Ahh! Please don't kill me for this! I really struggled trying to keep this in Phil's POV and it's my first time writing real action so sorry if it's a bit rough. Thanks for all the love you guys!

Fuck! The reason Clint is gone is clear as soon as James and I catch our first glimpse of Avengers' Tower, running the relatively short (mentally long) two blocks back home.

The 'A' is out.

Goons everywhere.

No Avengers visible.

No Clint visible.

/Time to even the score…/

"Side?"

"Definitely."

"Duquesne?" James grinded out the name as if in pain from even mentioning it as we rounded the right hand side of the Tower quickly and quietly, to avoid immediate attack and establish a plan.

"Mine. You have Clint." /Dead. He's dead. Clint's ours. /

"Done… Phil?" James gripped my wrist before I released the latch towards our entrance.

"James?" I questioned him. /Wasting time. We're wasting time/. My mind's screaming at me constantly to get to Clint.

"Love you. Kill them. Be safe." He squeezes my arm and lets it go.

"I love you. Find Clint. Stay alive." We nod and it's 'Agent Coulson' and 'Sergeant Barnes' that enter Avengers' Tower. But it's always going to be Clint's guardians that slice the throat of the first goon with extreme prejudice, shoot the second threw the knee caps with his own gun, break the jaw and nose of the fifth and sixth guys before greeting Steve on the 35th floor who's lying trapped, surrounded by criminals, who range from the expendable right up to the infamous Jacques Duquesne.

James knows his mission. I can feel him scan the area and continue up the service stairs while I step out to confront my very own mission. Steve's fighting back as best he can against the 20 odd other men but something is weighing him down, holding him back, but I can't tell what. There's no sign of Tony, no JARVIS, no suits, and something that's really worrying; no Hulk. No time for that now, I can figure that out once I've dealt with the real problem in the room.

"Ahh! Agent… Coleman wazzit?"

"Coulson."

I can almost feel the wet smacks against Steve's body from my position metres away; the room is bathed in darkness with only the New York skyline as our guide but with some adjustment I can see Steve sans suit and shield. The room is a pit of ripped, overturned furniture, bruises, blood and glass. Seems as though Steve couldn't afford the silent entry James and I had for whatever reason. I try not to flinch, my readings are all over the place with emotions and a sickening feeling disrupting my gut.

"Right. Y'been takin' good care f'my lil' protégé, thanks," he smiles, all teeth, as he paces the length of the broken window, arms behind his back clutching an automatic weapon, "but it's home time f'lil' Barton. Right, Agent?" Steve's grunts get harsher from across the room as he drones on but with Duquesne in my way, I either rush him, lose him but help Steve immediately or waste time before putting a painful bullet somewhere, arresting him and then helping Steve. Sorry Steve, losing this bastard isn't an option. /Can't lose him. /

"I don't think so. He's perfectly fine here. And I would appreciate it if you could drop that weapon and raise your hands above your head. You've messed with the wrong family…" I speak calmly, assuredly while raising my own pistol to the Swordsman. Steve seemingly getting back on his feet after utilising a broken table leg to his advantage.

"Hahaha! Family? Don' think so. You're losin' Coulson! Ther's a snake n'the weeds n' all that. You're precious heroes r'down f'the count n' you ne'er e'en sawwit comin'. Trust me, you don' want th'boy, s'a clingy lil' thing but you'd know all 'bout that. Anyway, better b'going, don' want the 'Pretty Soldier' takin' s'anger out 'n me. See ya!" With that conclusion, James arrives back, charging straight for Duquesne with Steve's shield clasped in hand.

"NO!" I scream as both the Swordsman and James tumble out the open window, I slide right to the edge, over the scattered glass, just in time to see Duquesne caught by some sort of arrow mechanism 15 floors before the ground and pulled back in through a window while James continues hurtling towards earth.

I spin around, not wanting to watch my fiancé die, but also because Steve's hands are shoving me away from the open air, towards our previous entrance, back down the service stairs. I barely realise we're running, jumping and sliding our way towards the exit, towards Duquesne, over the rushing blood and whining in my ears.

We amble out the side door once more as several different vans speed away in different directions. We shoot at as many we can, tracers within the specially designed bullets.

There's no James. No Clint. No Tony. No Natasha. No sound of Thor nor Hulk. Captain America himself is limping and heaving breaths beside me. And I just stand there. Until I'm no longer standing, knees stinging on impact with the concrete. My vision blurred with what must be tears. I can't feel anything.

"-son. Coul-? Ph-! Phillip! Look at me, baby, please…" Someone caresses my cheeks, their rough fingers linger, familiar…

"J- James?" I look up swiftly, my lungs expanding in relief as his beautiful eyes enter view.

"Hey! Yeah! S'me. Need you to breathe with me. Y'havin' a littl' panic attack there babe. Fuck. Don't scare us like that!" He shakes me a little as his watery smile wavers and I feel the gun being removed from my shaking hand before I collapse into his chest.

"Though' y'were dead." James freezes at my admission in my arms.

"Never. Never leave you behind. You n' Clint." He squeezes me tighter in reassurance.

"Clint?!" My breathing picks up its pace once more at the thought of our son, our boy gone.

"No. M'sorry Phil. Couldn't get 'im. We're gonna get him back together. Promise…" I nod shakily, clutching harder at James as he returns the comforting gesture.

"C'mon, you're freakin' Stevie out. We need to go. We need to get cleaned up, find out where the hell everybody is and then we're going after our son. You got me?" I hear Steve chuckle weakly as I release James and we heft ourselves up, moving past the deathly fear that consumed me; there's no time for it now. We can cry and hold each other once we get our family back together. Then. Not now. Now it's time to fight. And /win/.