Hey! This is my first story on FF, so be nice. I'm a big Hawkeye fan, I was really disappointed that he only got 14 minutes of screen time on the entire Avengers movie. Add in the fact that for most if that he was Loki's minion, well I wasn't too pleased. Anyways I've read pretty much everything on Hawkeye and black widow on this site. So I've decided that I'll give it a go myself. If you think it's crap, tell me what I can do to make it better. I've a few chapters written so far and have a pretty solid plan written. My Hawkeye will take parts from the comics and from the movie. So if you're wondering that's why. The story is the recruitment story of how he became a SHIELD agent. Things will pick up in the next few chapters I'm just getting his backstory done first, not a whole lot if action starlight away but if you're patient it'll come. Anyway here we go.

Clint Barton learned from an early age how to look out for himself. He realised that in our messed up world, the only person you can ever trust is yourself. Some might say that is a strange outlook on life for a seven year old boy. But Clint Barton was never just ordinary at anything. At seven years of age Clint had the mental capacity and thought process of a young teen. Clint's intelligence was what separated him from pretty much everyone else his age. Clint was a child genius, he was able to do anything he set his mind to. He was already over 4ft tall, and was well on his way to well above average height. Unlike most children his age, Clint had already taken it upon himself to start an exercise programme, which included push ups, sit ups and laps of the trailer park he lived in. The results were already starting to show, as he had built up a small amount of muscle on his frame. The last and possibly strangest difference between him and other seven year olds was his eyes. Clint's eyes were a blue like the sea, a blue so blue that if you looked into them it would seem as if there was a swirling whirlpool when he was enraged ,which wasn't often as he had fantastic self control. The scarier part was that when he wanted, basically on command, he could change his eye colour. When he did the became like two pools of ice with small gold flecks in the centre. When you looked into them they would chill you to the bone .

At the this moment in time Clint lived with his parents, a word he hates calling them as they were never that to him. He also had one older brother named Barney who was just over two years older than him. He and Barney never got on. They were polar opposites. Barney was loud and brash. While Clint was quiet, calm and distant.

They lived in a small trailer, on the outskirts of an abandoned trailer park, in a small town called Waverly, in the state of Iowa. The town was small, very small. Only a couple of hundred people lived there, due to the fact that there was so few people living there, it was a close knit community. Everyone got on just fine apart from the Barton's.

Clint's father, Harold, was infamous in the small town. The townsfolk had a good idea what Harold did to his kids. They just didn't care. He had been a hell raiser when he grew up so they didn't want his kids to turn out like him. They thought he was doing the right thing, so they turned a blind eye.

Clint's mother Edith, also turned a blind eye, not for the same reason as the town. But to save her own skin. Clint never loved here like every other seven year old lives their mom. They never had a relationship, so there was no love lost between the two of them. She may not have existed for all Clint cared.

Clint hated his father with a burning passion, and to a lesser extend his mother.

He hated that there was never any one there for him as he grew up, no one to help him, no one to look out for him. No one to stop his father from beating him religiously. But what he hated most of all for some reason his father singled him out while usually leaving his older brother, Barney.

He could never figure out why and that was what annoyed him the most.

Clint hated not knowing .

The sun was setting, a light breeze rustled the nearby leaves as it past. The orange glow basked Clint's young form in its warmth as he sat completely still up in his nest, which was at the top of a 30ft tree near his trailer. Ever since he could remember Clint always had an obsession with getting up somewhere high. He liked the silence, he liked being alone. Nothing could hurt him if he was alone, people couldn't hurt him if they couldn't see him. When Clint was up in his nest, he always either sat there thinking, or he was doing pull ups on a thin branch near the ground, to build up his strength.

Right now we find him thinking, he was wondering where the rest of his family was. Harold had taken his wife and his eldest son with him on a car journey. That itself was a strange occurrence. They had taken their old pick up truck, which was barely road legal. Clint found the whole event strange. Barney usually tried to stay away from his dad, the same way he did. So it was strange for him to tag along. Clint passes the time by swirling the knife he always had on his person at all times. With practiced ease the blade, was spun dangerously near to his hands at high speed. Clint had found that he had insane hand-eye co-ordination, another thing to add onto the list of things that made him unique.

Clint wasn't worried, the weight of the blade was comfortable in. He had found it about two weeks ago. Ever since then he was waiting for the time when it would come in handy. He practiced all day every day, until he was happy with his proficiency with the strange thing was that there had been no beatings since then. That was very strange, Clint couldn't have recalled a time where he had gone so long without a beating. Mind you the last one he received, was the most vicious he had ever experienced. Harold had been so drunk,that he didn't care if he left permanent damage. To make matters worse he had used his belt which had left deep welts all over his back. Clint never made a sound as it happened. He didn't want to give his father the satisfaction. Clint had taken it as a challenge to keep quiet during the ordeal. Clint loves had taken him while to be up and running, even now the welts hadn't healed. He knew the scars would probably never go away. In a strange kind of way he liked the scars, he felt as if they were a testament to his toughness.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the screech of tires, trying desperately to find traction on the sandy road that curved into the entrance of the park. Clint looked up to find his dad's old pick up truck flying down the sandy trail. The wheels were kicking up huge amounts of dust in its wake as it sped by. The truck kept getting closer, it was only a hundred yards away now. What happened next Clint was not expecting. His father pulled too harshly on the wheel, the entire truck tilted to one side. In a blink of an eye the truck had started to roll, and at breakneck speeds, literally. The car kept rolling until it came into contact with the solid trunk of a tree.

Clint took this all in very quickly. He knew ten seconds before the truck began to roll what would happen. The truck was going at well over 60mph. If that hit anything, the occupants of the truck were as good as dead.

Clint was right.

His mother was tossed through the air like a rag doll, straight through the windshield. She was dead as soon as she hit the floor. Barney shared the same faith, he was sitting in the back if the truck on the flatbed. There was nothing for him to hold onto as he received the same treatment as his mother. Clint didn't spare them a second glance as he heard a pained groan from the drivers seat.

Just like that, two members of Clint's family were dead.

Clint wasn't distraught, he was more numb than anything else. His sharp eyes which he learned when he was younger were far better than anyone else he had ever heard of scanned the wreckage for the third body. He found him still trapped in the wreckage.

Clint slowly made his way over to the drivers side if the truck. He glanced up and caught the eyes of his father. With slow methodical steps, he came closer.

"Oh, how the tables had turned," Clint thought.

Harold fought his way through the pain and blurred vision. You could say a lot of things about Harold Barton, but he was a fighter. That was for sure, Clint was slightly proud that he inherited that trait. He didn't think he would make it life if he wasn't a fighter. This man who he hated with every fibre of his being,was now in the position of vulnerability. But still he was able to meet his gaze after a viscous car crash.

Harold looked into his eyes. Clint was extremely surprised by what he saw, he was proudness in his fathers eyes.

Clint had never seen that before.

" I've always known you were special Clint," Harold rasped out.

Clint's eyes widened. His father never really spoke to him. He then furrowed his brow,he wasn't sure what to make of his fathers comment.

"What do you mean?"Clint asked, confusion clearly evident in his voice.

"You've always been smart Clint, smarter than someone your age should be, your gonna grow up to be something, I don't know what, but what I do know is that you've gotta be tough."Harold stated firmly.

Clint's eyes narrowed," That's where you come in, huh?" The accusation clear in his tone.

Harold chuckled lowly, he had already caught on. He really was something special.

"Yeah, that was my job, I need one son to carry on my name. That's why I picked you Clint, your tough, always have been, always will be." Harold coughed out. His injuries were making themselves known. Clint had almost forgotten them. He glanced down and saw the blood dripping from his fathers mouth. He saw his face contort in pain.

"I'm not gonna make it, your smart enough to see that. Will you do me one last favour before I go Clint?" Harold asked softly.

Clint didn't let it show on his face but he was very surprised,his father never spoke to him like that before. The next thing that registered in his kind was that he had a fair idea what he was going to ask of him. He schooled his features to form an emotionless mask, in preparation for what may come.

"What do you need me to do?" Clint asked warily, trepidation clear in his voice.

"Kill me Clint, it will take me half an hour of excruciating pain before my body gives up on me. My injuries are all Clint, I can't take it any more."Harold pleaded with him.

Clint's hands shook. His dad never pleaded with him for something, this was such a cruel thing to do to a seven year old boy.

Harold could clearly see the hesitation in his sons eyes.

"I know you've had a tough life so far, and I'm to blame for it, but I have a feeling that it's only going get tougher. If you can handle this you'll handle anything. I'm sorry it had to be like this, but I'm satisfied that you'll live through this and become stronger for it. So come on, man up and get it over with son!" By the end of his speech, his injuries had caught up to him. They were making it hard to talk, and so his last few words were said in a pained growl.

"You sure?" Clint asked firmly. The speech had given him the motivation he needed right now. He wasn't sure how long it would last, but right now he would be able to do it.

"I'm sure Clint" his father rasped out, hoping his son would end his pain.

Clint neared his father, his blade now clutched tightly in his hands. The blade was inching towards his fathers neck. Only a slight tremble noticeable. The sharp blade stilled as it touched his neck. Clint had seen in some of the comics that he found in the library, that if you cut the neck deep enough, it would sever the jugular. Killing the victim almost instantly.

So that's what he did, with one quick stroke, before he chickened out, he did it.

He watched with detached eyes as the life left the eyes of his father. He wasn't sad, he never had a real father. Not like the ones you see in the movies, where everything's perfect, and they play catch in the garden with smiles on their faces. No. This was the man who had taken away his childhood, his innocence. More than anything he just felt numb.

Than the realisation of him becoming a murderer at the tender age of seven hit him.

Seven. Wow. He never would have never thought things could spin out of control so fast. At the start of the day everything in his messed up world was okay, by his standards anyway. Now everything had changed. With one last look at the wreckage, he turned and started walking Back to the trailer. Never to look back again.

Tucking the blade into the waistband of his trousers he started packing up anything of value into a small black knapsack. After packing his belongings, included, 3 pairs of shorts and trousers, a handful of t-shirts, a thick jacket of his older brother, that was too big for him,a warm wooly hat,$54.37, and his knife . Not a lot for someone who was fending for themselves at the age of seven. But it would last until he could resupply.

Without looking back he walked out of the trailer, heading for the nearest main road. When he reached the edge of the road, a sign caught his sharp eyes.

"Carson Carnival of Travelling Wonders"

Was written in huge colourful letters on a nearby billboard. The billboard had a small note in the corner saying

"1 Mile, North."

Clint knew that the circus would be his best bet. Without another thought on the matter, Clint tugged the knapsack tighter over his shoulders and set off towards the circus.

Leaving behind his old life, for a new one. Why did he get the feeling that any life he chose would always be tough and lonely? Breaking out of his musings, he realised that for once he was in control. Even though he wasn't entirely sure what he was in control of he knew he liked it better than the alternative.

Having a choice was always a good thing.

There we go!

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Thanks!