Chapter Text
Clint wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and peered around the elephant carriage. The teenager opted that he’d done enough, it looked all right to him at any rate. No piles of droppings, and the enclosure smelt of clean straw. Sally the elephant was currently standing in the stream to the left of their campsite with her trainer, splashing in the water and generally enjoying herself as she trumpeted loudly and sucked up water with her trunk to douse her own head and Chutra's.
Clint peered across to the tiger trailer, where he could just make out a shadowed figure sitting between the two big cats, gently petting their ears. “Are you done?” he called across, leaning his hot forehead against the cool metal bars.
“Just about, why?”
“I wanted to see if we can work a William Tell into the act and you’re the only one who’ll stand still enough.”
“Just because I let Cathy throw knives at me doesn’t mean I’ll let you point a bow at my face,” his friend objected, but Clint could see that he was preparing to leave the tiger enclosure, so he quickly jumped down onto the dusty grass, already yellowed and patchy although the Circus had only arrived two days before. The Oregon sun beat down on everything, bleaching his hair almost white, but he didn't own a hat and even if he did, he'd probably loose it.
He couldn't keep the grin from his face as his new friend approached. Trowa had only been with the circus for a month, but he was the best thing that had ever happened, in Clint's opinion. Clint had been with the Circus for as long as he could remember, his aunt was one of the acrobats and he had long since given up on asking her what had happened to his mother. They had moved from the rock to the colonies and back again over the years, and as Clint had grown he had become more and more involved in the show. Discovering a talent for trick archery was only the latest in a long line of circus tricks he had tried his hand at, from juggling with the clowns when he was very small to swinging around on the trapeze. Everyone worked at Carsons, but at least they never went to bed hungry.
Trowa had appeared out of nowhere just as spring was melting into summer, driving a big green truck with a freaking Gundam laid out in the bed, and asked if they'd consider sheltering him. He'd turned out to be a pretty good acrobat himself, and he didn't flinch when Cathy threw knives at his head, impassive green eyes half hidden behind a painted clown mask.
Clint thought that having Carson's harbour a fugitive pilot was the coolest thing ever, even if it did mean the adults muttering amongst themselves more than usual. Still, more than half the troop were from the colonies, and all were united in opinion against the current regime - it had to go.
Most of that went over Clint's head though, he was happy shooting his bow and learning about Mobile Suit maintenance and repair whenever Trowa needed a hand. They'd been on Earth for six months so far, and he hadn't enjoyed winter at all, but now that the sun seemed determined to shine day after day things weren't so bad.
He pulled his bow from where he'd stashed it under the trailer, and lead the way towards Trowa's lorry. The pilot didn't have a trailer like the rest of them, but there was a tiny narrow bed in the roof of his truck, and he had some basic supplies stored in a crate by Heavyarms' head. Clint had set up his practise targets beside the truck bed, so he could be ready to lend a hand if Trowa needed him while he was training.
It would be the most awesome thing ever if Heavyarms could be part of the show, but Clint knew better than to even suggest it. The Gundam was a secret, it had to be, and if it came out then OZ's soldiers would come down on them in a heartbeat and either kill or imprison them.
"Trowa?" he asked as the older teen folded his arms fifteen paces away, a green apple balanced precariously on his head. A question had been rumbling at the back of his mind for days now, and here, alone but for the chirping crickets, seemed like the best time to ask it.
"What?"
"Can we be brothers?" the pilot quirked an eyebrow at him and he felt compelled to elaborate. "I hate my surname, I'd rather have yours." It wasn't strictly true, but it was true enough. He didn't fit, his name belonged to a man he didn't remember and the one time he had tried to approach the topic with his aunt she had walked away.
Trowa was silent, so Clint drew back and aimed carefully, his shot piercing the top of the apple, which Trowa caught as it tumbled from his head.
"Trowa Barton isn't my name, you know," he said as he pulled the arrow from the fruit. "I don't remember my name."
Clint shrugged. "It's the name you wear now. Names are just things that other people give you, they don't mean anything."
Trowa looked up at him with a slight smile that was as big as a grin on his usually expressionless face. "All right then, brothers. Do you want to make a blood pact?"
*
Clint woke with a gasp and rubbed trembling hands over his sweaty face. The air con in his apartment was broken again, and the summer heat of New York stifling. That was the only reason he had had the dream, he reasoned with himself. It was the heat, throwing his mind back to that summer in Oregon. His gaze caught on the fine scar in the centre of his palm, mirroring his lifeline, and for a moment his throat tightened with unshed tears.
Clint Barton had a secret, one that he had been carrying for so long that it didn’t even really seem like a secret anymore. It was just another thing in the long list of things that he didn’t talk about, along with his time in Korea or that mission in Budapest. The trouble was, now that Shield was in tatters with every third agent loyal to Hydra and being hunted like the rats that they were, his helpful support system had evaporated along with his second favourite bow and his salary.
He had options of course, every agent over level 6 had options, they just weren’t going to get him to where he needed to go. He had been hiding out in his Bed-Stuy apartment for the better part of a week, but that wasn't a long term plan. Natasha was busy down in Washington defending their actions, and he wasn't sure what had happened to Steve or Bruce or that guy with the wings he had seen on the news, but the need for backup was itching in the back of his mind. There was one Avenger who was usually easy to find, and they might even be able to do something to help him, so over hot coffee and stale pizza for breakfast, he decided to take the plunge and confide in Tony Stark.
The confession didn’t go exactly as he had planned.
“I’m fine, Stark,” he grumbled, blinking as the engineer shone a penlight into his eyes. “I don’t have concussion, I haven’t had a stroke and you don’t need to scan for a brain tumour, seriously. Look at the video footage I brought you, please?”
“It’s just a little much to take in,” Tony said, finally accepting the USB drive Clint was holding out to him. “I thought your brother was called Barney and lived a life of petty crime in France, and now you’re telling me you want me to help you make a phone call to another dimension? Just how long have you been with Shield anyway?”
“Five years or so. They didn't want to loose track of an 0-8-4.”
"And in all that time, they didn't figure out how to phone other dimensions? Frankly, I'm disappointed in their science teams. Still... I think this is one that I'll need to call in the big guns for. Specifically, the big brain that comes with the big guns. J, where is Thor?"
"Mr Odinson is currently in New Mexico with Doctor Foster."
"Connect me."
After a moment, the familiar drone of a connecting phone echoed through the labs.
"Yellow," said a muffled voice, and after a moment a dark haired woman chewing on a twizzler flashed up on one of Tony's many holographic screens. "Stark raving mad! How are you?"
"All the better for hearing your dulcet tones, Pinky. Can you put Brain on the line? I've got a treat for her."
"Sure thing," Darcy said, stepping away from the camera. She returned a few minutes later with a short, distracted woman wearing a pair of scratched goggles brandishing a soldering iron.
"Doctor Foster!" Tony said cheerfully. "I have a present for you." He reached behind himself and dragged Clint closer. "Birdbrain here has just seen fit to confess that he travelled here from an alternative dimension. He has some footage of his arrival, and like E.T. he would like us to help him phone home. "
A slightly manic grin spread slowly across Jane Foster's face as she took in Clint, and the archer had to suppress the urge to gulp. Darcy reached over her shoulder and plucked the soldering iron from her lax fingers just as her shirt began to smoke.
"I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight," she promised.
Tony waved a dismissive hand. "Get to the closest Airport, tell JARVIS the deets after I hang up, he'll make sure the Stark Jet is there to meet you. I have scans to make, I'll send copies of the data to a tablet that you'll find on the plane. See you soon."
Darcy shouldered her boss out of the way, still chewing the twizzler, now intent on her phone. She started reeling off addresses and ETAs for JARVIS, and Tony ended his section of the call, turning back to Clint with a considering look.
"Into the chair, Legolas. We've got some Science to do."
Two hours later Clint was still stuck in the lab while Tony muttered to himself over the results of the scans that he'd taken. He wasn't allowed to leave, in case Tony needed to take a second reading or wanted him to corroborate something, so he amused himself with reviewing a schematic of the Iron Man suit.
"Why don't you use synchronizers in these joints?" he asked, catching Tony's attention.
"Huh, what? Oh there? Because there isn't room."
"There is if you shift the reinforcement into a diamond pattern."
Tony frowned and abandoned his keyboard to walk over and peer over Clint's shoulder. "Oh. Yeah, I guess that could work. Since when do you know about engineering?"
Clint shrugged. "I had a dream this morning, must have shaken some things loose. My brother was teaching me about Mobile Suit maintenance."
Tony rolled his eyes. "All right, I'll bite. What's a mobile suit?"
Clint grinned at him. "A fifty foot tall metal robot. The armies of the Alliance used them to subdue people, mostly. They were also used in construction, especially in space."
Tony gave him a distinctly suspicious look. "Fifty foot tall," he repeated.
"Yup," Clint confirmed cheerfully. "Well, not all of them, there are different classes and categories."
The engineer rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I think maybe you'd better tell me a little more about your Universe."
*
Their plans for interdimensional communication were derailed when Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson arrived in the foyer of the tower several hours before the jet was due to land. Clint and Tony were just about to call it a night and catch a few hours of sleep before Jane, Thor and Darcy arrived, but JARVIS' announcement made them both sigh and redirect their steps to the communal floor.
"What do we even know about this Wilson character?" Tony grumbled as the elevator carried them smoothly upwards.
Clint shrugged as he stifled a yawn. "The project he was involved with was on SHIELD's radar, but I think the Para-jumpers that were involved in it were all standard military, so at the end he would have just been discharged."
"Hm. Ok. JARVIS, can you do a background check please? Compile a file on him and share it with the rest of the team." He bristled at Clint's raised eyebrow. "What? I'll give him the dossiers on the rest of us if he decides to join the boy band."
Clint nodded his acceptance of the plan as the elevator slowed and the doors opened onto the communal level, where the two newcomers were standing in the kitchen. Steve was chewing his way through a gigantic bowl of granola despite the late hour, while a tall, dark skinned man Clint recognised from the news reports chugged a glass of water.
"Welcome to Avengers Tower," Tony announced as he strode into the room, Clint on his heels. "What brings you by?"
"Needed a place to regroup," Steve said. As Clint got closer, he saw the lines of exhaustion carved into the Super Soldier's face, although you couldn't tell he was tired from his rigid posture.
"It all went to shit down in Washington," Sam drawled, offering a hand to Tony, and then, when he was ignored, turning to Clint. Clint shook the man's hand and tilted his head towards the engineer.
"Don't mind him, he doesn't like to be handed things. Nat is still in Washington, right?"
"Yeah, she's holding the fort down there," Sam confirmed. "We're chasing ghosts, needed a break before this one burnt himself out," he explained, jerking his thumb towards Steve. "Thanks for the hospitality, Mr Stark."
"You did say mi casa es su casa," Steve reminded him, still steadily working through what must have been half a box of cereal.
"Your floor is all made up, sheets and shit, and you have a spare room," Tony confirmed. "Go nuts. Thor, Foster and Darcy are inbound, we were about to hit the hay. Uh..." he glanced sideways at Clint, obviously unsure whether or not he should admit his revelation to the newcomers.
"Might as well tell them," the archer shrugged. "No point in keeping secrets now. Although they look pretty beat, it could probably wait until the morning."
"Tell us what?" Sam asked around a yawn.
"It can wait until you've had some sleep and can process it, it's complicated and it's hardly life threatening," Clint decided. "We can put a fancy presentation together and everything. I'm off to bed. Night!"
He headed back to the elevator, ignoring Steve's half-hearted protest. He knew that Tony had stocked the tower's residential quarters with ridiculously high thread count sheets and comfortable mattresses, and he intended to take full advantage of both.
*
Clint had half expected to be summoned by JARVIS at the crack of sparrows, but it seemed that sanity, or possibly Darcy, had prevailed and he managed to wake up naturally instead of being jolted awake by an alarm. He slipped his hearing aids in, thinking wistfully for what was probably the thousandth time of the cybernetic audio enhancements that he'd be able to get his hands on if he could just get home, and headed to the main floor for some breakfast after finding out that the kitchenette in his apartment hadn't been stocked.
Steve was peeling an orange at the counter, dropping the skin onto a place of toast crumbs to his left.
"Morning Cap. Sleep ok?"
"Morning. Not bad thanks. What did you want to tell me last night?"
Clint decided that toast was as good an option as any, especially as Steve hadn't got around to clearing up yet and the bread was still out on the counter. He popped two slices in the toaster and poured himself a mug of coffee from the carafe that Steve must have made.
"I was planning on telling Wilson as well," he pointed out as he waited for the toast to pop.
"If I may," JARVIS interjected. "Mr Wilson is currently on his way to the common area."
"Thanks JARVIS. We'll just wait for him to get here then," Clint decided. He turned his attention back to his breakfast, searching through the cupboards for the peanut butter he was sure had to be in there. No way was he having strawberry jam on toast for breakfast, he wasn't five years old anymore.
The door to the stairwell opened as he was buttering his toast, Sam spuriously peering around the doorframe.
“This is the right floor,” Steve told him, doing a poor job of hiding his smile. “Grab a coffee, Clint was about to tell us about this mystery of his.”
“It’s not a mystery,” Clint grumbled, sitting at the table and taking a bite out of his toast. “It’s just my life, man.”
Steve looked a little shamefaced at that, rubbing one oversized hand over the back of his neck. “All right. Not a mystery. What did you want to tell us?”
Clint took a large swing of his coffee and wondered where to start. Tony had thought he was crazy after all when he’d first explained yesterday. “Ok this might seem a bit odd, but please remember that Tony is on board and that means that the Science backs me up, alright?” Sam slid into the seat beside Steve with a mug of coffee and both men fixed him with intent expressions. “I… am not from this universe. I was born in a parallel world, a universe where, after the moon landing, humanity took the idea of space travel and ran with it. As far as I can figure, my world is around 200, maybe 250 years ahead of this one, technologically speaking.”
“All right,” Sam said, twisting his coffee mug between his palms. “How did you end up here?”
Clint took a bite of his rapidly cooling toast while he thought about how best to answer that particular question. “There was an explosion that must have… ripped something. That’s what the SHIELD techs concluded from the data they had and the info I was able to give them. I was an 0-8-4 when I was blasted into this realm back in 2009, and after 6 months or so they made me an Agent, partly to give me something to do and partly to keep an eye on me.”
Sam frowned. “Just how old are you?” he demanded, dark eyes searching Clint's face.
“Twenty. I came though at 15.”
It was now Steve’s turn to frown. “And they had you doing missions at 16? What was Fury thinking?”
“Probably that he didn’t know what else to do with me,” Clint said honestly. “I couldn’t exactly go to a regular school, and I had some transferable skills.”
“Why tell us this now?” Sam asked, finishing his coffee and reaching into the fruit bowl on the centre of the table for a banana, to Steve’s obvious disgust.
Clint shoved the last of his toast into his mouth and washed it down with coffee. “Because SHIELD is gone, and I still want what I’ve always wanted - to get in touch with the people I left behind, to let them know I’m ok... To go home if I can.”