Sniper training wasnât something that Bucky had particularly enjoyed â he didnât enjoy anything about the war, didnât flourish in aspects of it like the other men did, wanted nothing more than to be home with his ma and his sisters â but it was something he was good at. That meant it was a little easier to give his time to than duking it out in the trenches for hours at a time. There was something comforting about working out angles and wind resistance, something that meant Bucky was the one in control, even of this single, small moment. So when Barton offered a shoot off ⌠âYouâre on,â Bucky said, and then held up a finger. âOn one condition â you canât go crying to the other Avengers when I hand you your ass.â
Of course, Bucky knew that it was going to be the other way around. Clint Barton was a legend â one of few non-enhanced humans on the Avengers, a founding member at that. âThe world just keeps rolling whether youâre on the train or not, right?â Bucky learned long ago to roll with the punches. He had more of an acclimatisation period than Steve was allowed. âCircus. That definitely explains the flourish,â Bucky said with a wry smile, looking over at the other man. Something definitely shifted, but Bucky knew what it was like to talk about the past. He preferred to keep that aspect of his life with Steve or Sharon, focus on the future with other people. âI ainât ever been to aâ no, I have.â There was the music playing in the back of his mind, but little else. âFelt larger than life, from what I can remember. Guessing behind the scenes was a little different, right?â
âOh, donât worry,â Clint said, grinning crookedly. âPretty sure thatâs never gonna happen.â There werenât a lot of things that Clint Barton was confident about. But a bow was an extension of his arm. A gun was like another hand. His eyes were sights that were always accurate, and he could shooter harder, faster, more than anybody else. He had made sure of that.Â
Kate was a close second. He hoped Bucky was all right with fourth, because Natasha was up there too.Â
âDark humor, oh, I like that,â Clint said. âWe donât have enough of that here. Tony tries his best, but ya know, throwing us all in jail kinda soured our sense of humor for a bit.â Yeah, they would get along just fine, Clint was sure of it. âStyle points never hurt a guy, right?â he asked, proudly sticking his hands on the hips of three-day old sweat pants. Watching Bucky struggle to remember, grasping at wisps, it made a guy think. At least Clint knew where he came from -- even if it wasnât exactly a pleasant picture. âIt was a front. For all kinds of crime,â he explained. âRobberies. Drugs. Kidnapping. Murder. I was a part of that. I was just a kid, I wasnât trusted to do a lot, but... I did my share of futzed up stuff.â And more, of his own free will. Whether the circus screwed him up or whether he always had a screw loose -- well that he might never know. âI donât talk about it much,â he continued after a beat. âI tell everyone a little bit, let âem know what theyâre getting into. Itâs part of the official record,â he shrugged. âBut everyoneâs got stuff they donât talk about.â The cave. The ice. The experiment. The ballet. The banishment. The betrayal. They all had mistakes, plenty of sins, not one of them felt truly innocent. Bucky was in good company.Â