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Spike is running.
The lights in the asylum – the prison – are flashing so hard that it makes his skull ache, his bloody nail-less fingers scrabbling on the walls and leaving red streaks behind. Sirens scream behind him as he jumps over the twisted body of his best friend, scrambles to the still-open window. There are footsteps behind him, loud and ominous – they’re still after him. They’re never going to stop coming after him, and he closes his eyes and jumps.
Spike hits the ground hard enough that he feels something snap inside his broken body. He allows himself a split second to scream in agony and then he has to get up, half-crawl into the steel pipes leading underground, away from the building as flashlights and gunshots haunt the grounds behind him.
It was a mistake.
They’d been desperate. He’d been so scared that they wouldn’t have enough money for Charlene’s medical bills and he’d scrimped and saved and it hadn’t been enough. Hydra had used him as easy pickings, and now he’s never going to see his baby girl ever again. A sob squeezes out of his weakened lungs, inaudible over the cacophony behind him.
They’ll catch him, he’s sure of it. There’s no way that he can run fast enough to escape the many-headed monster waiting in every dark corner he sees. He keeps stumbling down the pitch-black tunnel regardless because he has he has no other choice, no other options except to keep going. He thinks briefly of his cellmates, their dead eyes and open mouths, and thinks maybe dying while fleeing would be a more merciful choice.
Someone screams behind him and he pushes forward, until he runs into solid flesh and cloth.
Spike falls to the ground, stunned from the impact and terrified by the knowledge that he’s been caught, until he looks up and sees that the figures standing above him aren’t wearing the octopus-emblazoned suits that he’s expecting. He squints through the glare of the flashlights at them.
The one closest to him is tall and blond, a line of butterfly stitches over his left eyebrow. It’s clear that he’s different just from the bright purple tank top he’s wearing, the sleeves torn to reveal a long line of skin down the side of his ribcage. He looks like he belongs at a summer on the beach, not in the bowels of Hydra’s base. The only thing that strikes him as different is the quiver full of arrows slung over one shoulder.
Spike turns his gaze to the second man – this one looks like he belongs with Hydra more than the blond man. His hair is dark and shaggy, his clothes black leather, and there’s at least three guns strapped to his body that Spike can see. His jacket is ripped off at the shoulder on one side, and the arm underneath is shiny silver steel.
Who are these people?
“That’s not our contact,” the metal-armed man says, tipping his head to the side.
"Please help me," he begs. "I need your help, they’re following me, they’re going to kill me."
The blond man kneels down next to him, takes in the blood matting Spike’s hair to his face and the sheer desperation that must be prevalent in his expression. His face is painfully sympathetic, soft around the edges in a way that those black-clad menaces never were. He’s got a pair of purple goggles sitting on his head. "Shit, they really did a number on you, huh?"
“Please don’t take me back there,” Spike begs.
“Don't worry, we're not with them. We’re kinda here to mess up their operation? I’m Clint, that’s Bucky.” He jerks a thumb back at the metal-armed man, who’s scanning the shadows beyond their flashlights carefully. Keeping watch.
"Thank god," Spike says, the relief hitting him so hard that he can’t breathe. "Thank god. I'd rather die than let Hydra take me again."
"Just me, buddy," Clint says, smiling. Spike hasn’t seen a friendly face in so long. "Barnes? You want to grant the man's wish?"
"What are you-" Spike says as the metal-armed man draws his gun and points it directly at his forehead. “Wait, no, I-”
Bang.
"Rather die, huh," Bucky says as the bloodied, dishevelled man slumps backwards a neat hole in the centre of his forehead. His face is still frozen in horror, marred by the mud that splashes over him when he hits the dirt. “They haven’t improved since I was there, then. Didn’t expect ‘em to, really.”
“I mean, they are the bad guys,” Clint says, standing up. He dusts off his knees, makes a face. “That’s kinda their whole thing.”
“How come no one’s scared of us, then?”
Clint shrugs. “Probably because we don’t leave people alive to be scared. Hydra’s sloppier than we are.”
“Tell that to the scientist you fucked up last week,” Bucky responds.
“So judgemental, Buck,” Clint says with amusement and a clearly fake pout that makes Bucky roll his eyes. “I bring you all the way out here so we can burn down your brainwashing murder club and you’re being mean to me.”
“I’ll reimburse the dollar eighty-nine bus fee when we’re done here,” Bucky says, tucking his handgun away. “Is your Venmo account still suspended? I’ll just give you two dollars. You can use the extra eleven cents to get yourself something nice. My treat.”
“What a generous man,” Clint says as they start walking the way that the man had come. “I still don’t get why Venmo can ban you for the dumbest shit. I just bought a clown costume on Craigslist, it wasn’t like I was committing a crime.”
“It didn’t help that you showed up at their corporate headquarters in the clown suit to prove your point while you argued with them,” Bucky says. “And that you shot one of the shareholders during their meeting.”
“Technically you shot him,” Clint says.
“Because you promised me that you’d wear that miniskirt while I fucked you,” Bucky says. “That was three months ago and I’m still waiting, Barton.”
“I’m too lazy to shave my legs,” Clint says, voice slipping into a whine. “My legs are so hairy and the razor gets all gummed up and it takes so l- oh, we’ve got company.”
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here? This is a restricted area,” the Hydra grunt says, shoving his gun in Clint’s face.
Clint doesn’t flinch, just looks a little disgruntled about being interrupted when he was talking. He doesn’t even take a step back from the gun. His head tips to the side, a subtle little signal that has Bucky reaching for his gun again. The Hydra grunt isn’t even looking at him – Bucky melts into the shadows more efficiently than Clint does, but that’s part of why their dynamic is handy – but he sure takes notice when Bucky aims the gun at his face, clicking the safety off.
“You’re the Winter Soldier,” he breathes, eyes wide with terror.
“Clever observation,” Bucky says, pulling the trigger. His corpse falls to the ground and Clint steps back to avoid getting hit by it. “We should speed this up before someone warns the woman in charge and she runs away.”
Clint sighs. “Yeah, yeah. Pass me my bow, I’ll take care of the building.”
Bucky pulls it off of his back, hands it over. The smile he gets when Clint takes it from him is warm and pleased, makes a little shiver run down his spine in a good way. He follows as Clint walks out into the open, shielding his eyes from the glare of the spotlights with one hand. It’s annoyingly bright and Bucky shoots the lights a moment later because he’s not willing to deal with it right now.
The side of the building they’re standing on falls into darkness immediately. Bucky blinks as his eyes adjust to the darkness before he glances at Clint, who doesn’t have supersoldier eyesight the way that he does. “You got your night-vision goggles on?”
“Yessir,” Clint responds, pulling the glasses over his face. “We go in through the window, blow up this side, and then get rid of the rest as we go through to the other side?”
“That’ll work,” he says. “You got enough arrows for that?”
“If I don’t, we’ll make a Plan B,” Clint says with a shrug. “We’re good at Plan B’s, right? Bucky?”
Bucky does not want to answer that question, on the basis of the answer being not really. He focuses on kicking in the ground-floor window of the facility instead, ignoring the sirens blaring above them. They’re going to have to get rid of those before it blasts out Clint’s hearing aids. He’s clearing away the stray shards of glass when he hears the familiar whistle of an arrow shooting through the air near him, someone crying out in agony.
“I don’t get how these people can enjoy wearing black all the time,” Clint says. “It bums me out.”
“That’s because they’re not the human equivalent of a peacock like you are,” Bucky says, stepping to the side and gesturing to the empty windowsill. “We’re supposed to be in a hurry, Barton. Ass into gear.”
“I’ll show you an ass in gear,” Clint tells him as he clambers through. He already is, technically, as Bucky watches his extremely tight leather pants and the generous curves underneath it, but Bucky could stand to see a little more. There’ll be time for that later. Maybe not while they’re trying to catch an extremely slippery Hydra official.
“What is this place, anyway?”
“Used to be an insane asylum,” Bucky says, pulling out a pair of Uzis and stepping over the sill carefully. “Then they built a high school next to it and turned it into an extra building for classrooms. Then Hydra bought it after that and now it’s for experimentation on people they know won’t be reported as missing to the authorities.”
“Fun,” Clint says. “I think the high school part is the most depressing chapter.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Bucky remarks.
A woman in a bloody dress bursts out of the door in front of them, her eyes wild. She jumps on a Hydra grunt coming around the corner and they both go tumbling to the floor. Neither of them notice Clint and Bucky walking past them, too busy fighting each other. Bucky pauses as Clint turns around and starts walking backwards, pulling out an arrow and pressing a button to make it light up red before he nocks it and shoots.
The corridor behind them explodes into flames, the bloodied woman and her victim consumed by it.
“Are you planning on leaving any of these people alive?”
“Not really,” Clint says, gestures with one hand towards a man. Bucky shoots him a moment later. “Why? You want to?”
“No,” Bucky says. “Tear it all down.”
Another Hydra grunt charges at them, lunging for Clint. He doesn’t even make contact – Bucky’s faster than a normal human – and he slams the man against the wall, metal fingers crushing his windpipe before the man has a chance to register what’s going on. Clint stays where he is, looking faintly amused as Bucky pushes the man up the wall until his feet are kicking uselessly in the air, face going blue.
“Why are you doing this?” the man whispers, frightened. “You’re one of us.”
“I sure fucking ain’t,” Bucky says, snapping his neck in one swift move.
“Should we have told him that I just like blowing up stuff?” Clint queries. “I don’t know if it would’ve been comforting in his final moments but, you know.”
“Hydra soldiers don’t deserve answers. None of them do,” Bucky says.
Clint shrugs and pulls out another arrow. “I should’ve called myself something more villainous. Then people would remember who I am,” he muses. “How do you feel about ‘Pyromaniac’?”
“No,” Bucky says.
“Shame,” Clint says. His phone pings a moment later and he sticks the arrow shaft between his teeth to input the passcode, blinking at the screen curiously. He says something to Bucky, but it’s muffled by the arrow and isn’t even close to proper English. Or any other language, for that matter.
“What?’
A body that they’d previously registered as dead grabs Clint’s ankle as they’re walking past. He nearly drops his phone, pocketing it as he turns his gaze down to the bloody-faced woman staring up at him. She doesn’t make any attempt to get up – to do anything, and although Bucky can’t see anything physically wrong with her, so maybe it’s the fear paralysing her. He stays back as Clint looks down at her, glances behind them to see if the flames are catching up. Damn building’s too big and too concrete to burn down easily.
“Hi there,” Clint says, crouching down. “You’re getting blood on my pants.”
“Sorry,” the woman says, her voice barely audible.
“Eh,” Clint responds, shrugging. “I was planning on getting blood on them anyway.”
“Are you an angel?” she whispers.
“Maybe that should be my creepy supervillain code name,” Clint says as an aside to Bucky before he speaks to the woman again. “No, I’m not an angel. You should probably keep hoping that there is one out there for you, though.”
The woman makes a choked noise as Clint drives in the arrow shaft under her chin, swats weakly at his arms before going still. Her blood is running down his hand and it looks like he’s wearing a dripping crimson glove, leaking down to the floor as Clint yanks the arrow out again. Clint doesn’t attempt to wipe the blood away and he scratches at his face thoughtfully a moment later, leaving a red streak on the side of his nose.
“That guy we left in the basement died,” he says, more clearly now without the arrow in his mouth. “’tasha says that Aimee was complaining about a weird smell. We’ve gotta get rid of him when we get back in case she goes down there or something. You still got some of that acid left?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Shit. He was supposed to tell us how to blow up Iron Man’s lab.”
“It’s fine,” Clint says. “We can wing it. Maybe we can borrow some tech. Get ourselves a nice little Iron Suit.”
“You wouldn’t wear armour if someone paid you to,” Bucky says.
“You got me there.” Clint’s a little vain sometimes – it’s not a bad thing, and even though he manages to look like a disaster ninety percent of the time, he’s interested in being a disaster with a nice ass. Bucky doesn’t have any complaints about it, considering he has to look at the guy every single day.
Another part of the facility gets blown up, and the sirens are really starting to irk Bucky. Clint’s not wincing, but there’s a slight set to his jaw that indicates he’s a few seconds from going postal. While there’s no repercussions for Bucky if he does go postal, it’s easier to simply fix the problem.
“I’m checking upstairs,” he says, signing along with the words. “Be back in a second.”
“I can have a little fun without you. Don’t miss me too much,” Clint answers as an arrow flies through the skull of a Hydra grunt.
Bucky turns and heads up the stairs.
Clint doesn’t see Hydra as competition. He’s pretty sure that Clint doesn’t see anyone as competition – they’re all opportunities to fuck around a little for him, except for Bullseye. (Bucky had been with Clint for a week when the Bullseye situation occurred. He’s got a strong stomach, but that one was impressively vicious.) His complete lack of interest in villain politics is part of the attraction, if Bucky’s honest.
There’s a control box against the wall when he reaches the second floor.
Score.
“Those fucking alarms,” Bucky mutters to himself, opening the control panel. Instead of wasting time finding a switch he simply reaches in and grabs a handful of wires, yanking at them until the panel sparks dangerously and the building falls dead silent.
The people in the building are also dead silent.
(And dead, probably.)
Time to head back downstairs and find Clint.
Bucky turns away from the control box and catches a flicker of green from the corner of his eye, pulls his gun up and around.
It’s kicked out of his fingers by a heeled boot. He watches it clatter to the ground for a second before blocking the knife thrown at his chest, lets it bounce off of his left arm. His attacker doesn’t give him even a second to recover, a whip cracking over his head and then lashing his side. Thank god for leather; he barely feels it. It comes at him again and he grabs the whip this time, yanks the user forward into him.
They stumble forward and he lets go, the machinery in his arm whirring as he swings a punch. His fist hits the wall instead, sinks into the soft plaster as his assailant ducks. He’s aware that he’s making too many mistakes – it’s worse when the woman attacking him catches him in a thigh hold and then pulls him down onto the ground.
“Bucky Barnes,” Viper says, cutting into the skin under his eye.
“Madame Hydra herself,” Bucky says. He feels a trickle of blood fall down his face. “Been looking for you.”
“You shouldn’t have,” she tells him.
“I don’t really listen to your orders anymore,” he says. “Speaking of, my boyfriend is going to be pretty upset if he catches us like this. He’s the possessive type. How about you let me up so I can crush your windpipe in my fist instead?”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Viper says with her knife at Bucky’s throat, lips pulled into a snarl. “You and your hawk. I’m not letting you ruin any more of my plans, Soldier.”
“I don’t give a fuck about your plans,” Bucky says.
“You should,” she says. “Because I have a very special machine in my possession, and I’m going to use it to-”
Whatever her plan is, she doesn’t get to finish it.
Bucky blinks as the back of her skull explodes in a shower of blood and gore. An arrow shaft bounces away to the floor with part of her scalp still attached to it. The hand holding the knife to his neck goes lax and Bucky shoves Viper’s body off of him with a grunt, taking the knife and slipping it into his pocket as he stands up.
“Would it have killed you to be a little faster about it?” he says.
Clint strides forward with purpose, grabs a handful of Bucky’s hair and pulls him close by force, licks the blood off of his cheek and kisses him hard and deep. He can taste the copper in Clint’s mouth, shoves him up against the wall opposite as his hand tightens in Bucky’s hair. Clint’s legs wrap around Bucky’s waist and Bucky lifts him easily, fingers squeezing at the curve of his ass underneath those tight leather pants.
“Wasted a good arrow,” Bucky says in-between kisses, distracted now.
“Didn’t,” Clint argues. “She touched you.”
“She knew who you were,” Bucky murmurs.
“Yeah? Was she scared of me?”
“No,” Bucky says. “She should’ve been, though.”
Clint’s lips twitch up into a grin that’s ever-so-slightly intimidating. “Do I scare you?”
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” Bucky tells him, somewhere between sarcastic and blisteringly honest, because Clint is a lot of things all at once and it’s not always easy to put it into words. Clint seems satisfied by his answer though, fists his hands in Bucky’s hair until it stings.
Bucky slams him back against the wall, listens to his pained cry turn into a breathless laugh. He presses in close again, until they can’t help breathing each other’s air, until he’s rutting against Clint’s body so hard that it aches. Someone’s screaming and there’s blood on his face and in his mouth, messy and violent and beautiful.
“Can’t wait?” Clint asks, crossing his ankles behind Bucky’s back to keep him there.
“Nope,” he answers, the arousal curling in his gut hot and insistent. “Now. Fast.”
“Before the building burns down,” Clint agrees. “Unless you want to die like this?”
The way he says it makes Bucky think that maybe Clint wouldn’t mind a death like that. He thinks about it for a moment – the building collapsing around them in fire and rubble, copper in his mouth and a warm body against his with the last thing he hears being Clint moaning in his ear. Yeah, okay, maybe there’s a certain kind of attractiveness to it, but they’ve got other things to get done before they die.
Between the two of them they manage to get Clint’s pants off without dropping him on his ass, and then they get Bucky’s down around his knees. Unsurprisingly, Clint has lube and a condom in his pockets – Bucky doesn’t bother prepping Clint, just slicks up his dick and pushes in until Clint’s gasping with it, fingers tightening on Bucky’s shoulders as he thrusts in deep.
“Good plan,” Clint says, voice breathy. “Good plan, fuck me harder, c’mon-”
It’s rough and messy and so far from perfect that it feels phenomenal. Bucky’s breath is coming in short, fast pants as he fucks Clint against the wall, feeling him squeeze tight on every thrust. It’s reckless, they’re being dumb – no one would take a risk like this with him except for Clint and it feels like he’s flying, almost, or maybe falling. He leans in for a kiss that turns into them moaning into each other’s mouths, so caught up in the adrenaline and arousal that Bucky loses most of his situational awareness.
“Soldier,” Clint breathes in his ear, a warning and an order and a moan all at once, and Bucky shoots the man at the end of the hall without taking his eyes off of Clint’s.
The Hydra grunt slides down the wall, leaving a trail of blood behind as Bucky drops his gun and fists Clint’s cock instead, trying to make him come quicker because he said they needed to be fast and because he’s not going to last much longer, too high off of the situation to thoroughly fuck Clint the way he wants to.
“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
“Yeah,” Clint says, whatever else he was going to say lost as he drops his head back against the wall and letting out a sharp ah as Bucky rubs his thumb over the tip of his leaking cock. “Bucky, I’m not gonna-”
“Good,” Bucky says distractedly, speeding up his hand. “Come on, come on me, I need-”
Apparently he doesn’t need anything because when Clint kisses him again he comes anyway, so hard that he loses sensation in his knees for a moment. He feels Clint coming a second later, a cry ripped out of his mouth as cum drips over Bucky’s hand.
They stay there for a moment to catch their breath, Bucky still keeping Clint off the ground.
“Five stars,” Clint says wearily, patting his shoulder. “Remind me to leave a Google Review.”
“I don’t want other patrons,” Bucky mutters.
Clint thinks about that for a moment. “Okay, fair. No reviews. I want a repeat performance, though.”
“Sure,” Bucky says.
Quicker than his eyes can follow, Clint snatches Viper’s knife out of Bucky’s belt and throws it. He turns his head to see it embedded in the chest of a local police officer who was apparently checking out the scene, as it pierces his heart and he falls to the ground.
“Good shot.”
“I can’t miss,” Clint answers cheerfully. “You gonna let me down now, or am I stuck on your dick for the rest of the week?”
“You’d like that too much,” Bucky tells him, pulling out and holding on to Clint until his feet steady on the ground. The filled condom gets flicked into a nearby trashcan and they shuffle their pants back on, Bucky keeping an ear out for any unwanted visitors. It’s hard to tell through the rubble and mess they’ve made, but he can see the orange glow of the sunrise peeking out of a glass-less window. “We should probably hurry this up.”
“So much for fast,” Clint says.
They make their way through the rest of the building with minimal issues – most of the people who were in the place are either dead or long gone, fleeing from the scene now that the roof is collapsing in pieces. Bucky pulls Clint back as a slab of concrete drops in the place he was standing. It’s a wonder nothing fell on them while they were… previously occupied. He swears quietly as Clint lets loose another arrow and the whole building shudders.
“Move, move, move,” Clint shouts as the ground rumbles under their feet, twisting around and starting to run.
Bucky dives after him as they sprint towards the open front door, making it past the threshold just as the roof caves in completely. He goes sprawling in the dirt, the flames warming his heels as he lands.
“Oh, fuck,” Clint says from his own spot on the ground, sounding breathless and giddy.
Bucky turns to see him staring up at the carnage they’ve left behind, yellow and orange reflections flickering in the blue of his eyes. “You liked that?”
“I’ve never had as much fun as I do now before I busted you out of that cryo chamber,” Clint says. “You nearly killed me, but it was worth it. Feel like I should be getting out a ring or something.”
“Maybe some other time,” Bucky replies, getting to his feet before he tugs Clint up as well. “More cops will be coming this way. Use the high school as cover and get out that way?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Clint says, following him to the darkened building opposite the one they’ve just destroyed. “Hey, did they make you do algebra when you were a kid? Or was it like an addition and subtraction only maths class?”
“No algebra,” Bucky says. “Were you good at that? Maths?”
“Yes and no,” Clint says, waving his hand in a so-so gesture. “Good at calculating things, not great at explaining how I did it, which is half the grade. Solid D-minus student.”
“Interesting,” Bucky says. “Aren’t most high-ranked supervillains supposed to be geniuses? Might have your work cut out for you.”
“Yeah? Tell that to Juggernaut,” Clint says with a laugh as they walk through an empty hallway filled with half-open lockers. He’s still got blood on his face, dried on his left hand where he’s holding onto his bow.
They pause for a moment to catch their breath, Clint letting out a tired puff as he leans against the wall. There’s a painful-looking burn on his shoulder where his shirt doesn’t cover it up. He wonders if Clint will let him put cream on it later. Instead of saying anything he reaches to take the bow from Clint’s bandaged fingers and throws it on his back, steps in close so he can remove the nearly-empty quiver from Clint’s back and clip it to his own thigh holster instead.
“The only bad guy I’m interested in telling anything is standing right in front of me,” Bucky tells him, so close that he can see the individual blues in Clint’s eyes.
“Aw, Buck,” Clint says, reaching up to pat the side of his face. “You’re too sweet. I’m going to need you to do something horrific to make up for it.”
“Later, maybe,” Bucky says.
“I’m holding you to that. Uh oh,” Clint says, his gaze flicking away from Bucky as he speaks.
“What?”
“We’ve got company,” he says, pointing outside at where an expensive-looking plane has just landed. It’s a very familiar plane. One person wanders out first, a hunched figure in a green cardigan, shuffling away from the scene with a computer in his hands. Not an issue. He watches the second person take off into the sky – red suit, brown bird flying alongside them. Falcon. That’s fine, he can deal with him annoying them easily enough. Between the two of them, they can shoot him out of the sky if he’s going to be a problem.
Their biggest problem is if…
Bucky grimaces when he spots the blue, red and white striding towards their building with purpose.
Of course.
“Cap’s on the loose,” Clint says. “Think someone reported that you were on the scene?”
“Could be a coincidence,” Bucky responds. “Think we can sneak around them?”
“Sure,” Clint says. “But that’s boring.”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Boring. You’re a damn menace, you know that?”
“All a part of my roguish charm,” Clint says with a wink. “C’mon, this way.”
They go around Captain America, interestingly enough. Bucky doesn’t bother pulling a gun out yet – he might need his hands free for whatever Clint’s got planned, and soon he realises they’re doing a big circle around the plane as well. He doesn’t question it. No point, because he’ll find out soon enough. He keeps an eye on the hall behind him as Clint ducks into a bathroom for a moment, reappearing with a frown on his face.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Looking,” Clint says. He spots the disabled toilets a moment later, his eyes lighting up with mischief as he presses on the door. It doesn’t budge.
“Occupied,” a voice says from inside.
“Not for long,” Clint responds, reaching over to pull a gun out of Bucky’s shoulder holster. He braces one boot on the door itself and aims the gun at the weak-looking hinges attached to it, pulling the trigger repeatedly. How does he do that without hurting himself in the process?
The door creaks inwards, revealing an awkward-looking man in glasses. He doesn’t have his pants off, thankfully, and Clint throws the gun over his shoulder and grabs a handful of the guy’s cardigan, yanking him out of the toilet. The man himself looks shocked and a little awkward, his laptop clattering to the ground.
“Steve,” he says rapidly. “Hydra and the Winter Soldier on my location, I’m-”
Clint takes the earpiece from him and drops it on the ground, staring down the man as it crunches under his boot.
Now Bucky’s got a better look, he realises who the man is.
“Clint,” he says slowly. “That’s the Hulk.”
“Yeah?” Clint says, in a tone that suggests he already knew that, like he thinks Bucky might be dumb for assuming he’d exercise a little caution in this situation as he throws Banner to the ground, watching him flail in a tangle of limbs. His skin is already tinted green, and Bucky thinks that maybe he’d have a longer lifespan if he didn’t enjoy getting tangled up with reckless fools.
"Why does everyone think I'm Hydra?" Clint asks as he kicks Banner in the face, breaking his glasses.
"Because Hydra is the worst thing they can think of," Bucky says, catching him around the waist and starting to run for the exit doors, Clint thrown over his shoulder as an ominous roar comes from the spot they’d been standing in moments earlier. "They don't get that you're worse."
"Worse than Hydra," Clint says thoughtfully, making no attempt to stop Bucky from carrying him to safety. "I like that. Should put it on a business card or something. Clint F. Barton, professional bad guy, worse than Hydra. Hey, keep running. I'm gonna distract our new friend."
“What’s the F for? I never asked,” Bucky says as Clint wriggles around so he’s facing behind them, taking the bow and an arrow from where it’s hanging on Bucky’s thigh holster. He doesn’t bother looking himself, more than content to let Clint handle the massive green monster charging behind them as he keeps running across the football field. He’s ignoring the sounds of those giant feet getting closer, gritting his teeth as he feels Clint’s elbow brush his arm and then- boom.
“Fucker,” Clint says.
“You know, if it was anyone else I’d think that was a joke,” Bucky says, slowing down as they reach the bleachers. “So did you get it changed to that or were your parents just a big ol’ bag of dicks?”
“What- no,” Clint answers distractedly. “No. My middle name’s Francis, I was talking about that.”
“Bucky,” Captain America yells.
“Oh,” Bucky says.
“But my parents were also dicks,” Clint adds cheerfully. “Here he comes. You want me to blow him up? It might make him mad – I don’t think it’ll stop him, though.”
“It won’t,” Bucky says tiredly.
“Drop me,” Clint says. “If we’re going to do this, I want to do a trickshot.”
Bucky dumps him like he’s a sack of potatoes.
Clint’s like a cat in the sense that Bucky can just drop him and he’ll sort himself out on the way down. Unless he’s distracted. Then he just falls on his face, but that’s kind of funny, so it’s not like Bucky’s going to stop doing it anytime soon. Clint’s paying attention this time, so he lands neatly in a crouch on the nicely-manicured lawn. He straightens up as Bucky turns around to watch Captain America come charging at full speed towards them, and then turns away and starts taking the steps up the bleachers two at a time.
Bucky’s content to watch now that the Hulk is encased in an enormous amount of inescapable goop, steps out of the way so he can get a decent view of the shenanigans that are about to ensue.
“Hey, Asset,” Clint calls to him. “Watch this.”
Captain America’s attention switches to Clint as soon as he hears that, zeroes in on the idiot in purple on the top of the bleachers instead of his former best friend. Bucky just snorts at the use of that title, but their star-spangled hero isn’t watching him anymore. Instead he’s running at Clint, and the shield is off of his back and being thrown at Clint before Bucky can do anything to react. It’s thrown perfectly, aimed directly at Clint’s smug little grin and going so fast that it could decapitate him if it hits.
It doesn’t hit, though.
Clint catches the shield easily, swings around in a circle so the momentum doesn’t yank his arm off. Captain America screeches to a halt as Clint tosses the shield up in the air once and then drops into an easy sideways stance, throwing it at a goalpost to his left. It bounces off of the goalpost, then arcs perfectly into a sign where it bounces off of a car salesman’s extremely white grin, then another goalpost, and finally back into Clint’s waiting hands, where he catches it and throws it again so it buries itself into the grass between Captain America’s bright red boots.
“What do you think, Cap? Could I replace you one day?”
Bucky pulls a pack of watermelon gum out of his pocket and unwraps a strip, putting it in his mouth and chewing.
Clint’s a pain in the ass, but he’s Bucky’s pain in the ass.
Captain America, unfortunately, has lost interest in interacting with Clint now that he’s realised Clint doesn’t have any interest in trying to murder him. Or to order Bucky to murder him, for that matter. He’s not biting. Clint wanders over to Bucky’s side of the bleachers and drops down over the side to land next to him. He tries to swipe a piece of gum, but Bucky holds it out of his reach and he sighs dramatically before wandering off as Captain America strides towards them.
“You need to listen to me. You’ve been brainwashed by Hydra so they can turn you into a weapon,” he says. “You’re Bucky Barnes, and I’m-”
“Steve,” Bucky says flatly.
“...yes,” Steve says, frowning for a moment before excitement lights up his face. “Wait- you remember? That’s great! We can-”
“We’re not doing anything, Steve,” Bucky says. “There is no we.”
Steve visibly deflates. “But you don’t have to do this. You could come home with me.”
“See, I don’t really want to do that,” Bucky says.
“But-”
“I’ve spent a century doing what everyone else wants me to do, being ordered to do things a certain way, think a certain way, be a certain way. You’re no fuckin’ different from Hydra when it comes down to it, only you’re too self-righteous to figure it out,” Bucky says. “Here, I get to choose. I’m fine where I am, thanks.”
“But you’re following his orders,” Steve says, looking confused.
“Him? You see that guy over there?” Bucky gestures towards Clint, who is currently trying to fish a piece of broccoli out of his teeth while using the abandoned shield as a mirror. It’s not exactly flattering, but that’s Clint for you. “Barton! Hey. I’m breaking up with you and leaving with Steve to be a superhero now. We’re gonna come back to throw you in jail later.”
“Hot,” Clint calls back, without even looking at them.
“I can do anything,” Bucky says, turning back to Steve. “I can be anyone, and he doesn’t give a single shit. He’s fantastic. I love him. He wants me to kill a couple of people? That’s fine. He’s followed me to fifty Hydra bases and helped me burn them all to the ground. I carry his shit for him because I want to.”
“You’re supervillains,” Steve says. “You’re killing people.”
“Eh,” Bucky says, blowing a bubble with his gum and letting it pop loudly for emphasis. “Not really a downside.”
Steve looks even more bewildered and hurt by that one, but Bucky doesn’t particularly care about his feelings right now. He turns his head as Clint approaches them, tilting his head up so Clint can kiss him properly.
“Asshole,” he says as they part and he realises his gum has gone missing.
Clint pops a bubble, shrugs.
Steve’s staring at them openly, and if Bucky didn’t know better he’d say the man was blushing.
“Hey, Captain America,” Clint says cheerfully. “Our Uber is here and I need to keep my five-star rating, so we’re gonna go now.”
Bucky moves to leave and then stops as he notices Clint isn’t going anywhere yet.
As he watches, Clint sidles in closer to Steve and then leans in to press his lips to Steve’s cheek.
Bucky braces himself, thinking that Clint’s biting off more than he can chew, but instead of trying to kick his ass, Steve just goes an unusual shade of pink.
Clint pulls back a second later, apparently satisfied with the amount of chaos he’s caused today. “If you still want to keep seducing my boyfriend, I want to watch, so I wrote the address to my apartment on your shield.”
Steve looks utterly bewildered by this development, but he doesn’t make any attempt to stop them as Clint offers his elbow out to Bucky, all amused faux-gentleman mischief. Bucky takes it, tries not to roll his eyes too much as Clint starts leading him towards the sole vehicle waiting in the parking lot – a neon green soccer van with pictures of cartoon tigers on it. A woman in a unicorn onesie is sitting inside, headbanging to music that they can’t hear from outside.
How romantic, he thinks, and flicks a piece of brain matter off of Clint’s shoulder as they walk away.