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After Ultron, Clint decides it’s time to throw in the towel and retire.
He tells the team that he’s gotten too old, that saving the world is a young man’s game. It’s true that he doesn’t handle falling off a building as well as he used to, and he swears that he can tell if it is going to rain by the ache in his left hip. But having another birthday isn’t the reason he’s retiring. Age be damned, Clint knows he has more than a few fights left in him.
The truth is that he was never really one of the Avengers. Young or old, a guy whose only skill involves a Paleolithic weapon is definitely not one of Earth’s mightiest. Clint Barton is a sniper, a fighter, and he had been a damn good SHIELD agent. But when he tries to keep up with legends and gods and billionaires, other people pay the price for his incompetence.
First Coulson, then Pietro. Gone because Clint wanted to pretend he could be a hero.
So he moves out of the Tower, not even bothering to pack beyond shoving his belongings into garbage bags. He plans to get in a car and just drive, to be able to actually sight-see in new cities rather than just kill someone and leave as quickly as possible. He has plans, and they all involve being untethered, free to move without waiting for orders.
Clint’s retired all of three days before he accidentally starts a feud with some Russian tracksuit mafia, buys an apartment building in Bed Stuy, and acquires the world’s ugliest dog.
Instead of taking orders from Fury or Cap, he answers to the harried single mother on the first floor whose kids break an appliance every other day.
A few weeks after that he seems to be taking orders from Kate Bishop, who knocks on his door and demands he help her refine her archery skills. She might be a total brat, but she’s also the best damn archer he’s seen in years.
Clint loves the sour look on her face when he refers to her as his protege.
His days fall into a pattern. Shooting with Kate, Dog Cops, planning rooftop barbecues with his tenants. The occasional fight with the Russian mob. He ignores the team’s calls, avoids everyone but Natasha who breaks into his apartment every few weeks. Sometimes he’ll see the Avengers on the news and his fingers will itch for his bow. But he always manages to quell the urge. Clint Barton is finally the normal guy he was always supposed to be, a guy who collects strays and eats food off the floor.
Being retired doesn’t mean Clint’s going to let himself get rusty — Natasha likes to ambush him so often he cannot afford to get out of shape. Between his trips to the range he finds time for the gym, takes Lucky for runs. He even orders a vegetable pizza when Kate reprimands him for his eating habits. He isn’t surprised when he starts finding bottles of vitamins around his living room with snarky notes from Natasha and Kate. He ignores all of them but one.
Take one of these old man, they’re good for your joints. You’re no good to me if you’re too arthritic to draw your bow! – Kate
Clint unscrews the cap, pops a pill in his mouth and swallows it dry; he’s spent enough time in hospitals that he’s become a champion at taking medication. He tells himself it’s not because he’s getting too old, or because he’s worried about keeping up with Kate. Joint health is just important, that’s all.
Still, he totally blames Kate when stone suddenly anchors his feet to the floor, creeping up his body at an alarming rate.
“What the fu—“
He doesn’t even manage to finish his sentence. The last thing he sees before he is completely encased is the bottle of fish oil capsules falling to the floor.
Clint’s apartment looks like it’s been hit by a hurricane.
He has no idea how long he was in his stone cocoon before it shattered. His TV and speakers have fallen over, the few framed pictures he has shattered on the ground. He runs his hands over his body then stumbles to the bathroom. His reflection looks like the same – purple hearing aids hooked over his ears, a day old ketchup stain smeared across his white shirt.
He feels different though. The atmosphere is heavy, almost suffocating, a maelstrom over his skin. He hears a constant stream of air, changing subtly so that he can almost sense eddies swirling and flowing. He pulls out his aids and sighs in relief at the silence.
Clint walks to his bedroom, hoping that a nap followed by an entire pot of coffee will help him return to normal. He stops short when he sees Lucky cowering beneath the bed. He feels the air begin to shift around him, and Luck begins to whimper.
If Lucky is afraid of him, something is seriously wrong.
For the first time since Loki, Clint feels like a threat instead of just a human disaster.
He rapidly shoots off a text to Kate. Have an emergency and need to go upstate. Please take care of Lucky for me — there’s a key under the welcome mat.
He throws clothes and toiletries in a duffle bag. He hesitates for a moment, then grabs his bow and a quiver of arrows, immediately feeling calmer as the familiar weight settles in his hand. He nearly falls down the stairs he’s so desperate to get out of his apartment, but the moment he steps outside he just feels exposed. Goosebumps erupt over his flesh as the wind nearly topples him over.
He ignores the buzzing phone in his pocket and breaks into the first car he sees.
Clint is three hours away, careful to take back roads and avoid heavily trafficked highways, when the rattling of the car forces him to pull over. Ever since he put his aids back in, hoping to hear any sirens before a cop pulls him over, a persistent hum of white noise fills his head.
He stumbles out of the car and begins to retch, the roaring in his ears causing the earth to swoop beneath him. The grass begins to oscillate, caught in a gentle breeze. He falls to his knees, fingers clutching the ground and praying it will still. Bile rises in his throat, and Clint is not sure if panic or the vertigo is to blame. His heart begins to race.
The wind picks up around him.
Clint hears gravel crunching beneath tires and looks up to see a SUV rolling to a stop behind his car. The middle aged man behind the wheel turns to the woman in the passenger’s seat, clearly telling her to wait. He opens the door and makes his way towards Clint.
“You okay there, friend?” The man’s eyebrows are drawn together, and he stops when Clint begins to vomit again. “Do you need me to call someone for you? Doctor?”
“I’m fine.” Clint wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, takes several deep breaths to try and calm his stomach. He must not sound very convincing, because the man takes several more steps towards him.
“I said I’m fiine!” Clint flings his arm out in a half-hearted gesture to stay back. He stares in horror as a strong gust follows the arc of his hand and blasts the man away from him.
“Paul!” The woman surges from her seat, hurrying from the car to her husband who lay in the dirt a few feet from the asphalt. He moans, tries to sit up.
“Are you okay?” Clint struggles to his feet. The man shuffles backward, then lets his wife haul him to his feet.
“You’re… you’re one of them!”
“I’m not an Avenger anymore.” Clint begins to back away.
“Of course you’re not an Avenger,” The woman says, her voice cracking. “You’re one of those freaks!”
Clint hasn’t been called a freak since his circus days, although he’s pretty sure that’s not what she’s referring to. Before he can ask what she means, he realizes that the man is reaching for his cell phone. Clint turns on his heel and flees, trying to get as far away as possible before the dizziness sends him falling to the ground.
He’s barely made it to the edge of the forest when he hears the woman behind him say into the phone, “Someone just tried to kill my husband! And he’s dangerous, has powers – “
Clint disappears into the trees, keeps running until the road is no longer visible. He runs until he is gasping for breath, until his heart hammering against his chest. He runs until he can no longer stand against the howling wind.
He makes it to a clearing before he collapses. His fingers scrabble to remove his hearing aids, but he can still feel the air moving within his ear. He curls into a ball and surrenders to the tempest around him.
The squall ends abruptly and stillness settles over Clint. He unfurls his limbs, wincing at the stiffness in his shoulders, then flops onto his back. He closes his eyes and wills himself to wake up in his bed in Bed Stuy. But when he opens them there is no Lucky, no Kate telling him to get out of bed because it’s already noon. All there is is empty sky.
Wait. Maybe not so empty.
The clouds ripple above him. Clint squints, tries to get his eyes to focus – C’mon Hawkeye – when he sees it. Square plates reflect the sky back towards him, creating a pixelated stratosphere. Clint groans. Whoever is coming for him has serious shielding tech, which means they are sure to have other toys that will easily track him down.
A cargo door opens and a white container descends toward the clearing. Clint knows that he should get up, prepare to fight or run. But he barely raises his head when the container settles on the grass and a young woman steps out.
Clint watches her out of the corner of his eye, taking a quick inventory of his potential enemy. He doesn’t see any obvious weapons, although the gauntlets on her wrists hint at some underlying threat. She’s thin but fit, and she would probably do more than hold her own if she were to fight Clint in his current state. Her tight black jumpsuit is reminiscent of Natasha’s, and Clint feels a pang of longing in his gut. God, he wishes Natasha were here to make some sarcastic comments or kick is his ass into gear.
Instead he’s leaving himself completely open to an attack. It takes him several moments to realize the woman is speaking to him.
He holds up a hand, signaling her to wait, then feels through the grass until his fingers close around his hearing aids. He loops them over his ears and pushes himself up into a sitting position. He looks around the clearing, sees that all the trees at the edge had completely fallen over.
Shit.
“What were you saying?” He asks the woman, finally looking her in the eye.
Her mouth falls open. “A-agent Barton?” She stutters.
“Not an agent anymore,” Clint says through gritted teeth. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Daisy Johnson,” she says. “I need you to come with me.”
“Hard pass,” Clint replies. He tries to stand, curses as his knees buckle. He straightens before the woman can move to help him. “How’d you find me?”
“We went to the eye of the storm,” Daisy says.
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
Daisy just gestures around them, at the trees flattened against the earth.
“They were like that when I got here.”
Daisy laughs. “Sure they were.” Then her face falls. “I’m the only chance you have before they come for you.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know. All we know is that they’re collecting powered individuals, who are never heard from again.”
Clint doesn’t even bother trying to integrate the information that he is now considered a powered individual. Instead he asks, “How do I know you’re not just another collector?”
Daisy’s eyebrows draw together, and she bites her lip as if unsure how to continue. She takes a deep breath, steadies herself.
“Because I’m a SHIELD agent.”
Clint lets out a short, hard laugh. “Yeah, and I’m still a carnie traveling with the Circus of Crime.”
“There is no way that is a real thing,” Daisy says.
“Neither is SHIELD anymore.”
“Shit there isn’t time to explain –” Daisy stops, puts her hand to her ear. Clint realizes she’s listening to someone over comms.
“Bobbi Morse is with me, she’s waiting up in the Zephyr,” Daisy says.
“Bullshit.” Anyone could have gotten Bobbi’s names from the dumped SHIELD files. He stops himself from asking what the hell a Zephyr is.
Daisy swears, then pauses to listen again. “She wants me to tell you that the engagement ring you got her was a gaudy piece of crap.” Into the comms she says, “Engagement ring? Really Bobbi? You are so sharing that story later.”
Clint stills. He can’t tear his eyes away from Daisy’s face as he searches for any hint of a lie.
In the distance he can hear the faint hum of a helicopter. Clint feels panic seize him, and the remaining trees begin to sway. Daisy turns to him, pleading.
“Please, there isn’t any time. Just get into the module, okay?” She moves towards him, fighting against the increasing wind. She offers her hand, and Clint takes it. Then they’re running towards the module, and Daisy shoves him roughly inside. She follows him, enters a sequence on the screen near the entrance, and the doors close.
Apparently being in the module with him was not the plan, since she says harshly into the comms, “There isn’t time for an extraction, I need to go with him.” To Clint she says, “Please try and stay calm. The module will contain your powers, but in here I’m still at risk. I don’t want to hurt you but if you aren’t in control I will knock you out.”
Clint snorts. But the look on Daisy’s face, pure confidence and no hesitation, makes him reconsider whether she’s joking or not. He startles slightly when the module suddenly takes off, flying upward at an impressive speed.
Clint can feel the air shifting around him, and Daisy must notice it to because her eyes widen. He flinches, mumbles, “Sorry.”
Clint knows that if Natasha were here she would be glaring at him, muttering darkly in Russian until he got himself under control. So he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. He sinks into his sniper headspace, the quiet state where he can wait for hours before making a kill shot. His heart rate slows, the tension in his shoulders ebbs away. He is a statue, unmoving, but ready to spring into deadly action at a second’s notice.
The air settles.
He hears Daisy sigh in relief. “Thank you.”
He keeps his eyes closed until the module comes to a stop, hovering momentarily before settling on the floor. He’s in a massive cargo hold, a group of people converging on the module. A large SHIELD logo is emblazoned on the wall.
The doors open and Daisy steps out. He stands to follow her, but she turns and places a hand on his shoulder.
“I need you to stay in here, okay? It’s for your safety.”
Clint opens his mouth to argue, then closes it when his gaze falls on Bobbi, standing a few feet behind Daisy. Her knee is in a brace, and she seems to be leaning on Hunter more for support than comfort. She gives Clint a small smile. To most she appears calm, comforting, but he recognizes the soft sadness in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Clint,” she says. “We’ll explain everything, I promise.”
If Bobbi says they will, then Clint believes her. There had been more than a few occasions he where had trusted her with his life. She always had his back, and he had hers. So he nods and steps back into the module. The doors slide shut.
Hunter untangles himself from Bobbi and approaches the module. He dramatically presses his hands to the window.
“Clint Barton, you beautiful disaster. It’s good to see you, mate.”
“Lance Hunter, what’s a smarmy bastard like you doing in a place like this?”
“Oh I’m all official now, didn’t you know?” Hunter steps back so he can grin at Clint. “No more merc work. I’m a bona fide SHIELD agent and everything.”
“Is anyone going to explain how SHIELD is still a thing after Nat and Cap crashed three helicarriers into the Potomac?” As nice as it was to have familiar faces, Clint still has no more information than he had when he was fully encased in stone.
Everyone exchanges glances. There’s a beat of silence, then two. No one answers him.
His sniper-calm begins to erode. Streams of air flow across his skin, the intensity building as his breathing quickened.
“Of course we will, later.” A small British woman shoves Hunter aside and approaches the module. “Right now we need to take some readings and get a better idea of your abilities.” She frowns at her tablet. “Are you experiencing some anxiety, Agent Barton?”
“Who the fuck wouldn’t be?” Clint snaps. Bobbi clears her throat, shaking her head when she catches Clint’s eye.
He sighs. “Sorry. I’m just not a fan of cages.”
“It’s quite alright. Perfectly understandable,” the woman says. “I’m Jemma, biomedical.” She absently gestures to her left at the man wearing a cardigan. “This is Fitz, engineering.”
Fitz waves hello, but doesn’t look up from his tablet.
“Jemma, are you seeing this?”
“Of course I am! It’s fascinating, look at the way the molecules are moving around him.” Jemma sounds delighted. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.
“Neither have I,” Fitz replies. “Look, you can visualize a distinct pattern in the air, there’s practically a river swirling around him.” Fitz turns to Daisy. “His powers almost look like yours. It looks like all the particles in the air are reacting to some kind of frequency he’s emitting.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Clint says. “What the hell are any of you saying?”
“Oh and the activity definitely increases with his emotions, look at this vortex –” Jemma says.
“Listen, today’s already been full of so many surprises that my brain literally comprehend the words coming out of your mouth right now,” Clint interrupts. “Tell me what’s going on, and make sure to dumb it down.“
Jemma looks up, blinks as if surprised to see him, then smiles widely. “You control the wind.”
Clint stares at her, then turns to Bobbi. “What the actual fuck.”
“It’s a big adjustment, I know –” Daisy starts, but she’s cut off by Bobbi snorting. Bobbi has a hand over her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Clint tries not to whine. He mostly fails.
“It’s just,” Bobbi begins, then stops as her whole body begins to shake. She giggles, takes a deep breath. “It’s just that I always knew you were full of hot air, Barton.”
“Bobbi!” Jemma says sharply. “Be kind to the poor man, he’s had a very trying day.”
Clint tries to scowl, but he can’t pretend to be upset for more than a second before he bursts out laughing. Bobbi, who had attempted to compose herself, begins to crack up. Soon they are both doubled over, Clint clutching his side. Hunter makes his way back over to Bobbi, grinning widely as he rubs her back.
“You giving me shit is the only normal thing that’s happened to me all day. God, you were the worst fake wife ever,” Clint says, wiping a tear from his eye. “It’s good to see you, Bobbi.”
She smiles at him. “It’s good to see you too, Clint.”
“Fake wife?” Jemma asks. She had apparently missed the conversation about the gaudy ring.
“Barton and I posed as a married couple for an undercover op,” Bobbi explains. “He got me the world’s most obnoxious engagement ring.”
“It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate art deco,” Clint replies, sticking his tongue out at Bobbi in a very mature manner. She rolls her eyes.
“That is so not the juicy story I was hoping for,” Daisy sighs.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Clint says with a smirk. Neither he nor Bobbi mention that they had danced around the idea of a relationship for months after the op. Both were quietly relieved when Bobbi met Hunter, agreeing that they were much better friends than lovers.
“We all know the juiciest story is how Bob and I met,” Hunter says, a bit too loudly. He had been somewhat suspicious about Clint and Bobbi, at least for the first few months after their relationship started. The awkwardness ended when Hunter realized he and Clint would be friends as well, with the help of Guinness, tequila, and stories about missions gone wrong.
Bobbi drives an elbow into Hunter’s ribs. He scowls at her and must read something in her expression, because he turns back to Clint and says, “Right, not the point. How’s it going in there, Barton?”
“It’s shit and you know it,” Clint says. “Seriously, what the fuck is going on? Why do I suddenly control the wind, why is SHIELD still a thing, who the hell are all you people?”
Daisy seem to be the one in charge of explanations. “Trust me,” she says, “This is going to be incredibly disorienting for awhile. I was completely out of control when I first got my powers.”
Clint tilts his head. “What’s your magic trick?”
“I’m able to sense the vibrations of different molecules and manipulate them.” When Clint doesn’t respond, she shrugs and says, “I make earthquakes.”
Clint’s eyes light up. “Show me!”
“We’re in a plane you moron,” Bobbi says. “Clearly not the time for a demonstration.”
“You just want to suck the joy out of everything,” Clint mutters. He sees Daisy try to suppress a grin.
“Normally we’d wait until we got to base to explain – people take it the news easier when they have some food, a bed to sit on,” Daisy says. “But, seeing as you were a SHIELD agent –”
“Just go for it.”
Daisy nods. “Okay. So, a few thousand years ago, these beings called the Kree began to genetically experiment on humans.”
“Aw, aliens, no.” Clint leans his forehead against the window. “I hate aliens.”
“I forgot that you’re an Avenger,” Daisy says. “Thor may have told you guys about the Kree before.”
Clint nods, not bothering to lift his head, and his nose leaves smudges on the glass.
“Like I was saying,” she continues, “A few thousand years ago the Kree were genetically altering humans, trying to create weapons for their wars.”
Clint stiffens. He’s already done the whole alien-weapon thing, has no interest in being a pawn in another intergalactic battle.
Daisy doesn’t seem to notice the change in his body language, or the whirlwind building around him. “There’s still a small fraction of the population that carries those altered genes. Until recently the majority have remained dormant, but a few months ago a compound that could activate them was released into the ocean.”
Clint groans. “I’m going to fucking kill Kate.”
“Kate?”
“My stupid protege. She bought me fish oil pills.”
“You figured that one out fast,” Fitz comments.
“Barton’s not nearly as dumb as he pretends to be,” Bobbi says with a shake of her head.
“Thanks?”
“Anyways,” Daisy presses on, “As you figured out, the compound was concentrated in sea life, and has now ended up in our food supply, in fish oil supplements. What you went through is called Terrigenesis; those dormant genes were activated, and now you have a unique power because of them.”
“So let me get this straight,” Clint says. “I’m descended from humans who were experimented on by aliens, and now because of some fucking fish pills I’m basically Zeus?”
“More like one of the Anemoi,” Jemma interjects. Clint lifts his head to glare at her.
“What?” she says defensively. “It’s just more accurate. They’re the Greek gods who controlled different directions of the wind.”
“Lovely,” Clint says, his voice void of all emotion. Jemma wilts under the intensity of his stare. Clint feels a little bit guilty, so rather than continuing to antagonize her, he asks, “So what does all of this mean?”
“It means you’re no longer the most useless Avenger!” Hunter calls from behind Daisy.
“Fuck you too, Hunter!” Clint’s smile falters after a moment, so he turns back to Daisy, waits for her to explain. She steps forward, grins.
“It means you’re an Inhuman. Welcome to the club.”