Disclaimer: Nope.
Chapter four: Don't do that. Don't give me hope.
Clint Barton chased his prey down the alleyway. There was nothing but ash. It wasn't fair. That monster talked of mercy, of saving the universe, yet he had killed everyone. He talked about cleansing the universe, yet left filthy scum like these criminals living. All while his family, his innocent family died. No. The thought filled him with blind hate.
Clint didn't hate many people. If he hated every evil, horrible person he met,- Laura always said hate will turn you into what you hate most. A monster. He hated Thanos. From the moment Loki showed him what the monster did to his own so-called children, he hated him.
Words were coming out of his mouth without his consent. His voice sounded dead. Except he wasn't, he only wished he was. His family shouldn't have died. It should have been these filthy criminals. It should have been him. All he heard was a throb. The rain, his heartbeat, his breathing, all blending into background noise. Everything sounded dull, lifeless and distant. His heart was beating, yet he wasn't alive. He was breathing, yet drowning. Did he know what he was saying? No. He didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.
It was raining. He was crying. From rage, loss, he didn't know. Laura, gone. Lila, gone. Cooper, gone. Nathaniel, gone. Wanda, gone. Him, well, he would be better off dead.
His sword passed through flesh. Good. Yet it did nothing to alleviate the pain. How could there be both pain and nothing? Which was better?
Someone was behind him. Clint turned, his sword resting against her exposed throat. She didn't even flinch.
"You should not have come. I'm dangerous. I should be dead." Why did his voice sound so dead?
"So was I. Yet you saved me. Let me return the favor."
"That was different. There was something to save."
"We may have found a way to fix this. Reverse Thanos."
"Stop. Don't do that. Don't give me hope."
"I once said the same thing. Do you remember what you told me?"
Hawkeye had a mission. Take out one of Dreykov's widows. Simple, yet not as much as it would seem. Natasha Romanoff. One of the most dangerous widows, wreaking havoc wherever she went.
Budepest is where he found her. He kicked in the door, firing one, two, three arrows at the red head. She deflected, turned defense into offense, throwing a knife at his shoulder. Would've immobilized his arm, not killed him. He released another arrow, meeting the knife midair.
They combatted for a while, switching from hands to weapons. Something was off. She wasn't fighting with the ruthlessness he had expected, he had seen. Her attacks were becoming sloppy and her defense slow. She wants to die. Her eyes practically begged it.
"I won't kill you." His Russian wasn't the best, but she got the message.
"You have no choice." She started attacking like before, calculated quick.
"We could stop Dreykov. End it. We'd have to call a truce and I gotta talk to S.H.I.E.L.D, but-"
"Don't give me hope. I am a monster. Just kill me. I do not deserve the luxury of hope, do not give it to me."
"I'm just sorry I didn't give it to you sooner."
He nodded.
"Good. The quinjet is about a mile east." She turned around, not bothering to check if he was following. She knew him to well. For the first time in five years, Clint Barton saw light at the end of the pitch dark tunnel he had been traversing. He felt hope.
