Okay, basically Clint was a slave and Coulson stole him. Coulson may come across as a bit of a dick in this fic. Bobbi Morse definitely comes across as a bitch.

Some bad language, some non-explicit references to abuse (physical and implied to be sexual too) and the last chapter is going to be just straight up porn, so kids, be good. Hints of D/s present, but it's complicated. I want to make clear that I don't think that what Clint went through when he was young didn't 'make' him a sub (it's discussed and discarded as an explanation in story but I wanted to make sure I said it).

I borrow some from Fraction and Aja's Hawkeye comics in this. Also, there's like a ton of flashbacks.

This story is complete on my computer, but I decided to post it one chapter at a time, because I'm not totally happy with the end and may edit some chapters before posting.

As always, all comments welcome!

Coulson is dead. Thump. Coulson is dead. Thump. Coulson is dead. Thump. Coulson is de-

"Agent Barton if you do not cease this behaviour immediately, I am required to inform someone." Clint startled badly and thumped his head against the wall. Again. He brought a hand up to cup the back of it and it took a moment to remember where he was and who the sky-voice was. He'd only been out of psych and living in the Tower for a couple of days.

"JARVIS. I'm okay."

"No, Agent. You are not. Please consider calling someone. Or allowing me to call someone."

"No, really, I'm..." he laughed at himself. "Fine."

It took JARVIS a moment to respond.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Agent Barton?" and it's said so fucking gently... Clint buried his face in his hands and laughed and cried and shook. Eventually he managed to get himself together enough to lift his head up.

"There's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do. I'm a broken toy, JARVIS."

He stood up and went over to the bathroom and locked himself in. He had a good welt rising on the back of his head, and there was a bit of blood too. Well, a lot of blood, but scalp wounds always bleed a lot. He wondered how often Stark did damage to himself that the protocol was to fetch someone when it looked like the damage was going to get permanent.

"Aw, wall," he said as he poked at the damage.

He splashed some water on his face and then poked at the head wound. It wasn't very big, the cut, but he had a nice sized goose egg. He'd have to wear a hat for the next couple of days.

"You are to seek medical attention immediately on noticing an injury. That doesn't have to mean the Infirmary, and we can negotiate on what wounds you can tend yourself, but someone has to double check any you treat alone." It's a rule and it's one that they've discussed before, but Clint still screws up his face like he's smelled something bad.

"That's bullshit."

"No. It's not."

"Worried about wasting your investment?"

"No," Coulson leaned forward and put his hands on his desk, looming over Clint who was lounging in one of the chairs opposite. "But I take care of my things."

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Agent Barton?"

"Is Banner around?"

"He is. Do you wish me to ask him to attend you?"

"Is he awake?"

"He is currently awake and in his lab."

"Thanks." Clint rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. He went back into his bedroom to grab some clothes. They were just loose fitting sweats, but while he was happy to roam around his floor in his boxers, he didn't want to traverse the Tower in them. He noticed that there was a dent in the plaster stained with blood where he'd been sitting and brushed his fingers over it. "Aw, wall." He'd have to get some poly-filler in and fix it up before Stark noticed and kicked him out.

"Shall I warn Dr Banner that you are coming?" JARVIS asked.

"Uh... Sure, why not. Tell him it's not a big deal."

"Barton, sit down."

"No." He kept pacing. "You're going to punish me anyway. I can't," he shot a glance at Phil, still moving. "I can't."

"Okay. Why do you think I am going to punish you?"

"I spoke back. Disobeyed orders."

"Yes."

"And I deserve to be punished."

"You were right. You disobeyed an order that was made without awareness of the full information. If we had known there were children in that building then we would have handled things differently. You should have told your handler rather than just ignoring orders and going in yourself, but we can work on that." Clint had stopped pacing to stare at Coulson and the other man smiled a mild little smile at him.

"Are you... You're serious."

"Yes. You made the right call."

"What about talking back? And how I handled things?"

"Talking back is better than the silence we had for the first six months. In fact, it's a good sign. Just try and keep to a minimum of chatter on the comms and we're fine."

"But..."

"I am not happy with you taking decisions into your own hands. You're on a team for a reason."

"I don't..." Clint shook his head, not in a denial, but as though to clear water out his ears. "I have no reason to believe those people will listen to me. They haven't listened to me about anything else. You said... you said it would be different here."

"I did. Why don't you tell me exactly what you mean?"

So Clint had explained. This was his third mission on the team and the third time his team members had ignored or belittled and mocked his contributions, leading to unnecessary complications. Coulson had got a glint in his eye and his mouth was set in a hard line.

It wasn't Clint who was punished.

Later, they ate dinner together and Phil had sighed.

"What?"

"I had wondered what it would take to get you out of your shell. If I'd known all it would take to get you to speak your mind was to put you with idiots..." Clint had stared at him for a minute, then grinned fiercely, getting a matching smile in return.

"What happened?" Banner asked as soon as Clint walked in. The Doc was wringing his hands together in front of him and Clint stopped, moving aside so Banner had a clear run at the door. He wasn't sure if Banner was just nervous in general or wary of Clint, but either way he didn't want to be between Banner and an exit if something went wrong.

"Nothing. I hit my head."

"Come and sit down." Banner pulled a first aid kit out and poked at the wound. "You know I'm not a licensed doctor, right? I have a lot of the training, and I practiced some out in India, but I'm not a professional."

"I know."

"Then why not go to the SHIELD Infirmary?"

"Because."

"Okay then." Bruce cleaned up the wound with something that hurt and then used something else to fuse the edges together. "There. You might have a mild concussion, so I'm going to ask JARVIS to keep an eye on you."

"Thanks." He got up and started for the door.

"You obviously didn't want to show me that," Banner said. "So why ask for help?"

"It's a rule," Clint said, shrugged and left.

"Fuck." The man in the suit said it in a conversational tone, and it made Clint smirk despite himself. He was kneeling on the floor, a collar around his neck and the leather bands –which they hilariously called jesses- around his wrists and ankles. He knew better than to raise his head to look properly at the stranger, but he was pretty sure Suit Guy had a gun. "We're getting you out of here." A wave of panic hit Clint at those words and he shrank away.

"It's okay," Suit Guy said, holstering his weapon as a woman Clint immediately dubbed SWAT Chick because of her tight body armour and assortment of weapons entered the room with her own gun drawn. "We aren't with the people who hurt you. We're getting you out of here."

"Sir," SWAT Chick said, she was Asian and pretty and Clint was pretty sure that the two of them could kill him without breaking a sweat or using anything other than their bare hands, "this is him."

"This is the assassin?"

"Yes." Suit Guy hesitated for maybe three seconds, then nodded decisively.

"New information. Mission parameters have changed. We're getting him out of here."

"Yes, sir."

Clint rubbed at the skin at the back of his neck. It felt wrong, and he knew why. But knowing didn't change anything. He started pacing back and forth in his room, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do now. Coulson was dead. He was suspended (probably fired) from SHIELD. He was living in Tony Stark's Tower and he was on Captain America's team. Who was he supposed to be loyal to?

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Agent Barton?"

"You're programmed to serve," Clint said and the phrase sent a shudder down his spine. "But you serve Tony first."

"That is a correct, if limited view."

"If Tony was gone, and he didn't tell you who you were supposed to go to, what would you do? Would you follow orders from Cap?"

"I..." the AI hesitated and Clint immediately felt bad. He knew how difficult a question it was. "I believe I would, so long as his principles aligned with the ones I know Sir to have."

"Right. So you'd follow him until he gave you a reason not to."

"I would."

"But what if Miss Potts was the one paying for your-your electricity?"

"Then I would follow her as well, to the same extent."

"But how could you follow two masters? What if they contradicted each other?"

"Then I would follow whichever order was closest to Sir's." JARVIS paused. "May I ask where this line of questioning has come from?"

"You can ask, you can always ask, but I don't have an answer to give you."

"Sir."

"Don't do that."

"I don't understand."

"I don't need you to kneel to me." Coulson reached out and tugged the younger man to his feet. It wasn't the first time Barton had dropped to his knees for Coulson (Fury was the only other one who got that response from the sniper), but Coulson hated it every time it happened.

"But you said...!"

"I know what I said." He sighed. "Honestly, Hawkeye, it was the only way I was going to get you to cooperate."

"So that's it. You're just going to turn me loose. Get rid of me?"

"No. You are one of my agents, and I expect you to act accordingly."

"Fuck you."

"That's more like it."

"No, seriously, fuck you. You said I was yours."

"I said what I had to."

Clint didn't turn and leave because he couldn't, but he did take one step back.

"I can't. I don't know how to... you're supposed to..." The panic on his face was painful to watch.

"Sit down. Take a deep breath." Clint obeyed without thought. "Try and calm down. I don't understand. You know that what those people did to you was wrong?" Clint nodded. "You know that we aren't like them?" Clint nodded. "Then why are you asking me for this? I need you to explain."

"I don't know how to..." Clint managed. "I've never made my own decisions. I can't. I... you stole me and I'm so fucking grateful, you don't even know, but I'm supposed to just... what?"

"You're supposed to do your therapy, listen to your superiors and be loyal to SHIELD."

"I can do that. I will do that. I'm doing the therapy, aren't I?"

"And we're all very proud of you." It could have come out sarcastic, but instead it sounded genuine. It was genuine. Clint had come a long way from the dirty, terrified, silent young man they had pulled out of hell. And he'd only been part of SHIELD for about a year.

"But how am I supposed to... Look, what if you tell me to go get something to eat but then Sitwell sees me on the way to the canteen and asks me to do something for him? Am I supposed to go eat, or go with Sitwell?"

"Is that something that's actually happened?" Coulson asked, and sighed when Clint's gaze darted away and he didn't answer. "If you're hungry, you go eat. If you feel like talking with Sitwell, do that." Clint just looked confused. "You understand the hierarchy within SHIELD?"

"Yes, sir."

"My orders take precedence. There are some orders which you are never to break. Other than those, you follow the people above you in the order they're ranked. So Sitwell get's precedence over Raines."

"Okay. I guess I get that. What are the permanent orders?"

Coulson winced. He probably shouldn't be doing this. Barton's therapist would probably have a few choice words for him if he did this. But she hadn't seen Barton kneeling in that bare concrete cell, chained and so loyal to people who would never deserve it. Phil had. And Clint had come a long way from that broken boy and Coulson should probably leave well enough alone...

Barton so clearly needed it though.

"You are not to get to your knees for anyone. You are not to have sex with anyone unless you want to and you initiate the contact. You are to check all wounds with medical personnel. You must eat at least two meals a day." At that point, Barton mostly looked confused, but Coulson thought he'd covered most of the bases. He thought for a moment. "If you get an order you don't agree with, you are to come to me. If an agent does anything to hurt you or anyone else, you are to come to me."

"Yes, sir." Some of the tension went out of Barton, and he ducked his head. "Can I come to you if I need to know what to do?"

"I... Yes. If you can't decide what you want to do, you can come to me and I will help."

"Thank you, sir. Is there anything you need from me right now?"

"You should get something to eat and then get some rest."

"Yes, sir."

Clint was going fast in no direction. He had too many masters to please, and even though he knew that was screwed up, and that he didn't have to follow orders (he'd had a lot of therapy in the ten years he'd worked for SHIELD and he was a long way from being that screwed up kid) he stillwanted to be able to follow orders. Orders were simple. Orders were clear. Orders were better than trying to figure out things for himself. Besides, he wanted to be taken care of.

That was the part of it that had always confused Coulson. He had tried to explain to Clint that he was free. That he wasn't a slave anymore. That he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. And he'd always been confused when that had started Clint hyperventilating. They'd reached a compromise, where Coulson owned Clint and Clint did as he was told, but they had negotiated fail-safes and safe-words and Clint could disobey or say no whenever he wanted. The point was that he hardly ever wanted to say no. And when he did, a quiet word and Coulson would discuss it with him. They'd negotiate.

Now he was splitting in two. At least. Maybe more. It felt like more.

Stark wanted to split with SHIELD. Rogers didn't, but he had given orders that directly contradicted ones given by SHIELD on at least four previous missions. SHIELD was where Clint's loyalty should lie. Coulson was SHIELD. SHIELD saved him. But the World Security Council was getting involved and everything was getting steadily more shady and people kept asking Clint for his opinion and what he wanted to do and whether he agreed with them and he just... didn't know what to do.

He didn't even know how to start to figure out what to do.

He was getting better at making decisions. He could pick what he wanted to eat and he was okay at debating what to watch on Movie Night, because Phil had helped him with those sorts of things. Phil had helped him figure out what he liked, what he wanted. But the bigger things, the ones that matter, he still can't do that. Especially when he has everyone telling him different things and expecting him to know the answer.

"Clint? We're debating Chinese or Pizza for dinner and could use a deciding vote," Bruce's voice came over the Tower comm system.

And that was it. The last straw.

"I'm not hungry," he managed, "thanks though." He'd had two meals today. He was within the rules. Clint turned off the comm except from the very emergency channel and he headed into the stupidly big closet that doubled as a panic room and weapons locker (because Tony) and shut himself in. He pulled blankets and pillows around him and curled up and just shut down for a while.

He was safe here. He didn't have to make any choices. No one was going to hurt him or make him do anything or try and force him to have an opinion.

He was safe.

Gentle fingers in his hair.

"I thought I told you about kneeling," but it wasn't a reprimand. "What's wrong?"

"Bobbi Morse wants to go to dinner with me. And I said yes before I realised she meant it as a date and I don't want to date her and she wants me to pick a restaurant, but she didn't even have a list, she just wants me to pick somewhere out of everywhere in the city that serves food and everyone is telling me different things and I don't..." he trailed off, hands clenched tightly on his thighs, well aware of how stupid and young he sounded. "Can I just stay here for a while? I don't want to have to..." he trailed off again and tried a shrug.

"You can always stay." And Clint let out a long steady breath and relaxed all at once. He didn't have to think here, not if he didn't want to. If he couldn't handle it. When he could handle it, Coulson would push him and press him and make him stretch himself, and it felt amazing, the challenge of it (and the way Coulson managed to debate with him without making him feel wrong or stupid or scared) but when Clint needed everything to stop for a while, Coulson would help.

And it was fucked up. He knew that. He'd been at SHIELD for a couple of years now and he'd realised that the whole slavery thing wasn't normal. That people were supposed to be able to pick out what clothes to wear or whether they liked red or blue without freaking out.

But he didn't care.

"Clint? Buddy?" That was Steve. Why was Steve...?

"JARVIS, did you tattle on me?"

"Forty eight hours without food, water and only movement between here and the bathroom. You stopped responding and you know my parameters."

"Fuck. Really? I didn't realise it had been that long." He sat up, his muscles aching and joints protesting, and ran a hand through his hair. He'd broken the rules, but Coulson wasn't here to punish him or ask him to do better. Not that Coulson would punish him, not really, just tell him why what he'd done wasn't okay.

"You want to come out?" And that was Bruce.

"JARVIS, is the whole team out there?"

"Indeed."

"Awesome. We are going to have words."

"Barton, stop hiding and come out of the closet." And that was Stark. Clint grinned when the remark was followed by a meaty smack. And Natasha.

"Aw, team." He ran a hand down his face, rubbing off the creases left by the pillows and sighed. "Tell them I'm coming out."He winced. "I mean, that I'm, shut up Stark."

Clint tugged at his clothes for a moment, then opened the door and stepped out. The whole team was there, save Thor who was off in Asgard. They all looked worried. Especially Natasha. And that just made Clint feel even worse. Natasha had never seen him like this. By the time they'd brought her into SHIELD he'd adjusted, he'd been able to pass as normal. In fact, bringing her in had been the thing that had let him settle fully into his skin.

"Take the shot, Hawkeye."

"Sir..." He knew he was taking a risk. He should follow orders. Following orders was what he was was a pause, a long pause, and then Coulson's voice came back over the comm.

"What is it?"

"I don't think we should kill her."

"Excuse me?"

"I think we can bring her in. Please."

Another pause, this one stretching longer and Clint knows Phil's going to say no because Clint asked for too much and didn't follow orders and this was going to finally be the thing that made Coulson change his mind about Clint and...

"Okay. But you're putting both of our careers on the line here."

"I know."

The story grows and grows with the telling and does wonders for his reputation, but he never really cared about that. The trust, the faith, the loyalty in return. He cared about that.

Clint brought his right hand across to rub at his left elbow and scuffed his foot against the floor.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak everybody out."

"Come and sit down," Steve said. "Are you injured?"

"No," he said and sat on the end of his bed and the others sat and stood around him.

"Want to tell us what's going on with you?" Bruce asked.

"No," Clint repeated.

"Well that doesn't fly," Tony folded his arms across his chest and frowned. "You don't get to just fade away. That's not how this team thing works, or so they keep telling me."

Clint snorted at that, because that is entirely the problem. Team.

"Just..." Steve let out a frustrated huff of air. "Is it Loki?"

"What? No." Although it was Loki; that was part of it at least. He knew now that there was a difference between being a slave and being was different even than when he was back being used and abused as an assassin. And that was part of why everything was so difficult. He'd lost the ability to choose and he'd lost his support system in one fell swoop and now he was struggling and treading water and just trying to keep his head up and keep going.

"Then what?" Natasha asked, speaking for the first time, her eyes sharp on Clint.

"We're worried, Clint," Bruce added.

And Clint just... stopped. He knew he couldn't explain why he was acting like a freak and he couldn't just ask them to... he knew it was screwed up. How was he supposed to explain it to them? My life as a teen slave, it sounded like fiction. Especially with the sort of persona Agent Barton had built up. He put his face in his hands and laughed, a choked off sound.

"Fuck off," he said cordially. "I can't do this right now."

"You don't have a choice," Steve told him, his voice firm. "We need to know you've got our backs and we need to know you're not going to... do anything to yourself. Tell us what's going on."

Every muscle in Clint's body tensed at once and suddenly he wasn't wrapped up in his team. He was surrounded by people who were stronger and faster and more deadly than him. And they were giving him orders.

"Clint," Natasha said, her hand coming up in a warding gesture and he flinched. Steve frowned, taking a step towards Clint and that was it. Clint was up and scrambling for the vent above the bed before he could even think what he was doing through.

He spent the next week in the vents. He came out regularly enough, for food and to change clothes and he talked to JARVIS when spoken to, just to make sure that the team didn't have a reason to chase him down.

So they called in Fury.

Yeah. That was just... awesome.

"The kid doesn't know what he's saying. He's been a slave to some very bad people since he was fourteen years old. How do we know he's going to be able to function the way we'll need him to?"

"With all due respect, Director, that young man is 24 years old and he's been through hell. He's been treated like nothing for the past ten years, give or take, and he still managed to be the best god-damned marksman we've ever seen." Coulson folded his hands in his lap. "That's why you sent us after him in the first place, wasn't it?"

"Coulson," Fury started, but Coulson just kept speaking over the top of him.

"That's right, Director, it is remarkable. And I am sure that he will be an excellent asset for SHIELD."

"Fine. Fine, you can keep him. But on your head be it if he turns out to be unable to adjust."

"Yes sir, thank you sir."

"Barton, front and centre!" Fury snapped, standing in the middle of the communal living room.

"Yeah, that's not going to work," Stark said, "don't you think we tried that sort of thing already?"

Clint was already halfway out of the vent in response to the order and he snorted a laugh. He immediately went to stand in front of Fury and it took all of his concentration and focus to not drop to his knees.

"Sir."

"Agent Barton. Good to see you. Your team has expressed some worry that you might not be yourself."

"Yes, sir."

"You're not yourself? Or are you just saying you're aware of the teams worry?"

"I'm coping, sir. I'm adjusting."

"You spent the last week hiding in the air vents."

"Captain Rogers and the team came into my living space, explained that they had been watching me and then Captain Rogers told me my behaviour in my private quarters was unacceptable and that I needed to explain myself."

"Ah." Fury considered for a moment. "What preceded that?"

"I spent 48 hours in my room without interacting with anyone including JARVIS."

"Captain, you invaded my agent's privacy because you were lonely?"

"No, I mean," Steve flushed and glanced at Tony.

"JARVIS reported Clint had gone two days without food or water."

"Is it routine to spy on your houseguests, Stark?" Fury shook his head and didn't wait for an answer. "You're welcome back in SHIELD housing."

"I don't..." Clint started to shake his head and hunch his shoulders and he could feel everyone's eyes on him and knew this wasn't how 'Agent Barton' was supposed to act. He forced himself to stand back upright. "I think I'm going to get an apartment in the city, sir."

"You are?" One raised eyebrow was Fury's only concession to his surprise. "Good for you, Barton. I understand if you want to be removed from the team until this issue is seen to."

"No, sir. Agent Coulson requested that I join the Avengers."

"Is that how it is then?" Fury paused, but it was clear he wasn't expecting a response. "Let me know if you need help moving out."

"Sir." Barton nodded sharply and moved back towards the air vent.

"Clint, wait," Banner was wringing his hands again. "We screwed up. But that doesn't mean you have to leave."

Clint didn't answer.

"You did more than screw up," Fury said, as Clint disappeared back into the wall. "If Agent Barton asked me to I would..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't know what I'd do. But it wouldn't be pleasant. Romanov, I thought you of all people would know better." Natasha just stared back at him, blank faced. He knew that meant that she was calculating beneath the blank facade, trying to figure out where her equations went wrong. "I'm not going to explain this to you. If you can't work it out, then you're not the team I thought you were." He turned towards the door, coat spinning, and he paused just before getting on the elevator. "Coulson would be disappointed."