Hawkeye: Agony

The Hawkeyes

[Barney POV]

Come on, now. You didn't think a book titled "Hawkeye: Agony" would be all about that lil bro of mine, did you?
...Well you're still kinda right, screw it. I mean, I never really got too far without him. And believe me, I tried. I really did.

But this story isn't about how he killed me, you've heard that one already, right?
It's not about how I was brought back to life, either. You'll hear that one later, okay?

It's about how Clint came to life.
This is how I remember the day I first met Hawkeye.

**

It was the beginning of summer. Everyone was happily escaping school to go home for the end of year break. And whilst I was excited to leave school, I wasn't thrilled about going back home.
As young as I was, I could feel the tension between my parents growing. And I knew why.
It was that thing in my mom's stomach. The "little guy" my mom was always talking to, and the "wretch" my dad hated so much.

After nine months of increasingly futile arguments, there came a day when my parents seemed a lot more panicked about the creature than normal.
I was rushed to a hospital and got taken by doctors to a room to play with some toys whilst my parents were whisked away. I could hear my mother screaming, it was just the beginning of many a time after - but this one was scary.
Instead of the fear of my dad, this was a fear of herself. It was terror, not pain.
Something about the alien boy wasn't right. I thought parents loved children. They loved me, right? They don't fight like this about me...

**

Hours later, I was taken back to the room. My mom looking down with tears, away from the blob curled up in her arms. My dad was pacing, grumbling.
'That's your brother,' The lady holding my hand gestured to the bundle.
'Hm?' I looked up at her, teal eyes confused and curious.
She frowned, slowly processing I wasn't expecting a child. I wasn't told.
'Well then, I'd better introduce you two,' She smiled as she took the child back from my mom and put him in to a glass box. He wriggled at the cold touch, and that made me chuckle.
'He's so squirmy.'
The lady lifted me up in to a chair next to it; glancing at my parents as they began to argue again. My mom more frustrated in her tired state; my dad stern and towering.
I wish she had stopped them. Called some sort of service. They didn't want this child.
But she thought of me. She didn't want me to see all of that.

With a smile at me, she helped me place my hand inside the glass.
'You know, I don't think he has a name.'
'Whaaat?' I stared, 'He can't not have a name! What should we name it?' I popped up a little in my chair to look down at him.
'I'll call him Wiggles.'
The doctor chuckled, 'What about a family name? What's your dad's name? Your grandparents, perhaps?'
'Mmm Harold is grumpy. He's not grumpy. He's wiggly,' I chuckled, "My grandma is Francesca. And my grandad iiiis... mm...' I thought hard, 'Clllliiii... I don't know,' I chuckled.
'What about Clint? Hm? Or Frances.'
'Nooo not Frances!!' I laughed but thought before running up to my mom.
'Mooom is the baby called Clint or Frances?' I peered up at her, halting the arguement.

'We can't afford this. You told me we couldn't have another.'
'I'm sorry. I_.'
'You'd show you were sorry if you got a job and helped, you ungrateful_.'
'Mooooom_?'

'We are not calling my child anything related to yo_," My dad growled at my mother.
'... Clint it is.' She smiled kindly and picked me up. 'Did you have fun playing with little Clinton?'
'Yep! I'm going to show him all of my toys.'
With another growl, my dad left.
It was like we were talking about a puppy. A puppy they didn't want to agree on.

**

They couldn't afford Clint. They couldn't afford the hospital bill, the extra mouth to feed, the supplies.
Everything that kid got was a hand me down. Every dime went to them... us.
He got the last drop of everything, and they didn't bat an eyelid.
He didn't know hot water existed.
The only clothes he saw were my oversized t-shirts that fit a toddler like a dress.
All he had was a family that didn't deserve the bright eyed, happy-go-lucky kid we got.

**

I remember always giving him a quick goodbye as I left for school. The little wriggling baby grabbing my finger and telling me not to go.
My mom would be sat on a sofa nearby, exhausted and empty, as my dad would drink himself blind before heading to work.
I'd come home, and my mom remained as she was, my dad now beside her. The baby whimpering like it had ran out of cries a long time ago.
"Mom? I think he's hungry...  ..Mom?"
His nutrition was horrid. He wasn't skinny because the circus never fed him. That was all on me. He was anorexic for the entire time I knew him. But I tried. I learnt the hard way that fruit isn't healthy when it chokes you, like it did baby Clint.
It reached the point where I became the caretaker - as I'd later learn Clint repaid the debt to a young girl named Natasha.

So, why am I running around dressed as my brother?
Well, he was the only brave person I ever knew - and you should know more about his bravery than I do.
All I know is that baby, the toddler that used to take a beating for his mom, and the kid who shot me. But I've heard all of the stories since I've woken up again.
He took on an alien army. He beat a god's mind control.  He's jumped from skyscrapers.
And now, he's in prison for saving people.

Well, I think it's about time I did something to help that lil bro of mine. Maybe this'll make up for me making his middle name Francis.
I'm going to remind everyone why he's so great. I'm going to keep Hawkeye alive.
For Clinton.

(Hi everyone. This is the writer speaking (Not Clint Barton 😂) sorry we haven't come to any sort of conclusion. I started this so long ago that I'm forgetting what I even wrote. I'm glad you've all been enjoying this tale of woe. I may edit some of these in to a more adapted writing style, so I'll let you all know if I do that.
Sorry if I take a while. I always do. But thank you for keep coming back.)