Prompts: "Mayday, mayday"/Carried to Safety/Ambushed

Clint Barton & Bucky Barnes

Consider this a What-If storyline.

A different take on Bucky during the war. What would happen if he met Clint during the war?

Clint finally realized his dream. He was a pilot. Granted, it took him presenting a faked high school transcript, but here he was. He'd gone through the pilot training program and, surprisingly (to him, anyway), passed with high scores. Upon graduation, he was given the rank of staff sergeant. "Congratulations, Barton," his instructor, Major Coulson, clasped his shoulder. "I knew you could do it, son." Coulson had taken Clint under his wing because Coulson saw potential in Clint and had nurtured him during the program. With the major's help, Clint scored well on all the tests. During peacetime, Clint knew he'd possibly become a flight instructor or maybe a transport pilot. However, it was 1943, and pilots were needed in the European theater. As Clint was packing up his belongings, Coulson walked into his barracks. "Why aren't you in the mess tent celebrating with your friends?"

"Not much of a drinker," Clint said, continuing to stow his belongings into his bag. "Didn't like how it affected my dad. Didn't like what it made him do." Clint rotated his shoulder, still affected by one of the many beatings he'd received from his old man. "I'll be the designated driver and make sure none of them drive off into a ditch before they get a chance to fly."

The balding Coulson sat down on Clint's bed. "You've always had a good head on your shoulders. Here," Clint looked up as Coulson handed him a small glass, then pulled out one for himself. "Don't worry. I've got ginger ale." Coulson smiled as he placed a can in between them. Clint opened it and poured some into each of the glasses. Coulson raised his glass. "I'm proud of you. You applied yourself and put in the necessary work, which paid off. Cheers." Coulson clinked his glass with Clint's, and the two drank.

"I couldn't have done it without you, sir. Thanks for everything you've done for me."

Before Clint could continue, Coulson handed him a letter. "Don't thank me yet. Read the letter first." Clint put the glass down and glanced through the letter. When he finished, he looked up at Coulson and smiled. "That's right, son. You've been promoted to Sergeant First Class." Coulson stood and saluted him.

Clint, though shocked, had enough wherewithal to stand and salute back since Coulson was still his superior. "Do I have orders?"

"You do. You're being sent on a bombing raid to Berlin. You'll head over there with another pilot and then meet up with the rest of your crew since they're already stationed there."

Clint nodded. "Who is it, sir?"

"Barnes."

"Good man." James Barnes was known as Bucky because his mother had decided he needed a presidential name, so she stuck him with the middle name of Buchanan. Bucky and Clint had become friends during their training. They both had wicked senses of humor and bonded over torturing their fellow trainees. Clint knew Bucky had signed up to fight because his best friend, Steve Rogers, was too weak to enlist. Clint had joined to get away from his life in Waverly, Iowa. He knew if he stayed in Waverly, he'd end up like his father, and he didn't want that. Clint got his older brother Barney to help him forge his school records so he could join the Army. "Leaving in the morning, sir?"

"Yes." Coulson walked toward the door and then turned around. "You're a good man, Clint Barton. Don't forget that, and you can do whatever you put your mind to." With those parting words, Coulson left Clint to finish packing.

The next morning, Clint woke early to get in one last jog around the camp. When he returned to his barracks, he picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, then walked out to the airfield. As he approached the plane, he saw Bucky was already there. "Always have to be first, don't you, Barnes?"

"That's Staff Sergeant Barnes to you, Barton."

Clint pointed to his uniform. "Same here. Still a better sniper than you, though."

Bucky huffed. "In your dreams, flyboy."

The two continued jawing back and forth as they loaded their bags and got into their seats. Clint was going to his happy place. The air is where he felt the calmest, other than when he used his sniper skills. The two pilots continued their banter until they landed in New York, which was a homecoming for Bucky. He could have a quick reunion with his mother and sister at the airfield, introducing them to Clint. "Where's Stevie?"

"He had an asthma attack, so he couldn't make it," Bucky's mom Winifred said as she handed him an envelope. "He felt rotten he couldn't be here, so he drew this for you."

Bucky opened up the envelope and looked at the picture. It was a pencil drawing of Steve and Bucky, arms across each other's shoulders and smiles on their faces. "That punk."

"He's good," Clint said, looking over Bucky's shoulder. "Has he been to art school?"

"Nah, can't afford it. That's natural talent right there." Bucky folded it up and put it in his wallet. "Thank him for me, would ya?"

"Already done, James," his mom said. "He's finally come to his senses and is moving in with us."

"About time," Bucky said. "He's always been a stubborn punk."

"We'll take good care of him, Bucky," Becca said, wrapping her arms around Bucky's waist. "Come back to us safely. That's an order."

Bucky patted the top of her head. "Yes, ma'am." Once Bucky got free of his sister, he hugged his mom. "Love you."

"Love you, too," Winifred said. "Bring him home safe, Clinton."

"Yes, ma'am," Clint replied. The two soldiers left the Barnes family and boarded the ship to Europe. They both stayed on board until Bucky's mom and sister disappeared from view.

The trip to Europe was uneventful. When they disembarked, they were taken immediately to the airstrip. "What a plane, Bucky," Clint said. "Just look at her."

"You're right. She is pretty to look at. Let's hope she's as pretty to fly."

Clint and Bucky found the plane as easy to fly as they'd hoped. They were able to take it for a test flight to get a feel for how it handled. They both agreed it flew like a dream, just like they'd trained for back in the states. The two found out that they would be the only two crew members because of the increased demand for pilots. That was fine with them because they worked well together. They got their orders, confirming they would fly a bombing raid over Berlin.

Once they were up in the air, everything else seemed to melt away except for their instruments and the route they were flying. "Here we go, Barton. Bogie on our left." Clint saw it and increased the speed. Unfortunately, the German plane already had them in its sights. "Mayday, mayday!" Bucky screamed over the radio as the enemy strafed the plane. The best the two could do was parachute out over enemy territory. They watched as their plane crashed and did their best to direct their chutes so they wouldn't be left hanging from a tree, easy fodder for the Nazis. They hit the ground and tumbled, trying not to get tangled up in the parachutes.

"Barton? You okay?" All Bucky could hear was a moan. Of course, if anyone was going to get hurt between the two of them, it would be Clint. Barton, the man who'd never met a bandage he didn't like. Bucky had never seen someone so klutzy in one moment, then an absolute perfectionist the next. After Bucky realized the parachute couldn't be salvaged, he cut it away from him and went looking for Clint. After scouring the area, Bucky found Clint curled up next to a rock, blood streaming down his face from a gash on his forehead. "Damn, Barton. You had to find the only rock in the area, didn't you?" Clint responded with another moan. Bucky looked around and saw a small cave, so he picked up Clint and carried him to the safety of the cave. He pulled out a handkerchief, spit on it, carefully wiped as much blood away as he could, then put the cloth on top of the cut and pressed down, hoping to stem the blood flow.

Clint finally came to. When he opened his eyes, he looked up and saw Bucky. "Ow. Guess we didn't make it to Berlin?"

"Afraid not, pal. We got shot down over some forest. We landed in a clearing, and now we're in a cave. You've got a head wound, so we'll stay here until you can walk."

"I can walk, Barnes." Clint went to sit up, then immediately collapsed back down.

"Nice try."

"Fine, mother hen. Please tell me our rations made it."

Bucky nodded. "They did. Been waitin' for you to decide to join the party."

Unfortunately, it didn't take long to go through their rations. "I'll go see if I can scrounge up something. It's nighttime, so there's less chance of anyone seeing me."

"I feel so useless," Clint whined.

"Nah, you kept me laughing with your ramblings. You're the entertainment."

"Glad I could provide a laugh at your expense."

Bucky patted him on the chest. "Keep it up. I'll be back."

Clint nodded, then settled against the cave wall as he huddled up, trying to stay warm.

Bucky hadn't been gone for very long when he heard people traipsing through the forest. "Damn, they're speaking German. I've got a bad feeling about this." Before he knew it, he heard shots being fired, so he turned and ran back toward the cave. As he saw the entrance, he felt a searing pain go through his left arm and then another flash of pain in his leg, causing him to fall to the ground. "Clint, I'm sorry."

"What do we have here?" One of the Germans asked when seeing Bucky and Clint. "Looks like some lost American soldiers."

"Pity for their country, good for us."

"Doctor Zola is always looking for new specimens to try his serum and treatments on." The man turned to the rest of the soldiers. "Hail HYDRA."