UNKNOWN GUEST

#2 Clint Barton

I opened my eyes, scanned my surroundings, and found myself lying on a grassy field. It was already dark, but unlike the explosion and chaos of the Red Hulk, here it was calm. A half-moon was on full display in the night sky. But, wait! Where am I? I should be in New York despite traveling through time. Did I come back to 2012 or 2022? I'm so confused, and I can't find anyone or anything to confirm whether I'm alive or dead.

I stood up, and to my surprise, I found that my body wasn't hurting. I looked down and—shock!—the bruises all over my body had healed. My dad's uniform, draped over me, was as good as new. My surroundings were filled with greenery, and a calm, cool breeze was blowing. What place is this?

I didn't hear or see any commotion of crowds. This must be some isolated place. The grass beneath me was soft, and the air was fresh. It felt like I was a million miles away from the chaos I had just left behind.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. The sky was clear, dotted with stars, and the moonlight cast a gentle glow over everything. I turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. Rolling hills stretched out in every direction, with clusters of trees here and there. It was beautiful, but also eerie in its stillness.

"Where am I?" I muttered to myself, feeling a mix of relief and confusion. If this was 2012 or 2022, I should be in the middle of a bustling city. But there were no buildings, no lights—nothing but nature.

I walked a few steps, feeling the soft grass under my boots. The calmness was almost unnerving after the chaos I had just escaped. Could the time device have malfunctioned? Had it sent me to a completely different location? My head spun with questions.

I ran my hand over the fabric of my uniform. It felt strange to be in perfect condition after everything that had happened. Was this real? Or was I dreaming? I needed answers, and fast.

But for now, I had to start moving. I picked a direction at random and began to walk, hoping to find something—or someone—that could tell me where, or when, I was. The quiet night stretched out before me, full of unknowns. But I couldn't stop. I had to keep going, for everyone's sake.

After a few minutes of walking randomly along a dusty road, I spotted a car driving towards me. Desperation kicked in, and I waved my hand to grab the driver's attention. The car slowed down, and a man rolled down the window, peering out at me. I couldn't see his face clearly, but then he spoke.

"Who are you, kid?"

Wait! That voice sounded familiar. Who is this? The man spoke again, more impatiently this time.

"What do you want? Get off my way already."

Uncle Clint! Yes, it was him. This car—I remembered he still had this car in the future, kept it in his garage like a treasured relic. I had to stop myself from calling him my dear uncle. I needed to control my emotions here.

"I-I need help. Please," I stammered, trying to sound as innocent and needy as possible.

The man stepped out of the car, and my heart almost stopped. It was Uncle Clint. I had seen him die with his bow in hand, tossed down from a building by the red monster, and now he was standing right in front of me. I had to bite my tongue to keep from crying out to him.

Uncle Clint approached me, his eyes full of suspicion. Damn, this hurt. The man who had loved me like a father was now looking at me like I was some sort of criminal. His sharp eyes scanned me from head to toe, and I had to fight to keep my emotions in check.

Uncle Clint stared at me from head to toe. "Are you in some theatre or what?" Darn it. My uniform. 

I stuttered for a response, "Ah...yeah, kind of. I'm part of a play in my school."

He muttered something under his breath. "America started celebrating its hero's return," then looked at me intently. "Where are you from? What are you doing here?"

Think fast, James! Fast! "I'm from DC. And I got lost here. I was with my friends."

He wasn't convinced, of course. He is Hawkeye—the best agent of SHIELD. He asked next, "What's your name?"

I started, "Ja—" What?! Name! I can't say James! Think! Think, James! "Jason R-Roberts?" It came out like a question! Please, Uncle Clint, go easy on me.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. He stepped back. "Sorry, kid. I can't help you. I'm actually heading to the opposite side of the city."

Opposite end of the city? He's going home, to his farmhouse! I needed to say something. "Please, help me out. Give me a ride to wherever you're going."

He was about to protest, but I cut him off. "Come on, you can't just abandon me here. Heroes usually help—"

Stop it, James!

He narrowed his eyes. "Hero?" He huffed out a laugh. "You...you know who I am."

He caught me. I nodded quickly. "You're a SHIELD agent. Clint Barton."

His suspicion increased, and I needed to cover it up fast. "I've seen you around the Triskelion, in DC. You were shooting your arrow with precision. A big fan, Mr. Hawkeye!" I extended my hand towards him, trying to look as earnest as possible.

He waved my hand off and rolled his eyes. "Well, glad to know I have some fans."

He walked towards his car and glanced back at me as he opened the door. "Get in."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, Unc- undercover superhero." I quickly corrected myself.

"That's enough," he said, getting into the driver's seat.

I sat beside him with a smile as we drove off. The car's engine roared to life, and we began our journey down the quiet road.

Clint's eyes were focused on the road, but I could feel his gaze flicking towards me occasionally, assessing me. "So, Jason R-Roberts, you got a knack for getting lost in the middle of nowhere?"

I nodded, trying to keep my story straight. "Yeah, it's a bad habit, I guess."

"What kind of school play has you running around in a Captain America uniform?"

I answered, trying to set another cover over one. "You know... how Captain America goes on missions to save the day. That's what we were trying to recreate, but I ended up at some unknown location."

He glanced at me before looking back at the road. "So, a big fan of Captain America?"

Never. Ever since I started remembering things in my life, Steve Rogers was never there for me like a father. He was always out on his missions to save the world as Captain America. If anything, I hate this Captain America mantle. I shook my head. "Not really. Just... the situation made me play his character."

Uncle Clint glanced at me, eyebrows raised. "Why not? Every kid loves and adores him. Everyone in our country is grateful and proud of him."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Why would I be proud of him? He was never there—" Don't go too deep. I covered it quickly. "I mean, he did nothing for me personally. So, why would I?"

Uncle Clint laughed suddenly, a dry, sarcastic chuckle. "I get it now. You must have tried to get those precious and vintage trading cards for your collection but couldn't. That's why you've held a grudge against him."

Seriously? Sorry if I ever mentioned my uncle was smart. I let it go for now.

"Yeah, something like that," I mumbled.

Clint's laughter faded, but there was a smirk on his face. "You know, kid, I've heard a lot of excuses in my time, but that's a new one. Trading cards. Classic."

I sighed inwardly, relieved that he seemed to be buying my story, at least for now. "Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises."