Chapter 2- Clint: Anger

Clint screamed his family's names until he was too hoarse to do it anymore. Then he got a call from the Avengers checking to see if he was still there. They filled him in on what had been going on and with every word he grew more and more furious. Who did this space man think he was to snap his fingers and vanish half of the population? Just like it hadn't been fair in China to institute a one child policy, this was even worse. And it couldn't be a long term solution. Didn't he realise that humans would continue to reproduce and eventually they would return to their previous population size just as they had done with plagues or massacres in the past? How had Thanos chosen who to take and who to leave? Natasha said he snapped his fingers and it was done, like some sadistic god. Did he have to think hard as he did it? If Clint had been forced to do the same he would have snapped away the killers, the rapists, the abusers. He soon learnt that wasn't what had been done when such an unsavoury looted his home, trying to take his daughter's IPad, his son's blanket. Clint, who had been staring at his- now cold- buttered toast all evening, snatched the steak knife from its place hanging above his head and threw it straight and sharp into the would-be robber's head. Morbid though it may he, he sat down at the table with the first even remotely positive emotion since he'd lost his family. In fact, as he took the first bite of his toast he felt wholly satisfied, even if only for a moment.


"This is a beautiful weapon," said the arms dealer, running a cloth down it to clean it for Clint as he detailed its history.

"Fascinating," The Agent said, taking the samurai sword to inspect it himself, keeping his eyes carefully on it. "But I think you left a key part out of the official biography."

The shopkeeper had already been gazing at him like a starving beast hoping to con him into a large profit, but now his eyes grew even more interested. "Oh?" Clint smiled and stuck the sharp end into his chest, evoking a sudden startled gasp. "Wh-wh-Why?"

"Half of the world died," Clint said before he twisted the sword and finished the job. "You traded this for your daughter but you didn't." With a few variations, this would become his copy and paste explanation whenever someone wanted one.


When most took a trip back home from Australia they'd collapse on the plane halfway through their first movie. Clint, however, stayed fully alert for the whole journey. He never let his guard down in public anymore, now that his legend was spreading. Especially as this had been his first time punishing abroad- he'd been working his way around the US for over a year but when he'd read the news a week ago he'd known he had to track down this heathen and take him out. For himself, he would be willing to accept the cold grip of death returning him to his family but he had a responsibility to them to take out who should be gone from the world before he could join them up there. Like that sick child trafficker in Sydney who the defunct courts had let off with community service. They might be pretending he hadn't committed all those crimes due to his connections and threats held over the jury but Clint could see the guilt in his eyes, his muscles, his over confident grin moments before he had bled out. For just a minute or so he'd been filled with a righteous rush but then, as ever, the cold had enveloped him, leaving him empty.

A hand reached down into his peripheral vision and Clint immediately snatched it, twisting it backwards and looking up into his attacker's face to see a flight attendant gasping as she dropped his Mac and Cheese in-flight meal with a clatter, the lid staying on due to the elastic band around it but the salad, which had been in a lidless bowl, crunching under the foot of a man who had been taking a bathroom break. He paused, looking at them and asking if everything was alright. His eyes narrowed as he helped the woman up. "Sorry," Clint muttered some half baked excuse and luckily the flight attendant offered her own apologies, something about how she needed to start asking before she put meals down in front of patrons.


He wasn't a fool, Clint knew he needed sleep. Of course, he couldn't do it in the Uber home either but when he arrived he planned to collapse straight into bed. However actually being there was a whole other challenge entirely. Laura's side of the bed still somehow smelt like her perfume and he took a long mournful inhale before shaking his head and storming over to the phone, putting off what he needed.

"Hi this is Laura," announced a perky voice that made his heart soar. "Clint," he could hear the love in his voice, remembering the laughter hurting his cheeks as she'd passed the phone along the line bossily for the kids to say their names with varying degrees of effectiveness. "You've just missed us but leave a message and we might get to it eventually!"

"Hey Clint," his heart stumbled as her voice switched to a new one with a sharp click. "We just wanted to let you know Tony's back. With a blue robot alien. But the uh, the kid's gone," Steve Rogers' voice deepened with sorrow and Clint wiped his brow. He wished he had less of a void in him, that he could feel more for that statement. "Tony's done, he's going to live with Pepper far away from all this." There was resignation in his voice and Clint shook his head. Those two were so obvious. They sparred like two cats in heat but they were two sides of the same coin. They needed each other and they'd accept any event pulling them back together. "The rest of us are going to get Thanos if you're interested in taking part. The blue robot alien girl is his daughter and she knows where he'll be." Clint genuinely considered it before he realised that this voicemail was from over a year ago. "If not, if we don't come back my key for the compound is under the flowerpot." He almost smiled at that joke, something he hadn't done in a long, long time.

The next voicemail was from a week later. "We did it," Steve said but there was no triumph in his voice at all, the small amount of hope from last time was gone, leaving only resignation. "Thor killed Thanos but it was too easy. He'd achieved all he'd wanted to and destroyed the stones so we can't reverse it," Clint felt bile rise in his throat. He hadn't even considered the possibility that he might be able to get them back but to know that had been what they'd been hoping and now there was nothing- that he wasn't the only hopeless one... He had never been the positive icon in the group but to think of the man from the Greatest Generation giving up made things all the more real. He didn't realise he'd screwed up his fists until he saw the bloody half moons he'd imprinted into his palm since he hadn't cut his nails for who knew how long.

The next message wasn't until a couple of months later. "Have you hung out with Nat? I think she needs a break from cataloging all the Vanished." There was a name for them now? As though it were a disease. A chapter in a history textbook. "I know she'd love to see you, she misses her family and you were probably the first member of that she ever had." Clint scratched at his stubbly beard and then skipped the remainder of that message.

"Hi. I came by to check on you since none of us have heard anything for months. I waited for an hour but you didn't show up. I've been taking a course on grief counselling to start leading a group and I know you might have wanted some space but at this point you need friends to remind you you're not alone. Please just... come by the compound or let me know when's a good time to come see you."

Final message. As it started to play Clint's eyes snapped to the framed photo of his whole family on the day his youngest son had been born. "Clint. There's been a series of murders across the country. But I think you know about that, don't you?" The old perhaps not innocent but somewhat less broken version of him was beaming down at his new son in his wife's arms as their two other children peered at the new arrival crowded onto their mom's bed. "After I brought Nat back from the ballet I got her to take a nap and I did a bit of my own research. I watched several YouTube videos from different angles of the killer in different location and in the last one I zoomed in and did some colour correction- I'll admit that Bruce helped me out with the app." Laura was looking at the other him, and on her face he saw something different than he ever had when he'd looked at it before. Relief. She saw that he was finally wholly committed. He wouldn't be missing anymore carpools or waterskiing lessons to risk his life for people he didn't even know. "I spotted a deactivated tracking bracelet on the killer's foot. Then we went back to chronologically later videos and saw it had been pulled off." Ever since he was put on house arrest he'd been there for his family whenever they needed him. And that wasn't by chance. Cap had shown up at their cell and started to spring them out, but both he and Scott had known they couldn't be with their families if they were on the run so they'd stayed locked up, watching as Sam left to become a vigilante with Steve and Natasha. He'd known Wanda wasn't going with them, that she was going back to Vision, and he'd gripped his surrogate daughter's hand as she'd left too to split up. But he'd been aware that he couldn't convince her to stay. That her situation was different from his. "Now I know this may not be completely compelling evidence but I've learnt to trust my gut in situations like this and, paired with the fact that none of us can track you down, I think the so called Robin Hood Killer has another name: Hawkeye." He grabbed the photo in one hand and with the other searched the name 'Wanda Maximoff' into a search engine. "The way you're 'dealing' with your grief is anger Clint, but this isn't dealing, it's just displacement. You're allowed to express however you feel but you need to do it in a healthy way. I started boxing to deal with mine when I got out of the ice- come see me. I can help you learn breathing techniques, how t-"

Having opened a news article ranking the top 100 most influential people stolen by The Snap, Clint saw a black and white photo accompanying number 99; Wanda Maximoff. He yanked the cable out of the home phone, smashed the frame against the table and stormed out of his house gripping his cell phone in his hand. As he called another Uber he seethed with rage at the 'author' of article, a better name perhaps the architect of everyone else's pain. How dare they play tragic 2000's pop songs over the top? How dare they paint Wanda as dangerous and only influential in that way? How dare they rank her so low? How dare they rank anyone at all? As if this were a game. The car drew up in the distance and before Clint climbed in, slammed the door and barked out an address, he dropped his phone in the mud and stomped it under his foot. He had memorised the journalist's name anyway.