So this is a new idea I had. One of a kind. At least in English. I hope you guys enjoy it. If not, well, I honestly don't care. You won't discourage me. Rated for language. Feel free to criticize. Oh yeah, I don't own any characters, events, or anything you recognize from The Avengers or Percy Jackson. Written from Clint's 3rd person limited POV.
Clint dashed between the tents of the circus, gripping his bow desperately. It was the third time this happened this month. And it was the third fucking day of the month. Usually, there were at least a few days between... incidents. California was just bad news. He knew it, too. And no matter how awesome he was with his bow, it never helped in these situations. His arrows would just fly right through them. And it scared him. Because if his arrows flew right through them, then they would have to be ghosts. Except ghosts couldn't interact with the world around them. Ghosts couldn't nearly claw his face off. (That one had been difficult to explain to Barney.) Ghosts should be of things that had at least existed at some point or another. But they looked... Almost mythical. This one, for example, looked like some kind of ugly snake lady. Not like Medusa or anything. Her legs were snakes. Clint almost felt bad for the poor guys. It couldn't be pleasant, having to be around that stench all day long. But there wasn't much time at all to feel anything.
Clint ducked, barely getting out of the way in time to save his beautiful hair from getting chopped off. Yeah, it needed a cut, but not like that. He thought out a quick but effective plan while still running and ducked into his and Barney's trailer, praying to anyone listening that his brother wasn't there. Clint grabbed his quiver of wooden arrows (that had been tough to explain also. Everyone wanted to know why he was wasting time carving out crude arrows from sticks when he had a quiver full of perfectly good steel tip arrows already.) and swung it over his head before swiftly pulling one out and aiming. He aimed right at the eye of the hideous lady slithering right at him (huh. There's a thought you don't think every day), breathed out, and let go. Even with the badly shaped arrow, his aim was true. It whistled through the air and planted itself in the snake lady's right eyeball with a thud. Clint let out a breath. The thing was dead. Even though steel couldn't seem to affect these guys, wood seemed to work well enough. He found out when he dropped a wooden crate on the first to attack him and successfully squished it. Thankfully, clean up wasn't too hard, either. They all just turned into this weird, yellow-brown dust that blended into the ground well enough, leaving his arrow in the middle of the pile. Clint wasn't about to question it though. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? He bent down to pick up the arrow and stuck it back in his second quiver.
Clint ran his hand through his hair. This was getting ridiculous. He'd been lucky so far, what with the... things only coming when everyone else was either asleep or away. But his luck wouldn't hold. It never did. In fact, he was surprised to have any luck at all. One day, someone else would get hurt. Clint couldn't let that happen. Especially since it was pretty obvious that they were after him. The constant chasing of him may or may not have been the big clue to that. There was only one solution to this, at least one which didn't involve him dying. The archer ducked inside his trailer and stuffed some clothes in his bag along with his secret stash of money and made sure his pocket knife was in his pocket. He didn't look back when he left.