As Clint took in the view from the roof of Stark Tower, the lights suddenly went out all over the city. He arched an eyebrow confused. That wasn't supposed to have happened. Knowing something serious had to be up, the archer got to his feet and headed toward the door to go inside. But, when he got there, the door didn't budge.
"What?" Clint whispered to himself. He attempted again but still, the door did not budge. Pursing his lips, the archer backed off. The locks on the doors were controlled by JARVIS as to protect everyone inside. Too many of their enemies had the ability to fly or had enough funds to get a helicopter and stuff. So roof access had to be restricted. But, if JARVIS wasn't letting him in, that meant something was wrong with the AI and that wasn't a good thing. Stark had made JARVIS impervious to basically everything. So what could have knocked him out? He turned to look back over the city and very easily spotted some type of shimmering wave coming closer. "Oh, shit."
As it drew closer, Clint could hear the sounds of people crying out in shock and in pain. Gritting his teeth, the archer set himself in place, expecting whatever it was to attempt to knock him over. But when the wave hit him, he hardly felt a thing. For maybe all of two seconds, that is, and then he cried out as a burning hot pain appeared on his left wrist. Similar to the wave, the pain was rather brief. Maybe half a minute at most but the effect of it faded rather than vanishing as quickly as it started. Still confused, Clint glanced down at his wrist only to inhale in shock. What had once been blank now held what seemed to be a tattooed name. James Buchanan Barnes.
"What the fuck?" the archer exhaled, perking up when the city suddenly lit up once again. Tense and unsure, Clint spun around and attempted the door again. This time it easily opened. Sighing in relief, he rushed inside and headed for the stairs, not willing to risk the elevator as of yet. He bounded down the stairs, past three floors before slamming open the door for the common floor. Steve, Natasha, Bruce and Thor were already standing there each looking at their left wrists in surprised. "So, it wasn't just me."
Natasha perked up at the archer's entrance before looking back down to her wrist. "What is this?"
"There was a wave of something. Came over the city," Clint answered, figuring no one else had seen it. Thor nodded, dropping his left hand to his side.
"Aye. Twas magic of some kind," Thor added. Everyone looked to him. "I am unsure what the spell was or it's intention."
"But, all of us have names on our wrists, right?" Steve asked, looking to Clint. The archer nodded, shifting his wrist away so Steve couldn't read the name. "That has to mean something."
"Like what?" Natasha wondered, showing her wrist out to everyone. It clearly read Steven Grant Rogers. Steve arched an eyebrow before showing his. Natalia Alianovna Romanov. Natasha arched an eyebrow at the sight.
"Romantic relations," Tony Stark called, busting from the elevator with Pepper Potts in tow. Clint shifted, keeping his wrist tight against his body even as a wave of depression fell over him. Of course he'd get stuck with a 'romantic relationship' with a dead guy.
"And how do you know that?" Natasha accused, crossing her arms over her chest. Tony shifted to show his wrist. Virginia Morgan Potts. Pepper tilted her wrist to show Tony's name was written there. Natasha huffed. "Just because you two share names and happen to be dating doesn't mean anything."
Clint noticed that Steve winced but said nothing. Thor then showed off his own wrist. Jane Nelson Foster. Then Bruce tilted his. Elizabeth Karen Ross. Tony gave off a soft snort. "General Ross will love that."
"That's kind of what I'm afraid of," Bruce admitted. With extra evidence of the name meaning a love interest, Steve and Natasha traded looks. It was clear that neither of them were sure if it was a good idea to pursue relations with each other but the thought was there now. Tony turned to Clint.
"What'd you get Katniss?" the genius questioned, a curious smile on his face. Clint swallowed tightly, pushing down any evidence that he didn't like the name on his wrist. Well, no, he liked the idea of being with Bucky Barnes. But the Sergeant had been dead for something like seventy years and there was no way he'd say anything. Clint shook his head.
"Doesn't matter. Can't be in a relationship with them," Clint answered. Tony furrowed his brow and the archer could tell that he was going to press, so Clint shrugged. "They're dead."
"Oh shit," Tony whispered.
"Oh, Clint," Pepper muttered, walking over to pull the archer into a hug but he simply stepped back and shook his head. He didn't need pity. Hell, he didn't want pity. All he wanted was to just focus on why this was happening and if it was dangerous.
"Doesn't matter. Never met them, so I don't know what I'm missing. Sides, I bet you anything I'm not the only one that this happened to," the archer informed them. And he honestly had to believe that. People married and had their love one die before them. So, of course there had to be at least one other person in his position. Though, they likely had met the person at some point. "Though, I think we should focus on how and why this happened."
"Right, yeah," Tony agreed, more than willing to change the subject. He wasn't the only one. It was clear that the others were more than willing for the change too. Clint sighed as he made a mental note to figure out a way to cover up his wrist so no one could see what was written. For now though, he needed to worry about everything else. "So, what do we know?"
"A wave of magic spread across the city and names appeared on our wrists," Steve blandly pointed out. Tony huffed and pointed a finger at the Captain but before he could say anything, Pepper placed a hand on his wrist.
"JARVIS got knocked out in the power surge before the magic hit," Clint added. Tony coughed, having assumed no one but him noticed the AI had gone down. Everyone glanced to the genius for a moment before back at Clint. "Other than that, can't think of anything."
"Lets break it down this way. Who do we know that has the ability to do something like this?" Bruce asked. Everyone looked to Thor who simply pursed his lips. They hadn't run into many magic users. And the few they had didn't seem like the type to do something like this.
"My brother is locked away in the Palace Dungeons and would likely not be one to do a spell such as this," Thor informed. "There are others on Asgard who would be likely to do this but I doubt they would have been willing to do as such without someone asking."
"So, unhelpful then," Tony translated. Thor nodded. "We got nothing then?"
"Well, there has to be someone out there that would leave some sort of clue. Right?" Bruce wondered.
"Thor, do you know of any like magical zone on Earth or something?" Natasha questioned. Thor shrugged. There were many magical zones on Earth and there were likely many, many, many people who actually could use magic. But, it was the amount of magic used and the reason that was so confusing. There was no good answer at the moment.
Clint let out a soft huff and watched as the others very quickly dissolved into talking about how to handle all of this. He just stood back and watched. Without any idea himself, Clint didn't want to add anything. But then he looked down to his wrist and the name. Swallowing tightly, Clint saw that no one was watching him and so he turned and snuck off, heading to the elevator. Thankfully it was open and waiting.
"Thanks, JARVIS," Clint mumbled as he got inside and turned to see the doors close just as Natasha glanced in his direction. He ignored the fact that she simply raised an eyebrow at him and just sighed deeply as the elevator started moving. When the doors opened again, Clint was only partly surprised that the AI had brought him to the range rather than his room. Smiling softly, the archer headed out and went right to his weapon case. Without a second thought, Clint snapped the door open and grabbed one of his arm guards. It was thankfully just long enough to cover the name even if Clint shifted around. That thing was never going to be coming off again.
"Soul mates?" the news reporter echoed, staring at the man before her. The man nodded, a highly pleased smile on his face. Confused, the reporter looked down to her wrist before back up at the man. It had been a few days since the appearance of names of everyone's wrists. The world had dissolved into questions as to what it meant. Many, like the Avengers, figured out that it seemed to be based around romantic relations while others swore it was platonic or enemy relations. "You are certain that the names on everyone's wrists are to be the person's soul mate? What if-"
"The spell I casted corrects itself as needed. Yes, there are going to be people who sadly have names of those that died. That will happen and there isn't anything that can be done about it. Just like life, it happens. I apologize to all of those that have such a name-" the man interrupted. Clint pursed his lips even as Tony, Bruce and Steve 'subtly' looked over in his direction. When the announcement for the news report came and everyone arrived on the main floor, no one mentioned the arm guard that the archer had strapped to his wrist. He had basically been avoiding everyone since that first day and so this was the first time anyone saw him. To be honest, Clint was certainly thankful that no one pointed it out. "Soul mates aren't something that can be changed."
"What made you want to do this?" the reporter wondered, her voice a bit sharper then one would have thought. The man shrugged, a smile on his face that showed he really didn't care what the reporter thought of him. Heck, it didn't seem like he cared what anyone thought about him.
"Just got dumped for like the seventh time this year. Had seriously thought this last chick was the one but... Well," the guy started before showing off his wrist with a soft laugh. He didn't say anything but the camera angle shifted to zoom in onto the words. Dylan Giles MacWard. "I have apparently been looking in the wrong pool."
"Did you know you were into guys before this?" the reporter questioned, honestly sounding curious rather than anything else.
"I mean, I looked now and again but I grew up in a family that didn't accept anything other than what they deemed as 'normal.' Seeking romance with the same sex is not in their definition. But, maybe now people can be more open with it. This person is my soul mate. The one life intended to share myself with. I don't care who he is, what he is or anything like that. All I want is to find him and get to know him."
"So, you don't care that this spell may have ruined millions of lives due to marriage to someone not of the name on their wrist or deaths of the person?" The man nodded and there was a loud grumbling of noise that had the reporter look toward the camera. That meant the other men and women in the station must not have been pleased with the answer. So at least one, if not more, were effected in this way.
"Do I feel bad for these people? Slightly, yes. But, I would do this spell over and over again if it means that I don't have to continue to suffer going into a relationship that I was not destined to have." The reporter pursed her lips, clearly not liking the answer. Another loud grumble hinted that the mic holder must have also disliked the answer. "Besides, would you want to stay in a relationship that wasn't supposed to be one you were destined for?"
"We've been doing it forever without a silly name on our wrists and things have worked out perfectly fine," the reporter pointed out. The man huffed.
"Guess no one's ever broken up with you before," he accused. She made a nasty face at him. "Look, I see this as I did the world a favor. So, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, whatever. It's a gift. And besides, it can't be undone."
"Fuck," Clint whispered softly, his eyes subconsciously glancing down to his offending wrist. The reporter almost seemed to share the same opinion as she quickly looked to her own wrist and then back up to the man. With a deep sigh, she turned and looked to the camera.
"Well, you heard it here. The names on everyone's left wrists appear to be one's soulmate. While many maybe thankful for this 'gift' of knowledge there are many still that will be negatively affected. Which category do you believe you fall into? And what will this foretell for the upcoming holidays? Tell us on Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook."
"Jesus, happy holidays! I want a divorce cause your name isn't the one on my wrist much?" Tony snapped as the news switched off to commercial. Clint winced, his left hand twitching just slightly at the words. Out of all of them, he was the one most negatively effected. His soulmate was dead.
"Tony, stop," Pepper called.
"No! Come on, this is stupid and unfair!" the genius cried. Steve crossed his arms over his chest, glancing quickly to Natasha before focusing back on Tony. The two of them had discussed what to be done about their names on each other's wrists and had decided to maybe give each other a chance.
"As much as I agree with your statement, there may be little we can do about it. Everyone's looked at their wrist by now and knows the name," Steve retorted with a small shrug. "Even if we reverse it, the effects have been cast."
"He's right, Tony. As he said. It can't fully be undone. We may be able to save future generations but for those alive now, it's done," Natasha added. Tony frowned deeply. "It..." Natasha paused, glancing to Clint for a second before focusing on the genius again. "It's not really doing anyone any harm other than emotional and mental, which people can get over easily."
"How many kids are suddenly going to have their parents getting a divorce because their names don't match? That can be rather scarring," Bruce countered. But they all knew it was true, no matter how much they wished otherwise, it was done. People saw the names. They saw if it matched or not. All over. Many families would be broken apart by this and there was nothing the Avengers could do about it.
"Well, it's over. It's done. Nothing we can do but sit back and complain," Clint idly commented, twisting his arm so that the others couldn't really see the guard blocking off his name even though he knew they all had seen it there before. And it was true. As sad as it was, the entire world was now going to have to deal with the sudden information of knowing their supposed one and true love.
"Without a left arm, how is he gonna have a name?" a voice called, pushing through Bucky's mind. And it was finally Bucky once again, not Asset or Soldier. Something had changed. Something big. Bucky didn't know what but a sudden influx of memory, of years passing, of kills and death hit him hard. Instantly he knew that he had been captured and was being tortured underneath Hydra's rule and that they had some type of code that controlled him. The words would be said and he'd have little to no control over his body.
"Lots a people don't got left arms and magic always has a way," a different voice argued. Bucky mentally frowned, confused as to what these people were talking about. What does a name have to do with his left arm? The left arm that had been missing from his body since... God, when did his arm go missing? Was it right after the train or did Zola remove it for the metal one? His memories may be returned but nothing was in a good sense of order. There weren't solid dates to follow what happened when.
"Yeah, but it makes no sense," the first voice huffed. "I'm willing to bet the name on this guy is already dead."
"We'll find out once we defrost him and strip him for med search." Bucky felt his eyebrows shift as he attempted to furrow them. None of this was making any sense. "Look, he's starting to wake up. Go get-"
"I know who to get!" the first voice snapped before Bucky heard the sound of fading footsteps. He attempted to struggle to wake up fully. To move, do something. But his body was still mostly frozen from cryo and it was hard to do much of anything this early. His mind seemed to have always been one of the first things to come back. And at the moment he showed signs of movement, they always called upon someone (almost each time being a different person) to say-
"Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать, Рассвет, Печь, Девять, Добросердечный, Возвращение на родину, Один, Товарный вагон." Bucky's body stiffened as best as it could, the codes flowing into him like a soothing balm. He hated it but couldn't stop it. His body wasn't in his control anymore. And it'd stay like this for a while too. Not forever. Something like a day or two. Sometimes less if something messed with his head. All depended on what they wanted to do with him.
"Thank you," the second voice from before said. "He'll be ready to move within the hour."
"I'll alert Pierce," the voice from the code words retorted. Bucky let out an angered mental scream that couldn't push past even his throat. He couldn't even attempt to inhale the amount of air needed to produce the sound he mentally made. All Bucky could do was lay there, unmoving as his body warmed up and the code held him still.
"Can I see the name?" Natasha wondered, plopping down onto the couch beside Clint. The archer huffed.
"Thought you'd be hanging out with Steve," Clint countered, not wanting to discuss his wrist anymore. The others had been on and off going at him about it. Of anyone in the tower, only JARVIS knew what the name was and the AI had already promised to not release the information. No matter what Tony attempted to order, the name was under privacy controls built to stop Tony from learning personal information.
"He's on a run and I think we need a bit of a break," Natasha informed, looking right at the TV as someone was brutally killed by someone else. Clint had no idea what was on anymore. He was just sitting there, attempting to not look like he was sulking even though he totally was. It had been something like a week since the event and they were something like two weeks until Christmas. The news, on every station, was covering the high increase of divorce rates and were attempting to predict the spike in marriages in the next coming months. Suicide toll had also increased and even murders. People were just generally going insane over something that one might have once thought of as a good idea. Well, it would be good for the future generations that didn't know any better but for those that made lives now, it was all crumbling apart.
Clint hummed at Natasha's words, not really committing it to his mind just yet. Until it finally slipped past his sour mood. "Break?" he echoed, confused before glancing over to his friend. Natasha's hair looked a bit rumpled and her face was beaming in that tell tale way of just having... A flush ran up Clint's face even as he grimaced. He really hadn't wanted to know this. Really, really didn't. "Jesus, Nat! I didn't need to know that!"
"Well it's true," she chuckled, glancing over to Clint. The archer made a disgusted face. It wasn't that he didn't like the idea of Steve and Natasha together or anything. He actually thought it was good for them. But it was the idea of them... 'Doing it' that had him disgusted. Natasha was too much like a sister to him and Steve had been slowly becoming something like a brother figure or a father figure. Though Tony liked to argue that he was the father and Steve was the mother of the Avengers. Seeing his face, Natasha snorted. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"No," Clint told her, looking back to the TV. He watched a few seconds, attempting to put together the mini clues in order to figure out what the movie was or even what it was about. Right now it was just an epic fight and chase scene that typically appeared in nearly every action/spy type film. A moment passed before Clint felt Natasha resting a hand against his arm. He looked to her.
"Are you seriously doing okay?" she asked in a clearly worried tone. Clint huffed before nodding and looking away. "We're all worried about you."
"Over what? The fact that I don't have a love life? Things aren't any different, Nat. So what if I have a name of some dude on my-" Clint cut himself off, realizing quickly what he accidentally let slip. He hadn't given any of them a clue as to what the name was and now...
"So, it's a guy?" she mused. If it had been any other time, Clint would have known that she was pleased with the information he had let slip. But instead, she still sounded partly worried. Still, he winced, looking away from her as if it disproved what he had just said. "Recently dead?"
"Natasha," Clint growled, turning back to her with a glare. It was bad enough that they all knew his 'soulmate' was dead but them attempting to figure out who it was was worse. Clint refused to let Steve know that he had Bucky's name. "Stop it. Things are fine and I'm fine."
"Clint, I just-"
"You wanna help? Then stop asking about it," Clint snapped before jerking up to his feet and turning to head off. He didn't get all that far before his right wrist was caught by the other assassin. Smartly, he stilled.
"Clint, I'm worried about you. A lot has happened since..." Natasha trailed off but Clint knew what she meant. Since Thor appeared in New Mexico, everything had changed. Aliens were known to exist, magic was appearing everywhere, enhanced/powered people were showing up. The world was going crazy very, very quickly. This 'soul mate' wrist thing was no different.
"I'll be fine, Nat," Clint admitted softly. She dropped his wrist but he didn't move. Didn't even turn to look at her. "I might not look it now but I am fine. I'm dealing with it fine."
"Will you ever tell us the name?" she questioned. Clint sighed. He didn't want to admit the truth. Certainly didn't want Steve to know. That would be unfair to the Captain just as much as it was unfair to Clint.
"I don't know," Clint mumbled before finally walking away. This time Natasha let him. Five minutes later, Clint was on the range, shooting arrow after arrow into the simulated images of Chitauri warriors. Typically no one ever bothered him on the range and so it had become one of his go to safe zones. The other being the roof as only Thor and Tony felt comfortable up there with him. Thor more so than Tony. But, typically didn't always mean that they didn't come to see him.
About an hour into shooting, the images of the warriors shifted from that pale holographic blue to a dark green which was to signal that Bruce was coming in. This was built in as a safety feature after Clint had been having a rough time after a bad mission and nearly shot Steve when the man came to check on him. Sighing, Clint stopped shooting and looked to the door. Bruce was indeed standing there, waiting. Once the bow was aimed downward, Bruce entered.
"Clint," Bruce greeted. Clint nodded, murmuring the doctor's name back in greeting. "How are you doing?"
"Be better if everyone stopped asking that," Clint darkly snorted, turning back down the range and lifting his bow to get back to shooting. Now that he had acknowledged Bruce was here, he allowed himself to shoot again. Something the others never discouraged. As long as it was clear that Clint knew they were there, they were all fine with him shooting again.
"We're worried for you," Bruce informed. Clint nodded. He had been told that at least once every day.
"How are things going with Betty?" the archer inquired, eager to get off the topic of his dead soul mate. Bruce coughed in a self-conscious manner. Everyone knew how that was going. Betty was calling with a daily occurrence, trying to figure out the best way to escape the sudden strict hold of her father in order to get to New York. They were pretty close with getting her out now. Ross was fighting hard, attempting to use his military ranking in convincing the government that keeping Betty away from Bruce was a good idea. How they were believing it as much as they were was a bit of a mystery, but the legalities of the whole thing was delaying her 'escape.'
"Tony thinks she'll be here in a few days. Just a few more things to finalize and then she'll be here," Bruce answered. Clint nodded, glad that the doctor was going to get to see the woman again. "But I'm not here to discuss Betty."
"I'm not here to discuss my wrist either," the archer retorted, accidentally pulling back harder on his bow then he had first meant to. The arrow sailed further than he had intended but still hit dead on target. "Yet, we still are."
"Clint," Bruce sighed. Clint shook his head, once again lowering his bow.
"I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. As we said before. It was done and there is shit I can do about it. I can't bring him back from the fucking dead, Banner!" Clint cried, progressively getting louder as he spun to glare at the doc. Bruce held his ground but judging by the slight green hue in the man's eyes, Hulk hadn't liked Clint reaction. The archer winced, pulling back and reached up to rub a hand over his face. "Sorry."
"You were due up for that," Bruce replied as if it was an everyday experience to get yelled at like the way Clint had just did. "And honestly, this is why we're all worried. You don't seem to be handling this well."
"And how am I supposed to handle it?" Clint darkly uttered. Bruce sighed. "There was no way in hell I'd ever get to meet the guy. None. My soul mate is someone I'm destined to never meet and I'm as okay with that as I can be."
"What do you mean?" Bruce wondered, furrowing his brow at the wording choices that Clint was using. Clint huffed, looking to the ceiling. It had hardly been two hours since he had first spilt the beans to Natasha about the gender and now this. Shaking his head, he sighed deeply.
"Promise not to tell anyone? Under pain of death?" he questioned sounding as serious as possible. Bruce frowned, clearly debating how much Clint was being serious or not.
"I... I guess," the doctor hesitantly said. Clint sighed again before turning and placing his bow down on the table. Then, he shifted his guard to show off the name. Bruce was only able to see it for a quick second before Clint hid it once again. But that second was all it took for him to be able to read it. Bruce inhaled sharply, looking right to Clint as the archer covered the letters once again. "Clint, I'm-"
"Don't. Just... Don't," Clint interrupted. Bruce winced. "Now you know why I don't want to talk about it."
Bucky swallowed tightly, staring into the mirror before him as he looked to the scarring on his left side. While in his memory Bucky had seen the scars numerous times before, this was the first time he actually looked at them. They weren't as bad as they could have been but it was still pretty messed up right near the metal of his arm. The silver metal with the blasted red star on the bicep. If he could, Bucky would likely have been running his right hand over the entire limb, but he still couldn't move.
His medical scan seemed to be going normally. Everything looked to be healthy and no one had said anything was odd. Though Bucky had noticed one thing that was different. All their eyes kept drifting to his left pectoral muscle and the spot just above the heart. It was there that one could see a line of black letters. Clinton Francis Barton.
The Sergeant was certain he hadn't had the letters on his chest before he fell from the train. And he was even more certain that people hadn't had names written on their left wrists the last time he woke. Yet suddenly, everyone did. Every person that Bucky had seen since waking up had a name on their wrist. His eyes flicked down to his left wrist. The metal whirred lightly as he shifted the arm enough to show that there was nothing on the metal. No writing. His eyes returned to the letters on his chest. Could it be that the name had appeared there due to him missing an arm? But why? For what reason? Why were there names now?
"Director Pierce!" one of the doctors called, drawing Bucky's attention upward and over his right shoulder in the mirror. The man known as Alexander Pierce stepped into the room. He looked a lot older than Bucky last remembered. Which wasn't a surprise as that had apparently happened to him numerous times over the past, however many years. "Things are in working order."
"Good, good," Pierce informed, walking toward Bucky. Still under the control of the code words, Bucky couldn't really do much. In fact, he had been partly surprised that he had been able to move his arm enough to stare at his wrist moments earlier. The only things he had ever really been able to control himself when under the code was his breathing and eyes. It was no different now. "Soldat, how are you feeling?"
"Я жду приказаний," Bucky found himself replying. Mentally he winced even as there was a flicker of emotion that passed over his face. Before all this happened, Bucky swore he hadn't known Russian. Yet now, flicking through his memories he could see that he knew various languages. Like German, French, Spanish... Most of them were languages he hadn't learned before the war and if he had, they certainly hadn't been as perfected as his memory was telling him.
"Good, good," Pierce repeated, walking toward the front of the Sergeant. The 'older' man paused at the sight of the words on Bucky's chest. Unconsciously, Bucky stiffened slightly as Pierce walked closer. "Do you know this name?"
"нет," Bucky answered. And it was truthful. He had no idea what the name was about and certainly no idea who it belonged to. Pierce snapped his fingers and a man stepped forward. This man was dressed in tactical gear and held a rifle. Bucky felt his metal hand tense into a fist but other than that there was no response to what could have likely been deemed a threat.
"Do you know this name?" Pierce asked the man. The man read the name and scoffed in disappointment.
"The Hawk?" the man asked in a tone that almost sounded like he was cussing. Pierce arched an eyebrow, glancing to the man. "He's one of the Avengers. Hawkeye, the bow wielder."
"Interesting," Pierce replied, looking back to the name. Bucky's eyes flicked to the mirror again so he could read the name. Clint Barton, Hawkeye. An 'Avenger.' "Think we can get him?"
"He's Fury's little pet. He ain't switchin sides," the gun man stated. Pierce huffed.
"I didn't say turn him, I said get him," the man corrected. The other one arched an eyebrow. "Extra insurance."
"нет," Bucky whispered softly, surprising everyone in the room. Even himself. Under the code words he shouldn't be able to do anything like this. He shouldn't be able to argue.
"Excuse me?" Pierce demanded, his voice sharp. Bucky focused on him, determination filling his body. He would never let these people get a hold of Clint Barton. While he didn't exactly know why, outside of not getting the guy tortured as well, Bucky didn't want Clint Barton caught.
"нет," the Sergeant once again said. Pierce stepped forward, threateningly. He looked Bucky over, glaring as he did so. Bucky held his ground, straightening himself up a bit as well, preparing for a fight.
"Get him wiped, now," Pierce ordered, turning and walking away. Bucky shifted to watch through the mirror as the man left. "And find some way to cover that crap up."
Clint leaned back in his chair, watching everyone celebrate the upcoming holidays. Well, technically, they were still a week or so away but Stark Industries was holding a gala that the Avengers had been told to attend. And Thor and Bruce took it upon themselves to bring Jane Foster and Betty (who had finally been able to come to New York). Right now, everyone seemed to be mingling about happily and Clint was disheartened to notice a few party goers were wearing the same type of band around their wrist as him. A band that signaled their name was dead or simply that they didn't want to talk about it. Most people just assumed dead though.
It had been leaked a few days prior that Clint's soul mate was one of the many that had died before the spell was cast and so a lot of people kept coming over and telling him they were sorry for his loss. And honestly, he couldn't tell them that he wasn't sorry about it. Yeah, it sucked. Yeah it hurt to look at. Yeah he sometimes became extremely jealous at the other Avengers for their mates being alive but... He never met a single James Barnes.
Though, to make matters worse. Since Bucky had been born, no one had gone by his full name. Not a single James Barnes had the middle name Buchanan. Which, honestly. Clint had found that extremely odd until JARVIS gave him a list of middle names that had been used around the time Steve and Bucky had been born and till now. About forty five percent of the names hadn't been used since that time. So, it wasn't all that strange. It just sucked cause now Clint knew that either Bucky's soul had been born out of time or he had. He was willing to place his bet that it was on him over Bucky.
"Well, look at you, handsome," a voice cooed making Clint look over his right shoulder. He knew someone had been coming up on him and he had been tense about it but then again, there were so many people around he had no idea what was going on. The voice belonged to a woman who looked eerily familiar to him but he just couldn't place it. "What are you doing here all by your lonesome?"
Clint simply lifted up his left arm. Her eyes flicked to it before her sultry attitude changed into something different. He sighed and looked away. Each and every time. It took a moment but when Clint looked back again, the woman was gone. Shaking his head, Clint got up out of the chair and headed over to the bar. He was halfway there when a body stepped in front of him. Surprised, he looked up to see Brock Rumlow was in front of him.
"Rumlow," Clint greeted, keeping the surprise out of his voice. He knew S.H.I.E.L.D agents were at the party. Had seen a few in fact. But Brock typically wasn't one to cover protection detail. And Clint was pretty sure that he hadn't been at the security meeting earlier that day.
"Barton," Brock replied. "Was looking for you."
"Oh?" Clint asked, arching an eyebrow. Brock nodded his head toward the side. Toward a doorway to a back hallway. Immediately Clint began to get a bad feeling about this. But, he knew Brock. He used to go drink with Brock before the man started leading STRIKE. Since then they had a rather rough falling out but nothing that would leave each other all that hostile toward the other.
"Yeah, got something I want you to check on. You know, better eyes and all that," Brock informed. Clint nodded. It made sense. Everyone knew Clint's eyesight was better than most and that he often could spot something that anyone else would need a scope for. Figuring it was just something like that, Clint simply followed Brock off to the hall way. He attempted to catch the gaze of any of the other Avengers but all he caught sight of was Jasper Sitwell, the Avenger's current liaison with S.H.I.E.L.D. The thought of Jasper having been a friend of Phil's was sitting in the back of Clint's mind as he trudged after Brock. They headed into the hall together and continued walking a bit further.
"So, what do you want me-" Clint started but choked off to a stop when he felt a sharp pinch in the back of his neck. He startled, spinning around even as his hand groped up toward whatever had hit him. But still, he knew it was too late. He had been drugged. "Broc-"
"Down, Barton. It's fine. I'll take good care of you," Brock whispered, suddenly leaning against Clint's back and holding the archer as he felt darkness slowly closing in on him. Clint blinked repeatedly, confused. What the hell was going on? Trying hard to fight the drugs, Clint watched as Jack Rollins snuck out of one of the side rooms. In his hands was a dart gun.
"Lets get out of here before someone catches on," Jack stated. Clint let out a soft moan before finally his eyes closed and his world faded away.
Bucky sat at the edge of the chair, his head screaming at him. They had already gotten him under it close to five times today. From what he could remember, Bucky knew that they had discovered six times a day was the limit he could take before it caused longer lasting damage. Until he was put back in cryo and somehow healed back up. They were already pushing the limit on how many they could do within a few days time period. So for now, he simply sat there, breathing hard, waiting for whatever was going to come next.
The people around him buzzed about with anxious energy that was slowly making him on edge even more than before. From his own memories of this stupid chair, Bucky knew that something was wrong. The chair hadn't worked on him this time. He remembered everything. How the men in control of the chair knew this, Bucky was unsure of but his enhanced hearing did catch that they knew.
What was even worse about them knowing, that meant the guards around him were on edge. While the code words were currently active and keeping Bucky as still as possible, everyone knew that they were sitting on a pin tip. One wrong shift of muscle and everything would tumble down. All Bucky had to do was wait. Either with the amount of pain he was in or them attempting to wipe him again would break the codes over him in time. And there was no guarantee that any of the men would notice before it was too late.
A loud crash almost had Bucky jump as he hadn't expected it. Instead, all that happened was his eyes twitched upward to see Pierce angrily stalking into the room with a very small contingent of weapon wielding men surrounding him. The meant the total number of men with guns on them had increased to eight men. "What happened?"
"I don't know sir. We've done the wipe a few times already and his stats haven't changed," one of the three doctors warned. Bucky furrowed his brow. What did the guy mean by that?
"What do you mean?" Pierce snapped.
"When we use the machine, the Beta and Gamma waves are still in line with how he went in. Nothing like normal where they would both be reduced," the doc informed. Pierce shook his head, clearly not understanding but for some reason, Bucky could. Those waves worked around his thought process and memory intake. If they didn't change, it meant he didn't change. "He is not responding to the chair at all. To be honest, I'm surprised he's still responding to the codes."
"What do you mean by that?" one of the many gunmen said before suddenly everyone had their weapons aimed at the Sergeant. Bucky felt his left hand tighten into a fist, the metal creaking just slightly in warning. The doctors quickly shifted away from Bucky, getting themselves a bit more toward safety then before. Pierce didn't move at all, apparently trusting the code and/or the men around him.
"I don't think wiping him is going to be an option any longer," the doctor added. Pierce let out a soft cuss before turning to look at Bucky. Feeling the gaze, Bucky looked up at Pierce. The movement was more under his control then that of the code words making him respond to the presence of authority. He was going to be freed soon. Then all he had to do was wait until their guard was down before he struck and escaped. "I'm afraid we may have to put him back into cryo until we can figure out what happened and how to fix it."
"I need him for a mission. I need him prepped and ready," Pierce argued as if that was more important then controlling Bucky. The doctor looked to Bucky briefly before focusing on Pierce who had turned his attention back to the other man.
"Sir, I don't think you understand. He has all his memories intact. If we thought he was a wild card before, it'll be worse now." Pierce growled. Bucky tilted his head down a bit and smirked, knowing the sight was hidden in the shadows of his hair. Maybe he could pull it off as he's doing okay enough for Pierce to send him out and then he could run for it. Where too, Bucky had no idea. Just as long as it was far, far away from any Hydra agent.
"What do you need to do to get him ready? He should have already been gone," Pierce snapped. The doctor traded a look with the other two before looking back to Pierce.
"I'm not sure there is anything we can do. Without the chair, he knows what's been happening. He knows who he is..." Pierce cussed and looked to Bucky. Once again, Bucky looked up at Pierce, fighting to keep his face as blank as possible. If he could convince Pierce that he was under the code words, things would be fine. Scoffing darkly, Pierce looked back to the doctors.
"You have two days to fix this. If it's not fixed then, well," Pierce warned, trailing off in an ominous way. The doctors winced but each of them nodded in understanding. Bucky clenched his fists slightly, unsure what to do now. Pierce then turned to the man that had been saying the codes to him. "Ready our guest for a visit."
Clint groaned as awareness came back to him. He couldn't really remember what happened to him. Had he drank too much? Was he injured and in a medical suite? Hell, was he captured? Had he been on a mission? What? Cautiously, he pried his eyes opened and figured out at least one or two answers. He was captured and 'drunk' on drugs.
Sighing, Clint shifted so that he was sitting on the floor rather then laying down. He glanced around. Like almost every time he had been kidnapped, he was being stored in what looked like an old supply room with a metal door rather than something normal. He was briefly reminded of a solitary confinement cell but brushed it off with a soft shake of his head. What did it matter what his room looked like or reminded him of? What mattered was figuring out how to escape and who had...
"Brock..." Clint whispered to himself as the memory of the party came back to him. He had been taken by the STRIKE team. Or at least just Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins. But, why would they do this? What had Clint done recently that could have caused them to take him? Exhaling sharply, Clint lifted up his left hand to rub his face but as it neared, he froze. "No."
His arm band was missing leaving the name visible. Almost paling, Clint looked about the room. Maybe it fell off somewhere in here? Or maybe there was a way to cover it? Upon seeing nothing in the room, Clint grimaced before looking down at himself. He was still dressed in the suit from the party. It was dirty now and looked slightly ill-treated but it would work. He slid the jacket off and set to tearing at the fabric until he had something that seemed like a strip. Once that was clear, he wrapped it tightly over the name.
"Embarrassed by your name being a guy?" a familiar voice wondered. Clint perked up, hoping that he was about to be 'rescued.' Though the fact that he hadn't even gotten to make an attempt riled him a bit, it was better then staying stuck here. The metal door opened to allow a few men inside. Two of which being Jack Rollins and Jasper Sitwell. Clint paled at the sight of Jasper. It had been his voice that he heard. "Must be so horrible."
"What's going on?" Clint asked, not wanting to talk about Barnes's name being on his wrist. "Why am I-"
"You're here to be a good boy and not leave this room," Jasper informed. Clint winced. That didn't sound good at all.
"If it wasn't for the na-" one of the unknown men started to say but cut off when the other guy elbowed him in the gut. Clint frowned even as his gaze flicked down to his covered wrist. What did his name have to do with anything? Barnes was dead. Wasn't he?
"I'm hoping that things don't need to get painful, but just know. We are willing to make sure you stay," Jasper warned. Clint furrowed his brow.
"And I thought we were friends," he mocked. Jasper laughed darkly.
"We were never friends. I tolerated you so that I could get closer to Coulson, Hill and Fury," the agent stated. Clint pursed his lips not liking any of what was happening. "Now, can you promise to stay or will we need to use physical force?"
"What do you think?" Clint scoffed, getting to his feet even as he spoke. Jack smirked before jumping close and swinging for Clint's head. The archer had a second to twist his head to the side before it connected and dodged In response, Clint took his own swing. His connected with the man's cheek making Jack stumble a bit to the side. Another man jerked forward, twisting his rifle to hit the butt of it into Clint's gut. Clint gasped as it hit and he nearly doubled over but instead used his body's natural reaction to trap the weapon. As he tried to shift his hands toward the trigger something struck Clint in the temple and he stumbled toward the side, dazed. Next thing he knew, everyone was on top of him, wailing down hits. It wasn't long before darkness encroached on him.
"Please, keep promising to escape. Could use a new punching bag," Jack whispered just before Clint finally fully blacked out.
Bucky fought to not pace the cell they had thrown him in. From past knowledge, the Sergeant knew this thing had been built for him in mind. For his new found strength thanks to Zola and his experiments. He wanted to move though. Wanted to look around and see if there were any weaknesses but he couldn't risk anything. Earlier in the day, someone had mentioned something about taking a visit to beat the pulp out of a guy. A guy that seemed to start with the name 'Bar.'
When Bucky had first heard that, he nearly attacked everyone around him in order to go search for whoever it was. All because of the name on his chest. He didn't know why, but he had a strong desire to find this Clint Barton and protect him. Even though Bucky had never met the man before and there seemed to be no actual reason for it. It didn't make sense.
Suddenly an alarm went off. Bucky perked up, listening for the tone. Each alarm had a different tone to it. Most just meant stupid things but this one was one he hadn't heard in a long time. Someone dangerous had escaped and was somewhere on base. Unconsciously, Bucky figured it had to be the man that had been spoken about before. The 'Bar' that made him want to attack everyone.
Without seriously thinking about the consequences, Bucky marched forward and kicked the cell door as hard as he could. To his surprise, the door launched off it's hinges and was tossed to the other side of the hall. There was a moment's hesitation before Bucky shook it off and then passed through the door. He needed to find whoever escaped and help them. Didn't matter who it was. If Hydra had them then they had to be good. Right?
Clint rushed around the corner, shooting at the first thing he saw. His aim held true and he hit the guy right in the shoulder. Technically, Clint could have killed everyone he came across but he was seeing S.H.I.E.L.D agents. People he knew. People he had fought beside. If he didn't kill anyone, he wouldn't feel as badly for doing this as he had while under Loki's control. Loki had made him kill everyone he came across. Fury and Hill were the only exceptions because the control hadn't fully finalized on him in those moments. It wasn't for another hour or two after that Loki had gotten complete control over him.
He continued down his path, intent on finding a way out but was increasingly getting lost. Every hall looked the exact same. Every door the same blandness. And even worse, since the alarm went off, the increase of agents seemed to pretty steady from every direction. Cussing, Clint rounded another corner and froze. At the other end of the hall was a single man. He didn't have a weapon on him and his long dark hair covered much of his face. But there was one thing that caught Clint's attention. The metal arm.
Yeah, he had run into people before with metal arms but none of them looked like the arm that Natasha had described after she had gotten shot in Odessa. The man he was looking at was the Winter Soldier. "Oh fuck."
"кто ты?" the Soldier demanded. Clint swallowed tightly, taking a quick step back. The Soldier's eyes narrowed and he very quickly stalked forward. Clint squeaked before spinning on his heel and rushing off. He hardly got all that far when there was a sudden jerk on the collar of his mostly ruined shirt. A yelp slid past his throat even as he was drawn against the chest of the Soldier and a metal arm wrapped around his neck. "кто ты?"
"никто," Clint attempted to choke out. The Soldier snarled and gently shook him.
"кто ты?" the man repeated. Tears started to come to Clint's eyes as a few men rounded the corner at the far end of the hall. They turned and spotted the duo and immediatly aimed their guns. The Soldier released Clint, shifting the archer behind him as he held out his arm to defend them. Figuring he could use this, Clint shot around the Soldier even as he backed away. When there were only a few men left, the Soldier turned around, put a hand on Clint's shoulder and basically pushed the archer into a room. "Вы не гидра?"
"What? Hydra?" Clint retorted, shifting to English with a small cough as his throat partly protested the prior treatment. The Soldier grimaced.
"Hydra, you aren't with them. You're the one the alarm is about," the man snapped. Clint nodded quickly, backing up a bit more. The Soldier glanced down to Clint's left wrist. Unsure over what to do really, Clint shifted his hand behind his back. The Soldier made a face but looked back toward the door rather than doing anything else. After a moment, he looked back. "Follow me."
"And if I don't?" Clint honestly wondered. The Soldier made another face at Clint but didn't answer before he suddenly swung his metal fist into it. Clint winced, watching as the door went flying and crashed into a few men on the other side. For a moment all Clint could do was blink repeatedly at the sight and then he seemed to suddenly get over it. "That was fucking hot."
Using the door as a good distraction, Clint lunged forward and took five shots to take down the five remaining men that were readying their attack. Each and every one of them got hit in a spot that stopped them from attacking further but didn't kill them. The Soldier arched an eyebrow and Clint couldn't tell if it was because of the words or the shooting. It honestly didn't matter either way to Clint. Thankfully the Soldier shook off his reaction quickly and he stepped through the door, collecting a few of the guns off the downed men. Clint followed his example and collected his own set of weapons.
"Follow me," the Soldier once again ordered before storming off toward the direction the men had come from. Clint hesitated for all of a second before he realized that the Soldier had a better chance of knowing the way out then he did. With a soft cuss, Clint made chase. They went down a different intersections, switching between right, left, straight and up different sets of stairs as they went. Clint honestly still couldn't tell the difference between everything but the Soldier did and that seemed to be the only thing that mattered.
To a small amount of relief the traffic of enemies increased as they went and while Clint attempt to only incapacitate people, the Soldier seemed to pick and choose who he shot to kill. Almost as if he knew who to go after. Then they busted through a door that almost instantly blinded Clint with the bright light from the sun. He grimaced and when he went to pause, the Soldier suddenly grabbed his right wrist and dragged him toward a nearby motorcycle. Clint watched as the Soldier released him and then finagled with the bike until it turned on with a loud hum.
"Drive," the man ordered, pushing Clint toward the front of the bike. Not really willing to argue at this point as the bike drew the attention of some people from the general area, Clint got on the bike and took off a second after the Soldier sat down right behind him.
Somehow they made it clear from the base without being followed. Bucky was certainly relieved with that but still, he knew they weren't safe. Though, why Bucky was concerned with the man he had saved, he wasn't sure. And he was actually rather thankful that the man seemed to be trusting him. Once certain they were a good distance away, Bucky started to gently order the man out of the city and to an area that he believed was clear of Hydra. Again, the man easily followed his directions. Because of that, it wasn't long before they pulled up toward an abandoned building that they quickly broke into for the night.
"So... Thanks for the help," the man muttered after they both did their own versions of a perimeter sweep. "Are.. Are you gonna like, kill me now? Or was I not your mission?"
"I don't have a mission anymore. I refuse to be caught by them again," Bucky snarled, turning and glaring at the man. The man arched an eyebrow. "They've held me captive and forced me to kill for them for years."
"Huh," the man retorted. Bucky huffed. "Name's Clint Barton." Bucky inhaled sharply. That was the name on his chest. Clint frowned at the reaction. "Something wrong?"
"Your name," Bucky stuttered, a bit to flustered to make sense. Clint's frown deepened a bit. Words lost to him at the moment, Bucky quickly stripped off his armor and undershirt. This time it was Clint's turn to gasp in shock. Without a word himself, Clint ripped at the cloth surrounding his left wrist. Once it was cleared, Bucky looked down at it to see his name.
"You... You're supposed to be dead," Clint whispered in shock. Bucky looked up at him for a moment. "You died nearly seventy years ago."
"I... I survived the fall," Bucky mumbled, stepping closer to Clint. Now he knew why he had felt so protective of the man. This man was Clint Barton. The person, according to those around him, was his soul mate. "Got found by the Soviets and then given to Hydra."
"Jesus," Clint replied.
"Are you really my soul mate like they said?" Bucky asked. It had been something he had heard once or twice but he also knew better then to trust what was being said around him. Especially if it was said out of context. Clint nodded. Bucky stepped closer and held up his right hand, intent on cupping Clint's face. But before he touched, he paused. As if sensing what Bucky wanted, Clint shifted his head into the hand.
Softly smiling, Bucky pulled the man closer and drew him in for a deep kiss. If there was one thing he had learned, Bucky knew not to wait any longer when it came to love. Clint gasped lightly against his lips before melting into it with a soft moan that sent a flash of arousal through Bucky. They held themselves together for as long as they could before Clint pulled back for a breathe. "Holy hell."
Bucky chuckled, leaning his forehead against Clint's. "Guess I don't need to ask if that was good."
"That was amazing. Fuck," Clint responded in a husky tone before he pulled Bucky back in for another kiss. This time, Clint's hands slid to Bucky's chest as they kissed. He ran his fingers over the sensitive skin and Bucky couldn't help the chill that ran up his spine. Feeling brave, the Sergeant wrapped his own arms around Clint, lifting the man slightly. To his surprise, Clint wrapped his legs around his waist. His gasp of surprise broke them apart. "Too fast?"
"No way," Bucky huffed before kissing Clint again, this time traveling away from the man's mouth and down toward his neck. A low groan had Bucky jerk a bit as he continued his kissing spree down the archer's neck.
"Bucky, god," Clint called softly. Bucky smirked. "We should move to the bedroom. Please." Bucky groaned but began to trek to the couch rather than the bedroom. He gently dropped Clint down. "Oh god!"
Bucky's smirk grew as he leaned down to pull Clint into a kiss again. Clint moaned, pulling at Bucky's pants but when he got close at slipping under Bucky backed away, his mind finally catching up to what they were doing. It wasn't that it was wrong. In fact, it felt perfect and Bucky really wanted to continue on but they couldn't. Not just yet. "No. We can't. Not right now. Not like this."
"But-" Clint started, pulling away from Bucky even as the Sergeant shifted to sit down at the archer's feet. "You started that."
"I know. I'm sorry," Bucky mumbled with a shake of his head. "I don't want to do this while we are technically on the run."
"Huh," Clint muttered, understanding what Bucky meant. The archer huffed and then gave Bucky a sultry smile. "Be a good Christmas present."
"Christmas?" Bucky repeated for a moment before smiling and quickly giving Clint another kiss. "Yeah. If we aren't running."
Suddenly Clint let out a quick bark of laughter that had Bucky staring at him confused. "Sorry, sorry. I just thought of the best Christmas present for a friend of mine."
"Merry Christmas, Cap. I found Bucky..."