The Quinjet hummed as it soared through the dark sky, the Avengers gathered around a holographic display of their latest target—a high-security HYDRA vault hidden beneath a stadium where thousands of people had gathered for a massive concert.
Tony Stark tapped a few buttons, pulling up a 3D blueprint of the facility. "Alright, team, listen up. HYDRA’s been hoarding some nasty intel, and thanks to our friendly neighborhood spies, we finally know where one of their data caches is hidden."
Natasha Romanoff narrowed her eyes. "What kind of intel?"
"Encrypted files on their remaining sleeper agents," Steve Rogers answered, arms crossed. "If we don’t retrieve it now, HYDRA could activate them at any moment."
"Security?" Sam Wilson asked.
Tony swiped the hologram again. "Here’s the fun part—HYDRA linked their vault security to the stadium’s mainframe. The second we start messing with it, every guard in the building is going to know we’re here."
"Which means we need a distraction," Natasha concluded.
There was a brief silence. Then, all at once, they turned to look at Clint.
Clint, who had been leaning back in his seat, let out an exaggerated sigh. "You know, I knew this was coming. 'Hey, what’s Hawkeye doing on this mission? He doesn’t need to shoot anybody. Let’s make him the distraction!'" He made finger guns at them. "Real nice, guys."
"See? You do get it," Tony said with a smirk.
Clint groaned, rubbing his face. "Great. Love being the human equivalent of waving keys in front of a baby."
"Not our fault you're the least useful underground," Sam Wilson teased.
Clint rolled his eyes. "You guys are lucky I’m secure enough in my self-worth to let that slide."
"You are the logical choice," Steve pointed out.
Clint scoffed. "Logical? No. Convenient? Absolutely."
Tony clapped him on the back. "Oh, come on, Legolas. You’re great at causing chaos."
"Not in the fun way," Clint muttered.
Steve clapped a hand on Clint’s shoulder. "You just need to make sure every security guard is looking at you instead of the vault. However you do it is up to you."
"Awesome. No pressure," Clint muttered.
Natasha patted his back. "Just don’t get arrested. Again."
"Nat, that was one time!"
The Quinjet descended, cloaking itself as it neared the venue. The team split up—Clint heading toward the main entrance while the others prepared for infiltration.
--
The crowd was packed, excited energy buzzing through the air as people streamed into the venue. Clint slipped through, moving past security with practiced ease. Years of sneaking into places he didn’t belong had its benefits.
Backstage, things were chaotic—stagehands rushing around, musicians tuning instruments, managers yelling into headsets. Clint blended in, acting like he had every reason to be there.
Until someone grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey! Where’s your pass?"
Clint turned to find a frazzled concert manager glaring at him. Clipboard in one hand, headset slightly askew.
Clint gave his most innocent smile. "Pass? Oh, yeah, uh… about that…"
The manager sighed, already pulling out a walkie-talkie. "Security—"
"Okay, wait, hold on," Clint said, raising his hands. "This is going to sound crazy, but I promise it’s important. I’m here on a mission."
The manager raised a skeptical eyebrow. "A mission?"
Clint nodded. "A secret mission."
The manager scoffed. "Buddy, unless your secret mission involves setting up speakers, you need to leave."
Then he hesitated, taking a closer look at Clint. His eyes widened.
"Wait. You’re Hawkeye."
Clint smirked. "Ding ding ding. And since you now recognize my celebrity status, you should totally let me on stage."
The manager’s expression flickered between disbelief and curiosity. "Why are you here?"
"Listen, I can’t give you the details—classified Avenger stuff—but I need to get on that stage," Clint said. "It’s mission-critical."
The manager stared at him. Then shook his head. "Can you even sing?"
"Of course! Archery's not my only skill you know." He said, unconvincingly, grinning.
The manager exhaled through his nose. "Fine. You get one song. And if you suck, I’m never letting you near a stage again."
"Fair deal."
--
Underground, the rest of the team moved swiftly. Natasha took out the first guard with a silent takedown, while Steve and Sam cleared the hallway. Tony hacked the security system, bypassing HYDRA’s firewalls.
"Vault’s locked with biometric scanners," Tony said. "We need a print."
Natasha grabbed the wrist of a downed guard and pressed his hand to the scanner. The lock blinked green, and the vault doors slid open.
Rows of HYDRA’s stolen data glowed on encrypted drives.
"There it is," Steve muttered, grabbing the file marked Omega Protocols.
Then the alarms blared.
Tony cursed. "They must’ve set up a failsafe. We’ve got five minutes before full lockdown."
"Then let’s move," Natasha said.
--
The stadium lights dimmed, and a wave of anticipation rippled through the crowd. The audience, expecting a scheduled act, murmured in confusion as the giant LED screen behind the stage flickered.
Then, the speakers crackled.
"Ladies and gentlemen… please welcome… surprise guest… CLINT BARTON!"
There was a brief silence.
Then an explosion of sound—cheers, laughter, confused gasps. The name Clint Barton wasn’t one people associated with concerts. The Hawkeye? That Clint Barton?
Backstage, Clint grinned as he adjusted the in-ear monitor hastily shoved into his hand. The concert manager gave him a don’t screw this up look from the side of the stage.
"Alright, alright," Clint said into the mic, voice carrying across the stadium. "I know what you’re thinking. ‘What’s an Avenger doing here? Where’s the guy with the cape?’"
A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd.
"Well, turns out, saving the world doesn’t exactly come with a pension, and I needed a new gig."
More laughter.
Clint rolled his shoulders, exhaling. The moment was surreal—thousands of people staring up at him, waiting. He wasn’t nervous—he’d faced worse odds—but this? This was new.
He nodded toward the sound booth. "Alright, let’s see if this works."
A hum filled the speakers, a slow guitar riff echoing through the arena. Then the beat kicked in, a steady rhythm, smooth and effortless. The crowd fell silent.
And then Clint started singing.
The crowd, initially skeptical, leaned in. Then someone started cheering. Then another. Then an entire section of the stadium started clapping to the beat.
And just like that, Clint Barton had them hooked.
By the time he hit the chorus, the audience had turned into an ocean of cheers. People who had no idea who he was five minutes ago were jumping up and down, hollering, like he’d been a headliner all along.
Back in the HYDRA vault, the team could only listen in stunned silence as Clint belted out a rock song with a voice that was gravelly, smooth, and—dare they say—kinda sexy?
"Are we seriously listening to Barton sing right now?" Sam asked, halfway through punching a guard.
Natasha ducked behind cover, smirking. "We sure are."
Tony, who had been busy hacking, suddenly stopped and pulled up the live concert feed on his helmet. "Are you kidding me? We leave for two minutes, and Barton becomes a rockstar?"
"Focus on the mission!" Steve snapped.
The team moved quickly, retrieving the files while security was too distracted by the unexpected concert happening above their heads.
By the time Clint finished his song, the Avengers had already slipped away unnoticed.
--
The moment they landed at Avengers Tower, Clint was ambushed.
The team sat in the lounge, arms crossed, waiting. Clint, sprawled lazily on the couch, tossed a grape into his mouth.
"Alright, Barton," Tony said, holding up his tablet. "Explain."
On the screen, Clint’s performance played on repeat.
Clint smirked. "I dunno, looks like I rocked it."
Steve raised a brow. "Since when do you sing?"
Clint stretched. "Eh, I got bored."
Sam blinked. "Bored?"
"Yeah. You know, not all of us have a fancy suit of armor or a Vibranium shield to play with in our free time," Clint said, giving Tony and Steve pointed looks. "So, one day, I was messing around, and I figured—why not? F.R.I.D.A.Y. helped me put some stuff together."
Tony narrowed his eyes. "Wait, wait, hold up. You made this? The song? You mean to tell me that in all your ‘bored’ hours, you were just… making music?"
Clint shrugged. "Pretty much."
"And F.R.I.D.A.Y. helped?"
"Well, yeah," Clint said. "I asked her to put the instrumental tracks together and clean up the mix. Not, like, AI or anything—just, y’know, balancing levels, making it sound good. I played around with the arrangement, and boom—song."
Natasha smirked. "And you made it on… what? The high-tech studio we don’t have?"
Clint grinned. "GarageBand."
There was a beat of silence.
Sam wheeze-laughed. "Hold on. You mean to tell me you made that entire thing—with harmonies, instrumentals, everything—on GarageBand?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
Tony threw up his hands. "That is infuriating. I spend billions on cutting-edge tech, and you go viral using an app that comes free with every MacBook?!"
Clint smirked. "Talent’s a gift, Stark."
Steve sighed, rubbing his temples. "So… just to be clear. You’re not secretly a rock star?"
Clint waggled his eyebrows. "I mean, the internet seems to think so."
--
By morning, #HawkeyeEncore was trending worldwide.
Social media was flooded with clips of Clint’s performance.
Fan #1: "I don’t even like the Avengers, but I’m obsessed with Hawkeye now. GIVE US AN ALBUM."
Fan #2: "I was there, and let me tell you—he wasn’t just good. He was amazing."
Fan #3: "So does this mean the Avengers are starting a band? Because I need a Captain America drum solo next."
Then came the news interviews:
Concertgoer #1: "It was insane. I came for the main act, and then Hawkeye shows up? And he’s actually good?"
Concertgoer #2: "I have so many questions. Does he have other songs? When is the album dropping? Will he go on tour?!"
Concertgoer #3: "That was, hands down, the best concert I’ve ever been to. I need another show. NOW."
Even mainstream media picked it up:
Rolling Stone: "From Sniper to Showstopper: How Hawkeye Stole the Spotlight in One Night."
Billboard: "Hawkeye: The Avenger We Didn’t Know We Needed in the Music Industry."
Tony threw a newspaper onto the table. "I cannot believe this. You go viral for this?"
Clint grinned, sipping his coffee. "Jealous?"
Steve sighed. "Please tell me you’re not seriously considering a career change."
Clint stretched. "Nah. But hey… I wouldn’t say no to an encore."
The team groaned.
And across the internet, the world continued demanding more.