Characters belong to Marvel

Chapter title is from 'We're on our Way' by Radical Face

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Chapter 5: The Only Constant is Change

The abandoned campsite was right where Hawkeye had promised. To the soldier's great annoyance, there was even a bed roll laid out next to a set of tin camping dishes and a large metal pot. Pinned down under the pot was a note written in somewhat smudged pencil, with ridiculously detailed step-by-step instructions on how to boil water for sanitation. The note was promptly crumpled up and thrown into the stream.

Shoved into the foot of the sleeping bag was a roll of bandages, a small tube of wound care ointment with a faded and crusty label, and a fire starter.

He quickly set to work boiling water so he could clean and treat his wound and replace the wrap. The edges of the skin underneath the dirty bandage had darkened further, and he could feel the unhealthy waves of heat radiating off it.

He clucked his tongue as he carefully adjusted the fresh bandage over the wound. His days of hard pace and meager rations had done it no favors. There was no telling how long this brief respite would last, and there was still a very solid chance that this was all some sort of trap, but he would take full advantage of the rest and supplies as long as he could get it.

The pot was dumped and he set fresh water from the stream to boiling, for drinking this time, and ripped open a pair of protein bars while he waited. They were stale, and crunchy in a way that he didn't think they were supposed to be, but they filled his stomach.

After that, he set the pot of boiled water into the shallow edge of the stream to cool off to a more acceptable temperature and laid down on the sleeping bag to close his eyes.

The stranger was nowhere nearby. Whatever game the archer was playing, they had no clue who they were playing it with. They'd find out the hard way if they tried anything.

He must have drifted off into a light sleep, lulled by the food in his stomach and soft mat, because when he opened his eyes next the shadows had moved. A rip which had appeared in the bag underneath him, and bits of stuffing rolling about like tiny tumble-weeds in the soft breeze gave him the impression he must have been dreaming again. He rarely remembered much of these dreams. Flashes of fiery pain, and bone-deep hate, and an unnerving sense of anticipation and violence swirled in between glimpses of dark walls and filthy floors. Sometimes a face peered at him through frosty glass. Other times people screamed, bloody faces contorted in terror or surprise.

The water, at least, was cool by now. As he finished off the first pot and began setting a second over the fire, the stranger returned.

"Aw, man!" A handful of dry leaves showered down from the branch of the oak he had landed in. "That was one of my best sleeping bags. And the only one I had on me. I hope you know how to sew."

A glare was all the man received. No one had asked him for the bag. If the sack of fabric and stuffing was so important, it shouldn't be given away to strangers in the woods, anyways.

"Ah, whatever," the archer sighed out after a long moment during which the soldier refused to be anything like repentant. "I just came to bring you this."

He pulled something not much larger than his fist out from behind his back and lobbed it across the distance between them.

Fairly certain from the sound it made sailing through the air that it wasn't any sort of grenade, the soldier caught it in one hand and held it up for inspection. It appeared to be thin strips of wood, held together with a cheap pink yarn. The kind someone would find in a kid's craft kit.

"What is it?"

"Willow bark!" Hawkey grinned. "The original Asprin."

The soldier snorted. He didn't need pain medication. He didn't need help. And he certainly didn't need pity. But as deeply disturbing as pity was, it was ultimately harmless when compared to the other motives that might be spurring the stranger in the trees to offer him aid. The burning hole in his side, and ache of starvation, was rendering both his pride and his temper a bit mute, so he didn't throw the little bundle into the stream to follow after the condescending note.

"You can boil it into a tea," the man in the tree added, overlooking the poor response with what must be deliberate effort. "Don't go too nuts with it, though. You're stomach won't thank you. And here-"

Hawkeye tugged a bag slung over his shoulder forward and fished out something covered in cloth. He lobbed this over as well, but the soldier stepped back and let it drop to the ground with a thud rather than catch the unknown object. "I smoked the meat to jerky so it wouldn't go to waste. Taste bland as all hell, but it'll travel, and protein is protein when you're sick and injured in the woods. Do you even know how to prepare and cook your own food? I should have asked before leaving you those uncooked rabbits. Could have gone bad I guess."

He glared up at the man in the tree.

"No? Well, there's no shame in that. It's an art form."

"I can cook meat." It wasn't exactly rocket science. You took meat and burned it. This stranger was quickly burrowing deeper under his skin.

The man grinned back, a toothy smile that would better suit a 12 year old kid. "Well, that's good to hear. You're in luck, it's good hunting this season. Winter will be in soon, and then things get trickier. We'll get you out of here before then, though. Alright, I'm off for the day. Got things to do. Don't die in my woods, now. It's too late in the year to be diggin' graves, and I can't have you attracting scavengers and attention my way." With a cheery little wave, the man vanished back into the canopy, the noise of disturbed branches slowly fading away.

The urge to leave was still there, but the archer was rather obviously just toying with him. Hawkeye had the advantage in the woods, and clearly had no problem finding him whenever he wished. The soldier's best play for the moment was to just go along with it and take advantage of what he could.

He brought his hand up to his now bandaged wound. It still stung, but the feverish burn that had his skin itching the past days was lessened. Maybe it was just the mental relief of knowing it was cleaned, but relief was relief. Once the forest had returned to its usual sounds of bird chatter and rustling branches, he returned to his campfire to set some willow bark in to steep for tea.

-x-

Sometime near dawn something moved in the trees, startling the soldier from a half-sleep. The small knife was in his hand before his eyes were open, whipping the blade with deadly intention. It hadn't even completely left his hand when a loud clang rang in his ear and something impacted the blade hard enough to send it spinning wildly into the nearby dirt.

He froze, half-way to his feet, hand still held up in his throwing arc. An arrow was sticking out of the dirt between himself and the unlit firepit. The fletching glowed in the grey pre-dawn light, still vibrating from its flight. The archer had returned and was crouched in the oak from earlier, his bow in his hand, and another arrow notched and aimed down into the campsite.

The knife glinted a few feet away, half-buried in the dust. There was no way he could reach it before the next arrow was released. His estimation of the archer rose several notches. The fact this Hawkeye had even made it so close before waking him was alarming. The precision and speed of that shot was more than that of any civilian, and most trained soldiers.

Slowly, the soldier opened his hand and raised the other to match to show there was nothing else in there.

The sharp and canny look that had taken over the archer's face melted back into his more usual grin, and the bow was lowered. Like nothing at all had happened. "Oh good, you're awake. Fast reflexes you have there. Sorry I startled you."

"What do you want now?"

"Breakfast!" He slid his unused arrow back into the quiver on his back and dropped down from the tree. The bow held loosely at his side, in a way that was almost believably casual.

As Hawkeye approached the soldier quickly rose the rest of the way to his feet.

He eyed his knife, still in the dirt, but when he ducked down for it, the sound of the bow string pulling tight stilled him before he reached the handle.

"Ah-ah! None of that. If I wanted to shoot you I'd have done it from the trees, so please don't make me waste my arrows shooting you in the hand. I don't want you using up all my bandages. Can't just go down to the store anymore."

Giving up on the knife for the moment, he stepped back, keeping space between himself and the archer and moving closer to the trees over the bank in case he needed the cover.

Hawkeye approached the fire pit and set to work building a flame with a starter he'd pulled from one of his own pockets. After the flame had been stoked up, he set the pot up to boil and began pulling things from the bag over his shoulder. Most of what he pulled out appeared to be root vegetables, mushrooms, some sort of leaves that weren't immediately recognizable, and a whole trout, with a hook dangling from its mouth. These items were laid down on a nearby rock, and then Hawkey retrieved the knife from where it was still sitting in the dirt.

As he held it up to inspect, he gave a low appreciative whistle. "This is some high grade equipment, kid. Better than military." He glanced at the soldier through narrowed eyes. "It's not S.H.E.I.L.D. gear, but about that level," he stated. "Where did you get this?"

The soldier stiffened his shoulders and said nothing. Even if he knew the origins of the knife beyond waking up with it in his possession, he wouldn't tell this idiot. Certainly not for the price of a second hand blanket and some stale old hiking food. The mention of S.H.E.I.L.D. had him further on edge. What was this man's relationship to that company? Did he work for them? He was skilled enough, but the attitude and look didn't match with what he knew of their agents.

"Maybe I should start with something easier. Can I have your name?"

That one could be answered honestly, at least. "No."

"Well," Hawkeye shrugged, heading for the stream, taking the soldier's non-answer with surprising ease, "it doesn't matter. You can keep your secrets as long as you take them all with you on your way out." He scooped up the trout as he passed the fire and crouched down at the bank to quickly prep it. The head, tail, and guts were tossed into the water to float away, the bones following after. The remaining meat was cut into smaller pieces which were tossed into the boiling pot, followed quickly by chunks of the vegetables and leaves. His manner was quick and efficient, like this was something he did often.

There was no more speaking while the stew cooked. The man busied himself with cleaning up after the meal prep and studying the knife some more. By the time he began pouring the meal into the tin, the sun had broken over the mountains in the East and the world was regaining color, washed in a warm glow.

"It's a bit plain, but it'll give you strength and help you heal. You look like you could use all the help you can get. I noticed you can't cook-"

"I can cook!" The soldier snapped out, then clamped his mouth shut. He hadn't meant to let himself get dragged into answering anything, but the archer had a talent for hitting nerves, it seemed.

"-So I thought I'd go ahead and make us both breakfast." He set one of the tin mugs he'd filled with the stew down next to the sleeping bag and retreated to the far side of the fire where he flopped down to sit cross-legged on a patch of dry grass. "Eat up. If we get an early start I can get you down to the lake before sunset, even with plenty of breaks. There's an old hiking trail access not far from there that will get you through the canyon and out of my woods."

Cautiously, the soldier stepped back towards the camp and picked up the mug of stew left near his bag. The smell of the hot food had been drifting his way for some time now, making his stomach ache with envy for a luxury it hadn't had since... he wasn't sure, exactly. He could cook. He had the basic knowledge and skills to survive anywhere, but he was much more suited to brief violent missions or scavenging in urban settings. When it came to the wilderness, the basics didn't expand much further than simple foraging and knowing how to make sure he didn't die of food poisoning.

He took a long sip and refused to make any expression to indicate how nice it was to have a hot, fresh meal.

-x-

The trek to the lake was, physically, not much of an exertion. The mountains here weren't especially large or difficult to begin with, and Hawkey led the way at an easy, almost meandering, pace along a winding path that avoided obstacles, steeper sections, and brush stands that were too thick to cut through.

They never walked for more than a couple of hours at a time before Hawkey declared a break, set down the sleeping bag he'd rolled up with the supplies from the last camp, and vanished into the brush to do who-knows-what. He'd return about an hour later and the pair would continue on. The soldier would have happily kept moving without him, but they weren't following any visible path that he could see, so without direction he'd just be wandering blind again. The long gaps gave him more than enough time to rest, even with the hole in his side and the ache of muscles that had been overworked and underfed for days.

By the time they met up with an overgrown dirt road and passed a lichen-encrusted sign that read 'Alpine Lake' in cheery yellow paint, he hadn't even broken a sweat, and the dull burning ache in his side was easy to push to the back of his mind. His head, however, felt ready to split open from the blood pressure of his barely constrained annoyance.

Hawkeye talked. A lot. It was like being led around by an attention-deprived child that someone had let get into a mug of strong coffee. He kept trying to strike up conversations, and no matter how many times those attempts were met with nothing but silence and glares, he persisted.

"I haven't been out this way in a long time," the archer mused aloud as he led the way around a gentle curving dip in the road, "but if it hasn't been crushed by a falling tree yet, there should be a small building ahead."

Hawkeye vanished around the corner. The distance between the two had been slowly growing longer as the soldier dragged his feet in an attempt to escape the man's often unreasonably loud voice. By the time the archer was in sight again he was standing in front of what appeared to have once been a small convenience store geared towards lake going tourists.

Benches and brightly colored flower pots, filled with long-dead plants and sprigs of weeds already taking hold, occupied the wooden deck under the overhanging roof. One side of the overhang was sagging where a thick branch had fallen on it, but the damage was far from the doorway and didn't block anything important. The doors were once rigged up to tracks and probably automated, but now they were just thin frames and gaping holes of shattered glass. Bits of wrappers and scraps of unidentifiable trash littered the entryway between the shards, tracked out by looting wildlife and the elements.

'Alpine Lake Mercantile' was painted across the wall in a color and print that matched the earlier sign. On one side of the building was a small concrete parking lot with two archaic looking gas pumps. The handles had been removed from both stations, and the word 'EMPTY' was spray painted in faded red.

"I doubt there's much left, but no one really comes this way. It would be a long hike up from the town, and nothing much on the way. And the wasps get ansty this time of year, so no one wants to be up here in the woods once summer is passing."

"You're here," the soldier pointed out.

Hawkeye threw his head back and let out a burst of laughter that echoed off the covered deck as the man strode confidently through the gaping doorway. "Yeah, you got me there, kid. I'm here. And lucky for you I am."

"I'm not a kid," he grumbled for what must have been the hundredth time as he followed after. The glass crunched harmlessly under his thick boots.

Inside, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimmed lighting as he took stock of his surroundings. The tall trees prevented the sun from reaching the building directly, but a soft light glowed through several filthy windows, and the open doorway. It was enough to get a decent look at everything, if the colors were a bit washed out and greyed.

It was more or less exactly what he'd come to expect from abandoned gas stations. The shelves were mostly empty, with various non-essential items scattered about. He picked up one box and wiped away the dust to reveal the image of an inflatable tube designed to look like a flamingo. A young woman floated on the pink plastic toy, smiling up at the camera like she didn't have a care in the world. Maybe she didn't. He couldn't remember much of the world from before the blast, but he knew it was a very different world than the one he was in now.

The crinkling of paper and squeaking of a metal rack being turned filled the shop while the soldier paced between each aisle, in search of nothing in particular. A mouse scuttling out of his way and the thunk of beetles fleeing for the forest only to bounce off the foggy windows were the only signs of other life in the shop.

Once he finished his sweep of the shelves, he approached the corner by the register where Hawkeye had finally chosen a map from the creaky display and spread it out across the counter. When he noticed his companion approaching, he waved him over with a grin.

"Here. This is a good map for the trail you're going to want." The man leaned over the counter to fish around behind the register until he found a mug full of pens which he placed on one side of the map. He yanked another map from the rack and began pulling pens from the dusty mug, testing them one by one by scribbling big loops across the paper.

While he did that, the soldier studied the first map, quickly locating Alpine Lake, and working out the identifiable nearby features. It was a topographical map, and provided a good overview of the canyon he'd been trying to pass. The area he'd been trying to descend, as far as he could tell with the information he could see, was indeed nothing but steep drop offs for miles, just as Hawkeye had said.

"Ah, good old ugly pens. No writing utensil lives longer than the most hideous one of the bunch." The archer held up a pen that probably used to be white, but was now an uneven cream and yellow that looked like it had been run over by a car and then given to a teething dog. He placed the point of the ugly pen on the map not too far from the lake. "The trail you want starts here. It doesn't have a name and it's not well marked, but the path was used pretty regularly by hikers and horseback riders. One year of low traffic won't have made it vanish."

The pen traced a path down one side of the canyon where it appeared to slope more gently, followed along the bottom for a bit, then hooked back to angle up a slope on the other side. "It's something like this. The switchback can get a little steep but nothing crazy."

"You've taken it before?"

"Long time ago. Before all of this. Wife and I took the kids camping out there." His finger tapped a patch of map near what appeared to be a smaller lake. "It's a hike-in only kind of place. If the kids could do it, you'll be fine, even injured. Just keep following the main trail and it will take you all the way around the big town and let out in this rural area."

He nodded and leaned in to study the features along the marked path, committing them to memory. Hawkeye tucked the pen into one of what seemed to be a dozen pockets, and wandered off to explore the shop himself.

So he'd had a wife and kids? He didn't really look or act like a father, but the loss of his family might explain why he was living as a hermit in the mountains with nothing better to do in his free time than annoy nameless strangers that wandered through.

As he studied the lines of the canyon edge, a faint whine began to hum through the air. At first he thought it was a mosquito, or equally obnoxious insect, and waved a hand by his ear in habit after days of brushing the insects away while he wandered the woods. But the buzz was too steady, too perfectly pitched and growing louder at too even a pace, nothing like a creature on wings darting about should make.

He glanced around but nothing had changed outside the windows, and his companion was picking through a rack of shimmery keychains, like they hadn't even noticed.

The whine was definitely growing louder. He folded up the map and tucked it carefully into his vest.

A breeze picked up outside and the whine was drowned out by the rustling of branches while he moved back towards the gaping doorway, picking carefully through the debris. Another quick glance back at Hawkeye proved the man had left the keychain rack and was now rifling around behind the register. He showed no signs of noticing anything amiss.

Careful to stay in the deeper shadows, he craned his neck around to search the trees outside for any sign of change. It was possible this was a trap after all, and that this Hawkeye had led him here to be ambushed. But it just didn't make much sense to put on such a ridiculous rouse, waste supplies feeding and healing him, and put in so much effort just to bring him to some abandoned tourist shack. It would have been much easier to just leave him alone to grow sicker, or at least ambush him in his sleep.

The whine was growing loud enough now that he could catch snippets of it between the shifting of the wind.

"Oh! Score!" The exclamation was so sudden and loud the soldier startled in place and whipped his head around to find the archer standing behind the register counter, holding up a colorful rectangular box as proudly as if he'd struck gold.

Hawkeye quickly stepped around the counter to approach the soldier by the door. The box was held out to clearly display the label.

"...Gummy Bears?" The soldier read aloud. The wind outside settled back and the hum was unmistakable now. It was definitely incoming, but from which direction?

"I think the cashier must have had their own stash of snacks hidden back there that got missed by the looters. This one wasn't opened yet. You want some?" He offered the box out with a bright grin, still giving no indication he had noticed the noise. He did however, notice his companions unease.

"What's wrong? Did you see something?" The archer squinted out the doorway.

The whine suddenly changed pitch and a frozen jolt of recognition shot through the soldier's spine. He flung an arm out to hook around the archer's waist and threw them both away from the open doorway and down to the floor just before a blast struck the porch, sending splinters and shards of glass flying in all directions.

End

Chapter 6 Preview: "...Well, this is it," Darcy announced as they approached the front doors, flinging her arms wide and glancing back at the group like she was a tour guide welcoming them all in, "lucky spot number twenty-nine, but, hey, who's counting? Me. I'm counting. Or more specifically, my lower back and thighs are." she shook the equipment lightly to emphasize her point. "Seriously, Jane, by the end of this I'm going to be able to give Erik piggy-back rides for funsies."

*waves awkwardly* I do promise Bucky will get a name other than 'soldier' soon. I'm trying to kick the rusty gears back in motion. Tenebris has a lot of moving pieces. I'm still trying to recall all the plans I had in motion. The next three chapters are already written, so that much is done, at least. Updates will be spaced out every other week along with updates for Luciferous. (And maybe "She's my Ride Home." The next one is done, but I'm not sure if I should be blowing the dust off of it if I just have the one chapter to add for now.)

-OMaM