A/N: So I hope you'll bear with me on this. I'm 65% deaf in both ears myself and I tried my best to put that what feels like in Clint's case. I've never tried that before. It's kinda weird to do. XD But I hope you like it. When I heard that Hawkeye was 80% deaf after an accident in the comics, I just about jumped out of my seat. Finally, a popular superhero with hearing loss. You just don't see that a lot. Of course I had to write a little something for it!
If there is one thing that Clint Barton hates the most, its people looking down at him in pity like he was incapable of handling things like a normal human being. A liability. Weak. He was doing just fine working solo missions and the occasional one with Natasha Romanoff or another member of SHIELD that has the jurisdiction of working with Clint (he was never given rookies, and he was just fine with that). And only Natasha, and Director Fury, of course, knew about his hearing loss. He's had it for a while now, but it feels like forever rather than just a few odd months short of 6 years. A mission gone awry, an explosion that had left him staring at the blue sky as everything erupted around him. Bombs had gone from trembling sounds to muffled thumps and voices became mumbles. His partner, Jacob, was yelling in his face and he had absolutely no idea what the hell the guy had been saying and he passed out seconds later. He woke up in a SHIELD infirmary and he was bombarded with tests, assurances, and doctors calmly telling him that it was most likely not coming back any time soon. He was disabled.
The incident had rendered him nearly deaf, and that hadn't stopped him one bit in his work with SHIELD. Actually, it did him good. He had been great at his skill as a marksman, but his senses after the explosion? Just months after, he could notice a difference with his precision of what things come next and what each smell is and what something feels like. Every sense was heightened now, especially his eyesight, and that had been the only blessing he felt he had gotten from the curse. Sometimes, when targeting a shot and having a need for concentration, he turned off his hearing aids and was greeted with a familiar empty silence that surrounded his entire being and felt like it could swallow him up. It didn't, and aimed and fired and always hits the shot. He wasn't bragging. He was just that good.
He read lips like a pro now. He hardly even had to hear at all for him to understand people since he had unconsciously mastered this.
Natasha never mentioned anything. Fury hardly did. He liked it better that way.
And then the Avengers happened. Don't get him wrong, he wasn't angry that he was a superhero now. He just maybe should have realized he was signing off his personal information as well as his skillset in the paperwork. When the disaster with the Chitauri subsided, and he got the chance to meet the team officially, it had been a crushing blow.
They all seemed so powerful.
Thor was a god, for Christ's sakes, and Steve was a super solider. Tony was a genius and billionaire with an attitude, Natasha was…Natasha. And Bruce Banner aka the Hulk? He didn't even have to explain that one. None of them had a petty disability holding them down. He knew that wasn't fair. After all, they all had their own shitty things to deal with.
It didn't change the fact that Clint felt a little inferior to them. It was bad enough that he'd been mind controlled by Loki and had committed things he never wanted to ever speak of again. He didn't tell his team about his hearing loss. He had hacked into SHIELD's databases long ago and erased all information about his disability, so they'd have to get it from the source. Or Natasha. But she wouldn't ever betray Clint's trust like that.
"You're going to have to tell them eventually." Natasha remarked to him one day.
"I will." Not until I have to.
2 months living with the Avengers in the Stark Tower (which was almost done with repairs) and cleaning up the "space whales and their fish" as Stark called them and Clint was sitting in a spaced area of the air vents. His hands were pressed against the metal and his eyes were closed. He could feel Thor talking and Steve punching the shit out of a sand punching bag in the lower gym. He could easily determine the difference, too. Thor's voice, deep and booming even to Clint, rumbled short and quick vibrations. If he tried hard enough, he could pick out a few words. Steve's punches rattled the bag tethered to the ceiling, fairly close to the vents. There was no sign of Bruce or Tony, but he could bet that they were in the big lab doing science-y things. Clint was smart, sure, but he was no genius. He didn't understand half of what Tony or Bruce was trying to say to him. Natasha was probably…wait, he could feel the bullets. Shooting range, then. He should spar with her later. He sighed in boredom and slumped against the duct.
Before, Clint could find something to do in every corner. He could spar with anyone on the helicarrier; he could visit agents he'd worked with in the past. He couldn't do that now because they all looked like he was going to kill them before they could blink. A lot of times, he wanted things to go back to the way they were. It was simpler. He didn't want to ever think of Loki taking control of him and watching helplessly through his own eyes and committed such destruction. Fucking mind control. Fucking Loki.
3 months after the assembling of the Avengers, there was another mission. Not an "end of the world" one this time. There was a dozen or so giant robots in Minneapolis city, tearing up buildings and scaring the living shit out of the citizens.
The helicopter landed right in the middle of the destruction, and he, Steve, and Natasha all ran out. Bruce lingered for just a moment before running out. He nodded to the captain, who nodded back, and took a deep breath. Then he wasn't Bruce Banner anymore.
Clint ran, quiver and bow ready, swiftly around cars and debris. He ran into a now evacuated office building and used the elevator to get to the near top. He perched himself on the ledge of the building through an open window. Repositioning his bow, he craned his neck as he examined the drone.
It was bulky, made especially to look menacing and impenetrable. But there's always a catch. His eyes scanned the back, and finally, he saw a faint glow in the hollow of the back of the neck. That'd knock out the transmitter. It would be out of control from whatever was commanding it, and the circuits would fry and, as Clint assumed, would go into "shock", giving Tony the chance to shoot it down from Iron Man suit.
He arched his bow, focused on the glow, and released his fingers. The explosive arrow zoomed straight into the transmitter and the robot trembled and shook for a second, its massive legs faltering for a second. In the pause, Tony used his repulsors to take it down.
One down, 8 to go.
"Barton! Hate to ruffle your nest, but we need you down here. The energy beams are jamming the signal, and we need to stay in contact." Steve ordered from the comm. Clint's eyes narrowed. He hated being on the ground in situations like these. It was too exposing. But, as Fury had so kindly explained to him, he had to follow the captain's orders. Muttering a curse under his breath, he made his way back down again.
When he reached the street, the captain and Natasha were both fending off mini-robots that were scurrying around the cars and lampposts, and Hawkeye shot at 3 of them without a moment's hesitation. Then another 5. 3 more giant robots, courtesy of Iron Man and the Hulk, went down.
Then one of the robots led out a mechanical roar, and Clint's comms that were connected to his hearing aids went static. There were shouts on the other end, but he couldn't make out any sense. Then an electric blast was swarming around him, not harming him, but his panic flared when his aids sparked, sputtered, and went dead. Swearing loudly, or so he assumed because it was quiet now and there was an annoying whooshing noise. He yanked them from his ears and examined them. They were fried. "Shit!"
He was still fumbling with them, and his comm had shorted out long ago, so he couldn't tell Natasha that he- SLAM!
A tremendous force plummeted him to the pavement and his head connected painfully with the pavement. He might have blacked out. He wasn't exactly sure. In his dazed state, though, instinct kicked in and he froze; arms tight against his throbbing side and legs prepared to kick out if anyone tried to intercept him.
"Clint!" He knew it was his name, and that it was Natasha. After a couple of years you learned voices by heart even if you couldn't hear it very well. He lifted his head and her face filled his vision. She seemed to realize that something was wrong with Clint's hearing, because she used sign language to ask if he was all right.
"Aids are dead," he murmured. She frowned, then gently slid a hand under his back and helped him stand. His side hurt like a bitch. At least a few cracked ribs, then. He'd broken enough to know what it felt like. He glanced around, shifted, and winced as he looked down. His arm had a damn good road rash on it. The Captain was finishing off the last few mini robots. Visibly, there was only one big robot left and the Hulk was finishing it off.
Tony landed in his suit near the two, and pulled up his face plate. He wasn't happy. Clint's ears were barely catching any sound at all, less than usual what with his head fucking swimming, but he could hear the roar of the Hulk. Tony's lips were moving now.
"Rogers was…to move…why didn't…move?" That's all Clint could make out. He felt too light headed to concentrate. But his mind pieced together what happened. A totaled car lay in ruins a few feet away. He recalled Hulk tossing the cars to…oh. One of the cars had hit him. He could have easily moved and it wouldn't have been a problem if he'd been paying attention or been able to hear the yelling of his teammates.
He looked desperately at Natasha, and she gave a small shake of her head. And he knew that he wasn't getting out of this one.
A/N: I want to write an extra chapter on Clint explaining to the Avengers of his hearing loss, but let me know if I should just keep where it is or write more. Thanks for reading. And if you saw any areas I could improve on, please tell me. I love writing with a fiery passion and being 14 years old and trying to be as professional as I can without overdoing it is difficult.
