The Avengers never missed Clint.
Clint knew the Avengers never missed him, just like he knew he was the weakest of them all. He could try all he wanted to keep up with his primitive weapons, but the others were gods, geniuses, and had powers he could never hope to match. He didn't know why they kept him around, pity or guilt maybe, but he knew they didn't need him.
Everything went downhill after Clint returned from a touchy solo mission on the outskirts of a small country called Sokovia. He was supposed to survey a minor HYDRA cell that was kidnapping people off ] the streets to use in some kind of human experimentation, more than a dozen people having disappeared into the building only to find their mutilated corpses months later and a few miles away. Clint knew his role was to survey the cell, not infiltrate it, but some things crossed the line. If the building suddenly exploded, destroying all of their research, Clint couldn't be held responsible. There was nothing to trace him to the explosion since any arrows he fired had disintegrated in the flames.
Director Fury had been furious, to put it honestly. He had threatened Clint with suspension, desk duty, and had even gone so far as to threaten revoking his archery range privileges for disobeying a direct order. After the first echoing yell, Clint knew his teammates and probably half the Helicarrier had heard him. Clint would have been angry, would have reminded Fury of the time he disobeyed orders and brought back S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest asset in the form of a fiery Russian assassin, but the cell was gone and they wouldn't be experimenting on anyone else. There wasn't anything Fury could do or say to make blowing up the place up not worth it. Even the threat of termination, besides sending a spasm of fear that tightened his chest at the thought of being permanently released, couldn't fully dampen his mood.
After Director Fury finished thoroughly reaming him, Clint was sent to join the rest of the Avengers to prevent Justin Hammer from using robots to rob a S.H.I.E.L.D. armory. Exhausted, starving, and wishing he could just sleep for a couple hours, Clint trudged along behind the others toward the Quinjet in awkward silence. Except…it wasn't exactly silent. Natasha flew the Quinjet while discussing battle tactics with the wonder-twins: Steve in the co-pilot's seat and Thor blocking the gap between them. Tony and Bruce, science bros for life, were seated off to the side and animatedly discussing artificial intelligence. Clint didn't feel much for conversation that day, but it was times like these over the last couple of months that he noticed how the Avengers, whether in battle or lazing around the tower, avoided him.
For the most part, Cap and Thor chose to ignore him. When they reached the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility Hammer was trying to hijack, Steve surveyed the scene and was quick to assign them each a position.
"Thor, I want you up in the air. These suckers can fly so keep them contained. Stark, help Thor and see if you can figure out how they work. Send whatever information JARVIS can get on them to Bruce so you two can work to shut them down. Bruce, if we need the Hulk we'll let you know," Steve said. "Natasha and I will cover the ground, keep those robots from getting through the doors. Everybody understand their role?"
"Where do you want me, Cap?" Clint had asked, but his words were lost under Thor's enthusiastic "Aye!" and the others' less enthusiastic agreement. Before he could ask again, the Avengers had scattered.
It wasn't the first time Cap had forgot to assign Clint a role. The first time it had happened, Clint had made a point to ask Steve where he wanted him. A question to which the Captain had tersely replied, "the roof." He was already engaged with an enemy, Clint didn't blame him for being curt. Actually, Clint tried not to read into it too much when it kept happening because of course it was expected that Hawkeye, the long distance sniper, find a spot where he could keep an eye on the entire battle and pick off enemies. Clint may ask Steve occasionally where he wants him to post up, but he feels stupid every time. Steve needs to focus on the Avengers with bigger hits. Hawkeye's job is to make sure none of them get hurt, and it's part of the reason he works hard to make sure he never misses.
That's why Clint made his way to the roof opposite the S.H.I.E.L.D. armory and immediately started picking off robots. They're sneaky. Hammer clearly programmed them to learn as they fight, and it didn't take him long to realize how some Adaptoids posed as distractions while others snuck up on the preoccupied Avengers. Clint was shooting as fast as he can, his focus shifting from one Avenger to the next in an attempt to keep them all covered. His attention so fixed on his teammates that twice he was almost knocked off the roof when the Adaptoids come after him.
Eventually the robots slowed down their attack, seemingly ordered by Hammer to regroup, and giving Clint his first chance to spot them. They weren't S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Clint could tell by their business casual attire that they were civilians who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. They huddled in one of the alleyways between buildings, trying to sneak away from the battle before the next wave started, but really putting themselves in more danger.
"Should've waited it out," Clint thought, tapping the coms to send a message to either Nat or Steve and have them remove the people to a safe area. Unfortunately, the robots were moving back into battle, a dozen Adaptoids catching sight of the civilians and cornering them. There was no time for Nat and Steve to sprint the four blocks to the people's aide. The robots' metal hands were already creeping toward their hostages. There was barely time for Clint to act, but he nocked a cable arrow and zip-lined down to the civilians, able to draw the robots attention for those few necessary seconds.
The ride was rough. Well…actually, the ride wasn't that bad. The LANDING was rough. Clint gained a lot of speed sliding down the cable, and he could tell the moment a robot moved into his path that this would be bad. His legs jolted upon impact with the metal back of one Adaptoid, his left leg in particular sending pain through his hip as he awkwardly fell to the ground on top of the robot.
He jumped as best as he could to his feet, placing the civilians at his back and taking in the dozen targets turning their digital eyes on him. Times like these he wished he were more like the others. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Thor watching him before turning to demolishing a line of Adaptoids with a single swing of Mjolnir. Powers would be awesome, Clint decided as an Adaptoid lurched at him and managed a hit to his cheek before he could jam an arrow into its head. In the meantime, he'd have to get creative.
Reaching into his quiver, he pulled out a short-range EMP arrow, something he designed himself and worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. to manufacture. It made sense to him that it would short out the robots, at least those nearest him, since they seemed to be running on the same frequency. He sent it through the head of a central Adaptoid, nocking four regular arrows just in case, and watched in fascination as they sparked uniformly, clanking to the ground as they shut-down.
"Good to know," Clint thought. He quickly replaced the arrows in his quiver and ushered the scared civilians out of danger. "Hey Stark, these robots are susceptible to Electromagnetic Pulses," Clint said into the com. He toed one of the Adaptoids with his boot, watching the fingers twitch. "At least for a little while. Anything you and Banner can do with that information to disable these things?"
"An EMP large enough to disable all of them would not only short-circuit my suit, it would cause half the city to go lights out," Stark replied. "We could try focusing the blast on a particular frequency, but we would still need to find the center of command and use it as a routing point if we want to fry all of them. I'd say EMP's are a long shot, Birdbrain."
"Can't blame a guy for trying," Clint replied. He stuck an arrow into the rebooting bot at his feet before replacing it in his quiver and stretching experimentally. His leg twinged unhappily simply looking at the long run back into position atop the opposite building, There was no doubt in his mind, powers would be awesome…but he'd settle for a super-suit. "You in the area, Tony?"
"Awe, Feathers, do you need a ride?" Tony asked. The Iron Man suit flew around the corner, fired off a plasma blast at an approaching bot, and clomped to the ground next to Clint. Tony's face plate slid up to reveal a smirk. "Returning you to your nest is becoming a real burden on my ability to crush Hammer's toys."
As if Clint didn't already know he was inconvenient. "Can it, Tin Man," Clint responded. "You think you can drop me off on the S.H.I.E.L.D. landing pad?"
"Better clench up, Legolas," Tony said, hardly giving Clint a moment to prepare before grabbing him and rocketing into the sky.
Clint's stomach lurched, all of his concentration going toward not vomiting and not blacking out. It may be easy going from zero to sixty in the suit, but outside was a different story. The air slapped at Clint, stinging his face while the sudden change in momentum and height left him disoriented. Tony dropped him a few feet from the roof, higher than both of them expected, and Clint staggered to keep his feet under him when the pavement rushed to meet him.
He hit the ground hard, his left leg trying to buckle under him as pain flared through it, but Clint kept on his feet. He moved slowly to the edge of the roof, ignoring how his leg wanted to limp, and readied an arrow. "Next time give a guy a warning, would ya? That red target on the roof's for aircrafts not for dropping human bodies, Stark," Clint said.
"I'm sorry, all I heard was 'Thank you, Tony, for carrying my heavy ass so I wouldn't have to walk,'" Stark replied.
Clint opened his mouth to reply when the drone of dozens of robots filled the air, silver bodies rising from the east and making their way toward them.
"You see that, Birdbrain?" Stark asked, repulsors firing as he jetted toward them.
"Time for round two," Clint said, firing arrows at the silver tide. "Somebody better call in Big Green."
Clint's words were met with radio silence from Stark, not that he expected a reply. In fact, Clint wouldn't be surprised if he didn't hear from him the rest of the fight. They got along fine; besides Tasha, Tony was the person with whom Clint had the best relationship. They both enjoyed talking, but it wasn't like Tony needed Clint. Clint wasn't a genius like Bruce.
And speaking of Bruce, Bruce had been weird around Clint ever since the Helicarrier incident. He was kinda like Steve and Thor. But while Steve and Thor ignored him, left him to work by himself, Bruce actively avoided him. Clint figured it had to do with the fact that Clint forced out the Hulk by exploding part of the Helicarrier. He felt guilty about it, honestly, and more than once he had gone to apologize to Bruce only to see him tense up and look for an escape when he got too close.
Clint always chickened out at the last second, ducking away and watching Banner relax from a safe distance. The worst part was that Clint respected Dr. Banner and wanted his help on more than one occasion. Clint was a walking disaster on the best of days, not a week going by without a new bruise, cut, or sprained limb. He knew Dr. Banner was primarily a physicist, but he had spent time as a physician in India. Clint had hoped Bruce would be able to help when the injuries were questionable since he hated hospitals and tended to hate doctors more. Bruce would be better than S.H.I.E.L.D. infirmary any day if only Bruce didn't get that nervous, twitchy look in his eye anytime Clint approached.
He tried being nicer, kept his distance and let Bruce have his space. As far as the Other Guy went, Clint thought he seemed less agitated by him, maybe even a little amused. Clint was one of the few Avengers to treat Hulk like he wasn't a threat and maybe Hulk liked him for it. Unfortunately, it was Bruce who needed to like him, not Hulk, and there was only so much he could do to soften the scientist. After almost four months of failed attempts, Clint stopped bothering him.
He let Steve call in the Code Green, not wanting to alarm the doctor any more than necessary, and Clint waved the green giant toward the tide of robots between his own shots. Little steps, Clint reminded himself.
Hulk certainly helped speed up the battle. Between him and Thor smashing Adaptoids to pieces and the others shooting down the rest, the zone quickly started to empty. Tony was out of sight, Hulk and Thor were steadily making their way toward the source of the Adaptoids, all while Nat and Steve kept the front of the building clear. The battle was all but over when Clint caught sight of Justin Hammer sneaking into a sleek black car near a warehouse fifteen blocks down. He wanted to roll his eyes at the unimaginativeness of villains, instead taping his com and relaying the information to Tasha.
He was ready to follow her to Hammer's location, a second grappling arrow pulled out for him to take a shortcut to the ground (hopefully a ride with a lighter landing), when she asked for Steve to back her up. They hopped on a couple of motorcycles they had taken from the Quinjet and sped off in the right direction, leaving Clint alone to keep an eye on the building.
Clint could handle the building alone, that wasn't the issue. What made him hesitate was that Tasha and him were a team. They were the legendary Strike Team Delta, and if there was something that needed to be done, they did it together. She was his best friend, but she was ignoring him. The last two months, Natasha would work with Steve, Thor, hell…even Tony before she would work with Clint when before it wasn't even a question. Was she angry at him? He racked his brain for a reason…the Tessaract? Not being there when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell? But they had suffered through worse. They watched each other almost die multiple times, but recently she had been acting more like the Black Widow than Natasha.
It hurt. More than he'd like to admit. The others ignoring him, forgetting him, and avoiding him Clint could sustain as long as he still had Tasha. He replaced the arrow in his quiver feeling rejected. He didn't understand what was happening with the team, why he suddenly felt so sensitive and raw.
He was alone. Literally. It wasn't the other Avengers' faults, he was convinced of that fact. It had to be him, and he would fix it if only he knew how. Maybe he would leave. They might not even notice. He shook his head, refocused on the job at hand as Tony's voice traveled through the com with a plan based on the information Nat and Steve easily weaseled out of Hammer.
Whatever Stark had planned, Clint prayed he worked quickly. Sensing weakness, twenty of the Adaptoids were headed toward the storage facility, beams trained on Clint. He ducked behind a concrete ledge, taking stock. Six arrows. He had twenty Adaptoids and six arrows. Futzing awesome. A putty arrow, cable arrow, boomerang arrow…he wasn't sure how that got in his quiver…, two regular arrows, and a sonic arrow were all he had to protect some of the world's most dangerous weapons.
The putty arrow would stick some of them together, maybe force them into a heap on the ground. The cable arrow would pierce two, maybe three Adaptoids and slow them down. His best bet was the sonic arrow, boost up the blast and hit them in the middle. It could disrupt whatever signal was sent to them and could cause some damage to the internal wiring. It would also hurt Clint himself. They were too close and the blast would reach Clint, doing who knows what. Save S.H.I.E.L.D. weapons or himself?
Clint readied the sonic arrow, took a breath, and stepped out to fire it in one smooth, controlled motion. It hit its target, the concussive blast sending a huge shockwave through the air. The power of it echoed through his chest, his head, his entire body. Pain raged through his ears and he blearily watched the Adaptoids fall to the ground before something hit him hard in the back and everything went silent as he tipped over the edge of the building.
Okay. It looked bad. Clint hurt everywhere, his left leg was sprained (possibly fractured), his ribs were cracked, concussion was in full swing, right shoulder hurt like hell, and he could feel the blood, sweat, and dirt caking the sides of his head. A small part of Clint was thankful he had already lost his hearing because that blast would have destroyed his eardrums and left him in rehab for months. Factoring out his pre-existing deafness, he might only be in the hospital for weeks.
It was the cable arrow, the one he planned to use to join Nat, which ultimately saved his life. He didn't know how he fired it into the wall, but it slowed him down enough to hit the dumpster with energy to stun not kill him. He fell at least eight stories into a futzing dumpster.
God, he wished he had powers. Or better luck.
Clint pulled the useless communicator and hearing aids carefully out of his tender ears, gingerly putting them into his pocket. Pushing aside the cracked garbage cover, he slowly managed to heave himself out of the bin. One foot in front of the other, he reminded himself. His good hand tightened around his bow which had miraculously survived the fall.
He started walking toward the front of the S.H.I.E.L.D. armory, his feet shuffling on the concrete. It was only when he realized the streets were devoid of metal robots and no agents were bustling around in crisp uniforms that he suspected he had lost consciousness at some point.
A quiver sized bruise made itself known when Clint leaned against the wall for support so he could check his watch for the time. Sure enough, he had been out for a solid hour. Plenty of time for the crime scene to be cleared. Too bad S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't simply throw advanced robotics into the trash…someone might have found him earlier.
The pang in his chest when he started walking again wasn't completely from the fall. Somebody would have found him in the dumpster if they went looking for him. The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D., none of them had searched for him when he failed to show up after the battle. Hell, they probably never even realized he was missing.
Dramatic much, Clint thought to himself as he sank into a spare S.H.I.E.L.D. car and drove away. It probably wasn't their fault. For all he knew they were still chasing down Hammer or tried to contact him on his busted communicator or were looking for him or…
Maybe they didn't care. Maybe they were tired of the frail, human archer trying to fit in where he didn't belong. Perhaps they wanted someone better, someone who healed quicker, had some kind of animal power, or could be more than just "the guy who shoots arrows."
Except he was more than the arrows guy, Clint told himself. He never missed a single shot. He wasn't a genius but he was smart, and he always had his teammates' backs. Clint parked and entered the elevator to Avenger's Tower in higher spirits. The button for his floor lit up as he pressed it, his intentions to grab his spare hearing aids then head to the medical floor. He was by no means perfect, but he did his job well.
The door opened, the suddenness of it making Clint twitch. Sometimes he hated how jumpy he was during the first couple hours of silence. Clint's bed never looked so enticing as it did then, but he gathered his strength and limped over to his dresser, knowing he needed medical today. He rummaged inside, found an old pair of over the ear aids and shoved them into his pocket. His bow and quiver were dropped on the floor for him to put away later.
He headed toward the elevator, hesitating before getting inside. He couldn't hear J.A.R.V.I.S., but the AI could hear him. It might be worth asking it to show him where the other Avengers were currently. He didn't think they were in any trouble, but it never hurt to check. "J.A.R.V.I.S., can you show me the other Avengers?"
Clint didn't hear anything, obviously, but the television flickered to life and an image formed on the screen. They were together, that was good. Nobody looked hurt, and that was better. In fact, they were laughing or smiling. Everyone except Nat was in their civies, Hulk having transformed back into Bruce who slumped near the coffee pot. They were enjoying the success of a battle well fought…without him.
He didn't need to be with them, and he wasn't angry that they were having a good time, but he couldn't help feeling dejected. They had forgotten about him. Speculating earlier had hurt, sure, but actually seeing that they didn't even realize he was gone made his stomach knot-up unpleasantly. Any good feelings he had earlier vaporized in an instant.
He turned away, his good hand rubbing the back of his head before he pressed the bottom for the ground floor. Suddenly the medical floor didn't look all that appealing. The S.H.I.E.L.D. medical infirmary almost five blocks away sounded better.
He half limped, half dragged himself onto the street and headed toward S.H.I.E.L.D. and its infirmary, forgetting about the car. The Avengers didn't need him. The thought circled over and over in his head, eating away at him. Why did they keep him around? So they could make fun of him when he wasn't there? Laugh at the weakling?
He bumped into someone, barely registering the rapid speech of a burned face as he rushed an apology and kept walking. S.H.I.E.L.D. was around the corner. Maybe Clint would ask for a solo mission out of the country. Or maybe he'd rent an apartment of his own, he thought, as he crossed in front of an open house.
It'd get him away from the Avengers for a while, let him work his fingers to the bone in an attempt to prove to himself he could be a valuable asset. They didn't need him. Clint knew if he were to suddenly vanish, he would never be missed.
