Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Four months. Four whole months of careful planning and calculated actions to ensure his smooth transition into the gang, building a sense of trust between himself and Ivan Baionis. All leading up to a single moment. All clint had to do was lay the foundations to a trap that would end this trafficking ring when sprung. Straight forward, or so it should’ve been.

Things rarely went his way it seems.

After all this time, all these missions, the question of ‘what if shield failed to get him out?’ never crossed Clint’s mind. I mean, why would it? Doubts get a person killed in the field; a mission can’t run unless an agent has full trust in their handler and their ability to get them out. That very fact was drilled into trainees from the second they step into the building for lessons, and like a fool Clint had listened. Had grown complacent to the whims of S.H.I.E.L.D.

17 years of missions, both undercover and overt, had dulled his senses. Clint had forgotten the one lesson that had been drilled into him as a young age, always have a way out, a back-up plan anything. Never allow yourself to rely on someone else to get you out, because if they don’t your left to get yourself out with no plan and feeble amounts of hope.

The plan had been simple. Get in, cosy on up to the person in charge and lead him to a pre-determined drop site where a team of agents would extract him without breaking his cover, and arrest Ivan. Shipping him straight off to the raft for his crimes.

Step one, get in, Check. Clint had done it and well if he did say so himself, all it took was a couple shots and a monologue complaining about superficial issues and he had been initiated into the gang in no time.

Step two, check. Cosying on up to the person in charge was strangely easy, too easy, maybe that should have been a warning, a flashing alarm to get out whilst he still had the chance. He didn’t listen. Would it had been any different if he had? A question that tormented Clint over and over. Why? Why didn’t he listen to the alarm bells ringing in his head? Why did he lower his guard? It didn’t matter now. He couldn't go back and change anything, yet if he could, would he even want to?

Look at this two week of capture and he’s already off his rockers. Fun.

Anyway, over the four months Clint and Ivan had grown a bond, there was rarely a meeting that Clint didn't attend alongside Ivan. Clint had quickly become Ivan’s second in command, pulling strings about locations of dealings and all sorts of odd jobs, which was what led to step three. A simple manipulation of the time and place of an important deal and he was almost homeward bound. What a stupid thought.

Clint had led Ivan to an abandoned warehouse outside of park avenue with the cover of an important deal it was imperative he oversaw personally. That’s about the only thing that went right that day. The team of S.H.I.E.L.D agents Clint had been anticipating and counting on arriving hadn’t arrived.

Instead, it had been Hydra who had shown up, roughly thirty highly skilled agents, ready to whisk him away to God knows where. Despite being an avenger, Clint knew it had been over before the fighting had ever begun, no normal human could win a fight that heavily unbalanced. Nonetheless, Clint fought with a desperation he hadn't felt since he was a child. Biting, kicking, Scratching. Everything he could, anything he could in attempt to flee. To avoid his unknown fate in the clutches of Hydra.

Ivan stood aside, watching the fight with a faint smirk on his face, amused by reducing an avenger down to a caged animal. He laughed. That laugh. That one laugh would taunt Clint for the rest of his life, however long he had left. Who knew when hydra would decide Clint wasn’t worth the effort? Oh god. Natasha, he didn't even say his goodbyes.

That sickening laugh. That smug face. It was easier to focus on hate anyway. The feeling of loss rushed within him away like a dam ready to burst. He couldn’t cry. Not now.

The fight for his freedom felt like it lasted a lifetime to him. Exchanging kicks and punches like a well-practiced dance. Throughout the fight his mind continued to be shrouded in doubt and betrayal. How could S.H.I.E.L.D do this to him? Was he not loyal enough? Had his talents been used up? But Coulson promised shield wasn't like that. Yet, Coulson wasn’t around anymore to fight his case anymore. Was he not worth it because Phil couldn't wrangle him in line anymore?

Before Clint could truly process the whole situation, he was already running out of stamina. Who knew fighting thirty highly skilled agents would be a challenge?! He was slowing down. He knew it. They knew it. Hell, even Ivan fucking knew it. Still, he hoped and begged that Shield would come for him.

They didn't.

Nobody did.

Why would they? He had always been a screw up. It was his fault Loki had enough power to destroy New York, and he knew in his bones the look of hatred on the average passing by agent wasn't his imagination.

This was their payback. To leave him to die.

Hell, maybe he deserved it.

One mistimed punch was all it took for the agents to descend upon him like an angry pack of wolves. One of the operatives aimed a kick towards the back of his knee whilst another caught him off guard with a punch to the jaw. Effectively knocking him to the floor and slowly his vision darked as he felt the telltale signs of losing consciousness. All he heard before he went was that laugh.

Ivan laughing himself near tears.

And really Clint felt the urge to join him. This whole mission. What a waste. All he could hope for was that Ivan got what was coming to him. It was the least anyone could do for him now.

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The ropes continued to dig uncomfortably into Clint’s wrists as they had been for... how many days had it been now? Weeks??

“This hospitality is just getting plain rude now.” Clint cried out into the empty, “Definitely getting a one-star yelp review when I get out of here.”

That laugh still rang in his ears, the constant reminder of shield's betrayal still stung like he’d been burnt. How foolish he had been. Not for any longer, he had learnt of the true nature of shield, and he refused to return.

In the haze of his thought clint neglected to keep aware of his surroundings. It wasn't until a person stood right Infront of him that he noticed they were even there. God, he was getting weak.

“Eyes up little hawk” The stranger drawled on, like they’d rather be anywhere else, which rude.

“Eyes up!” The woman yelled, forcefully turning his chin to make eye contact, their nails like claws dug into the sensitive flesh causing his eyes to prick with unshed tears.

“Now, little hawk.” Roughly her hand moved away causing his head to drop abruptly. Ow bit rude but whatever. “You must be wondering why your here and not it a dingy little ditch somewhere.”

“Well, I guess you could say we have some special plans for you” The lady smirked and let out a small chuckle, laughing as if she has made a joke.

Despite his lack of strength Clint manged to meet her eyeline, facing a chair??

Oh. Not just a chair.

The chair.

The chair responsible for programming the winter soldier, Steve had forced the team to watch as James Barnes was shoved into that chair and reset over and over. Until he was but a shell, a husk of his former self.

Well, that answered one question.
Their plans for him.

James had been freed and in turn Clint was trapped like a fish in a bird cage.

Doomed to lose himself.

Chapter Text

The air surrounding him was thick with static electricity, creating a tingling sensation which danced across his skin. As the energy began to snake its way throughout his body, he could feel it coursing through his veins, an inescapable force awakening every nerve ending leaving no sensation except pain in its path. The pain a reminder of all he had lost, all he will lose.

The electricity surged within his mind sweeping through his thoughts like a wildfire consuming all that lay in its path. As the currents continued to surge, they began to tear through his memories, scattering fragments of his past like leaves caught in a tempest. Each recollection flickered and faded, leaving behind a stark emptiness in place of all he knew.

The remnants of all he was, gone. Faded to oblivion. Lost to the wind.

Just as the electricity surged to life, casting an artificial dawn across the room and filling the air with the faint buzz of power, it was snuffed out. The room fell silent and dark once more, as abruptly and inexplicably as the current had flowed in.

Breath in.

Breath out.

No use crying over the inevitable, he had to get his emotions in check. Acting rash would get him nowhere.

As faint noises began to permeate the air around him, he remained too weak to lift his head and investigate their origins. The sounds of hushed conversations floated through the room, with voices deliberating over whether he needed another round of shock and if his fragile body even could withstand the strain of one more or would he simply collapse under the pressure. The tension in the air was palpable, every whispered word adding to the mounting uncertainty of his fate.

Oh God, he wasn’t just going to die, they were going to use him as a puppet. Milk him for all his uses just as Shield had. Was that all he was destined to be? An asset to somebody else's futile crusade. What did it matter now anyway?

He had nobody.

Hydra made sure of that. Shield made sure of that. Hell, the whole alphabet soup of organisations made sure of that. Only faint echos of a better time was left. Red hair blowing in the wind of a boat, the feeling of safety...

Who was that lady?

Had her name faded from his mind because she wasn't significant enough to etch a lasting mark on his memory? He pondered this as he struggled to recall any other moments shared between him and that lady. Now, as he grappled with the haze that had settled over his past, he questioned if anything from that time held any true value or meaning anymore or had it all been and act to keep him complacent in their string puppet act.

“Little Hawk” Somebody above him drawled on, as if bored by his very presence. “We don’t have time for your little games, you must be completed in an allotted time frame”

“Stop fighting it, let us help you little hawk.” The lady said sharply “Don’t you want revenge against shield for leaving you to die in Ivan’s hands”

Suddenly, the memories came flooding back with startling clarity, revealing the events which had resulted in him being bound to a chair and forced to endure endless agonizing shocks that brought him to the brink of death.

Shield had discarded him without a second thought, casting him aside like a tool that had outlived its usefulness. The organization had turned its back on him the moment his skills were deemed unnecessary, leaving him to face the dire consequences of their betrayal alone.

As the memories surged back with relentless force, an unending rage ignited within him, erasing all emotions except for seething hate. How could he have been so blind, so utterly foolish?

“Oh,” The lady above him began to laugh bordering on hysterical, “That certainly got a reaction out of you. Good. We can use that.”

“Again” She demanded to the others in the room, and with that the next jolt of electricity surged through his body, his muscles tensed involuntarily, and a gasp escaped his lips. The initial shock was both startling and excruciating, leaving him momentarily paralyzed as his mind struggled to process the sudden onslaught of agony.

As his mind began to slip away, the edges of his vision darkened, encroaching upon his awareness like shadows closing in. Each heartbeat echoed louder in his ears, a rhythmic drum signalling his retreat from consciousness. His thoughts became fragmented, disjointed, and the world around him blurred into an indistinguishable haze. Slowly, inexorably, unconsciousness enveloped him, wrapping him in a heavy, inescapable embrace until he was completely claimed by its depths.

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Over and over, he found himself subjected to relentless shocks, each one more intense and unforgiving than the last, until his entire existence was reduced to a constant haze of agony. This unending cycle of pain and suffering wore him down until he was but a husk of his former self. A shell ready for Hydra to fill with compliance and blind obedience, devoid of any trace of individuality or will. His once vibrant spirit now lay dormant, awaiting the inevitable command that would render him a mere instrument of their will.

Wrath. Benign. Espionage. Blitz. Aim. Kamikaze. Avenge.

“The soldier is ready to comply”

-----------

As inevitable as the sun rise his mind surrendered to this will of his captors, as any feeling of control slipped through his fingers like sand. His thoughts once his own, clear and wild like a relentless storm, now fell into a simple rhythm determined to only comply.

Wrath. Benign. Espionage. Blitz. Aim. Kamikaze. Avenge.

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Life unfolded in a monotonous rhythm. All he had to do was comply. Train. Obey. The days blended together in an endless cycle of submission, with no room for deviation. His value to hydra lay within his ability to brainlessly follow their every command. His worth was measured by his obedience, every order followed without question.

And yet his mind continued to wander, that lady with the red hair... Her memory felt safe, like family, however her name constantly eluded him, playing a game of cat and mouse. No matter how many resets he undertook, how many memories came and went. That lady stayed like a rock, an anchor to keep him from falling to far into the clutches of Hydra.

Wrath. Benign. Espionage. Blitz. Aim. Kamikaze. Avenge.

Why? Why did this have to happen to him?

Who was he anyway?

Was it even worth trying to fight Hydras clutches? It’s easier to give in. Less pain. Less heartbreak.

“Soldier is ready to comply”

Less choices to be forced to make. That sounded nice.

-------------

All of a sudden, alarm bells began to blast, their shrill sounds piercing the air. Explosions erupted with deafening roars around the asset, engulfing the surroundings in a fiery chaos. The ground trembled with each detonation, and a dense cloud of smoke and debris filled the atmosphere, turning visibility to a minimum. Despite that, he strained his eyes and amidst the disarray and destruction he could make out a blurry figure.

The figure wore all an all-black compression suit except one arm was exposed, adorned with a distinct red star. Where did he remember that from?

The lady with the red hair, she had been shot... Right?? He didn’t know, and honestly the pain of searching deep within his mind for too long prevented him for really caring to find out.

“Don’t just stand around little hawk” The woman yelled, “Do something! I order you to take out the intruder, better yet I order you to protect me”

“Ready to comply” He exclaimed as he reached down to obtain his guns from his high holsters. Orders were orders and all he was made for was to follow them blindly.

Chapter Text

“Cause I’m with you to the end of the line”

What an idiot. Who just stops fighting when facing an enemy? And yet that man’s, Steve his mind supplied unhelpfully, words kept replaying in his mind like a broken record corrupting every thought with a twisted sense of need. A need to figure out who that blonde man was. A need to know how much that man knew about him and the person he used to be.

The man had called him ‘Bucky’ and despite the initial confusion regarding the name he had found himself constantly gravitating towards it. Every new alias he made managed to have a small correlation to the name. Sloppy work he knows but inside him a fire began to subtly grow, a desire to remember all he could filled his subconscious. All stemming from that name, or rather that man.

Over time, flashes of moments long forgotten began to flash back to the forefront of his mind in droves. A blonde boy rushing into fights in order to defend what was right. Growing up alongside a brown-haired girl... Rebecca? That felt right. Some memories stuck in his mind like scars of a time he could no longer reach. Many faded back to the oblivion of which they came from.

Despite the growing demand for information regarding his past he couldn't allow anything to interrupt his mission.

Take down HYDRA.

Partly for revenge he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. HYDRA had robbed him of the very thing he began to sought out once freed from their shackles. His memories, his morals, for God’s sake his entire damn life. They instead chose to wipe him blank in order to carry out their short-sited crusades. Reducing him to nothing more than an obedient dog living only to await their orders. For years.

However, his longing for revenge was overshadowed by guilt and the growing demand to repent for the actions he took whilst in HYDRA’s control. A multitude of sins constantly staining his hands red in the blood he shed in the fifty years he was used as a puppet. The deaths of countless individuals weighed heavily on his conscience, if only he had been quicker to break free of their control. Many parents will be forever separated from their children fated to remain alone unable to bear the pain, many children orphaned forced to move home to home never really learning the love of a family.

So much suffering created by his hands alone. No not alone, a collaborative effort by his and his sick superiors within HYDRA.

--------------

As Bucky traversed the soiled streets of Bamburg, a city deep in the heart of Germany, a subtle sense of dread and uneasiness built within the streets. Citizens constantly looking over their shoulders, police officers keeping their heads down, even criminals seemingly thought twice before acting. It became increasingly obvious to him that HYDRA had sunk its filthy claws into the very essence of the city and was leaching off it like a parasite. Draining it of all its value and by extension crushing the very thing that had made it home to a select few.

Every resident bore a look of defeat and weariness, their faces etched with the lines of countless struggles and unspoken sorrows, reflecting the cumulative burden of HYDRA’s influence of the city and their countless demands. HYDRA always requested more and more until the cities collapsed under the weight of the demands. They remained a constant drain on cities destined to cause their collapse with very little opposition. SHIELD could only do so much to harm an operation so deep routed in their own affairs.

Bamburg was a key hub for HYDRA’s scientific operations; dismantling it would delay many projects by months, if not years. Long enough from Bucky to make a significant dent in his mission to dismantle HYDRA for good.

Up ahead of Bucky the base lay looming above the city an unceasing assertion of hydra’s dominance over the city and its people. Years spent being poked and prodded there came rushing back at once solidifying the dire need to wipe the place completely off the map, any risk that would need to be taken was quickly mitigated by the need to prevent further harm coming to others and the community below hydra’s tyrannous rule. Bucky’s time to strike was rapidly approaching and for the first time in a while his mind was blissfully clear, focused only on fortifying his plan ensuring there was only room for success.

Under the cloak of night, Bucky approached the heavily-guarded perimeter, moving with the silent precision of a shadow. Each step was carefully measured, avoiding the gravel that could betray his presence. Ahead stood a formidable fence, topped with razor-sharp barbed wire, but he was prepared. With practised ease, he retrieved a compact grappling hook from his belt, deftly securing it to the fence. Scaling it with the grace of a cat, he landed silently on the other side.

Bucky paused, scanning the area for security patrols. His eyes caught the rhythmic sweep of surveillance cameras and the strategic placement of guards designed to keep even the best out. He paused for a brief second taking time to breath in and out. Timing was everything. He waited, counting the seconds between the camera rotations and the guard's shifts. When the moment was right, he dashed to the nearest blind spot, blending seamlessly into the shadows cast by the towering buildings.

Slipping through a narrow utility access, Bucky found himself in a labyrinthine network of corridors. The glow of security monitors bathed the passageways in an eerie light. He navigated the twists and turns with the knowledge of an insider, having memorized the facilities through years of torment. His every sense was on high alert, ears attuned to the faintest sound of approaching footsteps, eyes scanning for any telltale signs of alarm systems or guards that could potentially give away his location.

Just ahead lay the target of this strike, a heavily secured vault filled to the brim with highly sensitive information including names of hydra agents, locations of bases, previous and future experiments. Enough to cripple many sections of hydra.

At a heavily locked door, Bucky's nimble fingers worked swiftly, bypassing the electronic lock with a tool kit stolen from a supplier in Budapest. The door hissed open slowly.

'A bit dramatic,' Bucky thought, however he swiftly dismissed the thought as he turned his attention to the vault, determined to take all he could to destroy hydra’s influence.

With well-honed precision, Bucky inserted a USB drive into the computer. His fingers rapidly flew over the keys, swiftly initiating the download of crucial files from the mainframe. The ease of the mission and by extension the lack of higher-level security rang alarm bells within his head, nothing could ever be this easy right? Even for a highly competent assassin the simplicity was just taking the piss.

“HEY!” the yell of a hydra agent reverberated around the room destroying the faux sense of peace. Jinxed it.

The cry of alarm set off a string of alarm bells, quickly followed by a small army that begun to surround him. Each agent wielded a gun that Bucky knew all too well and due to that extensive knowledge, he also knew that those guns weren’t built to destroy the armour he was currently wearing.

Hell, those guns could hardly shoot through a piece of card, but they were cheap to buy and provide to a mass number of agents. That exact thought process would be their undoing, Bucky would sooner make them rethink their cheapskate ways than be taken down by enemies that looked as if a strong gust of wind could take them out. Puny like the blonde before... before he grew?? Bucky’s memory grew fuzzy attempting to throw him out of his own mind.

Right. Back on topic, killing these agents getting out and then living his best life. 10/10 plan if Bucky said so himself.

Within a split second, the sound of gunfire echoed throughout the vault, bullets ricocheted around the metal walls causing a constant barrage of chaos. Bucky sprinted forward, his metal arm glinting under the flickering lights as he fired round after round at the Hydra agents swarming towards him. Pathetic. You would’ve thought hydra would have higher standards than these armatures. Budget cuts clearly hit hard.

“Get him!” one of them yelled, but their words were drowned out by the deafening roar of Bucky's rifle.

He spun around a corner, pressing his back against the cold wall for a moment's reprieve. His breath came out in rapid bursts, but he couldn’t afford to rest. He had to power through, his only thoughts focused on getting out with the usb intact. Reloading his weapon with practiced precision, he peeked around the corner, counting at least a dozen agents closing in.

Bullets recoiled off the walls as he ducked back, calculating his next move. Oh to hell with it bucky thought. In a fluid motion, he sprinted down the hallway, weaving between the hail of bullets. His metal arm absorbed the brunt of the impacts, clinking with each hit, while his eyes remained focused and determined.

Reaching the end of the hallway, he slammed his shoulder into the door, breaking through into a new section of the facility.

“Wrath. Benign. Espionage. Blitz. Aim. Kamikaze. Avenge.”

Bucky’s mind reeled at the sound of a new set of code words. No way? Absolutely no way, it had only been around 3 months since he’d escaped hydras grasp. How had they managed to gain a replacement for him. Better question, how had they managed to install code words into a new vessel so quickly?

Bucky hesitantly raised his head to find the origin of the words as fear thrummed beneath his skin. He had failed before he truly had a chance to complete his mission. He had failed to save others from falling into his fate and walking the path he was forced to walk.

Ahead of him stood a lady but she wasn’t the focus to his undivided attention, no instead he was entranced by sight of the newest soldier fallen victim to hydras programming.

“Don’t just stand around little hawk” The woman yelled, “Do something! I order you to take out the intruder, better yet I order you to protect me”

Following that, as if it was as natural as breathing, ‘little hawk’ reached towards his thigh holsters as retrieved a pair of high-quality revolvers.

The nickname ‘little hawk’ forced Bucky to pause, not only was this man highly skilled in shooting but that name... It had to allude to a previous identity or something. Before long, his mind provided him with a clear-cut identity match.

Hawkeye. The missing avenger.

Shit.

Bucky couldn’t just kill him now. Yet, he couldn't trust anybody else to not take advantage of Hawkeyes vulnerable state.