flawedamythyst:

It’s actually both Clint and Sam that get de-aged, but it’s Bucky’s PoV so he cares more about one than the other.

“So, how old are you guys?”

“I’m seven and a half,” said Sam, chin jutting out with pride.

Clint snorted. “I’m nearly nine,” he said, with a sneer. “I’m lots older than you, I knew you were a baby.”

“I’m not!” said Sam, and for a moment it looked like there was going to be another row.

“Okay,” cut in Tony, “Great, you’re both not babies, you’re clearly just tiny little adults.”

“Like you, you mean,” said Steve.

Tony gaped at him because even after all this time, he was still taken by surprise by Steve’s sassy comments every time they happened. Bucky snorted a laugh, then reached for the last slice of pizza.

Clint’s hand had been about to take it, but he snatched it back at Bucky’s movement. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t- I wasn’t going to take it,” he said, words tumbling over themselves.

“Don’t worry, you can have it,” said Bucky, pushing the box towards him.

Clint shook his head, staring down at the carpet.

“Okay,” said Bucky. “Well, I think I actually want some of Tony’s, so I’m just going to leave it here, okay? If you don’t want it, we’ll put it in the fridge for tomorrow.”

He left the box and went to grab a slice from Tony, ignoring his protest.

Clint didn’t move to take the last slice of pepperoni for another five minutes, and when he did he moved fast, glancing at Bucky as if waiting to be told off. Bucky kept his eyes fixed on the movie that was still playing and pretended he hadn’t seen.

shatteredhourglass:

@claraxbarton wanted to hear more about the kidnapping fic, so; 
Clint gets kidnapped by Hydra and by the time the fic starts, he’s been gone for months. He and Bucky were already in a relationship at this stage, so he and Natasha are just catatonic, lurking around his apartment in Bed-Stuy. 

—–

“Did you lose him?”

“He was injured,” Sam says. “Something fell on his leg during the explosion, he can’t have gone far.”

Natasha glances at him, and the look on her face is torture. “Should I go get him?”

The words are offered kindly, because Natasha’s trying to be good to him but she’s worried he’ll let Clint hurt him, won’t be willing to knock him down if he’s not all there. Bucky’s compromised, he knows he is, but he needs to get Clint himself or he’ll go insane, so he just shakes his head tightly and strides past them. Broken glass and things he doesn’t focus on too much crunch under his boots, but none of it is relevant in his search. His hand clenches tight around his gun, but there’s nothing when he glances around another shipping container. He’s got to be here somewhere, and even if he is dazed and hurt and quite possibly brainwashed, he’s Clint, so Bucky just has to stop and think about where he’d go if he were Hawkeye.

The answer, of course, is up.

There’s a couple of crates that haven’t been burned or blown to pieces, stacked up a few meters high, and when Bucky drops his weapon and pulls himself up onto the first one, he’s greeted with a knife bouncing off the metal of his left shoulder. It falls to the ruins below and he twists to the side, where a low-hanging piece of steel shields him from where the knife came from. There’s nothing else, however, not even movement, and after a pause he peeks out, hoping there’s not another blade heading his way. His eyes land on a dark shape in the corner, smears of blood on the metal, and for a second he stops breathing. His hunch had certainly been right, at least, because the broken, battered-looking blond sitting in the corner, looking wild and dangerous, is Clint Barton, although there’s no recognition in those sharp blue eyes. They’ve got him wearing different hearing aids, black and barely visible in the shadows, but at least they didn’t leave him deaf. 

He raises a hand and Clint flinches back, even though he’s too far to have any damage done.

“Clint,” he says, and his voice cracks, just a little. “’m not gonna hurt you, doll, it’s okay. I came to take you home.”