*AUTHOR NOTE AS OF 4/27/19 at 3:45 PM EST*
I wrote this story and posted it on AO3 days before I saw Avengers: Endgame. This story, in entirety, is based off my thoughts from Clint's appearance in the first trailer for the film and nothing more. It is NOT a spoiler and any similarities to the film are coincidental. I have since seen it. It's brilliant. And I'm not sad about the direction this story went. Actually, I'm quite pleased with parts of it, now that I know. If you've seen it, you'll have an idea, if not, I'm not telling.
"It's him," Natasha exhaled slowly and shifted her hold on the umbrella.
"You're sure? I don't have visuals. Can you get any closer?" The security camera on the front of a looted and burned out electronics shop - despite having been abandoned, the red and yellow neon lights of the overhead sign still buzzed and flickered - swiveled around, slowly sweeping down the crowded street.
Crowded. Natasha had been here before. In the sweltering heat of midsummer, the streets had been teeming with humanity. It hadn't seemed possible for so many people to occupy one small street. The surge of life had coursed around her, the cacophonous thrum of society existing had been nearly overwhelming.
Crowded? Not a single person had bumped her shoulder, tangled their umbrella together with hers, or tripped her up in over six city blocks. Crowded. No. Not crowded. This place hadn't truly been crowded, hadn't overflowed with people, in months. Not since Thanos… Not since that day.
The Decimation. That's what they were calling it.
There were people, though. Far more than she was comfortable with, considering her errand; life continued on after all. What more could they do?
"Nat?" Steve's voice in her ear drew her focus back to their target. She paused, fidgeted with the grip on the umbrella handle, and squared her shoulders.
"It's him." She started walking again, the umbrella held low and her collar turned up. "You'll see what he wants you to see."
"That doesn't even make sense," Scott's voice crackled and the comlink screeched with feedback.
"What the hell?" Natasha hissed as she tucked her chin into her collar. She stopped suddenly, no one bumped into her back, when a shadow shifted down a dank alleyway. A moment later a rat scurried out. She pursed her lips, but stayed otherwise motionless.
"It's this darn headset. I didn't know Fisher-Price actually made a baby's first spy kit." Scott grumbled as the telltale sound of an old school mic being adjusted made Natasha wince.
"You get the big boy headset back when you put it back together," Rhodey snapped. "Until then, you lose com privileges." There was the sound of a struggle, and the feed with the static was quickly cut off. "Damn techie, bad as Tony. Gonna be the death of me," he muttered as he came back on line.
"Can't leave you boys alone for one hour…" Natasha's words trailed off. Remaining still in her spot, she twisted the umbrella grip.
Steve cleared his throat. "Nat." The camera over a deli - an oddity for the location, though it was actually open for business - caught her eye then swiveled away.
"Got him." She followed the angle of the camera to the man exiting the laundry thirty yards ahead of her. Superbly tailored suit. Three, no... four concealed weapons. Stood a head taller than nearly everyone on the street, his shoulders were twice as broad. He scanned the crowd, smirked, and took one step out from under the awning.
"Biometric scans confirm identity, Miss Romanoff," F.R.I.D.A.Y. verified. "Proceed to target with extreme caution."
"You know me," she winked at the electronics store camera and turned the umbrella grip a quarter turn left.
"That's the problem," Steve sighed at the same moment Rhodey huffed, "shit."
Before there was time to act, before he could even cry out, the man in the suit fell right where he stood. Already dead as he crumpled to the ground.
The crowd parted around him, barely, and left him lay in the growing puddle of grime and blood. No one stopped to help, or paused long enough to catch a glimpse of his attacker. Someone mumbled, "lucky bastard" as they walked past Natasha.
The world moved on, weary of seeing. Of caring. Of feeling.
No one but Natasha, frozen to her spot, paid any mind to the hooded figure standing still as a statue over the dead man.
"It's..." Steve whispered.
The man wiped the gore from his blade on the crook of his arm, sheathed his weapon on his back, and lowered the hood.
"Clint." Not even a whisper, Natasha mouthed his name. He turned his head just enough - she would recognize that profile anywhere.
"Positive identity," F.R.I.D.A.Y. began. "Barton, Clint. Aliases: Hawkeye, Ronin-"
"Not now," Rhodey cut the A.I. off. "Send it to Bruce, with anything else you find about where he's been since his incarceration."
"Clint." Natasha breathed his name again and took a step toward him. He made a quick gesture, pulled the hood back over his head, and seemed to melt into the crowd.
Rhodey growled. "Where the hell did he go?"
"That signal," Steve paused and seemed to reconsider. "Nat? What was that."
"I know where he's going." She twisted the umbrella grip hard to the right, closed it, and turned quickly back against the natural flow of the pedestrians around her.
"You've been there before." Natasha could hear Steve beginning to understand.
"Hell. Twenty minutes." Scott cut in, without the static or feedback.
"What? Lang, I swear to god." The threat was sincere in Rhodey's tone.
"Arrow guy's signal." Scott clarified. "He said 'Hell. Twenty minutes.'"
Steve snorted. "How could you possibly know that?"
"He's right," Natasha glanced up at a camera and grinned.
"But-" Steve scoffed.
"American Sign Language," Scott explained. "Cassie's best friend is deaf."
"So you… you learned sign language?" Rhodey sounded stunned, and a little impressed.
"Wouldn't you?" Scott laughed.
"Scott, that's…" There was no hiding the fact that Steve too was impressed.
"Alright, boys. I'm glad we're all friends again." Natasha shouldered her way through a group of elderly men standing around a window with a television broadcasting the world news. "Let's not forget the point of all of this. You need to get ready. He's not going to be happy to see any of you."
"And where are you going?" Steve turned another camera to follow Natasha's progress.
"Exactly where Clint said." She checked the time on a scrolling sign she passed. "I've got fifteen minutes to get to hell."
A/N
Clint's signal is in ASL for a reason. I know not everything translates 100% from the comics to the screen, but one thing I think it's unfortunate that Marvel Studios glazed over is the fact that Clint is deaf. So, this is my little shout out. An attempt at at least a bit of representation.