Chapter Text
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My horse tossed her head, purple feather bobbing, as we came around the near side of the ring, and I shifted my balance on her broad rump to compensate, holding my arrow for one extra second while she settled. Betsy snorted, letting me know loud and clear that she wasn’t happy, but she kept her pace steady. I spotted them as the arrow flew to the target.
Werewolves.
Again.
This was the third and final night of our performance on the outskirts of this po-dunk town, and they were trying to blend and failing miserably. Two men in suits with way too much testosterone and not enough brain cells. I was sick of it, them. Betsy was tired of it, too.
The crowd clapped in appreciation, and I finished my act with an extra flourish and a toothy smile to the furballs watching me. If they were trying to intimidate me, they should give it up. Crossed arms, suits with guns, and sunglasses meant nothing. It was their teeth I had to watch out for, and I had plenty of practice at it. I was even good at it, not that I ever bragged, because that would be damn stupid.
“Hawkeye, meeting after the show! Carson’s got news!”
I waved to the acrobat and continued helping with the horses and storing away all the crap that comes with putting up and taking down a circus once a week. Fifteen more minutes and people would be leaving, and the circus would be packing it up to head to the next bumfuck town. I wasn’t too worried about the furballs. They wouldn’t try anything while the circus was still performing, too many people about, but tonight I might have to sleep with one eye open. Anyway, they were probably FBI, and saying no to them was dead easy.
Motion out of the corner of my eye made me turn, and I was running before I considered if it was a good idea. I’d made a mistake, thinking they would wait. Horses neighed, and I ducked and rolled out of the tent, trying to get far enough away to make a plan.
“Stop with the nonsense.”
I nearly crashed into him. Big guy, patch over one eye, and a leather duster wrapped around a whole lot of werewolf. “Shit!”
“Just stop.” He put his hands on his hips, waiting for me to get both feet solidly down. I brushed my hair out of my eyes and tried to look like I wasn’t worried, but I could tell this was no ordinary werewolf, probably old as the hills and canny. He’d be damn hard to kill.
“What do you want?” I tried to sound tough, even belligerent, and I stared up into his… eye. The patch made it hard to know where to look. I’d never met a wolf with scars, and my guess was that this werewolf was a pack leader.
“You. The Amazing Hawkeye, a.k.a. Clint Barton, a.k.a. World’s Greatest Marksman.” He stretched out his hand, looking mean as hell. “Nick Fury, Alpha of Shield.”
“Crap.” I didn’t want to shake his hand. Werewolves enjoyed ripping arms off, so I tucked my hands behind my back. “No, thank you. Really. No. I like the circus. Ask the FBI or the CIA. I’m not for sale.”
I had no idea who SHIELD was, but the way Fury said it meant capital letters, suits, sunglasses, and far too many werewolves, not much different from the FBI was my guess.
“Carson is done. Out of money. You’re unemployed in about twenty minutes. Shield is looking for a few good men.”
I’ll admit I wasn’t shocked. There had been no payday in a month, and people were threatening to leave. I couldn’t help but wonder if this werewolf had helped Carson’s along into bankruptcy.
Then I saw them – his pack – slinking out of the shadows now, circling behind him. That was a quick dose of reality. “You want werewolves, and I’m not. Don’t let my tough face fool you.” I grinned in the way that always made people irritable. “So, I’m out of work. Big deal. I’ll get something. See ya later.” But I wasn’t dumb enough to try and get around him.
Fury laughed, but it wasn’t a funny sound. “No, you won’t. Not that many circuses left, and none of them want a mouthy archer with a habit of finding trouble. Trust me. I did my homework.”
He meant that he’d made some calls, and my career, such as it was, was over. I stared up at him, so angry I didn’t care for dropping my eyes. “Hey, fuck you.”
“Clever.” Fury took a step, and his pack growled. “I need a sniper, a human one, and you fit the bill.”
I had no trouble figuring out what he meant. My scent wouldn’t alarm werewolf bodyguards. Just one more harmless human when the wind shifted. “Ah, no.” I didn’t really consider it. “You see, that white horse in there? Betsy? She relies on me. Do you know what happens to old circus horses? Dog food, that’s what. Not that Betsy’s old, but she’s not young anymore.”
“You’re hilarious.” Fury didn’t sound as if he ever laughed. He tucked his hands behind his back and threw a glare at his men to back them off a step. “My offer is the only one you’re going to get that doesn’t involve handcuffs and blackmail.”
I believed him. I did. “Okay, I’ll think about it. Do you have a business card? With a number? Let me help old Carson get things straightened out, and then maybe I’ll give you a call.”
Fury tilted his head, nostrils flaring. “Two weeks, and then I’m sending someone to pick you up. Deal?”
“Sure. Bye, now.” I edged away, circled around him and his pack, and went back to the horses. I was so screwed. Betsy blew snot on me as I patted her nose to reassure her that the werewolves were leaving. Picking up a brush, I went over her again. It wasn’t that I hated werewolves or anything. I supposed they had their uses, like bodyguards and soldiers, but every time I turned around, one of them was trying to kill me. I had a few scars to prove it.
Clint Barton was no werewolf lover. I knew them too well. I was human, and I had no desire to be anything else. If only Barney had felt the same way, he’d still be alive and maybe I’d have a few options other than running somewhere no one could find me. Like the moon. I sighed.
“Hawkeye, meeting now.”
I nodded and went to hear the bad news. Everything had been sold. Carson’s was closed for good. All that was left to me was my old Chevy truck with one mismatched door, my horse trailer, and Betsy. I also had a few hundred bucks, a crappy recurve, and a purple spandex outfit. Yeah, I was set for the future. At least I had a full tank of gas, maybe I could make it to Mexico.
“Where are we again?” I asked the crowd in general.
Even the bearded lady rolled her eyes. “We’ve been in Montana for days. Weeks!”
“Oh, yeah. I knew that.” I did, sorta. It was hot and sorta flat, and in my defense, most of the United States fit that description. All those stupid square states did at least. “Cool.”
Canada was totally doable. Two weeks was plenty of time to disappear. I just had to drive the right direction and keep going until I hit the North Pole.