Avengers (2012): "Waking Up (5/6)" (Gen, Pre-Clint/Natasha)
Title: Waking Up (5/6)
Author/Artist: Koren M. (cybermathwitch)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there'd already be a Black Widow/Hawkeye movie.
Pairing: Gen (pre-Clint/Natasha)
Rating: R
Warnings: adult themes, violence, mentions of terrorism, bombing, and non-graphic mentions of harm to children
Spoilers: none
Type: Completed
Word Count: 701
Summary: Everyone starts somewhere. Everyone has a beginning. Everyone is made up of their experiences. Everyone wakes up. Part of "The Weight of Us": the moments leading up to "Shot in the Dark".
Author's Notes:
Many many thanks to kadollan for the beta on the final version of this thing, and thanks to lar_laughs, SidheRa, and anuna_81 for looking over earlier versions of this material.
RE: WARNINGS - PLEASE READ: These are moments from Clint and Natasha's past, the early memories (or lack there-of) that lead up to Shot in the Dark. As you can imagine, bad things happened. Nothing is terribly graphic (no more graphic than things that happened in Shot in the Dark, anyway, I don't think) - but please use your best judgement when reading. If you have any questions about the warnings, please leave me a comment or shoot me an email (I'm cybermathwitch(at)gmail(dot)com) and I'll do my best to answer them.
Warnings are specific to the chapter they're listed on, and while each chapter is a piece of the puzzle, there's not a linear narrative, so each chapter makes sense on it's own if you feel you need or want to skip one.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
September, 1997 ~ LOCATION REDACTED
The mission was fucking textbook. A lone bomber taking hostages in a school, using the children and teachers as human shields and as a way to get the attention of the world and the authorities - it was a scenario he’d seen run a hundred fucking times, and he knew the procedure in his sleep. His spotter was already in place, and they’d put him on the roof with the best vantage point of the classroom, because they knew he wouldn't miss and he was their best chance of ending it with the least loss of life.
There was a bomb expert looking over the scene, trying to see from about 30 feet away what kind of explosives and rigging the guy’d set up, and he was relaying the information back to everyone with an ear piece. Clint was listening as well as watching because he knew how high the goddamn stakes were, he could see the children huddling frightened at the bomber's feet.
Ever since he'd taken his place on the adjacent roof, he'd felt like something was off, something about the shot wasn't good. His visibility was um-impeded, and he knew he could make it without any hitting any of the kids, but it just felt wrong.
The bomber wasn't interested in being talked down, and at the 10 hour mark, as his agitation increased, Clint heard his commanding officer give the signal to set up the shot. He questioned it, out loud over the main channel even though it was completely inappropriate, because it still didn’t feel right and was informed in no uncertain terms that he’d follow orders when given or he’d be court martialed and stripped of every rank he’d ever earned. So he'd put his finger on the trigger and fired when he was told to, even as his stomach twisted in on itself in warning.
The explosion literally threw him to the far side of the roof, and the crack to the head he received was bad enough it knocked him out for two days.
When he woke up, he had two MPs hovering at the door to his room, and a JAG coming in to tell him that the bomber had a dead man’s switch that went off right after the bullet - his bullet - went through the guy’s head. Because shit rolls down hill, and he was conveniently placed at the bottom, ready to take the brunt of the fall-out coming from the fledgling government over the death of so many innocents, he was the one to blame. The recordings of what had actually been said during the op were conveniently destroyed in the blast, and a concerned General had explained patiently before the private inquiry board that a cocky and brash young sniper had gone off spec and shot before they could ascertain the full scope of the situation.
They'd pulled up other information, too - some of the less than savory things his unit had done both on and off duty, because hell, they weren't hired to be angels, after all. Most of it was true, some of it was painted to look maybe a little bit worse than it had really been, or maybe his perspective had just been fucked up. Who really knew?
Because he was Black Ops, no one actually knew he existed (officially) he'd been sent to Leavenworth after a mockery of a trial, his name replaced with a number. A fitting end, he thought to himself, for a no-account piece of carnival trash.
He’d entirely resigned himself to another forty or fifty years (at least) of the same cell, different guards who are still all the same, and living without a name. Because the other prisoners needed something to call him besides a number, he'd fallen back on the name from his old carnival act, and told them to just call him Hawkeye. He liked that it reminded him of who he used to be, even while he was going slowly insane from the confinement.
Then, four months to the day that he checked in to the military prison, Agent Phil Coulson of SHIELD checked him out.
Author/Artist: Koren M. (cybermathwitch)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there'd already be a Black Widow/Hawkeye movie.
Pairing: Gen (pre-Clint/Natasha)
Rating: R
Warnings: adult themes, violence, mentions of terrorism, bombing, and non-graphic mentions of harm to children
Spoilers: none
Type: Completed
Word Count: 701
Summary: Everyone starts somewhere. Everyone has a beginning. Everyone is made up of their experiences. Everyone wakes up. Part of "The Weight of Us": the moments leading up to "Shot in the Dark".
Author's Notes:
Many many thanks to kadollan for the beta on the final version of this thing, and thanks to lar_laughs, SidheRa, and anuna_81 for looking over earlier versions of this material.
RE: WARNINGS - PLEASE READ: These are moments from Clint and Natasha's past, the early memories (or lack there-of) that lead up to Shot in the Dark. As you can imagine, bad things happened. Nothing is terribly graphic (no more graphic than things that happened in Shot in the Dark, anyway, I don't think) - but please use your best judgement when reading. If you have any questions about the warnings, please leave me a comment or shoot me an email (I'm cybermathwitch(at)gmail(dot)com) and I'll do my best to answer them.
Warnings are specific to the chapter they're listed on, and while each chapter is a piece of the puzzle, there's not a linear narrative, so each chapter makes sense on it's own if you feel you need or want to skip one.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
September, 1997 ~ LOCATION REDACTED
The mission was fucking textbook. A lone bomber taking hostages in a school, using the children and teachers as human shields and as a way to get the attention of the world and the authorities - it was a scenario he’d seen run a hundred fucking times, and he knew the procedure in his sleep. His spotter was already in place, and they’d put him on the roof with the best vantage point of the classroom, because they knew he wouldn't miss and he was their best chance of ending it with the least loss of life.
There was a bomb expert looking over the scene, trying to see from about 30 feet away what kind of explosives and rigging the guy’d set up, and he was relaying the information back to everyone with an ear piece. Clint was listening as well as watching because he knew how high the goddamn stakes were, he could see the children huddling frightened at the bomber's feet.
Ever since he'd taken his place on the adjacent roof, he'd felt like something was off, something about the shot wasn't good. His visibility was um-impeded, and he knew he could make it without any hitting any of the kids, but it just felt wrong.
The bomber wasn't interested in being talked down, and at the 10 hour mark, as his agitation increased, Clint heard his commanding officer give the signal to set up the shot. He questioned it, out loud over the main channel even though it was completely inappropriate, because it still didn’t feel right and was informed in no uncertain terms that he’d follow orders when given or he’d be court martialed and stripped of every rank he’d ever earned. So he'd put his finger on the trigger and fired when he was told to, even as his stomach twisted in on itself in warning.
The explosion literally threw him to the far side of the roof, and the crack to the head he received was bad enough it knocked him out for two days.
When he woke up, he had two MPs hovering at the door to his room, and a JAG coming in to tell him that the bomber had a dead man’s switch that went off right after the bullet - his bullet - went through the guy’s head. Because shit rolls down hill, and he was conveniently placed at the bottom, ready to take the brunt of the fall-out coming from the fledgling government over the death of so many innocents, he was the one to blame. The recordings of what had actually been said during the op were conveniently destroyed in the blast, and a concerned General had explained patiently before the private inquiry board that a cocky and brash young sniper had gone off spec and shot before they could ascertain the full scope of the situation.
They'd pulled up other information, too - some of the less than savory things his unit had done both on and off duty, because hell, they weren't hired to be angels, after all. Most of it was true, some of it was painted to look maybe a little bit worse than it had really been, or maybe his perspective had just been fucked up. Who really knew?
Because he was Black Ops, no one actually knew he existed (officially) he'd been sent to Leavenworth after a mockery of a trial, his name replaced with a number. A fitting end, he thought to himself, for a no-account piece of carnival trash.
He’d entirely resigned himself to another forty or fifty years (at least) of the same cell, different guards who are still all the same, and living without a name. Because the other prisoners needed something to call him besides a number, he'd fallen back on the name from his old carnival act, and told them to just call him Hawkeye. He liked that it reminded him of who he used to be, even while he was going slowly insane from the confinement.
Then, four months to the day that he checked in to the military prison, Agent Phil Coulson of SHIELD checked him out.