Sleepers

Summary: SHIELD fell and Hydra rose. Clint slept through it.

A/N: Hi all! Thought you'd never see me around again? So did I! It's been quite a while! This was an idea I had after watching Winter Soldier. The age old question: Where was Hawkeye when SHIELD fell? I started writing this after Age of Ultron, and only just finished it. Honestly, I found it the other day, half-written. It is mostly AU now, but could fit into the MCU.

Clint Barton had just spent four months deep undercover in Bulgaria, working his way up through the ranks of the mafia in order to get close to one of the men who had known ties and business dealings with AIM. It was Clint's job to find the man, find out who he was dealing with, and then bring down the whole operation. It involved deep cover and it was messy and long – something he was sure was intentional on the Council's part. After the disaster with Loki, they had wanted his head on a silver platter. Fury had gone to bat for him, but this was the best he could do. Well, Clint supposed, it was probably better than a firing squad.

But now with the mafia dismantled and his mission complete, Clint had barely made it to his apartment before he'd passed out from exhaustion. In fact, he hadn't even made it to his bedroom. The couch had been much closer and more inviting, and he didn't even have the energy to remove his hearing aids. Reports and check-in could wait until the morning.

Clint slept so deeply that it was a long time before his chiming phone woke him. With bleary eyes, he woke to 43 missed calls from Natasha, 3 from Bobbi, and at least 10 texts from blocked numbers that read "HAIL HYDRA."

Clint frowned and sat up straight, confusion rippling his brow. "What the fuck?" he muttered. Hydra, as in the Captain America-World War II-Red Skull-Hydra? Scrolling through his texts, Clint finally came across one from Natasha, sent about four hours ago. "SHIELD WAS HYDRA. WATCH YOUR BACK."

His hand froze as the information hit him. What was going on? Was Hydra really back? Then his ears picked up the faint sound of booted feet. Clint snatched his mission bag off the floor at his feet, suddenly glad he hadn't had the chance to unpack. He just had time to grab his pistol out of his bag when the door was thrown apart and a dozen armed men poured into his apartment.

Clint got one shot off, taking down the first man to enter, but two more appeared beside him. All the men, Clint noticed, bore the insignia of SHIELD. One of the men threw a small object at his feet and Clint decided to ponder their origins later. He threw himself over the back of the couch and rolled towards the kitchen. There was a terrible blast of sound and light, and Clint's head spun from the concussion blast. Disoriented, he rolled over and held the pistol tighter in his hands. He knelt on shaking knees and shot the approaching man in the chest, and the one behind him in the throat. He spun around and nailed the next two in quick succession before he began to realize something was wrong.

He couldn't hear the sounds of the weapons firing.

He couldn't hear anything.

EMP, he realized. Fuck.

Hydra, or SHIELD, or whoever the hell they were, obviously knew him, or had access to his SHIELD records to know how to use his weakness against him. Well, he growled, brows drawn together in a scowl, he was going to take these leeches down.

His magazine clicked empty, but there were still agents in his apartment. He threw his empty gun at one and with the other hand pulled out his collapsible bow from his bag, snapped it open with one sharp movement, and clocked another across the face. He turned, wielding the bow like a staff, and threw his weight towards the next agent. This man was ready for him, however, and blocked the blow. Clint settled into hand-to-hand combat with the agent, but after a few seconds a nasty blow from behind sent him off-balance, and the two agents who had teamed up on him continued to rain blows on his prone form. He hadn't heard the second man approach. The third one was approaching. With a swift kick, Clint dislodged one of the agents and rolled a few feet before springing to his feet and delivering a roundhouse kick to one, and with the discarded gun he'd pulled from a dead agent on the ground, he fired off kill shots to the last two men. "Hail Hydra, motherfucker," he spat bitterly.

For a moment he stood amongst the wreckage, panting and attempting to get his bearings back. But then he saw some of the agents stirring, and knew that he didn't have time to contemplate his situation. So he grabbed his mission bag, stuffed a few guns and his bow back in it, and made for the roof.

The darkness of the night covered his movements very well, and Clint was very used to travelling across rooftops in the dead of night. When the sun started to peek above the clouds and Clint had seen no sign that he'd been spotted or followed, he slowed down and rummaged around in his bag. Saying a silent prayer to his former handler Coulson, Clint triumphantly pulled out his spare hearing aids. Coulson had always berated him into packing extra for missions, and Clint was grateful that he had listened. Putting them in was a bit of a shock to his senses after going so long without sound. His spare aids were bulky and very visible, unlike his usual mission ones, but he couldn't afford to be picky.

He pulled out his cell phone. SHIELD had promised it couldn't be traced, and it seemed true because Hydra would have found him by now if it weren't. He dialed SHIELD HQ. The monotone operator told him that the number was unavailable. Barton began to grow concerned. Was it really true? SHIELD was gone and Hydra stood in its place? He didn't want to believe that the organization that had taken him in, that he had served for so many years, was just gone.

He tried Fury's direct line, Bobbi's cell, and another company that was a front for SHIELD. He either got the answering machine or the number was disconnected.

With growing concern, he dialed Natasha's phone. It went to voicemail as well. He closed his eyes and cursed for a few moments. Then he spoke to the machine. "Nat – I don't know what the hell is going on. I can't get a hold of anyone at SHIELD. If it's true, and SHIELD was Hydra…" he trailed off, rubbing his forehead. "Our safe houses probably aren't safe anymore. I'll let you know where I am. Call me." He pulled the phone away from his ear, ready to hang up, before putting it back to his ear. "And Nat," he said seriously. "If you're Hydra I will kick your ass." Then he hung up.

He wasn't really joking. Betrayal burned like acid in his gut, and it made him want to throw up, thinking that Natasha could be Hydra. He would have sworn up and down that she wasn't, had someone suggested it before SHIELD agents tried to murder him. He didn't really know anymore.

He stowed his phone back in his pocket and was about to continue on his way when there was the sound of a roaring jet above him. In a flash, Clint had ducked down an alley and had his bow out with an arrow nocked.

The noise grew louder and to Clint's surprise and confusion (and grudging relief), it was Stark in one of the Iron Man suits.

Clint lowered his bow as Stark gently settled on the ground. "Stark," Clint greeted with a grin. "What a surprise."

To his surprise, it was not Stark who answered. "Hello, Agent Barton," JARVIS spoke from the suit. "Mr. Stark sent me to bring you back to the Tower." With that, the suit opened up in the front, to reveal an empty interior.

Clint frowned. "Stark sent me a suit?" he asked incredulously. He eyed it warily. "I have to get in there?"

"Yes," replied JARVIS primly. "Mr. Stark requests that you enter the suit so that I can take you to the Tower. I assure you, it is quite safe and the ride will be very smooth."

Barton wasn't so sure about that, but considering his other option was to roam the streets, in danger of being picked off by Hydra, he figured hanging out with a billionaire in a certified fortress was more beneficial to his health. "My stuff," he argued, holding out his worldly possessions. "I need my stuff."

Clips popped up on the back of the suit, and JARVIS directed Clint to snap the bag on the back. Then, with trepidation, Clint stepped in the suit, and it immediately closed around him.

"How does Stark not get claustrophobic in here?" Barton muttered, feeling uneasy with the extremely close quarters. He blinked when the faceplate screen lit up, flashing through numerous overlays of the scene in front of him. Icons flashed by, and Clint felt dizzy just watching them. He concentrated on the view.

"Please brace yourself, Agent Barton," JARVIS commanded. "I will now start the ascent. Do not worry about piloting, I will take over the suit." With that warning, the suit repulsors flared and the armour shot into the sky. The view was dizzying but Clint didn't feel the expected G-force that would normally be felt on such a rapid climb. The suit was really something.

After 30 minutes in the air, JARVIS announced that they would be arriving at the Tower, and that he would land the suit and Agent Barton need not do anything. Sure enough, JARVIS landed on the landing pad and activated the system to remove the armour. Clint stumbled a little when the armour detached from him, and felt his stomach do a few little flips. The suit was something to get used to, definitely. His bag of weapons dropped at his feet.

Scooping up his bag, he made his way into the Tower, and noted how different it was from the last time he was there. The god-shaped hole in the floor was gone and the walls and furniture had been replaced. And sitting at the bar with a drink was Tony, and next to him sat Bruce.

"Agent Barton!" Tony called, grabbing a clean glass and filling it with scotch. "Glad to see you made it. Come, have a drink."

Without hesitation, Clint stalked over, grabbed the shot glass, and downed it. He turned to Tony. "It's been a shit day." He nodded at Bruce, who nodded back.

Stark raised an eyebrow, taking in his tattered appearance. "It's been a shit week. Now, I'm taking it on faith that you're not a Hydra agent as well."

Barton scowled at him while pouring another shot. "Are you kidding me? I have no fucking clue what's going on. I've been out of the country for months, and then when I get back, SHIELD is storming my house trying to kill me." Just talking about it again was making him angry, so he threw back the shot and poured another.

"Well," Stark said, "to make a long story short, Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD way back, and just now they decided to rear their heads and take over the world." Stark eyed him. "You haven't seen the news? You haven't spoken to Agent Romanoff?"

Clint paused in pouring his next shot. "No," he said, immediately on alert. "Why? What's happened to Natasha?"

Bruce jumped in. "She's been the face of SHIELD," he said, in what he probably thought was a calming voice, but Clint was too worked up to be placated. "She was there when Hydra took over and took down the Triskelion. She released all of SHIELD's files to the public to help mediate the political backlash."

Stark swiped a finger across the bar counter, and it projected dozens of classified SHIELD files. In amongst them, Clint saw his own face from his personnel file. "Aw, hell." He slumped into his stool.

"Y'know," Stark remarked casually, "you're older than you look." He was met by a glare from Barton and a shake of the head from Bruce. But Stark was not known for his subtlety. "So. Hearing aids, huh? I never saw them last time."

Barton scowled, remembering that he was wearing his clunky aids, and touched them self-consciously. "Yeah, well, Hydra had access to my records," he nodded at the open files, "and took out my good ones with an EMP blast. Bastards." That deserved another shot.

With another silent wave, Tony pulled up several screens to show videos of the panic and destruction that had been going on the last little while, including footage of Natasha in court. "I've left word for her and Rogers to make their way back here," Tony said as Clint watched the videos intently. "It's the safest place right now. My security is top-notch, especially after the Mandarin blew up my Malibu house."

Clint frowned at him. "I'm sorry, an orange blew up your house?"

Stark gaped at him. "You didn't hear about the terrorist maniac that came after me, who I stopped?" He looked offended. "Jeez, it's not enough SHIELD didn't lift a finger to help me – "

"Deep cover mission," Barton reminded sharply. "Seriously. I had no contact with SHIELD or with the news. SHIELD is pretty pissed with me, I think they were hoping to lose track of me out there."

"The…ahh," Bruce began delicately. "Loki?" he finally asked.

Barton nodded miserably.

Stark clapped him consolingly on the shoulder. "Well, good news is that SHIELD is gone, so what they think doesn't matter." Even Barton could tell that his smile was strained. "Anyways, I've got a place all set up for you here. Make yourself at home. The rest of the gang should be here at any moment and I'll get a better hearing aid for you than those bricks on your ears." This was said all in one breathe that Clint had to blink at Stark a few times in order to process just what he had said.

Bruce smiled and nodded at him, and Clint managed a smile back at them. "Er…right. Thanks, Stark. I think I'll go clean up." And with that, he left the two scientists and let JARVIS lead him to his spacious and opulent rooms, where he showered and had nothing left to do but wait for Natasha to show up and hope that she was okay.