Clint woke up disoriented.
He felt as though he'd slept for years but he just couldn't figure out where he was. It was if he'd woken up in some dream that he couldn't explain.
Earlier that morning he'd fallen out of bed, not onto the ugly beige carpet of his room but onto hardwood floors. The fall had startled him, and the cool flooring made him shiver. He crawled around the floor, his head dizzy from hitting it against the wood, trying to find the door. Once he located the handle he pulled the door open quickly, getting to his feet, his eyes filled with confusion.
This was not his house.
He called out for his parents.
No reply.
He called out for his brother, Barney.
Still, no reply.
He wandered down the hallway, still confused as to where he was. He stopped once he was faced with the living room. It was large, filled with expensive furniture. There was a large window that looked out into the city. He could tell that the apartment was very, very, very high up from the ground. Unlike most people, Clint was not afraid of heights and knowing how far up from the ground he was made him feel safe. Bruce liked to joke that since he was a hawk he'd build a nest up as far as he could go.
Bruce.
Clint's stomach filled with guilt. He said all those horrible and nasty things to him, how could his friend ever forgive him...if Bruce was still his friend.
Turning away from the window he spotted a wooden case with trophies, photos, and awards all won from archery competitions and they all had his name written across them in gold lettering.
They were his, he earned them.
This was his apartment, he lived here.
The glass on the case sent back a reflection. It took Clint a couple minutes to recognize the face that was looking back at him. To be honest, it scared him half to death. It was him but only older. He couldn't say how much older, but he wanted to say late twenties He had the same blue eyes and the same dark blond hair. But, there were a lot of things that were different. For one, his arms were more muscular and well built and he had a tattoo of four thin circles wrapping around his skin and going up his right arm. There were a few wrinkles under his eyes starting to form, and he apparently, had not grown very tall at all. Although this new image was very strange, he had to admit that his older self was very handsome.
Still, he was confused and he had no idea how he was going to find out what was going on. He needed to sit down before his head imploded from all the racing thoughts in his brain.
He didn't know how long he sat on the brown leather couch, that he apparently could afford, with his head in his hands. He had come to the conclusion that he was scared, that he missed his parents and his brother, but most importantly, his missed his dorky best friend.
Buuzzzt.
Buuuzzzt.
Clint's head shot straight up at the sound of something buzzing.
Was he finally going insane from this nightmare? Was something on fire?
No, a smoke detector wouldn't buzz you idiot.
He got up from where he was sitting, relocating back to the ground to crawl around once more and try to locate the sound of the buzzing.
When he reached the source he was standing in his kitchen holding a small telephone. The top flipped open, revealing a number pad and a screen. Was this a cellphone? Modern day technology he assumed. He liked the device. It was a lot better than carrying around the cellphone's he'd seen in movies from when he was a kid. He liked that they were smaller and that they weren't as heavy. He wondered if everyone had phones like this, or if it was still a luxury for only those who had money. Then again, even if that were so, Clint looked like he had a very well paying job and that he could afford anything he wanted.
He didn't even realize that someone was talking until he was pulled out of his thoughts by someone screaming his name.
"Hello?" He said cautiously, pulling the phone up to his ear.
"Jesus Christ, Clint, what the hell are you doing, get downstairs, we're going to be fucking late."
"Late for what?" he asked. If he was going to live in this new reality he needed to at least know what he was getting himself into.
"Are you serious right now, this has been planned for months now. Just get dressed and come down here, I'm not waiting all god damn day."
There as a click and Clint realized that the person had hung up.
He decided that he might as well get dressed and meet this person for whatever they were already late for.
"What are you wearing?"
Clint looked up as he exited his building. He turned his attention to the man that was talking to him. He had dark hair, and a very well trimmed beard. He was wearing a tailored suit and had expensive looking sunglasses perched on top of his nose. Clint looked down at what he was wearing and realized that he was very underdressed compared to the man in front of him. He assumed that where they were going was not the place for a black T-shirt, leather jacket, dark jeans, and a pair of combat boots.
"Sorry." he muttered, keeping his eyes towards the ground.
"No, it's fine, it's not like they're going to expect you in anything else. You haven't worn a god damn suit in ages. Get in." The man said, motioning towards the open car door.
Obviously, Clint and this man were acquaintances. That made him feel a little better about getting into the sleek black car. His fears about being kidnapped and killed were pushed far back into his mind as he sighed and got into the car.
The man followed suit, getting in and slamming the door firmly behind him.
"Drive, Jarvis!"
"Where are we going?" Clint asked curiously, turning to the man. He wanted to ask him his name, but he felt that if he did that the other man would be upset.
"What happened to you last night? Are you hungover? Did you and Nat have such a wild screw that you can't remember a thing?"
Nat, who was Nat and why was he having sex with her? Was she his girlfriend, his wife, just a friend?
"I'm just a bit hungover." Clint lied, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.
"Jesus, man. As your best friend I ask to please, invite me to all your crazy parties."
Best friend. This man was his best friend and he wasn't Bruce.
All his fear came back. His stomach felt sick and his head was spinning.
How was he supposed to live in this new world without Bruce by his side. Was it his fault that they weren't friends anymore? Did they go to separate colleges and just move in different directions, losing contact over the years. Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
"Mr. Stark, we're here." The driver let out as he pulled the car over.
Mr. Stark? He was best friend with Tony Stark.
Tony rushed opened the car door quickly, pulling Clint along after him.
"Repeat after me" Tony said, stopping in front of the building before he opened the door. "I'm Clint Barton, world famous archery gold medalist turned head sniper agent for S.H.E.I.L.D."
S.H.E.I.L.D.?
When Bruce and him were younger, they'd pretend to be military operatives working for the law enforcement unit. Bruce would pretend to be the head of the agency, locating the criminals, and using the evidence to help Clint, who would sit up in his tree house with his bow and pretend to shoot them from above. They'd communicate through walkie-talkies and use toys as their targets. Sometimes, Betty, the girl who lived across the street from them, would come over and play. She always wanted to be the attractive spy who tricked the convicts into coming with her to the exact spot where Clint would be able to shoot them.
Wow. S.H.E.I.L.D.
Clint seemed to be getting caught in his thoughts a lot lately. He realized he was letting his mouth hang open in surprise. "I-I am?" He let out.
"Yes, now say it"
"I am Clint Barton. World famous archery gold medalist turned head sniper agent for S.H.E.I.L.D." He repeated, a bit more spark in his voice.
"I'm one tough son of a bitch" Tony continued
Oh, his mom slapped him once when he cursed subconsciously after slamming his hand in a kitchen drawer. He vowed to never do it again, but, she wasn't here and he was a grown man.
"I'm one tough son of a...bitch." Clint repeated again.
"I'm going to walk into that office, not take shit from anyone, and give my proposal to Fury before he has an aneurism over the destruction of the unit."
Clint repeated the last portion with a lot more confidence. Tony slapped his hand over Clint's shoulders, and started walking them both through the doors. "Good. And remember, invite me to your parties next time. I'm hurt."
As the two walked into the buildings everyone was greeting them. Clint felt bad because he didn't know any of their names. Tony just ignored them and kept walking until they were in a large conference room. Well dressed agents sat all around, there were two open seats with their name on them. He followed Tony, and sat down after he did, pulling off his jacket and placing it on the chair behind him.
"Mr. Barton, is there anything else you need from me?"
A female voice said next to him. He didn't even notice her as she placed a coffee on the table for him. She was skinny, but had a little more weight on her than other women. Sh had brunette hair that was curly and it seemed as if she couldn't control it. She reminded him of his childhood friend. She seemed scared of him, like she'd been yelled out multiple times previously for just doing her job. If she was his assistant, he must have been the one to hurt her that badly. He didn't know her name, so he just said "no thank you." The woman looked startled at the sudden use of manners. "Wait!" Clint said, reaching out to grab her arm as she turned to walk away. "I do have something. I need you to find someone for me." He looked around, searching for something to write with. Spotting the napkin his assistant brought with his coffee, and a pen behind her ear. "Can I borrow that?" he asked pointing to the pen. The woman shook her head yes, reaching up and pulling the writing utensil from behind her ear, handing it over to him.
Quickly, he wrote down 'Bruce Banner. 431-555-1232'
"Finally nice of you two to show up." An African American man said as he walked through the door to the conference room. "I'm glad that we could all work around your schedule. If you haven't noticed, the unit is in danger of being taken over by some fucking low life criminal. Jessica, get out."
Clint watched his assistant nod to the man and then leave the room swiftly, the piece of paper with Bruce's number held firmly in her hand.
"Whose that?" Clint whispered to Tony.
"How much did you drunk? Never mind. That's Nick Fury, he's the director of this entire unit." Tony whispered back.
Clint was very intimidated by this man, although, he figured that he shouldn't be. He had an eyepatch and wore a long black leather trench coat. He cursed a lot more than Tony did, and screamed a lot more too. "You're the only one in this room he trusts more than himself." Tony added before straightening back up to sit correctly.
"Barton!"
Clint looked up at his name being called by Director Fury.
"Yes, sir?"
"I heard that you were going to propose how we were going to get rid of this puny little asshole seeing as you've been following him and watching him for weeks."
Clint didn't know what to say. Who was he following? Who were they trying to get rid of?
"Sir," Tony started. "Loki Laufeyson has figured out we're watching him. We're setting up decoys, trying to get him in any position we can before we can kill him. The weapons I'm building, well, he's found out what they are and he's found out how to detour them. He also knows that Clint is the one who is going to be the one to do the honors. He's trying to catch the Hawk so that he can kill him instead."
Clint was a target for murder by Loki Laufeyson? The quiet, dark haired boy who Bruce had become friends with when he moved into their neighborhood in the third grade? Who sat with them at lunch until, he figured all of High School, but he couldn't remember anything after 8th grade. This same kid was trying to take over S.H.I.E.L.D. the strongest military unit in the United States, maybe even the world. He was trying to take over the world?
"Well then, it seems as if you two assholes have fucked up the mission that you were assigned to do, now doesn't it?"
Clint started to raise his hand before he was cut off by Fury. "That was a rhetorical question!"
"Barton, do you have any idea what you can do instead of getting yourself killed?"
All eyes turned on him, as if he was going to give the option that would save not only his life, but everyone in this room's lives.
Instead of suggesting a new plan, the words that came out of his mouth were. "I think I'm going to throw up."
Pulling his jacket off the chair he ran out of the office, bile creeping up into his stomach, whatever was in his stomach coming up. He felt sick because of Bruce. He felt sick because he didn't know what to do when this was his job. He felt sick because some guy was out to kill him, and apparently he had the chance to kill him before and he didn't do it.
Trying to find the bathroom, he ran into a room that was his office. The sign on the front had his name on it. Opening the door he was faced with a room that looked almost like his own house, but instead there was a desk and a computer instead of a couch and a television.
Closing the door, he leaned against it. Swallowing down whatever was working it's way up, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his nerves. This was all too much for one day.
Someone was knocking on his office door. He turned around quickly and pulled it open with as much speed. His assistant was on the other side. Startled, she jumped before regaining her composure and getting back to work. "Here are your morning messages." She said, handing over a few slips of paper. "Also, I found that man you were looking for."
"Bruce?"
Clint pulled his door open wider, pulling the woman inside the office.
She looked flustered, surprised as to how her boss was acting this morning.
"Yes," she started "the number you wrote down was his parents. I told them that I was with the U.S. Government and that he was in some trouble."
"You liked to the Banner Family?"
What could Mr. and Mrs. Banner possibly be thinking. Bruce would never be in trouble with the Government. He was to nice and kind, polite, truthful. The only thing he could possibly be in trouble with would be if he created something horrible with science, but, Clint couldn't see that happening.
"Sorry? Anyways, he lives on the other side of town. 27 West Rosemont st."
Clint didn't even have time to register what his body was doing. He rushed out of his office, grabbing his jacket and running as fast as he could down the hallway.