|Next Generation: Avengers
Author: imaninja41 PM
Fury doesn't even know how they wound up with all these kids! From terrorists, Asguard, and even the circus! Six kids from 9 to 17, different as can be, what does he do with them? Passes them off as the Avenger's Sidekicks. What could possible go wrong?Rated: Fiction T - English - Family/Friendship - Nick F. & Hawkeye/Clint B. - Chapters: 40 - Words: 104,808 - Reviews: 338 - Favs: 112 - Follows: 161 - Updated: 04-30-13 - Published: 05-27-12 - id: 8155776
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Jade and Tyson smiled at each other, taking opposite positions on the sparing mat. "Ya sure ya wanna do this Tyson?"
He chuckled, "I think I can take you Jade, you may have your fancy advanced hand to hand combat training, but me? I've got street cred."
Jade rolled her eyes, "Alright, yer funeral."
Natasha smirked at the pair as they both fell into a fighting stance, looking at Bruce, "Get ready to wheel your trainee to the medical wing Bruce."
Bruce grimaced, looking at Tyson with pity, "I just hope he never does this again."
Tyson took a step forward, and Jade grabbed his outstretched fist, flipping him over her shoulder, and throwing him past Bruce and into the wall. Tyson hit the wall hard, his yelp of surprise being cut off by his groan of pain.
Natasha flat out laughed, and Bruce couldn't help but chuckle a little as Jade rushed forward, making sure Tyson was okay, "Tyson? Tyson? How many fingers am Ah holdin' up?"
Tyson groaned, staring up at the green haired girl with a far off expression, "Three?"
Jade nodded, "Yeah, yer okay."
Tyson shaking stood up, "Man girl, you sure can throw down."
"And you can sure… uh, talk 'bout throwin' down?" Jade offered
Natasha laughs more at this, and Bruce covers his face with his hands, really, the situation was quite hilarious. Tyson was at least five inches taller than Jade, and had a very muscular frame. Apparently you could get very bored while in the clutches of terrorists, and push ups and sit ups were the most fun thing there was to do. Even with all those advantages, Jade had still thrown him around like a rag doll.
Tyson laughed too, trying not to get upset at the fact a girl had beat him up, after all, he didn't consider himself sexist. If a girl could be him up, it didn't mean that he was really bad, it just meant that she was really good. And with Jade, if any man denied that a girl could beat him up, just out of a moment of male pride, she'd be the first to throw them into a wall to prove them wrong.
Tyson couldn't help but think, that Jade was pretty awesome because of that. She could be the sweetest little country girl, but insult her gender, and she'd go all Bruce Lee on you.
"Whacha smilin' at Tyson?" Jade asked.
Tyson shrugged, "Must be partial facial paralysis from being thrown into the wall head first."
I sighed, staring down at the street, deciding for the fifth time this week to try and eliminate the target. I aimed the bow, staring down at him with my sharp eyesight, clearly seeing the path the arrow needed to take, and adjusting the pressure on string.
I took a deep breath, and attempted to release the bow, but my fingers refused to uncurl. I cursed out loud, becoming more than frustrated with myself. My money was running out, I wouldn't get another job from Tripp until I finished this one.
I tightened my grip, "Take the shot." I ordered myself.
The target was kissing his date goodbye, a fake blonde who was to skinny, and only half his age.
"Take the shot." I snapped.
The man waved goodbye to a friend of his, heading toward the rode to flag down a taxi.
"Take the shot." I all but begged myself.
A taxi pulled up next to him, and the man grabbed a bag he had with him putting it in the trunk.
"Take the shot!" I screamed, and suddenly, an arrow flew, whizzing through the air, and slicing it's way right into the man's chest, into his heart. A direct kill.
I gasped, as the man fell, hitting the pavement. A scream sounded, and people looked, seeing his lifeless body lying there.
They scattered, they ran, drove off, leaving the man's body lying there. That's when it really hit me, that the man was dead. He had been shot from this rooftop, never even seen the attack coming.
With a hint of irony, I realized that the kill was exactly like me, cold, calculated, done with flawless precision, and from far enough into the shadows that no one would ever notice the real killer, this truly was a flawless way to kill. There was just one problem.
I hadn't shot my arrow.
My eyes darted to my bow, my arrow was still on place, ready to go. It hadn't moved an inch. That arrow, I had seen it, it looked just like mine. But I had gotten mine from… oh.
I whirled around, aiming toward the assassin that had taken him out.
His stance mirrored mine in every way, shoulders, arms, knees, even the way the chin stuck out slightly to give a wider range of sight. We glared each other down, both of us pulling our strings back a little further.
"You again?" I grumbled. Not tonight, oh come on, please God, if you're up there and you have any pity for me whatsoever, please not tonight!
He smirked, "Figured it was time to get my stuff back."
I shook my head, glaring at him, "It's mine now, and you've already got a new one."
He shook his head too, "Sorry, I like the one you stole a lot better, thief."
I growled, "I'm not a thief!"
"Yeah, yeah, you're a survivor or something, that's what you said last time right?" He snorted. "Don't care, just give me my stuff back."
I shook my head, and did something I should have earlier this week, I took the shot. The arrow flew through the air, going right towards him, but just as soon as I released mine, he released his, and it shot through the air, hitting the tip of mine, crashing together and falling onto the roof, useless.
My mouth dropped open, staring at the two arrows as they laid there, his had nearly split mine in half. I looked back up at Hawkeye, and he was smirking again, "Impressed yet kid?"
Yes, yes I was. "More like, running."
I took off for the edge of the roof, jumping off of it, and flipping into a stance in mid air, firing a new styled grappling hook arrow that the guy, The Maker, had come up with, while one end would fire off the grappling hook and attach to the edge of a building or something, the other would automatically clip onto the edge of my bow, meaning all I had to do was hold on to my bow for dear life while I swung through the air. I didn't have to attach the other end to a building and zip line across.
I fired, and grit my teeth at I felt the hook snag, feeling a jolt through my bow, and my knuckles turned white from the death grip they had. After nearly two months of swinging across rooftops in New York City, I still had a slight fear of extreme heights that was probably never going to go away.
I waited until I was hovering over a big enough roof top, and then I unhooked my bow, falling down onto the roof, rolling and springing up.
I looked over my shoulder to see Hawkeye in hot pursuit. I smirked, "Nice night for a run."
I too off running again, jumping from roof top to roof top, skidding over cold concrete. Hawkeye was only two roof tops behind me, and gaining. I ran faster, causing me to fumble my next jump, and my foot slipped, catching the edge. I slipped, tumbled down into the alley, and then crashed my head against the edge of a fire escape.
As I fell, I took out a grappling hook arrow, firing it and catching the edge of a building across the street. I was still about five or six stories up, so the line pulled me out of the alley I was falling into, and over the street. Cars whizzed by, headlights illuminating the dark, starless night.
I pushed my feet out in front of me, bending my knees, and bracing for impact on the wall of the building I was slinging towards.
I hit it hard, and I yelped, the arrow clip on slipping from my bow, and I fell to the ground, landing flat on my back. I staggered up, fumbling, trying to figure out where exactly I was. I backed into a boarded up window, but here's the catch, the wood was really old, and rotten all the way through. So, I get to fall through a window, onto sharp glass and discarded screws.
I let out a little scream, standing up, and looking around the building I had fallen into. Old rotten wood, glass, broken beer bottles, and disgusting trash littered everywhere. Overall, it was empty, no cover, no hidey holes. My eyes locked on the far wall, a stairwell. I sprinted for it, going as fast as I could, and trying not to slip over broken glass and damp mold.
Normally, if I had gotten this far away from someone who was trying to get me, I'd call it, and say I had won, there was no way anyone on the streets would ever keep up at this point, but this is Hawkeye. He's an Avenger who took on a whole alien army. I'm bringing my A-game, and nothing less.
I dashed up the stairs, cuts on my back from the glass starting to sting really bad, I think some of the glass was still stuck in there. I ran up for several floors, but they were all the same, empty. I made it to the top floor, to find nothing better.
I cursed out loud, punching the wall with my hand. I looked up at the ceiling, to see a ventilation shaft. I couldn't be that lucky, could I? On the other hand, this was an old building, the vents might not hold. I heard someone coming up the stairs, and figured, what the heck? Might as well try, instead of fight the persistence government agent.
I shot an arrow at the vent, and it exploded, making an opening big enough for me to crawl through, as debris fell from the ceiling. I jump up, grabbing the edge and hoisting myself into the vent, right as Clint ran into the room. I looked at him over my shoulder, and he tilted his head to the side, as if curious what kind of mental state I was in that my battle instincts told me 'run for the vents on the top floor' before he rushed towards me.
I scurried further into the vents, and felt his fingers brush against my ankle, before grabbing it, and yanking me back a few inches. I took out an arrow, and stabbed the side of the vent, making a bar for me to cling onto while he tried to pull me out.
He tugged harder, and I felt the arrow creak, it wouldn't hold for long. I let go with one hand, reaching for a thin edged throwing knife. I tossed it back at him, making sure it stabbed through his hand, but only the side of it, that way it didn't stab my ankle too.
He yelped, yanking his hand back, and I crawled farther into the vents, army style. Thank you Trent for teaching me how to use the vents as a means of escape.
I looked back over my shoulder, to see him scowling through the hole, he couldn't fit in here. I smirked back at him, "What's wrong, to tight a fit for you?"
His face disappeared, and I heard the sound of a bow being pulled back. "Oh crud-"
An explosion shook the vent ahead of me, and next thing I know, the vent falls out of the ceiling, and crashed to the floor, with me in it. The wind got knocked out of me, and I gasped for air. He had shot the area of the vent in front of me with an explosion arrow. That little…
Something stops me from finishing the sentence, a rolling motion. I clung to the sides of the vent, trying not to flip over, and failing. Clint was rolling the section of ventilation shaft across the floor. When I get out of here, I'm gonna-
Then, from the hole in the vent, I see Hawkeye, looking in at me, and I shoot him the dirtiest look I can manage, and he laughs. He flat out laughs at me.
He stops rolling me across the floor, and I here him walking to the other end of the tube. Then I feel it start to tilt. "Don't you dare you big-"
I cut myself off, because I have to throw my hands up above my head. He had tilted it up very far, standing it up on one end, making me fall to the end rested on the ground, headfirst. My hands act as my feet, holding myself up and preventing me from getting a concussion. Though from that fall in the alley, I might already have one. Thank God that my brothers made me learn how to stand on my hands when I was four.
"Clint!" I shriek, remembering his name.
I hear more laughter, he's enjoying this, picking on a little girl he find on the streets, like a cat with a mouse, right before the cat eats the mouse's head off. Although that's a very disturbing outlook on how this might turn out, I refuse to be his evenings entertainment. Watch this little lamb turn into a lion.
He gave the side of a the metal tunnel a harsh kick, making it turn over onto it's side, and I immediately sprinted out, pulling out my bow, and loading an arrow, shooting it at him without a second thought. He fired an arrow too, shooting down my arrow, both of them clattering to the floor. I fired another one, and he did likewise. We danced like that for a few minutes, arrows flying and falling, until I took half a step back, falling over a discarded piece of dry wall that had fallen from the ceiling in one of the explosions.
I hit the ground hard, and my bow flew out of my hand. Hawkeye was on my in an instant, driving a fist into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I gasped, trying to get the air back in, and trying to block his next punch, with no success.
His fist fell on my face like a sledge hammer, I heard a snap, and my face suddenly felt very wet. I kind of lost it, for a few moments, I had no idea where I was or what was going on, and I was vaguely aware of him taking something off of my back, but the minute I snapped out of it, I felt immediate, stinging pain on my face. He broke my nose.
I tried to stand up, little dazed, but he grabbed the front of my shirt, and pushed me backwards a few steps, until I couldn't feel the ground beneath me. I finally snapped out of it fully, and looked down, he was holding me, outside a window, hovering above the street, with one arm.
I screamed, grabbing onto his arm with both arms, tight.
"Are you insane!" I screamed. It was the only logical explanation, he was dangling my over a New York street by the front of my shirt.
Then he did something that made me want to maim him, in the most brutal fashion ever. He laughed. He freaking laughed.
"Stop laughing!" I ordered. "I'm dangling six stories in the air, over a New York boulevard!"
"Calm down kid." He said, smirking, as his grip on my shirt tightened.
"Calm down! I'm not gonna calm down, I'm gonna freaking die!" I screamed, grabbing onto his arm tighter.
"I'm not gonna drop you, unless you lie." He said, making me look at him head on, was he really going to interrogate me, while I was dangling six stories in the air! "Now, who taught you to fight like that?"
I looked at him like he was crazy, and honestly, he probably was. "No one!"
He shook his head, "No one can just wake up one day and fight like that, use a bow like that! I spent years, learning from a master bowman, where'd you learn?"
"No one taught me how to use your stupid bow!" I screamed at him.
He gave me a look, and dropped me. As I started to fall, twist in the air, and scream more, I felt him grab onto me again, by my ankle this time. He looked down at me, and I curled inwards, glaring up at him. "Alright then, let's say I believe you, where'd you learn to use those knives of yours?"
I glared at him, "My grandpa taught me a long time ago! Now take your stupid bow and leave me alone! You can have it, it isn't worth this!"
He laughed again, swaying me back and forth by my ankle, "What's wrong kid, don't like heights?"
"Stop swinging me!" I ordered, "And for the love of God, stop laughing at me!"
He chuckled, then went serious. "Why were you trying to kill that guy?"
I raised an eyebrow, "You mean the one you killed?"
He nodded, "Yeah, that one."
I rolled my eyes, secretly glad he had killed him and not me. Why on Earth he had ever fired the shot was beyond me, "Oh please, he was drug dealer, scum of the Earth! He sold his drugs to kids on the playground, you know why? Because even though scum like him sees more money in one paycheck then most do in their whole lives, he still though for some reason he needed more, so he started selling to kids!"
Clint raised an eyebrow, "You were going to kill him because of some sort of… self defendable justice? Is that what you are? Someone who takes the law in their own hands cause they're sick of seeing it on the street?"
"Uh… not exactly." I said. He paused, waiting for me to continue, to I sighed, "This guy was gonna pay me to kill him, since he was a drug dealer, I figured he had it coming anyways."
"So you kill for money?" He asked, glaring down at me, "How many lives-"
"That was my first time!" I protested, getting strangly comfortable with dangling six stories in the air, "I've never tried anything like that before! And… and I didn't do it! You did!"
"Because you couldn't." Clint pointed out, and I was silent. He was right, I couldn't take the shot. I couldn't find whatever emotion or drive that mercenaries, or heroes, or villains, whatever you want to call them, within me to take a life, not like that.
I sighed, "I know. I just… it didn't feel right."
Clint cocked his head to the side, "Have you ever killed before?"
I nodded, "Ton's of times, but it was always to save my own skin, never for money."
He was quiet for a while, before he spoke again, in a much softer voice, "How long have you been out here?"
"About three years." I said, shrugging, well, shrugging as well as I could in my position.
"Why are you out here?" He asked, "Where are your parents?"
"Dead." I said, emotionlessly.
"And no foster home? Orphanage?" He asked.
"Not my style." I snapped, "I'm not a pity case, now, story time is over, pull me back into the window, take your stuff, and leave me alone."
He didn't move for a few moment's and I really thought he was going to drop me, but he pulled me up, back into the building.
I stood up, turning around to look at him, "Thank-"
His fist connected with my face a second time, but instead of a broken nose, it brought pitch black. Last thing I remember before falling down into the pit of black, was Clint saying, "Hawk eye to S.H.I.E.L.D., I need a pick up."