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Clint Barton has found many things hidden beneath the remnants of the carnival’s array of popcorn carts, including a plethora of loose change and his new-found dog, Lucky, for one... but he never expected to find a child.
And a child surrounded by a horde of spiders, no less.
And by horde, I mean a shit storm of arachne seeming to stream out of nowhere.
Said child, who couldn’t be more than seven years old, sat huddled as far as she could get away from the horde, eyes filled with fear. Honestly, Clint was surprised she wasn’t screaming in panic as more and more began creeping up her sneakers, seeming to pin her down.
“Hey!”
The girl’s head whipped up, face full of panic.
Clint nods slowly, hand grabbing for a backup lighter stuffed into his pants pocket. Jiggling the lighter slowly, he mimes tossing it onto the ground, trying to tip the girl off.
Nodding quickly in understanding, the girl skoots to the edge of the popcorn cart, red fabric hung off the wooden stand.
“Three”, he whispers, creeping forward.
“Two…”
“ONE!”
The girl dives beneath the fabric, rolling onto the dewy grass as Clint tosses the inflamed lighter onto the horde of arachne, falling backwards as the wooden stand erupts into a bonfire.
It was somewhat entertaining, really, watching as the attacking spiders rushed to escape beneath the smouldering fabric, only to be engulfed in smoke. At his side, the blonde kid let out a breath of relief, gaze fixated on the growing fire.
Clint, finally able to get a good look at her, notices the sheets of cobwebs stuck all over her body and clothes, including a bleeding ankle wrapped in a make-shift splint.
Seeming to notice the archer’s gaze on her, the kid rips her eyes away from the flame to look over Clint in suspicion.
Sighing, Clint stumbles to his feet.
“C’mon kid, let’s get you cleaned up”
Clint half-carries the wounded child back to his excuse for a tent, ignoring the yells of carnival goers as they stumbled upon the inflamed cart. The archer wasn’t worried, he could already make out firemen already rushing to the scene.
Besides, this was the third fire in a week. People have learned to expect it at this point.
“Let’s get this patched up”
Kneeling down, Clint digs through his supplies, coming up with a stuffed to the brim first aid bag. The kid eyes him warily, watching as the archer begins to patch up her bloodied ankle.
“This is gonna hurt”, he warns.
“What else is new”
Shrugging, Clint started to take apart her make-shift splint.
“So ...what's with the whole spider thing?”
“They’re minions sent by their creator to torture the children of Wisdom”, she responds, looking almost bored at the fact.
“Sounds fun”
“It isn’t”
Clint begins to tug on a new gauze.
“So you’re Wisdom’s child than?”, he questions, eyebrow raised. ‘S not like he didn’t believe her, being a Carnie you’ve heard weirder, but the whole spider thing through him off.
“What tipped you off?”
At least her sarcasm was on point.
“Alright, alright, no need to get feisty”, Clint smirks. “So, Wiz, what’s your name? If you have one, that is”.
“Elizabeth”
“Alright”, he turns to meet her suspicious gaze. “So what’s your real name than?”
For a moment, there’s silence except for the distant yells of carnival goers.
“Ok Wiz, I’ll make you a deal”
With a final tug on the wrap, Clint sits back. Wisdom’s child still eyes him warily, an obvious sign of a runaway, especially noticing his stash of arrows scattered across the tent’s floor.
“You tell me your name, and I’ll roll open another sleeping bag. Deal?”
The young Clint Barton puts his hand out forward, an eyebrow raised. “My name’s Clint, Clint Barton. And you?”
“Annabeth”
She shakes his hand.
“Annabeth Chase”
---
It only took a big bag of greasy burgers to make her crack.
The kid devoured the fast food quicker than Clint took to unwrap his own, stuffing the remnants of the burger into her mouth as he took a bite of the hot sandwich.
Raising an eyebrow, he tosses a second bag at her, her eyes gleaming at the sight. This time, she slowly cherished the warm food that wasn’t the remnants found beneath a dumpster. Clint couldn’t help but smile.
“So, Wiz, what brings you to the carnival?”
“Food”, she says simply, grabbing for more fries. Clint let her. “And the crowds”
“Easy to pickpocket”, he nods in understanding. “Nice”
“I don’t want to, I try not to”, Annabeth sighs, “but I need enough money for a bus ticket and rich people love carnivals”
“Where you headed?”
“New York”
“Ah, got dreams than”, Clint chuckles. “Good for you”
“Shut up”, she glares. “My mother sent me”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. Wisdom, right?”
“ Yes ”
“Ok”
“My mother is the goddess Athena!”
Sighing, Clint grabs for the last fry. “Alright”
“...you believe me?”
“Why not, it’s still early”, he shrugs, leaning back against the tent post. “Besides, you’re a pretty shit liar”
“I am not ”
“Oh yeah, sure, Elizabeth ”, Clint smirks, tossing the food wrappers into the nearest trash bin.
“Well, that’s not fair”, she defended, “you expected me to lie so the lie was obvious. Besides, everyone makes up fake names, it’s hardly lying”
“You keep telling yourself that kid”
“You can’t talk, old man”
“I’m fifteen!”
“So you’re already halfway to Hades”, the half-blood grins. “Especially the way you’re eating”
“You know, I could kick you out right now”, Clint responds. “Without a second though, really. And that’s my food you’re eating so you’re going down with me”
“Hey, a deals a deal. No takesy backsies”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever kid”
“...so are you gonna eat that burger orrrrr…”
“Have at it”, he grins, tossing the last of his dinner at the starving kid. “But just to be clear, I’m not old”
“Whatever you say, Gandalf ”, Annabeth snaps back, crossing her arms.
“Alright, Oliver Twist ”
“Well that’s just uncalled for!”
Their bickering continued from there, filled with complaints about living on the streets and Clint describing the circus life to the curious half-blood. He promised to get her a decent weapon after noticing her only self defence being a dull hammer and her obnoxious brain.
“Brains don’t beat bullets”, he reminds the arguing child. “No matter how smart you are, always have a back up”
In return, Annabeth told him, after some slight prodding, about her horrible stepmother and the constant ambushes of spiders, shaking slightly at the memory.
The kid had obviously been through some shit, if the torn clothes didn’t give it away, the lost spark in her eyes did. Bags under her eyes a mile wide and dried blood caked over her body made it even clearer she hadn’t slept in weeks and no shower for even longer.
So, after finishing the remnants of their dinner, Clint led the kid to the Carnival’s portable shower house, handing her a pile of far-too oversized clothes before leaving her to wash in peace, grinning as she walked out a half hour later clad in an extra-large Traveling Wonders T-shirt and Clint’s old sweatpants.
She nodded in thanks, the equivalent to an emotional hug for Annabeth, and the two returned to Clint’s tent. He unrolled an extra sleeping bag as promised, and soon the two fell into a dreamless sleep.
Oh yeah, I wish.
Clint woke up to screaming.
And no , it wasn't his screaming.
Annabeth seemed to have lost her mind, fingers digging into her skull, scrunched into a tight ball as she let out screams of panic, face twisted into an unreadable expression.
Her arms seemed to be punching an imaginary figure, struggling furiously against hands grasping at her.
“Hey, kid, WIZ”
Clint almost grabs for her wrists, but, thinking better of it, gives her some space, still trying to wake the nightmare-infected teen.
Throwing pillows at her only seemed to cause more panic so Clint sentenced himself to the farthest corner away from the girl- though, it being such a small tent, that wasn’t far.
After what felt like forever, Annabeth finally woke up, eyes wide as dinner plates.
“You okay, Wiz?”
“Did you really throw a pillow at me so I’d stop screaming”
“You wouldn’t wake up”, he shrugs, ruffling her hair. “Tried to give you space”
“With... pillows ”
“Well when you say it like that it sounds stupid”, Clint smirks.
“It is”
Rolling his eyes, the archer stumbles to his feet, Annabeth following in suit.
“C’mon kid, let’s get some food”
“...so you’re not gonna ask ‘bout the whole uh...screaming thing?”, she asks, nervously tapping her fingers.
“Spiders?”
“Step-mom”, Annabeth replies, glaring down at her feet.
“Sucks”
“Yeah”, she grumbles, stuffing her hands into the pockets of Clint’s windbreaker. “It does”
----
“You need to pull it to your ear!”
“I am ”
“Unless your eyes are your ears, than no you’re not”
Glaring, Annabeth tightens her grip on the bowstring, gaze fixated on the distant target. Clint stood to the side, eyeing her stance with a raised eyebrow.
“Loosen up a bit, you’re too stiff”
The arrow barely hits the target, bouncing off the edge and clattering onto the grass amongst others, none who had reached their target. A lucky pair of arrows were loosely dug into the outer ring of the target.
“You should’ve loosened up”, Clint grins, hopping off his box of arrows.
“I hate you”
“Yeah, yeah whatever Wiz”
“Why do I even need to know how to shoot a freakin bow?”, she growls, tossing away the bow. “What is this, medieval europe?!”
“What, you want to keep fighting monsters with a hardware hammer?”
“Does the job”, she grumbles beneath her breath. “ ‘s got me this far”
“And this will get you a lot farther”. The archer tosses a canvas bag at the kid, an eyebrow raised. “Maybe this is more your style”
A dagger digs into the target.
“Yeah”, the half-blood grins, unraveling the pouch, her eyes falling on a bundle of daggers. “Now this is more like it!”
“Someone's picky”, Clint elbows her in amusement. “Though, it’s like they always say”
Annabeth rolls her eyes.
“The weapon chooses the wielder”
“You literally threw these at me, it didn’t choose shit”
“Alright than smart ass, just give ‘em a whirl, see how they feel”, Clint responds, gesturing to a dressed-up mannequin. “Do your worst”
And she does.
Let’s just say, Daisy the Clown is gonna need a new costume stat, unless dagger slashes and ripped sleeves are in this month.
Annabeth turned back, eyes sparkling as the mannequin collapsed into a heap behind her. Her body seemed to almost vibrate in excitement.
“So….”
Clint smirks, leaning against his box.
“Don’t worry, I can take it”
“You were right”, the half-blood groans, rolling her eyes.
“Oh sorry, what was that, I can’t hear you”
“You were right Old Man, okay, does that boost your self esteem enough?”
“Completely and utterly”
“You’re the worst”, Annabeth sighs with the ghost of a smile.
“Said no one ever ”
“You think way too highly of yourself”
“Self Esteem sells the man”, Clint grins, wiggling his eyebrows mockingly.
“Well no one’s buying”, she mocks, elbowing him in the chest.
“Wow Wiz, no need to crush my spirit”
“Your spirit could be run over by a car with three broken ribs and be as peppy and annoying as ever”
“I’ll take that as a compliment”, the archer grabs for a dagger. “So, ready to fight an actual opponent?”
“Sure”, the half-blood smirks, readjusting her stance. “Where are they?”
“Hardy har har, very funny”
“I thought so”
The two circle each other, the much shorter and much feistier of the two gripping double daggers while the other lazily inspects his sword.
“Ready Wiz?”
“You’re not”
The two thrust their weapons forward, eyes sparkling in determination as their blades clashed in a fiery of sparks and sweat.
“Scared Old Man?”, Annabeth smirks, ducking the archer’s blade.
“You wish”