He pulled the string back and let the arrow fly. Then, Clint allowed himself to smile as he saw the perfect bullseye.
The boy jogged over to his target board and collected his arrow, grinning all the way. His heart was racing at such a fast pace, that he wouldn't have been surprised if it would implode on itself. He liked archery, Clint realized. He'd never known anything to love his entire life.
Yeah — Clint loved his mom and Barney...but that was basically it. Trapeze was okay but not his favorite thing in the world. He didn't know how to feel about Annie right now. They'd always been close — sort of like brother and sister — but Clint knew that nobody could ever replace his real biological brother, Barney. They had a bond that couldn't break, no matter the strain and tension between the two.
It was like a string, a life-line to hold onto. As long as Clint had Barney, the world was still going around and was the right way up. Nothing could ever cut that string between the two, and Clint would make sure of it. He'd always love his brother. Although Clint did find it a little weird whenever Barney swallowed a sword...
Making his way towards the stage, Clint peeked out from behind the curtain. Someone from the audience could've seen him, but they were all too distracted with the trapeze routine. The boy's eyes searched around for Barney and Jacques, who were absent from their usual spot behind a wooden beam.
Clint frowned. They were supposed to be on after Annie did her final move, and that time was approaching fast. Barney would wow the crowd with a few tricks and sword swallowing and then Jacques would step in and do a little more. Next was typically Buck's turn — Clint's because he was subbing — and some bow and arrow thingy.
Clint heard voices from around the corner. He realized with a start that it was Barney and Jacques, but where were they just a second ago? The boy was about to ask and intrude, but then Annie, Eddie, and a few others walked out; meaning it was the Swordsman's turn. Although now there were two Swordmen in the circus.
Clint and Annie avoided making eye contact, but Eddie gave him a warm smile and waved. He would wave back, except the bow and quiver in his hands didn't help.
People cheered loudly and clapped their approval. They spilled food and drink on the ground, but the people didn't actually care about it. They were just made that way — spoiled rich folk with nothing better to do, even with all that money.
Clint rolled his eyes. The swords act was totally overrated, but maybe it only was that way to him after seeing it done dozens of times before. He was about to mark off an insult, but caught his tongue before someone got a chance to overhear something offensive.
He took another deep breath and coughed. "Showtime, Barton."
"I swear this kid can read my thoughts, guys," Tony exclaimed. "I was about to say that!"
It sounded a lot better to Clint in his head, probably because he'd momentarily forgotten about the atrocious thing he was wearing. The uniform was basically a black and maroon leotard, covering his legs and arms. A circular pattern with a few slanted lines were on the middle and pointed up. He wore a mask that looked a lot like a masquerade one, except in a matching color as his clothes and with less sequins and glitter.
They'd insisted on him wearing it to help hide his face — a simple fix for trying to divert attention from his age. Clint wasn't necessary short, but he still needed a grow spurt and to put on a few more pounds. His hair had been dyed a silver and purple mix of colors, disguising most of the usual blonde or brown.
Clint thought he looked like even more of a freak than he already was.
Up on stage, Carson was sporting his ringmaster outfit, complete with one of those sleek black top hats. All he was really missing was a spindley mustache that curled around the edges of his lips — right now he just looked like the knockoff version of P. T Barnum.
It was kind of true in a way, with how both Carson and Barnum manipulated young and underaged kids into doing their dirty work. Clint was contributing to the scheme known as the carnival industry, he realized. He almost dropped the bow again.
"Ladies and gentleman!" Carson yelled to silence the crowd. Their voices died down, even the most loud kids. "Here for his first performance tonight — the...um."
The audience started murmuring. Carson, being an idiot, clearly hadn't thought this far ahead yet. "The... Amazing Hawkeye?" The way he said it was more of a question than a statement, but the people's roaring drowned out any confusion. "Yeah — THE AMAZING HAWKEYE!"
Steve clapped with them, although it wouldn't have an effect at all.
The ringmaster stepped off the platform and ran to the side, just in time for Clint to jog forward and jump up. The crowd erupted into cheering; didn't even matter that he was a newcomer. They also didn't notice the fact that he was actually an eleven year old orphan who could shoot a bow and arrow. Nope — nothing to see here!
Hawkeye, as Carson had supposedly named him, pumped his fist into the air and held up his bow in another. The other part of Clint that wasn't nervous was asking himself, "How many brain cells do you reckon it took Carson to figure that one out?"
He'd known the city of Seattle was big on population, but the boy still didn't think an audience this big was possible. Clint had never seen this many people before! His ears still rang with their cheers (and the occasional 'boo' from a drunk person. Seattle or not, this place sold alcohol fairly easily — not at a bad price either.
Their voices died down as some fireworks went off. Man, they were really going all in for this, Clint realized. They think I have a good shot...
Tony jumped and Natasha snickered. "You set off fireworks just about every week, and you got scared of them?" He glared back, and Steve coughed to divert their attention.
Carson took the silence as an opportunity. "Call 'em a hawk because of his eyes, ya see! Sees all and can shoot just 'bout anything!"
He looked at Clint, who wasn't entirely sure what to do now. He was never the center of attention at any show. He was just Clint Barton — that one trapeze kid in the background who you never pay attention to. Now everyone's paying their dues and watching him.
Carson shifted uncomfortably and started making motions. Clint frowned and almost shrugged, but didn't want to scream the obvious at the audience, "Hey! Look at me and watch as I don't have any idea what the fuck I'm doing!"
Clint thought to himself, I'm in charge now. Fuck you, Carson! Actually, he took the last part back because that was kind of mean, especially to the person Clint often agreed with.
"CAW CAW...?" Clint tried to make his voice deeper, but it cracked anyway. It was pretty noticable in the silence where everyone was judging you. His words also came out more as a question than a battle cry of some sort.
Carson winced. Tony face palmed. Natasha fought the urge to laugh. And Steve was somewhere in between all three reactions. Some people chuckled, others clapped just to be polite.
Clint could feel his face turning red. All he could do was hope the low light level hid his face well enough, especially since he had a mask on. The boy just shrugged one shoulder flipped off the platform he was standing on.
He had a small moment of panic when he feared he messed it up, thought his neck would snap with a sickening crunch — but Clint still landed on his feet. It earned some clapping and jeers, he knew he'd have to do something bigger.
Bigger was better in the world, and the same applied to his situation.
If you blinked, you might've missed it, but Clint immediately pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it into the bow. He wanted to yell his battle cry again, but Clint knew he couldn't hold the string back. Faster was better anyways.
Nock, draw, loose!
He released it and Clint was able to get a glimpse of the arrow's fletching soaring into his designated target. Carson blinked, startled like most of the crowd. Then, there was twice as much yelling and screaming as before.
Carson whistled loudly and walked more into the center ring. He stretched his arm around Clint tightly, as if he were forcing him to stay and put on another act for the audience.
"That's all for tonight, folks! Come by...let's say two days from now and watch Hawkeye's tricks again."
Some people booed in response, hoping they'd get more right now, but Carson couldn't see past the dollar bills blocking his morals.
Over the course of the next two days, Carson did a lot of improvising.
He hung up fliers all over the city, wherever they could go — streetlights, buildings, doors, mailboxes, or over lost dog posters. Cling gladly helped him do it, lured in by his new nickname plastered across. Carson had originally wanted his mask on there too, but they couldn't get a picture or drawing yet. This was merely a temporary solution to their little problem-that-wasn't-even-a-problem.
Big bolded letters spelled out The Amazing Hawkeye and was unevenly spread across the top. Nobody seemed to complain or notice the flaw, too interested in what the copy represented.
Clint repeated the same trick that night. He also added in a few new specials, never seen before. There was no mention of Buck...at least, that's what Clint heard — which was nothing at all. Carson probably knew; and didn't care.
After all, the gig only brought in money if the performance was good. Now it had top ratings, spreading word across the city's borders. Everyone wanted Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders to stop by.
It was all thanks to the Amazing Hawkeye.
Every night, every show. He'd come out and scream a little nonsense, loose an arrow or two, and then be done with it. Clint's most impressive (dangerous) show had been when he shot an arrow at an apple. Doesn't sound that hard, right? Well, the apple was on top of Eddie's head.
"You're a hit, Barton!" Carson would say, holding a thick wad of dollar bills. "An absolute star. What do you have planned next?"
That's what everyone ways asked — whether it was before or after a show (or even during), by one of his circus mates, and also Carson — there wasn't any variety in it. They just wanted to hear Clint's plan.
He merely shrugged and thanked them, waving his bow like how Queen typically waves to people. Clint liked that about being Hawkeye. He had a name to hide behind, shroud his real and unlikable self in the shadows. It was his choice to make, and not anyone elses.
I could get used to this, Clint thought. The Amazing Hawkeye...it has a good ring to it.