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A new target. He relished in the feeling, the purpose it gave him. He screamed at the horror of it.
“An eye,” he answers honestly. But that isn’t what he needs, he needs Tasha and the Barton that goes with her presence, and god, what was he doing, he needed to get back.
An arrow to the engine. Easy enough, shots were always easy, his second nature. It didn’t matter where he was, he would work out the shot, and make the shot and then kick more ass afterwards. Shots were normal. But at the Helicarrier, that was bad. Tasha was on that, and Coulson and Hill and, fuck, he was even worried about fucking Fury. Because he was right, he never missed a shot, that’s why he had picked for the Avengers Initiative in the first place. He never missed a shot, never.
A slight thrumming, a release of the string. It vibrated comfortably in his hand, and he watched at the arrow flew through the sky, flowing the direction of the wind, until, right there, it hit and boom-
No! Fuck, there was smoke, and, shit, metal falling through the air. Jesus, there was a fucking hole in the Helicarrier! The Helicarrier! He couldn’t even feel pride at the fact, he was so worried, god.
On with the mission. He had to get onto the ship and check on Nat, on Coulson, and then maybe send an arrow through Loki’s face to make him pay and crash another engine.
Not too difficult. They were all still reeling from the last shots, running around like little ants, and he’d pick off a few right now if he didn’t mind risking his location. As it was, he needed to bring down the engine first before he could get on with slaughtering them, god. This was horrible, he needed to get back in control.
Well, this was unexpected. Oh well, just another person to get out the way. Natasha! She was... Alright? She looked fine, just shaken, in a way only he could tell. And deadly, precise and she would be able to do it, he knew, she’d get him down, and-
“Tasha?” He was himself again – because maybe he never missed a shot, but Tasha would never miss him. She looked him in the eye once, a little quirk of the lips, before she hit him once more, sending him into blessed oblivion.