So I /did/ end up writing a second part haha...it's a bit late. Sorry :/ Like i feel sO BAD FOR NOT UPDATING LIKE I AM ACTUALLY THE DIRT OF THE EARTH FOR WAITING SO LONG TO UPDATE AHHHH.

Whitelion69: Thanks bro

Guest: lmao no problem I feel really bad for not updating sooner ahhh

Red Sonja 88: continued!

BerbDCat: Thankssss

Guest: I continued!

Percy James Frost: Here's more!

KBishop: Thanks!

CelticCrossings: It has been continued!

GabycatStark13: Continuing it!

FantasyLover1000: Just did!

Guest: Continued!:)

mems1223: Continuing :)

katiebug0410: Thank youuuuu

QuakingSkies: Same bro, it's just wishful thinking on her part tbh. Thanks!

ashcentaur2458: Continued It!

Snow gently whirled from the sky to the ground.

A few unlucky snowflakes never made it to their intended destination, instead landing upon a hooded figure sitting attop a building, looking down at an orphanage. The lights were dimmed, save for one window. A small girl, about ten, with dark hair in a purple sleeping gown stared out of one of the windows, eyes locked on a point hidden to his own vision.

He shifts his attention to her.

As he does that, he let's his mind wander back to his own past.

A loud yell and sharp cry echoed from the thin walls of the home.

"Barney.'" His past self cried softly, tugging at the corner of his brother's thin sheets.

His brother blinked awake and focused on his little brother. "Hey. Shhh. You're okay." He pulls the six year old into his lap and hugs him. "We're going to be okay."

They both hear the loud shatter of glass as is hit the floor. The shouting continued and the two brothers huddled closer together.

"We will be okay." His older brother promised.

He shakes himself back to the present and watches the sun rise and the rest of the lights in the orphanage turn on and come to life.

Another small girl runs up to the one clad in purple. She was a Hispanic and even from here, he could tell she would take no shit.

He smirks slightly and stands up, streaching his arms above his head, enjoying the last unstressful part of today. And it was only six thirty in the morning.

He felt the comm in his right ear crackle to life.

"Barton!"

He cringes at the loud, annoyed voice of his current partener blaring into his good ear.

"Hey, Bobbi. Good morning to you too." He grumbles, turning his attention to where the two girls had been. It was empty.

He mentally booed. He'd much rather spend the day with a few kids than Bobbi. Kids always appreciated his jokes. She, did not.

At least that's what she claims.

With that thought in mind, he grins and swings down the side latter and hops down onto the ground.

A very pissed off Bobbi Morse was waiting for him at the bottom, tapping her foot impatiently.

He turns around and counts to three.

"James!" He turns around at the sound of his alias, looking at the tall blonde women who had called him in a very (false) sweet, high pitched(also false) voice, sinking into his role.

"Yes, dear?" He asks sweetly.

She slides her arm through his right. "Where WERE you? I was worried you were lost."

"Oh, you know, got distracted. Not everyday you get out of the States."

She laughs in agreement and nonchalantly leads him into a darker, empty ally.

After a quick but precise sweep, she turns to him. "Information from The Bus."

He immediately perks to attention, ready to mentally memorize every single little detail Coulson had for him. Everything was important, somehow.

"Radoslav Torodov is hosting a galla tomorrow night, start time is 9. You're still under the alias James Colorusso. I'm, as you know, Ashley Colorusso."

"Of course, dear." He grins.

"Why are we here?" She asks, not phased by his childish flirting.

"Our fifth aniversery. Even though we're both like twenty. Which means we'd have to have gotten married at fifteen." He frowns.

"Acting convincingly is part of our jobs, James, though you being able to act older than ten is debatable. "

"Hardy har har." He mutters and listens intently to what information Bobbi has to tell him.

He loops his arm around hers once again and leads them into the thickening crowds. As they walk past the orphanage, even his own damaged hearing can pick up the high pitched laughter and a very distinct 'Billy!'

"You okay?" Bobbi leans closer into him.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You were smiling. But not in like a troll way. Like you were remembering something." She gasps. "Does this mean you actually have a brain?"

He grins at her. "Fuck off."

"Yes, James."

"What would Hunter say if he heard such coarse language coming from your mouth?" He shakes his head in mock horror, referring to her soulmate.

"Usually, he's coming into my mouth."

Clint grins. "This is why your my best friend."

"Well, honey, right now I'm your wife. And we're on our honeymoon so act like it."

He slings an arm over her shoulder and kisses her cheek.

"This good?" He murmurs in her ear.

"Keep it up and I might leave Hunter for you." She jokes.

"Told you I was irresistible."

"Uh-uh."

"Boy! Come here, now!"

He cringed, curling up against his pillows. He heard his brother walk up to their father slowly, as if approaching a wild aniamal.

That's what his father looked like, he reasoned. A wild animal. He always had a crazed look in his eyes. It got even worse when he drank.

He heard a harsh 'crack' and then a thud. A scream. Another thud. Silence. And then a horrified whimper that came from his brother.

It was meant to be quiet. But it somehow it reached his ears. His brother never cried. It was the last sound he ever heard clearly with both his ears. He ran out of bed and into the living room to see what had caused his brother to cry out.

What he saw stopped him dead. His father was stooping over his mother's still form. His brother was on the floor, his face bleeding from where a bottle must have hit him.

He often saw his mother unconscious, at the mercy of his father. But it was somehow different this time. He looked blankly at her lifeless form and looked up and his father.

It was the first time he had looked straight into his father's eyes since he was very, very young.

His father tilted his head up, an unspoken challenge given.

He backed away, but right as his father smirked and went for another bottle, he grabbed his only toy and threw it at his father.

He had always had an uncanny accuracy when it came to aiming. It shone through, hitting his father in the middle of his forehead.

His father froze, and looked down on him. Time seemed to stop and his father grabbed the crowbar that mom had always told him had been for "emergencies" and hit him upside the left side if his head. His world funneled and then turned black.

"Clint!" Was all he remembered afterwards. It was quiet and disoriented, like someone had stuffed one of his ears with cotton.

One look at his brother, and he understood. Tears developing, he took in their surroundings. They weren't home. They were in a different building. He let the tears down, but this time, they were from joy.

"So," He drawled as they entered the gala, slipping into his alias. "What's your opinion of our honeymoon so far, honey?"

Bobbi smiled excitedly. "Oh James, it's been simply wonderful, we're so lucky to have been able to come!"

"Got that right. Cost me a fortune too." He mutters.

"Oh, don't be a spoil sport." She laughs, hitting his arm slightly.

As she leans her head in she mutters, "Remember. There's always a third party."

He nodds. "Expect the unexpected."

"Exactly." She says, and then, in a louder voice she says, "Well, James, it's not everyday you're in Budapest. I'll take a look around. You go get a drink or something."

He nods with a slight grin and as he turns around he hears a slight whistle.

Though it may have been loud. He could never tell. He plays with his hearing aid, mentally thankful that it looked similar to his comm. Nobody would ask anything.

He turns around, and sees an older man standing there with a wine glass in hand.

"That's a very fine catch you got there, sir." He extends his hand. "Alexander Pierce."

Clint tenses up. "James. James Colorusso." He accepts the hand, shaking it.

"Its a very fine thing they've got here." Pierce says conversationally, gesturing around them.

Clint smiles easily, though his internal senses were screaming run. "Its a lot different from the States."

"I'll bet." He takes a long sip of wine. "Anyways, nice meeting you, James. I have a James of my own here. Maybe you'll meet him. Enjoy the rest of your stay here in Hungary." With that he turns, leaving Clint with a cold feeling in his gut.

I have a James of my own. That's not creepily possessive at all. He shakes his head. Maybe this 'James' is his sugar baby or some shit. He cracks a involuntary grin. Piece would be a sugar daddy.

He quickly composes himself, however and catches Torodov climbing up the stairs with a few body guards.

Never let the subject out of sight.

"We wouldn't want the Russian mission happening again."

This jerks him out of his daydreaming to glare at Coulson.

"Rude."

Coulson gives him an easy grin. "I know just how to get your attention."

"That's not weird at all."

"Well I am your handler."

He cringes at the word, as it brought back a rush of memories filled with popcorn, cotton candy, arrows, gunpowder, and screaming victims.

"We don't mention the circus man."

Coulson sighs. "Clint-"

"Nope. I don't need you blaring into my ear-no pun intended, surprisingly- about things of the past. I'm good. I promise. I'll just get the damn serum and hightail it outta there."

Coulson sighs but let's it go.

He waits a few seconds and follows.

He casually struts up the stairs, nonchalantly following the three men who exit the building.

He waits, then follows.

He opens the door and feels the brunt of the harsh wind and snow flurries.

Subconsciously, he rubs his wrist, unknowingly tracing the words Natasha Romanoff that were permanently residing there.

Inhaling quietly, he pulls out his bow, and readies one of his arrows and rounds a corner, only to have a metal fist connect with his face.

As the world spirals black, his last thoughts were Damn. I'm never going to live this down.

•••
He wakes groggily, and his eyes are met with a bright, glaring red.

"Aghhh." He mutters incoherently and waves his arms in front of his face.

"You're pathetic." A cold, yet familiar voice reaches his one good ear.

"Natasha?" He sits up faster, and grimaces at the pain in his left cheek.

"Clinton?" She parrots.

"I told you. Just Clint."

"I know."

"What hit me?"

"You mean, who hit you? My old mentor. The Winter Soldier."

"The Winter Soldier? As if the metal arm wasn't extra enough." He mutters. "And The Black Widow? I can tell he mentored you. Extra is probably the first thing he taught you.

"And Hawkeye isn't extra?"

He can't see her face but he can tell she's smiling.

"Touché."

"So. Whaddya know about this...Winter Soldier?"

"We didn't really exchange personal information."

"Okayyy. But. You're bound to know something? "

He's met with a curt "He's a ghost story." and is left with that said bit of information.

"...Clarification isn't something they teach you at assassin school?"

"And you're not an assassin?"

"It doesn't matter-"

"Clearly your assassin school didn't teach you clarification either."

"I mean-" He begins to answer but she has already turned around, melting into the shadows of the small cell.

He shifts, the chains attached to his wrists and ankles clattering loudly against the bare floor.

•••

"So if the Winter Soldier is your old mentor, shouldn't he, I don't know, not beat you up and chain you in a cell?"

"First off, stop saying his name like that." She snaps.

Clint raises his arms in surrender the best he could. "Touchy."

Natasha sends him an irritated glare. "Secondly, he probably doesn't even remember me."

"So he taught you to be a killer-ninja-ballerina hybrid, jumped ship, and totally forgot about you? Rude."

"Okay. I am not a "killer-ninja-ballerina hybrid" and he didn't just leave."

Clint cocks an eyebrow. "He didn't?"

"He's... not his own person, to say the least. Not since the war."

"War? As in? The Persian Gulf war? The-?"

"World War Two." She interrupted him.

"What? I'm sorry, I could've sworn you said World War Two." He gapes at her.

She shrugs. "You heard correctly."

"What the fuck? He's like. What? 96?"

"Somewhere around there." She agrees.

"So...I got beaten by some hunched-back murder-grandpa?"

"Oh no, he's much more attractive than you." She assures him.

"Okay. Backtrack. I feel like I'm missing key information here."

"He still looks like he's 26."

"Okay yeah but how?"

"It's classified."

"How do I know any of this is true? You could be just making all this up as you go."

"Maybe." She agrees.

"Not helping."

"Probably."

She stands up, restrains falling off. "Well, it's been a pleasure speaking with you, 'Just Clint', but I really have a serum to get. Good day."

"'Tasha..." He groans. "Please?"

"As much as I'd love to, I can't." A pin falls from her hair close to his leg and she eyes him intensely. "I wish you luck." And walks out of the cell.

"Remember, it is imperative that you get the serum, Agent Barton."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"That means taking out anyone who may cause this mission to fail, you understand this, correct?"

He swallows. "Yes sir."

"Well this is a load of shit." He tells the empty room.

He gets no reply.

He shrugs, but reaches for the pin and starts to work on his restraints.

•••

"Aw hell no." He races up the flight of stairs, chasing the duck-facing(Clint could've sworn he did before he put his muzzle on), leather clad murder-ballerina-ninja hybrid with a metal arm and a face that screamed 'I got into a fight with liquid eyeliner before I came here'. Clint was far from amused. He was getting his ass kicked by a 96 year old. And was getting taunted about it too, he was sure of it.

All in all, it was a new low that he never thought he would attain. And what was up with the guys hair Jesus fuck it was a mess.

•••

He ran and he ran and he ran. And when he finally caught up with the guy, he was just chilling, cleaning his rifle.

He approached him, bow drawn. "I won't ask again. Where is the serum?"

He swore the guy was smirking at him from behind the muzzle. It unnerved and ticked him off at the same time.

"I don't have it"

Clint knew enough Russian to know what he said and swore.

"You're a piece of shit, ya know that?" He tells the seated man and takes off. He didn't care that he might shoot him. Clint was well aware that if the Winter Soldier wanted to finish him off he would've a long time ago-that and he was pissed as hell.

Behind him he could swear he heard the man chuckle.

•••

He caught up with the man-Torodov-carrying it soon enough.

Not saying anything, he shot an arrow and cringed at the man's pained shout as it embedded into his leg.

He ran up to him, and snatched up the serum's casing. It was still intact. He restrained from an elated "Yes!" and was about to leave when he saw something along the man's inner thighs and arms. Widows bites.

Why hadn't Natasha taken the serum. His blood grew cold and he took off, holding the case for dear life.

"Natasha! Natasha! Nat-" He stopped at the sight of blood red hair peeking out from a shut door.

Swinging it open, he was met with a weak flurry of blows.

"'Tasha! It's me. Cl-"

"Clint?" She asked.

"Obviously."

She sighs, and bows her head in surrender. "Well finish it off then."

He looks her over and sees wounds scattered all over her, blood flowing freely. No one could have done this to her. No one but her old mentor, he realizes.

It was then that her words finally register into his mind. "Hey, what, no. I'm not going to 'finish you off' or whatever, what gave you that idea?"

"Your directors mandated it."

"You've- you've been spying on me?"

"You've been quite sloppy,-"

"Natasha!"

She gives a harsh laugh. "You sound so offended."

"I am. Today has not exactly been my cup of tea, so lets just call Bobbi and get to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I like Bobbi," Natasha comments deliriously, the shock from her wounds finally settling in. "she knows exactly how to catch you off guard."

"I'm sure she'll love you too." He agrees, lifting her up. "But for now lets get some medical help, shall we?"

He doesn't get an answer. He takes out his 'borrowed' phone. "Hey Bobbi, funny story..."

•••

"Yeah I'll be right over. There's something I need to do first."

"Clint..." Bobbi gives him a warning glare.

"What? It's Christmas and I know exactly the place that needs Christmas cheer the most."

Bobbi smiles softly in understanding.

•••

Clint walks into the orphanage, carrying a large bag with him. A huge group of children look up at him as he goes to the personnel in charge and quietly talks to her.

Nodding greatfully, she directs him towards the direction of an empty tree.

He grins down at the children. "Hey guys, not to worry, Santa didn't forget about you guys this year, he just had to send one of his elves since he's down with the flu." He tells them in Hungarian.

"Santa isn't real." A small girl tells him, hands on her hips.

"Oh really?" He asks. Well,"

"America" She fills in.

"Well, America, what would you say if suddenly, presents appeared out of nowhere?"

"It's not probable." Speaks up a small blond boy.

America nods. "Teddy is correct."

Clint grins. "Sorry Teddy." and quickly begins pulling out presents from the bag and arranging them under the tree. "Now, there's only enough for each of you to have one-"

He's cut off by a stampede of hugs and shouts of joy. Smiling, he looks outside as a new batch of snow begins to fall.

Today was a good day.

•••

"Barton! Today is going to be the worst day in your life!"

Clint cringes as he hears Fury's enraged shout from down the hall.

"Sir?"

"My office. Now."

Natasha trails behind Fury, looking as indifferent as always, but a tinge of respect is visible as well.

"I like him." She mouths to Clint.

He grins. "Me too."

Fury looks back at both of them. "Office."

•••

"Sir, she'd be a good fit-"

"Your orders were simple. Get the serum. Eliminate anyone who stands in your way. Can you really not follow simple directions Barton?"

He heaves a sigh and shifts his attention from Fury to Coulson to Natasha.

"I guess I made a different call."

A/N: Idk, I kind of like the idea that Clint had some sort of knowledge of Bucky. Like, he's wayyyyy to accepting of Bucky in Civil War ngl. Like "Oh yeah, here's Steve's boyfriend, back from the dead from WWII, who's been a brainwashed assassin for over 50 years no biggie"like no bro. Also maybe this sorta explains why Clint wasn't in tws? Also if anyone was wondering, yes, those were the young avengers :)

Also the flashbacks were just to show you guys the type of home he lived in and how he lost his hearing, nothing deeper or anything(or is it?)

Anyways, thanks for reading!

~FanAdd