Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Thank you, young man. That was kind of you. I can manage from here."

"It was no trouble, ma'am," Bucky responded automatically. "Are you sure you don't need help to your apartment?" he added, even as he stole a quick glance at his watch.

"I have someone meeting me," she said with a knowing smile. "Don't keep your young lady waiting."

"Young man," Bucky corrected gently. Even if the old woman was a stranger he'd likely never see again, he felt a visceral need to ensure there was no confusion about tonight.

"Oh." The woman blinked and paused before she leaned closer to Bucky with a wink. "Even better. Now go! I'm sure I've already made you late."

Bucky flashed her a quick smile before walking away with another glance at his watch. Clint habitually arrived fifteen minutes late to everything, so it was still possible for Bucky to beat him to the restaurant if he hurried. Not that Clint was likely to get upset with him. Helping little old ladies up the subway stairs was the kind of thing Clint did regularly, never hesitating to step in to do a good deed, no matter how big or small. It was that core of basic goodness that had drawn Bucky to Clint from the beginning.

Thinking about Clint made warmth bloom in Bucky's chest. He'd become an increasingly important part of Bucky's life in the last two years, but it had only been recently that Bucky acknowledged that his feelings for Clint went way beyond friendship. After that, it had taken Bucky several long months to recognize and let himself believe that Clint may actually feel the same way before he could work up the courage to take this next step.

Bucky still couldn't quite believe he was headed to his first official date with Clint. Making his intentions clear to Clint the night before had been a little frustrating and a lot endearing.

No, I don't want to invite the others to dinner. Just us… Yes, like a date... Yes, a romantic date… No, I haven't hit my head…

Bucky had resorted to pulling Clint in by the front of his shirt and kissing him to get his point across. Clint's slow, dazed blink after the kiss had been flattering, but it was the blinding smile that followed which really set Bucky's heart racing. Bucky made Clint happy. They were going on a real date and, for once, Bucky felt optimistic about what the future had in store.

He arrived at the restaurant with a spring in his step but didn't see Clint out front. A quick glance inside showed Bucky that he had managed to arrive before him. They had agreed to meet at the restaurant because Clint had to spend the day at his apartment doing repairs for his tenants. Bucky had chosen a small Italian place near Bed-Stuy that has been around since the forties and still got great reviews. What Bucky remembered the most was that the place served authentic, Naples-style pizza and it never hurt to appeal to Clint's peculiar addiction to pizza.

Bucky decided to stay outside, expecting Clint to come running around the corner any minute, flustered about being late, and with a story that would outdo Bucky's good deed at the subway. After fifteen minutes, he shifted to lean against the wall and double-checked his phone to make sure he hadn't missed any messages from Clint. There were no missed calls or new texts.

As his wait stretched toward an hour and further, Bucky started to run scenarios through his head. Clint could often be absent-minded, but he was never outright irresponsible. Bucky had seen Clint set a reminder on his phone and watched him make sure both his phone and hearing aids were fully charged before he left for the day. Clint had even written the address for the restaurant on a scrap of paper to put in his pocket in case something unexpected happened. If Clint had gotten held up with his tenants, he would have called. If there had been a call to assemble, Bucky would have received the same alert. There was only one reason Bucky could come up with for why Clint wasn't there: he'd changed his mind about dating Bucky.

Bucky finally walked away from the restaurant wavering between despair and anger. He was unbearably sad that Clint clearly didn't care about him and livid that he hadn't had the guts to tell Bucky to his face. He stealthily avoided the other Avengers when he got back, not wanting to see the pity on their faces when they learned what happened. Bucky stripped out of the clothes he'd painstakingly chosen earlier that night and fell into bed still conflicted. He burrowed his head underneath a pillow and wished for sleep to stop the churning thoughts running through his head.

But sleep gave him no respite because Clint followed him into his dreams. Bucky's mind pushed Clint into the corner of a dark and dingy cell with nothing but the floor to sit on. He was cold, achingly cold, and pain flared throughout his body when he moved. A detached part of Bucky's mind thought: Good. It's what he deserves for hurting me.

The pain began to subside as the dream slipped away and Bucky fell deeper into sleep with Clint's voice ringing clearly in his head, "Oh God, Bucky. He must think… shit. The pain doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Gotta make it out of here… for Bucky. Gotta get back to Bucky…"

Bucky startled awake, confused until he realized that his phone was buzzing with an incoming call. He scrambled to grab it, sure that it was Clint. His heart sank when he realized it Kate, not Clint, and it took him an extra second before he registered the panic in her voice.

"Bucky! Please tell me Clint's with you. He's not answering his phone and his apartment is wrecked. His bow is broken and there's blood!"

“Fuck,” Bucky said, sitting up, rubbing at his eyes and trying to shake off the dream, the lingering sensation that something went very, very wrong. “No, he’s not here. JARVIS, is Clint in the Tower?”

“No, Sergeant Barnes. He hasn’t returned since leaving yesterday morning for Bed-Stuy.”

“Okay. Okay.” It was too fucking early for thinking but Bucky’s thoughts were racing, trying to figure out what could have happened. Clint had always been a magnet for trouble, and when he hadn’t shown up for their date, Bucky should have called.

“He’s not here,” he said to Kate. “Hold on, I’ll be right there.”

He heard Lucky crying in the background, loud and sharp, and Kate said, “It’s the blood, it’s freaking him out. I’ll take him back to my place -- but you’ll find Clint, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, gruff. Of course, he’d find him, alive and well, and then he’d kill him for making him worry.

Getting out of bed after hanging up with Kate, Bucky got dressed in a hurry, asking JARVIS, “Can you check surveillance around his place? Hospital records?”

There was a long pause before JARVIS replied stiffly, “As you know, Sergeant Barnes, monitoring surveillance systems is incredibly illegal and Mr. Stark has been informed by the World Security Council that if he ever uses his technology to monitor private citizens again, it will be an issue of national security.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, leaving his room. “I know. Can you do it?”

“Not without express permission from Mr. Stark.”

That’s fair, Bucky supposed, considering it’s Tony’s tech that Bucky’ll be using to apparently break federal law.

“Wake him.”

“Right away, Sergeant.” Bucky was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the relief in the AI’s tone.

The sun was just starting to rise when Bucky stepped out of the elevator and into the kitchen, where he’d left his favorite knife. Steve was already there, eating an apple before heading out for his sadistic early morning run. When he saw Bucky, he frowned.

“You okay?”

“Peachy,” Bucky snapped, grabbing his knife, giving it a quick flip because the perfect balance always soothed him when he was pissed. He shoved it into his thigh holster. “Asshole didn’t even show.”

Steve started stammering something, but before he could figure out the best way to comfort Bucky for being stood up, Natasha said, “No, that’s not possible. Something must have happened. Clint wouldn’t have missed that.” Bucky hadn’t even realized she was there.

That just made Bucky angrier. Of course, Clint wouldn’t have done that. And Bucky, like a goddamn idiot, had just accepted the idea that Clint was a coward who was too chicken shit to tell him he wasn’t actually interested and decided to just fucking leave him standing there like an asshole. Now Clint had gone and gotten himself kidnapped and Bucky was gonna kill him.

“Someone trashed his place,” he said, voice clipped and strained. “Broke his bow. Left some blood. Probably his.”

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve said. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“I’m going to find him,” Bucky tells them. “And I’m leaving now. If you’re coming, get your shit together. JARVIS, tell Tony I’m taking his car.”

“Bucky--” Steve started, but Natasha just grabbed an apple on her way to the elevator.

Clint’s apartment wasn’t as bad as it could be, but it was definitely worse than Bucky would like it to be.

The TV was broken, lying on its side and cracked beyond repair. The coffee table was in pieces. Someone had pulled the curtains down, and Clint had only just gotten those tacked up.

There was a long smear of blood leading from halfway across the living room to the front door, which lay crooked on its hinges.

On the phone with Tony, Steve said, “JARVIS is checking surveillance, Tony’s going through the footage. No reports of anyone matching Clint’s description at any of the local hospitals.”

Natasha, grim and unusually silent, was checking the windows, which left Bucky to kneel beside the blood. They didn’t even know how long he’d been gone for. He’d been in Bed-Stuy all day yesterday, planning to meet up with Bucky afterwards, so he could have been taken 24 entire hours earlier.

And Bucky hadn’t noticed.

He touched the blood to see how old it was, and it was dry, flaky, old --

But as soon as he made contact with it, the early morning light spilling through the window changed, like it was suddenly much later in the day.

“What the fuck,” Bucky mumbled, but before he could adjust to the disorienting sensation of time slipping through his fingers, he realized that the light wasn’t the only thing that was different.

He could hear. And not just anything -- he could hear the door frame splintering, Clint shouting about his fucking bow breaking, a struggle, a dull, painful snap of something hitting the bedroom door, and then a white-hot burst of pain.

And then nothing but the lingering sensation of pain that hadn’t quite been his.

“What the fuck,” he said again, fainter this time, one hand clutching his head, and he was so sure he’d feel blood there -- blood from hitting the door he’d never hit -- but his hand came away clean.

“Hey,” Steve said, kneeling beside him and frowning. “You okay? We’re going to find him, Buck. Don’t worry.”

“He hit his head,” Bucky said, feeling disoriented and strange. He pointed to the bedroom door. “There. I think it knocked him out. He was more pissed about his bow being snapped than the five -- six? Guys who jumped him.”

“He would be,” Natasha said with a snort.

But Steve was still frowning. “Bucky. How do you know that?” he asked.

Bucky shook his head, before dropping it into his hands. “I- I- I just do!” Bucky eventually got out, yelling into his hands. “He’s knocked out, who knows where he’s been taken, and we’re here doing nothing!”

There was too much happening; Bucky could feel the effects of being knocked out, but he hadn’t been hit. He was sure, if he opened his eyes, that his vision would blur. He heard yelling, but there wasn’t anyone around. Too much-

“James.”

The voice cut through Bucky’s thoughts. He lowered his hands to find Natasha crouching in front of him, her face carefully blank.

“Can you hear me?”

Bucky went to nod, before closing his eyes against the pain.

“He’s acting like he has a concussion,” Natasha said, presumably to Steve. “But he hasn’t hit his head.”

“But Clint has,” Bucky muttered, opening his eyes slowly. Natasha was standing up now, talking with Steve over in the corner. “How do I know that?”

Natasha looked over to Bucky, before looking away, as though she was hiding something.

“What?” Bucky asked, staring over at Natasha.

“A faint memory,” Natasha said, looking at Bucky with a tilted head. “A rumor of a whisper of a rumor. It’s familiar, but I can’t remember why.”

“Helpful,” Bucky muttered, slowly pushing himself up. He stumbled forward, before catching himself on a wall. Steve moved forward to help, but Bucky waved him away. “We need to find Clint. Any ideas?”

At that moment, both Steve and Natasha’s phone vibrated with a message. “Tony has a location,” Steve read, looking up at Bucky. “We’re meeting at the Tower to plan.”

“Three floors above ground, extensive underground network of tunnels. Thermal’s show only fifteen bodies, but it’s not registering anything below ground. It’s not a known location for any of the usual suspects, though we cannot rule it out. We land fifteen miles out, use the car to get closer. Two person infil; Myself, and Black Widow. Iron Man will be on standby to provide a distraction outside, if needed. The goal is to locate Barton without raising any alarms; we don’t know what these people are hoping to achieve, and we don’t have time to wait. In, and out. Any questions?” Steve asked, looking around the room.

“Three-person infil.”

All eyes in the room turned to Bucky. During the entire time the briefing had been going on, he had been staring down at his knife, flipping it from hand to hand. Technically speaking, he hadn’t been invited to the briefing, having been sent to medical to check out his phantom concussion. He had taken one look at Steve, challenging him to try and stop him, before following him straight into the room.

Steve looked over at Bucky. “Three-person?”

“The above ground on that place has three distinct areas,” Bucky said, pointing at the holographic projection of the base they had in the middle of the table. “As good as the two of you are, you can’t cover all of it if the alarm goes off, and you can’t rely on Iron Man being enough of a distraction.”

“And who would you suggest as the third member?” Steve asked, before shaking his head at Bucky’s expression. “No.”

“Yes, Steve.”

“You’re not coming on this one.”

“Try and stop me.”

“We don’t know what caused your concussion-”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

“- and we can’t take any chances,” Steve finished, ignoring Bucky’s protests. “You’re out.”

“You said that Barnes knew how Barton was taken?” Tony spoke up, drawing Steve’s attention away from Bucky. “Could prove useful.”

Steve turned to Natasha, who nodded. “He’s right. And we don’t have time to stop Barnes from following us, and look for Clint.”

Steve looked back at Bucky, resignation on his face. “Let it be on record that I don’t agree with this.”

“Fine by me.” Bucky stood up, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

It was a fifteen-minute flight to Clint’s location, and Bucky spent the majority of it checking and rechecking his weapons.

The concussion symptoms had passed, slower than they normally would have for him, but still quicker than your average human. He knew that Steve was right, in a way. But it would take a lot more than Steve to stop Bucky from being on this rescue.

He hadn’t been lying; the place was too big for a two-person infiltration. He was the only choice; there wasn’t anyone else to call in. Wanda was on Asgard receiving tutoring for her magic; Sam, Rhodey, and Pietro were out West helping with clean up from a natural disaster; and SHIELD had brought their agents back for reasons they weren’t willing to share with the Avengers.

Which left Bucky, front and center to find Clint. No other place you’ll find me.

He looked up from his knives to find Natasha staring at him.

“Is this where you tell me I should have stayed home?”

“No, I think you are going to be instrumental in finding Clint,” Natasha said, before frowning. “But you are a liability. You suffered a concussion, with no warning or reason. If that happens in there, it could be trouble.”

“I’ve fought with a concussion before,” Bucky waved away Natasha’s concern. “I’ll be fine.”

“I doubt that.”

Those three words had Bucky’s head snapping up, frowning at Natasha. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“He stood you up. And maybe you have feelings for him that run a little deeper than friendship. But he’s been my best friend for over a decade, and I can’t afford to have you mess up this mission because you jumped before you looked.”

Bucky blinked. And blinked again. “Are you giving me a shovel talk? Now?”

“Concern, Barnes. I’m concerned. For both you, and Clint.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Bucky asked, reading between the words Natasha wasn’t saying.

“Two minutes to landing,” came Bruce’s voice from the cockpit.

“Let’s bring Clint home,” Natasha said, turning away from Bucky. “And then I’ll give you a proper shovel talk.”

For a moment, Bucky could only stare after her, blinking dumbly as his mind struggled to process what just happened.

And then, the mission was shoved abruptly back into focus. The jet suddenly shuttered hard as the landing gear collided the ground, bounced and then impacted again, skidding for a moment before straightening out. Several things happened at once with the rough landing. Bucky threw up a frantic hand to brace himself on the handle over his head to keep from being thrown out of his seat. Both Steve and Natasha threw out hands and shifted their feet for balance where they stood. And Tony was sent stumbling back ungracefully into the wall behind him with a crash of his armor hitting metal.

“Sorry!” Bruce called back sheepishly from the pilot’s seat as he brought the jet to a jarring halt. “Landings aren’t my strong suit.”

“Okay, let’s make a note to send Banner back to remedial piloting class when we get back,” Tony drawled as he righted himself with an effort.

“I told you before we left that I wasn’t much of a pilot,” Bruce pointed out with annoyance as he unstrapped himself and made his way into the back of the jet.

“Alright, Banner you’re going to run intel from here,” Steve said, ignoring the exchange and transitioning into mission mode as he lowered the ramp in the back of the jet. As Bucky pushed himself to his feet, he realized yet again how much he admired Steve for being able to stay on mission despite Stark’s penchant for trivial banter. “Stark, scout ahead and then fall back to air support. Stay out of sight and off radars. Romanoff, Bucky, and I will rendezvous with you outside the facility in ten minutes.”

“On it, Cap,” Tony said as he dropped his facemask and took off from the back of the jet.

Bucky didn’t like Tony Stark. But the man did know when to take a mission seriously, and Bucky had to give him grudging credit for that.

“What are you boys waiting for, a formal invitation?”

Bucky and Steve turned to see Natasha already in the driver’s seat of the open aired jeep that was in the back of the jet. Steve grabbed his shield and Bucky grabbed his rifle before they were jogging over to the vehicle. Steve jumped into the front passenger’s seat and Bucky barely had time to slide into the back seat before Natasha was hitting the gas and rocketing the jeep down the ramp, the smell of burning rubber searing Bucky’s nose.

The drive through the woods that surrounded the isolated compound was filled by a tense silence between the three. Bucky tried to occupy his thoughts by continuously checking his rifle even though he had already checked it dozens of times on the jet. But he refused to let anything else go wrong due to his oversight.

As they drove, Bucky caught Steve glancing back at him several times, a familiar concern radiating out from him. Bucky tried to ignore it, but after the fifth or sixth time, he caught Steve’s head shifting toward him in his peripheral vision he felt his blood start to boil. He didn’t need to be checked on every couple minutes like a rookie, and Steve’s tendency to hover was starting to get under his skin.

“Something on your mind, Steve,” Bucky finally stated lowly, daring him to question whether Bucky was up for this again.

Steve turned in his seat, and Bucky could feel his friend’s critical gaze weighing down on him. Bucky darted his own gaze up to meet Steve’s eyes, letting his conviction, his anguish, and his determination bleed into his features. This wasn’t something that he wanted to do; this was something he needed to do. As Steve read the expression, anything he had been considering saying died on his lips. Instead, he gave Bucky an encouraging nod before he turned and settled back into his seat for the duration of the journey.

Natasha finally brought the jeep to a halt a good mile out from the compound. The three were out of the vehicle and moving again without any discussion, abandoning the jeep as they went to cover the last mile to the compound on foot. Everyone was on mission. Everyone was focused. It felt like Clint was finally back within reach.

So, of course, that’s when something had to go wrong.

They were still about a quarter of a mile out when the earsplitting, agonizing scream had Bucky skidding to a halt, his rifle snapping up and his heart pounding in his throat. It was Clint. He was here, and he was in pain.

“Clint? Clint?!” Fear and panic coursed through Bucky as he frantically looked around, aiming his rifle several times only to realize it was the rustling of leaves and jerking the gun again. Another scream ripped through the silence around him and Bucky’s panic soared to a whole new level. Why couldn’t he tell which direction it was coming from; why did it seem to be coming from everywhere at once?

“Buck! Bucky! Damnit, look at me!”

Bucky blinked and realized that Steve was suddenly in front of him, one hand on the barrel of Bucky’s rifle, forcing it to point down at the ground, and the other braced firmly on Bucky’s shoulder.

“He’s here, didn’t you hear him?” Bucky demanded, desperation cracking his voice as his eyes swept around the empty area again. Why the hell weren’t Steve and Natasha springing into action? “He’s here and they’re hurting him! He’s screaming!”

“Bucky…” Steve said slowly. “You were the only one screaming.”

Bucky stared at Steve, wide-eyed and confused. No… no that wasn’t right…

He blinked and suddenly Steve was gone and Natasha had replaced him. Her gaze was intense as she boldly placed a hand on either side of Bucky’s face – rough skin with a gentle touch… just like Clint – forcing his focus on her.

“Relax your mind, Barnes,” Natasha coached softly and calmly. “What do you sense? Describe your surroundings.”

“What—”

“Now,” Natasha commanded firmly.

“The air… is stale and damp,” Bucky said, confused. “It’s… it’s dark. No windows. Concrete room.” He shivered despite the heat of the day. “It’s cold.” All these things contradicted what he knew to be around him, but they were somehow a part of his reality.

Natasha nodded as she stepped back. “He’s likely in the basement then. That narrows it down at least a little bit.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asked.

“Do you really think,” Natasha said, snapping her widow’s bites, crackling electricity at her fingertips, “That now is the best time to talk logistics of all the fucked up shit Hydra put in Barnes’ head? Shouldn’t we figure that out after we’ve got Clint! Before they hurt him again?”

Steve, for all that the media liked to portray him as a patriotic, even-tempered representation of justice, had always had a temper. “Do you really think infiltrating an unknown enemy compound with Bucky like that--” he pointed to where Bucky was still trying to catch his breath, shake off the phantom pain, and figure out what was real and what wasn’t -- “is the best idea without knowing what the hell is going on?”

She took a deep breath, clearly scrambling for patience, and said, “It was in the file, Steve. A failed experiment -- a way to safeguard their ranking officers, in case the Winter Soldier conditioning failed. If the Soldier could feel what they feel, he’d be a whole lot less likely to cause them pain. And, as a side benefit, if they were taken, tortured for information, if he could feel that, he could probably find them.” She shrugged. “They tried a lot of modifications to make the Soldier more than just the Fist of Hydra. That’s just one of many that failed.”

Steve looked horrified, but Bucky had already had so many years to come to terms with Hydra messing around in his head, had already had hundreds of hours of dedicated SHIELD mental health support to compartmentalize the shit out of that. He’d compartmentalized worse than a fucked up attempt to turn him into a psychic lab rat to keep him compliant.

“Why is it working now, when it didn’t before?” Steve asked. “How do we make it stop?”

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore. If he was feeling what Clint was feeling, then they were hurting Clint right now, and Bucky didn’t want to waste any more time talking about it.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, pushing past them to lead the way. “All that matters is --”

And then the forest was gone, Steve and Natasha were gone, everything was gone, and all that was left was a dank, dark basement, the scent of mold, mildew and burned flesh, the crackle of electric current, and Clint, bound and burned, bleeding, and laughing with a hysterical edge.

“Clint,” Bucky said, stunned.

Clint didn’t hear him, just turned his head and spat some blood, and said, “Gotta try harder than that.”

His head lolled back against the chair, eyes a little bit glazed, and the man standing before him with the electrical rod in one hand gritted his teeth in a sneer and said, “You’ll tell us what we want to know eventually.”

“Can’t,” Clint said, voice slurring a little. “Already told you I don’t know.” His wrists were bound but he managed to make a distracted, bored movement with his hand, adding, “Don’t know anything about… anything ‘bout anything.”

The details got a little hazy as Clint slipped from consciousness, just a little, and Bucky became distantly aware of the trees, the forest, Steve and Natasha arguing, but he didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to leave Clint here like this.

No one was hurting him anymore, Clint was alone, and Bucky stepped forward, his foot landing in a pool of blood but not making a ripple in it. He crouched in front of Clint, hands pressing to his face, cradling his jaw.

“Barton,” he said, and Clint’s eyelids fluttered, his cracked lips pursing. “Clint. Stay with me, sweetheart. C’mon.”

Clint’s eyes fluttered again, and maybe, even if it was a bullshit psychic bond that made no sense, maybe Clint could hear him.

“Clint.”

Clint opened his eyes, and they were still hazy with pain and fever, his gaze flickering restlessly around the tiny room before seeming to latch on to Bucky.

“Oh shit,” Clint said, lisping around his bloodied mouth. “Aww, Bucky, no.” He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a shaky breath that rattled worryingly in his chest. “‘Course I’m gonna hallucinate you when I’m fuckin’ dying,” he mumbled.

“Not dying,” Bucky told him, still cradling his face. “Not fucking dying. We’re almost here. Just -- just stay with me, just stay, ‘til we get here. A few more minutes, doll. Okay?” Clint just sagged away from his grip, eyes fluttering shut again. “Barton. Clint.”

Clint wrinkled his nose but he was waking again, and then Bucky was shocked back to reality, his cheek stinging where Natasha, apparently, had punched him.

“What the fuck,” he snapped, and she glared at him.

“Listen to me. We don’t have time for this,” she said, and Steve was just staring over her shoulder at Bucky, looking haunted. “You need to stay out of his head and here with us because he needs us to find him, and we can’t find him without you. Get it? Focus, Bucky. Stay with us. He needs you.”

Natasha was right. She and Steve needed him to infiltrate the base and find Clint before he got hurt even worse.

“Right,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m here. I’m with you. Let’s go.”

They do, moving as quickly as they could.

“Can you… can you still feel him?” Steve asked, falling into step beside Bucky, and Bucky closed his eyes. He can. He can feel the echo of phantom pains in the back of his mind, feel the heat of Clint’s fever, his disorientation.

“Don’t think I’m ever gonna stop, Stevie,” he said quietly.

"We have a situation," Stark cut in before Steve could ask Bucky any more questions. They once again stopped their progress to listen. "Bruce and I have been doing deeper scans of the compound. Want the bad news or the really bad news?"

"Just tell us," Bucky growled as his frustration lashed out at the easiest target. "We don't have time for your games."

Steve put a restraining hand on Bucky's arm. "What did you find?" he asked calmly.

"There are explosives scattered everywhere," Stark responded.

"Scattered? Why?"

"We can't know for sure," Bruce chimed in, "but it looks like they have the place rigged to blow."

Bucky swore and took a step forward that was aborted by Steve's hand tightening on his arm.

"Was that the bad or the really bad?"

There was a pause on the line and the three of them looked at each other in concern. If Bruce and Tony were hesitating, then whatever they were going to say wasn't going to be easy to hear.

"We've been trying to pinpoint Clint's location based on movement," Stark said evenly and then hesitated again. "... it looks like they could be holding up to three hostages in the compound."

"Up to three?" Natasha asked.

"One stopped moving," Bruce answered quietly.

Bucky heart seized up in fear and he felt Clint flinch in response, which caused a burst of pain that dropped Bucky down to his knees.

"Buck!" Steve cried in concern as he stumbled against the sudden movement.

Bucky clenched his teeth against the pain and stood. "Clint's alive," he said. "He's weak and hurting, but he's alive."

Bucky almost wanted to laugh at the wrongness of the situation. He hated the idea of Clint being in pain but feeling that pain was the only way Bucky knew Clint was still alive.

Natasha seemed to see Bucky's train of thought because her eyes softened for a moment before they hardened into resolve. "We have to assume they're willing to blow the compound with their own people inside. That means we go in fast and hard. Take them out before they kill the hostages or bury us all."

"We need more intel," Steve added. "Stark. What else can you tell us?"

"Not much more than what we already know."

"We have the general layout of the compound and are down to twelve likely hostiles," Steve recited, "but we don't know how well armed or well trained they are. We also don't know who may be holding the detonator."

"Clint knows," Natasha said and looked steadily back at Bucky when his eyes flew to meet hers.

"You told me to stay out of his head," Bucky reminded her.

"That was before we needed more intel."

"How do we know Clint has seen anything outside of the room he's being held in?"

"We've been scanning the whole time," Stark pointed out. "Clint's been moved at least a few times."

"It's not worth the risk," Steve commanded. "Clint's hurt and barely conscious. I doubt he's noticed anything."

Natasha's eyes narrowed as she fired back, "Clint's a professional. He knows how to deal with pain better than anyone here. If there's anyone who can gather intel while compromised, it's Clint."

"It's still not worth Bucky—"

"Shut up, Steve," Bucky interrupted and glared when Steve looked like he was going to argue. "Natasha's right. It's worth a try if it helps get Clint out of there alive." He turned to Natasha. "What do I do?"

Natasha looked ready to argue that she didn't know more than Bucky but then decided to give the question real thought. "Focus on Clint," she said after a moment. "If the strongest thing he's feeling right now is the pain, use it. Follow it back to Clint."

Bucky nodded and closed his eyes. Instead of pushing the pain to the back of his mind, he let himself get pulled into the sensation. He sucked in a breath as the pain intensified, then another to keep it from overwhelming him. He thought about Clint feeling the same pain and wished he could somehow take on the full burden, give him even a small moment of reprieve.

"Nah. Im'kay," Clint slurred. "I… I can take it."

Bucky opened his eyes and he was with Clint again. He could see that Clint's breathing was labored even as a corner of Clint's mouth lifted with an attempt to smile.

"You'ra good dream. Glad… you..." Clint took a painful looking breath as his eyes slipped closed before he forced them back open. "Good last 'mage 'fore I die."

"You're not gonna die! Clint. I'm not a dream. I can't explain, but I need you to focus." Bucky ran a gentle finger along a part of Clint's forehead that looked the least bruised and Clint leaned into the touch. "We're coming, but we need your help. We need to know what we're facing. The place is rigged to blow and we can't go in hot. You need to help."

Clint's brow furrowed and then he gave a small shake of his head. "No. St- stay out. Don't come. Not worth… better you safe."

The mix of frustration and affection was a familiar feeling for Bucky when it came to Clint, but he didn't have the time to dwell on it now. "Damn it, Clint! This isn't a debate. I'm coming for you, so you better help me out. Twelve hostiles," he prodded. "One with a detonator. Come on agent, report."

"Twelve…" Clint blinked a few times and shook his head again. "Eight guns. Four… no, five mercs. Cheap. Rest… better. Guard cowboy."

"Cowboy? Who's…?"

"Who are you talking to?!" demanded a voice from behind Bucky.

He spun around and saw four men. Three were big and burly, wearing tac gear and held assault rifles confidently in their hands. In front of them was a smaller, slim man wearing a lab coat covered in blood and was holding a cattle prod.

Cowboy.

Bucky realized that the edges of his vision were hazy like he was having trouble focusing. He must be seeing them through Clint's eyes. He was distracted enough that he didn't catch whatever Clint said back, but whatever it was caused Cowboy to step forward and brandish the cattle prod, which was when Bucky saw a small device clipped to the man's belt. Then there was the all too familiar feeling of electricity hitting his body and Bucky was falling.

He instinctually pitched backward away from the pain that wasn’t his. He was distantly aware that as he threw out his flesh hand behind him to catch himself, he could feel dirt and grass under his fingers rather than the concrete of the cell. But that thought was gone as soon as it had come.

The connection between him and Clint was based on pain. That much was horribly obvious at this point. And when that goddamn cattle prod dug into Clint’s side again, the connection felt so solid that Bucky suddenly forgot that he wasn’t physically here. All at once this was his only reality. And the only thing that filled his head was Clint screaming in pain.

Bucky lunged forward with a yell of violent rage, swinging his metal arm at the man that Clint had nicknamed Cowboy. The brutal blow aimed at the man’s temple should have leveled him; his neck should have snapped like a twig and he should have been dead before he hit the ground. But to Bucky’s horror, his solid, metal arm passed right through Cowboy, as if he were a ghost. Unable to comprehend what exactly was happening with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, Bucky pivoted back around to grab the back of Cowboy’s lab coat with his flesh hand, in a vain attempt to yank him away from Clint. That hand passed through Cowboy too.

The weight of the situation finally crashed down on Bucky, ripping the air from his lungs. He couldn’t affect anything here. He was only here to watch. That was torture in and of itself.

Cowboy finally stepped back, laughing as Clint collapsed forward as much as he could while still restrained in the chair. Bucky could see the unnatural twitching of Clint’s muscles even when the electricity was taken away. That was an indication that real damage was being done to his body.

Bucky moved forward mechanically and then went to one knee in front of Clint. Sweat dripped from Clint’s brow, his eyes were squeezed shut and his breaths came in uneven, wheezing gasps. Bucky’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. He reached up with his flesh hand and gently cupped the side of Clint’s face. He could almost feel him, just the hint of resistance where his mind could see Clint’s face. At the touch, Clint’s eyes suddenly fluttered open blearily and Bucky wondered vaguely if Clint could feel him too on some level.

“Stay strong, babydoll,” Bucky said softly. “We’re comin’ for you.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at Clint’s lips. With the absence of pain, Bucky was dimly aware of the connection thinning. And then…

“BUCKY!”

It was as if a light switch had been flicked. Clint and his surroundings were suddenly gone, and in its place were the woods outside of the compound. The change was so abrupt that Bucky pitched forward and had to catch himself with one hand jamming into the ground to keep from face planting. He took in several ragged breaths, desperately trying to fill lungs that suddenly felt starved for air.

“Barnes. What did he say, what can you tell us?”

“Give him a second for god’s sake!”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut against the voices around him. Then he took a fortifying breath and pushed himself up, new found determination burning within him.

Steve was crouched down in front of him, looking at him with pained worry. “Are you okay?”

“The man we’re looking for is Cowboy,” Bucky said firmly. Because he couldn’t even begin to ponder Steve’s question without completely falling apart. And now was not the time for that.

“Cattle prod?” Natasha asked dully.

Bucky met her eyes. Even though Natasha could often come off as hard and unfeeling, in that moment, Bucky could see through the mask. Her mouth was still set in a hard, angry line, but Bucky could see the anguish and worry shining in her eyes. This was her best friend. And this was clearly not their first time through this hell if she already knew why Clint had nicknamed the man Cowboy.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed. “Skinny guy with a bloodstained lab coat. He’s our guy with the self-destruct button. He’s the one we need to take out as soon as possible.” Bucky’s gaze darkened. “If at all possible… that fucker is mine.”

“Only if you get to him first,” Natasha said, and Bucky could see the same dark desires burning within her as he felt within himself.

Bucky nodded. If it couldn’t be him, it had to be Natasha. She would give the man what he deserved. “Clint said he saw eight guns. Five of those were cheap mercenaries, so we can assume they’re unskilled. I saw three thugs in there that looked like they knew what they were doing. Along with Cowboy, Clint’s accounted for nine out of Stark’s estimated fifteen.”

“Better than going in completely blind,” Steve admitted.

Bucky could feel a phantom crackling of electricity around his side, felt the pull back toward Clint. It was so tempting to just give in and go back to him. It was gut-wrenching when Bucky pushed the connection away. He couldn’t help Clint like that. He could only help him by physically going into that place and pulling him the hell out of there. And Bucky could take some comfort in killing every last fucker who crossed his path between here and Clint.

With an effort, Bucky pushed himself to his feet, Steve following suit. Bucky picked up his rifle from where he had assumedly dropped it at some point and did a quick recheck to make sure it was loaded and still in working order.

“All the electric shocks from the cattle prod are damaging his body,” Bucky announced in a carefully clinical tone, deliberately not thinking too much about the words that were coming out of his own mouth. He needed them to know that time was running out. “He’s already having muscle spasms between shocks. He’s not gonna last much longer before something gives out.”

Electrical burns, permanent muscle spasms, memory loss, broken bones – especially jaw and teeth, torn ligaments, heart attack, death. All the possible effects of electrical torture ran through Bucky’s head uninvited.

“We gotta go,” Bucky said firmly as he forcibly buried emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. “Now.”

They kept close to their original plan; it would be more efficient to split up and take out any hostiles in as quick a time as possible. In addition, Natasha would work to dismantle their communications system from the inside, to avoid arousing any suspicions from the remaining hostiles. Steve entering from the south, Bucky from the north, and Natasha from the east.

They wouldn’t be able to take anyone out until Natasha succeeded, and the wait was quickly eating away at Bucky’s sense of control. Every breath in drew pain from a broken rib that he knew wasn’t his; every breath out reminded him that he had a broken nose. No, not me. Clint.

A broken rib, and a broken nose were going to be the least of Clint’s problems if they couldn’t reach him in time.

But we will, Bucky repeated to himself. We will get to him in time. Failure is never an option, and today, it’s even less of one.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Natasha signaling the all-clear. Bucky took a final breath, closing his eyes. Again, the image of Clint, unconscious and broken, came to him. I’ll save you if it’s the last thing I do.

When Bucky opened his eyes, they were clear, as was his head. He opened the unlocked door, checking the hallway before entering. If he wasn’t using all of his control to keep his mind focused on the mission, he might have laughed at a clear hallway next to an unlocked door. But to his mind, it was merely a way to find Clint quicker.

Twenty steps to a guardroom. Door open, occupants inside. Wait, and determine number of hostiles.

Bucky stood next to the door, turning his ear towards the room.

“Since when did we do maintenance on our communications array?”

“Since you messed up and got us assigned to clean up. Again.”

“But our communications never goes down, so why-”

The sentence was never finished. Bucky stepped into the room, firing a tranquilizer dart into each of the men. They dropped, never knowing what had hit them. Bucky checked the room, finding it to be filled with nothing of note. He closed the door behind him and continued on.

Seventy steps to next room. Empty. Fifty steps to next room. Empty.

The facility was huge, with many empty rooms and empty hallways. The lack of voices in his ear said that Natasha and Steve were finding the same thing; radio silence until they found Clint.

Bucky turned down another hallway, where a bloody handprint painted one of the walls. It trailed off, as though the owner of it had been dragged away. In the next step, Bucky was jolted by a cattle prod to his ribs, pushing him to his knees.

“How many times do you want to hear me say I don’t know anything!”

Clint’s voice. But Bucky wasn’t in the room with him. His hand went to his ribs, where no evidence of being hit showed. Clint’s still alive. Focus on that.

“Someone is here to rescue you,” the Cowboy said, twirling his cattle prod in his hand. “Why would they do that, if you don’t know anything?”

Clint opened his eyes, slowly, and saw Bucky. His face had a brief moment of relief, before falling. He looked back to the Cowboy and shook his head. “I don’t know, okay? That’s me, not knowing anything, ever.”

“I think we shall move him,” the Cowboy said, turning to look at Bucky. Bucky blinked, someone behind him stepped through him, towards the door.

“We can be out of here in five.”

“Make it three,” the Cowboy said, turning back to Clint with a sadistic smile. “We’re far from through, you and I.”

“Oh joy,” Clint muttered, before falling unconscious again, from the pain. Bucky let out the scream that Clint couldn’t, feeling Clint’s consciousness fall away, feeling himself close to following.

When he could see again, he found himself face to face with a mercenary. He reached out, his hands landed on solid flesh, and he dragged the body towards him. He did not hold back, punching the mercenary with his left hand, hearing the bones in his face crunch beneath his fist. He dropped the body, stomping on it’s knees to ensure that he wouldn’t be followed.

He left the room, seeking out more targets. He didn’t have to search far; three more bodies came flying at him. He disposed of them with ease, realizing that he only sought one target:

The Cowboy.

He cleared hallway after hallway; the Cowboy couldn’t have gotten far. With each step, his mission became clearer.

Primary Objective: find the Cowboy. Make him suffer. Prolonged suffering, better.

Sub Primary Objective: find Barton. Ensure his safety.

Each step brought more and more ways for him to ensure that the Cowboy would not be finding peace anytime soon.

His attention was snared by two figures at the end of the hallway. Neither of them made to move, which would be their final mistake.

He ran at them; one figure stood forward and urged the other to leave. That was smart and would prolong the pain this first figure would get.

He swung, aiming for the figure’s head, before connecting with the figure’s arm. He tried again, and the figure blocked, again. And again. And again.

He pulled out a knife; the figure disarmed him with ease.

He pulled out a pistol; the figure kicked it out of his hands.

He didn’t have time for this. He bent low, and drove at the figure, wrapping his arms around the figure’s waist and slamming him to the ground. Taking advantage of the figure’s shock, he turned them over, leaning his back against the wall for leverage. He wrapped his arms around the figure’s neck and squeezed.

The figure tried to get away, was trying to say something. He couldn’t hear anything, but curiosity got him to lighten the pressure a touch.

“Bucky…” the figure gasped, clearly running out of oxygen.

Hearing Steve's voice was equivalent to an ice-cold bucket of water being poured over Bucky's head. He immediately released his hold and pushed Steve away as he struggled to clear his head. Bucky took huge gulps of air as Steve crouched in front of him.

"Bucky. What the hell happened?" Steve asked, voice slightly hoarse. "You haven't had an episode in over a year."

Bucky closed his eyes against Steve's worried expression and let his head fall back against the wall. Fourteen months and a little over a week, Bucky thought. Not since he'd started to drop into an episode, only to have Clint's laughter cut through the fog in his mind. It had been enough to snap Bucky back to himself and when he'd met Clint's eyes across the room, Bucky had seen empathy, not pity. They'd gravitated toward each other and Bucky liked to believe he'd helped Clint as much as Clint had helped him. They were headed someplace good—together—but now…

"Bucky," Steve said insistently and Bucky forced his eyes open. "Can you continue the mission? I've secured Cowboy and the detonator, but we still need to find Clint. Where's Clint?"

Bucky shook his head. "He's gone," he croaked and then had to clamp his jaw tight against the sob that threatened to escape.

Steve's face drained of color. "What? No… No, he can't be…"

"It's gone," Bucky grated out. "I can't feel him."

"That doesn't mean…"

Bucky clenched his fists and shook his head again. Without the focused blankness of the Soldier, he couldn't ignore the lack of connection, the lack of pain. Even when Clint had been unconscious, there had been a presence in the back of Bucky's mind. Now it was gone and it felt like his chest was collapsing from within. His whole world was collapsing and he had no one to blame but himself. He'd been too slow, too distracted, too late.

Steve blinked at him and Bucky had to turn away from the anguish he saw in his eyes. It didn't matter to him how losing Clint would impact the others. Bucky wanted to remain selfish in his grief. The agony of loss—the hole in his life, his heart, his future—was all he had left.

"Breaking radio silence."

Bucky flinched as Natasha's voice crackled through the comm.

"I've got Clint," she continued. "Stark—I need medevac now."

"On my way," Stark responded as Bucky's heart felt like it stopped, stuttered, and re-started. "I've got a lock on your tracker. Coming in from the east. Stay away from the walls."

Bucky jumped up and started to run as Steve spoke into his comm, "Natasha. Is Clint…?"

"Barely conscious, but still breathing…" Natasha answered crisply before her voice dropped to a whisper. "C'mon Clint. Keep breathing."

There was the familiar sound of whining repulsors and Bucky stopped in the hallway to listen. He was on the far east side of the building but didn't know whether to turn left or right. He waited for Stark's blast to hit its target and then followed the sound of crumbling masonry. He burst into the room just as Stark was crouching down next to Clint. Bucky skidded to a stop as both Stark and Natasha's arms came up to point their weapons at him.

"Just me," Bucky said as he continued forward and dropped to his knees next to Clint. He reached out with shaky fingers, almost afraid to touch and have Clint dissolve into a dream. Bucky ghosted his fingers along Clint's forehead before gently pressing his palm against Clint's cheek. Clint's eyes fluttered open and Bucky let out a weak laugh that trailed off into a gasp filled with unshed tears.

"Buck…" His name more a movement of Clint's lips than actual sound.

"Hey doll," Bucky whispered back. "You're alive."

"We need to get moving if we're going to keep him that way," Stark interrupted bluntly, though Bucky could see the concern in his eyes when he looked up to meet them. "Bruce is waiting in the 'jet to stabilize him and we've got the nearest hospital on standby. Help me lift him."

Bucky nodded and Stark dropped his faceplate as they carefully maneuvered their arms beneath Clint's battered body. Steve came up next to Bucky and helped support Clint's neck and head before laying it gently against the armor. The three of them got Clint cradled securely in Starks' arms, but then he didn't move.

"You need to let go, Bucky."

Bucky startled at Natasha's soft words. For a second, his hold tightened, before his mind superseded his heart and he forced himself to let go. Bucky and Stark each took a step away from each other, and then Iron Man was in the air taking Clint away.

Steve placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder and gave it a supportive squeeze. "We got 'im back, Buck. Alive. He's a fighter, you know that. He'll be okay."

"What made you think he wasn't alive?" Natasha asked.

Bucky turned away from where Iron Man was no longer visible from the hole in the wall. "Connection's gone. It, uh, dropped earlier and I thought it meant…"

Natasha's brow furrowed slightly, not enough for most people to notice, but enough to raise Bucky's concern.

"What? What is it?" he prodded. "What aren't you saying?"

Natasha hesitated for a second and then looked away from Bucky, toward where Clint had disappeared with Stark. "We don't know how the connection started or what makes it work."

"And?"

"And Clint's injuries include severe head trauma."

Bucky felt his blood run cold. "We need to get to the hospital."

Clint died on the operating table and Bucky knew because he felt every rush of electricity it took to bring him back again.

He screamed, falling to the floor, as it felt like his own chest was cracking open with the force of it, his own body trembling in reaction, and when it was over -- when Clint was gone for good or back again, he couldn’t be sure -- the bond faded away again and there was nothing.

Stunned, panting, Bucky laid very still on the floor, staring up at the hospital ceiling, as Steve panicked beside him.

“What is it?” he said. “Bucky, what’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?”

“His heart stopped,” Bucky said finally, his voice slow, slurred. He didn’t know what to think or what to do, felt like his entire world was held suspended while he waited wanted for a doctor or a nurse or someone, anyone, to come and tell him if Clint was still alive or not.

The bond wouldn’t tell him anything.

Natasha swore, stormed off, probably to threaten information out of someone, and Steve just sat beside Bucky on the floor and looked haunted.

“He’s going to be okay,” Steve said.

Bucky just wasn’t sure that was true.

“I shoulda taken him out sooner,” he said, licking his dry lips and blinking. He felt like he should be crying or screaming or breaking something, but all he felt was a numb, icy sort of stillness. He didn’t know what his life would look like after this -- if Clint would still be around to be part of it.

And it was all such fucking bullshit.

“But then the rest of us woulda missed out on your epic trainwreck flirtations in the lounge,” Steve joked weakly. “Tony would have won the betting pool instead of Wanda -- he thought you guys were hooking up months ago.”

Bucky blinked at Steve and offered a faint, distant smile and said, “We should have been.”

Steve took his hand, squeezing. “You’ll still have that chance, Buck. I promise. He’s going to be okay.”

Bucky clung to his hand and closed his eyes and said, “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Stevie.”

“No one will tell me anything,” Natasha snapped, coming back balancing three cups of coffee. “Get off the floor, Barnes. It’s disgusting.”

“That’s good though,” Steve said, helping Bucky up, guiding him to a chair when Bucky was still too stunned to navigate the waiting room on his own. “That means they’re still working -- they’re still doing the surgery. If he died, they’d have something to tell us.”

“So we wait,” Natasha said.

Bucky was so fucking tired of waiting.

It took four more hours before a doctor appeared in the waiting room, looking exhausted.

“He’s out of surgery,” he explained. “He had lost a lot of blood but we’ve managed to stabilize him for the moment. His body has sustained a lot of trauma, and we had to remove his spleen. We also had a lot of internal hemorrhaging to deal with, but I think we’ve managed to catch it all. Externally, he suffered cuts, abrasions, bruising, a few contusions, and a pretty substantial wound from a knife or something similar along his side that required 37 stitches. It was a lot of stress on his system, so during surgery, his heart stopped, but not long enough to cause any serious concerns when it comes to brain function. The biggest concern, however, is his extensive head trauma -- a fractured skull and some bleeding on the brain. We won’t know the extent of it until the swelling subsides, and for now, all we can do is wait and see. For the moment,all we can do is wait for him to wake up.”

“Is he in pain?” Natasha asked, with a quick look at Bucky, who was feeling too off-balance to think of anything to say. It was a lot and Clint wasn’t a super soldier, and Bucky wanted to go back to that compound and find everyone responsible for Clint’s pain and tear them to pieces.

“No,” the doctor told them. “I suspect he stopped feeling any pain before he even arrived here. The human body can only withstand so much, and he probably went into shock and stopped feeling anything at all. Research on how much a coma patient is aware of is mixed, but he is so heavily medicated that even if he is aware of what’s going on around him, he isn’t feeling it.”

“When will he wake up?” Bucky asked, his voice rough and shaky.

The doctor looked apologetic. “It’s impossible to say.”

After he left, Natasha said grimly, “Maybe that’s why the bond faded. He went into shock, he wasn’t in pain anymore. He didn’t feel it.”

“That’s good at least, isn’t it, Buck? That he’s not hurting anymore?”

Bucky swallowed hard and didn’t know how to find the words to explain how selfish he was -- that he’d rather Clint was aware enough to feel just a little bit of pain so that Bucky could feel that he was still there. The echoing emptiness where the connection used to be was dark and cold and Bucky shouldn’t have gotten so used to being able to feel Clint in the small time that he’d been able to, but he had.

They let Natasha and Bucky in to see Clint a short while later, and it was awful. Clint looked small, pale, hooked up to too many wires and monitors, but at least the steady beeping of the heart monitor was proof that he was still alive.

Natasha, strangely, handled seeing Clint like that worse than Bucky did. She was pale, pacing the room, like seeing him there, alive at least, wasn’t enough to calm her. Bucky dragged a chair over and sat as close as he could and held Clint’s hand and said, “Hey, doll. Told ya we’d come for you. I’m sorry I took so long. This is all my fault.”

“It’s not,” she said finally, furious and shaking her head. “It wasn’t you. It was me. The men who took Clint, I knew them. They were after me.”

Bucky blinked at her and smoothed his thumb soothingly over Clint’s hand and said, “Why would they take Clint if they wanted you?”

“Because everyone knows Clint’s the only one who ever got close enough to me to make a difference,” she snapped, more off balance than Bucky had ever seen her. “Because they couldn’t get to me but they knew I’d come for him.”

Bucky had to decide whether standing up to demand an explanation out of Natasha, by force if necessary, was worth turning his focus away from Clint for even a moment.

“They used him, to get to you?” He eventually settled on, not turning his gaze from Clint.

He heard Natasha settle across the bed from him, but didn’t look up as she spoke. “They did.”

“Who are they?”

“They… I once worked with them.” Natasha pausing, not immediately sure of her words, was almost enough to lift Bucky’s gaze. “Undercover. My first mission, actually, for SHIELD. Infiltrate the organization, find my way to a position of power, uncover their plans, exfiltrate, SHIELD arrests them, end of mission.”

Natasha fell silent. Bucky looked up to see her reaching out towards Clint’s hand, but not touching it.

“What happened, Natasha?”

She looked up, and the pain was clear in her voice. “They caught me looking through files I didn’t have clearance for. They threw me in a cell for three days, barely enough food and water to survive. And on that fourth day, they came with a deal: join them, and take down SHIELD, and I could walk out of that cell alive. If I refused, that cell would become my tomb.”

“You took the deal.”

“I took the deal,” Natasha confirmed, looking up at Clint’s face to find him still unconscious. “I was watched around the clock. I had no way of contacting anyone for help. Until they left me alone on the way to their first strike against SHIELD. It was a small base, and they probably would have succeeded. If I hadn’t been able to send a message in warning. They walked into a trap, and were all lead into cells of their own.”

Natasha fell silent, but something didn’t add up in the story. “What aren’t you saying?”

“Clint was there when we landed. He was so proud of me, having proven that I could be trusted.” Natasha looked to Bucky, her eyes full of sadness. “I never told him that I was more tempted by their offer than I should have been. I probably would have helped them to attack SHIELD, I was so ready to run at the first opportunity I had.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“What makes you think they set this up as a trap for you?”

“Cowboy was there. He saw the way Clint smiled at me, and the way I smiled back. I don’t think I smiled once during the entire operation. He saw something there, and he had a lot of time in a SHIELD prison to think about his revenge. Even if Clint hadn’t worked as bait, they would not have seen it as a failure. Trap SHIELD, or trap me, or even the Avengers; Clint was a target that could get them exactly what they wanted.”

“But they didn’t. Clint is alive,” Bucky said as he squeezed Clint’s hand, ignoring the lack of response from Clint besides the monitors around him indicating that his heart still beat. “He’s alive.”

“Clint died, more than once.”

“He once told me that you weren’t truly a hero until you had died a couple of times.”

Natasha’s entire body seemed to freeze, and the time that it took for her to turn her head and look at Bucky seemed to stretch for an eternity. “He told you about that?”

“He did, yes,” Bucky answered evenly, not sure what had Natasha so on edge.

“He doesn’t talk about that with anyone.”

“I think we can both agree that at this point, I am hardly anyone.”

“So it would seem,” Natasha said, the life seeming to come back into her. She turned back to look at Clint’s face but continued to talk to Bucky. “How much has he spoken with you?”

“Bits and pieces, here and there. At first, I thought that he was having a joke—he had just lost at poker, told me that I had to be nice to him since he’d died three times in his life. I took it as Barton Exaggeration at it’s finest, and didn’t think any more of it.”

“Until?” Natasha prompted when Bucky fell silent.

“Until one night,” Bucky said, knowing that this kind of story wouldn’t be new to Natasha. “One night, at three in the morning, I’m sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal, and Clint walks in, white as a ghost. He sat down further along the table and just stared into space for a while. I pushed my bowl of cereal to him, and he ate it without really knowing what he was doing. Once he had finished, he looked at me, as though surprised to see me.”

“I know the look,” Natasha said, confirming Bucky’s suspicions. “It’s not a look I like to see on his face.”

“Agreed,” Bucky said, before continuing. “Clint then went to leave, and I told him that it was okay, I wouldn’t judge him for having a nightmare. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the face he made at me in response to that; it was a blend of shock, relief, bitterness, acceptance, and a bit of hope. He sat down, closer to me this time, and told me about the first time he died. His hands were shaking the whole time he signed to me. He told me later that he had woken up screaming, and his voice wasn’t anything more than a whisper.”

“If Clint ever forgives me for this, I hope that you can as well,” Natasha said. “I never wanted to add to that terrible number of his.”

“I—”

Whatever Bucky was going to say was interrupted by Clint’s hand tightening around his own. The monitors didn’t change from their beeping, but Clint’s hand was holding onto Bucky’s hand as though that connection was the only thing in the world.

Bucky stood up, not letting go of Clint’s hand, leaning so that he could watch Clint’s face for any sign of movement. “Clint, please, please, wake up.”

Clint’s eyes remained closed, not so much as a twitch. Bucky wanted to scream in frustration. Why did this connection between them have to be based on pain? He wanted so badly to reach Clint, to make sure that he knew he was safe now. Why did he have to be so fucking useless now when it felt like it mattered most?

He couldn’t bring himself to let go of Clint’s hand – some irrational fear that if he let go he would lose him again – so he brought his metal hand up to gently cup Clint’s cheek, tapping his fingers lightly against Clint’s skin. They had taken Clint’s hearing aids out during surgery, so Bucky was hoping to reach him with tactile comfort.

“Please… feel me…”

There was a strange pull at the edge of his consciousness, like the feeling of a small child reaching up tugging at the hem of his shirt to get his attention. Some instinct that he couldn’t quite understand had him closing his eyes and leaning into the sensation, allowing it to take him by the hand and lead him along through the darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, he had to blink several times before he could even begin to comprehend his surroundings. The hospital room and all the sounds and smells that went along with it were gone. In its place… well, Bucky wasn’t quite sure where he was. There was dirt under his feet, but some kind of structure that rose above him, enclosing him in a large space. After a minute, a memory surfaced… him and Steve attending the circus so many years ago that it seemed like a couple dozen lifetimes.

This particular big top was eerily empty… except for one lone figure standing in the center ring.

Bucky walked forward, the only sound a rhythmic TWACK… TWACK… TWACK… of arrows sinking into the shabby target set up on the opposite side of the ring. Clint stood there, looking healthy and whole with none of the injuries Bucky had seen just minutes before. He was dressed in his usual torn blue jeans and a worn purple t-shirt. The strap of his quiver was looped through one of his belt loops so that it hung easily at his hip.

Clint didn’t react as Bucky approached him coming to a stop several steps away. Clint remained steady and sure with each familiar, methodical movement. He drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it on his bow. He lifted the bow and drew the string back to his cheek in one swift motion. He anchored and held the tension for a moment before he let the arrow fly. Then he was drawing another arrow before the first had even hit the target.

For several rounds, Bucky simply watched. He had always been mesmerized by Clint’s archery practice. Outside of the field when lives weren’t on the line, Bucky could watch Clint practice for hours. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t done that before without Clint’s knowledge. There was just something quietly poetic about the bow and arrow. No one could make firing a sniper rifle look that enthralling.

“Your hands are cold.”

Bucky was startled out of his daze when Clint spoke. It took him a minute to really understand what Clint was saying. He looked down at his metal hand, remembering how he had cupped Clint’s cheek.

“You felt that?” Bucky asked.

Clint released an arrow, and then his free hand wandered to his own cheek, his own fingers brushing his skin much like Bucky had. “I… think so.”

Bucky suddenly felt a spike of concern as the situation finally hit him. If the connection to Clint was back…

“Are you in pain?”

Clint paused as he considered that carefully for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

Bucky let out a relieved breath as he took a step closer. “But then… how am I here?”

Clint turned his head slightly so that he could look sideways at him, a subdued smile on his lips. “I invited you.”

Bucky didn’t understand it, but he wasn’t about to question it. He was here and that’s all that mattered.

“Do you remember what happened?” Bucky asked anxiously, taking another step closer.

The smile immediately turned to a frown. Clint fidgeted anxiously with his free hand for a moment before he drew another arrow from his quiver, set up and fired. From there, he settled back into the comforting rhythm.

“Just bits and pieces,” he finally admitted, his brow furrowing in confusion as he continued to fire. “I can’t make much sense of it.”

Maybe that was for the best for the moment.

Bucky’s gaze wandered around the empty space again still trying to make sense of it. It finally dawned on him why it felt so unnatural. Besides Clint firing arrows, there was absolutely no sound – no wind blew outside, no animals or insects made noise, no life at all besides the two of them made itself known. It was as if there were nothing but a vacuum outside of this tent. It was unnerving.

“Will you stay here with me?”

Bucky’s gaze snapped back to Clint. “Stay? What are you talking about, Clint?”

Clint let an arrow fly before he finally turned to fully look at Bucky for the first time. He was smiling but there was something strained behind his eyes. “I want to stay here. And I want you to stay here with me. We could be happy here, don’t you think? Just me and you. No more fighting, no more nightmares.”

“We… uh, we can’t stay here,” Bucky stuttered, thrown by the sudden turn of events. “We need to go home.”

Clint features cracked, the hopeful look dissolving into a pained disappointment. “I’m… I’m tired, Buck,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t wanna fight anymore.”

“I know, babydoll,” Bucky said as he moved forward, finally closing the rest of the space between them. He placed his flesh hand on the side of Clint’s face. “I know. I hate asking this of you, but I need you to fight just once more. I need you to come home, Clint. I can’t stay here and I’m not ready to be without you.” Clint’s gaze broke, shattering to reveal just how deep his pain went. Bucky wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in close, Clint bracing his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder. “Will you come home with me? Please?”

“Maybe,” Clint muttered against Bucky’s shoulders. “Don’t know if I’m strong enough. Never have been before.”

“Clint,” Bucky sighed, rubbing Clint’s back. “You’re the strongest person I know. You just follow me, and we’ll be back in that hospital room. I’ll be holding your hand, by your side. I haven’t moved since they brought you out of surgery.”

Clint lifted up his head, looking at Bucky with a slightly dazed expression. “Why?”

“Because a world without you in it, just doesn’t seem like the kind of world I want to live in.” Bucky reached up to cup Clint’s cheek, echoing the movement from earlier. “Come back, and I’ll take you out on that date I owe you.”

“Think it’s me who owes you,” Clint said, closing his eyes and leaning against Bucky’s hand. “You really think I’m worth it?”

“I know you are.”

That seemed to make up Clint’s mind. He lifted his head, nodding as he wiped at his eyes. “Right. We’re going to need to talk about this at some point, you realize? And I’m not going to want to talk much. In here, I’m whole, out there, not so much. It’ll take time.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re really not,” Clint said to himself, as though he was still surprised by Bucky’s reactions. He looked around the empty tent one last time. “I really hope this wasn’t just a dream.”

“You and me both.”

Clint stepped back into Bucky’s space, reaching up to hold his face. “If this is a dream, I’m going to get a kiss from you. For luck.”

“For luck,” Bucky echoed, mirroring Clint’s smile as Clint leant down to kiss Bucky.

Noise was the first thing Bucky noticed.

In the space of a heartbeat, he had gone from kissing Clint, to being back in the hospital room. However, he was no longer sitting next to Clint’s bed, but was in his own. He sat up, pulling at the wires connected to his body.

“What’s happening?” He asked nobody in particular. On one side of his bed a curtain had been placed and on the other side...

“You collapsed beside Clint’s bed, and have been in a coma for the past day.”

Bucky turned to find Steve standing beside his bed, looking as though he hadn’t slept in a week.

“A coma? A day?” Bucky shook his head. “No, that’s…”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I was holding Clint’s hand, he showed signs of movement, then… Clint,” Bucky breathed out the name, monitors beeping with his racing heart rate.

Steve put a hand on his shoulder. “He hasn’t woken up yet. He’s just behind that curtain; when you fell unconscious, Natasha made sure that they didn’t move you from the room.”

As Steve spoke, the curtain opened, to reveal Natasha, and…

“Clint,” Bucky sighed, dropping his hands into his hands in relief.

“He says you promised him you’d be holding his hand when you woke up,” Natasha said, accompanied by a poke to Bucky’s shoulder. “He is most put out that you fell into your own coma instead.”

“How is he?”

“Ask him yourself,” Natasha said as she stepped aside, making room for Bucky to get out of bed. Not needing to be asked twice, he removed the wires from his body and stumbled out of bed and over to Clint’s side.

Clint was sitting up, watching Bucky with wide eyes. “Not a dream, then.”

Bucky shook his head, his smile threatening to take over his face. “Not a dream.”

“You fell into a coma? Are you alright?”

“Of course you’re asking after me,” Bucky sighed with a laugh, signing along with his words. “I’m sure someone will be by to tell me why I shouldn’t be out of bed, but I’m fine. Seeing you awake again, makes everything better.”

“Being awake again reminds me of how many bones I broke.” Clint rolled his eyes. “I’m going to be sidelined for ages!”

Bucky looked over at Steve and Natasha, who silently left the room in order to go and find a doctor. He looked back to Clint and smiled. “They’re gone. Is it a bad thing to be sidelined for a bit?”

Clint looked away as he answered. “It’s not. I need time to… to recover. To find myself, as it were.”

Bucky reached out to take Clint’s hand, giving it a squeeze. He waited for Clint to look back before replying. “I’ll be there. As much as you want me, or as little.”

“Oh, it will be a lot of wanting. Now that I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go.” Clint frowned slightly. “Is the mind link permanent?”

Bucky shrugged. “No idea. Didn’t even know it was a thing until now. Is that going to be a problem?”

Clint shook his head. “Don’t think so? Though, if you start sensing inappropriate thoughts during meetings, I can’t be held responsible.”

Bucky laughed at that. “Trust you to think of that.”

“It seems like a valid concern,” Clint smiled back, before sighing. “I don’t want the others to know that I’m going to enjoy the time off. I don’t think I can handle anyone trying to tell me it’s a result of trauma.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“You’re too good for me,” Clint smiled. “Luckiest guy in the world.” Clint’s face fell. “Lucky. Where is he?”

“Kate’s got him, he’s perfectly safe.”

“Oh, good, good.” Clint closed his eyes briefly. “I’m tired. I’ve been unconscious how long, and I’m still tired?”

“Your body needs time to recover, remember?”

“Yay.”

Bucky stood up to kiss Clint’s forehead. “You’re about to get a visit from a doctor, so be ready for that.”

“Awesome,” Clint muttered as the door opened, and Doctor Cho walked in.

“Ah, my favorite doctor. Bring your fancy new cradle this time?”

“Ah, my favorite patient,” Doctor Cho smiled at Bucky as she walked around to the other side of Clint’s bed. “As I told you last time, the cradle still isn’t ready.”

“Shame,” Clint muttered, as Bucky squeezed his hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said, leaving the room after Clint smiled at him.

“I can’t wait until we get the hell out of here and can get some real goddamn food,” Bucky griped as he eyed the selection of food in the hospital cafeteria.

“You know you’re allowed to leave,” Steve reminded him. He picked up a small plate with… something brown and square on it and made a face. “What do you think this supposed to be?”

Bucky barely heard him as he distastefully eyed the food options. He did know that he was allowed to leave. It had been two days and Clint was on the mend. But somehow, Bucky still had to talk himself in to just leaving the room, let alone leaving the building. He had Steve bring him clean clothes. He would leave briefly for bathroom breaks and to hit the hospital cafeteria twice a day. But other than that, he hadn’t left Clint’s side. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to. Whenever Clint wasn’t in his sight, Bucky found himself feeling restless and off balance.

He couldn’t lose him again.

Bucky ran his hand over the back of his neck. Was it getting warm in here all of a sudden?

“Bucky? Are you going to get something?”

Bucky glanced over to see Steve eyeing his empty tray. “I’m not really hungry,” he admitted.

Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You said you were hungry when we left.”

Bucky furrowed his brow. He had said that, hadn’t he? “I’ve got this pain in my side,” he admitted. He put the tray down and braced himself on the counter in front of him.

“Buck?” Steve said, putting down his own tray and stepping closer. “You okay?”

Bucky took a deep, steadying breath. Then he felt a now familiar presence touch his consciousness.

Bucky? Are you there?

It was still a strange mixture of exhilaration and fear every time he heard Clint’s voice in his head.

Clint?

Bucky… I need you.

Something had gone wrong.

Bucky didn’t remember making the decision to move. The next thing he knew he was tearing through the hallways of the hospital, Steve calling after him, confused.

He dodged past a confused and annoyed sea of faces as he moved through the hospital. The elevator was too slow. He took the stairs three at a time. What had taken them ten minutes when they had originally made the trip between Clint’s room and the cafeteria, Bucky made it back in three.

“Clint?” Bucky gasped as he burst back into Clint’s hospital room.

He had honestly expected a more dramatic scene. Instead, he walked in to find Clint exactly where he had left him. The only notable difference was there was now a doctor in the room.

“Oh good, I’m having problems with communication,” the doctor said with relief when he saw Bucky striding across the room. “Could you help translate?”

“What’s going on?” Bucky demanded, looking Clint over critically.

He did look worse than he had before. There was a sheen of sweat on his face, he looked paler than he had before and there was a dazed look in his eyes. Even so, those eyes snagged on Bucky immediately and there was a spark of relief in his gaze.

“Please tell Mr. Barton that he has spiked a fever and ask him if he’s feeling any pain,” the doctor instructed.

Pain. That’s why the connection was back. Bucky felt his heart twist in his chest at the realization as he translated what the doctor told him into sign language for Clint. But Clint’s brow only furrowed in confusion.

“Your glove,” Clint rasped, motioning tiredly toward Bucky.

It took a moment for it to click in Bucky’s head. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and had put a glove on his metal hand in an attempt to not bring attention to it while he moved through the hospital. The only glove he had was a black one, which was probably making it hard for Clint to see the signs, especially since he was still struggling a bit with the head trauma.

Bucky took a fortifying breath before he carefully removed the glove. He was always self-conscious about displaying his metal arm among civilians.

He repeated the signs, moving his hands slowly and carefully to make it easier for Clint to follow.

“Yeah, my side hurts where the incision is,” Clint confirmed.

“Do we need to be worried?” Bucky asked the doctor anxiously, though he continued to sign so that Clint could still be included in the conversation.

“It’s likely an infection,” the doctor informed them. “It’s not uncommon with a splenectomy. The spleen plays a crucial role in the body's ability to fight off bacteria and about fifty percent of patients who have their spleen removed will end up with a severe infection during recovery. The good news is that we’ve caught it early and can be proactive and aggressive with antibiotics. I’ll order some tests and get him started on stronger antibiotics right away. Then we can go from there.”

Clint brought his fingers to his lips and moved his hand in the doctor’s direction, a tired thank you sign as he apparently didn’t want to put forth the effort to speak.

“Thank you,” Bucky reiterated gratefully to the doctor just before he left. Bucky sighed as he turned back to Clint. He folded one leg underneath him so that he could sit half on the bed and squarely face Clint while he signed. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Clint smirked. Thought I’d use this link to my advantage a bit.

Bucky grinned as he heard Clint’s voice in his head. His telepathic voice sounded much stronger than his spoken voice in this state.

“Is everything okay?”

Bucky turned to see a breathless Steve hurrying into the room, looking around in a panic. Bucky imagined he had looked very similar when he had burst in minutes before. But before he could answer, a noise behind him had Bucky immediately turning back to Clint. Bucky thought he was coughing… until he saw the strained smile on his face.

The son of a bitch was laughing. Only Clint could be bedridden and still find Captain America running into his room in an over-the-top panic funny. And while Bucky wanted to reprimand him for making light of the situation, he couldn’t help it, that damn laugh was infectious.

"It ain't funny," Bucky said gruffly, but couldn't keep the frown on his face. His smile escaped as Clint continued to laugh despite the way it made both of their sides twinge in pain. "Clint's fine," Bucky added for Steve's benefit. "Infection and a fever. Doc's getting him meds."

Steve let out a loud exhale of relief as Clint's laughter subsided into a wide grin. Clint's eyes were still dancing with barely contained mirth and Bucky shook his head, a wave of fondness flowing through him. God, I love you, you big dork, he thought.

Clint's jaw suddenly went slack and his eyes widened in shock. Bucky felt his own eyes widen when he realized that Clint must have heard him through the connection.

"You heard that?" Bucky asked out loud and Clint nodded.

"Uh…" Steve said from behind him, clearly having sensed that something had happened to change the mood in the room. "I'm just gonna go, um, back to the cafeteria and pay for our food. Is, uh… Buck?"

Bucky forced himself to look away from Clint and turn his head to give Steve a reassuring smile. "We're good. Why don't you grab me a sandwich and I'll meet you down there later?"

"Sure." Steve hesitated, glancing between Bucky and Clint for a second, before walking out of the room.

When Bucky turned back to face Clint, he was looking down at his hands where he was picking at the blanket. The silence stretched between them.

Bucky hadn't meant for Clint to hear his declaration, hadn't even admitted it to himself that his feelings for Clint went that deep. He couldn't, however, deny the truth behind his uninhibited thought. Bucky looked at Clint's downturned head—probably expecting Bucky to take back what he said—and felt another wave of emotion flow through him. Through all the ups and downs of the past few days, what stood out most to Bucky was the overwhelming relief of having Clint back, alive and mostly whole, and the fear of having run out of time. He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and made the leap.

We were meant to go on dates first. Bucky sent through the connection, unwilling to trust his signing skills or Clint's lip reading to get them through this conversation. But I'm willing to do things a little backwards, if you are.

Clint's head snapped up and, this time, his eyes were wide with hope. You…?

Not taking it back, cuz it's true. I already told you I'm not going anywhere.

A slow smile spread across Clint's face and his eyes wandered toward the box holding his hearing aids. Bucky made sure Clint's eyes were back on him before he shook his head firmly. From what Bucky had gathered, the docs were surprised that Clint's ears hadn't been damaged further from having his aids in while he'd been beaten and tortured. As much as Bucky understood Clint's dependency on his hearing aids, Bucky wasn't about to let him do anything harmful.

"Not until the docs say it's okay to put them back in," Bucky signed.

Clint pouted but didn't argue further. He'd been surprisingly amiable to his hospital stay so far. Bucky wasn't sure if it was due to his and Natasha's constant presence or the extent of Clint's injuries. He watched Clint settle back against the pillows tiredly and hoped this would be the last complication they'd have to face before Clint could be moved back to the Tower.

Pretty sure the feeling's mutual. Clint said through the connection and then looked away from Bucky. Just… I'm not good at this.

Bucky remembered what Clint had said in the circus tent, about how talking out here would be different. He reached out and took Clint's fever-warm hand in his.

Like I said, I'm here as long as you want me. Not usually good at this either. You're not the only one broken out here.

A nurse came in and Bucky waited patiently as she measured out a syringe and injected it into Clint's IV. She gave Clint and Bucky a nod when she was done, then left as quietly as she'd come in.

Dates? Clint asked even though Bucky could see how tired the fever was making him. More than dinner?

Yeah. I had a couple of things on my list. Why? You didn't?

Didn't want to get my hopes up.

Even in his head, Clint sounded small and unsure and it made Bucky's chest ache. Well start thinkin'. I ain't doing all the work. You gotta come up with date ideas too.

"Always wanted to go BASE jumping…" Clint murmured out loud before promptly falling asleep.

Bucky was still staring at Clint, dumbfounded, when Natasha appeared at the door.

"I thought you were getting lunch. Did something happen?" she asked as she stepped further into the room. Natasha, unlike Steve and Bucky, had refused to eat in the cafeteria after one attempt.

Bucky stood while Natasha settled in the chair next to Clint's bed. "Infection and a fever. They gave him antibiotics."

Natasha frowned. "The heavy ones usually make Clint queasy."

"I'll let them know on my way back down," Bucky offered and Natasha nodded. He wasn't sure what compelled him to add, "I, uh, also told Clint I loved him."

Natasha's non-reaction wasn't what Bucky was expecting.

"Bucky," she said after a beat. "Anyone who's been around you for the past few days already knew that. Anyone except Clint, that is."

"Oh."

"I'm fairly certain Clint feels the same. Just don't expect…"

"Yeah," Bucky said with a shrug. "I know. He wants to go BASE jumping."

It was a testament to Natasha and Clint's friendship that it only took her one blink to connect the dots. "You may want to keep the reins on date ideas."

It took a long week and a half for Clint to be cleared to move to the medical wing at the Tower, and once he was there, it was only a matter of time before he escaped and found his way back to his own room. Bucky had tried to insist he go back downstairs where he could be under the constant supervision of a qualified medical team, but Natasha had advised he just let it go, that they were lucky he let the doctors poke at him for two weeks.

It was easier for Bucky to hover over Clint there anyway, to make sure he was comfortable and that he had all the soup and smoothies he could eat, that his pillows were perfectly fluffed, that he was entertained enough not to try wandering down to the range where he’d probably blow all his stitches open. And Clint certainly milked Bucky’s attention for all it was worth.

There had been kissing. And a little bit of cuddling, but nothing too strenuous, even when Clint had tried to insist. Bucky wasn’t willing to do anything to set back his recovery.

But there hadn’t been actual dating.

Clint had tried insisting that scheduling an evening of coffee and board games in bed counted as a date, but Bucky had refused to allow it, because their first goddamn date was going to be at that little 1940s pizzeria near Bed-Stuy the way it was supposed to have been.

It took five weeks before Clint was cleared to leave his bed, and another two before the doctors grudgingly decided a trip to Bed-Stuy wouldn’t kill him.

Bucky had wanted to wait even longer, but Clint had sneakily called and made the reservation without telling him, and had looked so hopeful and pleased with himself, Bucky hadn’t been able to say no. Even when Clint had insisted on dropping by his apartment to check on his tenants first, and spending the afternoon with Kate and Lucky.

“I’ll meet you there,” he’d said, when Bucky had wanted to go with him. Bucky had instantly argued, because he’d been struggling with letting Clint out of his sight, worried something would happen. Clint had laughed. “You’ll feel it if I do,” he’d said, which was true.

Bucky had felt every time Clint had burned his tongue on too-hot coffee, every time he’d stubbed his toe. Clint found it hilarious.

The night of their date finally arrived and Bucky had watched Clint set off for Bed-Stuy without him, though he’d finally given in and agreed to take Natasha. After that, Bucky spent a few hours working off his anxiety by training with Steve in the gym, and then he’d dressed in his best suit and borrowed Tony’s car.

He arrived early and settled in to wait outside the restaurant, the same way he’d done all those weeks before, and he knew Clint was always late and he knew he’d gotten there so early that it would be a while, but it didn’t help him worry that Clint wasn’t going to show.

It got dark and the street lights flickered on. Bucky continued to check his phone for any emergency text messages. Clint was late, something had happened, something had to have happened, Bucky was so fucking stupid for thinking he got to have this…

Just as he was about to give up and call Natasha and panic, Clint hurried around the corner.

Clint looked nervous, ducking his head and rubbing at the back of his neck. He’d made some attempt to tame his hair but it still looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, though he’d dressed up in his best suit, same as Bucky, and he looked like a dream. Bucky just wanted to go over there and muss him up so the rest of him matched his hair.

“Hi,” Bucky breathed, Clint just as he looked up, his cheeks pink, a bright grin on his face.

“I’m late,” Clint said, sheepish.

“Worth waiting for,” Bucky told him, and then he couldn’t help tugging Clint closer and kissing him, kissing away all of his anxiety and his worries that something would happen and Clint wouldn’t make it. He kissed Clint until Clint pulled away, laughing breathlessly.

“C’mon,” he said, taking Bucky’s hand and holding tight. “You promised me pizza.”

“Pizza today, BASE jumping tomorrow,” Bucky promised, letting Clint tug him into the restaurant, laughing.

Bucky had a whole list of things he and Clint were going to do, adventures they were going to have, because he wasn’t willing to let go of this chance, not when he and Clint had both fought so hard to have it. But they had time -- forever, if Bucky got his way.

Clint shot him a smile, looking pleased and shy and sweet as hell. “I’m a little late, but I’m here as long as you want me,” he said.

He was definitely worth waiting for.

THE END.