So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name along with a place to post suggestions.

Don't forget to check out the Photobucket album listed on my profile page too. (My apologies. I didn't realize FF removed the links. I have corrected the problem in what way I can, so for those who like the visual additions, feel free to check them out.)

DAY THREE

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE

THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012

1042 HOURS

RITCHEY WOODS NATURE PRESERVE

CARMEL INDIANA

CLINT

She looks so scared, my brave, stupid little sister, and I wish more then anything I could do something to make that look go away, but I'm pretty sure I'm down for the count, because my eyes just registered the visual of her hand slapping me again, but I didn't hear it or feel it, and I know that's not a good sign.

I messed up. I made her promises that I couldn't end up keeping. I couldn't even get her out of this town, and she is gonna just sit here, crying on top of me, until someone comes and just drags her away. I'm gonna be the thing that really breaks her, because she is gonna convince herself that she got me killed.

I wanna scream over that, but I can't even move in my own skin. I just have to hope Natasha comes through. I know she will for Laura and the kids. In a really messed up way, this is good for my family. They won't have to live in hiding anymore. Not a lot of people will bother killing the family of an assassin unless that assassin is still alive to mourn them.

It all sucks. But I don't regret a damn thing, except for the lies and the tears. Nora made me a better person, all the killing and the long days away from home made me cold and hard but Nora had so much faith in me it was almost impossible not to be affected by that. She still does too, right now, god bless her. Even with tears, she is looking at me with so much faith in her eyes you think she could buy a miracle. I wish I could tell her it's okay. She always had such... pretty... honest... eyes.

THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012

1043 HOURS

RITCHEY WOODS NATURE PRESERVE

CARMEL INDIANA

NORA

His hand gets so heavy that it actually surprises me enough to let it slide out of my fingers. He'd been reaching to cradle my cheek, but his arm was so unsteady in exhaustion that I took pity on him and caught his hand in mine, pressing the calloused side of his palm to my cheek.

But then he whispers that I had honest eyes, and his eyes looked empty. "Clint?" His pupils are dilating despite the stream of light hitting them. "Clint!" The shimmer in them that indicates life seems to be sinking out of view, a dull flatness overtaking his irises. "CLINT!" And worse of all is the way his eyelids are weighing themselves down.

"No, no!" My fingers press into the soft flesh beneath the back of his jaw, trying desperately to figure out if what I feel is a pulse or just the shaking fingers I can't make steady. "Please. Please no. Don't leave me?"

I gave that question one second, then I tried a different tactic. I made it a command. I slapped him again, my own heart feeling the pain as his head recoiled with no resistance. "Don't leave me! You can't leave me! Wake up!"

"Come on, Clint wake up!" I beg again, this time my voice breaking with the effort and a sob between each syllable as I scramble back to my feet and try to drag him away from the tree, but between the abuse from the soldiers, exhaustion, and the slick under layer of leaves that I forgot about I only end up slipping, and catching myself awkwardly on tree bark rather than risking landing on him.

I can't drag him out of this woods, and if I can't do that I certainly can't carry him. Not that I know what good that would do anyways, because I don't even know where we were going, and even if I did, I don't have the skills that are probably necessary to complete Clint's plans.

Dragging my foot a little thanks to the new ache in it I hobble back around to the front of him, dropping into a kneel by his thigh before I scoot forward the last inch or so by dragging my weight forward with my hands. I end up smearing his cheeks with decayed bits of leaves as I cup his 'sleeping' face in my hands. "Clint, please come back. You promised."

The stillness shatters me for a moment, and still holding his warm face in my hands I bury my face in his shoulder, letting out not words but a broken "h, h, h, henh, h, h, h" sort of sound as the grief takes over my ability to breath for a moment.

"It was Christmas, you bastard..." It takes me a second to get speech back within my control, but when I do I lift my head back up, forcing a smile as I try to wipe away the leaking stream of blood from his lips, and not give into the urge it puts in me.

"You swore on Christmas remember?" My first Christmas awake was one of the hardest I ever faced, because while everyone else saw it is a joyous time of celebration and family, and while I wore a brave face at work to me it was just a slap in the face reminder, that the anniversary of the day I lost EVERYTHING was seven days away.

Everyone else was either fooled by the mask or ignored it, but Clint and Natasha saw the truth, that when I was alone I was crying. Clint made a promise to me that night, he gave me the best gift I ever got from anyone. He promised he would never let me face a loss like that again. "You can't die, you promised me on christmas th-that y-you w-wou-ould ne-ev-er lea-leave m-m-me."

Christmas is the day when a miracle saved the world, but I don't want the world, I just want god to honor one promise that was made on the day his son was born. I'm holding my brothers face in my hands, looking for some proof that 'god' is really made of love, because after everything else he took from me he doesn't deserve to steal this away too. But not even an eye flutter is my reward.

So screw god then, if prayers won't work I'll try something else. His blood is clammy and copperish against my lips, but I kiss him anyways, because that's how it works in fairy-tales dammit, and I don't care what brings him back, just as long as it does. "Come on Clint, you have a daughter, if you can't come back for me, do it for her." I can't go to some little girl and tell her I let her father die protecting me, the universe isn't entitled to that!

I even try threatening the universe with Natasha, because she is one of the only other people I can think of that might be scary enough to make death take out a rain check. "She didn't give you permission to do this Barton, come on come back, Nat didn't say you could die yet." But even the Black Widow isn't enough to make him move.

There's nothing but rage in the sound that sends those nesting birds fleeing.

I'm screaming now. The sound is something I don't even recognize my own throat being capable of, but I don't question it. I'm that angry. "GIVE HIM BACK!"

I am literally kneeling half over the cooling body of my brother, covered in blood and dirt and drying tears, SCREAMING at god and whatever one of his goddamned angels came down and dared to touch my brother's soul. "YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! HE'S MINE! MINE YOU HEAR ME! YOU'VE TAKEN ENOUGH FROM ME! HE ISN'T YOURS, YOU DON'T NEED HIM, NOW GIVE HIM BACK, I'LL KILL YOU IF YOU DON'T GIVE HIM BACK RIGHT NOW!"

I'm pretty damn sure I mean it too. I have no idea how I would find and kill an angel but I'm supposed to be a goddess dammit all so if there is a way I will figure it out.

But I can't keep it up. The rage is like a magnet, and it sucks all my strength out of me. I can feel myself crumbling again, both physically and emotionally, my body drooping forward until I feel the decaying bark of the tree behind him pressing against my forehead as the tears trail down to the tip of my nose and water a dead tree trunk. "He's my brother, he's a father, he's all I have. Just give him back, ple-e-e-e-a-a-a-se..."

Then I'm reeling back, my weight rolling on my hips as I almost fly off his legs before my arms shoot out behind me and stop me from landing flat on my back too. The sensation of something tickles against my cheek still tingling in sensory memory, as my eyes take in the sight of unfurling triangles of green, and then laughter starts.