scary dog privilege
It's Sam's fault.
Usually it's Steve's fault. Or Clints.
But in this particular case, it's Sam's fault.
It's Sam's fault and he's not even here because he was called to a mission.
It's Sam's fault that he's been sitting in this bar for two hours, drinking lousy beer, being flirted with every now and then by a lady whose husband cheated on her and now she's looking for someone with whom she can take revenge on him. She is drunk and by now Bucky knows more about her marriage and her husband that he is willing to haunt this man out of compassion alone.
Furthermore, he has been watching the billiard game for almost an hour. It's not what he would describe as usual Saturday night fun. It's Sam's fault. If Sam hadn't come to Clint a few days ago to tell him about this guy in this bar who rips people off at pool and has proclaimed himself the pool king and threatens people if they win, they wouldn't be here right now.
Bucky knows they are doing the right thing here. He just wished that Clint wouldn't do everything in his power to provoke this guy whose self-proclaimed name is Tombstone. Clint has a natural talent for being annoying and turning people against him. It's almost as easy for him as winning people over.
It is interesting to watch Clint and he understands why Shield often sends him on undercover missions. Clint plays his role as a naive, slightly drunk country boy very well. Even his midwestern accent rolls off his tongue perfectly. Bucky only hears that accent when Clint is on painkillers. Bucky loves to hear it.
"You're good. I understand why you call yourself king,” Clint grins, taking a sip of his beer. “Do you already regret it?” Tombsstone asks with a cocky and self-satisfied grin. "Nope-" Clint replies, leaning forward to aim for a ball. “I like a good challenge”. The white ball, hits a green ball that bounces off the wall, then hits a red ball and the red ball falls into the hole.
“Nice trick,” says Tombstone, taking his shot. The white ball sinks the black ball and he greedily grabs the bet money. “Unfortunately it’s just not enough to win,” he sneers and puts the money in his pockets. “How about another round?” Clint asks. "I don't know if you're stupid or-" Tombstone starts, and Bucky can see Clint ball his hand into a fist and then relax it again. Clint hates being called stupid, even if it's part of the mission. “just incredibly reckless.”
Clint shrugs. “It sounds like you’re afraid of losing,” Clint says slightly pointedly and begins to put the balls back on the table. “Fear,” Tombstone utters with a puff. “I won three rounds. I’m not afraid, but you should be, with claims like that,” Tombsstone grumbles, building himself up to his full height.
Bucky can understand why many don't do anything about his bullying in the bar. Tombsstone is big - even bigger than Clint - built like a wall and probably the intimidation would work if Clint wasn't Clint. So Clint just looks at the other man across the table, there's a seriousness flashing in his eyes, and grins pointedly at him.
“Then you have nothing to lose. All or nothing?” Clint asks in a calm, challenging voice. “Fine,” Tombsstone agrees and takes all the money he’s won in the last hour out of his pockets and puts it on the table next to the pool table. Clint also puts a few bills on the table and then the new round begins.
With the first shot, Clint makes it clear that this round will not be like the others.
Clint only needs five shots to get all of his balls into the holes.
“That was fun,” Clint chirps happily, taking the money and heading to the bar counter. Bucky looks at Clint, who just winks at him and then turns to the bartender. "Can I have another-" "You little pissant," Tombsstone curses and pulls out a gun that was hidden behind his back.
Bucky tenses up, he tightens his grip on his beer bottle and is ready to use it as a weapon. However, Clint just turns around, unimpressed, and looks at the gun aimed at his forehead. “Weapons so uncivilized,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the counter.
“Give me the money, you little asshole,” Tombsstone demands, but Clint just shakes his head. “I won it fair and square,” Clint replies, the accent no longer there and the relaxed posture gone. Bucky sees the change, but he doubts Tombsstone noticed it too.
"You cheated and I don't tolerate cheating bastards." The grip on the weapon tightens and Tombsstone takes a step forward. “And how did I cheat? I'm just better than you," Clint grinned, cocking his head to the side. “I’ll put a damn bullet in your head” “That’s not a good idea,” Clint objects and Bucky now stands up from his seat.
"Oh yes? Why?" Tombsstone asks mockingly and Clint points at Bucky. Tombsstone looks over at him, an amused look appearing on his face. “Maybe you should have gotten bigger support,” Tombsstone laughs. Bucky isn't fazed by this, he just takes off his glove and the metal reflects the light from the bar.
The laughter suddenly stops.
"That's...you're-" Tombsstone babbles, all color draining from his face. "Yes he is and if I were you, I would drop the gun now and then get out of this bar before someone, you, gets hurt," Clint explains sweetly and after a few hesitant moments, Tombsstone does exactly that. He leaves the gun carefully to the ground and then disappears from the bar.
It seems as if the whole bar breathes a sigh of relief.
"You didn't say a word-" Clint grins. “and yet leave such a huge impression.” “You almost got a bullet in the head,” Bucky says, but Clint just shrugs. “I've had worse,” Clint waves and turns to the bartender. "Um...here," Clint says, pushing the money over the counter. "For the inconvenience", ads Clint. “Thank you,” the bartender says uncertainly, but seems grateful and relieved.
“You’re welcome,” Clint says, then turns to Bucky. “Netflix and pizza?” Clint asks, grabbing Bucky’s hand as they walk outside. “I still have a book that I need to finish reading". “But we still get pizza, right? I almost got a bullet in the head. I need to recover from the stress-"
"Stress? You just said you had worse things than that.”
“I did too. Still, I can be stressed about it.”
“What’s worse than a bullet in the head?”
"Many things. For example-"