find words.
"Damn it, Natasha." He didn't conceal the pain in his voice this time. She squeezed his hand tighter and he swallowed. They locked eyes again and he was suddenly conscious of how close she was to him, as he sometimes did when they were acting as a couple out in the field. The way her breath was just close enough to tickle his neck. Or the way her hair became curlier just behind her ear. She moved closer, lips still parted. He realized she was going to kiss him. Part of him was waiting for it, craving it even, but another side of him knew that she was just overwhelmed and that it was not real. Their noses touched and he found himself pulling away.
"Sorry, Nat," he breathed. She exhaled as she shut her eyes and pressed herself against him. He lifted his chin as she settled into the crook of his neck, saying nothing and allowing the silence to fill the little space between them. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, then leaned away, ending the embrace. He couldn't handle her getting this close to him when she didn't mean it. Her eyes were clouded with hurt as she looked up at him. He offered a smile and lifted her scarred hand to his lips. The kiss was quick, just as he wanted it to be. He only caught the tiniest taste of her skin, though it was enough to send his heart thrumming in his chest.
"Now you'll have a good memory for this one," he said gently. "Assuming—"
Her fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling backward onto the steel floor of his lookout post. He brought a finger to his mouth and drew I away dripping in blood. He had bitten his tongue and it was bleeding heavily.
"What the hell was that—" He rolled before he could finish as he avoided being stabbed by a dagger. His instincts kicked in, throwing his brain into attack mode and catching her arm. Natasha was an excellent shot and a great fighter, but she was still no match for his brute strength in a fight. She was incredibly strong for a woman, but certainly not stronger than him. She launched her leg back as he pinned her to his chest and he grunted in pain. His grey eyes were scanning the surroundings, trying to find something that would hold her down so he could figure out what had set her off. She thrashed around in his arms and he made sure to keep her teeth away from his skin. He still had scars from last time.
She tore an arm free and promptly elbowed him in the ribs. She did that a lot, but not with that kind of force. The air rushed from his lungs and he instinctively grabbed the wound. Natasha plucked an arrow from one of the platforms he had set up and came at him again, using the arrow as a spear. He knew he would not have time to dodge it so he caught her wrist in his hand. She seemed to be expecting it and kicked him in the kneecap, sending a burst of pain up his leg. Clint staggered and tried to catch his breath as he twisted her arm. Natasha hissed in pain and dropped the arrow. Her free hand swooped in and he caught the glint of her dagger gliding through the air. It was too late. He felt the metal bury itself into his hip as he tried to knock her hand away.
"God damn!" he snarled, looking down. The knife was small and it hadn't hit anything serious. Well, he hoped not. The archer lunged forward, crushing Natasha against the wall. As he pulled back he kept his forearm jammed against her windpipe, gritting his teeth as she struggled against him. He brought a hand to his ear, "Tony, I need some help up here." He waited for a response but the billionaire didn't reply. "Tony," he grunted as Natasha kicked him again, "Stop what you're doing and get up here, something's going on."
Clint's brow furrowed as he stared into the Black Widow's green eyes. A wide smile spread across her lips. "What is wrong with you?" he demanded. Natasha said nothing as he eyes began to fill with red. For a brief moment he thought it was blood, but he saw swirling shapes in the crimson color that were not natural. Scenes of battles played in the dark shades of red and danced across her eyes. His nostrils flared at the sights of so many depictions of massacres, death and destruction. It could only be from War. He swallowed, and put his free hand to his ear once more. "Tony…" his voice trailed. Natasha blinked and her eyes returned their usual green, though a smirk was still plastered on her face.
"Clint," JARVIS's voice sounded into his mic, "I have overridden my protocols to inform you that—" the robot's voice was cut off by a hellish roar and the sound cut out. He looked to Natasha, who laughed, bearing a startling resemblance to Loki in the way she seemed not to care. He snarled back at her, but did not move. He had to pin her down and get to Tony before his worst fears were confirmed. If Tony was compromised, or worse, that left him, alone to face a band of superheroes, gods, and two horsemen who had managed to successfully destroy the very foundation of the Avengers. The odds were stacked against him higher than any skyscraper in New York.
Tony shrugged as he motioned to the pile of fried lab equipment before him. "Like I said, I've tried everything. Ice, heat, electricity, proton displacement, ionization, everything. No dice."
Bruce frowned, twirling his glasses in his fingers. "No changes at all?"
"Nope. I don't even know what it is, let alone how to get any closer to curing it." He plucked a wrench from his desk and rolled it closed. It buckled, leaving a gap big enough to stick a finger through, he cursed under his breath and threw it in the pile. He looked back to Bruce. "Hey, you sure you're okay?"
The scientist chuckled. "Well, besides the fact that I'm covered in gauze and plaster, yes, I'm doing okay."
"I'm the smartass around here, Toilet Paper," Tony retorted with a smirk. He walked over to the monitors and pulled out his phone, spreading his past experiments across the screen. Bruce looked around and caught glimpses of each one.
"You never sent me that information about that rock you used on Loki. Have you tried that again?"
Tony felt a lick of guilt for that one. "Er—yeah. Here, let me pull it up." A video of the glowing red stone appeared on the largest monitor, showing him dropping the stone onto the horseman's cloak. The stone's light intensified, but the meters behind it still showed steady levels of energy radiation.
"Interesting. I wonder why it lights up like that."
"I guess I just rubbed off on it," Tony joked. Bruce rolled his eyes then stepped closer, squinting at the screen. "See something?"
"Yeah, here, let me see that," he reached for Tony's phone. Tony ran his tongue along his teeth as he began to take a second look at the video and handed over the phone without comment. He could see Bruce's expression change to confusion as he looked down at the phone.
"How do you slow it down?"
The question jerked him from the screen and he leaned over, tapping Bruce's hand away. To his surprise, Bruce jumped back and the phone clattered to the floor.
"Whoa, hey there," said Tony, cocking an eyebrow.
"That hurt!" Bruce growled, clutching his hand.
"What? I barely even touched you!" the billionaire protested. It was true, he had done nothing more than graze the skin.
"Augh, it's—it's burning!" He saw the chords of Bruce's neck begin to stick out as the scientist gritted his teeth.
"Jarvis, get this man some ice, please," Tony's voice was level as he stepped back. Bruce seethed in pain, and a greenish tinge began to cover his skin. "Shit, J, hurry!" He looked back to his friend. "Bruce, you gotta calm down. You're not burning, nothing's burning, you're fine, got it?"
"IT'S ON FIRE!" Bruce roared. Tony felt the back of his leg hit the side of his desk. Very slowly he felt along the edge for a tiny button and pressed it. He immediately looked to his phone as JARVIS began to type a message. He released a river of curses as his robotic assistant indicated that the suit needed more blaster repairs than originally expected and that it was not in functional condition. Banner began to morph and the room filled with the noises of his human form growing into a giant green monster. Tony swallowed, shoving his way backward and sending a box full of equipment to the floor. The Hulk turned to face him, breathing in heavy snorts that made Tony's blood chill. Without his suit he was no better off than Natasha had been in the helicarrier, except for the fact that he wasn't a dangerous superspy trained to sneak away from such encounters. So basically he was screwed.
"Hey, you've got the Big Guy under control, right? It's me, it's Tony." The Hulk glared at him, shaking free of the shredded bandages as casts that now littered the floor of his lab. All of Bruce's injuries had vanished except for the long slashes across his back and shoulders, as Tony saw in the window's reflection. It reminded him of what it might feel like to be in a room with a fighting bull injected with tiger blood. It was very obvious that talking was not going to get him out of this one, and neither was his suit.
"Tony, I need some help up here," both man and beast looked up at the sound of Clint's ragged voice. Tony did not dare make a sound as he pressed himself flat against the wall, feeling for something that could protect him.
"Tony," there was a muffled thump on Clint's end of the line, "Stop what you're doing and get up here, something's going on."
Massive understatement. Tony's jaw clenched as the Hulk turned back to face him, snarling with a mouth full of greenish teeth. His eyes turned bright red and Tony realized why Bruce had not been able to talk himself out of, well, hulking out. War had somehow gotten ahold of him. The scar. Clever bastard! Tony thought. Both scars were in places that someone was bound to touch; an accidental brush of the hand would trigger his true power. Tony had to admit that the horsemen had quite the strategy. Now he was going to pay for it. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he felt himself flying across the room and slamming face-first into the plexiglass window so hard a crack formed. He rolled off of the glass and onto the floor, coughing and choking on his own blood. His head was spinning and suddenly his vision was filled with green as the Hulk picked him off the ground like a child's toy. He felt his face begin to swell and throb as he stared at the monster that had taken over his friend.
He was released, and dropped about six feet to the floor, landing on a piece of machinery on his shoulder. He groaned in pain and began to fumble around for his phone that he had dropped nearby. A fuzzy voice cut through the haze of his dimmed senses that sounded like Clint. He waited for an arrow to bury itself into the massive green man, but realized it was probably just Hawk trying to reach him over the radio again. He spat a thick mess of blood onto the floor, waiting for the life-ending strike that was sure to come.
All he could think about was how pathetic it was. How pathetic he was. Yeah, he had taken out Famine, but now it was obvious Famine had only come there to be killed. The guy didn't even talk when he had been blasting his face off. Yet he had come back with a prideful smirk on his face and acted like he didn't need to go out on another mission. He had acted like a jerk, which wasn't really a problem except when it concerned Steve. The last words he had said, he had called him an asshole. When Clint made it sound like Rogers had gone off the deep end, he had already felt the guilt in his heart. All he had wanted to do was buy the guy a drink, the typical wordless Stark apology. Steve knew what it was. Instead he was the one who was going to die and leave the damned Man With A Plan to remember those last words. He half hoped that Nick wouldn't give the team a "he died a hero" speech because everyone would know that wasn't true. And Bruce! Holy shit, how would he deal with knowing he killed him? Well, it was because of the Horsemen, and he probably wouldn't remember his Hulk experience, but he would figure it out. Once again, Tony Stark ruins the day.
Suddenly Bruce's face was right in front of him. He summoned a weak smile, but he couldn't feel his lips to tell if it had worked.
"Hey…you're back," he struggled to form the words.
"I couldn't have you think the Hulk would want you dead, that would be too believable." Tony's blood froze at Bruce's words. A disgusting smile crept across the scientist's face, and his eyes flashed red for a split second. "I'm not controlling your monstrous friend, Tony," Stark snorted in disagreement, causing a dribble of blood to fall from his lips. "I'm merely acting on thoughts he already had."
"The…scars….that was a," he hiccupped for air, "Nice move."
Bruce chuckled. "Oh, you don't know the half of it. I searched him, Bruce, for the person he cared about most. I must say I was surprised to find that it was you, but I suppose that's because he has no other options. Natasha was easy, she had Clint running through her brain the second she walked within my range."
"I hate you," Tony stated simply, forcing himself to stay conscious. "A lot."
"When I found out who your little teammates were fond of, I gave them their burns. I could have made it so any touch would set them off, but that didn't seem good enough to me. I gotta make a punch, you know?"
It was strange seeing Bruce possessed, his face was completely different from the calm, awkward expression that he usually found there. Now it was dark and twisted, his brown eyes were filled with hatred.
"Mmmkay. I guess that snappy mouth of yours finally shut up. Just like Daddy always wanted."
The words made his stomach knot. He felt the anger rise from his gut and pool into his mouth that wouldn't work. He struggled to curse, to make up some insult worthy of spewing at him. It didn't matter, his tongue wouldn't cooperate. Bruce's lips curled into a wicked smile.
"Easy now, you won't feel a thing. Actually, I don't know, I don't have one of these," he tore open the front of Tony's shirt, revealing the glowing arc reactor underneath. The billionaire inhaled sharply, fear filling his eyes. Bruce chuckled lightly, and fastened his War-possessed fingers around the circle and yanked it out. Tony felt the wires rip from his chest and watched as his life was literally taken out of him.