Hello, everyone. This is my first foray into anything multi-chapter by way of fanfiction. So. Very. Nervous. Anyways, it's Avengers and it's basically an imagining I had of adding a sister for Clint into the mix. I'm not necessarily planning on having anyone fall in love with her romantically- if it happens to naturally grow in the story I'll roll with it, but it's not planned. I have large portions of this written out in great detail with equally large gaps in between. But I promise to finish it. I hate when authors post stories and don't finish it- it almost gives me physical pain so I swear not to do that to you (I'd feel like the biggest hypocrite ever if I did). So I have no structured plan for posting next chapters. I should do something about once a week but I make no promises because writer's block works on no man's schedule.
And that's enough from me so let's get on with the story, shall we?
October 7th, 1981- December 22nd, 1984 (Clint)
It all began, really, when I was 2. I don't recall the day, but I do know that mom wasn't really expecting the news that she was going to have another baby. I don't recall mom being pregnant- but I do recall, dimly, the hospital and waiting. Lots of waiting with Barney on the other side of me and dad coming out to check on us once in a while and it seemed like it was taking forever for mom to get my new sibling.
I recall a nurse with brown hair and blue scrubs asking me if I wanted a sister or a brother. I told her I already had a brother but I was going to be the big brother this time.
She chuckled.
I don't remember going in to see mom, but I do remember her handing a little bundle over to me telling me to be careful and looking at this lumpy, red, strange thing my mother just placed in my arms. She arranged me so that one arm went behind the thing's head and across her back and another wrapped up towards her shoulder from her waist. I was holding a baby.
"This is your sister, we're calling her Arlie. She's Arlie Clara Barton." It was the softest whisper, I remember- my mother's voice.
No, I lied. It all started when I was five.
Arlie was three and running around everywhere and getting into things. She was chaos in footies.
"Clint- I need you to watch your sister for a few minutes, take care of her. OK?"
Yes- that was when it started. When it really started because it was then that I made the conscious decision to be a big brother.
I looked at that whirlwind in pink with a goofy smile and I decided.
"I'll take care of her mom, don't worry."
When the few minutes were over and my mother was back, the decision remained.
This was my sister. And she was mine to take care of. So that was what I was going to do.
Looking back, I guess Barney never had that revelation about either of us.
Because being an older sibling is not a circumstance of birth order or genetics or parents wanting another kid or whatever. Being an older sibling is a decision. Otherwise, you have the title but none of the responsibility. And none of the joy.
Arlie was mine- that was that.
And then it all went wrong.
May 19th, 1986
I was groggy, confused. What had happened? We were in the car coming back from Barney's baseball game. It had gotten so late they had to put the lights on at the field. Arlie thought they were really cool and wanted me to climb a tree with her so she could see them better. I told her it wasn't safe and spent the rest of the time trying to keep her feet firmly on the ground.
Then I realized- the car was weird. Everything was shaped wrong. Or was something wrong with my eyes? There was a weird smell too- something metallic. Or salty. I wasn't quite sure. It reminded me of something, but I couldn't place the memory. My chest hurt where my car seat's strap touched me and there were white things covering the windows.
Was this a very weird dream?
I looked around- Barney was next to me, he looked like he was sleeping, and Arlie was in between us, crying.
"Arlie- oh, Arlie- don't cry- c'mon, I can't let you cry," I tried to get her to quiet down. She was still crying though- sobbing, actually. I looked for our mother- she or Daddy could help Arlie because I couldn't hug her until we were both out of our car seats and the rule was only an adult can unbuckle the car seats.
"Mommy? Dad?" I looked to where my parents were sitting and noticed that the car was really shaped weird up there. There seemed to be a lot of red to. My brain was just making the connection when Barney woke up.
"Mommy? Daddy?" Barney looked around and started panicking- "MOMMY DADDY!" Arlie cried harder. I reached across to grab her hand- only an adult could unbuckle the car seats. It was the rules.
"Boys? Arlie?" my mother's weak voice floated towards us from the passenger seat.
"Mommy?" Barney and I said in unison. Arlie sobbed out something that was probably supposed to be mommy or daddy. Possibly both.
"It's ok, kids. Just calm down. There's been a bit of an accident. The car crashed. Now I need you all to be quiet. Clint- could you take care of Arlie?"
"Yeah- what should I do?"
"Just calm her down, sweetheart. Policemen will be here soon and they'll take care of us." My mother looked over to my father and said his name. Once. Twice. She tried to reach towards him and then pulled her hand away. When her voice came to us next it was strained, and confused me further, but Arlie had stopped crying and I focused on that.
"OK- kids. Are you guys hurt anywhere?"
"No mommy- I'm fine," Barney said, "The seatbelt just hurts a little."
"Clint?" my mother asked.
"I'm ok. The seatbelt hurt me, too. And Arlie looks ok."
"You guys aren't bleeding anywhere? Clint- check Arlie for me?"
"Ok."
"No blood, Mommy," Barney said after a few seconds.
"No blood," I repeated.
"Good," suddenly, we heard sirens. "Ok- now you kids behave for the policemen and look after each other. Mommy's a bit hurt so she's going to have to go see the doctor for awhile. OK?"
Barney and I agreed. Arlie started crying again when the sirens got loud.
"Shhhhh...It's OK, Arlie, we're going to meet some policemen!" I told her she sniffled and tried to calm down.
"Mommy?" she said, "We're gonna meet real policemen?"
"That's right, baby- real policemen. You might even get to ride in a real ambulance. Just like Barney's, but bigger."
My sister sniffled but no longer cried.
The rest is a bit of a blur, but I can remember the EMTs declaring my father dead on the scene. I also remember holding onto Arlie and refusing to leave her side while we were at the hospital.
I don't remember the Doctor coming out to tell us that our mother had died.
June 1986
The first month we were at the orphanage Arlie saw each day as an extended sleepover with a bunch of new friends. But every night she would wake up and cry for our parents. I would crawl into bed next to her and sleep with her.
It also helped my nightmares.
Barney didn't seem to want much to do with us- he grew up suddenly and was in charge. He took care of us but drifted towards other kids. He didn't want to talk about our parents. I told Arlie stories every night because I heard one woman say how sad it was that Arlie probably wouldn't remember them.
For two years every night I crept out of my bed or she out of hers and we shared. The director of the orphanage might have noticed, but didn't stop us.
I have terrifying nightmares of Arlie getting hurt in the crash along with Mom and Dad and then Barney leaves me too because he's drifting so far away and he's within reach but so very very far and I wake up worried because I told mom I'd take care of Arlie where is Arlie I need to find Arlie is Arlie OK I don't want to be alone where's Arlie and I spend the next minute or so checking over my sister to make sure she's safe, she's fine, before I can finally go back to sleep.
Sometimes she wakes up, sometimes she doesn't.
Most of the times in the morning she wakes me by bouncing on the bed and asking me to play with her dolls with her.
1987
When she was six another boy in the orphanage took her dolls and ripped their heads off. They were plastic and just popped right off but she was in tears.
Barney yelled at the kid but I gathered up the dolls and the dresses that were scattered in the sandbox and did my eight-year-old best at doll surgery while I asked the director to put the clothes through the washing machine.
Arlie brought them to bed with her when I gave the ones I was able to fix back to her with their freshly cleaned outfits.
Plastic hurts when it digs into your shoulder blades but Arlie's smile was worth everything.
September 4th, 1988
Arlie was almost seven when the director sat us all down and explained she was going to have to split us up. Arlie sobbed and I tried desperately to get her to stop crying but she just wouldn't and cried herself to sleep that night.
It was a few weeks later when Arlie went to a Foster family and Barney and I went to another orphanage.
That was the last time I saw my sister.
