Barney Barton – End-April 1990
As he sat down on his bunk, looking around the room that he had been appointed 'headquarters', Barney thought about all the different events that had lead to this position.
He wondered how many cameras and microphones had been planted in the room, and then decided that he didn't give a shit about them. He had done that too, when working with the FBI. Maybe they thought that he would be stupid enough to send out a message to Clint, to warn him about the death threat hanging over his head, but he was sure that he wouldn't mess that up. The threat had seemed pretty serious – get Clint in or he dies, as simple as that. Maybe he should decide to take it up? If he could get Clint in, then...
At least he knew that his brother would quit the world of crime and the circus circuit that they had both lived in for too long. There was no future in it, he knew that, but maybe Clint hadn't realized it yet. Though he probably had already. But, with no official profile to work with to get employed somewhere (unless it was undeclared work), Clint wouldn't be able to find a stable work. Not like this. He could work as a mechanic, maybe, or any sort of handy man, but that wouldn't certify his future. He was 20 years old, he could survive on bread and on water for a couple more years, scrapping money together from tips and perhaps a bit of stealing, but soon, he would come to realize that it wasn't the life he wanted to lead.
He'd end up on the streets or in a ditch somewhere because of a robbery gone wrong. Contemplating his options, Barney rubbed his face, and got up to wash his face in the sink.
He felt old, even though he was only 25 years old. He had been so much – the army had taken a lot from his soul and mind, and being with the FBI had meant that he had to put his conscience away every now and then. As he washed his face, he decided that maybe taking the deal would be the best thing. But getting close to Clint would turn out to be a problem – he wasn't even sure his younger brother would agree to see him. Sure, they had been communicating through circus circuits and courriers, an inconspicuous way to get word around, but they hadn't talked since Barney had abandoned him in the circus, that cold winter day years ago. Well. Except in the hospital after Clint had shot him. But then Clint had decided to do a French leave and disappear without a word. That had hurt Barney's brotherly pride. A little bit.
“I'll take the deal.”
He didn't say anything else as he walked into Fury's office, unannounced, having gone past a security guard by punching him in the face. Fury looked up from his paperwork and arched his eyebrow. Barney didn't know which eye to look at – the one covered by the patch or the eye? Probably the eye.
“But on one condition: I bring him in. He deserves to know what kind of a shitty deal you put out-”
“We already have a team ready to collect him, Agent Barton,” Fury cut him off. Barney felt the vein on his forehead pulsing as he felt the rage grow in his chest. He couldn't believe it. Were they really that naïve? That Clint would come in willingly with a bunch of agents he had never heard off?
“You can't be serious, he's going to send them back with a broken nose if not worse. Clint won't agree to come in unless he knows someone. He's cautious like that, always has been,” Barney snapped, and the security agent that had followed him in backed away as Fury motioned him to.
“I don't think you understand the gravity of your brother's and your own personal situation, Agent Barton.” Fury said, and Barney paused. He could feel his hand shaking, he needed to get to Clint first and warn him of what they were going to do to him. Turn him into a weapon for a secret organization. He hardly thought that Clint would agree to a life as a weapon.
“You are all a bunch of rip-offs. Gambling with people's lives like that, you should be ashamed of yourselves,” he barked back, and Fury just shrugged.
“I'm not the one who shot three innocent people in the larynx with an arrow. Or who shot my own brother with an arrow in the shoulder,” the older agent replied, and Barney felt the urge to punch him. (Sometimes, he had come to understand now, how his own father had felt the urge to throw a punch at someone. But, Barney had decided to never lower himself to that level. Ever.)
“Fine. You take him in after I find him for you, but then I don't want anything to do with him,” Barney decided to throw out there. If he couldn't take in Clint, he didn't want anything to do with him. He didn't want to think about his little brother anymore, he had closed the deal, wouldn't that suffise? Clint didn't need to know what he had done for him, and he didn't need to know that it was Barney who had found him. “I don't even want him to know I found him or closed the deal for him.”
He saw Fury's eye twitch, and he understood that Fury didn't get why he was suddenly changing opinion on things. He had been dead set on bringing him in five minutes earlier, and now he wanted nothing to do with him. The pain in his shoulder flaring up at the thought of it, he remembered what his little brother had done. All the times it had been Clint here and Clint there, and Clint again and... No, he didn't want to fall into that again. He had finally managed to rip himself apart from his little brother, and if he made contact with him again, he would never be able to do it again.
“Deal, Agent Barton,” Fury stated, putting out his hand. “But our bet still stands,” he reminded Barney, and Barney nodded at it again.
“Of course it does.”
He shook Fury's hand before taking a step back, falling into his usual Agent mode. Barney, you gotta handle this like any sort of case you deal with for the FBI. It's just another case. You don't have any blood bond with the subject.
“I'll find Clint before the week is over. And then, you better be ready for his reaction, cuz he's not going to come willingly. Those agents you got covering the case? Coulson, May, Hill? They're gonna come home bloodied or empty handed,” he said, trying to get his usual professional tone back. The vein on his forehead didn't pulse anymore. “And, if I find him one time, and you loose him again, I won't find him again. You'll have to deal with that needle and that haystack out there on your own.”
Fury nodded again before standing up and accompanying Barney to the door. He put his hand on the other Agent's shoulder before stopping him on the way out. “You get your kid brother in, we'll take it from there. You've taken good care of him this far, Barney. You shouldn't be afraid for him, he's done incredibly well, and that's all thanks to your guidance.”
Barney didn't know what Fury meant by telling him this. Why was he telling him this now? He felt the breath leave him as he saw Fury walk out of his office like it was nothing, and he was left standing there like a fish out of the water. It wasn't fair that all these people knew everything about his past. At the FBI, they had done background checks and they had made sure that they knew why Barney had left the circus and the orphanage, but they had accepted him nonetheless (that sort of happens when they come to recruit him out of the army to join their ranks and protect federal security).
He turned around, before walking up to his headquarters again, everything inside his minding calling out for him to reconsider. Was he doing a bad thing? Why did he have a bad feeling about all this mess? Should he just piss off from here and go be somewhere else? Try to hope that neither the FBI nor SHIELD would find him again? Disappear like Clint? Maybe it was a good idea. But then again, he had a good life. He had a home – when he wasn't caged like a rabid dog – he had a good salary, he had friends. Well. The sort that you can share a beer or two with, not the ones you talk about those times in high school with.
Pinning Clint down turned out to be a bit harder than he had thought. Either because the last message he had sent his baby brother was to 'get out' or because Clint had just decided to ignore him as well. However, it wasn't completely impossible. For someone who came from the circus circuit and who had contacts, or who had been known in it for a while, it was easier to talk to them.
Circus folk tend to stay solidary of each other, even when one has left. Because you don't really leave. Once you've bled and shed your sweat to rise a circus tent, you're one of the guys, and you don't loose that title ever. Barney just thought that maybe, somehow, that world would be more hostile to his return. He had avoided circuses like the pest, hoping that somehow, it would erase the many years spent there, mucking out the zebras' and the horses' shit, that maybe, it would erase all the scars and all the memories he had gotten while there. The sight of his kid brother bruised and battered. The sight of his kid brother on a poster, advertising for the Amazing Hawkeye, trying to get people to flock to Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders and spend their money on popcorn, spend their money on getting their fate and future read by the Hungarian seer who was actually from Nebraska...
No, the circus life wasn't one that he would voluntarily come back to. As he walked into the camp behind Circus Flagellant, wearing civilian clothes, he felt the pressure from the circus artists immediately. Whenever an unbidden guest wandered into the camp behind the circus tent, they would either be quietly escorted back out, or taken in by curious artists. (It often depended on the age of the civilian, or on their sex.) He could feel the gaze of the lion tamer, sitting on the left, over there, wearing nothing but a pair of orange shorts and drinking a beer, he could feel the gaze of the clown on the right, playing cards with the knife thrower.
The young kids, some of the assistants, had stopped playing in the hay with a stick, and were watching him. However, he knew the owner of the circus, Mister Georges Flagellant himself, from a time when he had been interested in a collaboration with Carson. He hoped to play that familiar card, and when he asked for Georges by name, the knife thrower got up and eyed him carefully, as if he represented a threat.
Following the man quietly, keeping to himself and avoiding the gaze of other circus artists, he was brought into a trailer much like the one he had been sleeping in as a teenager, sharing bunk beds with little Clint. Georges looked up from his papers and Barney read his confusion in his eyes.
“Hi, Georges, been a long time since we've seen each other,” he started, to assert the familiarity. “I'm Barney Barton, you might remember me from-”
“Carson's! Yes, blimey, you've grown boy!” the man erupted, before standing up from his seat and hushing the knife thrower out of the trailer, closing the door behind him. He motioned for Barney to sit down. Immediately, Barney felt the tension diffuse and he felt at ease. How many times had he sat in a similar chair when at Carson's?
“I hear your brother's causing quite the rufus,” Georges then stated, and Barney nodded somberly. “And, I hear that you're with the FBI.”
At first, Barney wasn't quite sure how to react, but when the smile Georges wore reached his eyes and he knew it was just casual mischief, he smiled back.
“Yes, I am. But I'm not here on behalf of the FBI, I'm here on behalf of someone else.” He sighed, rubbing his temple with the palm of his head. They felt moist, he was nervous about this. If Georges refused to help him find his kid brother, SHIELD would probably get frustrated and start their own investigations, which would put a lot of pressure on his back. “I need to find Clint, or these someone else's are going to kill him.”
Barney bit his lower lip, as he watched Georges face and reaction. The older man nodded, as he sat back, resting his back against the chair, eyeing Barney carefully. “I heard about Clint's misbehaviour with what's-his-name, Chisholm? Sad to hear such a great artist go down that road, but it's not unheard of.” The man nodded to himself, remembering something Barney was unawares of.
“Well, I can tell you Clint's come through here, two months ago approximately. He asked us to keep an eye out for him, and he helped with the elephants, taught some o' the kids how to throw stones and even knives.”
That was better than Barney had ever imagined – he'd gone here on a hunch that the old familiarity between Carson and Flagellant would flare up with Clint, and he'd been right. “Did he tell you where he was headed next?” Barney asked, but Georges shook his head.
“No, unfortunately. He just told us to keep anyone off his track, and we've done so,” Georges started, and Barney let him finish by nodding. “Some agents, I s'pose from this agency o' yours came a month ago and tried to get information out of us, but we're proud here, and we keep our own safe. We didn't let a peep seep through.”
Barney smiled and nodded. “Nah, they told me they got nothing out from any of the circuses they visited.” That seemed to warm Georges heart.
“I'm proud. I am only telling you this, Barney, because I remember you and your brother with Carson. I'm just asking, why are they so interested in him?” The director seemed genuinely concerned, and Barney thought it best to give him as much information as possible – and at the same time as little as possible.
“They're interested in those throwing skills you said he taught some kids, and they're also looking to clear his file from those things he did with Trick Shot.”
“Good. If they're going to look out for him, it's good, right? I hated to hear that he'd joined Maynard and his godforsaken Circus of Crime when he did, and now that he's hiding, I only guessed that he done something wrong.” Shaking his head, Georges pulled a drawer open and handed its content to Barney. It was an arrow head, and Barney recognized it as Clint's own make. It had his initials engraved in it, and he knew why Georges had it.
“He gave me this as thanks for keeping people off his track, and I'm guessing you'll need it more than I. You can ask young Paddy out there if he's heard anything, he came in to join Angela a couple o' weeks ago. He's good at reading people, he'll talk to you. He's in the trailer with the Boy Wonder Sees All painted all over it.”
And with that, the conversation was over. As much as Barney would have liked it to go on, Georges was getting up and inviting him to do the same. And, a couple of seconds later, he was out of the trailer, the arrow head in his clenched fist. He looked up at the other circus artists who had gone back to their own business – that was often how it went, if the stranger went in to talk with the director of the circus, it meant that they were welcome in the camp.
Barney walked around for a little while, looking for this young Paddy that Georges had mentioned, before finding the trailer. It was a blond man, about Barney's age, sitting on a camping chair, his eyes closed. Or, it seemed like they were closed. Coming closer to him, he went to ask him about Clint, but the other man cut him to the chase.
“You're Clint Barton's older brother, aren't you? And you're looking for him.”
Well, at least that was clear. Arching his eyebrow, Barney nodded, and the other man opened his eyes to look at him. He didn't seem impressed by him, and Barney felt about the same back at him. Circus artists often knew each other's party tricks, and this guy was probably just a good crook. Someone good at reading people and pretending to be a psychic.
“Yeah-”
“He's gone to the West Coast,” this so called Paddy said, as he closed his eyes again. “He said he was going to lay low over there, and wait for you to show up or something else to come up.”
There didn't seem to be any more discussion and Barney frowned. “How am I supposed to just find him if he's laying low?” he asked, as he saw the man open his eyes, a glint of malice shining in them.
“He just said that he'd be staying with the gymnasts,” Paddy replied, looking Barney over, as if he was reading him. It felt sort of strange, as if all his secrets had been revealed. “He said you'd know who he meant when you came looking for him.”
And with that, Paddy refused to say anymore. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, to finish the conversation completely. Barney stood there for a couple of seconds, before turning back around as he realized what that meant.
Of course!
Three days later, Barney – with the help of SHIELD Agent Melinda May – managed to track down the carnival that he knew Clint would be hiding at. It hadn't been all too difficult – just looking for the right posters and the right clues, he supposed, but still – and with the help of SHIELD transporation, he found himself on the West Coast, looking at the blue and yellow tent standing tall in front of him. He had May in his earpiece, and he was worried about what would come out of the situation.
After much barking, yelling and even discussing, they had managed to compromise. May had understood the importance Barney represented in getting Clint to come in with SHIELD, and she had managed to convince the others to let him talk to Clint first. She would be waiting outside if Clint made a run for it, or if he made an attempt on Barney's life even though he doubted it would come to that. (Yes, Barney had changed his mind. He had worried day and night about it, and decided that he needed to see his baby brother one last time. Just one last time, and then, he promised himself, he would never need to see him again. Ever).
Barney knew that Clint would be in there, everything had pointed towards it, but mostly because he knew that Clint would have been hiding in there with the ability to blend in with his friend, the Flying Grayson. Clint had been athletic enough to train with some gymnasts that went through Carson, and it made sense that Clint would have gone to stay with them. The intel SHIELD had gathered showed that they had a son now, and if Clint was still as happy with small kids as he had ever been, it was the perfect hiding place.
Walking into the circus tent, Barney had decided that he would watch the show before trying to approach Clint. It meant two things, also: that either Clint saw him and decided to run, or that Clint saw him and decided to stay.
About two hours later, when Barney started to rise from his seat, as one of the last spectators, he saw someone walk against the flow of the crowd, and at first, he wasn't sure if it was Clint, but when the person came closer, there was no doubt left. It was Clint.
“I'm not here to-”
But before he was able to finish the sentence, the punch that he'd seen Clint prepare for landed right under his jaw and he felt his teeth clack together upon impact. Well. Maybe he deserved that.
“That's for coming here like this, unannounced,” Clint snapped, and Barney thought he saw something rabid in his brother's eyes. Well. Something wild had anchored itself in Clint's eyes, and within the half second it took him to dodge the second punch, he thought of his bet with Fury. SHIELD would have a fun time taming Clint, and he would be ten bucks richer by the end of the month.
“That was supposed to be for coming in here, like a goddamn Federal agent and getting everybody worked up about it,” Clint barked, and Barney caught his fist on the second attempt to throw a punch at him.
“Clint, I gotta talk to you. If you don't come in with these guys, they'll kill you,” he said, gritting his teeth together. He could feel the blood from where his teeth had closed on his tongue, and he already hated the pain that would probably numb him for a while. “These guys are dead serious, they'll terminate you if you don't agree to come in,” he managed to get out, as Clint pulled his fist from his hand.
“Terminate me? You sound like Terminator. How'd they get to you?”
Barney saw his younger brother spit at his feet, and through the too large t-shirt he was wearing, he saw the scar that Chisholm's arrow had left in his shoulder. At least they had matching scars now. Well. That and all the other ones they had gotten during the years.
“They didn't get to me. I'm serious, Clint.” But his little brother didn't seem to want to listen, and Barney felt the frustration grow. It was like talking to a wall. “They will kill you, and you'll be dead before you even know it. They know everything about you, except where you are, that's what they needed me for,” Barney started, but Clint just shook his head and rolled his eyes. Like a teenager. Indestructible.
“Barn', you're an idiot. You shouldn't have worried, I'm great here, I'll just stay here until the heat dies out,” he said, and Barney felt the vein on his forehead throbbing again. Why wouldn't he just understand how serious the situation was? SHIELD was dangerous as hell, and if Clint didn't oblige they would kill him.
“Fine. You know what, I thought that I'd manage to get some sense into that thick head of yours, but you're just as naïve as you ever were,” Barney barked, as he went to push Clint out of his way.
“Agent Barton, report.” He could hear the words repeated in his earpiece, and he felt like ripping it out. Couldn't they leave him for about seven seconds before they barked into his head like dogs? Thirsty, stupid dogs?
“I'm here, give me some time you morons,” he growled, knowing they'd hear him. There was a pause for a couple of seconds, before a voice broke through again.
“Did you get the tracker in place?” Agent May's voice asked, as neutral as he had ever heard her talk, and he nodded, before replying.
“Yeah, I did. In the sheath he carries his knives in,” he replied, as he walked up to the rendez-vous point. “Now, let me go.”