Clint Barton had amazing aim. That much was common knowledge. The Avengers all knew that, S.H.I.E.L.D. knew that, the mad-men that he went up against knew that. But they also knew something else. They also knew that Clint, no matter how brilliant an archer he was, was just that.

An archer.

A human.

Breakable.

Fragile, Tony had once called him. It had been an off hand comment after a fight with Whirlwind. A fight in which Clint had been lifted off the ground and slammed into a car, breaking three ribs and gaining an impressive bruise on his back and his left side. It had hurt and, really, the unofficial leader of the team had all the rights in the world to be calling Clint such.

But, even though it hurt like a bitch and pushed the rocky relationship he had with the billionair genius even further to the edge of the cliff, Clint didn't care. He'd shot out of that bed anyways and grabbed Tony by the collar of his perfectly pressed suit before anyone could question what he was doing.

"Never call me that again." He had snarled. And then he'd left. With no warning and no other words to anyone. The Avengers didn't see hide nor hair of him for almost a month. Then, right when they needed him the most, he'd swooped in and saved them all.

Saved the city.

Saved the state.

Saved the country.

Saved the world.

It was different every time. A different enemy, a different weapon, a different target. And all that he got in return was a pat on the back and a warning not to run off again. No apologies. No questions. And that was fine. Clint liked it that way.

He didn't want to tell them all that the reason he was constantly leaving wasn't just because he didn't like the social aspect of the team. It wasn't just because he disagreed with Tony's views on the world or got tired of listening to Hank preach about peace and finding ways around fighting. That was part of it but it wasn't the root of his decisions.

And, honestly, Clint was surprised that no one had put it together yet. It wasn't that hard to connect the referrences to him being a regular human with his impromptu 'vacations'. No one seemed to have figured it out though. Jan, occasionally, would give him a knowing look but that was as far as it went.

It was starting to piss him off.

They had no right to tell him he was weak! No right to tell him that he was fragile and breakable and so very human. Clint already knew all of that! He'd known it back when he first joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and he hadn't forgotten it just because he was surrounded by a team of near-invincible warriors. By Gods and mutants and men that could withstand being crushed by a truck. Men that America worshipped and praised and thanked, time and time again.

So what if he was human? If he had no fancy armor or fancy powers? Did that make him any less a valueable member to the team? Clint knew that it didn't. That was why he left. To show them that they needed him. And to show himself that he didn't need any of them. That, even if the words they said were true, they didn't controll his life.

He could fight just as well as they could, with or without a team.

It was the truth. Clint knew that it was. He'd proven it over and over. Each time that he decided he couldn't take Steve's worried glances or Tony's snide remarks, every time that he left the team and went a whole town over, whenever he came back and saved them all. But that was where his 'knowledge' ended. Because he knew that he could make it on his own, not having to put up with any of them and their annoying habits, completely free-lance. No Stark Industries. No S.H.I.E.L.D. and no Fuery.

Yet he came back to them, each and every time.