Breakdown One Shots

Sent By God

(Not rly a ship. Was just thinking about Barton's compulsive need to save people.)

(Crossbow is a villain working for the Grandi Pretendenti in italy. However, after a disaster the love of his life, takes his daughter and runs... making him promise never to look for them again. As he falls into a well of depression, the Grandi does whatever they can to keep him in their thrall. Then, he decides this mission will be his last. Clint Barton has other ideas.)

Clint doubled back as the man smeared the painted mask around his dull, shallow eyes. As he got closer, Clint could see that they hid just a little bit of green.

In concern, Clint drew an arrow back on his bow, it was designed to stun if Crossbow got any closer. Yet, despite the continued advance, Clint didn't release the arrow. He could tell. All at once in a futile attempt at humanizing this character... he was just like she was. Natasha Romanoff, a little lost and out of their own control.

Except there was something much worse about this guy. Unlike her, Crossbow didn't intend to return himself to his own control.

Crossbow spun the pistol in his hand so it faced his own chest. He was wobbly, Clint could see the red around his irises. He was in a bad kind of withdrawal and planned to take it further by withdrawaling from this earth.

"Please" they wimpered with a voice like a stained glass church window. The first words they spoke without any film. In the moment, Clint was impartially drawn to the sound of a thick accent that they'd been hiding the whole time.

The layers, he found, went even deeper than that. Crossbow pulled the bow from Clint's hands without touching it. Clint let him take it as Crossbow threw it behind him with abandon.

He all too eagerly thrust the gun's grip into Clint's hands and cocked back the kick. Clint didn't move, but the look on his face was clear.

Pity.

Crossbow let go of the grip and fell to his knees, only meagerly touching the pistol's barrel. Clint held the grip, he watched in silence as the tears slid down their face. Crossbow choked up on the barrel as deep as it would go without obscuring Clint's ability to pull the trigger.

Pleading eyes aimed at Clint, but they looked beyond him. It was only now, that they were this close, Clint could see that the sunken, red, bruised eyes were unfocused. Crossbow was blind.

There was a long silence. Clint wasn't debating his options, there was only one. He just didn't know how to make it.

He started with the click of the hammer. Sliding it forward on the old, beautiful piece. There was no safety on a gun like this, but that would have to do enough. Crossbow wasn't even really present, didn't react to the click even though he should know exactly what it means.

Clint slowly slid the gun out of Crossbow's mouth, the sleak body covered in saliva. He was careful not to choke him, or bust his teeth by ripping it out too fast. Clint didn't want to know how he'd destroyed his gag reflex.

Still, Crossbow didn't move, didn't stop him. He licked the gunpowder off his teeth and just stayed there; collapsed and staring up at Clint. He could feel the warmth of sunlight on his face, yet it was dark out. He could almost see the light although he knew he had to be hallucinating.

"I wasn't sent here to kill you" Clint lied. Crossbow knew he was lying. "I was sent to bring you in."

Clint absently slid the gun in an empty holster pocket on his person. A hand slid into Crossbow's hair to push it out of it's tight pinning and out of Crossbow's face. It was damp with sweat from his emotions, and the drugs. Crossbow smelled like alcohol and death, covered in blood.

"Riguel? Are you still in there?"

He was so soft. Riguel couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his actual name. The real one he'd been given, the one Clint had been briefed, not a fake one, not the costume, not the insults. For a moment, Riguel was allowed to forget where he was, and pushed his face into the hand on his head. Clint didn't move.

"Please, please kill me" he mumbled with a smile on his face before crumpling into himself.

Clint refused to oblige. He kneeled down and tried to pull Crossbow to his feet. They went almost dead weight.

"Hey, hey don't pass out on me."

It was too late. For a moment, Riguel leaned his entire body into Clint's. He felt safe for the first time in a very very long time. Then he blacked out. As if his body decided that for once no one needed him, for once he could trust the person beside him to keep him alive. There was no logical reason why of course, maybe it was the desperation of a, now quickly failing, body. Either way, Clint sighed and tried to pull the larger person over his hips so he could hold them up enough to carry.

"Goddamnit, I'm not built for this shit" Clint grumbled before trying to pick up his bow. "Sorry buddy" he said to the unconscious man as he balanced his bow around their head so he didn't have to leave it behind. He knew the quiver probably wasn't comfortable, but at the moment, this would have to do.

"I'll get you somewhere. I promise." Clint puffed out to almost no one. Yet, Riguel smiled anyway. Completely unconscious for sure, but his soul could hear the words, and for once, he believed it.