HOURS OR MINUTES COULD HAVE PASSED, expertly evading Clint while he paced up and down in the small cell he'd been confined to.
In the distance, Peter's screams echoed making his heart twist painfully as they served as the constant reminder that he was unable to save the teenager. Clint was too deep in his thoughts and stewing in his guilt to note down the passage of time until at some indiscernible point Peter had stopped crying out. When the silence seeped in, finally registering in the man's mind, the archer paused; the sudden lack of confirmation of Peter still being alive only doubled his pacing's intensity and he grinded his teeth together as if he was trying to turn them to dust.
A strange panic was building in his throat when he heard the whispers coming from the corridor that led to the rest of the base- he paused instantly and strained his ears, turning his hearing aids to their highest setting. Suddenly, guards approached the cell with the usual indifference.
"What's going on?" He demanded.
There was no response while the archer was manhandled into the rest of the godforsaken base that he was trapped inside of. "Where's Peter?" He argued, head snapping between the two guards that had come to collect him until he almost got whiplash. At the end of the long and dingy corridor, Clint received a rough shove; he stepped into the room but stumbled at the sight of Peter.
Two deep, ugly bruises marred his pale features as he stared blankly ahead.
His usual eyes that conveyed so much were dull. Lifeless and unseeing. It was so jarring that Clint physically felt the breath in his lungs freeze as he continued to stare at the teenager like he had never seen Peter before- he looked like a ghost. Far away. Almost like he wasn't of this earth and would disappear if Clint even so much as took a step in his direction. Peter looked morosely ahead.
The usual glint in his eyes that Clint had admired and so often picked up on, was extinguished.
"Peter?" The name left him involuntarily and he sucked in a harsh breath. Peter didn't even blink or react to the voice. Clint wanted to throw up but his rage swiftly overtook the impulse, "What the hell did you do to him?" He spat, turning to face Cain who had watched the man's reaction closely.
He ignored the archer in favour of moving to stand in front of Peter.
As if he coming to life, Peter's eyes flicked to Cain, his gaze finally shifting from the wall where it had been glued. "What is my first mission?" The agents moved to grab a hold of Clint again as he moved to attack- their grips tightened almost painfully.
Hot, burning tears stung the backs of Clint's eyes because that wasn't his Peter. That was what Peter had always been afraid of becoming- a ruthless killer bound to Hydra. Controlled yet again. And he'd allowed it to happen, had gone willingly when Cain asked all because he would have rather become the monster that he feared he was instead of putting the ones he loved at risk. Guilt welled in Clint's chest at the idea of having been utterly useless in protecting Peter from the likes of Cain.
"Your mission is to make Clint Barton suffer."
There was a pause, as if Peter was processing the demand and wanted to argue. For a split-second Clint had hope that maybe his kid wasn't completely lost to Hydra, that there was some part of him left that was still fighting- but the light in his eyes that had sparked disappeared. Snuffed out.
"Mission accepted." The words felt hauntingly final.
Grinning with triumph, Cain turned to Clint with a gleeful expression. He wanted to beat the smug look off of his face when he asked, "Do you still believe in him now?"
"This isn't him." Clint snarled back, stubbornly defiant. "This is Hydra inside his head."
"You didn't answer the question." Cain hummed. He chuckled darkly to himself.
With a single jerk of his head, the agents that had been holding Clint in place suddenly dragged him forwards, leading him to a separate room. It didn't take long for Peter and Cain to follow as he was pushed into a chair; ropes were tied around him, securing him to the chair despite his constant wriggling. Knowing when his attempts were going to be fruitless, Clint easily gave in and chose instead to look directly at Peter who stared back with an indifferent expression.
It gave the man chills when Peter's hands curled into fists.
"It's okay kid." Clint soothed, ignoring the doubt growing in his head that his words were having any kind of an impact. "I don't blame you- I could never- I'm just sorry that I didn't protect you better-"
A fist slammed against Clint's cheekbone. Peter's features hardened imperceptibly.
"It's, it's okay." Gasped Clint, forcing himself to meet Peter's eyes again despite the cold feeling it left in the man's chest. Peter appeared to be almost bored as he surveyed the archer with a calculating gaze that could cut through glass, as if he was analysing where his next hit should land to cause the most pain. "You're still my kid Pete. No matter how this goes- I forgive you." He promised before the next swing caught his lip, tearing the skin and spilling blood down his chin.
He only just managed to look up and take in a deep breath before another blow landed to his temple, and then his ribs, and then his nose.
After another few minutes any words became hard to gurgle out, so instead Clint signed.
Peter had been learning it in his spare time back at the tower before everything turned upside down, and despite some part of Clint acknowledging that maybe the movement was useless as the blows and hits kept landing with the same unwavering strength- it kept him sane. Even when the bruises formed, the blood dried and his skin tightened uncomfortably. He hoped that some unconscious part of Peter caught his message of, I forgive you. He didn't want the teen to blame himself for what was happening. For what he was being forced to do.
Brief moments between the pain, when Peter allowed Clint to catch his breath and prolong the 'suffering' as Cain had so eloquently put it- Clint could have sworn he saw a slight crease in Peter's forehead when he looked down at him.
A glimmer of something close to resembling grief in his eyes, before it vanished. That was the only comfort Clint had before he doubled over from the pain.
A/N
Damn. This chapter makes me feel stuff guys. And it gives me Bucky beating the crap out of Steve vibes and now I can't unsee that parrallel.
Anywho! Let me know of any spelling mistakes! xoxo.