(A/N): A short little rant that came to me while I was staring at a blank screen. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers. Plain and simple as that.

You don't understand.

You don't understand what it's like to feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, when everything is on you. When you feel like you can't breath, your heart ready to pound its way out of your chest. We have been at death's door when you didn't have to, because someone has to do it. Someone has to risk their lives for the thousands below, running into the unknown darkness ahead of him.

We are the insects fighting against giants, their grip on us slowly draining out our trust and humanity. We see all the destruction we have caused, and we wonder what good we're really doing. Our ears hear the silent sobs of the ghosts above, and we listen. They come to us every night, their eeriness haunting our dreams, heaving at our hearts. But we go on, even with the world pushing us down to our knees.

I've seen the joy and relief coming from my family's eyes when I finally come home. I've had to go on with my life, pretend like nothing happened. Pretend that I didn't just witness the destruction of a city, the terror on the people's faces. I have to pretend that I could have gone to save the world and not returned.

Did you know that? That I have a family? Children to look after, while I'm not looking after your's? A loving wife, who I don't deserve? I play with them, help with homework, watch movies cuddled on the couch. I've had arguments and fights, and I've had happiness brought to me from my family, the one that you know nothing about. Because I'm not a dad or a husband to you; I'm just the guy with the bow and arrow.

Clint looked over his writing. It was dark outside, Connor and Lila fast asleep. He crept out of bed, careful not to wake up Laura. He gazed upon the fireplace he lit, his heart pounding. The night before, he watched a debate about the Avengers, whether or not they should even be allowed to do the things they do. He heard himself be called a danger, an unknown man with the capabilities no sane person would allow wandering out on the streets. Clint couldn't actually disagree. But when he looked at his children and Laura, he saw the Hawkeye they didn't see. And he knew it had to be that way.

But he couldn't keep the anger in. After five minutes and a few sore fingers, he looked over his writing. Satisfied, he turned to the fire, and threw the paper it. Leaning back, Clint watched and relaxed as the paper burned, with his anger alongside it.

(A/N): I kinda made this up as I went along. I remembered that Abraham Lincoln wrote letters to the people he was angry with to satisfy his rage… I'll try that sometime. Anyways, hope you enjoyed. Reviews are always appreciated.