The Thunder

Ten years ago

Location unknown

Aiden ran up to you and you instinctively oriented your body so that it was between him and those strangers. Riley noticed each oh so over studied movement, each micro-expression, each slightly variation in your posture, and could not avoid the chill that went down his back, making his hair stand on end, identifying them as fitting to the same training to which he had been subjected, only that he had been much older and the decision of it was of own will.

War child. The concept appeared in his mind almost like a haze, remembering things her once upon friend from the FBI had told him about a terrorist group made up entirely of children and adolescents that a former ex police officer had formed, brainwashing and training them to die for his cause, so similar to those radical groups that their military forces had found back in the day in other places at war, such as China or Iran.

Was that what you were? His eyes strayed briefly to the small boy with big eyes who seemed to have bathed in chocolate. Did you protect him because he was your brother or because he was your platoon mate, another "ally" to the cause, whatever it was? Was he even your brother really?

"Whatever you want does matter," Riley whispered, looking into your eyes. Eyes that seemed empty, without hope or dreams, but neither fear nor hatred. As empty as your voice had sounded. "You can trust me. Tell me... something, anything. What about your parents?"

Silence.

"Do you remember them?" Another thought took shape in the back of his mind and he fought the disgusted grimaced to say it out loud. "Are they involved in this?"

Silence.

"Is it some kind of sect? Terrorist organization?"

"That's what you call them, I suppose," you retorted then, your eyes still toward a fixed and distant point, looking but not really seeing. Riley frowned. At least you had spoken.

"Who are they?"

Silence.

"Please. I want to help you, we want to help you," he added fastly jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward the woman who had taken Aiden along.

"It is better for you to not know," you said finally after a few moments of silence, giving in to his pleas, even if it was only so he would shut up. "They are everywhere."

The next thing he knew was that he was on the ground, and the grey ceiling seemed to be moving. His head felt like a drum and there was something hot and viscous staining his ear and part of his neck, running down his cheek. Leaning on his elbows, he brought a trembling hand to his temple, which hammered painfully with each heartbeat. The buzzing in his ears subsided as his vision cleared, watching a figure towering over him, weapon in hand. After a few seconds that seemed like hours, his brain seemed to work again and a growl, part pain, part confusion, left his lips.

"Smoak, the hell are ya doin'?" he croaked at the sight of his partner pointing at his head with the same gun she seemed to have used to knock him out of her way.

"You should have listened to the girl," she replied with a shrug. There was a click and Riley saw how his partner, in whom she had 100% trusted, pulled the hammer of the gun. "Hail HYD-"

There was a barely detectable hollow sound of wind and then... nothing. His partner fell to the floor with a tad sound, blood dripping from the hole in her head as blueish eyes stared into nowhere, glazed over. Riley looked up to see you holding a gun with a silencer he didn’t knew where it had come from, no expression at all in your face, as if you had done this lots of times before. A chill went down his spine once again when he realized you'd probably had.

"I told you," you said with your usual neutral tone. "They're everywhere".

"You've saved me," was all the young soldier managed to say between ragged breaths. You looked from the gun to him, as if that fact had just hit you.

"Guess so".

Riley started to get up from the ground, slowly. His bottom lip tasted like iron and he wondered briefly if it was broken before putting his attention back to you and your brother, who was now on the other side of the room, behind you. His partner was going to say hail HYDRA. As in HYDRA the antique nazi organization Captain America had taken down before dying? He clasped his teeth together.

Not the time, he told himself. He had two kids under his watch to bring to safety, and only two persons which he now could truly trust in.

"I can help you," he stated, trying again, but you moved your head no briefly. The right corner of your lips twitched ever so slightly out of some kind of emotion you shut down so fast he didn't have time to recognize.

"Going where? Social services?" You spat. "Told you. They're everywhere. They'll get to us".

This time Riley was the one who refused your words.

"They can't if you both don't enter the system," he stepped toward you, his hand out to get the pistol you were still holding. "I can protect you and your brother. Personally".

At this point Aiden couldn't hold himself back and Riley couldn't help but smile despite the situation. He was still a little, naive, innocent boy, it seemed. Whatever they had done to you, it hadn't reached out to him yet.

"Can you!?" Your brother looked up at you, pleadingly. "Can he, (F/n)? Can we stay with him?"

"I know someone in the FBI," he was closer now,  with his hand almost covering the gun. You kept frozen, debating whether to say yes or no after hearing the neededness in your little brother's voice. "Someone who's certainly not them. She has done this before. You both will be with me". Finally, his hand closed firmly around the gun you were still holding. "Trust me".

You let go of the pistol and his heart almost skip a beat. Thank God...

"If you've lied, I'll kill you".

He swallowed. He was certain you would if you felt like you had to, but the soldier wasn't one to break promises. He would get you to trust him and he would help you heal, no matter what.

Present day

"How about we try something different?" Clint inquired from his position on the lab couch. He had spent the last few days watching the geniuses of both his team and Coulson's new team -well, new to him- work and so far they had achieved... nothing at all.

He had to admit that despite everything that was happening - the post-Ultron disaster, Coulson's girl disappearing with her psychotic of a mother and the consequent fight against the Inhumans when they got aboard the Helicarrier where Phil had lost his hand, the New project of S.H.I.E.L.D.- Fitzsimmons and Sk-Daisy had done anything in their power to try and got back to New York to help them out whenever they could, and they were good. Like, really good. But there was no way they were close to Tony's level with computers, and Stark had his attention severely divided since he had met the Devil from Hell's Kitchen. Damn, Clint still couldn't believe he had missed that one. Despite not having witnessed the meeting, Barton could feel the discomfort in the pit of his stomach, scratching the walls in an attempt to get him out of the stupor he was in.

On the other hand, he didn't know if he should feel worried that they weren't advancing on their task or instead be happy about it. Because what they were dealing with was you. A young strong and determined woman who seemed to have come out of nowhere and with whom the Captain seemed to feel comfortable speaking, having met a couple times already, even if just for a walk, which seemed to be helping Steve to copple with basically everything. He hadn't seen the Soldier at ease like that ever before.

Your meetings weren't casual, that was for sure. Natasha liked to play  matchmaker with Steve, but this time it was all part of a larger plan that they only knew a small part of, although Clint would bet his best bow that you weren't the only one SHIELD wanted information of...

His mind wandered back to the girl who had saved them in Sokovia and laughed bitterly under his breath. Would she regret having saved their lives if she knew that she now had one of the largest National Security organizations looking for any trace she might have left? Clint imagined no.

Once again, you came to the front of his mind and the ex-former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent ran his hands over his face, elbows resting on his knees while rubbing hard the bridge of his nose. Man, he couldn't help feeling guilty. A part of him was screaming at him loudly that they should not be doing this. But another -even larger, much to his dismay- indicated that it was very casual that you had crossed paths with the Avengers twice by simple coincidence in a city as big as New York, even if the second time they were the ones who had moved to the neighborhood where you first met. And if you added to that the fact that there was no trace of you anywhere...

He knew that they had to do it. They must to. However, his gut told him they were wrong. That they should stop now and for good and just see how things developed.

"What do you mean, Agent Barton, sir?" Fitz inquired nervously. Clint rolled his eyes but didn't correct him. Two weeks of hard work trying to be called simply "Clint" had been unsuccessful to date, so the archer had decided to surrender in that regard.

"We are looking for her old files in any database in the country, right?" Simmons nodded at his affirmation.

"And using a rejuvenation software with the girl's photo in case we could place it among the files of missing children, Hawke-SIR," Daisy corrected quickly as she looked over the computer screen, the tips of her ears acquiring a bright pink tone. Clint couldn't hide the smirk that crossed his face; Daisy had no filter when it came to  speaking and had spent the S.H.I.E.L.D. training in an intensive course with Phil's team, so sometimes the discipline that everyone blamed on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, and to which she wasn't accustomed to, just went out the window without her being able to do anything to avoid it -much to the archer's amusement.

"So what if instead of looking for old files, we search for new ones and see who is leading you to? Who created them, who modified them, which servers it went through. That way-"

"-If we can not find anything related to her, maybe we can find someone or something who is related to her," Fitz completed aloud, a slow smile spreading across his face. "That's brilliant, sir."

Clint raised an eyebrow and stopped drumming his fingers on the arm of the sofa.

"It's good to know that I'm not just a pretty face."

Two laughs echoed his words, similar yet very different from each other. The first one came from the redhead dressed in black leather who had just passed through the door, back straight and file in hand, and more than a laugh it had been a slight chuckle. Still, it had made his heart ache a little.

The second had been a hearty laugh that the young Sokovian girl with wavy brown hair had let out when listening to him, entering just before Natasha and heading towards him, dropping by his side.

"I don't see the pretty face, old man," Wanda joked giving him a quick hug. Clint tried to fake he was offended moments before giving up and proceeding to ruffle her hair mercilessly, laughing at the squeak he had for an answer.

He could feel Natasha's eyes fixed on them, but at that moment he couldn't muster the courage to look back at his companion. He knew Nat was doing what she was supposed to do -but that was now. Why had she started her research at first? There was no reason for it and that was what had caused the current situation -she had made your figure call the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Overprotective instinct taking control, maybe? Steve could be a century-old super-soldier, but in many ways he was as innocent as a child despite the horrors of war.

Natasha handed the papers to Daisy, who took them with a nervous smile on her face as she exchanged glances between the two Avengers and their young pupil. With a nod, the Black Widow turned and walked toward Wanda and Clint, standing in front of them, not knowing how to handle the situation.

It was one of the few times that Hawkeye saw Natasha hesitate.

"Clint... it had to be done."

Clint sighed.

"If the Captain finds out... We're basically manipulating him to spy on on her -on them."

Wanda looked at both of them, biting her lip, the iris of her eyes shining at the edges with a vibrant crimson tone that quickly faded, not wanting to use her powers on her team mates.

"It's what must be done."

"That doesn't mean we should like it."

Natasha gave Wanda a sharp look when she saw that she was opening her mouth to intervene and the young Maximoff responded by pressing her lips in a thin line. Would it be so bad if she told Clint that despite her work, despite the searching, despite... everything, Natasha still wanted to bring them together?

"I know."

"What do you have there that was so important?"

They were in the middle of nowhere, on a road that would probably have been the wet dream of any serial killer to get rid of the bodies of their victims. The darkness of the night was only interrupted by the pair of security lights that stood on the verge every twenty or thirty meters, trimming the figures of two large dark-colored off-road jeep on the side of the road. The man who had just spoken had his face disfigured, almost like his skin had melted away, the scars following the neck until the skin disappeared from view, covered by a kevlar vest. The little light on had generated shadows and lights in a complicated pattern that made him look even more terrifying.

"Something to destroy S.H.I.E.L.D. with, Brock," the ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. responded without taking off of his jeep, his face devoid of emotion in every moment. "HYDRA needs leaders, I thought it was time for two new heads to take over."

Rumlow's comrade snorted when he heard him speak and his dark eyes moved towards him, two black and unthinking pits perforating him.

"Whitehall, Strucker, List. Everyone has fallen. We're facing the Avengers here. What the hell makes you think you're worthy of giving the orders?" he asked in a threatening tone. He was a broad-shouldered guy with a shaved head; the vein on his forehead was beating hard and on it he had tattooed a black swastika with the characteristic HYDRA's skull in the center.

The man in the brown jacket smiled in a sarcastical, chill-boned way. Before the other realized, he had grabbed the back of his neck and stamped his head against the trunk of the car to then take him by the trachea, squeezing the life out of him.

"Do you understand who you're working for now?" Grant Ward asked without altering himself a bit. His face was so close that the man could smell the alcohol on his breath and almost felt the dark, dirty beard that covered his jaw. Finally, he let go and Rumlow chuckled.

"I see that Garrett's puppy has teeth," he shook his scar-covered head. "You could have taken them out before everything went to hell, you know?"

"Well, for someone who screwed up everything HYDRA have built in more than 7 decades within a week, you have a very big mouth," Ward said happily while holding out a pitch black leather suitcase. Leaning it back against his abdomen and using the car as a level point, he pulled it open. Rumlow's eyes filled up with some dark emotion at the sight of the ten vials with a viscous, whitish liquid, a mini-charge pack, a syringe and a dart pistol. Revengeful. That's how he was feeling, tasting it like the copper of his own blood after being punched too hard, rolling the flavor over his tongue.

"So?" Ward inquired giving him a stern and cruel smile.

"How much of this you have, Ward?"

"Enough to make ourselves an army, Rumlow," he answered, then extended his hand in his direction. "Deal?"

"Name's Crossbones now," the ex-leader of the STRIKE team replied, then shaking Ward's extended hand with a smile of his own taking over his face. "Hail HYDRA".