Chapter Text
They walked along the crowd beside the pony carnival of golden clothed horses. He didn't wanna do it.
"Cmon, Clinton...I promise you, we won't do any harm, now straighten up, we've practiced well right?...hey what do you say, I'll get Bon-Bunni a friend." His Mama says, the words not unknown yet still a claw tearing at the lump in his throat. Maybe he was getting sick again. He hoped not, or maybe he did. But being sick meant a cold leather ground all day. He didn't like stealing, but the mention of his plush bunny making his varied hearing cave just like the seat of their car did sometimes.
He saw the build up, like a wave pulling back before chaos broke. She staggered, Clint sneaked, trying not to listen to the thousand apologies his Mama said to the man infront of them. The way the carnivals melody tuned out the words he'd heard so many times before.
He snagged the leather patch.
He walked off, watching his Mama as she stumbled away, finally turning to him with a smile on her face.
"Gosh Clinton, you're getting good at this."
She didn't even bother to let him answer, just snatched the wallet and went through it as they walked, his heel scratching against the dirt and hay and stone from the way his sole was slowly falling off- or more so ripping off. He couldn't stop picking at it at times. He didn't care. Mama pulled him in for a hug, arm around his tense shoulder, not looking at him, but at the crumbled twenty dollar bills in her soft hand.
Clint liked that hand. Her non-dominant one.
He'd learnt a long while ago what that word meant. He himself didn't have one. Why he didn't have one, he didn't understand.
"Im so proud of you Clint, you're a real hero. Maybe we can get you that dartboard for Christmas anyway huh? Cmon, we're at the carnival, lets have some fun while it lasts." Clint just heard her chuckle. But hey, atleast they could eat. Maybe she'd even turn the heater on in the car for tonight.
But if being a hero wasn't like the books he stored in the pockets of his bed- seat, Clint didn't wanna be a hero anymore.
***
The kids at this home weren't nice.
Clint just wanted Barney to take him back to Mama.
***
Bon-Bunni sat and stared.
He stared back.
The almost grey fur of its outside had started turning a darker brown.
He still didn't want a new one.
He didn't get a new one last Christmas, the one Mama had promised.
Mama was gone.
The brown matched disgustingly well with the tents red and yellow stripes. The support beam he sat on a much greyer mauve, blending into the hay covered ground under him.
He watched the bonfire through the thin fabric, barely making out the outlines of his brother and the aerial crew.
"What are you doing, punk?"
His head snapped down, almost losing grip on the wooden material as Barney stood and watched under him.
Huh, he must've seen wrong.
"Just' watching."
He replied, he didn't know a lot of words. He was more of an action sort of boy. That was what Mama used to say. He didn't even know the whole alphabet. But he was learning, using the saved pennies from shows to buy books, or sneaking into the library as Barney had taught him. He never did get to go to school.
Taught him.
He didn't like that word.
Taught.
"Come on down, Jacks dealing out the cash. Hurry before the others take your part."
Clint didn't necessarily like his brother. But he wasn't like Mama, and if he was like dad, Clint wouldn't know. But he hoped not.
He hated Jacques though.
Hard name to pronounce.
Would poke him with the tip of his sword when no one watched.
He still had small scars that he said were moles whenever Barney helped him with something.
He hid Bon behind his towel- his current blanket -and scrambled on down the beam, skipping off the last piece of wood before hurrying out.
Since when was it so muddy?
His shoes were soaking, his toes sticking out the front. He'd stopped bothering about the pain after Barney had told him it was atleast two months more of shows before they could buy new clothes or shoes. He staggered on anyway, biting the skin off of his lip as he rounded the big circus. The lights were off, but the laughs and glass crashes were loud and clear in the humid air.
One foot after the other, Clint moved on, his too small grey pajamas with red, white and blue- Brown, Brown and dark blue -not exactly letting him be so efficient.
The last time Aares had taken his part, Clint had been forced to look for leftover food after each show whenever Barney said he couldn't share. He reached the corner of it all, seeing the bills being led out.
"Im here! I-i-im here!" The others just eyed him with either a grunt or a small smile.
Jack gave him his ten bucks from the show.
He wasn't exactly a big bulky twenty year old who could do anything, so his pay wasn't exactly all that high. But he could make good balloons, and was somewhat okay with having knives thrown at him while he spun off the floor. He did most of the stuff no one else would. He needed the money. He didn't understand why he had to need the money so badly.
He skidded off, holding the dirty dollar bill close as more mud slid under the crevices of his holy shoes and shorts and stained his once grey pajamas even darker.
His arm was yanked.
"Hey! Ow-"
"Where ya going, Shortshot?"
Not Aares, Elijah. The tall, swingy guy he'd talked to about once before he had to tell Barney he clumsily fell from the stairs of the library again, his wrist sprained backwards in a way a simple fall couldn't do. He was turned around, and right into the green eyes of Eli. "To sleep, Mr. Thatcher.." He tried, immediately regretting it as he tried to pull his arm back and a string of pain flared up his arm like he was burnt by the campfire.
"Your bedtimes awfully late, birdie. Now I heard you got a pretty penny from yesterday's show." Clint couldn't protest, the bill was already gone from his hands.
"No!- please no Mr. Thatcher! I need it!" He exclaimed, his arm hurt. He tried pulling it back along with his dollar, only to have to muffle another yelp.
Too much.
Wet socks, rainy air, cold, pain.
The tears welled, water pricking his eyes as Eli groaned and muttered curses, trying to bend so he could shut the damn kid up.
"Cmon now birdie, gotta be quiet-"
"Leave him be, Eli." Thank god. Clint was ready to melt into the emerging puddle under his feet as Barney put his hand on Eli's shoulder. Then Clint wanted to screamed as Eli growled- actually growled, what was with this guy? -and knocked Barney off, almost throwing him to the mud.
"Barn, you touch me again and neither you or your freak of a brother will be even physically able to perform here. Now leave."
Clint didn't want him to leave. He wanted quiet.
Then Barney looked at Clint, closing his jaw, and turned his back to them.
Clint actually started crying. Fat, ugly pouring tears.He hated crying.
"Barney- ple-e-ase! I-it hurts- let me go! Barney- Barney come back- please.."
"Its not worth it, Clint." He left.
And Clint just sobbed before trying to pull at his arm again, another arm wrapping around his head, around his mouth- muffling his dripping tears that felt as if they slowly filled up the puddle under his feet as Elijah almost ripped the bill. Clint didn't realise that, pulled once more and-
Elijah scowled, letting the ripped paper bills fall, muttering yet another small curse and a vauge 'useless' before he pushed Clint to the side. He watched as the kid steadied himself up, trembling, looking up with those big blue eyes that overflowed with waterworks, suddenly so incredibly small in his captain America pj's one could only find at a second hand nowadays. It almost made him hesitate, which made him mad. He couldn't help the hand that raised itself, couldn't bother dropping the bottle of cheap booze in his hand. Couldn't bother stopping himself as the kid infront of him flinched and turned his head to the side. Didn't bother checking if the boy was alive or not from the harsh swing and break of glass. He walked off.
Clint tried, really really tried to keep his feet down, keep himself afloat, but the hit was so harsh that for a split second everything spun, not like a circus trick,' and mud filled his shoes as he slipped, landing flat down on the wet, wet, wet mix of sand, dirt and water.
..
The right side of his head was wet, but warm wet. It was nice. It was a nice difference from the freezing breeze of wind.
The ground was cold.
He hated it.
He'd always hated the cold.
So he sobbed. Loud, fat sobs that streamed down his frowned, chubbed cheeks as he didn't even try to stand up. He was too cold. The side of his head hurt, a small flatline making it’s way into his head.
He didn't notice the ringing, the way the air had stopped swooshing and the way the laughs faded off into silence.
The way he couldn't hear his own cries.
He didn't hear his brothers panicked "Clint!-".
***
He woke up to the-..silence. He sat up, ears ringing in a tune as if it only knew vibrato. He just looked around, seeing Bon right next to him, a thin blanket over him. Barney's trailer. It was warm. Cozy warm, even if he couldn't see much in the deeply dark room. Something tapped his shoulder. He turned around, the quick snap of his head reminding him of all the pain that raked throughout his smaller body.
"Barney..?" He didn't hear his own words.
Actually...he didn't hear anything.
Oh god.
"...?"
"...!"
Barney was saying something.
Clint couldn't make anything out.
He was warm, dry and-...in new clothes? That was a first. Clint hadn't had new clothes for about four months now since he managed to find a jacket on the ground outside the shitty motel that reeked of alcohol and what Barney used to call weed. Barney smelled like that too sometimes .
He registered the silence.
"Barney..? It isn’t funny...say something.."
Barney was getting panicked, Clint could see the way his eyebrows furrowed deeper, the way he spoke once more, as if yelling at him. Clint didn't like when people yelled at him, even if he should have been used to it by now. He curled up his fingers, his right side a stiff case, into the blanket.
"Barney stop.."
But Barney got even more panicked, settling two hands on each painful shoulder and shaking him. He hated it.
"Please-."
Barney let go. Clints memory came back in slow, pitiful waves as he stared as the blanket, but his gaze fixating on the pain. Barney had left him. He'd walked away, left Clint with another bully. He didn't like bullies.
It was even worse when Barney joined them, but it was okay, cause it was for their own sake, that's what barney said.
"You left." Barneys head snapped up, speaking too fast for Clint to even be able to try and make out his words.
"I-...I can’t hear you."
Clint could almost, almost see the tear running down Barns ink covered cheek.
Paper and ink was in barns hand. Or more so an old newspaper and a small graphite pencil you could get for free at the library sometimes. Mrs.Stescht there was really kind, even if she at times had to walk away whenever Clint was just looking at pictures.
He'd never been to school before.
"Im sorry."
The ink said in a scribbled font.
"I can’t read."
And Barney sagged together. As if he'd never known those news before. Clint couldn't help it. He couldn't help the tears that pricked his eyes. Mama had always hated how easily he cried. He'd learnt to hate it too.
But he wanted Mama.
Hands flew up, two calloused thumbs trying to wipe away his tears. He didn't want those hands right now. He wanted those hands however many hours ago when he'd been bleeding in the dirt. He tried to smack a hand off of him. Tried to climb out of the bunk bed.
More hands, trying to keep him from leaving.
"Stop..!"
"..."!
"I can’t hear you!"
"...-"
He stumbled down the useless and taped ladder, foot catching a step and he just barely caught himself on the railing.
Barney was right after him.
"...?! .... .. ...!"
"I cant hear you!"
The tears were starting to spill.
"You left me- i can’t hear- you're just like dad!"
The tears that spilled over ruined his vision. He didn't see the palm before it was too late. Had he been annoying again? That only happened when Barney was drunk.
The pain soured through his cheek, a deep sting on his lower lip making him bite it. The force of it all making his head snap to the side and thud to the ground. He didn't hear the thud. He felt it though. Hits weren't unknown to him, but from Barney? The Barney now who's expression slowly changed from anger to guilt.
More words he couldn't make out. Clint couldn't help the thick tears that brimmed his eyes and dulled his cheek from the seeping tingles.
He got up and ran, slamming the door open and simply running. Shoes left wherever he'd never get them back, and-
Bon-Bunni.
He still ran, through the trailer, almost thumping into Luka, who used to let him borrow books. Who looked at him in shock as he ran off.
He knew Barney was probably after him.
He didn't care. Even if Barney was about a foot taller than him, Clint had always been the fast one, that's where most of his cash came in.
The stones and sharp hay cut his feet, the tips of them all scarring every surface he knew as he ran towards the woods. He took a right, then a left. He didn't see the road coming up ahead.
Didn't see the sound of screeching tires frantically trying to stop.
Didn't hear the blowhorns.
Didn’t hear.