Work Text:
Natasha had just sat down in Coulson's office when he dropped a large stack of files onto the desk in front of her. It had been weeks since Clint's hospitalization, weeks since Natasha had found out that he'd been the subject of countless experiments for more than half of his life, and weeks since Phil Coulson launched an intense investigation that had shut down the lab entirely until further notice.
"What is this?"
"Those are the lab reports you requested. The results of one Clinton Francis Barton."
The files were thick, but the stack wasn't that high and honestly, Natasha had expected more. She figured this had been going on a very long time and there would have been countless files to search through.
"This is it?"
"Of course not. I just didn't think dropping a completely full file cabinet onto my desk would have been easy on the hardwood." Phil said with a roll of his eyes. "Those are just drawer one. The files were sorted into boxes for evidence, but I did promise you that you could read them first."
"Did you read them?" Natasha asked curiously, picking up one of the files and beginning to sift through the contents.
"No. I'm sure whatever you find of interest in there, you'll be eager to tell me about it." Phil replied, motioning to three boxes stacked against the wall. "Those are all for your eyes and haven't been seen by anyone except the people who wrote them. You can use my office as your library unless you'd rather take them home with you."
"I don't want Clint to see them. I'm going to keep them here." Natasha said automatically.
"You're not going to tell him?"
"I want to know what they did to him before he does."
"You can't hide it from him forever." Phil pointed out.
"I'm not going for forever. Just until I get through all of these boxes and know what he'll be able to handle." Natasha said firmly.
"Very well. If you need anything, just call me." Phil moved to the door and Natasha followed him with her eyes. "Where are you going?"
"I have more clean out to do for this investigation. I'll be back in a few hours. Enjoy your reading."
Subject Name: Clinton Francis Barton Age: 18 Trial: Speed Enhancement
Subject was injected with test serum upon arrival. After standard questioning procedure, subject was asked to run a lap around the room, walk a lap around the room, and catch a variety of objects to test speed of reflexes under the influence of the serum.
Test Results: Based off of previously recorded results, Subject's running speed has increased by 2.5 seconds, walking speed by 1.5 seconds, and reflex speed by 4.5 seconds. Subject is able to catch multitude of items (i.e. ball, apple, banana) without a moment of hesitation.
Conclusion: Trial is success. Subject seems like suitable candidate for further testing.
"Did you find anything interesting in there?" Coulson asked upon his return to his office.
Natasha had been through a box and a half of files before Coulson had returned from his clean up in the labs, having moved from her spot at the desk to the floor with small piles stacked up around her.
"They gave him different serums to increase his speed, vision, strength, and reaction time. They started these experiments just weeks after he finished signing his employment paperwork." Natasha explained, not looking up from the file she was reading. She hadn't stopped looking at these files since she started. "These files say he was a willing participant; they never had any problems with him."
"Does that bother you?" Coulson asked curiously. "Clint wanted to be a superhero when he joined, he probably knew things like speed and strength trials would give him that boost he needed."
"It only bothers me because at some point, it stopped being about strength and speed and started being about something else. They had to wipe him every time he went in there after a certain point." Natasha said, frowning. "I have to know why."
Natasha rubbed her eyes. She'd been reading for so long, her eyes were dry. Her stomach was showing signs of hunger and she knew Clint was waiting for her to come home for dinner, but she couldn't stop reading.
"The answers will still be there in the morning." Coulson pointed out gently.
"I know, but--"
"Go home, Natasha. Get some rest."
"Stop! Stop! Oh God, please make it stop!"
"We need a rating, Agent Barton. Tell us your pain level."
"Turn it off! Turn it off! Please!"
"Sir...He seems to be in unbearable pain."
"He knows the rules. We need the rating."
"But, sir--"
"Pain level, Agent Barton."
"Ten, ten, ten! P-Please make it stop!"
When Natasha arrived back at the apartment, Clint was seated on the couch in front of the television, turning his attention to her when she walked through the door. He'd been taking the whole experimentation thing very well, or very poorly, Natasha wasn't sure. He wouldn't talk about it, but he'd always reassure her that he was okay, though sometimes he'd have headaches that would keep him in bed for hours which they were told was a side effect of the memory wiping.
"Hey. How was work?" Clint asked, smiling warmly at her. "I figured you were running late, so I didn't order dinner yet."
Natasha stared at him for a long time, not saying a word. She didn't know what she was expecting to see when she walked in the door, but for some reason, she was surprised to see him sitting normally on the couch just like it was any other day. After everything he'd been through throughout his life, everything she found out that he'd been through, he was still smiling at her like he didn't have a care in the world.
She moved across the room silently, stopping in front of him and very carefully running a hand through his hair. It was a small but affectionate gesture, usually something she did when they were alone and one of them had just gotten through a particularly hard day. It relieved her stress to give him affection and it relieved his stress to be smothered in it.
"Nat? What's wrong?"
Clint's smile was smaller, hesitant, and his expression held something much closer to concern. He hadn't had a bad day, so the gesture wasn't for him. Natasha was trying to relieve herself of her own worries and she knew he knew that. He was too good for this Earth; worried more about everyone else than himself.
Natasha heaved a sigh, leaning forward to drape her arms around his head, drawing his head against her stomach, fingers of one of her hands coming up to toy with his hair. She felt Clint's hesitation for only a moment before he reached up to wrap his arms around her waist.
"Did something happen?" Clint asked, voice muffled by the fabric of her jacket.
Natasha shook her head. She couldn't tell him about his files; that she had them and was currently reading them. She couldn't tell him how afraid she was for him and how angry she was that someone had dared taken advantage of him when all he wanted to do was save the world. She couldn't tell him how guilty she still felt that he'd been hurt right under her nose for years and she hadn't noticed.
"No. I'm just sorry that I got back so late." She said. "You must be starving."
The lie fell from her lips so easily and the guilt churned in her stomach. He'd been lied to about so much; how could she keep lying to him like this? She pressed a kiss to his head, pulling away and his arms slid from around her waist.
"I'll survive." Clint said honestly. If he noticed her lie, he didn't mention it. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Don't worry about me. I'm okay."
Subject Name: Clinton Francis Barton Age: 21 Trail: Pain Tolerance
Subject was injected with test serum soon upon arrival, giving opportune time for serum to settle into blood stream. Subject is talkative, aware, and reacting normally to stimulus; no side effects noted. Subject is asked to rate any pains on a scale of 1-10, one being no pain and ten being unbearable pain.
Test Results: Subject seemed immune to physically induced pain (i.e. slaps, punches, kicks, etc.), rating them only a one on the pain scale. When introduced to different stimuli (i.e. knives, electric shocks, etc), subject's pain seemed to dramatically increase. Subject writhed, screamed, and tried to escape the stimulus. ("Ten, ten, ten!")
Conclusion: Serum has failed when subject is met with extremely painful circumstances. While making subject immune to pain caused by physical contact (i.e. slaps, punches, etc), it seemed to double the pain when met with more intense stimuli such as cutting of the skin or electric shocks to the body. Subject is wary of continuing trials, lashes out when scientists approach him.
"Have you even looked at these?" Natasha demanded the next evening, slapping a file onto Coulson's desk and forcing him to look at it. "Pain tolerance! They cut him open and electrocuted him to test him for pain tolerance!"
Coulson looked over the file in silence, his blank expression hardening the more his eyes took in, and his fists curled loosely around the edge of the papers. "You had no idea."
"Do you really think I would have let it continue if I had?" Coulson asked her, voice tense. She knew he felt as much guilt as she did because of the situation, maybe even more. "Clint never mentioned anything to me that indicated something was wrong."
"Maybe he was too afraid to tell you." She pointed out.
Coulson dropped the file onto the desk, burying his face in one of his hands. "I wish I had noticed. He was my responsibility and I failed him."
"You did." She agreed. "But I did too in a way. So that's why I haven't tried to kill you yet."
"Thanks." Coulson replied, tone a bit on the sarcastic side. "How is he?
"He's acting like nothing is wrong. Like everything is normal. I still haven't told him that I have the files."
"You probably should, you know. He deserves to know."
"Honestly, I hope I never have to tell him at all."
"Administer the serum."
"Sir, I really don't think Agent Coulson would approve of this."
"Agent Coulson will end up thanking us for this. More agreeable agents? Ones who follow orders without their feelings getting in the way?"
"Well, yes, but--"
"Enough. Is the serum administered?"
"Yes, sir."
"Wake him up."
"Hello Agent Barton. Welcome back. We will be testing the serum now. As of this moment in time, I give the orders and you follow them. You will speak only when spoken to, do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent."
"We're testing your obedience in different situations. In this case, we'll be testing if you can put others into dangerous situations with no hesitation. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very good. Now, pick up the knife and face the assistant on your left. We will be treating this assistant like he is the enemy on the battlefield."
The knife is heavy; he grips it tight in his hand.
He doesn't ask why.
"Raise the knife."
He hesitates; his arm shakes.
He can't.
"Do as you're told, Agent Barton."
He wants to stop.
"Agent Barton. Raise. The. Knife."
"N-No."
"What did you say to me?"
His head hurts and his hand comes up to hold it
"It hurts. Please, it hurts..."
"What's wrong with him?"
"Resisting your order is putting too much strain on his brain."
"He shouldn't be resisting at all."
"Sir, the strain could kill him."
They're getting closer; he's afraid.
He wants to go home.
"Leave me alone!"
He lashes out with the knife in his hand.
"Oh dear. How unfortunate."
His hands are wet.
His hands are red.
There's a body on the floor.
"Oh God...Oh God!"
His face was wet.
"Agent Barton! Calm yourself!"
"He's hysterical, sir!"
"Call an ambulance!"
"There's no time! Get him in the machine and wipe him!"
"But--"
"Wipe him now!"
Natasha woke to Clint screaming.
Her hand shot under her pillow for the gun she kept there for safety and sat up, aiming it at where she assumed his assailant would be. There was no one, but Clint continued to scream.
She'd known him for years; seen him break bones without shedding a tear and witnessed him fall from a building before landing on a car without even a complaint. She had never heard Clint scream before and after tonight, she was sure it would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Clint was tossing violently on the bed beside her, tangled in the sheets, and screaming. He screamed like he was in pure agony, like whatever he was experiencing in his dream was causing him excruciating pain. Natasha hated that look on his face; she wanted it to stop.
"Clint? Clint!"
Her voice didn't seem to reach him wherever he was. He continued to toss and turn until Natasha forced him to be still with her own body, half laying on top of him so that her hands could cup his face so that when he opened his eyes, she would be the first thing he'd see. His screams died down to cries, practically pleading with whoever he was fighting with to let him go home; he wanted to stop.
"Clint, I'm here." She soothed, because what else could she say?
She had nightmares like this before when she just started with S.H.I.E.L.D and the realities of what she had done came crashing down around her. She'd thrash around, scream, protest whatever was happening to her, and when she opened her eyes, Clint was there. He was always there to wipe away the tears, the sweat, and even if she brushed him off or was cruel to him, he would still be there the next time.
Clint's eyes snapped open after what felt like an eternity and she moved off of him just as he shot up in bed, chest heaving as his head whipped back and forth, taking in the room with large panicked eyes. Natasha gave him a few moments to assess the room, letting him see he was safe, before she spoke. She kept her tone careful, calm; she didn't want to startle him.
"Clint?"
Clint turned his gaze to her quickly, expression still panicked. He was taking her in, but she wasn't sure if he was actually seeing her or seeing someone else in her place.
"You're safe, Clint. It was just a dream. We're home."
"No." Clint choked out, voice hoarse, gaze going to his hands next. He studied them intensely for a long time. If possible, his face grew even paler. "Not a dream."
"What do you--"
"I-I'm going to be sick." He announced suddenly, scrambling out of bed and hurrying to the bathroom.
Natasha was quick to follow, though she stopped outside the bathroom door when she heard him emptying his stomach into the toilet. Whatever he dreamed must have been awful for him to be reduced to this.
She left him in the bathroom, getting a glass of water from the kitchen, giving him time to calm down before she returned. She knocked on the door out of respect for his privacy and entered when she received no answer.
Clint was hunched over the toilet, shaking violently and occasionally stopping only to dry heave for a few brief moments before starting up again. His eyes were wet, his face was pale, and Natasha wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in her arms. But first, she grabbed a hand towel and wet it with cool water before she settled next to Clint on the tile floor. She drew him away from the toilet until he was nestled against her side, wiping his face free of sweat before offering him the cup of water. He didn't take it and she sighed, setting it back down. It would be there when he was ready.
"Clint, what happened?" Natasha asked after a long period of silence, just listening to him sniff and feeling him shake in her arms.
"I remembered something. From an experiment." Clint said quietly, voice cracking on the last word.
Natasha went tense, her arms holding him just a little tighter. It had been almost a week since she had been given those files and she still hadn't gotten through them all there were so many. She'd been hoping to get through them all before he started to remember on his own, but luck hadn't been on her side.
"Tell me."
"They were testing a serum. To make more compliant soldiers in the field. It was like...like mind control."
Natasha clenched her jaw, Clint shuddered violently.
"It was like I was there, but I wasn't in control. He told me to do things and I did them."
"Then what?" Natasha asked quietly, trying to keep her voice level.
"They put a knife in my hands. Told me to raise it against an assistant. I-I didn't want to. I said no." Clint explained, voice starting to tremble. "But when I tried to fight it, my head just exploded. The pain was blinding. I thought I was going to die."
Clint paused, Natasha offered him the water which he took a drink of before setting it back down.
"I was...scared. They started coming towards me and I lashed out." Clint looked down at his hands. "There was blood on my hands." He clenched his hands into fists. "Oh God, Nat, I killed someone."
If Clint weren't huddled against her, shaking and relying on her like she were a life line, she would have left the apartment, gone to S.H.I.E.L.D, and killed the people responsible for this. Testing mind control drugs? Allowing him to suffer and then backing him into a corner like some wild animal?
"It wasn't your fault." Natasha said immediately, covering his clenched fists with one her hands, gently prying them apart. "Clint, this wasn't your fault."
"Yes, it was! If I had just...read the stupid papers in the first place, they wouldn't have--" '
"Stop it. Stop that right now." Natasha countered. "You are the victim, Clint Barton. They were in the wrong. This is on them."
"But--"
"They were wrong. What they did to you was wrong."
Clint was silent for some time and Natasha wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he recognized the words he'd said to her not weeks earlier. Natasha may have felt guilt for letting all of this happen without noticing, but in the end, it wasn't her fault. Clint didn't blame her and she wouldn't let him blame himself either. She knew exactly who to blame.
"Come on, let's get you back into bed. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."
"Where are you going to do after I'm asleep?"
"I have a phone call to make."
"To who?"
"Steve."
"Why?"
"Tomorrow I'll be out late. And if you have another nightmare, I want you to be able to call someone close."
"What are you doing?"
"I have an errand to run."
"Superheroes can easily handle pain, Agent Barton. Don't you want to be a superhero?"
"...Y-Yes."
"Good. Let's try again."
Convincing Coulson to let her have an interview with the scientists that experimented on Clint wasn't difficult. Coulson felt his own share of guilt for what he called the 'Incident' and was more than ready to make up for it by letting Natasha knock some heads, especially when she told him about Clint's recent memory.
The lead scientist sat handcuffed to the table, looking a little worse for wear, after almost a full month in a holding cell. Natasha entered the room, file under her arm, and murderous intent in her gaze.
The man didn't seem afraid of her and that was a big mistake because if he knew who she was, he should have been terrified. "Ah, hello Agent Romanov. We finally meet. Agent Barton has told me so much about you." He greeted.
"Funny you should mention him." Natasha said, dropping the file onto the table. "Because you and I are going to have a very long talk about him and your research."
"Clinton was a wonderful test subject. He responded very well to many trials." The scientist began with pride. "There were only a few he responded negatively to."
Natasha's temper flared. "Oh, really? Were they the ones that made you cut him open to test his pain tolerance or the one that resulted in him killing another human being?"
The scientist didn't even flinch. "I don't think you understand what my lab was assigned to do. We ran trials to test serums that could provide better performing agents for S.H.I.E.L.D. We did our jobs."
"You created mind control serums! Serums that weren't even cleared by the organization! Half of these files are lies!" Natasha snapped, shoving papers at him from across the table. "To make matters worse, you used an unaware teen to complete half of these experiments and used electroshock therapy to wipe his memories when you messed up!"
"I admit the obedience serum was flawed and what happened to my assistant was a tragedy." The scientist said with a scoff. "But it was just a kink in the machine, Agent Romanov. Science is full of kinks in the machine and he would never fully perform to full capacity if he remembered the things he'd done! Wiping him was like working with someone who had never been flawed at all!"
"You're really trying to justify this. In front of me." Natasha said in disbelief. "Your actions caused Clint Barton to kill another person. Then you proceeded to use him, abuse him, and take advantage of him for who knows how long in the name of science."
"Science isn't perfect. But imagine how much better we could make the world with perfectly adapted agents. Ones who were never to disobey orders or make different calls."
"My life was changed because someone made a different call."
The scientist fell silent, staring at her intensely and that's when Natasha saw it; the fear.
"What do you want from me, Agent Romanov?"
"I want you to suffer." She said easily. "I want you to suffer like Clint Barton suffered. I want you to feel every bit of pain that he felt while you were torturing him in your lab."
"Oh, really? And Agent Coulson cleared this, did he?"
"Agent Coulson isn't here. It's just you, me, a soundproof interview room, and the next twelve hours."
The scientist swallowed, trying to move away as Natasha moved closer, but the handcuffs pulled him to a stop.
"Leave me alone. Get away from me."
"Now, doctor, please rate your pain on a scale of 1-10..."
When Natasha returned to the apartment after her interrogation with the scientist, it was late. In fact, it was incredibly late, so late the sun would actually be rising in only a few hours. Natasha was strictly just running on adrenaline at this point, knowing that if she paused for even a second, she'd probably fall asleep right where she was standing. She'd gone longer without sleep, but tonight she just felt drained. It had been too long since she had tortured another person for personal reasons.
She'd taken out all of her rage on that man and at the end of it all, she'd felt some odd sort of peace. The scientist had deserved everything that was coming to him and she was sure that the Black Widow wasn't going to be his only visitor while he was in custody.
Everything she had done that night, she had done for Clint; giving him the revenge he deserved without having to face the monster who'd hurt him to begin with.
The apartment was dark when she walked in like she expected it to be. Clint had a rough night the night before and he deserved all of the sleep he could get, though she didn't feel too great about leaving him alone for so long. She was grateful for Steve, who agreed to be on call all night in case Clint needed someone, but from her knowledge, he hadn't needed him at all.
Natasha was bone tired, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep the day away, but she needed to check on Clint first. She kicked off her boots, shrugged off her jacket, and made her way to the bedroom. She heard no movement, no screams; that was a good sign.
Clint was sound asleep in bed when she walked in and she was honestly relieved. He was curled up in a nest of blankets, the usual way he slept when Natasha wasn't beside him, hair mused and sticking up in all kinds of directions. She moved to his side of the bed, sat on the edge, and bent to press a kiss to his head.
He stirred, of course, he was never really a heavy sleeper, and rolled onto his back, squinting up at her through droopy eyelids. The room was pitch black, but she could see the glint of his blue eyes thanks to the dim glow of a streetlight from the window.
"Nat...?"
"Hi. I'm home."
Clint blinked as if he was confused, turned his head to look at the clock on the nightstand, and frowned.
"It's four in the morning. Where have you been?"
Natasha wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him everything she'd done in the last twelve hours with pride and tell him she had done it all for him. She wanted to tell him that she'd tied that scientist down and made him feel every bit of pain that Clint had felt under his influence. She wanted to tell him that Coulson was probably doing the same right as they spoke.
She wondered if Clint would be happy or if he would be disappointed. He knew all about getting revenge for people he cared about and how sometimes it just wasn't a choice; sometimes it was just something you needed to do. He never had the chance to take out Red Room for what they had done to her in the past and she knew how much he wished he could. She hoped he hadn't been expecting her to just let it go, because that wouldn't have happened in a million years. She didn't tell him. She wondered if he already knew.
"I had something I needed to do." Was what she ended up going with and Clint didn't ask what. He simply nodded.
"Come to bed. It's late." Was all he ended up saying.
Natasha left the bed to change into something more comfortable while Clint untangled himself from his blanket nest and laid them out so Natasha would be able to share with him. When she returned, he held up the corner and she slid under the blankets without a moment of hesitation, shifting a moment later into his arms. The warmth of his embrace was like coming home.
"No nightmares?" She asked curiously.
"No nightmares." He confirmed, burying his face into the hair on the top of her head.
"Promise?"
"I promise. Go to sleep."
Natasha was silent for a few minutes, mind still racing. Her eyelids were heavy and her body was warm, thanks to Clint, but she couldn't sleep yet. She'd been keeping so many secrets from him lately; she had to tell him something or the guilt would only eat her alive. He deserved better than that.
"I have your files. From the lab." She announced.
Clint was silent; he didn't seem to have a reaction to the news, none that she could see in the dark anyway.
"Okay."
"I read them. I didn't want to give them to you until I finished." Natasha said. "I'm sorry. I can get them for you tomorrow--"
"I don't want them."
Natasha was surprised. "What?"
"I don't want to remember what they did to me." He admitted. "I'm fine just living with the occasional bad dream."
"Oh."
That wasn't what she'd expected at all; she'd thought he'd want to know all of the details like she had when it'd come to Red Room or James when it had come to the Winter Soldier project.
"If you could just get rid of them--"
"I will." She promised quickly. "I'll get rid of them."
"Thank you." His eyes were closed now; he looked tired. Suddenly she felt bad for waking him. "The dreams won't seem so bad, you know, if you're here to wake me up."
"Don't worry. I will be."