Frozen in Time

by: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

All Marvel characters do not belong to me, they belong to Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Comics.

Story:

Chapter 25

No mission was foolproof, Clint Barton knew that the best since he had met Natalia Alianova Romanova – nee Drakova if one of the records they had found in a Red Room raid was true. Every mission had its inherent risks and gains and while any sane person would have taken the opportunity to rejoin allies, friends, to at least get away from the bad guys, Clint somehow always found himself surrounded by bad guys. Sometimes, he wondered if it made him a bad guy by proxy, but more often than not, Clint knew he thrived on the fact that he was the only good, relatively speaking, guy who pretended very well to be a bad guy.

The whole Loki business involving the Tesseract was the only blot on his personal mental record. He knew it and it seemed Fury knew it too – otherwise, he would not have been asked to take on this insane mission. It also did not help that his cover was blown three months into his recruitment and he had to scramble quickly. It meant burning a few of his assets to ensure that his position was secure – something he had been reluctant to do since these were good men and women he had cultivated to be assets. But he also knew that the Chitauri sceptre posed a greater threat and he needed to ensure that it was not lost in the shuffle of HYDRA rearing its ugly head to take over the world once more.

But this time, Clint wondered if he had lost his touch by willingly walking back into the heart of the serpents' nest; pun utterly intended as he absently cycled through the remaining arrowheads he had in his pack. His fingers danced a random pattern across the buttons on the grip and riser areas of his composite recurve bow. However his mind was calculating what he had left of his arrowhead stock besides the usual broadheads he had. If there was not a chance for him to restock his explosives, then he at least could use the acid compound ones and spark an ignition of sorts. It would be wasting two arrows, but it would make do for now-

"Sir, starting final landing procedures," the pilot's voice piped up in his ear as he felt the quinjet descend.

Clint pulled himself from his thoughts and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. He quickly compartmentalized his thoughts, something he had done so many times for so many undercover missions; at the same time he brought out the bits and pieces that he knew would be there, surface thoughts that had roots to the deeper ones. Enough for Karpov to dig through and hopefully be satisfied. It was not unlike Loki rifling through his mind, a heavy hand suppressing it – no, Karpov was far more sinister with it and Clint played the fine dangerous line with it. He could easily read the doubts Karpov had about him, if he was fully under his control, but at the same time could see that age had made the not-quite-human man arrogant and blind to certain aspects. If Karpov suspected, then he was not putting too much stock into ensuring his complete domination of his mind.

But at the same time he also knew that Karpov was patient and eased into his control using the Chitauri sceptre. A brief malign thought, a moment of twisted hope, of uneasy despair, anything and everything to make him doubt that he was now stuck with HYDRA for the past fifteen months, one year since SHIELD officially fell. Loki just outright twisted his mind, forcing him to spill secrets, Karpov was more...refined if there ever was a praise for the sick way the two did things.

Clint knew that he could have easily joined up with Cap and the others back there, that he had all but been given the chance to let loose, to 'go off his leash' as he had said to Karpov earlier; any sane man would have done so, brought backup. But he also knew that someone needed to be here, needed to be a buffer zone, to ensure that Stark and Wilson were protected. There were doubts, that Karpov had so far not done anything to harm them except to leave the sceptre in their presence to slowly twist their minds, but Clint knew better. Karpov loved his long-term game and in this case, while he probably wanted to control Stark through the sceptre, probably saw the two as better fodder for bait for Captain America and subsequently the Winter Soldier.

Before Natasha had been grievously wounded outside Odessa by the Winter Soldier six years previous, he had the same thought as most of the intelligence community – that it was a ghost story designed to frighten new recruits. Even he had not seen the Winter Soldier actually shoot Natasha, but the fact that she adamantly believed it, believed the unmarked rifling of the bullet that tore through her and killed the nuclear phycist she was escorting, he believed her. He had long been her Supervising Officer and knew that while her trade craft was rooted in lies and deceit, he long trusted her and her intuition. Natasha was a survivor and would put forth whatever truths, whatever lies, to ensure her survival. That time, he knew that she was telling the truth.

The files on the Winter Soldier had been sparse for the past seventy-something years, but the profile was generally the same M.O.: unmarked Soviet-era rifling, silver metal arm with a red-star on the shoulder, and a 100 percent kill ratio for every target supposedly assigned or associated with the Winter Soldier. Sometimes there was collateral damage, sometimes not. There was only the barest general description for the Winter Soldier, supposedly white male, with dark hair, either brown or black. His time in the viper's nest with Karpov and Strucker told him that they were behind the infamous Red Room and the creation of many projects. He had told them of his previous missions to destroy the Red Room on behalf of Natasha Romanov, something he saw Karpov actually appreciate – if not to convince him that he had been turned again, but also because he needed to make sure he stayed alive long enough to get the sceptre away. Karpov had spent the last year since SHIELD's fall occasionally declaring he wished to see his weapon back among other things, but Clint had not realized that he meant the Winter Soldier until a few weeks ago.

Clint believed Natasha, but did not actually believe until he had seen the bullet tear through the tire of the lead car he had sent first, lightning from Mjolnir finishing the car off. He saw the silvery metal arm, the red star, the brown hair, and the stare down the barrel of the Soviet-era Dragunov sniper rifle. He knew that he had been somewhat visible from his perch on the back of the car, arrow drawn, and had his answer in the form of Natasha' red hair peeking out from the passenger side before she pointed a gun out. To any other casual viewer, it was an attempt to find a shot, but Clint saw the clear message: ally. It indicated that the Winter Soldier was an ally, if Thor's presence next to him shooting bolts of lightning at them was not enough.

Clint had made his decision then, knowing that he had one chance and picked the broadhead with the microdot of all of the information he had compiled for the past fifteen months undercover in the HYDRA cell, shooting it as soon as he tracked Natasha turning around in her seat. He followed the shot with another; an acidic-explosive-timed arrow so that the others in the car with him would not doubt his intentions. He then quickly sent the signal: need help in hopes that either Natasha or the Winter Soldier, received it. He had gotten his answer by way of a slug that tore through the side of his kevlar, scoring the skin off of his ribs and leaving a very large bruise. The bullet must have also given him a few hairline fractures in his ribs as it currently hurt a little to breathe or to even move from side to side. But it at least told Clint that the Winter Soldier knew he was an ally of sorts. Otherwise, he had the feeling the bullet would have been fired a few more inches to his left through his heart.

The quiet thunk of the wheels touching down dragged him from his thoughts as he squared his shoulders, ignoring the pull and push of his armored vest against the bruises. He pushed the button to open the ramp and walked down, nodding curtly to the medical team that ran past him to treat the wounded soldiers that had survived. One of the few remaining Centipede soldiers was pulsating, the Extremis part of the soldier trying to regulate itself. If it overloaded, he knew it would not have the violent explosion of an Extremis-only soldier, but it would start a chain reaction that would end in the soldier's death.

Clint ignored it, walking down and away – all of the Centipede soldiers here were volunteers, HYDRA members, and not his problem at the moment. He could already feel a tugging sensation in the back of his mind, Karpov summoning him, but brushed it aside as he threaded his way through repair crews and other things going around in the hanger bay. His first priority was to check to make sure that Tony was still in his suit and not a mindless drone for Karpov to control and that Sam Wilson had not succumbed to the sceptre's crazy whispers and inherent madness. He had no doubt that Karpov had again placed it near them to mess with their heads, darkening their thoughts, but it was the least he could do without compromising his own position. Hopefully Cap, Coulson and whatever was left of SHIELD and the Avengers were on their way already.

"Hey, you!" the voice that suddenly shouted from across the hanger bay was familiar, but Clint did not acknowledge the call until he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising, the whisper of danger, and turned his head slightly to see Agent Brock Rumlow pointing a gun at his head, his hand steady.

"Yeah! You, Agent Clint Barton!" Rumlow said loudly and Clint stopped, taking a quick shallow breath and turned fully, meeting the barrel of the gun squarely even though it was at least several feet away.

Rumlow was standing in front of the stairs that led up to a pristine looking Learjet. Behind him, were a few other black-clad agents were escorting three other people off of it, all with their hands bound in front of them. Clint felt something sour in his stomach as he noticed it was Melinda May, Antoine Triplett, and Grant Ward. The last time he had seen May and Ward it was with Coulson's team. Triplett, he had heard, was with John Garrett, but it seemed that he had not turned like his mentor and instead, stayed loyal to SHIELD. While he had been here for the past fifteen months, he had heard rumblings about Garrett being the more public face of HYDRA after Alexander Pierce's demise and SHIELD's dissolution. Clint had only been familiar with John Garrett through Coulson's brief mention of having been one of the two agents Nick Fury had mentored at the same time. He knew what Garrett looked like, having joint missions with the senior Agent and his mentees, but other than that, Clint never really got a good read on Garrett. All he had figured was that Coulson must have been really angry to find out about Garrett's true allegiances. There was also the rumblings a couple of months after SHIELD's fall that it had been Agent Coulson and his little team that had taken down Garrett and a lot of Project Centipede which had been a breath of relief to Clint. He had been worried that Coulson had been killed in the ensuing chaos after HYDRA had burst forth from SHIELD; worried more for Phil than for Natasha because he knew Natasha, she was a survivor. Coulson...well, he survived and was revived, but he was also very human and Clint thought, sometimes a little too compassionate. He knew his close friend and former S.O., now his occasional handler, had a ruthless streak in him – courtesy of Nick Fury's guidance and mentoring – but Coulson was probably one of the more compassionate agents he had ever met, very similar in ways to Cap himself.

Karpov had asked him months ago who was the likely candidate to run SHIELD from the shadows since Nick Fury's death and Clint had mentioned Coulson without hesitation. He knew he had painted a giant target on the back of his friend, but at the same time, he felt a bit of pride in saying it. He had also cautioned Karpov that Coulson was not an idiot and should not be under estimated, something he hoped and had his hopes fulfilled to make Karpov hesitate and move carefully, but also to allow Coulson to build up loyal SHIELD personnel for the past year.

But the fact that May and Ward were here along with Triplett and the fact that he had seen Coulson out on the motorway, meant that he had them on a side mission that Rumlow had somehow intercepted. The last he had heard, Rumlow had been laid up in New York, caught by NYPD after the attack on the courthouse. He must have received separate orders that Clint did not know about and it unsettled him.

"Fancy seeing you here," Rumlow's aim was steady and Clint met his sharp-eyed gaze with a neutral one of his own. He could see the slight shock in May and Triplett's eyes, but oddly, Ward's was narrowed, as if assessing him. He realized that Ward was trying to puzzle him out, to figure out if he was here undercover or if he really was HYDRA.

"Thought you got your ass kicked in New York," Clint replied blithely, keep his grip steady on his bow. Rumlow with the gun was mostly an empty threat, especially with this many people in the hanger bay, but it was still a threat that he would not turn his back to.

"Wouldn't you know about that Hawkeye," the HYDRA agent sneered, "oh wait, did you abandon your Avenger code name?"

"You would know," Clint countered, the corner of his lips curling in a sardonic smile. His 'quitting' of SHIELD was a very public, messy affair. He had yelled at Fury, yelled at Coulson, yelled at Natasha, a few others, and had quit, storming out with his gear. Coulson had even pulled a gun on him and said for him to leave his SHIELD issued bow and arrow and he had thrown his SHIELD issued gun and badge back at Coulson's feet while keeping the bow and arrows he had on him. He had then spent a month ignoring phone calls and visits from the other Avengers, all the while pretending to look for other agencies and private security firms that would hire him. Turned out a lot of private security firms wanted to hire a former Avenger and SHIELD agent and got employment after two months. A month into that, he was vetted into a more shadowy section of the private sector and quit his job by blowing one of their facilities sky high after finding out that they had been funding suicide bomber cells around the world – that had been a nice bonus and made him a bit happier in his undercover assignment.

Three months into his new employment, SHIELD fell and HYDRA emerged.

"See, I don't believe it," Rumlow gloated loudly, bringing a few others' gazes on them and Clint only stared, unimpressed. "I mean, Hawkeye, of the Avengers. Upping and quitting like that-"

"You need not worry about Agent Barton's loyalties, Agent Rumlow," Clint was glad that he had perfected his poker face as he suddenly felt two hands resting on his shoulders, squeezing in what could have been an almost fatherly gesture, if it was not for the sudden thrill of fear running through him that he quickly buried deep into his mind. He had not even heard Karpov walk up nor feel any sign of him except for now the vague pressure in his mind. It was almost like the sensation of having someone rapidly open the metaphoric door waltz in unannounced.

"Sir-"

"Have I made myself clear?" Karpov's voice was benign, but Clint could feel something electric in his grip on his shoulders that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. If he had not already known that there was something not quite human about Karpov, he could feel it now. The pressure in his mind was almost eerily similar to Loki's utter domination and manipulation three years previous.

"Y-Yes sir," apparently even Rumlow was affected as he lowered the gun and swallowed visibly.

"Good," the feeling suddenly disappeared and Karpov's hands lifted from his shoulders. Clint let out a quiet ragged breath he did not know he had been unconsciously holding as the old man stepped forward, all pleasant smiles and dark cold eyes.

"Sir, Agent Ward was wearing this," Rumlow stepped forward and handed a film-like material that Clint recognized as a photostatic veil, or rather a camotech that utilized nanobots and life-like imprint of a person's face. It had only been recently developed by SHIELD scientists with only two in known existence. He knew one had been given to Natasha right before he had left SHIELD.

Karpov reached over and took the cloth-like material, studying for a moment, "And what of your target, Agent John Bronson?"

"He did not arrive at his extraction point, sir," Rumlow replied, "we found these three in his place."

"Wearing a mask of the good Baron von Strucker," Karpov finished for Rumlow with a quiet murmur before looking up at Ward, "I am surprised you remember after all these years, Grant."

"Kind of hard to forget after the shit you put me through," Ward replied and Clint flicked a look back to Karpov as he smiled a little. There was something venomous in Ward's tone and also a hint that Ward had a connection to Karpov that he was unaware of. Did Ward know Karpov or even Strucker from a time before he joined SHIELD? Was he even a loyal SHIELD agent if Strucker and Karpov were known HYDRA members?

"You haven't even aged a single day, Uncle Vasily," Ward hissed quietly and Clint tightened his grip on his bow. Ward did know Karpov, but based on his tone it could mean either he was friend or traitor and therefore a complete wild card.

"And you are still a failure after all that you were given-"

"The fact that I gave you these two hardly counts as a failure," Ward suddenly said, "and that your lapdog here Rumlow-"

"Kid-"

"-couldn't even figure out that I wasn't the real John Bronson, Strucker, whomever you want to call him, until I actually took that off, well...I say that I think I picked up a few things outside of the family unit, right?" Ward continued as Karpov held up a hand to stop Rumlow from making any moves against Ward.

"Perhaps you have some merit, for all the Red Room training we had invested," Karpov suddenly said in Russian and Clint saw Ward frown a little, having understood what was said. The others looked a little confused at the sudden Russian.

He himself froze a little at the mention of Red Room and Grant Ward, wondering what Natasha knew about this. As far as he knew, she was the only product of the Red Room's Black Widow Project. The Red Room itself had been officially dissolved at the end of the Cold War, but the two of them had gone Red Room hunting more than once. There were various people involved, but they had ensured that no one else was a trained agent of the Red Room. What Karpov was saying...

"But your loyalties cannot be determined until they are tested," the old man finished in English before gesturing to Rumlow, "escort your prisoners to the cells. Agent Barton will lead the way." He turned his head slightly and Clint felt the compulsive pressure return. "You know where to put them Agent Barton."

"I thought you wanted Stark and Wilson to be alone," he ignored the compulsion easily and saw the barest twitch of a smile on Karpov's lips.

"It would seem prudent, would it not, to house these prisoners separate and spread the rescue party thin, would it not?" Karpov mused in a manner that unsettled him further, "but come now, do you not want to see your handy work?"

Clint frowned inwardly, feeling a little like a cornered animal that did not know it was cornered, before he adopted a congenial look. "Of course," he agreed as Karpov's smile blossomed into a full one that did not even show his teeth and gestured for him to walk with him, one of his hands not quite touching the arrow pack he had on his back. The gesture was clear though and Clint followed, matching his steps with Karpov's as Rumlow and the others followed behind. He could feel May and Triplett's sharp gazes on him, could feel the calculation of whether he was friend, foe, or traitor. The only saving grace at the moment was that Karpov did not kill them right then and there, though Clint knew it was very precarious. Technically Stark and Wilson were enough for hostages to tempt the Avengers into rescuing them. Two, or three more SHIELD Agents was unnecessary. There was something sinister about keeping them alive though – to put more pressure on Stark and Wilson. That at least was the best option, even though May, Triplett, and possibly Ward would be tortured to try to break Stark and Wilson or to eventually drive them mad with the sceptre's subtle influence.

He knew he could easily break cover now, to at least free May and Triplett, maybe Ward if his mixed messages were to be believed, and shoot their way out. But there were a lot of HYDRA agents between him and where Stark and Wilson were being held not to mention he had no idea what the hell Karpov was capable of. That was the sticking part of his plan. Karpov had already proven he was either very Gifted, or maybe not of this world. Then there was the matter of the sceptre. It was his original mission, to find out where it had gone and if he found it, to ensure that it was either properly destroyed or in SHIELD's hands where it could be sent to the Slingshot permanently. Even Fury had come to his senses and did not want to deal with it after everything they had gone through. Clint knew he needed back up, needed help and could not break cover, not now.

The walk to the cells only took a few minutes, but to him, it felt like hours and the closer he got, the more he felt like he was the one to be thrown into the cell itself. He kept his grip on his bow tight, but did not fiddle with the buttons to switch from arrowhead to arrowhead. If Karpov did end up throwing him into one of the cells there, then at least he knew that the Avengers were coming, that Coulson was hopefully also bringing a taskforce too, to support the Avengers.

They were let in and Clint steeled himself behind his indifferent mask at the sight that greeted him. Outwardly, it looked all the same, Tony still hanging in his iron man armor, parts of which were warped from repeated exposure to high temperatures by the Extremis soldiers heating it up. He could hear the harsh breaths filtering out from inside the suit mingled with the smell of melted plastic. However, it was Sam Wilson who provided Clint with the knowledge of what had happened while he had been gone. The pararescue soldier looked pale, sweaty, and generally sick-looking. Dark circles ringed around his eyes and he looked like he had been utterly defeated. He sat, slumped against the wall of his cell, medical bag next to him, contents spilled all over the place. There were several ripped packets of what was probably painkillers or whatever was in the medical bag, white pills along with other colored pills spilled across the floor. Wilson must have hallucinated to the point where he was trying to drown himself in pills, but had resisted and sent it flying everywhere at the very last second. Sitting near the two of them was the glowing Chitauri sceptre, almost innocent looking except for the slithery feeling he felt in his mind when he had entered with Karpov and the others.

"...No...not you...not..." Tony's voice was faint, but understanble, his chains rattling as he lifted his armored head a little to stare at them. Clint realized, that Tony was looking at him and thought him to be a prisoner.

"Fortunately, Mr. Stark, your friend here is not a prisoner," Karpov placed a hand on Clint's shoulder and he resisted the urge to flinch at the touch. Behind him, he heard Rumlow shuffling Ward, Triplett, and May in. Sam Wilson stayed silent, but his eyes tracked the movement mutely.

"Now," Karpov kept his hand on Clint's shoulder as he turned slightly to address the three agents, "the prudent thing would be to have the three of you shot here to make a point."

There was a slight abortive movement from Ward and Karpov smiled, "Yes, I am sorry Agent Ward, but your contributions to HYDRA have come to an end. You did your job well trying to keep John Garrett in line, but you have allied yourself with a faction that Agent Coulson took down so there is no way to ensure that you have not been compromised in the year since you have become their prisoner." The weathered old man looked at the sceptre, "And I do not feel like expending the mental capacity to keep you under my leash."

"...What...too busy doing that...to Barton?" Tony huffed out as his chains shifted a little.

"Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Stark," Karpov answered, "watching that whelp of a mage dominate dear Agent Barton's mind as well as controlling Selvig has taught me my lesson. No, Agent Barton is here of his own misguided accord."

Suddenly the hand on his shoulder felt a lot more sinister than Clint ever thought possible as he tried to quell the rise of panic that erupted in him. He needed to maintain his calm, maintain his cover; to not give away, to not get himself killed because he needed to ensure that Stark and Wilson were okay, that Agent May, Ward, and Triplett were going to be okay-

"...Don't believe you..." Tony spat with a whisper.

Karpov gave a light chuckle, "It would be easy for me to demonstrate by having the good Agent here shoot his former co-workers, but it would also be foolish."

Clint frowned a little – he had been thinking of the fact that Karpov would have wanted him to shoot the three as a demonstration of his loyalty. But he also saw what Karpov had already saw, that arming him with a gun or allowing him to reach for an arrow was stupid as he could easily turn on him and Rumlow. He tightened his grip on his bow a little bit in frustration.

"No," Karpov suddenly drew out a gun from the folds of his jacket and fired twice. May and Triplett dropped to the ground with gasping cries and both Tony and Wilson jerked. Wilson half crawled over to his bars of his cell, eyes wild-

"-You fucking bastard-" Tony pulled against the chains holding him, "Clint, Clint! Do something-"

Clint could not move at the sight of May and Triplett bleeding out, their wounds not fatal, but serious enough that blood was already coating and spilling to the ground. Ward was standing stock still, face betraying nothing as he stared at Karpov. He could hear Tony yelling at him, to move, to break cover, to not pretend he was a lackey-

"You see?" Karpov put the gun away and the hand on his shoulder felt like a ton of weights, anchoring him to his spot. "He will not do anything, not even to save his former friends." He suddenly gestured with a weathered hand and Rumlow and another guard came to life, opening Sam's cell and throwing both May and Triplett in, scattering the pills and contents of the medical bag on the ground, while Ward was unceremoniously shoved into Tony's cell.

"Clint- Clint...please, do...do something!" it was hard to maintain his composure, especially at how broken Tony sounded, how ragged and exhausted he was, the suddenness of the situation suddenly screeching everything in his mind to a halt. He knew he had to do something but-

"Agent Barton will do nothing because he cannot," Karpov emphasized, "he will not. You see, he is waiting for help to arrive, because he knows how badly he is outmatched right now. His acuity for survival is overriding every single one of his loyalties because I have allowed it. Agent Barton has done everything expected of him because of his misguided attempts to warn and bring the rest of your colorful friends here.

"I marvel at his resistance for my guidance with this" he gestured to the sceptre which Clint was starting to feel a bit sick around. The oily feeling penetrating his mind made him want to douse himself in water and scrub himself until he was raw. "Such is a rarity and perhaps best suited for him to track this down, but he does not realize how much he had been played for a fool."

The hand on his shoulder tightened and Clint felt pain in that grip, creaking into his bones, a vice-like grip he did not know such an old man like Karpov could possess. "Everything you have done since we...found you...you have been subtly guided to do. You may have thought you have independent thought around the sceptre, but in reality, you have been guided as much as it has colored the thoughts of your friends here. The efforts I have expended in trying to make you turn was a wondrous exercise, but I must thank you, Agent Barton, for if you did not give the microdot to Captain America and his friends, then I would not have the chance to retrieve my weapon."

Clint felt like he was going to throw up as Karpov's hand left his shoulder, but the weight of what had happened lingered, feeling like he had been mentally pounded into the ground.

"Agent Rumlow, please prepare the base for an attack by the Avengers," he distantly heard Karpov said as the door opened behind them and footsteps told him that they had left. But Clint stood rooted to the spot, staring at nothing in particular, feeling the oily sensation of the sceptre worming its way through his mind.

He had been played so badly that he thought he was being subtle about it and doing the right thing by sneaking out information to the others. Except all that he had done was lead the rest of his friends straight into an ambush.

Author's Notes:

Clint's having a heroic BSOD moment. You may hug him.

In other news, I am cackling like a loon at Episode 1, Season 2 of "Agents of SHIELD." I totally called Ward in a prison cell underneath Coulson's bunker...though the location I knew I was wrong on – and no I do not work for Marvel. I just sometimes happen to guess things pretty accurately (and more often than not, results in me cackling like a loon while watching episodes or storylines unfold on TV). It's the little things like that, that warms my heart as a fan of the MCU and as a fanfic writer.