Before we start I just want to let you know that I've changed Hawkeye's story line ever so slightly and instead of being born in 1971, Hawkeye is born in 1976, making him three years older than Dean Winchester and seven years younger than Sam. Otherwise Clint would have been twelve years older than Sam and I decided that this would have made it extremely hard for Clint and Sam to have a close brotherly relationship as Clint would have been away for most of Sam's childhood when John would take him on hunts. Other than that everything should stay virtually similar to the story lines, and if anything changes in the future I will let you know before the chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Supernatural or the Avengers.
Chapter 1- A new beginning, Clint aged 7
Clint Barton, the seven year old orphan who'd lost his parents when he was four, leant his head against the glass window, staring up at the sky with a look of longing written across his face for the world to see. His legs were pulled up to his chest and his arms rested on his knees whilst a bag lay forgotten beside him. It was packed with all of his belongings yet it still looked virtually empty, not that Clint had taken any notice of that small fact.
Everyone at the care home had very few things they could actually call their own. Clint had more than what was considered normal, especially compared to his roommate, Liam, who had arrived last week with only a small back pack to show off as his. At least Clint's bag was full with everything he knew he would need.
"Clinton!" a woman called from what Clint guessed was three floors below him, forcing the boy to look away from the window towards the door behind him. It was closed. That meant he would have at least another half an hour before anyone realised where he was. Technically no one other than his carers, Thomas and Margaret Hart, were allowed up in the attic. Apparently it was dangerous, old and in danger of falling down. Clint wasn't convinced though. He came up here every other day and sat by the window, lost in his own thoughts and peacefulness. The most that could ever happen to him was the possibility that a box full of old junk fell on top of him, perhaps giving him a small bruise. If that happened Clint knew he'd be more concerned by the fact that he'd broken the Harts belongings. After all, this care home was a lot better than some of the others he'd been in before. The people here actually cared for him, even if they didn't always have the money to show him. He didn't want to break any of their things when they actually cared and fed him.
He was actually a little sad to be leaving them when he thought about it, but they said he was going to a far better home that he could stay in permanently. As long as the family wanted him, Clint would be a member of the Winchester family.
He frowned at the thought. His seven year old mind still wasn't sure how it felt about that. Everyone had told him it was a good thing, and he wanted to believe them but he had seen many people leave to live in a new home with a new family, only to return a couple of months or weeks later, distraught and angry.
That was one of the main reasons he'd ran away from his previous care home three years ago with his older brother, Barney. They had both joined a travelling carnival and in Clint's young mind, nothing could be better. He was allowed to watch every performance that was shown and he had a warm bed and he spent the time working around the carnival with his brother. And then with the added certainty of three full meals a day, he couldn't imagine anything ever going wrong. Clint smiled at the old memories.
"Clinton!" Margaret called again, and with a sigh (Margaret had always insisted on using his full name), Clint picked up his bag, slung it over one shoulder and walked from the room, ready to leave with the Winchester's. He jogged down the stairs, not wanting to look too eager, and walked to the main office where a tall man with dark hair was leaning over a desk signing several final and last minute documents involving Clint. The seven year old recognised him as John Winchester, one of the people in his new family. Margaret and Thomas were there too, and after John put the pen down Thomas took the documents and scanned through them to make sure everything was in order. A warm smile spread across his face and he bowed his head towards John slightly before turning and adding the paper to a file.
"Clint is officially a part of your family," he said to John, the smile never wavering, and once he finished the sentence both John and Margaret smiled too, but for different reasons. He had seen Thomas and Margaret act like this whenever a child was adopted into another family, and every time it happened Clint could tell it was genuine happiness, just like it was now.
John on the other hand smiled but whilst he seemed to be staying calm, on the inside he was concentrating on controlling his nerves. He'd felt fine until he signed his name for the final time on the documents, finally and officially making Clint a part of his family. He already had a four year old at home and his wife was pregnant again. They'd met Clint with the intentions of adopting him before they realised Mary was going to be having another child and neither of them were planning on leaving Clint after they'd given him hope. The Winchester's had decided that they would just have to raise three children instead of the two like they had planned. They'd decided that but it didn't mean he was nervous and slightly terrified at how everything could turn out.
Slowly, Clint moved into the room with the three adults, nerves he hadn't felt before entering his body and making him feel unwell and weak. It wasn't a feeling he liked. John turned to look at him, "hey Clint," he said, his tone friendly and welcoming.
"Hello," Clint replied, his voice wavering ever so slightly. He bit his lip, his nerves building up. He was never great at talking with new people. Even if he had met John and his wife Mary on six different occasions now.
"Are you ready to go?" John asked and Clint nodded in response. "Have you packed everything?"
"I think so," the seven year old replied, mentally going through the list of his belongings in his head. Once he'd finished he looked back at John. "Yes" he said, but with more certainty this time.
John smiled, and his body seemed to visibly relax. "Good," he said and then he turned around to face the other two adults. "Is there anything else that I need to do?" he asked, making sure everything was completed before they left.
"All of the documents are in order" Thomas replied and he walked towards the door John had entered through half an hour ago, opening it for Clint and John.
"Okay then," John muttered distractedly, like he was trying to think of what to do next. "Is there anyone that you want to say good bye to before we leave?" he asked the boy standing next to him and at the small shake of Clint's head John gently put a hand on Clint's shoulder to guide him out of the room. Clint had said his goodbyes that morning. "Thank you, again, for all of your help. I don't think me or Mary would have been able to do any of this without either of you two around to help us," John said, honestly, gesturing to Clint and the files as he did so.
Margaret smiled warmly at the Winchester. "That's what we are here for" she said to John, shaking the man's hand. "Good luck, to the both of you."
"Thank you," John said. "Again."
Thomas laughed, "No problem." He then walked around the desk and knelt down in front of Clint. "And you, Mr," he said to Clint, ruffling the blondes hair. "Be good. And do what the Winchester's tell you to do, keep your room tidy"-
"I will, Tom," Clint interrupted him. This conversation had happened at least twice now.
Thomas ignored him and carried on. "And the most important rule. Have fun and enjoy yourself kiddo, the Winchester's are good people. We wouldn't let you go with them if they weren't." That was new, and unexpected. Clint smiled, the realisation that he was leaving finally hitting him.
"Okay," he replied, immediately moving his hand to straighten out his now messy hair but Thomas reached towards it again when he saw what Clint was doing, only missing him because Clint ducked out of the way, mockingly glaring at him.
"What?" Thomas laughed. "Your hair's always messy. Running your hands through it won't make it look any better."
Clint frowned, staring Thomas in the eyes, before losing control and grinning. "Goodbye, Tom. Goodbye, Margaret."
"Good bye, kiddo," Thomas replied at the same time Margaret said "Goodbye, Clinton."
This time Clint and John did leave the building, and the adult rushed to the car to open the passenger door for his newest son. Once inside John did a once over of Clint, checking the youngest occupant of the car was safely strapped in with the seat belt and then he started the car, flinching slightly when music started roaring from the car. He saw Clint jump next to him and he mentally scolded himself. Why the hell had he left the music on so loud? Quickly, he turned around and flashed Clint a reassuring smile to try and calm the boy's now racing heart. "Sorry about that," he said, grimacing. "We listen to music a lot in our house."
Clint looked up at him with shocked wide eyes. However, when he seemed to register the fact that it was only music, he shrugged. "'s alright," Clint stated.
"Well, you can choose what we listen to if you want to," John offered, "all the tapes I have on me at the moment are in that compartment there." John briefly took his hand off the steering wheel to point towards the compartment in front of the blonde. "Take your pick."
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence when Clint didn't make a move, just sat beside John, looking at him to see if he was lying. John, who was starting to feel uncomfortable under the penetrating stare, kept his eyes on the road, doing his best to ignore the look the boy was giving him. Seriously, he thought. I can handle being a Marine but not a kid? Eventually the kid in question looked away and opened the compartment to look at John's collection of tapes. After a lot of deliberation, Clint slowly handed a tape with the label that read 'AC/DC' on the front to John who took it and read the label, pleased. "AC/DC?" he said, looking down at Clint with pleasure. "You know how to pick your music."
"Actually, I haven't heard of them before," Clint mumbled, scared that he'd annoy the man. "The name sounded interesting."
John shrugged and again took his hand off of the steering wheel to sort out the music. God, Mary would kill him if she could see him now. "Either way, it was a great choice."
The rest of the car journey was pleasantly relaxing, much to both Clint and John's relief. They had been expecting it to be long and uncomfortable, with them both trying to make conversation whilst the other preferred to stay quiet. Instead, John spent the journey talking to Clint about the different music he and Mary listened to, and that his son Dean, was already starting to acquire a similar taste in music to himself, even though he was only four. "It would be great if you preferred my taste to hers," John had said at one point, "her reaction would be priceless." At that point in the journey he had managed to persuade a laugh out of the kid beside him, to his pleasure. Clint even told him about the music they listened to in the care home. "It was slow and life draining" Clint exaggerated. "Like the stuff they listened to when music was first invented."
Before they knew it John was slowing the car down to a stop, the impala's engine signalling to everyone in their neighbourhood that they had returned. Clint copied John, opening his door when the adult opened his and then cautiously walked behind the man, following him towards the house on the end of the street. All of his nerves suddenly returned to him and he counted to ten under his breath to calm his pumping heart. It was a trick he'd learnt in the carnival, just after he'd joined. And he was glad that he had. It was twice he'd had to use that technique today.
John opened the door and let Clint pass him before closing it again. He put a reassuring hand on Clint's shoulder, lightly squeezing it as a measure of comfort. "Mary!" he called, "Dean! We're home."
There was a groan from the living room as John heard his pregnant wife try to manoeuvre herself across the living room, avoiding the toys he was certain Dean would have taken out, the opportunity of his father being out and his mother being pregnant, so both of them in harder situations to clean up after him, too great to miss. When he rounded the corner into the living room a small partially built electronic train track was weaving its way around the couch and underneath the coffee table, as John had suspected it would be. "Daddy!" Dean shouted, pushing himself up from the floor and running over to the man as he entered the room.
"Dean," John said, picking the boy up and swinging him in a circle once before putting him back down on ground level. "Meet Clint, the newest member of our family, Clint meet Dean, my youngest son."
"Hello" Dean said, looking up at the seven year old.
"Hey," Clint replied, staring at the small boy with thick pale brown hair.
"Hello, Clint" a woman sitting behind Dean on the couch said, and he instantly recognised her as Mary, John's wife. She had obviously tried and failed at getting across the room. "I would come over and greet you properly, but as you can see," she said whilst pointing to her stomach. "It would take the rest of the night for me to do."
The corners of Clint's mouth curled. "It's alright," Clint replied, noticing the size of her stomach.
"So, how was the journey here?" she asked and Clint shrugged.
"It was good," he replied.
"I'm pleased, I know how boring John can be when he starts talking about his music," she said, causing a giggle to escape Dean's mouth. How had she known he was talking about that? Clint thought. In answer to his silent question she said, "he always talks about his music if given the chance."
"I'll have you find Mary, I am not a boring person," John spoke up from behind Clint. "I'm the most entertaining and exciting person I know, don't you agree Dean?"
The boy shook his head and quickly ran towards his mother, using her as protection from his dad who was now chasing after him. Dean giggled as he ran away from him. Clint stood to the side of the room, watching the father and son as they played. There was a sudden crashing noise and the toy train toppled to the side, having made it to the end of its track. Everyone in the room looked at it whilst Dean used the distraction to escape his father's grasp and run over to the toy. He noticed Clint's awed expression. "It's cool isn't it?" the young boy said and Clint nodded, not having seen one before. "It was a birthday present from Mummy and Daddy. Do you want to help me?"
Clint looked at him, surprised by the question. He briefly looked at Mary and John, both of whom were smiling, proud off their son and pleased the two boys seemed to be getting on. "Erm, yeah, alright," the seven year old replied turning his attention back to Dean.
"You don't have too," Dean continued, seeing Clint's hesitation.
Clint shook his head, "no, I'd like to." Still nervous, Clint slowly made his way into the room whilst being careful not to step on any of the track and disturb the train's path. Dean quickly handed Clint some of the plastic track, eager to show the boy how to play with the toy before Clint lost interest in it. His parents were quick to lose interest in this particular toy. Dean had no idea why. However, after he showed Clint how to fix the track together they both stayed on the floor for the next hour, adding track and changing its layout the entire time. Within ten minutes Dean had pulled out another train, this one a dark purple, and handed it to Clint. "This can be your one and I'll have the red one," he said after Clint took it. The entire time they spent racing each other's trains, neither of them being a clear winner as they both won an equal number of races.
-o-0-o-
Clint sat on the edge of his bed, looking around his new room. It was opposite Dean's and down the hallway from John and Mary's room. He was surprised to say the least, having expected them to make him share a room with Dean. Whilst the room looked boring now, with white walls and a grey duvet covet, John and Mary had promised him that he could decorate it how he pleased. He could pick out his own bed set and wall colour, and add to the rooms contents as he pleased.
It was a little over whelming, suddenly being given so much but Clint liked it. The Winchester's seemed nice and friendly so far, and he and Dean got along better than he'd expected. Dean had even given Clint the purple train, which now had its own place on his bed side table.
The seven year old stood up and quickly emptied the contents of his bag. The three sets of clothing fell out onto his bed and he hurriedly made them neater, Mary said she would put them in his cupboard for him later, but he still wanted them to look presentable when she did so. There was a worn and tattered copy of Robin Hood on top of that. The corners were torn and the pages were worn from use, but Clint didn't care. No matter how often Barney had offered to replace it, Clint had always denied. Robin Hood had always been his favourite book. It was the first book his mum had ever bought him and every night she'd read it to him from front to back. The idea was for him to fall asleep half way through but that never happened. Clint made sure he stayed awake until the end, not matter how much his eyes drooped. It was his favourite book after all.
The final object to fall out of his bag was a photograph on a thin flimsy piece of paper. It was in near perfect condition, more important to him than his Robin Hood book. His entire family were standing in front of their old fire place, all of them smiling. Clint and Barney were at the front and his mum and dad were at the back. Just by looking at the picture, Clint felt his eyes sting. The picture was taken on Barney's birthday, a few months before the car crash his parents had died in. He heard the footsteps walk up behind him and stop by his side before John's hand made its way to his shoulder again.
"Are they your family?" he asked, and Clint nodded, not trusting himself to talk. "They look happy." Again he was stating the obvious, but he knew that that was what Clint needed.
"They were," Clint whispered back.
John smiled sadly. "Dinner will be ready in five minutes. I'll meet you down stairs," he said before leaving Clint to himself. He was going to make sure Clint had more pictures to look at. Clint was a Winchester now, and John was going to make sure Clint knew that, even if he had to take a thousand pictures of his two children, and soon to be three, having fun together to give to Clint. The seven year old was his son now too.
