Clint managed to ride out the last hours of his train ride without being accosted by Russian Train Authorities. He picked up a stray pair of sunglasses somewhere along the ride to help hide his black eye and changed his hat to a more subtle black beanie. He'd had to ditch the wallet he'd stolen from bathroom guy earlier since they'd obviously tracked it to his train compartment and had resorted to picking pockets for cash.
He got off the train in Volgograd despite that being the place his ticket pegged him for. But he was too beat to hell and it was easier to blend in to the afternoon crowd at his actual destination than try to steal enough cash for another ticket from a different destination. As he shuffled between people with his face to the ground he liberated a little more cash from some unsuspecting travelers.
Once on the street Clint looked for a place he could go and sort out his next step without fear of being arrested, spotted or otherwise killed. The bustle of the train station fell off once he hit the streets and he headed toward where he recalled the town center to be.
He eyed several restaurants before he spotted what appeared to be the Russian equivalent of a bar and grill and he jumped at the chance to pop in and get a nice well-done steak.
Three beers and a delightful steak later Clint decided he was in the clear from the train police and it was high time he called Natasha – assuming she'd take his call after the whole arm fiasco. He didn't actually know where the entrance to Peter's base was and SHIELD wouldn't take his call.
A figure dropped down across the table from Clint as he dug into his pocket full of stolen Ruples to pay the bill.
"Barton!"
"Jake." Clint looked up, Jake seemed unusually happy to see him.
"We all thought you were dead, based on the news out of Orsk."
"That wasn't my fault." Clint grabbed his beer back from Jake and chugged what was left. "Lunatic cut his own throat."
Jake chuckled. "That's not the word that went round. Oh Peter was thrilled. Truly."
He could tell from the grin on Jake's face that his colleague was telling the truth and that shocked him more than Jake's sudden appearance.
"Come on, let's get back. Peter will be glad to hear you're alive." Jake grabbed his arm and lifted him up from the table.
"Clint Barton!" Peter's voice had boomed at the sight of them. "You really are as good as everyone said you would be! I can't believe it." Clint braced himself for a punch or some other form of pain and was instead wrapped up in an enthusiastic hug.
"Uh. Thanks."
Peter released him and poured him a drink, a straight glass of what appeared to be fancy Vodka. "I am just beside myself with your actions. You actually killed him!"
"Well I – "
"When I heard Daniill wanted to betray our cause. My own cousin wanted to sabotage my operation! I saw red. Punched Dimitri right through the window." Peter clenched his fist, mentally reenacting the scene. "And you were already out there and I couldn't call you back. I had no idea what that lying scum would do to you, my star sniper."
Peter poured more vodka in Clint's glass, despite it still being mostly full. "And you answer his betrayal by murdering him!" He holds up his glass in a cheers "To Clint Barton!"
Jake groaned as if it wasn't the first time they'd had that exact cheer and clinked glasses with Peter.
Clint tried to take another sip of the vodka, but he'd never been one for the stuff. Peter came over and tipped the glass back for him, causing him to sputter-swallow much more than he would have preferred.
"Drink up! Do you know what your actions have started?" Peter refilled the glasses. "People heard what I'm willing to do to my own family if they betray me. I'm getting calls, I'm getting support from all over for our little project!"
Suddenly Clint was regretting the three beers as another double serving worth of Vodka was finding its way down his throat at Peter's insistence.
"We may have hit a delay snag with Daniill blocking his part in the project, but we now have more supporters and additional funding with that pansy dead!" Another refill. "To Clint Barton!"