Chapter 1
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Chapter 1: A Dog Day For Clint Barton
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Clint woke up drenched in a cold sweat, his dark blonde hair matted to his forehead. The yellow dog that lay at his feet looked up at him and tilted his head questioningly, but the archer simply leaned foreword and scratched under his chin, a silent way of telling the pooch he was alright. He continued to scratch the dog until it lowered it's head, allowing Clint to lean back against his head board.
He looked to the alarm clock that sat beside his bed on an old nightstand, the old machine that was always 4 minutes late, no matter how much Stark messed with it. The time blinked 3:58am in bright purple, and the archer sighed. "Great..." he muttered, rubbing his eyes with his fists as he sat up completely. "Eight hours earlier than I wanted to be up. Again." This had been the third time this week that nightmares had woken him in the middle of the night, and his work was starting to show for it.
Just the other day, Natasha had had a nasty, mangled, disguising-looking thug on her six, and Clint, being the sleep-deprived asshole he was, nearly missed. Thankfully, he had been able to knock an arrow into the bastard's shoulder before he could do any real damage to the red head, but that didn't make him feel any better.
The blonde slid down his head board until his head rest on his pillow, and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. Everything he owned was in boxes at the moment, the reason being that the Avengers had been invited to stay in Stark's tower and Clint had jumped on the chance to live in a bigger place. So, his X-Box, laptop, and deck of cards were shoved away in some cardboard box, and even he was too lazy to get up and get them out.
Instead, the archer chose to scan the cracks in the ceiling, something he found himself doing more often as the days passed. He had begun making shapes in his head, of various foods, a donut, a milkshake, a slice of pizza, and of various things that were on his mind, Nat, giant alien worm things, Loki. Clint stopped right there, because no thank you, he was NOT going to relive the time he was under that horned freak's control, thank you very much. He sighed, scooping up his hearing aides off the nightstand and putting them in, swinging his feet off the side of the bed and standing up.
Clint put his hands on his back and pushed forward, making his bones pop and sending a wave of relief through his spine. "Well, may as well get something done, rather than sit here and rot until morning." he muttered to himself mostly, though Lucky raised his head again. "Come on, Pizza dog." he said, clapping his hand against his pants leg, (Yes, Clint Barton had passed out in his jeans...) and the dog followed suit. The archer grabbed a dark purple leash off his dresser and shoved it in his pocket, in case anyone saw he and the dog taking a stroll. He then grabbed a grey hoodie and slipped it on, opening the door for the dog and following him out.
The blonde rummaged around in his pockets for his apartment key, pulling it out with a smirk and locking the door behind them. He and Lucky walked down the stairs quietly, as not to wake any of his neighbors. Once they were in the lobby, Clint opened the door again for the dog, and followed him out. The air outside was frigid and windy, normal for a fall night in New York. The pair walked down the sidewalk, the city alive around them as neon signs glowed above diners and billboards shined brightly on the side of skyscrapers.
Clint shoved his hands in his pockets and thought about his dream, more memory than actual dream, and shivered. He blinked and saw himself, firing at the helicarrier, knowing full well of the dozens, if not hundreds, of agents inside the massive transporter. He remembered the whispering in his head, Loki's voice telling him to do unspeakable things, and he finding comfort in the god's words. The archer shuttered at the thought, practically feeling Loki's breath on the back of his neck again. Clint had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed when Lucky wasn't by his side anymore.
He looked down to see his side lacking the pooch, and furrowed his brow. "Lucky?" he said, looking around. They had only walked a few blocks, the dog couldn't have gotten that far. Clint fingered the leash in his pocket, scanning the area for any movement near the ground. "Pizza Dog, come on boy, no more jokes." he called out, biting his lip. Where was that futzing dog?
"Lucky! Here boy, come on! I got something for ya, pal!" he called out, following his words with a whistle. Panic was starting to rise in his throat, thought he'd never admit to it. Clint gave the area another good scan, not spotting anything but a few late night taxis driving through the streets. It wasn't until he heard a loud screech and a thud that his heart sank into his stomach. His eyes widened when he turned around to see a yellow taxi stopped in the middle of the street, the driver climbing out with a look of confusion on his face, mixed with guilt and fear.
Clint picked up speed as he made his way to the car, practically running and bending down in from of the vehicle's bumper. The yellow dog lay in front of it, a soft whine coming from his throat. The hound's leg was bent at an awkward angle, and blood stained the coat around his ear and side. "Lucky-" Clint breathed, tears welling in his eyes. "No..." he said, unable to think straight. His shock turned to anger, and anger to hatred, as he tuned his head to glare daggers into the cab driver. His jaw set, teeth grit, he turned and picked the cab driver up by the collar of his shirt, leaving his feet dangling in the air.
"YOU...." he growled, breathing heavily as his mind was filled with nothing but rage. "You hit my fucking dog!!" he said through gritted teeth, shoving the man backwards so that he tumbled when he his the ground. The man was breathing heavily as well, fear VERY present in his eyes. "I- I'm sorry! I didn't see him! I swear, I didn't mean to!" he said, his eyes shut tight.
However, Clint wasn't listening, instead he had chosen to get back to his four-legged pal, picking him up, (with a whimper from the pooch) and opening the back door of the cab. The archer set Lucky down in the back seat gently, his anger dying down and being replaced once more with fear and sadness. "It's ok pal, sshh... It's ok." he tried cooing to the dog as he shut the door, his breathing ragged as he looked down to see his hoodie covered in blood. He opened the driver's door and climbed in, shutting it and slamming his foot down on the pedal.
He'd done worse than stealing a cab before, and if push came to shove, he'd have Stark or Fury find him a good lawyer.
Clint drove through the practically empty streets of the neighborhood he was in, heading towards a veterinary clinic he and Lucky went to for the dog's shots. The blonde glanced at the clock in the car, the time saying 4:43am. Clint sped up at the sound of a distressed and pained whine from the backseat, trying not to let the tears welling in his eyes blur his vision. "It's ok, Pizza dog- Were gonna get you help..." he muttered, mostly to calm himself down, and turned the corner, driving faster than he'd thought he'd ever gone before.
"Please, just hold on."