Purple with the sleeves cut off
Title: Purple with the sleeves cut off
Rating: PG
Warnings: Homophobia, mentions of past child abuse.
Summary: Based off of this prompt: As much as I love the "Steve and Tony stand up for their right to be in love in the face of hatred from America" fics, I've never seen one where Clint's the one who comes out and get the backlash. Can I get some "Hawkeye gets outed and America takes it badly" fic? Hey! I'd even take "America suddenly loves him and his boyfriend gets jealous" fic!
Coulson/Clint is my OTP, but if inspiration strikes with one (or more) of the other guys,have at! I love them all!
They were still down there.
From the windows of the 53rd floor, they didn’t look like anything but specks of colorful dust or maybe ants. To Hawkeye, and they did call him Hawkeye for a reason, he could see so much more. They had bright purple signs with ‘GOD HATES FAGS’ and ‘YOU’RE GOING TO HELL’ on them. Those were the ones he could read from the window at least. There were more signs with smaller text and painted on orange flames behind the words that he couldn’t make out.
Technically they were across the street, in the park. And the park was public property. And as long as they left at the end of the day and didn’t camp out like those Occupy protesters they were allowed to be there. Tony had threatened to go out in his suit and scare them off, and Nat had attempted to call for SHIELD back-up to arrest them, or detain them, or just generally shoo them away. Clint had told them both not to bother, that it wasn’t worth it.
“Clint stop watching them.” Coulson scolded.
“I’m not watching them; I’m looking out the window.” He pulled away from the window pane and wandered back into the bedroom. He felt itchy, like he had eyes on him or something. He hated knowing they were down there. He took his frustration out on Phil snapping at him. “Am I not allowed to look out the window anymore? Am I going to go to hell for looking out windows too?”
Phil frowned. He hated this conversation. They’d been having the same one over and over and over again since the protesters had shown up, and Phil just couldn’t win. He was treading on thin ground. It was a touchy subject, and he knew it.
A long time ago in the very beginnings of their relationship Clint had told Phil the sordid tale of his first kiss. His first real kiss. He was eight, and an older boy at the orphanage had pulled him into the closet and shoved his tongue down Clint’s throat. They were caught by the Matron and Clint said he was beaten so bad he couldn’t sit down for a whole week. Somehow Phil didn’t think that was an exaggeration either.
Clint was made to recite bible verses till his voice was so raw he couldn’t speak, throat so swollen he couldn’t swallow. He was made to write them over and over until his hand cramped, and he wasn’t very good at writing but the Mother was a stickler for penmanship. None of this was because he’d been caught kissing, but because he’d been caught kissing another boy. The Matron had drilled the whole ‘eternal damnation’ and ‘dirty little sinner’ thing into an impressionable eight year old’s mind and it had stuck.
Clint didn’t have any real song sense of church or religion anymore, but he had confessed to Phil that he was worried beyond reason about going to hell.
That had hurt.
The ‘being with you means life in the pit’ talk. It wasn’t a nice one where Phil felt like he was worth it for Clint to throw all his fears away, it was a terrible one where Clint was inches away from calling it quits. It ended in a breakdown, and tears.
That had been years ago though. Years and years. Phil thought they were passed that. They had worked passed it. Then the protesters appeared, taking over the park, yelling at cars that passed by, holding up those awful signs and all the terrible pain had been dredged up again.
“Clint. Don’t let them get to you.” Phil reached out to catch Clint’s hand, and Clint stiffened for a second like he wanted to pull away.
He didn’t pull away though, he curled closer to Phil. “I’m sorry for being mad. I just… yeah they’re getting to me.”
“C’mon. Let me make you breakfast. We’ll talk about it.” Phil stood up from where he was sitting at the end of the bed and hugged Clint because he looked like he needed it.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Clint muffled into Phil’s shoulder, so Phil just nodded.
“Okay. Then let me make you breakfast.”
Phil and Clint stood holding each other and hugging for a while in quiet silence. Clint got that feeling like eyes on the back of his head again because he knew those stupid protesters were down there, just outside the windows and eventually he pulled away. He kept his hand linked with Phil’s though and nodded towards the door.
Together they took the elevator up to the common area and the doors opened to the scene of Tony and Steve on the couch, looking pensive up at the mounted flatscreen on the wall. Bruce was there too. He stood in the door way, also watching the tv over the brim of his tea mug, slowly shaking his head.
“These are the men my children are supposed to be looking up to...” A voice from the TV was saying. “I don’t want my little boy looking at this Hawkguy saying ‘I want to be just like him daddy’, that ain’t right.”
“Mute.” Tony told Jarvis when he saw who was in the elevator. It was a little too late though, Clint had already heard.
“I don’t think I’m hungry.” He told Phil in a small voice, leaning against the back wall of the lift.
He looked terrible. He really did. Clint usually held himself with this ridiculous air of confidence. He was a showboater and a show off and he did silly, cheesy things to make people laugh. He wasn’t doing any of that now, though. He looked small and sad and it didn’t suit him.
“Clint…” Steve stood up from where he was sitting like he had something to say, like he was going to make one of his famous speeches. He faltered though, and frowned. The longer he waited the more the silence stretched and the worse the wait seemed. “You know we’re all here for you. You and Phil.”
Phil surged forward then, out of the elevator, dragging an unwilling Clint along behind him. Something must have made up his mind because out of nowhere he said “We’re going to go out for a while.”
“Woah. What?” Tony gave Phil a look. “Out the front door? Are you crazy? Those protesters are being royal assholes…” his vision shifted to Clint then and he stifled himself. “You, uh, you guys should use the service exit around back.”
That made Clint feel worse somehow. Not just the having to use the service exit thing, but because now Tony was taking pity on him. Tony wasn’t one for taking pity on people. Not usually. Barton suddenly felt like crying, and everyone must have seen it because they were all looking back at him with the saddest expressions on their faces.
Clint didn’t even remember leaving the tower. He just remembered Phil pulling him along. They took the service elevator instead of the main one like Tony had suggested. When they were down on the ground floor they slipped out the back of the tower. Phil made an extra effort to hold onto Clint’s hand, squeezing their fingers tight. They were unnoticed as they left, and thankfully undisturbed on their walk.
That was until they paused six blocks away from the tower at a street corner to cross.
It wasn’t that anyone said anything to them, or did anything. To be honest Phil didn’t even see it. He was too busy watching the light, waiting for it to turn. When it did he carried on with his pulling, tugging for Clint to cross with him.
Clint didn’t budge, and Phil turned back to see what he was doing.
There was a news stand about ten feet away from them. There were the usual newspapers and normal magazines, but there was a wrack dedicated to the really trashy ones too. In Touch, and OK!, and Star. The ones with big yellow headlines and the ugliest photos they can find. Clint was on about half of them. His sweaty face was plastered across Star’s main page. It must have been after a particularly taxing mission because he looked like a real mess. The headline read ‘GAYVENGER‘S SECRET ROMANCE!’
Clint didn’t even say anything. He just stood looking at his own face on the cover of the tabloid in disconcerted discouragement. His forehead wrinkled up with worry lines and his eyes were shiny with tears like he was about to honestly cry.
Phil didn’t say a word either. He latched on to the whole of Clint’s bare arm and tugged him along in earnest, forcing him to turn away from it.
They kept walking. They found a different park, one far away from the tower without any protesters in it. They circled it once, twice. They walked in silence, completing the circuit over and over. Phil gave Clint’s the time he needed to clear his head and think.
Eventually Clint came back around to him. After the sixth or seventh lap he lifted his eyes, and he was inadvertently giving a puppy dog expression that made Phil’s heart melt. “Where are we going?”
“We’re walking in the park.” Phil told him.
“Like a normal couple who aren’t going to hell, huh?” Clint may or may not have been trying to make a joke. It was hard to tell. He just seemed sad.
“…Yes.” Phil said back to him earnestly.
“Phil…”
“Clint.” Phil interrupted him. “Baby. We’ve gone through this. You’ve punished yourself enough, and you know that. You should be happy. You need to be happy.”
“I am happy.” Clint said, sounding very far from happy.
“I’m sorry people are assholes. You didn’t deserve to be outed like that…” Despite the fact that Phil and Clint were in a relationship together, it was Clint that the tabloids cared about. No one seemed to care about Phil yet, and maybe they would eventually, but it was everyone’s sixth favorite Avenger taking the grunt of it. “You don’t deserve to be bullied or taunted by those protesters either. I love you, Clint. I’m a man, and you’re a man and we love each other. That isn’t a bad thing, that’s the best thing.”
Clint swallowed, and nodded.
“I know it’s tough for you. But I also know this will all blow over, and this will get easier. If you want to be sad for a while, you can be sad for a while…”
Clint squeezed his fingers then, so Phil paused.
“Okay stop it.” Clint said, cracking his first smile. The first smile since the original article had been published online. The first smile since the protesters showed up. It was tiny, and strained, but it was still a smile. “You’re being too nice to me.”
“I love you. Being nice is just part of the job.”
Clint stopped them walking and leaned over to wrap Phil up in a big hug. “I love you too, you know that?” Clint whispered into Phil’s neck. “No matter what that means, I love you.”
Clint’s stomach gurgled then, interrupting what would otherwise be considered a beautiful moment.
“C’mon.” Phil laughed at him. “Let’s get breakfast.”
“I think It’s going to be lunch now.” Clint said in reply.
They held hands again as they started for a nearby diner. They hadn’t been to this one before. There was a local place closer to the tower that they frequented but it would be nice to try something new. The diner was a bit of a throwback honestly, the booths were actually red vinyl and there was a counter with swivel stools cased in silver. The menus had frayed edges, but it kind of added to their charm.
Phil and Clint both ordered breakfast, and ate quietly. They knocked their feet together under the table and Clint was starting to look more and more like himself. He was always a little happier after a full meal, and the general sense of doom and gloom dissipated. He even offered to pay when they got their check.
It was the kind of place where customers had to take their bill up to the counter, so Clint went. There was a kid working behind the cash register, no older than eighteen. He had to be at least eighteen because he was wearing a purple shirt with the sleeves hacked off, and on his shoulder there was a beautiful tattoo of Saint Michael on his arm.
“Nice ink…” Clint complimented in awe, handing over his bill and the money to pay it.
“Yeah, hah.” The kid was focused on his task, ringing Clint out. He subconsciously flexed his muscle anyway. “Ole Mike, my best friend man. He’s gotten me through so much shit.”
Clint knew about Saint Michael through Phil. Apparently he was the patron saint of law enforcement, and held a special place in the minds and hearts of most military. Even though Phil himself was hardly religious, he had battle buddies in the Rangers who said payers to Michael before they waded into firefights or whenever shit went down.
“That’s really cool.” Clint said earnestly.
The cashier handed Clint his change and had his mouth open to say something else when he stalled. He locked on to Clint’s shirt… purple with the sleeves cut off… and he must have realized they matched.
“Hey. Dude. You’re part of the whole solidarity thing too huh?” He looked up at Clint’s face and smiled.
“…What?” Clint had no idea what that meant.
“Yeah man. The Avenger that just came out? A bunch of people are wearing purple shirts like him in support.”
Clint kind of just stood for a moment, not sure what to make of that. He floundered for words. “…Are they really?”
The kid laughed. “I guess you’re not part of it? Yeah, my sister’s really into the whole Avengers thing, her girlfriend and her both are. I don’t know. Apparently the one with the bow and arrow just came out of the closet. There are protesters outside of Stark Tower right now, and it’s total bullshit so we’re all wearing purple with the sleeves cut off - which I guess is something he does - you know, just to show we have his back. Dude, you’re kind of a walking symbol for equality right now wearing that, I hope you’re okay with it.”
“No that’s… that’s really awesome.” Clint felt like crying. Again. But for a whole different reason this time. He wanted to reach across the counter and give this guy a huge hug. This… this was amazing. This actually made him feel better.
“Apparently, get this. You know when those squid things attacked Staten Island a few months ago? And that biker bar went up in flames?”
Clint felt kind of dazed. “Yeah,” His voice came out a higher pitched than normal and a tad hysterical sounding. “How could I forget that?” He’d been there after all.
“Right well apparently the Avengers hauled off and saved like twenty Hell’s Angels or something. Like Bikes and everything.” Clint nodded.
The bikes had been Tony and Steve’s doing of course. After the alien threat was neutralized and the bikers were safe, it wasn’t even a question for them. Clint guessed that made sense, they both rode their own motorcycles. They carried these bikers’ rides in their arms like they were carrying toys and even enlisted Thor’s help to make sure the choppers didn’t go up in flames with the bar.
The cashier drew a breath before he continued, “The rumor is that a couple of those bikers were Patriot Guard guys are they’re going to go ward off the protesters at the tower. It’s going to be great.”
Clint didn’t even know what ‘Patriot Guard guys’ were, but he got the general concept of bikers showing up in his defense and his heart kind of warmed over that some tough ass biker dudes wanted to stick up for some random gay guy they didn’t even know. “That’s… what are they? The Patriot Guard?”
“Our cook knows more about it than I do.” The cashier turned, calling out to the back kitchen. “Hey Nicky, what’s the deal with the Patriot Guard again?”
“Riders!” A disembodied voice came floating from the back of the kitchen. “Patriot Guard Riders! They show up when that asshole church protests funerals to keep’em from harassing the dead folk’s parents. Scary looking fuckers…” The voice traveled the length of the kitchen, loud enough to be heard. Clint listened to the way it approached the swinging door that lead into the back and watched the owner of the voice pause for a second when he came through the doorway.
“Holy shit.” The cook did a dead stop, eyes wide. “You’re him.”
It took a second for Clint to realize he was ‘him’. Normally he was more on the ball than this but he was kind of in a daze right now.
“You’re the dude. You’re the Hawkeye.”
Clint smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Yeah. Hi. I liked the pancakes.”
The cashier lit up at once too, recognizing what he hadn’t seen before. “Oh my god. No fucking way. Can I get a picture with you dude? My sister is going to be so jealous!”
“Call her up!” Clint suggested. He had still been in a somber mood even after eating, but this conversation was changing everything. He wasn’t just in an okay mood now, he was in a fantastic one. He felt like he was dreaming, or maybe a little drunk.
Clint spent twenty minutes sitting at one of the swivel stools on the counter, twisting back and forth, talking to the cashier’s sister on the phone. She was a sweetheart, a little over-excited but that was understandable. Clint got all the details about her love life and her plans to take archery classes next summer when she had free time. He gave her as much advice as he could about being a marksman, because it was the least he could do for someone who was showing support for him. He posed for pictures with the cook, and the cashier and left them a huge tip that they both about fell over from.
When Clint returned to the booth, he found Phil sitting calmly in all the excitement. Coulson was smiling into his nearly empty mug of coffee and Clint wondered if he knew all about this or not.
They left after that, offering many ‘thank you’s to the staff. They made the short walk back to the tower and when they got there they took the main entrance. Clint held his head high, not engaging any of the taunts the protesters called to him. His silly purple shirt with the cut off sleeves felt like Iron Man armor and any words they hurled his way bounced right off.
Clint spent the right of the day Googling about the Solidarity Movement. There were already pictures on Google images of people in purple shirts with the sleeves cut off. A lot of people liked to draw rainbow flags on the muscle of their arm and flex it for the world to see. He even found pictures of some adorable little girl wearing the appropriate shirt and a black tulle tutu, holding a plastic bow in her hand which was way too big for her. She looked just impossibly cute.
Clint read articles about what the movement was all about and why different people were associated with, and he would never admit this to anyone but a couple stories made him tear up a little bit. Real, heartfelt, honest stories from real people who looked up to him. They came from all across the globe, and from all walks of life.
Here he had been wallowing in his self-pity, thinking he was doing something wrong. Wrong enough that he would go to hell for it. He hadn’t done a single thing wrong. He was giving hundreds upon thousands of people the support and strength they needed to keep fighting on with their lives. It was amazing. It made his head spin just thinking about it.
Phil periodically checked on him. Clint wasn’t known for sitting still so it was a little strange to see him hunched over his laptop all day. Coulson draped his arms around Clint’s body and read paragraphs, on and off, over his shoulder. He brought Clint tea around mid-afternoon and managed to drag him away from the screen for dinner.
They slept together that night, and made love like they hadn’t in a long time. The raunchy kind of love that had Clint writhing and whimpering. Everything else aside, it was precisely what the two of them needed.
The next day around noon the Patriot Guard Riders showed up. Clint hadn’t been expecting them at lunch time, or at all really. Sure it would be awesome if they showed, but he wasn’t actually counting on it. He had a tiny freak out because he had these plans to go down and meet them but he didn’t know they’d be there so early! Coulson calmed him down enough for Clint to get his head on straight and they hatched a plan.
With Tony’s help (read as: money) they ordered sandwiches in from a local deli. Clint, Coulson and Steve all went down to greet the delivery boy on the first floor. Instead of taking the food back upstairs, they took it out on to the streets instead.
The Patriot Guard Riders were lined up just inside of the park, bikes and everything. The protesters with their terrible signs were huddled in tighter than usual and the bikers were about five feet away from them staring them down. The bikers had their backs to the tower so they didn’t see anyone coming. It was a bit surprise for them, really.
Coulson, Clint and Steve greeted the bikers and passed out the sandwiches. Soon enough the Patriot Guard Riders were less focused on keeping the protesters away and more focused on the camaraderie of eating delicious food and meeting two of the Avengers. Everyone recognized Steve… because he was Steve… but Clint was kind of his own star too? All of this was for him, after all, and it made him feel warm and fuzzy that the bikers recognized him.
It really felt like it was just the three of them, and all the bikers. The protesters were silent and Clint honestly forgot they were there. The bikers were laughing and eating and honestly just having a nice time.
Steve admired the motorcycles, and asked questions about them that went over Clint’s head. Coulson got into some ridiculous conversation about the mission details of the squid attack on that Hell’s Angels bar. Clint ended up looking at pictures of one of the biker’s daughters, a two year old with pig tails. He wasn’t even sure why or how he had landed on that conversation, or when this guy had pulled out pictures of his kid but that was the exact moment that he realized everything was okay.
He was okay.
The protesters were quiet as they watched him make new friends, and have fun, and he wouldn’t have even give a shit if they started to chant or call things out to him anyway. This time two days ago he was on the verge of tears and ready to cry at any minute. Now he was laughing and smiling and meeting new people. Clint was feeling good about himself, and his impact on the world. It was a monumental feeling.
Tony flew in then, in his Iron Man suit. Thor thundered down too. His lightning strike scared half the protesters while the Patriot Guard Riders didn’t flinch. Two more Avengers showing up meant that everyone else on the street started to notice.
New Yorkers could make crowds pretty quick. Soon the protesters and the bikers and the Avengers all got swept up in a crowd. There were fans taking pictures on their cameras and Patriot Guard Riders laughing at all the attention and Tony showing off as usual. Clint found Phil’s hand in the growing chaos and held it tight, an anchor in the madness of it all. One minute Clint was smiling for a photo and the next he looked over his shoulder to see the protesters had all but washed away in the rising tide of Avengers fans.
It was a miracle they got back into the tower safely, thanks, in part, to the Patriot Guard Riders.
The mass chaos that had ensued from The Avengers strutting around the park was front page news. So were the protesters, who had left and hadn’t come back. So was The Solidarity Movement. There was a fantastic photo of Clint holding Coulson’s hand in his purple shirt with the cut off sleeves on the cover of every magazine and every newspaper for weeks after that.
No one was calling him a Gayvenger or and the talks about his love life wasn’t so much of a secret either. Phil was being described as a ‘the mystery man in the suit’ and also often referred to as a ‘fox’ which Clint quite enjoyed. They were talking about more than that though. There were articles detailing what he did to inspire the LGBTQ community. It was everything Clint could have wanted and more.
A couple things happened after that. First and for most, life went on. It was better though. Clint had Coulson and he was happy and he didn’t get hung up on little things like kisses and holding hands and making sweet love. He was sure he was doing the right thing now, not just guessing. Really, what could be more right than sex with Phil Coulson after all?
Secondly, the protesters never showed up again. That was awesome. Clint was so eternally thankful, that despite it all he still laced his fingers together and sent a word of thanks upstairs to the big guy. If he was listening, you know.
Third, and this was much later on, Clint got invited to be the guest of honor - of sorts - at the annual Gay Pride festival in New York. That was especially amazing.
He got to meet Kate’s friends Billy and Teddy who she talked about in high esteem, two Young Avengers he’d never had the chance to meet before. They all rode together in the back of a float with a big Avengers ‘A’ on it. (It reminded Clint of a big piñata.) They rode the whole length of the parade waving and smiling.
Every once in a while Clint spotted random strangers in the crowd at the festival wearing purple shirts with the sleeves cut off. It made his chest swell with more pride than he’d ever felt in his entire life. More than he felt after saving the world that first time, because that first time was really special. This was just more special. This was extraordinary in its importance.
Fourth, and most important, Clint got engaged.
He had always been a little scared, a little reluctant. He wanted to get married in a church with a real priest and he just hadn’t felt comfortable enough sanctifying a marriage between himself another man in front of the eyes of God. It had been a tetchy thing that scared him away and made him skittish. Whenever he used to think about it his hand cramped, and his throat ached, and he remembered being a little kid, caught in the closet again.
After the Solidarity Movement it was different though. Marrying Phil didn’t mean beatings, or writing lines, or an eternity of damnation. It meant strength, and happiness, and finally being able to express how much he loved Phil.
The wedding colors were royal purple and soft lavender and Clint didn’t even feel bad for forcing them.
It was getting Coulson to abide the cut off sleeves as proper wedding attire that would take real work!
Rating: PG
Warnings: Homophobia, mentions of past child abuse.
Summary: Based off of this prompt: As much as I love the "Steve and Tony stand up for their right to be in love in the face of hatred from America" fics, I've never seen one where Clint's the one who comes out and get the backlash. Can I get some "Hawkeye gets outed and America takes it badly" fic? Hey! I'd even take "America suddenly loves him and his boyfriend gets jealous" fic!
Coulson/Clint is my OTP, but if inspiration strikes with one (or more) of the other guys,have at! I love them all!
They were still down there.
From the windows of the 53rd floor, they didn’t look like anything but specks of colorful dust or maybe ants. To Hawkeye, and they did call him Hawkeye for a reason, he could see so much more. They had bright purple signs with ‘GOD HATES FAGS’ and ‘YOU’RE GOING TO HELL’ on them. Those were the ones he could read from the window at least. There were more signs with smaller text and painted on orange flames behind the words that he couldn’t make out.
Technically they were across the street, in the park. And the park was public property. And as long as they left at the end of the day and didn’t camp out like those Occupy protesters they were allowed to be there. Tony had threatened to go out in his suit and scare them off, and Nat had attempted to call for SHIELD back-up to arrest them, or detain them, or just generally shoo them away. Clint had told them both not to bother, that it wasn’t worth it.
“Clint stop watching them.” Coulson scolded.
“I’m not watching them; I’m looking out the window.” He pulled away from the window pane and wandered back into the bedroom. He felt itchy, like he had eyes on him or something. He hated knowing they were down there. He took his frustration out on Phil snapping at him. “Am I not allowed to look out the window anymore? Am I going to go to hell for looking out windows too?”
Phil frowned. He hated this conversation. They’d been having the same one over and over and over again since the protesters had shown up, and Phil just couldn’t win. He was treading on thin ground. It was a touchy subject, and he knew it.
A long time ago in the very beginnings of their relationship Clint had told Phil the sordid tale of his first kiss. His first real kiss. He was eight, and an older boy at the orphanage had pulled him into the closet and shoved his tongue down Clint’s throat. They were caught by the Matron and Clint said he was beaten so bad he couldn’t sit down for a whole week. Somehow Phil didn’t think that was an exaggeration either.
Clint was made to recite bible verses till his voice was so raw he couldn’t speak, throat so swollen he couldn’t swallow. He was made to write them over and over until his hand cramped, and he wasn’t very good at writing but the Mother was a stickler for penmanship. None of this was because he’d been caught kissing, but because he’d been caught kissing another boy. The Matron had drilled the whole ‘eternal damnation’ and ‘dirty little sinner’ thing into an impressionable eight year old’s mind and it had stuck.
Clint didn’t have any real song sense of church or religion anymore, but he had confessed to Phil that he was worried beyond reason about going to hell.
That had hurt.
The ‘being with you means life in the pit’ talk. It wasn’t a nice one where Phil felt like he was worth it for Clint to throw all his fears away, it was a terrible one where Clint was inches away from calling it quits. It ended in a breakdown, and tears.
That had been years ago though. Years and years. Phil thought they were passed that. They had worked passed it. Then the protesters appeared, taking over the park, yelling at cars that passed by, holding up those awful signs and all the terrible pain had been dredged up again.
“Clint. Don’t let them get to you.” Phil reached out to catch Clint’s hand, and Clint stiffened for a second like he wanted to pull away.
He didn’t pull away though, he curled closer to Phil. “I’m sorry for being mad. I just… yeah they’re getting to me.”
“C’mon. Let me make you breakfast. We’ll talk about it.” Phil stood up from where he was sitting at the end of the bed and hugged Clint because he looked like he needed it.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Clint muffled into Phil’s shoulder, so Phil just nodded.
“Okay. Then let me make you breakfast.”
Phil and Clint stood holding each other and hugging for a while in quiet silence. Clint got that feeling like eyes on the back of his head again because he knew those stupid protesters were down there, just outside the windows and eventually he pulled away. He kept his hand linked with Phil’s though and nodded towards the door.
Together they took the elevator up to the common area and the doors opened to the scene of Tony and Steve on the couch, looking pensive up at the mounted flatscreen on the wall. Bruce was there too. He stood in the door way, also watching the tv over the brim of his tea mug, slowly shaking his head.
“These are the men my children are supposed to be looking up to...” A voice from the TV was saying. “I don’t want my little boy looking at this Hawkguy saying ‘I want to be just like him daddy’, that ain’t right.”
“Mute.” Tony told Jarvis when he saw who was in the elevator. It was a little too late though, Clint had already heard.
“I don’t think I’m hungry.” He told Phil in a small voice, leaning against the back wall of the lift.
He looked terrible. He really did. Clint usually held himself with this ridiculous air of confidence. He was a showboater and a show off and he did silly, cheesy things to make people laugh. He wasn’t doing any of that now, though. He looked small and sad and it didn’t suit him.
“Clint…” Steve stood up from where he was sitting like he had something to say, like he was going to make one of his famous speeches. He faltered though, and frowned. The longer he waited the more the silence stretched and the worse the wait seemed. “You know we’re all here for you. You and Phil.”
Phil surged forward then, out of the elevator, dragging an unwilling Clint along behind him. Something must have made up his mind because out of nowhere he said “We’re going to go out for a while.”
“Woah. What?” Tony gave Phil a look. “Out the front door? Are you crazy? Those protesters are being royal assholes…” his vision shifted to Clint then and he stifled himself. “You, uh, you guys should use the service exit around back.”
That made Clint feel worse somehow. Not just the having to use the service exit thing, but because now Tony was taking pity on him. Tony wasn’t one for taking pity on people. Not usually. Barton suddenly felt like crying, and everyone must have seen it because they were all looking back at him with the saddest expressions on their faces.
Clint didn’t even remember leaving the tower. He just remembered Phil pulling him along. They took the service elevator instead of the main one like Tony had suggested. When they were down on the ground floor they slipped out the back of the tower. Phil made an extra effort to hold onto Clint’s hand, squeezing their fingers tight. They were unnoticed as they left, and thankfully undisturbed on their walk.
That was until they paused six blocks away from the tower at a street corner to cross.
It wasn’t that anyone said anything to them, or did anything. To be honest Phil didn’t even see it. He was too busy watching the light, waiting for it to turn. When it did he carried on with his pulling, tugging for Clint to cross with him.
Clint didn’t budge, and Phil turned back to see what he was doing.
There was a news stand about ten feet away from them. There were the usual newspapers and normal magazines, but there was a wrack dedicated to the really trashy ones too. In Touch, and OK!, and Star. The ones with big yellow headlines and the ugliest photos they can find. Clint was on about half of them. His sweaty face was plastered across Star’s main page. It must have been after a particularly taxing mission because he looked like a real mess. The headline read ‘GAYVENGER‘S SECRET ROMANCE!’
Clint didn’t even say anything. He just stood looking at his own face on the cover of the tabloid in disconcerted discouragement. His forehead wrinkled up with worry lines and his eyes were shiny with tears like he was about to honestly cry.
Phil didn’t say a word either. He latched on to the whole of Clint’s bare arm and tugged him along in earnest, forcing him to turn away from it.
They kept walking. They found a different park, one far away from the tower without any protesters in it. They circled it once, twice. They walked in silence, completing the circuit over and over. Phil gave Clint’s the time he needed to clear his head and think.
Eventually Clint came back around to him. After the sixth or seventh lap he lifted his eyes, and he was inadvertently giving a puppy dog expression that made Phil’s heart melt. “Where are we going?”
“We’re walking in the park.” Phil told him.
“Like a normal couple who aren’t going to hell, huh?” Clint may or may not have been trying to make a joke. It was hard to tell. He just seemed sad.
“…Yes.” Phil said back to him earnestly.
“Phil…”
“Clint.” Phil interrupted him. “Baby. We’ve gone through this. You’ve punished yourself enough, and you know that. You should be happy. You need to be happy.”
“I am happy.” Clint said, sounding very far from happy.
“I’m sorry people are assholes. You didn’t deserve to be outed like that…” Despite the fact that Phil and Clint were in a relationship together, it was Clint that the tabloids cared about. No one seemed to care about Phil yet, and maybe they would eventually, but it was everyone’s sixth favorite Avenger taking the grunt of it. “You don’t deserve to be bullied or taunted by those protesters either. I love you, Clint. I’m a man, and you’re a man and we love each other. That isn’t a bad thing, that’s the best thing.”
Clint swallowed, and nodded.
“I know it’s tough for you. But I also know this will all blow over, and this will get easier. If you want to be sad for a while, you can be sad for a while…”
Clint squeezed his fingers then, so Phil paused.
“Okay stop it.” Clint said, cracking his first smile. The first smile since the original article had been published online. The first smile since the protesters showed up. It was tiny, and strained, but it was still a smile. “You’re being too nice to me.”
“I love you. Being nice is just part of the job.”
Clint stopped them walking and leaned over to wrap Phil up in a big hug. “I love you too, you know that?” Clint whispered into Phil’s neck. “No matter what that means, I love you.”
Clint’s stomach gurgled then, interrupting what would otherwise be considered a beautiful moment.
“C’mon.” Phil laughed at him. “Let’s get breakfast.”
“I think It’s going to be lunch now.” Clint said in reply.
They held hands again as they started for a nearby diner. They hadn’t been to this one before. There was a local place closer to the tower that they frequented but it would be nice to try something new. The diner was a bit of a throwback honestly, the booths were actually red vinyl and there was a counter with swivel stools cased in silver. The menus had frayed edges, but it kind of added to their charm.
Phil and Clint both ordered breakfast, and ate quietly. They knocked their feet together under the table and Clint was starting to look more and more like himself. He was always a little happier after a full meal, and the general sense of doom and gloom dissipated. He even offered to pay when they got their check.
It was the kind of place where customers had to take their bill up to the counter, so Clint went. There was a kid working behind the cash register, no older than eighteen. He had to be at least eighteen because he was wearing a purple shirt with the sleeves hacked off, and on his shoulder there was a beautiful tattoo of Saint Michael on his arm.
“Nice ink…” Clint complimented in awe, handing over his bill and the money to pay it.
“Yeah, hah.” The kid was focused on his task, ringing Clint out. He subconsciously flexed his muscle anyway. “Ole Mike, my best friend man. He’s gotten me through so much shit.”
Clint knew about Saint Michael through Phil. Apparently he was the patron saint of law enforcement, and held a special place in the minds and hearts of most military. Even though Phil himself was hardly religious, he had battle buddies in the Rangers who said payers to Michael before they waded into firefights or whenever shit went down.
“That’s really cool.” Clint said earnestly.
The cashier handed Clint his change and had his mouth open to say something else when he stalled. He locked on to Clint’s shirt… purple with the sleeves cut off… and he must have realized they matched.
“Hey. Dude. You’re part of the whole solidarity thing too huh?” He looked up at Clint’s face and smiled.
“…What?” Clint had no idea what that meant.
“Yeah man. The Avenger that just came out? A bunch of people are wearing purple shirts like him in support.”
Clint kind of just stood for a moment, not sure what to make of that. He floundered for words. “…Are they really?”
The kid laughed. “I guess you’re not part of it? Yeah, my sister’s really into the whole Avengers thing, her girlfriend and her both are. I don’t know. Apparently the one with the bow and arrow just came out of the closet. There are protesters outside of Stark Tower right now, and it’s total bullshit so we’re all wearing purple with the sleeves cut off - which I guess is something he does - you know, just to show we have his back. Dude, you’re kind of a walking symbol for equality right now wearing that, I hope you’re okay with it.”
“No that’s… that’s really awesome.” Clint felt like crying. Again. But for a whole different reason this time. He wanted to reach across the counter and give this guy a huge hug. This… this was amazing. This actually made him feel better.
“Apparently, get this. You know when those squid things attacked Staten Island a few months ago? And that biker bar went up in flames?”
Clint felt kind of dazed. “Yeah,” His voice came out a higher pitched than normal and a tad hysterical sounding. “How could I forget that?” He’d been there after all.
“Right well apparently the Avengers hauled off and saved like twenty Hell’s Angels or something. Like Bikes and everything.” Clint nodded.
The bikes had been Tony and Steve’s doing of course. After the alien threat was neutralized and the bikers were safe, it wasn’t even a question for them. Clint guessed that made sense, they both rode their own motorcycles. They carried these bikers’ rides in their arms like they were carrying toys and even enlisted Thor’s help to make sure the choppers didn’t go up in flames with the bar.
The cashier drew a breath before he continued, “The rumor is that a couple of those bikers were Patriot Guard guys are they’re going to go ward off the protesters at the tower. It’s going to be great.”
Clint didn’t even know what ‘Patriot Guard guys’ were, but he got the general concept of bikers showing up in his defense and his heart kind of warmed over that some tough ass biker dudes wanted to stick up for some random gay guy they didn’t even know. “That’s… what are they? The Patriot Guard?”
“Our cook knows more about it than I do.” The cashier turned, calling out to the back kitchen. “Hey Nicky, what’s the deal with the Patriot Guard again?”
“Riders!” A disembodied voice came floating from the back of the kitchen. “Patriot Guard Riders! They show up when that asshole church protests funerals to keep’em from harassing the dead folk’s parents. Scary looking fuckers…” The voice traveled the length of the kitchen, loud enough to be heard. Clint listened to the way it approached the swinging door that lead into the back and watched the owner of the voice pause for a second when he came through the doorway.
“Holy shit.” The cook did a dead stop, eyes wide. “You’re him.”
It took a second for Clint to realize he was ‘him’. Normally he was more on the ball than this but he was kind of in a daze right now.
“You’re the dude. You’re the Hawkeye.”
Clint smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Yeah. Hi. I liked the pancakes.”
The cashier lit up at once too, recognizing what he hadn’t seen before. “Oh my god. No fucking way. Can I get a picture with you dude? My sister is going to be so jealous!”
“Call her up!” Clint suggested. He had still been in a somber mood even after eating, but this conversation was changing everything. He wasn’t just in an okay mood now, he was in a fantastic one. He felt like he was dreaming, or maybe a little drunk.
Clint spent twenty minutes sitting at one of the swivel stools on the counter, twisting back and forth, talking to the cashier’s sister on the phone. She was a sweetheart, a little over-excited but that was understandable. Clint got all the details about her love life and her plans to take archery classes next summer when she had free time. He gave her as much advice as he could about being a marksman, because it was the least he could do for someone who was showing support for him. He posed for pictures with the cook, and the cashier and left them a huge tip that they both about fell over from.
When Clint returned to the booth, he found Phil sitting calmly in all the excitement. Coulson was smiling into his nearly empty mug of coffee and Clint wondered if he knew all about this or not.
They left after that, offering many ‘thank you’s to the staff. They made the short walk back to the tower and when they got there they took the main entrance. Clint held his head high, not engaging any of the taunts the protesters called to him. His silly purple shirt with the cut off sleeves felt like Iron Man armor and any words they hurled his way bounced right off.
Clint spent the right of the day Googling about the Solidarity Movement. There were already pictures on Google images of people in purple shirts with the sleeves cut off. A lot of people liked to draw rainbow flags on the muscle of their arm and flex it for the world to see. He even found pictures of some adorable little girl wearing the appropriate shirt and a black tulle tutu, holding a plastic bow in her hand which was way too big for her. She looked just impossibly cute.
Clint read articles about what the movement was all about and why different people were associated with, and he would never admit this to anyone but a couple stories made him tear up a little bit. Real, heartfelt, honest stories from real people who looked up to him. They came from all across the globe, and from all walks of life.
Here he had been wallowing in his self-pity, thinking he was doing something wrong. Wrong enough that he would go to hell for it. He hadn’t done a single thing wrong. He was giving hundreds upon thousands of people the support and strength they needed to keep fighting on with their lives. It was amazing. It made his head spin just thinking about it.
Phil periodically checked on him. Clint wasn’t known for sitting still so it was a little strange to see him hunched over his laptop all day. Coulson draped his arms around Clint’s body and read paragraphs, on and off, over his shoulder. He brought Clint tea around mid-afternoon and managed to drag him away from the screen for dinner.
They slept together that night, and made love like they hadn’t in a long time. The raunchy kind of love that had Clint writhing and whimpering. Everything else aside, it was precisely what the two of them needed.
The next day around noon the Patriot Guard Riders showed up. Clint hadn’t been expecting them at lunch time, or at all really. Sure it would be awesome if they showed, but he wasn’t actually counting on it. He had a tiny freak out because he had these plans to go down and meet them but he didn’t know they’d be there so early! Coulson calmed him down enough for Clint to get his head on straight and they hatched a plan.
With Tony’s help (read as: money) they ordered sandwiches in from a local deli. Clint, Coulson and Steve all went down to greet the delivery boy on the first floor. Instead of taking the food back upstairs, they took it out on to the streets instead.
The Patriot Guard Riders were lined up just inside of the park, bikes and everything. The protesters with their terrible signs were huddled in tighter than usual and the bikers were about five feet away from them staring them down. The bikers had their backs to the tower so they didn’t see anyone coming. It was a bit surprise for them, really.
Coulson, Clint and Steve greeted the bikers and passed out the sandwiches. Soon enough the Patriot Guard Riders were less focused on keeping the protesters away and more focused on the camaraderie of eating delicious food and meeting two of the Avengers. Everyone recognized Steve… because he was Steve… but Clint was kind of his own star too? All of this was for him, after all, and it made him feel warm and fuzzy that the bikers recognized him.
It really felt like it was just the three of them, and all the bikers. The protesters were silent and Clint honestly forgot they were there. The bikers were laughing and eating and honestly just having a nice time.
Steve admired the motorcycles, and asked questions about them that went over Clint’s head. Coulson got into some ridiculous conversation about the mission details of the squid attack on that Hell’s Angels bar. Clint ended up looking at pictures of one of the biker’s daughters, a two year old with pig tails. He wasn’t even sure why or how he had landed on that conversation, or when this guy had pulled out pictures of his kid but that was the exact moment that he realized everything was okay.
He was okay.
The protesters were quiet as they watched him make new friends, and have fun, and he wouldn’t have even give a shit if they started to chant or call things out to him anyway. This time two days ago he was on the verge of tears and ready to cry at any minute. Now he was laughing and smiling and meeting new people. Clint was feeling good about himself, and his impact on the world. It was a monumental feeling.
Tony flew in then, in his Iron Man suit. Thor thundered down too. His lightning strike scared half the protesters while the Patriot Guard Riders didn’t flinch. Two more Avengers showing up meant that everyone else on the street started to notice.
New Yorkers could make crowds pretty quick. Soon the protesters and the bikers and the Avengers all got swept up in a crowd. There were fans taking pictures on their cameras and Patriot Guard Riders laughing at all the attention and Tony showing off as usual. Clint found Phil’s hand in the growing chaos and held it tight, an anchor in the madness of it all. One minute Clint was smiling for a photo and the next he looked over his shoulder to see the protesters had all but washed away in the rising tide of Avengers fans.
It was a miracle they got back into the tower safely, thanks, in part, to the Patriot Guard Riders.
The mass chaos that had ensued from The Avengers strutting around the park was front page news. So were the protesters, who had left and hadn’t come back. So was The Solidarity Movement. There was a fantastic photo of Clint holding Coulson’s hand in his purple shirt with the cut off sleeves on the cover of every magazine and every newspaper for weeks after that.
No one was calling him a Gayvenger or and the talks about his love life wasn’t so much of a secret either. Phil was being described as a ‘the mystery man in the suit’ and also often referred to as a ‘fox’ which Clint quite enjoyed. They were talking about more than that though. There were articles detailing what he did to inspire the LGBTQ community. It was everything Clint could have wanted and more.
A couple things happened after that. First and for most, life went on. It was better though. Clint had Coulson and he was happy and he didn’t get hung up on little things like kisses and holding hands and making sweet love. He was sure he was doing the right thing now, not just guessing. Really, what could be more right than sex with Phil Coulson after all?
Secondly, the protesters never showed up again. That was awesome. Clint was so eternally thankful, that despite it all he still laced his fingers together and sent a word of thanks upstairs to the big guy. If he was listening, you know.
Third, and this was much later on, Clint got invited to be the guest of honor - of sorts - at the annual Gay Pride festival in New York. That was especially amazing.
He got to meet Kate’s friends Billy and Teddy who she talked about in high esteem, two Young Avengers he’d never had the chance to meet before. They all rode together in the back of a float with a big Avengers ‘A’ on it. (It reminded Clint of a big piñata.) They rode the whole length of the parade waving and smiling.
Every once in a while Clint spotted random strangers in the crowd at the festival wearing purple shirts with the sleeves cut off. It made his chest swell with more pride than he’d ever felt in his entire life. More than he felt after saving the world that first time, because that first time was really special. This was just more special. This was extraordinary in its importance.
Fourth, and most important, Clint got engaged.
He had always been a little scared, a little reluctant. He wanted to get married in a church with a real priest and he just hadn’t felt comfortable enough sanctifying a marriage between himself another man in front of the eyes of God. It had been a tetchy thing that scared him away and made him skittish. Whenever he used to think about it his hand cramped, and his throat ached, and he remembered being a little kid, caught in the closet again.
After the Solidarity Movement it was different though. Marrying Phil didn’t mean beatings, or writing lines, or an eternity of damnation. It meant strength, and happiness, and finally being able to express how much he loved Phil.
The wedding colors were royal purple and soft lavender and Clint didn’t even feel bad for forcing them.
It was getting Coulson to abide the cut off sleeves as proper wedding attire that would take real work!