So this is my first published story here on fanfiction. I got this idea once I was falling asleep and I just had to get it on paper...or screen, nevermind :D This story is about Clint musing about his past life and past fears. I apologize for possible mistakes since I'm not a native English speaker.

I own nothing at all from the Avengers..unfortunately. Enjoy.

There weren't many things Clint was afraid of.

Every time he picked up his bow and prepared himself for a fight, he could feel his heart pumping, the adrenaline setting in. Every time he reached for another arrow he took a deep breath to steady himself and his mind for perfect aim. Every time he shot an arrow it hit mercilessly its target, his hands never shaking a bit. Those were the typical ordinary every times for him and he accomplished them without a blink.

But then there were other kinds of every times. Every time his fellow agent (there weren't actually many of them) was down, his breath caught in his throat and he started to feel anger building its way onto the surface. But he never let the anger consume him. It wasn't the same with Nat though. Nat was his own personal every time exception. Every time he saw her getting hurt he growled and let the anger take over until he fought his way to her. And he knew this anger was as close as he could get to fear. For now. But it hasn't always been like that.

He doesn't remember much of the night his parents died in the car accident. But he remembers one thing. Storm.

August 12, 1982

He was riding in a car with his parents to grandma's. Half an hour ago she gave them a call, saying that his baby brother Barney (who was currently staying at her place) was running a high fever. It was 3:12 in the morning and heavy raindrops were banging on the windows.

Clint woke up in his father's arms while he was carrying him to the car. Their neighbors weren't in town and his parents, Martha and John couldn't ask anyone to watch over him at this late night hour. Clint opened his tired blue eyes and looked at his father.

"Daddy?"

"Aaah, look who has woken up. Hey buddy." His father smiled down at him. Clint blinked, trying to persuade his eyes to stay focused.

"Are we finally going camping?" Clint managed to ask before yawning. His father chuckled and laid him down onto the backseat.

"Maybe next time." John lowered his voice when he saw his seven years old son's eyelids falling down.

" 'Kay." Clint huffed and fell into the world of dreams again.

He dreamed of camping with his father. He dreamed of it often. Whenever he asked his father if he would take him camping he always answered 'Maybe next time'. Little Clint wasn't one to give up though, so he kept asking. Unfortunately his father was exactly the same. He would always just chuckle and answer the annoying same sentence. When it was Clint's turn again, he would lift up his head, say OK, turn around and proudly walk away. It had become their little game.

Loud thunder woke him up from his dream. He jerked a bit but didn't sit up. He continued to lay and listen to the monstrous sounds of storm. It must've been quite close considering the period between the lightning and the thunder. Clint read that in the 'How to survive in the unpleasant nature of Alps' book. He wasn't planning on going to Europe but he found the book in his father's office once he was bored and found it interesting. Actually the chapter about the storm was the only one he managed to read before he got bored again.

Counting seconds between the lightning and thunder didn't entertain him for too long. There was the thing. Nothing could make little Clint occupied for too long. He was just too hyperactive.

He gave a long sigh which made his parents' attention turn to him.

"Hey, sweetheart. Go back to sleep, we're gonna drive for a while yet." His mother gave him one of her heart-warming smiles. He couldn't help but smile too. But his smile quickly changed into a deep frown.

"How long? Cuz I'm bored and can't sleep," complained Clint.

"You know what, buddy?" His father looked at him through rearview mirror. "You can think of stuff you'd like to do when we go camping."

Clint's eyes sparkled and he quickly sat up. His mother couldn't resist the urge to laugh at his incredulous expression.

"Really?" he asked, still not willing to believe his father so easily. His father laughed along with his mother.

"Well, I think you're old enough already, don't you think, buddy?" Clint jumped a little on his seat with excitement.

" You can teach me how to make a slingshot and…" His sentence was cut short by the lightning and the loudest sound of thunder he has ever heard.

After that moment all he remembers is black, unpleasant darkness even though the police said he was conscious when a truck driver found their car. He doesn't even remember waking up in a hospital. Children therapist he went to said that he must've suppressed his conscious mind in order to protect himself from the horrors of that night.

The accident didn't affect him as much as everyone thought. And when they realized that, they came up with theories why he acted his normal self, otherwise he would look like he didn't care his parents were dead. And they didn't want the image of an adorable psychopathic seven-year-old. It was quite ridiculous. Instead of being happy he's okay, they worried because he was okay. The official theory from his therapist stated that he buried the pain deep inside for protection but some day it might come out as a fatal psychic breakdown. Clint didn't understand why someone just couldn't accept the possibility that he was coping well.

But as the time went by he found out he wasn't as unaffected as everyone in the orphanage he was thrown into with his brother, thought. Every time there was storm outside, he jerked with every thunder he heard. He would hide in the closet so his brother couldn't see how he clasped his ears with hands, how scared he was.

He didn't understand his fear of storms. He knew it couldn't hurt him, especially when he was closed in the closet with blanket wrapped tightly around him. But somehow he just couldn't bring himself to stop crying and shaking. Sometimes he woke up at nights from nightmares, panicking. Nannies thought he had nightmares about the accident and they seemed relieved he expressed some sort of affection of that night. But the nightmares were never about the accident. There were always just storms. Just light and sounds, nothing else.

His fear of storms lasted for six years. Then he found refuge in something highly unexpected and his fear suddenly disappeared. It was like a true miracle. He can't help but smile when he thinks of the day it all came to an end. How ironic!

June 5, 1988

Clint was running down the hall of the Orphanage Youth Center building. He and his friend Marty were chasing his younger brother Barney, pretending they were starship warriors whose task was to hunt down the gigantic monster with eight eyes who wanted to eat the whole universe. Barney lost at rock-paper-scissors therefore he got the role of the monster.

Clint was the fastest of them, so it was no problem for him to catch his younger brother before he even reached the corner of the hall. Unfortunately while he was jumping at Barney to take him down and make the game seem more real, he managed to take down Nanny Jackie as well. It was really unfortunate accident. Nanny Jackie just picked up a wrong moment to come out of the door on the side of the hall, stepping right between Clint and Barney. She fell down on the floor along with the boys, the books she was holding flying everywhere.

Barney quickly stood up looking at the mess he's made with his brother, guilt written all over his face. Clint just stayed sitting in the mess, his 'uh oh' face put on, not quite sure if he should start laughing or worrying for his and Barney's well-beings. Marty was standing nearby laughing like a maniac but his laugh attack stopped as soon as he saw the murderous expression of Nanny Jackie. She started cursing in Polish, which scared them all. Then she took a deep breath before returning back to English.

"Pick up the books!" She was dangerously calm. They rather did as they were told without complaining. "Follow me!" The trio quietly followed her to the small library. "Put the books where they belong. When you're done with that difficult task for your little birdy brains, I want an alphabet list of all books in this library from each of you!"

"But-" Clint was cut off by Nanny Jackie.

"No buts! Get to work!" She turned on her heels and locked the door behind her. Clint, Marty and Barney stared at the door with shock.

"But there is no paper in here." Clint finished his sentence matter-of-factly.

"Did she just lock us down in a library? Can she even do such things?" Barney's jaw was hanging open.

"Dude, I can't be in here! I'm allergic to libraries! I'm gonna have a panic attack! See? I'm panicking! You gotta get me outta here, guys!" Marty started pretending a panic attack. Clint rolled his eyes. "Dude! That's not what panic attack looks like!"

"Yeah? And how would you know, huh?" Marty snapped at him. "It could've worked you know! I would start shaking and falling to the floor or whatever and you two would start yelling for help!"

"Dude, that's a seizure! Not a panic attack!" Clint corrected.

"Aaah, don't go all bioclopedia on me! Besides, who cares if I have a panic attack or seisure? Ha! See? No one!" Marty was king at talking nonsense and making dramatic gestures, Clint had to admit that.

"Seizure, not-"

"Shut up!"

"Okay, how about you two princesses stop bickering and get to work? I mean really, we've got a lot of work!" Barney stepped in.

"There is no paper in here!" Clint said very, very slowly for both of his companions to process the information. He really didn't want to repeat himself again.

"Well, okay then, problem solved by the witch's stupidity. Mission accomplished. Relax mode from now on!" Marty threw himself onto the only couch in the room.

"He's not going to put those books in their place, is he?" Barney looked at Clint hopelessly. Clint looked at the meditative-looking Marty and sighed.

"Guess not. Maybe it's for the best. Bet he doesn't even know where to put them. He would have to find the first letter of the author's name first. And then learn the alphabet." Barney chuckled at his brother's comment. "Hey, I think I'm calling it a day for me. Yeah, this floor is very comfortable."

"Why? You don't feel like reading, little bro?" Clint mischievously smiled. Barney couldn't help but smile too.

"Oh, shut up and let me sleep."

"Sweet dreams. Are you sure you don't want me to sing a lullaby for you?"

"Idiot."

"Asshole."

Clint wondered what to do. His brother was peacefully sleeping and Marty…well, he better didn't want to know what Marty was doing. There was something seriously wrong with that guy. But man cannot wonder, in this house everyone was messed up. He picked up the books that Marty didn't place back. He returned three of them and let the fourth book lay on the table. He could use some reading, whatever the book was about. He sat on the table and picked it up. Norse Mythology. Great, of all books in here he has to pick the one about mythology. He really wasn't into these kinds of things, but he also didn't feel like getting up again. So he opened it and started reading.

He was drawn into the stories of Thor and the Warriors Three almost immediately. He enjoyed every single adventure they went through. Some were funny, some stupid and simple, some clever and catchy and some heroic and warlike. Those became his most favorite. He loved how heroic was Thor described in battles. How powerful he was, how he could summon lightning with one swish of his mighty hammer, Mjölnir.

Thor suddenly became his idol image. He wanted to become an honorable warrior just like Thor was. But mostly he adored Thor's power of thunder. He was a dreamer back then and he could easily imagine storm as his personal ally. And that imagination seemed to ease up his fear. Since then, whenever stormy clouds began to darken the sky, he would just open the book and read until the sounds of storm faded. With the companion of Thor, the Mighty God of Thunder, storm couldn't hurt him.

"Barton, do you copy?" Fury's voice drew him back to reality.

"Copy, sir."

"You've got a mission to accomplish. Make sure Stark gets his metal ass in the action as well. He wouldn't answer my calls. Everybody else is ready in the jet room." Suddenly a struck of lightning lit up the sky and a thunder echoed nearby. Clint smiled. "And Thor is on his way."

Clint told Jarvis to get Stark and ran in the direction of the jet room himself. When he was passing the elevators he saw a glimpse of certain red cape. "Greetings to you Eye of Hawk!"

"Same to you, Thor. Why did you use the elevators? You could simply fly to the jet room."

"I'm trying to learn these Midgardian manners Man of Iron told me so eagerly about. And I finally managed to accomplish the right usage of this lifting box!"

"Right. Good job with that, buddy." Clint grinned for himself.

So yes, there used to be times when he was scared senseless. But he managed to find something, someone that helped him heal from that fear. And now he was standing here talking with his savior about elevators or lifting boxes, whatever.

Clint owed this guy so much. Maybe he can let go of that emotionless mask of his someday and have a drinking contest with Thor. And then he would be so drunk that he would probably admit all of his fanboying.

Damn Coulson! He's been spending too much time with him lately!