He shouldn’t have hesitated. That split second might have made all the difference.
He should have risked the broken arm to take the bastard out.
He could have done it.
He could have stopped all this before it began.
As the tip of the spear touched his chest his panicked self-recriminations stuttered to a halt. His body went still, pliant, and his mind went disturbingly blank. Well, most of his mind. There was one tiny part that was wide awake and gibbering in horror at what was happening.
He did what he could to fight it. He hit Fury in the vest instead of the head. He missed when he shot at Maria. It wasn’t much, really, (except for how it really was a big deal, because he never missed) but it gave the others a chance. He hoped they realized that. He hoped it would matter in the long run.
He had been through hell and back several times in his life, but as his world washed blue and he became nothing more than a deadly puppet, he knew fear like he never had before.
In that tiny, quivering part of his mind that was still his, Clint Barton screamed.
We watched the Avengers again last night and this started percolating in my head. Itís short, but packs a bit of a punch. Un-betaed, but Iíve read it over several times. If you notice any glaring errors, please point them out gently and I will fix them.
Written: October 11, 2013
Word Count: 202