2. Barney

Barney worked for big time drug dealers. He was their personal assassin. Lynch did all the dealings, the negotiations. Mann was his personal assistant and business partner. They pointed Barney at people they had "inconveniences" with, and Barney would make them disappear. Sometimes, he would act as a sharpshooter, taking them out from far away. Other times, he'd follow the person he was sent to kill and maybe fight a little bit before finishing him off.

But Lynch and Mann were starting to get tired of Barney. He was getting sloppy and too damn cocky. They finally told him that they didn't want him anymore. Mann had forced him to his knees and pointed a gun at his forehead.

"No! Wait, wait! I have an offer!" He'd pleaded desperately.

"What could you possibly offer us?" Mann had asked.

"I have a smaller brother. He's about to turn 18. He's - he's a better aim than me. He's - He can do the job."

Mann had removed the gun and preparations had been made to find and recruit Clint.

"If he doesn't come. If he doesn't join our. . . organization," Lynch had told Barney on their way to the circus, "we kill you. And the kid. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Boss."

Of course, Clint learned all this much, much later. He said goodbye to his circus family and home, got into the back of a black, armored SUV with his brother and was taken to a hotel. Their rooms were on the highest floor, the 15th floor. He ate in the company of Lynch, Mann, and his brother. During their meal, he was explained to what the nature of their work was.

"So, what happens when the negotiations don't go well?" Clint asked, leaning his elbows on the table they were eating on.

"That's where your brother comes in." Mann answered. They explained to Clint what his brother did for a living whilst Barney busied himself eating.

Clint left the room, angry, yearning for a high place. He found a maintenance closet and then a steel ladder that went up. Hoping it led to the roof, Clint went up the ladder and pushed on a hatch. He had been right and was rewarded with the cool night breeze. He walked towards the edge of the roof, looking down at the street 15 floors down and sat, letting his legs dangle on the side of the building.

"Hey, kid. You'd better come down," Lynch had come up for him. How long had it taken to find him? Did Barney tell him that he liked high places? But Clint ignored him, didn't even turn to look away from the city and its blinking lights.

"For your brother's sake, kid. Come down."

Clint stood, turning around. "What's wrong? Why for my brother's sake?"

"Clint!" Barney's voice came from inside the hotel./p

Clint ran for his brother, jumped down the ladder that had taken him to the roof, knocking Lynch down in the process. When he found Mann with a gun to his brother's temple, he didn't even think.

That night, he killed for the first time. He threw the knife he'd kept hidden and Mann was gone.

The Boss had congratulated him, and offered Clint a job. He'd sent for a clean-up crew, and since Lynch was the owner of the hotel, the staff was used to bloodstains.

Clint accepted the offer. How could he not? Where would he run? He was a criminal now. A murderer. Guilt plagued him. Nowhere to go, no one looking for him. Was someone looking for Mann? He wanted to cry, he wanted to punch Barney, he wanted to. . . At least, with Lynch, he'd be able to work with his brother, even if the bastard had almost gotten them both killed. Barney had confessed about why he'd been so relieved when Clint had agreed to come with him. Clint had brushed it off. He was forgiving that way.

Thus, Clint's career as a marksman was established. He sharpened his fighting skills, "infiltrated" infrastructures, - speaking more than English came in handy, - and took out whoever Lynch wanted dead.

Barney had been right. Clint did have a better aim and could do just fine with any weapon using any hand. He made a name for himself. Hawkeye, for his love of heights and keen eyesight. Gradually, Clint began to outshine Barney, with cleaner kills, quicker escapes and returns to The Boss, who loaned him to other people to do their dirty work for them.

Barney began to get jealous which Lynch quickly noticed and began to pit the brothers against each other quite subtly. Barney fell for it, but Clint could see what was going on and spoke about it to his brother at Lynch's safehouse in Miami.

"Can't you see what's going on? Can't you see what he's doing?"

"What? Favoring the oh, so talented Hawkeye?" Barney snapped.

"He's not favoring me! He wants to drive us apart! Come on, Barney. Please."

"Shut up, Clinton, excuse me, Hawkeye. Go find a freaking roof to nest in." Barney stalked off.

So he had looked for a tall building and dragged himself to the roof to brood. He didn't understand Barney's cold, dangerous jealousy. Even though he was the Hawkeye, Clint knew that there were some who also feared Trickshot, an alias which Barney had created for himself when he left the circus. Why did he care so much about Lynch and what the man thought of him? Unless, of course, said man was planning to have them killed. Clint's breath caught in his throat at the dark thought.

His ever present ear piece that served as a communications unit crackled to life, interrupting his brooding, and he heard Lynch's voice call for him.

"Yes, sir."

"Get to the house, I need you here, your brother went out."

"Yes, sir."

Once Clint arrived after doubling back several times and abruptly changing direction more than once, he found that Lynch was waiting for him inside the safehouse with a gun pointed at him. He stopped in his tracks, looking at the gun and then meeting Lynch's blue stare. The man surprised him yet again when he smiled merrily and tossed Clint the Gloch.

"Come with me, I want to show you something." Lynch led him to a room, more like a walk-in closet, where the sides were lined with every imaginable weapon available. Rifles, pistols, handguns, knives, some explosives, and in the far corner, Clint's weakness, one he had not seen in a good while.

"Pick three. You get to keep them. So far, we've supplied you and your brother with weapons and ammunition. You've done an exceptional job. It's hard to find marksmen, even harder to find them with the skill you possess. Consider these a gift." Lynch explained with his hands in his pockets.

Clint immediately went to the bow and the quiver of arrows hanging on the wall beside it. It was a beautiful bow, one that looked like a recurve bow, a dark, dark red, almost black. He pulled back the string, feeling its strength in its elegance. Beautiful. This one was a keeper. He also picked a hand gun and a nice knife. Perfect. And with a long-range rifle already supplied by Lynch, Clint was ready to go.

"Thank you, Boss," he said with an expressionless face and a neutral voice.

" You're welcome, Hawkeye."

Lynch later sent the two Bartons together to end the life of a rival mob boss. He told them he didn't want anyone to figure out that it was them who were after his rival. Barney and Clint complied, thought they weren't really on speaking terms. They figured out that Lynch's rival, a man named Tom Scott, was staying at a hotel nearby, on one of the highest floors. The Bartons stationed themselves on the roof of a building on the other side of the busy main street, a clear visual on Scott and his room.

The fool never thought of closing the drapes of his window.

"Clint had brought along his bow and quiver of arrows, turns out his bow was collapsible, and took aim when Scott was alone. He fired two arrows, one after the other, very quickly. One to break the glass of the window, the other to stop Tom Scott's heart. Maybe not one of his cleaner kills, but it did the job. And how he hated his job./p
Clint noticed that his brother also took aim with his rifle when two of Scott's goons came running into the room. Barney fired once, twice, missed, shot again, this time getting the second goon.

"What the hell was that for?" Clint asked. "The Boss said to get Tom Scott. Not Tom Scott and friends. What if those men had family?"

"Listen, Hawkeye, they were in the way. Anyway, the job's done. You killed Scott yourself, what if he had family?" Barney spoke icily.

Behind them, the door that led to the roof opened, and they watched questioningly as Lynch walked out. He headed towards them, tsking. "Boys, boys. When would you learn to get along? Unfortunately for the both of you, you won't have a chance." He raised his right hand, holding a gun, and shot Barney in the chest, the spot over his heart.

"No! Barn-!" Clint stopped short. Loading his bow, he turned to look at Lynch. "Why?!" He asked.

"He was no longer of use to me. He was too impulsive, reckless. He let his emotions drive him, in other words, foolish."

Clint aimed at Lynch's forehead, clenching his jaw.

"Go ahead. I wouldn't hold it against you. I'm tired of this life. Of having to send people to kill my enemies. But if you let go of that arrow, all my staff, all the people I loaned you to so you could work for them, they'll be after you. You'll make some very, very powerful enemies."
Clint stared into Lynch's blue eyes.

"As if I haven't already." He said with finality, letting the arrow fly.

And we all know, Hawkeye, Clint, The Hawk, whatever you want to call him... He never misses.