Taking Flight (Part 1)
Avengers fanfic, first ever, let me know what you think?
Clint has wings that he’s kept bound and hidden from everyone despite the pain this has caused him. After the events of The Invasion of New York, what is he supposed to do when he finds himself sharing quarters with a certain exhydra assassin? Fall in love apparently.
Or: Author struggles with summaries, Clint has wings, Bucky struggles to face Steve. Shenanigans ensue. (I’m doing my b e s t)
This is the first fic I’m posting online, it is ongoing and I’ve been working on it a lot lately, but hecking, what even is correct formatting???
I hope you guys enjoy what I have here for a first chapter though.
Clint Barton had never pieced together exactly what had been done to him, not in all the years since he’d run from home. His earliest memories that weren’t hazy with fear, were that of the circus.
Hawkeye, The Amazing Winged Boy as he’d been advertised. Done up in purples and black, streaks of glitter caught in his wings, highlighting his bright eyes and complementing the dark mask he wore to conceal his identity, catching the light with every movement.
Every show he’d taken flight, much to the amazement of all, executing complex aerial routines and impressive acrobatic techniques. Pictures with his performance plastered around everywhere they’d gone, the main attraction.
In reality, he’d been nothing more than a skinny underfed boy, parading around and playing as some sideshow freak for profit, struggling to survive. Often the subject of people’s stares and whispers.
He refused to dwell on any earlier memories.
The wings, those made him valuable, useful, and when he finally made the decision to disappear, he hid them.
In the following years, he’d been a hitman. His time at the circus had given him useful skills, and he found he fit into the role easily. His precision with bow and arrow made him deadly, and as his body count rose, his name spread like wildfire, becoming something that was whispered in dark alleys, and at shady back door deals in fear.
Drug lords, corrupt political figures, arms dealers, even other assassins all fell before him, for the right price.
He’d been damn good, until fate caught up with him and he was discovered by SHIELD.
A job gone wrong is what it had been, a set up he hadn’t been able to see at the time. He’d gotten too cocky, comfortable. Thought he was untouchable, invincible even, and so he’d thought nothing of it when he accepted a job to take out a low level dealer. He should’ve looked into it farther, but by the time he was thinking that, he was already cornered by dozens of armed agents, too many to fight his way through.
It all came to an end with him a bit worse for the wear, and cuffed none too gently by a rather severe looking man who didn’t seem too impressed by his preformance.
Looking back on it, it was an unfortunate incident, but one that worked in his favor when he ended up cutting a deal and signing with SHIELD. A low level security clearance and a handler by the name of Phil Coulson, but it had still been better than prison by a longshot.
He blocked out the flashes of memories, of labs, pain, and fear, and moved on as best he could, vowing to not look back, and just enjoy the life he had found with the Avengers.
It was one of those days, after a long difficult mission with Natasha, where the spasms in his back could not longer be ignored.
He’d locked down his room, doors, windows, everything, and set about unbinding the aching appendages that sprouted from his back, praying for a moment of peace so he could get himself back together before anyone came looking for him.
He yanked off his shirt, muscles cramping so badly, he found even the smallest movement agonizing. It was a wonder he managed this long.
Their mission had hit a snag, and stretched on a full week longer than it was originally meant to, longer than he’d gone in such a long time without stretching his wings, but he hadn’t had the time. No one could see.
He’d endured i in silence the entire long, cold week, but now he had to grit his teeth to keep quiet as he struggled to unwind the bandages from his torso.
His ribs hurt, all the bruises and cuts he’d collected from the mission burned, but nothing compared to the painful relief he felt when the bandages pooled around his hips on the edge of the bed, and the pressure was finally removed.
He shifted to extend his wings, wanting to finally let them breathe and give the muscles in his back the opportunity to relax, but at the first move he made, a sharp pain shot up along the top ridge of his wings and through his shoulders, causing him to release a broken gasp, black spots dancing across his vision.
Unable to move at all for several moments, temporarily blinded with pain, all he was able to do was breathe, pulling air in slowly and trying to keep steady. As his vision began to clear, he tried to move again, and was hit by a wave of pure panic.
His wings were only able to give feeble, painful twitches, unable to stretch out fully. What if he’d left them bound for too long this time? What if he could never get them to unfold again?
He tried to shake the worst of the panic from his mind, drawing in a hissing breath through his clenched teeth. Right, no sudden movements, he had to be gentle. One wing at a time then.
The blonde released a tense breath he’d been holding, forcing himself out of his hunched position, struggling to keep his fragile composure. Left wing first he decided.
Unfolding it was a slow painful process, the bones felt like they were going to snap, but he kept the gentle pressure, shuddering with the effort, sweat breaking out on his skin.
He was shaking by the time it was fully extended, struggling to draw in air as blood flow resumed through the limb. He waited until he was sure he was no longer in danger of passing out before he repeated the process with the second one.
He found himself slumped forward, gasping for air when he’d finished, the sweat cooling rapidly on his overheated skin.
With the wings extended and somewhat more comfortable, he found the knots in his back much more noticeable. The muscles continuing to clench, spasms causing him to twitch, muffled curses falling from his lips.
All he could do was slowly roll his shoulders and hope the worst of them would work themselves out. It was too difficult to reach his hands back to knead at the knots, his wings limited his movement and the pain made him reluctant to try.
A defeated sigh fell from his lips, as he rested his elbows on his knees, glaring down at the offending appendage where it rested on the bed to his right. How did he ever get to this point?
The feathers broken and ruffled, sticking up at odd angles. It almost made him sad, seeing the state they were in. They’d been strong and beautiful, once. Pure white, hints of what looked like lavender in the primary feathers when they were in the sun, or under stage lights. He didn’t have the time to care for them now, not when he was so concerned with keeping them hidden. And so they remained broken and rumpled. It felt like there was nothing he could do about it now.
He knew he couldn’t spend long locked down in his room. He only allowed himself a few more minutes before he pulled them close, setting out with the painful process of rebinding them flat to his spine once more. Everything in him protested the action, but he forced himself through it, knowing he could take more time in the night to leave them out.
He got it done in record time, shrugging his worn purple shirt back on, setting out to see what everyone else was up to.
He could already smell something amazing drifting through the tower. It was Bruce’s night to cook, and he wouldn’t miss that even if he were dying.
Thoughts fractured, between the pain, and the promise of food, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t notice the presence before it was too late.
