Avengers: Whatever it Takes

Don't Give Me Hope

Natasha had been standing in the shadows as rain fell over the street. The umbrella afforded her protection, thought getting rained on wasn't high on her list of priorities. No, at that moment the only priority was the person she was watching.

"Nat," Bruce said over the radio.

"Did you get him?" she asked without taking her focus off of her quarry.

"Yeah. We have Jack to thank for that. I don't think Thor would have come back if it weren't for him."

Natasha smiled. "Good."

"What about you? Have you made any progress?"

"I've got him in my sights," Natasha stated in a voice that sounded far more calm and relaxed than she felt.

"Nat," Bruce sighed, knowing her well enough by now to see through her facades.

"I'm fine. Really. Just watching my friend slaughter an group of Yakuza thugs."

"I know he's been getting into some bad stuff, Nat."

"Yeah. Listen, he's finishing up right now. I'll be back soon. Hopefully with him."

Natasha went quiet again after Bruce said goodbye. She watched as Clint- dressed in a dark bodysuit, mask and hood- stepped out of the karaoke bar where a group of criminals lay bloody and dead. He was holding a sword in his hand, a bow quiver of arrows across his back. Natasha stared at the sword and recognized it instantly.

That's Dean's old sword, she thought to herself. When he was Mongoose.

Clint walked out into the rain just as reinforcements were coming in. He looked completely unbothered as the men hurried toward him on motor cycles. Natasha almost intervened when Clint suddenly yanked the bow free and fired two arrows in rapid succession. They punctured the wheels of the nearest bike, sending the rider skidding across the pavement and crashing into a nearby building.

Another Yakuza had screeched to a stop and drawn a compact machine gun. He opened fire and Clint simply rolled to the side and loosed another arrow, this one piercing the gunman in his throat. He fell backward, his finger squeezing the trigger in a death grip and sending a stream of bullets up into the sky. A few of them struck the streetlights, dousing the street in darkness. The glow of neon was the only source of illumination, coating the entire scene in a stark red color that only enhanced the carnage.

Another biker was wise enough to take cover. This bought him some time. He hunched over behind a nearby car, his weapon in hand. Natasha observed as Clint became lost in shadows, completely still.

Waiting.

The remaining Yakuza slowly stood up and swept his gun over the scene, searching for any sign of Clint. He stood and began to walk further into the area, his face conveying fear and anger- a disastrous combination of emotions. As he walked deeper into the area, Clint suddenly swept out from beside him and brought the sword down. The man screamed and fell backward as his hands were detached from his body by the sharp steel. They and the gun they held fell to the rainy pavement with a thud.

"Clint, what the hell are you doing?" Natasha murmured. She'd been warned by Guardian that Clint had gone dark, but seeing it up close was another thing. This wasn't justice; this was slaughter.

The man fell backwards and raised his arms in defense, even though he had only bloody stumps left in place of his hands. "Why are you doing this? We never did anything to you!" the man cried out in panic.

Clint stepped up and pressed his boot into the man's chest. "You survived. Half of the planet didn't. They got Thanos. You get me."

The man sobbed and Clint withdrew his boot and stood still. The man rolled over and tried to stand up and Clint kicked him in the backside, sending him sprawling onto the pavement.

"You're done hurting people."

"We hurt people?!" the man fumed as he cast his eyes upon his butchered brethren. "You hurt people! You're crazy!"

Clint advanced, the sword glistening in the red light.

"Wait! I'll give you anything! What do you want?" the criminal bargained.

"What I want...you can't give me," Clint stated in an emotionless voice. He pressed his boot onto the man's shoulders and raised the sword. Before the criminal could cry out, he brought the sword down in a swift arc, slicing through his neck.

Natasha watched as the head rolled across the street. She then stared at Clint. He stood in the center of the street and removed his hood and mask so that the rain could hit his face. Without another thought, she stepped out of her place among the shadows, her footsteps splashing.

Clint spun around, the sword raised, and his face immediately went slack at the sight of her. "You shouldn't be here," he muttered.

Natasha held back her tears and fixed him with a gaze of sad determination. It hurt to see her friend in such a state. "Neither should you."

Clint shrugged and cleaned the blood off of the sword. "I've got a job to do."

"That what you're calling this?" she asked as she moved closer. "Killing these people isn't going to bring your family back."

"No," Clint said with a dark chuckle. "That's not why I'm doing it. These people survived but...my family...Dean," he said as he lifted Dean's old sword. "So many people."

"We found something. A chance, maybe..."

Clint's expression hardened. "Don't do that, Nat."

"Do what?"

"Don't give me hope."

Natasha walked until she was standing inches away from him. She lifted the umbrella so that they were both shielded from the rain. "I'm only sorry I wasn't able to give it sooner," she muttered sadly.

Clint stared at her for a long time. Then, as her words sank in, he dissolved into tears and was glad to have a friend's shoulder to cry on.