Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

0) Prologue

Contrary to popular belief, HYDRA does not have files on all of the Avengers. Or, at the very least, Bucky has never read them. He’s read a lot of HYDRA files though, so he can pretty confidently assume.

They have a very, very detailed file on Steve Rogers - Captain America - which makes sense. There’s sort-of a file on Tony Stark, moreso a collection of footnotes. He’s briefly covered regarding the Avengers Initiative as “owner of Stark Tower”, and mentioned again in the mission briefing from Howard’s- well, Bucky tries not to dwell on that one. Beyond those files though, the individual members that make up the Avengers are spoken about as a whole, never as individuals. 

In an ironic way, Bucky’s pretty happy about that.

For one, HYDRA’s apparent disinterest in the other Avengers likely contributed to his eventual ability to break their conditioning. HYDRA’s lack of files on the Avengers also means that he doesn’t have to try and get to know them through memories of dossiers, clouds of facts and figures. 

For example, he learns that the Hulk - Bruce - is an avid enjoyer of tea, and an absolutely fantastic cook. He learns that Tony Stark is deeply, almost unnervingly curious, and sharp as the crack of a whip to match. Meeting Thor feels like learning a whole new language, but once he catches on to the key themes of “brotherhood” and “Back on Asgard…” he fares pretty well. He learns- maybe just remembers- what the presence of the Widow feels like. She calls herself Natasha now. The name is new. He’s still learning that one.

They are, for all intents and purposes, much like he expected them to be. A group of people clearly a cut above the rest. They have flaws, sure, but they are comforting in their expectancy.

Clint Barton, however, is a whole different story. Any HYDRA files Bucky had gotten his hands on had pretty much glossed over the archer. From their point of view, he was a support role. A dangerous one, sure, but not one apparently worth more than a one-off mention. 

Where the other Avengers fell right in line with his expectations, Clint defied preconceptions he didn’t even know he held. He didn’t get a chance to actually meet the man until months after he had officially been cleared from SHIELD custody and moved into Stark Tower. Barton had been on a long-term infiltration mission, but word around the breakfast table was that he had gotten back late last night. 

This was proven true when Barton, wrapped almost fully in a fluffy purple blanket stumbled into the kitchen and body-checked him away from the coffee pot without so much as an “excuse me”. The shock of someone voluntarily touching him toppled Bucky over, until Clint shot a hand out from the depths of his fuzzy cocoon and hauled him back up by the elbow. 

“I thought you were s’posed to be built like a tank. C’mon man, stand up.” he mumbled, still not sparing a tired glance in Bucky’s direction. He could only watch as Clint’s shuffle out the room tangled his blanket around his ankles, tripping him up and almost sending him careening to the ground.

--

He thought he had a pretty solid idea of Barton after that, but he was proven wrong only hours later when an Avengers alarm went off. Quickly, the team mobilized, but Bucky caught the torn expression on Steve’s face as his eyes darted between Bucky and his team.

“Go, punk.” he groaned.

“Buck, I don’t mind staying if you want me to-” Steve began, but Bucky held up a finger to cut him off.

“Go. I’m fine. Peachy keen, even.” And really, he was. I mean, as well-adjusted as he could be, coming out of 70 years of brainwashing. Steve just nodded and left, grim set to his face. 

JARVIS had ended up pulling up a variety of news channel footage and comm links, mashed together into a semi-comprehensive live feed of the battle. Bucky watched intently, analyzing strategy and taking mental notes. While Natalia- Natasha and Steve’s familiar fighting styles brought him some subconscious comfort, it was Clint he found himself drawn towards more often than not.

“Having trouble worming your way outta that one, Tony?” he gleefully calls, firing a volley at the giant robot worms squirming through the streets. Bucky snorts, despite himself. The arrows embed themselves deep in the tiny gaps of the mech armor, immobilizing the creature as a soft foam expands from the impact point.

Tony just groans. “You coulda hit me, bird-brain!” he shoots back, blasting a worm headed for Clint. Clint just laughs and shrugs.

“Oh, please Tony, you know I never miss! If I hit you, it’d be on purpose!”

This Clint Barton (or rather, Hawkeye, Bucky muses) is a far cry from the clumsy asshole who almost pushed him over this morning. In fact, it seems he’s done a full 180, nothing but (horrible) jokes and grace and competency on the battlefield. It’s a difficult sight to reconcile.

--

So difficult, it seems, he finds himself still turning it over in his mind late into the night. Even now, as he leans against the counter in the communal kitchen, waiting for his popcorn to pop, he’s still caught up on it. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t aware he had company until she spoke.

“Got something on your mind, James?”

Natalia’s voice startles him out of his stupor (though he absolutely did not flinch, no matter what anyone may say otherwise), and he turns to face her. She’s draped over the other side of the counter, swirling her own mug contentedly with a single eyebrow arched at him. She looks remarkably put together, as usual, despite the late hour. He suddenly feels very shabby in his sweatpants and t-shirt.

“It’s nothing.” he denies, but he can tell she sees right through him. She doesn’t answer, her slight smirk speaking for itself. He caves after only a moment.

“It’s Clint.” he mumbles, ashamed in his admittance. Natalia just nods in understanding.

“Mm, that makes sense.” she hums, pausing to sip from her mug. “He can be a lot.” Bucky shakes his head.

“It’s-” he begins, hesitating as the microwave beeps! to signal his popcorn is ready. He pops the door open as he continues.

“HYDRA had a bunch of files. Nothing too personal, from what I could find, but little bits and pieces about each of you. Gave me a sorta ‘baseline’ to go off.” he explains, dumping the popcorn in the bowl. “Clint didn’t have more than a sentence.” 

More of a word, if he’s being frank. Archer , his file said. That was it. Kinda hard to predict anything about the guy when you’ve only got one archaic skill to go off.

“And that’s bothering you?” she asks, popping a piece of popcorn in her mouth. 

“I don’t know anything about the guy! He’s a total wildcard. At least with everyone else, I had an idea of what your powers were before I moved in. I know jack-squat about him.” Natalia gives his rant a sly smile that instantly sets him on edge.

“What?” Bucky asks, trying to analyze her body language for clues. It’s a useless endeavor with her, but one he tries nonetheless.

“It’s just funny, that’s all.” 

“I don’t appreciate this Natalia.” She ignores his glare.

“When I first met Clint, I hated him.” she recalls, a far-off remembrance in her eye. Bucky settles in to listen. “I  was still with the Red Room, his job was to bring me in. He absolutely infuriated me. Everywhere I went, every step I took, I could never outrun him for long. I got to thinking, he must be some kind of advanced human, the same way I was. So I tested it.” She ends her story there, and looks at James expectantly.

“And?” he prompts, rising to the bait.

“Clint Barton is one of the most remarkable human beings you will ever meet.”

--

Natalia was the worst. 

See, she had planted this idea in his brain- this concept that Clint Barton’s superpower is something truly incredible, enough to make even her awestruck - and then she hadn’t told him what it was.

So, in a feat his SHIELD-issued therapist would delight at, he actually starts a journal over it. Granted, it’s not the emotional exploration the shrink wanted, but hey, it’s something. (He does tell Steve he’s journaling his emotions though, just to get the guy off his back.)

Bucky doesn’t start at the front of the journal. No, instead he starts in the middle. The front feels too exposed, too open of a place to be theorizing about Clint Barton, jotting down his notes and observations. He resolutely does not examine why he feels that way. 

On the first page, he keeps a list of things he knows about Clint for certain:

• archer
• should not be spoken to until he’s consumed at least a pot’s worth of coffee
• will stop mid-battle to pet a dog
• almost everything he owns is an egregious purple
•  

He pauses at 5, realizing how little information of importance he knows about Clint. While yes, number 2 is important if one intends to survive a morning, none of the information is anything that gives him anything to work off. Racking his brain, Bucky eventually comes up with a 5th piece of information, one given to him directly from the man himself. One thing that gives Bucky a great place to start.

Chapter Text

1) Clint Barton Never Misses

On the second page of his Figuring-Out-Clint-Barton Journal, Bucky scrawled that simple thought in the header of the page. His first piece of evidence: the infamous quote. 

“I never miss.”

Clint had said it with practiced conviction, such easy solidity, Bucky knew it had to be a fact. After all, he’s no stranger to a good shot- he’s a damn good sniper himself- but some of the shots Clint has made are just factually impossible.

He’s done his research- and by that he means he’s spiraled down a rabbit hole of “Hawkeye best shots'' compilations on YouTube - and jots down a few of the wildest. He starts with seemingly a staple clip in these compilations: the time Clint loosed 5 (five!) arrows at the same time to perfectly clip cords on separate electrical boxes simultaneously . He records Clint firing off volleys despite being suspended upside down from a moving helicopter over a car chase (Bucky is genuinely amazed Natalia didn’t kill Clint after that stunt, the way he could make out her shouting in the background). He records the more mundane, domestic moments too. He records a moment from Tony’s twitter of Thor (mistakenly) challenging Clint to darts, only to watch as Clint casually nailed a dart directly into the tail of his previous bulls-eye without even looking. 

Looking at his now full page of notes, Bucky’s convinced he’s figured it out. 

--

Bucky’s not got it figured out.

See, earlier that day, Steve had invited him to spar during the team’s “communal work out”. Even though he’s not a part of the team, the punk makes a point of inviting him to the bonding activities. He can’t say he hates it, but it was definitely uncomfortable at the start.

Today will be interesting though, since it’s the first “communal work out” since Barton has returned from his mission. Everyone has their own thing that they do during these sessions, mostly to stay out of everyone's way. Bucky just has to hope he hasn’t accidentally taken over Clint’s.

His worries are only heightened when he enters the gym and finds Clint to be nowhere in sight. A quick scan reveals exactly what he’d expected: Natasha and Steve sparring lightly, Thor loading an honestly absurd amount of weight onto the bar while chatting with Banner, and Tony jogging on the treadmill. He catches Natalia’s eye, and something in his expression must give him away, because she cocks her head quickly towards the firing range at the far end of the gym. 

The firing range is usually the area he tries to avoid, but curiosity is getting the better of him today it seems. He drops his bag next to the sparring ring and cautiously approaches.

Everything looks the same as it always does, with one exception: a single piece of printer paper suspended where the targets usually sit. There’s a clean hole right through the center and the only clue that Clint Barton is in the tower: an arrow sticking out of the wall behind it.

“Didn’t your ma ever tell you not to stand in front of an active lane? That’s just bad range safety.” Clint tuts from behind him. Bucky startles. Even his enhanced hearing didn’t catch the archer’s approach. 

“You got a habit of sneakin’ up on people?” he snaps, adrenaline still slamming his heart against his ribcage.

“Nah, just the ex-Russian spies.” Clint jokes, stepping into the lane. Bucky watches as he yanks the arrow out of the wall and inspects it.

“How long have you been here?” he asks, “Didn’t see you when I came in.”

“Mm, maybe 2 hours?” Clint hums. He doesn’t answer the other half of Bucky’s inquiry though.

“Took you 2 hours to make one shot?” he teases, crossing his arms over his chest. Clint laughs.

“I’m durability testing my arrows. Seein’ how many times they can be reused before they kick it.” he explains, running his fingers along the arrow shaft.  “There’s a small fissure here, but it’s held out for the last ten or so shots.” 

Clint moves to leave the range. Bucky raises his eyebrow at the piece of paper.

“Aren’t you forgettin’ somethin’?” he asks, gesturing to the page.

“Hmm?” Clint stops, turning to face Bucky. 

“The paper.”

“What about it?”

“Don’t you gotta replace it?”

“Why?”

“It’s your target.”

“No it isn’t.” Clint squints at him in confusion. Bucky’s just as confused as Clint looks.

“Oh, I get it.” Clint suddenly says. “Hold on, lemme show you something.”

Quickly, Clint leaps up and grabs a low-clearance support beam, using it as a swinging point onto another, higher up beam, and so on and so forth until he has nestled himself away into the highest point of the rafters. Well, that’s why I didn’t see him when I came in , Bucky thinks. If he hadn’t literally watched Clint get up, he never would’ve found him, the way he’s tucked away in the shadows of the beams.

In one deft move, Clint knocks the arrow, draws, and fires - the arrow making an audible woosh as it slices through the air and thunk as it lands squarely into the wall. Distinctly missing, however, is the sound of the arrow puncturing the paper on its pass through. A quick glance confirms his suspicions - the arrow looks as though it passed through the paper, meaning Clint shot perfectly through the hole made by his previous shot.

“Woah.” 

“Thanks.” Clint’s voice lands behind him.

The paper has been acting as a guide , not a target. Clint has been making the exact same shot for at least the last two hours. 

Bucky would have stood in awe for another two hours, had Steve not called his name across the gym.

“Are you ready to spar?” Steve’s voice rang out. 

“Practice your patience skills, Stevie.” Bucky throws over his shoulder before turning back to Clint. “That’s a seriously impressive ability.” he tells Clint.

“Oh.” Clint stutters, clearly not expecting the complement. “Thanks, man.”

Bucky smiles at him, before stepping away and making his path towards the sparring ring. A quick dig through his bag produces a water bottle, as well as some wraps for his right hand. He nods at Natalia- Natasha as she leans against the ropes.

“Has he really been doin’ that for two hours?” Bucky asks her, eyes focused on properly wrapping his hand. 

“It’s been three, actually.” she hums. “He hasn’t got a great sense of time.”

“Jesus.” he hums. Then- “Alright Stevie, ready to get your ass handed to you?” Distantly, he hears the whoosh-thunk of Clint firing off another shot. 

“Language.” Natasha teases. “Steve’s gonna have to wash your mouth out with soap.”

“Please!” he laughs, “Where do you think I got it from?”

“Alright, that’s enough of that!” Steve squawks, indignant as always whenever someone (ie: Bucky) hints at his less-than-golden character.

Bucky shakes out his arm, mentally preparing himself for the spar. He and Steve have similar limits, but Bucky is much quicker to fight dirty. He’s also usually the first to move. 

He remains consistent, feigning a quick jab left before rocketing out his right hand. Steve blocks, and the fight is on. Bucky isn’t light on his feet like Natalia, so he makes up for it with a brutal onslaught of punches. Steve blocks most of them, centering his weight as if he had his shield with him. 

A series of punches, a distant whoosh-thunk , a solid slam from Steve sends Bucky back a step. 

Another solid hit from the Captain, a deflect off the metal arm, a carefully placed step and shove, whoosh-thunk, Steve stumbles.

Bucky dips, getting close to Steve’s core. Steve catches his punch. Bucky uses the catch as a launching point, sending his legs up and around Steve’s shoulders in a very Widow-reminiscent move.

whoosh-rip-thunk.

Bucky makes the mistake of glancing up, giving Steve the window he needs to slam Bucky onto the mat and into a strong hold. He barely notices, gaze locked on the singular range lane in use.

The piece of paper has a second hole in it.

Clint had missed.

Bucky watches the archer swear to himself as he clambers down from the rafters - bow in hand - to collect his arrow and speed out of the gym. Natasha watches him go idly, but she doesn’t seem surprised. 

Back to the drawing board.

Chapter Text

2) Clint Barton Has Super-Intellect

Hours later, Bucky sits on the couch in the common space and scratches down his next theory into the journal. He’s still thinking about all the crazy shots he knows Clint can make. If it’s not subconscious skill allowing those shots to land, he reasons, it must be that Clint is doing an intense series of calculations, factoring in all sorts of stimulus in mere milliseconds to guide his chosen projectile.

While he jots down the sorts of equations Clint might have to do, the man in question stumbles into the room in a flurry of energy.

“Holy shit! Bucket, did you know narwhals were real? ”

Bucky crosses out his theory.

Chapter Text

3) Clint Barton Can See The Future

This is the only other plausible way Bucky can reason that Clint could be landing the shots he makes. He must just be able to see where the targets are going to be when he fires. The theory holds up under mental speculation, but he doesn’t really have any solid proof to confirm it. 

Guess it’s up to him to collect some then. 

He starts by just… throwing things at Clint without warning.

The first time was a light toss of a balled up napkin from next to him at the dinner table. He  got a pretty questionable side-eye from Steve for that one. Clint’s hand shot out and caught the paper before his head had fully turned towards Bucky. 

One point for future vision. 

Continued tests of his hypothesis yielded varying results. Generally, it seemed that if it was somewhere in Clint’s (shockingly wide) field of view, he was able to intercept it. This included his peripherals, as Bucky learned when he tried to whap Clint with a pillow, only to catch one to the face himself. That, of course, had led to a full-out brawl - Thor had witnessed the interaction and proclaimed “War of the pillows!” before absolutely bodying Tony with a nearby cushion. 

His tests came to a head when Clint stumbled into the kitchen one morning. He hadn’t had his cup - a full pot, really - of coffee yet, but Bucky instinctively launched the spatula he was holding at Clint with no warning. Clint, unsurprisingly, caught it, and carried on with his morning as if nothing was out of the norm. At this point for them, this was the norm. 

“What the hell was that?” Tony piped up. 

Bucky had honestly forgotten he was in the room. Clint mumbled something unintelligible and continued his shuffle to the coffee maker. He handed the spatula back to Bucky as he passed by. 

“Terminator? Care to explain?” Tony continued, bewilderment building.

Bucky opened his mouth to answer, and found himself at a loss for words. While he had no intentions of explaining his testing to Tony - especially not with Clint in the room - he found that he well and truly had stopped keeping track of whether or not Clint caught what he threw. Somewhere along the two or so weeks he had been testing, it stopped being about his theories and started being about just… interacting with Clint. It was their own little game, and it felt wrong to share that with anyone, even just in explanation. 

“Science.” he responded instead, ignoring Tony’s scoff and turning back to his pan. 

“Right.” Tony drawls, disbelieving. “If either of you idiots need me, I’m going to the lab- y’know, to do some real science.” Bucky hears rather than sees the tell-tale scrape of a stool being pushed out and receding footsteps signaling Tony’s departure.

He spent another few minutes just staring at his omelet, resolutely not examining just why he felt so protective of his and Clint’s little game. 

It worked. 

(Mostly.)

Clint shuffled past him, making his way out of the kitchen with the pot of coffee in hand. Bucky gave him half a nod, eyes still locked on his omelet, when Clint grunted. He glanced up briefly, only to see a coffee mug come hurtling at him. Out of instinct, his hand shot up and caught it, mere inches from his face.

Bucky remained frozen for a moment, desperately trying to process what had just happened. From around the mug, he sees Clint grin, then shuffle out of the room.

He stays standing like that for another few moments. His chest feels tight, and really warm.

He smiles softly, finally lowering the mug.

--

That night was a movie night in the tower - another of Steve’s “team bonding activities”, though this one Bucky generally enjoys. He’s been pretty out of touch with pop culture for 70 years, and Tony and Clint have seemingly teamed up to catch him up to speed in the strangest order possible.

He’s gotten settled in his strategically picked spot for the Best Movie Viewing Experience™ when Clint launches himself over the back of the couch. He lands with an oomph next to Bucky and wiggles a bit to settle in. Bucky raises an eyebrow at him.

“No, go ahead, I don’t mind. Take all the space you’d like.” he deadpans, gesturing between them. Clint’s side is pressed against a pillow wedged between the two of them, and his legs are kicked out along the length of the rest of the couch, essentially making it impossible for anyone else to sit down or Bucky to sprawl out in any way. 

“Will do.” he says, shit-eating grin making Bucky smile nonetheless.

“What’s on the docket tonight, oh master of all things 21st century?” he asks, stretching his arms along the back of the couch. 

“Hot Fuzz.” Clint says.

“No.” Natasha responds, slipping into her armchair.

“What?” Clint whines, “Since when?”

“We discussed this earlier today. Bruce is leaving for a conference tomorrow, so we’re rearranging the weeks and he’s picking tonight.” 

“If that’s alright, of course.” Bruce half-teases-half-asks, having followed in closely behind Natasha. “Wouldn’t want to disrupt the flow of the ever-so-carefully curated Barton Crash Course in pop culture.”

“Anything for you Brucie.” Clint grins. “I’ll show Bucket here Hot Fuzz next week.”

Even if Clint doesn’t have future vision, Bucky’s still probably going to end up watching whatever Clint says he will, if only for the reason that it’s Clint giving him the recommendation.  

--

After that point, he was honestly content to let it go.

Chapter Text

4) Clint Barton is Immortal

He did let it go, technically. He’s content, just enjoying the little game between the two of them. He doesn’t need to know exactly what Clint’s deal is. 

In fact, if he’s patient, Clint will probably just tell him outright some day. The “not knowing” doesn’t bother him at all.

Not at all.

…

That train of thought lasts for about one day before he’s back on a new theory.

Immortality is weak, admittedly, but not totally infeasible. The key pieces of evidence he’s working off of right now include Clint’s proclivity for stupid ass stunts (because why would someone willingly eat pizza off the streets of New York City unless they knew they couldn’t die), and his mastery of archery (probably something he picked up idly as a hobby and just continued to hone until he got to where he is now, Bucky thinks. Centuries of free time would allow you to master some stupid ass skills). 

Having at least a working theory soothes some small itch in Bucky, and he isn’t really too pressed about debunking this one, so he’s content to do other things instead. Like kicking Clint’s ass in Mario Kart. 

“Aww c’mon! This is unfair!” Clint whines as he gets smacked with yet another blue shell. Bucky laughs from deep in his chest, and from further down the couch, Natalia chuckles quietly. Clint rolls his eyes and pouts. 

“I’m sorry! I’m just too good.” he winks at Clint.

“No, you aren’t.” he grouses, sticking his tongue out as Bucky’s Metal Mario smoothly crosses the finish line. 

“You gotta at least try.” Bucky teases back.

“You’re like,, 100 years old! There’s no reason you should be so good at this!” He throws his hands in the air, and Bucky laughs again. There’s a glint of amusement in Clint’s eyes, so Bucky’s not too worried about sticking his tongue out at him to really rub it in.

“You-!” Clint gasps, before shoving Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky shoves back, and they tussle playfully for a moment, before a loud buzzing starts up from Clint’s phone, accompanied by his flashlight blinking.

“The fuck is that?” Bucky asks.

“Oh, so you can beat me at Mario Kart but you don’t know what a phone call is?” Clint jokes as he grabs his phone. Natalia snorts, and Bucky glares her way. When he turns his attention back to Clint, he looks much less enthused than a few moments ago. He answers the call.

“Hey Barn. What’s up?” From the corner of his eye, Bucky sees Natalia sit up ever-so-slightly straighter. His eyes flit over Clint’s face, taking in every microexpression, until all the sudden, they disappear.

“Yeah.” Clint says, voice clipped as he stands and exits the room. It’s startling. Even on missions, Bucky’s never seen Clint so blank, devoid of emotion, purely, clinically effective in every move. It hits him then that Clint must be a very good spy. 

He and Natalia sit in silence for a moment longer. Tension coils under her skin, he can tell, but she refuses to move.

“What was that all about?” he ventures. She doesn’t answer immediately, eyes still locked on where Clint left. Faintly, he thinks he hears yelling in that direction, but it’s so quiet that even with enhanced senses he can’t be sure he isn’t just imagining sounds.

“You should make some coffee.” she says finally. He raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t really drink coffee after 3:00.” It’s dusk now, far too late for caffeine in his mind. He isn’t one of those heathens, drinking coffee at any hour of the day or night like Clint-

“Oh.” he says. Natalia hums.

“The roof is awfully windy. Cold can cut right through you.”

--

When he creaks the roof access door open with a piping hot, freshly brewed mug of coffee, he isn’t too sure what he’s going to find. He expects something charged, something like pacing and shouting at whoever was on the other end of the line. 

What he isn’t expecting is to see Clint, far away from him, legs kicking in the wind from his perch on the edge of the roof. 

“Clint?” he calls out, words swallowed by the wind. Clint doesn’t react.

Bucky approaches, and the lack of response made more clear by the hearing aids he spots resting next to Clint on the edge. He gently taps Clint’s shoulder, doing his best not to startle.

It doesn’t work, and Clint flinches at the touch, frantically sniffling and wiping at his eyes as he turns to face Bucky. The wind swallows the remnants of tears as he fumbles his aids back in.

“Hey Bucket.” he croaks, voice scratchy. “Sorry, didn’t hear you come up.”

“All good.” Bucky hums. “Brought you a gift.” he adds, presenting the mug. Clint practically glows, tear tracks forgotten as he cradles the mug close to him and sips.

“Mmm, is this fresh? I feel so loved.” Bucky drops to sit next to him, cutting some of the wind off of Clint. The guy’s just in a t-shirt, at least Bucky’s got sleeves (and only one arm that actually gets cold anymore.)

“What was that about?” he asks, gesturing vaguely at the phone.

“Ahh, y’know. Big bro needs me to bail him out again, can’t seem to stop getting involved in organized crime.” From his tone, you’d think it was a joke, but the way his smile doesn’t meet his eyes worries Bucky. Clint sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.

“It’s just- Barney. I guess. That’s how he’s always been. Throwin’ me under the bus with our old man, then with Trickshot, then the cops. It never ends.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault Bucket.” Clint takes another sip, humming contentedly. Conversation lapses into silence, the only sound the wind howling between them.

“Y’know he almost killed me once?” Clint pipes up out of nowhere. Bucky could swear his eyebrows raised so high they touched his hairline. At his expression, Clint snorts. 

“Well, not him, technically. It was a clown, stabbed me in the ear with an arrow.” Yeah, like that makes any more sense, Bucky thinks. 

Clint taps his hearing aids. “S’how I ended up with these. He did leave me for dead though. Took all my money and dipped.” he chuckles, macabre, and returns his gaze to the streets far, far below. 

Bucky looks at him for a long moment, carefully cataloguing the way the light reflects on his face, his eyes, his hair. 

“Fuck him.”

Clint looks over, surprise clear, but an undercurrent of amusement on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nods resolutely. “You don’t owe him shit.” 

Bucky stands, offering his hand to Clint. He doesn’t take it immediately, just looking up at him, something almost akin to fondness in his eyes.

“You’re right, I don’t.” He grabs Bucky’s hand and hauls himself upright. “But I’ll probably help him anyways.” Bucky blinks at him, baffled.

“He’s my brother.” Clint shrugs, like that forgives it all.

“Been stuck with him since the day I was born, and probably will be ‘til I die.”

And with that, he heads inside. 

--

It’s a few hours later, and Clint and Natasha are arguing the merits of gel versus dip nail polish while some of the others mill around the kitchen, beginning to prep a large meal for their weekly dinner and movie night.

Bucky cracks open his journal, spinning a pen around his fingers as he reads and re-reads the page heading. Clint Barton is immortal. He crosses it out, jotting a few notes underneath. 

• Acknowledges his eventual death

• Did almost die

Then, beneath that:

• Shitty older brother. 

He nods. Even if he didn’t prove his hypothesis, he did learn one thing today. Bucky Barnes does not like Barney Barton.

Chapter Text

2.2) Clint Barton has Superior Intellect (he just doesn’t know it)

Bucky has spent a lot of time watching Clint in the last several weeks, and even more time actually talking to the guy. He’s learned a lot too, far more than any file HYDRA gave him would have ever included.

And yet, he still doesn’t know what Clint’s deal is. He sprawls on the couch one night, far after everyone else has retreated but he just can’t get to sleep, turning the thought over and over in his mind. He’s ruled out almost every possibility he can think of, but the thought won’t leave him alone.

Just what is going on with Clint Barton?

“Can’t sleep?”

Natalia’s voice startles him upright, and she settles herself into the now cleared space on the couch.

“Not really.”

She just hums, nodding lightly and not saying anything more. That is, until her eyes fall to the journal in Bucky’s lap. She raises an eyebrow, asking permission. He nods. Of everyone in the Tower, Natalia’s the least likely to cause any problems for him, and may actually take pity on him and give him a hint. 

She immediately flips to the middle of the journal, as if knowing he wouldn’t start in the front. They’re alike in that way. Once she finds the entries, she begins to read, and Bucky leans back, returning his gaze to the ceiling and his mind to his contemplations.

They remain like this for a while, comfortable silence only occasionally broken by the flip of a page. So long, in fact, that Bucky has almost drifted off to a trance-like not-quite-sleep when Natalia places the journal back in his lap.

“You might want to give this one a little more thought.”

She’s left the page with theory two open: Clint Barton has Superior Intellect , crossed off with no experimentation or notes below it. He admits, it is a bit of a disgrace to the scientific method, but in his defense, Clint did pretty immediately counter this theory.

When he looks up, Natalia is already gone. 

--

So he returns to what he knows: watching. After all, he was a sniper- watching and waiting are two things he’s very good at.

He starts spending a lot of time in the communal areas. Steve’s delighted because he thinks Bucky is finally overcoming his “socialization anxiety” or whatever. Bucky thinks he’s full of shit, because he’s been socializing just fine since he got here, thank you very much, but it means that Steve finally goes full force on team bonding activities, which works out for his observational purposes, so he’ll allow it .

It’s during one of the now tri-weekly team dinners that he really settles in to watch Clint. He talks with his mouth full and shovels food down, which makes Bucky grimace, but no matter how flippant he acts, his eyes are alert, darting around the table and analyzing every move.

He subtly shifts Tony’s glass as Thor begins an impassioned speech, and when Thor’s arms fly open in a gesture, they just barely avoid knocking it over. He subtly shifts food from his plate to Sam’s, making sure he ends up with one of the rolls he was eyeing but didn’t ask anyone to pass. 

Just in this meal alone, he’s watched Clint effortlessly flip through languages too- signing to Natasha whilst Thor shouts, asking Bruce questions about… something, in what might be Hindi, Bucky isn’t sure, and even snarking a quick one-liner here or there to Bucky himself in Russian. 

Something about the way his eyes sparkle as he leans over and mutters low jumpstarts a pitter-patter in Bucky’s chest, a small smile creeping onto his face despite himself. Clint leans away, and Steve shoots him a glance that Bucky doesn’t really feel like unpacking right now.

--

He starts seeing evidence of Clint’s intellect everywhere, from the way he speaks about the physics and material makeup of his arrows with Tony, to his quick decision-making when sparring with the Widow. Bucky’s never seen them spar before, and it looks more like a choreographed dance than a spar, each moving fluidly and countering before the other even has a chance to lunge. They’re not quite evenly matched- Natalia is better- but Bucky can’t help but stand transfixed, watching Clint up until he ends up with his face in the mat.

“Ugh, I give.” he groans, and Natalia releases her hold on his arm. Clint rolls over to his back but makes no move to get up. 

“Enjoying the show?” she teases.

“Very much.” he sends right back.

“How bad was it Bucket?” 

“You never stood a chance.” he tells Clint. He actually did have Bucky doubting Natalia for a while, but Bucky’s never going to tell him that. Surely, he already knows, since he doesn’t seem to take Bucky’s statement too hard.

--

Bucky isn’t cleared to go on missions with the Avengers yet, which means, when the alarm blares one Tuesday afternoon, he settles on the couch while the rest of the team hustles out.

“Don’t fuck up!” he jokes, watching as Clint hops to tie his boot while still moving towards the elevator.

“Only the best for you, Bucket.” Clint looks up and winks, and that pitter-patter in his chest kicks up again. It settles when Clint promptly falls face first onto the ground. He chuckles as Clint scrambles upright.

“Only the best!” Clint repeats jovially, hustling out of the room. Bucky turns his attention to the (obscenely large) TV as JARVIS pulls up various newsfeeds and traffic cams. Bucky opens his journal and clicks his pen, ready to collect more evidence.

“Uhh, JARVIS?” he asks, tentatively. As cool as the AI is to his sci-fi loving nerd brain, he can’t quite get used to speaking to him.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” JARVIS’s voice responds.

“Just Bucky is fine.” he mumbles. “Can you focus on Hawkeye this time?”

“Of course, Bucky.”

The screens flicker, a few feeds switching out to show him better angles on Clint. And damn, what an angle. Center screen is a camera somewhere behind Clint, pretty much solely focused on his ass. Bucky clears his throat and blushes.

“Not like that, JARVIS.”

The feeds change, and Bucky would bet if AI could laugh, JARVIS would be. He does replace it though, and Bucky begins to watch.

It’s incredibly clear to him that Clint knows exactly what he’s doing. He doesn’t have future vision (as Bucky had tested and confirmed) which means that he’s so aware of his opponents that he can predict where they will be in order to fire off shots with lethal precision. He keeps a keen eye on everyone, somehow able to split his attention to be everywhere at once. He’s smart .

He’s smart, but he cannot have superior intelligence. 

If Clint Barton had superior intellect, he would’ve known that his shot could’ve been made from two rooftops to his left. He would’ve known - instinctively - that he had the time to reposition and still land a solid hit, if not the kill shot. Hell, he would’ve taken the time to consider if the shot even needed to be made at all.

Instead, Clint Barton knocked an arrow, took a running start, and launched himself off the roof of the apartment complex he was perched on. 

Bucky’s heart plummeted out of his chest in sync with Clint plummeting out of the sky.

Chapter Text

5) Clint Barton has Regeneration

Clint hasn’t been severely injured since Bucky’s been living at the Tower. Sure, he’s heard the stories, and the dude’s clumsier than a newborn giraffe on roller skates, so he’s seen his fair share of bumps and bruises, but they’ve all healed faster than the average human.

Right?

He had to have some kind of healing, because, if he didn’t, how was he going to even begin recovering from this?

Bucky was pacing in the entryway, anxiously waiting when the team finally returned. Natalia storms in first, stomping right past him and immediately heading for the gym. They all watch her go, but no one moves to follow. Noticeably absent is Clint. 

“Where is he?” Bucky asks, voice more unstable than even he was expecting. 

“Medical.” Sam sighs as he walks past.

“It’ll be a while before he’s stable enough for us to see him.” Steve says, and there’s something so soft and sympathetic in his voice, Bucky couldn’t feel smaller. It must show on his face, which is even worse.

“Banner’s down there now-” Tony adds, and Bucky hadn’t even noticed Bruce’s absence until just now, “Either go journal or go punch something, just don’t mope around.” he finishes. Steve cringes at his tone, but to Bucky, punching something sounds pretty good right about now.

--

He finds Natasha in the gym, going to town on a punching bag and still in her mission suit, not having bothered to change.

“What do you want?” she grunts, not stopping her onslaught. 

“Spar me.”

She pauses, sparing him a brief glance.

“No.”

“Why not?” he demands, feeling some kind of desperation climbing its way up his throat.

“I might kill you.” she snaps, turning to face him fully. And in that moment, he believes her. The next moment, however, when she deflates and her face crumples, he feels even more unprepared for. She sinks to the floor, leaning against a nearby machine as she kicks her legs out in front of her. He sits too, careful to leave her space.

“He’s an idiot.” He knows it’s not true as he says it, but it gets a chuckle out of her nonetheless.

“Yes he is.” she hums, wildness in her eyes settling into something more fond. “Smartest idiot I’ve ever met.”

He makes some kind of vague noise of agreement, and lets the air lapse into natural silence. His mind wanders, mostly to Clint, and he’s sure Nat is doing the same.

“You should go to him.” she says eventually, startling him out of his reverie.

“Are you sure?”

“He’ll appreciate seeing you.” The way she says it is kind of vague, like there’s supposed to be more. He takes a wild guess.

“Is that what you usually do?”

She doesn’t say anything, but the slight nod and smile is enough permission for him.

--

He waits outside of medical in maybe the 2nd most uncomfortable chair in his life for 3 hours before Bruce finally comes out. 

“Oh, hello Bucky.” He’s pleasant enough, but he’s also visibly exhausted. “How are you?” 

“I think I should be asking you that, doc.” It’s a fairly weak attempt at keeping the mood light, but Bruce graciously allows it.

“I’ll be fine.” he smiles. “He isn’t awake yet, but he’s stable. You can go wait in the room, if you’d like.” He holds the door for Bucky, and so he stands.

“Thank you.” Bucky says, taking the door from Bruce.

“Don’t be too hard on him. He’s just…” Bruce trails off, looking for the right word.

“I know.” And he does. Clint is… Clint. Stupid and reckless and foul-mouthed and maybe one of the best people Bucky’s ever met. Bruce nods, understanding, and carries on down the hall.

--

Bucky spends the next 2 days in the infirmary.

Clint is hooked up to a variety of machines, steady beeping becoming white noise, proof of life. Nurses come in to check on him every half hour. Bruce comes by twice a day, usually with a snack for Bucky as well as some kind of healing aid he injects into Clint’s IV. Steve stops by twice a day as well, but more to check on Bucky than to see Clint. Natasha came down once, looked at Clint, then looked at the journal in Bucky’s hands, and left without another word. He hasn’t seen her since.

Clint looks… pretty bad. He’s got a cast on his left arm, (his non-dominant, Bucky notes, and there’s a certain level of relief on Clint’s behalf he feels) bandages covering most of his torso, and a tube down his throat that Bucky hates to look at. He doesn’t move, aside from the occasional rise and fall of  his chest as he breathes, and sometimes Bucky just watches that for minutes on end.

Bucky has spent the last 2 days writing. 

He still has no idea what Clint’s power could possibly be, having ruled out healing after day 1. That’s not really his focus anymore though.

His entries have shifted away from hypothesis and towards his feelings- and dammit, maybe his shrink was right after all. Nevertheless, he writes, chronicling his thoughts and emotions, and recording his frankly concerning amount of affection he carries for the fool in the hospital bed. 

He comes to the realization, at the end of the second day, that he likes Clint. Like, likes him. And if the looks the nurses keep shooting him are anything to go off of, he might be the last person to come to this realization. 

It takes him another half a day before the pitying glances become too much- since when did the Winter Soldier get pitying glances?- and he finally leaves the infirmary.