Fractured

Clint was sitting on his cot, his foot tapping away in a quick rhythm as he watched the camera in the corner of the room. Tony had left moments ago to go off and do his work for Zemo and when Clint was finally alone he had turned to the camera and yelled, “I want to make a deal!” 

That was maybe five minutes ago and Clint was starting to wonder if Zemo was going to send any of his Hydra goons to come fetch him. Call him desperate if you had to but Tony was looking worse and worse by the day and Clint had enough. Tony was putting his own life in jeopardy for him and Clint was done sitting by and doing nothing. He gave Tony the time he asked for but they were starting to run out of it. No use in letting Tony do whatever it was to help get them out if he was going to be on death’s door.  

That was if they could escape. The longer they remained here the harder it would be to find a way out. Clint knew that all too well. The effects of captivity did a number on a person. Sure, they were getting three meals a day but it wasn’t by any means enough to satisfy their nutritional needs. The drugs coursing through their systems made it next to impossible to keep in peak physical condition and the mental degradation of being locked in a cell with no windows or sense of time maybe had the worst impact on their wellbeing. But still Clint was determined. You just need to buy more time. 

Although Clint didn’t know how much time he himself really had. He had yet to receive another “visit” from the Dr. Faustus but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t about to stop. The first “session” still haunted him. The memories he had worked so hard to bury deep in the darkest recesses of his memory had been brought back with such ease. It made him worry about what else the good doctor could uncover if he subjected Clint to this more. But despite that, Clint knew what he had to do. 

He just hoped he would have the mental training to last long enough for Tony to find a way out or for the team to come find them. 

The door to their cell bay opened and Clint stopped his tapping as he focused his gaze on the men who arrived. He recognized them instantly. Sure, they were just lowly Hydra goons, but Clint had given them colorful names. Gruber went to the panel to open the glass door to Clint’s cell as Sauron waited off to the side with the customary shackles they always put him in. Voldemort and Palpatine had their cattle prods ready just in case Clint got a little feisty. “Relax, guys, I’m not going to try anything,” he pointed out to the two of them as Sauron came in.  

He didn’t put up a fight, just let the shackles slide on and let the Frightening Four guide him to what Clint assumed was a meeting with the man upstairs. As they traversed the maze of halls Clint let himself prepare for the meeting that was about to take place. Zemo wasn’t stupid. If Clint was going to make this work he was going to have to ensure that there wasn’t a single, slimy loophole Zemo could exploit. No backdoor that he could slip through and undo what Clint was essentially sacrificing. Clint was going to have to outsmart Zemo. 

Once again Clint found himself in the comforts of Zemo’s office. He could smell the scent of fresh brewed coffee and he had to stop himself from finding the pot that was obviously holding the decadent liquid. What he would give for the whole pot right now.... “Please, Agent Barton, have a seat,” Zemo spoke, motioning to the chair in front of Clint. 

Clint glanced at Palpatine and Voldemort behind him before reluctantly stepping in front of the chair and taking a seat. The chess match had now begun. “So what is this deal you wish to make?” Zemo asked as he sat himself on the edge of his desk. 

It wasn’t lost on Clint as to the reason why Zemo was sitting on his desk and not behind it. It was a power move to try and present a sense of power over him. But Zemo didn’t know the deck that Clint was holding that could quite easily turn the tables. If it worked, that is. “You're going to stop having Tony work on Extremis and you’re going to stop injecting him with the serum.” 

Zemo seemingly laughed as his arms crossed in front of him. “That seems like more than a demand and I think we both know you are in no position to make demands. But I am curious as to why you think I will stop?” 

“Because you’re not an idiot. And because I’m going to offer you something better.” 

“And that is?” 

“Me.” Clint noticed how Zemo’s arms fell, even if it was just by a fraction of a centimeter. He could see how Zemo’s body language changed from amusement to intrigue with that one word alone, so he continued, “Tony can’t take much more of what you’re giving him. He’s getting worse and worse by the day and he’s no good to you if he can’t even stand without needing to catch his breath. You need us both for your experiment – you said so yourself. I think Tony’s more than proven that he’s willing to do anything to protect his friends so now it’s my turn. You want to see how far I’m willing to go? Here’s your chance.” 

Zemo unfolded his arms and brought one of his hands up to rub his chin. “You’re willing to give yourself up for him without even knowing what it could be?” 

Clint swallowed the large lump in his throat. “And in return, you don’t touch Tony. You don’t look at him the wrong way. You don’t lay a single finger on him. That goes for your lackeys too or any creative bypasses. So no turning down the air conditioning like you did me, no psychological manipulation or hands-off torment.” 

Zemo smirked. “You’ve certainly thought of everything, haven’t you?” 

“I’ve been on the other side of this before. I know the loopholes.” 

“Why not ask for his release?” 

Clint shot Zemo a bemused expression. “If I had suggested that, would you have accepted?” 

The victorious and amused chuckle that Zemo gave made the heavy feeling in his stomach feel a bit heavier than before. “I knew you were smart, Agent Barton. Much smarter than you let on. And what does Mr. Stark think about your deal?” 

Clint bit his tongue but he didn’t look away. However, his silence was answer enough. “He does not know about this deal, does he?” 

“Well, it wasn’t like he shared the one he made with you.” 

He hated that smirk that appeared on Zemo’s face but it wasn’t like he could reach out and punch it off, no matter how much he wanted to. “Indeed. Very well. I will accept your deal, Agent Barton.” 

Zemo pushed himself to his feet and looked to Gruber and Sauron. “See to it that Mr. Stark is taken to medical and has a full work up done so we can best aid in his recovery. Do not harm him. Is that understood?” 

The two nodded and left as Zemo turned his attention back to Clint. “Since we are in our agreement can I trust that you won’t try anything if I have your shackles removed?” 

As much as Clint wanted to take the chance to strangle and try a breakout the moment his hands would be free, he knew that plan would only end in failure and no doubt result in Zemo breaking their arrangement. So he nodded. His eyes moved to Voldemort as he approached him and undid the restraints. “Follow me then, Agent Barton.” 

Clint knew that he was not going to like whatever was going to await him at wherever Zemo was taking him but he had to remind himself of why he was doing this. Tony had gambled his own life to keep Clint safe. Now Clint was returning the favor. He could handle whatever it was Zemo would throw at him. He had to. Tony couldn’t take another round of the experimental Extremis. Mercifully or unfortunately, Clint wasn’t sure, the trip was short and they arrived in a room Clint had come to know a little too well. Every medical evaluation wound up in this room, as did when he woke up from being gassed by Faustus and forced to relieve one of his memories. He eyed the gurney at first, feeling as the sight of it just made the pit of his stomach feel even heavier. “If you would please,” Zemo said, gesturing his hand to the gurney. 

Everything in Clint’s mind told him to run the opposite direction. To say hell with this and go find Tony and try to make a break for it. You know you can’t do that. Tony is in no condition to escape right now. You need to give him time to heal. He heaved a heavy sigh and stepped up to the gurney. He hadn’t noticed Dr. Faustus in the room until he sat on the gurney and the good doctor appeared next to him. “Lay down, Agent Barton. Relax and get comfortable.” 

That was laughable. He was pretty sure that there would be no way for him to get comfortable knowing full well that this would involve the crazed psychiatrist. But he begrudgingly obliged as he laid down on the gurney. He could feel the leather wrist and ankle restraints and they were tightened around him. Comfortable….right. “As you are aware from our last session,” Faustus had begun as he checked the sturdiness of the straps, “You were exposed to an experimental gas. One of my own design. The idea is to see how far a patient will go under its influence. Can it be used on enemies to divulge important pieces of tactical information? Or perhaps persuade an individual to do any number of things?” 

His stomach twisted as his fists clenched. Mind control. Of course. What else should he expect at this point? “Given your unique background of training and experience with such matters, we knew that you would be an ideal candidate for such an experiment,” Faustus continued, “When you were brought here you were given a drug, I’m sure you are aware. The effects were simple enough – weaken your strength, slower your reflexes, so on and so forth. This was to ensure that once you were subjected to the gas that you would be more susceptible to it.” 

Clint’s gaze hardened as he stared at the ceiling. So, this was what they wanted with him. Of course, it was. Apparently, everyone just wanted to treat Clint like their own personal puppet. How original. His view became obscured as Faustus and Zemo both loomed over him but he looked past them. He didn’t want to focus on them or give them the opportunity to see that despite the hardened glare on his face that he was terrified. Terrified of what they could uncover. Terrified of his own memories that he tried so hard to forget. His eyes only pulled away from the tiles on the ceiling when Clint saw an oxygen mask in Faustus’ hands. “We’re going to start off with some simple items. Memories that perhaps you keep buried. And as we see how you handle things, we will progress from there. Are you ready to get started?” 

No. No he was not. I can’t let them find out about Laura and the kids, he told himself, bury them deep down so they can’t go searching for them. Give them anything else. Just don’t give them that. “I’ll take your silence as a yes,” Faustus smirked as he slipped on the oxygen mask, “Just breathe…” 

At first, he heard the squeaking of the handle as it opened the gas compressor, followed by the whirring sound of the canister as it began to release its contents. He smelled it...tasted it and he couldn’t help but hold his breath. Involuntary reflex, so to speak. He had been trained to resist as much as possible whenever he was in a precarious situation. A training he received years before he ever joined the circus. However, he wasn’t a super soldier or a god - he could only it for so long so eventually he took a deep breath of the gas. He started to cough and choke on the gas filling his mask. At least he now knew why they decided to restrain him to the bed – he was thrashing and pulling on the straps to try and rip the mask off of him but eventually he succumbed. 

It happened in a literal blink of an eye. At least, that’s what it felt like. One moment he was strapped to the table and the next he was in a white space – vastly different than the landscape of his farmhouse living room that he was used to establishing as his safe place in his mind. But he knew why his mind took him to this neutral place. Have to protect them. Can’t let them find them. He took a few steps forward, looking to see whether or not he was alone or if perhaps there was a way out of this place, but the room seemed more like an endless void – no walls to be seen, or if there were he couldn’t reach them. He took another step when he heard what he could only describe as interference from an intercom system ringing painfully loudly. He clenched his hands around his ears to try to muffle the sound but it did little to stop the ringing that seemed to soon follow. “Agent Barton, can you hear me?” Dr. Faustus’ voice came through the invisible speaker.  

Clint dropped his hands from his ears and did a slow, full 360 as he looked for the source. He wasn’t there with him. In fact, no one was. “Agent Barton, I need you to confirm that you can hear me.” 

He thought about staying quiet. Maybe if he could outlast this he could get out of this with minimum damage. However, he felt something warm drip from his nose and when he went to touch the liquid and pull his hand away, he saw the crimson blood dotted on his fingertips. “What the....” he muttered softly to himself before a stabbing pain ripped through his abdomen, compelling him to double over and press his arms to his stomach. 

It seemed that his physical body must have been showing similar symptoms because Faustus’ voice returned overhead. “It is best if you do not try to resist. As useful as the data is I do need a baseline first before we can move to that trial. For now, I need you to listen and fulfill my requests. Now, can you hear me?” 

Clint groaned as he looked up, seeing only more white nothingness. “Yeah, I hear you, you son of a bitch,” he growled out through gritted teeth. 

“Excellent. Auditory senses seem to be functional and patient is able to respond.” It didn’t take a genius to realize that Faustus was making a verbal note. Probably for his records later.  

Clint hated it.  

“Now then, Agent Barton, I want you to think back to your childhood. To before the circus. Before the car accident.” 

Clint began to stand up a bit straighter as the scenery around him began to change. The white seemed to swirl away as his mind began to dredge up memories from long ago. He knew that he wasn’t doing this. At least not willingly because his childhood was full of memories he tried actively to avoid. He spun around, wanting the change to stop but as he came full circle, he came face-to-face with Faustus himself. “Show me where it all started.” 

There was a flash and suddenly, all of the white was gone. Clint looked around as he realized where he was. It was the upstairs hallway of his old childhood home. It was surreal how real everything was. The feeling of the worn floorboards and itchy runner carpet his mother had picked out under his feet. The smell of sawdust and old perfume. His feet carried him towards the stairwell where a faint noise could be heard. The unmistakable sound of their old TV playing something pulled him down the stairs and around the corner where their old living room used to be. As soon as he passed through the threshold, he stopped, unable to believe what he was seeing. “Mom?” 

His mother was putting down the pizza box as the TV played the opening credits for the old Captain America TV show they used to watch as kids. He took a few steps towards her, his hand outstretched to try and touch her but as he got close, his hand just passed through. She was so young. So happy. “Hurry up, boys, pizza’s getting cold!” she called out. 

Behind him Clint heard the loud echo of trampling feet and he turned just in time to see Barney and himself running through the archway and towards their mom. The two boys couldn’t have been much older than seven and four, based on the length of his own hair and how his hand-me-down-t-shirt that definitely had been Barney’s at one point seemed to hang off of him. “Told ya I’d beat ya!” Barney announced rather proudly, spinning to smile triumphantly at his little brother. 

“That’s no fair! You cheated!” The younger version of Clint shot back, “You had a head start!” 

Clint couldn’t help but chuckle as a smile warmed his face. It reminded him so much of Lila and Cooper.... 

No, no he couldn’t think about them. Stay focused. “Now, now, boys, let’s just sit and watch the show.” 

Barney and Clint seemed to quickly forget their mini argument and grabbed a slice of pizza before taking the respective seats. Clint’s mom sat herself down on the couch, leaning against the armrest and curling her feet under her while Barney sat on the floor right in front of her. Clint? Oh, he was up in the front, sitting dangerously close to the TV and chewing on his pizza with his eyes glued on the screen. He couldn’t help but laugh. How ironic that his favorite show used to be the old Captain America cartoon and now he was fighting right alongside him? Well...was. At some point Steve would wake up. 

He hoped so.  

The memory continued for a bit longer. He found himself watching his mother, trying to take in every piece of her memory. He missed her. God, did he miss her. A beautiful soul and a warm heart....she didn’t deserve what happened to her. “Clint, honey, come sit with Momma,” his mother called, “You’re going to hurt your eyes if you keep sitting that close.” 

“But Mom, this is my favorite part!” As if to add emphasis he got to his feet and stood next to the TV. “Captain America looks to his troops and says, ‘Come on, boys, let’s go show the Skull what Hydra is made of!’ And then they charge!” 

Clint laughed as he watched his younger self mimic the good captain as he ran in front of the TV, holding a pretend shield and all. Both Barney and his mother laughed as well and Clint found himself wondering just how many times he could remember hearing her laugh. “My little hero,” she muttered with a laugh and shake of her head.  

The front door flew open with a loud bang and all three heads turned. Clint could feel the sinking feeling that he saw on his own little face. “Boys, go upstairs to your rooms and you stay there. Don’t come out, no matter what you hear. You hear?” his mother ordered quietly, all happiness in her face gone and replaced with what he could only describe was a mixture of fear and worry. 

Barney didn’t miss a beat. He was already on his feet and grabbing Clint. “Come on, Clint, we gotta go...” 

“No!” His younger self had pulled out of Barney’s grasp and ran to his mom, holding onto her pant legs. “He’s gonna hurt you again!” 

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” she muttered with a sad smile before kissing the top of his head. He was even sure that he saw the tear that fell down her face as she looked to Barney. His brother just nodded before stepping forward and grabbing Clint in a bear hug to pull him away. It hurt to watch himself struggle in his brother’s arms and hear the cries. He could hear his drunk dad come into the living room but when he turned to see his mom there was nothing. Just the muffled sounds of them yelling. It would make sense – he didn’t see it when he was a kid so why would he see it now? Instead, he followed his brother as he still tried to pull him up the stairs. “Clint, we gotta go hide. Mom said....” 

“But Dad’s hurting her!” It hurt to see his memory play out like a bad movie. He had forgotten most of these memories, wanting to bury the pain down deep inside so he could forget and move on. But here he was, reliving it in all its glory. He wracked his own brain to try and remember what happened next and when it clicked, it played out right before his eyes. Clint had somehow managed to break free of his big brother’s hold once they had reached the top of the stairs and ran right back down. Barney was hot on his heels, calling for him to come back but Clint could only watch as his younger self ran back into the living room where his father was standing over his mom who was on the floor with a busted lip. “Leave her alone!” 

“Oh kid, no,” he muttered to himself as he watched his father stagger towards him. “Puny runt....what’re’you gonna do?” 

Clint felt the fear that his younger self had, even if he was trying to hide it behind a face of bravery. Some things seemed to never change. The child version of him ran to his mom’s aid but his father grabbed him and threw against the wall. Now Clint knew that he couldn’t change what was about to happen but he couldn’t help it as he lunged forward and grabbed his dad’s arm with a loud, “Leave him alone!”  

But just like before when he tried to touch his mom, his hand went straight through the memory and he could only watch as his dad stalked towards the whimpering child on the floor. “Come on, Clinton, prove to yer old man you can stand up for yerself.” 

He was helpless as he watched his father kick and punch the poor child on the ground. “Good for nothing kid,” his father drunkenly slurred, “I don’t know why she bothered having either of ya.” 

The younger version of him was cowering on the floor, crying and trying to protect himself as his father continued to wail on him. “That’s what I though’,” his father muttered as he stood up and wiped his face with the back of his hand, “You’re pathetic. Can' even stand up for yerself. You ain’t nuthin but a coward.” 

Clint hadn’t realized that Barney had been standing in the doorway with him (not that his memory knew he was there) until he finally moved between their dad and Clint, shielding him from anymore blows. His father seemed to raise his fist as if to strike Barney but when he saw the defiant look on Barney’s face, he just chuckled and staggered into the kitchen, mumbling about a mess or something but Clint could only focus on his younger self, bleeding and crying as Barney held him. “Come on, boys,” his mother muttered, slowly pushing herself off the ground and trying to carefully pick up Clint. 

“It’s okay, mom, I got him,” Barney muttered as he carefully scooped him up. Clint followed them upstairs, recalling how when Barney was carrying him how each step jostled him and aggravated his injuries. Yet watching himself he noticed how he tried not to whimper. Just sniffled and cried all the way into his old bedroom. Barney gently laid Clint in bed before muttering, “I’ll be right back,” and disappearing, only to appear seconds later with the first aid kit that his mom had in their bathroom. 

Despite how painful a memory this was, Clint couldn’t hide the smile on his face as he watched how his brother was gentle when he tried to clean the cuts on Clint’s face. “Barney?” young Clint’s voice spoke up, broken and weak, “Why does Dad hate us?” 

“Because he’s jealous that Mom loves us more than him,” Barney replied, “Deep down, he knows we’re her favorites. Especially you.” 

The young smile on Clint’s face reminded him so much of Lila.... 

Don’t go there, Barton. You can’t go there. 

“Do you think Dad is right? That I’m a coward?” 

“Hey,” Barney interrupted, looking Clint dead in the eye, “Don’t listen to dad. He doesn’t know anything, okay? That took a lot of guts to try and stop him from hurting mom.” 

“I just wanted to be brave and strong like Captain America.” 

“You don’t have to be brave like Captain America,” Barney said as he tucked the young Clint into bed, “you’re a Barton. You’re plenty strong already.” 

There was a rumble and Clint turned his head to see what the noise was. The closet door was slowly cracking open and a dark mist started flowing into the room. The memory kids were unaware of the smoke but Clint was and everything in his head was screaming at him to get as far away from it as he could. Before he could move, however, it came at him like lightning. Tendrils wrapped around his wrists and torso and started dragging him to the door. Not good, not good. Hepulled against them, trying to get away or at least break the hold of the fog but it did him no good and with a loud yell he was sucked through. 

The door banged shut behind him, casting him into complete darkness. His heart pounded in his ears as his eyes tried to find something visible. “Hello?” he yelled, trying to call out into the void of nothing, but he was only met with his own voice echoing in the distance. 

Clint tried to take a step forward but his leg wouldn’t budge. Something strong had tethered him to the spot but he couldn’t see exactly what. He tried to pull his arms forward to see but they wouldn’t budge. “What’s going on?!” he called out, his voice a bit more panicked as he pulled against the invisible force trapping him in that dark room. 

Once again, he was only met with the sound of his voice traveling back towards him. Clint wasn’t sure why by the emptiness and the inability to move was starting to make him panic and he started to pull on the invisible bonds more and more which only seemed to make them grow tighter around his limbs. With a loud grunt he yanked again and this time he was met with a metallic clink. The invisible bonds were no longer concealed, but when he looked down, he felt his heart sink. Clint could see gold chains wrapped around his limbs, anchoring him to the floor below. No....no, not again. The panic he was feeling increased and he started to pull harder and harder, willing the chains to break. He could feel the powerlessness starting to set in. The same feeling he had when he found himself trapped in his own body when Loki took over. The same powerlessness when he learned he had been tricked by the closest thing he had to a father. The voice of his father started playing like repeat in his ears. You’re weak. You’re nothing. You will never amount to anything. 

The harder he struggled the tighter the chains seemed to wrap around him. Maybe I am weak. I can’t do this....I can’t... 

Don’t you dare give up. Clint opened his eyes and suddenly Laura came into view. No, no, you can’t be here, he instantly thought, shutting his eyes and keeping them clenched tight. If she was in his head then Faustus would find her. He couldn’t let him find her....Couldn’t let him find them.... 

His eyes shot open as he felt a hand on his face. Laura was there, smiling at him and despite the fact this was all in his head, he could have sworn he felt the warmth of her skin on his cheek as if she was really there. Don’t you dare give up. Come back to me. 

Clint nodded and as the vision of Laura faded away, he closed his eyes. Come on, Clint, this is still your head. You can still control this. Clint inhaled deeply, willing himself to remain in control. He could do this. He could break free from this hold on him. You’re a Barton. You’re plenty strong already. 

His eyes shot open and he was back in the white room. The chains were gone, allowing him to move towards the door that appeared at the end of the hallway. His steps were careful as he made his way towards the old oak door. Hopefully this is a way out. As he reached the door his hand wrapped around the handle and he pushed it open.... 

Clint breathed in deeply as he woke up, his eyes shooting wide open as he tried to sit up only to feel the straps still wrapped around his wrists and legs. “Welcome back, Agent Barton,” Zemo sneered, drawing Clint’s sight towards the two men.  

Zemo and the doctor seemed to be pleased with themselves. “Remarkable...absolutely remarkable,” Faustus muttered as he studied Clint, maybe a bit too closely, “he was able to find a way to break free of the trance.” 

Those words were enough to bring a smirk to Clint’s lips and a hollow laugh to sound from his throat. Here they thought he was going to give in so easily. “You sound surprised, Doc,” Clint choked out, his voice raspy from inhaling the gas. 

“Very. Never mind, we know for next time.” The straps were removed from around his wrists and ankles before Palpatine and Sauron pulled him to his feet. He thought maybe that once he was standing he could move but it seemed that the gas had weakened him and he could hardly stand on his own. Hell, he could barely raise his head. But when he noticed Zemo’s fancy shoes now in front of him he peered up as much as he could to see the man standing before him. “You were hiding something....” Zemo noted, his head tilting a little as he studied Clint. 

Clint just grinned and laughed softly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Zemo huffed before he reached forward and grabbed Clint by the hair, pulling on it to force Clint to look at him dead on. While Zemo seemed determined to find the answers in Clint’s eyes, Clint just smiled a bit wider. “Put him back under.” 

“But Baron,” Faustus stuttered, “If we expose him too soon, the effects...” 

“I said put him back under!” 

Clint just laughed as he pushed back onto the gurney. His eyes never left Zemo’s face as he relished in the fact that he could tell that Zemo was none too happy that Clint was stronger than he believed. That’s your first mistake, Zemo, he thought to himself as the oxygen mask was slipped back over his face and the gas was administered again... 

Never underestimate an Avenger. 

TBC....