Steve pulled his motorcycle over and parked, and Bucky pulled up behind him; Bucky was using the bike with a large side car so they could bring Clint back out with them. Coulson had offered support, both personnel and transport, but Steve and Bucky had shared a look then turned him down. When Coulson had asked why, Steve only had one response.
“Deniability.”
The small group of home-grown terrorists had taken Clint four days ago, not because he was the well-known badass and Avenger Hawkeye, but because he was Clint Barton, and they intended to grab Steve’s attention by grabbing his sub; and for their sins, they were right, they sure got his attention. As anyone could have told them, though, not all attention was good.
Now Steve and Bucky were coming for them, about a half mile down from where their compound sat. The sun was minutes from coming up, their breath ghosting in front of them as they double checked their gear; Steve tugged his half-gloves on, and Bucky double checked his knives were secure. As they walked down the road, Steve pulled the shield from its place on his back; he was wearing the holster for the shield, but they’d both switched their normal uniforms out for something less recognizable; dark cargo pants, black military boots, black long-sleeved shirt, dark half-gloves, and they were the embodiments of God’s avenging angels as they stalked forward.
Reaching the edge of the trees that opened up to the clearing the main building stood in, Steve aimed straight for the front door Bucky following along behind like a shadow. The building was an old run-down farmhouse, and nobody stopped them on their way up to the porch- fucking amateurs, Steve thought- and he didn’t bother to use his shield as he ripped the door knob clear out of the door, tossing it to the side as he kicked the door open.
Putting his shield up as he entered, he practically ran over a surprised man who’d been walking from the room to Steve’s right towards the front door. He didn’t have a chance to make so much as a peep before Steve had slammed him in the face with his shield. A quiet ‘crunch’, and the man crumpled to the floor like a puppet with his strings cut. Screeching of wooden chair legs on linoleum, and Steve knew the game was on. More men started running in through what had once been a kitchen, and Steve threw the shield, taking out three of them at once. He caught it on the rebound, and charged forward, taking out a fourth and fifth up close before they’d had the chance to even pull their weapons. A sixth man was standing frozen near the table they had obviously been sitting at when Steve crashed in, his eyes wide in fear, hand trembling inches from the gun in his belt. Steve knew he could easily get to him before the man could clear his weapon to fire.
“Where is he?”
The man’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment, throat clicking in a dry swallow before an almost breathless, “Who…?” escaped his lips.
Steve growled, low in his throat, and the man shrank back.
Bucky came up just behind Steve, none too gently prodding at one of the fallen combatants with his boot. “Better answer him, pal, he’s in no mood to deal with your shit.”
Steve took a half step forward and the man pulled back further. “Where. Is. He.”
“Up...upstairs…”
Darting forward, Steve clocked the man in the head with the shield, not waiting to see him hit the floor before he pivoted and was on his way to the stairs he’d seen on his way in. He could hear Bucky muttering behind him about Steve having all the fun, but Bucky had been right. He was in no mood for that right now. He took the steps three at a time and was almost disgusted when there was only one guard at the top landing. This one was only slightly more of a challenge, his weapon already drawn and aimed at the stairs, but Steve barely paid it any mind, letting bullets ping off the front of his shield as he charged forward. It was quick work to drop the man, and Steve started checking doors on one side of the hall while Bucky cleared the others.
“Steve, I’ve got him.” Bucky’s voice was carefully neutral, and Steve made himself finish clearing the rest of the hallway before he made his way to the room Bucky was in. Steve stifled the urge to go back and finish the job he’d started on the guards littering the house. Bucky was crouched down next to Clint, and Clint- Clint was a bit of a mess.
The room was empty, stripped of all furniture, anything that could have been considered a creature comfort. Clint had apparently also been stripped, the clothes he was wearing when he was taken were gone, and Steve knew, objectively, that nudity was a way to enforce vulnerability in a captive, to make them feel how little control they had, and Steve felt his blood start to boil as he took in the marks littered across Clint’s skin, telling the story of what he’d endured. There were purpling marks sticking out from under the heavy metal cuffs fastened around Clint’s wrists and ankles, signs of struggle; at his wrists the skin was rubbed raw and was bleeding in places. Clint had taken at least a couple beatings if the bruising was any indication, newer darker purple and blue marks over others that had just barely started to yellow at the edges. The shape of boot prints and finger-shaped bruises stood out glaringly, and the whip marks around Clint’s back and shoulders were more recent, some of them still bleeding sluggishly. There were similar marks though not as deep on the soles of Clint’s feet, though they looked a little more healed.
“Stevie.”
Steve blinked, pulling himself back from the rage he could feel starting to crowd in at his mind and glanced over at Bucky.
“If you wanna go wreak unholy hell on them, that’s ok, I won’t stop you. But before you do that, can you help me get the chains broken off? We need to get him out of here first and the cuffs’ll have to wait til we’re back to get them off safely. They welded them on.”
Steve hadn’t actually thought someone’s vision could go red with anger, but apparently it could.
Steve knelt down next to Clint, and Bucky put a hand on Steve’s arm. When Steve looked up, Bucky nodded toward the door. “I’m gonna go grab a blanket or two and the first aid kit from the bike. You get the chains off him and I’ll be right back, ok?”
Steve nodded, stilted. “Yeah. Ok.”
Bucky squeezed Steve’s arm, then took off at a jog through the door.
Steve took another deep breath, centering himself, focusing. Clint needed him.
Clint’s hearing aids were gone, and his eyes were closed. Steve didn’t know if he was unconscious, sleeping, or awake and pretending not to be out of self-preservation. Gently as he could, Steve picked a spot on Clint’s shoulder with the least bruising and placed his hand there. Clint startled, flinching back and eyes popping open, looking confused and more than a little glazed over. He’d been unconscious then, or at least dozing. Steve carefully touched the side of Clint’s face, getting his attention, and Steve saw it the moment recognition and realization hit Clint; Clint’s eyes shut again and he started shaking, his hand moving clumsily up to try to grasp at Steve’s wrist, the chain from the cuff rattling loudly on the hardwood floor. Steve put his other hand over Clint’s, squeezing, and Clint curled slightly, a harsh noise, not quite a sob, breaking free despite what looked like his best efforts to control himself.
“Oh doll.” Steve carefully disentangled one of his hands, and tapped lightly at Clint’s cheek to get his attention again. Clint looked up and Steve signed, ‘Ok?’
Clint furrowed his brows together and lifted a shaky hand, tilting it back and forth with an added head tilt and shrug. Steve nodded, squeezing Clint’s other hand again. ‘Not immediately dying, but not great’, then. Steve would take that over some of the possible alternatives. He motioned to the chain on the hand he was holding and mimed a breaking gesture with raised eyebrows. Clint nodded tiredly and let his head rest back down on the floor, holding his arm out further towards Steve; it looked like it took more effort than it should have. Steve carefully took hold of the cuff around Clint’s wrist with one hand, and the length of chain with the other, as close to the attachment point as he could get, and twisted. There was the sound of strained metal as the link bent then broke, and Steve pulled it away, letting it fall with a heavy thunk.
By the time Bucky came back into the room, Steve was removing the last chain from one of Clint’s ankles, and was practically shaking with repressed anger again. When Bucky gave him a questioning look, Steve shook his head and rested a light hand on Clint’s ankle, running his thumb lightly over the top of Clint’s foot.
“He told me he tried to run the first day they had him. They did this to make sure he couldn’t try again.”
Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve was referring to the chains or the whip marks, but either way it was horrifying. Clint’s eyes were closed, but his breathing was too quick for him to be asleep or unconscious.
“How with it is he?”
Steve gave Clint’s leg a squeeze before he stood up and Clint opened his eyes to look up at them. “He’s pretty with it all things considered. Weak, probably malnourished. Let’s do triage, then get him wrapped up and out of here. You’ll get him to the bike?”
Bucky was already opening up the first aid kit to get out some rolls of gauze to cover the open abrasions for transport. “Yeah. You gonna package up the goons for SHIELD?”
“Yeah.” Bucky had rarely ever heard Steve’s tone so icey.
“Give me a hand with this, let me get him out of the building, then do what you’ve gotta.”
Steve clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, then nodded, helping get Clint sat partially upright so Bucky could loosely wrap bandages around his torso to cover his back, and did the same with his feet. Once they’d done that and Clint gave the ok, Steve helped bundle him up in the soft blankets Bucky had brought in with him, and got Clint situated in Bucky’s arms in a bridle carry.
‘Sorry’, Steve signed apologetically when Clint winced at the pressure on his back. ‘Love you.’
Clint smiled up at him, and mouthed, ‘Love you, too.’ Steve grinned back, then looked up at Bucky. “Ok. Let’s go.” Steve led the way out; he’d already taken the guard from the upstairs hallway and shut him in one of the other rooms on the second floor, bending the doorknob down so he’d have a rough time getting it open again without help. Bucky followed Steve carefully down the stairs and out to the porch, stepping over the the man still laid out just inside the door.
Steve pulled a bundle of wire-threaded zip ties from one of the pockets in his pants. “You’re good to get him to the bikes?”
“Yup.” Bucky turned to the side so he could lightly shoulder bump against Steve. “Once I’ve got Clint settled I’ll send in an ‘anonymous’ tip to SHIELD to come clean up. Don’t take too long, and try to leave most of them breathing.”
Steve gave a jaunty salute, and spun on his heel to stalk back inside the house. Bucky didn’t envy any of the men inside the encounter with Steve they were about to have. If they were smart they wouldn’t fight; if they were lucky, they’d stay unconscious. Bucky got to the side car of his bike where more blankets were waiting, and bundled Clint into the seat, making as comfortable a nest for him as he could. He pulled out the spare helmet and Clint managed a scowl at him, but Bucky insisted, and once Clint was settled Bucky shot off a quick text on a burner phone to Coulson tipping him off about a possible terrorist cell on a farm upstate. He gave the coordinates, and once he was sure the message had been received, he crushed the phone in his metal hand and dropped the pieces into a pouch on his bike for later disposal. He decided he’d give Steve fifteen minutes, and if he wasn’t back yet Bucky’d go looking for him. Twelve minutes later Steve came back out, looking very satisfied with himself. Bucky got onto his bike and waited for Steve to come up alongside him.
“They all still breathing?”
“Maybe not comfortably, but yes.” Steve looked over at where Clint had fallen asleep again, his head tilted to the side. “You send the SHIELD tip in?”
Bucky nodded, putting his helmet on. “Yup. They should be on their way pretty soon.”
“Good.” Steve put his own helmet on. “Ready to head out?”
Bucky took another look at the sidecar, at their precious cargo. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”