Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. If I did, than Clintasha would totally be canon. And they would be in every movie and have their own tv series.

A/N

Look who's finally posting her Christmas one-shot, something like nine months after she first said she would. It's been so long, that we're practically in the right season again.

Also, today (4th November) is my three year anniversary of having a Fanfiction account, which is really exciting! I can't believe I've been reading fanfictions for three years now. Posting this story is my way of celebrating, and reviews would make it even more exciting!

As usual, this story would not be what it is without the input of Freeranger and jaguarspot. Freeranger helped me hash out plot points while I was writing it, and she also pestered me to post it at long last. jaguarspot pointed out some pretty big plot holes, which I hope that I've managed to fix. Hopefully now it all makes better sense. Thanks guys.

As for chronology, this one-shot take place between chapters 2 and 3 of Fractured Trust, and provides a look into Clint's past, as we begin to understand what he went through before Phil found him. Warning for some violence (though not bad) abuse of a minor, and Clint been an emotionally suppressed idiot.

Though he does have some very good reasons not to trust Phil at this point.

Hope you enjoy!

Let it be Christmas everywhere
In the hearts of all people both near and a far
Christmas everywhere
Feel the love of the season wherever you are

Let it be Christmas: 1998

15th December, Phil Coulson's office, SHIELD's New York Base

Clint glared at his handler with distaste.

"Seriously, a shopping mall? It's a stupid place to stage a practice mission."

Coulson was unmoved.

"I'm sure you are man enough to deal with it. Besides, it's not a practice mission. It's an evaluation. Its primary purpose is to see what skills you already possess, and what needs to be worked on. It will also be good practice for when you have to tail a mark and blend in for real, but that is not the prime objective here."

Barton still didn't look happy as Phil continued.

"The prime objective for this evaluation is quite simple. I will give you a picture of the mark, who is really an active field agent, and then set you lose in the mall. You will find them, and then follow them, without giving yourself away. Remember, they will know they are being followed. They will be keeping an eye open for anyone who looks suspicious as they don't know who will be following them. Their report will form part of the final evaluation."

"You will report back to me via a comm link on every single thing they do, and I will mark it down on a map. Later, you will tell me everything they did again in a practice debrief, and we will see how the two match up. This will be a test of your observation skills, memory, and your ability to blend into a given situation. It is extremely fortunate for us that it is currently December; and as such the shops are full of people Christmas shopping. It means that there will be plenty of people around, guaranteed. It should be fairly easy to blend into the crowd."

"What if I decide I'm not doing it?"

Phil blinked in shock at his asset.

"You can't do that I'm afraid, this is a mandatory evaluation. You don't have a choice in the matter if you want to continue training to be a SHIELD agent. And as you are going to be a specialist this is even more important. Refusing to do this isn't an option. Also, you are to go in weapon less. That means no firearms, knives, or anything else that is classified as a weapon, Barton. There is no real threat, and I don't want you to be arrested by mall security on your first evaluation. That wouldn't look so great in my report and would generate a ton of paperwork that I don't feel like dealing with."

Barton looked murderous.

"I suppose saying no to that isn't an option either?"

Phil remained unmoved.

"I'm glad that you are finally getting the idea."

Phil then glanced at his watch, ignoring Barton's death glare. Phil knew it was a bit cruel to take away the thing that made Barton feel safe (aka knives or anything sharp and pointy) but it had to be done.

He could have them back as soon as he was finished the evaluation and out of the mall building.

"The evaluation is scheduled for tomorrow morning, so meet me at the motor pool at eight am sharp. Wear something casual that will easily blend in. You can go to requisitions this afternoon, and request anything you need that you don't already have. If they give you any trouble, tell them to call me. Dismissed Agent."

Just over twenty-four hours later.

The mission had gone off without a hitch, but Barton had stopped talking to Phil as soon as they went off comms, and started avoiding him as soon as they'd finished the debriefing. Phil was at a total loss to explain Barton's behaviour, and so he had left it for now. He figured that maybe Barton just needed some space and time to unwind. The trainee had performed exceptionally well on his evaluation; he'd earned some time to himself if that was what he wanted.

The level six operative who he'd tailed (Phil had called her in from another base so she had no idea who Barton was) hadn't picked the kid out as being the one tailing her. When asked later, she'd had two possible people pegged. Neither of them had been Barton. Phil had actually puffed up in pride when he'd reported the day's events to the Director, and seen his eyebrow rise in disbelief. Phil had had a very satisfied smirk on this face when he'd left Fury's office.

All in all, it was a good result to the day. At least in Phil's books, he didn't know what Barton's thoughts on the matter were seeing the kid was refusing to talk to him.

However, as Christmas drew nearer, and Barton stopped interacting with people altogether, Phil had to re-evaluate what he'd originally thought. There was more going on here then Barton simply needing space and time to unwind. Of that fact, Phil was sure. He knew that he had to talk to Barton about it, and the sooner he did the better.

Easier said than done. The archer managed to either avoid him, ignore his carefully thought out questions, or be very busy with something else every time Phil tried to talk to him over the next few days. It wasn't until Christmas was less than two days away that Phil decided to ditch the subtle approach and just come out and ask the question.

4:03 PM, December 23, 1998; Coulson's office, SHIELD's New York Base.

Clint blinked.

"What do I think about Christmas?"

"Yes."

"That I get a day off from the mental torture that you call mission education, and I call bullshit?"

That was actually a very, very good way of summing up their very different attitudes towards the SHIELD training manuals.

Phil, however, ignored the sarcasm and attempt at misdirection. He was getting rather good at doing that.

"Well, you will get a day off from training because I am nice. However, that wasn't what I meant and you know it. You are not stupid, Barton, so please stop acting like you are. It does neither of us any favours."

There wasn't really anything Clint could say in reply to that. However, it wasn't enough to stop him from glaring at his handler.

"Is this interrogation because of what I told you about birthdays a few weeks back?"

Coulson's facial expression clearly said that it was.

Clint let out his breath in an indignant huff. Coulson's question had rattled him however, and he had to work hard to project annoyance, rather than the panic that was simmering just under the surface.

"If you want my opinion then; Christmas is a waste of time. It's simply another day, except one where adults seem to forget how old they are, and spend heaps of money on things that no one really needs or wants."

"I'm sorry that you feel that way Barton. I like Christmas."

Phil was completely unprepared for what came next.

"Aren't you a bit old for that sort of thing?"

Phil stared at Barton in complete and utter surprise. Both at the attitude and the venom evident in the archer's words.

"No, you are never too old for Christmas. Besides, it gives me a good excuse to add to my collection of Cap memorabilia."

Barton's next words were so full of that venom that Phil almost took an involuntary step back.

"Aren't you a bit old for that as well?"

Phil didn't even have to think before he answered.

"You are never too old for Captain America. Who put that idea in your head?"

Barton's expression went completely blank. Not a hint of emotion showed on his face. Even though Phil had seen it before, it was still scary that the archer could totally turn his emotions off like that.

"People."

Phil felt extremely frustrated. Barton had answered him, but it was a deliberately vague answer.

Clint glared at Coulson with anger burning in his eyes, as he dared the agent to push the subject further. Barney had been the one to tell an eight-year-old Clint Barton that he was too old for comics and Captain America. That conversation had happened after Barney had found Clint hiding under his bed at one of the orphanages, crying over a torn Captain America comic book that didn't even belong to him.

Barney couldn't see the point of reading comics. He hadn't understood that when Clint read the comics, his imagination took him to places far away. It was Clint's often overactive imagination that had gotten him through some of the hardest patches in his life. It had allowed him to escape the pain and fear that seemed to constantly plague him, no matter where he went or what he did.

Barney hadn't ever had much of an imagination, and their life hadn't had much happiness or many positives in it. Clint's imagination had been what had helped him to escape the harsh realities of life and keep on going forward.

Clint sometimes wondered if that was the reason that Barney had turned so bitter, and eventually tried to kill his baby brother, on that Christmas Eve back in '94.

Or, maybe Barn had always been like that, and Clint had just been too naive to notice before it physically hit him. He knew he was stupid like that.

"Well, whoever told you that is wrong. You can never be too old for Christmas, or for Captain America."

Clint blinked at Coulson, who still looked stricken from Clint's earlier words. He seemed to be waiting for Clint to say something, but Clint just shrugged and studiously avoided his handlers gaze.

Finally, Coulson sighed.

"I want to do something special with you for Christmas, Barton. What would you like to do?"

Clint felt his throat starting to seize up in panic at his handler's words. This could not be happening.

"I don't care. It's not like I celebrate Christmas anyway."

"But I do."

"Good for you."

"Barton..."

"No."

"I haven't said anything."

"But you were about to."

"But you can't do nothing for Christmas! It's an insult to the best holiday of the year!"

Now Clint was really mad.

"I've done nothing for years, and I'm perfectly happy to continue to do nothing. You can do whatever you like, but leave me out of it."

"Barton..."

"This conversation is over, Coulson."

With that Clint stormed out of his handler's office, slamming the door hard enough to make the walls shake, and stalked towards the range.

He needed to shoot something.

6:23 PM, December 24th, 1994, some tiny town in Colorado.

The teenage boy climbed up the fire escape and then scuttled across the roof of the tallest building in the street. Once he'd reached the vantage point he'd decided on earlier, one with a clear view of the front of the jewellery store, he removed a bow from his shoulders. He then pulled an arrow out of the quiver strapped to his back and peering over the edge of the roof for any sign of trouble before he settled in to wait until he was needed.

Having nothing else to do, Clint passed the time by observing the people hurrying along the snow-covered street below him. He amused himself by making up stories surrounding each one about what they were doing out while he waited for Barney and Trickshot to make their moves. He knew the plan as well as they did, and Clint was determined not to muck this one up. Barn was still mad at him about that botched job last month. In fact, if it hadn't been for Buck's insistence, Clint knew that he wouldn't have been doing this with them at all. But Barney had started taking orders from Trick at some point, and Trick had stated that they needed Clint for this one.

Clint hadn't even realised that Barney was following Buck's lead until they'd being planning this job. Buck had shut Barney up when he'd protested against Clint coming with them. They needed eyes up high for this one, he'd said, and they also needed someone who didn't miss a shot.

Clint happened to fit both of these criteria's.

He also wouldn't rat them out to the fuzz, as if they went down, he would go down as well. Clint might be only sixteen and therefore a minor, but would still be in trouble if he were caught. It was a well-known fact among those who were involved in this side business that Clint didn't want to end up in Juvie.

In Buck's opinion, that was just an added bonus to him coming with them.

Barney obviously still hadn't been happy, but had gone along with it. But not before hissing "don't you dare mess this one up" at his baby brother. Clint didn't understand what had happened to Barns these days, and wanted the smiling, happy, protective Barney from before back. Maybe, if this job was a success, and Clint didn't mess up, Barns would go back to behaving how he used to.

Clint just wanted his big brother back.

7:54 PM.

"We are done Clint. Do you hear me? We are no longer friends, and I don't want to even be related to someone who does such stupid things and jeopardises the job. We are officially no longer brothers."

Tears pooled in Clint's eyes and a few leaked out to trickle down his face at Barney's harsh words. He'd tried so hard to do what he was told, and to make this job a success. But, as usual, he'd managed to mess everything up.

When he'd seen the cop car coming up the street, sirens blaring, he'd panicked. It wasn't the first robbery he'd been involved with, but it was the first time that the officials had turned up half-way through. Instead of sticking to their plan, he'd decided to stop them by shooting an arrow at the front tyre of the car to blow it, and distract them long enough to give his friends time to escape from the jewellery store. In hindsight it was actually a really bad plan. He'd hit his mark dead on, like always, and caused the car to career across the street and smash into a streetlamp, knocking the two cops inside it unconscious in the process.

They wouldn't be a problem now, that was certainly true. However, in the process Clint had gotten other people's attention.

And as he'd used an arrow to shoot out the tyre, it wouldn't take them long to figure out who was most likely responsible, with the circus camping just outside of town and all.

Arrows weren't exactly a common weapon. And the show boasted two archers.

"You should have just let them come up, and not done anything to draw attention to the fact that anyone was around until you were sure they were coming in after us! Then you were supposed to take them out with those tranquiliser arrows that Trick developed. It wouldn't have drawn people's attention, and we'd have been gone long before they woke up. Why did you have to go and make such an amateur move and ruin everything? Why do you have to always ruin things!"

Clint felt his lower lip starting to quiver as he laid there in the alley with his right leg bent at an awkward angle. He was pretty sure that it was broken. Which would make sense, seeing that he'd lost his footing on the snow covered fire escape on his way down and had fallen almost three stories, landing on the hard pavement with his right leg first. It certainly hurt enough to be broken.

However, it was the pain of what Barney was saying that was the cause of the tears. Clint was used to physical pain, and had learnt to ignore it a long time ago.

He couldn't ignore the harsh words his brother was directing at him.

"What do you mean Barn? We agreed to always look out for each other. Don't you remember? After the accident we agreed to stick together, no matter what happened. We made a pinkie promise."

"I agreed to stick together with my brother. I no longer have a brother to stick together with."

That was when Clint saw the knife in Barney's right hand. His eyes widened in shock and horror.

"No Barn! Please! I'll do anything you say! Please don't…"

He never got any further.

"Goodbye baby brother."

Clint was so numb from the betrayal that he hardly registered the pain that blossomed in his chest when Barney sunk the knife into it. In went in easily, in spite of the fact that Clint had several layers of clothing on. Like a hot knife cutting through soft butter, Clint though distantly, even as he stared at the knife in shock. What made it worse was that it was the knife he'd given to Barney back in happier days. During their early years in the circus, back when Barney had acted like a big brother and always looked out for him.

It was a reminder of those happier days, when Clint had had a brother.

Clint looked up at Barney in horror as his hands clutched at the knife handle. His own blood was warm and wet as it soaked his cold and trembling hands, he wasn't wearing gloves as they interfered with his aim when he was shooting. Clint continued to look up at Barney in shocked betrayal, even as he tried in vain to staunch the bleeding with his hands.

Barney smiled cruelly down at him. Clint thought that he was about to do something else to him, but he could never have imagined what was coming next.

"Goodbye Clint."

It was at that precise moment, as Barney turned and walked away from him without even a glance back, that Clint realised he no longer had any family, that the person who had always been there and looked out for him since their parent's death had just turned his back on Clint. This knowledge made the tears stream down his face, even as he made no noise. He'd learnt the hard way how to cry without making any noise or bringing attention to himself. That knowledge was practically as old as he was.

Through his tears of betrayal and heartbreak, Clint saw Buck join Barney at the end of the alley. His once-mentor, idol and father figure, the person who had stood by him after Jacques had walked away, spoke to Barney for a moment; and then gave a quick glance in Clint's direction. For a brief moment, Clint hoped that he would help. Surely there had to have been some mistake. This had to be some cruel joke to teach him a lesson. But, before Clint could say anything or call out, they were both gone, swallowed up into the cold and darkness of the snowy night.

They left Clint bleeding out in a side alleyway, in the middle of nowhere, with a knife wound in his chest, a broken bow by his side, and a broken heart.

2:34 AM, 24th December, 1998; SHIELD's New York Base.

Clint woke up, drenched in sweat and trembling uncontrollably, tears pricking at his eyes. Out of all the nightmares that plagued him, that one was by far the worst. It had been at that precise moment, as he'd laid in that alley, that Clint had realised he was truly alone in the world. That he could trust no one but himself if he didn't want to get hurt.

Clint made it up to the roof of the SHIELD compound in record time. Once he arrived there, he sat down in his usual place at the far end, and just stared out into the night. He had his winter jacket on so the cold didn't worry him much, but the memories of that night made him feel numb all over.

It was a matter of hours off of four years since Barney had tried to kill him. Every year, around this time, Clint had had that nightmare without fail. Clint had even pushed himself past the point of exhaustion yesterday, hoping if he was tired enough, that the nightmares wouldn't come, and he'd be able to get some undisturbed sleep.

It hadn't worked.

Bloody Christmas.

Once upon a time, Clint Barton had liked Christmas. During his less than happy childhood, it had been one occasion when he was fairly certain of getting a present, something that was just for him. Even if it was something as unexciting as a donated second-hand jacket or badly repaired toy, it was still given to him. And there was normally something a bit special for dinner, or a special dessert. Even though the orphanages had never had much money, there had always been something special.

One year, in one of the bigger orphanages, there had even been a visit from Santa. He'd given everyone candy bars. Clint had tried to save his for later, and had hidden it under his mattress. It had turned out to be a bad move, as when he'd gone back to get it, it had been gone. Clint still didn't know who'd taken it, but he suspected it was Billy or one of the other big boys. They were much older than most of the other kids, older even than Barney was, and were always bullying and teasing the younger children. Never in front of any of the adults, they were too smart for that. They only bullied the little children who couldn't stand up to them, and only when they knew they could get away with it.

Clint had never told anyone about losing that candy bar. From then on, if he was given something to eat, he ate it right away. But even that occasion hadn't been enough to dampen the magic of Christmas for an eager seven-year-old. For the next eight years, both before the circus and during it, he'd looked forward to the occasion.

But that was a long, long time ago now. Clint hadn't celebrated Christmas in three long years. This would be his fourth year, and Clint still had no intentions of celebrating. Ever since that night, he'd ignored the holiday completely.

And he wasn't about to start celebrating it now.

In fact, if it was up to Clint, he would ban the holiday altogether.

Why celebrate something that was designed for families when you didn't have any? Why remember and celebrate the occasion when the last remaining person in your family had tried to kill you on Christmas Eve?

Waking up alone in the hospital on Christmas Day, and realising that Barney trying to kill him was real and not a horrible dream...

...that had been the single worst moment of Clint Barton's life. Nothing that had happened to Clint before or since had compared to how that betrayal had felt.

By some miracle, the wound hadn't been fatal. Clint had often wished that it had been, he shouldn't have survived that. Things would have been so much easier if he'd just died that night in the alley. However, fate could be a cruel mistress, and someone had found him and taken him to a hospital before he could bleed out or die from exposure.

Clint had spent several months in that hospital, recovering from both the broken leg and his chest wound. There was talk about putting him back into foster care once he was fit; so, as soon as his cast came off and he could walk without too much help, Clint had fled.

There was no way he was going to allow himself to be put back into an orphanage or into foster care. Not after the abuse and neglect he'd suffered in the system as a kid, before he'd run away the first time.

And this time around, he didn't have Barney to protect him either.

Clint had never felt so alone in his life as he had then. Even after he'd lost his parents, he'd still had his older brother.

A long, lonely and often dark three and a half years had followed that realisation. The first glimmer of light and hope had come when Coulson had come along, and offered Clint a chance with SHIELD.

A chance that Clint still didn't know if he'd done the right thing by accepting.

7:23 AM, 24th December, 1998; SHIELD's New York Base.

The image of the man with the dark jacket and rigid shoulders filled Phil's computer screen.

Phil paused the video feed and checked the time stamp.

2:36 AM.

Frowning, Phil fast forwarded the same camera footage, right up to the present time.

He didn't see the figure again.

Phil felt worry blossom in his chest, even as he went back to the image he had paused on. He knew it was Barton, and that camera was the one that monitored the roof access door. If the data Phil was receiving was correct, that would mean that the trainee specialist had been up there for almost five hours.

Providing he hadn't died of frostbite or cold in the meantime that was. It was below freezing outside, and had been for most of the night.

Phil didn't waste any time in heading up to the roof. He needed some straight answers from the archer.

He'd had enough of Barton's bullshit.

"Barton. What are you doing out here? Are you aware that it is below freezing?"

Phil cautiously approached the archer, who turned around to glare at him. Barton was sitting on the very edge of the roof, with his legs dangling over. Phil very carefully didn't look down. He wasn't scared of heights, but he had no intention of going any closer to a twenty-something story drop than he had to.

"Barton, I want answers. What on earth would inspire you to stay out in conditions that are below freezing for almost five hours?"

Barton glared at him with red-rimmed eyes that still managed to be as cold as ice.

"How do you know how long I've been out here?"

"Security footage. The roof access door is monitored. And you haven't answered my question."

Barton hunched his shoulders defensively, before he glared at Phil with anger.

"What's it to you? Why do you care?"

"I care because I am responsible for you, and you won't be able to do your job if you get sick from being outside in freezing temperatures for hours. Besides, Christmas is tomorrow and..."

Barton snarled at him.

"Don't you dare talk to me about that. You know that I hate it, so leave me alone already."

Phil took in Barton's defensive posture, along with the prominent anger and badly concealed fear clearly evident on his face. Suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle Phil had been trying to solve for the last week clicked into place.

Phil felt like smacking himself across the head. He could be such an idiot at times.

Phil knelt down next to Barton so that he wasn't looming over him. He was careful to keep a respectable distance, so that the archer wouldn't feel threatened or cornered. Only then did Phil speak, choosing his words carefully.

"You had a nightmare last night didn't you?"

The hopelessness and fear in the look Barton gave him made Phil's heart clench, but he continued talking.

"Something bad happened to you at Christmas once, didn't it? Your hatred didn't make sense before, but I think that I understand now. You hate the holiday because you have bad memories associated with it."

Phil waited a moment, but when he received no response he went on.

"And here I was pushing you about it, and trying to get you to celebrate it. I'm sorry Barton. I was so caught up in my own thoughts about the celebration that I didn't stop to think that others might not feel the same way."

"I don't suppose that you want to share why you hate the holiday so much?"

Barton turned to face Phil for a moment. His eyes were calculating and cold as he replied shortly.

"You've guessed correctly. Now leave me alone."

With that he returned to gazing out over the woods, steadfastly ignoring Phil.

Phil sighed quietly to himself. Now that the mystery that had been bugging him was solved, Phil felt like he was on firm ground again. He knew what he had to do here.

"Okay. Seeing that I've already promised you a day off from studying; how would you like a lesson on how to fly the jets tomorrow?"

Phil mentally congratulated himself on taking a step in the right direction as Barton's head snapped around to look at him with an incredulous expression.

"Are you serious? I thought that the instructors wouldn't be back on duty until the middle of January."

"They won't be. However, I can fly well enough to teach you the basics. Then when they come back, you can officially get your pilots licence. What do you say?"

Barton looked thoughtful and brooding as he replied.

"And you won't mention Christmas again to me at all? We can treat it as a normal day?"

If he agreed to that, it would be the first time in his life that Phil Coulson had ignored Christmas. However, he'd never been in the position he was currently in. As much as it felt wrong to ignore the holiday, it was much more important to make sure he did his uttermost to ensure that Barton was comfortable at SHIELD.

And if that process involved making some hard compromises, then so be it.

It was a small price to pay when you compared it to earning the archers trust.

Noticing that Barton was watching him closely, Phil nodded.

"Okay, if that's what you want. However, we are having turkey and ham for lunch. I may forgo the rest of the holiday traditions, but I will never forgo the food that comes with it. Deal?"

The following few minutes were agonising for Phil, as he waited for Barton to make up his mind.

"You have a deal."

Phil smiled. He couldn't help it.

"Okay. How about we go inside now and get some breakfast?"

"Five more minutes. Then I'll come with you."

Barton waited for Phil to nod in agreement before his gaze shifted to track a bird that had just taken flight. As he waited, Phil reflected on this surprising turn of events.

The archer had a lot of secrets. That was becoming increasingly clear as time went on. It was also clear that he didn't intend to share them with just anyone.

However, Phil felt that they were making some progress. As he sat there on the roof with a slightly less hostile Barton; Phil dared to hope that, one day, the boy would trust Phil enough to share some of those secrets with him.

Until that day came, Phil was just going to have to be patient.

To be continued in Chapter 3 of Fractured Trust.

So, what'd you think? Did I torture Clint enough? He is so much fun to torture, Phil as well. Though I am capable of being nice to them; I'm actually currently working on an AU story where Clint is actually the responsible adult, Phil has only just come into it and his behaviour is far from adult. And I'm being nice to them. Still, with my long-term plans for them in that particular story, they will eventually get character-bashed. It's inevitable.

If you liked this, please leave a review! I have another short story, this one a two-shot, set in this universe already written. If I get enough enthusiasm for this one, then I'll be motivated to post it before another nine months pass!