Author's Note: Welcome! With the arrival of the new Hawkeye trailer, and finally seeing Black Widow, I figured it might it might be time to post another story!
This one has been in my brain storage for quite some time now, and was only recently that I managed to actually make this into an actual story. Which means it's definitely non-canon, given the lack of the Barton-family. So, my Hawkeye has the same backstory, as in most of my other stories, if you've read those. Anyway, mostly Clint-centric, but whole OG team will feature!
I did fun stuff with the chapter titles, try and spot where they come from 😉. Also, small BW reference in this first chapter – kudos to any spotting that, too! And because I was bored and have way too much time on my hands, each chapter have a song at the beginning, to sort of set the mood, either by the lyrics or the overall feels of the tune. Give them a listen as you read, or don't.
Story is finished and will be update regularly. Likewise posted on AO3.
Obvious spoilers for first avengers… There. It's done. Not that I figure anyone will be spoiled at this point. Would be weird.
Enjoy!
Crimescenelover out!
Chapter title: Let's Do a Head Count Here
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of anything or anyone you might recognize. Everything goes to Kevin Feige, the MCU, Marvel or whatever else.
"I know you think your fire is burning out,
But I still see you shining through,
You got it in you."
You Got It in You - BANNERS
Wrecked – Imagine Dragons
Lapland, Finland – 6 months post the Battle of New York
The wind was unrelenting as it bit into his skin.
The sky above was darkening with grey clouds, threatening to unleash their watery contents down upon his head. He had to find cover before it began to pour. The temperature was dropping, and with his current luck, no doubt it would fall well below freezing before long. Snow might not be as intense as rain, but it was just as dangerous. Already, the air felt ice-cold as it tore at his clothes and stung in his heaving lungs.
His breath came out in small, white puffs of vapor every time he exhaled, the air almost warm as it ran over his cool lips. He sucked in another strained breath, ignoring the way it burned down his throat, and forced himself to move faster. His boots pounded into the snow-packed earth, the small flakes crunching underneath the weight, as he ran in between towering, evergreen pines and leafless bushes. The forest sped by in a blur while he maneuvered past protruding branches on the path and across the knotted ground.
It wasn't winter yet, but the cold, boreal climate of northern Finland was already beginning to tightly grip the land. Clint glanced at the GPS unit on his wrist, displaying his current coordinates and direction along with the coordinates of the rendezvous point. There was no way in hell he could make it.
Technically, his mission had been a success. His target had been a medical facility that acted as a front for human trafficking and money laundering for the Serbian mafia. After taking out several prominent members of the group that had been at the facility, Clint had begun extracting whatever information he could from their servers and methodically dismantling the facility. The ensuing chaos would help cover his escape. Unfortunately, he had been a bit caught up in the crossfire.
Although they were overall leaderless, many of the guards were mercenaries or former military, who adapted well to chaos. They put up one hell of a fight on his way out. The explosive arrow in his quiver had been handy in his getaway, even if he had triggered it way too close for comfort. The burn that had been seared into his right thigh was still better than a bullet in his skull. And it provided him with extra time before they could regroup.
The thought caused his leg to reignite with the pulling, inflaming pain he had spent minutes showing into the back of his mind. All the other minor scratches and bumps he could handle. Even the bruised ribs, though they throbbed achingly in his ribcage with every heave of his chest. Somewhere, a mild concussion probably lurked, but at least most of the nausea had abated. Still, good thing, he didn't plan on sleeping anytime soon.
He just had to make it to the rendezvous point. Or at the very least put as much distance between him and the smoking facility and its pursuers. He knew they must be tracking him through the woods. It was the most logical thing to do at the moment. It was also one of the only things to do, given their operation was steadily crumbling before their eyes. Vengeance is usually all those kinds of people immediately focus on. It happened in Budapest too. Clint didn't dare take the chance that this wasn't the case here.
His heartbeat pumped in his chest and thundered in his ears while he continued his mad dash through the trees. He felt the sting of branches slicing over his exposed skin, drawing thin lines of blood on his arms and cheek. He knew he shouldn't have ditched his jacket. His right hand was clenched tightly around his bow and his quiver felt heavy against his back, despite being half-empty.
Adrenaline and urgency spurned him on, despite his hitching breaths and burning muscles. The sweat on his forehead cooled almost as quickly as it formed but he felt it run warm down his back, seeping into his clothes. His eyes scanned his surroundings as he tore past them, desperately searching for a safe hiding spot or any sign of his pursuers.
His burned thigh suddenly shook and vibrated painfully. Clint slowed and staggered as his leg threatened to buckle underneath him. He took one lumbering step to correct his balance. Unfortunately, he was too preoccupied with remaining upright that he missed the thick root protruding through the snow. His boot caught the barked obstacle. He felt the twist in his ankle before being haphazardly thrown to the left, where the ground curved downwards into a small valley.
Clint hit the hard forest floor with a heavy grunt. He had barely had time to acknowledge it before he felt himself sliding over the edge. He was at gravity's mercy as he began to roll uncontrollably down the steep slope, slamming into roots, tree trunks and rocks. The world tilted and spun dizzily around him as earth and sky continuously shifted and exchanged places in a mad, spiraling dance. A gnarled log dug itself into his side with enough force that his bow flew out of his grasp. He felt a sharp rock cut into the skin on his forehead. Tumbling downwards, he was certain he managed to hit every single tree and rock with bruising force.
Desperately, Clint tried to grab onto something, anything to stop his descent. He was completely powerless. His fingers dug uselessly into the snow as his arms flailed wildly.
Finally, it stopped.
His back slammed into the icy ground with a thump. The air was forced out of his lungs. He lay there, gasping and coughing breathlessly, until precious oxygen started to flow freely into his chest, and he could breathe again.
"Ow," Clint groaned.
The grey sky swam above him, and he blinked slowly as it shifted into focus. The pointy tops of the pines were like dark green and brown pillars supporting the thick cloud roof and Clint watched it with weary detachment while he simply laid there and listened to the breeze weaving its way through the trees and its needles. His thoughts absentmindedly drifted.
It was incredible how quickly everything could go to shit. And he had no idea exactly at what point during the mission that had happened. He would laugh at the ridiculousness irony of it all if he wasn't so goddamn tired. And cold.
"Well, this is certainly a fine mess you've gotten yourself into."
Clint's eyes snapped to attention at the voice. He knew that voice. He could recognize it anywhere.
"Coulson?"
TBC
