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Clint wakes up to the muffled sound of angry screaming nearby. His body reacts before his mind is even fully aware of what is happening or his eyes are fully open.
He flings himself from the bed to crawl under it. He knows that he has to hide whenever daddy gets too loud. Barney had made sure that Clint knew what to do whenever their dad gets angry when Clint was still a baby. Had practiced it with him over and over again.
But when Clint rolls himself over the old and worn mattress, he realizes that something is wrong. Because whatever he’s lying on is definitely not a mattress.
He opens his eyes wide in surprise, trying to figure out where he is. Clint is sure that he went to his own bed last night. Or no, wait, mum and dad are dead. So the orphanage? But now he’s outside, in the middle of an alley that is strewn with rubble and debris. And he’s caught in some weird fabric that is wrapped around him in a weird way. As if he had tried to steal Barney’s clothes again. But even bigger.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh and pained grunts is loud enough that even his shot hearing can pick up on it. And it sends a new spike of fear through Clint. He can’t tell if he can hear it because it’s so close or if the sounds are actually that loud but whatever it is, whatever is going on here, he knows that he needs to get away from it. Now.
He scrambles up frantically, his legs tangling in the weirdly stiff fabric that he’s wrapped up in. And freezes instantly when he realizes that he’s naked underneath.
What the heck? Clint thinks desperately, blinking down at himself in confusion. He can feel tears starting to burn behind his eyelids but he knows that crying won’t help him. It never does.
So he swallows them down instead and grabs handfuls of the fabric to wrap himself in it as much as he can before he scuttles away.
He doesn’t know where he is or what is going on, but he knows that staying where he is, is a really bad idea.
Clint flicks his eyes around the alley one last time to make sure that he has a free escape route. Only then does he jump up and start to sprint down the narrow alley.
His bare feet slap against the cold concrete and Clint has to press his jaw shut to keep the screams inside. Almost every step sends a spike of pain through his feet with all the shards and sharp edged stuff lying around.
It looks like the upper half of one of the apartment houses has been blasted to smithereens. Just like in one of the action movies he loves to watch with Barney.
It’s not nearly as cool though, when you’re the one who has to run barefoot through all that pointy crap.
At the mouth of the alley he skids to a halt, looking frantically around in the vague hope that he'll recognize something. Anything.
But no, of course not. He could be on the other side of the planet for all he knows. Just his luck.
So he randomly picks a side, turning left, and starts to run. Only to get almost crushed by something bright red and metallic that zips right past him only to crash into the side of a building.
Right in front of Clint.
“Ooouch…” the thing that almost crushed him says with a very oddly metallic sounding voice.
And Clint gapes. Because that's a talking robot.
The robot picks itself up and turns to Clint. And then he waves at Clint. What?
The plate at the front of the robot's face slides up and Clint gapes harder when there’s another face behind the face. But this time it’s a human one. Or at least it looks human. But what self-respecting human wears a goatee?
“Hi there little civilian,” Robot Man says and this time he sounds totally normal and non metallic. Boring. Cilnt finds himself oddly disappointed at the reveal of a human in the robot. But Robot Man just pushes on, “You probably have noticed that there's a fight going on here, so you're not safe here. Can I bring you somewhere safer?”
Before Clint can even start to think about an answer, a man clad in a bright yellow overall and with some weird contraption clasped to his back chooses exactly that moment to drop into the middle of the street and aim a huge… NERF gun at them? Clint blinks.
Whatever it is, it seems to be not just a NERF gun because Robot Man instantly throws himself in front of Clint. As if he wants to shield him from whatever the NERF guy plans to shoot at them.
But instead of bullets, or whatever, something else comes out of nowhere. Big and round and colliding with a loud metallic clanking sound with the guys weapon, sending it flying.
The round thing bounces off, and ricochets back to where it came from. A tall man all in dark blue sprints towards it full speed. He launches himself into the air, catching the round thing mid-flight. He hits the NERF guy straight in the chest with one outstretched knee which sends the yellow guy flying. He lands like twenty feet away and does not get back up.
“Woah, cool,” Clint whispers and earns himself a startled look from Robot Man. But Clint doesn't bother with Robot Man anymore because the blue guy flips himself mid-jump to land securely on his feet. And how cool is that?
The newcomer looks over and comes jogging towards them.
“You okay Tony? I saw that you got hit by one of the blasts head on.” Clint hears the man asking and he can see Robot Man wave his concerns away out of the corner of his eyes. But his gaze has zeroed in on the round thing that he had seen swung around like a weapon. It’s a shield. A shield that looks exactly like…
“Why are you carrying Captain America’s shield?” he blurts out and earns himself two startled looks. Robot Man has to turn a bit to send Clint his startled look with his helmet being in the way.
“Because I am Captain America?” the other one asks, surprised. He squints at Clint in confusion but Clint is not interested because everyone knows that Captain America died in World War II. So he scoffs at the impostor and crosses his arms over his chest.
Impostor blinks at him and has the audacity to hunch down to be on eyelevel with Clint - Clint is not that small , thank you very much! - and pulls off his helmet. And now it’s Clint's turn to blink in surprise. Because that is definitely and without question Steve Grant Rogers.
Captain America.
In the flesh.
“How?” Clint whispers and Captain America smiles at him.
But it’s a sad smile. Clint has seen them often enough, smiled them often enough himself, to know how they look. And that no one wants to be called out for their sad smiles.
So Clint keeps his mouth shut and just nods at Captain America with a fake smile of his own. Letting him know that Clint understands without the need for words.
Captain America opens his mouth, as if he wants to say something, but his eyes drop to Clint's feet and grow comically wide.
“What did you do?” he asks, aghast and Clint can't keep himself from flinching at the suddenly raised voice, his body reacting to the potential threat before he can steel himself into not reacting. But it doesn’t matter because his hero is… cooing at his feet?
Clint frowns in confusion and follows the Captain’s look down to his feet. Blood is slowly seeping onto the concrete from under his feet and bloody footprints lead back the way he came, growing bigger with every step he took.
“Ow?” Clint asks and suddenly is scooped up into strong arms that gently cradle him to a warm chest. He’s enveloped by warmth, it radiates from Captain America as if he’s a living and breathing space heater. Clint hadn’t even realized just how cold he is, how much his feet ache, until now. How tired he is.
And he knows that feeling, the crash when the fear of his dad’s wrath finally ebbs after he has escaped another one of his fits. The dragging and heavy feeling it brings to his body and his thoughts. But Clint doesn’t understand where that crash is coming from now. It doesn’t make sense. There hasn’t been anything bad happening really. No bottles were thrown in his direction, no bleeding Barney to patch up. Nothing like that!
But things get even worse, because Clint starts to shake for some inexplicable reason. As soon as the warmth starts to seep into his bones, his whole body suddenly breaks out into shivers as if he has a high fever. It’s so bad that his teeth start to clack together. And he’s tired. His head feels like it's stuffed with cotton and his eyes feel hot and swollen and heavy. He tries to stay awake, to calm the jitters running through his limbs. But it’s as if his body has a will of its own and that will is stronger than he is.
No matter how hard Clint fights against his body betraying him, his eyes slowly slip shut as he listens to Captain America’s low rumbling voice telling him that he’s safe.
*****
The smell of antiseptic starts to flood Asset’s nose. He has to work to keep his reaction off of his face which is not how it’s supposed to be. Most of the time he has to consciously remind himself that reactions and facial expressions are expected of him now. Steve is always upset when Asset forgets to add them to his face.
But coming near the medical floor? That’s when his old instincts kick in.
The ones Hydra had spent the last seventy years beating into him. Or rather out of him? He isn’t sure which way around it was. But it’s the only time he doesn’t have to remind himself to react. And yet it is the only time he fights those reactions down.
He doesn’t want to follow the Avengers to the medbay after they come back from their latest mission. But it’s Steve they usher into the arms of the medics, so he doesn’t have a choice, he has to follow.
It’s not a decision he can make for himself. He has to follow the man that wears the face that haunts his memories. So he crawls through the vents, following them along the best he can.
There’s no way he will join them in the medical ward just like that. He can’t be there with them, not when he can’t make sure that they won’t see him failing, see how weak he is.
It doesn’t matter how often Steve tells him that there won’t be any punishments, it’s just wrong.
Weaknesses are something to be eliminated, not to be floundered.
They have been used so often against the Asset that he will do everything he can to prevent that from ever happening again.
But for now Asset will keep to the shadows, making sure that Steve is okay. Not hurt, never hurt again.
When Steve lays a small, unconscious body onto one of the medical cots, the body of a boy that looks far too skinny and with dirty blond hair, a painful spike flashes through Asset’s head, leaving him blind and deaf for everything around him for a long time.
*****
Clint was sitting in the damn wheelchair that they had insisted upon because,
“We need to keep the pressure off of your feet,” the nice doctor had told him. Clint didn’t have the heart to explain to her that that would be for nothing as soon as they sent him home. There was no way he would keep off his feet with his dad around, it would make him a too easy target.
They’re in the kitchen now, a kitchen that’s bigger than the whole house Clint grew up in. Tony, Sam and Steve had almost immediately started to putter around the kitchen. Clint isn’t sure what they’re doing but he guesses that it’s something along the line of preparing five to eight different dishes at once?
And for a while it's fun watching them step into each other's way and steal each other's tools, bitching at each other about it and immediately doing it again.
Clint watches them and tries to suppress the growing fear that one of them will say that they have to contact his parents, and send him back home. And he knows that he should want that. He shouldn’t want to leave Barney alone with their old man.
But it’s nice. It’s nice to see that there are guys that can laugh and have fun without having to fear that he’ll have to duck from something thrown at him out of the blue.
At least until Tony gets out the whiskey and just offers it casually to the others around him.
Seeing so many glasses with the amber liquid in the hands of so many adults that are all essentially strangers to him, sets Clint’s nerves on edge.
It reminds him that Clint has no idea what to expect from the men he’s surrounded by, how to read their body language. When to expect a hit?
It freaks him out royally. The sudden awareness of all those people around him that he knows nothing about makes him want nothing more than to vanish.
How could he have been so stupid? Ignoring the fact that he’s surrounded by a group of unfamiliar men. Their easy banter and acceptance of him had lulled him into relaxing and Clint can’t believe that he has been so stupid.
Clint doesn’t do it on purpose, but his instincts are kicking in. He doesn’t even remember when he started to melt into the background, going as quiet and unobtrusive as he can. Becoming invisible has saved him so many times from his dad’s anger that he can’t even count how often.
The trick is not to try to hide but to become so unobtrusive and slowly, very slowly, removing oneself from the situation. No hasty movements, smile and nod and take a sip from the juice they have given him at the exact same time all the others are doing it. Agree easily when Captain America asks if it’s okay that he goes to have a quick shower and change into more comfortable clothes. Don’t remind robot-brain that Clint even exists when the man goes off on an explanation spree about different energy rays and how they can affect the body and what he can do to reverse it and how to use it to do something cool with it.
And that’s exactly what he’s doing now, sitting in that damn wheelchair, slowly twisting it back and forth to try and release at least some of the energy that is thrumming through his body at the fact that he’s alone with a tipsy adult man.
He’s so concentrated on the man that he doesn’t even realize how another adult is slinking into the room through an air vent, dropping down on quiet, socked feet.
Clint jumps out of his skin when a broad hand suddenly gently covers his mouth. He jerks and tries to pull himself free but he’s still in that damn wheelchair and can’t twist out of the hold!
But the hand retreats and a man Clint hasn’t seen yet crouches in front of him, far enough away that his long arms couldn’t reach Clint without having to move.
He’s looking at him with his hands placatingly raised up into the air. Long unkempt hair falls into his face and does its best to hide a narrow face and haunted eyes. His shoulders are drawn up around his ears and his whole body language is somehow subdued, as if he tries to hide in plain sight.
And Clint knows that feeling too well, and has done the exact same thing just moments ago. He gets the impression that the man is at least as afraid as he is.
His eyes are darting this way and that, keeping the whole room in his sights and yet they land nowhere as often as they do on goat-face.
As if he’s afraid of him too.
And that, more than anything, makes sure that Clint just wants to get out of here. The stranger motions meekly to the open air vent over him and Clint only sends a quick look back over his shoulder to see if Tony or Sam have noticed something. But Tony is bent over a tablet, tinkering on whatever, quietly mumbling to himself while Sam seems to try and rescue whatever Tony has abandoned on the frying pan.
Just as Clint watches Tony take an absentminded sip of his glass and… yeah, getting out of here sounds like a damn good idea.
Clint turns back to the other man who seems to feel his sudden urgency and just bends down to pick Clint out of the wheelchair, not even straining the slightest bit, as if Clint weighs nothing. He carefully lifts Clint to the air vent and gives him a boost up, so that Clint can easily climb in.
Before he can even wonder how the guy will be able to get back into the vents he jumps up, and damn can that guy jump! And he pulls himself into the vent, easy as you please.
“Cool!” Clint breathes and catches the smallest of pleased smiles on the guy's face as he jerks his chin, indicating the direction they need to go.
Clint scrambles through the air vents, feeling his muscles relaxing the farther away he gets from the damn kitchen with the damn alcohol.
He mindlessly scrambles through the vent for a couple of meters before he feels a light tug on his pants. When he looks back the first thing he sees are huge blue eyes in a pale face. Only after a moment he sees the vague hand movement to the left.
Confused, Clint frowns before he finally understands that the man probably wants to tell him where to go next. He swivels his head back and sees that yes, just a bit further there is a vent forking to the left. Clint motions to it questioningly and gets a confirming nod in return.
They crawl through the tunnels like that for a while, silent-guy occasionally tugging on his pant leg to direct him into another direction. Clint doesn’t need to be told when they arrive at their destination.
There are purple blankets and pillows laid out in a kind of nest at a weirdly spacious crossroad where two vents meet. It looks cozy and inviting and Clint can’t believe that he really is allowed to get into the nest that the stranger has built for himself. But silent guy is gently nudging him until Clint is curled up against a pillow that is almost as big as himself. Only then does silent guy nudge a small packet of chocolate chip cookies in Clint’s direction before he turns around to putter with something for a bit on the other side of the pillow nest construction until he finally pulls two small cups and a thermos out triumphantly.
He smiles at Clint with a twinkle in his eyes, the skin around his eyes breaking out in laughing lines without actually moving his face. Clint has no idea how he does it but it’s clear that he’s happy for some reason.
When the guy screws open the thermos and the rich smell of hot chocolate waves through the small space, Clint can feel his face stretch into an excited grin without being able to do anything about it.
The man fills the cups carefully, making sure that not even a drop spills onto the carefully laid out blanket and pillows before he slides the first cup to Clint.
Clint picks the cup up just as carefully, lifting it up to his nose to breathe in the rich smell of the chocolate. But he doesn’t take a sip yet, no matter how much he wants to.
The stranger, who doesn’t feel as strange anymore with them being curled up in this hidden nook, smiles at him approvingly as he blows across his own cup of hot chocolate before taking a sip.
Clint makes sure that the guy really swallows before he takes a sip of his own. The taste is so rich and intense that it practically explodes over his tongue. He feels his eyes go wide in wonder but he doesn’t care. This is so different from the cheap stuff that they sometimes have at home and that his mom mixes out of water and with only a splash of milk, because milk is expensive while water is not.
It’s as if Clint never had hot chocolate before. Not Really.
Clint wants to step into the cup to bathe in the stuff and he can’t drink quickly enough and doesn’t even care that the guy's eyes crinkle even more in obvious amusement because this stuff is great!
When he licks out the last droplets from his cup, his eyes focus back on his companion and the mug he has still cradled in his hands.
The guy freezes, mug suspended mid air on the way to take another sip, holding it right at eye level for Clint.
“Is that your name?” Clint asks curiously, trying to decipher the few letters that are printed in blocky letters around the mug. “B-u-c-k-y” he slowly reads out loud.
Silent guy, Bucky?, slowly relaxes. He swallows hard as if he tries to swallow a lump in his throat, licks his lips nervously and Clint gets the feeling that he is trying to get himself to talk and that… Clint knows how hard it is when your words get stuck in your throat but the people around you don’t understand and try to get you to talk anyways and no, he doesn’t want to do that to the man who gave him the best hot chocolate that he has ever had.
So he jumps in and asks, “Is it okay if I call you Bucky?” and true enough, Bucky deflates in relief and nods with a shy smile.
“Cool,” Clint grins before a huge yawn sneaks up on him, making him yawn so wide that his jaw cracks. Bucky grins at him and picks the empty mug out of Clint's hands before he throws a thick and warm blanket over him.
Clint doesn’t stand a chance against that. He’s out like a light almost instantly.
Bucky follows not long after.
*****
When Clint wakes up the next morning wrapped up around a strong body that is radiating heat like crazy, he has no clue how he has ended up in this particular situation.
Not quite sure what he’ll find when he opens his eyes, Clint only peeks through the tiniest slit between his eyelashes of one eye to try and find out what the heck he has done this time.
Finding himself wrapped around the Winter Soldier who is breathing slowly and relaxed against Clint’s chest is definitely not something that Clint would have bet on.
Deciding that future-Clint will have to deal with whatever past-Clint has done, he lets his eyes slip back closed again and snuggles back in for another nap.