ʙᴀʀᴛᴏɴ (cauterising) wrote in witchinghour, @ 2014-07-08 00:08:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: bucky barnes, character: clint barton, character: jefferson |
Why we lie awake, this is why, this is why we fight.
WHO: Hawkeye and Winter Soldier and The Hatter
WHERE: In Town
WHEN: Now.
WHAT: Crazy psycho bitches meet.
WARNINGS: Language and definitely violence.
To a certain degree, Clint was starting to get used to Marrowood. Hardly a good thing, but not entirely terrible either. He was adaptable in numerous ways, and that was what made him a valued asset to SHIELD; even after the shit fest that was New York last year. There was a reason why he was still around and able to manage his shit, vast as it might be, to the point of appearing to be entirely functionable.
At least he could pretend well enough.
With the rather sudden disappearance of Natasha, Steve, Tony and the poster child for soviet brainwashing, Clint had been both a little more guarded and a little off kilter. It wasn't that he couldn't work alone, he'd done so plenty over the years, even with Natasha as a partner and Phil as a handler, they'd been separated over the course of the years depending on required skill sets. It wasn't the first time he'd been on solo assignment; hell the last year had been one long solo assignment while Fury paired Nat up with Steve to help him adjust to the work now and Clint was vetted for further brain interference.
Marrowood was just being treated as another training exercise.
The desolation of the hospital didn't need to mean anything; the lack of trace of living, breathing people didn't need to be a sign. It was just another horror of this place, another cliché attempt at fright factor. Clint could refuse to process the potential for his friends to be little more than husks or scattered body pieces, just not consider it and let it be blocked out. Compartmentalisation was a wonderful thing.
Of course, that all went flying off the window ledge with a six story drop with the sight of shit-brick house soviet brainwash poster child just strolling down the street. And, okay. Clint wouldn't exactly call that a stroll, but at the same time, he wouldn't call it a death march either. Confused hobo maybe. Okay, so ... that was definitely HYDRA ghost assassin shampoo comercials wet dream spy boy.
So where the fuck was his best friend?