Clint Barton
Spider-man is an out.
It’s the only way Peter can get away from everything wrong with his life.
He can pull on his suit, hide his face, and swing to his heart's content. He can jump from skyscrapers and just barely catch himself on a web before hitting the ground. He can move from building to building at break necking speeds, the wind blowing past him.
People will wave and cheer as he swings past. They’ll shake his hand and smile at him after he saves them from muggers or robbers. They’ll laugh and speak to him like he’s a real person.
He can pretend, for a moment, that Peter Parker doesn’t exist.
He loves Spider-man. He can’t live without Spider-man. Sometimes he thinks that Peter Parker is nothing without Spider-man.
It’s coming up on 4 A.M.. He’d finished patrolling an hour ago, but he couldn’t get himself to go back to his desolate alley. He’s not tired anyway, too keyed up and filled with thoughts to get a minute of sleep.
So he sits on top of a roof. It’s not high up enough to draw any suspicions, but no cops will see him from all the way up here.
From the edge, he can look down at the street below as people walk past. Over the past two years, Peter’s gained a new appreciation for people watching. He likes to make up stories for people as they walk by just so he can pass the time.
It’s early enough that only the night owls and early morning risers are up.
A woman runs by in a neon pink sports bra and black leggings. Her name is Kathy, Peter thinks. She’s training for a marathon coming up in a few months. She’s trying really hard to break her personal best and she thinks this race might be it. Go Kathy!
When Peter lifts his chin, he gets a good view of the city lights around him. He’s always loved New York City. The nightlife, the lights, the constant sound of cars and honking. It’s comforting.
There’s a couple stumbling down the street below him, laughing into each other as they pass by. Their laughs echo in his ears, the sounds of their steps clacking on the sidewalk. He can hear the man whisper in the woman’s ear, making her giggle loudly. He sees them thread their fingers and continue on their way.
Something sad sits deep in Peter’s chest. He’s a social being by nature, like most humans, but he loves to talk to people and get to know their stories. Nowadays, he can barely get someone to say a sentence to him unless he’s in the spider suit.
He hasn’t spoken to anyone as Peter Parker in a long time. Having lunch with Mr. Wilson feels like decades ago even though it was only a couple weeks. His sense of time is warped- the days long, but the weeks short.
He sits on the edge of the roof with his legs dangling down, humming lightly to himself. He feels tired, so tired, but he can’t get himself to sleep. He feels like exhaustion is just his constant now, like he’s always just slightly sick.
His ears prick at the sound of footsteps behind him. He hones in on his spider sense, but it doesn’t go off, so there’s no one dangerous behind him. With this information, he continues to look out at the budding horizon.
A man comes up on his right. Through his peripherals, Peter can see a shorter, white man, with a scruffy face and blond hair. He’s wearing a black and purple combat suit and there’s a bow and arrow attached to his back.
Hawkeye.
Peter would feel surprised, but recently all he’s felt towards anything is an overwhelming amount of apathy. That is to say, the fact that Hawkeye- ex-assassin, perfect shot- is in front of him makes him feel nothing.
It’s kind of scary, if he thinks about it.
“Watching the sunrise?” Hawkeye asks.
Peter shrugs, swinging his legs back and forth. He doesn’t have the energy or the want to speak at all, really.
“Any particular reason you’re on this roof, kid?” The man asks.
Peter sighs, “Just- just thinking.”
Hawkeye nods warily, “You wanna do your thinking not on the edge of a roof?”
Peter turns fully to Hawkeye, looking at him confusedly. The man has his hands away from his body like he’s about to grab onto something. The position Peter is in dawns on him and his eyes widen.
“Oh! Oh no, Mr. Hawkeye sir,” Peter stumbles, “I wasn’t- this isn’t- I wasn’t gonna do anything.”
Hawkeye doesn’t move his hands from their position, but he does relax a little bit. Peter swings his legs back over, standing away from the ledge, if only to get the man off his back. He seems to appreciate it because his arms go down and he steps slightly away from Peter.
Hawkeye lets out a small chuckle, “Mr. Hawkeye? You can call me Clint, kid.”
Peter shrugs, “Sorry for worrying you, Mr. Clint, sir.”
Clint shakes his head in amusement, but he tilts his head strangely, looking Peter over.
“Are you Peter?” Clint asks.
Peter jolts in surprise, his eyes snapping to meet Clint’s.
“I know you’re a spy, but you can’t have guessed my name just by looking at me.” Peter says.
Clint laughs, gesturing for Peter to sit. They end up against the inner edge of the wall, sitting next to each other.
“No, no, Sam told us about his little excursion with a boy named Peter. You fit the bill.” Clint explains.
Peter nods, his face heating slightly. The Avengers talk about him? How embarrassing.
“And also, it was hilarious watching Tony come through wearing his coffee.” Clint says.
Peter groans. He can’t believe all the Avengers know that he spilled coffee onto Tony Stark and ran away. He supposes it’s slightly better than them knowing he, of all people, is Spider-man.
Clint continues, “Kid, it’s fine, seriously. He has plenty of suits. And money to pay for suits.”
“I know, I know. Mr. Wilson said the same thing.” Peter says.
Clint laughs, knocking his shoulder into Peter’s. It’s pretty nice, having a conversation with someone outside the suit. Clint hasn’t once spoken about Peter’s pale face and his dirty, ripped clothes.
They sit quietly for a moment, letting the sounds of the city wash over them. It’s peaceful, Peter thinks, having someone to sit with instead of being alone.
“What are you doing up here, kid?” Clint asks.
Peter shrugs, “Just thinking.”
Clint pokes him in his side, pausing slightly when he hits bone rather than soft skin. He clears his throat, “Well, a little birdie tells me you’re pretty smart. What’s going on up there?” He knocks on Peter’s temple lightly.
Peter sighs, “Nothing, really. I mean, just like- wondering if things could’ve worked out differently.”
Clint nods, “I get it. I can go ‘round and ‘round in my head about all the things I could’ve done differently.”
“Yeah, sometimes I guess I wish I did things differently, but I know there were things that were out of my control.” Peter admits, picking at the strings of his hoodie.
Clint looks at him thoughtfully, nodding slowly. “That’s a mature way of thinking. You can only control how you react, not how anyone else reacts.”
“I wish my aunt didn’t kick me out, but I don’t know what I could’ve done differently.” Peter says.
He assumes Sam told the Avengers what Peter told him. He doesn’t really mind, the pain of the original incident has numbed with his years being away from home, it’s just a deep, aching sadness that sits in his chest.
Clint nods. “I don’t know what happened, but I don’t think there’s anything that justifies kicking a minor out on the streets.” He says softly.
Peter lets out a long sigh, fatigue finally beginning to settle in his bones. He feels his eyelids droop, the comfortable warmth at his side pulling him into sleep.
“You tired?” Clint asks.
Peter nods, “I haven’t been able to sleep ‘cause of the nightmares ‘n the thoughts.”
He hears Clint hum. The man’s arm comes around Peter’s shoulder, pushing his heavy head onto a soft shoulder. The man is so warm, warmer than Peter’s felt in so long.
“Well, you can get some rest. I’ll be right here so no one can get you.” Clint whispers.
Peter nods sluggishly, pushing his face deeper into Clint’s shoulder. He feels sleep pulling him in, keeping him on the edge of unconsciousness. Right before he tumbles into slumber, he hears one last whisper.
“You deserve better than this, kid.” Clint murmurs.
And Peter knows no more.
When he wakes up, it’s well into the day. There’s no more warmth at his side, but there is a large jacket pillowing his head and a note attached to his chest. In scratchy handwriting, it reads:
You control your own life. Don’t let the past keep you from looking forward. Stay safe, kiddo.- Clint
Peter sits up, stretching. He feels more rested than he has in weeks, despite the small crick in his neck. He stands up, picking up the large grey jacket and slipping it on. It makes him genuinely smile.
He climbs down the building, walking onto the busy streets of New York. His objective for the day is to find a job, any job. People stare at him like usual as he speed walks down the blocks. He can’t stop, he can’t take a break, he can’t slow down. Not if he wants to survive.
Everybody wants to be Spider-man, nobody wants to be Peter Parker.
—----------------------
“I met the kid.” Clint says casually at breakfast.
They’re all sitting together around the bar in the kitchen, eating various breakfast foods. Tony grimaces at the mushy cereal that Rhodey scoops into his mouth.
“You did?” Sam asks, his eyes lighting up in interest.
Clint sighs, “Yeah.”
Sam notices his subdued body language and deflates slightly, “What, what happened?”
“He was sitting on the edge of a roof.” Clint says.
The clinking of glasses ceases, all side conversations stopping. Sam’s eyebrows scrunch in surprise and worry.
Tony speaks up, “Was he…” he trails off.
Clint shrugs, “He says he wasn’t. It was kind of adorable actually, he called me ‘Mr. Hawkeye sir’ and got off the ledge.”
Natasha swallows a sip of her smoothie, “What was he doing up there, then?”
“Thinking. He was telling me about how he wishes his aunt didn’t kick him out, but he doesn’t know what he could’ve done to change it.” Clint says, taking a sip of water.
Steve sighs, “Poor kid.”
Bucky nods beside him, his eyes boring into a bowl of fruit at the center of the counter. Steve places a hand on Bucky’s back.
Clint nods, “Yeah, I think he feels guilty? I wish I knew more about what happened, but I wasn’t gonna push him. He was exhausted.”
“Yeah?” Sam asks.
Clint hums, “Yeah. He fell asleep on my shoulder. I sat there ‘till my butt got numb. I gave him my jacket and a note to cheer him up before I left.”
“Oh, good. His little hoodie had so many holes. No way that would’ve survived the winter.” Tony comments, stuffing a large bite of pancake in his mouth.
“It’s weird that he’s popping up so much, huh?” Natasha asks.
“I mean,” Sam shrugs, “He stays near Queens, so it only makes sense that we’d see him when we go by there.”
“Speaking of Queens,” Steve adds, “Anybody seen any news on Spider-man? It’s been a while since we’ve seen him.”
Tony shakes his head, “Only what’s on the news. He seems to be fine, just taking care of muggers and cats in trees.”
Steve nods, taking plates away from everybody’s spots and heading towards the kitchen sink.
“We’ll keep an eye on him, just make sure he’s not getting hurt or anything.” He says.
Bucky snorts, “You’re one to talk.”
Steve rolls his eyes, sending the man a glare.
“And keep an eye on Peter, too.” Sam says.
Clint nods enthusiastically. The kid seems like a genuinely good person, just in a shitty situation. He wishes he could do something to actually help Peter, but he knows there’s a reason Peter is on the streets and not in foster care, and Clint’s not about to poke that bear.
He’s gotta gain the kid’s trust somehow.