Chapter Text
Everybody did something in their free time. Tony spent most of it in his workshop, Bruce in his lab, Steve draws, Thor does whatever with Jane or in Asgard, and Natasha….. Well, he wasn't sure what Nat did, most of the time.
He really should, in retrospect. Oh well.
What he did in his free time, he kept secret. He hasn't told Natasha, but he's certain she knows (who's he kidding, of course she knows.) Everybody else had something to do already….so it was basically just Clint.
Sure, they had 'team nights' and such, but it wasn't the same. Those were the nights when they watched movies or played board games or went to some bar or played on the wii…. stuff like that. They learned more of each other, yeah, but never deep, personal stuff.
Which was also why he never told anyone he sang. Because singing involved personal stories and emotions….and as an assassin, Clint doesn't do any of that shit. Nat understood, and it was the only reason why she hasn't confronted him about it.
So, Clint sang. He laughed, he cried, and he still sang.
That was how one night, he encountered a place where he could sing. Nobody cared about who he was, and they also didn't care that he was Hawkeye- part time Avenger and part time agent.
To the people in that place, one night a week, he was called Simple Plan. Or to close friends, they knew him as Clint.
"Clint, c'mon, dude! We go on in 3 minutes!" Jared yelled. He was grinning though. Clint looked back at him and grinned right back. It was the excitement, he knew….but also probably had to do with the screaming fans, but whatever.
"I'll be right there, man," he called back.
"Gotcha," Jared smirked. He disappeared.
Clint glanced back at the mirror. He was dressed in mostly black, but he had his purple bands along his wrists, his hair was tussled messily and in this light, his stage make-up was obvious. In short, he thought he rather looked like a singer. Clint grinned at himself.
"You know they only come one night a week, which is why you've all been anticipating their return….here is Simple Plan! Let's give it up for them!" he heard the announcer say. With one last glance at the mirror, he followed his band to the stage, pumping their fists to the air and hooting. They grinned and laughed as people cheered.
When it got quiet some, Clint went to the microphone. "Hello, everybody!" He chuckled as the cheers grew louder. "Tonight we're gonna sing a new song, then we'll take a few requests from you guys!"
With that, the beat began and Clint sang.
How many times are you gonna try to shut me out?
I told you once, I told you twice, I ain't turnin' back around
You can say whatever, try to mess with me
I don't care (don't care), I'm not scared
You don't have to say you're sorry, save your sympathy
With a friend like you, I don't need an enemy
I would give you time if you were worth it..
But guess what (guess what), you're not worth it….
Through the night, Clint sang. He sang his heart out and he sang because he can. And for what it was worth, this felt more like home than anything else he experienced. The Avengers didn't know about his one night weekly routine, but so what? They didn't have to know.
Nobody did.
Not even Phil….but Phil was dead, so what did matter?
Whoa-oh, whoa-oh, I'm always gonna be the last one standing
Woa-oh, whoa-oh, 'cause I'm never gonna give up trying
And now I'm ready to go, I'm here I'm waiting for you
And I'm gonna be, the last one standing [x2]
Whoa-oh, whoa-oh, the last one standing [x2]
The pang in his heart never faded here…. Clint suspected it never would. He grinned and cheered with the rest of his band, but really, the tears in his eyes were evident. This song reminded him of Phil, and all that he has lost.
'I'm here, and I'm waiting for you,' he thought desperately to anyone who was listening.
If there was anyone listening.