The Carnie

by devilsarcher

Summary:

Clint Barton has worked at a carnival with his brother, Barney, since he was just a teenager. He’s never liked it there, but what other choice does he have?

Things start to change when a new recruit is put under Clint’s care.

Chapter 1

Notes:

I was watching Nightmare Alley when I got an idea for a Matt/Clint fic. I haven’t written fanfiction in a few years, so please let me know if you enjoy this!

Clint Barton had always hated the circus.

 

To almost anyone who asked, he worked there because he was good at it; he was flexible, made for a great gymnast, and the fact that he was one helluva good shot with a bow and arrow only meant that he could coerce his boss into giving him a bigger paycheque at the end of a long week, undoubtedly filled with extra performances that Clint didn’t have the energy nor the care for.

 

But if Barney asked? Well, the answer would be entirely different — not that Barney needed to ask, his brother knew better than anyone. They were carnies out of necessity, nothing more. The shitty conditions were much better than anything they ever had back at home; sure, they slept on worn down mattresses in too-cramped bunks and ate what could only be described as a half bowl of slop twice a day, but anything was better than staying at home and taking endless hits from their father. Clint would choose waking up with a sore back every day over broken bones and shards of a beer bottle imbedded in his skin.

 

He always knew that Barney could find another job — neither of them were educated, but hell, they worked hard and never complained. If he tried, he could easily get a job in construction or doing labour for some asshole with more money than either of the brothers could even imagine, but he’d never even considered it.

 

Clint thought it was pretty fucking stupid, drew it up to loyalty or some misplaced guilt for not protecting him or taking enough hits from their father. He knew he’d never get hired anyplace else; being uneducated was one thing, but being deaf meant that any boss would scoff if he ever tried. (And he had tried). It didn’t matter that he could do anything Barney could,  no one other than his brother saw as much.

 

Sometimes he’d wonder if his bastard father got a kick out of this, knowing that even though he and Barney had ran away, the abuse Clint endured would shadow the rest of his life in the form of one completely deafened ear, courtesy of his father’s drunken punch. Maybe they could escape that damned house and the man himself, but there wasn’t any escaping the lifelong reminder he’d dished out.

 

The point was that yeah, maybe Clint had been working for the circus since he was a young teen, but that didn’t mean he had to love it — fuck, he didn’t even like it. He knew that these people were cruel, the whole bloody place was cruel, but this? This was too much.

 

There were plenty of shitty attractions or shows with the purpose of demeaning and selling anyone they didn’t deem ‘normal’, and they never failed to make Clint feel sick to his stomach, but when his boss had told him to get the new recruit settled, he was almost certain he would throw up right there.

 

The man — boy, because he couldn’t be any older than nineteen — was clearly blind, clutching a cane with red shaded glasses perched on top of his nose. Clint had always known that the other carnies thought he was a freak, but knowing that the new freak-show recruit was only there because he was down a sense cut through him like a sharp knife. He briefly wondered if they thought that Clint should be a freak-show act himself, but forced himself to swallow the fear down.

 

“Hey, man.”

 

Hey, man ? Was that really the best he could manage? He already pitied the poor guy, he didn’t need to let his awkwardness make this situation any worse.

 

Clint’s entirely grateful when the guy musters a halfhearted smile. “Hey. You’re… Clint, right? Hawkeye, the archer?”

 

There was something in that which made Clint preen sheepishly. Most of the guys got stuck on him being a gymnast, making snide comments were supposed to be girls or asking if maybe that’s why he was doing this in the first place. He made himself brush it off; Barney wasn’t so kind, often coming back with bruised or bloodied knuckles.

 

“The one and only,” he confirmed proudly, gesturing openly with his hands even though he knew the new guy couldn’t see him. “And you’re…?”

 

“Matthew, the uh— the freak, I guess.”

 

The man — Matthew — shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rolling his cane between his palms. Nervous, then. Clint wasn’t surprised.

 

He knew it was bad timing, but Matt’s forehead creased into a small frown, like the words tasted bad on his tongue, and Clint thought it was too attractive to be fair. Dark — maybe reddish if he squinted — curls framed his face, resting against the frame of his glasses. Absently, Clint mused that they would fall into his eyes without them. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes through the red lenses, but he imagined they were just as pretty as the rest of him, from his plump lips to the small smattering of freckles that dotted his nose. Clint thought that he caught a glimpse of scarring beneath Matt’s glasses, but he forced his gaze away, as if the sight wasn’t meant for him. It was too intimate, too personal.

 

“You’re not a freak,” he said quickly, before he could think better of it. “You’re just a kid, how old are you, anyway?”

 

“Nineteen, sir.” Spot on.

 

“ Don’t call me sir, Matthew,” Clint huffed a laugh that fell slightly short, “I’m only a few years older than you, call me Clint.”

 

“Only if you call me Matt.”

 

The man smiled up at him, just a small quirk of his lips, but it brightened his entire face. Clint couldn’t stop his own smile forming.

 

“Okay, Matt. Let’s get you settled.”

Chapter 2

Summary:

Just a little snippet of Clint practicing with Matt before his first show at the end of the week. Some bonding and almost flirting included.

Notes:

Updates will be semi-irregular, I'm really enjoying writing this so I'm going to add the next chapter whenever I get the chance! Thank you for the kudos so far, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)

I’m going to be adding in characters as the story develops, I definitely want to include Foggy, but if there’s anyone you’d like to see, let me know!

Over the next few days, Clint spent his free time getting to know Matt. It was easier than he expected, having assumed that the man would be closed off considering the circumstances. But now, they’d sit at mealtimes or before bed, talking about everything and anything. The more they did talk, though, the more Clint hated that he had the opportunity to get to know Matt in the first place.

 

-

 

“Have you always been—”

 

“Blind?”

 

Clint huffed a laugh, ducking his head shyly. “That’s what everyone wants to know, huh?”

 

“Every time,” Matt confirmed, offering the cocky grin Clint had quickly come to love. “Not always. There was an accident when I was nine, a crash where they were moving these experimental chemicals or something. Ended up in the road, I didn’t realise what was happening until my dad was yelling at me to close my eyes, but I guess the damage was already done.”

 

Clint wanted to ask if he missed seeing like he missed hearing, but he thought better of it.

 

-

 

“What are you doing here, Matt, really? You’re not a freak, you’re just disabled, man. You shouldn’t be in a place like this.”

 

“Need the money. I’m gonna study to be a lawyer after this, go to school somewhere.”

 

He whistled lowly, beaming. “A big hotshot lawyer, huh? You get to leave this place and go to some fancy cities one day.” A part of him wanted to scream that this wasn’t worth it, that he should run before this damned place screwed him up, but even though he’d only known Matt a short time, he was already certain that the guy was too stubborn to listen anyway.

 

-

 

“Barney seems like a great brother,” Matt had said randomly one night, when they were sat alone in the bunk room.

 

“Yeah, he’s… He’s great, y’know? Couldn’t ask for a better big brother, even if he is an ass sometimes. He never does anything that he doesn’t think is best for us, doesn’t care if it gets him in trouble. The amount a’ times that he’s gotten himself in trouble with the boss ‘cause he’s hit out at one of the other carnies… Like I said, man, stubborn, headstrong jerk, but he’s all I got, wouldn’t change that for the world.”

 

When the man smiled, there was something sad behind it, like longing or grief. That one look was enough for Clint to know that Matt was all on his own, and enough for him to decide that he wasn’t going to be any longer.

 

-

 

Clint settled himself in front of Matt, the two alone on one of the makeshift performance stages. He took in the man’s appearance; a fully black outfit and a scarf wrapped around his eyes. It was stupid, Clint had argued at first, the guy was clearly blind, they didn’t need to cover him up like that, but the boss had quickly shut his complaints down; it was for the audience, the show. He knew better than to keep pushing. At least Matt’s outfit was a little better than Clint’s black and purple spandex.

 

“Alright, Matt, we’re just gonna practice, yeah? I’ve got my bow with me, we’re gonna try a couple of shots. I know they said you’ve got good reflexes, but I’m a marksman, I don’t miss a target, so we’re gonna be careful until I know what you can do.” Clint was beyond hesitant about this, not wanting to hurt the poor guy, but he knew first-hand what it felt like to be underestimated, he wasn’t going to put someone else through that. “I want you to stand still, a couple steps to the left there – yeah, just like that, Matt, that’s perfect – I’m gonna shoot an arrow into the wall behind you, about a foot to the left or the right of you. You’re gonna need to figure out where I’m going and move away, trust your instincts or whatever it is you do.”

 

Matt smirked, clearly amused by Clint’s explanation. If Clint could see, he was almost certain that he was quirking his eyebrow and offering up that expression that said ‘yeah, get on with it’. Just the thought made him grin.

 

“Take your best shot, Hawkeye.”

 

Falling into stance, Clint laughed, pressing an arrow onto the shelf of the rest. “Careful what you wish for, Matt.” He slipped three fingers onto the string, drawing with his back muscles, not his biceps – more control, better shot. He narrowed his eyes, glancing at the wall behind Matt. Left or right, left or right…

 

Left.

 

Releasing the arrow, Clint held his breath and glued his gaze onto Matt. He knew the shot was perfect, an exact foot to the left of Matt, but he couldn’t deny the anxiety that pooled in his stomach. If Matt moved to the wrong side or twisted the wrong way or-…

 

Holy shit.

 

“Holy shit,” Clint echoed his thoughts, staring at the arrow Matt now held in his hand, having caught it mid-air. “Holy shit, Matt. How did you-…” he trailed off, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Had he hit his head on the way out of bed that morning?

 

Matt stepped closer, his grin turning shy and sheepish from where it had been cocky and proud. He held the arrow out to Clint and shrugged, “I told you, I have good instincts,” he teased, tugging the scarf off his face so that Clint could see him better.

 

If he hadn’t been so distracted by Matt’s eyes, Clint might have been annoyed by the half-answer, but his mind drew a blank. He hadn’t seen Matt’s eyes properly before, the sight always shielded by the red lenses, but now, up close, they had his breath catching in his throat. They were dark but clouded, unfocused but angled somewhere just behind Clint’s shoulder, shrouded by the pink scarring he thought he’d seen before. Realistically, Clint knew that the scars were ten years old by now, but he absently thought that it looked painful, the dull ache type of pain he’d been left with himself from his father.

 

He hadn’t realised he’d forgotten to reply until Matt spoke up again. “Sorry, I, uh, I know my eyes makes people uncomfortable,” he apologised quickly, his smile disappearing into a small frown.

 

“No!” Clint gushed, far too quickly, “No, they’re not- I’m not uncomfortable, your eyes are- they’re pretty.” Pretty? Seriously, Clint?

 

Quirking an eyebrow, Matt laughed, shaking his head. “Uh hu,” he hummed, disbelieving. He pressed the arrow into Clint’s palm, closing the archer’s fingers around it. “Why don’t you try shooting at me this time? That last shot was an insult to both of us.”

 

“I’m not shooting you, are y’kidding me?”

 

“I said shoot at me, Clint. I didn’t say you’re gonna land the shot, did I?”

 

It was a challenge, Clint knew as much, but he took the bait regardless. “That so, newbie?” He was grinning now, unable to help himself, “Y’know, I don’t think the boss would like it if I injured his new recruit a couple days before he’s supposed to perform for the first time. So, when you get shot, it’s on you, but I’ll be good to ya, I’ll make sure you can still do you show on Friday.”

 

“Two shots, in a row,” Matt agreed easily, returning to his position closer to the wall. “Your best shots, don’t hold back on me, or I’ll be telling on you to Barney that you’re mucking up your shots on purpose.”

 

Well, Clint supposed, that was that, then. “Scarf on, Matt,” he murmured softly, readying his arrow again, humming when they were both ready. “Atta boy.”

 

The first shot Clint took was low, aiming for Matt’s calf, midways between his knee and his ankle, and Matt twisted his body sideways, raising his leg and missing the arrow by what couldn’t have been more than a few centimetres. Clint sucked in a sharp breath, but kept true to his word, drawing his second arrow and aiming just above Matt’s hip, before watching on with a scowl as Matt manipulated his stance to push off the floor and flip above the arrow. When he landed, Clint noticed the arrow in Matt’s hand again.

 

“Thought I’d save you the trouble of pulling it outta the wall,” Matt teased, grinning in a way that would have annoyed Clint had it been anyone else.

 

“Well, I’ll be damned, Matt.”

 

Matt huffed a laugh, tugging the first arrow from the wall before coming back over to Clint again. “Blasphemy,” he muttered, tutting and shaking his head, though his grin stayed in place.

 

“Didn’t take you for a church boy.”

 

“Catholic,” Matt confirmed, slipping Clint’s arrows into his quiver. “Grew up in the church after my dad died, orphanage run by the sisters. Don’t know much else, it’s just the way it is for me. Keeps me going, you know? Getting through this, being here, helps to know it’s a part of some plan, that something better is waiting.”

 

Clint’s head tipped to the side as he listened, curious. Huh. In some ways it made sense, he figured, he doubted he would have been quite as calm as Matt if he had been in his position; he’d already heard about the boss’ plan for the performances, putting him out there as the freak blind guy with a sixth sense. Clint had to bite his tongue to stop himself from butting in when he heard. As much as he wanted to defend Matt, he knew that anything he had to say would only make it worse for the both of them.

 

“Good for you, Matt. But don’t let any of the other guys hear you say that shit, y’hear?” Clint cautioned, setting his bow down so that he could turn to Matt with his arms folded over his chest. “None of them guys are fond of religious folk, I don’t want you getting more crap than you’re already getting.”

 

His hands balled into fists at the thought of how some of the other carnies had been treating Matt. He’d even caught the boss trying to give Matt the wrong starting wage without him knowing, handing over a couple ones instead of tens. Clint was just grateful he’d been there to call it out. That was hardly anything against the carnies' jokes about a blind guy not belonging in the carnival, or asking if he was faking his blindness. He’d spent a lot of time biting his tongue recently, Clint realised.

 

Matt snorting pulled him out of his thoughts. “You reckon it could get worse than it is?” he huffed, cocking his head to the side curiously. Something about the smile on his face made Clint uneasy, as if this was just normal for Matt, something to be brushed off. “There’s a rumour going round that I’m only here so that I don’t get locked up because I ‘probably take it up the ass’, apparently.”

 

Do you? Clint wanted to ask.

 

He kept his mouth shut.

 

“They’re assholes, man,” he groaned instead, running a hand down his face tiredly. “They think that anyone being different to them gives ‘em the right to talk shit. You want me to ask Barney to have a chat with them?”

 

“From what you’ve told me, your brother is already in enough trouble defending you as it is,” Matt laughed, shaking his head, “I can handle them, Clint.”

 

He wanted to argue that he shouldn’t have to, but Clint hummed instead, grabbing three small balls out of the bag he’d brought along. “Whatever you say, Matt. But me and Barney’ve got your back, don’t matter what you say.”

 

Before Matt had the chance to reply, Clint was throwing one of the balls towards his face, content with the knowledge that even if it hit, it wouldn’t do any damage. Thank God for softballs. As he’d expected though, the man caught it one handed, turning his head back to Clint with an expression he could only described as utterly unimpressed, his eyebrow quirked and eyes narrowed. “Practice ain’t over yet, newbie. Get your ass back over to the wall.”

Chapter 3

Summary:

Clint and Matt have their first performance and Barney accidentally spills some secrets that weren't his to tell.

Notes:

A longer chapter this time! I was tempted to split it up into two chapters, but I think it flows better as one.

As always, any feedback is appreciated!

Matt’s first performance went about as well as Clint had expected it to.

 

(Not well).

 

For an entire week, Clint had been forced to see the posters crop up everywhere, bright red paper with a sloppy drawing of Matt in the middle, dressed up in the black clothes and scarf. Above his head, white text proclaimed: ‘FREAK OF NATURE’, and below: ‘the blind man who sees!’ If Clint and Barney had torn some down late at night when nobody else was around, well, that was between them and God.

 

Despite their attempts, the posters garnered a queue of eager assholes wanting to get a glance at a blind man having arrows shot at him, and the boss made the decision to move them off of the stage and into one of the tents at the last minute. Now, Clint didn’t mind working in one of the tents on an ordinary day, but standing in the centre of the platform with Matt at his side and an overflowing audience surrounding them changed his mind entirely.

 

Maybe Matt was right about all that God stuff; this was hell.

 

Even though he tried to conceal it, Clint could tell that Matt was nervous. Sure, he was cocky and confident when it was just the two of them but looking at him as he stood there with his jaw clenched and his head tilted upwards, he saw something he didn’t usually: a façade. His hands trembled at his side and his tongue darted out to swipe along his lips persistently.

 

“Matt,” Clint whispered, trying to keep his voice low in an attempt to be soothing, “It’s going to be okay. I’m right here with you, it’ll just be like we practiced on stage, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, with the added bonus of hundreds of people here to see the freak,” Matt ground out and okay, yeah, maybe Clint deserved the bite in his words, but that didn’t stop him from grimacing.

 

Matt sighed, ducking his head guiltily, “Sorry, it’s not your fault,” he murmured, matching Clint’s earlier tone. “I can hear them laughing at me. Talking about me.”

 

The admittance didn’t ease the upset in Clint’s chest, and he found himself wishing he could reach out and hold onto him. He would have if it wouldn’t risk both of their jobs here. “It’s okay, Matt, listen to me instead,” he soothed, “C’mon, remember why you’re here. Couple years down the line and you’ll be practicing law at some rich firm, you’ll have forgotten all about little ol’ me, this place.”

 

“You’re wrong if you think I’m leaving this place without you.” There wasn’t any room for argument in his voice as he continued. “You and Barney, when I’m a lawyer, there’s no way you’re gonna be stuck here taking shit from those guys.”

 

The thought made Clint huff a laugh, but he knew better than to let himself hold onto anything that could give him hope. He knew that a place like this killed hope, he was just praying that Matt wouldn’t have to learn that the way he did.

 

“Yeah, yeah. What kinda law you gonna do, then? Gonna write up contracts or what?” Clint asked, giving his best shot at a distraction as people continued to file in.

 

“God no,” Matt laughed, shaking his head, and Clint’s chest swelled with pride knowing that he’d gotten him to smile again, “I’m gonna do criminal law, become a defence attorney. Stand up for the people who can’t do it themselves.”

 

Clint smiled at the sentiment, humming to himself. He’d make a good lawyer, there wasn’t any doubt about that; he was a good guy, far too good to be in a place like this.

 

Before he had a chance to reply, the tent curtains fell and the final few people settled into their seats. The lights dimmed around them, though the stage remained alight in a warm, yellow glow from the overhead lights. Clint straightened his back as he heard the boss call out, his voice echoing as he introduced the two.

 

“Introducing, for the very first time on our stages, Hawkeye and the freak!” Clint barely bit back a flinch, stepping forward and raising his bow. “Tonight, you’ll see the world’s best marksman facing his greatest challenge yet: a blind man!”

 

Laughter filled the tent and Clint chanced a glance at Matt, noticing how tense the man was, albeit stood perfectly still beside him. God, he wanted this to be over and it hadn’t even begun. The boss continued, his voice grating on Clint. “I know what you’re all thinking, but I promise you that you’re all in for a treat tonight. Though this man is blind, he has a sixth sense that even the best scientists couldn’t explain, for this man is a true freak of nature!”

 

There was a pause before Clint’s gaze zeroed in on a man rising to his feet at one of the upper stalls. He was burly, his expression bored and unimpressed as he called out: “It’s all a trick! Ain’t no blind man who can do nothin’ like that! That’s the whole reason he’s got that stupid mask on, some dumb trick to scam us outta our money!” A soft noise left Clint’s lips as people yelled in agreement, suddenly defensive and annoyed. He took a slight step forward, as though he could do anything to shield Matt from them all.

 

“Settle down!” The boss called firmly, causing the noise to fall into hushed complaints. “If it is proof that you desire, who am I to deny it to you? Hawkeye, will you do us the honours of removing the mask?”

 

Clint’s heart sank immediately, the weight heavy in his chest. He went to protest, but the words fell short on his tongue when Matt nodded beside him, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Seeing him like this was far worse than when he was tense and nervous; this man had all of his fight drained out of him. He stepped behind Matt cautiously, brushing his fingers through his hair as he came to untie the scarf, ensuring his small comforts were subtle. Still, he was hesitant, lingering when the knot had come undone.  “It’s okay,” he heard Matt mumble, tilting his head to allow Clint to remove it easily.

 

The audience flooded with gasps when Clint dropped the fabric, the light above them brightening so that they could catch a glimpse of Matt’s unseeing eyes, the scars that surrounded them. A series of murmurs soon followed, to which Matt barely withheld a frown. Clint didn’t have to ask to know what was being said, though he was quick to tie the scarf tightly back in place when he noticed the way Matt’s shoulders shook with his trembling breaths.

 

“Focus on me,” he whispered, knowing he didn’t have to worry about being heard. “They don’t know you, but I do. Head high, newbie. Let’s prove them all wrong.”

 

After that, the performance went smoothly, exactly as they had rehearsed. Matt escaped every shot Clint took, though the archer couldn’t help but notice the torn fabric at his thigh where one of the arrows had nicked him. Who could blame the guy for being off his game, though? Even despite it all, Matt moved like liquid, body contorting to avoid Clint’s shots, flowing through twists, leaps and flips. The audience gasped in time with Matt’s movements, clearly impressed, intrigued, or both, but it was their final shot that got the most attention, when Clint drew back his final arrow, aiming just above Matt’s face.

 

Come on, Matt. You’ve got this.

 

The arrow seemed to hiss as it shot through the air, the tent falling into silence in anticipation. Clint held his breath, lowering his bow and letting out a soft laugh when Matt’s hand snatched the arrow out of the air, throwing it back in Clint’s direction. That, they hadn’t planned, but Clint caught the arrow regardless, grinning proudly at Matt. The noise from the audience or their boss’ call across the tent didn’t matter when he raised his bow proudly, leaning into the performance before gesturing to Matt, a lot more at ease than he had been.

 

It wasn’t until they were both alone in one of the smaller backstage tents that they both let their acts drop. Matt’s fingers curled in the mask, tugging at the fabric harshly until he could throw it across the floor. His breaths were laboured and shaky when Clint reached him, having discarded of his bow and quiver the moment that they’d gotten inside. “Hey, Matt – hey, it’s okay,” he started rambling, hands settling on his shoulders, “You’re okay, man. You did great out there– fuck, I shouldn’t have taken your mask off, I didn’t– that guy was a jerk, you didn’t owe them anything.”

 

When Matt’s eyes grew watery, Clint cursed under his breath, drawing him in close now that they were alone. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, Matt.” He instinctively brushed his fingers through Matt’s curls, just how Barney did for him whenever he was upset. “I didn’t hear a thing they said about you, but I know you did, Matt, and you gotta know that whatever they said ain’t right, yeah? Nothing about you not bein’ capable or your eyes, none of that’s true. It isn’t true.”

 

The words seemed to come out of Clint’s mouth faster than he could process what he was saying, and it was almost a relief when he felt Matt let out a stuttered breath against his shoulder, if only to stop him from saying something stupid.

 

“I didn’t think it would be that hard.”

 

“I know,” Clint whispered, knowing there was nothing he could offer up to help.

 

“I thought- I thought that the things people had said to my face were bad, I thought…”

 

“I know, Matt. I know.”

 

Clint sighed, resting his chin against the top of Matt’s head as he held him closer, as if he held the man tight enough, all his sadness might disappear. “Let’s go back to our room, yeah? We can raid Barney’s secret snack stash, okay?” he waited for Matt to nod before drawing back, “Okay, yeah.”

 

Everything would be fine; he’d make sure of it.

 

-

 

The last thing Barney expected to see when he got back from packing away one of the stages was Clint on his knees in front of the new recruit.

 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the absolute last thing he expected. He’d heard enough about Matt to know that Clint had taken a liking to him; even if he didn’t know how to read his brother well, that much would be obvious to anyone. But still, it had to be nearing midnight and Barney had been looking forward to crashing in his bunk the moment he’d walked through, so he wasn’t too keen on the idea that he’d be kept up all night.

 

“Am I interrupting something?” he called, letting the door slam shut behind him. Though he’d never admit it, the way that Clint’s head snapped up towards him was at least a little amusing, even more so when his cheeks flushed a soft pink. He had to refrain from cooing; he wasn’t in the mood to get something thrown at him in retaliation.

 

“No, no,” Clint rushed out quickly, looking far too guilty for his own good. “I just, I grazed Matt with an arrow earlier, I’m tryna clean ‘im up. You know as well as I do that it’s easy to pick up an infection in this place, Barney.” He paused, before cocking his head down and grinning, “No funny business, I promise.”

 

Barney huffed, his expression conveying an amused sort of doubt as he pushed further into the room, coming to stand beside Clint. He took in Matt’s puffy eyes and red cheeks and decided to drop the jokes for now. “You alright, Matt?” he asked absently, taking the first aid kit from Clint with a sigh. “You shouldn’t ever let Clint patch you up, I’ve seen his attempt at stitches, a blind man could probably do a better job.”

 

Before Barney could apologise for his poorly timed slip up, Matt laughed, his head tilting back slightly in the act. “We’ll just have to let me have a go next time, then.”

 

“Oh, absolutely not, Matt.”

 

“Do you think it’s because I’m blind?” Matt stage-whispered to Barney, who was busying himself with pressing a bandage to the man’s thigh, nudging Clint out of the way.

 

Barney snorted, “No, it’s because he whines like a baby.”

 

An indignant noise left Clint’s lips, though he didn’t even bother to defend himself. “I don’t like this. What is this? Some kind of team up? Am I being ganged up on?” he pouted as he glanced between the two. “He was mine first, Barn, he’s my newbie. Haven’t they given you someone to bother yet?”

 

“You think they’d trust me with one? Boss thinks I’d break ‘em with my bad professionalism.”

 

“He say that to you?”

 

“Nah – you’re good to go, Matt, try not t’sleep on that side t’night – didn’t have to, I know it just as good as he does.”

 

Clint shook his head with a huff as he got to his feet, offering out a hand to Matt. “Thanks, Barney,” he hummed, Matt quickly parroting the same.

 

“Ain’t nothin’,” Barney shook off quickly, waving his hand vaguely in their direction, before turning to face Clint properly. “Mind if I have a word outside?”

 

When his brother nodded, Barney moved towards the door. “Good. I won’t keep ‘im from you for too long, Matt. Scouts honour.”

 

“You weren’t ever a scout-”

 

“Just get outside, Clint.”

 

With the door safely shut behind them, Barney leant against the wall of their small, shared kitchen. He was just grateful that no one else was around. “Are we gonna talk about this?” he asked, head tipped down to Clint pointedly. Ever since they left, Barney had taken on the role of being responsible for them both. At times, it was accepted gladly. Others, not so much.

 

“About what?” Clint retorted dumbly, shrugging as he matched Barney’s relaxed stance.

 

“About you and Matt,” he barrelled ahead when Clint tried to cut him off, “No, Clint, you listen to me for a minute. You need to be careful here, there’s only so much I can do to take care of ya. We can’t get kicked outta another-”

 

“Barney-”

 

“-circus if someone finds out that you’re into fellas. Y’know I ain’t got a problem with it, never have, but-”

 

“Barney, stop-”

 

“-but, if we lose our jobs again, there ain’t no promise that we’re gonna find another circus to take us in. We ain’t got nowhere to go, we ain’t got enough money saved up to leave, and we certainly don’t have any back up options.”

 

“Are you done?”

 

“C’mon, don’t give me that attitude, Clint. I don’t care what you do with ‘im, but if you’re gonna get down on your knees, at least lock the God damn door-” Clint pressed his hand firmly over Barney’s mouth, knocking them both back a couple of steps.

 

“Will you shut up?” he hissed, evoking an annoyed grunt from Barney, who was in half a mind to bite Clint's palm out of spite. “He has crazy good hearing and didn’t even know I was gay, Barns, but he sure as hell does now.”

 

Barney had the grace to look guilty when Clint withdrew his hand. “You sure he heard anything?”

 

With a sigh, Clint slumped against the wall, running his hand down his face. As if this day could get any worse. “Matt?” he called softly, making a point not to raise his voice.

 

There was a moment of silence before the man opened the door, stepping out into the kitchen sheepishly. “I wasn’t trying to listen in,” he assured quickly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s alright, Matt, just- I get it if this freaks you out, but I need y’not to tell anyone, man. I can get you moved into a different bunk room, get the boss to pair you up with someone else, but you gotta keep this to yourself for me.” Clint’s words came faster than he could process them, fuelled by nerves and embarrassment, though Matt didn’t seem fazed, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile. “You know what people do to guys like me, Matt.”

 

“Us.”

 

“And you know that they- what?”

 

“Guys like us,” Matt shrugged nonchalantly, seemingly careless, though Clint noticed the tension in his jaw, the way he turned towards Clint rather than Barney. When Clint didn’t reply, opting instead to stare at Matt as if he couldn’t quite believe it, the man laughed out a soft, “Goodnight Clint, Barney,” before retreating back into the room.

 

As the door closed behind him, Matt heard an amused, “Well, seems like you will need to remember to lock the door, then.”

Chapter 4

Summary:

A glimpse into Matt and Clint's developing relationship as they open up to each other.

Notes:

I want to explore Matt's faith more, but I'm Jewish and entirely terrified of screwing it up, so I tried to dabble in it in this chapter. I think it will definitely be something that becomes more present as his relationship develops with Clint, but please feel free to let me know of any inaccuracies.

There was an unspoken rule between Matt and Clint that they didn’t discuss anything seen or heard that night.

 

They didn’t mention it the following morning, when Clint came back from grabbing their breakfast to find Matt knelt at the foot of the bed praying.

 

He’d wondered absently if it was because of him; he hadn’t seen him pray since he joined, so he couldn’t help but assume it might be some screwed up result of Catholic guilt and being into fellas. They weren’t exactly the fondest of people like him – people like them – anyway.

 

Instead of asking, he did the next best thing he could think of; set their bowls aside to kneel at Matt’s side. He brushed his fingers over the man’s shoulders as he settled beside him, Clint’s way of letting him know that he was there, even if he realistically knew that Matt would have heard him anyway. Okay, maybe it was more for Clint than Matt, but who could blame him? It was self-indulgent, maybe even a little selfish, but that thought was wiped from Clint’s mind when Matt pressed into the touch, into his fingers, and switched to praying out loud.

 

“Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death. Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.”

 

Oh, Matt.

 

Clint pressed closer without much thought to the action, hooking his chin over his shoulder but letting him continue. Whatever this was – guilt? Shame? Punishment? – it was none of Clint’s business, no matter how bad his heart ached, and so he stayed close but silent as Matt repeated his words again, again, again...

 

When Matt finally fell silent, his postured slipped, shoulders slumping forward and Clint adjusted their position, rubbing his hand down his shoulder absently.

 

“Okay?” he asked, without truly knowing what he was asking. Are you okay? Is this okay? Are we okay?

 

“Yeah,” Matt murmured, his voice far lower and scratchier than usual. Clint supposed it was from sleep, but it still made his stomach twist shamefully. Get it together, man.

 

There so much more to say; Clint, once again, kept his mouth shut.

 

-

 

They didn’t mention it when Matt found solace in Clint’s bed after their performance.

 

In fairness, it had been far worse than the first with the word of Matt’s abilities having spread like wildfire in this stupid town. There hadn’t been a problem with their routine; no, Clint and Matt worked together seamlessly, shifting around each other like water, flowing from one trick to the next and the next after that.

 

Their problem was in the audience, with some utter asshole deciding to throw something down at Matt to see if the routine was staged. Of course, everyone seemed to take that as an invitation to do the same, throwing various things down from the stalls to see if Matt could dodge them and well, of course he could, but clint could see how overwhelmed the poor guy was getting. He wanted to yell, to defend Matt as best he could, but he knew that would only get them both in trouble. He needed this job, Matt needed this job, he had to remind himself.

 

Clint’s resolve was only so strong though, and when Matt failed to avoid a glass bottle – a glass fucking bottle – to the back, he felt it crumble completely. If there was one thing he was good for, though, it was his ability to think on his feet, so when the next thing came flying towards them – and what even was that, some sorta tomato? – he drew an arrow back and took the shot. In any other situation, Clint would have swelled with pride when the arrow hit its target, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

 

“Go,” he muttered quickly when the crowd was distracted by cheering for the impressive shot. Understandably, Matt didn’t need to be told twice.

 

Clint lingered for a few minutes, putting on a show to appease the boss and shooting anything that the audience threw at him until he was out of arrows. The moment he was able to, he was rushing for the exit, dropping his bow and quiver haphazardly, carelessly; he’d figure out where he left it, probably.

 

Eventually, he’d found Matt curled up in Clint’s cot. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing by any means, but somehow the man managed to look relaxed in the space, his face buried into Clint’s pillow.

 

“Your own bed not good enough for ya?” he teased, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him quietly, ensuring it didn’t slam shut for the sake of Matt’s hearing. When he didn’t get a response, Clint hummed, “If you’re going to sleep in my bed t’night, can you let me clean y’up first?”

 

-

 

They didn’t mention it as Clint washed Matt’s hair over the side of the shower.

 

The archer tried his best to pointedly ignore how Matt pressed into his fingers greedily, touch starved, Clint had concluded easily. Still, he couldn’t prevent himself from giving into what was clearly needed, brushing through Matt’s hair as he rinsed it. To be as good as he was at archery, Clint needed to be observant, which was why it didn’t go unmissed by him when the tension released from Matt’s body.

 

Taking the opportunity to speak up, Clint murmured softly: “I wish I could protect you from this place. I don’t wanna see you get broken down, nothing good comes outta working here. Hell, Matt, you’re probably the only good thing I’ve seen in years, since I was just a kid, y’know? Barney tried to protect me from all this stuff, the insults, the fucking-… the abuse, but that’s what it is here, man. Ain’t a damned place like it and you sure as hell don’t deserve t’be here.”

 

“Do you think that you do?”

 

Clint paused for a second, taken aback by the question, though he composed himself quickly. When he opened his mouth, the urge to lie pushed through and he had to bite his tongue until he tasted familiar copper. “Sometimes,” he finally admitted, grabbing a towel to dry off Matt’s hair as a distraction. “Barney’s only here ‘cause of me, y’know? He could’a been off someplace better by now, but he’s loyal and stubborn. Kinda like you in that sense. We’re only here ‘cause of our dad in the first place, anyway. I keep thinkin’ that maybe if I had been a bit stronger, taken his punches a bit better, we could’a stayed where we were long enough for Barney to find a good job. At least that way he could be happy, not stuck here with me.”

 

“Don’t you dare ever think that you aren’t strong,” Matt said firmly, cutting off Clint’s trailing thoughts with a harsh grip on his wrist that took him by surprise. “My dad used to say that us Murdock boys get hit a lot, take a lot of punches, like you said, but we get up, we always get up. That’s what you did, yeah? You got back up and that takes strength, you survive this place, you take care of your brother, of me… Maybe you get hit a lot too, but you always get up, and someday nobody is gonna be able to knock you back down.”

 

With a soft sigh, Clint let Matt’s words sink in. Maybe he was right; he wanted to believe he was, but his father’s yells echoed a lot louder than Matt’s soft murmurs.

 

“You’re a good guy, Matt Murdock,” he finally replied, “Don’t let anyone take that from you.”

 

-

 

They didn’t mention it when they laid beside each other in bed that night.

 

The security of their closeness put Clint’s racing mind to rest, as though he’d been given permission to let go of their shitty day. With his arm wrapped around Matt’s front and the man’s back pressed to his chest, there wasn’t a single thing else to think about. Hell, Clint wasn’t sure if he was thinking at all, but he didn’t mind either way. He let himself drown in the feeling, decided he could worry about his water-flooded lungs in the morning.

 

“We’re gonna go to a city together one day,” Matt proclaimed suddenly.

 

“Is that right?”

 

“Yeah, me, you, and Barney. We’ll get one of those apartments over a bakery or something, maybe a café so you can go and get your coffee made proper. Get ourselves a car so we can go anywhere we want to, one of those ones without a roof. It’s gotta be red though,” Matt huffed a laugh, shaking his head, “I can go to work every day, find a good law firm so you don’t have to worry. I’ll buy those fancy suits and a briefcase – I always remember seeing men like that when I was a kid. We can get you one of those things they’ve been advertising recently too, you know those things – what are they calling them again? Concealed hearing devices, somethin’ like that. That way you can go work anywhere you want.”

 

For a long while, Clint didn’t respond. He let himself think on the idea, the life Matt said they could have one day, before drawing him closer, face buried in the crook of Matt’s neck. “I don’t want to let myself hope,” he admitted eventually, keeping his tone soft, not wanting to sound harsh, or like he didn’t care about Matt’s dream.

 

“I know.”

 

“It don’t bother you?”

 

There was a beat, a hum. “It bothers me that you’ve been made to feel like there isn’t any hope,” Matt said, and Clint found himself without an answer for once.

 

“I know.”

 

“I’ll show you.”

 

And for once, “I know.”

 

They didn’t mention it as they fell asleep in each other’s arms, either. 

Chapter 5

Summary:

The morning after they spend the night in Clint's bed, Matt gets caught somewhere between his prayers and his desires.

Notes:

Throughout this chapter, there is a lot of heavy internalised homophobia and religious trauma, so please be aware of that if it's something that triggers you! I'll also add that Matt used a form of past penance (in the past) that could be considered self harm, though there is absolutely no description of it, just the mention of scars.

I promise that the next chapter is full of fluff to make up for this one.

Thank you for all the kudos so far, I hope you're enjoying reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

Matt should have known better than to let himself get into this mess.

 

When he woke up with Clint’s arms around him, the room filled with his soft snores, he felt dirty. His skin itched as if something was crawling across it, and Matt had never felt himself get so desperate to tear into his own flesh with his fingernails. The next breath he took caught in his throat, cut off by the firm hand of God curling around his neck. There was no air, but Clint’s chest was so warm and so soft against his back, and oh God, it felt so much like heaven that Matt was certain that it could only be the work of the Devil, some personal hell created to tempt him.

 

And he was so, so tempted.

 

There were only a few steps between the bed and the bathroom door, but Matt stumbled when he stood regardless, tripping over his unsteady feet until he can close the door behind him. There was calmness in his solitude, enough air to fill his lungs when he was alone. It wasn’t enough to prevent him from sinking down to the floor, his fingers catching on the edge of the sink as he fell. His knees ached, but he barely registered it.

 

He wanted to scream or cry, but the only thing he mustered was a choked noise that made his throat raw. He was tearing himself to pieces with his own guilt and his grief for what he so desperately wants but wasn’t allowed to have. Every breath felt like swallowing glass shards after that.

 

-

 

“There’s something wrong with you Matthew, this is unnatural; you must let God in, you must let him save you from this-… this depravity. It’s not too late for you, you must repent.”

 

“Repent, Matthew!” A strike left Matt’s cheek red, but Father Lantom’s hand wasn’t enough, it was never enough.

 

The next time Matt was caught with a boy, holding his hand, the whip came down against his back until he sobbed, until he begged for forgiveness. “It is not my forgiveness that you should be begging for, Matthew.” Father Lantom didn’t ease up.

 

“Please, Father, I don’t want to.” Matt was sixteen when the whip was pressed into his own hands and he was told to punish himself.

 

“It’s the only way you’ll learn, Matthew.” The Father had said, and so Matt hit himself until his back bled; it was not the last time he would seek repentance in his own punishments, but it was the last time he would need to be told to.  

 

-

 

He fumbled uselessly with his shirt, dragging it over his head only to throw it across the room as if it had burned him. His head pressed to the bathroom tiles as he leant down, arching his scarred back and pushing up onto his knees properly.

 

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded in the empty space, sounding small in the silence. “Please, forgive me. I’m trying, I’m trying. You have to believe me.”

 

Distracted by his shame, Matt didn’t notice the door opening or Clint rushing to his side until hands were on him, warm fingers splaying across his hips. He knew he was speaking, but the words rung out like static, a prolonged ringing in his ears. His tongue continuously begged for forgiveness as his body pressed into sin, easing into Clint’s touch.

 

“Matt, hey, shh. Matt- shit,” Clint cursed, his eyes dragging across the scars embedded into Matt’s skin, some pink and healed, others a stinging red. If he hadn’t been so panicked, his heart would have ached.

 

“Barn! Barney!” he called, brushing Matt’s hair away from his face, his fingers catching in knotted, sweaty curls. The man didn’t even seem to register it, his body wracked with sobs as he trembled, but Clint couldn’t stop; he needed to do something, anything. “Matt, please, you gotta breathe, sweetheart. You gotta breathe for me. Barney, for fucks sake!” his own voice was raw with panic.

 

After what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than a minute, Barney was stumbling through the doorway, only pausing briefly to take in the scene in front of him before he rushed into action. “Out the way,” he ordered simply, pushing Clint aside so that he could get closer. His eyes scanned Matt’s scars briefly as he focused on the repetitive pleas – from there it only took him a few moments to understand what was happening. “What did y’two do? Last night, Clint, what did you do with ‘im?”

 

Clint scowled, ignorant to the problem. “We didn’t do nothin’, Barn. I helped him wash up after the show an’ then we fell asleep in my bed.”

 

Running a hand down his face, Barney groaned. “Go fill up one of those bowls with the ice from the freezer, he’s havin’ a panic attack,” he stated easily, waiting for Clint to scurry out of the room before refocusing on Matt. “You’re alright, Matt, you don’t got anything to apologise for. There ain’t nothing wrong with ya.”

 

Barney brushed his hand on Matt’s shoulder when he heard him struggling to catch his breath between words, though he hesitated when he froze up, choking on a sob. “It’s alright, it’s just me, it’s Barney,” he reassured quickly, smoothing his hand down Matt’s arm. “It’s just me an’ you, we’re in the bathroom. It’s Sunday today, far too fuckin’ early to be awake, if y’ask me, but that don’t matter, yeah?”

 

Even though he wasn’t sure Matt was aware of what he was saying, Barney continued his ramblings until Clint came back, settling down on the opposite side. “Give me that,” Barney muttered softly as he took a handful of ice cubes. “This is gonna be cold, alright, Matt? But it’s gonna help,” he promised, taking Matt’s hand and pressing the ice into his palm. Clint followed suite without being asked.

 

Matt’s breath caught for a moment, jerking back at the sudden awareness, though sobs continued to fall from his shaking lips. “There y’go, Matty,” Clint praised gently, curling his fingers over the top of Matt’s hand and squeezing.

 

Shifting into a more comfortable position, Barney hummed. “Have I told ya about that time Clint shot ‘imself with an arrow?” he asked, not expecting an answer, “we were practicing the tricks that I do ‘cause he wanted to learn, idiot shot an arrow at just the wrong angle f’it to bounce back and fuckin’ impale his shoulder. Moaned at me as if it were my fault, too. Told ‘im my stage name’s Trickshot for a reason, he can stick to his targets.”

 

“I thought we agreed that we weren’t telling that story anymore?”

 

Barney shrugged, careless, “Gets funnier every time I tell it.”

 

“Not as funny as that time you got caught shoplifting some chocolate for that girl you liked-“

 

“Now, hold on a second.”

 

“You should have seen ‘im, Matt. Tryna impress this girl from down the street from us, so he goes into this rundown corner shop with her waiting right outside, tries to grab this box a’ chocolates discretely but the shopkeeper yelled at him. Barns he tripped an’ fell face-first in front of her.”

 

They talked back and forth like that until Matt’s breaths evened out and his sobs fell silent. When he was ready, he sunk into Clint’s touch, twisting to rest in his arms. “There you go, sweetheart. Easy, you’re alright.”

 

After a few moments of quiet, Barney spoke up. “Someone’s done a real number on you, Matt. Who did that to ya?”

 

“Barney…” Clint warned in a soft, low voice, though he didn’t get the chance to change the subject before Matt answered.

 

“Father Lantom, at first.”

 

“At first, Matt?” Barney probed, ignoring Clint’s pointed glare.

 

“It’s the only way I’d learn, that’s what he said. He wouldn’t be around forever to punish me when I was… when I was tempted.”

 

“Fuck, Matty,” Clint cursed, “You did this to yourself?”

 

“To pay penance.”

 

Barney and Clint shared a look before Barney excused himself to give them some much needed space. When the door closed again, Clint sighed, brushing his fingers through Matt’s curls, slowly detangling them.

 

“Can you listen t’me for a minute?” He asked, waiting for Matt to nod to continue, “I ain’t Catholic like you, but I don’t think that any God would want you doin’ that to yourself. Look, the way I see it, God must’a made you the way you are, yeah? And he don’t make mistakes, right? So you, being like this, being into guys, it ain’t a mistake, it ain’t something to be ashamed off.”

 

Then, after a beat, “You ever loved someone, Matt?”

 

“Once.”

 

“Did it feel like a sin, before anyone told you it was?”

 

“No.”

 

Clint hummed, nodding to himself. “What did it feel like, then?”

 

Matt thought for a moment, suddenly aware of Clint’s skin against his, his fingers brushing over his scalp, his heart beating strong, steady. He rested his head against his chest to hear it better.

 

“Like heaven,” he finally admitted in a whisper, and Clint was glad he caught it with how quiet he was.

 

“Yeah,” Clint breathed, smiling softly to himself. “Just like heaven.”

 

They stayed there like that for a while, with Clint leant back against the wall and Matt in his arms. At some point, when they were both at ease, Clint made a decision.

 

“Will you pray with me?” he asked, watching as Matt’s features shifted into an endearing frown. The sunlight caught his eyes as it streamed through the window and Clint couldn’t help but smile at the golden hues he hadn’t noticed before.

 

“I thought that-“

 

“I don’t.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Clint sucked in a sharp breath, thinking over all the things he wanted to say to make sure he didn’t much this up, because he seemed to have a knack for that lately. Then, slowly, he started. “Dear God, I know we’ve never spoken before, but, ha… Uh, if you are up there, if you’re listening to all this and seeing all this, then I’m askin’ you t’help Matt. He don’t see what I do – I mean, he don’t see at all, but you, uh, you get it – and, anyway, I’m askin’ you to show him what I know. You guys are always saying that God and Jesus love everyone, right? That’s what y’all say? I need him to see that he ain’t no different, that he’s loved, that there ain’t a single thing wrong with him just ‘cause he loves differently, and that he don’t need punishment for jus’ existing. Please.” Clint buried his nose into Matt’s curls and sighed, drawing him closer protectively before muttering a final, “Amen.”

Chapter 6

Summary:

Matt takes a few small steps in his relationship with Clint, though it quickly turns into one giant leap that neither of them know if he's ready for.

Notes:

A little bit of self-indulgent fluff.

On Monday, they had a much-needed day off.

 

Clint had managed to talk Barney into walking them down to one of the seaside carnivals – the proper carnival, he’d said – so that he and Matt could discretely have a day together. His sense of direction was shot, but he’d only expected Barney to walk them down to the docks, though he’d argued with his brother for the better part of an hour about him hanging around to make sure they were keeping safe. Knowing that Barney wasn’t about to give in any time soon, Clint eventually agreed.

 

“You ever been to a place like this, Matt?” Clint asked as they walked, resisting the urge to take his hand.

 

“Not since I was a kid.”

 

“Huh. Barney and I used to run off to them when we were kids, always thought it would be the perfect place for a proper date, y’know? Can win one of those stuffed toys on one a’ those rigged games, kiss on the ferris wheel. Proper romance.”

 

Matt took a chance, sucking in a sharp breath. “Are you gonna win me a stuffed toy?” he asked, artfully dancing around what he knew this was. Is this a date? he should have asked, but that would mean admitting it to himself, too.

 

“I’ll be damned if I let you leave this place without one. Y’know those ones with the water pistols and the tiny fuckin’ targets? Yeah, you don’t gotta worry there, sweetheart, Hawkeye’s gonna get you the biggest stuffed toy at the stall.” Matt couldn’t help but laugh at that, his face brightening up. Though Clint couldn’t see them behind his glasses, he knew that the man’s eyes crinkled in the corners the way they usually did whenever he grinned.

 

“Well, what am I gonna get you in return?”

 

“How about we see if they have one of them photo booths? The ones where you get a little strip a’ photos?”

 

Matt was about to respond when Barney groaned, “Could you two at least wait until I ain’t around to hear this?” This time, they all laughed.

 

When they’d paid to get past the carnival gates and Barney had gone his separate way – no doubt to hunt down whatever food he could find – Clint stood beside Matt and glanced around.

 

“It’s not too busy,” he murmured, tipping his head to the side. “There’s a couple things close. They got one of those duck things, where you gotta try and hook them to get a prize. Uh, hm. Oh! That’s one of those strength tests, you gotta smash the hammer down to see how strong y’are. They have a cotton candy stall, we could get that, but there’s a rollercoaster somewhere in this place and I don’t want you throwing up on me. What else? Hm on your right there’s some… spinning teacups? I ain’t got a clue how to describe that one to ya.”

 

In the end, they found themselves on the teacups ride. Matt had gotten so giddy that he laughed the entire time; Clint made them hop back on a second time just so that he could hear it again. When they stepped off, Matt was thankful for being blind, because Clint stumbled, dizzy, taking a few sloppy steps to the right instead of straight ahead. “Is this what they mean when they say about the blind leading the blind?” Matt had teased when he caught him by the arm, preventing Clint from tripping over some kid with ice-cream induced sticky hands.

 

After that, Clint had insisted on trying to hook a duck, though he grumbled something about the duck being the heavy or the hook too small that Matt just laughed at. He could just imagine the pout on his face when the woman asked if he wanted to try again. Sensibly, Matt said no, seeing as that was Clint’s third (and thereby final) attempt.

 

“Why don’t we go find one of those shooting games you mentioned to heal your ego a bit?” though he was only joking, Clint seemed to brighten up at the mention, guiding them both over like an excitable puppy. It was cute, Matt let himself think.

 

It was obvious how much more confident Clint was with the water pistols, because he’d walked up to the stall and pointed to the largest stuffed toy and asked a pleased: “what do I gotta do to get one a’ the big ones, lady?” with a grin that Matt knew was there but wished he could see. He huffed a laugh, leaning against the stall as Clint showed off, muttering under his breath softly about how if he can handle arrows, he can handle a stupid ass water pistol. The woman running the stall didn’t seem pleased; Matt could only laugh harder.

 

When Clint picked out his chosen stuffed toy from the wall, an oversized golden puppy, he beamed proudly and pushed it into Matt’s arms. “What y’gonna call ‘im, Matty?” The archer asked, practically rocking back and forth on his heels with giddy excitement.

 

Matt brushed his fingers over the dog’s ‘fur’, humming softly to himself. “I’m thinking Lucky,” he decided, holding the toy close to his chest with his spare arm.

 

Nothing could have wiped the smile off of either of their faces as they made their way through the rest of the carnival. Matt had tried a game where you had to throw balls at a stack of tins to win a prize. His first few throws were off track on purpose, though Clint ‘guided’ his arm with a soft chuckle, and Matt listened as the cans toppled over. He ended up picking a stuffed robin for Clint, and they carried on to the ferris wheel with their new teddies held between them.

 

The ferris wheel was, naturally, more for Clint than Matt, but they took the opportunity to press closer than they had been all day. Matt was hesitant, and Clint would never push, but all he wanted was to hold hands. Instead, he settled from lightly brushing their fingers together when they settled into the pod. The gentle touch was enough for them both, though it would have to be, for a while at least.

 

When their pod reached the top, Clint let out a small sigh, taking in the view around them for a few moments before inevitably watching Matt instead. There were freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks, like he’d been kissed by the sun or an angel, and the red lenses of his glasses cast a glow down his face. He was so pretty it was unreasonable, Clint thought, with soft lips that he wanted to kiss in private and light stubble that he knew would scratch his skin. It was hard for him not to reach out and touch, and for a moment Clint considered that maybe Matt was given to him as some test of his willpower.

 

He really, really hoped not, because for all his strengths, he sucked at resolve.

 

“Stop staring at me,” Matt huffed eventually, when there had been too long a silence for him to continue pretending he wasn’t aware.

 

“I can’t help it. You’re so-” Clint glanced around them cautiously, checking the nearby pods before lowering his voice, “-pretty.”

 

And fuck, if Matt was pretty before, the way he ducked his head and smiled shyly had Clint weak at the knees. Thank God he was sat down. “Is that okay to say?” He asked, wanting to be sure he hadn’t overstepped or made Matt uncomfortable again. The last thing they needed was a repeat of the other morning.

 

“Yeah, it’s— yeah, that’s okay,” Matt breathed, his cheeks warm and flushed. Clint thought it only made him look more handsome.

 

“Okay, pretty boy.”

 

Matt snorted, “Don’t push your luck, Hawk.”

 

Back at the circus, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Clint was sure it was the damn place itself, like poison to anything it touches, even their good moods. But still, even the admittedly depressing sight of their crammed bedroom was brightened by the addition of two stuffed toys. The thought of Matt curled around his new dog toy whilst he slept was enough to evoke a smile alone.

 

“Geez, Matt, you even gonna be able to sleep in bed with that thing?” Barney teased, taking in his brother’s grin. He hadn’t seen him so happy in years.

 

“He slept with me, didn’t he?” Clint quipped without thinking. A beat passed between them when he realised what he’d said, and he quickly went to explain what he had meant but was interrupted by Matt’s soft chuckle. Clint’s eyes snapped to the man immediately, and then back to Barney, who met his gaze with a grin and shrug.

 

After a moment, Clint shot Barney a pointed look and gestured his head towards the door. His brother scowled for a moment, offering up an expression that conveyed a simple what? though it seemed to sink in after a few seconds, as he cleared his throat and nodded. “I’ll go grab our dinners and bring it back here, yeah?” Barney offered, chucking a bag of cotton candy and pick’n’mix onto his cot.

 

When they were alone, Matt grinned, sheepish albeit amused. “You didn’t have to kick your brother out of the room,” he teased knowingly as he folded his cane and placed it aside.

 

“I wanted a second alone with you.”

 

“We’ve been alone all day,” Matt pointed out with a grin, though Clint simply huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t need to say anything for Matt to understand. “Okay, we’re alone now,” he conceded, gesturing uselessly with his hands.

 

“If I say somethin’ I wanna do, is that gonna upset you?” Clint asked with a small frown, testing the waters before he dived.

 

“No.”

 

“I wanna kiss you,” he forced out before he could change his mind, glancing down to his hands and fumbling with them, suddenly anxious, “I’ve been thinkin’ about kissing ya all day, when you were holding me up after those fucking teacups I only went on ‘cause they made you laugh. And when I gave ya that teddy and you just… lit up like I’d given you the world and not some stuffed dog. And fuck, Matty, when we were on top of the ferris wheel and you looked so God damn per-.’’

 

Lips against his own cut Clint off midway through his nervous rambling, and it took his brain a second to catch up with what was happening, because oh, oh, Matt was kissing him. Matt was kissing him. A breathless laugh slipped through his lips, though the kiss seemed to swallow the sound whole when Clint eased into it, drawing Matt closer with a gentle grip on his hips. He let the other set the pace so that he didn’t get overwhelmed, but even with his gentleness and hesitance, the kiss had knots coming undone in Clint’s stomach and tension releasing from his muscles. He was so, so weak.

 

When Matt drew back, their breaths were the only noise in the room, slightly laboured, faster than they had been. A brief flash of panic followed for Clint, who eyed Matt wearily in search of any discomfort. He reached up to cup his face, brushing his thumb gently over his cheekbone, cautious of any move he might make upsetting Matt.

 

“Thank you,” Matt murmured softly after a moment, pressing into Clint’s touch.

 

“What for?”

 

“For praying for me the other day.”

 

And hell, it wasn’t much; Clint knew they were still walking on eggshells, waiting for the next piece to break, but it was something. His lips still tingled from the way Matt had kissed him and the man still leant his touch shyly, and, no – this was better than something; this was a start. Clint could work with that.

 

 

Chapter 7

Summary:

Clint and Barney have a plan up their sleeve, but things always go wrong at the last minute, don't they? Matt's about to learn that he doesn't know everything about the carnival, after all.

After that day – their first date, Matt had started calling it – life seemed to move a little more smoothly. Nothing was perfect, and honestly, neither of them expected it to be, but things were easier. Whenever they were alone, he and Clint would steal fleeting touches; Matt’s hand would brush over Clint’s thigh when he was too anxious to keep his leg still, and Clint would curl his fingers into the curls at the nape of Matt’s neck and tug gently when he wasn’t paying attention during their rehearsals. One night, Barney had even come home to find them both fast asleep in Matt’s cot, looking far too peaceful for such a tight space, with Clint’s face pressed into Matt’s neck and their legs tangled together. Barney wished they could afford a camera, just to capture that moment.

 

They had bad days too, regardless of how much good there was. Clint had woken up to Matt on the bathroom floor or on his knees in the shower a few times, his breathing harsh and choked. It never got any easier to see him so upset, in so much pain for something that was human, but every time they would sit it out together, and it became routine for Clint to hold Matt’s hand and pray with him afterwards. That was one of the many things he’d noticed had changed; when they prayed, Matt didn’t ask for forgiveness, he asked for help, for guidance. Clint had wanted to cry the first time, but by the third or fourth, his chest simply swelled with pride. Though he’d deny it if anyone ever asked – hell, even if it was Barney or Matt himself – Clint found himself thanking whoever was listening whenever he had a second alone. Maybe he didn’t believe in God, but someone had heard his prayers that morning.

 

Performance nights were by far the hardest part of their weeks. Clint and Barney spent most of their time on edge, their hands curled into fists as the other held them back from beating the shit out of anyone who said something about Matt. Perhaps the worst part of it all was seeing how it seemed to affect Matt less with every show, as if he were becoming used to the insults and abuse. Clint had brought it up to Barney one night whilst Matt was asleep, and from there they decided they needed to get Matt out of this stupid carnival no matter what. They spent their spare time researching law schools and different kinds of bursaries or scholarships, though it admittedly went over both of their heads. Both of them could read – no thanks to their father for not sending them to school – but there were too many terms Clint didn’t quite get and formalities that Barney didn’t quite understand.

 

The next time they had a day off, they’d go and pick up a dictionary from the library a few blocks away, Barney had promised when Clint had thrown a stack of papers across the room one morning.

 

“This is so fucking stupid,” he complained, letting his head crash down against the table they were sat at. “Why do they make these things so complicated?”

 

“These applications aren’t meant for people like us,” Barney snorted, grabbing the pages from the floor and shuffling them into a neat pile. “These are meant for the folks lucky enough to go to a good school. Ain’t no clue how Matt got so smart at that orphanage a’ his though.”

 

“Think that’s just Matty, Trick,” Clint teased, though pride slipped into his words regardless. “Don’t know what he sees in uneducated trash like me.”

 

Barney scowled, hating the way his brother saw himself, even if he knew that was how everyone saw them. “You ain’t nothing close to trash, man. We didn’t get t’go to school, so what? You got a lotta street smarts, Clint, that’s just as good as those book smarts others’ve got. God knows Matt could do with some a’ that common sense.”

 

The teasing tone to Barney’s words made Clint grin sweetly. He barely managed to dodge an apple that was chucked in his direction a second later.

 

“What the hell?”

 

Barney shrugged, “Needed somethin’ to wipe that dopey fuckin’ smile off your face.”

 

Whatever quip Clint was about to snap back was silenced by the bedroom door swinging open, followed by the shuffling footsteps of a tired-looking Matt. His curls seemed to lean in awkward directions, some falling in his eyes and others flicking away from his face, and he was still half-dressed in his pyjamas, having slung on one of Clint’s t-shirts to accompany his sleep trousers. Clint presumed it was for Barney’s sake, because he definitely would not have minded Matt walking around shirtless. He didn’t have time to focus too much on the sight in front of him, though, as he was scrambling to lean protectively over the messy stack of papers, pushing a few over in the process. Sending a panicked glance to Barney, Clint frowned when he was met with an amused grin, his brother glancing between him and Matt as if there was some inside joke that he wasn’t a part of.

 

Taking pity on Clint, Barney cocked his head to the side and mouthed ‘blind’; the way his face heated out of embarrassment was well worth it.

 

“Mornin’ Hawkeye, Trickshot,” Matt murmured in a low, teasing tone.

 

“Good morning t’you too, Daredevil.” Barney couldn’t hide his snicker at Matt’s grunt of obvious distaste. “Do y’think they gave you that stage name ‘cause they got the memo that you’re a church boy?”

 

“Should have called you Trickshit.” Matt’s pointed expression made Clint laugh, leaning back in his chair to watch the two bicker. He wasn’t entirely sure when they’d fallen into this sorta family dynamic, but things seemed to have calmed down since they had. It was a nice change, anyway, because in the past Barney had only complained about any of the fellas he brought home in the past. Barney always said they were “no good troublemakers” but Clint hadn’t met someone who was more trouble than Matthew Murdock and his shit eating grin.

 

“I heard from one a’ the other guys doin’ stage work that they were gonna call you Blindsight, which would’ve been fucking perfect, by the way. But ‘pparently it wasn’t gonna grab enough attention, though I ain’t seen you not have a packed tent not even once.” Clint delivered a harsh kick to Barney’s shin and he groaned, “Hmph- but you’re doing great, kid. A real fucking Daredevil.”

 

Clint stifled a laugh at Barney’s poor attempts to backtrack, resting his head in his hand and propping his elbow against the table so that he could watch as Matt leant back against the kitchen counter, a barely warm cup of coffee now pressed into his palm. “That was my coffee,” he pointed out uselessly in an attempt to distract himself from Matt’s stubble and pink lips and cocky smirk and-.

 

“You want some?” Matt taunted easily, holding up the mug and quirking his eyebrow, though he didn’t make a move to come closer.

 

In the end, it was Clint who ended up pushing up from his seat and closing the space between them, grumpily reaching for the mug. After all, he had made the coffee. “Ah ah,” Matt drew the mug away and grinned before bringing it up to his own lips to take a sip. There was a challenge somewhere in Matt’s smile and Clint would be damned if he was about to back out.

 

Neither of them noticed Barney’s exasperated complaints as he trudged out of the room, uttering something about needing bleach for his eyes.

 

When it was finally safe for the three of them to be in the same room without traumatising Barney, they ended up back in one of the performance tents. The carnival wasn’t open for a good few hours, so they figured it would be safe to get some practice in. Though none of them were particularly eager to do so, it beat the alternative of spending time with the other carnies.

 

“Aw, man, poor arrow,” Clint huffed to himself as he picked up one of his arrows from the floor, the thing split in half from where Barney had shot it out of the air.

 

“Pretty neat party trick, huh?”

 

“You broke my arrow.” Clint turned away from Barney with a pout, spinning on his heel until he was facing Matt instead, “He broke my arrow!”

 

“You got any tape?”

 

Clint frowned, unimpressed by Matt’s cheeky shrug. “You, Matthew, better watch your ass tonight, I would hate to accidentally impale you with a taped-up arrow,” despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep the grin out of his voice, “And you, Charles Bernard Barton, better keep a good eye on your own damn arrows, I’ve heard these archers can be a bitch when it comes to revenge.”

 

“I’m sorry-’’ Matt spluttered, choking on a laugh, “-Charles Bernard Barton?”

 

“Hey, watch it,” Barney ground out playfully, “At least Charles Bernard is better than Clinton Francis.” Clint looked affronted by his brother’s comment, but Matt’s bubbling laughter cleared any annoyance he had felt.

 

He grinned, helpless. “And what’s your full name, Matty?”

 

“Matthew Michael Murdock.”

 

Clint groaned, but Barney chuckled, “Your daddy have a thing for ‘m’s?”

 

Matt shrugged shyly, leaning against the side of the stage, “My mum’s name is Maggie?” he offered with a smirk, head tilted to the side in a way that Clint could only describe as adorable.

 

“Huh,” Barney hummed, “You ain’t ever talked about your ma before.”

 

“Would you believe me if I told you she was a nun?” It was Clint’s turn to laugh this time, shaking his head from where he’d settled on the far side of the podium. Barney’s soft ‘fucking Catholics, man’ didn’t go unmissed by either of them.

 

Their cheery mood was interrupted by one of the older carnies running into the tent with a panicked expression, glancing between the three of them frantically before his gaze finally landed on Barney.

 

“Jon? What is it?” he asked, his posture straightening out automatically. “What’s the fuss about?”

 

The man was shifting his weight from one foot to the other impatiently, clearly fuelled by nervous energy and adrenaline. Even Clint shifted to stand up at the sight of him, subconsciously reaching for his bow in case there was a threat. He moved slightly in front of Matt without much thought, too.

 

“Cops. We gotta pack up, now.”

Chapter 8

Summary:

Barney lets his stress get the better of him and ends up saying some things he'll regret later on, but Clint does what he does best and tries to fix things before they get out of hand. It works unexpectedly well.

Notes:

It's so strange to think that this story is over its halfway point now! Still, there's so much more to come

Matt heard Clint curse under his breath, immediately reaching for his quiver before easily slipping it onto his back, the bow attaching soon after. Barney seemed to fall into action easily too, collecting up his things whilst Matt lingered, useless and uncertain. It was only when Clint was ready to go that he seemed to pause, glancing between Matt and Barney before seeming to make a last-minute decision.

 

“Come on,” he ordered simply, leaving no room for argument as he grabbed Matt’s hand, sparing a quick look over his shoulder to gesture to Barney, who gave a simple nod in response. Okay, then. “Matt, when we’re outta this tent, we’re gonna run, y’hear me? We’re gonna go straight back home and pack up everything we need.”

 

Clint’s words came out quickly and Matt wasn’t entirely sure that he was taking any of it in, but he nodded regardless. “I’ll explain everything, I will, but I need you to focus on running. I ain’t gonna let go of you, alright? But we gotta be fast.”

 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Clint tightened his grip on Matt’s hand before tugging him along. He tried not to focus on anything else as they ran, knowing he should be more worried about tripping or getting them lost between the scurrying groups of carnies, but he couldn’t help but take in the scene around him. If he strained his ears, he could hear the boss shouting out orders, metal bars clashing together as tents were deconstructed haphazardly, and doors slamming as everyone scrambled to make a quick exit. He chanced a glance at Matt, his chest tightening at the clear confusion and worry written across his face, but he knew he didn’t have the time to fix any of this, so Clint pushed it aside, opting instead to sprint the final distance to their quarters.

 

Being inside didn’t come with any relief, as much as both he and Matt wished it had. There wasn’t time to stop, there wasn’t time to breathe; Clint was pushing Matt into the bedroom and grabbing his suitcase out from under the bed.

 

“Pack whatever you need, I need to get mine and Barney’s shit together,” he explained hastily, and, though he still didn’t understand what was happening, Matt followed instructions seamlessly. He was near certain that he was working on autopilot, grabbing one important thing and then the next, ticking off a mental checklist as he went. Clothes, soap, toothpaste, bible, the envelope full of his wages, prayer beads, cane. His head was spinning by the time he was done, slamming the suitcase closed and fastening the small lock before reaching for his stuffed dog and tucking it under his arm.

 

“Clint!” Barney’s voice called from outside, promptly followed by the harsh sound of a horn blaring. Matt grimaced, fighting against the urge to cover his ears. He heard Clint curse again before two suitcases slammed shut and the archer was tugging Matt along without a single word.

 

When they stepped outside again, the suitcases were taken from them, though Matt refused to let go of the dog – not that either Barney nor Clint was about to argue with him, too focused to think on anything other than what they were doing, what they needed to get done.

 

“I need you to get in the car, okay? There’s a step up – yeah, okay, you got it, I know – I ain’t going anywhere,” Clint rambled, making sure Matt was in before climbing into the backseat beside him. The front door slammed closed as Barney settled into the driver’s seat, his sigh lost in the slow rumble of the engine starting before he pulled away.

 

For a moment, there was silence as they all tried to catch their breath, Clint slumped back in his seat, still gripping Matt’s hand. “Shit,” he eventually groaned, running a hand down his face.

 

Matt took that as a cue that it was okay to speak up, shifting to face Clint properly, “What’s happening? You can’t just drag us out of there and not explain what the hell just happened.” Despite his efforts to sound stern, Matt’s voice wavered slightly, hoarse with nerves.

 

“Circus is moving on to someplace else.”

 

“Yeah, no shit, Barney,” Matt groaned, scowling at the man beside him. “Clint?”

 

“Listen, Matty, I meant it when I said this place ain’t right for you, ‘specially not for a future lawyer. People like us – me and Barney,” Clint did his best not to grimace at the look of hurt that flashed across Matt’s face, “ – we ain’t just here ‘cause we can do neat tricks an’ performances, alright? We… We got training when we got here, we have t’be able to-“

 

Barney cut Clint off, frustrated, “We’re thieves, alright?” His voice was sharp, words to the point. “When you’re out there doin’ your shows, the rest of us are grabbing what we can from your audience. It’s what we’re good at, it’s why we got hired in the first place, Clint got caught pickpocketing the boss.”

 

There was silence as Matt took in what he was being told, his mind racing as he tried to process it. So many things seemed to make a little more sense, the shadiness of the carnies, the hushed conversations, the informality of their work there.

 

“You’re criminals,” he stated bluntly, frowning uncertainly as if he couldn’t quite believe his own words. Clint could practically see the conflict going on in Matt’s head.

 

“We’re-“

 

“-You’re criminals,” Matt repeated, his chest suddenly tight. The carnie from before – Jon? – had mentioned cops, and fuck, he was only here because he wanted to go to law school, if he got caught with them then all of this was meaningless. He sucked in a sharp breath at the thought, but it wasn’t enough, his throat was too tight, he couldn’t breathe.

 

“Matt,” Barney snapped, tone as harsh as before as the car turned a sharp corner, “We ain’t got time to deal with your panicking right now, I need you to keep it together.”

 

“Barney, c’mon, we’re fine,” Clint tried to diffuse his brother’s panic. Sure, he was far too used to the way his brother lashed out when he was scared, but that didn’t matter because he got it. He understood, he knew that was just how Barney coped with things, but Matt was a different story; he didn’t grow up seeing Barney having to defend them even when he was terrified, he wouldn’t understand that he didn’t mean what he was saying. Clint’s leg bounced anxiously.

 

“No, Clint, we ain’t. We ain’t fine and we sure as hell won’t be fuckin’ fine if he freaks out on us again.” Barney’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, “It’s my responsibility to get us outta here and I can’t do that if your little Catholic boy gets all guilty on us ‘cause he’s been making out with a criminal and a fella, hanging with a bunch a’ no good thieves.”

 

Why did everyone always do this? Talk about Matt like he wasn’t even there, like he was a kid who didn’t understand what was going on? He sunk down into his seat, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to focus on something else, anything else, his fingers pressing harshly into his thigh to ground him. He needed ice, he wished they had ice.

 

“I don’t need him holdin’ us up.”

 

 “Barney!” That was the final straw for Clint, who sat up quickly, his face dark as he yelled, his voice raw and cold. Clint hated shouting, it always made him feel too much like his father, but he knew Barney was going to regret anything he said when he was able to think properly; he knew neither of them needed that. Apparently, it was enough to get through to Barney though, as the elder brother fell silent again, his fight drained out of him. He ran his fingers through his hair, cursing to himself.

 

Before Clint had the chance to do any damage control, the car was pulling into a rundown carpark next to the train tracks they’d been headed for. The moment that the engine switched off, Barney was out of the car, slamming the door behind him – whether it was intentional or not, Clint didn’t know – and grabbing their suitcases from the boot.

 

“Matt,” Clint started, keeping his voice level and soft, but the man shook his head quickly and he knew better than to push. With a sigh, he opened his own door and stepped out, “We’ve gotta keep moving.”

 

There was an unmoving train on the tracks, a number of the carriages painted with the words ‘Cirque Du Nuit’ painted in yellow and red. A line of carnies and various performers were filtering into their respective carriages, and Barney pushed forward to find out where they were going.

 

Eventually, the three of them found themselves in one of the smaller carriages, three cots pushed against the far wall and a few water bottles and snacks piled in the corner. Nobody dared say anything as they unloaded their suitcases and gear, opting instead to fall into an uncomfortable silence. When Matt laid down in the furthest cot, his back turned towards them and his stuffed dog pressed between his chest and the wall, Clint kicked his brother’s shin to get his attention. A single look was enough for Barney to shrink back slightly.

 

‘I’m sorry.’ He signed, not quite meeting Clint’s gaze. ‘I was scared, I thought-… If we got caught, that was on me. It’s my job to protect you and I panicked. It was like running from dad all over again.’

 

Clint’s expression softened at Barney’s confession, but a quick glance to Matt had his chest aching again. ‘He trusted us. You. We already broke that by not telling him about the circus and then you had to take the very thing you’d been helping him with and throw it back in his face.’

 

‘I was trying to keep you safe.’

 

‘I don’t need you to keep me safe anymore!’ Clint’s hands hit together as he signed, channelling the frustration into his movements. He paused, closing his eyes for a moment and steadying himself. ‘I know you were scared, Barn, but what you said was cruel. He didn’t deserve that. If you want to lash out at someone, go ahead and take it out on me, because I’ll give as good as I get, but Matt? He ain’t like us and he sure as hell didn’t need one more thing to feel guilty over.’

 

Barney didn’t respond for a few moments, staring at his brother intently. Finally, he looked away, and Clint didn’t need to follow his gaze to know he was looking over at Matt.

 

‘I’m sorry.’

 

‘I’m not the one you owe an apology.’ Clint narrowed his eyes as Barney opened his mouth to speak, quickly kicking him again with a firm shake of his head. ‘Not now. You leave him be for a while.’

 

Neither of them said anything after that.

 

-

 

The rumbling of the train as it started to leave woke Clint up. He glanced around and noticed both he and Barney had dozed off, leaning back against their respective walls. Sighing, he rolled his neck and grimaced when it clicked. When he stood up, Clint noticed Matt’s eyes on him and offered a tight smile. His eyes were red and puffy from crying and the archer stepped closer, lingering in his uncertainty of what to do.

 

He wouldn’t blame Matt if he didn’t want to be near him nor Barney.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he eventually settled on asking, taking another tentative step closer.

 

A beat passed, and then another. “I wish you had told me.”

 

Clint sat down on the edge of Matt’s bed, keeping a specific distance between them for Matt’s sake. “I wanted to,” he admitted softly, ducking his head, “and then you told me you wanted to become a criminal lawyer and I figured that if you knew you were bunking with a bunch a’ thieves, I would lose my chance to get t’know you.”

 

“I’d rather date a thief than a liar.” Okay, maybe Clint deserved that one, but-

 

His head snapped up, eyes scanning Matt’s face quickly. He must have felt Clint’s eyes on him, because his lips lifted into an amused smile, eyebrows quirked expectantly. “Say that again.”

 

“What? That I’d rather you were a thief than a liar?” Matt’s grin turned cheeky, and Clint took the relaxed atmosphere as permission to move closer, their legs pressing together.

 

“Nu uh, not that part,” he was echoing Matt’s smile by then, and even though he couldn’t see it, Clint was certain that Matt would be able to hear it in his voice. He watched as the man’s cheeks flushed a soft pink. “C’mon Daredevil, take a leap a’ faith.”

 

Matt held his breath until he thought his lungs might explode. “I’d rather date a thief than a liar,” he repeated, words drawn out in his slowness. Clint didn’t bother to hide his giddiness.

 

“How about a thief and a liar who promises not to tell any more lies?”

 

Matt laughed and Clint swore it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “I guess that works, as long as he promises.”

 

Closing the space between them, Clint delicately cupped Matt’s face, taking in the sight of him. He didn’t think it was a view he’d ever get tired of seeing. “He definitely promises, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing his lips over Matt’s gently, “and he really wants to make it up to you. Don’t suppose you have any idea of what he could do to get you to forgive him?”

 

“He’s already done it,” Matt teased easily, pressing into Clint’s touch. “But I wouldn’t mind him laying with me so that he doesn’t break his neck sleeping against the wall.”

 

“I think he could manage that.”

 

Clint slipped into the space beside Matt, the two of them laying on their sides so that they could press against each other, basking in the shared warmth. “Do you remember that conversation we had the first night we shared a bed, when we talked about what it’ll be like once we’re in the city?” Clint hummed, soft. “I still want that, but if I’m going to be a lawyer and you’re going to be a thief, you’re gonna be screwed if you ever get caught and end up in a courtroom.”

 

A laugh escaped Clint’s lips as he buried his face into Matt’s shoulder, amazed by the man in his arms. “Good thing I know a really good future lawyer then, huh?”

 

They still had a lot to talk about; too many things that hadn’t been mentioned or needed to be discussed, but in that moment it didn’t matter, because Matt fell asleep to the rocking of the train and Clint’s snores, in the arms of the thief and liar who promised not to tell any more lies.

Chapter 9

Summary:

Now that they're settled at the new circus base, Barney and Clint plan to continue their surprise.

Three days passed until they arrived at the new circus base, and another three days after that until Barney had spoken to Matt. To say that it was tense would be an understatement; most of their time was spent with Barney busying himself with extra work setting up the stages and tents, having hidden arguments via sign language with Clint, and avoiding Matt altogether. It was easy to tell that his brother’s patience was wearing thin, judging by the pointed scowls and huffs he gave Barney whenever they were in the room together.

 

It was only when he wasn’t paying attention as he came out of the bedroom one morning, sending a half-asleep Matt slamming into his chest. Barney instinctively steadied the man, fingers curling around his biceps so that he didn’t topple over. “Easy,” he murmured, drawing his hands back when Matt blinked up at him uncertainly.

 

“Sorry,” Matt stepped aside so that Barney could get past him.

 

Sucking in a small breath, Barney took a small step closer again, not wanting Matt to rush out the room before he got the chance to speak. He’d been putting it off for so long, he might as well get it over with. “Look, Matt, about last week, I didn’t- I shouldn’t have gotten mad at ya, you hadn’t done anything wrong. It don’t make it right, but I was just stressed, yeah? Never been too great handling things with a level head.”

 

Matt considered him for a moment, head cocked to the side and brow furrowed. Just when Barney thought he wasn’t going to respond, he shook his head. “It’s alright.”

 

“No, Matt, it ain’t. It ain’t right ‘cause I’ve spent a couple months now watchin’ y’struggle with all a’ this and I never shoulda thrown it back in your face just ‘cause I was panicking, y’hear me? You didn’t deserve me yelling at ya and you sure as hell didn’t deserve that comment about you making out with Clint.”

 

Matt shifted and swallowed the lump in his suddenly dry throat, struggling to hide a wince at the reminder. He forced a smile for Barney’s sake, wanting to ease his guilt, “You weren’t wrong, I have been making out with a thief and a fella,” he tried to tease, though his voice was still a little too soft. The unspoken ‘and I have been feeling guilty about it’ didn’t need to be said for them to both recognise it.

 

“And we’re both fucking proud,” Clint spoke, catching both Barney and Matt’s attention as he squeezed past where his brother still stood in the doorway. “Ain’t we, Barn?”  he hummed, rounding them both so he could stand behind Matt, arms around his waist.

 

“’Course we are.” After a beat, Barney continued, quickly acknowledging that Clint wasn’t going to leave them alone. “I know I can’t take any of what I said back, but I do want y’to know that I don’t mean it and that I am sorry, yeah?”

 

With a smile, Matt nodded, pressing himself back against Clint’s chest. “I forgive you, Barney.”

 

“Of course you do, altar boy,” Clint murmured against Matt’s jaw, glancing up to Barney with a grin that let him know he’d forgiven him too.

 

Barney’s face lit up with amusement, his eyes bright and smile cocky as he leant lazily against the wall and glanced between Matt and Clint. “Were you really an altar boy?” he teased, though it admittedly didn’t surprise him.

 

“Until Father figured out that I liked boys, anyway.” Barney would have apologised if it weren’t for Clint’s half-laugh-half-snort into Matt’s shoulder giving him permission to let out his own laugh. “I wonder what he’d say now if he knew that Clint had me worshipping c-’’

 

Clint slapped his hand over Matt’s mouth before he could continue, his eyes wide as he stared at his brother across from him. “Matthew,” He admonished, though Barney could see the way his cheeks flushed and his smile widened. “You and your mouth.”

 

“You love m-”

 

“Okay, outta my kitchen, both of you,” Barney cut in this time, urging them both out of the room with a wave of his hand before he was scarred for life. Even so, when he watched the pair retreat into the bedroom giggling to themselves, Barney couldn’t help but smile privately. He hadn’t seen Clint so relaxed since they were just kids, since Barney was unable to stop their dad from hitting him, no matter how many times he tried to take the punches himself. And Matt, well, he surprised them both every day with how far he’d come.

 

They were good for each other, that much was obvious, and Barney let himself relax for once; he still wanted to protect Clint from the world, but this was one thing he didn’t need to be kept safe from.

 

-

 

A week later, when the circus had finally finished setting up and they’d had their first performance, Clint and Barney found the time to find out where the nearest library was, taking the pages upon pages of applications with them. At first, Clint had been hesitant to leave Matt at the carnival alone, especially the night after a show, but he’d brushed them off with the promise to head to bed early. He knew better than to argue with him anyway; if he knew nothing else, Clint was certain that Matt was going to be one helluva good lawyer.

 

After an hour or so of bickering over the application and a dictionary, one of the librarians seemed to take pity on the brothers, heading over to where they were sat in one of the darker corners.

 

“You two need help with something?” she asked, her voice holding a southern twang that seemed out of place in the city.

 

Barney was the first to clear his throat and offer a tight smile, “We’re fillin’ out this application for law school for our friend ‘cause he’s blind. Look, we got the papers and everythin’ and we filled out his details, but we don’t know what some a’ this stuff means.”

 

Shoving the papers across to the librarian – Lilly, her badge said – Clint watched closely when she picked them up and glanced over them, nodding to herself. “Columbia, it’s a great law school, I got a brother who went there.” She pulled out a chair at the opposite side of the table, “Sure I can help you out with this, I remember going through it when he was applying. You got a pen?”

 

They went back and forth for a while, Lilly asking questions and Clint answering, what type of law does he want to study? What motivates him – like, why does he wanna be a lawyer, hun? Do you know if he wants to be a solicitor or a barrister?

 

The last question had Clint scowling, offering up a guilty shrug as if it’s something he should know. “Uh, I don’t know what those are, he just said he wants to be an uh – an attorney? Like, criminal defence attorney, that’s what he said,” he said a little more confidently, expecting the woman to mock him for being clueless – stupid, he thought – but she smiled kindly and nodded, filling in the next section without pointing it out.

 

“Alright,” Lilly beamed eventually, “You’re all set, just need an address so your friend can get his decision letter.”

 

Barney and Clint shared a look, the latter chewing at his bottom lip uncertainly before his brother spoke up. “Look, lady, we ain’t got no permanent address and we’re doing this as a surprise ever since we found out about those fancy scholarships. There any chance we could get it sent here? We’re in the area.”

 

Again, Lilly sent a kind smile their way, lacking judgement, though Clint could see the obvious pity in her eyes. “I’m sure my boss won’t mind,” she agreed after a moment, packing the pages up neatly into an envelope. “You know, there’s these couple textbooks out back, my boss was gonna chuck them soon, because they’re all in braille and they’ve been sat there for years. Why don’t I go take a look and see if we’ve got anything that friend of yours might like?”

 

By the end of the night, Barney and Clint trudged back to the carnival with a few law books clutched tightly in their arms and sporting matching grins. All that was left to do was wait.

Chapter 10

Summary:

It's our favourite archer's birthday and an emotional talks is had.

A month later, they hadn’t heard anything back, and Clint was starting to get impatient. Every other night he would rush to the library after a show, or have Barney go on the days when Matt needed him close, and every other night Lilly would offer him a sympathetic smile and tell him to be patient.

 

He’d never been very good at being patient though, so when he woke up on a day when he didn’t have practice or a performance later that evening, he committed himself to heading to the library and waiting for the post to arrive. After all, it was June – when did the semester start? August? September? – and he was tired of the nervous energy that kept him awake at night.

 

With a groan, he slipped out from the bedroom and into the kitchen, his hair messy from sleep, Matt’s stolen shirt twisted slightly around his torso. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, failing to stifle a yawn before he was knocked back a few steps by a yell of “Happy birthday!”

 

“Futz,” he cursed, grabbing onto the doorframe so he didn’t trip over, startled by the sudden noise so soon after waking up. His eyes scanned the scene in front of him once he’d caught himself, grinning at the sight of Matt and Barney wearing silly, pointed cone-hats and standing in front of a handmade birthday banner. Laughing, Clint dragged his hand down his face to hide his reddening cheeks. “You didn’t have to do this for me, guys.”

 

“Ain’t every day your baby brother turns twenty-four.”

 

“Did you have to say that in front of the nineteen-year-old?” Despite Clint’s best attempt at scowling, his smile shone through as he stepped further into the room. Instinctively, his arms wound around Barney’s middle and his brother quickly pulled him in, “Thanks, Barn.”

 

When he turned to a sheepish-looking Matt, Clint’s smile only grew. The man fiddled with his hands in the way Clint had come to notice he did when he was anxious, wringing out his fingers and pressing the heel of his palm into the opposite wrist. “Do I get a hug from you too?” He teased, his stomach fluttering at the realisation of how lucky he was.

 

“How about a kiss for the birthday boy?”

 

Though Matt’s words were soft, they had Clint stopping in his tracks a step or two away, cocking his head as if he wasn’t entirely certain that he’d heard him properly. He knew that romantic affection wasn’t the easiest thing for Matt generally, but he’d struggled with it being public – or, as public as they could get with just the three of them – and the fear (the expectation) of a punishment at being seen. Clint glanced back at his brother, who quirked his eyebrow expectantly and offered up a one-shouldered shrug.

 

“Are you su-” Before Clint could ask, Matt had closed the space between them impatiently, his hands cupping the archer’s jaw as he brushed their lips together. After a few belated moments, Clint responded, tugging Matt closer with a firm grip on his hips and deepening the kiss. Together, they seemed to slot into place like two halves of a whole, and Barney, like the good brother he was, turned away and made a point to stifle his chuckle.

 

Matt was the first to draw back, resting his forehead against Clint’s to keep him close. “I’m sure,” he whispered teasingly after a moment, fixated on the sound of the man’s slightly elevated heartbeat and the warmth that had spread across his lips and in his chest. “Happy birthday.”

 

A half hour later and the three were sat, spread out across their bunkroom, with what had been a birthday cake left unceremoniously between Clint’s feet; in their defence, it was somewhat small due to their budget and two bowls of grey slop a day didn’t do too much for their hunger.

 

“I’m starting to think that was a bad idea,” Barney groaned, resting his head back against the wall lazily, “Thank fuck we don’t have to perform today.”

 

Clint beamed over at his brother, a bite of cake still in his mouth as he shook his head. “No, this was the best idea,” he corrected, “You guys are the best for this.”

 

Matt propped his head up in his hand, his grin lopsided and relaxed. “You haven’t even opened your presents yet,” he pointed out, even if it had been an oversight on his and Barney’s behalf to expect Clint to do anything other than eat the cake the moment that they’d shown it to him.

 

“Presents?”

 

“Not if you keep talking with your mouth full,” Barney grunted, throwing one of his pillows blindly, though he didn’t need to look over to know that he’d hit Clint square in the face when he heard him whine.

 

“Aw, cake, no. That was the last piece!”

 

Any complaints about the few crumbs of cake that ended up on the floor were long forgotten by the time that Barney gave Clint his present. It was the sloppiest wrapping he’d ever seen in his life, but Clint could tell from the extensive tape usage that it was down to a lack of skill rather than due to being left to the last minute. He’s not entirely sure he could do better. At the very least, it meant he didn’t feel guilty when he tore greedily into the paper; they hadn’t done presents in years.

 

“Oh my God.”

 

“You like it?”

 

“Oh my God. Barn, this-… This must have been expensive, we can’t afford this,” he protested, despite the way his eyes had lit up at the sight of the metal coffee percolator.

 

Barney rolled his eyes fondly, offering a firm: “None a’ that,” before continuing, “It ain’t brand new, got it second-hand, but I checked and it works just as good, yeah? Figured you could use it with the amount a’ that rubbish you drink-’’ He didn’t get to finish speaking before Clint had flung himself at him, causing Barney to grunt and shift to accommodate the added weight.

 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome, kid.”

 

“You’re the fuckin’ best.”

 

“Careful, you ain’t seen what Matt’s got ya yet.”

 

Clint drew back sharply at that, turning to Matt with narrowed eyes. “Nu uh. No way,” he protested, shifting over to the man quickly. “If you’re planning on giving me anythin’, you better have the receipt, ‘cause you’re supposed to be saving for law school, sweetheart.”

 

When the only response he got was a grin, Clint scowled, “You don’t have the receipt, do you?”

 

“It’s worse than that, Clint: it’s custom-made.” Barney sung cheekily from behind him.

 

“Matthew Murdock!”

 

“Am I not allowed to get my boyfriend something special for his birthday?” Matt asked pointedly, knowing that it would be enough to have Clint melting, and, sure enough, the archer soon sighed in defeat.

 

He ran his hands down his face to hide his laugh. “Your boyfriend is going to kill you.”

 

Matt only chuckled, the sound warming Clint’s chest, though he was quickly distracted by the oversized parcel that was being pulled out from underneath the bed. “Can he at least open his present first? I’d rather I got to enjoy his reaction before I die.”

 

“You’re a jerk,” Clint insisted, though he was laughing giddily as he unwrapped his present with notably more care than he had shown Barney’s.

 

Gasping, he hesitantly brushed his fingers over the newly visible box, tracing the neatly printed ‘Stemmler Archery’ branded in charcoal black ink. Clint’s gaze flicked up to Matt uncertainly, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, instead opting to pry the box open with shaky hands. Inside, there was a purple and black bow nestled into tissue paper, a small card placed on top of it that read: ‘Stemmler Hawk RH Recurve Bow AMO 48” 2490-8011 35#.’ When Clint lifted it up to take a closer look, he noticed his name in cursive scrawl beneath the arrow shelf.

 

“Matt,” he whispered uselessly, covering his mouth with his hand.

 

Suddenly sheepish, Matt cocked his head to the side, his cheeks warm. “I uh, I heard you talking about your bow to Barney the other day, about having to tape up the string notch? So, I figured that it would be a good birthday present. Was worried it wouldn’t be ready in time because they needed to do the custom painting and…” he sucked in a sharp breath, realising he was rambling, “I wanted to get you something special.”

 

Clint’s brain still hadn’t caught up to what was being said to him, the archer continuously flicking his gaze between his new bow and his boyfriend dumbly. “This is… Matt, this is the nicest thing I’ve ever owned, how did you afford this?”

 

“You know all those nights when you’ve been headed down the library?” Clint turned to stare at his brother with accusing, wide eyes; he was relatively certain he was going to get whiplash at some point. Barney just shrugged innocently, so he returned his gaze to Matt. “I kept picking up extra performances.”

 

“You’re supposed to be saving that money for law school,” Clint repeated, placing the bow down carefully.

 

“I’m going to be saving for law school for years,” Matt pointed out teasingly, before taking Clint’s hand and drawing him close again. “This was more important.” You’re more important.

 

There was a beat of silence before Barney cleared his throat, “If you’re going to be all kissy again, can I leave the room?”

 

-

 

By the end of the evening, Clint was certain that this would be the best day of his life to come. They’d spent the afternoon trying out his new arrow – though he pointedly refused to let Barney touch it (“Oh, so you’re going to let a blind man shoot an arrow but not your own brother? You’re lucky it’s your birthday.”) – and walked into the city to grab pizza. Despite the guilt that clawed at his chest when Barney paid for the food, he still grinned the entire way home with his leftover slices packaged in a takeout box.

 

“He worried about that bow for weeks, y’know?” Barney asked suddenly, when they were laid in their respective cots, Matt fast asleep against Clint’s chest. “About the colour and the quality and the engraving. Even I don’t give that big a shit about ‘em and I’m an archer.”

 

Clint huffed a soft laugh, glancing down to Matt with a soft expression. He brushed his fingers through his auburn curls and hummed, thoughtful. “I don’t know what I did to deserve him.”

 

“Funny, he said the same thing to me this mornin’.”

 

As Clint tugged their bedsheets further up the bed and wrapped them around Matt gently, his smile widened. “That’s just ‘cause he’s a fuckin’ sap, but I got it on good authority that he’s too fuckin’ good for me.” He paused, considering his words for a moment before he looked up at Barney, “You reckon he’s gonna figure that out when he goes off t’law school?”

 

There was a beat before Barney shook his head, certain. “Nah,” he shrugged easily, “Kid talks about you like you hung the fuckin’ sun, ain’t no fancy school in no fancy city that could change that.”

 

Clint seemed to think over Barney’s words for a second before humming, his smile turned soft and tired. Then, after a second: “Do you think it’ll panic him if I tell him that I love him?”

 

“Yeah,” Barney breathed, anything if not honest, and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I think he’s gonna panic, but only ‘cause I think he loves you too. Sometimes I can see that he freaks himself out, when he goes to like, grab your hand or somethin’, like he don’t really believe that he just did that. Y’got through the easy part, the kisses, falling asleep together, whatever else you two do, but there ain’t nothing like realising you’re in love. Can’t grab a shower to wash that away ‘cause you’re feeling gross.”

 

There was silence for a few minutes, neither of the brothers knowing what the right thing to say was. It was Clint who broke it eventually, sighing: “Should I tell him? He deserves to know that he’s loved.”

 

“So do you.”

 

“I do.”

 

“Then he probably does too.”

 

Clint hoped so.

Chapter 11

Summary:

Clint and Matt get to know each other’s past after a surprise visit.

Notes:

Hi guys! Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up, I’ve been travelling Europe and I have another two weeks of backpacking to go, so I’ll do my best to post when I can!

TW in this chapter for mentions of abuse and suicide.

There seemed to be a running pattern in Clint’s life that nothing ever turned out the way he wanted it to. Just when things started to look up, there was always something just around the corner, ready and waiting to mess everything up.

 

The first sign that it was going to be a bad day was when Matt woke up screaming. It wasn’t exactly abnormal for him; there were plenty of nights when he’d wake up in a sweat with nightmares of father Lantom or the punishments he endured. However, it was abnormal for him to wake up crying that he couldn’t see.

 

When the noise beside him first jostled Clint awake, he hadn’t know what to do. Matt’s cries sounded so childish in a way he hadn’t heard before, so pained and scared and vulnerable that it made his chest ache. He felt useless.

 

“I can’t see! I can’t see, it- it burns .” Matt was reaching out for Clint with one hand, shaky, the other pressing against his eyes as if it would take the pain away.

 

Clint threw a quick glance at Barney, who was blinking groggily with a concerned frown — obviously he’d noticed that this was new too.

 

“Please, I can’t see.” The desperation in Matt’s voice snapped Clint’s attention back into place, quickly returning the grasp in an attempt to soothe him.

 

Shifting closer, he sighed, “Hey, Matty, it’s okay, you’re okay,” he promised, brushing his thumb over Matt’s arm gently, falling into an easy pattern of drawing small circles. “You’re at the circus, we’re in Idaho. You’re okay, Matty, I got you. We got you.”

 

It took them an hour to calm Matt down, Barney having to guide him into a cold shower to ground him. Clint had ended up on the bathroom floor with Matt in his arms for so long that his legs went numb and tingled when he tried to move, but he dutifully stayed by his side; Matt would do the same for him, after all. He didn’t doubt that for a second.

 

-

 

The second sign came that night, when they were in the middle of a performance on the centre stage. Matt had been scowling from the moment the audience started to file in, his head cocked to the side in the manner that Clint had come to recognise as him listening for something specific. Maybe it was a stupid idea for them to continue — Clint wasn’t exactly stupid ( mostly ), and he knew when something wasn’t right, but he didn’t particularly feel like getting a yelling at from the boss. In hindsight, whatever telling off they would have gotten would have been the better choice.

 

It was during one of their well-rehearsed tricks that everything went wrong, when Matt suddenly froze during the performance. Only once Clint had released his arrow did he see the other’s expression twist into something akin to pained realisation, every muscle in his body tightening and going stiff.

 

“Matt!”

 

He barely had the time to hiss out the warning as his arrow embedded itself in Matt’s side, eliciting a groan in response. There was an echo of gasps from the audience, though Clint was barely aware of it over the sound of a woman’s voice, calling out a worried “Matthew!” His head had snapped in the direction of the voice immediately, eyes scanning the crowd as his own chest flooded with panic; they’d never released Matt’s name, Clint had made sure of it after their first week. Coming to a sudden stop, the archer’s jaw clenched, narrowing in on a nun who stood at the side of the stage.

 

Aw, futz.

 

Clint’s feet were moving before he could process everything, crossing the space between him and Matt protectively. “Matty, shit,” he mumbled, catching sight of where his black attire clung to his skin, sticky with blood. He quickly pressed his hand against his side, applying a light pressure around the arrow and grimacing when Matt gasped and jerked away from the touch. “Sorry, fuck, sorry,” he rambled quickly, his mouth moving faster than his brain could keep up, “We’re gonna get you back to the bunk, it’s- it’ll be fine. You jus’ focus on me, y’hear?”

 

Matt’s shaky nod was enough for Clint to guide him by the shoulders to where Barney was waiting by the side of the stage, his expression a mirror of Clint’s own worry.

 

“You’re not supposed to actually shoot ‘im,” his brother huffed, a poor attempt at a joke that Clint wasn’t sure whether it was supposed to soothe him or Barney himself. “You okay, Matty? What happened?”

 

When Matt failed to reply, Clint gave a firm shake of his head. ‘ I’ll explain when he hasn’t got an arrow sticking out of him’ , he signed easily, though he was admittedly hesitant to let go of Matt for any length of time, even the few seconds it took him to sign.

 

Once they were back to the bunk room, Clint cleverly opted not to watch as Barney removed the arrow- his arrow, guilt settling too heavily in his chest, though he stayed firm on being the one to stitch Matt up; his own way of mending things.

 

“How are you doing, Matt?” Barney asked, settled beside Clint to watch him work, ensuring he didn’t fuck this up like he seemed to fuck up everything else.

 

“I’m fine.” A beat passed before Matt’s shoulders slumped forward and he shook his head, defeated. “I’m not. I’m not, I-“

 

When he didn’t continue, Barney hummed and nodded, making eye contact with Clint for a brief moment. That simple glance was enough to say tread carefully .

 

“What happened? You’re not usually off your game like that, kid.”

 

“I thought… I thought I recognised a heartbeat. I couldn’t place it, I thought maybe I was just overthinking and then-… It was Sister Maggie .”

 

‘Mom, remember?’ Clint signed, noticing Barney’s scowl.

 

‘Shit’ .

 

“Shit, Matt,” Barney echoed aloud, “Did you tell her you were doing this? Joinin’ up the circus?”

 

“No, I— No, I couldn’t tell her that. She doesn’t even know that I know she’s my mom.”

 

It was Clint’s turn to scowl, his fingers pausing where they worked against Matt’s skin. “What?”

 

Matt shifted, his head tipped slightly downwards; he looked boyish like that, Clint thought, with his expression soft and open. Exposed .

 

“She never told me,” he shrugged, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I heard her praying one night- I hadn’t meant to, I couldn’t block it out. She said I was like my dad, uh, because I got into this stupid fight I couldn’t win. I guess that scared her, think it’s why she left him in the first place. He didn’t know when to back down from a fight, always came home beaten, I spent most nights patching him up,” Matt paused to huff a soft laugh, fond, “She was asking God to stop her son getting himself killed like my dad did.”

 

Clint considered Matt’s words for a moment, studying his face, how it shifted with each word. His emotions were written across his expressions like paint on a canvas; hurt, confusion, anger. Eventually, he spoke up: “She seemed worried when you- when I shot you. She looked like she worried about you, Matty.”

 

“She’s a Catholic; her worry has nothing to do with me.”

 

“Do you want me to go and find her?” Barney offered after a moment of silence; how hard could it be to find a nun in this place, anyway?

 

But Matt shook his head firmly, lips setting into a hard line as frustration crossed his face, a harshness Clint didn’t think he’d ever seen before. “No. She didn’t want me before, when I was alone at an orphanage and had no family. She doesn’t get to want me now when I’ve found one of my own.”

 

Clint’s heart fluttered wildly at the thought of them being a family, chest tightening. Guilt flickered through him for a moment, for feeling such unfiltered joy at a time when Matt was struggling so much, but meeting Barney’s eyes, he saw the same expression mirrored back at him.

 

“Yeah, kid. You’ve found your family,” Barney muttered fondly, “We found ours too.” He met his brother’s gaze when he spoke, a soft smile on his lips. He didn’t think he’d always been the best brother, but they were family. That was all they had these days.

 

When Clint returned his smile, he knew there was a silent conversation in their look. We survived him, we survived dad. We got past the hits, got away from the house filled with empty beer bottles. We have a real family now.

 

Their moment of calm was interrupted by their bunk room door swinging open with a thud. “Matt, lady’s here to see ya,” the boss’ voice called, firm, clearly displeased with the situation. Clint wasn’t entirely sure if he was annoyed at Matt getting shot or the fact that a fucking nun was following behind him.

 

Both the Barton brothers were quick to move, rising to their feet and positioning themselves in front of Matt protectively. “No,” Barney said, arms folded across his chest, “He’s not up to seeing anyone. He needs to rest.”

 

“I wasn’t talking to you, Barney. The nice lady wants a chat with Matt. You’re gonna give her what she wants, ain’t that right?” Clint glanced behind him as their boss spoke, taking note of the way Matt curled in on himself, leaning towards Clint. The archer took a small step back, obliging the need for closeness as the boss left the four of them alone, leaving with a pointed slam of the door that told them all they would be dealt with later.

 

After a tense few seconds of silence, Clint spoke up. “Matt don’t want you here, lady. Suggest you leave.”

 

Maggie seemed to bristle at that, her shoulders tensing out of frustration or hurt — Clint couldn’t be sure. “I want to speak to my-“ the nun paused abruptly, pursing her lips.

 

“ Your son ?” Matt’s unexpected voice snapped all heads in the room towards him, though Barney was quick to throw a cautious glance back to the woman still lingering in the doorway. He couldn’t care less for her torn expression.

 

With a strained groan, Matt stood, one hand on Clint’s shoulder to keep him steady as the other pressed to his side. “You come here to rescue me? Scoop me up and play house?” He scoffed, shaking his head, “You’re about a decade too late, mom .”

 

Clint was somewhat proud of the venom in Matt’s voice; he knew it must have taken a lot for him to talk to someone — anyone — like that, let alone his own mother (not that she’d earned that title). Still, he was all too aware of the pain hidden behind the strong bravado. He couldn’t help but he reminded of Barney, the way his voice would waver when he stood up to his dad or argued back just to save Clint from a beating.

 

Point was, he knew a mask when he saw one, and Matt’s was well-crafted.

 

“You knew?” Maggie, at the very least, had the decency to act guilty, the regret lingering behind the surprise in her voice.

 

“No thanks to you,” Clint laughed humourlessly.

 

Maggie’s eyes narrowed, gaze sharp on Clint. “Who are you?”

 

“He’s my family.” Matt’s voice came firm, protective, as though Clint was the one who needed to be defended. “The only family I’ve got since dad died.”

 

“Matthew-“

 

“Don’t call me that . Matthew is the name you gave me; you don’t get that right. Not anymore.”

 

“I-“

 

“-Think it’s time for you to leave,” Barney cut in, “You heard ‘im; you ain’t wanted here, an’ this is our home, so I suggest you get the hell out before I throw you out.”

 

That, seemingly, was the end of that.

 

-

 

The following days were hard.

 

Matt wasn’t allowed to perform and Clint argued to stay with him, not caring about his wages being docked for a few days. The boss had fought him on it for a while, but a couple of the carnies had backed him up; apparently more people were fond of Matt than any of them had noticed.

 

They stayed in bed most of the time, with Matt pressed tightly against Clint’s chest, having hushed conversations when either of them needed it.

 

“What was your mum like?” Matt had asked one night, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb the peacefulness in the room.

 

Clint, to his credit, only froze for a moment before forcing himself to relax. “She was… She weren’t well,” he started slowly, twining his fingers into Matt’s curls and brushing them back. “Me and Barn weren’t the only ones to take hits from our dad. Ma took most a’ them when we were younger. Guess it got too much for her, couldn’t take it anymore, y’know?

 

“I was seven when Barney walked in on her trying to drown me in the bathtub one night. She thought she was doin’ me a favour, gettin’ me away from the old man. I jus’ remember her telling me she was sorry an’ all that, tryna push her off but I was just a kid, weren’t nothing I could do. Wouldn’t be here if Barney hadn’t heard me splashin’ about.”

 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Clint continued, “I guess the guilt caught up with her after that, wasn’t long after that she killed herself.”

 

Matt was silent for a while. A minute, a few, maybe.

 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Clint wasn’t entirely certain how Matt knew what he was thinking, but he pressed his face into the boy’s hair and sighed.

 

“I know.”

 

“No, it wasn’t your fault. Once-… Once you get that thought in your head, that you’re gonna be better off dead, that it’s the only way out, it isn’t going anywhere.” Clint had a nasty suspicion that Matt was speaking from experience, causing a pit to open up in his stomach. “If she thought the same for you, she’d already made that decision for herself too.”

 

Clint didn’t reply; Matt didn’t need him to.

 

-

 

Another night, they had been in the shower together, Matt’s fingers massaging shampoo into his scalp when he spoke.

 

“When did you figure out you liked boys?”

 

Clint had chuckled at first, the memory still clear in his mind. “Me and Barn went to the pictures one time to watch a movie. He’d saved up some money from mowin’ the neighbours’ yards, worked real hard just for us to go see it, too. We got there and there was this scene where this couple were makin’ out, Barn made a joke about how I’d find a pretty girl one day, but I shook my head and told him I thought the fella on the screen was prettier. He shoved popcorn in m’mouth just to shut me up so no one heard.”

 

Both Clint and Barney had laughed so hard their stomachs ached later that night.

 

“What about you?” Clint had known it was a hard question, but he asked anyway. They’d had more difficult conversations than this one recently.

 

“I sung in the choir at church when I was younger,” Matt admitted sheepishly, “There was this other boy, think he was a couple years older than me, but he offered to hold my hand one time we had this big performance, because I was so nervous. We did it a lot after that, but then one time he came back home after a date with this girl from down the street and he told me he kissed her but he was thinking of me.”

 

Clint smiled, soft, “Did he kiss you?”

 

“Yeah.” Matt sucked in a small breath, pressing closer to Clint and rinsing the suds from his hair. “Yeah, we kissed a lot. Then one of the sisters caught us and uh, he wasn’t keen on sticking around for father Lantom’s punishments, so he took off without saying anything.”

 

“You ever hear from him again?”

 

Matt shook his head, pressing a small kiss to Clint’s shoulder. “Must’ve been hard.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Did you love him?”

 

“As much as I could then.”

 

-

 

The third and final sign was when Barney came running in through the door late one night, when Matt was curled up asleep in Clint’s lap, the archer combing through his hair mindlessly with his fingers. He immediately shushed his brother, waving his hand around in a gesture that was supposed to be ‘ silent’ .

 

He took a moment to take in Barney’s appearance, breaths laboured, forehead gleaming with a layer of sweat. The older brother held up something in his hand — paper, or an envelope, Clint couldn’t quite get a good look in the darkness of the room.

 

‘ What you got? ’

 

Instead of answering his sign, Barney crossed the room in a few silent steps, holding it out to Clint. With the newfound closeness, he could make out the Columbia University logo in black print at the top of the envelope. For a moment, his heart stopped.

 

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

 

‘ Did he get in? ’

Chapter 12

Summary:

Clint and Barney speak to Matt about the application; things don't go the way they expect them to.

If Matt and Clint’s romance was a story, no reader, and perhaps not even the author themself, would have predicted just what would trigger the beginning of the end. It would come suddenly, as a surprise, a cliff-hanger set purposely to lead into the next instalment of a romance series. Perhaps a big ending was inevitable; our favourite archer and resident freakshow act were always destined to go out with a bang, but who could have known it would end like this? With Matt left alone in a room with tear-stained cheeks, a hollow chest, and a college acceptance letter clutched in his shaking hands.

 

Maybe we should take a few steps back; all disasters have a catalyst; this one is no exception.

 

-

 

Jonathan’s tape-wrapped knuckles hit against the punching bag a fifth, sixth, seventh successive time, blooded and purple despite their protection. His forehead beaded with sweat and his eyebrows knitted together in a too-tight scowl that Matt didn’t need to see to know was present.

 

“One day, Matty,” his father breathed, voice horse and raspy, “You’re gonna do great things. Better things than this.”

 

An eighth, ninth, tenth hit followed. The gym was silent for a moment, albeit for a few heaved breaths, and just when Matt thought his father was done, the hits continued.

 

Eleven, twelve, thirteen…

 

“You’re gonna go and get outta this place, y’hear me?”

 

Matt nodded, fingers brushing over the braille textbook his father had dutifully shoved into his hands the moment they’d gotten there. “I know, dad, I’m gonna go to law school.”

 

The next punch Jonathan landed sounded harsher than those prior, Matt able to hear the insistent creaking of the bag’s chain as it swung back and forth from the force. It echoed in the otherwise empty space. His father huffed a chuckle, like he was in on a joke Matt wasn’t. “You gotta work damn fuckin’ hard for that, Matty. Law school ain’t made for people like us — you gotta be the one to make it work.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Matt groaned, “I know, dad.”

 

Jonathan continued as if he hadn’t heard Matt; the boy wasn’t even entirely sure he truly had – his father seemed constantly preoccupied lately. Maybe he heard him, but he was pretty certain that he wasn’t listening. “It ain’t gonna be easy. Not for a kid from Hell’s Kitchen, they’re gonna underestimate you, Matty, and you’re gonna take hits, get knocked down-“

 

“-But I’ll get back up, dad. I’m a Murdock, that’s what we do.”

 

-

 

“Is this real?” Matt asked, when he’d had Clint read the acceptance letter out a third time, as though the words might change between one minute and the next. Neither brother minded though, eager to indulge the unadulterated joy that spread across Matt’s face every time; they were suddenly reminded that all those nights at the library had been worth it.

 

“It’s real, kid. You got full scholarship and board. You’re gonna go to law school,” Barney confirmed from where he was leant lazily against the wall, arms folded across his chest and a proud smile resting on his lips.

 

Matt shook his head, letting out a shaky breath. “I don’t understand, I- you did this for me?”

 

Setting the letter aside, Clint slinked closer to his partner, shifting to rest his head against his broad shoulder. “We wanted to give you the shot you deserve.”

 

Something passed between them for a moment; an unspoken acknowledgment of what Clint really meant; the shot we won’t get. It seemed to ripple through the room in waves, heavy and consuming, a tide that you couldn’t outrun. A whole truth, no matter how crushing the blow.

 

“Columbia is one of the best, kid. We did a lotta research before we sent in the application. Place like that’ll give ya a proper future.” Away from here.

 

Though Barney hadn’t said the latter aloud, the reality seemed to sink in for Matt, and the man sucked in a sharp breath, eyebrows knitting together as he thought. “Columbia is in New York,” he pointed out softly, the words almost numb against his tongue and yet so heavy. “New York’s a… long way from Idaho.” A helluva long way, actually.

 

Clint gave a one-shouldered shrug, as though the thought hadn’t been running over in his mind all night. “Yeah,” he hummed, faking nonchalance, “But this school’s great, Matty. There ain’t a lot of chances like this one, y’know? Wouldn’t a’ applied there unless it were one a’ the best. We ain’t sendin’ you to some community college, you’re too good for that.”

 

A weight settled around Matt’s chest, as if someone had his lungs held tightly in their palm, fingers driving a bruising pressure into the organs. He scowled, shook his head. “I can’t leave you. I said we’re going to get out together, I’m not leaving you behind.”

 

“Like hell you’re turnin’ this down,” Clint snorted, his voice a little harsher than he’d intended, though he was set on staying firm about this one. “This ain’t any school, Matty. This is one a’ the best, who cares if it’s back in New York?”

 

Clint cared. He did. Some things were simply more important.

 

“I care,” Matt spluttered, the disbelief clear in his voice, “I care, I don’t… I’m not leaving my family behind.”

 

“You’re not leaving us behind, kid,” Barney stepped in, noticing his brother’s deepening scowl, “We’re the ones who sorted this for ya. We want you to do this, alright? Ain’t no big thing about leaving us or any a’ that, we’re real proud to know you’re gonna get to go to Columbia. Can’t think of anybody else who deserves it more.”

 

Despite his best efforts, Barney’s reassurance didn’t seem to help any, because Matt just shook his head again, offering a noise that was halfway between a scoff and a humourless laugh. “I’m not leaving you! I’m not leaving my boyfriend.”

 

Clint, admittedly, grimaced at that, because he hadn’t exactly considered their relationship in all of his excitement. As if he was going to stand in Matt’s way, though, and he said just as much.

 

“I’m not gonna be the thing that stops you from getting’ that future you want, Matty,” he said slowly, each word a cautious choice. “I want this for you too, this is a good thing.”

 

Behind the quickening thumping of his heart, Matt could barely believe what he was hearing. “You’re a good thing!” he argued, and the defence sounded weak, even to him. He felt like he was a child again, arguing a pointless fight.

 

“I’m a deaf fuckin’ carnie with no education, Matt,” Clint retorted, his words holding an edge of something Matt couldn’t quite place. He wasn’t sure if it was condescending, like a teacher having to correct a student one time too-many, but it grated on his ears regardless. “This is law school, one a’ those things is a helluva lot more important.”

 

“You’re what’s more important.”

 

Clint scoffed, running his hand frustratedly down his face. “You can’t seriously think that, Matty.”

 

“Of course I fucking do,” Matt bit back, his fingernails biting into the palm of his hand with how tightly he’d been clenching his fists, “I said we’re getting out of here together, I meant that.”

 

There was a moment of tense silence as Clint considered his next words, his lips pressed into a tight line. Finally, he spoke. “I will not forgive you if you turn this down.”

 

“What?” Matt asked, his response choked and uncertain.

 

Clint knew that was his opportunity to soothe over the sting of his decision, but he was as stubborn as ever, opting instead to dig his heels in twice as deep.

 

“I will not stand in your way, not for this. If you put me between you and your future, I will never forgive you.”

Chapter 13

Summary:

Sometimes it's better to think before you speak; Clint learns this the hard way.

The first thing that Barney did once he was alone with Clint was throw his arms around him in a hug. “You idiot,” he hissed, though his words were punctuated with his tightening grip, “You stupid, selfless, stubborn idiot.”

 

Though there was no bite to his brother’s words, they wrenched a sob from Clint, who eagerly pressed his face into Barney’s shoulder to conceal the noise. Neither of them mentioned how the archer trembled. “This was supposed to be a good thing,” he complained, and Barney couldn’t help but see something childish in it. The naïve optimism from Clint wasn’t exactly in character, after all.

 

“You really didn’t figure that he might wanna stay with you?” Barney asked, mindful to keep any judgement out of his tone – he knew better than anyone how easily the bomb that was Clint Barton could explode.

 

“He’s so stupid.”

 

The oldest brother huffed a laugh, pressing his nose into Clint’s hair to hide his smile. “Pot, kettle.” His hand settled on the back of Clint’s neck, squeezing gently. “He’s gonna make his own decision on this one, pal. Don’t matter what we want, we gotta let him pick what he wants.”

 

“Barn, he wants this!”  Clint pointed out, drawing back to stick Barney with a pointed stare, “He’s just… He’s putting me before law school, Barney.”

 

“There somethin’ wrong with that?”

 

In any other situation, Barney might have found Clint’s responding scowl a little funny, but the tension seemed to radiate from the latter in waves. “I’m not fuckin’ worth it, Barn.”

 

Barney seemed to consider Clint for a moment before he shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “He doesn’t think that,” he pointed out bluntly, then, “Neither do I, for what it’s worth.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Clint started, straightening his shoulders a fraction. Barney could have sworn he saw the exact moment that he made his mind up, the determination hardening his eyes. “If he’s not going to make the right decision, I’ll make it for us.”

 

Arguing would have been pointless, so Barney stayed silent; it wasn’t the first time he was preparing himself to have to clean up whatever mess Clint made, and he knew for certain that it wouldn’t be the last.

 

-

 

For the next two weeks, it was Barney who was at Matt’s side when he was woken up from nightmares. He would sit beside him when he shook and sobbed and asked for Clint, offering whatever comfort he could muster beyond the building anger at his brother. It became a routine, of sorts, he would hold Matt until his sobs calmed and his legs were steady enough to carry him into the shower to cool off, and then he’d head back into the bunk room to watch Clint blink away tears and pointedly avoid his gaze.

 

“You’re hurting the both of ya,” Barney pointed out one night, when he’d spent the prior hour holding tightly onto Matt’s wrists to stop him from hitting his fists down against his thigh. “It ain’t me he wants in there with him.”

 

From across the room, he could see how Clint’s jaw tensed, teeth grinding together in a symphony of guilt. “I go in there, I give him a reason to stay.” He stated, void of the emotion Barney knew was there, “That’s gonna hurt him a helluva lot worse, Barney.”

 

Barney raised his eyebrows, withholding the urge to scoff, though the expression alone seemed to be enough to break Clint’s resolve. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. What, you think this is what’s best for him? You think he’s gonna have a real great future if he sticks around? He’s gonna end up being a stupid fuckin’ freak for the resta’ his life. We ended up stuck here ‘cause of dad, I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ Matt get stuck here ‘cause of me.”

 

Clint heard the sharp intake of breath from across the room but pushed it aside and shook his head, “I ain’t ruining anyone’s life but my own. Alright, Barn?”

 

“Yeah. Alright, pal.”

 

-

 

It was far too hopeful for Clint to wish that he wouldn’t have to have a real conversation with Matt about everything, but the archer held onto it regardless. He didn’t want to talk about it, so he wouldn’t for as long as he could manage.

 

That ended up being three weeks.

 

“I have to make my decision by Friday,” Matt said abruptly one night, when they had the place to themselves. His voice sounded small, even to Clint, and that made him grimace, a harsh guilt swirling in his stomach with the knowledge that he was the reason behind that. He had to push it aside though; whatever hurt Matt was feeling now was better than him feeling it for the rest of his life, Clint reminded himself. Those words felt like a mantra these days.

 

Instead of answering, Clint offered up a soft grunt, not trusting his own voice.

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

The question had the archer’s eyes narrowing, head snapping up towards Matt for the first time. He looked tired, sad; Clint forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat before he choked on it. “To stop you from being an idiot,” he retorted finally, when he managed to school his emotions into something less consuming.

 

Had Clint not known Matt as well as he did, he would have missed the way he flinched slightly, shifting his weight away from Clint. He wished wholeheartedly that he’d looked away, then, but he refused to back down. “I ain’t gonna sit around and watch you end up like me.”

 

Matt’s chest tightened at the reminder of why Clint was really doing this. He would have to be ridiculously oblivious not to know that this wasn’t about him at all; this was about Clint, about not being worth staying for. If you asked Matt, he was well worth staying for. “I want to end up with you,” he spoke softly, not wanting to speak too quietly to be heard, but knowing anything he did say would come out wrong, regardless – too shaky and too uncertain for his own good.

 

“Right,” Clint laughed, the sound echoing a lack of humour, “And that’s where you’re being an idiot again. You got a big shot, Matt, what are the chances of you getting’ another one like this, hey? There are plenty of guys out there – hell, better guys than me – but there ain’t lotsa chances at bigtime law schools.”

 

“I don’t need those chances if I’ve got you, I’ll find something else, something close.”

 

Before Clint could think better of it, he snapped, “And what then, Matt? This is your chance to go have that flashy future, be a lawyer and do some real good like you wanted. You think we’re gonna have a perfect life t’gether if you stay? The deaf fucking archer who ain’t good for nothin’ and the Catholic freakshow act who has to punish ‘imself just to cope?”

 

As soon as the words left his mouth, Clint regretted them. The flash of hurt that crossed Matt’s face was expressive enough, a twist of the knife Clint had seemingly stabbed into his own gut. Guilt tasted like bile in his throat, but he forced it down. An apology lingered on his lips, teetering on the edge of his tongue like a traitor, threatening to crumble the act he’d built in the past few weeks. Before it had the chance to betray him, though, Barney’s sudden entrance and harsh slam of the front door had him swallowing the words.

 

“The fuck did you just say, Clint?”

Chapter 14

Summary:

Both Matt and Clint are struggling to cope... Luckily Barney always knows exactly what to say.

Notes:

I can't believe there's only one more chapter to go! But I've already got a first draft of the next fic in this series and I'm really excited to show you where this has always been headed.

Barney’s time quickly devolved into two halves, one spent trying to take care of Clint and the other focused on holding together the man who he had come to consider a second brother.

 

Neither of these parts were easy.

 

-

 

“You’ve been using your old bow again,” Barney pointed out one night, when they had the place to themselves and Matt was at a performance. It wasn’t long after the fight that he noticed Clint’s crappy old bow made an appearance, his new one stashed somewhere under the bed. Some part of him thought it was understandable, but another, smarter side of him was all-too aware of his brother’s self-destructive (mostly idiotic) tendencies. Letting it go unspoken seemed like a bad idea.

 

That worry was only confirmed when Clint responded solely with a grunt and a half-hearted, one-shouldered shrug. Barney didn’t ever think there would be a day when he would find himself having preferred a regular shrug from his brother; he’d quickly grown tired of that sometime during Clint’s angst-filled teen years. “You’ve got a perfectly good one under ya bed. Much better than that old thing.”

 

“I don’t deserve to use it,” Clint snapped finally, throwing a sponge down into the sink from where he was washing his plate. “He wasted his money on that thing, Barn. Wasted money on someone who isn’t worth it.”

 

Barney hummed, pressing his lips together in a thin line. With a sigh, he attempted to lighten the mood, “You fucked up, no need to take it out on the sponge.”

 

“I’m a complete asshole.”

 

“Yeah, you are,” Barney replied bluntly, not bothering to lie or sugar-coat things for Clint. “You fucked up. I mean – c’mon, Clint, how could you say that to ‘im? After everything we’ve watched him go through, you don’t get to throw that shit back in his face. You of all people should know how stupid that is.”

 

Clint grimaced, ducking his head at the sharp tone behind his brother’s words. “I know, I- Don’t you think I regret it? Matt didn’t deserve that. Fuck, I practically called him a freak, too.”

 

“And you still haven’t apologised.”

 

“I can’t! I can’t, okay? Because if I do that, if I make this better, then Matt’s just… He’s going to withdraw his application and none of this will even matter. I will have hurt him for nothing, all of this will have been for nothing. And Barn, I would rather fuckin’ feel this… This guilt for the rest of my life than ruin his. Don’t you see that? Don’t you get what all a’ this is for? It’s not for me, it’s for him. One day he’s gonna… He’s gonna be sat in his big, fancy office and he’s gonna be so fuckin’ glad he didn’t screw up his life by staying in this shithole, man. He’s gonna be helpin’ people and he’s gonna do these stupidly great things because he’s great, Barney. He’s better than this place, than us, than me.”

 

The archer’s shoulders slumped as he turned away, and Barney didn’t have to be a genius to know that he was trying to hide the tears in his eyes. He wasn’t about to let him off so easily, though, and was at his brother’s side in a few short steps. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Clint,” he stressed, his arms circling his brother in a tight vice. “You gotta stop spouting this shit. These ain’t your words, ain’t your fuckin’ thoughts. You know this all comes from dad, there ain’t an ounce a’ truth in any a’ it.

 

“Buddy, you’re one a’ the best people I know. You’re strong as all hell; you have any idea what it takes to go through the crap that you have and just come outta the other side a’ it? It ain’t easy, it’s fuckin’ walkin’ through fire and comin’ outta it alive. Ever since you were a kid, you’ve been pullin’ this selfless crap when it ain’t good for ya. I mean, hell, you used t’try and take hits from dad so I didn’t have to.”

 

“You did the same for me,” Clint murmured, a distinct grumpiness behind his words, muffled by his mouth against Barney’s shoulder.

 

“I’m older, it was different. I’m your big brother, it’s my job t’look after ya. And part of lookin’ after ya includes tellin’ you when you’re being a total fuckin’ idiotic jerk.”

 

Clint sighed, sniffling as he drew back from the hug. “I just want him to be happy, Barney.”

 

“And I want you to be happy, baby.”

 

-

“This was supposed to cheer you up!”

 

“You brought me shopping for pens and notebooks, Barney. Am I supposed to be writing notes that I can’t see?” Matt laughed, earning him a sharp elbow to the side, though Barney scowled as if he hadn’t quite considered that before.

 

Squinting, he asked, “How the fuck are you actually gonna take notes?”

 

“We should probably look for a tape recorder. That way I can record in class and listen back when I’m studying.” Matt shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

It turned out that finding a tape recorder in the middle of buttfuck Idaho was not the easiest thing in the world. they’d almost spent four hours trapsing from store to store when they finally found one, ridiculously overpriced and shoved behind a portable radio. Barney had practically forced himself to the till, shoving a few bills across the desk before Matt could even attempt to refuse.

 

“You know, it’s kind of rude to do that to a blind man,” Matt teased once they’d left the store, the bell overhead the door ringing behind them.

 

Barney just snorted, his lips curling into a smug grin. “You can’t call yourself a man, you’re still a boy,” he taunted, swinging the carrier bag between them and laughing at Matt’s unimpressed grunt. “And I wanted to get this as a present, I knew you weren’t about to let me. Much easier to avoid an argument in front of the poor cashier guy.”

 

“I wouldn’t have let you because I don’t need any presents.”

 

“C’mon, kid, this is a big deal. You’re going to law school! An’ I’m proud of you, Matty, this is gonna be amazin’ for you,” Barney beamed, forcing more confidence into his voice than he truly had.

 

Matt didn’t seem too fazed by his attempt, though, because he shrugged and sighed. Barney was getting real sick of all the shrugging these days. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

 

“I know,” there was no use pretending, after all. “It shouldn’t be me takin’ you out to do this and I wish it weren’t. Clint should be the one helpin’ you get all your college gear, but he’s too fuckin’ stubborn to drop this one. He just wants what’s best for you, we both do.”

 

Grateful for his glasses, Matt blinked back tears. His throat felt dry all of a sudden. “I’ve wanted this since I was a kid and I just… I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this chance; it’s all my dad ever wanted for me, for me to have this opportunity to get away from the life we had when I was growing up, but it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would be. I’m not relieved or excited, I just feel hollow.”

 

There was a beat of silence between them before Matt sucked in a sharp breath. “I never felt like I had something to lose before.”

 

Barney’s gut twisted sharply and his heart ached at the vulnerability behind Matt’s words. He’d always had a talent for fixing things, but he felt like the harder he tried to glue these broken pieces back together, the more they shattered. “You’re not losing us, Matt. I wouldn’t let that happen. You’re family, that isn’t gonna change just ‘cause you’re off to college. You’re gonna come back over Christmas and spring break and you’re gonna tell us all about how well you’re doing. You’re gonna bring back your report card and I’m gonna stick it up on the fridge.”

 

“Do you get report cards at college?” Matt tried for a laugh, though it fell flat despite his best efforts.

 

“Not the focus a’ this, kid,” Barney huffed, though there was a clear fondness in his smile. “Point is, no matter how far college is, you’re always gonna have a home to come back to. We’re not going anywhere. Y’hear me, Matty? You will always have a home and this family, kid.”

 

Always.

Chapter 15

Summary:

It's college move-in day!

Notes:

I have been ridiculously unwell and this is not entirely how I wanted to end this, but I've been so focused on resting and the next fic has been calling my name so much more, so please excuse this kinda messy ending.

At least it's not really an ending...

One mid-August afternoon, Matt and Barney were finally settled into an otherwise empty train carriage with a tension that hung between them, thick and unmentioned, suffocating despite the open door to the rest of the train that had been left propped agape by Matt’s suitcase.

 

“He’s an idiot,” Barney had muttered after the between them silence had stretched on for too long, and pat Matt’s thigh as if it would offer any comfort.

 

There was a pause, Matt tensing further before he forced himself to relax again. “I almost thought he would be here.”

 

“He wrote you a letter.”

 

Matt scoffed, shaking his head, “He should have said whatever he had to say to my face. Here. He should have been here.”

 

The strained reiteration did little more than cause Barney’s chest to tighten with guilt, as if he could have done anything to prevent his younger brother from hightailing it out of the kitchen window at the ass crack of dawn. “Might be worth reading anyway, kid.”

 

“Anything he had to say in that,” Matt started with a clear firmness in his voice, shoving the envelope across the pop-up table between them, “Can’t be that important if he isn’t here to tell me it himself.”

 

Barney blinked down at the letter between them before returning his gaze to Matt, torn between sympathy for his brother’s inability to cope with his emotions and anger at Matt’s poorly concealed hurt. Poor kid looked as if a gentle nudge might fracture him into a thousand pieces.

 

After a moment, he sighed. “I ain’t suggestin’ ya read it for his sake. Hell knows he don’t deserve for y’t’hear ‘im out, but you could do with the closure too, y’know? This is a big day, Matty. You deserve to know why he didn’t show up for it.”

 

It seemed like forever, but Barney eventually received a tight nod in response and set about opening the envelope, noting the tear-smudges and his brother’s familiar, chicken scratch scrawl. He had to steady his own voice before reading, fleetingly wondering when he had become someone to care so much.

 

With a  sharp intake of breath, he read.

 

‘Dear Matt,

 

Probably not the most fair thing to give a blind fella a handwritten letter, but Barney will be able to read you this better than I could speak it. I tried to figure out how to write something in braille a few times before I realised I was shit at it. Figures, I ain’t even the best speller, so I’m not sure why I thought I coulda been any good at that.

 

Anyway, at this point, you’re probably on the way back to New York with Barney, and you probably hate my stupid ass. I wouldn’t blame you. I wish I coulda been there with you. After all of this, I wanted to be the one cheering you on for move in day, but I couldn’t do it, and I’m sorry.

 

Call me a coward if you want, hell knows I earnt it, but if I came today, I don’t think I would be able to let you leave.

 

I’ve made a lot of selfish decisions in my life before, Matty, fucked a lot of things up for a lot of good people who didn’t deserve it, but I couldn’t do that to you, too. You deserve better than all of this, you always have. Hell, meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me, but most days I wish I never got the chance, at least I wouldn’t a’ had to see you that day. Fuck, you looked so resigned, Matt. Like this stupid fucking place was where you belonged.

 

Just because I deserve to rot here, doesn’t mean you d. I know it’s probably not believable right now, but I didn’t wanna hurt ya, that’s the last-’

 

“Stop,” Matt rasped, unable to blink back the next few tears that welled in his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t want to hear anymore.”

 

And though his heart ached, Barney couldn’t argue with that, so he did nothing more than slip the letter back into the envelope and place it back in its position between them.

 

He didn’t mention anything later when Matt haphazardly stuffed it into his bag on the way off the train.

 

-

 

By the time that Barney had lugged Matt’s suitcase up three flights of stairs, they eventually found the room number he’d been looking for. 407. The burgundy door had been left slightly ajar and movement was audible from the corridor as someone shuffled around inside; Matt even managed a smile at the sudden clatter they heard and a curse that soon followed.

 

“You ready?” Barney asked, nudging Matt’s shoulder with his own and grinning proudly. Hell if he ever thought he’d see the day a Barton boy was standing in some fancy student halls, even if he was just here to drop Matt off.

 

“Not as ready as I should be.” With a snort, he pushed his way into the room, his smile falling into something more natural when he heard another curse, clearer this time.

 

“Christ, hey, I wasn’t expecting you yet.“ the guy faltered, rubbing his palms against his scratchy brown trousers.

 

“Sorry, I know this place looks a mess, but oh-.” There was a moment of awkward silence as Matt’s blindness dawned on his new roommate, and the former could only wait with bated breath to see if he’d react badly. It wouldn’t be entirely unexpected for someone to freak out about having a blind roommate, he figured, but whatever burst of frustration he was expecting never came. Instead, there was a soft laugh, entirely too-nervous and awkward, “I guess I should probably pick the stuff up off of the floor then, huh? I’m Franklin Nelson, but people call me Foggy.”

 

Matt’s shoulders slumped with relief, a slight ease spreading through his chest.

 

“Please tell me it’s not because you snore like a foghorn, Foggy?”

 

Fin.

Chapter 16

Summary:

Matt and Clint reunite.

Notes:

After some thought, I decided to continue this as one work rather than having multiple! Enjoy.

Matt smoothed his spare hand down the front of his suit as he walked, Foggy at his side. He tried to focus himself on his surroundings: his cane sweeping across the hardwood floor, the papers shifting in his briefcase, Foggy’s anxious ramblings.

 

“Are you even listening, Matt?” The voice caught Matt’s attention, the lawyer finally turning towards his partner with his best attempt at an apologetic smile.

 

“Sorry, Foggy.”

 

“Matthew Murdock, ladies and gentlemen: a shitty listener but at least he’s honest about it.” Matt snorted, flicking his cane out at Foggy’s ankle. “Ow, man. Seriously though, buddy, we’re gonna be fine. Sergeant Mahoney said this is an open and shut case, remember?”

 

“Sergeant Mahoney would say anything to keep you buying his mum cigars, Foggy,” he shook his head, huffing a laugh despite himself, “What are the details of this case, anyway? What’s the client’s charges?”

 

“Not a clue,” Foggy’s tome was far too cheery for the admission, but he barrelled on before Matt could cut in, “But Mahoney says it’s a good case, when has he ever lied to us?”

 

“He told us Bess ran out of cigars last week, that was a lie.”

 

“What? How could you even know that?”

 

Matt shrugged innocently, grinning, “Gut instinct.”

 

“Right,” Foggy drew the word out, clearly amused, “I forgot about your creepily accurate lie detector.”

 

When Matt just laughed and didn’t respond, Foggy continued on. “Look, buddy, we’re gonna be fine, no matter what the case is. You graduated summa cum laude, Matty, we both passed the bar, and we got our very own office today! There’s nothing we can’t do right now.”

 

Matt offered his spare arm out to Foggy, relaxing against him once he was close. “When did you suddenly get so confident? Did something happen to the guy who cried for five hours because he thought he was going to fail all his exams?”

 

“Dude,” he groaned, cheeks tinted with a dusty pink. Matt chuckled knowingly when he sensed the heat rising to Foggy’s face. “I was drunk, we swore we’d forget about it!”

 

“You swore we’d forget about it, I didn’t promise a single thing,” Matt retorted innocently, somehow managing to keep his shit-eating grin from sounding in his voice.

 

Foggy just groaned again, shoving Matt forward towards the police station and earning himself a cold glare from a passerby. Right, pushing a blind man in public probably wasn’t the most socially acceptable thing to do.

 

Any slight guilt he might have felt was instantly wiped away by Matt’s laugh and exaggerated stumble, though, and he promptly did it again. “Asshole.”

 

-

 

Foggy pushed open the door with Matt following close behind as he scanned the documents quickly, taking in the notes even as he sat down.

 

“Mr Barton, my name is Foggy Nelson, and this is my associate Ma-“

 

“Matty?”

 

The lawyers heart stuttered as his head snapped towards the voice — Clint’s voice — and he nearly tripped over his cane, because no, that couldn’t be right. He hadn’t heard from Barney or Clint since his second year of law school, not that he’d really expected any differently from the latter; the letter was the last time they ‘spoke’. Surely one of them would have said something if they were in New York. That was the promise they’d made after all, right? To come back home? Then again, Matt had given up on trusting that years ago, having brushed the pain aside with a firm belief of ‘I should have known better.’

 

It seemed like he was right.

 

Clint’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood up, forgetting about the handcuffs that secured him to the table. “Futz,” he cursed softly, leaning awkwardly in an attempt to maintain his position. His voice dropped into something softer, more vulnerable and scared than Matt ever remembered hearing, “Hey, Matty.”

 

Swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat, Matt nodded stiffly. His throat was sore, head clouded by a rolling fog. “Clint,” he returned, attempting to keep the shake out of his voice with little success. “This is my partner, Foggy. We’re here to represent you.”

 

“Partner?” Clint asked, the hurt in his voice sending a jolt of anger through Matt’s core. Fleetingly he wondered how Clint thought he had the right to be upset, but that was soon wiped away by the longing ache in his chest that hadn’t truly ever eased, even after all these years.

 

“Legal partner,” Foggy cut in, his confused frown telling Clint that he didn’t know who he was. “We’re from Nelson and Murdock.”

 

“We are Nelson and Murdock, Foggy,” Matt tried to force some amusement into his words, exasperated. “As of about 10am today.”

 

“Is that what we’re telling people? I don’t think many people will want day-old lawyers – I was gonna go off of when we passed the bar.”

 

Matt shrugged noncommittally in response to Foggy’s hushed words, his lips pressed into a soft pout. “Seemed logical to go from when we got our name above the door.” He retorted, the words forced and stiff as he feigned a façade of carelessness.

 

“Our name is on the door, Matty. Stuck to it. With the Sellotape we borrowed from the neighbours because we can’t afford our own.” Foggy snorted, nonchalant. “But that’s not important right now, what is important is how you know our client.”

 

Clint’s gaze, previously unwavering on Matt, flickered down to the table nervously as the focus shifted back to him. He didn’t dare look back up, dread settling in his chest from unbidden emotion hitting him like a wave. When neither he nor Matt said a word, Foggy sighed, leaning back in the uncomfortable office chair.

 

“I’m gonna take a guess and say this is gonna be a long story.”

Chapter 17

Notes:

Me? Updating? Who would have guessed.

It had taken ten minutes of convincing and a good amount of bribery to convince Foggy to give them a few moments of privacy. Regardless of the trust Matt had in his legal partner, it was hard to ignore that his and Clint’s relationship had been a crime in itself; he didn’t think they needed an addition to whatever charges had Clint handcuffed to a table, after all.

 

“The circus?” he asked, pushing past the bitter hurt that was brewing in his chest.

 

Clint cleared his throat, seemingly only then remembering why they were sat across from one another. “Yeah, it was-” he stopped, shaking his head and letting out a choked laugh, “Futz, Matty, you have no idea.”

 

“I could probably guess. Theft? Evading the police?”

 

Glancing up at Matt again, Clint took a moment to take him in properly. He looked tired, face thinner than he remembered, which frankly made no sense whatsoever – Matt could afford to eat better than they did at the circus, right? It wouldn’t do him much good to judge him, though – Clint was certain he was mirroring the same exhaustion Matt held in his muscles. He considered his options for a moment before sighing; lying wouldn’t do him much good, either. “Murder.”

 

The sharp intake of breath that followed was audible even to Clint, who shrunk back into the plastic chair. “You’re serious?” Matt muttered, running a hand down his face as if he were already fed up of the entire situation and, ha, didn’t Clint sympathise with that?

 

“As a heart attack.”

 

After a moment of thought, Matt pressed on, “You didn’t do it?”

 

Clint shrugged, a poor attempt at feigning nonchalance. “Nobody else seems to think so,” he stated simply, as if he’d already resigned himself to a guilty verdict before a trial had ever begun. “Carnie trash like me, s’all I’m good for.”

 

“You’re not…” Matt sighed before he could continue, knowing an argument was the last thing they had the time for, “Clint, this is serious. I need to know what I’m working with here, no matter how bad it is.”

 

Another stretch of silence passed before Clint finally relented. “I didn’t kill him, Matty.”

 

Matt listened, one thump, two, three. One, two, three. Clint’s heartbeat stayed steady.

 

“I know. Start from the beginning.”

 

“Couple years ago, Ace took over as boss. You remember him? Big guy, used to push Barney around a lot. Hell, he still does. He wanted to increase profits, y’know? Petty theft at circus shows weren’t doin’ it for him or whatever. And you know me and Barney don’t have no place to go, so we just did as we were told. It wasn’t like this – not when we started – we never hurt anyone, you know we wouldn’t do that, yeah?” without waiting for a response, Clint nervously rambled on, “Ace would just give us addresses and we’d break in and grab whatever we could. ‘Parently the cops were onto us or somethin’, ‘cause Barney sorted out this job for me, supposed to be real easy so I was gonna do it alone, but he gave me a gun, just in case, y’know? But when I got there the guy was dead, Matty. I mean it, he’d been shot right between the eyes and the cops were there before I could even process that. They’re saying it was my gun that killed ‘im – stupid fucking thing, I didn’t even wanna take it in the first place but Barn insisted.”

 

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Clint’s heartbeat didn’t waver once; Matt’s did.

 

“You were set up,” he concluded, with the hesitance of a man accepting an unwanted truth. He deftly took his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose as if it would help to clear his thoughts.

 

“By Barney? C’mon, Matty. As if.”

 

Matt shook his head, grimacing. “Probably not knowingly. Ace never liked you much, either.”

 

“Futz.” Unable to hold back a snort at the ridiculous situation he’d seemingly landed himself in, Clint jingled his handcuffs and attempted what he hoped was a charming smile.

 

“Don’t suppose you know a good lawyer?”