“Yeah,” Clint murmured. Because there was no denying that. The men he took out, they were dangerous. Violent. Sometimes downright evil. And he knew that. That was why he’d chosen them, and the process had been as meticulous as it’d been bloody. And there was a lot of blood. His eyes met Franks for a moment. “Doesn’t mean someone ain’t mourning them.”
Even pieces of shit had people who loved them. Clint was living proof of that.
But Castle? Castle still had a chance. A choice in front of him. And Clint didn’t honestly know him well enough to say which path would appeal to the man at his side. A man who hadn’t lost so much and felt it so deeply it turned him into something that wasn’t human. Something that sure as hell didn’t feel human, Clint knew that intimately.
Was it circumstance that pushed a person into unimaginable sins?
Or was it something inevitable?
Kids. Clint’s stomach turned, and he wished he could look away because he saw it all too clearly. The fear and terror in those little eyes, so many physical and not-so-physical scars they looked like they were stitched up dolls. It was inhuman. It made you feel inhuman.
Clint’s thumb brushed the bow, and the arrow tip changed. Smoke bomb arrow. Non-toxic, but thick. “Go call for backup anyway,” he said to Castle. “Or just go check the perimeter.” An out. An excuse. A last chance. Clint was already down in the muck, but Castle was only in up to his ankles. He could pull himself out – if he wanted to.
Frank always had strong feelings about justice, about what was right. The idea that there were people behind those assholes mourning them didn’t feel like a negative point to killing them. It felt like what they deserved. It felt like a kindness to take those pieces of shit out, to leave their family with a gaping hole where they used to be, because sometimes nothingness was better than the alternative. Death was never pretty but sometimes, it was the only option that other people could live with. He didn’t put any of that into words, though, didn’t think he’d have to, until Barton turned to him and said the same thing that Sergeant Reynolds said to him back home right before he slipped the mob boss a brown envelope.
“No,” Frank said. “You’re not my C.O. I don’t need to take orders from you.” It wasn’t an argument though, wasn’t a pointed statement. It was just fact. Frank could choose whether to be here or not. It held no weight for him what happened here. This was Clint’s universe, not Frank’s. What he did, what he didn’t do, did it really matter in the end? He wasn’t convinced.
Frank sniffed, pulling his gun off his belt fully, clicking the safety off. “We’re partners on this one,” he said. “The use of deadly force is reasonable when there’s a significant threat of bodily harm to the officer or members of the public.” Frank looked down through the roof again. “That looks like a significant threat to me.” He paused, swallowing thickly before looking back over at the other man. “This ain’t what he does,” he prefaced. “I know who I am. You’re not gonna push me into being a maniac, Barton. I’m seeing perfectly fuckin’ clearly.”
