A/N: A couple of my projects are in a state where they're waiting for the spark to light up once more. Soooo… I decided to let them rest for a bit and grab a hold of this MARVELOUS request I've received.

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE…! Like I'd ever have the money to hire someone like Jeremy Renner… But hey, a girl can dream! And I DO own a couple of Hawkeye figurines and some DVDs. (chuckles) But NOPE, sadly the characters aren't mind. The injustice of the world…!

WARNINGS: MOVES IN TWO TIMELINES, HIGHLY LIKELY CHARACTER DEATH, contains adult themes including death and child abuse, violence, weirdness, language… Okay, stop stomping each other on your way out, it's impolite!

Awkay, because starting out a new story is always unnerving… Let's go! I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

Broken Arrows

Two First Meetings

/ Phil Coulson had heard the story a million times before. A poor, unfortunate kid who'd been led to some questionable deeds by the fact that they really didn't have any other choice. To be honest he wasn't entirely sure why he agreed to meet the brat. He definitely wasn't looking for a moody teenager to train and look after.

But alas, he stepped out of a hospital's elevator on a miserably rainy day of October. He rubbed his face with one hand, the exhaustion over having been awake for almost thirty hours finally catching up with him. He should've had coffee before doing this.

A nurse was just leaving the room when he approached. She was in her late fifties, large and decidedly motherly with her warm brown eyes. She gave him a look of deep suspicion. "The police already questioned the kid", she snapped sharply.

Phil gave her his best charming smile. "They weren't from my unit", he explained. "I won't bother him for long, I promise."

She glared at him for several endless moments. He felt tempted to wonder if she was actually able to read his mind. In the end her eyes narrowed. "You'd better not", she huffed at last. "We just had to medicate him to keep him from having a panic attack."

Phil frowned. That… didn't sound exactly promising. The encounter with a possibly heavily doped up kid definitely didn't feel like a good idea. "A panic attack?"

"He had a nightmare. He managed to punch two nurses and kick a security guard at a wall before we had the chance to get the situation under control." She gave him a one more look, clearly still not quite sure if he should be permitted entrance. "He's a terrified kid who has been through far too much. Attack is the only way he knows to defend himself. So go easy on him. And if you distress him I won't hesitate to have you removed from this facility. Is that clear?"

Phil had to bite back a smile. Obviously the boy had already managed to obtain a fan. The realization was oddly heartwarming. "Yes, ma'am."

Phil took a one more, deep breath. Then opened the door. It was the first but certainly not the last time he met Clint Barton.

The sight he encountered was miserable. Clint had bruises everywhere he could see and one of the boy's eyes was dangerously close to having swollen closed. A split lip enforced the teenager's grim expression. The eighteen-year-old cradled an arm that'd obviously been dislocated but hadn't been tended to yet. Stubborn to the last, then. As much could be read from those eyes that seemed far too old for someone of the boy's age.

Phil moved, his lips parting for a greeting. That was when Clint finally noticed him. The boy's gaze was full of mistrust while boring into his, searching. "You a fed?" That voice sounded so exhausted that it would've shattered anyone's heart. But it wasn't defeated. Despite already having been beaten the boy was obviously ready for another round. Was it insanity or bravery?

Phil blinked twice. "No, I'm not with the FBI." He took a card from his pocket, some sixth sense warning him to keep his motions slow, and offered it to the tense boy. "You've probably never heard of S.H.I.E.L.D…"

"I have." The sharp, immediate answer was a surprise. Enough so to distract attention from the fact that Clint didn't accept the card. A hooded, wary look took over those blue eyes. "I'm a criminal but I didn't realize that I fell into that kind of a radar."

For a moment Phil's poker face failed. Perhaps it did some good because surprise flashed on Clint's face, almost like a realization. The agent sighed, already seeing a long, rocky road ahead of them if the kid would by some miracle accept his proposition. "You're no criminal, Clint", he pointed out. "You've done some stupid stuff. But this is your chance to prove that you're better than those deeds." He folded his arms. "I'm offering you a spot in our training program." /

A lot of people had visited Phil Coulson's grave. It wasn't a surprise. He'd been very well liked within the agency and somehow the man also managed to have a life outside it. There was even a single rose with no note attached to it. Perhaps it was from the agent's famous cellist.

Clint swallowed, unable to erase the bitter taste rising to his mouth. It'd been exactly three years. To date. He'd known to expect that this day wouldn't be pleasant. He hadn't anticipated that he'd still feel like someone had tossed one elephant to his shoulders and another to dance on his chest.

He hadn't been able to convince himself into visiting earlier. During the funeral he was still under evaluation in the Loki-aftermath. And when that was finally over… Well, his head wasn't exactly in the best of places. Seeing the grave and what it meant… It would've been too much. Then missions began to pile up. They were a welcomed distraction. At least he didn't have to constantly face the reminders of his betrayal.

But no amount of running away changed the fact that a lot of good people died because Clint led Loki to S.H.I.E.L.D. Including Phil, one of the very, very few people who'd ever believed that he could be a decent human being. Had it been less bitter the irony might've been amusing.

Clint sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping, and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. He couldn't look away from the stone and the name on it although he would've wanted to. "I'd tell you that I'm sorry." And he meant it, from the bottom of his heart. Even if the words tasted bitter in his mouth. "But… What difference would it make? I just… I hope you know, wherever you are."

Wind made the leaves everywhere around him dance and rustle. For a few seconds he could've sworn that he heard steps. It took all his willpower to refrain from looking over his shoulder. He was far too fond of looking back.

"You were the first one who ever believed in me, you know." It didn't occur to him that he'd said those words out loud until they already fell past his lips. He hung his head, watched how the wind made leaves crawl over his shoes. "You shouldn't have." With those as his parting words he began to walk away, feeling old and weary beyond his years.

He was too preoccupied by his thoughts to sense the person watching him.

Five hours later Clint was approaching the Farm. Usually going there made him feel good and lighter, despite all the precautions he was forced to take. But this time he couldn't shake off the nagging voice in the back of his head that whispered about something being badly wrong.

Clint had just parked his car a subtle distance away from the building when his phone bleeped, announcing a new text message. He frowned and fished the item to his hand. What he found made him freeze dead on his tracks.

A second ticked by. Then another. And Clint was running, as fast as he possibly could. He already saw the Farm and opened his lips for a desperate scream. He never got the chance to utter a sound.

The whole building exploded, sending Clint heavily to the ground and into darkness.

At the age of thirty-five Linda Renner had already been a nurse for over ten years. She'd worked in a hospital for eight of those. Throughout those years she'd become a witness to a lot of memorable things.

For the past couple of hours she'd been observing a man who'd most likely come to visit a patient. The visitor paced around restlessly. Ten times – or actually, eleven now – he'd approached her desk before changing his mind and resuming the pacing. A vast majority of the time passed he'd had a phone in his hand or pressed against his ear. She couldn't hear what he said and she didn't know how to read lips but the news clearly weren't good.

Despite not knowing the man she felt sorry for him because he looked like he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Eventually another man, dark skinned and one eyed, appeared. The men exchanged a few heated words before heading towards her. She arched an eyebrow. "How may I help you?"

The dark skinned man ended up being the one who spoke. To his credit he clearly tried to sound polite but didn't quite manage it. "We're looking for a patient named William Brandt. I'm his emergency contact, Nick Fury."

Linda nodded, trying to keep her mind from jumping into guesses and conclusions. She did check the given name, however. It matched the patient's records. "Yes, right." She searched her computer. "He sustained a concussion and some burns, along with a lot of deep bruising. But he's conscious. Actually, he was just transferred to room 221. If…" By the time she looked up the men were already gone.

Phil knew that Nick was talking to him. On occasion he even responded. But he had absolutely no idea what, exactly, they were talking about.

Three years. Three freaking years of being dead and this was how he was forced to return? It didn't make any sense to him.

"Are you sure that you're up to this?" Nick's gaze held deep suspicion. "This may not be the best timing."

Phil sighed. "What exactly would be a good timing anymore?" It'd already been too long.

It was the second time Phil Coulson met Clint Barton for the first time and something told him that this would be far more challenging than the last.

TBC?

A/N: Now there's a start…! So, what exactly happened to Clint's family? Did he lose them? And how is he going to handle Phil's return, especially now?

The word's yours, folks! Good? Bad? To be deleted? PLEASE, do drop a word or two to let me know. You could consider it your day's good deed…

In any case, thank you so much for reading! Who knows. Maybe I'll see you again?

Take care!