A/N: This fic isn't going to be pushing religion in your face, but it does carry a lot of religious undertones and themes. So if you don't feel comfortable reading it, here is your warning.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel.

"Do you know what's so wrong with the world, Agent Barton?" Fury watched the movement of the city below them, appreciating the beauty of being miles above the world.

"It's a list at least a mile long, sir," Clint snarked as he gripped the balcony railing, feeling the coolness under his chin.

Hiding his smile, Fury replied evenly, "It's because so many people try to play God." Below them, as he and his agent watched, the city came alive like tiny ants in formation.

"Are you one of those people, sir?" This time, vigilant eyes observed the man standing closer than the strangers below.

Feeling the weight of the extra gaze, the director simply said, "Perhaps."

Silence relapsed between the men, before Fury spoke again, "Have you ever heard of the Tower of Babel?"

"No, sir."

"Eons ago, when people all spoke one language and culture and lived in one location, they decided to build a tower to the heavens," the Director began, still surveying the people below. "God saw it as an act of hubris and a direct defiance to him since they planned to build the tower into the sky. To stop it, God scattered the people across the Earth and changed their words into new languages; dividing the people and ceasing their unification."

Clint chuckled, "I was never into studying the Bible. The ringmaster wanted a sharpshooter, not a minister."

Fury didn't engage with his Agent's jest. "The Tower of Babel's meaning has been debated over centuries, but one of the main themes is that God acted the way he did because he saw that humans, his own creations, were becoming too powerful and didn't like it. He saw it as dangerous."

Clint allowed the words to sink in, still unsure of what the meaning behind them was. His eyes still rested on his boss, who had not moved an inch since their conversation started. "Are you saying you believe in God, sir?"

This time Fury turned to look at him, "I'm saying I believe that someone will always try to play God. And those scenarios never end well."

That conversation was years ago, long before Tasha ever came into his life, but it still haunted him to this day. Fury's words rang like a warning in his ears every time his sword drew red, dripping and staining every part of him, from his clothes to his soul. The blood was a reminder, of how deciding who lived and who died was not Clint's decision to make.

Even the rain couldn't wash it away. The only story Clint ever remembered from the Bible was Noah's, and how a great flood came to swallow up the evil and cleanse the Earth, leaving only his chosen few to revive the world. It was an amusing fairy tale and his kids even had some toy depictions of the tale, but that was where it stayed: as a story.

Until an alien came along to complete an act startlingly similar… wipe away half the population and let the remaining revive the world.

Like Fury said, it was never good when people try to play God. It only brought destruction and pain. Yet, that was exactly what Clint was seeking.

Anyone in their right mind would call him crazy for voluntarily seeking the demise that would inevitably befall him, and perhaps if he was in his right mind still, he would care as well. But Clint yearned for the destruction that the role of playing God brought, it was all he had left after all.

(He knew she still walked on this earth. He got her desperate voicemails, the messages through the dark web, and the hints that she was tracking his movements. Yet she had still been the reason he had lost so much...)

Had he been a religious man, the former archer would have found some sort of symbolism in the rain that fell the night she finally found him.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you." Her tone was neutral, testing the waters of his reaction as she studied him.

Turning around to face his best friend, Clint couldn't meet her eyes for more than a moment. "I've got a job to do."

"Is that what you're calling this?" Tasha challenged, "Killing all these people isn't going to bring your family back."

He stayed silent, wiping the red from his blade as she walked towards him. He thought about trying to leave but knew she would catch him.

(She had always been the better fighter of the two.)

"We found something." His best friend's voice is filled his tentative hope as she spoke, "A chance, maybe." Her umbrella covered his head now, shielding him from the rain as she inched closer.

Finally, he met her eyes, his filled with despair while hers held only understanding. "Don't," he choked out.

"Don't what?"

"Don't give me hope."

"I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you sooner." Tasha reached for his hand and her eyes never strayed from his. She was forgiving him for his actions and the blame he had inadvertently placed when he began his crusade. It was also a repeat of an event years ago, yet ironically, the roles were reversed this time.

Looking down for a moment, Clint thought about the path he'd taken and the penance he would need to pay if he chose to go with her. And again, Fury's warning rang in his ears. He had an option now to give up the mantle of God, one that he mentally relinquished the second Tasha talked about another chance. He could hold his family again in his arms, throw away the anger and pain, and let the rain wash away his evil...

So he took her hand.

The Avengers' plan was to play God. Mess with the timeline to retrieve the infinity stones and hope that nothing bad happens... it gave Clint an uneasy feeling. But he went along with it because their motivations were pure: to save the people lost in the snap. And that had to count for something in the long run, right?

(And he would be able to hold his family again.)

Yet here he stood on the precipice of Vormir, having to decide once again who would live or die. Again Fury's warning rang in his mind and Clint knew this was his punishment. He'd played the game too long to come out unscathed. Die and save the world, but never see Laura or his kids again.

But not without a fight. Tasha and him had always prided themselves in thinking so much alike, with it serving as the foundation for many of their running gags and efficiency in the field. Very little did he curse their shared mindset, yet this was one of those times as they tussled and argued about who would be dying that day.

(In the end, she had always been the better fighter of the two.)

"No!" He gripped her as tightly as he could, this was supposed to be his day to die. Not hers.

"It's okay." Tasha met his eyes, full of comfort and acceptance. Almost like she knew this was going to happen… His breath caught as he realized, nothing ever got past Tasha. She always knew. And she had predicted what he would try to do.

Tears pierced through, blurring his vision slightly. He was about to protest again when she knocked his hand away. A scream escaped his lips as he reached, catching only air as she fell. Tearing his eyes away, he felt nauseous when the thud registered in his ears and the rope caught him.

Once again, she had saved him, but only by playing God.

"Sir," he greeted brusquely.

"Barton," the former director replied.

"I don't think I could ever believe in God."

"Pardon?" Fury asked in a rare moment of confusion. His one eye assessed his agent, noting the bags under the listless eyes. A spark of their conversation from years ago came to light, but he didn't see the relevance until Barton continued.

"I don't think I could ever believe in God. Especially one that allows the evil to keep living and takes the good ones in their place."

So it was connected, Fury saw. He also knew of Barton's activities during the snap, and could only really reply with, "That's your choice, Agent." Barton stiffened at the title since it was something he'd long ago shed for a darker one. "And people could argue circles for years about God's true intentions, but you should believe in a second chance for yourself. After all, that's what we did for Romanoff wasn't it? Who's to say that's not what she was doing for you?"

Clint growled out, "But she was playing God. And nothing good ever comes from those situations, you said that."

"I did," Fury nodded. "And yet what were her motivations? To save the world is noble and generates good. But if she were doing it for power and destruction like Thanos did? That would have caused nothing but darkness." The director waved a hand in the air as he finished, "But interpret what you will from my words. Just try to enjoy the gift Romanoff gave you."

Clint was never a religious man, but Fury's warning rang in his ear every morning from then on. And additionally, so did the director's advice about what Tasha left him with.

So the archer carried out his penance. He lived with the memories of what he had done and honored the memory of his best friend because she saw something worth saving, all while hugging his family close.

Just as Tasha would have wanted.

A/N: Just a bit of backstory: I'm not super religious, but I was recently at a religious event for family and heard about the story of Babel and the tower. It stuck with me and as I go to thinking about Clint and his actions during Endgame, I felt like his story kind of paralleled the message I interpreted from the tower of Babel story. It just kind of spiraled into this one-shot and I'm not really sure how I feel about it in general because exploring religious themes isn't something I normally do.

But nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed it.