Chapter Text
The stadium lights bathed the soccer field in a white light that made it seem like day. Dozens of kids stumbled and ran around each other, fumbling for a ball with odd precision he’d never understand no matter how many times he watched these games. But Clint only cared about one kid on the team; Raye. Not like he was the only one watching her, the girl was the main event. Quick feet carried her past the other kids, kicking the ball as a blur of color into the goal. It was her tenth of the night.
Damn right that was his kid.
She had the spunk only a youngest child could have, and it would no doubt get her places. Right now, it got her in the best team the closest town had to offer to someone at the age of 7. The stadium (at least, the side supporting her group, sports parents were brutal) erupted in applause as the point was counted. The game was finally over, thank god. As much as he loved to support his little girl he wasn't used to being around so many aggressively supportive parents. Honestly he wasn't used to being around this many strangers, period. Laura said it was a good opportunity for both Raye and him, even if he was still weary.
Her teammates hugged it out as soon as they got the chance, smiling and laughing. And of course Raye got a shit-ton of extra high-fives. Yet her gaze remained distant, uninterested. She kept scanning the bleachers like they were hiding something and didn't knock it off until her eyes landed on him . A bright grin broke out on her face and she spirited to him as if she hadn't sprinted enough today.
“You made it!” Raye pulled him into a death grip of a hug the second he was standing, “I thought you weren't coming. Did you see the goals I made?”
“Heck yeah I did, you were a total badass.” Her words sent a pang through Clint, but he covered it by ruffling her hair, “There's nowhere else I'd rather be kiddo.”
She seemed a lot less bothered, waving away his hand, “You're buttering me up.”
“Am not.”
“Fine, then I'm telling mom you cursed.”
Clint gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest as if she'd just shot an arrow through it, “You wouldn't. ”
He suddenly scooped her up, holding her giggling form in the air like she was the trophy, “Then I'll tell mom that you had a soda before the game.”
“I'll kick you.”
“Noted.” He dropped her to the ground to be set free…not before peppering kisses to her head that made her gag, “But seriously, I'm proud of you. You did great." Clint's grin faded though as Raye's focus drifted. "Am I losing you? You seeing straight?"
Rayes eyes flickered at a slightly too rapid pace, causing Clint's mid-sentence pause. He stared her down in a more-than-awkward way to check for vertigo.
“Your hearing fine? No spinning?” but it seemed Meniere's disease wouldn't crash this moment as her eyes didn't shake like they were in a rave.
“A small headache, hearing is kinda blocked, but I'm fine for now. Chill it.”
“Doesn't sound fine. And don't tell me to ‘chill it’, it's my job to worry.” He sighed, but ultimately dropped it, “Go get your stuff, pop some motion sickness tablets in the car, and we get enough ice cream to make us sick to celebrate. How does that sound?”
She seemed happy with the subject change and ecstatic at the mention of ice cream.
“Fuck yeah!”
“Language!” Damn hypocrite .
Clint snorted, watching as she ran off to the supply shed. He made his way back to Laura and the kids, listening to Cooper's teasing and Lilas prideful comments. He didn't totally hate this whole ‘sports-dad’ thing. His middle and oldest dabbled at sports, but Raye was the one who went full sporty-spice.
It felt nice, getting congratulated by other adults for something other than being an Avenger, making friends thanks to something other than being an Avenger, and doing something other than being an Avenger. The city and that team always had a place in his heart, but the smell of fresh cut grass and the sight of his family being happy would have, admittedly, his whole heart.
It was a limbo he wished he could linger in. The dew on every blade of grass, the faint sound of crickets coming from the nearby forest, even the cold wind felt nice on his skin. It was a blur of dreamlike colors that filled him with bliss and gave him a sweet moment of wait. Until a moment turned to minutes, and minutes ticked to five. No sign of Raye. Maybe she was talking with her friends? No other girls had left the field yet. Maybe she was just taking her time? No, she wanted ice cream. His anxious mind shot down any good explanation within seconds. What if her vertigo had flared up and she was puking in some corner? Ugh, he hoped not. Either way he couldn't just sit around and find out.
The joy that surrounded him slightly calmed Clint's nerves as he walked. He even lingered where the rest of Rayes team stood, congratulating them. All of them knew who he was, of course they did. When your teammate's dad was Hawkeye they were aware within the first five minutes of meeting her- only it seemed the euphoria of having a famous guy's kid on their team had long worn off as they immediately poked fun at him, one of them even flipped him off. What a sweet bunch.
“Raye? Hurry it up, it's already late.” He called out to no response, try again, “Honey?”
The shed was possibly the dumbest design he'd ever seen. The doors faced away from the field, not only was it inconvenient for games it meant he couldn't just glance in to make sure she was okay.
“You're worrying me here kid.” The closest thing he got to a response was a loud shuffling of boots coming from inside. He opened his mouth to comment-
A scream ripped through the air. Her scream.
Before Clint could even think of running in, she ran out. Or rather, was dragged out. A man clad in black attempted to hold the trashing kid in place to no avail. His solution? Slamming her head into the wood until she settled.
“One step closer and she's dead!” The perpetrators ugly voice rang out, alerting Clint to the knife in his hand, the one pressed to Rayes throat.
Clint put his hands up in defense, “What do you want?”
Money? Information? Clint's life? He'd give any of those things just to see her okay.
Raye looked terrified, but she didn't fight, she was a smart girl. Breaths came in ragged breaths and the world started to spin until nothing but the cold medal on her neck made sense. Vertigo. Shit. She stumbled forward, the action taken as an attempt of escape and the knife got pressed closer. Blood.
“Let her go, she's just a kid.” He tried to plead again, but was cut off.
“You killed my kid, Barton.” The man snapped, gritting his teeth and shaking the girl, “To the Avengers, we were collateral damage. But damage can kill.”
The knife slowly drew a crimson line against her soft skin. It looked fake, it felt fake. The realization that this was well… real hit like a train. He had no weapons, no way to get to her, not even a way to comfort her. Sobs began to rack her body. The man wanted nothing but to induce pain. Not on her, but on Clint.
There was only one ending to this, and it was not a happy one. She would be slowly cut down, bleed out as he had to watch helplessly. If she died part of him would too, and there was nothing, nothing he wouldn't do to prevent it.
“Please stop it, this won't fix anything.” Clint's voice cracked, betraying whatever stoic demeanor he was trying to put up. But it didn't matter, he was desperate “She doesn't deserve this.”
He deserved it. When Clint had sinned, Raye was just born.
“Is the great Hawkeye crying?” The man mocked, slicing deeper. Raye choked on her own breath as the pain spread.
He hadn't even processed his own tears until he reached up to feel them. The only thing that mattered was this feeling of helplessness and her. It was a nightmare. Poor Clint had gotten too used to domestic life. He remembered her first shots as a baby. Laura had taken the first two kids to get them, but for whatever reason he was assigned to take Raye to hers. Seeing her in distress and knowing, to some degree, it was his fault? He could barely handle that. This was a mental death sentence.
Was this it? Were all those precautions for nothing? He had seen death, yet somehow he had become naive. He believed it would never come for his family, especially not like this.
For a moment though, it seemed they were in luck. He heard a faint crunch of leaves behind the man. Laura had probably called SHIELD, hell, the police were probably flooded with calls due to the other parents being onlookers. But if Clint was able to tell there was another man, a better man, a sniper, behind the perpetrator…
Then so could he.
It was all a blur. He heard the shot ring out and the bad man fell, but not before he cut. He cut…
His Raye of sunshine, his daughter, would die.
The sob Clint had subconsciously kept in his throat finally escaped. He ran forward, desperate for it all not to be real. He ignored the man slumped on the ground, the commotion around him, and focused solely on his little girl's thrashing form.
“I'm here Raye, you're safe, he's gone…” He cradled her in his arms to assess the damage, “Come back to be sweetheart, focus on me…”
A gash ran down her neck, it ran deep holy…
It was sloppy as it was a laceration made in a man’s last moments, but god did it work. He had seen wounds but this was just…terrible. He could see the back of her throat, he cut to her trachea? Could she breathe? He assumed by the shallow almost non existent gasps that she couldn't. The wound ran vertical, it hit her vocal cord nerves. She couldn't even speak. Of course, nothing was certain as warm blood gushed out and seeped into her skin, making it impossible to see.
Given the fact she kept looking wide eyed up at nothing, Clint assumed she couldn't hear him either. Shit. If these were her last moments she wouldn’t even get to hear him all because of stupid Meniere's disease. It was like everything led up to this moment and this moment was turned against him.
"Hold on, sweetie," he choked, speaking futilely, "You'll be okay. We'll get you help. You're gonna be alright."
He applied pressure to the wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood.
"Stay with me, Raye. Please stay with me."
The SHIELD agents were already here. He could hear them approach, ready to load her into the back of an ambulance, probably for her to pass under anesthetic or maybe in the doorway to the hospital at best. Either way he knew the odds were against him, this would probably be his last moments with her.
And she couldn’t even hear him. With her spinning vision god knows she couldn’t process things visually. He had so much to say yet couldn’t.
Her hands reached blindly up for comfort but they brushed against his hearing aids.
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“You know this isn't safe Barton.” Laura scoffed, yet left him to it. She had long since given up on stopping him.
It was a sticky summer day, the air filled with the sounds of heat bugs and birds, but Raye couldn't hear a lick of it. The 7 year old was sat between his legs with this week's case of shaky eyes and blown out hearing. She was more focused on the gentle rock of the swing than her bickering parents.
“C’mon love, her hearing is worse than mine when it goes out like this. If the aids are too loud she’ll freak and I'll get them out.”
His wife rolled her eyes, “Don't ‘love’ me. You're buttering me up.”
“Is it working?”
“ No. Not in this case, no.” Laura made her way back into the house, not before yelling out, “Don't make our daughter go deaf!”
He was tempted to say ‘She kinda already is’ but held off. Clint tapped Rayes shoulder, causing her to crane her neck back to see him.
“[Bummer]” He signed, earning a giggle from her, “[You ready?]”
The girl nodded eagerly. Laura was right, you weren't supposed to share hearing aids. A, it was gross, B, it was uncomfortable, and C, it ranged from dangerous to useless. But this was less of sharing then it was a test run for when ‘hearing loss episodes’ became just ‘hearing loss’ and she’d end up like him. He was tired of seeing her sulk around in discomfort as the world was silent. A small moment of clarity like this could do her some good.
Clint placed his left aid (cleaning it first, of course) in her ear. After a moment of hesitation, he turned it on.
She winced at the initial high pitch but eventually relaxed as sounds came flooding back in. It wasn't great, obviously it was adjusted to his own completely separate needs, but it was something.
“Is it working?” He whispered.
“ What?” She squawked louder than him.
Clint couldn't help but burst into a fit of laughter. Like he said, worse off than him.
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He had an idea.
Clint placed his left aid (cleaning it first, of course) in her ear. After a moment of hesitation, he turned it on.
She winced at the initial high pitch but eventually relaxed as sounds came flooding back in. It wasn't great, obviously it was adjusted to his own completely separate needs, but it was something.
He pressed her head to his chest, not caring as blood soaked his shirt,
“Can you hear that honey? That's my heart…just…just focus on that.
His own hearing was staunched but what did it matter? He could feel her melt into him. This was okay. Even if she wasn’t okay, at least she felt…okay.
Everything was happening so fast it felt slow. It reminded him of when she was born. It was at night, he forgot his hearing aids and he felt horrible . He was missing an entire sense for her beginning of life. But when she was there…a small body pressed against his chest…he didn’t care as much. The fact she smiled a toothless baby smile at the sound of his heart was enough to make it up.
How far they came. The sound sent an odd calm through her. Maybe it was muscle memory. It was a silly thought, but a comforting one.
Clint couldn't promise her life or a painless death, all he could control was letting her know he was there. That no matter what happened, she wouldn't be alone.
"That's right, sweetheart," he rocked her gently, "Just focus on my heart. You're gonna be okay."
He looked up as the SHIELD agents finally arrived, their faces a mix of concern and urgency. They knew it wasnt looking good.
"Take care of her," he pleaded, his eyes never leaving Raye's face. Her body was scooped from his hands. And he said body internally because she was limp when they held her.
Maybe all outcomes would be painless. And most of them involved death at the end, the most painless of them all.
An agent hung behind to tell him what hospital they were taking her to, where they should go, offering useless condolences, but it was all a useless buzz to him. He was left alone, sitting on the field, the same field he watched her score on, next to a dead man and a puddle of blood from his daughter.
He still felt her weight in his hands even after she was gone, her face burned into his eyes. He felt the echo of emptiness in his heart. In his mind there were no what if’s, no alternatives. His daughter was dead. It wasn’t worth the fuss of hope. Clint got up as the stench of blood got to be too much. He walked almost robotically past Laura, didn't try to comfort Cooper, and barely spared Lila a glance as her teary eyes looked up at him. He found his place under the bleachers like some rejected highschooler, though he would have preferred a vent.
When it was confirmed the family was no longer in danger, the man was just a one man show, Laura approached. The fact it was just one guy who did this out of some hatred, managed with pure luck, stung more. There was no impending danger. Just death.
“She's gone Laura.” He spoke hoarsely, not turning to face her, “She's gone.”
“She’s not gone until they say she is Clint.” She urged, taking a seat beside him, “don’t say that. She’s my daughter too. She can’t…”
Laura’s voice broke, devolving into a sob. It stung, of course it did, but she stood strong for him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“We need to go to the hospital.”
“For what?” He whispered.
She couldn't keep the look of almost offense off her face, but seeing his own blankness softened her, “What do you mean?”
“The hospital? What's the point?”
Clint couldn't bring himself to hope. He couldn't deal with the pain of disappointment that would come with it. Laura softened. They were idiots together, that’s why he loved her. The other would always just make them sadder.
“You’d rather hear the news over call?” She whispered, “She’d want us there. She’d want you there.”
In his mind she would pass in the ambulance. She was probably already dead. But Laura’s gaze was strong, she cut through him and saw what he was thinking.
“Wouldn’t you want to see her rather than the body?” Jesus he hated when she knew what to say to hurt.
Clint winced at her words, the mention of the body hitting him like a punch to the gut. He knew she was right, but the thought of seeing his daughter's body, lifeless and still...
"I...I don't know if I can handle that," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I've seen so much death, so much pain. But this...this is my baby girl."
Laura looked at him and…smiled.
“You’re right. She’s our baby. But most of all she’s yours. ” Her hand shifted to wrap fully around him, her soft voice barely audible through his one hearing aid, “you two are the same, but I don’t want to have to dig two graves over one, Clint.”
This was killing him, but he couldn’t end up like her…he couldn’t, as much as he had the sudden urge to.
“We'll do it together love, okay?”
He swallowed down some pathetic sound, nodding.
Despite his confirmation she didn’t move immediately. They needed a moment to grieve alone. Before they had to deal with the grief of two scared and confused kids, before they had to face the music…That and she noticed something.
“You gave her your hearing aid?” A kiss was pressed to the crown of his head, “You’re a good dad.”
That was his breaking point.
Whatever facade Clint had left completely crumbled and sobs shook through him like he was a little kid.
"I couldn't let her...she couldn't hear me," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "She had to know I was there."
He buried his face against her shoulder, seeking comfort in her embrace.
"Oh god, Laura. I hope she heard me. I hope she knows I love her."