Francis Barton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
willpunchfaces) wrote2012-09-09 01:06 pm
willpunchfaces) wrote2012-09-09 01:06 pm
Ghosts in shadows
Title: Ghosts in shadows
Fandom: Next Avengers
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The battle against Ultron is over, but Francis still has unfinished business
Notes: Obvious headcanon is obvious
He knows each location by heart, memorised the pathways it takes to find them, every patch of rubble, every broken stone.
He knows each location by heart and he finds himself standing in front of the first before he realises he's decided to visit them. None are very close to camp, and it's more than a little dangerous to be out here alone, but for once, he doesn't really care. He's spent so many years running and never looking back, living by the motto that you can't go back, that the path you've followed is blackened and hollowed out until nothing else remains. How many times did he turn his back on someone who could have been saved on the pretense that doing so could kill others? That the needs of the many outweighed the screams and pleads of the few? How many names did he have carved into his heart where no one could see but he'd always remember, the guilt of it weighing him down that he couldn't sleep some nights?
He knows each location by heart and he visits every one, stopping to kneel in the spot he last saw them, fingers tracing the scorched earth. Some were killed where they stood, disintegrated by laser fire. Others were taken away and never seen again. All of them are gone, though not forgotten.
It takes him the better part of a week to hit up each location. His Scavangers know he's gone, but he realises belatedly that he didn't tell Tony and the others what he was doing. He still doesn't trust Tony, especially, can't get past the bitterness and the anger, knowing that man is responsible for so many dead. So is he, he knows, but he doesn't see Tony visiting the empty graves of the dead to tell them the news, to bring some sense of closure to a life filled with murder. It's an unfair comparison, he knows, because Tony raised James and the others to stop the horror, to bring peace to the world. But that knowledge doesn't change the taste in his mouth or the way his stomach tightens knowing Stark raised the kids outside this horror while he sloughed through it, leaving ghosts clinging to his shadow.
Tony is ultimately responsible for the state of the world, but Francis still made the choice to keep running.
He doesn't look up from the latest grave to see James coming up behind him. It would be Rogers who followed him. Francis almost laughs, a broken smile on his lips before he schools his expression and turn towards the red head. "What do you want?"
"Someone's gotta make sure you don't do anything stupid."
Francis rolls his eyes, crouching in front of the broken stone wall. "His name was Sefik. We were camped about five minutes away; they caught us as we were coming back from patrol." His posture is straight, voice calm and quiet, but his eyes betray the memory. "The wall fell on top of him during the fight."
James doesn't say anything at first. Francis figures it's because he didn't understand what was going on. That bitterness rears its head again - of course he doesn't know. James grew up safe in a bubble. What would he know about watching someone die?
"There was nothing you could do."
Francis looks over his shoulder with a glare, jaw tight. "You have no idea what you're even - know what? Whatever." It isn't worth it. James doesn't understand. He stands, brushing off his knees, and grabs his bow. "If you're gonna come, just don't talk."
Each site is a little further into Francis' past, a roadmap to where he's been over the years. It feels a lot longer than it actually is, the path twisting in on itself. James is quiet for each stop, standing uncomfortably in the background while Francis kneels to deliver his message, to spread the news. To make amends. They don't talk much when they make camp, either, eating what meager supplies they have in silence. Neither tells the other when they're taking watch, rotating out almost by rote, just knowing who will take first shift. They still don't really know each other, but they know this. Francis can't help but be a little impressed.
There are only two sites left to visit, and Francis argues vehemently that James go back before they reach the first of them. It's the farthest away, the one deepest in Francis' memory, and he doesn't want James to come along. It's not for the red head who grew up with everything to see. But James is stubborn, staring up at Francis with the type of resolve the older boy remembers from his father's stories about Captain America, and in the end he relents with a huff.
In a world comprised of rubble and broken dreams, one pile of rocks should look like any other, but not to Francis. And not this pile. It takes a day and a half of walking for them to reach the site, most of it spent in silence. When they arrive, James knows better than to say anything, just watching Francis approach the broken, collapsed wall with the trepidation of a child, and for the moment, that's all he is. Francis is eight again, struggling to accept the idea that his mom is never coming home, and he kneels in front of the grave, fingers digging into his knees. The memories come flooding back, the sound of her voice twisted by time but still hers, the way she stands when facing down Ultron, how she'd smile at him, her stories about science and beating people up. It all jumbles and vies for supremacy in his head while he pulls out a satchel from his quiver, removes the spring-loaded staff that's been inside it for months. Francis forces the staff into an opening in the rubble until it stands as an undeniable marker of who rests there.
"Sorry it took so long," he says. "But we did it. Ultron's gone. We're safe now, mom, so you can stop worrying about me, okay? We're gonna be fine."
He goes quiet for a long time before finally standing and walking away. It's a long walk back, and they still have one more stop.
"Why do you do it?"
Francis looks up from his food, giving James a flat look. James stares right back, lower lip jutting out, eyes hard set. They've been walking in silence for three days, and now that they've made camp, he can't keep quiet anymore. Francis should punch him. But Captain America is stubborn and bullish, and Hawkeye has always been Cap's sometimes surly friend, so Francis just rolls his eyes and goes back to eating. "Does it matter?"
James shrugs, getting comfortable. "Torunn used to pray to her dad all the time back home. He's at least alive, though; you're just walking around visiting the dead. Why?"
There's no malice or real judgment in the question, but that doesn't stop Francis from bringing his fist around and connecting it with James' nose, sending the smaller boy reeling backwards. Francis gets up, standing over James, and reaches down to grab him by the shirt. "You have no idea what it's like," he spits, tossing James back to the ground like a rag doll. "You think you're a leader? Fine. You did good taking charge against Ultron. But you don't know what it is to lead people and watch them falter. To have to make hard choices. To watch someone die. You just lived in your bubble all safe and happy and didn't do anything!"
James is up and bowling into Francis before he's done speaking, pinning the bigger boy with an arm to the throat. "You think I didn't want to?" he yells back. "You think I liked being helpless and useless when the world needed me? I wanted to help!"
Francis glares, slamming an elbow into James' side, knocking the boy away. "Yeah well, you didn't. You didn't help, they all died, and I'm taking responsibility for it! You don't get it, so why don't you just go back to your precious Tony and pretend the world is rainbows and sunshine some more?"
He doesn't expect the shield, gasping as it rams into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. James is there, glaring and angry, nostrils flaring. "Don't talk about him like that. He was just doing what our parents wanted!"
"Yeah, hiding."
He doesn't expect the punch, either, and the taste of blood is jarring. "Training. Living. Preparing to come back here and avenge them, like they asked him to do." James has tears in his eyes but he's too angry to notice. "I said we didn't know you were here, okay? But that doesn't mean Tony wasn't trying to fix what he did, either!"
Francis glares right back. "That doesn't bring my parents back, Rogers. That doesn't bring any of them back."
They stare each other down another minute before James pulls away, tugging his shield back into place on his back. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry we weren't here to help you. But Ultron killed my parents, too." He frowns, then offers Francis his hand; the older boy takes it after a moment's hesitation. "I'm sorry I said it's just visiting the dead. If I could see my dad, I'd-"
"Whatever." Francis doesn't listen, just grabs his things and starts walking. His lips is starting to swell and he's fairly certain his nose is broken. It's the only thing keeping him from fueling the fires and pointing out that James never knew his dad. Not like Francis did. But he doesn't stop the other boy from following him, either, and they walk through the night to the last grave in silence.
There's no rubble here to mark the location like there was with Bobbi. It's just cold and dark, the ground littered with pebbles and broken planks of wood from a nearby building. But Francis remembers exactly where Clint's body fell, remembers the sightless eyes and twisted neck that first time he came back. The only time he ever went back. They burned his body, and the acrid smell lingers in his senses, faint scorch marks marring the ground. Francis doesn't even look at James before he sits, cross-legged, and pulls out an arrow. It takes some work, but he manages to winnow the arrowhead into a crack in the ground.
"It's done, dad," he says. "Ultron's gone. Everything you lived for - everything we struggled for - it's happening." Francis' shoulders slump, voice quiet. "We're clearing out the machines as we can, making everything right. We're - we're leaving the underground, dad. We're going home." He doesn't remember home, but he thinks Clint would like to hear that. "I just wanted you to know."
There's a rustling beside him and James takes a seat, shield in his lap. He's staring intently at the arrow, face a mix of emotions, and Francis pauses a moment before elbowing the younger boy, motioning with his jaw. James stalls, uncertain, then sets the shield down next to Francis' arrow.
"Captain America - sir - dad," he stumbles as Francis quietly gets to his feet and steps away. James swallows, glancing back, then tries again. "It's me. James. Tony ... he did what you asked. He took care of us, raised us. I have your shield now. We even stopped Ultron. I-" He frowns, not sure what to say. Not sure if he should say it. "I miss you. But I'm doing okay. Tony and Torunn, Azari, Pym ... we're all doing okay. So is Francis. We're gonna fix the world, okay? We're gonna make things right again, like you'd have wanted. I - you can be proud of me, dad. I just wanted you to know."
He stands slowly, reaching down to retrieve the shield. "I just need to borrow this a little longer, if that's okay," he says, strapping it to his back. Francis doesn't come closer, leaning against a crumbling pillar, arms crossed. He figures James wants the time alone. "We have to go now. Bye, dad."
James joins Francis, staring into the distance. "I get it now," he says, and starts walking. Francis doesn't say anything, giving one last look to the arrow in the ground, and follows. It's still a couple days back to camp and they don't have time to dally. But at least this time he can look back when they leave.
Fandom: Next Avengers
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The battle against Ultron is over, but Francis still has unfinished business
Notes: Obvious headcanon is obvious
He knows each location by heart, memorised the pathways it takes to find them, every patch of rubble, every broken stone.
He knows each location by heart and he finds himself standing in front of the first before he realises he's decided to visit them. None are very close to camp, and it's more than a little dangerous to be out here alone, but for once, he doesn't really care. He's spent so many years running and never looking back, living by the motto that you can't go back, that the path you've followed is blackened and hollowed out until nothing else remains. How many times did he turn his back on someone who could have been saved on the pretense that doing so could kill others? That the needs of the many outweighed the screams and pleads of the few? How many names did he have carved into his heart where no one could see but he'd always remember, the guilt of it weighing him down that he couldn't sleep some nights?
He knows each location by heart and he visits every one, stopping to kneel in the spot he last saw them, fingers tracing the scorched earth. Some were killed where they stood, disintegrated by laser fire. Others were taken away and never seen again. All of them are gone, though not forgotten.
It takes him the better part of a week to hit up each location. His Scavangers know he's gone, but he realises belatedly that he didn't tell Tony and the others what he was doing. He still doesn't trust Tony, especially, can't get past the bitterness and the anger, knowing that man is responsible for so many dead. So is he, he knows, but he doesn't see Tony visiting the empty graves of the dead to tell them the news, to bring some sense of closure to a life filled with murder. It's an unfair comparison, he knows, because Tony raised James and the others to stop the horror, to bring peace to the world. But that knowledge doesn't change the taste in his mouth or the way his stomach tightens knowing Stark raised the kids outside this horror while he sloughed through it, leaving ghosts clinging to his shadow.
Tony is ultimately responsible for the state of the world, but Francis still made the choice to keep running.
He doesn't look up from the latest grave to see James coming up behind him. It would be Rogers who followed him. Francis almost laughs, a broken smile on his lips before he schools his expression and turn towards the red head. "What do you want?"
"Someone's gotta make sure you don't do anything stupid."
Francis rolls his eyes, crouching in front of the broken stone wall. "His name was Sefik. We were camped about five minutes away; they caught us as we were coming back from patrol." His posture is straight, voice calm and quiet, but his eyes betray the memory. "The wall fell on top of him during the fight."
James doesn't say anything at first. Francis figures it's because he didn't understand what was going on. That bitterness rears its head again - of course he doesn't know. James grew up safe in a bubble. What would he know about watching someone die?
"There was nothing you could do."
Francis looks over his shoulder with a glare, jaw tight. "You have no idea what you're even - know what? Whatever." It isn't worth it. James doesn't understand. He stands, brushing off his knees, and grabs his bow. "If you're gonna come, just don't talk."
Each site is a little further into Francis' past, a roadmap to where he's been over the years. It feels a lot longer than it actually is, the path twisting in on itself. James is quiet for each stop, standing uncomfortably in the background while Francis kneels to deliver his message, to spread the news. To make amends. They don't talk much when they make camp, either, eating what meager supplies they have in silence. Neither tells the other when they're taking watch, rotating out almost by rote, just knowing who will take first shift. They still don't really know each other, but they know this. Francis can't help but be a little impressed.
There are only two sites left to visit, and Francis argues vehemently that James go back before they reach the first of them. It's the farthest away, the one deepest in Francis' memory, and he doesn't want James to come along. It's not for the red head who grew up with everything to see. But James is stubborn, staring up at Francis with the type of resolve the older boy remembers from his father's stories about Captain America, and in the end he relents with a huff.
In a world comprised of rubble and broken dreams, one pile of rocks should look like any other, but not to Francis. And not this pile. It takes a day and a half of walking for them to reach the site, most of it spent in silence. When they arrive, James knows better than to say anything, just watching Francis approach the broken, collapsed wall with the trepidation of a child, and for the moment, that's all he is. Francis is eight again, struggling to accept the idea that his mom is never coming home, and he kneels in front of the grave, fingers digging into his knees. The memories come flooding back, the sound of her voice twisted by time but still hers, the way she stands when facing down Ultron, how she'd smile at him, her stories about science and beating people up. It all jumbles and vies for supremacy in his head while he pulls out a satchel from his quiver, removes the spring-loaded staff that's been inside it for months. Francis forces the staff into an opening in the rubble until it stands as an undeniable marker of who rests there.
"Sorry it took so long," he says. "But we did it. Ultron's gone. We're safe now, mom, so you can stop worrying about me, okay? We're gonna be fine."
He goes quiet for a long time before finally standing and walking away. It's a long walk back, and they still have one more stop.
"Why do you do it?"
Francis looks up from his food, giving James a flat look. James stares right back, lower lip jutting out, eyes hard set. They've been walking in silence for three days, and now that they've made camp, he can't keep quiet anymore. Francis should punch him. But Captain America is stubborn and bullish, and Hawkeye has always been Cap's sometimes surly friend, so Francis just rolls his eyes and goes back to eating. "Does it matter?"
James shrugs, getting comfortable. "Torunn used to pray to her dad all the time back home. He's at least alive, though; you're just walking around visiting the dead. Why?"
There's no malice or real judgment in the question, but that doesn't stop Francis from bringing his fist around and connecting it with James' nose, sending the smaller boy reeling backwards. Francis gets up, standing over James, and reaches down to grab him by the shirt. "You have no idea what it's like," he spits, tossing James back to the ground like a rag doll. "You think you're a leader? Fine. You did good taking charge against Ultron. But you don't know what it is to lead people and watch them falter. To have to make hard choices. To watch someone die. You just lived in your bubble all safe and happy and didn't do anything!"
James is up and bowling into Francis before he's done speaking, pinning the bigger boy with an arm to the throat. "You think I didn't want to?" he yells back. "You think I liked being helpless and useless when the world needed me? I wanted to help!"
Francis glares, slamming an elbow into James' side, knocking the boy away. "Yeah well, you didn't. You didn't help, they all died, and I'm taking responsibility for it! You don't get it, so why don't you just go back to your precious Tony and pretend the world is rainbows and sunshine some more?"
He doesn't expect the shield, gasping as it rams into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. James is there, glaring and angry, nostrils flaring. "Don't talk about him like that. He was just doing what our parents wanted!"
"Yeah, hiding."
He doesn't expect the punch, either, and the taste of blood is jarring. "Training. Living. Preparing to come back here and avenge them, like they asked him to do." James has tears in his eyes but he's too angry to notice. "I said we didn't know you were here, okay? But that doesn't mean Tony wasn't trying to fix what he did, either!"
Francis glares right back. "That doesn't bring my parents back, Rogers. That doesn't bring any of them back."
They stare each other down another minute before James pulls away, tugging his shield back into place on his back. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry we weren't here to help you. But Ultron killed my parents, too." He frowns, then offers Francis his hand; the older boy takes it after a moment's hesitation. "I'm sorry I said it's just visiting the dead. If I could see my dad, I'd-"
"Whatever." Francis doesn't listen, just grabs his things and starts walking. His lips is starting to swell and he's fairly certain his nose is broken. It's the only thing keeping him from fueling the fires and pointing out that James never knew his dad. Not like Francis did. But he doesn't stop the other boy from following him, either, and they walk through the night to the last grave in silence.
There's no rubble here to mark the location like there was with Bobbi. It's just cold and dark, the ground littered with pebbles and broken planks of wood from a nearby building. But Francis remembers exactly where Clint's body fell, remembers the sightless eyes and twisted neck that first time he came back. The only time he ever went back. They burned his body, and the acrid smell lingers in his senses, faint scorch marks marring the ground. Francis doesn't even look at James before he sits, cross-legged, and pulls out an arrow. It takes some work, but he manages to winnow the arrowhead into a crack in the ground.
"It's done, dad," he says. "Ultron's gone. Everything you lived for - everything we struggled for - it's happening." Francis' shoulders slump, voice quiet. "We're clearing out the machines as we can, making everything right. We're - we're leaving the underground, dad. We're going home." He doesn't remember home, but he thinks Clint would like to hear that. "I just wanted you to know."
There's a rustling beside him and James takes a seat, shield in his lap. He's staring intently at the arrow, face a mix of emotions, and Francis pauses a moment before elbowing the younger boy, motioning with his jaw. James stalls, uncertain, then sets the shield down next to Francis' arrow.
"Captain America - sir - dad," he stumbles as Francis quietly gets to his feet and steps away. James swallows, glancing back, then tries again. "It's me. James. Tony ... he did what you asked. He took care of us, raised us. I have your shield now. We even stopped Ultron. I-" He frowns, not sure what to say. Not sure if he should say it. "I miss you. But I'm doing okay. Tony and Torunn, Azari, Pym ... we're all doing okay. So is Francis. We're gonna fix the world, okay? We're gonna make things right again, like you'd have wanted. I - you can be proud of me, dad. I just wanted you to know."
He stands slowly, reaching down to retrieve the shield. "I just need to borrow this a little longer, if that's okay," he says, strapping it to his back. Francis doesn't come closer, leaning against a crumbling pillar, arms crossed. He figures James wants the time alone. "We have to go now. Bye, dad."
James joins Francis, staring into the distance. "I get it now," he says, and starts walking. Francis doesn't say anything, giving one last look to the arrow in the ground, and follows. It's still a couple days back to camp and they don't have time to dally. But at least this time he can look back when they leave.