Disclaimer: I own nothing in the MCU or anything drawn from the comics. Unfortunately. Lol. All characters belong to the amazing people over at Marvel! I'm just playing with them for a little bit. I do own the OC in this chapter, however.
Summary: Homecoming AU. "I swear..." he gasped out between his sobs. "I... I didn't kill Mr. Stark." When the argument after the ferry incident goes horribly awry, Tony is missing and presumed dead, and Spider-Man is suspect number one. Peter believes his mentor is still alive out there, but he'll need help to find and save Tony from who truly wants him dead in time.
Author's Note: Hey, guys! Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows, they mean a lot and keep me going! The next chapter is almost done, so barring any unforeseen circumstances, it should be up soon! Things are only gonna get worse from here for everybody... So, Peter's in a bit more trouble, Tony's not in very good shape, and Clint's still struggling with the gas. This is the final part of Clint's backstory and connection to Fennhoff. Important note, just like the last two times, while based heavily on the comics, Clint's backstory has been changed and added to/detracted from in order to make it fit in this Newton-verse. Also, this is a different take on his rivalry with Barney/a different take on Barney himself. So things are NOT exactly comic-canon. Many, many thanks to CoffeeRanger for all of her help and hours spent figuring out Clint and Barney's story, it's been an angst-filled blast! Also like the last two times, the subtitle for this chapter is taken from the lyrics of Red's "Already Over". I think that's about it... So with all that said, enjoy!
Chapter 23- To Clip an Archer's Wings, Part 3: I Offer Up My Soul
"I've gotta admit, kid. I've done a lot of weird things for Tony through the years. But putting a body in my trunk is a first."
"At least it's not an actual body, Happy," Peter grumbled, helping the man fit the android in the trunk of his car before the head of security slammed the lid shut.
Happy sighed as he leaned against the back of his car. He crossed his arms over his chest as his gaze moved from Peter to Michelle to Ned and back. "You kids okay?" he asked.
The web-slinger glanced at his friends. As Michelle and Ned met his gaze, he could see they both seemed shaken but not harmed. "Yeah, we're okay," he answered.
"Good." The head of security glanced at the alley around them before he turned back to the teen. "So. What happened?"
"Well… we were having dinner, and the guy walked in," Peter explained with a slight shrug.
Happy arched an eyebrow. "And you just decided… what, that it was a good idea to follow him?" he wondered. "Did he do anything suspicious?" He frowned. "Or... it, rather…"
"… Well, no, not really…" Peter smiled sheepishly. "I, uh… I…"
"So you randomly decided to pick a fight with this guy and happened to find out he was an android?"
"… No, not exactly…"
"He was causing some trouble at homecoming," Ned blurted. "And we recognized him from there!"
Michelle's eyes narrowed while the web-slinger ran a stressed hand down his face as he glared at his best friend. "Homecoming?" she repeated.
Happy's second eyebrow rose to join the first. "What she said," he muttered, his gaze nearly burning a hole right through Peter. "That's news to me. What happened at homecoming?"
Peter groaned, taking a few steps closer to the man. "Happy, can we please talk about this a little later? Like, alone?" he hissed quietly, sending a brief, nervous glance back at Michelle. "It's… y'know… Avenger stuff…" He raised his voice a little then, not wanting to look more suspicious than he probably already did. "I just realized we totally ran out of the diner without paying, and I don't like dining and dashing, so…"
The head of security's frown deepened, like he meant to ask him more about what was happening right then and there and didn't appreciate the teen's efforts to try to get out of it. But realizing, like the kid, that they had to keep things of that matter confidential, he instead sighed and reached into his suit jacket pocket to pull out his wallet. "Here. Go take care of that," he said, holding a credit card out to him. "Stark Industries will cover for your friends, too."
"Oh, I have my own money…" Peter began, but when Happy didn't budge, he sighed and took the card. "Thanks, Happy."
"No. You owe me, kid."
As Peter began to walk toward the mouth of the alley with a chuckle to get back to the diner, he was very aware that the man was expecting his payment to be the unavoidable long chat they were going to have once they were in the car.
"Wait, I'll come with and help."
The web-slinger slowed his pace a bit, surprised, as Michelle fell into place beside him. As they continued along, they heard Ned ask in awe, "Were you really Iron Man's bodyguard?" He grinned when he could almost see Happy's chest puff out in pride without even looking.
"Uh, so not that I'm unhappy you're coming, I can just, y'know… I got this," he muttered with a little nervous laugh.
Michelle smirked. "I know." But then, the look faded as she absently brushed a hand up and down her arm. "But, uh, we need to talk."
Peter glanced at her curiously as they paused when they stepped out onto the sidewalk. "About what?" he asked lightly, even though he knew exactly what it was going to be.
"What is going on with you? I've never seen you like this before."
That caught the teen a little off guard. They had just been attacked by an android in an alley, and that was her question? "I… I, uh, I really don't know what you… what you mean…" he stammered.
Michelle rolled her eyes. "Please. I observe people, that's what I do," she muttered. "I remember you last year. What you did back there… catching the food inside, fighting the way you did in the alley, shutting down that android with the strength you did… You're different, Peter."
Crap. The web-slinger was at a loss for what to say. He couldn't tell her his secret, but he had to figure out some sort of excuse to appease her… "Well… you know what they say about adrenaline."
"I do. And that wasn't it." Michelle sighed before meeting his gaze head on. "Look. I've been trying to figure out how to bring this up myself, or wondering if I was possibly mistaken, but after tonight… I really don't think I am."
Peter's every sense was on high alert, his body tense as his gaze passed over the sidewalk for the quickest escape route.
Michelle nodded slightly as if she'd reached some sort of silent conclusion. "I recognized your voice in D.C.," she told him. "At first I thought there was no way. How could it be you? But now, I have no doubt. I have to say, you're really bad at trying to hide your voice, Peter."
D.C. Dread rushed through Peter when he remembered going to rescue his friends in the Washington Memorial after they'd gotten stuck in the elevator when the alien bomb had gone off. Michelle had been on the ground since she hadn't gone on the tour, anxiously telling Spider-Man that her friends had needed help…
He chuckled nervously. "Oops. My bad… I'll have to, uh, get better at that…"
Michelle nodded. "If you want to keep your identity secret, you do," she quipped.
Peter smiled with a nod. But then, the look faded as his eyes widened in fear. "Please, Michelle. You can't say a word about this to anyone. Ned's the only one who knows besides Happy and the Avengers." He paused briefly when she arched an eyebrow, not able to tell if she was impressed by that or not. "And you can't listen to the news reports. To what they're saying about me. No matter what it is, I didn't kill Mr. Stark… He's not even dead…"
"Calm down, dork." Michelle gave him a faint smile. "I won't say anything. And… I know you didn't. It seems kinda weird that you're being blamed for what happened at the harbor, but… you're not a killer. I mean, obviously, if Stark's still alive…"
The web-slinger could have cried in relief. "Thank you… After only hearing yourself get blamed all the time, it's nice to know someone else believes me," he murmured.
Michelle nodded. "I do." Her brow furrowed. "So… how did… this happen?" she asked, gesturing to him. "How did you become… you?"
"it's kind of a long story, but I will say it had to do with a radioactive spider."
"A radioactive spider?" Michelle repeated in disbelief.
Peter laughed. "I guess it sounds crazy, and I'll definitely tell you all about it another time," he said. "Though I have to also say, thanks for your help with that android back there. Seriously, you were awesome!"
Michelle allowed herself a grin at that as she shrugged. "Not a problem. I didn't do much, but if you ever need someone to get your ass out of trouble again…" The cheerful look faltered. "Peter, are you in some kind of trouble? I mean… an android attack isn't the most normal thing to happen to a person."
The teen sighed, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "I really don't know what's going on," he replied, shrugging helplessly. "It seemed like Mr. Stark was the target of the attack down at the ferry port, so… I don't know what that means yet. Or why I'm involved. I just know we have to find him." He tried to give her a small smile. "Should we go take care of that check so Happy doesn't have to be stuck with Ned for too much longer? One can only be subjected to so much Ned at a time."
"He seems too grumpy to be called Happy." Michelle laughed as they began walking again, silent agreement about their third companion shared between them. "Oh, by the way, Peter. My friends call me MJ."
Peter glanced over at her. If fighting an android in an alley together didn't make them friends, he didn't know what would. He grinned. "MJ, huh?" he wondered as he held the door of the diner open for her. "Good to know." He had to admit, with all the craziness going on, it was good to have another friend he could trust.
Before he could follow her inside, the web-slinger paused and glanced back at the alley. His eyes narrowed as a nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him that something was off… He just didn't know what.
"Coming, Peter?" Michelle asked.
The teen looked back at her before smiling. "Yeah, coming," he answered. The look faded when she turned away as she headed toward the counter, and he cast one last glance in the direction of the alley before following after her.
Tony groaned as he straightened up, his body shaking as he turned back to the television screen in front of him. He tightened his arm around his stomach and clenched his jaw, which sent a jolt of pain through the left side of his face as the wave of nausea he'd been battling for the past however many minutes after Arsen's punch surged again. It fortunately waned a bit as he helplessly watched Clint struggle toward a set of stairs on the security feed. Blood. The archer was losing too much blood from his leg…
"I believe that I have all I need from the spiderling's android feed," Fennhoff was murmuring to his henchmen, almost like background noise. "Take care of it for me."
"Certainly, Doctor," Bao replied just as quietly through with too much enthusiasm for his liking.
The billionaire kept his weary hazel eyes on Clint, watching as he began to try to make his way up the stairs. No… the other way… you're going the wrong way… Stop wasting your strength…
A sudden thought occurred to him, one that caused dread to pool in his stomach as he let out a mirthless chuckle. "Fennhoff!"
The quiet conversation stopped. "Yes?" The doctor sounded as annoyingly pleasant as always, but also a bit irked that his entertainment was being interrupted yet again.
Tony slowly glanced over his shoulder at the old man. "It wouldn't have mattered what I would have said to your offer… would it?" he asked quietly. He dreaded the answer, but he had to know, he just had to. "You still would have found some loophole and killed Clint… either way…"
A smirk spread across Fennhoff's face, and the gleam in his eye told the billionaire everything he needed to know. "Perhaps," he murmured. "Remember, Mr. Barton has taken something of high value from me, and while I have returned the favor, being even is something I do not pride myself on. You always must be one step ahead if you wish to go anywhere in this world, Mr. Stark. Although, his fate was sealed the moment you did not accept my offer in time."
Tony looked away from him, letting out a shaking breath and whispered curse. What could have been so valuable that was worth Clint's life? He couldn't bring himself to look at the television, at his friend's suffering.
It was his fault… all his fault… he could do nothing… he couldn't save him…
But he could, and would, try everything within his power… no matter what it took… to damn well make sure no one else… Peter… Pepper… Rhodey… Happy… even Steve… fell into the doctor's web. He wouldn't let anyone else die for him.
… Clint…
"Ah. He finally decided to do what he is supposed to do. It took him enough time…"
Despite how he didn't want to, Tony felt his gaze move upward as if pulled against his will at the almost frustrated tone of the doctor's voice, watching as Clint stumbled at the top of the staircase he'd struggled up before falling to his knees. He heard some shuffling from Fennhoff behind him before his lightly accented voice filled the small room. An order.
"Move in now."
"Yes, Doctor," a flat voice with no feeling that he didn't recognize replied, coming in through some sort of communication device.
The billionaire spared a glance at him over his shoulder, seeing the doctor's eyes were on the television with rapt attention, before turning his gaze back to the screen himself. His eyes widened when he saw the dark figure, appearing to be holding a large weapon of some sort, moving toward the vulnerable archer.
"Do it now," Fennhoff continued with poison in his tone. "No delays."
"Yes, Doctor."
Tony's heart raced as he shook his head slightly, his breath catching in his chest. "No…"
Clint hissed with pain as he continued to blindly reach for his bow, his breathing labored as he attempted to slow his racing heart. Each beat sent the gas more quickly through his system, each pulse dragged him down further... he was lost... he wasn't sure where he was...
... Natasha... where was Nat... Barney...
... Fennhoff...
The next few years after meeting the beautifully deadly assassin had passed rather uneventfully, at least as uneventfully as it could be with Natasha as his partner for missions. It had lightened his heart to watch her open up around her new S.H.I.E.L.D. teammates as she'd joined him, Coulson, Fury, and a new rookie agent named Maria Hill for their evening outings. He'd learned that the former KGB assassin could hold her liquor, play a mean game of pool, and had the best poker face he'd seen in a long time. Since she'd had nowhere to go for a big chunk of that time, the archer had opened his house to her, and Laura had welcomed her into the family with open arms. Even Cooper and Lila had taken to her pretty quickly, even starting to call her "Auntie Nat" soon after that.
It had been clear to him that Natasha had never had a real family of her own before. She'd shrink away from any sign of warmth or affection for quite some time, she hadn't been sure how to handle compliments or concern shown to her, and she'd withdraw when the children would address her with their new nickname for her. Though it had been his little girl who had finally managed to start cracking that tough exterior and melt that cool heart. He'd often find them sitting close together and playing dolls, reading, watching a movie, coloring, or playing with makeup. He'd wished many times that Tasha could experience the joys of motherhood, to have a little girl of her own, and he'd always regretted that her close relationship with Lila would be the closest she could get to that. But at least his daughter had given her that.
But it had been after a mission in Budapest with his partner that had changed his life forever.
Clint's breathing quickened as his fingers finally managed to reach his bow and curled around it. He clutched it to him tightly. A lifeline.
But it was still too late... much too late... he was lost... with no way out...
He and Natasha had just returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. when that blasted untraceable phone from his past he still hadn't gotten rid of had notified him of a text message. It had been a long time since he'd gotten any activity on it at all– any requests for jobs had fizzled out quite some time ago, and he hadn't heard from Buck since he'd funded his medical care. He'd hesitated only briefly before checking it.
It had only contained four short lines.
A location– a known dive bar downtown.
A day– Saturday.
A time– 10:30 p.m.
And two initials– B.B.
The archer's blood had gone cold. B.B. He'd immediately been transported back to his childhood at home with his abusive father, to his days as a teen in the carnival. Whenever he had wanted to leave a message for his brother, he'd always signed it as C.B. He'd been young and stupid, thinking it'd been cute and secret spy stuff. But for whatever reason, the older boy had always reciprocated.
B.B.
Barney Barton.
It hadn't taken him long to send a one-line message back.
I'll be there. C.B.
Clint had had no idea what his brother could have possibly wanted to meet with him about. Last time he'd seen him, two paramedics were rushing him into the hospital strapped to a stretcher, near death because of the arrow he'd put into his chest. They'd never had a necessarily bad relationship, but what if Barney had finally realized he'd been the one who'd shot him? What if he'd planned to arrest him? What if it'd been something else entirely?
Either way, he'd had to find out. And it'd had to have been off S.H.I.E.L.D. record until he'd known what was going on.
When Saturday had rolled around, Natasha had refused to let him go alone in case it was some sort of trap. He'd finally agreed to let her come along on the condition that while his brother could see them together, he'd talk to Barney alone. She hadn't liked it, but she'd gone along with it.
They'd arrived at the dive bar downtown that had been specified in the text at exactly half after ten. Right on schedule.
He stepped into a cloud of cigarette smoke as soon as he opened the door, turning his face away as he entered the small, dimly lit space. Natasha stood close behind him as he surveyed the room, his sharp gaze passing over some loudly chatting, already drunk people sitting at a couple of the nearby tables, a local not so great band performing in the corner by the patched window, and more obnoxious drunks sitting at the counter.
But no sign of who he was there to see.
Part of him, he couldn't deny, was relieved about that.
"Do you see him?" Natasha asked quietly.
"No," he answered, his voice just as quiet. "But we'll give him a few minutes."
They walked further into the bar before sitting in a booth in the back corner. Less attention. Though he could only imagine how many crimes had taken place at that table.
"You haven't really told me much about your brother," Natasha muttered, looking at him curiously.
He shrugged. "Not too much to tell other than what you already know," he replied. "I haven't even heard from him in years."
"So you have no idea what this could be about?" she pressed with a slight tilt of her head, her straightened red hair spilling over her shoulder.
"None," he confirmed, shaking his head.
The assassin nodded once before she looked around them again as a louder round of laughter went up from a few tables over. "Do you want a drink?" she suddenly asked, turning back to him. She smiled slightly at the confused look he gave her. "I can feel how nervous you are from here."
Despite himself, he chuckled. "You know me too well... Sure. Why not? Get something for yourself, too. We may be here a while."
Natasha scrunched her nose at him before she stood up, her gaze lingering on something behind him for a moment too long to be accidental before she made her way toward the counter. It was then he knew why she'd chosen that moment to ask him about a drink.
His heart pounded in his ears, his breath quickened, every muscle in his body went taut, sweat pricked his forehead. He closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself down. After all, this was the man he'd grown up with. That he'd survived with. That he'd known almost as well as he knew himself, since they'd only had each other.
This was also the man he'd almost killed.
It was that moment he was glad he'd brought his bow, retracted and concealed in his black leather jacket. That he'd stashed a couple arrows there as well. That Natasha had her firearm and at least a couple knives on her somewhere.
He would be okay.
The bar was so loud that he felt more than heard the other man slowly sit across from him where his partner had previously been. Hesitant. He was as nervous as he was. For some reason, that settled him slightly.
A beat passed before he opened his eyes. Barney didn't look much different than the last time he'd seen him. His dark brown hair was tied back in its familiar ponytail, his silver earrings were in. He had a hint of a beard and mustache. There were dark rings under his eyes as he extinguished a cigarette in the ashtray. There were a couple more lines in his face than he remembered, making him appear a little older.
But it was so undoubtedly Barney.
A moment of silence passed between them as they awkwardly stared the other down. As much of a gift as the older had for small talk, it had never been a strong point with each other on a good day, and it seemed inappropriate in this specifically called meeting.
Then, his brother nodded toward the bar. "She's pretty," he commented.
A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "She's just my partner," he said.
Before Barney could say anything more, there was some commotion at the bar. He quickly turned, following his older brother's wide gaze in time to watch Natasha twist a buff man's arm on the counter before kneeing him right in the groin. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve it, but the bartender was giving her an appraising look while the offending man doubled over, wheezing.
"Hell of a partner," the older man muttered, arching an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I got lucky." He turned back to face his brother, fidgeting with the salt shaker. "So. You come here often?"
"No," Barney told him before nodding at the bar again. "Simone's cousin bartends here. Thought it was as... safe a place as any to talk."
A warmth bloomed in his chest at the familiar name. He met the other man's gaze for the first time. "How's she doing?" he asked. "You guys still together? Put a ring on her yet?"
At this, Barney smiled. "Yup, we're still together. But no, no ring... She's good, though. She's going for her Master's in criminal justice. Should be done in a couple years."
"Glad to hear it. Tell her I say hi."
"I will. She misses you." Barney hesitated briefly. "How about you? Girl? Family?"
He shook his head. "Nah, no girlfriend," he muttered. It wasn't exactly a lie. "You know me. Settling down, raising a family... it isn't really my lifestyle." That was a lie, one he wasn't sure why he made.
A small, almost sad smile appeared on his brother's face. "Yeah. I do. It ain't mine, either. But sometimes, all it takes is meeting the right person."
He saw Barney's gaze once again flit Natasha's way, and he had to hide a smile behind clearing his throat. "So..."
"You're probably wondering why I asked you here," Barney began at the same time. Both of them paused before the older man continued. "I need your help with something."
He leaned back a bit against the cushioned booth. "My help?" he repeated. "What, are you in some sort of trouble, or something? Need money?"
"No. Not exactly. And no, I don't." Barney shifted position, resting his arms on the table. His jean jacket shifted ever so slightly, but it was enough for him to get a quick look at something underneath.
What appeared to be a black, retractable bow, which looked very similar to the one he carried, was hidden there. His heart skipped a beat.
Trickshot...
... was it possible?
"Have you... heard about Buck?" he blurted, quickly moving his gaze away from the hidden weapon.
Barney's brow furrowed. If he saw where he'd been looking, he didn't say anything about it. Or... perhaps he'd wanted him to see. "Yeah… he reached out to me after his first diagnosis," he said. There was slight hesitation in his voice, he noticed. "We had a long chat. It's a shame it came back. But from what I've heard recently, he's back in remission. He somehow got the money he'd needed to continue his treatments. Anonymous donation. He was afraid that he wouldn't have enough for the second round."
The pressure eased in his chest slightly. Remission was good news, and he was glad he'd been able to help make that happen. Especially if their former mentor couldn't have afforded it otherwise.
But Buck had talked with his brother around the time of his first diagnosis... That was also around the time when this mystery archer had started popping up. Was it possible the archer who'd trained them had wanted Barney to carry on his name...?
"Sorry. You were saying?" he prompted, glad his voice remained steady.
Barney nodded. "Well, as I'm assuming you now know, I'm in the FBI?" He raised a challenging eyebrow.
He couldn't stop his slight smirk. Right, Laura had helped to check up on him after he'd brought Barney to the hospital way back when. The other man had to know his brother had been asking about him.
A beat passed before Barney returned the look. "Anyway, they have me on an undercover mission. There's this... doctor. A psychiatrist at a local hospital. Real sketchy. I'm infiltrating as one of his assistants, but some things he's up to... well, let's just say it's not exactly legal. Or moral."
He froze. Doctor? Psychiatrist? "What... what makes you think I can help you with anything like that?" he wondered quietly. He glanced around for Natasha.
Barney's smirk broadened. He lowered his voice as he leaned closer. "You don't think that a couple departments in the FBI know all about S.H.I.E.L.D.?" he posed.
He allowed himself to relax ever so slightly. Of course. "So... this doctor. What's he doin'?"
"He's utilizing hypnosis to control his patients," the older man explained. "And I don't see much of this, but he's trying to create this... I don't know what, exactly, but this elixir... serum... something. Regardless, he's interested in various effects it has on the human body."
That certainly sounded all too familiar. Except for the second part. "So, does he, like... experiment?" He cursed under his breath when his brother nodded. "What, is he trying to recreate Captain America, or something?"
At this, Barney cracked a smile. "Doubtful. But that could damn well be what inspired him."
He ran a stressed hand down his face, letting out a long sigh. "What's his name?" he asked. If it was Fennhoff or Ivchenko...
"Faustus," Barney answered, starting to fidget with the pepper shaker. "He goes by Doctor Faustus. I don't' know his first name. I've looked him up in the FBI database, but there's nothing."
Another alias. It had to be. There was no one else it could be. "That sounds an awful lot like someone on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar. A Hydra agent," he murmured, drumming his fingers in a quick, agitated rhythm against the table. His heel tapped the floor, mirroring it. "So what do you want from me? Information?"
Barney shook his head. "I want you to help me take him down. Before he does something worse," he told him. He hesitated briefly. "I... may be doing this part under the FBI's radar. But he's too dangerous to just bring in. He's doing more shit than they thought. I can't just let it go."
He arched an eyebrow as a sheepish look passed over his brother's face. If he agreed to this, he'd likely have to go behind Fury's back, too. While he highly doubted he'd be shot for a "mess up" at this point in his career, the director still wasn't going to be pleased with him.
But if he could help bring down Johann Fennhoff...
Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table near Barney's. "When?"
Clint couldn't catch his breath. His left leg pounded beneath him as he pushed himself to his feet, though he could hardly feel any pain– or anything– anymore. He stumbled back into... a wall?... for support.
No... no no no... He couldn't go there... no...
He couldn't get out...
Gas... not real... Fennhoff...
... Barney...
He squeezed his eyes shut, biting back a scream of agony. His vision swayed in front of him, his heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears. His body trembled. He felt nauseous...
"When?"
He never should have asked that question. If he hadn't... maybe Barney would be...
No... He couldn't think about that... he had to do... something?... he couldn't remember...
As they'd wrapped up their clandestine meeting at the dive bar, Barney had informed him that he'd known the next time Faustus... or Fennhoff... would be alone at the hospital. The next day, his schedule after nine that night would be cleared. They'd have the area in the psychiatric wing where his office was located to themselves. And they could take him down.
Clint had agreed to meet with him there. Natasha, however, hadn't liked the idea of him going alone with Barney– someone she hadn't really known– to try to bring Fennhoff in or kill him. The doctor was too dangerous on his own, and it could have been some sort of setup. She'd asked that he'd at least tell Coulson where he'd be going, but he just... hadn't. Coulson had been on a mission of his own, so it'd been possible he wouldn't have even been back in time to help even if he had said something to him.
It had just… felt right. It had just been him and Barney together against all
odds.
Just as it'd always had been...
He tapped his foot impatiently, leaning against the smooth wall next to the back door of the brightly lit hospital. His bow was clutched tightly in his hand, a constant reminder of what he was there for as he glanced up at the seventh-story windows above his head. The psychiatric wing.
Fennhoff.
He glanced down at his watch. 8:57 p.m. Three minutes to show time.
A flicker of guilt ran through him as he thought about Natasha anxiously waiting for him to return back at S.H.I.E.L.D. She'd told him that she would send agents after him, as well as come herself, if she didn't hear anything from him by quarter after, and he fully believed every word. He'd just have to make sure he and Barney were in and out again by that time.
Barney... He just wished his partner had as much faith in his brother as he had. She just couldn't bring herself to. Which he couldn't blame her for – not with her background. But he knew better. He knew the older man. And he couldn't help but be grateful that he was starting to get his brother back.
Then, the door beside him opened, revealing Barney in a red and black tank top and black pants with his dark hair tied back. In his gloved hand was a bow similar to his own. He remembered what the older man had said when he'd first seen him in the uniform.
"We both have secrets, Clint."
"Are you ready?" Barney asked quietly. "Faustus is alone up there."
He gazed back at his brother for a long moment... Trickshot, he was certain of it, though that was a conversation for later once they were rid of Fennhoff... before casting his gaze to the seventh-story windows again. "Yeah, I'm ready," he answered.
Barney gave him a small smile. "Let's go." He held open the door for him to step inside after one more glance around the dark parking lot before letting it close and hurrying up the nearby staircase. He lingered behind for only a moment before he began to follow the older man.
Clint's breathing was ragged as he gripped his bow even tighter. He turned, facing a nearby staircase as the lights continued to flicker at him. His vision threatened to fade as he went from seeing... the warehouse, he vaguely remembered... stairs to the steps of the hospital that would lead him straight to Fennhoff. He reached out a steadying hand, resting it against the wall to keep himself upright. His brow furrowed when he saw a figure standing at the top of the stairs of the shadowed upper story, waiting for him, watching him, until they turned away, their heavy footsteps starting to fade. He set his jaw.
Follow... he had to follow...
He wasn't sure why, but his body felt compelled to do so. Cringing in pain when the arrow in his left thigh protested to the motion, the archer slowly began to push his way up the hospital staircase, each agonizing step at a time...
He stopped beside Barney at the top of the steps, watching as his older brother drew an arrow, notching it to his bowstring. His sharp gaze scanned the empty hallway ahead of him, every sense on high alert. Something about the heavy, eerie silence was... off. He could tell the other man felt the same way since his every muscle was taut.
"Which one's his?" he asked in just above a whisper.
Barney nodded to the door at the end of the hall. It was the only one with the light on. "That one," he answered just as quietly. "We'll have to be careful. He may look like a feeble old man, but..."
Despite the circumstances, he allowed himself a small smirk. "I'm familiar with just how not a feeble old man he is," he murmured.
His brother returned the look. But then, it waned as his gaze faltered. "Before we charge in there, I thought you'd... well, that you'd want this back. I kept it in good condition for ya."
He watched as Barney pulled another arrow from his quiver before holding it out to him. His face paled. He clearly recognized it as one of his arrows from before he'd upgraded when he'd joined S.H.I.E.L.D. The purple band around the shaft near the arrowhead was unmistakable. It had been one of his definitive marks since he'd performed with them in the carnival. He met the other man's gaze as he slowly reached out and carefully took it, seeing a look he couldn't quite read on his face.
His heart skipped a beat, envisioning the last place he'd seen the arrow– deep in Barney's chest as he'd nearly bled out on the drug lord's lawn.
The other man had known all along. Just as he'd always dreaded.
"I... I don't..." But his voice trailed off miserably. What could even be said that was adequate when presented with the sin of nearly killing the very person who'd ensured he'd survived for as long as he had?
A sad look flickered in Barney's eyes before he offered a small smile. "It's all right," he told him gently. "I've had plenty of time to think on it. You didn't know. How could you have? Besides, I do remember hearing you in my delirious state. I know that this time, you saved my ass for once."
At this, he couldn't help but smile, even allowing a little chuckle when the other man nudged his shoulder with his fist. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He studied the arrow for a moment longer before he slid it into his quiver with the others. It may come in handy in a tight spot.
Things were okay. They were going to be okay. He would handle Barney being on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar as the suspected Trickshot when they got to it, but for now, things were okay between them.
Just like they'd used to be. Just like they should be.
Clint let out a shuddering breath as he stumbled up a couple more steps, nearly losing his balance. His left leg dragged behind him. He had to keep going... He reached ahead of him for the next step, the next handhold.
Fennhoff...
... Barney...
They slowly began to make their way down the dimly lit hall, bows and arrows in hand. They kept a sharp eye out for any sign of movement, alert for any whisper of sound, though everything was still as they drew closer to Fennhoff's office. He was acutely aware of the heat of his brother's arm that was nearly touching his own, knowing that he had his back, just as he had his.
Almost there...
Then, both of them came to an abrupt halt when a familiar, lightly accented voice seemed to come from everywhere around them.
"Welcome."
He only had the chance to send a brief alarmed glance the other man's way before dark office doors crashed open on either side of them as Hydra agents spilled out into the hall, forming a circle around them as they all aimed their firearms in their direction.
"I thought you said Fennhoff was alone up here," he grumbled, standing with his back against Barney's to cover him. His bow was drawn back, an arrow ready to be released at any moment.
His brother situated himself similarly at his back. "He was when I scoped the place out," he retorted.
Letting out a quiet, heated curse, he quickly scanned the hall, his gaze landing on the door ahead of them. A quick glance told him that behind it was another staircase that led up to the roof of this particular wing of the hospital. That must have been where the rest of the Hydra agents had come from when the other man had come to get him. It also likely meant that Fennhoff had some sort of escape plan up there, as well as most likely even more agents.
They thought they'd been prepared, but the doctor had still been one step ahead. He set his jaw. No matter what, Fennhoff couldn't be allowed to reach that rooftop.
Barney seemed to reach the same conclusion he had. He glanced over his shoulder at him. "You take one side, I'll take the other?" he wondered lightly.
He gave a curt nod. "First one done moves in for the doctor," he replied.
"See you there, then." Barney smirked, quickly drawing an arrow and loosing it into the chest of the agent nearest him in one fluid motion.
Not wanting to be outdone, he returned the look as he stepped away from his brother, shooting down an agent before rolling and taking out another. He spared a glance over at the other man, watching as he kicked off a wall to flip over a couple of his agents and shooting them both down from the air. It looked like he still remembered his training from the carnival, too. He ran at the nearest wall, using it to propel his momentum as he twisted over the head of another man, shooting him right between the eyes before he landed gracefully again.
Bullets were flying at a higher rate now, and it was always a happy accident when any of the Hydra agents took out one of their own because they were too quick. He hissed in surprise when a bullet skimmed his left hand, leaving a sharp sting in its wake, before he pivoted and shot one of his couple remaining agents. One down, one to go.
"Clint!"
He glanced over his shoulder to see Barney had just taken out the last agent he was supposed to, hesitating as he lingered, waiting for him. "Go!" he yelled, waving him away. "What are you waiting for? I'll catch up!"
Barney nodded, keeping a tight grip on his bow as he ran down the rest of the hall. He drew an arrow as he reached the door they'd been targeting, disappearing into Fennhoff's office.
He then turned back to the lone agent still in the hall with him. The larger, broad-shouldered man raised his handgun to aim it right at his forehead, though he was quicker. He loosed an arrow, watching as it hit its target right in the barrel before he pulled the trigger. While the man cursed and paused to check the jam, he smirked as he ran straight for him, catching sight of the panic appearing on the agent's face before he dropped to the floor and slid between his legs, rising up to a knee and shooting an arrow straight into his back before he even had the chance to turn around.
His breathing was a little quick as he pushed himself to his feet and checked the wound on the back of his hand. Just like he'd thought, it wasn't serious, just a scratch. A stinging scratch. He shook his hand out in effort to rid of, or forget about, the pain before he set his jaw. His gaze was only on the door to Fennhoff's office as he began to hurry toward it.
Clint made a quiet sound of pain as he dragged himself up another couple steps, reaching ahead of him for the next. Almost there... he was almost at the top...
Why had he told him to run ahead? He should have told him to wait, he would have gone with him.
If he had...
... No... Barney... stop... please... don't go... wait for me…
He stopped in front of Fennhoff's office, taking a deep breath before stepping inside with his bow held in front of him. He grunted and covered his eyes with his arm when a bright flash immediately greeted him, disorienting him.
"It is good of you to join us, Little Hawk."
The kind yet taunting voice sent a chill down his spine. He squinted, dark spots still dancing in front of his eyes, to see Fennhoff standing across the room from him near his desk. He'd recognize the old man anywhere. Next to him stood Barney.
His heart nearly stopped. His brother... and the doctor...
No... that couldn't be possible...
A quiet laugh from Fennhoff caused him to raise his bow in front of him again as he reached for an arrow, but he paused when Barney did the same and aimed it directly at his chest. "This has been such a fun little game, do you not agree?" the doctor wondered, taking a few steps closer to him. His eyes darted between Fennhoff and the other archer, trying to keep watch on both without betraying a thing. He was quick enough to get the draw to hit the old man right between the eyes, but he knew he wouldn't be fast enough to avoid an arrow directed at him by Barney if he made a move on Fennhoff first... He'd always been the slightly faster draw between the two of them, but he couldn't bring himself to even think of harming his brother…
It was a risk, one that he knew would not end well in his favor. However, he was willing to take if it meant ridding the world of this dangerous agent.
"But did you think I would really allow you to take something I wanted from me without paying the price?" Fennhoff continued.
His brow furrowed a little. Something he wanted...?
Natasha. So that meant...
It was then he noticed the doctor twirl that golden band he wore around his finger, and he quickly looked away. He'd been under its spell before, he couldn't allow himself to succumb to it again. He spared another glance at Barney, and his breath caught in his chest as he noticed something he hadn't when he'd first barged in. His normally bright, steely eyes were blank, glazed brother hadn't been plotting against him. Fennhoff had hypnotized him, turned him against him. And now he was trying to do the same to him.
He wouldn't let it happen. He wouldn't be made to fight the other archer. He wouldn't be made to harm his brother.
The doctor made a quiet sound of frustration when he saw his target resisting. "No matter," he murmured with a smirk. "I believe what I'm taking from you will suffice. And if you should end up killing each other, well... all the better." He then nodded to Barney and stepped to the side.
He looked up at his older brother with a gasp in time to see him loose the arrow, and he barely spun in time to dodge it as the wind from it brushed his cheek as it flew past. He'd barely gained his footing when a second arrow dug deep into the back of his right shoulder, and he cried out as the force from the strike sent him collapsing into the wall in front of him.
"Shit!"
He nearly let go of his own bow as he dropped to a knee, agony pulsing down his arm and up through his neck. Drops of crimson splashed against the floor around him, and his breathing quickened as he sprawled to the floor, just in time to avoid a third arrow that struck the wall right where his head had just been.
He allowed his eyes to droop closed for the briefest of moments as his heart raced, looking up to see that Fennhoff was slowly walking toward him. He smirked as he passed him by, lingering in the doorway of his office for only a moment before he stepped out into the hall to check on things there.
A beat passed before he grit his teeth and reached for an arrow to fire after him, but he looked up with wide eyes to see Barney was quickly bearing down on him. He'd extended his bow so that it was now a close combat weapon, much like his own could do, and he raised it over his head to bring it down on him.
Knowing it was going to hurt, he held his breath before rolling toward him, cringing as the arrow was jostled by the movement. But it was an action the other archer wasn't expecting, causing him to pause for a brief moment, which was enough time for him to extend his own bow into a similar weapon and push himself up to a wobbly knee. He held his bow up in front of him, able to block Barney's next strike just in time. His arm shook from the amount of force he was having to exert, and his shoulder shouted in protest.
"Barney... stop... this isn't you!" He nearly lost his balance when he pushed the older man back from him, hardly able to raise his weapon again in time to deflect another hit. "Barney!"
They exchanged a few more hits before he was able to get to his feet, where they went blow for blow. Each strike sent a tremor of pain through his right arm, to where his shoulder was pulsing and burning with agony. He was immediately transported back to their carnival days where he and his brother had been trained in how to properly wield their swords by fighting each other. They'd both always been highly competitive, so they'd always enjoyed the challenge of trying to outdo the other.
But this wasn't training. It wasn't a challenge. His bum shoulder was a weakness, it slowed him down. And his brother knew it. And Barney was aiming to kill.
Having been in this exact spot before, he knew how to knock some sense into the other man. He just had to get a clear shot...
"Barney!"
His right shoulder throbbed with pain, causing him to miss a swing. He stumbled with a wince. And, like a shark drawn to blood, the older man struck.
The hit landed square in the center of his chest. His eyes widened. The strike would have no doubt been fatal had it been anything other than the blunt end of his bow. But the force was still enough to rob him of breath, and he knew he would be sporting an ugly bruise later and would be incredibly fortunate if nothing was cracked or broken. He fell back into Fennhoff's desk, the only way he was able to stay upright, until Barney used his bow to sweep his legs out from under him. He crashed hard to the floor, dropping his bow as white spots danced before his eyes and an agonized scream ripped from his throat when the arrow in his shoulder went deeper into the tissue with enough force to pierce the bone as the shaft snapped.
He lay still, gasping for breath as the corners of his vision began to fade and darken as his body trembled. His mind hadn't even fully registered the pain, his right shoulder simply numb. His bow was just out of reach of his grasping fingers, though he cringed as he continued to try to grab it.
"Barney..." he whispered.
Above him, Barney leaned forward a little, surveying the damage. He lowered his bow to his side. He was leaving himself open.
It was an opportunity he snatched. He probably wouldn't get another.
When the older man got just a little closer, he strained his good arm and reached out for his bow one more time. His shaking fingers managed to grasp it, and he sat up and swung it upward faster than his brother could register the motion. He watched as it connected solidly with his head, and he waited as a beat passed before Barney's blank eyes began to clear before they dropped closed. He reached out as his brother collapsed. He couldn't suppress a cringe as he brought Barney's head to rest against his chest briefly before he set him carefully on the floor.
"All right... easy... we're okay..."
Though he could only afford himself a moment to catch his breath. There was still Fennhoff to worry about. He knew the doctor wouldn't have gone too far away. If he was angry with him for, in his own words, stealing Natasha from him, he'd want to see him get killed by his brother's hands, not caring what would happen to Barney in the process.
Which also meant he likely had something else lying in wait for him should his first plan fail.
And now, he was on his own.
Setting his jaw, he shook out his bow before he slowly pushed himself to his feet. The color drained from his face as a wave of nausea rushed over him, and he gripped the desk so hard his knuckles turned white as he gasped for breath when agony rippled through his entire upper right torso. He let out a mirthless chuckle, his chin dropping to his chest. He was up against a mad doctor and likely more Hydra agents, and he only had one good arm to work with. Great odds.
But if he was going down, he wasn't going down without a fight. And he would make damn sure to bring Fennhoff down with him.
"All right, Clint... on three. One. Two."
He took a couple steps away from the desk, gripping his bow to him tightly as he passed by Barney and paused in the doorway of the office, chancing a cautious glance outside.
Empty. Silent.
Then, the door that led to the roof closed, and he sucked in a breath as he hurried forward and pushed his way through after the doctor. Before it could close behind him, he heard a familiar voice call out his name from the other end of the hall, and he quickly turned to see Natasha had entered with her gun drawn. The door closed just as, surprisingly, Coulson followed her with a couple more agents, his eyes widened with concern.
He listened to the sound of Fennhoff's frantic footsteps making their way up the steps. Fast... how could he move so fast...? He winced as he reached back for an arrow with his good arm, finding it to be the one with the purple band, the one Barney had given back to him... Old but reliable. And he really had kept it in good condition.
He notched it on his bow, his right shoulder screaming in agony as he took a couple steps forward and aimed it at the circling staircase above him. His eyes narrowed slightly when he caught sight of the doctor hurrying by before he disappeared from sight again. He held his breath, patiently counting in his mind before he loosed it. A smirk spread across his face as Fennhoff let out a cry of surprise and pain, stumbling when the arrow sank into his right shoulder.
"That should slow him down a little."
He then began to run up the stairs after the older man. He was nearly at the top when he watched the doctor hobble out the door that led to the roof, and he grit his teeth as he reached the landing, having to pause for a moment as the pounding in his shoulder nearly became unbearable. He heard the door open below him followed by Natasha and Coulson yelling after him before they began to run up the stairs with their agents. But he had to push forward, or Fennhoff would get away. That couldn't happen. Cringing, he reached the door and was about to push it open when another worried voice from below made him pause.
"Clint! Stop!"
Barney...
… I'm sorry…
He couldn't hesitate anymore. He had to go.
With a cry of both determination and pain, he pushed the door open and stumbled out onto the rooftop.
Clint made it to the top of the staircase, wavering before he collapsed to the hard floor. His bow clattered onto the ground beside him. He looked down, seeing that his knees and his hands had landed in a pool of crimson. His gaze wavered as his breath caught in his chest, his heart nearly stopping.
"... Barney... I'm so sorry..."
I should have stopped...
... Damn it, why didn't I stop...?
... Barney...
A strong, cold blast of air met him as he stepped out onto the rooftop. He squinted and shielded his face with his good arm, to see that a helicopter was waiting across from him. Fennhoff's escape route.
The doctor himself was standing toward the center of the roof, grumbling and cursing to himself as he tried to tend to the arrow wound in his shoulder. Though when he saw he was no longer alone, he paused before sending a smirk his way.
"I'm impressed you've made it to me, Little Hawk," Fennhoff purred as he turned to face him. He inclined his head. "You are rather pale."
His shoulder was pounding in time with his racing heart, each beat a wave of agony. All the motion had caused him to start losing blood at a quicker rate. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to stay on his feet, to stay awake, since he was already feeling a bit more lightheaded. But he couldn't stop. "Doesn't mean I still can't take you out," he snapped between his gasps, reaching for another arrow.
Fennhoff's smirk broadened, his eyes gleaming as he tsked quietly. "You are certainly welcome to try."
He fought through the blinding pain as he notched the arrow on his bow and aimed it at the old man, hoping his arm remained steady as his shoulder screamed and threatened to give out on him. He just had to hold on for a little bit longer...
One more motion... just pull back... let go...
The door crashed open behind him, and Natasha, Coulson, Barney, and the couple S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that accompanied them appeared on either side of him, all their weapons drawn and aimed at the doctor. He inwardly sighed with relief. At least he wasn't alone. If he couldn't bring down their adversary... His partner set a steadying hand on his good shoulder while his brother couldn't even bring himself to look at him, his gaze lowered in guilt.
"Give it up, Fennhoff!" Coulson demanded, his gun leveled at the old man. "You won't make it to the helicopter!"
But Fennhoff simply smiled. "I would not count on that," he whispered.
And suddenly, they were all surrounded by more Hydra agents, who'd just seemed to appear out of the shadows. And they all had heavier firepower.
"Get down!" Natasha yelled in warning.
They scattered as one of the Hydra agents fired off their weapon, one of their agents dragging him along just as it detonated. They stumbled away from each other as a blast rocked the building's foundation, the heat from the explosion washing over him and nearly singing the hairs on his arms. Sirens could be heard in the distance drawing closer, and he had no doubt they were heading over to them.
He quickly glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a familiar panicked yell, watching as Barney pulled Coulson back a bit as part of the rooftop crumbled from where the explosive device had gone off, saving the agent from the fall before firing a few arrows at a couple of the men heading straight for them. Natasha was rushing at the Hydra agent who had fired off the weapon with another one of their own to take him out and prevent another explosive strike, and their other couple agents fired at a few more of the doctor's men. He took out one who was approaching his partner that she hadn't seen with an arrow of his own before leaning forward a bit to catch his breath, biting back a cry when his shoulder burned in agony from the motion.
Fennhoff was standing in the midst of all the chaos, a gleeful look in his lined features as he watched the chaos raging around him. It made him sick. He reached for another arrow, setting his jaw as he envisioned it going straight between his eyes.
The doctor's gaze then met his, and a broad smirk appeared on his face as he turned and began to head for the helicopter. His heart raced. His gaze swept the rooftop around him, seeing that Barney, Natasha, Coulson, and the other agents didn't notice that their target was making his escape.
He had to stop him.
Taking a deep breath, he ran after Fennhoff, doing his best to ignore the agony shooting through his arm and neck each time his shoulder was jostled. He notched his arrow and took out another Hydra agent giving Barney a little trouble, a quiet whimper breaking through his lips, before turning his full attention to the old man ahead of him.
"Fennhoff!" he yelled angrily.
The mad doctor set a wrinkled hand on the open door of the helicopter, prepared to climb in, though he paused at the heated sound of his name.
Waiting for him...
When he drew closer, he began to reach for another arrow, though he skidded to an abrupt halt, nearly screaming when his shoulder was jerked a bit more roughly than he'd expected at the action, when Fennhoff quickly rounded on him with a grin. The look was dark and full of malice.
"This is for taking what's mine," he hissed with venom. "Goodbye, Little Hawk."
"Look out!"
Natasha's warning from behind him came a breath too late as a second agent appeared beside the doctor from inside the helicopter, a large handgun raised and aimed directly at his chest. His eyes widened.
Of course... he should have expected it... he hadn't been thinking...
"Clint!"
He gasped at the sound of his name from close behind him, the voice so familiar.
... Barney...
A pair of strong, steady hands grabbed his shoulders from behind. He briefly resisted, but the agony shooting through his torso by the rough hold too close to the arrow drained the fight from him, and his efforts didn't last long as the other archer shoved him forcefully out of the way.
Just as shots rang out.
He hit the ground hard, cringing in pain before he quickly looked back up at Barney. His heart nearly stopped, his blood ran cold, his breath caught in his chest as he watched the bullets tear through his brother's torso. His eyes widened in horror as he watched Barney –his constant protector– fall...
Barney's wide, cheerful smile and loud laugh... his arms around him, protecting him... his strong heartbeat echoing in his ears... his assurances that everything was going to be okay since they had each other... all flashed through his mind as he watched the other man's chest shudder once more before it stopped. As he watched the light leave his steely eyes.
You promised you wouldn't let them separate us... that's what you said... Barney... you promised me...
"No!"
His horrified cry sounded distant to his own ears, as though it'd come from somewhere else entirely. He began to crawl toward his brother as quickly as he could, ignoring how his arm shook beneath him as he applied pressure to his injured shoulder. Ignored how more blood began to seep through his tank top. He was desperate for any sign of life... a whisper of breath, a heartbeat, a smile, a gleam in his eye... anything. One of their agents shot down the Hydra man who had fired the fatal shots, though Fennhoff was already in the helicopter, which was lifting into the dark sky.
But he didn't care. All that mattered was Barney lying completely still a couple feet away from him. He reached for him, his fingertips brushing against his toned arm...
Another pair of strong arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him away from the other archer as his shoulder pulsed in agony from the contact. His eyes widened, almost wild, as he struggled against them. He briefly caught sight of Natasha watching him sadly before he glanced up at Coulson's stony face. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, enraged. "I have to..."
"It's too late," Coulson muttered, his calm voice close to his ear wavering ever so slightly as he attempted to keep control of him despite his frantic movements. So that he wouldn't hurt himself further. "I'm sorry. We've gotta go, Clint... I heard from the ground that more Hydra agents are surrounding the building. We're outnumbered."
But he hardly heard the other man's words. He didn't care. Tears rushed to his eyes, obscuring his vision of the motionless Barney, and he fought against the agents hold with more vigor, trying to break away.
He had to get to him... he had to...
"Damn it, let me go!" he snapped, though Coulson didn't relent, his steady arms remaining firm across his chest. "I can't just leave him! He wouldn't leave me... I have to... please...Phil, please… I..."
He finally collapsed weakly against the other agent, allowing him to keep him on his feet. To keep him upright as his strength left him. A raw, agonized scream ripped from his throat.
"Barney!"
The distressed, broken sound of his brother's name echoed through the empty hallway as he shut his eyes tightly, his hands curling into fists. His chest heaved as a couple tears leaked from behind his closed eyelids and trailed down his cheeks, his body shaking.
Clint didn't remember how they'd gotten away from the hospital that night. He must have blacked out at some point from pain, from shock. From grief. The next thing he remembered from that time was waking up in a S.H.I.E.L.D. medical facility three days later to a concerned Natasha, Coulson, and Laura, as well as Fury, who was also more than a bit exasperated. He'd been certain the director had been about to let him go right then and there. That he'd been about to lose one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He'd messed up big time. But he had lost too much already to really bring himself to care. Nothing that the other man could throw at him would amount to what he'd already lost.
Fury had seemed to agree, as he'd offered no disciplinary action against him for going behind his back. The guilt eating him alive for his brother's death was more than enough of a punishment for that transgression.
Barney's memorial had been about a week later, when he'd been released from the medical facility. He almost hadn't gone to it even though he'd been invited, unsure if he'd be able to face what he'd done. But Laura had encouraged him to since she'd known he'd end up regretting it if he hadn't. And deep down, he'd known she'd been right. Though the only way he'd actually ended up going was when both Natasha and Coulson had offered to go with him. They'd been with him when his brother had died, after all, and hadn't wanted him to be alone. And they'd stayed right by his side as he'd snuck in, his arm in a sling, and made sure to make no eye contact as he'd sat in the back pew of the church.
The memorial had been simple, but moving. Fitting for who it'd been for. Even though he'd been there to celebrate and remember the life of the closest family he'd ever had, the archer had never felt more like a stranger in his older brother's life. Among the many colored floral arrangements had been photograph collages of Barney with people who'd been important to him that he hadn't been able to bring himself to look at since he hadn't belonged in that world. Nearly everyone in attendance had been people he'd never seen before. Men and women who had served with him in the Army and in the FBI had spoken about his heroic and selfless feats, as well as his kindness and generosity toward others with a humorous anecdote thrown in here or there.
It had been a life he'd completely missed out on.
Clint had almost left in the middle of it- no one would have paid them any mind- since he'd felt as though he'd been invading something personal he shouldn't have been seeing. But Natasha's hand entwined securely with his own and Coulson's ever sturdy presence next to him had kept him in place.
It was when Simone- her once wild and fiery hair now falling straight and dark to her shoulders- had stepped up to give a heartfelt eulogy about the relationship and the life that she and Barney had shared over the many years they'd been together that he'd begun to feel a little at ease. At least she'd been someone he'd known.
He'd listened intently as she'd recalled their early days when they'd met at the carnival, how young and so in love they'd been and how everything had been so new and fresh and fun. How they'd left to start a new life together, one that had entirely been their own. How his time in the service and in the FBI had sometimes put a strain on things, especially financially when he'd been away while she'd worked a couple jobs at a time to keep their apartment and save up to go to college one day, but how they'd always figured it out and made it through together. How they'd flirted with the idea of marriage one day but hadn't seen it as necessary. How he'd been such a loving, loyal, and dedicated boyfriend, partner, and rock. How he'd been such a committed, steadfast, and doting provider and father to Sebastian.
Their son.
The whole world had seemed to fall away from around him in that moment.
Father.
Barney had been a father...
His heart stopped as Simone paused to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
Son... She and his brother had a child... They'd been a family...
He'd taken that life away from them...
He couldn't breathe.
Barney had chosen to die knowing full well he'd had a son waiting for him to come home...
He'd had no idea...
Why would he...?
He hated him. He resented the choice he'd made. Why had he...? The older man shouldn't have gotten in the way of those bullets. Not when...
A son.
His head dropped to his chest, his eyes shut tightly against the burning tears that threatened to fall as a silent sob escaped from him.
... Why...?
He glanced up when Natasha's hand tightened around his, her thumb brushing over his tense knuckles, to see her looking back at him with an even blend of sorrow and concern. No words passed between them, they weren't needed, as she rested her head against his and closed her eyes. He leaned into her.
"It should have been me," he whispered, loud enough for only her to hear. "It was my fault, Tasha... He should have just let me die. He had a child..."
"And you have two of your own," she replied just as quietly. "How do you think it would be for them if their father hadn't come home?"
He let out a shuddering breath, shaking his head slightly. "He didn't know about them, Nat. He knew about his own son... He shouldn't have had to die..."
"Clint."
The quiet sound of his name caused him to pause. Natasha squeezed his hand again. "It's not fair, either way," she murmured. "But Cooper and Lila still have their father. That's how it is. Hug them extra tight when you go home to them tonight. For Barney."
After the memorial wound down, he urged Natasha and Coulson to head for the door. He had no intention to mingle, not when he was a stranger to the people gathered who'd known his brother better than he had. He couldn't stay, not when his guilt was slowly drowning him... he had to get home to his own children. To hold them and not let go.
But before they could make their escape, a quiet, familiar voice came from behind him as a light hand touched his shoulder.
"Clint?"
He hesitated briefly, not prepared for how his heart was roughly pulled by the single word, before he turned himself around. His face crumpled when he saw the even blend of hope and relief... love, he realized... he was greeted with. "Simone," he murmured.
Without another word, she moved closer and carefully enfolded him in her arms, her face buried in his chest as her slender frame shook with tears. He pulled her even closer with his good arm, resting his head against hers as more tears escaped from his own eyes.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered against her dark hair, his breath hitching. "God, Simone... I'm so sorry..."
She shook her head before she backed away a little, not relinquishing her hold on him. Almost as though she were afraid he'd disappear on the spot if she did. "No, Clint. I'm glad you're here," she told him, attempting a small smile. She set a hand on his cheek, brushing at the tears with her thumb. He could hardly meet her dark, knowing eyes. "It's good to see you, kid. It's been too long. You look good. I just wish... I wish the circumstances were different."
All he could do was nod in agreement, taking a deep, shaking breath. Her gentle touch was calming.
"Barney would have wanted you here, too," she continued softly. "I know he was with you when..." Her voice trailed off before she sighed. "At the end. And that gives me more comfort than you could possibly know."
There was nothing he could say to that. Guilt had robbed him of his voice.
As they finally pulled away from each other, Simone glanced curiously at Natasha when the red-haired woman reached out and took his arm to steady him. "Who's this?" she asked.
"Oh, this is my work partner, Natasha," he answered with a slight smile as Natasha gave the other woman a nod hello. "And this is our friend, Phil." Coulson gave her a brief but pleasant wave.
"It's good to meet you both." Simone shook both of their hands as smiles were exchanged. "I'm glad to see that Clint has some friends, has people of his own, now."
"Everyone needs those," Coulson agreed.
A moment passed before he took a deep breath, looking back at Simone. "Is Barney's... Is your..." He shook his head briefly, allowing the question to trail off. The words were foreign to him. He couldn't bring himself to say them.
Simone smiled sadly in understanding as she glanced over her shoulder. "Sebastian's with my cousin," she told him.
He followed her gaze, recognizing the man from the dive bar. Though it was the child sitting next to him on the pew that caused him to feel as though he'd been punched in the gut and his heart had been roughly torn out of his chest.
He couldn't have been much older than Cooper. His dark hair, slightly waved, was a mess around his face. His skin was a couple shades darker than his brother's, but his eyes were the same steely color he was so familiar with. The dimples in his right cheek when he smiled were the same ones he'd grown up with.
There was so much in that young face that was so undeniably Barney. His ripped-out heart shattered.
"Would you like to meet him?" Simone wondered quietly, turning back to him. "Barney made sure to tell him about his Uncle Clint. He asks about you all the time. You're his favorite bedtime story, though Lord knows Barney has to heavily edit the ones he does tell." She swallowed hard as she realized what she said. "Or…had to..."
His breath left him. Uncle Clint. Barney had told their son about him? He was his nephew's favorite bedtime story? He hadn't been prepared for that...
Cooper and Lila didn't know about their Uncle Barney.
But even still, he was practically a stranger in his nephew's life. He was the reason the child no longer had a father. There was no way past that.
He shook his head. "I... I'm sorry, Simone. I... I can't..."
Simone's brow furrowed lightly, but she nodded once. Somehow, she still understood. "Another time, then," she said.
A moment passed before he nodded in agreement. "Another time."
He hadn't spoken to or seen Simone since, even though she'd asked him to keep in touch. He had never met Sebastian, the one tie left that he had to Barney. He hadn't been able to bring himself to. He still couldn't. The guilt had been, and still was, just too much.
A pained shudder ran through Clint's body. His left leg throbbed beneath him. His heart raced, his breathing quick. His hands shook.
"... Barney..."
A footstep came from right in front of him, and his eyes snapped open as he grabbed his bow and started to try and push himself to his feet. But the quiet voice that reached his ears caused him to pause as his breath was robbed from him.
"I'm right here, Clint."
Author's Note: So there may still be some trouble for Peter (and possibly others) ahead, Tony's struggling with guilt about Clint's fate, and Clint... well, Clint's fallen victim to Fennhoff's hallucinogen. We'll see how this all plays out next time! Thanks for reading! Your reviews are much appreciated. Thanks, guys, until next time!