So this has been on my mind for a bit, a story to tie together Loki and Clint in a new way. I have loved Hawkeye before I saw the Avengers movie a few years ago (comics!) and I have always been interesting in the House of M arc where Marvel dubs a "thought to be dead" Clint Barton in being a lone-ninja/ samurai kick-ass vigilante, Ronin. There are few fics that do justice to Ronin, so I hope I will be able to complete this, bring justice to Ronin, and please you readers. There will be more twists, and even a moment, or moments, where you'll think "why did they do this?" But be warned: I regret nothing. Everythingg is planned. Warnings will be posted in chapters where they are contained (if I remember, he he).
I do not own the Avengers or Marvel, nor, regrettably, do I own the image.
- Red Wayne Hood
AVENGERSAVENGERSAVENGERSAVENGERSAVENGERSAVENGERSAVENGERS
Clint looks in the mirror. The mirror is something he has grown...addicted to. He's not vain, well, perhaps a little, but not enough to grow this sort of addiction. This is something different. He looks to ground himself. He looks in the mirror so that he can see what is real and that he is still here.
The room the mirror reflects is black with thick, designed drapes covering the windows. The crown molding a shocking white against the black. The ceiling is high, and the room holds a single, full sized bed, poles sticking out at wide intervals on the walls, a punching bag, and shelves with weapons.
"Remembering, Clinton?" Says a smooth, accented voice. English, but off. Clint's eyes don't stray from the mirror. It's just "Clint", but to him, its "Clinton" on occasion.
"Yes." He says quietly. The man moves until he behind Clint's shoulder. His raven hair is in a rare style: tied up in a messy ponytail. He's dressed casually in black pants and a green button-up with gold lining. Clint deeply breathes and turns his head.
"How much longer?" Loki looks a bit sad.
"Not much longer." He says. "The threat is not gone yet, and I'm not even sure if it has even arrived yet, my Hawkling. There are things in Yggdrasil's branches that I do not even know of." He turns his head. "But do not worry; you shall not be in pain much longer." Clint nods, his eye catching one of the articles he had taped onto his room's wall. He knows the articles by heart. This one is three months old.
'FUNERAL FOR AVENGERS MEMBER HAWKEYE BRINGS MILLIONS TO MOURN'.
Right bellow that article is another, one that has become his life. Clint looks back in the mirror and snaps. His appearance immediately changes.
His body is suddenly covered in a flexible, armor-like, leather outfit. Its black with yellow lining here-and-there, the top resembling a robe slightly, some of it draping over his thighs. His metal end below his knees, his face is covered with a black mask, the lenses for his eyes slightly narrowed and green.
Hawkeye was dead.
He was something new, something different, something he could never imagine he would even want to be.
"I'm going out." He tells Loki. Loki smiles a small smile, his green eyes soft.
"You're learning quickly." Clint hesitates before nodding.
"I've always had to." And he exits the room after sheathing knives to his legs, shurikin's in his belt, and a pair of twin, black katanas on his back. Loki watches, in comparison to himself, the child leave. He sighs before walking over to the wall of articles, staring at one.
'AVENGERS UNAWARE OF IDENTITY OF DANGEROUS VIGILANTE KNOWN AS RONIN.'
Below is a blurred picture of Ronin in his signature black leather outfit with his twin, black katana's unsheathed.
Loki is aware, as he stares at the door.
