Pieces
Fourteen Years Ago
Barton's head snapped back with the force of the punch. He could feel the warm blood running from his nose and lip. The rope tying him to the chair was digging into his wrists and the rest of his body was one gargantuan bruise.
"You think you get to say no?" demanded Wilson as he hit Clint again. This conversation had been going on for hours and was getting nowhere.
Clint spit out a glob of blood; this was not the way he planned to spend his afternoon. He had only needed one more job, then he could blow this city, but after getting the details of said job, he had refused to take it. A choice Wilson was trying to make him regret.
Jäger had come into town with a job from Wilson's higher ups, and naturally Wilson decided to call the assassin currently in his employment. Apparently, the idea of using arrows had intrigued Jäger. The tall German hadn't said a word, just stood in the back of the room like he was now, and let Wilson lay out the job for Clint.
The target was a thirteen year old girl whose only crime was her father was some sort of agent that had been after Jäger and his constitutes. Clint had adamantly refused, and even after Wilson suggested he take a minute to think about, Barton wouldn't agree. There was still some small piece of his soul he was trying to protect, and tainting that with the blood of an innocent child would kill him forever more.
It wasn't hard for Wilson and his men to overpower Barton. They had certainly enjoyed working him over in the hopes that he would reconsider, though the only thing that happened was a severely beaten archer and a lack of commitment to exterminate the target. There was a very real possibility that Clint was going to die there, and for a girl he had never met and it wasn't as terrifying a prospect as he had imagined it would be. The prospect of death had stopped being frightening after Barney's betrayal had left him alone.
"Enough," stated Jäger as he took a step closer toward the prisoner. "There are ways for us to get what we want. Take him to the car." That could be the only chance at escape that the archer was going to get. His was a mundane existence that often saw him engage in self-destructive pursuits, but he wasn't suicidal, so he would chose to continue on if the opportunity presented itself.
Two of Wilson's thugs cut through the ropes keeping Clint on the chair, mindless of how the knives scrapped across his hands, and dragged him towards the back door. Not wanting to stick around for whatever 'ways' Jäger was versed in, Barton summoned all of his resolve and took his chance.
The second they cleared the doors he dug his heels in and slammed his head back into one of the thugs. The thug cried out as his nose was crushed and released his grip on the archer. With his free arm, Clint twisted and slammed his palm into the other thug's chest while he stomped his foot down on top of the other man's foot. No longer having the support of his escort, Clint sunk to his knees momentarily before finding the strength to scramble to his feet and take off running down the alley. He managed to dodge the few shots that were discharged in his direction and got lost in the crowded street.
Clint pulled the hood on his sweatshirt up to try and minimize the amount of attention that would be drawn to him. People tended to notice black eyes, busted lips and blood soaked clothes, even in that neighborhood. He knew it was stupid, but he had to go back to his apartment. All of his weapons and what little cash he had were still there, and he need those things to survive.
Barton frantically tore through his apartment the second he arrived, cramming everything he possibly could into his backpack. He didn't know for sure that Wilson knew where he had been staying but he was already beat to hell and in no condition to fight them off again if they did catch up to him.
"Hey Clint, you wanna go to the park to…" started Aiden as he burst through the door only to come up short as he found himself on the business end of Barton's handgun. His eyes went wide and he stood there frozen, waiting for his heart to start beating again.
The pair stared at each other until the click of a safety broke the silence. "Go home Aiden before you get yourself into trouble," ordered Barton as he went back to gathering his stuff; his heart slowly starting to return to a normal rhythm.
The boy swallowed and took a deep breath. He knew Clint was just like everyone else in the neighborhood. He'd seen him with guns before, but that was the first time one had been pointed at him. Aiden took in Barton's appearance, covered in blood and moving with a slight limp. "What happened to you?" He had meant the words to come out more forceful, but they kind of died out in a whisper.
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, now get out of here before I kick your ass."
"I … I can help. My brother taught me some stuff before he took off. I can help you Clint," offered the boy.
Frustration and anger warred to be the dominant emotion. He didn't need help, didn't want it and it sure as hell shouldn't be offered to Clint for the first time in his life by a hard luck twelve year old. He growled, "Get out of here Aiden. The deeds of evil men are not your concern." Seeing that Aiden still hadn't made a move to leave, Barton took a threatening step forward. "I said get the hell out of here!"
Clint knew it was for the best but he still felt guilty as he watched the kid shrink down and run away. With bigger issues to address he knelt down and pulled the coffee tin from under the sink. He popped the lid and pulled out the five hundred dollars. That's what he'd sold his soul for, five hundred dollars in savings. It wasn't much and he certainly wasn't going to get far but it would get him out of the city and a head start from Wilson and Jäger.
The archer heard a shuffle at the door. "Aiden, I told you to get lost!"
"Oh, I think he should stay with us, don't you think?" asked Jäger as he entered the apartment. Clint peered over the counter in time to see Wilson drag Aiden in with him. The boy put up a small protest, but couldn't do much with a blade pressed against his throat.
"He's got nothing to do with this," snapped Barton, getting to his feet. He wanted to take action and save the boy, but his backpack was too far away to reach for him to reach it before Wilson would have the opportunity to slit Aiden's throat.
"True," conceded Jäger, "but I think there is a valuable lesson to be taught here. Now I believe we were discussing a job before you rudely took off. I think we should take a serious look at that job now."
Clint had been holding back his cries of pain for the last twenty minutes but that one slipped through. He sucked in a deep breath and tried desperately to imagine himself somewhere else. Anywhere would be better than on a roof top with a psycho that had spent the previous two hours torturing him and beating Aiden in order to teach Barton to be grateful for the opportunity he was about to receive. It was hearing Aiden cry that finally force Clint to agree to the job. His plan had been to accept and get them to let Aiden go, then refuse until Jäger got frustrated and killed him. Aiden had been locked in the trunk leaving Clint with the ability to put up only a marginal protest now that he was lining up his shot.
Barton was on the roof where Jäger had forced him to his knees. He had his bowstring pulled back, but looking at the innocent young girl that had no idea she was about to die caused the archer to hesitate but a moment. That hesitation caused Jäger to slam his knife into Clint's calf.
"Shoot now or I'm going to slit your throat and finish off the kid in the trunk," Jäger hissed.
Clint fought back the tears and compensated for the slight tremble in his hands. He already didn't like what he saw when he looked in the mirror, after this he would never be able to look at himself. This was a line he had never wanted to cross, but he was weak. He couldn't take any more pain at the hands of his captor and he couldn't bear having to look into Sheila's eyes and explain what fate had befallen her son. Mostly, it was his inability to stand up for what was right; this was his natural state in life, just another soulless dog in the gutter. He lacked the strength to fight the futility of the situation; good men never back down, but he wasn't a good person, and so he folded.
With a silent sob, he let the string go and watched the arrow fly straight and true. There was no divine intervention to stop it; the arrow sailed on. The world's greatest marksmen made his shot and his title remained intact.
He watched helplessly as the arrow cleared the window and dropped the girl. Suddenly, Barton forgot how to breathe. Time slowed to a crawl, and Jäger's triumphant cries of satisfaction at a job well done seemed distorted and garbled. Clint dropped his head to the ground and silently cried for what he had done.