Chapter Text
Clint checks up on it, afterwards, but there's not much there to find. Usually when a new Enhanced decides to have a go at the hero gig, they leave a trail – usually it's a trail of annoyance, of people having to deal with wannabes who have more ego than ability. In Desmond's, or Eagle's case, there's nothing there to be found, not really – there are the usual civilian heroes, super-samaritans, who go above and beyond the call of duty, those happen all the time… but nothing really about this specific guy. And with the black hooded armour the guy wears, with those hems and everything, you'd think there'd be photos. It's not exactly subtle.
Did he seriously catch this guy on his first mission, so to speak? Considering how calm and collected the guy is, it doesn't feel like it. There's none of that over-energised giddiness you usually see with first timers – hell, Clint felt it too, that first time, in New York. It takes years of dealing with grateful – and sometimes not so grateful – public to reach this level of casualness with the whole thing.
Desmond – Eagle, fucking seriously – is pretty chill with the whole thing, murder and saved civilians and all. He even waits a bit in the front of the mall, saying, "You know, just in case the cops show up, or someone comes around looking for the dead guy."
"Are you serious?" Clint asks, incredulously. "And if they try to arrest you, have you thought about that?"
"Hasn't happened so far," Eagle says with a shrug and takes out a mobile phone, right there, in the clear view of the still probably functional security cameras. He's not even browsing news or some sort of police scanner – no, he's on twitter. And not making a post about his own heroics, he's just scrolling through a random feed.
Clint hesitates for a moment, wondering if he should take the guy by the scruff of his neck and shake some sense into him.
"Aww, man…" Eagle says then.
Clint scowls, looking up. "What?"
"Asian elephants were declared effectively extinct," Eagle says, making a sad face at his phone. "That sucks."
For a moment Clint just stares at him incredulously and then – fuck it. Okay. "Yeah, that sucks," he agrees and sits down beside the guy, to look at the report from WWF. "Hear about the Bengal tiger yet? And the blue whale?"
"Yeah," Eagle agrees with a sigh, lifting one knee up and leaning his elbow on it. "There's this watchlist for species that are probably going to go extinct, if they haven't yet. Fucking sucks."
"Yeah," Clint says. "Species going extinct left and right, and here we have these Halver assholes, doing this shit," he motions to the mall. "Worshipping the bastard that did this. You killed others like this guy?" he asks, wondering if the guy would actually answer.
"A few. There was a couple at a train station and one who stopped the traffic, and got a whiff of one who was going to try for a school – managed to take her out before she got out of the house, though," Eagle answers, not sounding even all that proud – just a guy, talking about his day. "You?"
Clint side-eyes him warily. "Airport," he says then. "Another asshole at a school – then there was complete psycho at a hospital, going door to door, picking every odd number out."
"People, man," Eagle says. "People are the worst sometime."
"Yeah. Doesn't look like cops are going to show up," Clint comments then, looking around. The whole area looks abandoned. "No sirens or anything."
"Didn't think so, but you never know," Eagle agrees. "Gonna give it a couple more minutes and then head out to get something to eat."
"You can eat after that?" Clint asks, carefully nonchalant.
Eagle glances at him from under his hood. He's young, somewhere in mid-twenties maybe, tall but not that bulky under the armour and robes. Doesn't act like a trained killer, really, doesn't have the look – but he also doesn't seem all that affected by what happened. Used to it, but not trained for it? Either that, or he's more of a sociopath than he looks, outwardly. Even Wanda was affected by her kills, and she was trained by damn HYDRA.
There's none of the warning signs here, though. Clint isn't sure if it's impressive, disturbing or just sad.
Eagle doesn't answer his question, just shakes his head and looks back to his phone. "There's a pizza place nearby which is still in business," he says.
"Fine – lead the way."
Halfway to the pizzeria, Eagle's robes-and-armour combo disappears. Clint had seen the guy throwing his weapons away, them disappearing in similar flickers – but he hadn't realised the clothing was the same. It just breaks into colourful, blocky little flickers, reminding Clint a little disturbingly of Loki, how he could just spin clothing out of thin air, even armour. Eagle's way of doing it isn't anyway less flashy either – would make one hell of a gif on twitter.
What the guy has under the armour is a lot less grandiose. White hoodie and blue jeans.
"Okay," Clint says slowly. "Now I just feel overdressed."
"I can hang around if you want to find a phone booth," Eagle says, amused, pushing his hands into his pockets.
"What, you don't think I don't have a spiffy magical girl transformation like you?"
"Do you?"
Clint grinds his teeth. "I'm not taking this off," he says. "That's damn handy, though – I bet it lets you blend in easy."
"Honestly, never even thought about it. That was my first time using the armour, I don't usually need anything like that," Eagle shrugs. "How are you going to eat with the mask?"
Clint hesitates, annoyed, and then sighs. "Yeah, okay, fine," he mutters then and glances around. "Hold on for a bit."
He finds a relatively enclosed place in someone's walled off garden area, where he takes off the top layers of his costume, taking out a bag to stuff them in. The mask he hesitates over a bit – his face is still relatively famous, though he's always had one of those faces, which makes blending in not impossible, but still... if someone would take a closer look at him, they might see the similarity between him and Hawkeye.
After a moment of thought, Clint tugs a hood on, hiding his hair and most of his face. Should do, and if it doesn't, then, whatever. He's not going to stay here for long anyway.
Eagle is playing with a stray cat when he comes back.
"Hungry, buddy?" the guy murmurs while scratching the cat's neck. "Should we see if the pizzeria has some tuna left, maybe?"
"Think the cat has a better chance catching rats than tuna, with stuff as it is," Clint comments, and waits for a reaction.
"Never hurts to try," Eagle says and stands up, lifting the street cat into his arms as he does. "Rat population was halved too, you know."
"Yeah. Everything was, but humans aren't scraping about to eat all the rats, are they? And rats multiply. Tuna is probably going extinct too," Clint says, giving him a look. Eagle doesn't seem to be reacting to his face at all. Maybe the guy isn't that good with faces. "Which way to the pizzeria?"
"That way."
They walk. The pizzeria is almost empty when they get there, and the manager looks tired – but it's clean and it smells of actual food. "Check out the list before you order," she says, giving a look to the machine guns Clint is hauling. She has a shotgun sitting on the counter, and she puts a hand on it. "We're short on ingredients. Are you going to use those?"
"Not here, we just want food," Clint assures quickly.
"And the cat?"
"The cat takes scraps," Eagle says, scratching the cat's neck. "Just make us what you do have ingredients for. What kind of payment do you take? I got some jewellery, if you take it. Some stones, um, got some meds too – painkillers, antibiotics…"
"What kind of jewellery?" she asks, peering at the wallet. "You got gold?"
"Bits of gold chain," Eagle says and takes out what looks like a guy's golden necklace, bulky and shiny – it's been chipped away at by clippers, it looks like.
Clint watches they haggle the price to five links of the gold chain – after the woman tests it out – before she even starts to make the food. Eagle doesn't seem to mind paying for him, which means he likely isn't short on trade goods – probably does the same thing Clint does, stealing from the people he killed. Clint usually deals in weapons and bullets, though – not in gold.
They sit down to wait, Eagle with the cat in his lap, still petting it. The guy doesn't look at all like superhero now, or any kind of hero really – he just looks like a guy with a cat. Even with the scar on his lip, he doesn't look all that remarkable.
"So, how did you end up doing… what you do?" Clint asks, watching the guy's face.
Eagle shrugs. "Just happened to be close by when the whole thing started. You?"
"I got informants, they tracked down a tweet from one of the victims," Clint admits and gives him a look. "You just happened to be close by? That's lucky. Not what I was asking though. How often do you happen to be close by?"
Eagle looks up at him, arching a brow. "How often do informants track down tweets for you?" he asks, and leans back a little. "You've been doing this hero thing for a while, Ronin? I mean, you have a network and everything. That's organisation, organisation takes a while to build."
Clint shrugs. "It's been a while," he admits. Granted, he was away from the game for a while too, and now… "You looking to organise then?"
Eagle snorts. "No," he says and looks back down to the cat, scratching it under the chin. "Are you part of an organisation, or like a team or something – like the Avengers?"
Clint gives him a look, narrowing his eyes. The guy isn't even looking at him. "No," he says finally, deadpan. "Not really, not anymore."
"Sounds like a story you don't want to tell," Eagle says and shrugs. "Okay. So this isn't a recruitment pitch or something?"
"Not unless you're looking for a team," Clint says, wondering about the guy. "Figured I'd give the new guy pointers and whatnot. Since you don't seem to know much of anything."
"That's nice, I appreciate it," Eagle says, giving him a rather flat look, and then their pizzas arrive.
They're rather plain, but there's cheese, and a bit of tomato and a bit of salami, so Clint is happy. Eagle tucks into his pie, but not without picking out the bits of salami and feeding them to the stray cat. Clint watches it happen dubiously for a moment and then shakes his head – if the guy wants to give away the best parts to a mangy street cat, that's his business.
"You want to talk about your powers?" Clint asks. "Do you know where they come from?"
"Sort of, and no, I don't want to talk about it, thanks," Eagle says. "You?"
"Don't got powers. I'm just good at what I do."
"And humble too," Eagle says, and after the stray has gotten all the bits-good-for-cats, he puts the cat on the floor and turns to the food himself. "So how do superhero team-ups go, then?"
They chat a bit about how it goes – or how it went with the Avengers, not that Clint says it outright. In hindsight, how it went was both weird, fucked up and kind of lucky. First they had government funding via SHIELD, then they had Stark backing, which made everything better and worse all at once, and then they broke apart like a crumbling cracker, when chain of command got messy.
Clint spent a lot of time during his house arrest figuring out what went wrong, and it all came down to Stark and Rogers having two very different views, leadership styles, plans and ultimately, not that much interest in each other's goals. Rogers stood for the little guy, which Clint at the time had automatically gravitated to, as the little guy in the equation… and Stark stood for the whole damn planet. The shitty thing is, they weren't that complimentary. Of course they clashed. And saving Barnes from justice didn't do shit to save the world, or the whole damn universe, from the threats that were out there.
Hindsight is a bitch.
"So, any team with split leadership is a bad team," Eagle summarises Clint's meandering bitching on the matter, while watching the stray cat run off through the pizzeria's open door.
"Yeah. Any team you join, figure out the chain of command first," Clint says. Things were straight when there was just Fury. Then with Avengers, with SHIELD falling, with governments inserting their asses into the mix, with Ross and UN and damn Wakanda too… Who, in the end, had actually led Avengers? Who had the final call, whose command was followed to the letter?
No one's.
Clint's all for personal choice, soldiers making the right call, and fuck that I was just following orders bullshit, everyone could and should follow their own moral guidelines. But damn, when there are this many people on the line, there should be someone properly in charge. Stark, Rogers and everything between them and around them just messed stuff up, muddled the waters.
It would be easy to blame them for the world – but Clint thinks he's grown up as a person. Still, things… could've gone better.
"Avengers fell because of bad leadership," Clint says. "All the resources in the world, all the brain power, and they ended up fighting each other with Thanos just a couple years away. So, yeah. Watch out for that."
Eagle chews on the thought for a moment and then hums. "Yeah. Something like that happened in our history too," he agrees and shrugs. "Things always go to hell when there are two guys claiming the same leadership title."
"Yeah," Clint agrees, and finishes his pizza. "There will probably be more Enhanced popping up now – they tend to, following stuff like the Snap. Desperate people trying to become stronger, doing experiments, fucking themselves or each other over, that sort of thing."
"Huh," Eagle says, thoughtful.
Clint eyes him thoughtfully, wondering what the guy was doing before gaining powers. Though mere powers don't necessarily explain the use of a crossbow, a sword, smoke bombs. "I can hook you up with some contacts, if you're looking for like-minded people. You're the first I've heard of, but… it's bound to happen."
"I guess I wouldn't mind – I'm not really interested in becoming a superhero though," Eagle says. "I'm just helping where I can."
Clint arches a brow at that. "And that's in no way what superheroes do."
"I just call it being a decent person," Eagle says and leans back to enjoy his last slice of pizza. "Most of the stuff I do isn't that heroic anyway – a week ago I helped a bunch of people break into an industrial chicken farm, nothing very heroic about that."
"… chicken farm."
"Mmhm, yep," Eagle agrees and looks at him. "It was hell of a night. I still can smell the chicken shit on my shoes."
Clint squints at him suspiciously, wondering if he's serious. "Why?" he asks then. "Why steal chickens?"
"People need to eat, and they were hoarding literally millions of chickens," the guy shrugs and bites into the pizza. "Anyway, not really caped-crusader stuff, stealing animals."
Clint leans back, brows still arched. "Eagle, the chicken stealer," he says then, and snorts. "Yeah, no, I can't imagine that being good for publicity. Amazing."
The guy grins and finishes his pizza.
"So, what are you going to do now?" Clint asks later, after they've left the pizzeria and Eagle has procured beers from somewhere. Clint isn't sure he didn't magic them into existence.
"Think I've seen everything there's to be seen here – think I'll move on to the next town," Eagle says, sitting on a stone fence, watching the empty street. There's a car abandoned on the side of it – looks like someone's broken into it since its abandonment, the windows and the gas tank lid are both broken.
"That's what you do, then, you travel around?"
Eagle shrugs. "Pretty much," he agrees and snaps the can open. "These aren't real, by the way," he says, lifting the can a little. "Tastes like the real thing, but it vanishes the moment it hits your stomach. Can't get actual nutrients from it, but they fool your body into a slight buzz."
Clint considers that. "That is handy as hell. Can you make me something fancier?"
Eagle thinks about it and then lifts his hand, gloved in latex. There's a sort of shimmer of light around the hand, and then he's gripping a cocktail glass, with clear liquid and an olive in it. "Martini," he offers and grins. "Shaken, not stirred."
"Are you kidding me?" Clint asks suspiciously, wondering if he's been figured out after all.
"Figures it'd be a drink of masked superheroes," Eagle says and sets the glass on the wall between them before concentrating. His eyes narrow and flash with several hues – and then he's holding a stout stem glass, filled with what looks like hot chocolate with cream on top. "Irish coffee," he says. "I'm more particular to sweet stuff."
"Okay that is amazing and unfair," Clint says, staring at him. "You can just make food?"
"Not food – just alcohol," Eagle says and shrugs, conjuring up a straw to drink the Irish coffee with. "I gotta know something in and out before I can make it – never was much of a cook, but I know my drinks. And it's not very useful, since you can't get actual nutrients from it. Figure it's basically just brain trickery, fooling your senses into thinking it's the real thing."
"That… sounds like an awesome way to diet. Or starve," Clint snorts and takes a look at the martini. "Never been particular to this stuff. Can you make me a ginger ale instead?"
"Coming right up."
He's handed a pint next, and it tastes just about right – it even has the right mouth feel. But Eagle is right – after swallowing, Clint can't feel the stuff hit his stomach. It's like it evaporates somewhere in between.
It's been… a while since he drank anything for pleasure – and this is strictly for pleasure, since it won't get him drunk or anything. "That's some power," he mutters. Stark probably would've killed to have someone around with this kind of power. Power to fool all the triggers and urges of an alcoholic – without actually letting them have any alcohol. Would've made the guy's rehab much easier for everyone probably.
"So, you make weapons and alcohol," Clint asks. "You must be fun at parties."
Eagle snorts into his fake Irish coffee. "I guess I would. Haven't actually tried to see how many I can make – I gotta concentrate to keep them around, otherwise they just vanish. Trying to make drinks for the whole party and keep them from disappearing before people actually get to drink them, that'd be tough," he muses. "Should try it sometime."
Clint snorts and shakes his head. They're quiet for a moment, each enjoying their respective fake drinks. Clint can just imagine the party being the Avengers and those nearby, each egging the guy on to make more and more elaborate drinks, and doing their all to get safely smashed – without actually doing so.
That… that was before the Snap though. Now… now it wouldn't be a happy occasion, even if Eagle ever actually got there. And judging by what the guy's saying, he has no interest in joining anyone, not even the Avengers. Seems happy where he is, with the powers he has.
"So, what about you?" Eagle asks, looking at him.
Clint glances at him and then takes another drink. "There's a Church of Thanos I'm meaning to go to visit," Clint says. "Going by their broadcasts, they're egging people on, to commit more mass shootings. You interested?"
"Not particularly," Eagle answers.
"I mean, going there and putting an end to it," Clint says, rolling his eyes. "Not committing mass shootings."
"Still not particularly interested," Eagle says, stirring his drink with the straw. "Sorry."
Clint gives him a look, frowning. Eagle looks back at him, arching a brow, daring him to question it – so he does. "So you're just going to sit back and do nothing while they spread violence and death, all that?"
"Yeah, all that," Eagle agrees and looks away. "There are thousands of horrible things happening, thousands of horrible people doing horrible shit to each other. I'll kill them if they come my way and are threatening innocent people, but I'm not going to go out of my way to hunt them down."
"Even if hunting them down now would save a lot more innocent people?" Clint asks.
Eagle hesitates and then sighs. "There is that," he agrees, tilting his head back and looking up at the sky. "My kingdom for a proper Brotherhood."
"What?"
Eagle shrug. "Used to be, once upon a time, that there was a group of people dedicated to doing that sort of shit – going around, removing threats, making people safe," he says. "Like, hundreds of years ago, I mean – not talking about the Avengers. Dozens of people effectively murdering people for the greater good, serving the light from the shadows."
Clint frowns at him. "What, like a band of assassins?" he asks with interest. "Like murderous illuminati? Or, what were they called, the hashashins or something?" Just how many secret orders were there out there?
Eagle snorts, finishing his drink in a noisy slurp and then dropping the glass. It disappears into flickers of light before hitting the ground. "Yeah," he says. "Or something. Anyway, stuff like this, going around and just killing the bad guys, it makes you go nuts before long. Seen it happen, and I value my sanity more than that. I want to actually enjoy my life, do other things, and if that makes me a selfish asshole… then it does. Still not going out of my way to murder people at the cost of my own mental wellbeing."
Clint considers that – it has the tone of an excuse the guy has been thinking about for a while, really. Like it's something he thinks he is going to have to use in self-defence, like he's expecting to be questioned for his choices. Which he probably is going to be, considering that he seems to have both the abilities and the mental aptitude to murdering the bad guys.
Clint isn't sure if he's on the guy's side or not, though. He'd made a similar choice when he'd retired – and look where that got him. He wasn't there when it mattered, and though there's no knowing whether it would've even made a difference… well, now he will never know.
"And if because of your inaction someone you love dies?" Clint asks.
Eagle doesn't answer it for a moment, looking down. "Well," he says. "Didn't say it was a perfect choice – just the one I'm making right now."
Clint snorts. "Well, I'm going to find anyone or anything who is looking to make things worse for other people, and I'm going to kill them," he says. "And that way fewer innocent people will be killed by those people. And that's how I am going to keep my mental health in check – by knowing that thanks to my actions that many people are safer at night."
"Harsh," Eagle comments, looking away.
"So's the world," Clint says, finishing his drink and then dropping it too. It's freaky, watching the glass just disappear, but hey, no littering. "Guess you can be selfish if you want to, that's your choice, but you gotta take some responsibility for inaction too. If people die because you didn't do anything, and you could've done something… it's little bit your fault."
Eagle's lips press tight together at that. "Even if I had nothing to do with it, and it's not my fault?"
"Life isn't fair," Clint says and hops down from the wall. "Sometimes you just gotta suck it up."
For a moment Eagle just looks at him, his face inscrutable. "You have no idea what I've done," he says then. "Or what I haven't."
"No, I have no idea," Clint shrugs. "But I'm sitting on the other side of that choice you're making, and let me tell you – at least I was happy isn't much of a comfort when everyone you love is fucking dead and you didn't do shit to stop it."