Chapter Text
It started during a mission. Clint was on a rooftop waiting impatiently for his target to stay fucking still when he saw him on the rooftop beside his. He didn’t know about the Winter Soldier then; all he knew was that he had some competition. Hot competiti–is that a metal arm?!?! Clint, although he’d never admit it, got a little distracted by the man and took his eyes off his target for a second too long, ultimately losing the shot to him. The odd thing was, the man, who was dressed head to toe in black Kevlar and– is that a muzzle? Yup, he had a muzzle on his face– didn’t try to get him next, just looked at him, nodded, and walked away.
After that, Clint looked for him. The weird thing was that he never told Shield about the man, just said his target was dead when he got there. He didn’t know why he was protecting him, but there was something about him that felt off, and not in a dangerous I-have-to-tell-Shield-right-now-or-we’ll-all-die way.
He didn’t see him for another couple of weeks, but when he did, he wasn’t on a Shield mission. This time he was Ronin; his vigilante alter-ego when he gets tired of boring missions and wants something a little more local. Clint was scouring Bed Stuy, only a block away from his flat, when he saw the man going toe-to-toe against what he assumed was a Hydra agent. Suddenly three more men ganged up against him and Clint had to do something. He jumped across the rooftops and took down the first agent that came towards him, having noticed him joining their fight. Quickly and efficiently, they took down the agents together, yet neither of the men tried anything on each other – ever since that nod the mystery man gave Clint on the rooftop, there was some weird, silent agreement. They were on the same side, whatever that was.
“Are they Hydra?” Clint asked without preamble as they were both coming down from the fight.
“Yes” the other man said, short with no explanation. He hadn’t even said enough for Clint to hear an identifiable accent, but he got the feeling he wasn’t going to get much more out of the other man, so when he didn’t say anything else Clint just nodded. He knew he wasn’t Shield, but as far as Clint could tell he was a friendly – some vigilante that Hydra had wronged in some way, most likely.
After that, the man left with the same nod as a couple of weeks ago, disappearing into the darkness of New York. That night Clint tried to do some digging on the other man. That, of course, didn’t end too well as he knew nothing about him. He couldn’t even find any CCTV footage of him. He was a ghost. He thought about asking Natasha, but for some reason he wanted to keep this to himself.
For two more months they tried taking down the same targets, running into each other and making a competition on who could get the target down first. Always Hydra. Always low-level agents.
One day Clint was doing his patrol as Ronin when he heard strange noises coming from a warehouse that belonged to the rooftop next to the one he was perched on. As he looked through a small, dirty window he saw the man being held down – not by men, but by massive heavy-duty chains. Thankfully, the warehouse appeared to be empty except for two men and the man, so it was easy to get him out.
Clint quietly creeped into the room, catching the eye of the chained man who showed no sign of recognition, not wanting to sell Clint’s plan. He quietly took out one of the agents by slicing his throat clean with a knife without the other even realising, before moving onto him too. After he was done, he quickly made his way over to the man in the chair, wanting to get them out before anyone who might be in the warehouse realised what happened. When he had freed the other man, he noticed he was hunched over, clearly in pain, and saw the barely-there dark spot on his ribs, the Kevlar hiding it well.
“C’mon. My place is near we’ll get you fixed up” Clint said, only receiving a grunt from the other man. He could barely move, leaning most of his weight on Clint – which was a lot of weight – he seemed pretty heavily drugged if slow movements were anything to go off of. Thankfully Clint’s flat was right around the corner in a nondescript run-down building and, even better, it had an elevator because there was no way he was getting the man up the stairs by himself. He was only a few floors up but still; the man was heavy.
When they reached Clint’s flat, he gently sat the man on his toilet seat and quickly grabbed the first aid kit. “Okay, I’m gonna lift your top up. I need to see what’s going on here” Clint didn’t receive an answer, he didn’t really expect to, he mostly wanted to see if he could get some kind of reaction – the man isn’t the chattiest but Clint usually gets some kind of nod of acknowledgment out of him.
After a second the man nodded, so at least he’s not completely out of it but his reaction time is a little slow. What have they gave you? As he pushed up the man’s top, he noticed that the stab wound wasn’t even bleeding anymore – clearly it had been recently but it’s deep enough that it shouldn’t have stopped this soon.
“It’s fine. It will heal. Already is” he slurred, barely audible through the mask and Clint’s fucked hearing. He was struggling to keep his eyes open and focused on Clint kneeling in front of him.
“How… You have some sort of serum, don’t you?” Clint already knew the answer to that. He had seen the strength of the other man, but he just didn’t want to believe it.
“Yeah… I’ll explain it when I work through this drug… I owe you that at least. I don’t need stitches it won’t even scar.”
“Okay, just let me put some butterfly stiches on you then. For my own peace of mind.” When Clint got a nod, he began putting the stitches on the other man, and now that he wasn’t so worried about him bleeding out, he could silently enjoy the expanse of skin in front of him. The man was ripped – of course he was, he was a super soldier, but that didn’t stop Clints jaw from dropping.
“I’ll grab you some water. And some food, you should probably eat. I’ve got leftover pizza – it’s just from a couple of hours ago, don’t worry. The base of it might soak up those drugs. Can you take off the…” Clint said, motioning to the mask still on the other man’s face. The man hesitated for a second before reaching behind his head and unclasping the mask, revealing the most handsome face Clint had ever seen. He hadn’t even noticed how blue his eyes were, but now that he could see his full face he couldn’t look away from them. Finally, after a moment too long, Clint managed to pull his gaze away long enough to stand up and grab a hand towel to clean up the blood off of the man’s stomach before helping him up and bringing him to the living room. He deposited the man on the couch and went to grab the pizza and water, before watching the man slowly feed himself while seeming content to fall asleep on the couch right then and there.
Between bites of his pizza, he kept sparing glances at the man next to him. He seemed familiar. That was when he realised he had seen him in the bodega across the street a couple of weeks ago. Shit. I checked him out that day. And he smirked at me. God, I hope he doesn’t remember that.
After the man managed to eat a couple slices, Clint hesitantly asked “Can I take your clothes off– uhhh… I mean just so you’re more comfortable. I can give you some clothes, but they won’t fit very well – I’m a bit taller than you and you’re way more buff than me. You can’t be comfortable sleeping in that though, so I can help you get down to your boxers and undershirt if you want … or … something” Clint trailed off at the end, embarrassed even though he didn’t really have any reason to be; he doubted the man would remember any of this in the morning.
For the first time since Clint had met him, the man laughed. It was small, but it was progress. “Boxers and undershirt is fine. I run hot anyway. But I can do it myself… thank you.” He at least looked slightly more alert now; this was the most he had said to Clint since he met him. At that, the man stood up and began making his way to the bathroom before Clint stopped him by blurting out “What’s your name?”
The man didn’t answer for a moment but eventually said “…I don’t remember” then walked out without an explanation. Clint just sat there for a while, staring at the space where the man was just stood. How could he not remember his own name? What did Hydra do to him?
Eventually Clint managed to get off the couch and clean up their plates (or really their pizza boxes) and get his couch ready to be slept on – he had already decided the man would take the bed, he looked like he needed a good night’s rest.
As the man emerged from the bathroom, his hair wet and face clean, clearly having been given a quick wash while he was in there. Unsurprisingly he looked even better clean, but Clint’s focus was quickly taken away from his face and drawn to his arm. He had only seen the metal hand under a sleeve – although he sometimes had a glove on to hide it. Clint thought it would be up to his wrist or something, but it was the whole arm. It looked like it had been fused to his skin. His own arm ached in sympathy just looking at it. It was smooth though; you couldn’t tell he even had it when he had long sleeves and a glove on.
“Do you want me to cover it?” the man asked, clearly seeing Clints ogling and thinking the worst.
“No, of course not. It just looks heavy… does it hurt? I-I don’t know why I asked that, that was so out of line I’m sorry it’s not my place–“
“I’m used to it. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember which… isn’t long” the man looked uncomfortable and stiff, he probably didn’t even realise this was the first time Clint had seen it in his drugged daze. He was hard to read but Clint was a damn good spy when he wanted to be, and he could see right through this guy – and it wasn’t pretty.
“Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener. I know people that can help you–“
“NO” the man nearly shouted, but caught himself and said “I’m sorry, it’s just… telling Shield is the last thing I need. I just want peace… and Hydra dead.”
“How do you know I work for Shield…?” Clint never told him; he was sure of that.
“It’s not hard to tell. You’re clearly not Hydra and you dress differently when you do the vigilante thing… I just assumed you were part of an organisation, and it was an easy guess from there” the man was still slurring, although he did sound better. He should get some sleep though.
“Come on, we can talk in the morning if you want, but you need to sleep this off” Clint said in a no-nonsense voice, playing it up a bit since the man doesn’t know how much of a dumpster fire he is yet; might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
“I can just go to my flat. It’s only a few blocks away–“ the man tried, but Clint was set.
“Nope. It gets lonely here anyway, I could do with a little company.” Clint wasn’t lying, not really, sure he was playing it up a bit to get the other to stay – he recognised the sadness in the other man’s eyes – but he really did like being with him. Even if his little crush is never returned, he could get a friend out of this.
“Thank you…?” the man dragged off, and suddenly Clint realised he hadn’t even given the man his name.
“Oh shit. My bad, man. I’m Clint. Clint Barton” he said, holding his hand out for the other man to shake as if they weren’t way past that now; it earned him a small smile at least. Maybe he shouldn’t be giving his full name out to a stranger who could kill him, but oh well.
“Clint. Again, thank you” the man had a different look in his eyes now, a more intense look, but not the one he had when he was killing Hydra agents – this one had a different kind of heat. Huh, maybe it isn’t so unrequited. It was too soon for that, though. For now, he just wanted to make sure the man was okay. He shouldn’t start something with a man who can’t even remember his own name – one step at a time. He still blushed though.
“Okay, let’s go. You can take the bed, I end up falling asleep on the couch watching shitty TV most nights anyway” He wasn’t exactly lying there, but he knew the man wouldn’t take it without some convincing, especially now that he’s more lucid.
“Clint, I can’t take your bed. Really. I’m used to sleeping on a springy mattress on the floor, I’m okay.”
“Sure, sure, but you’re also injured, even if you’re healing quick. Come on I’m not gonna let this go. I’m a stubborn asshole.”
The man got a distant look in his eyes before he said “You remind me of someone… Blond and stubborn as a mule” he was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant, until he shook his head and said “Fine, but only because I’m too tired to argue.”
Clint didn’t want to push the other man, so he started guiding him into his bedroom, thankful he had cleaned it the day before and made his bed that morning. Maybe clint really could help him – if he can remind him of a friend and hopefully not more than that, then maybe he can remember more with Clint around.
When the man seemed settled and ready to climb into bed, Clint moved towards the door but hesitated and said “Stay, yeah? Don’t go sneaking out when I fall asleep?”
“Okay. Clint, I haven’t had a friend in a long time so… thank you, again.”
“Anytime… Maybe think about a name, yeah? Something for me to call you” Smiling at him one last time, Clint shut the door and sat heavily on the couch. It was almost 4am, but Clint couldn’t sleep. He kept thinking about the man in the other room. All he knew was that he clearly used to be in Hydra, probably as a prisoner, and that’s likely the cause of his pretty severe memory loss. He didn’t even know his name. Thankfully, he managed to slip into a fitful sleep, dreams haunted by wide shoulders and grey-blue eyes.