Work Text:
Clint watched Nate chat animatedly to Yelena; eyes bright when he realized she knew sign language and asking her to show him different words and phrases; nearly laughing out loud at the blindsided expression on the young woman’s face.
He settled for a small smile when Yelena finally chanced a look.
She narrowed her eyes in turn, but there was no real venom behind it.
His phone began to vibrate on the coffee table, the screen lighting up for a video call with the image of Kate, her head thrown back in laughter, while Lucky licked her cheek; answering the call without hesitation, “Hey, Kate, are you on your way —”
Kate stared back at him with wide, wet eyes, voice muffled by the gag in her mouth. Her arms were above her head, chains rattling with the movement. Blood was caked on one side of her face. Her hair was coming lose from its usual braid. There was a gun pressed under her chin.
Yelena had gone still when he had, eyes sharp.
He signed G-O with his free hand without looking from the screen and heard Yelena take Nate out of the room, feeling a small modicum of relief that his youngest wouldn’t see or hear anything of what was about to happen. “Kate?”
“Clint Barton.” A low mechanized voice sounded and Kate’s face disappeared, replaced by a man in a simple black ski mask, dark eyes glinting maliciously. “How strange to see you in such a... mundane setting.”
Clint felt that familiar icy calm settle over him then, numbing him to the helpless rage that had fueled Ronin clawing desperately at his chest, refusing to allow any expression to show on his face. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” He almost sounded excited, “You, of course.”
“And what have I done to earn these attentions?”
Those eyes narrowed and Clint could picture his face twisting into an angry snarl as he suddenly turned and grabbed a handful of Kate’s hair and jerking her head back forcefully, exposing a pale throat marked with hand-shaped bruises as he ripped out her gag.
Clint wanted to break the hands that made them, finger by finger.
“Your bitch’s been fuckin’ up our operations.”
He dropped her head, stepping back so Clint could fully see the extent of Kate’s predicament and something deep in Clint fractured at the sight of her stripped down to a blood-soaked tank top and spandex, feet dangling inches above the ground. “And now I want to you retrieve some of our...merchandise.”
Yelena, having made a reappearance, muttered a vicious curse in Russian.
“And why would I do that?”
Another man stepped into frame and swung a crowbar, a sickening thwack of it striking flesh following and Kate’s face went tight with pain, but the fire flared bright in her eyes, refusing to be cowed. “Because you want your little sidepiece back don’t ya?”
“Ew, dude.” Kate finally spoke, voice hoarse, “He’s basically my dad.”
Another swing at her back and Kate looked to be biting back a cry, but she took a deep breath and seemed to shove it down to smile widely at her captor with blood-stained teeth, practically daring him to keep going.
Swing. Thud.
Kate coughed, “You call that a swing? I could hit harder than that when I was ten.”
Swing. Crack.
Kate’s jaw clenched, trying and failing to curl around her ribs.
Clint’s grip tightened on the phone, Yelena’s fingers digging into his arm (mindful to keep off screen), and he hoped his voice betrayed none of the anger boiling beneath the surface, “What am I supposed to be grabbing, then? Merchandise is kind of a vague descriptor.”
“Crate of guns. Semi-automatic rifles. Military grade.”
“Where?”
“On their way to the Midtown South Precinct. You must intercept the van.”
“Clint, don’t —”
Swing. Crunch .
Kate made a choked sound that time, but still managed to speak, “A solid six on that one.”
Clint wanted to yell at her to just be quiet, that antagonizing her captors wasn’t going to help, but he knew Kate. He knew that she was scared , that the quips were little more than a shield against the panic. Kate’s stubbornness wouldn’t allow her the chance for these men to see that they were getting to her.
Yelena’s nails broke skin, no doubt thinking the same thing.
Kate went silent for a long moment before she lifted her head, her breathing more strained from a possible broken rib and her eyes flicked to the phone, something apologetic and sad in those depths before she took a deep breath and opened her mouth.
Let me go.
Nat’s voice echoed in his head and Clint’s stomach dropped.
He recognized that look. Knew what it meant.
A sacrifice play. A swan song.
No.
“They’re not guns, Clint!” Kate’s voice came out in a rush. “They’re girls!”
The crowbar returned with a vengeance and Kate couldn’t hold back her scream, back arching to escape the pain as she was struck brutally again and again, bruises blossoming across pale, exposed skin, blood welling from a few strikes, before the last hit struck the side of her head and she went limp.
The camera returned to the masked man’s face, dark eyes burning into Clint’s, and he almost looked amused by whatever he saw, “Four hours. Clint Barton. Bring my stock back or she’ll replace them.”
The call disconnected.
Clint calmly pocketed the phone and Yelena released her grip, already pulling out her own and typing something in and Clint felt Laura’s gaze on him before he turned to find her standing in the doorway, “I have to go.”
He wasn’t going to lose another partner. He refused to.
Laura’s normally warm eyes were dark and flinty; a mother’s protective fury. “Bring her home.”
…
Clint shot an explosive arrow into one of the vehicles parked outside the warehouse, jumping down from his position as a dozen men streamed out the side door, picking each one off more brutally than the last while Yelena slipped in silently.
He remained stone-faced as blood sprayed and bones broke, uncaring of their screams or their begging, not when they knowingly trafficked young woman and girls or when their boss was stupid enough to give Clint Barton an ultimatum.
People always seemed to forget that before he was an Avenger, he’d been an assassin.
He dealt with the men quickly, following Yelena’s own trail of violence, stepping over the body of what was probably the masked man (his face was unrecognizable amidst the blood and broken bones) and going still when he came upon the sight of Kate still hanging limply from the chains. Bloody. Broken.
“You have her, Yelena?”
She nodded.
Clint let loose an acid arrow, the chains dissolving, and Yelena took Kate’s weight without stumbling, laying her gently on the ground and brushing dark hair from her face, murmuring lowly to her as she tried to wake her.
But she didn’t respond. Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe .
Yelena moved as soon as the realization hit him, beginning chest compressions as tears trickled down her cheeks, breathing air into her lungs again and again and Clint pleaded with the universe, to anyone that was listening to bring Kate back.
His hands, always steady, always calm, began to shake as he counted each compression.
One, two, three, four, five...
She was brighter than Clint had ever been, full of fire and joy; youthful in a way that he and Nat and Yelena had never been allowed to be. It reminded him too much of Lila, how eager she’d been to spend time with him, to learn all he knew...
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten...
She was only twenty-two. Fucking twenty-two.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen...
She was just a kid.
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty...
Kate coughed out a gasp, then whimpered, face twisting in pain.
The relief hit them; Yelena out a shaky breath and Clint’s knees buckled.
But they recovered quickly; Clint, without looking, tossed his bow to Yelena (who caught it easily) and lifted her into his arms, sending an anonymous tip to the police and leaving the warehouse without a second glance.
Nothing else mattered save for getting Kate as far from the place and the men that had hurt her.