Francis Barton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
willpunchfaces) wrote2012-08-28 11:39 pm
willpunchfaces) wrote2012-08-28 11:39 pm
No waiting for the dead
Title: No waiting for the dead
Fandom: Next Avengers
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What happened to Clint and Bobbi
Notes: Obvious headcanon is obvious
If they were honest with themselves, he was an accident, but they'd never been good at being honest in that way.
He never knew it growing up, though. Never knew how worried they'd been, how Bobbi kept it from Clint for months, how he built a nursery in his spare time because as wrong as he knew it was, he was still excited to have a family. How Clint sat alone at the hospital because they wouldn't let him in on her orders. How they'd almost split again when he was still in diapers because neither of them knew how to tell the other they were happy with their situation.
He never knew any of it. He just knew the way Clint smiled, that huge, face-splitting grin when he tossed his son in the air, whistling stupid children's songs because he couldn't remember the words. Or how Bobbi would tuck him next to her at night before bed, sneaking in an extra story about how she totally took out some bad guys in Nova Scotia that one time, or promised to show him the beauty of Indonesia. He knew the way his mom and dad would banter over dinner, or sneak kisses when they thought he wasn't looking; the way they both kept watch when the other was out, and the warmth in the air when they came home to him.
He remembers being happy, before the darkness came.
Bobbi rushes into his room, pulling him from the window where he stands with his toy bow and arrow, keeping watch the way he's seen them do as long as he can remember. She picks him up, and he knows something's wrong, because he's four and she never picks him up, since he's a big boy now. But she doesn't speak, just grabs a few things and runs back out of the room, holding him tight to her chest as she hurries through the small house -- the only home he's ever known.
The explosions sound like fireworks and he looks up to see them, but Bobbi tucks his head back against her with a don't look whispered harshly in his ear. He can hear screaming then, the sounds of others running, and then he's being passed to someone else. He remembers yelling for Bobbi and Clint, throwing a childish, little boy fit when she gives him a kiss on the forehead, and then she's running back toward the explosions, bo staff gripped in white-knuckled hands, and he can see his dad on the rooftop. There's others, as well, flying through the air, but he doesn't care about them.
Whoever has hold of him can't keep a grip as he struggles, and eventually he's free, scrambling across the ground toward home. Home doesn't exist very much longer, though, as night suddenly becomes day and the world goes deafeningly quiet.
***
The underground isn't as nice as his home, but he doesn't really remember what 'home' was like anymore. There's vague flashes, memories of windows and toys and late-night games of hide-and-seek when dad thinks mom is going to be extra late, but they never last long. He doesn't have time to think about it, anyway. He needs to help here, to be a big boy and keep everyone safe, like his parents do. It's only been a year, but he all ready feels like he could be as good as his dad someday, leading people through the underground away from the scary machines. But Clint never takes him on patrol, so he has to be happy just keeping watch along the perimeter.
Time moves slowly when there's no sun. He's pretty sure he's turning eight this year, but no one really keeps track. Clint tries, and he gives him a little something every year. This year it's a new set of arrows, though Bobbi thinks it should have been a staff. Clint laughs and says next year, when the kid's old enough not to trip over them. She hits him, but at least she's smiling. She doesn't smile like she used to, not even for him anymore. He misses her smiles.
The air turns hot and thick before the explosion hits. This time he knows it's not fireworks, because you can't have fireworks underground. But people are screaming the same as they did the last time he was home, and he runs around clutching his bow and arrows, screaming for mom and dad and everyone follow him, he'll keep them safe. But they don't listen, hurrying away from the deteriorating wall. Not everyone makes it, but he's used to that now. There's never as many people after the machines find them.
Something's different this time, though. It's not the usual robots that go hunting through the ruins, looking for humans. This one is big, with a cracked-open face and red eyes. It turns its head and stares right at him, dust settling around its shoulders, and suddenly Bobbi's in front of him, staves ready. The machine just stares at her and she stares back, reaching into her sleeves for some bombs.
"Francis," she says, and her voice is hard. Angry. He thinks she's mad at him, but when she turns her head, she smiles, and it's like all the smiles he's missed seeing over the years. Then she turns away, and it's just her voice again. "I need you to go help your dad, okay? I'll be right behind you."
"But mom-"
"Go!" He knows that tone of voice. That's the one you never, ever disobey, and so even though he wants to stay, he turns and runs the way everyone else did. A few minutes later, the world crumbles behind him, covering him with dust and debris until he's choking on it. He doesn't know how he keeps running, but he does, because that's the last thing she told him to do.
He doesn't remember running into Clint. He doesn't remember what he said as he grabbed the front of his dad's shirt, pointing back the way he'd come, still covered in what's left of the building that collapsed. He just remembers Clint carefully pulling him away, telling him to go with Betty, that he'll be right back. He remembers his dad's gone a long time, and when he comes back to the group, he has one of Bobbi's staffs tucked neatly into his belt.
Clint sometimes used swords against the machines when he ran out of arrows, but after that day, Francis can't remember him using them anymore. His dad just used that staff instead when his quiver ran empty. But he never teaches his son how to use it, either. Francis just figures it's something only Bobbi can do. But Bobbi never comes back, even when he sits up and waits for her at night, sneaking out of his tent when he thinks Clint's asleep. Francis waits and waits for weeks on end, and he only stops waiting when he overhears his dad crying.
You don't wait for the people the machines take away. They never come back anyway.
***
"Nice shot, sport."
Francis smirks, jogging over to retrieve the arrow from the sparking remains of a robot. The arrowhead is busted, but the shaft and fletching can be recycled, and every little bit counts on these scavenging expeditions. They're low on provisions, but it's getting harder and harder to find anything worthwhile in what remains of the underground.
"That's three today. Pretty soon, I'll be taking out more of them than you do."
Clint laughs. It's not as bright a laugh as it used to be, and his grins aren't as wide. At least he smiles, though. For a long time, Francis didn't think he ever would again. There wasn't any time for that, he used to say, not between training Francis to shoot and keeping the Scavengers moving. They were always moving, for years and years. Francis is pretty sure he's sixteen now, but there were never any other birthday gifts, and it's hard to tell time when there isn't any sun.
Another robot skitters by on patrol and they both take aim, grinning at each other. Clint fires the killing shot, but he claps his son on the back anyway as he goes to retrieve their arrows.
The explosion knocks them both back, though only Francis loses his footing. Clint's all ready got his bow drawn and moving when Ultron blows away a wall, showering them with debris. Clint's arrow barely even touches it as the robot sweeps its gaze between the two men before settling on the elder.
"Did you think you could run, Clint Barton?" it asks, and its voice is emotionless, cold. Francis gets to his feet, an arrow nocked and ready, but Ultron doesn't even look at him. "It was only a matter of time before I found you."
"Funny," Clint says, pulling out his own arrows and lining up a shot. "I was just thinking the same thing."
He lets loose, and so does Francis, but nothing fazes the metal man with the broken face. He keeps coming, relentless, and it's only a matter of time before Clint's yelling for Francis to run.
"Go!" he screams, before Ultron reaches down and grabs him by the head. Clint struggles, doing his best to get away, and Francis tries -- he tries so hard -- to get Ultron's attention, but the robot is focused, methodical, and Francis has no choice but to run when Clint's body hits the ground. He runs until his lungs burn hot and his legs refuse to move and he hits the ground hard enough to leave bruises on his side. But he doesn't cry, and he doesn't look back, because you don't wait for the people the machines take away.
All you can do is avenge them.
Fandom: Next Avengers
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What happened to Clint and Bobbi
Notes: Obvious headcanon is obvious
If they were honest with themselves, he was an accident, but they'd never been good at being honest in that way.
He never knew it growing up, though. Never knew how worried they'd been, how Bobbi kept it from Clint for months, how he built a nursery in his spare time because as wrong as he knew it was, he was still excited to have a family. How Clint sat alone at the hospital because they wouldn't let him in on her orders. How they'd almost split again when he was still in diapers because neither of them knew how to tell the other they were happy with their situation.
He never knew any of it. He just knew the way Clint smiled, that huge, face-splitting grin when he tossed his son in the air, whistling stupid children's songs because he couldn't remember the words. Or how Bobbi would tuck him next to her at night before bed, sneaking in an extra story about how she totally took out some bad guys in Nova Scotia that one time, or promised to show him the beauty of Indonesia. He knew the way his mom and dad would banter over dinner, or sneak kisses when they thought he wasn't looking; the way they both kept watch when the other was out, and the warmth in the air when they came home to him.
He remembers being happy, before the darkness came.
Bobbi rushes into his room, pulling him from the window where he stands with his toy bow and arrow, keeping watch the way he's seen them do as long as he can remember. She picks him up, and he knows something's wrong, because he's four and she never picks him up, since he's a big boy now. But she doesn't speak, just grabs a few things and runs back out of the room, holding him tight to her chest as she hurries through the small house -- the only home he's ever known.
The explosions sound like fireworks and he looks up to see them, but Bobbi tucks his head back against her with a don't look whispered harshly in his ear. He can hear screaming then, the sounds of others running, and then he's being passed to someone else. He remembers yelling for Bobbi and Clint, throwing a childish, little boy fit when she gives him a kiss on the forehead, and then she's running back toward the explosions, bo staff gripped in white-knuckled hands, and he can see his dad on the rooftop. There's others, as well, flying through the air, but he doesn't care about them.
Whoever has hold of him can't keep a grip as he struggles, and eventually he's free, scrambling across the ground toward home. Home doesn't exist very much longer, though, as night suddenly becomes day and the world goes deafeningly quiet.
The underground isn't as nice as his home, but he doesn't really remember what 'home' was like anymore. There's vague flashes, memories of windows and toys and late-night games of hide-and-seek when dad thinks mom is going to be extra late, but they never last long. He doesn't have time to think about it, anyway. He needs to help here, to be a big boy and keep everyone safe, like his parents do. It's only been a year, but he all ready feels like he could be as good as his dad someday, leading people through the underground away from the scary machines. But Clint never takes him on patrol, so he has to be happy just keeping watch along the perimeter.
Time moves slowly when there's no sun. He's pretty sure he's turning eight this year, but no one really keeps track. Clint tries, and he gives him a little something every year. This year it's a new set of arrows, though Bobbi thinks it should have been a staff. Clint laughs and says next year, when the kid's old enough not to trip over them. She hits him, but at least she's smiling. She doesn't smile like she used to, not even for him anymore. He misses her smiles.
The air turns hot and thick before the explosion hits. This time he knows it's not fireworks, because you can't have fireworks underground. But people are screaming the same as they did the last time he was home, and he runs around clutching his bow and arrows, screaming for mom and dad and everyone follow him, he'll keep them safe. But they don't listen, hurrying away from the deteriorating wall. Not everyone makes it, but he's used to that now. There's never as many people after the machines find them.
Something's different this time, though. It's not the usual robots that go hunting through the ruins, looking for humans. This one is big, with a cracked-open face and red eyes. It turns its head and stares right at him, dust settling around its shoulders, and suddenly Bobbi's in front of him, staves ready. The machine just stares at her and she stares back, reaching into her sleeves for some bombs.
"Francis," she says, and her voice is hard. Angry. He thinks she's mad at him, but when she turns her head, she smiles, and it's like all the smiles he's missed seeing over the years. Then she turns away, and it's just her voice again. "I need you to go help your dad, okay? I'll be right behind you."
"But mom-"
"Go!" He knows that tone of voice. That's the one you never, ever disobey, and so even though he wants to stay, he turns and runs the way everyone else did. A few minutes later, the world crumbles behind him, covering him with dust and debris until he's choking on it. He doesn't know how he keeps running, but he does, because that's the last thing she told him to do.
He doesn't remember running into Clint. He doesn't remember what he said as he grabbed the front of his dad's shirt, pointing back the way he'd come, still covered in what's left of the building that collapsed. He just remembers Clint carefully pulling him away, telling him to go with Betty, that he'll be right back. He remembers his dad's gone a long time, and when he comes back to the group, he has one of Bobbi's staffs tucked neatly into his belt.
Clint sometimes used swords against the machines when he ran out of arrows, but after that day, Francis can't remember him using them anymore. His dad just used that staff instead when his quiver ran empty. But he never teaches his son how to use it, either. Francis just figures it's something only Bobbi can do. But Bobbi never comes back, even when he sits up and waits for her at night, sneaking out of his tent when he thinks Clint's asleep. Francis waits and waits for weeks on end, and he only stops waiting when he overhears his dad crying.
You don't wait for the people the machines take away. They never come back anyway.
"Nice shot, sport."
Francis smirks, jogging over to retrieve the arrow from the sparking remains of a robot. The arrowhead is busted, but the shaft and fletching can be recycled, and every little bit counts on these scavenging expeditions. They're low on provisions, but it's getting harder and harder to find anything worthwhile in what remains of the underground.
"That's three today. Pretty soon, I'll be taking out more of them than you do."
Clint laughs. It's not as bright a laugh as it used to be, and his grins aren't as wide. At least he smiles, though. For a long time, Francis didn't think he ever would again. There wasn't any time for that, he used to say, not between training Francis to shoot and keeping the Scavengers moving. They were always moving, for years and years. Francis is pretty sure he's sixteen now, but there were never any other birthday gifts, and it's hard to tell time when there isn't any sun.
Another robot skitters by on patrol and they both take aim, grinning at each other. Clint fires the killing shot, but he claps his son on the back anyway as he goes to retrieve their arrows.
The explosion knocks them both back, though only Francis loses his footing. Clint's all ready got his bow drawn and moving when Ultron blows away a wall, showering them with debris. Clint's arrow barely even touches it as the robot sweeps its gaze between the two men before settling on the elder.
"Did you think you could run, Clint Barton?" it asks, and its voice is emotionless, cold. Francis gets to his feet, an arrow nocked and ready, but Ultron doesn't even look at him. "It was only a matter of time before I found you."
"Funny," Clint says, pulling out his own arrows and lining up a shot. "I was just thinking the same thing."
He lets loose, and so does Francis, but nothing fazes the metal man with the broken face. He keeps coming, relentless, and it's only a matter of time before Clint's yelling for Francis to run.
"Go!" he screams, before Ultron reaches down and grabs him by the head. Clint struggles, doing his best to get away, and Francis tries -- he tries so hard -- to get Ultron's attention, but the robot is focused, methodical, and Francis has no choice but to run when Clint's body hits the ground. He runs until his lungs burn hot and his legs refuse to move and he hits the ground hard enough to leave bruises on his side. But he doesn't cry, and he doesn't look back, because you don't wait for the people the machines take away.
All you can do is avenge them.