Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason knows it’s naive, but it almost all too easy to stay here, in this other dimension. He wants revenge against Bruce, against the Joker…. But the Joker doesn’t even exist here. He’s as far from that monster as he’ll ever be able to be.

And there’s no one here that knows him. He has a chance to get away from Talia and the League.

He knows Talia was keeping him away because Ra’s would kill him if given the opportunity.

But here?

Here, he’s free from Batman, from the League, from anyone who wants to try and control him.

A bullet ricochets off the building next to him.

Well.. free as soon as he gets these German octo-idiots off his tail.

They’re morons. But by god, they’re well-connected morons. Somehow they’ve managed to chase him across three borders, from bum-fuck-nowheresville, Russia to mediocre-as-fuck-City, Turkey.

You’d think they’d be less attached to him after spending barely a week with him before he burned down their base and killed all their men.

And right after he killed his first German asshole too.

Egon and HYDRA are two different types of scumbags. But they’re still scumbags.

Jason hops another fence, scrambling to the top of the dumpster and then up the first level of the fire escape.

He pauses as he hears shouts around the corner. Well, it’s as a good a time as any.

They corral themselves into the alley way, fully dressed in their tactical gear, blaring red Nazi-armbands and all.

The first guy is the biggest, Jason takes him down fast, the second… he get’s a little sloppy but honestly, he doesn’t care when the spare asshole impales himself on Jason’s knife. Gonna be a bitch to clean though.

The third guy takes a bit more of a tussle and right when Jason gets in his face to start asking questions, the jerk smiles.

“Hydra will get what it wants from you, child. Cut off one head, and another shall take its place.” There’s a suspicious crack before the man’s mouth fills with foam as his eyes roll back.

Jason drops the body in disgust. A waste of information. He glances at the first guy, it’ll be a pain to lug to an abandoned floor but… probably worth it to find out why they’re chasing him.

Jason walks over and yanks open the guy’s mouth. Now where is….? Ah ha!

It takes a bit of prying with his blade but moments later, Jason holds a bloody cyanide capsule in his fingers.

It crushes uselessly beneath his feet.

After getting leverage under the guy, Jason is able to haul the limp man up the two flights of stairs to his current empty safe-house.

Okay, yes, safe-house is a bit of a stretch. As it is neither safe anymore, nor been a livable house in a long time.

It’s because of this that Jason doesn’t even bother putting a tarp down before tying the man to a chair.

“Wakey wakey, assface.” Jason says, slapping him.

There’s no response except a mild groan.

Then screaming as Jason plunges his still-dirty knife into the man’s collarbone.

He smirks. Time to ask Nazi Number-1 some questions.

———

When Coulson gets the assignment to Northern Turkey for the bodies of two dead Hydra agents, he’s almost expecting it to be boring.

Of course, the moment he lands he finds out they’ve found the third body. Any hope for boring goes out the window as he looks at the multilated corpse of what used to be a Hydra agent.

This was torture. Expert torture. Combined with the skill of the two dead in the alley below and the chase his ground agents have been able to track.. they’re dealing with a professional here. And not a new one.

But somehow, they have nothing on the assassin. That makes him dangerous.

Coulson steps into the hallway of the abandoned building to make a call.

One ring.. two… three..-

“Hello?”

“Hawkeye.”

The tone changes over the phone, “Coulson? What’s wrong?”

“Care for a search and remove mission in Akyaka, Turkey? We have an unknown assassin that’s popped up with three dead Hydra already under their belt. Could use a good pair of eyes.”

Coulson could hear the smile on the other end of the line, “You know I’m always up for some sightseeing.”

“I’ll send for transport.”

The call ends and Phil glances back through the open doorway at the body. Whoever did this… they were looking for something. He thinks they must have found it.

Clint shows up on a private red-eye the next afternoon; and with barely a greeting, the two launch into the search.

Between the two of them and the bevy of SHIELD agents at their beck and call, this should be a straightforward mission.

It’s not.

The killer is always a town or a city ahead of them. There’s no aliases to track or face to ID, with the red sweatshirt he wears constantly, hood up, face down. They barely have a height or body type estimate by the time two weeks roll past.

Seven more Hydra agents show up dead in that time, and it’s becoming the most dependable way to track him.

When they realize the man is making towards the airport in Erzurum, Clint calls in Natasha.

It takes them another week still to find where the man will be staying for a few days before moving on.

When they find it though, Coulson has the place locked down within the hour, entirely discreet.

He and Natasha are acting as the front, hopefully this will go diplomatically. If not.. that’s where Clint comes in.

The man walks through the darkness of the apartment, heavily dropping groceries & supplies on the counter.

Just as they’re about to wonder if perhaps they were wrong about this person or their skills, the man pulls two guns directly at them.

“Who the hell are you and what the hell do want from me?”

“Mr. Smith. I’m glad to see you are the person we’ve been looking for. However, it would be best if would lower your weapon and cooperate with your arrest.”

“Phil, wait-“

“I’m not cooperating with shit, baldy.” The man cocked his guns, completely ignoring Natasha.

She quickly flicked on a light switch, illuminating the shadows of the man’s face.

But that was the problem. It wasn’t a man, it was a kid.

“How old are you?”

The kid hesitated, already a bad sign, he snarled, “What does it matter, lady?”

“It matters because this changes things, Coulson,” She looked at him, “He’s just like us. We can’t just let him be.”

Coulson’s face was serious and understanding, “Listen, kid, we can help you. Now that we know-“

“Now that you know? Know what? You know nothing,”

“We can help you, please just come with us, SHIELD can-“

There’s a spark of recognition, “You’re Shield.” He raised his guns back up from where they’d gone slack, “Which makes you Black Widow. Greatest living product of the Red Room.”

A flash of surprise passed through her eyes, “How do you-“

“I read a lot about you. And let me tell you this. Both of you. I just got free from one shadow organization, I’m not about to join another. I’ve been both soldier and weapon, now I’m neither. I plan to stay that way. Even if it means killing you and every black ops agent in this building.” The kid growled, finger pulling on the trigger.

An arrow pierces through his forearm, forcing him to roll backwards into his kitchen. Natasha leapt towards him, halting when he raised a gun back at her face.

He wavered between pointing it at Coulson or Natasha, breathing heavily through the pain.

“Tell your buddies thanks but I’m good. Freedom suits me just fine.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he leapt for the window over the sink, crashing through the glass and into the air outside.

Natasha didn’t even have time to stop him before the kid was gone. No sign of him on the street below save for a blood trail that tapered off quickly.

——

Hours later, Natasha’s eyes opened from sleep in the darkness of the safe house.

Why was she awake?

A small creak sounded from outside the room.

An intruder.

Slowly, Natasha wrapped her hands around her gun and slunk out the door, tapping Clint on her way.

There was a groan and slight clatter in the kitchen.

She motioned for Clint to go around.

As she came to the kitchen, she flipped on a light, immediately aiming her gun at the figure.

It was- the kid?

“Hey,” he groaned, leaning on the counter, blood on his face and clothes, “you said SHIELD could protect me?”

Natasha nodded, not lowering her gun.

He pulled his hand away to show the blood oozing from a large wound on his stomach and looked up at her pleadingly, “That offer still available?”

Chapter Text

Jason slowly crawled his way back to consciousness, fully aware of the screeching pain in his side and arm.

He wanted to grimace but held back when he registered the presence of other people in the room. Three.

Two were at least 10 feet away, the other was…

Jason grasped the wrist of the person leaning over him, twisting it backwards as he sprung awake and upwards. 

A syringe dropped to the floor next to them as Jason slammed him to the ground.

“Clint, wait!” The man below him stopped struggling. Jason looked down at him.

“Clint Barton. Hawkeye.” The night came flooding back to him, “What was in the syringe?”

The man grunted uncomfortably from the awkward position, “Morphine, you brat.”

Jason scowled and let him up with a tight smile and a wince, “I don’t do morphine. Or any pain meds.”

“Yeah, well you can just suffer through that torn stitch all on your own then.”

“Considering you’re probably the one that shot me with an arrow, I think I’ll manage,” Jason snapped back and then paused to take stock of the room he was in.

Small. Living room. Old couch, half-filled bookcase by the front door.

One window with a fire escape. Adjacent bedroom and 2 kitchen entrances. Likely with windows.

The other two people - Black Widow and ‘Coulson’- stood by the bookshelf, both armed.

“I know I should regret shooting a kid, but considering your attitude, I’m finding it a little hard.”

Jason huffed a laugh then winced and clutched his side when pain flashed through it.

“Ha. Karma.” Hawkeye chuckled as he rubbed his wrist.

“Barton. Behave.” ‘Coulson’ stepped forward, shooting a sharp look at the other and holding up a placating hand, “You’re going to want to be careful about that side, reopening a wound like that so fast would not be good.”

“I’ll be fine.” Jason snapped, then quieter, “Been through worse.”

“Be that as it may…” the balding man came closer, stopping when Jason glared at him, “I think we got off on the wrong foot, my name is Agent Coulson, this is Agents Barton and Romanoff. Or as you seem to know them, Black Widow and Hawkeye.”

“Don’t sweat the first impressions. Breaking in and threatening me is generally how I meet new people, so it’s not like you’re anything special. How long was I out?”

“Just under three hours. We expected you to be out for a while longer. Care to explain why it is you’re awake? Or how you came to such a state in the last 6 hours since we saw you?”

“Not particularly and the usual assholes being sent on missions way out of their league. One got a lucky hit in, that’s it.”

The man in front of him hummed and raised an eyebrow, “So you came to us for protection from ‘the usual assholes’ then?”

Jason tensed.

“Or protection from the ones sending them?”

Jason gritted his teeth, “The ones sending them. Listen, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be, but things have… changed for me recently and I’ve found myself in dire need of new allies.”

Widow stepped forward, “So enlighten us. Who are you running from?”

“I can’t tell you and I’m not running. I just… I was given a chance to get out, more than that, get away. I want to take it. I can’t do that with Nazi assholes and Ninjas bearing down on me like I’ll change my fucking mind.”

“Hydra?”

Jason sighed and rolled his shoulder to test it, “Yep.”

“That’s a powerful enemy to make, kid,” Hawkeye piped in.

Jason smiled cynically, “Yeah, well, I’m a worse one. If they want to keep sending their guys at me to get put down I have no problem with it. And I’m not a kid.”

“Ehhhh, looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, I’m gonna say you’re what, 13?”

Jason growled at the archer, “Old enough and skilled enough to skin you with your own bowstring, asshole.”

Widow stepped between them, “You said Ninjas as well?”

Jason clamped his mouth shut.

“If you want SHIELD’s protection, we need to know who we’re protecting you from.”

Jason clenched his jaw, “I can’t tell you their name. And nothing about them can show up anywhere. If it does, they’ll know who it came from and where I am. Then you’d be useless.”

“How about you then?” Widow said.

Jason paused, stunned, “What?”

“Tell us about you. We don’t even know your real name, because ‘John Smith’ is definitely not it.”

“John works. ‘J’ works better.”

“Alright, J. Age?”

Jason looked away, “Somewhere over 14.”

“The hell does that mean? ‘Over 14’ Like months or years over?”  Hawkeye said with a bewildered face.

“If I knew I would tell you. But unfortunately, I don’t, so the best I can tell you is somewhere over 14.” Jason snarled.

Coulson and Widow gave each other a look, one that he was sure Hawkeye picked up on without even looking.

“Alright, easy goes it kid. Birthday?”

“August.”

“Wow, that is frustratingly vague. Any chance you’ve got a year to tack on that?”

Jason thought for a second, “Nope.”

Black Widow took over again, “Skill set?”

“Most of it.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Most of what?”

Jason gave a mean smirk, “Everything.”

Romanoff glanced back at her partners, Barton just shrugged and Coulson answered, “We’ll have to test you on that for more specifics.”

“Go ahead. As long as you know it’s the only kind of test I’m gonna let you do.”

Even though his face stayed empty, something flickered in Coulson’s eyes, “Of course. Any parents we should be thinking of?”

Green tinted anger coursed through Jason’s body so fast the chair he was gripping creaked under his hand, “None that are worth it.” He growled through clenched teeth.

“Anything else we should be aware of? Favorite color? Hobbies? Hopes and dreams?” Hawkeye quipped lazily.

Jason ground his teeth together, “Currently? Stabbing you through the neck with same arrow you shot me with sounds nice. But seeing as I snapped it in half and dumped it in an alley, I’ll settle for breaking your kneecaps.”

Barton looked unfazed, “Is that categorized under hobbies? Or hopes and dreams?”

Jason stood with a snarl, hand twitching for a weapon, “I’m always up for something new.”

“Ha! Try knitting next time,” Clint laughed and looked past him, “Geez, 'Tasha, he’s worse than you were.”

Natasha’s lips settled into a grim line as Coulson pulled Barton back with a hand on his shoulder.

“Kid-, Jay, we need your cooperation on this. We can’t stop whoever’s coming after you if you don’t work with us-“

Jason scoffed, “I don’t expect you to be able to stop them. You couldn’t if you tried. I’m just hoping you’ll delay them enough for me to run like a bat outta hell.” He said with a smirk at the inside joke.

Hawkeye rolled his eyes, “And isn’t that a comforting thought.”

Just as Jason turned to snap at the man again, something beeped on Coulson’s watch. He held it and read the small screen.

“Our ride’s here. We need to blend in to get out,” Coulson looked at Jason, “Any chance you know Turkish?”

“I dabble.” He answered in Turkish, then changed, “My Russian or Romanian is better.”

Everyone in the room raised an eyebrow, even Widow’s twitched.

Coulson nodded, “Hopefully we won’t need to talk, but just in case.” He turned to Barton to, “Barton, get him some new clothes without blood on them. We leave in 20. Can we trust you not to kill us and run or do we need to remove more of your weapons?”

Jason scowled- not pouted- “You got my favorites so we’re good provided Katniss over there doesn’t get on my nerves enough to put him down.”

“I resent that remark!” Hawkeye said as he dug through the bag they’d confiscated from Jason’s safe house. He chucked the new clothes at Jason with a smile.

Jason caught them with a grunt and winced as sharp pain struck up his leg and his side. He stomped past them to the bathroom as best he could without a limp. Pausing briefly to grab the first aid kit from the wall.

“For the popped stitch.” He said blandly and then shut and locked the door behind him.

Hawkeye sighed, shoulders dropping, “Damn, that kid is messed up.”

“I hope the people chasing him dare to try and come for him.” Natasha said darkly, face cold and hard as stone.

“If they do, I hope I get to put an arrow through a least a few of them.”

Coulson cleared his throat, “Let’s focus on getting him out of here before we start planning the next step.”

“Come on, Phil, you can’t tell me that just guessing at what that kid’s gone through doesn’t make you want to punch someone.”

“I never said anything about that, just that it’s not our first priority.”

Clint gave a grin, “But it is a priority?”

Coulson’s face was grim, “Absolutely.”

Chapter Text

Coulson stands next to his two best agents as he looks at the teen on the other side of the one-way glass.

They didn’t even know how old he was, but apparently, neither did he.

That alone brought up a whole host of problems because it meant that whoever’d had him… they’d had him long before he could remember his own birthday. And that he was nothing more than a tool to them.

Whoever it was had known enough to educate him on Natasha, on the Red Room and who the Black Widows were. It was ominous to know she was nothing but a piece of curriculum to an assassin’s education. And he’d also been taught about Hawkeye, which meant an in depth knowledge of SHIELD and it’s high ranking agents.

They didn’t even know who was after him. Other than Hydra, of course. Fury would not be happy to hear that. And a secret group of -ninjas?- operating entirely without their knowledge but with knowledge of them? Yeah, that was sure to go over well.

Coulson spoke up, “He still hasn’t let anyone check the bandages?”

“He didn’t even let the agents get within 2 feet of him. Hensen has 3 broken fingers and a dislocated thumb from trying to grab his arm to direct him.”

Coulson quirked an eyebrow. Hensen needed to go back to basic training.

Another thirty minutes ticked by before ‘J’ started to shift.

“Is he-?” Clint started.

Coulson’s eyebrow twitched again, “He pocketed first aid supplies to rebandage himself. Why?”

—-

Jason pulled the compacted bandages and gauze from his pocket. Fuck them if they thought he’d risk them giving him sedative-laced bandages. The League did it often enough and if SHIELD wanted him to go somewhere, they’d damn well have to take him themselves.

He’d done enough backhacking research on the road to know SHIELD was like a shadow of ARGUS in this world. Ha, shadow. Jason smirked and got back to work.

He carefully pulled up the bottom of his hoodie and shirt to reach the wound on his side.

That fucking shadow really had just gotten a lucky hit in, if stabbing him through his friend counted as lucky.

Jason was the lucky one. He’d built up enough immunity to the poison the League laced their weapons with that between that and his dip in the pit, he’d survive the traces of poison with little more than a particularly nasty scar. Probably.

The removal of the old bandage let it start bleeding again, red tinting the new bandage as he pressed it down.

It didn’t matter, the Lazarus pit would heal it within the next few days if he let it.

He wouldn’t, because he needs to keep these people from knowing about the Lazarus pit waters, but it still won’t be a problem for very long.

Soon enough to heal before they attack again?

Jason grit his teeth as he taped down the bandage.

What the fuck was the league even doing here? How many had managed to come through after him? Had Talia?

Did she send the shadows to kill him? Or to bring him back?

No, there was no way. He’d jumped universes to get away, he didn’t even know how he’d gotten here, there’s no way he’d been tracked- no way that he could get him-

He looks up when the Agent Coulson from before enters with a file in his hand.

“What? Got sick of watching me through your little window?” Jason snarks.

The man sighs and drops the file on the table, allowing a couple papers to slide halfway out.

“You said you wanted protection,”

Jason’s eyes narrow and he noticeably quickens wrapping his wound, “If you’re still offering.”

“It wouldn’t be free-“

The chair scrapes as he stands, “And I’m out-“

“Just wait. You’d be free to leave at any point, it wouldn’t be binding,” Coulson hurries to add.

Jason paused from where he’d been about to walk out, “I could still leave?”

“Yes, this wouldn’t be like you’re used to. You’d set the conditions-“

Jason raised a skeptical eyebrow, “But?”

“But… You’d have to give us some information. And if you’d be willing, work for us for as long as you choose.” Coulson must know that trying to keep him here would be worse than a caged animal.

Jason clenched his jaw, mulling over the information before slowing sitting back down.

“I choose who I kill and who I don’t. No terrorist attacks. No kids. No honey pots.”

There’s a small downward twitch of the agent’s lips but he just nods at the file in front of him, “All fine.”

He sneered a bit at Coulson, “I’d help fill it in but..” He lifts his bloody hands, “I’m a bit of a mess you see.”

Coulson slides the folder to his own side of the table and flips it open without any preamble, “Name?”

“Told you, J works just fine. But if you want to lengthen it to a name go ahead.”

Coulson scribbled down ‘Jay’, if only because it would probably be the most complete information they could get. He ignored the birthdate information just below it, only the month filled in.

“Previous aliases?” Coulson looked up in time to see the kid stiffen.

After a moment’s deliberation, “None that I go by anymore. If you need a field name, Red.”

Coulson wanted to ask, but wisely held back, “Previous mentors?”

Here, Coulson didn’t even have to look up to feel the anger that locked up every muscle in Jay’s body.

It took a second for Jay to calm down, his demeanor settling into cold distain, “No names, I told you, nothing about them can show up anywhere, they’d know-“

“This is being kept on paper, no database, purely for own knowledge.”

Jay looked at him and tilted his head curiously, then huffed a sarcastic laugh, “You’re not going to be able to find them, you know that, right? You’d have more luck trying to find the name of the first assassin in history, the League has been around too long, they have their hands in every. single. pie. Except, hopefully, here.”

“Why would here be different?”

“That’s for me to know, for them to figure out.”

“So this League.. are they only ones that trained you?”

“No.” Jay gritted out, “I was never theirs to begin with….” He visibly debates telling them more, “..but T, she wanted me because I belonged to him first. She thought she could use me to get B back,” Jay scoffed harshly, “As if he ever really cared about me.”

Coulson wants to pry, wants to find the people Jay is talking about and make them suffer. Instead he settles with silence. At the very least he had a better context, Jay seemed to refer to everyone by a letter, rank or name he didn’t know, but it cast a sour look on saying his own name was just ‘J’.

Jay leans back in his chair, seemingly done talking, “Now. You’ve got your info. What do I get?”

Coulson nods, finishing writing and then closing the folder, “You get the protection you wanted. Follow me,” Coulson stands and heads to door of the room, nodding when it’s Natasha that opens it. She hands Jay a wet rag to clean his hands.

It’s oddly… nice.

The hallway is thankfully wide enough for them to walk all roughly next to each other, though Jason automatically walks a step behind both him and one more behind Natasha.

It’s interesting, especially if the ‘T’ he mentioned earlier was a woman who’d overseen his training.

Jason follows them while Coulson explains the protection part of his contract.

“You’ll be living here, in one of SHIELD’s main compounds, out of reach of any outsiders, and for missions, you’ll be working with Barton or an approved team.”

“Barton? Not Widow?”

“Care to switch?”

“I was hoping for a better roadblock between me and the League, but chopped liver will do.”

“I’ll have you know this archer is only prime cut, kid.” Clint said with fake offense.

Jay growled, “And I’ll have you know that if you call me a kid again I’ll-“

“This is your room,” Coulson cuts in and grabs their attention, “We had some agents put your bags in, you can check now if you’d like but we have one more stop before you can come back.”

Jay turns back from where’d he’d stepped towards his duffel with a raised eyebrow, “Where?”

Clint smirks, “You’ll finally get your chance to pick a fight with me, kid. We’re heading to the training room. Or for you, testing.”

Jay’s face twitched, “Finally. A fight.”

His room was barely one hallway down from the training facilities, near enough to all the other recruits living in the compound as well.

When they walked in, Jay barely paused in taking it all in, following the agent and assassin duo to where a group of new agents were sparring.

“Jameson!” Coulson shouted, raising a hand to the superior officer, “I’ve got one to put in on the next round.”

The officer, Jameson, nods and motions for Jay to step up. With a questioning look to and a nod from Coulson, Jay swung himself into the ring.

“One on one or two?”

“One on-“ Coulson started.

“Two.” Jay cut him off with a mean smirk, “Three if you think they’re extra pathetic.”

Three of the agents stepped up from where they’d been sparring, all glaring at him.

“You think you can take three of us? We’re the second strongest unit in SHIELD, you’re just a kid.”

“Oh sorry,” Jay put his hands up in mock surrender, then dropped them, “Can you point me towards the first strongest then? I was looking for a fight, not a cuddle.”

The three look back to their supervisor, who nods and backs the other agents off the ring.

When everyone is clear, the three drop into ready stances.

Jay doesn’t move.

“Whenever you’re ready boys.”

“You’re not even-“

Jay lunged, going for the trachea of the first with his arm and using it to anchor him into flying kick to the one behind him. Both went down immediately, and Jay jumped up with a sweep to the third’s legs and an elbow to the face of the second. Within a minute, he was kneeling on the back of the first agent, pulling his arm back with a snarl.

“Next time give me a fight, Agents.” Jay growled and then yanked.

The room rang out with screams as the agent’s shoulder dislocated.

“Jay!” Coulson barked, voice deep and stern.

The kid backed off, looking annoyed but nonchalant about having extensively injured three agents.

“You won that fight, injuring Weston was unnecessary.”

“If it doesn’t hurt, he won’t learn not to do it again.”

Clint cut in, “Oh yeah and is that how you learned, just get hurt till you don’t?! You just put him out of order for at least a month, kid!”

“You wanna come up here and see just exactly what I learned, arrow boy?” Jay snarled.

Just as Clint was about to step forward, Natasha put a hand in front of him, stopping him.

She stepped forward instead.

“How about me?”

Jay didn’t even pause, “Less satisfying but hop in and let’s see how our trainings compare.”

Natasha pulled herself into the ring, and successfully blocked the first wild punch thrown her way.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. He threw another punch, blocked. A kick. Blocked. Punch, kick, punch, block block block, punch punch punch punch.

Natasha met him blow for blow, before she finally caught an opening and went on the attack.

“Coulson..” Clint said warningly

“She’s got it.”

“I know she’s got it. I’m worried if he’s got it. He hasn’t taken a breath since they started.”

Coulson looked closer.

“Romanoff, that’s good.” He shouted into the ring. Natasha paused but Jay didn’t and Natasha had to reengage, back on the defense.

“We fight until we win!” Jay growled, taking another shot, this one hitting. Coulson motioned for Jameson to take the other agents out of the room.

Natasha zeroed back into the fight, this time mentally as well, she took a shot, “Jay this isn’t like your League, we don’t train to the end here!”

“Then you won’t win! I don’t stop!” Jay kept going.

“Training is over, I said stop!” Natasha yelled again, trying to pull on the female trainer Jay mentioned. Nothing.

“It’s not over until I beat him!” Jay yelled back.

“Clint.”

“On it.”

Clint hopped into the ring with ease, sliding in between the two assassins for no more than a few blocks before it left his control. He was good at hand to hand but distance was where he excelled, this was too close quarters.

“Jay! Kid! Cut it out!” Clint yelled, starting to get irritated. God why was it always him who needed to pick up the new assassin kid?

Jay didn’t even flinch, only getting angrier, “You don’t get to call me kid! Not after everything!” Jay finally got a leg up on Natasha, managing to flip her with a knockout punched aimed directly at her face.

“Jay! STOP! NOW!”

Jay froze, fist still in the air.

Natasha took the moment and immediately flipped the boy, keeping him down with a knee to the back.

They all breathed heavily in the silence for a moment.

“Get off me. I’m fine.” Jay mumbled into the mat.

Natasha narrowed her eyes suspiciously, looking Jay’s frame up and down before finally easing up to stand.

Clint couldn’t help but arch a confused brow at the teen as she stepped out of the ring. Even when he slapped away the hand up he offered.

“I’m heading to my room, if that’s alright with you, Agent Coulson.”

Coulson stayed silent but didn’t deny him.

“Great.” Jay swung out of the ring and made for the door.

“Coul- Hey wait! Kid!” Clint hopped out as well, reaching for Jay’s shoulder to keep him from going farther, “Kid that kind of anger needs to be controlled!”

Jay snapped around and caught the archers wrist in a crushing grip, “My name’s not kid.” He flung the hand away, “And that was control.”

Clint stood in silence as the doors swished closed behind him.

“What made him respond to your order and not mine or Coulson’s?” Natasha asked from where she’d grabbed a water from the storage.

“I don’t know, Nat,” Clint shrugged, still staring at the doors, “I just used my Dad voice I guess.”

Chapter Text

After his…. eventful introduction, Jay slots into SHIELD’s ranks. Not quite fitting, no, too independent, too ruthless, in some particularly horrifying cases, too damn well trained at throwing himself at every obstacle in his way and still coming out on top.

But most of all, he’s too damn angry.

It’s caused more than one mission to go south; not south enough that Jay doesn’t somehow still manage to come out bloody and winning all the same, but it’s making things complicated.

Jay’s too damn good at making enemies.

Nevermind that they have agents disappearing on the fringes of their operations with reports of ‘living shadows’, it’s the enemies he’s making inside of SHIELD that have them worried.

He seems to be able to sniff out the most obnoxious of agents and know just how to get on their nerves. Even to such a degree that Coulson has encouraged Clint to be part of every mission.

At first, it’s almost counterproductive, serving only to direct Jay’s anger at one person rather than any squad agent, until they’re sent on an especially long mission and Clint passively asks Jay to grab him a dukey.

It’s uncanny how quickly he goes still.

“…A what?” Jay rasps, back still turned as he stands over their supplies.

Clint hesitates, trying to parse out where he stepped wrong, “A dukey… it’s just circus slang from when I was a kid, it means-“

“I know what it means.”

Clint eyes the tense lines of Jay’s back but something in the air keeps him silent.

“N was from the circus. He talked about it. Sometimes,” Jay huffed an almost laugh, “Mostly when he wasn’t supposed to.”

Clint could only imagine what he meant. But it irked him, and more than that, “Who’s N?”

“He’s…” Jay cuts himself off. Clint almost thinks that’ll be it, Jason will throw a snack at him, stomp away and slam a wall down between them again. This is the first time they’ve even had a genuine conversation, much less Jay telling him anything.

"His parents were killed and B took him in. Trained him, not that he needed it, I’m sure Goldie was perfect right from the start.” Jay spat, resentment coloring his words.

But it was his words that worried Clint. Was this organization finding kids and killing their parents to get them, just to what? Make them into a perfect soldier? Was N another kid just like Jay somewhere, still experiencing whatever Jay had gone through? Whatever had made him so irreversibly angry at the world around him?

And again with the letters, and now using a color to refer to a person as well, the difference of a field name?

Jay scoffed, breaking Clint’s thoughts, “When I came along, N was practically already graduated,” he sneered, making Clint freeze, “Leading his own team and everything. You’d think I was nothing more than the idiot who took away-“ Jay cuts himself off completely.

The bag of chips in his hand pops with a loud bang, startling Clint, but Jay simply drops the crumbs and disappears from the main deck.

Somehow, after that, Jay almost seems to listen to Clint, not by much but… he’ll accept a call on a mission, listen to the plan he suggests, it seems to… ease something, knowing this one small detail about Clint.

It just makes Clint’s own anger churn knowing that the kid only is willing to listen to him because he shares something in common with ‘N’, with someone who was willing to train other teams of child soldiers.

Soon enough, the news of Clint’s apparent ability to get Jay to answer to him gets around.

Along with the fact that because of it, Jay is almost always partnered under him for missions.

It leads to nicknames. Of course.

Clint has been listening to the water cooler teasing of ‘taking him under his wing’ and ‘baby bird not ready to leave the nest’ for months now.

It’s annoying. It’s funny.

It’s heartwarming to hope that maybe Jay feels the same.

It’s dangerous the first time Jay hears someone call him ‘little birdie’.

There’s no other way to describe it as Clint uses all of his strength to hold him back from sticking a blade through the carotid artery of the agent in front of him.

“Red! Back off! Now!”

Jay just growls, blade pressing closer, “No one else knows that name! Why did you call me that!”

The agent is too dazed to respond, blood starting to trickle down his face from where Jay had manhandled him before slamming him against the wall.

Clint renews his efforts to pull him back, “Red- Jay! It’s just an office nickname, it has nothing to do with your League!”

“They’re the only ones who would know!” Jay screams, letting Clint pull him back but still fighting his hold.

“Jay, I’m Hawkeye! It’s just because I’m your handler!” Clint manages to pull his body between them, effectively blocking Jay’s view of the agent.

Clint forces him to keep eye contact, even closer in height now than before. His eyes are a shifting green under the fluorescent lights.

“Good?” Clint asks once Jay’s breathing seems to drop from ‘rabid animal’ to ‘pissed’.

Jason just pulls back, not deigning to respond. He yanks his arms from Barton’s hold and aims for the door.

Anger only flares as he catches the flinty eyes of the downed agent before the door closes between them.

He whirls for the gym, tearing through the halls with single-minded fury as the green bubbles under his skin.

The man had called him the ‘little birdy’.

Far from home little birdy?

He’d just meant it as a reference to Hawkeye.

HA HA HA HA HA

They didn’t even know the league here. There was no way they would know his name, who he was, that-

Tell the big man I said Hello.

Sand grit between his fingertips.

Jason blinked, staring down at the broken punching bag in front of him. He slowly pulled his hand from between the seams, sand spilling out from purple fabric.

At least it looked like a decently old bag.

He cast a glance around the gym, just now noticing the lack of lights, and the lack of people.

He’d forgotten that they’d returned from the mission late. Late enough that they wouldn’t have any active trainings.

Jason ignored the dent on the entrance door, right up until he saw Hawkeye’s face appear in the crack of the entryway.

He looked at the dent, raising an eyebrow at Jason.

Jason turned around, walking towards where he knew they stored water bottles.

“So… cooled down yet?” Barton said, a false casualness to his voice.

Jason scoffed.

“I’ll take that as a no then,” he said, voice closer behind him, “Listen, J, we know you’ve been through some stuff, things no one your age should even think about-“

Jason rolled his eyes, great, they were still on the tragic child bit. As if Jason hadn’t been fighting for his entire life. Even before Bru- Before.

“But we need to know something, I can’t keep covering for you from other teams without knowing anything.”

Jason dropped himself onto one of the benches along the walls.

He wondered just how much of this was worth it. How much this would really keep him out of the League’s hands. Not that every part of SHIELD was better, he was definitely still being watched, he suspected by Hydra.

Still, if them knowing -just Barton and probably Coulson- if it could provide him even another second of warning against the League.

Jason stared at his feet, letting his sweat-damp hair hang in front of his eyes. Trying to collect his thoughts, order them into something he could handle, could control.

“I was… unstable for a while. Brain damage, the bad kind,” He closed his eyes against the cackling in his mind, “The kind you don’t survive. I.. don’t really know what happened, all of what they did to bring me back from that. All I know, all they told me.. is that I was numb, and basically brain dead for a year. Only mentally present enough to learn their trainings, fight their masters… but I wasn’t changing or getting better.”

"Al-Taayir Al-farigh, they called me,” His voice twisting with the accent of The League dialect. A bone deep sigh racked his body, “The Empty Bird.”

"Why a bird? I mean I get the appeal, clearly, but.. any real reason?”

Robin gives me magic!

“An old name from my first mentor. One I don’t go by anymore. It doesn’t even matter, what matters is that brain-dead wasn’t good enough for them. Brain-dead couldn’t infiltrate a lab or lead a mission. Brain-dead wouldn’t even walk or eat without prompting… couldn’t even talk. They wanted more.”

“But if it was brain damage, that’s nigh irreversible.”

Jason gave a wry laugh, “Not for her. She needed me for something and needed more than an empty soldier to do it. She needed a weapon, one she could point anywhere she wanted.” Point at Batman

“How.”

“They have this… thing... R’as, the asshole, has used it to become functionally immortal. T used it to heal me.” If it could be called that.

”When I came out… I was like this. Walking, talking, and angry. So angry,” He clenched his eyes shut as green swirled behind them, “And then the training started.”

There was a pause, and Jason didn’t have to look up to know the look that would be on Barton’s face.

“When their personal trainers couldn’t teach me anything else, T sent me to the experts.”

“Experts at what?”

“Everything. I learned from the best, the best explosives, the best weaponry, the best  martial artists. But they were all dirty, so when I was done with them, I put them down. That’s what I do, I put down the people who deserve it.” Jason ground out through his teeth. Everybody except him.

“T hated it. Maybe because I was killing their allies, or maybe just because she wasn’t able to force me to stop. We were on our way to a new teacher, some new expert who would finally be able to tame me, when I lost her in the storm. I tried to find her, but…”

“But?”

But then I fell through some dimensional ripple and woke up kidnapped by Nazis.

“But I took my chance. I didn’t see myself getting another one.”

Chapter Text

Jason peaks through his scope, tracking Black Widow through the windows of the building.

He turns to his left, looking at the tip of Hawkeyes arrow tracking the same path from behind a tree; no scope to be seen.

“How the hell are you doing that blind?” Jason whispers fervently, “She’s over 100 yards out.”

Barton doesn’t so much as glance over, but there’s a smirk on his lips, “Jealous?”

Jason scoffs and turns back. He continues watching Romanoff in his scope. They watch in silence as she knocks out an after hours personale and deftly slides their body into a closet.

“Want me to teach you?”

Jason jerks, his head popping up to stare at Barton’s side profile once more.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow, “Why?”

“Head down, kid.”

Jason grits his teeth but ducks his head below the sightline once more.

There’s a pause. The rocks he’s laying on dig into his shins and stomach. He’s still small enough that the larger stones hide him. The wind blows leaves through the trees around them. His senses twitch relentlessly.

Romanoff gets closer to the server room.

“I can if you want me to,” The tip of Barton’s arrow barely twitches as he shrugs in Jason’s peripheral, “I think.. it’d be fun to share my skills with the next generation of hyper-competent agents.”

This time, Jason lets the silence sit between them.

He hasn’t actually worked with a bow for long time. Not since Roy had let him practice in the Tower archery range during their time on the team together. Not since… since Bruce taught him the basics. He was at least proficient, he had to be as Rob-

Jason stops, green roiling beneath his thoughts.

“I’ll pass,” He grits out.

Just as Barton opens his mouth, their comms click, “I’ve got the data. Plus a bit extra for the profile history. Extracting now,” Romanoff says.

Jason takes one more glance through his scope to track her path before he starts efficiently dismantling his rifle. Hawkeye folds the limbs of his bow down, hopping forward to skirt down the side of the ridge.

Jason slings the rifle body onto his back and prepares to do the same.

Gravel crunches behind him. What-?

A body slams into Jason, sending him careening down the rocky hillside in a tackle.

He barely has to catch a glance of an eerily familiar green emblem before he throws his all into it. Large rocks jab at his back and ribs as they grapple and fall, still too skinny and small to take the damage easily.

His comm cackles in his ear when he slams into the ground, they’re saying something, fuck there’s another, of course there’s another, there’s never just one shadow-

Jason feels arms grab him from behind.

He throws his weight up, landing and flipping them over-they land on their feet, of course- he sees his sniper rifle fall off his back with a clatter between them.

An arrow lands next to it, beeping.

“Red!”

Jason lurches backwards, throwing himself away as the arrow tip explodes in a cloud of smoke and sound.

The sound of drawn metal echoes to his left and Jason drops, watching a sword swipe the air above him. He throws his leg out, dropping the assassin on their back and stealing their sword with a decimating extended kick to the chin.

He probably won’t wake up.

It’s not Jason’s problem.

Someone grabs his arm and Jason nearly lops it completely off before he’s pulled directly into Burton’s side.

The pull continues as they break into a run. Assassins follow behind them, more and more falling out of the woodwork.

Jason pushes them both behind a tree, shuriken flying past and Barton uses the tree as cover to start firing arrows again.

It’s not enough.

One archer can’t hold off 20 league assassins. Even Ollie would struggle with it. Why didn’t Jason bring more guns, not just blades, now he’s fucking stuck here like this, helpless and trapped and-.

The point is proven when Barton has to use his bow to keep an assassin from cutting them in half. Jason spins around him, slipping neatly from his shadow and catching the assassin in the side with his stolen sword.

“Don’t let them cut you. The blades are laced,” Jasons says, lunging forward right after.

“Good to know!” Barton shouts back, firing arrows around them. They’re back to back and god isn’t that familiar. It feels like partnership, feels like protection, feels like strength.

But somehow,…It doesn’t feel like Batman standing at his back.

It feels like Roy. Or the Titans. Nightwing.

“Think you can get the attackers back in the field?” Romanoff’s voice crackles over his ear.

Jason catches Barton’s eye, not missing the way they widen with ‘fuck-don’t-‘ before he disengages and breaks into a sprint back past the tree line.

Assassins follow.

Too many. Jason flips over as many swipes as he can, blocking and parrying the others, dodging with a handspring he almost fumbles when his ribs creak.

Gunfire breaks out as Jason pops up, leaping for cover and rolling sideways on the ground.

The quinjet hovers above the clearing.

Jason catches movement in the corner of his eye, a shadow lunging past Barton-

Clint turns and put the man on the ground before Jason can so much as take a step.

He can hear him speak across the clearing, “Why did you attack us?”

Silence.

Clint pulls an arrow from the chest of a black-clothed body beside them, aiming the bloody tip at the assassin. “Who. Are you.”

It remains silent as Jason approaches.

“You’re not to going to get anything.”

“Fine, we’ll take him with us then,” Clint says, glaring at the man below him.

Jason waits for a second, letting him haul the assassin to his feet; watching. The assassin’s eyes never leave Jason.

Jason puts a hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder, making him pause. He takes advantage of the second’s hesitance to grab the tunic of the shadow, yanking him forward, out of Clint’s grip and slamming him against a tree to his right. He might be smaller but he wouldn’t let that stop him.

Jason grips the sword in his hand and then plunges it forward. The man doesn’t scream and Jason ignores Clint’s scolding, surprised shout behind him.

“What’s the message?” He demands, league dialect heavy on his tongue.

The assassin’s eyes glance to Hawkeye, but Jason twists the handle of the sword, forcing his attention back.

“The Demon’s Daughter demands you return. You have not completed the training you requested of her. You have left it unfinished.”

Clint stands silently behind him as the assassin speaks. He can feel the questions in the air.

“I’m not leaving here. She should know well enough why,” Jason steps back, leaving the man skewered to the tree, and shouts, “Tell her that, you fuckers! Tell her that she finally managed to get rid of me so she’s gonna hafta’ try damn harder to drag me back!”

The leaves rustle quietly in the breeze around them.

Blood splatter covers the ones at their feet.

The assassin stays silent, watching. Jason turns away from him.

“J?” Clint’s voice says hesitantly behind him.

Jason sighs.

“C’mon. Let’s get to the quinjet, I’m sure Widow is waiting for us.”

“We can’t leave him here-“

“He’ll be dead in less than 10 minutes.”

“Right. Poisoned blades. Because that’s normal.”

Clint must be following him because he doesn’t say anything more.

Jason finally reaches the jet, landed and boarding ramp lowered by the time he gets there.

Romanoff sits in the cockpit.

“No severe injuries?” She asks tilt of her head towards him.

Jason shrugs with smirk, “None on me, but I can’t say the same for our long ranged friend out there, he actually had use his fists this time.”

Clint jostles his shoulder as passes to sit in the copilot seat, “I’d resent that remark but my knuckles are already burning.”

“At least, you’ve got friends in high places. Nothing like air support when you need it, right.”

Clint slides the headset on, “Amen to that, kid!”

Jason looks out the window at the open lawn in front of them, the bodies they’re leaving behind- enemies he didn’t even know.

He huffs an empty chuckle, “So much for wiping the red off your ledger though, huh Romanoff?”

“Some people are worth having a little red in your ledger,” Natasha says without even glancing.

Clint looks at her from the corner of his eye.

Jason watches them flick switches and power the engines.

“Buckle up. We’re leaving this mess for Coulson,” She says with a smirk to Clint.

Jason sits down.

They were really okay just protecting him like that? From an enemy that didn’t even care about them, that only attacked them because of him?

Would they be able to?

If they were attacked again, would Jason still have to run? Would they be able to stop the League? Should he leave now? Before they came back?

Jason looked at the two agents in the front of the plane. Both totally fine putting their backs to him without the slightest hesitation.

Could he stay here?

Jason looked away.

Chapter Text

After that first attack, things only get worse.

Coulson had told them there was barely any evidence of their attackers. No bodies. No blood.

Jason worries what it means that the League cares enough to hide its tracks here.

He worries more about the increasing numbers of assassins being sent after him. Again and again.

He wonders if he’s really worth it for Talia to come after him like this. Is he that important to her? Hadn’t he always only been a weapon? But to go this far?

Jason hisses as he pours alcohol over his newly stitched wound. Hence why he was doing this in a storage closet. To avoid dealing with the issue. The truth.

The truth that this was well into the 10th  attack. Clint was the only person on this mission that he’d known, and he hadn’t been nearby. Been stationed high up and far away.

Acting as the eyes.

Clint had tried to warn them. As late as it’d been.

The rest of the squad had hesitated where Jason hadn’t.

The rest of the squad had died.

The truth was that this was Jason’s fault. They’d tried to protect him, and he’d gotten them killed.

The number of dead shadows in the city outnumbered SHIELD casualties two to one and it didn’t matter one fucking bit. It didn’t matter that he’d kill every single one they sent. It didn’t make the green in his veins feel any better. Every attack twisted acid green wire tighter around his neck.

He wondered how much longer until its garrote drew blood.

The tiny closet door swings open, light flooding Jason’s face as he jerks his head up, freezing.

Some agent stands there, eyes a little wide at the blood trickling down his side. But more suspicious than scared, so not a rookie then.

The agent opens his mouth-

“Hey Moors!” A voice from the hallway cuts him off. Clint’s. Of course. “How’d your promotion go?”

The call draws the agent’s attention, letting the door slide closed a few inches as he turns to look down the corridor. Jason takes advantage of the distraction to press his prepared bandage to his side, biting off a strip of medical tape and slapping it on.

He pulls his shirt down just as Clint’s conversation reaches the end, the archer’s hand smoothly replacing the agent’s on the door as they leave.

Jason swings his eyes up to meet Clint. He pretends to ignore the way the archer tracks the movement of his shirt, one eyebrow raised on a deadpan face.

“Smooth.”

“Fuck off.” Jason says as he reaches for a shelf to leverage himself up.

“Uh huh,” Clint nods, then picks up a bottle of cleaner and throws it right into Jason’s elbow. The one he’s pretty sure got sprained or fractured when a shadow landed on it.

The joint gives and Jason tumbles backwards. He trips over the bucket he’d been sitting on, slamming into concrete with a clatter.

Jason scowls up at Clint from the floor.

“Fuck. Off.”

Clint rolls his eyes, “So is there a reason you are patching yourself up in a janitors closet?” He lazily flicks the switch next to the door on, making Jason squint into the bright light, “In the dark.” Another raised eyebrow.

“None of your business,” Jason grunts as he pulls himself to his feet, side burning in pain. Exactly how much poison were they laced with these days, geeze.

“Right. This totally has nothing to do with the mission report you need to give to Coulson.”

Jason pushes past Clint, trying to stomp down the hallway without aggravating the twinge of his knee.

He makes it as far as one corner before nearly slamming into Natasha. She stands in the hallway with arms loosely crossed and a raised eyebrow that she throws to Clint over Jay’s shoulder.

“Hey Nat, good mission?” Clint says, catching up.

“Coulson’s got something for you.” She answers, unbothered by Jay’s mood and already herding them both in the direction of the office.

By the time they get there, Jay is only occasionally throwing the both of them glares as he works to keep up with them on a bum knee without appearing injured at all.

Nat knows from experience he won’t say anything until they make him.

She wouldn’t have.

She looks over at Clint, catching his eye as he looks away from the kid.

He knows it too.

Still, when they reach Phil’s office, Jay is the only one who stays standing. Clint drops down to laze on one of the chairs in front of the desk, legs splayed out. Nat leans against the armrest, feet still steady enough to jump up if she needs to.

Jay doesn’t even slouch, turning his body just enough to keep the door in sight once he walks through it.

She can feel Clint notice as well.

“J, Clint, how’d the mission go?” Phil asks.

Clint throws him a look, while Jay scoffs.

“Jay-“

“We were successful. Got the information before it went bad. That’s all that matters.” Jay says, effectively cutting off Phil.

“Yes, but this isn’t about mission success-“

She watches Jay roll his eyes, and Natasha can see the way he doesn’t believe it. She hadn’t either, when she’d first joined.

“Isn’t it?” J asks, “Thats why I’m here, so you can keep an eye on me and use my skills to benefit your shadow organization.”

Phil raises an eyebrow.

Jay sneers, “What, you think I haven’t read your mission reports? Your briefings? I know I’m good.” He stands straighter, jutting a finger out at Phil, “But don’t forget, you have to uphold your part of the deal first, because if your people are just gonna keep getting killed-“ there’s a sideways glance to Clint and herself before he looks back, “Maybe I should just cut my losses and leave.”

Silence sits for a second.

Natasha watches him.

His shoulders are tight and his feet are set wide. Ready.

For what? He knew they weren’t here to fight. (But had he ever stopped fighting?)

(Had she?)

“If you would tell us more, we may be able to protect you better. Find these people, the league, who are coming after you-“

Jay scoffs, “Don’t tell me your people aren’t good enough to at least figure out when they’re outmatched,” His face sneers, “Don’t make me laugh.”

Phil sighs but doesn’t argue.

Clint’s never had that sense, “If you’d just let us help you,” he says, sitting up, “You don’t have to go back, J. You have a place here, not just as an Agent-“

“But?” J snaps.

“But we have to take care of the League first-“

“Of course-“

“It’d help to know who we’re fighting, J. That’s all.”

J watches them for a second, then another, “You know they’ll just keep coming after me right?”

Clint rolls his eyes, “You know we’ll just keep getting rid of them, right?”

Natasha steps forward to set a hand on Jay’s shoulder and meet his eyes with determination. She nods her assurance, then smirks, “Don’t forget, J, you still haven’t beaten me yet.”

“Right,” Jay huffs, but shrugs off her hand good-naturedly. He glances to Phil, “We done here?”

Phil nods and waves his file defeatedly in dismissal. Jay is gone by the time he sets it down.

Clint slumps forward to cradle his forehead in his hands, “Why won’t he just let us help him?”

Nat smiles, nudging him with her side, “I’m pretty sure this is karma for Coulson dealing with us.”

Clint swats her away, “Hey! No! I did my time in the Assassin Foster Parent System, it’s your turn!”

Phil clears his throat, “Amusing as this is, I do actually have a mission for you Barton.”

They both sober quickly. “Right, of course.”

Nat gives Clint’s shoulder a tight squeeze before she turns for the door herself. Though not before catching Phil’s eye with a curt nod.

Time to find a wandering lamb.

Natasha starts with the gate guards. Not because she thinks they’ll actually have spotted J, but to figure out which ones are slacking off the most so she can figure what direction the kid’s slunk off to this time.

East it seems. Providing Agent Hansen has been asleep for longer than 10 minutes—which the drool trail is proof enough of—and Agent Margeta has been playing candy crush for more than the same 10. Natasha recognizes the gameplay from Level 135 as she sneaks past, feeling confident in both that AND Margeta’s impending loss.

After that its easy enough to watch J drive away in a stolen car—fast work, she almost missed him because her expectation of timing was off.

She thankfully has her own vehicle and is able follow him without having to hotwire one herself.

Surprisingly, he ends up at …a shopping strip? It seems more that J is there simply by coincidence, looking for clear air. She watches as he roughly parks and starts stalking down the sidewalk. His guard is still up, but it’s clear that he is distracted.

No sooner than Natasha parking her own vehicle and moving to the opposite walk does J stop at a storefront.

She waits one second, two, three, before ducking into the cafe beside her in case her reflection is visible across the street.

Its easy enough to order a simple coffee, keeping one eye on the way Jay lingers at the storefront door before finally entering.

Odd, what does he need at a jacket outfitters?

Nat smiles shallowly at the barista, aiming for forgettable as she takes her drink. She claims a corner table, only a sliver of the storefront visible from the angle, but a solid enough wifi signal to hop onto the store’s cameras.

And she watches as J moves through the racks of clothes. Hiker’s gear to branded sweatshirts and specialty coats. None of it is important. But this is exactly the kind of place for a meeting.

This would be her in, their first lead to find the league, find who had trained J, who had trained others…or find the others. Kids who were still being trained to kill and become weapons despite all that Natasha has done to prevent it- to end it.

Minutes pass but J doesn’t wander from the back corner of the shop, slowly flicking through one leather jacket at a time. He actually looks to be considering some of them, though a line of unknown tension remains in his stiff fingers on the leather.

Could it be a deposit? Information left somewhere that J knew to find-

The lights of the store flicker.

Once, twice. Then nothing.

The camera feed doesn’t even blink. Despite the fact that their power line is almost certainly connected-

The shop owner says something, starting to get up from his chair at the register; but J stops him with a rigid wave and words of his own, already halfway to the exit.

Natasha tilts her head, lifting her eyes to see J exit the store from her small crack of visibility.

Movement flashes across the roof beside the store, barely visible.

Shit.

Natasha is already moving, doing her best to exude ‘late to a meeting’ rather than ‘racing to stop assassins’ as she hurries out. She hardly cares if its successful, feet picking up speed as she weaves through the traffic to cross.

Jay is already gone, and Natasha had been too busy tracking the league assassin to see where. Rather than waste time wondering, she ducks into an alley, swiftly scaling the jagged brick and swinging herself onto the loose roof gravel.

There! Another flash of movement, two roofs down.

Natasha jerks to action, scanning for Jay as she runs down the stray ninja.

One roof in and its clear the ninja is aware of her, suddenly easy to track and running straight across roofs in full view. No more speed lost on useless hiding measures.

But Natasha is faster, hand reaching to disarm the sword even while already preparing to block the following dagger.

The following sequence is predictable and lighting fast. Dagger, twist and drop, dodge again, right side upper swing- the trained moves are rigid and sequential, but still, they’re new enough to cause her difficulty. J is the only other one she’s fought that has even similar elements, but Jay’s is so much more flexible. Acrobatics and flips where she’d expect ducking, stances light like a feather in every move despite the strength in his shoulders, kicks and dirty tricks where she would see standard lunges and feints.

She incapacitates the ninja, bringing them to their knees from behind, their own blade pressed against their throat.

“Who are you?” She demands, angling the swords edge. She might as well get information.

The ninja’s eyes glare at her from above the black fabric over their nose, “I am but an extension of the Demon’s will. He is the head and I am the hand. None will stand against him.”

Natasha sees whats coming a moment too late.

The ninja moves to dislodge her, but rather than turning away from the ledge, they throw their body towards it. The ninja is already falling by the time Nat lands upright enough to lurch forward.

Its a sheer drop. Twelve stories.

Their body crumples against the salute they hold when they hit the ground.

Nat doesn’t pause to stare at the body, moving into action back towards where she’d last seen J. The interaction had been too fast, too brief and too well timed to be accidental. It was a lure.

Nat hears the fight before she’s close enough to do anything, dangerously out of practice roof jumping skills making her slow. But she doesn’t hesitate to jump down into the alley Jay has been cornered into. She lands on one of the ninja, taking them down with momentum and slamming their head into the ground as he falls.

Nat catches Jay’s eyes between whirling blades and black fabric. They’re vibrant with a darkness she’s all too familiar with.

She catches a blade to the arm and forces herself to focus, Jay can handle himself.

Its a dance of unfamiliarity and numbers with the three ninja attacking her. She barely knows their style and the odds are three to one—but they don’t know her’s either and she’s a Black Widow so it doesn’t matter; she’ll win anyways.

And she does, but not without a few more cuts, including a thin line on her face bleeding sluggishly from a near miss. Her head pounds with adrenaline. She turns to assist Jay and finds him with the last assassin held against a wall by his blade.

Jay’s face is a myriad of vicious desperation and bitter anger.

“What part of ‘stop sending you’ is that bitch missing, huh?” Jay jerks the man’s body against the wall, “How many of you freaks am I gonna have to kill till she gets the message?”

Nat knows something is different by the ninja’s cocky glare.

“These outsiders cannot protect you forever,” they sneers with a bloody cough. Their eyes track sideways to Natasha, and the sneer worsens, “Especially not when the spider is about to be exterminated.”

Jay whips around to her as Natasha’s brows furrow. She takes inventory of her injuries, there’s nothing life threatening, though she’s sore and aching, but why would he-

“You were cut…” Jay says, voice distant.

Nat finally remembers what Clint had told her. What Jay had told him.

‘Don’t let them cut you.’

Her headache suddenly pounds harder, her muscles more sore than she’d realized.

‘The blades are laced.’

Nat feels her knee go out before it hits the ground. She manages to stabilize herself like that, kneeling on the concrete, gritting through it by training alone as fire starts to race through her veins.

Its still enough that Jay lurches towards her, just a bit. Enough that the ninja twists out of his grip and draws two blades of his own.

Jay is back on guard, this time turned halfway between Nat.

This time, he’s guarding her.

Nat strains her muscles, trying to force them to stand, to aid, to help- her tendons seize, going stiff and causing her to stumble more. A pained groan escapes against the sudden tension.

“The antidote. Give it to me now.” Jay demands, voice deep and gravelly and unfamiliar. The ninja lowers their stance.. but doesn’t comply.

She can see through tunneling vision as Jay’s grip goes white on his blade.

“Give it to me,” Jay says, voice darker; meaner, “And I won’t gut you like a fish just to make a point.”

“I am but one of many if my death serves the demon’s-“

Jay doesn’t let them finish, lunging forward with a yell and a vicious strike. Nat ducks her head, trying to reign in her body as the League’s poison attacks her every nerve.

A blade clatters across the alley floor and she looks up. They’re both worse for wear, Jay’s knife pinning the ninja’s arm to the wall through the flesh. She sees him slip something from the belt, not even glancing before plunging another knife into the ninja’s side.

Jay doesn’t flinch when they scream; instead he turns around to her, eyes glinting in the streetlit dusk.

He’s by her side in an instant, pulling some container out and rubbing something into the cut on her cheek. Something so small, yet so significant. She doesn’t even have the wherewithal to stop him, limbs locked in place.

The salve burns, but she can feel it working as her deadened nerves start to static and respond once more. He moves on to the other small scratches she had dismissed so foolishly.

“Is it working?” Jay asks, half-hovering.

Natasha gives the barest of nods, slowly unwinding the tension of her jaw and dryness of her throat to try to speak.

Jay continues to hover anyways, eyes tracking every twitch of her fingers as she comes back to herself. She hadn’t fallen to the floor completely, but it was a near thing- propped up on her elbow with one hand trying to push herself up. She should be able to get her knee under her-

The ninja coughs, blood dribbling down their chin, mixing with the blood covered hand gripping the sword in their stomach when she looks. Ever so slightly, they raise their chin to look down on them, “You cannot kill us all. You cannot stop the demon’s will,” they recite.

“Yeah? Watch me,” Jay sneers without looking back, still by her side.

Cruel anger flashes across their face, but it tells her nothing without context.

“The Demon’s heir is next. You will not win,” they spit back.

Jay goes still.

“What did you say?”

Nat tries to follow, but her mind is too occupied with managing her pain.

“You cannot stand against hi-“

Jay stands, whirling to the ninja with bitter fury, “Say it again- what did you say?!” He slams the ninja back against the wall, bloodied blades shifting.

The ninja grunts against the pain but smirks down at him, “The Demon’s heir is next to come. You will not escape the hand of th-“ a bloody cough cuts off his next words, compounded by Jay ripping a blade out only to shove it through the man’s ribs. Metal scrapes against brick behind them as the blade goes through.

Jay lets go, looking down with anger as the ninja collapses to the ground. Nat blinks hard, unsurprised when she opens her eyes to find Jay in front of her with careful hands.

Its short work to lift her to her feet, one arm slung over Jay’s shoulder as they stumble towards her car. Because of course Jay had recognized it.

She fumbles to give him the keys, mind already returning to blurry depths—what poison was this that she had so little immunity?— but Jay is quick to take them and start the vehicle anyways.

Nat tries to watch him from the passenger side, maintaining her composure as the pain fades into tingling numbness.

“Who is the Demon’s Heir?” She croaks out. Jay whips his eyes to her for just a second before they’re back on the road in front of them. His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel.

He doesn’t answer.

Natasha stays silent, watching him until they make it back in the compound.

Jay tosses a phone at her, “Call Clint,” He says, no argument in his tone. He knows she would have anyways, but he can already feel the itch to run starting under his skin.

Clint meets them in the hallway by the garage, halfway in gear and a look on his face like he’s ready to fight an army.

Jason passes Natasha onto him with barely a word, ignoring the questions of his own safety.

“Just let her wait out the antidote,” Jason says, voice brisk as he turns away. He can’t stand to see Natasha in this condition—because of him.

Jason forges onward down the hall. He briefly considers going to the gym; taking out a punching bag and working it out. Hitting something until he could think again, until he could stand to face them again. Until he could explain to them why it doesn’t matter what they do, he’ll never-

But all it would be is a waste of time. A way to put off the inevitable.

Instead, he goes to his room. Rather, the room SHIELD has labeled his. His clothes, his weapons. His bags.

He starts throwing it together, collecting his knives, the thrifted clothes—things he doesn’t want to have to buy again once he’s on the run.

He takes the money from a stash, sliding it into the underside of his shoes and some in his pocket-

“Nat told me you’d be doing something stupid,” Clint’s voice says from the doorway. His shadow leaning against the frame falls dark beside Jason’s feet.

“Yeah?” Jason responds with his back still facing the door, belongings unmoving in his hands, “She tell you anything else?”

The shadow shifts, “Think there’s anything to tell?”

Jason rolls his eyes, shoving another shirt into his bag, “Spit it out Barton.”

There’s silence for a second, and Jason can just imagine the way that Clint’s eyes would move, analyzing him.

“What makes this guy different?”

Memories of training flash across his mind, dark halls, silent beatings-

Jason yanks the next shirt off the bed.

“Nothing.”

Clint’s shadow moves again, this time creeping onto the bed as he moves closer into the room, “Come on, you’ve killed every single one they sent after you, with barely enough effort to break a sweat. What makes some random heir guy so much worse?”

Jason sighs, pushing away thoughts of cold nights and barked orders to finally think about Talia.

“She knows I could never kill him,” Jason says, staring forward before finally turning to the door. Romanoff is there too, shadow hidden by the wall. She looks only slightly worse for wear, visible only in the way she leans with carefully bent legs.

“T knows I could never kill him,” He says again. Then huffs, “That’s why she’s sending him. She’s done playing games, done putting up with my resistance-“

“And you killing her men by the tens is just her doing what exactly? Pregaming?” Clint scoffs.

“Clint.” Natasha says, admonishment sharp in the air.

“Come on, Nat, its not like these guys haven’t been trying,” Clint says, “You got tranq darted not two missions ago, J!” He motions with an arm, “We got you out of that one, we’ll get you out of this one too, J.”

Clint’s voice is meaningful, sincere. But its doesn’t matter.

“You’re not getting it, Barton. If I face him, if she’s really sending him here- after me…” Jason laughs wetly, running a hand through his hair and down his face.

“No.” He sets his face, “My only option is to get out now while I still can.” He starts to turn back to his pack, only for Clint’s hand on his shoulder stop him.

“Kid, what part of we’ve got you don’t you get?”

“We’re not letting you face anyone alone,” Nat adds.

“It doesnt matter what you do, I still won’t  be able to-“ Jason shrugs the hand off, taking a step back, “Don’t forget, I never expected you to able to stop them,” he snaps,  “You were just supposed to keep them busy while I got away.”

He looks at the both of them, “This is my last chance to get out.”

“We can do more than just that, J,” Clint says, “You don’t have to fight this guy alone-“

Jason groans, “Its not- You don’t get it, it doesn’t matter! I’ll never be able to kill him!” He says again. And he knows he could tell them. Could explain it all. What the Demon’s heir really means… but his gut rebels at the thought. At the thought of someone knowing  outside of the League before even Bru-

“Just stop packing,” Nat says, “Let us help, let us fight, instead of you this time.”

Jason turns his back to them. They were right after all, he didn’t have to pack his things.

He wouldn’t be allowed to take them with anyways.

“Okay,” He says, “I’ll stop.”