Prompt: “I’m not wearing that.”
For some reason this one inspired me to do kid!Clint
“I’m not wearing that.” With his arms obstinately crossed, Clint set his jaw in a stubborn line just to be sure Jacques knew how serious he was.
Jacques’ brow arched and Clint’s mentor took measured steps towards him, the bright purple costume clenched in his hand. Clint stiffened as Jacques drew closer, but held his ground. Jacques could be a bastard and he wasn’t shy about raising his hand for punishment when he thought it warranted.
But he wasn’t Phillip Jacobs. No stray backhand to the mouth for being a smart ass or sharp cuff to the back of the head for lack of focus would ever measure up to what Jacobs had put him through. Jacques thought Clint was intimidated by him because Clint let him think that.
But Clint wasn’t afraid of Jacques, not even a little.
Jacques’ hand settled heavily on the curve between Clint’s shoulder and neck, fingers tightening until the pain was there but it wasn’t debilitating.
“You will wear this,” Jacques corrected firmly. “Or you won’t perform.”
Clint glowered at him.
“If you don’t perform,” Jacques went on, fingers still digging into Clint’s skin, “then the crowds will be disappointed. Then they won’t buy tickets and everyone at Carson’s will suffer for it. Do you really want to be responsible for that?”
“You’re a bastard, Jacques,” Clint grumbled, snatching the new costume irritably out of his mentor’s hand.
The Frenchman chuckled mockingly and patted the side of Clint’s face. Clint pulled away irritably.
“Good boy,” Jacques mocked.
Clint bit back the retort he wanted to fire back and stalked out of the tent. Jacques may not even be in the same league as Jacobs, but that didn’t mean Clint liked getting hit.
“I like it.”
Clint rolled his eyes and snatched the flashy mask out of Brit’s hands.
“You would,” he shot back.
Brit chuckled at Clint’s expense and then softened.
“I think you would too if you stopped to think about it.”
Clint narrowed his eyes, meeting Brit’s gaze.
“What do you mean?” he asked warily.
Brit’s eyes lifted from where they were focused on Clint’s mouth and the acrobat motioned for the mask. Clint handed it over and watched warily as Brit circled behind him. He jumped when the mask suddenly settled over his eyes and frowned as Brit tied it in place.
His friend circled back in front of him and waved a hand towards the mirror across the tent. Clint obediently stepped up to the mirror and stared at himself.
Blue gray eyes hidden beneath a flashy layer of purple and black. A block letter ‘H’ emblazoned on his forehead in bright, crisp white.
“Behind a mask, you can be anyone you want,” Brit explained, stepping up behind him and looking at the reflection over Clint’s shoulder.
“You mean I don’t have to be Clint anymore?” he asked quietly. He used his hands to sign the words as well, saving Brit from having to read his reflections’ lips.
Sometimes he wanted to leave Clint behind. Clint who jumped at unexpected touches. Clint who overcompensated his toughness with Jacques to prove to Jacques and himself that he wasn’t afraid of him. Clint who hated hundreds of strangers staring at him and leaving him nowhere to hide. Clint who still had nightmares about the bastard Phillip Jacobs and who childishly still wished for his parents to come back.
Brit shrugged.
"I happen to like Clint, but if he wanted to take a break, with this mask and that costume you could become someone else for while.”
“Who?”
Brit reached around and tapped the H on Clint’s mask.
“I’m thinking Hawkeye is a good start, just as long as you don’t forget how amazing the kid behind the mask is.”
Clint smirked.
“How about The Amazing Hawkeye?”
