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“Almost there babe.”

 

“Sounds like it, I want you to-”

 

Whatever Bucky had been about to say was cut off by a loud crash. Clint looks to see a swarm of men enter his hotel room. Shit. Here he is with pants around his ankles and dick in hand. Motherfucking shit. Only thing left to do.

 

“Clint what was that? Clint?!”

 

“7 men. All black body armor!” Clint yells to the now dropped phone and twists away from the guy closest to him.

Bucky has stopped talking and Clint knows he is memorizing everything that happens.

 

“Not Hydra. Snake tattoo!.” A fist lands on his face and pain blossoms along his jaw.

 

“Shut him up!” The leader yells and Clint is surrounded and taking blows. He gets a boot to the face and the last thing he hears of Bucky is him on the phone, still on speaker, talking to the leader.

 

“I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let him go now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you,” Bucky growls and shit that is all Winter Soldier.

 

“Good luck,” the stupid fucking goon says and if Clint wasn’t bleeding from his ears right now he might feel bad for him. He sees his phone drop and the huge ass boot crush it. Awww phone no. Stark was going to kill him, assuming these assholes didn’t.

 

“Alright boys, knock that peice of shit out and let’s head out.”

 

Clint braces for a blow to the head but thankfully he feels a prick on the arm. He couldn’t keep getting hit in the head.

 

“Clinton Francis Barton.”

 

Fucking hell, he knows that voice. Clint opens his eyes and his past stares back. Impossible. He was dead, had to be dead.

 

“You don’t look happy to see me.”

 

Clint Barton was not a master of many things. He sucked at poker, holding his liquor and growing anything. He had exactly three real skills: he was an excellent marksman, he could take a hit and he was a master at pissing people off. Number one usually covered number three but every once and awhile number two came into play.

 

The man in front of him was from Clint’s time as a mercenary. Clint may have robbed him. And slept with his wife. And stolen his dog. Mostly he can explain but he doesn’t really think Murphy is interested in the why.

 

“On the contrary Trev, I’m thrilled.”

 

Murphy smiles and points a knife at him, “Good you still have a sense of humor. I can’t wait to cut it out of you.”

 

The secret to avoiding really horrible torture is getting your kidnapper pissed enough to lose control.

 

“You know who else loved my sense of humor? Megan, how is she by the way? I assume she left you but that isn’t a reason to stop obsessively stalking her.”

 

Clint saw the hit coming, go skill number two.

 

“I’m going to enjoy this so much you little shit.”

 

“Not as much as your wife did.”

 

Hit. He can hear Bucky in his head, telling him to shut up, to play it cool. To not get killed before he gets there.

 

Two days later Clint is a human bruise. Everything hurts and he feels like everything is broken. Murphy is insane, clearly. Clint has never been tortured just for the pleasure of doing it. Murphy doesn’t  want anything except to hear Clint beg. Which won’t fucking happen.

 

Murphy had been midway through electric torture and all Clint focused on was the Princess Bride. Anywhere but here, when Murphy left abruptly. An hour later Clint was still strapped to the damn chair, alone. Not that he was complaining about the inattention but what gives?  Normally he would try an escape but the straps were tight and his feet had several broken bones. Walking was agony so running was out of the question.

 

Clint is asleep in the chair when Murphy returns and grabs him by the head.

 

“Who the fuck is he?”

 

“What?”

 

“The asshole destroying my network. Who the fuck is he? How the hell did you tell him?”

Clint laughs, bloody teeth and God it hurts but he laughs. Even when he gets a slap across the face and the fist in his hair yanks, he laughs.

 

“Winter is coming asshole.”

 

“You think this is a joke, you little shit? I should just kill you now and dump the body for you faggot boyfriend to find.”

 

“First of all, language. We don’t use hate speech. Second,” and this is the important thing in Clint’s opinion. “If he finds me dead, he will tear apart the city to find you and when he does. Shit man, There will be no mercy.”

 

Murphy barks out a laugh of his own, “You super hero types are very dramatic. Tear down the city, what does that even mean?”

 

“It means there is nowhere to hide.”

 

“So ominous from the man tied to a chair. You’re not even a real superhero, nothing super about you is there?”

 

“I don’t know. Your wife thought I was pretty super.”

 

Clint is expecting the cold metal at his temple. He takes in a deep breath. Remember the promise, no getting killed until the team can rescue you, Barton.

 

“I have no reason to keep you alive and every reason to kill you.” The metal digs harder against his temple and Clint stays still, wills himself calm.

 

“If you kill me, he will kill you.”

 

“Who is he?”

 

Clint thinks about Bucky, about his smile and his laugh, about how groggy he is in the mornings without coffee and how much he loves sci-fi movies. None of those things are what Murphy wants but Clint can’t tell him anything. This is his sticking point, he won’t give up Bucky.

 

“He already told your men when they took me. He told them he was coming.”

 

“I want you to know I’m going to find him Barton and when I do I’m going to kill him but not before fucking him in front of you.”

 

Murphy lets go of his hair and walks out of the room. Another goon comes in to drag Clint back to his cell. Each step is like walking on broken glass and after one too many stumbles the goon just drags him.

Even though he knows Bucky, knows he can take care of himself, Clint worries. There isn’t much else to do but wait and worry. His body hurts and he is so fucking thirsty but none of that matters if Murphy gets Bucky.



**

Trevor Murphy wakes up in a cold sweat. He feels eyes on him and notices a dark figure in the corner of the room.

 

Reaching for his gun he speaks into the dark, “Whoever you are, we can work this out.”

 

“Don’t bother for the gun, I’ve got it.” Trevor hears before a shot goes off and pain explodes in his knee.

 

“What the fuck? You crazy fuck!” Trevor shrieks, grabbing his knee.

 

“I need you to know I’m serious.” The voice answers.

 

The pain in his knee is blinding and Trevor is looking for his phone. Shit. Christ. Who the fuck shoots someone.

 

“I know you’re serious,” Trevor forces out calmly, this sick bitch needs to be reasoned with. “We can work this out. What do you want?”

 

“You took something of mine, I was very clear about the repercussions,” The figure growls out. Barton wasn’t the only dramatic one. Seriously, who the hell opens a conversation with a gunshot?

 

“What got taken? I’m sure I would have remembered speaking to you.” Trevor is stalling but where the hell is his cell phone?

 

“You took Clint.”

 

Now Trevor can see a gleam of metal and it isn’t his gun because his gun is black and holy Christ that guy is flipping a knife.

 

“I think you’ve got a misunderstanding. I don’t know anyone by that name,” he lies and hopes it is enough.

 

“I was really hoping you would say that Trevor. Let’s see if I can jog your memory,’ the figure says and steps into the light coming in from the window. The man has shaggy dark hair and is built like a brick fucking house. This is the crazy fuck that has been destroying his network. Trevor hadn’t really had any doubt but he’d been hoping any way.

 

The knife in his hand looked wicked sharp and Trevor had no desire to test it out.

“Okay,” he holds up on hand in a placating gesture, “You are right. I know Clint. I took him but, But!. he says louder as the figure advances, “I didn’t know. My guys, they didn’t pass along your message. And now, thanks in a large part to yourself, they are dead so mission accomplished.”

 

Was he going into shock, this must be shock.

 

“Not quite, Trevor. I still am missing Clint but you’re going to help me with that right?”

 

“Yes! Absolutely. I will give you the address, you can just go pick him up.”

 

“We are going to go together. If you do anything besides lead me to him, I will-”

 

“Kill me? I know. I’m not going anywhere bleeding.”

 

“No, I won’t kill you. Death is very unsatisfying. I can after all only kill you once.”

 

The man jerks him out of bed, dragging him to his feet. His knee screams in protest, bucking under his weight. The figure barely notices, his grip is cold and it’s then that Trevor notices the metal arm. He remembers whispers of an assassin with a metal arm, deadly and merciless.



**

 

Clint wakes up when the door to his cell opens. His eyes adjust and Bucky has never been more beautiful.

 

On the way out, Bucky insists on carrying him, Clint sees Trevor dead on the ground with a bullet between his eyes. Fucker was sure as shit dead this time.