Stars Who Don't Shine:

Everything had been going so well. That was Clint's mistake - believing that the path would be full of smooth dirt roads and flowers and rainbows. Add in a violent thunderstorm, elevated rocks at a sixty-five degree angle, and go ahead and trample those flowers to shreds.

"I just can't seem to miss!"

It reminded him of those 'Choose-Your-Adventure' books that Barney used to read back when they were young. You would make a choice, flip to the right page, and hope it turned out alright. Spoiler alert: it usually doesn't - same with real life. Riddles were always tricky to solve, but never impossible. Clint was starting to suspect that his life was an actual unsolvable puzzle, a puzzle that kept shifting and twisting in circles. He'd never get the pieces in place.

The next few weeks were quite exhausting, and that goes for everyone in the circus. They were constantly up and packing, ready to hop towns at a moment's notice. Carson was booking shows in all sorts of places, mainly big towns or cities such as Cincinnati , Pittsburgh, Manitowoc, and even some place in Indiana that Clint couldn't pronounce properly.

Traveling that far was really taking a toll on the caravan too. The wheels had always been squeaky, but now it sounded like an excited mouse twenty-four seven. If Carson noticed, he didn't let on. Hell, every stop made it nearly impossible to set up the Exchange tent. He liked it better that way, no Exchange - no thief or shady business.

Right now, everyone was judging the crowd of people standing outside the main entrance. The tent had been set up this time around, mainly because it was a double show being held in whatever place they were at. Maybe somewhere in Virginia for all Clint knew. He didn't actually know or care for any sort of geography.

His eyes glossed over the finished product of the posters from earlier this month. Nowadays, it actually had an artist rendering, or drawing, of Hawkeye and his bow. The quiver and mask looked pretty stupid, Clint thought. Do I really look like that?

The lack of multiple colors other than the primary set was a little disorienting as well as - no purple to really represent Hawkeye. That was Clint's favorite color, so he clearly wasn't that happy with it.

But no matter how crude the poster was, everyone across the country wanted to see the Amazing Hawkeye perform like a circus animal trapped behind bars; a hawk in purple spandex. Sounded like quite a sight, Clint thought.

He wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve, noting how stuffy it felt. Clint wasn't sure whether it was because of the constant humidity and heat, or if all the traveling had made him sick. He leaned toward the latter option - a break sounded nice right now. The other part of him cursed himself for having such stupid thoughts. The show needed a Hawkeye as much as the sun had the moon. They relied on each other, and the proof was scattered across the calendar page for this month, the one Carson always had with him or inside the desk drawer.

Clint could barely keep his eyes open. He was too tired and rundown from the constant action of drawing back that same thin string...Clint just wanted to sink into the grass he was laying on and disappear. But it didn't take a genius to know it was impossible to melt into blades of grass.

Wait, grass? Clint sat up so quick that his vision started swimming. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on maintaining a decent amount of energy. The boy didn't remember collapsing to the ground, but he figured that was what had happened.

"Oof," Natasha joked.

Clint didn't meant to fall asleep, but the grass was really comfortable and warm after long exposure to the summer sun...he felt himself loose the battle with exhaustion and slip into a deep sleep.

Falling. He felt himself falling. It felt like mist and shimmered and shined, so Clint worked up the courage to open his eyes.

Suddenly, he wasn't falling and felt a little nauseous. The white circling him and dancing about faded into spectral dust, disappearing into literal thin air. Clint took a deep breath and studied his surroundings. A flat topped hill sat alone to his right, unlike the other areas which were lined with rolling hills going up and down. He couldn't see any sort of sun, but he somehow knew it was around the evening.

The flat topped hill seemed to glow. Clint knew he was supposed to go there and shine with it, but he hesitated. Something felt wrong. Something wasn't right. Something bad was about to happen. Clint doesn't remember walking up the hill, but that's where his feet seemed to be taking him. It was almost like he were a piece of metal being sucked in by a strong magnet, or a large black hole was brought down upon the landscape to destroy it.

The hill was pretty small, so Clint reached the top in a matter of seconds. Panting, he barely managed to keep his footing. He didn't like falling any more than necessary - which Clint really hoped wasn't often.

"Clint," someone whispered solemnly, "you have to leave."

He whipped his head around frantically, searching for the mysterious voice. "What?" There was nobody he could see.

"Leave while you have the chance." It almost sounded similar to Barney, Clint noted. Maybe the voice cared about him? But the other part of him insisted that it couldn't be Barney by that logic.

The scene shifted into the area where Clint had first picked up Buck's bow. He stood there in the same exact spot and position, but it was like he couldn't move. Clint panicked - being controlled like this was almost as bad as falling or arguing with Annie.

He mindlessly let the arrow fly towards the familiar target board. The trajectory looked nearly perfect, exactly as it had when Clint had actually been there. The fletching was just a blur in air.

Clint winced as if he were stung by a bee when he saw how it wasn't a bullseye this time; the Not-so-amazing Hawkeye.

➳

Clint woke up suddenly.

His teammates glanced at each other. They all recognized signs of nightmares, having experienced an abundance during and before their time as superheroes.

He opened his mouth to say something to himself, but then closed it.

"Hey, look," Tony said. "Guess he's more sane than we thought."

Steve snorted. "What a nice surprise."

Clint eyed his bow sitting next to him. He had to remind himself that this wasn't where he'd first picked it up - Clint could control everything just fine. He'd be able to correct the dream mistakes and live happily ever after. Except those are only in fairy-tales, and this was never going to be one of those stupid stories for dimwitted children.

Picking up the bow, he went to the stage and ran up to the platform. Clint murmured his introduction, always yelled by Carson, before drawing back the string and loosing the arrow...only for it to miss the target by an inch.

"Ha!" Natasha smirked. Steve would've smacked her on the shoulder, but he was kind of scared of her, more so than he'd ever admit. There was also another feeling Steve had for her, but he would also never admit anything.

Not to panic, but Clint panicked. He didn't even bother to collect the arrow before loosing another. It landed just beside the bullseye - which wasn't good enough. Again and again. Missing the target over and over.

Showtime came before he was ready.

Clint could hardly hear the roaring. He didn't comprehend anything Carson was screaming at them. The words went in one ear and right out the other. Instead, all he heard was the inevitable boos and jeers Clint would get when his arrow missed the target by a foot.

Nock, draw, loose!

Point proven when Clint ran out a second later, hands shaking like he was in a band and played in front of everyone at a really fast tempo (true story cough cough), and sweat already ran down his neckline. Aaaand then he missed. Exactly like he'd done it in the dream. The Not-so-amazing Hawkeye.

Hawkeye thought about the slogan line used in all the ads: I just can't seem to miss! Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?

Because Clinton Barton missed his target.

The audience still cheered, dumbfounded to the fact that the arrow was lodged right next to the bullseye. The blue and red and yellow paint marking the center seemed to glow and Clint clenched his fists tightly. He didn't like being mocked and that's what it looked like the bullseye was doing. Carson's face was unreadable, but his usual ear to ear grin faltered. His beady black eyes appeared to briefly flash in anger - Clint hoped he was merely seeing things.

Hawkeye finished his routine upstage before returning to the back area. Annie congratulated him and Eddie patted his shoulder, only contributing to the sinking feeling in Clint's gut. Barney was absent; that's that. No you did great, kiddo! or woohoo, Clint! Hell, not even any sort of acknowledgement.

Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind and gripped his ear tightly.

"What the hell?" Clint practically shrieked. He couldn't turn around enough to tell who it was, but the smell of alcohol was usually a dead giveaway to being either Buck, Jacques, Carson, or his brother. "Let. Me. Go!"

Natasha stifled a laugh, unlike a cackling billionaire. "Baby."

"Well," an Australian accented voice replied, "I was honestly expecting a better welcome than this, ay?"

Clint turned the corner of his nostrils up. "Wherever you've been, it must've been important."

"What gave you that idea?" Buck muttered and continued to lead the younger archer down the field towards the caravan.

"It's important enough to miss your shows." Clint shrugged as best as he could while being forcefully dragged. "Besides, you normally don't let me hold onto your bow unless I'm practicing."

Steve blinked. "Sounds like Clint now." Tony mouthed a silent agreement.

"Okay, fair point."

Clint smirked. "You gonna tell me where you've been?"

"Unimportant," Buck said quickly. "But I kinda regret it since you just keep digging yourself into a deeper and deeper hole." He made exasperated hand gestures. "And, I think you make a great Hawkeye."

Clint raised an eyebrow in confusion. Buck didn't answer him until they'd walked a few feet past the Exchange. The younger archer finally managed to loosen Buck's grip, breaking free.

"Explain."

Buck raised his hands in surrender. "First-"

"No."

"But - LEMME FUCKING FINISH, BARTON - Carson is going to find us. Neither of us are stupid, we both know you missed and I'm tryin' to help you out."

Clint snorted. "So your definition of helping is to grab people by the ear and bring them somewhere random?" He rubbed his reddened ear. "I can get by just fine on my own.

"Mate, no! Carson's gonna-" Clint didn't hear what he said, but instead invested his energy into running away from Buck. He didn't care about his brother's friends.

He didn't notice where he was going until Clint practically went into the belly of the beast. Carson was waiting for him in the Exchange. "Barton."

Clint remembered Buck's warning and hesitated. Carson lunged forward and Clint, once again, got gripped by the ear.

Tony winced. "Ouch."

"You missed. Hawkeye missed the bullseye."

Clint laughed, but there was no real joy in it. "You think I couldn't tell that?" He snapped, fighting hard to keep tears from appearing at the corners of his eyes.

Carson suddenly slapped the boy hard on the cheek. A red hand print remained there and stung as the air blew directly on it. Clint finally let the tears fall. "If you already know, then you know what a disapproving little piece of shit you are!"

Steve was about to say what they were all thinking, but then something even stranger than Dr. Strange happened. The memory cut off and showed a distorted image, fading to white and navy colors. It reminded all three Avengers of when they'd first experienced this phenomenon of viewing memories.

"Wh - e - fuc-?" Someone said, but it was close to impossible to tell who it was.