Don't Tell
Phil manages to bring Clint into SHIELD after finding him in Paris. However, the hardest part of Clint's journey has only just begun. Phil was entirely wrong if he believed that he already knew all of Clint's secrets. But it's also hard to talk to Clint if Clint doesn't talk back. No slash. Pre-avengers. Sequel to Too Far Gone.
I don't own the Avengers, sadly.
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Consciousness came slowly, one sense at a time. First there was touch- the soft mattress beneath him and the warmth of the room. Then smell, the disinfectant and the dry air. The pain also returned- a dull ache all over his body, not at all as severer as before, but still persistent and hiding at the back of his mind. But the world around him remained quiet and still, and an all too familiar suppressing silence weighted down on his ears.
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Clint's eyes flew open. His sight hadn't yet recovered, and all he saw around him were blurs of white and beige. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but was far more worried about where the hell his hearing aids had gone. Not only was he partially blind, he was deaf too. His baffled mind descended into panic and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and attempted to stand, only for his knees to buckle. There was a flurry of movement and a vaguely humanoid shape rushed towards him. Clint went to strike it down, but arms circled around his waist and pulled him to the floor so that his back was pushed against the side of the bed. Clint struggled furiously, but could feel fading anaesthetics rendering him weak and confused. A face loomed towards him, attempted to speak and then frowned. Clint was surrounded in a white blanket of silence; everything was muffled as if behind a thick glass wall.
Clint twisted and kicked but the arms around him tightened. In front of him, the man began moving his hands. It took a moment or two for Clint's befuddled mind to recognise it as sign language, and even longer for him to translate.
I have your hearing aids. If you calm down, I will give them back to you.
My name is Phil, do you remember me?
Calm down, no one is going to hurt you.
Gradually, Clint's struggling grew weaker until he sat still. Phil nodded to the man behind Clint, who let him go and moved so he was sitting a short distance away. Phil held out his hearing aids, and after Clint put them in, blessed sound seeped through the thick glass around him.
Phil waited until Clint's eyes focused on him apprehensively- he seemed more alert and aware, so Phil spoke. "Clint, I'm Phil Coulson, do you remember me?"
Clint was silent for a moment and just stared analytically, before nodding. He then eyed the person to his right, a tall man with medium length black hair and a beard cut close to his chin. His skin was smooth beside the wrinkles around his eyes, and his expression was intense, but not threatening.
"This is Eric Yale. He's SHIELD's head Doctor."
Eric nodded and gave a quick smile, which Clint didn't return.
Phil climbed to his feet and held his hand out to Clint, who ignored it and got up alone. Phil frowned, but didn't comment. He glanced at Clint, and then said to Eric, "Can you sign Clint out? I can keep and eye on him, and I don't think it would be great for him to be cooped up in here any longer than he has to be."
Eric shrugged. "Sure. I don't especially want him trashing the place anyway. No vigorous exercise for two weeks minimum, then come back here for me to clear you completely." He turned to Clint, who looked away quickly. "If you feel any worse, come back here for me to check you over. Now shoo, get out of here."
Phil smiled. "Thanks Eric." He beckoned to Clint, "Come on, kid."
Clint tried to memorize the route to wherever they were going, but the network of corridors was too vast for him to follow in his bewildered state. A million different things were buzzing around inside his head- where was he? Was this SHEILD? He remembered everything from Paris with crystal clarity despite the state he had been in. But had Coulson been telling the truth? Clint was immediately wary of him but at the same time, Phil Coulson had a strange feel about him- open and honest, but certainly not stupid. Clint wondered how long it would be before Phil would show his true colors.
Once they got to a less populated corridor, Phil slowed down so that they could walk side by side, though Clint was careful to keep his distance. "How are you feeling?" Phil asked.
Clint glanced at him, hesitating. "Fine."
"Are you hungry? You haven't eaten anything but water and glucose in days."
Clint had no memory of having either of these things, but was hungry. On the other hand, it might be a trick question, and then Phil might get angry at him for complaining. Not being able to decide, he settled for saying nothing.
Phil looked across at him, frowning. "Well I'll make you something anyway, you need to eat."
Phil stopped in front of a door, unlocked it, and entered. Clint stopped in the doorway.
Inside was a fairly large room with a sofa and TV to the right with two closed doors either side, and a small kitchen area to the left. Clint waited until no one jumped out at him, and then followed Phil into the room. The man was at the kitchen, running water into a sauce pan. He glanced over his shoulder at Clint, smiling. "Do you like pasta?"
Clint glanced around the room again, and then shrugged.
"Well it'll be tomato sauce because it's the only thing I have in the fridge and if I venture too far from the safety of ready prepared foods things tend to… burn." Phil said, glancing over at Clint only to see his perfectly blank expression. Other than his eyes, which were one again like light behind curtains. Phil could see anger and wariness, though the despair may have died down slightly.
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Clint didn't laugh at Phil's joke because he knew the older man was just trying to lure him into a false sense of security. He moved over to lean on the work surface whist Phil cooked, to watch very carefully what he was doing.
Barely twenty minutes later, Phil dished the pasta into two different bowls and brought it to the table. They sat next to each other, and Clint waited until Phil had eaten to make sure it hadn't been tampered with.
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Clint ate fast, like someone who hadn't eaten properly in far too long and was afraid the food would be taken away from him. Phil reflected that he did look a little to skinny- muscular, lithe and wiry, but still skinny. At only just 17, he still had the build of an adolescent- his shoulders were fairly wide but not overly so. He was short; maybe five foot five and his SHIELD issue clothes were a little to big. He was wary, his eyes darting around the room and coming to rest on Phil every once in a while, eyeing him up and down as if he didn't quite know what to make of him. He was very, very distrustful and seemed to be expecting to be hurt in some way.
Clint finished eating and carefully laid his cutlery side by side on his plate. He stared intently at Phil for a moment, before speaking. "What happens now?"
Phil also finished eating, and leaned backwards in his chair. "Well, you're got two weeks of rest before you can be cleared by medical. You need to decide whether you're going to work for us or not. If you're not, we can still help you get back on your feet. But in the meantime there's a woman called Jane Griffin, who I want you to talk to."
Clint was silent for a moment more. "What will happen if I work for you?"
"Well, you'll go through training first. And then you'll be an agent. This would consist of a lot of things, assassinations, espionage, collecting intel, and so on. If you didn't decide to work for us we'd try and get you back into some form of education. We'd give you money to start and new life, somewhere to stay and we'd keep and eye on you."
"Who's Jane Griffin?"
"She's a psychologist."
Clint was silent for a moment, and when he spoke he acted almost ashamed of his ignorance. "What's a psychologist?"
"A psychologist is a doctor who specialises in mental health."
Clint grew even more apprehensive. "What does that mean?"
"It means you can talk to her about how you're feeling, and she can make you feel better."
Clint frowned- this was probably the first proper facial expression he had actually shown since waking up. "What, like feeling ill?"
"No, like feeling sad or angry." Phil said carefully.
Clint's expression darkened. "I don't want to talk to her. I'm fine."
"Then she can talk to you."
Clint sighed, and picked up his knife to twirl it around his fingers. Phil would have been lying if he had said that he wasn't somewhat intimidated, even if Clint didn't seem to be doing it in a purposely threatening way.
Phil glanced at his watch. "It's 9 o'clock so we have an hour to kill. If you wanted, I can show you round the Helicarrier."
Clint glanced up, frowning questioningly.
"Oh, SHIELD's headquarters is a massive flying aircraft carrier. Though we're at sea at the moment."
Clint just stared at Phil with what could only be described as utter disbelief.
Phil smirked, and stood up. "Come on, I'll show you."
They headed back through the Helicarrier, up multiple staircases until they came to what looked like a service hatch on the outer wall. Phil twisted it open and exited, Clint following behind.
Clint found himself on what did look like an aircraft carrier, apart from it was bigger than anything Clint had ever seen before. The inside facilities were situated bellow the deck of the aircraft carrier, on which futuristic planes and jets were tied down. The deck was sparsely populated, possibly due to the late hour.
"Impressive?" Phil asked. Clint nodded mutely. "It was collaboratively designed by Hank Pym and Tony Stark. This is one of the later adaptations. The earlier prototypes were a little… unreliable. To find them suddenly plummeting to the ground wasn't at all uncommon." Phil glanced across at Clint to see if he would react at all, but his shock from earlier had vanished, replaced once more with his dark, empty facial expression.
Clint wondered over to the edge of the Helicarrier, Phil following close behind. His wariness escalated when Clint walked to the very edge, only stopping when he was literally inches away from falling into the sea. Phil told himself that this fear was irrational- it was fairly unlikely that Clint would jump, but even if he did, there was protocol in place for people falling off the Helicarrier. It had happened before. Many times.
Clint stared intensely into the water for a moment before saying, "Where are we?"
Phil blinked, thrown by the unrelated question. "Somewhere over the Pacific."
"Does it really fly?" Suddenly Clint's expression looked slightly less closed off- Phil could see wariness and something almost like curiosity.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Phil frowned, so Clint reworded the abrupt question. "I mean, what's the point?"
Phil laughed. "Oh, well firstly it's pretty classy. Also we can get anywhere we need to in record time. And we're undetected and protected from attacks."
Clint nodded, and then returned to his usual, empty self.
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It was around 10 o'clock and having nothing else to do, Phil showed Clint to the new recruit accommodation. They were situated a floor down from Phil's apartment and consisted of narrow rooms with a single bed and a chest of draws. The walls were gray and a bulb hung from a wire from the low ceiling. It was a running joke that new recruits qualified so quickly in SHIELD simply to get out of the horrendous accommodation.
"Right, lights out is at 10pm and breakfast is in the canteen at 7am, but I'll come down here at ten to seven to show you where it is, ok? There are clothes in the draws, don't cause trouble, I'll see you tomorrow. Sleep well." And with that, Phil left.
Clint inspected the room for cameras, traps and hidden people before stripping down to his boxers and collapsing onto the bed. Already, he could feel the growing anxiety of the small room. In fact, he could just feel the growing anxiety of the whole situation. He was in entirely unfamiliar circumstances- he didn't know any of these people, and certainly didn't trust them. He had no idea what was going to happen to him, whether or not he wanted to become an agent, whether or not this was just a massive trap. This didn't make much sense as Phil Coulson could have killed him ages ago- well, tried to- and Clint didn't understand how he could have caught so much attention for this whole ruse. Clint's usual uneasiness and wariness was beginning to increase to fear as he struggled to calm himself down. Who were these people? Why were they doing this? What did Coulson want? Why did he want it? Where was he? What was going on? What was going to happen to him? What the hell was he doing here, and how the hell did he get into this mess?
Clint's breathing started to speed up as he propelled himself out of the bed. He needed to get out of this tiny, shrinking gray room which reminded him far too much of the blanket box.
All small spaces reminded him of the blanket box.
Clint pulled on some clothes and exited the room at a hurry. He was vaguely aware that as it was now slightly past 10pm but this insignificant fact was far, far down on his unending list of worries. Clint had no idea where he was going until he reached the hatch he and Phil had used earlier. Throwing himself into a wide open space was the only thing that really helped his claustrophobia, and there weren't many spaces wider than the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
Sometime during the last half an hour the sun had sunken into the sea and the moon, round and full, had risen, projecting a rippled white face onto the water. The wind was nonexistent and all was silent- Clint could barely hear the engines whirring away, and sent silent thanks to Hank Pym and Tony Stark. He sat down cross legged at the very edge of the Helicarrier, closing his eyes and listening to the water lapping at the massive boat/aircraft/thing.
If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost convince himself that he was on a desert island far away from everything and everyone. Far away from his father and Peter Moore and Barney and Jacques and Tchoverick. Almost. But not quite.
14 years and you'll be free at last. But not really- because they'll always be in here, right? Barney had been right, completely right. He was never far away from them all because they were all inside his head. In his dreams, his thoughts, his hallucinations. He saw his father as drunks in bars and pubs. If someone was being over friendly, he was Peter Moore. If someone one was going to stab him in the back, he was Jacques. If he trusted someone, he saw them as Barney. So it was easier not to trust anyone, not to talk to anyone, not to interact. If he retreated deep within himself, no one could hurt him. Thing is, Clint had realized not long ago that when he retreated inside his head, Barney and his father and Moore and Jacques were there too. All he had left was the remains of his sanity and all the demons he carried with him.
You're not fighting back now either. Didn't dad teach you anything?
Come out
Don't tell anyone about this. It's is our secret, understand?
You're such a pussy, Clint
Come out
Haven't you had enough trouble from men like me?
"Clint."
Money makes the world go round, Clint
Clint was always better than Barney.
"Clint, breathe."
Did you give up? Yes, yes he had given up
Always look after the number 1- and the number 1 is always you. He tried to look after the number one, but look where that got him?
You used to fight back. But somewhere, long ago, he stopped fighting
Oh how long I have been waiting to do this.
And I'm here to… I'm here to help you. A lie, it's a lie
I'm not going to hurt you like everyone else did. Lie, lie, lie.
Look at what they all did to you Clint.
"Clint, you're having a panic attack. Breathe, it's going to be ok."
They killed him. They all killed him and now all I have to do is just kill what's left.
"Clint, breathe."
Come out
Don't tell anyone about this. It's is our secret, understand?
"I won't, I won't tell anyone."
"Clint, it's ok."
"I won't tell anyone, I promise."
"Clint they're not here, they're gone."
"I promise, please don't hurt me."
"Clint you're safe, no one's going to hurt you."
"Don't hurt me." Clint felt himself being carried, felt the fresh air of outside vanish, replaced by the recycled air inside.
"Please leave me alone." A door opened, and then closed.
"Don't hurt me." Someone put him down.
"Deep breaths, its ok."
Clint couldn't tell whether his sight returned slowly, or he simply opened his eyes. Gradually a room unfurled, big, spacious, a high ceiling but not too high, warm colors, light blue, green. A window behind a desk, curtains drawn. Paintings on the walls showing rivers, seas and mountains. A circular lamp casting a warm glow across the room. A brown haired woman.
The woman smiled. "Clint, can you here me?"
"Don't hurt me." His mouth stumbled ahead of his brain.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Clint."
"What happened?" Clint mumbled, trying to push himself onto his elbows but then giving up after he was washed over by a massive wave of fatigue.
"You had a panic attack."
"A what?"
"A panic attack. It can happen to someone if they get very scared."
"I'm not very scared."
"Are you sure?" The woman questioned gently.
"I'm not scared. Men don't get scared."
"Who told you that?" She asked soothingly.
"My da- wait, no one. What's going on? Where am I? Who are you?" This time he managed to catch himself, though barely.
"I'm Jane Griffin. And this is my… well, they say it's my office, but I don't like that word. Anyway, you're safe here."
"You're lying."
"Why do you think that?"
Clint stared at here for a moment. He felt almost concussed. "I don't understand."
"Why don't you go to sleep? I can explain in the morning. Can I take you back to your room?"
Clint shook his head with such ferocity it surprised Jane a little. "No. I'm not going back there."
"Why not?"
"I don't like it."
"Why's that?"
"It's too small."
"Are you claustrophobic?"
"I'm tired." Suddenly Clint's exhausted brain couldn't keep up with this twenty-question conversation.
"Do you want to sleep here?"
"I don't know."
"I can stay here if you like."
"In the room?"
"Yes."
"Whist I'm sleeping?"
"Yes."
"If you touch me, I'll kill you."
Jane wasn't very phased about the threat, but was more concerned over what Clint had said before it. Then again, she had read Phil's report, knew all about Moore, and wasn't that surprised.
"I won't touch you, Clint."
Clint frowned, and then his eyes drifted closed. "Okay."
Jane waited until Clint was fully asleep before going to get Phil Coulson on the phone.
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Hello! So this is the sequel to Too Far Gone, and I'd recommend reading that first so that everything makes sense. It's also in the same universe as A Childhood Lost, so you should definitely go and read that as well :D This story is 96% written up so all I have to do is post it. I'll be updating at least every other day. So this got off to a pretty intense start, but keep reading. Thanks!