Aletophobia
Aaron has discovered that New York City is a place that can make you hate and fall in love with it in an instant, and no other establishment proves it better than the warm, friendly cafe that reeks of gentrification under this unremarkable apartment building in Bedford-Stuyvesant. The residents have showered him with greetings, although most were addressed to “Clint.” And as he musters up the courage to go in and face more awkward salutations, a thunderous “Barton!” snapped him around at the heels.
A black-haired young girl, no more than 20 and holding two grocery bags, nods at him from the curb. As she approaches, Aaron has found a name to match her face—Kate Bishop, sharer-slash-successor of the Hawkeye mantle.
He tries to decide whether he should reveal his identity to her on the street like this, but the girl is already two feet away from his face. And before he can say anything, she has already recognized him.
"Oh, you're Aaron!" Kate cocks her head and smiles. “Clint said you were coming.”
Aaron attempts to analyze the meaning of that statement, but eventually just gives up and offers to take the bags from Kate, which she happily accepts.
💫
"He doesn't talk about you much, you brother," Kate says as they walk up the staircases, and Aaron's heart drops, but she continues on as if oblivious to his disappointment. "Because of all the super-secret stuff you did for the CIA, yeah? And then you had to disappear?” She turns to look at him with a proud smile, at which Aaron can’t help but reciprocate with a gentle expression of his own. “Barton said that the less anybody knows the better. Walls have ears and everything."
People change over the years, and because of that, Aaron cannot rely solely on his memories to know about his brothers. And if there’s one new thing he’s learned about Clint, it’s that he’d picked one hell of an apprentice. Even with the labor of walking up multiple flights of stairs, she still has the passion and energy to talk, which, to be honest, has made information gathering more interesting than ever–the way she speaks instantly improves one’s mood like magic at work. And so, in a couple minutes’ time, Aaron has learned about the “scary but actually really nice” Director Fury, who “let Clint keep the farm where she and Brian lived for a bit” and “met the Avengers, dude!” And how it was “a shame that he wasn’t there to meet them too.”
“And speaking of Brian, by the way: he’s crazy—but in a good way, I meant.” She says when they walk down the hallway to Apartment H–H for Hawkeye. “He’s pretty good at doing cool, superhero-y stuff—sorta like Clint, but… less of a mom, and less of a mess.”
“Prolly cuz you don’t know him well enough yet.” Aaron says, mindlessly staring at the metallic “H” on the apartment door.
“Yeah.” Kate chuckles, the jingle of the keys in her hands a chorus to her voice. “That’s what I’m thinking too.”
💫
The wooden door with peeling paint creaks open and in strides Kate, with her new friend behind her. “Come help with the groceries, Hawkeye!” She calls from the door.
“Aw, gimme a break,” Clint says, splayed on the couch,
“I just got back from the circus!”
What?
“But can you at least take care of your little siblings?” Will set the grocery bags down on the counter and rubbed his sore arms and shoulders, exhaling long and tired. Kenneth nervously glanced up from his younger brother’s gameboy and at the two older boys, and then back down again.
“Yeah, give ‘im a break, Will, he just got back! Also, he did take care of us.” Brian’s voice rang beside his ear. “He brought Kenny a stuffed baby seal and he brought me new games, and we ate ice cream for lunch!”
“Ice cream for lunch!?” Will sounded aghast.
“Bri wouldn’t eat his broccolis, so I had to dip them in ice cream.” Clint said, nonchalant. “Don’t worry, I washed all the dirty dishes and put them back in the cabinets.”
“And, and we chatted. A lot!” Kenneth added on to the conversation, “he told us about the circus! He said there was elephants, and lions, and, and people who… fly!”
“And what about Brian?”
“What about me?”
“Yeah, what about him?” Clint asked with genuine confusion.
“If you buy him new games he won’t do his homewo--”
“I never do them anyways. They’re easy.”
After this second interruption, Will’s voice started to strain. “Brian, stop talking when I’m tal--”
“Stop talking when I’m talking because I’m your mommy--”
Clint couldn’t contain a snicker, and that was all Will could take. He slammed his palm on the marble counter, the flesh and stone making a dull noise, much to his discontent, and it hurt like a bitch, but he kept a stern face, the pain adding to his anger.
The house fell quiet. Brian pouted and snuggled closer to his brother, the gaming device beeping in his hands, a ludicrous contrast to the heavy atmosphere.
Kenneth, after taking a weighty breath, looked up again.
“Will,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
Anger, fear, and frustration all turned into puzzlement.
He hugged Brian closer to himself; the younger boy rolled his eyes at yet another one of his brother’s displays of nonsense and returned to his games.
“I’m- I’m sorry that you’re angry at m- at Cli-” his voice was a little shaky “-at us. Please don’t be angry–we’ll be good for you.”
Will froze completely. His mouth hanged open, and his hand retracted halfway to his body.
The childish glitter in Clint’s eyes was gone.
“I- no, I’m sorry.” Will brought a hand up to his eyes and wiped it down his face. “I didn’t need to be angry there. I jus–” Choking on his own words, he lowered his head with a low exhale. Kenneth’s heart pounded in his little chest, and Clint swallowed hard. The house was quiet once again. Then, after what felt like an eon, Will said, quietly, “You guys wanna show me what else Clint brought for you?”
Joy quickly returned to little Kenneth’s face.
💫
“Ahem.” Natasha clears her throat and tilts her head towards the entrance. Clint looks up at the sound, and is almost immediately struck with realization.
“Oh, Aaron…” He says as he gapes dumbly at the doorway. “You’re here.”
And Aaron is equally awkward as he replies, “...yeah.”
Clint stares into a pair of big, round eyes same as his and thinks, I’m probably not the tallest sibling now. The boy who used to be scrawny and fumbly has now grown into a man with a sturdy stature. He can see that his younger brother has matured, for his eyes are those of a man who's been through shit, knows that he’s been through shit, but nevertheless managed to keep the light in himself shining. Aaron is only less than a year younger than him, and yet his face seems so much more youthful. Youthful, but not childlike–not anymore, Clint notes. His little brother has all grown up in what seems like a blink of an eye, because god knows how much of his childhood–their childhood–he had missed. Clint swallows hard and bunches a corner of his T-shirt in one hand. Is it too late to say that he cares, to say that he’d like to make up the time that they’ve lost? Is he still worth the effort to reconcile with?
Every second of being with him has been worth it, Aaron thinks to himself, because, god, how else could he have realized so quickly that it wasn’t anger or disappointment–well, maybe a little disappointment–that he had been feeling towards Clint–it was longing. Longing for his company as family and as a brother; as someone who not only shares his appearance and clothes, but also his blood. And yeah, when Will said to give him another chance, it was exactly what he was hoping to do. So, he exhales to relax his shoulders and opens his arms with a small smile as a cautious start.
Clint blinks once, twice, opens his mouth and closes it, and then stands up and strides towards his brother, his steps rushed but he does not notice, not until he practically throws himself against Aaron’s chest and causes the embrace to punch the air out of both of their lungs.
“Hey.” He hears Aaron say. “Long time no see.”
And this time, it is his turn to squeeze out an awkward “…yeah.” With Aaron’s strong arms wrapped a little too tight around him, Clint, however, let out a breath of relief. “You still give the best hugs, man,” he says, and Aaron’s low grin ricochets between their chests. And just as Aaron opens his mouth to say something of his own–
“CAN ANYBODY HELP WITH THE GROCERIES.”
The two jerk apart, startled by the loud input from Kate, and turn around to see the girl with her hands on her hips, face telling how much she’s unimpressed with the cheesy scene before her; and Natasha Romanoff, casually eating a bowl of cereal, seems to concentrate on the TV, but nevertheless has a corner of her lips quirked up.
“I’ll do it.” Aaron and Clint blurt out at the same time, and then share a smile inspired by their synchronicity. Kate looks at the two idiots with a raised brow–she was so hopeful that the new guy wouldn’t be such a goof, but alas… although, nobody would avoid the chance to not work, so she shrugs and says, “cool,” and then skips to the couch to flop down onto the pile of blankets and throw pillows.
As Kenneth propped himself up to rightly display his little seal, Brian abruptly springed up from the couch and bolted up the stairs. The eleven-year-old was left perplexed, his gaze following his little brother up the stairs as his mind began to wander. Clint exclaimed suddenly, offering to show Kenneth a new trick he’d learned, and the boy turned back to his older siblings, quickly forgetting the crisis that had just happened.
💫
Clint takes out two bottles of beer from a six pack and hands one to Aaron before closing the fridge door for the last time. Aaron takes it, opens the cap and takes a swig, and looks into the distance where the two women lay comfortably on the couch watching The Witcher. Him and Clint had exchanged nothing besides some generic “can you pass me the…” and “thanks” when they were loading the fridge, and now, starting smalltalk anew has become more difficult than before.
Standing by his side and leaning on the kitchen counter, Clint takes a sip from his beer.
“...Ya miss me?” he says a bit stiffly.
Aaron replies with a scoff and looks up at him.
“ya miss me?”
“Yeah! we missed you so much!”
“Tell us about the circus, Clint!”
“Kenny! We got new toys from Clint!”
“Hooraayyy! Did he write anything?”
“Yeah, on a card.
‘Ya miss me? Well, get ready to miss me more. I’m gonna be late a few weeks…’”
“…”
“‘—but I’ll write to you… and you can let Will write back to me.’ Ohh.”
“Oh…”
Ya miss me?
Yeah. They can’t wait for you to come home. Also, that 3D birthday card was really cool. And now I gotta read your letters to them to sleep. Hurry the hell up or write more.
“Ya miss me?”
“Yeah! You finally came back! We waited for so long!”
“Heh, sorry about that. But check this out! I just learned this last week!”
“Can you stay for longer this time?”
“…I’ll try my best.”
Ya miss me. The dumb fuck. Of course he did.
“Oh, shi- fu- I- noooo… That was so bad.” Clint flinches hard upon realizing the underlying meaning to his question. “I’m so- that wasn’t--”
“No, it’s fine.” Aaron shrugs and smiles. “I did miss you, yeah.”
Clint blinks at him, and then lowers his head and laughs an apologetic laugh. He scratches his head, trying to come up with something to say that’s less likely to derail a conversation intended to be warm and welcoming. “Uh… you, uh…” He stumbles over his words, but eventually manages, “Got a place to stay?”
“Well, I was hoping to stay here,” Aaron says, “but if that’s not possible, then–”
“Oh, no, no, it’s totally fine.” Clint interrupts him. “Nat and I can share a room and…” He all of a sudden grows quiet. Aaron spies the tip of his brother’s ears turning red. “…Yeah.”
“So… you and the Black Widow…?”
A smile climbs up on Clint’s face. “Yup… arguably one of the best things that’s ever happened to me,” he says, “And I’m not one to be superstitious, but if soulmates were to exist” –his gaze, unbearably soft, lands on the redhead across the room from him–”I’d think she’s mine–wish she were mine.”
Aaron follows his eyes, unaware that at some point when Clint was talking, he’d started to smile, too. The flashing TV screen obscures the Black Widow’s expression, but Aaron somehow knows that she is smiling as well.
Not wanting to interrupt a lovely moment between the couple, Aaron shifts his eyes to the show they’re watching. Geralt of Rivia stands up and says, “It’s like ordering a pie…”
“--pie and finding it has no filling.” Clint was evidently multitasking. “Love that part,” he says, eyes no longer soaked with sweet lovesickness. “You know, I used that on someone once. Tried, at least. A bad guy. Tried to insult him. The words didn’t come out that well.” He bares his teeth regretfully. “In my defense I might have been concussed.”
“And did he live to tell the tale?” Aaron plays along with his change of topic.
“Nah, it’s not like that, man.” Clint drops his usually cheerful appearance for a slight moment, but a subtle curve remains on his lips regardless. “Avengers don’t kill.”
“So he’s just walking around telling this embarrassing story of yours? To anyone and everyone he meets?”
“Well, not exactly ‘walking around.’” Clint makes air quotes with his fingers, and then takes another sip of his beer. “He’s in jail now. For good… Hopefully.”
“So he’s walking around, telling his jail mates–”
“Aw, can you stop remindin’ me of that now? Jeezus.” Clint sighs and shakes his head and changes the subject once again. “So why'd you come back here?”
This time, it’s Aaron's turn to lose his cheerfulness. He blinks a few times and bites the inside of his bottom lip.
Soft, icy-blue eyes, tender touches on his arms, cheeks, and everywhere else, warm embraces that he would lean into and temporarily forget all the agonizing thoughts inside his head; that house he used to live in–so quiet…one would even say dark, but once upon a time he knew for sure that the stove light would be on, lighting up a warm meal, and sounds of rustling paper and the gentle clacking of the keyboard would be coming from the bedroom a mere few steps away from him…
“Uhm, I guess it’s because I feel bad, for…my old job, or something,” he says with a huff, “to, uh, ‘make things right,’ or something like that… I dunno.”
Kate barks out a laugh at Aaron’s reply, catching the two men off guard–they didn’t know she’d heard them. “Don’t you worry about that, then,” she says, “Clint here’s recruited at least three people with that idea into the Avengers.”
“I’m… not particularly inclined to becoming an Avenger…” It’s getting a little hard to breathe, and Aaron starts to drum his fingers arrhythmically on the kitchen counter. “Don’t exactly got the skill–or ambition, and all those, ya know?” He says.
“Well, Pietro didn’t wanna join initially, did he? But his sister was in, and all that, I thought that that was the reason… and maybe you’ll also…?”
“You know, Kate, SHIELD does have more jobs to offer than ‘being an Avenger,’” Natasha reminds, finally looking away from the TV. “You can be a STRIKE team member, for example.”
“Yeah, STRIKE,” Clint agrees, “low-risk–compared to Avenging. But you can always get a desk job, or be a trainer, maybe.”
Aaron considers his options; what SHIELD offers isn’t much different than the job Will and Ethan mentioned, but the minute differences between the agencies are still something to ponder. As his gaze drifts, Clint subtly takes a deep breath and subtly moves in closer. He straightens his posture and gingerly reaches out a hand, holding it parallel to the top of Aaron’s head, and then slowly moves that hand towards his own face. Natasha’s eyes are turned away once again, but she nonetheless notices and hides a smile behind her next spoonful.
Clint rolls his eyes up to look at his palm, which barely touches the top of his head. He furrows his brows, deciding the first trial inconclusive, and as he’s about to take a Trial 2, he catches Aaron looking at him, holding back a full chortle. Clint drops his arm so fast he slaps it against his thigh, and then, trying to ignore the noise, he takes another sip of his drink and hides his face behind the glass bottle.
“Five-foot-ten.” Aaron gestures to the top of his head. “You?”
Clint makes a face and stalks away back to the kitchen.
“Damnit.”
The room instantly floods with laughter. Aaron looks back at Natasha, who signs “5” and “9” at him, to which he sticks his tongue out.
“So,” the other Avenger in the room says at the end, setting her bowl down on the small table before her, “have you made up your mind yet?”
And Aaron says, “Yeah.” Because New York is a cool place, and it’s far away from… there. From him. He curls his fingers so hard his knuckles turn white, all but forcing himself to say, “I’d love to stay here,” a smile still on his face. This way you won’t have to think about him, he tells himself, and pretends to believe it.
Opposite to him, Kate erupts in cheer, but then immediately pipes down to say, “But, now 3 out of 4 of you brothers work for SHIELD now, right? Wouldn’t it be unfair to that one loner?”
“It’s what he gets for working at an inferior agency!” Clint shouts from across the room. Aaron sighs and rubs his face, although still grinning as well.
When the chaos has died down a little, Natasha says, quietly but sternly, “I’ll try to pull some strings, see what I can do.”
💫
Natasha is absent from the moment Aaron wakes up until the setting sun disappears behind the Brooklyn Bridge, and when she does come back to the apartment, no one dares to stop her and ask questions as she makes her way up to the second floor with a cell phone between her ear and shoulder. Aaron stares blankly at the metal stairs and swallows hard in confusion and maybe even fear, but Clint nods at him with a knowing look, so Aaron decides to trust this long-term partner of hers and accept what fate, in the shape of the Black Widow, has to offer for him.
💫
Kate quite literally jumps when she hears the news. “You’re gonna come work at SHIELD!? That’s- That’s so- That’s awesome!”
“Calm yourself, little birdie. It’s just an interview.” Natasha rolls her eyes, albeit affectionately. “The final decision is yet to be made, and it’s not up to you.”
“But, but it’s still possible, right? At least, more possible than before?” At this point, Kate isn’t making sense anymore, but she doesn’t seem to care. Neither does Aaron; he just shrugs and nods at the same time, a smile on his face. “It’s gonna be so great if you do though! We can all be friends with you!” Kate rambles on, cheeks reddening by the second, “Did you know Natasha can say ‘sorry about my eccentric friend’ in 17 different languages? It's ‘cause Clint always wants to pet strangers’ dogs.”
Aaron scoffs and looks at Clint, who ducks his head shyly as Natasha sighs and runs her hand through his hair. Yeah, Aaron silently adds, and “you’re so single it makes me wanna cry” in every other language.
He exhales, slightly stiff, and turns back to Kate. She now has her back to the rest of them, bouncing on her toes and whispering “yiss yiss yiss” to herself, her excitement flooding the room and, bit by bit, filling Aaron’s chest. “Alright.” He sways on his feet and fumbles a little when extending a hand. “Thanks–thank you, agent–miss… Romanoff…”
“You can say Natasha, it’s fine.” She blinks slowly and wearily and gently shakes his hand.
“And, it’s ‘missus’ to you,” Clint adds, reaching an arm around her waist, chin raised with pride. “Missus Romanoff.”
Aaron scoffs and rolls his eyes. Between suffering the couple’s PDA and Kate’s excited rant, he happily chooses the latter, letting himself be dragged away to explore this very corner of The City that Never Sleeps.