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He looks at Ronin.
He looks over to Bullseye.
He looks back at Ronin.
He sighs.
"Clint-" Marc starts moodily. "Why are you wearing his outfit?". Clint holds the bow tight and only slightly changes the position so that the arrow would fly right past him. "Because he's wearing mine," Clint replies with angry bitterness. "Why is he even wearing the Ronin outfit?" Marc asks dryly. "It's a long story," Clint sighs and exhaustion fills the voice that makes Marc frown.
When he heard that Ronin appeared out of nowhere a few days ago, his alarm bells started ringing. The headlines that came with it didn't make things any better. This situation, however, confuses him more than it should. He had expected to save Clint from something insanely stupid. He's sure he'll save Clint from something insanely stupid, the question is what kind of stupid.
"I hate stories-" Lester begins and Marc has easily suppressed the fact that the man is still there. Your concentration falters, whispers a voice he's sure he's imagining. "The short story is Clinton pissed off the wrong people," Lester chirps, and Marc half-turns to make sure he can see Clint out of the corner of his eye. "That doesn't explain the role reversal," Marc grumbles. "He's only playing a game," Clint explains with an unbridled anger that's new even to Marc.
"That's right," Lester agrees happily, still holding his bow cocked and ready to shoot. Marc can imagine his crazy amused grin under the mask. "I don't know what's being played here," Marc begins with a firm voice. "but it ends now". He starts moving. "I don't need you to fight my battles", hisses Clint and lets go of the arrow.
Two arrows fly past him, meet in the middle and burst.
"This is going to be funny," Lester laughs, greatly amused. Marc turns to Clint, who has already drawn a new arrow on his bow. "I'm not fighting your fight," Marc growls, stepping up to Clint and grabbing him by the front of the suit. Clint tries to push him off. "I finish it".
He pushes Clint backwards, causing him to fall.
And as Clint falls, a white cloak sways over him as Marc turns around.
Due to the injuries and lack of sleep over the past few days, Clint is unable to defy gravity. His head hits the ground and there's a sickening crack he's sure he doesn't want to know what it was. Pain surges through his head and then spreads to the rest of his body.
Black dots dance before his eyes and perform a choreography that he cannot follow. He closes his eyes. Sounds of battle and unintelligible words spill over to him. Everything seems far away and he is sure he has a concussion. Damn Marc, he thinks angrily and groans in pain. I survive an explosion, but this is where my body draws a line, typical. "
Take off the damn mask," Marc suddenly says next to him and in one ruthsless movement, the mask is pulled off his face. "The suit doesn't suit you," Marc explains and Clint rolls his eyes. "Unfortunately, the other suit was already taken," he grumbles. "You better watch your stuff." "And you should stay out of certain things," Clint replies harshly and sitting up.
The world turns a bit and he suppresses the rising nausea. "I just saved your ass," Marc says grumpily and supports him a bit. It's a gentle touch on his back and his inner anger wants to push him away. Another part of him, however, wants to lean into the touch.
Fucking concussion.
"My ass didn't need a rescue. I had everything under control-” “You didn't”, Marc interrupts dryly and gets up. Clint rolls his eyes again and then his eyes drop to the front. "Why did you kill him? You weren't entitled to it," Clint says irritably and looks at the chaos that has been created. Arrows lie scattered around a dead body that almost melts into the darkness in the poorly lit environment. The only thing that clearly stands out is the crescent moon stuck in the dead man's chest.
"Maybe you're right-" Marc begins and something soft resonates with the hard tone. A hand is offered to him, Clint takes it and is carefully pulled to his feet. "but better me than you". Clint's hands firm in the soft white fabric of Marc's suit. "I don't need you for my-" "I know. But you are about to lose yourself on a path that will have dire consequences if you continue walking on it."
Clint sighs before breaking into slightly hysterical laughter. "What?" asks Marc, crossing his arms. "Only the absurdity that you want to admonish me about a dark path and its consequences," Clint explains, drawing an annoyed snort from Marc before he moves and walks away from the chaos.
Clint takes one last look at the dead man before following Marc.
The ride back to his apartment is brought in silence. Clint is still struggling with the concussion and a bag of M&M, that he found in the passenger drawer while Marc stares ahead cursing the New York traffic. If it were his car, he would drive more ruthlessly. However, it is Jake's cab and Jake is very sensitive about his belongings.
He parks the car, gets out and walks towards the building. Clint lumbers after him with slow, slightly dizzy steps. It's a better walk than on the platform, so Marc assumes Clint will be fine. He's always fine, a voice mocks and Marc has to agree. It's one of Clint's many problems. He is always fine. He could break every bone in his body, he could fall off a roof, or he could be abducted by aliens and he'd still be fine.
Marc unlocks the door, trudges up the stairs and is waiting on the landing when he hears that Clint has stopped. Clint's gaze falls into the basement. "Ghosts down there?" Marc asks casually to banish the tense mood. Clint's eyes meet his. They look tormented and exhausted. “Kind of", replies Clint and starts walking.
It takes them longer than usual to reach the apartment and when Clint finally gets there, he leans against the door while unlocking the door with shaky hands. As it swings up, Marc grabs his elbow to keep himself from falling. Clint murmurs a thank you and then enters inside. "Huh," Marc says, slightly surprised as Clint collapses onto the couch. "What?" Clint grumbles, not bothering to lift his face from the pillow.
"I was expecting a card-" begins Marc, looking around. "with pictures and purple threads tied to notes." "They're in the basement," Clint mumbles, turning sideways. "Why?" he asks, frowning. "In case anyone comes over here," Clint explains and sighs.
"Makes sense-" Marc mumbles and sits down on the couch. "I wouldn't want the Winter Soldier to see my crazy little wall either." Clint gives a derisive snort. "You know what the funny thing is?" asks Clint, not waiting for an answer. Marc probably wouldn't have answered anyway. "Of all the people who have confronted me about Ronin in the past few days, Bucky is probably the only one who really believed me when I said I wasn't."
"Congratulations, you have successfully lied to the Winter Soldier," whispers Marc and now pulls the mask off his face. A black eye adorns his face and his lip has bled. He's hurt because of me, Clint thinks, shifting his gaze forward. "Hey," Marc says softly and puts an encouraging hand on Clint's thigh. "Give me the whole picture," Marc adds, and Clint sighs.
"Parker Robbins is an asshole who deserves to be ruined," Clint declares coldly and with detachment. "Is that why Ronin should kill him? Because he's an asshole?” “I can't kill him-” Clint replies. "but I can ruin his business. I can make sure he-” “He knows you're Ronin-” Marc interrupts. "He'll make it public and ruin you."
Clint gives an exasperated sigh and is about to get up.
What are you doing?" asks Marc and also gets up. "I'm going to finish this," Clint says in a frown and a dark voice. "You're going to do something stupid," Marc replies, grabbing Clint's arm. "Tomorrow morning he'll put a bounty on you and tell everyone about your little secret. If you leave now, there will be no turning back." "Maybe I don't want that either."
There is no going back.
There is no other way that leads away from this dark path.
It's just going forward.
"You're angry-" Marc begins in an understanding voice. "And I can understand it. But this is a fight you don't-" "He had Bryce killed and because of him Cap is in the hospital. He has hurt and killed innocent people and he will never be held accountable. It will end".
Clint wriggles out of the grip and pushes Marc out of the way. However, Marc doesn't have a concussion and doesn't suffer from sleep deprivation, so it's easy for him to send Clint back to the ground. "Get off me," Clint croaks, trying to push Marc away. There's not enough power behind it for Clint to really pull it off.
"I have to do this," Clint says through clenched teeth and Marc shakes his head. “You don’t has to do it. There are other ways and-” “There aren't,” Clint hisses, pausing. “I started something and lost control of everything. Bryce's blood is on my hands. I lied to Cap and now he's in the hospital. I lied to everyone...I...there is no going back and...I have to end this no matter what the outcome is."
His voice breaks at the end and he closes his eyes to keep the tears from falling. Perhaps the situation would have been different if he had thought longer at the beginning and had not opted for the most drastic of all options. But he put on the suit and lied, creating a chaos waiting to explode.
Parker Robbins is going down and if he goes with it, so be it.
A hand gently cups his cheek, brushing away a tear he didn't even know was there. "I'll do it," Marc murmurs and Clint opens his eyes. Anger flares up in them. "I do not need you-". "Ronin doesn't need me. But Hawkeye and especially Clint need my help and I will. Help. End a War"
Marc stands up and pulls the mask down. "Stay here," he warns in a decisive voice. "Marc," Clint growls, about to get up himself as Marc slips two metal rings around his wrists, then slides his arms back where they are magnetically attracted and connect. Marc pushes him slightly and Clint falls to the ground again. "You fucking asshole"
"You know Clinton-" Marc begins with a touch of melancholy. "maybe you should learn that you can't win every fight alone and that sometimes help is nice". He climbs out the window and ignores Clint's swearing.
"Moon Knight," Parker Robbins says in surprise, and everyone in the room turns to him. "What a joyful surprise-" "You can save that shit. I'm here because of your announcement,” explains Marc. Robbins looks skeptically at the bag resting on his shoulder. "So you want to participate in the bounty?" Robbins asks suspiciously and Marc shakes his head. "I'm here to end this."
The bag lands on the floor. Robbins grimaces. "If you brought me Ronin, I have to disappoint you. It's the wrong one." "As funny as it would be, in the bag isn't a body, it's money." "Money?" "Three million dollars to be more precise," Marc continues. The whispering starts, but Marc just looks at Parker Robbins. "Your three million dollars".
"Wha?!" Parker says indignantly, turning to his henchman. "I was going to tell you sir, but-" "When!" He just walked into the bank and grabbed the money." Robbins' face turns red with anger and Marc grins. Robbins begins to charge him, but Marc stands still and pulls out a lighter. The flame hisses softly as he activates it.
He's never been more grateful for Jake's stupid habit.
"I've never seen money burn," he says calmly and Robbins stops abruptly. "Okay-" Robbins starts and takes a deep breath. "We all want to stay sane." "I've never made reasonable decisions, but I'll propose you a deal-" begins Marc. "I'm proposing a deal to you all." For the first time, he turns his gaze to the other people.
"Split the money between yourselves and leave the whole thing alone." They whisper while Robbins puffs himself up. "That's my money and-" "No more, didn't you heard the part that said I stole it?" Marc interrupts, amused. "So what now?" he asks the would-be villains. "And what if we'd rather spank an Avenger than take the money?" asks Tombstone.
Marc's posture becomes more tense and menacing. He lights up the blade in his hand. "Should I see any of you around, the last thing either of you will see will be me." Mumbling again and then everyone nods. "You can't give my-" "Then get it."
Robbins doesn't need a second invitation. He can block the first punch, but with the second he staggers a little to the side. It's an uneven fight considering one of them wears a demonic cloak. He manages to hit Robbins a few times and wrestles him to the ground briefly, but Robbins breaks free and gets up again. It's the cloak that manages to keep Marc on the ground.
"That was nice," Robbins scoffs, adjusting his tie. "Even more exciting than what Clinton could have offered me. After all, he's only human and you're...whatever. The rumors are different. Anyway-” Robbins walks over to the bag. "I should kill you first and then Cli-" he opens the bag and a demon slips out. His claws grab the cloak and pull it off Robbins.
Before anyone can react.
Before Robbins realizes what happened, the demon is gone and with it the cloak.
The bag closes.
"What..." Robbins starts to babble. "What was that?" "Oh that?" Marc laughs and gets up. "Kind regards from Count Nefaria-" Marc continues delightfully. "I gave him the money and he gave me this little friend who wanted your cloak." Robbins spends a few seconds looking at the bag in confusion before his face turns red again.
"I can kill you without the cloak," Robbins grumbles in an angry voice and draws a gun. However, Marc is stronger and has the advantage. He grabs Robbins hand and squeezes it until the gun is released from the grip. He hits a couple of times, pinning Robbins against a wall. "I still have evidence that Barton is Ronin and if the public does-" "There is no evidence," Marc interrupts rudely. "Bullseye wears the suit, nobody's going to question why a psychopath would do shit under a different name."
Robbins head makes a rough encounter with the wall.
"Ah"
"You know Parker. You've done a lot of stupid things and it ends today"
It's brutal and full of hate. There is no worse sound than bones breaking, crunching and destroying each other with each successive encounter. Blood spurts out along with a greyish mass. When he lets go of the head, the body falls limp to the floor.
There's a satisfying feeling in his chest. A feeling that will not last. It never lasts. He turns away. The wannabe villains are still there. "What about the money?" Thombstone asks, crossing his arms. "Check your e-mails," says Marc and leaves the scene behind him.
He exits the building only to be greeted by Barnes and Romanoff. "Daylight doesn't suit you so well," Romanoff chirps in a sweet voice, but there's a gleam in her eyes that says she'd love to rip his head off. Barnes has the same expression, but he is not his biggest problem.
"It was a long night," Marc replies, walking past them. They follow him. Of course they do. "You killed Ronin-" Barnes mutters. "or Bullseye. Depending on how you want to see it, huh?”. Marc shrugs. "He was a nuisance. Just like Robbins. I believe we can all get back to our usual activities now."
"I know it was Clint," Romanoff says in a serious voice, and he pauses. "There's no evidence-" Marc begins calmly, turning to face them. "and if I were you, I'd be very careful with accusations," he warns. "What do you mean?" Romanoff asks coolly, scowling at him. "If people walked around and assumed that one of you was caught up in old patterns and shit that doesn't fit the superhero image, Clint would be one of the first to deny it," Marc replies, taking a few steps towards the two of them to.
"You of all people should know how it feels to be blamed for things you didn't do wrong." Barnes sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're right-" Barnes murmurs. "it just doesn't change the fact that Steve is in the hospital and Ronin left a lot of chaos in his wake." Marc shrugs. He doesn't care about Captain America and the chaos will unravel in the next few weeks and nobody will remember it. "It's over now," says Marc matter-of-factly.
Neither of them seem to believe him. Instead, there are skeptical and icy cold looks. "Ronin is dead-" Marc affirms, wanting to pound the words into their brains. "Parker Robbins is dead-" he adds. "None of this can be traced back to Clint, so we should just leave it alone." There is a slight nod from Barnes as Romanoff just looks at him, presumably plotting his murder.
"Well then. I'll see you...or hopefully not."
He enters the apartment to find Clint still lying on the floor staring at the ceiling. "I'm back," whispers Marc, standing over Clint. "You asshole," Clint mumbles and Marc grins at him. "I know". He lies down on the floor next to Clint. "Will you take these things off my hands?" Clint grumbles, looking over at him. "Are you going to hit me?" "Probably" "Then I'll let them there for now."
A silence spreads between them, which is not considered uncomfortable. It's been a long night for both of them and one of them has a concussion, so silence is probably better than another verbal argument. "Is it over?" Clint asks after a while. His voice is low, nothing more than a whisper. "Parker Robbins is dead and the cloak is gone," confirms Marc and sees Clint nod out of the corner of his eye.
"How did you know about that?" Clint asks. "When Ronin decided to blow himself and Spider-man up, I started to prick up my ears," explains Marc in a calm tone, as if he were discussing the weather. "Then you took your time to intervene," Clint points out and Marc shrugs his shoulders.
"I watched and let you do your thing. But then the situation slipped away and new players came into play-”, begins Marc and looks at Clint. "besides-" he adds with a smirk. "Your ass looked pretty hot in that suit." An amused snort escapes Clint. "Oh did he?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Marc nods and leans forward. Their lips are only a few millimeters apart.
“He did”.