Chapter Text
As a newly minted Senior Handler, Phil was a little peeved at being sent out on a collection mission. Sure, S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten intel of a potential powered person at the travelling circus, and Phil was admittedly intrigued, but he had better things to do now that he was a Senior Handler. Didn’t he?
Phil shifted on the hard wooden bench he was seated on. His dress shoes stuck uncomfortably to the floor, and the scent of old hay and plywood permeated the air. The canvas tent loomed above and around the crowd, which circled the dirt floor in the middle that acted as circus ring. The audience consisted mostly of families, young children with sticky fingers oohing and aahing between bites of popcorn or cotton candy.
As far as Phil could tell, the show was almost over and there hadn’t been one sign of anyone powered. He was starting to wonder if this was a hazing ritual put on by Nick Fury when the ring master came back out.
“And now, what you’ve all been waiting for. The Amazing Hawkeye!”
Two spotlights thunked on as the other lights in the tent went out, creating a blindingly white circle of light in the middle of the ring. As if he had teleported, a young man stood in the middle of the lights. He had on a sleeveless purple leotard, black cargo pants and combat boots. Dirty blond hair was slicked back, and a small black mask covered the top half of his face. In one hand he held a black bow, the other hand poised artfully up above his head for his grand entrance. On his back was a quiver of arrows; he quickly plucked one out of the quiver and expertly sent it flying into a target that had been set up during his grand entrance.
What followed was ten minutes of the most beautiful, preternatural movement Phil had ever seen in his life. The Amazing Hawkeye leapt and rolled around the ring, effortlessly loosing arrows and dodging various obstacles set in front of him. Phil watched with sharp eyes, trying to determine whether The Amazing Hawkeye had powers or was just very rehearsed, but even with his training and sharp eyes he couldn’t quite tell. And that intrigued him.
When the show finished Phil clapped as loudly as the rest of the audience around him, standing and watching the man take a bow before stalking into the wings. As he slipped into the shadows, Phil could see the man’s shoulders bunch up by his ears and even from a distance could see the tension in the man’s back. Phil slipped out just ahead of the rest of the audience and left the tent, sneaking through the shadows to where the circus folk had set up living quarters.
He could see that they were already starting to tear down some of the smaller tents- there went the fortune-tellers tent, and the one that had been selling roasted hazelnuts. Sticking to the shadows, Phil stealthily stole his way deeper into the tents and trailers until he saw an already familiar back bent over a pole in the ground. The Amazing Hawkeye, sans mask, was pulling at the pole, trying to get it out of the ground and having a lot of trouble. Phil couldn’t see anyone else from the circus around, so he crept out of the shadows and circled around behind the man.
“Hello?” he called quietly, stopping a short distance away. The man didn’t react, still yanking hard at the stake in the ground. “Hawkeye?” he tried a little louder, creeping a few more steps closer. Phil was starting to take being ignored personally, which is what he would later blame his next move on. Moving forward, he grabbed one of the arms reaching for the stake in the ground and before he knew what was happening, he was slammed up against a nearby tree with a knife at his throat. Thankfully, he was quick enough to get a hand around the wrist at his throat, which left them at a bit of an impasse. Hawkeye’s face was inches from his, teeth bared menacingly.
“Who the fuck are you?” The Amazing Hawkeye asked, voice coming out louder than the situation called for. He blinked a moment, then his free hand twitched by his ear. Phil’s eyes caught on his ear for a second before understanding dawned on him.
“You couldn’t hear me!” he said with relief. “And here I thought you were just being rude. Do you sign?” Phil signed the last sentence one-handed while he spoke.
The Amazing Hawkeye scrutinized him for a moment, eyes calculating. “Don’t like signing when I have my ears in. Who the fuck are you?” he asked again, giving Phil a little shake. Holding up his free hand, Phil slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. On the front was the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo, and on the back was his name and phone number, written in neat type face.
“Phil Coulson, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he answered calmly, professional mask slipping into place despite the knife still at his throat.
“What is this, some kind of government alphabet soup shit?”
“Not how I would put it, but sure.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You’re literally holding a knife to my throat right now.”
Hawkeye seemed to consider that for a moment. He pulled back, letting go of Phil but not putting away the knife.
“You spooked me. Beyond being spooked I haven’t done anything wrong.” He glanced around shiftily. “Say what you gotta say quickly. If anyone sees me with you, I’ll get in trouble.”
“We’re looking for talented people, and you, Mr. Amazing Hawkeye, are extremely talented. Our goal is protection- of the world, of humanity, and of powered people,” Phil took a breath and a calculated risk, “- like you. You’ve caught our eye, and we want to make you an offer.” Phil offered his business card in the space now between them, but Hawkeye looked at his hand as if it was an alien being.
“First off, I’m not that talented, I can just shoot some arrows. Second, the only person I protect is myself. And third, I don’t have any powers. Just the common sense that God and a shit childhood gave me.” He continued to eye the business card with disgust.
“I can assure you that no one has taken me by surprise like you did in a long time. That’s talent. And you don’t need to have powers, I certainly don’t. We just keep a closer eye out for those who do, in order to help them.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m good here.” Clint reached up and turned off his hearing aid, stooping down and pulling at the stake again. Thoroughly rejected, Phil turned and made his way back through the tents. That was okay, he could wait.
A few days later found Phil in a different small town, sitting on a familiar wooden bench surrounded by the same kind of families as the last town, screaming children clapping and running around on sugar highs while the performers paced through the show. Phil zoned out, mentally running through different self-defense patterns until the ring master got into the middle to announce The Amazing Hawkeye. Phil’s attention immediately zeroed into the middle of the ring, and there stood the Amazing Hawkeye once more, in the same pose he had been in last time. Now that he wasn’t looking for any signs of powers, Phil allowed himself to enjoy the show and the demonstration of physical prowess and marksmanship. He tried to stay professional as he watched the arm and back muscles ripple under the spandex, but it was a losing battle.
He shook himself out of his trance as the crowd erupted into applause, glad that no one else from S.H.I.E.L.D. had seen him start to drool. Quickly he stood up, allowing himself to move with the flow of the audience as they all exited the tent. He melted into the audience, slipping from one shadow to the other until he had found the Amazing Hawkeye once more.
This time Hawkeye was beside an old beat-up trailer, rolling up a rug that had been laid out front. Several camping chairs and a portable fire pit lay on the ground beside it. Learning from last time, Phil circled around until he was in front of the man. When he got in Hawkeye’s periphery he saw the man’s head whip up, and he narrowed his eyes at Phil.
“You can’t be here.” Hawkeye threw the rolled-up rug down by the camping chairs, narrowly missing hitting Phil in the shins.
“I didn’t get to go into detail last time-“
“Shut up.” Stalking forward, Hawkeye grabbed Phil by the jacket lapel and towed him inside the trailer, slamming the door shut behind him. “If I get caught with a townie in here, man, I’m dead.” He leaned against the door of the trailer, crossing his arms, and tilting his chin up defiantly. “My brother is helping direct the pack up and roll and out and shouldn’t be back for a little bit. Say what you’ve gotta say and get out.”
Phil took a moment to take in his new surroundings. They were in a small, beat-up trailer. It had a bedroom at one end, a living area/kitchenette in the middle and a bathroom, closet, and small bed at the other end. Everything inside the trailer seemed to be as aged as the trailer itself- the appliances were old and rusting at the corners, and the blankets and clothes strewn about were threadbare and patched. The only item that seemed to be in some semblance of cleanliness was The Amazing Hawkeye’s costume, carefully laid out on the small couch.
Now that Phil could see him close and without the distraction of a knife against his throat, he noticed that Hawkeye was quite skinny for his age. He had the muscle mass associated with archery, but not much else- besides his arms and shoulders, he was skin and bones. Phil caught glimpses of hand-shaped bruises peeking out from the edges of the black tank top and green cargo pants he had clearly changed into after the performance. Phil, feigning casual, walked towards the costume laid out and ran a hand down the soft spandex, leaving his back to Clint.
“Why did you have your hearing aids off, last time?”
He heard him shift restlessly for a moment before he got an answer. “I like to turn them off when I’m performing so I don’t get distracted by the crowd. Forgot to turn them back on.”
Phil wandered towards the bed tucked into the corner of the trailer. He could see a single pillow and blanket. He spotted the corner of a plastic wrapper poking from under the mattress. Immediately he recognized it as the corner of a pack of powder donuts that could be bought for less than a dollar at any convenience store. Now that he knew what he was looking for, Phil started examining the trailer while appearing like he wasn’t looking at all, and quickly spotted other small areas in the trailer where food was stashed.
“We offer room and board,” Phil blurted and damn, he was trying to play it cool but the more he took in the more he wanted to force Hawkeye into SHIELD HQ, if only to ensure a warm place to sleep and consistent food. “Three full meals a day, salary, benefits, pension. All of it.” He took a moment to center himself. “We’re a security branch of law-enforcement, looking for candidates with unique skill sets that could come in handy. I think you’re an excellent candidate.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch.”
“Yeah right, there’s always a catch. Get out.” He moved away from the door, pulling it open and poking his head out to make sure the coast was clear.
“At least tell me your name.”
That got him a wary look, before he made the sign for arrow, like throwing a paper airplane, but keeping his hand cupped in a ‘C’ shape. “Clint,” he said along with the sign.
“Nice to meet you, Clint,” Phil said and signed. As he slipped by, Phil managed to tuck one of his business cards into a pocket of Clint’s cargoes without him knowing and considered it a mildly successful trip. At least now he had a name.
The next time Phil saw the show, it was a few days later and they were in yet another small, mid-western town. He was once again sat on the hard wood benches in the same canvas tent. By this point, Phil could recite all the ring master’s lines, and tell exactly where Clint was going to fall and land and shoot, but he still couldn’t get over how graceful Clint looked doing it all. He moved like water in a way Phil had never seen a human move.
And he was human, as far as Phil could tell. After the last time, Phil had tried to dig into any sort of background, but for all intents and purposes Clint didn’t exist. He was certain if Clint was some kind of powered person, he would have some hint of a record.
When the show was done, Phil snuck among the trailers and tents, easily finding the right trailer now that he knew what he was looking for. Clint was standing outside his trailer, smoking. He had changed into the same tank top and cargoes as the other day. If Phil didn’t know better, he’d think Clint was waiting for him. Clint watched him approach, spotting him sooner than Phil thought he would. Without a word he threw the cigarette butt onto the ground with one hand, using the other one to pull open the trailer door and let Phil in. He closed the door behind them again, locking it and leaning against it.
“For fuck’s sake, can’t you take a hint?”
Despite his words, Clint had let Phil into the trailer, which he was taking as a good sign. Reaching into his pocket, Phil took out a pack of powder donuts, offering them to Clint. He lunged forward and snatched them out of Phil’s hands, quickly inspecting the wrapper to ensure it hadn’t been tampered with before ripping open the packaging and devouring the donuts. Once all the donuts were eaten, Clint licked any trace sugar off the plastic and crumpled it up, shoving it deep in a pocket.
“Talk.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“So you’re a legal adult. Who can make his own choices. Why stay here?”
“This is my family, my home. I help provide for the family, I can’t just abandon-“ Clint froze, spinning to look out of the little window beside the door. “Fuck. Barney’s coming. Get in here.” He grabbed Phil and hauled him to the closet, stuffing him in and forcefully snapping the door behind him. Phil heard the door to the trailer rattle and then banging on the door.
“Open up, Hawkeye,” Barney shouted, voice dripping with disdain at the stage name. Phil heard the door unlock and creak open, and heavy steps stomp their way up the stairs. “Have you gotten anything done? We’re supposed to be rolling out in two hours.”
“I was just gonna grab something to eat first.“
“Oh, he was going to eat first, how nice. Why don’t you just stay here and eat, princess, gorge yourself on the food I work to put on this table, and I can do your chores too while I’m at it, hm?”
Phil listened from inside the closet, fuming. He heard Clint mumble something.
“Don’t mumble,” Barney roared. “What have I always told you? God, without me and Jacques you’d be out on the street, unable to hear anything or understand anyone. Stupid little pig, you’ll never amount to anything. You’re lucky you have me covering for you around here. I’ve always looked out for you, Clint. I know what’s best. Now get out there and start packing our stuff away.” Phil heard them both leave the trailer but he didn’t get out of the closet, knowing it might not be safe yet. He was used to waiting; this wasn’t his first covert op. While he waited, he carefully pulled out a stack of his business cards and started tucking them into every pocket of the coats and pants that were obviously Clint’s.
He was in the closet for five minutes before the door was pulled open, and Clint hauled him out. Phil noted that Clint’s eyes were red but didn’t say anything.
“You heard him, I’m not good for anything. You don’t want me, get out,” Clint muttered, opening the door to the trailer and making sure Phil exited. At the bottom of the steps Phil turned around and looked back up at Clint.
"He's wrong, you know. You can do great things.”
“I don’t need your pity. Leave me the fuck alone!” Clint screamed, aiming a kick at Phil. He ducked it easily, backing away from the trailer. As he did, Clint turned off his hearing aids and turned his back on Phil, beginning to pack up the same chairs and fire pit as before. His shoulders were hunched inwards, and his back was bowed over. Phil thought he saw the shoulders shaking but, not wanting to anger the man further, left without a word.
A week later found Phil at SHIELD HQ. While he still thought Clint was exactly what they were looking for, he didn’t want to force anyone into service, and he wanted to give the man space. Clint had his card, multiple of them in fact. If he wanted to reach out, he would.
Frustrated, Phil sighted down the range and aimed his handgun, firing three rounds in quick succession- head, heart, and gut. He then gave the target two holes for eyes, a hold for a nose and a row of holes for a frowning mouth.
“Recon and collect went that well, huh?” Maria, one of the girls from the same intake wave as him, watched from behind him, smirking.
He hummed, making a line of holes that bisected the target horizontally. As he fired his last shot, his phone started ringing. Holstering the gun, Phil pulled out his phone.
“Coulson,” he said shortly.
“I need help.”
Phil instantly recognized the voice as Clint’s.
“What-“
“I don’t have my ears, so I can’t hear what you’re saying,” Clint interrupted. “I’m at the Police Station in Audubon, Iowa. Come get me?”
“Of course,” Phil said even though he knew Clint couldn’t hear him. The line clicked as Clint hung up, and Phil turned and looked at Maria. “I have to go. Tell Fury I’m picking up a new asset, and that I’ll be back A.S.A.P.” He turned smartly on his heel and started speed walking to the private airstrip S.H.I.E.L.D. had.
“Need any help?”
“No, just tell Fury.”
Phil changed course and ran to his room to throw together a duffel bag with clothes and toiletries, tossing in a couple of protein bars and donut packs as well. By the time he got to the airstrip, there was a plane waiting for him. Fury had clearly gotten word of what he planned to do and was helping him out. Good.
As soon as Phil was settled the plane took off, and he spent the five-hour flight reading up on by-laws specific to Iowa, making sure he had offer letters for Clint all in order and re-organizing his bag so that the snacks were at the top. They landed on a private air strip not far from the small town and then Phil drove to the police station.
He rolled up to the small station and quickly parked the car out front. Straightening his suit, he opened the door and went up to the front reception desk. A middle-aged woman sat behind the desk, her blonde hair in a wispy beehive and her shirt showing a lot of cleavage. Behind her, he saw Clint in a small holding cell. His left eye was swollen shut, blood was oozing from a split lip and his nose looked different from last time. When Clint saw Phil he leapt up and grabbed onto the bars.
“Phil!”
“I’m here to pick him up,” Phil said, nodding to Clint.
“Name?”
“Phil Coulson.”
Her inch-long nails clacked against the keyboard.
“Of the person you’re picking up.”
“Clint.”
“Last name?”
“Last name? Did he not give it to you?”
“Honey, he can’t hear us,” she said as if he was stupid. “He could not give us his name.”
“And you didn’t think to give him a pen and paper?” He signed “pen and paper” while saying it so that Clint got the gist of the conversation.
“Can’t read or write,” Clint chimed in from behind them. His voice was loud and slightly slurred, but he was grinning as if he found the whole thing ridiculously funny.
“Last name,” the woman requested again.
“Yes, his last name is…” Clint fingerspelled B-A-R-T-O-N behind the woman. “Barton,” he finished, looking back at her. Clint shot him a thumbs up.
“Alrighty, we’ll just need some money for bail and he’ll be good to go.”
Phil pulled out his corporate card and used it to pay the bail. Clint was released and they went outside, Phil driving them a ways down to a coffee shop and ordered them each a hot chocolate and donut. They deserved the sugar.
“Can’t read or write?” Phil asked one he got back to the car, signing along. They were leaning on the hood, enjoying the mild weather.
‘Nope’ Clint signed. ‘Can finger spell my name, and that’s it.’
“Fuck,” Phil muttered, before switching to sign. ‘What happened?’
Clint let out a big sigh before speaking. “I told Barney and Jacques I want to leave. They didn’t like their headliner trying to leave and started whaling on me, took my ears. Some townies saw and called the police. They left me here,” he said with a disbelieving chuckle. “I have no money, hell I was making THEM money, and they just left me.” His eyes started to water and he took a quick sip of his hot chocolate to cover it. “Thanks for coming to get me. The phone call must’ve been confusing.”
“I understood perfectly,” Phil said, turning to make sure Clint was reading his lips clearly. They finished their drinks in companionable silence, and despite the upheaval of the day, Clint finally felt like he was going to be okay.