Chapter Text
“Do you, Clinton Francis Barton, Baron of Waverly, swear to take this enemy of the Crown, James Buchanan Barnes, to be bound in permanent servitude to you, that he may learn to fear and obey you, living in humble repentance for his crimes until such time as your death ends his own life?”
“Sodding hell,” Clint says faintly. He meets the eyes of the Winter Soldier — of Barnes — and sees nothing but resigned acceptance. He almost wishes the man would be angry, would rage against this blatant injustice, instead of demonstrating this glassy calm. It feels like a thin layer of ice covering a deep, dark roiling sea, and Clint fears the moment when it finally cracks.
“Please answer, Lord Barton,” Supreme Sorcerer Strange snaps. “I will remind you that the wording of the ritual is not open for discussion.” Clint grimaces, but after another look at Barnes yields no further insight he clears his throat.
“I do so swear,” he says. However bitter the words might taste to him, they are nothing to what Barnes will have to endure.
“And do you, James Buchanan Barnes, formerly of the village of Brooklyn, now a criminal who lives only due to the gracious sufferance of King Fury, swear to take this man as your lord and master, to obey his will without question and never to cause him harm, living in abject subjugation until such time as his death results in your own?”
“I do so swear,” Barnes rasps, soft and unhesitating.
Strange extends a palm. The binding ring is a malevolent, misshapen lump, looking like it was rough-hewn from obsidian. Upon all the other insults to Barnes’ dignity, it will be uncomfortable to wear, hampering the dexterity of his remaining gods-given hand.
“Take this ring of penitence and place it on the convict’s finger. In doing so you will seal the ritual, and shall be bound thus forevermore.” The sharpness of Strange’s voice makes it clear that this is a command and not a suggestion.
Clint takes the ring, the rough material — stone? Or is it metal? — feeling unnaturally cool against his bowstring-callused fingertips. He hesitates, and only then does some unreadable emotion flash over Barnes’ expression.
Gods, he’s only being cruel by drawing this out. The only alternative for Barnes is execution, and he must be wondering if Clint is going to back out, seeking his own freedom at the cost of Barnes’ life.
Clint tries to be gentle as he eases the ring onto Barnes’ finger, but the moment it slides into place it flashes a malevolent blackish red and Barnes cries out, doubling over.
“Shit,” Clint mutters. He reaches down to help Barnes up, but Barnes straightens so quickly Clint has to take a half-step back, stumbling a little on the cracked flagstones.
“Bucky!” Steve steps forward, and almost quicker than Clint can track he sees the flicker, Barnes’ slate-grey eyes turning an icy blue as he sees Steve and raises his metal hand, reaching for Steve’s throat.
Instinctively, unthinkingly, Clint steps between them, shoving Steve aside. The metal arm freezes in midair. Barnes makes a terrible sound, a keening, rattling groan that Clint has only heard from dying men on the battlefield. Barnes’ eyes widen, storm-grey once more, and then he’s falling to his knees, hunched over, vomiting a sickly yellowish bile onto the flagstones of the chapel.
“Buck,” Steve says despairingly. His hands reach out but Tony grasps his shoulder, keeping him in place. None of them know how or when his proximity will trigger the last vestiges of Hydra’s curse, just that it does.
Clint crouches down. Barnes has stopped heaving but shudders wrack his body, and even through the screen of his lank hair his face is visibly pale and clammy.
Clint reaches out slowly, making sure that Barnes can see the movement, and settles his palm on the nape of Barnes’ neck. Barnes sighs, leaning into the touch, color returning to his face in slow degrees.
“Better?” Clint asks, even as his own stomach roils uncomfortably at the implications.
Barnes nods.
Clint holds out his other hand, and together they rise. Barnes ducks his head, eyes darting away from the shocked expressions of the small gathering.
“Well,” Strange says dryly. “I suppose if we wanted confirmation of the binding curse, we could not have asked for a better practical demonstration.”
“Godsdammit, Strange — ” Steve starts, but Tony cuts in jovially, clapping his hands together.
“Well! Wasn’t that exciting? And now let’s all adjourn to the great hall for the wedding breakfast, to celebrate this … auspicious occasion.”
“Fine,” Strange huffs. “By the power vested in me by my liege, King Nicholas Fury, I now pronounce you husband and bonded.”
The words seem to wind around Clint’s chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. He’s really married, in the most twisted, abhorrent way possible, and even the dim view of marriage he previously held is nothing compared to what his own marriage seems to hold in store.
Barnes is bound to him — not in servitude, as Strange had proclaimed, or at least not if Clint has anything to say about it — but certainly by necessity. Clint now has a profound and lifelong responsibility for the welfare of someone rendered excruciatingly vulnerable by the magic of the binding spell. The weight of it, added to Clint’s recently-acquired burden of an entire barony of people whose welfare depends upon him, feels crushing.
He realizes he’s been standing there like an idiot, caught up in the snare of worry, while everyone else has filed out of the chapel. It’s only when Barnes gives their clasped hands a gentle tug that Clint returns to awareness, and realizes that Barnes’ warm palm is still held in his, the ring a shard of ice between them.
“Shall we go?” Barnes asks softly, and Clint nods. He pulls in a deep breath and tries to turn his expression into some semblance of how he thinks a new bridegroom should look, and together they make their way down the aisle between the pews.
It’s a short distance, but long enough for Clint to realize that Barnes’ hand is still clasped in his, neither one of them apparently willing to be the first to let go.
Art (embedded with permission) by the amazing artgroves / alby_mangroves! Please go express your enthusiasm on AO3 or tumblr!