Work Text:
He's ready to head out, after one last look at his home. It's empty now. No more laughter, no more Laura, no more Lila, Cooper, little Nathaniel. It's not home. Not anymore.
His bag is at his back and he's got a ball of pain and tension and loss in his belly. He can hear Natasha's warnings in his head, but it doesn't matter. Not when everything he's ever cared about has been stolen from him, and criminals and cockroaches and monsters get to stay on this earth.
He walks by the barn, when he realizes there's something odd. Sure, there're fewer birds and rabbits now, fewer songs in the morning, less rustling in the bushes, but it's too quiet. Something new is here.
Maybe he should've walked on ahead, got into his car, and driven away. But instead, he enters into his barn.
There's a light trail of blood, and if he weren't so trained in these things, he might not have noticed.
"Who's there?"
Maybe he should pull out his bow, and maybe it was stupid to announce his presence, but there's no one left here to protect.
There's no answer and that eerie silence settles in again.
"I know you're there," he says again. His eyes scan the shadowy room. There's too many places to hide. He should just move on. But he also can't help but think that this is so far from civilization, so far from any help, and what if it's a kid who's lost his parents in the way he's a parent who's lost his kids?
There's a slight movement in the shadows, and he surreptitiously grabs a knife off the tool bench nearby, just in case. It moves again, quietly.
So quietly, that Clint wonders for a split second if he's forgotten to put his hearing aids in. Few things can sneak up on him, and this is one of them. He grips the knife a little tighter.
It falls forward, from behind his tractor, a bloody mess of too few limbs and too much metal.
He has a mass of wires and metal instead of a left arm. He's missing large gouges of flesh across his back and from his legs. He's strong, for sure, probably even enhanced beyond just the metal arm, given that he's still breathing. It's shallow, further impeded by a muzzle, and he trembles, like he's trying to move away even in his barely conscious state, when he's touched. He's not dehydrated, though, likely from the recent rain, which is good because Clint's not equipped to deal with that here.
He can hear Natasha's voice as he cleans the man's wounds. How he's always had a soft spot for strays. The red star on what remains of the left arm gives him pause and so does the HYDRA gear he's decked out in. Clint's suspicious of how he wandered onto their - his - farm, of all farms. But still, he's bloodied, and pitiful, and his eyes flutter softly when his wounds are washed.
He brings him into the house, because there are no children there to protect anymore.
He considers calling Natasha or Fury, both of whom would know what to do more than he does, but he can't risk hearing that they're gone. It's better to not know.
The thing that makes him change his mind about the call, though, is when he hears the soft murmur of "Steve," across the man's lips as his brow furrows in exhausted delirium.
That's when Clint remembers why his face seems so familiar. It's not from one of the thousands of SHIELD or HYDRA files he's read through. It's from history books when he was still in school when he was very young and from the Smithsonian as he ribbed Captain America for his exhibit.
Steve doesn't pick up. It's Tony, instead.
"He's gone, too, isn't he?"
"…yeah."
"I know you've got the whole world to deal with right now, so I'll keep this short. I've got something at my farm you might find interesting," Clint says, glancing at the man. His wounds heal too fast but he's still unconscious.
"What is it?" Tony asks, and his voice sounds too tired. Clint wonders who's disappeared from his life, but he knows better than to ask.
"A half-dead super soldier wandered onto my farm last night. He's wearing HYDRA armor and he...he looks remarkably like Bucky Barnes."
It'll take some time for them to come - Tony and Natasha - which is understandable because they're still dealing with the fallout after Thanos. It's been several months, and even though things have mostly stabilized, people are still tense, waiting for something to strike the tinder. They're working overtime to try to keep the entire world from falling apart into the post-apocalypse hell that it might turn into.
If it weren't for the absence of four people here and the addition of one supersoldier, Clint's farm might have been a nice reprieve from it all. It's isolated, off small roads, and maybe there's been a stray doomsdayer or two, but Clint's more than enough to take care of himself.
The man's been flowing in and out of consciousness, but it takes three days before he's coherent and up.
He watches Clint warily, but he seems to remember that he's been the one taking care of his wounds, feeding him, and keeping him hydrated. Or at least, he doesn't immediately attack Clint. That's good news at least. He'd considered briefly chaining him down to the radiator, but he's seen Steve almost pull down an entire helicopter, and he's pretty sure this antique radiator and its rusted screws into the wall haven’t got that beat.
"Are you Bucky Barnes?" Clint asks softly. He already knows the answer. They've found the HYDRA files on the Winter Soldier.
Bucky flinches visibly, and doesn't dare to look Clint in the eyes, but he shakes his head.
Clint frowns. He's poured over every miserable file he could find, and the only thing he could think was that, thank God Steve wasn't here, or he might just murder somebody.
He stoops to Bucky's level, and looks into those eyes. They're fearful; they don't look like the eyes of someone who's built like him, can do the things that he's able to do. He flinches again, and crawls back, until his back is pressed against the wall.
Clint holds his hands up, non-threateningly, "It's okay. I'm not HYDRA. I'm not HYDRA and I'm not SHIELD. Not anymore."
The mention of HYDRA makes him nervous though, and his eyes dart. Clint knows he's looking past him, at the exit, calculating how he can get past Clint and out the door.
"You can leave if you want, but I don't think you're in any shape to survive on your own," Clint says.
Bucky's out the door in an instant, before Clint even finishes the sentence, and he doesn't even close the front door on his way out.
Clint's bag is still packed. He travels light and he doesn't really need anything from his bag immediately. Still, he stays for a few more days. The days are growing colder, and he wonders if he should just stay for the winter. He's lived in leaner times, and the farm's a working farm, so it wouldn't be an issue. It's been harvested and preserved with five in mind, plus extra just in case. Those haven't halved. And if need be, he can drive to the nearest grocery store, assuming society hasn't fully collapsed by then.
Natasha had checked in, and he had told her that Bucky had left. Her voice sounded uncharacteristically thick and her eyes looked uncharacteristically blotchy as she confessed she still hadn't tracked down Yelena. The problem with Widows was that they were too good at not being found if they wanted to, she said wetly. "I don't know if she's hiding from something or if she's gone. If she's hiding and I keep probing, I might uncover her and put her in danger."
Clint looks at his empty house and wonders guiltily thinks that it still might be better to not know if the people you love are gone.
It's three weeks later, after Bucky's disappearance, and just as nighttime temperatures start to dip below freezing that he shows up again.
He's found a ragged coat from somewhere, but it's not enough to stave off the cold, and his fingers are nearly frozen as Clint brings him in and starts a fire. Clint wonders if he remembers freezing, idly.
Bucky watches the fires dance, and Clint watches the color come back into his cheeks.
"You know him," he says so quietly that Clint turns up his hearing aids.
"Who?" even though there's really only one person that Bucky could be talking about. Bucky doesn’t move though, as the shadow cast by the fire dances throughout the room.
"Steve?" Clint asks cautiously.
Bucky doesn't look away from the fire as he nods an infinitesimally small nod.
"Yeah," Clint says. "You knew him too."
Bucky's eyes finally flicker upward, and he doesn't say anything.
"Yeah, he's disappeared, too. Dusted." Clint says softly, guessing at what's caused the reaction. Bucky doesn’t move for the rest of the night.
He probably shouldn't have dozed off with a murderous supersoldier in his living room, but he falls asleep sometime in the early morning, and he wakes to find Bucky still sitting there, staring at the embers of the fire.
"Are you tired?"
Bucky doesn't move. Clint gets up, stretches, and slowly, telegraphing his movements, maneuvers Bucky onto the couch. He adds a few blankets on for good measure, and says, "You can sleep here. You'll be safe here."
He goes and makes breakfast. He's got half the hens and eggs he used to, but less than half the number of mouths to feed.
It's not perfectly balanced.
Clint lets him watch him plate the scrambled eggs and potato hash, dividing them between the two plates. He still doesn't eat though, no until Clint starts on his pile of eggs, but Clint's not sure if he was waiting to see if Clint would keel over and die, or if he's learned not to eat before others.
"You probably shouldn't eat too fast, in case your stomach gets upset," he says. He's careful not to say anything that's an actual order. He's read the files that Tony finally uncovered. "But who knows, maybe your supersoldier stomach is more durable than my wimpy normal human one. Refeeding after being on a bad mission is always a bitch."
At the first bite of crisp bacon, he stiffens, and Clint's about to ask if he wants something else instead, but he realizes this might be the first fresh, home-cooked meal that Bucky's had in, well, decades.
After they're done with breakfast, Bucky watches Clint clear the table carefully, before settling himself in he corner. It's a good corner. He's protected from two sides, he's got a good view of the exit, of the windows, and a good view of the TV, too. It's Laura's corner and Clint hasn't touched it since. Seeing a stranger sit in it gives him a churning stomach. But, he just covers Bucky in a blanket again, turns the radiator on, starts another fire, and sits on the couch. He plays something on the TV, but he doesn't think either of them are watching.
"What happened?" Bucky asks quietly after a long drawn out silence. "Why are people gone?"
And it occurs to Clint, finally, that Bucky doesn't even know. Who would tell him?
"It's a long story," Clint finally says. "Aliens came down, and they wanted to get rid of half of all life in the universe. We're the lucky half, or the unlucky half, depending how you look at it."
"You're human," Bucky says quietly.
Clint looks up, "Huh?"
"You're human, but you fought against the aliens," Bucky clarifies. His eyes are trained onto the fire. Clint doesn't correct Bucky that he wasn't there. He wasn't in Wakanda. He wasn't there, in humanity's last line of defense because he told Natasha never to pull him into that again.
Bucky turned slightly. "You fight aliens and robots with a bow and arrow."
"I did," Clint says.
"You remind me of him," Bucky says quietly.
Oh. That's it. And even though Clint is fairly sure he knows who Bucky is talking about, he asks, "Of who?"
"Steve." Bucky's voice is barely a whisper. Too low for his hearing aids to pick up, but the heartbreaking look on Bucky's face and the way his lips move are enough to confirm it.
"He always picked fights he'd lose," Bucky says. His voice is too low, but Clint's watching his lips closely. "I think I saw him once. Years ago. But because I remembered him, they froze me again. I didn't know who he was, but I knew he was important to me."
His eyes are glassy and his lip quivers the slightest bit, but he doesn't say anything for a moment. "And now he's gone."
Clint takes a breath and looks around his empty house. His family hasn't been here for months, but sometimes he still expects Lila to walk in the door and complain about school. Or Nathaniel to come tumbling down the stairs with too much excitement. Or Cooper to roll his eyes in exasperation of his parents. Or for Laura to be smiling at him from her chair in the corner.
Instead, all he gets is a Russian assassin curled up, watching the fire flicker with quiet attention.
So Clint takes a deep breath. "Yeah. He's gone now."
"How do you do it?" Bucky asks quietly. "How do you keep getting up when you're pushed down? How do you keep standing up to people bigger than you?"
It doesn’t feel like Bucky is talking to him.
How odd it is, for him to appear like this when so many people have disappeared.
They're halfway into December, on a trip into the city to get some more fresh food when Clint sees spikes on the road. He swerves, but it's too late, and his wheels skid onto the spikes. He can see movement in the snow, and he grabs his bow from the backseat. "Stay alert. Get out of here if you have to."
He takes a few seconds to grab his phone and click the emergency button, before shooting off a few arrows into the snow. It bleeds red, and Bucky's eyes are wide, breathing shallow.
Clint swings the door open, and Bucky fumbles with his as well. He runs, and Clint's heart sinks when he sees the people in the snow chase after him, instead of attacking Clint. It's HYDRA, and they're looking for their soldier.
He shoots who he can, chasing after them, but there's a crack as someone shoots a gun, and Bucky stumbles. Someone lands on him and tackles him into the snow. Clint picks him off, but before Bucky can scramble away, someone else lands on him, and Clint can't take him down, because there's someone on him as well. He can't hear what exactly over the crunching of the snow, but someone's saying something that makes Bucky howl like a wounded animal.
Clint stabs his arrow into flesh, but it's too chaotic to see what Bucky's doing. A somber quiet settles over them as Bucky's cries die out, and Clint curses, "Shit."
The men back off of Clint, and he's wielding his bow, ready to fight anyone else off. A couple bodies at his feet, and the only thing he has to show for it is an aching shoulder. Not bad, all things considered. The people surrounding him are backing away slowly, trying to find direction from each other. There's a one-armed man standing, swaying a little in the cold, but Clint's not sure who it is.
Whoever it is, Bucky or the Soldier, stumbles towards him.
He notches an arrow.
His fingers twitch, but he doesn't let the arrow go. "Bucky," he calls out.
Someone in the distance, near Bucky-or-the-Soldier, scrambles a little and starts speaking in Russian. Clint holds the arrow steady, but he watches in horrifying fascination when Bucky roars and crushes the man's jaw in his hands.
"Shit," Clint says, half appreciatively and half cautiously. This is the same man that spent the last few months canning end of season apples with him. It's still Bucky.
He thinks.
The strangled, hoarse cries of the jawless man is enough to send the rest of the STRIKE team running. Clint considers picking off a few of them because they deserve it, but Bucky is still staring at the bloody bodies that lay before him. His back is hunched and his shoulders are drawn up. He doesn't even move when Clint approaches.
Clint puts his arrow at his back, and holds up his hands in peace. "Hey Buck, I think we should get out of here."
His hair is drawn over his face, and Clint feels a familiar prickle at the back of his neck. Maybe it isn't as much Bucky as he thinks. But he doesn't grab his arrow. His fingers twitch, though, just in case he needs to pull out a knife.
"Let's go--"
Bucky stoops down suddenly, staring at the man who's now missing a jaw. The man is still, against all odds, alive, his breathing short and pained. His eyes widen as Bucky's human hand brushes over what's left of his face. Clint purses his lips wondering if he should say anything.
He doesn't.
Bucky grabs the head by his cheeks, and smashes it into the ground.
Iron Man comes in when Clint's trudging through the forest, looking for where Bucky disappeared off to. "You're late."
Iron Man shrugs and looks around them, "Yeah, looks like I missed a party back there. To be fair, it's less than ten minutes since you hit the emergency call button, and I'll remind you once more, this is the middle of bumfuck nowhere."
"Bucky did most of that," Clint says quietly. His eyes scan the floor, looking for any traces of where Bucky could have gone. "They said something to him that made him go crazy."
"Turned him back into the Winter Soldier?"
"No. Not fully, at least. He knew not to hurt me, but he…didn't really feel the same way about them," Clint says. "Can you find him?"
Iron Man's head tilts a little in confusion and explains, "FRIDAY can't see find anyone in her radius."
Clint frowned. "Really? He can't be more than two minutes out. He can't have gotten too--"
He cuts himself off, and it takes a split second before he's running off, as the thought emerges in his mind. Tony understands before they get to the river, and he zooms down, past Clint, blasting the ice covering the river. He dives down into the water and Clint's eyes follow distorted glow coming from below the ice.
Iron Man resurfaces, breaking through the ice with a sudden crack and a splash.
"Go back first and take care of him. I'll meet you at the house," Clint says. He sighs as he watches Iron Man fly off, a speck in the distance, carrying Bucky in his arms.
His feet are cold when he makes his way back to his truck. He sighs again when he sees it. His tires are still popped.
The bodies are still strewn about when Clint finishes changing the tires on his truck. He looks around, and figures that it's a mess, but Tony can clean it up later. He's too tired to deal with this shit, and they're far enough away from the farm that hopefully it doesn't get traced back to him. He switches out the plates on the truck, though, just in case.
Tony is at his dining table, with a heap of metal parts laying around. He quiets the music FRIDAY is playing when he sees Clint dust the snow off his jacket and lay his bow on the table. Arm's reach, just in case.
"You built him an arm out of the junk in my barn?"
Tony snorts, "That tractor has been busted since the last time I was here. Figured it could get at least some use this way."
"I was getting around to fixing it," Clint says defensively. He looks into the living room, and nods at the red and gold shell laying across the rug, "Is that the cradle?"
"Sorta. New prototype. Wasn't sure what kind of shape you guys would be in by the time I got here," Tony says, still fumbling through the hardware on the table, but his voice is low and solemn. "His core body temperature dropped too much, but I figured with how Steve survived his Cap-sicle years, he'd…his body can handle it. FRIDAY's keeping an eye on him and making sure nothing gets damaged."
"Make sure he's out of there when he wakes up."
Tony looks up, "Are you sure that's safe?"
"Prisoner of war for seventy years, just attacked by HYDRA, and he wakes up confined in something that probably feels a lot like his freezing chamber? You tell me what would be safer," Clint raises an eyebrow. He looks through his fridge and pulls out some leftovers. Fuck, they never got around to getting to the city and getting some groceries. Another week of bread and potatoes, he supposes. They're not going to starve, yet. "Anyway, he tried killing himself. He's not the Soldier."
Tony looks at the shell, glowing softly. "FRIDAY, you heard the man. Make sure he's stable and keep an eye for wake activity."
"Yessir," she says and the light hums.
Tony's eyes linger on the cradle, like he wants to say something but he keeps his mouth shut and turns back to his work. Clint watches him suspiciously, but he turns back to find some food.
FRIDAY lets them know Bucky's about to wake up with a small ding. It's almost like waiting for a microwave, Clint thinks a little hysterically. But they take him out and lay him on the couch, covered in his blanket that's normally draped over Laura's armchair.
He wakes up slowly. Tony watches, with what Clint feels like is too much fascination, as Bucky's eyes flicker under their lids and his quiet breaths go silent. He's awake for a few moments, feeling out his circumstances, and Clint offers, "It's me. Me and Tony Stark."
Bucky flinches a little when he sees Tony's face, but he doesn't protest and his eyes scan across the room, settling on Clint.
"Welcome back," Clint says. "How are you feeling?"
Bucky doesn't answer him though, and his eyes flit back to Tony. His voice is hoarse when he says quietly, "You're Howard's kid."
Tony's face darkens immediately but he covers it up quickly. "Yeah. I am. Although I don't know if I'd ever call him a parent."
There's a tension in the room that Clint can't quite place. Yeah, Tony's got daddy issues, but this seems heavier. He eats the last bit of his baked potato and hands a plate to Bucky who doesn't take it and instead continues to stare at Tony. Clint sighs and sets it on the coffee table.
Maybe he shouldn't be surprised, he thinks, of Bucky's fascination with Tony. Tony's the memory of a life that Bucky once lived and lost.
There's a pained look on Bucky's face and Tony says a little too loudly, "I'll go check on your car, Barton."
Clint watches Tony leave, frowning. Bucky lays back down and stares at the ceiling with glassy eyes. Clint leans over the couch and asks, "How are you feeling?"
Bucky doesn't answer, doesn't give an indication that he's heard him. "Do you want to talk about it?"
No response.
"They're not going to come back. Tony's tracking them, and we know they're here. They can't catch us by surprise again."
He stays there for a moment, before turning around and following Tony out, "I'm going to check on Tony."
FRIDAY's keeping an eye on Bucky, at least. But no one's watching Tony.
He brings a coat out to Tony, who ran out of his door in just his shirt. He's popped the hood to Clint's truck and he's tinkering away in a way that worries Clint a little. Clint spares a glance at his poor truck before holding out the jacket. Tony ignores him, as he expected, and just keeps his head ducked in the hood.
"What the hell is going on with you?"
Tony throws his wrench down in frustration. "What the hell is he doing here, Barton?"
Clint stays there, holding out the coat and doesn't say anything.
"He died seventy years ago. He's supposed to be dead. Mourned by the whole country, and Rogers, so what the hell is he doing here? What the hell am I doing here instead of Rogers? He needs him."
Tony looks up at him and Clint suddenly remembers that this is the first time they've been face-to-face since Tony came to visit him on the Raft to ask where Rogers had gone. "There's no point in asking those questions."
Tony quiets. He takes the coat from Clint's hand finally, and after he shrugs it on, he says, "Maybe this is it then. Maybe...if I can fix him up this'll make things square with Rogers, finally."
"No," Clint says firmly. Tony looks up, and so Clint continues gruffly, "He's not Rogers. And he's not your second chance with Rogers. He deserves more than that."
Tony leans his arms against the car and hangs his head down. He takes a deep breath. "Yeah. You're right. I know. I'm trying. It's just that when I see him, all I can see is…"
"What?"
"…Rogers," Tony says after a pause. Clint frowns because that's not the truth. But also, he frowns because the Tony he knows is brasher than this. Bolder. Not so cowed, and not so without conviction. But maybe the years has matured him and dulled all those sharp corners. But still, there's something odd about his interactions with Bucky.
Tony's puffing out cloudy breaths as he stares into the metal workings like all the secrets of the world lay in the Clint's banged up old car. He sighs, and says, "If you need anything else, ask Nat. She's handling things from now on."
Clint furrows his brows, "Why? You're the one with access to everything."
Tony's face is tense when he says, not quite looking at Clint, "I'm in the process of transferring everything over to her. I'm retiring. It's too much. Remember what I said after visiting your farm that first time? I was going to build a farm for myself and Pepper. I think now's the time to do it."
"Now?" Clint asks incredulously. "You can't just leave everything up to Nat. That's too much."
"And that's not hypocritical," Tony says dryly. "While you're off in the middle of bumfuck nowhere playing house with a deranged supersoldier."
"That's not--"
"I'll keep an eye out for you guys, but you were right all along. I'm not cut out for this work. I'm still a civilian, in the end."
Fragments of half-formed apologies flit through his mind, but Clint just agrees, "Thanks."
Maybe he hasn't changed that much, Clint thinks. Tony's resolute in this decision, so Clint leaves Tony outside and retreats inside. He takes a half moment to check in on Bucky, who's still sitting on his couch, staring into space blankly. Clint sighs, and quietly goes upstairs to his room.
His eyes linger on the Laura's side of the bed before he sits at the foot of it, and pulls his phone out. It takes a moment for the other end to pick up with, "Everything okay?"
"Stark said he was retiring."
Natasha's quiet for a moment. "Yeah."
"Is it just you, now?"
"I've got some friends here. Banner every now and then, Rhodey, Nebula. She's a blue alien that Stark brought home. It was a whole thing. There's a raccoon that hangs around sometimes. A wizard."
"Avengers are getting real weird now," Clint gives a low whistle. "Glad you've got at least another normal human with you."
"I don't think we're much of the Avengers anymore," Natasha says quietly. "Anyway, what did you want to talk about?"
"Nothing," Clint says. It's too much to put HYDRA back on Natasha's already overloaded plate, and Tony had already said he'd keep an eye out. "Just wanted to call and see how you're doing."
"Hm, same old, I guess," Natasha hums, unconvinced. But she doesn't press it and continues, "How're you doing? I should've checked in with you earlier, too. I should've called you and made sure you were okay."
That he was okay after he sent that emergency code red or after his family disappeared? He doesn't ask to clarify. Instead, he clears his throat. He asks, "Do you need me? I can head to New York. I can help out if you need it."
"No," Natasha says quickly. "No, you're retired. Retired before all this went down. You should enjoy your peaceful country life."
He is mind unwillingly brings up the suit and katana tucked into the bottom of his suitcase. And even though he knows she won't, he tells her, "Call me if you need anything at all."
"You, too," Natasha says. Before she hangs up, she says, "Don't get in any trouble."
Clint stares at the phone in his hands for a few moments before he heads back downstairs. But as he descends, he hears Tony's voice. He stops a couple steps from the bottom of the staircase, out of sight.
"This is going to sting," Tony mutters absently from the kitchen. "Some of these wires are going to be like exposed nerves. I'm going to do my best to rewire them so it won't bother you too much"
There's a pause, a tense moment, before Bucky says softly, "You can, if you want. Make it hurt."
There's a heavy silence before Tony asks tensely, as if he misheard Bucky, "What?"
"You know what I've done," Bucky continues quietly. "You can make it hurt. I understand."
Clint's jaw tightens. There's still that unnamed thing that's been brewing within Tony, and maybe he was right in his guess that it was more than just survivor's guilt that he was here, and not Rogers. Clint feels his muscles tense in anticipation. In case he needs to jump in. His bow is still on the kitchen table they're working at.
There's a moment of silence.
But all that happens to break it, is Tony sighing in frustration, "I don't want to hurt you."
"But I--"
"Shut up," Tony growls. "Shut up, okay? We are not going to talk about it."
And then it's just the sound metal scraping against metal. But then Bucky says, "Howard--"
"What the hell are you doing, Barnes?" Tony asks, seething. "Why the hell do you keep trying to bring it up?"
A moment of silence.
"You're trying to get me to kill you," Tony says flatly. "Throwing yourself into the river wasn't enough, and now you want me to kill you. Hurt you. Punish you. Whatever."
There's no denial.
"My dad was a piece of shit. I hated him for most of my life and he was a shit father. You keep trying to bring him up, but you know what? Fuck him. He's an asshole. I know that now more than ever, now that I'm about to have a kid of my own. But you're the one who killed my mother. And she was the only person who ever saw me for who I was. Not the heir to Stark Industries, not some idiot teenager, not Iron Man. She saw me. And you - strangled - her."
There's more anger coloring his voice than Clint's ever heard.
"Shit," Tony heaves a sigh, throwing the wrench down on the table. It clatters across. "Do you even remember her?"
Bucky's voice is quiet when he says, "I remember her. I remember all of them."
"Shit," Tony repeats, frustration coming out in a low growl. He says through gritted teeth, "You've got Stark tech in you now. I own at least that part of you now. Don't waste it. Don't go fucking killing yourself after you survived all this."
Tony's working on Clint's truck again.
"I'm going home tonight. I don't want to be away from Pepper for too long," Tony mutters. "If she manages to give birth in the only two days of her pregnancy that I've been away, she'll never let me live it down."
"The Winter Soldier killed your parents," Clint says, leaning against the truck. He holds out a warm mug that's steaming in the frosty air.
There's an awful cranking sound coming from his car, as Tony grunts. "You were spying on us."
"Only a little," Clint offers. "And you weren't very quiet about it."
Tony sighs defeatedly, before finally putting down the tools in his hands, and repeating from their earlier conversation, "Why am I the one here? It should've been Rogers."
Clint sips at his own mug as Tony finally takes it.
"He was always better than me. Everything I've done, I've done out of fear. He did it because he believed in it."
"You're too hard on yourself," Clint says.
"Maybe if I were gone, he'd still be here."
"Yeah, maybe he'd be here with me in Iowa, and I'd have to fish the both of them out the frozen river. Or, because he couldn't make it here in the ten minutes it took you, I'd have to tell him that his best friend killed himself, " Clint says. "Anyway, whether you're here or not doesn't make a difference. It was fifty-fifty for all of us."
Tony looks at him and up at the house. "I'm sorry."
"It's not like it's your fault. Not anymore than it was Nat's or Roger's," Clint says stiffly. Or mine, Clint reminds himself, hand clenching.
Tony says in a quiet voice, "I was guaranteed. Strange made a deal with Thanos. Spare me, and he'd hand over the Time Stone. It's all my fucking fault. Strange could have kept it away from Thanos and even if he died, it would've bought us some time. He fucking traded half the lives in the universe for me. He said he had a plan. That we could still win."
Something curls inside of Clint's stomach, hearing that. He hadn't known that. He takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself. "It's not your fault. If that's true, then it was Strange's."
"I just…" Tony swallows. "I just keep seeing people die because of me. In Sokovia, in Lagos, on Titan…"
Clint tries very hard not to think about the pit in his stomach when he realized that his family was gone. And that Tony might have been the cause of it. But he's not, Clint reminds himself.
"I held Peter in my arms as he disappeared," Tony says hollowly. "He had a healing factor. It took him longer than everyone else. And there was nothing I could do but watch him disappear into ash."
"That's not your fault," Clint repeats, and doesn't ask who Peter is. He tries to keep his voice steady, but it sounds strained to him, too. "We've all lost people, and we all think about what we could've done more."
Tony takes a breath. "I never wanted to fight against you. Or Rogers. He was right. I crippled us."
"This self-pity thing you've got going on doesn't suit you, " Clint snaps but it doesn't have venom behind it.
The look of forlorn loss on Tony's face doesn't, either.
Clint's on the porch when Bucky walks out. Bucky's dressed in a jacket that's too light for the season they're in, and has no supplies.
Clint takes a sip of his warm coffee. "Where are you going?"
Bucky stares at him silently. Clint holds up a sweater. "You heard Stark. The metal will give you frostbite. Keep your arm warm."
Tony spraypainted the Stark Industries logo onto Bucky's arm before he left. Clint had frowned at the time, but whatever peace had settled between Tony and Bucky has at least anchored Bucky to life for now. Bucky's metal fingers twitch in the porchlight before he takes it apprehensively, and drapes it over himself before sitting down in the chair next to Clint. It used to be Laura's seat.
They sit there for a bit, and Clint watches the puffs of warm breath flitter away into the cold.
"I can't stay here." Bucky says.
"Where are you going?" Clint repeats.
"Would you stop me?"
Clint hums. "No. I'm not keeping you prisoner here. But I'd like to know where you're going. And I'd like to leave you a way to get back in contact if you need help."
Bucky is silent for a few moments, and the only noise in the air is the soft electric hum of the light. Its rays don't go far and they're illuminated in a soft glow against the pitch black of the farm. "Away. HYDRA is going to come after me again."
"Maybe," Clint agrees. "But we can fight them off. Tony's keeping an eye out for us now. They're not going to be able to get the jump on us again."
Bucky sits and broods in Laura's seat.
"Where were you going?" Bucky asks suddenly.
Clint takes another sip to hide his surprise. "What?"
"When you first found me. I saw you packing. I was waiting for you to leave," Bucky says. He asks again, "Where were you going? You weren't meant to be here, either."
Clint swallows and stares out into the pitch black. Suddenly it feels suffocating. "Away. But I decided to stay."
He looks away from Bucky's unnerving stare and says, "At least stay until the end of winter. You won't survive long out there when it's like this, and I'm pretty sure that'll violate the promise you made Stark to keep yourself alive. I don't care what supersoldier serum shit you've got in your blood. Not even you could just walk out and survive three months of a barren midwestern winter."
"I'm the Winter Soldier."
"No. You're not."
Clint stares at him until Bucky's eyes meet his. Clint gets up and goes inside. When he arises in the morning, Bucky is sitting, knees drawn up, in front of the fire.
They finally get the pork loin that they'd gone into the city for. Bucky stares at ghosts as they drive by the stretch of highway where bodies laid the week before. It's pristine now, cleared out by Tony and a fresh layer of snow.
He hides it well, but Clint sees him look over his shoulders and scan exits as they walk through the market.
He also catches Bucky staring at the SI painted on the back of his hand and the way he draws in a breath when he presses the metal against his skin and it sticks from the icy coldness.
Even Christmas is colder with the loss of all the people he should be celebrating with. Clint covers Bucky in a knit blanket.
The days grow longer.
The house is so empty. It's just him and Bucky.
There are rabbits now, though. Not in his home, to be clear. Well, there are some in his home, but only hunted ones.
He's not technically supposed to hunt them until later in the season, but there's so many of them in the woods. They had a good breeding season. The air is crisp and fresh, even if it still brings in a chill.
"You don't want to stay here either," Bucky says, aiming the bow at the target nailed to the tree. He pauses his words to release the arrow and it hits the bulls-eye. "You're getting restless."
Bucky's not wrong, Clint thinks as he looks down at the bow in his hands. He toys around with the arrow in his hand, before he lets it loose and it splits Bucky's arrow down the middle. He's missed this feeling. But he doesn’t give Bucky the satisfaction of being right and doesn't deign him with a response.
"What are you staying here for?" Bucky asks, notching the next arrow. "You're just like me. You've got nothing left."
"I liked you better when you were quiet." Clint's arrow hits the target before Bucky gets his bow up. Bucky's bow falters a little, and Clint regrets his words.
Bucky says quietly, "You were going to go before I showed up. And you didn't leave after I left. That time before the cold settled in."
Clint takes a breath. "I realized leaving would have been a mistake. And they say I've got a soft spot for strays."
Bucky's arrows hits off-center. "Isn't that what you do, though? Vigilantism. Bringing justice to those who deserve it."
"Why are you asking?" Clint asks abruptly.
"I was thinking about what I should be doing," Bucky said. "I told Stark…I told Stark that I'd put this arm to good use. But there's only one thing I know how to do."
"You can do anything you want. You're still here." Clint hadn't meant so much bitterness to be injected into his words, but Bucky's face shows that he agrees with the sentiment.
"There's only one thing I know how to do. I might as well put myself to good use." Bucky says, taking another shot. It lodges itself right in the center, right between Clint's two arrows. "I know where all the HYDRA bases are. I know more of HYDRAs secrets than HYDRA does right now."
Clint mulls it over, "And if they capture you again?"
"That's why I'm bringing it up. And not just leaving in the middle of the night," Bucky says, picking through the bushel for another arrow. "Those guys that attacked us didn't have the full trigger. I didn't turn over completely. My trigger is a well-kept secret, I think. And if it does come to it..."
Clint stares at him. "I'm not going to kill you."
"If they turn me, it wouldn't be me. It'd be the Winter Soldier. And you can take care of yourself. You could do it."
He lays alone in bed and thinks that Bucky is right. They can't stay here.
When he gets up and gets dressed, he uncovers the suit still folded neatly at the bottom of his bag. He stares at it for a moment, and feels that flare of adrenaline as he thinks about what he was about to do if he hadn't found Bucky in his barn all those months ago. His katana is still hidden under the false bottom of his car trunk
That restless urge is starting to settle in now that Bucky is stable and doesn't need constant attention. Even Bucky can see it.
So, Clint asks, "What do you think about New York?"
Bucky stares at him.
"Tony's there. Natasha's there. Shit, even Banner's there these days. If there's anyone that could get those words out of your brain, it'd be him. And he knows a thing or two about turning into a giant murderous monster."
Bucky's face draws into a frown at the description, but Clint goes on. "That's about as safe as anyone can get from HYDRA. I mean, admittedly we worked with SHIELD-HYDRA, but they've never tried anything with the Avengers directly, even at their peak."
Bucky stares down at his lap at the blanket he's knitting. Tony's given him some updates that give him more fine movements. He's taken up knitting and the house is filled with blankets. He runs his metal hand over the soft knit surface. Clint watches. Bucky's eyes always soften when he runs his metal hand over the blankets and feels the tender softness and warmth of yarn. Another update from Tony.
"Okay," he says aloud.
"Okay." Clint agrees.
"We're going," Bucky murmurs quietly, "home."