CLINT

Clint hooked two fingers on the edge of the curtain and pulled it back. People poured into the main tent, some carrying sodas or lemon shake ups, others carrying giant pretzels or popcorn in grease-stained red and white paper bags as they edged along the bleachers and settled in for the show. He could practically feel the electric crackle of excitement in the air as the anticipation began to build like thunderclouds on the horizon. After their fifth and final day in Wichita, it had proven to be the most lucrative city on their circuit so far this year. Every night was sold out with people still clamoring at the gates to be let in.

Clint double checked his arrows for the thousandth time in the past five minutes, running his thumb along the razor sharp tip of each arrowhead, sighting down the shafts and then making sure they were tucked into the quiver, perfectly snug. He moved onto his bow next, caressing the smooth, worn curves of the dark oak wood with the lightest touch, checking for any dings, cuts or scrapes. He pulled the string back and felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten in response to the tension. His bow had been with him for show after show ever since he joined the circus fifteen…sixteen….years ago. Maybe it was time to replace the old beauty but he just couldn't bring himself to do it yet.

"You're reminiscing again."

Clint turned to see his brother, Barney, watching him, arms crossed with an amused smile on his face. Sometimes it amazed Clint that the two of them were brothers. Clint was short, stocky, round in the face and his hair was always getting messed up if he didn't keep it cropped short. Barney, on the other hand, was the spitting image of their father – curly dark hair, sharp blue eyes, tall and broad in the shoulders. He inherited Dad's temper too. More than once, Clint had to run interference and drag his brother away from a fist fight because he took some offhanded comment the wrong way.

"Can't help it sometimes," Clint replied with a shrug. "It was my first real bow, kind of got attached I guess."

"You're a sap, you know that?" Barney shook his head and took the bow from Clint, looking it over, testing the string as Clint has done earlier but it wasn't the same thing. Barney studied and analyzed it like it was nothing more than a tool, but Clint felt it, remembered every story behind every scratch. Because it was Clint's bow, not Barney's. He'd practically slept with the damn thing ever since Mr. Carson gave it to him when Clint and Barney were rookies on the carnival circuit, what felt like a lifetime ago now.

Finally, Barney handed the bow back and Clint folded his arms over it like a protective father reunited with his long lost child. Barney was the only one he trusted to touch his bow, no one else at the carnival, no matter how well he knew them, was allowed to lay a finger on it. That was the rule for most any of the equipment though. The carnies made a living through the tools of their trade. If anyone accidently tampered with something or, god forbid, caused damage in any way, it could be at the cost of someone's livelihood.

"I remember when that bow was bigger than you were," Barney said.

"And I remember how much you laughed when the only way I could pull the string back was with both hands."

"Gotta get my kicks somewhere," Barney replied with a smirk. "What are little brothers for if not for entertainment?"

"Don't you have some elephant shit to shovel up somewhere, big brother?" Clint teased.

Barney took a playful swipe at Clint's head but after years of Barney being far too predictable, Clint managed to duck with plenty of room to spare. He took a step back out of arm's reach and shot his brother a grin.

"Must be close to show time," Barney replied, "your trash talk gets worse so you don't puke from the nerves."

"That was one time!"

"And you're never living it down."

Clint groaned and Barney seized his window of opportunity. He locked Clint under one arm and rubbed his knuckles over Clint's head, ruffling his hair.

"Hey! No! Get off me!" Clint protested as he squirmed free.

Barney let him go and laughed at the scowl of indignation on Clint's face. Clint smoothed his hair down, sulking all the while.

"Will you ever quit that?" he demanded. "Geez, I'm not eight years old anymore. I'll kick your ass the next time you do that."

"I'd like to see you try," Barney grinned.

Clint was about to protest when the music started up. A silent flurry of activity ignited back stage as the carnies scrambled to their positions or crammed in last minute touches to their costumes. Clint shouldered his quiver and took another peek out of the curtains as Mr. Carson took to the center of the ring in his glittering red coattails and black top hot with a peacock feather fluttering in the brim. He spread his arms wide to address the now utterly silent and attentive crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. His voice filled the silent tent as the audience hung on his every word. "Welcome to my humble and ever intriguing Carnival of Travelling Wonders."

As Carson began his opening speech, Clint slipped out from behind the curtain and climbed the ladder to the acrobat's platform, three stories high. This moment was one of his favorites – the audience hadn't seen him yet, he could watch them from above as they took in the show, lights, dancers, magicians, animals… He had felt that way when he first joined, like the carnival was pure magic, filled with wonder when the lights were turned low and the performance began.

Now that he lived back stage and saw the chaos that happened before, during and after every show…there wasn't any magic to it. More like a backbreaking amount of planning, careful orchestration, perfect timing, solid trust and a healthy dose of luck.

Carson finished his speech and bowed out. The audience burst into deafening applause as the dancers spilled into the ring, fluttering like butterflies with their ribbon streamers. Their multi-colored skirts whirled, making each dancer look like a spinning top, dizzying yet mesmerizing to watch.

The platform trembled slightly as more acrobats filed up the ladder – little Dilly, the youngest of the group who smiled shyly at Clint as she lined up in front of him, waiting for her cue to launch onto the trapeze bar. Next came the twins, Lucia and Laila, all long limbs and wide, dark eyes. Close on their heels was Philippe, the anchor of the team who would catch the girls as they flew from one trapeze bar to the next. Clint would be the last to go and wrap up the act.

The dancers filed out and the spotlight flew to Philippe and Dilly. Philippe sat on the bar as Dilly clambered up to stand on his shoulders and they swung out. As soon as they left the platform, Philippe tipped backwards and Dilly stepped off of his shoulders. Philippe caught her slim wrists in his large, calloused hands and like a tiny arrow, Dilly used the momentum to propel herself up, up, up. At the apex of the swing, Philippe let go, Dilly tucked into a tight ball, spun three times, so high that her long blonde ponytail smacked the roof of the tent. She unfurled her body with deceptive ease and caught Philippe's hands again. Safe. Clint sucked in a relieved breath as the audience applauded. Philippe swung back and took Laila and Lucia, one girl dangling from each arm.

Clint had watched them perform this act over and over countless times but Dilly was so small, Laila and Lucia were so thin and fragile looking that he still found himself holding his breath. Carson insisted that no net was employed during the performance to heighten the sense of danger, as if it wasn't already bad enough. Philippe never dropped anyone though and the girls never missed their cues as they fearlessly twisted and spun through the air but it wouldn't take much more than a wobble for the act to crumble. He knew that all too well.

Laila was returned to the platform first and elbowed him slightly in the ribs. He shook himself from his thoughts. His time was almost up. He double checked his quiver one last time as Carson took to the ring again.

"I have no doubt that you've all heard of the legendary William Tell and his famous apple trick."

The crowd responded in agreement.

"Excellent, very good. You're a well-educated group, I see. Then you'll understand my proposal and how unique it is. What if I told you, our next act would put William Tell to shame? What if I told you our next act.…" He paused for dramatic effect, knowing that his next words would be what the crowd had been waiting for all this time. "…had the eyes of a hawk?"

The crowd erupted, the noise rising to a deafening crescendo. Philippe held the trapeze in place as Clint positioned himself to stand on the bar, his feet wedged against the ropes, his stomach pulled in tight and his back ramrod straight. The spotlight swung up towards him, blinding him, and turned the rest of the tent completely dark. The audience vanished, Carson disappeared, Dilly, Philippe, Laila and Lucia, gone. It was just him and his bow and arrows as Philippe let go of the trapeze. The air rushed by with a whispering hum. He supposed this was the closest he could come to flying as he felt the empty space roaring in silence around him. The ground gaped at him somewhere below in the darkness like a giant mouth ready for a momentary lapse of balance to swallow his broken, mangled body.

There. A flutter of lighter shadow amid the darker ones.

He fired six arrows in quick succession until he swung back to the platform and stepped off the trapeze. The glaring spotlight switched away from him and panned down to a board in the middle of the ring where six playing cards were pinned to its surface. An arrow protruded from each card, dead center.

Once the show was over, Clint wanted nothing more than to sit back with a couple of beers and maybe some pizza. He was beyond exhausted, if that was possible. Sometimes he felt like he hardly did anything during his performance compared to the dancers and the other acrobats but every show still left him feeling drained, as if he had run a marathon in about five minutes.

He sat outside the main tent in the dim, golden glow of the lightbulb strands suspended all throughout the carnival grounds and around the eaves of each tent while he cleaned his arrows. A few minutes later, as was the usual post-show tradition, Jacques joined him, still dressed in his swordsman costume – a pair of dark blue pantaloons tied off with a bright red sash around his waist, a black and gold vest over his broad, tanned, muscular torso. The outrageous handlebar mustache though…well…that was all Jacques.

Clint hooked his foot around a nearby stool and pulled it out. Jacques accepted the invitation gratefully and produced a fat cigar from his pocket. He studiously took his time as he lit it up, blew three large smoke circles, smelling sweet and slightly of smoky pepper, into the air, watching each one dissipate completely before releasing another one. He stretched his legs out and sighed.

"Think I'm getting too old for this," he grunted.

Clint chuckled and shook his head. He said that every single night after every single show but Clint knew it was all talk. Jacques would have to be dead before he'd quit the carnival. He'd taken Clint and Barney under his wing when they were scrawny little runaways, determined to make their own way in the world. Nearly all the carnies looked to him as a father figure, grumpy and maybe a little on the churlish side, but a father figure nonetheless.

"You know you love it," Clint replied. "Unless the idea of an office job is suddenly holding some mysterious appeal."

Jacques squinted at him. "Gettin' a little big for your britches, kid. Don't think I won't flip you over my knee and beat some respect into your smartass."

"Oh, I believe you…if you could catch me that is," he added with a sly grin.

Purely by accident, Clint had found out at a young age that Jacques was terrified of heights. For the longest time, both Clint and Barney had been convinced Jacques was afraid of nothing. So when Clint found out that he could sit all day on the trapeze bar in the main tent and all Jacques could do was mutter a string of obscenities at him in French from the ground…that was a good day for Clint. Not so much for Jacques.

"You can hide in the rafters of that tent like a damn bird all you want but it has to come down at some point. It's only a matter of time before you're in my territory again," Jacques muttered.

Footsteps rustled in the grass just outside the glow of the lightbulbs signaling the arrival of company. Barney stepped into the light, carrying a six pack under one arm.

"You threatenin' my brother again?" Barney teased.

"Just to whip him into shape is all," Jacques replied. "That mouth is gonna get him into trouble one day."

Barney doled out the beers and settled in the grass cross-legged, leaning back on one hand. "I couldn't agree more."

Clint nudged him with his foot. "Shut up."

Barney shoved back twice as hard and Clint nearly toppled off his chair. "By the way, Miss Carson was looking for you," Barney said.

Clint sat up and shot his brother a dirty look. "Marcella? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Barney shrugged. "Forgot I guess, I don't know."

Hurriedly, Clint stuffed his arrows back into their quiver and slung it over his shoulder along with his bow. "Well do you remember what she wanted me for at least?"

"Look at you, all flustered for the boss' daughter."

"I'm not flustered, Barney, I'm pissed that you didn't tell me. Now answer the question already."

Barney shrugged again and sipped at his beer. As much as Clint loved his brother and would stick with him to the end, there were moments – like right now – where he wanted to strangle him with his bare hands.

"Better not keep her waiting too much longer, brat," Barney said.

Clint growled and took off in search of Marcella. It was weird that Barney simply "forgot" like that. When they were growing up, Barney was always the one who remembered everything. Even when they lived on the streets for a few months, sleeping under bridges or in the woods, Barney remembered Clint's birthday and managed to scrounge up a few bucks to buy a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice-cream to share between them. Barney didn't forget unless he had a reason to but that only left Clint at square one again, wondering why Marcella had so conveniently slipped Barney's mind.

The Carsons' trailer sat on the far side of the carnival, as far away from the noisy crowds as possible to take advantage of the most peace and quiet. Little pools of golden light spilled through the gaps in the curtains but that didn't necessarily mean Marcella was in there. Carson wasn't exactly all that keen on a carny showing any interest in his daughter. He may have agreed to take Clint and Barney on when they were still just kids who could barely lift a hay bale let alone do any real work but that didn't mean he had to trust them. Besides, Carson was the boss and technically not really part of the carnival like the other workers. He never went out for a few drinks with them, never sat around the winter fires late into the night as they swapped stories or got tipsy on too much spiced punch. Carson purposefully kept himself on the outskirts of the carnies. They worked for him and nothing more.

Clint took a breath, smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt and swallowed hard. He was really regretting that beer now that it was threatening to come back up. Finally, he knocked three times and waited. A slight shuffling came from inside then the door opened and Marcella was there, wrapped up in a pink bathrobe, her usually perfect golden curls piled atop her head in a messy bun. So she was already in for the night, he thought. Something was really off here…

"Clint, hey," she said with a bright smile.

"I…were you asleep? I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, I wasn't actually, just doing a little reading." She paused, rubbing her fingernail in the wood of the doorframe with intense concentration. "Was there something you needed?"

He blinked, stunned. "You…weren't looking for me then?"

Marcella frowned and shook her head. "No…"

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. Barney had played him. It was all a set up to make Clint look like an idiot.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Sorry to bother you."

"Clint, wait," she said, taking a step down from the trailer and placing a hand on his arm. "Would you like to stay a while? I'd enjoy the company."

Even in the dim light from the trailer, he could see the fierce blush that crept up her neck and blossomed across her cheeks. Marcella was a sweet girl, barely twenty, and at one time, he'd entertained the idea of dating her for a while until Jacques finally got it through his thick skull that girls like Marcella, with their fancy boarding school education, did not have time for guys like Clint who joined the carnival to escape their rap sheet a mile long. So he stopped trying to catch Marcella's attention…but that didn't mean if she showed any interest that he had to keep his distance.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," he finally admitted. He felt as if he practically had to scrape the words out of his throat. Of course he wanted to hang around, especially since she was the one who had asked him to stay but Carson would skin him alive. Barney had worked too hard to get them here only to have Clint throw it away because the boss' daughter was cute.

"I should get going, let you finish that book," he said, backing away.

"Oh, alright, maybe another time," she replied in a small voice that made Clint's chest ache. He almost stopped right there and changed his mind, almost followed her into the trailer….but he took another step back. It was better this way, he kept repeating to himself, hoping it would sink in and he would finally believe it.

When Marcella retreated inside her trailer and shut the door, Clint broke into a dead run back to where he had left Jacques and Barney but they were gone, leaving nothing behind but two empty beer bottles. Barney had pranked him plenty of times before but they had been harmless and stupid incidents, like a pie in the face. Not like this.

He checked Barney's trailer but the lights were off and when he pounded on the door, there was no answer.

"Barney, if you're in there, open the damn door right now."

Silence.

He pounded three more times but still Barney didn't answer. Maybe he'd slipped off somewhere with one of the dancers. Jacques might know. Clint headed to Jacques' trailer but met the same situation again. Nobody was home. He let out a huff of frustration. It was perfectly normal for any one of the carnies to disappear for a few hours, even a few days then return like nothing ever happened. The fact that Jacques and Barney both had disappeared at the same time without telling him where they were going…it felt wrong.

He backtracked to Barney's trailer and settled on the steps, resting his bow and arrows across his knees. Whenever Barney got back, Clint would be waiting for him and he would finally get an explanation as to what the hell was going on here.

"BARTON."

Clint must have dozed off at some point last night. He jerked awake at the sound of his name and blinked in the glaring sunlight. Carson marched towards him with what must have been half the crew on his tail and grabbed a fistful of Clint's shirt collar. He dragged Clint closer until they were mere inches away from each other.

"After everything I've done for you," Carson growled, waving one of Clint's arrows in his face. "This is how you repay me?"

Clint frowned. "I'm…lost."

Carson flung the arrow at Clint's chest with a harmless smack. Clint caught it before it fell to the ground. Where did this come from? He still had all of his arrows with him. No one could have stolen this one but it looked exactly like his arrows, with the purple and black fletching, the sleek black shaft, the silver tips.

"This isn't mine," he said. "I swear."

"Like hell it isn't."

"It's not! Look," he insisted, holding his quiver up to show that not a single arrow was missing. "All of mine are accounted for. Where did you get it?"

"Don't play stupid, Barton, it doesn't suit you."

"I swear to god I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I found it in my trailer after you robbed me!"

Clint's mouth worked open and closed for a second, too stunned to speak. He switched his gaze to the crowd, searching for an understanding face but instead he was greeted with accusatory glares or sad looks of confusion. If he didn't get himself out of this fast, it wasn't going to end well. It wouldn't be taken to the police. The carnies preferred to keep trouble in the family and deal with things their own way. A couple years back, the lion tamer had lost his temper and turned his whip on his wife. The next morning found the lion tamer at the bottom of the local river in teeny tiny pieces. Since most of the carnies consisted of runaways or criminals, nobody thought twice about it let alone reported it. Clint really, really did not want to end up in little pieces at the bottom of the local river…

"I didn't do it," he finally managed to choke out. "I've been here all night."

Carson squinted at him. "Marcella said you paid a visit to her."

Clint hesitated. Admitting to that would only damn him even further considering he knew how Carson felt about Clint spending time around his daughter. However, if he lied about it – no matter how convincing he was – Carson would naturally side with Marcella and he'd be in even deeper trouble. He was in way over his head on this one and there didn't seem to be a clean getaway.

"I…did," Clint slowly agreed. "But only because I was told she wanted to see me."

Carson raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. "Really? Why don't I believe you?"

"Turned out to be a prank," he finished with a wince. It sounded horribly weak even to his own ears.

"And then you just decided to spend the night outside your brother's trailer for…what reason again?"

"I was looking for him, couldn't find him. Thought I'd wait here until he got back."

"Funny you should say that," Carson said, raising one hand above his head and flicking two fingers forward. "Because Barney was the one who spotted you outside my trailer last night walking away with thirty thousand dollars of my cash in your pockets."

Clint felt himself sway on the steps as his breath caught in his throat. Barney stepped up next to Carson, his gaze cold, unyielding and….disappointed. That was the part that hurt more than Carson's accusations, more than half the carnival, the only family he had ever known, looking at him like he had just sold his first born child. It was Barney's disappointment that cut deeper than anything else. No matter what they had gone through together – losing their parents, getting shipped off to that god awful orphanage for six years, running away and living on the streets until the carnival came along – they always stuck together. Barney could have left him behind at any point but he never did because they were brothers, they were family.

For the first time, Clint found himself alone, without his brother to back him up.

"Barney," Clint whispered. "Tell them it's not true. I didn't do this."

"I wish I could believe that," he said, "but Jacques saw it too."

Clint couldn't breathe. He felt as if the kicks just kept on coming right to the gut even though he was already down. There was no way he could dig himself out of this one. If Barney had been on his side, he might have been able to scrape his way out of it or make a run for it and start over someplace else. Now that Jacques had ganged up against him too…he'd lost before the fight even started. He never had a chance.

Carson cleared his throat. "Look, I'll make it a little easier on you if you just tell me where the money is."

"I can't tell you because I don't know," he said, forcing his voice to be even despite the desperation that shivered through every nerve in his body. "That isn't my arrow. Barney and Jacques are lying but I have no idea why. I'm being set up."

"Clint," Barney reprimanded in a soft tone that made Clint's stomach churn. "Don't be like that. It's over. You've been caught. Just admit it already. Don't make this any harder than it already is."

Clint shot to his feet. "I DIDN'T DO IT. Why are you acting like this Barney? You lied about Marcella wanting to see me last night. Now you're lying about seeing me with Carson's money? Is there something I'm not getting here?"

Carson made to grab Clint's arm but he twisted away and took a large step back out of reach.

"I tried to be nice," Carson said through gritted teeth, his face red with fury. "But the offer is no longer on the table. Tell me where the money is or we'll do this the hard way."

Clint took another slow step back and Barney stepped closer, keeping the space between them even. He had to get out before Carson pinned him down somewhere, using whatever means necessary to get the information he wanted. Clint had no idea what methods Carson would use but he didn't want to find out. His imagination could fill in the blanks well enough.

"You're right, Carson," Clint said, tightening his hold on his bow. "You too, Barney."

"So you did steal from me," Carson ground out. "You bastard."

"No, I still hold true to what I've said."

Carson frowned and started to protest but Clint cut him off.

"After all the two of you have done for me, I could never repay you."

He whipped an arrow from his quiver and fired at Carson, pinning his sleeve to the trailer. Clint took off running through the maze of tents, booths and animal cages. Barney's footsteps thundered close behind but with every sharp, weaving turn he took, Clint gained a little more headway and Barney fell just a little further behind. Clint ducked into the darkened tent where the tigers were held during the day to keep them quiet and slid into the shadows. Barney barreled in after him and pulled up short.

"I know you're in here, brat," he panted.

Clint said nothing, merely pulled another arrow from his quiver and notched it. He would never kill his brother but a little nick to the leg or shoulder to slow him down couldn't hurt too much. He lined up the shot as Barney crept further into the tent as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Barney was entirely at his mercy. After what Barney had done to him, he didn't deserve a graze on the arm. It wouldn't take much to adjust the shot just a little more, line it up in the center of his chest….

Clint tucked the arrow back into his quiver, shouldered his bow and stepped out of the shadows. Barney started, surprised that Clint was so close and he hadn't even realized it.

"That's right," Clint said. "I had you in my sights and I didn't take the shot."

"Am I supposed to thank you?" Barney spat out.

"Where did we go wrong, Barney?" Clint asked softly. "We stuck together through hell and back again to have it end like this?

"Save the sentimental crap, Clint. This is your fault, not mine."

"You know I didn't do anything."

"That's just it: you did everything. Jacques always favored you. Then Marcella took to fawning all over you too. I knew, every time she looked your way that someday I would be the one in the cold while you cozied up with the boss. Marcella will take over the carnival when Carson's gone and you'd be right there, head of the whole operation. It should be my place, not yours."

"So that's what this is about?" Clint rasped in horror and disbelief. "You framed me because you're jealous?"

"Call it a little insurance that I get what's rightfully mine."

Barney charged but Clint was ready. He side stepped and brought his fist up into Barney's gut. He doubled up, gasping, and in a way, it was as if Clint felt it too, tearing at his insides. Sure, he'd had a few fights with his brother but not like this, not intentionally out to possibly kill each other. He could practically feel the rage pouring off of Barney as he straightened and swiped at Clint, clipping him on the jaw so hard that he heard a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

Clint stumbled backwards and shook his head to clear the blinking black spots dancing across his vision. Barney was already coming at him again and Clint barely had time to steady himself. He ripped an arrow from his quiver at the same time that Barney caught him around the middle. As they fell, Clint brought the arrow down in between Barney's shoulder blades. They hit the ground, Barney's weight knocking the air clear out of Clint's lungs. He wheezed and coughed against the tightness in his chest, fighting for breath.

Barney didn't move.

Clint shoved at his brother's limp body, rolling him to the side and he scrambled to his feet, prepared to fight. Still, Barney remained where he lay, his eyes closed. A choked sound came from Clint's throat as he dropped to his knees next to Barney.

"Oh dear god, no, no please, no, I didn't mean…"

He checked Barney's pulse and felt a steady thrum beneath his fingers. He sucked in a shaky breath of relief and rested his forehead on Barney's chest. The idea that Barney would have killed him first if he didn't defend himself was not in the least bit comforting. It should never have come to this in the first place, brother fighting against brother. They always fought back to back, against the world, not each other.

Clint grabbed fistfuls of his brother's shirt, the burn of tears threatening to spill over. "I never wanted the carnival or Marcella. You could have had it all if you'd just told me that's what you wanted, damn it."

Gingerly, he pulled the arrow out of his brother's back – it didn't go nearly as deep as he thought it had – and tore off one of the sleeves from his shirt to press to the wound. That was the best he could do for his brother and quite possibly the last. Someone would find him soon enough, he could hear people hunting for him outside, searching the carnival. He dashed the back of his hand across his eyes and ducked out of the back door to the tent, constantly scanning his surroundings for anyone who might be looking for him.

He managed to make it to the rides, all folded up and loaded onto the trucks, ready to go. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that no one was nearby then he swung himself up and squirmed his way into the piles of equipment, steel rods and gears. His breathing sounded harsh and erratic in the tight space as he huddled between a Ferris wheel basket and the leering face of a life-sized plastic clown. He forced himself to calm down, to breathe evenly again despite the cloying smell of grease, oil and stale fried food that surrounded him. It was going to be a very long wait before he could move again and he couldn't afford to lose it right now. Thin slivers of light slipped between the stacks of equipment and Clint made sure to press himself as deep into the shadows as he could possibly get.

Hours crept by and Clint's legs cramped up but he stayed perfectly still. Occasionally, shuffling footsteps would wander by, pause outside the truck then continue on. At some point, the footsteps stopped coming. The only thing Clint had to judge the passage of time was the light as it shifted and grew dim. His stomach ached with hunger. The beer with Barney and Jacques was the last thing he'd had to eat and that was probably a full day ago by now.

Finally, the truck rumbled to life, rattling and shifting the equipment. Clint squeezed his eyes closed as the giant steel rods and gears groaned around him, praying they would stay in place and not crush him to death. Gravel crunched beneath the tires with agonizing slowness then gave way to the smooth rush of the highway. He wasn't out of the woods just yet. At any time, Carson could call a stop to the caravan and decide to check the trucks. As soon as they had to fuel up, he'd be gone, find another vehicle maybe or hitch a ride. Just put as much distance between himself and the carnival as possible.

As expected, the caravan made a stop about three hours later. Clint wormed his way out of the stifling equipment and darted behind the gas station. Two employee cars were parked out back, a junky little four door sedan and a convertible Jeep with the top down. Lady Luck looked like she finally decided to start siding with him for once. He scrambled over the top and slid into the driver's seat, setting his bow and arrows into the passenger's seat next to him. No keys in the ignition or the ash tray so he supposed he had to go about this the creative way. Bittersweet thoughts of Barney cropped to mind as he patted around beneath the steering column until his fingers found a tangle of wires. Clint and Barney had nearly been nabbed the first few attempts they made at hotwiring cars but eventually Barney got the hang of it and they fell into a routine. Clint would be look out, Barney would shimmy the door open with a coat hanger, spark the wires together and they'd be long gone before the cops showed up, all done under two minutes.

Clint yanked at the tangle of wires with a little more force than he had intended to. None of it made any sense to him. Life hadn't been particularly kind to them for a while; he could understand why Barney might be angry over that. What he couldn't understand was why Barney decided to take it out on Clint.

He was so intent on what he was doing that he didn't notice the man who had moved to stand directly in front of the Jeep, hands tucked into his suit pockets. He tapped on the hood of the car and Clint started, his heart hammering in his chest. The man waved.

"Clint Barton?"

Clint hesitated and when he didn't reply, the man continued.

"It's alright, you don't have to confirm it, we already know who you are."

"Who's we?"

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

Clint blinked. "That's a mouthful." And sounded very much like a government agency that probably wanted to nab his ass. Just when he thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, he was proven wrong once again.

The man smiled. "We're better known as SHIELD these days."

"And you are?"

"Oh, yes, forgot that little detail didn't I? I'm Special Agent Phil Coulson and I've been sent to recruit you."