Hawkeye~short stories~

A father's hand.

Warning: abuse, domestic violence. Violent fathers.

Disclaimer: I do not own Clint Barton.

It was not just broken bones or bruised skin that their father would inflict on them. It was the utter disgust and vile words that spewed from his mouth like venom from a snake. The venom would enter Clint's bloodstream and into his head, concocting a stream of shame that would make him cry in anguish. Something that would make him crawl into a small space and shed cold tears. Something that made him feel worthless.

It stayed with him, the angered voices and the scars. He could never get rid of it, even after 20 years away from that disgrace of a man. It stayed. He tried to block it, desperately clawing away from the relentless memories. Sometimes he would get flashbacks to a time when he was at the mercy of him. Where his mountainous body shoved clint against the wall, or the older man's heavy feet his the boy's chest. Or when he saw everything was fading to black as his father's hands wrapped harshly around his throat.

He could not get away from it, even in his sleep. Waking with a strangled cry from the nightmares that plagued him, he did not usually get them now but every so often they would creep in.

Clint still felt like the small child he once was, lying under the bed as to keep away from his father's wrath. Clint would close his eyes, as he heard the thunderous steps made by his boots. Clint would imagine he was somewhere else, somewhere he could be okay and not threatened or harmed.

Clint Barton learnt from a young age that no matter how many prayers or hopeful dreams, the day would always rise and his father would be there. Most likely drunk and vile, with his droopy eyes and sneering mouth.

He would always be there.

Author's notes: I wrote this when I was going through something very serious and writing has always helped me escape from life. I am proud of my writing, so this is just something to me that feels true to myself and the character.