...And a Happy Hanukkat
Here is my Winterhawk Wonderland 2023 contribution! Dearest @deformed-globule asked for hurt/comfort (possibly post-mission), handmade gifts (possibly knitted), and BAMF!Clint, as well as a sappy/happy ending.
The combination of hurt/comfort and sappy ending makes for a hell of a tone shift, but stick with me folks and I'll make sure you are rewarded for the somewhat dark start.
...And a Happy Hanukkat by dr_girlfriend
Excerpt:
“Quiet, Soldier,” the chief Hydra doctor croons as three more huddle around, enjoying the show. “The more you struggle, the messier this will be.”
They’re all wearing goggles, surgical masks and caps, and waterproof aprons, so they’re sure as fuck prepared for this to get messy. Bucky spits a mouthful of blood at the chief doctor nonetheless, red spattering across his Hydra-grey surgical getup, and his eyes narrow.
“Start with the tongue,” he hisses vindictively, and a fourth Hydra doctor moves in, scalpel at the ready.
Bucky’s focus narrows to that slim blade. He can’t look away as it gets closer and closer. His mind flashes with images of everything he’s losing — Steve’s steadfast friendship, Natasha’s stealthy affection, Sam’s friendly rivalry, Bruce’s quiet companionship, Thor’s booming laughter, Tony’s sarcastic caretaking, and — most of all, Clint.
Clint’s easy camaraderie, his sunshine smile, the way he sits shoulder-to-shoulder with Bucky, quiet and undemanding, Lucky and Alpine draped across both their laps, when Bucky is having a bad day. Clint has been the brightest thing in Bucky’s life since he recovered from Hydra’s programming, and Bucky has been too scared to really see where it could go, and now it’s too late —
And he shouldn’t have let thoughts of Clint get a handhold, because he’s hallucinating now, his gaze sliding off the blade to the goggles of the scalpel-wielding Hydra doctor, and as he meets his glance for a moment he thinks he sees the sunny sky-blue of Clint’s beautiful eyes.
The blade flashes, almost faster than Bucky can track it, and a line of red appears on the throats of the three other doctors. Their eyes widen behind the protective goggles, nitrile-gloved hands coming up to try to stem the flow, but it happened too quickly for them to even cry out.
There’s four rapid thuds of a silenced weapon, so quick it almost sounds like one long stutter of noise, and in his peripheral vision Bucky sees the four guards slump to the floor.
“Heya, Bucky,” Clint says, ripping the mask and goggles off his face. There’s a bruise at the crest of his cheekbone and his lower lip is swollen and bloody. “This place sucks, wanna get out of here?”
