Chapter Text
The first time Bucky Barnes met Clint Barton, he was not having a good day.
Less than a week after the Winter Soldier had let Steve fall into the Potomac and Bucky had pulled him out, he was holed up in a small city in Spain fully prepared to hide until things started to make sense to him again. Which, given the flashbacks he’d been having, seemed like it might take a while. Going to ground like this annoyed him because there was nothing to do but hurry up and wait, but he had a goal of sorts and he’d been trained by H.Y.D.R.A. – perhaps even before them, he was beginning to think – to ignore any feelings except ones that furthered the mission. So now, rather than pace and roam like he wanted, Bucky left his improvised safe house only when he needed more supplies.
On one of these trips, this one for some bread and water at the nearby store, something was a little off. Bucky could almost feel eyes focusing on him, not enough to mean anything significant when he stood out from the crowd as much as he did here, but enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. As he paid for his items he scanned the nearby rooftops, reassured to see nothing suspicious there or on the streets below. He was still unnerved enough, however, to take an even more complicated route than usual back to his basement, making several complete circles and doubling back on several streets to make sure no one was following him. Unfortunately, the extra work paid off when he made a sharp u-turn and caught sight of someone who looked a little too touristy for just a second before they disappeared around a corner.
His nerves flattening instantly in preparation and directing him to take the fight to them, Bucky instead turned around and went the other direction. Who he was might be a mystery to him right now, but he knew who he didn’t want to be, and the Soldier who didn’t care about civilian lives definitely fit the bill. Quick footsteps soon made it known to him that his pursuers were gaining ground, but he refused to run; if he did, they might start shooting. Instead, he found a closed-off alley and ducked inside it just as they caught up to him, then spun to face them and settled into a defensive stance as they fanned out around him. The smart ones hung back and waited for him to move, their fear given away by the tiniest of tells. The smartest one was on the roof behind him, only known to Bucky because the roofs were covered in gravel.
They weren’t all smart.
Two of the six attacked immediately, nowhere near a match for him even when combined but managing to keep him busy until one of the “smart” ones tried to sneak up on him with a cattle prod. Hearing the gravel behind him shift, Bucky twisted around and redirected the man’s thrust into another attacker before dropping him with a broken jaw. With two people out of commission, the remaining members of the team attacked in a more coordinated manner. Three highly trained opponents proved to be more of a challenge, and while Bucky took one down with a jab to the kidney, his right arm was suddenly twisted into a tight hold behind his back and he was knocked to his knees as the last attacker used a device he had never seen before (that he remembered, his mind whispered) to disable his left arm. The position left him with very little leverage and next to no options besides surrender, the thought leaving him wide-eyed and gasping for air as his captor leaned over to whisper in his ear.
“You shouldn’t have broken your programming,” she sneered. “If you had any idea what they have planned for you now…”
Bucky shuddered involuntarily and let his head fall forward. There was only one choice he could make now. Feeling the woman behind him shift, he slammed his head backwards into her face, feeling her nose give way as their heads connected with a crack. As she fell down he levered himself to his feet with fury painting his world red – and froze as an arrow appeared in the chest of his next target.
“What did she say? I couldn’t hear it from up here.” The sixth man grinned as he nimbly swung down in front of Bucky, landing lightly on his toes before straightening up and extending a hand.
“I’m Clint. Looked like you could had it covered, but I haven’t shot my bow in days and I couldn’t resist such an easy target!” the man laughed as Bucky stared, his mask-like face betraying none of the confusion that was swirling inside his head. Waiting another second, the man – Clint – withdrew his hand when it became clear that Bucky wasn’t going to shake it, using it to rub the back of his head instead.
“Yeah, so… sorry to rush things, but we should probably get out of here before any locals see this mess. Speaking of…” Clint bent over and yanked the arrow out of the man he’d shot, eliciting a groan
from the still figure. “Shh. You’ll be fine, trust me! I’m a professional.”
Turning to Bucky again, Clint gestured to the fire escape in the back of the alley. “That looks to me like our best way out of here. You coming?”
Wondering what the hell had just happened and whether he should stick with this guy or make a break for it, Bucky couldn’t help it when the question slipped out.
“Am I following you?”
Clint paused, one eyebrow quirking upward and a small smile making his face appear… gentle? The word didn’t have enough examples for comparison in Bucky’s memory.
“Actually, I thought I might follow you. I just got here, haven’t had a chance to check out the best hide-outs in town. Think you’d be ok with that?”
Bucky hesitated before nodding. This guy wasn’t like any H.Y.D.R.A. agent he’d ever known; there was an energy flowing through him that Bucky almost recognized, almost made him trust Clint without anything further. Almost. If he turned out to be another trick, Bucky could always give him the slip later, he reasoned.
“Let’s do this now.”
Climbing up the fire escape, Bucky set off across the roofs with Clint trailing behind. It wasn’t until hours later that he realized he’d never even considered attacking him.