Chapter Text
"...I'm just saying that I'm well within my rights to kick your ass if you called 'cantaloupe' for relationship bullshit with your murder-boyfriend --"
It took Clint a half-dozen words to realize why the voice who was talking sounded so familiar, and who it was, and what had to be going on.
He groaned as he sat up, patting at his face with one hand -- oh yeah, he'd gotten his nose broke by that asshole -- and his clutching his ribs with the other -- oh fuck he'd been kicked a coupla times too, ow...
"'S'not bullshit," Clint told his hand, struggling to sit upright in bed. He was glad to hear Tony's rapid-fire speech tinged with anger. Meant he was in good spirits despite what Clint had asked him to look in to. "'S important."
Tony clicked his tongue. "I mean, I don't really see what a third-rate tech firm has to do with such a big emergency that I had to leave my conference -- I never, and I mean never miss a chance to gloat to Justin Hammer's face and have you seen our numbers this year, no of course you haven't, well let me tell you --"
Clint got a good look at Tony while he chattered and typed on the StarkPad he held -- he had dark circles under his eyes but otherwise looked well, hands steady and skin slightly tanned. "I wouldn'ta called Latveria if it wasn't an emergency."
Tony hid it well, but Clint knew him well enough to see the flinch that crossed his features at the name of the country where he and Clint had been abducted and tortured. He glared, but nodded slowly. The momentary pause of his stream-of-consciousness was enough to tell Clint that Tony was taking this seriously.
And then the flood continued. "Well Cross Technological Enterprises doesn't have our market share. Or top-rate talent. Or tradition of excellence. Or lead in any field for that matter but if you were to inquire about them and who they were and what they were about, you'd find that they're not doing terribly when it comes to artificial organs. They've got a consulting firm in Brooklyn and if you need organs, they got organs. Lungs, kidneys, livers, eyes..." Tony paused long enough for Clint to look up at him. "Hearts."
Clint snorted. He'd been carefully testing his injuries and the bandages someone (Cavanagh? Bucky?) had applied. They were done well, and he slid his legs off the bed and looked up at Tony to snort at the emphasis on hearts, sliding on his boots and tying them up, ignoring "the look" Tony was giving him. Tony did a lot of that, and if he kept it up, Clint was going to have to accuse him of mother-henning...but Clint had pressed the panic button, so to speak, so he let it go, for now.
Tony seemed to find whatever he'd been looking for as he looked at Clint, because he continued. "As to why a company that makes artificial organs would be interested in hiring mercenaries to kill an Avenger... Turns out the company's founder's brother was killed a few years ago, house on the ocean in Queens. You know anything about that?"
Clint had been stretching, testing the limits of his injuries, while he listened. He liked listening to Tony. Guy was smart, and he'd found the constant chatter soothing back in that ice cold cell in Lateveria and he liked it since, too.
Still, he stiffened and kept his back turned to Tony at the question. "Ask me something else," he said, repeating a line they'd both used in that frozen dungeon in Latveria and since.
Clint felt it as Tony got to his feet, but ignored him until the last moment, letting Tony talk off some steam.
They were alone in Clint's and Bucky's room, and for Clint's plan to work, he'd need to wait til Tony got a full head of steam with his chattering before shutting this shit down.
"...You don't get to call me in and ask for intel about who's trying to kill you and get your murder-boyfriend and his shrink off your ass and lay this whole path out and then tell me to fuck off. You fuck off, asshole, I'm --"
Clint exploded into motion then, turning sharply and using his body to crowd Tony's, shifting so the smaller man had to back up a step, and then step around the chair he'd been sitting in. "--Iron Man?" It hurt Clint to put mockery on Tony's title, but he did it, because he'd do anything to shake Tony off this line of thinking. He had to keep his friends safe. "Just because you're looking shit up on a computer doesn't mean jack shit to Cross and his people." Clint kept moving towards Tony, crowding him towards Clint's bed until he saw Tony's mouth twitch downwards in consternation. He stayed there, and kept talking. "Latveria was a fucking picnic compared to what these people will do to you, you hear me?" Tony flinched again, more obvious, and Clint knew he just needed one more to seal it. "You sit tight and let me handle this." Clint jerked forward, as if he were going to hit Tony, and the man flinched back automatically and sat down hard on Clint's bed.
Clint turned and left out the bedroom window before he could take it back and apologize or explain (Tony had kept him sane in that awful cold place and look how Clint had just treated him, he didn't deserve that), and was up the fire escape and onto the roof before his chest got so tight and his throat hurt so bad he had to stop and take deep breaths until he's beaten the urge to send Tony a text.
Clint had a plan.
Find whoever was running Cross Technologies. If it was William Cross (no way, it couldn't be, he was dead, like dead dead), Clint would decapitate him and burn the rest. If it was anybody else, Clint would kick their ass and figure out where Trick Shot was.
He'd find Trick Shot and do what he shoulda done a long time ago.
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By the time Bucky realized he'd been tricked, Clint was long gone.
Stark seemed pissed, but he refused to say whatever he'd discussed with Clint.
Bucky recognized that look on Stark's face -- it's the look he'd worn when he'd refused to leave Clint's side after Bucky and the team had hauled them out of their icy prison in Latveria. He sighed and went to try another way to figure out what was going on.
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It was weird being an Avenger -- Clint didn't want to fully suit up as Hawkeye, because after the Battle of New York and fighting DoomBots and the Skrulls and the Dark Avengers... Clint got recognized as an Avenger, as Hawkeye, and he liked being recognized as something other than a fuck up and a killer. He liked being Hawkeye, Avenger, instead of just Hawkeye, dumbass agent of SHIELD who didn't know some of his friends were HYDRA or Clint Barton, former carnie and current asshole who let people down.
But no way was Clint going to go hunting without his gear so...
He's got enough stashes around so he doesn't have to go back to his apartment (the upside of having your super-boyfriend know where you live is that you put changes of clothes and extra gear in lots of places).
So that's how Clint ended up scrambling over rooftops in Brooklyn wearing his purple 'aids, jeans, boots, and a purple t-shirt.
Later, much later, Clint would make a point to remind everyone that although yes, he'd been distracted, his plan had worked, so...
Clint felt pretty clever when he caught the boomerang that whizzed by, turning to whip it back towards its owner, but much less so when his distraction with the boomerang meant he nearly missed the metallic ball bearings at his feet , diving away from them just in time not to get blasted with whatever the fuck was in the cloud of pale blue smoke they emitted.
The fight was on, then, with no time to worry how they'd found him.
Boomerang still had his stupid-ass boots, ugh Clint hated Meyers and his stupid smug face, but he was still slow, too-slow, slow enough that he needed those stupid boots, and Clint had only gotten faster in the intervening years.
Oddball still had his collection of marbles and ball bearings and trick-juggling balls, but Clint had gotten the idea for his trick arrows from Oddball, and had made improvements, whereas Healey had apparently stayed the same since.
So it hurt Clint ribs like hell, but he flung the next boomerang into Healey's face, on the fire escape of Clint's rooftop, and ducked under Boomerang's next pass in those stupid boots.
Clint had a rope arrow nocked, and had Boomerang's speed down in his mind, and the rope arrow collided with and entangled Meyers' stupid boots, bringing the assassin down in a tangled heap.
Healey was just as big a guy as Clint remembered, well built across the chest and legs from all the throwing and juggling, but he'd never been able to catch shit when someone else threw it.
Clint splattered the fire escape with a putty arrow, and used Healey's flinch and scramble away to nock a smoke arrow and fire it.
Clint's pale purple smoke gave him a moment to reposition on top of an AC unit, and the net arrow hit Healey right in the back, sending him sprawling to the gritty gravel of the rooftop as he fought against the weighted net.
Clint was feeling pretty good about himself as he heard the shift of metal beneath him and aimed a razor-sharp arrow down at Javelynn, who aimed her silver and black javelin spear up at him. "Been a while," he grinned at her. His ribs were on fire and his head ached but it felt good, seeing old friends and fighting them off like it hadn't been a decade or so since they'd worked together, or against one another.
She jabbed forward, and Clint was ready, jumping over and firing fast, twice, two arrows, one down the back of her boot and into the concrete and another into her sleeve into the concrete as she reached down to dislodge the arrow in her boot.
Clint was panting through the pain the motion had caused but pleased as Javelynn swore at him in furious Igbo, dropping her weapon to free herself, and Clint glanced to Healey to make sure --
The distinctive metallic click of an automatic pistol's slide ratcheting into the ready position, from very close behind Clint.
Clint froze, keeping the arrow pointed at Javelynn, but listening hard.
"You're as good as Chisolm said." The voice was male, young, and unfamiliar, but the gun rattled a little, and Clint knew where the guy was and where the gun was, and then he was in motion.
Clint spun on his heel and slammed his shoulder into the guy's and although the guy held onto the gun (a Glock 17) through the first blow, he couldn't hang on to it and stop Clint from smashing the stock of his bow into his face, and when the gun was in the air, Clint kicked out to keep the guy off balance and shot his nocked arrow through the trigger guard.
The arrow thunked into the AC unit, the gun hanging neatly by its trigger guard.
And then the fight was on for real, and Clint's brain and senses became a blur of processing information and reacting at top-speed.
Healey was up again and it was hard work, but not impossible, to dodge out of the way of a sonic canister and let Javelynn's silver staff smack the canister away as it began to hum, and then hit the guy with a suction cup arrow right in the face.
And the guy with the Glock 17 got in a punch, and Clint twisted to take the blow on his shoulder not his face, and the blow sent him spinning but Clint fired a tranq arrow at Boomerang as he spun and it clipped the guy in the unprotected thigh (smug asshole wore fuckin rocket boots but no armor).
And then Javelynn was back and Clint used the arrow rest of the bow to block her blow and then his lightning fast reactions seemed to freeze mid-frame because she was so close --- the crown of Javelynn's dark curly hair was matted with dried blood, and one eye was purple and green with bruising. "Chiamaka what-" he began, calling her by her real first name without thinking. She'd been a friend, and she looked like shit. How'd someone gotten close enough to her to fuck her up like that?
With Clint's momentary distraction, she pulled a baton one-handed from a holster and smacked him across the face with it.
Clint kipped up, bow still in hand ( never release your weapon ) and then the kid with the Glock 17 was on him, smashing down with a booted foot.
Clint dived sideways, firing a bola arrow at Javelynn and freezing as the kid with the Glock 17 had another pointed at him. Clint stared, getting a proper look at the kid for the first time.
Pale skin, short brown hair, a recent cut in his eyebrow and cybernetics in his eye and down the right side of his face, neck, and under the black t-shirt he wore. The Glock 17 was shaking slightly in his grip, but the muzzle didn't move enough for Clint to think he had a real out this time.
Clint felt a thrum of unease, because the sharp cheekbones and aquiline nose were familiar, and so was the red eye and tech but this guy was way young...
The kid was shaking his head in reluctant admiration. "He was right about you. You're somethin' else." Something dark flickered across the young features, making him seem older.
Clint understood in a flash of insight. "You're welcome, by the way. William Cross was a fuckin' menace." This kid was related to William Cross -- nephew, cousin, son -- and had heard about Clint.
The kid's face flooded with anger and Clint slid the arrow back into the quiver and blocked the pistol whip with the stock of his bow but didn't stop the kid from getting up in his face. "Do you have any idea -" The kid's breath caught in his throat, fury and shame duking it out across his features.
Clint winced and let his bow drop further. He shook his head. "I take it you didn't make yourself look like a Terminator," is what came out of his mouth, because Clint was an asshole. He winced again, because damnit he hadn't been trying to be a dick and he just wanted to talk to this kid...and he shifted away from another swipe with the pistol.
Clint's bow was on his back and he grappled the Glock 17 away, muscle memory taking him away from the regret at how poorly he was handling this.
Javelynn was behind the kid and he didn't look much better than she did. Muscle memory took over again, and Clint easily slid the slide off the Glock 17 and popped the firing pin free, discarding the gun pieces in a shower of precision metal components as he spoke. "I know who hired you guys, and you don't hafta do this." He looked right at Javelynn until she looked away from him, and then spoke to the kid. "I only know some've what you musta been through, but I promise that Trick Shot ain't --"
While Clint had been jawing and playing Avenger, Oddball and Boomerang had recovered, and somebody slammed something heavy down on the back of Clint's head.
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Latveria was a fucking picnic compared to what these people will do .
The words played on loop in Tony's brain, and he was a smart guy, his brain could loop a lot of things, so he did his best to busy himself.
It was hard to concentrate ( Ice cold metal burning into his wrists ), tinkering with a new altimeter for Rhodey ( Clint's shivering, shaking behind him as they huddled for warmth) and then a half-hearted check on the new vaccine protocol he and Bruce had been talking about the other day ( ice cold water in his mouth, his eyes, his lungs, frozen with shock, his heart in his throat as the cold and the water goes on and on and on).
His projects aren't enough ( Clint's shouts and cursing as he gets the guards' attention, gets them to focus on him instead of Tony) and so Tony dives into something he's never thought much about, anything, just to occupy all of his brain for a few precious minutes...
Tony reads everything he can find about artificial organs, from technical briefs to patents to Popsci articles, because if some nobody he's never heard of from Cross Technologies can sell artificial organs, Tony would be damned if Stark Industries couldn't make some and in fact Tony was going to make better ones and he isn't just going to sell them, he's going to give them away that's how much better than them Tony was and this plan works, it works really well, actually.
It's dark outside when Tony is shaken from how well that plan works, his attention pulled away from his fine-detail soldering under the microscope by someone that keeps calling his name.
It's Clint's murder---- Barnes. (Pep keeps telling him that he can’t keep at it with the nicknames all the time, or one of these days he’s gonna say em out loud to somebody even he can’t afford to piss off)
And it isn't that Tony is afraid of the Winter Soldier / HYDRA assassin, he tells himself as he reaches under his workbench for one of the Mark 3 portable gauntlets. It's that he's been sworn to secrecy, yeah that was it.
Tony opens his mouth to tell Barnes so, but the look on the older -younger? Barnes looks younger than Tony but technically he's got to be over 100 right? Tony's brain scrambles to try to do the arithmetic when he's interrupted.
"I promised I wouldn't pry, Stark, but I need to know where Clint is."
Tony squints out the artificial window. It's dark outside. His vision has grown blurry from so much fine detail work. "He's working," Tony said automatically. "And so am I, revolutionizing an industry in the biomedical field actually, so if you could just --" He gestures back towards the door with his empty hand. "I go back to making sure that no one ever lacks for a replacement organ again..."
Barnes hasn't moved. That isn't unusual for him, but usually Tony gets some kind of response from him. Tony peers at him, to see that Barnes is staring down at an old project on a far bench, and his lips are pressed tightly together. He's worried - Tony has never seen him worried before. And that worries him. Slightly.
Latveria was a fucking picnic compared to what these people will do
Tony's stomach clenches against anxiety and a lack of food or drink for however long he's been down here, and he realizes he doesn't know how long that is. He swipes his free hand through the air and is shocked at the holo display and the time it shows.
"Clint hasn't called in?" Tony doesn't even realize how quiet his voice is in the silent workshop ( We haven't called in. They'll be here, Tony. We just have to survive until then) until the scrape of Barnes' boots on cement jolts his attention back to his workshop.
"No, he hasn't called in. And since you're the last one to have seen him..." Barnes' voice is quiet, but Tony knows that Barnes' quiet is like Bruce's quiet -- like an iceberg.
Ice cold water hosing them down in their cell when Clint had finally stopped shaking. Latveria was a fucking picnic compared to what these people will do
Tony's voice comes out of his mouth without his wanting it to, but he knows it's the right thing to do. Their team came for him and Clint, and he's not going to abandon Clint that's for damn sure. So Tony would make nice with Barnes and anybody else he had to.
"What do you know about Cross Technologies?"