Good day all,
Please enjoy installment three of Soul Keeper. The pace picks up from here – and although I am well away that Mr. Renner will never see this, I would like to dedicate this story and all it contains to him and his recovery. There is no greater honor than helping someone else, and I wish him the best of recoveries.
Happy Writing,
Elaine
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He honestly wasn't sure just where he was…drifting around some blank space that was far too warm for his liking. To settle his growing caution he followed his soul to its content, remembering:
The wild grass had always been his grounding element…. More than once Natasha or Laura had watched him from the porch, observing him aimlessly ambling through one of the many fields surrounding the farm. He was at peace there, walking with no decided purpose though the waving stalks as his hand, held out at his side, brushed their lightly haired seed pods. He would lose himself there, nothing but the wind caressing his skin and bringing him the smell of hay mixed with delicate jasmine, the hairs on the grass tickling his palm and the sweet melody of the grains crashing together, his children laughing in the background easing his mind. So he would walk…and walk…and walk…
IOIOIOIOIOIOIOI
Clint didn't know why it was so awkwardly warm here – where the heck was he? He was so tired. If this was the afterlife, he had to admit that he felt as though he had been sold a false bill of goods: he found the lack of fiery pits and screaming souls and horned devils rather disappointing. Instead, it was just muggy, muggy and surprisingly dry simultaneously, all to the point that he could feel parts of his body (that for some reason he still couldn't move) almost shrivel and wither away.
A sudden, cool, gentle kiss of water graced his lips, and he couldn't help but sigh in contentment, his eyes still far too heavy to open. That was what he was talking about, a single crisp drop of water had brought him life and the presence of that tiny drop suddenly made him feel as though he was swimming in it. Oh he was so grateful for that water –
Wait, water?
A sudden surge of adrenaline gave him the power he needed to open his eyes, but no amount of rest or meditation or even night terrors could have prepared him for what greeted him. Every nerve in his body lit up like an electrical surge had passed through him, followed by a full body numbness that stole the oxygen straight from his lungs. He was looking at stars. He knew these stars. He knew the shadow of the giant planet that glared down upon him from where it greedily stole space in the sky. He knew the biting of the air that snapped at his skin as he lay on his back in the rippling water.
No.
No.
No no no - there was no way.
Panic drove him to sit up and throw himself around onto his knees, terrified blue eyes darting across the scene in front of him until he saw the two obelisks atop the mountain in the distance. The clouds above them swirled in agitation, brought to life by the columns of light that prodded them to move – the tight cinch around Clint's chest threatened to stop his heart.
No. This wasn't real.
"I'm not really here," he hissed out to himself, not yet able to take his eyes from the swirling clouds. The warmth that had plagued him was now replaced with horrid cold, gentle snow drifting onto the dripping skin of his bare forearms to form a slight layer of frost, "It's impossible. It isn't real."
Finally he got himself to move, raising a trembling right hand to his face…. And he was able to suck in a small breath when he opened his palm and found nothing being held there. See? Not real. Not possible.
A heartbeat.
He unconsciously sucked in a breath and grasped his chest, almost expecting to find he was having a heart attack. He found nothing.
A heartbeat.
The obelisks flashed with a sharp pulse of light.
"…Clint…"
Barton swung his lead-filled arms around, spraying the frigid water into the air as he wrenched himself to his feet – only to fall straight back into the water again with a heavy splash. Wild eyes scanned every ripple, every pebble, every speck of sand for the source of what he was hearing. God he couldn't breathe.
"….Keeper. It comes."
His mind was suddenly assaulted by a searing flash of images, one right after the other, escalating as they burned through his consciousness and ripped into his resolve.
Raging fire.
Screams of agony.
Some thing made of bone and brimstone.
It roared with this ungodly noise that tore his remaining hearing apart.
The obelisks flashed.
"It comes."
A yell left Clint's throat as he lashed out in front of him. Whatever this illusion was he was going to take out its maker, yet he knew that his strike would meet nothing but air. The world went black again and he was tumbling, floating straight through the darkness to the warmth he had felt before, and then with a harsh pull his lungs sucked in a chestful of air. With a sharp gulp of air his eyes snapped back open and he blindly grabbed whatever he could, bringing it to strike right at the presence that he registered to his right.
Bucky, to his credit, didn't so much as flinch as Hawkeye grabbed his shirt and stopped no more than a half inch from smashing a ceramic mug straight into his forehead. He didn't tense, didn't flinch, didn't bother to even pretend to defend himself as his friend stared him down, the stormy blue eyes slowly clearing with recognition. He had no reason to fear Clint. The mug that ghosted the skin of his forehead was shakily lowered and replaced on the table, the trembling hands that had held both Bucky and the impromptu weapon brought to rest, shaking, palm up, on the lap of his friend who sat in the medbay bed.
He had brought Clint here after he fell unconscious (not a seizure, he had told Bruce – more like he was responding to getting hit by an LRAD full blast), while Sam and Rhodey set about figuring out the potential damage caused to the compound's equipment. Bucky hadn't been in the room this whole time honestly, he had been watching with mild interest as the other three men fiddled with the mechanics when Hawkeye had started to move. The archer now sat hunched over, staring at his open hands as he sat as still as he could. If Bucky didn't know better, he would say that the stare that took in the appendages believed that something was going to manifest there.
He chose not to move, not to add stress to stress, and waited until the leftover adrenaline released its hold on Clint's muscles and left the ex-assassin breathing a bit easier. Finally Clint took in his situation, frowning with frustration when he realized that this entire time he couldn't hear a damn thing. He raised two sharp eyes to take in his fellow Avenger. As much as he had pretended to hate Kate's insistence on learning more fluent ASL, it was certainly handy.
'TELL ME,' he signed to Bucky, knowing full well that the White Wolf would understand what he meant.
'NOT MUCH TO TELL,' was the response, Bucky's face neutral. They had both learned months ago that Bucky had, at some point, learned ASL, and neither one needed explanation as to how. They were kindred; both of them ravaged souls sewn together with good intentions as they outran the devil that demanded their penance. Misery loves company, so does sin, 'ANOTHER WAVE. YOU WERE IN PAIN, WENT DOWN HARD.'
Clint's eyes went alight at this, and he reached a hand to feel around his scalp and hair. Bucky shook his head to stop him. He understood what Barton was looking for.
'DID NOT HIT,' he clarified, 'I CAUGHT YOU. AID IS DEAD SOMEHOW, B-R-U-C-E TRYING TO GET ANOTHER'
He waved away the 'thank you' that the archer signed and decided to try his luck. He raised both index fingers and brought them together, jabbing twice, then gesturing to Clint. When the stormy eyes fell, he couldn't help but feel a stab of empathy.
'HURT, YOU?' he had asked, and after a solid minute he got a soft scoff and a sharp look – accompanied by the shake of the brunette hair in front of him. Liar.
Bucky took a step closer then sat on the chair next to the bed, bringing him to a lower level than his friend who looked back to him skeptically. He was going to try this… he was no Natasha. He wasn't a soul sharer with Clint. But he was his friend. The two ex-assassins stared each other down, a silent conversation ensuing between them as Bucky used what skills he had learned to look past the fortress in his friend's eyes.
Ahhhhhhhh, now he understood. This rabbit hole ran deep.
'TELL ME.'
He knew he hit the mark when Barton swallowed harshly, both hands clenching and grasping the blankets beneath him, and the stormy irises darted away. Clint didn't share emotion well with others, he certainly didn't share weighted burdens either – and damn it all that the White Wolf had caught the scent of his fight. Bucky reminded him of Natasha in many ways…and like Natasha, Bucky didn't lose a fight that he chose to start. How in the hell was he going to explain this without sounding like he had lost touch on reality? He drew a contemplative breath and slowly shifted his gaze back to his friend, who hadn't moved an inch, and drew another when Bucky signed to him.
'C-L-I-N-T,' the two hands signed to him, 'THIS IS ME. TELL ME.'
Oh to hell with it.
'KNOW WHY I CAME TO SEE B-R-U-C-E?' he responded, a slight tilt of the head indicating the question.
'HEADACHE,' was the answer, but the message didn't stop there, 'I THINK MORE.'
'YES.'
The archer released a breath through his nose, running one hand along his face to wipe away the tension. He fixed Bucky with a hard look.
'CAN'T TELL B-R-U-C-E OR S-A-M.'
'DEPENDS.'
Well hell.
'TELL ME.'
Damn, Clint could swear that his heart was gonna rip itself from his chest as his nerves began to light up again. He recognized panic attacks well, but right now he couldn't do much to address it other than to tear the head off the snake. His hands shook as he raised them again.
'HEARING –'
He couldn't finish that thought and froze halfway through the sentence. Bucky sensed the change in demeanor and offered a supportive tap to his elbow, prompting him to raise his hands again. To hell with it.
'HEARING VOICES.'
He half expected the White Wolf to snort and send him a long glance, to tell him that he had finally lost his mind, but he was pleasantly surprised to find a neutral expression meeting his.
'VOICES YOU KNOW?'
Oh he wished.
'YOU, T-O-N-Y, C-A-P, N-A-T-A –'
Bucky froze solid partly through spelling out the last name in that run, a surge of guilt flooding into him. Clint shook his head with a sigh, resting his forehead in his palms as he folded in half. He wished it was them – oh how badly he wanted Steve's voice to call to him and remind him who he was so that he didn't have to feel that surge of dread every time the whisper came. He almost wished it was Tony just as badly…. He missed the unquestioning faith that his old friend had in him, how he had reminded Clint what he stood for. As for Natasha… if he heard her voice, he would almost be certain he would be ready to dive head-first into the pits of hell to be with her. He wanted it to be any of them. God, he felt so alone.
Almost as if reading his mind, he could feel Bucky's flesh hand grasp his shoulder in comfort – he didn't know what else to do. It wasn't a few seconds later that the hand patted his shoulder, calling his attention to the hand's owner. Bucky gave a short nod toward the door, indicating the newest arrival to the room: Bruce.
'C-L-I-N-T,' the Smart Hulk slowly signed, his lack of proficiency showing, 'WHAT DO THEY SAY?'
At his confused glance, Bucky clarified.
'VOICES.'
Well, the proverbial cat was out of the bag.
'MY NAME.'
Clint looked up to his scientist friend, his worn eyes searching the ones that looked back to him.
'I CALL MIND DOCTOR,' Bruce told him carefully, clearly not knowing how to sign the words he really wanted to use. Both Hawkeye and the White Wolf responded back to him at the same time – he couldn't pick between the flying hands and the grinding voice that yelled at him, but was able to catch part of what his old friend told him.
'NOT CRAZY.'
It was signed vehemently, so much so that Bruce felt the need to hold up his hands and take a half step back – then looked to Bucky and started speaking quickly. Clint looked between the two of them, clearly getting agitated, then focused on his friend who sat by his side when he tapped the archer's arm.
'DOES NOT THINK YOU ARE. COULD BE CLUE. OLD HEAD TRAUMA COULD CAUSE HARM. PSYCHIATRIST COULD MAYBE STOP VOICES, HELP WITH PAIN. YOU HURT.'
He almost growled, rapidly signing back:
'NOT CRAZY. NO PSYCHIATRIST. TOO MUCH ATTENTION. TOO MUCH HAPPENING. NEED TIME TO THINK.'
Bucky almost went to argue, if not for the last word his friend signed to him – far more defeated than he was a moment ago.
'PLEASE.'
He couldn't hear the sigh Bucky released but he caught the change in his friend's eyes. Pain. Understanding. Support. Bucky was on his side, and he was incredibly grateful. He let the White Wolf talk across him to Bruce, and after a moment the Smart Hulk was gone.
"Bucky," he forced out, knowing that his voice was probably slurred and messed up. It earned him the ex-assassin's attention, "Where's my bag? Wanna text Laura."
It didn't take long for Bucky to produce his bookbag and place it on the bed, letting him know that he would give him some privacy with a pat to his shoulder before dismissing himself to stand in the doorway, back to Clint. Barton swung his legs over the side of the bed and shifted the sheets, slipping on his boots before digging through the worn bookbag. He had to choose between the two burner phones and his normal Apple, finally settling on the iphone for ease of texting. That was, of course, the phone that his wife and Kate had apparently been blowing up all afternoon.
17 missed texts
2 missed calls from Kate
3 missed calls from Laura
A missed call each from Lila and Cooper
Why did he suddenly feel like him not being home wasn't right?
He flicked through the missed texts from Laura, reading over them in tandem to try and catch up with whatever he may have missed. Collectively they read:
"How are you feeling, honey? I'm hoping Bruce was able to find some answers for you, you haven't been looking good recently."
"Kate headed off with a friend, took Lucky with her – she didn't tell me who but I hope she told you something." (He grew weary with that one)
"Honey, I'm starting to get concerned. Are you okay? Not like you to not answer."
The most recent:
"Clint, there was some kind of power surge here. I can't explain it, it was really strange. The kids and I are fine, but I'm beginning to get a little weirded out. Please let me know you're okay."
He quickly tapped the type bar at the bottom of the screen, trying to carefully craft an answer that he knew would satisfy Laura and keep her safe at home – he didn't need her involved any more than she already was until he could fix this.
"Honey, I'm okay. I'm sorry, Bruce has been keeping me busy with scans and things. Aid is dead, could be a part of the problem. Says I could be having some delayed trauma response from all the hits to the head I've taken – and says you can't hit me anymore bc I'm fragile."
Clint gave a self-satisfied snort at his own humor, firing off the text to his wife and switching screens over to the texts that he had from Kate.
"Hey Hawkear, are you doing okay? I'll pretend to be upset that you didn't take me with you to meet the Avengers because I'm actually concerned."
"Seriously are you okay? You left super quick and you don't look good…listen I got things here, but if there's any darin-do that needs doin' I want to come!"
The final text had him confused.
"I got a text from a friend. Yeah I know you'll yell at me later – I'm safe, I'm okay CB1 and I'm with a friend. I'll be back soon, took Pizza Dog on a journey with us."
His brow scrunched as he clicked into the reply screen, typing out a message.
"Kate? Where are you going and who are you with? I need to know please, need to make sure you're safe. Weird things going on."
As soon as he sent it he got the notification of Laura's response, and it brought a genuine smile to his face.
"Man muss die Dinge nehmen, wie sie kommen Mein Schatz (You have to take things the way they come, my treasure). But we'll debate on me not knocking you over the head the next time that you make me wait 4 hours for a return text. I love you."
"Ich liebe dich," he typed back, only looking up from his text message when the floor began to vibrate violently beneath his feet. The world froze, and this time he had enough of a preconceived warning to brace his weight back against the bed to keep himself from falling.
A pulse of light.
An orange glow.
A heartbeat.
"….Keeper, it comes."
The pulse shot through him.
Clint couldn't hear the sound but he could feel it, reverberating heavily in his chest and shaking his legs – oh God he knew that sound. He could see that thing in his mind's eye long before Bucky ever moved to see what had just made that noise… he could feel it there. His body shook as time stood still, stormy blue eyes catching the sight of smoke that began to billow from a far aware room as the fire alarms began to scream and flash their warning lights. They shut down not a moment later along with every other electronic in the compound – and that was the moment that Clint knew something was really there.
He numbly grabbed his collapsed sword from the bookbag, stalking as gingerly and silently as a cat to stand between his friends who all had gathered behind a railing. They couldn't comprehend what they were looking at.
It didn't need them to. The beast below them shifted its arms, clacking its exposed bone together as it shook the dust from what Clint could only guess counted as its skin. It drew back snarling jaws to expose its molten teeth, raising a nightmarish head to stare down Bucky, Rhodey, Sam, and Bruce – but the moment the dead red eyes landed on Clint's widened blue ones it let out a roar so loud that it rattled their ribcages, slamming one heavily clawed hand into the ground and raising the other in threat. The tile below it had turned molten. This thing was burning.
"….Keeper, beware."