Clint didn't want to be sitting on the hard, uncomfortable bench. It wasn't the bench's less than sanitary surface that bothered him, he had slept and even eaten off worse at the circus, but he didn't like the ground. He wanted to disappear on a high roof, or in the tallest rafters of the largest warehouse he could find and just watch all those that would scuttle below him. He didn't know if being a trapeze prodigy had caused that or if he was drawn to the trapeze because of it, but that was a debate for people smarter than him. All he knew was that he loved the freedom of the skies stretching before him when he climbed. He wished he could be there now. Not waiting on strangers at a police station. He stared more than a little nervously out the stations' glass front doors. "It's true that the city never sleeps." he mused as yet another rush of traffic passed by. He wasn't used to the big city yet. Having his brother watching over him while traveling meant he wasn't allowed to leave the fairgrounds mostly situated on the outskirts of the big cities. They were just so lively, even compared to the big top. Clint yawned loudly as he stole yet another look at the cracked, ancient looking clock that adorned one of the police station's many waiting rooms. It was nearly 2 a.m. He was used to long, strenuous working hours, but three days on the run from law enforcement with an unstoppable force like his brother could wear even a grown man down to nothing. His brother. He felt a wave of fear overcome his calm. His brother was on the hook for murder. Murder! Barney had assured Clint that he hadn't killed the rival trapeze artists and Clint believed him, but the police didn't seem so inclined. He wanted to rescue his brother from interrogation and run away to find a new circus, maybe one that treated and paid both of them better.

Clint was pulled out of his fear and worry by an old, black-haired man dressed in a suit. The from their first day at the circus to avoid even the most cheap and rumply of suits because they were both legally too young to be working the hours they worked. He fought the well ingrained urge to cut and run as the man sat down beside him. "Miss Hill is minutes away. You've been a very brave boy." he smiled a smile that Clint recognized as likely genuine, but it didn't matter. He didn't feel any braver. In fact, he felt alone, scared, cold, and incredibly small, but he wasn't going to show a stranger that. "I'm 12 years old. I'm not a boy." he retorted with all the gruffness that his yet unbroken voice could manage. To the man's credit he didn't laugh. He only shook his head and left the silence that punctuated Clint's statement to lay over the small waiting room. It was five minutes later that Clint finally broke it. The question had been eating at him for an hour straight. "Will I get my bow back?" His bow, an extension of himself. It was one of only two possessions that he would fight for, probably to the death if he was honest. The man smirked, "I have no clue where you would use it, but as it is yours I don't suppose we could in good conscience keep it from you." Clint let a small grin take his face before the stony face he'd adopted reasserted its dominance. He had his bow, and he had heard that this Miss Hill and Mr. Fury had a second floor home. Maybe it wouldn't be too horrible.