Clint groaned and tried to sit up from where he felt himself lying on the carvan floor. The hay was typically a dead giveaway. Someone pushed him down and clicked their tongue.

"Stay," a muffled voice said. "You kinda have a concussion."

He tried to remember what happened. A fight with Barney after siding with Buck. Great, Buck totally owes me for that. Jacques had just been casually observing and leaning back in the booth, cheering on the brothers with even more vigorous energy than their mass crowd. A sudden swelling of anger rose up in Clint.

Sitting up, he overcame the strength of the other person and finally allowed his eyes to open. "Annie?"

She sighed. "I was hoping that for once you'd take my advice."

Clint felt a little disappointed. One part of him thought for a minute that Barney had come back like he'd always promised he would, realized he was being a jerk, and then they would run away from this mess of a circus — just like old times. The other part of Clint's brain, the rational side, harshly reminded him of how that was impossible despite the conversations they'd had all those years ago.

"Won't we get in trouble?""Well, yeah. But life's a risk in every way, and without them, it's boring and your opportunities are limited." Barney paused and looked at his brother, who was tracing a constellation with his fingers in the sky. "Opportunity will get you places, Clinton, remember that."

What place had Clint ended up in after his grandiose Hawkeye opportunity? Barney's advice really doesn't pay off in the long run.

Clint couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if they hadn't taken that train. They'd never meet Carson and Jacques. Hawkeye would've been Buck and Buck only. The Swordsman would not have an apprentice to rely on. Annie... Would be happier.

"What are you doing here?" Clint finally asked. Silence grew tiring eventually.

"Well, I couldn't just let Buck care for you, could I?" Annie saw his expression and continued, "He's not here right now, Clint. Buck was... Hurt by everything that had happened."

"Mates," he started carefully, "I've been thinkin' lately.""About?"Buck hesitated again, but Barney's glare told him to hurry it up. He blurted, "About education. Getting clean."

"I don't understand. They were friends one minute and enemies the next." Clint wrapped his head around his hands. He wanted to reach out and embrace his arms around Annie, but it had been a long while since Clint was a small child, aspiring to be like her; pretty far past that, hm? "And I assume you'll try and talk me out of something stupid, like usual?"

Surprisingly, Annie didn't hesitate. "No, I won't."

"Huh—? Wait, what?"

"Clint," she said, "you're right. You are completely capable of making your own choices. My interference lead you to this awful ordeal — I pushed you into it. I should've just left you alone to think things through reasonably—"

"Bold of you to assume I think." Natasha grinned at Clint's reply.

"—everyone has a brain, Hawkeye, even if it's one as small as yours," Annie teased.

Clint scoffed and sat up further, leaning onto his old friend's shoulder. "Didn't think you had it in you to tell a joke, not gonna lie, Ann."

"Which is why I think you'll understand why I'm leaving."

His jaw dropped, and Clint didn't even know why. He hadn't been close to Annie since their little fallout and the rise of Hawkeye. Clint wanted to scream at himself for being so very stupid! He'd pushed away Annie, Eddie, and even Barney. Clint has never had any second thoughts about leaving that foster home and skipping town; their old life. But now, staring at what a joke everything had become... Life was a nightmare, and Hawkeye just wanted to wake up; reach out a hand and accept the help like they'd done together into Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders; find someone new who didn't know every failure and flaw about Clint.

In no way did he want to die, but Clint wasn't so keen on living, after all.

"Clint!"

He turned up so fast, he felt his head spin. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You okay, birdie?" Annie arched an eyebrow. "I've been calling your name for awhile now. You need to rest. We can continue this conversation later, okay?"

"But why are you leaving..." Clint trailed upon noticing the look she gave him. "Fine, Mom, and can you talk louder next time?"

"Uh, I've been talking like I normally do?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Sleep, Clint. You'll need it for whatever the hell is ahead."

He knew that something was wrong as soon as his eyes shifted to the new level of darkness penetrating the night.

The moon was nearly gone, fully waxing as a soft crescent. It shown between the clouds and hazy mist as only a spot of brighter air; despite only being a little bit off from when it was full and luscious. Clouds dotted the night sky and stars speckled in great big clumps of silver linings and highlights. An owl from who knows where made a small sound, jumping Clint out of his groggy thoughts.

Tony said at his expression, "Get a load of Sleeping Beauty over here."

Grey clouds in the sky swirled slightly, not enough to be a tornado, but enough so that it looked like someone had used a paint brush and slowly lifted it as they went about their great unfinished canvas. The air was tinged with a rainy smell, and the occasional pellet of the oncoming downpour made the grass sparkle.

Clint slowly moved one hand up to his ear and felt for anything that was... Abnormally out of place. Everything felt fine, which did nothing to calm the storm brewing in him and the air. He'd never felt so dim before, like someone had turned down a dial on the side of his brain that willed everything to be shut out. The rain sounded more like the pitter-patter of excited children stampeding down the stairs; a muffled undertone of what it should've been.

Well, Clint wasn't smart. He didn't dwell on the fact but instead got to his feet, taking in his ragged jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt that was generously given to him by Eddie.

Hawkeye also noticed how no one else was in the caravan. Maybe everyone was celebrating for whatever new show Carson had gotten a hold of. It was old at this point, especially when really thinking about the packed shows they'd had recently. Who cared about any of this anymore? The sudden sounds of shuffling almost made Clint stop, but he was unsure to whether or not his hearing was buzzing again.

Clint's thoughts got interrupted when he walked into a pole.

"Shit!" He yelled at no one is particular.

Steve coughed. "Language..."

The shuffling sound stopped. A puzzled Clint looked around, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. A heavy object dropped to the ground and made a crunching noise on the hard dirt. He caught his breath in his throat — not daring to make a single sound that could blow his cover.

His head slowly swiveled to the left and met the colorful red and white sides of the Exchange tent. Was Carson inside? Clint felt a negative pang of nostalgia at the thought of making a decision right here, on the spot without any doubts

Seeing her blank expression, Clint started again, "Carson's got a point. It's my decision and only I can make it.""Yes, but Clint... it's risky and I don't think you're seeing that," Annie exclaimed, trying to keep her voice even. It wasn't really fooling anyone. "I-I don't want anything to happen to you."

He should've said no. Agreeing with Annie would have been such a more different and diverse path on the way to joy; more simplistic in the end.

"So what?" Clint snapped, falling back down to his knees. His jeans were covered in dry dirt, but he didn't seem to notice. "You're the only one who cares, anyway!"Annie blinked. "Are we gonna pretend like your brother doesn't exist? And Jacques?""If Barney gives a damn — then he'd be here!" Said Clint, voice breaking in the middle of his sentence."Where has Barney been lately? Have you seen him?" Clint asked, tears finally streaming down his flustered cheeks. "Is that another thing you've been keeping from me all these years?"

"I don't know where he is, Clint," Annie said in a voice barely above a whisper. Yelling at both Clint and Carson had taken a beating on her voice, as to be expected. "But hear me out: one person who loves you is better than none. It outweighs others opinions, and even including your family. Biological or not, I'll always be here...and I hope you consider things from my point of view," she finished.

The boy thought for a moment. "I'm sorry, Annie, but I just can't..." Clint wiped his tears on his jacket sleeve. "If you really do believe that...you know that I'm capable of deciding for myself."

Hawkeye wiped away a tear that he didn't realize had fallen. Everything was changing, and Clint was finally starting to realize that change wasn't always a good thing. Well, he was done — with everything. Fuck Carson. Fuck the circus. Fuck Charles Bernard Barton. He made up his mind and pulled back the tent flaps, ready to give Carson a piece of his mind and runaway; just like he'd done before, only this time — Clint would be alone.

He walked into the office without looking at who the person was. "Hiya, Carson... You're not Carson."

"Yeah, I'm better looking," came the voice of Jacques. "Sup, Barton."

Clint swallowed, a queasy feeling taking over him when being in the same room as the Swordsman. This was, after all, the first time they'd been near each other since the big fight at the bar. His feet automatically walked towards Jacques in a dreamlike state, only half realizing what he was doing.

"Er," Clint stuttered, "what are y-you doing exactly? I-I mean, you're kinda standing in Carson's office with your hand in the... Christmas cookie jar?"

Jacques laughed despite himself. "'Cristmas cookie jar'?"

"Well, Christmas is usually green and warm like cookies. I think, it's been awhile since I've celebrated," Clint explained with a shrug.

Jacques' hand remained hovering over a small rectangular box. It looked like it couldn't hold much, but just wait until you really get an intrusive look at it. The box was what Carson used to store circus funds and his money, right next to his bottle of whiskey in the desk drawer. It didn't take Hawkeye long to put two and two together, his eyes widening as details fell into place.

"I— what? It's been you this entire time!"

Jacques scoffed. "You were named after having sharp eyesight and it took you this long. Damn, Barton, I'm really disappointed."

"I see better from a distance. I thought you were someone I could call a close friend."

"What a mistake!" Jacques smiled evilly. One tooth still hung out and bit into his lower lip, making him look like the devil with bad teeth. "What gave you the impression that you had friends?"

"You wound me."

"Pfft. Tha' was really nothing, but..." Jacques trailed off and let his threat hang heavy in the air. Clint blinked and almost missed what happened next: Jacques instantly had a curved knife out and pointed at Clint, the money that had once been tucked away safely inside the box now between Jacques' pants pocket's folds. "Although, I'mma have to correct you — 'I wounded you.'"

"Someone remind me to have Jarvis track this guy after this is over," Tony said angrily. Steve and Natasha eagerly nodded their agreement.

An exasperated Clint flung his hands up and raised them to his head. "Why do you keep talking about me in a past tense? Never—"

"'Cause you'll be dead soon enough."

"—been to a grammar class, have you, Duquesne?"

Clint almost thought he stopped breathing when Jacques' words finally sunk in. Both of their eyes narrowed — one at the use of their last name and the other at Jacques' threat of murder. Jacques wouldn't do that, right? But seeing the murderous glint in his eyes was enough bring Clint back to reality. He recognized the crooked knife as the same one Barney had used before, even in his very first show. It basically belonged to his older brother, so why did Barney's mentor have it?

"What did you do to him?" Clint's voice was quite.

Jacques still kept smiling, like he wasn't about to brutally kill a thirteen year old after... After probably doing the very same to the kid's brother. "I'd say ya can ask him, but he won't listen to you, Clinton."

"What's with the name, Duquesne? Isn't 'Clint' fine for your exotic tastes?" Clint challenged. "It's never enough for you! You steal Carson's money—"

"Yeah, the money that he made off of us!" Jacques countered.

"Thief!"

The Swordsman didn't even bother to come up with a good comeback, but instead — he lunged at Clint with the knife in hand. Clint dodged, just barely. He fell to his knees and tried to think. "Why are you doing this?"

"I—" Jacques walked closer and Clint scooted back— "never said I was sorry."

Clint didn't stick around to hear the rest of his cliche-villain-monologue speech. Instead, he came to his feet and dragged himself away as fast as his legs would carry him. He didn't want to turn around and look into Jacques' pained eyes, let him see how Hawkeye was on the verge of tears. Clint pulled himself together and gathered as much courage as he could — to stare into the eyes of a betraying friend.

Yeah, he regretted it instantly.

Jacques was a lot bigger, meaning he was traveling at a quicker rate than Clint. Clint made a very non-human like sound (closer to a squeaky mouse) and pushed himself to run faster, like his life depended on his nimble legs — which it did. Clint made a mental note to never skip leg day if he survived this, which he thought to be a pretty unlikely outcome.

He scanned the area for anything that could be used to fight back, hide, or distract Jacques long enough to get away and find a large group of people to witness this madness. Clint spotted no lights on or candles lit. Where was everyone? Then he went to his next plan: the circus ring.

From his trapeze days, Clint knew a thing or two. He remembered how thrilled and shocked Annie was when he'd first made the climb up the ladder. Carson had been aquiver with joy and had requested Clint become a master with the art, and his brother had merely smiled with what Clint now knew was relief. Barney hadn't even been happy about it, no — he just cared that Clint would stay in the circus by his side to play Carson's game; a scam. Or was that all an act too?

All his thoughts fueled him for when he jogged to the ladder and Clint began to climb. Clint didn't look down, but Hawkeye did. Hawkeye could sense Jacques staring at him with a fixed stare. When he reached the top, Clint breathed out a sigh of relief; he was actually safe!

"Ha!" He laughed. "Imagine playing with swords all day and not knowing how to climb up here, moron!"

Jacques trembled with anger and his face turned a dark crimson with frustration. "That doesn't mean I can't fucking try, Barton!" He spit at the ground and carried the knife between his teeth. How he didn't cut his gums or poke himself with the sharp curve, Clint didn't know.

"Clint, no!"

"Clint, yes!" Clint traveled to the ladder and braced himself. He wasn't necessary afraid of heights, but the sound of being so high up didn't sit well inside his stomach. Especially when said ladder was a rickety metal with rust crystalizing on the sides. Being at least a decade old and used every day, the bars were very fragile.

Jacques put a step forward on the first bar of the ladder, testing its strength. Then he kept climbing. Clint felt his confidence dwindle. He was no longer Hawkeye up here (especially considering the lack of his bow and arrow and the cheesy purple mask), but instead: Clint Barton, barely a teenager, trapeze guy, and the next dead man to knock on Death's door — that'd lead to one hell of a conversation.

Clint decided to pull out all the stops and use his final playing card, no strings attached. Well, actually... There was a large string connected the platform he stood on and the opposite sided one. Tightropes, hm?

"I swear to fucking god, Barton," Natasha said, "if you... Nevermind. He's doing it anyway."

He stuck his arms out in a t-pose and slowly lifted one foot in front of the other. The tightrope was maybe about fifteen feet long, give or take, and was surprisingly thick. Clint didn't even bother with grabbing a pole to help stabilize himself. Yolo, he thought. It's still the best option. This would make a pretty good Choose-Your-Adventure book, yeah?

Halfway across the wire, he took a risk and looked back on the platform — the thing that had really started his career. Clint realized with a start (ha!), that it would also be the one to end it, for Jacques now stood there, knife firmly gripped in hand, as he brought it down and slashed through the tightrope. Clint didn't know how to feel, think, react, or anything else while he fell to his death.

...The squeal of tires making contact with a rather large puddle. The car skidding out of control and connecting with the bridge's low brick wall above the river. The screams of the three people inside the falling vehicle as it plunged into the icy waters far below. Finally, more screams from Tony, Natasha, and Steve as they watched hopelessly, knowing they can't do anything.

No sound reached Clint's ears, regardless of how he was certain Jacques was laughing without any further thoughts. The air was making way for his falling self, picking up more speed and the whistle of wind picked up as he accelerated towards the ground twenty feet below him. An owl, the very same from earlier, making soft sounds in the distance that almost sounded like a warning bell. Hawkeye wasn't even sure if he was screaming after accepting his fate of dying alone. Numero uno. One person. Finally, more screams from Tony, Natasha, and Steve as they watched hopelessly, knowing they can't do anything.