Young Writers Society

Clint Barton was fed up with being an Avenger.

Sure, maybe he got coffee for free, but he had to deal with all the stupid situations that it got him in to. 

Right now, he was hanging from a ledge at the top of a very, very tall building, surrounded by supposed HYDRA jet that was willing to throw him off if he even dared to blink.

He just wanted a muffin.

The morning started as usual. He woke up, said 'hello' to all his teammates (including Thor--god, Clint wished he could pull off long hair and capes like the Asgardian could) and made himself some toast (peanut butter). He scrolled through his emails, checked the news, and admired Nat from some distance. The usual.

And then he decided to take a walk through the city. 

And then he got distracted by a dog. Clint Barton loved dogs. 

HYDRA must have known it too, because the dog (a robotic clone of a golden retriever) exploded, and everybody around him started screaming. He shut off his earpiece, along with Agent Hill's screaming commands--this was a robot dog. He could deal with that.

He pulled out the bow that he had stashed up his boot, and arrows too. Of course. He tried to look through the wreckage, just a small hole in the middle of the pavement. Only a few curious onlookers remained, but everybody walked past with their plastic carrier-bags and pushchairs. This was normal for them. This was normal for Clint.

Then the flying agents swarmed in. Before he knew it, Clint was struggling 10ft above ground. Then 20. Then 30. The mess of technology that held him kept climbing higher and higher, using its propelling jet-pack to reach to unnecessary heights. Clint liked flying, but not like this. Sure, he was called Hawkeye, but he couldn't actually fly without a jet or some kind of attachment. Sheer hope wouldn't get him anywhere. 

He couldn't reach his earpiece either. But, then again, this wasn't the worst situation that he'd ever gotten himself into. A few attempted assassinations, wars, and that one time he tried to buy a suit and forgot his cash. No. He could manage this.

And here he was, suspended in mid-air, Madame HYDRA & her plane blocking out all the sunlight until he was in en-wreathed in shade. And the feeling of annoyance.

"This is a dangerous city to be hunting after, you know." He dared to say. Green-hair just laughed.

"Out of all of the Earth's mightiest heroes, it's quite clear who is the most gullible." She shouts into her microphone. It just sounds like more screaming to Clint, and, what's worse is that it tampers with his hearing aid. He cricks his neck in an attempt to correct it, and the chi-chak of the 20-odd guns follows his movement.

"Not true!" He shouts back. "Just tell Cap about non-existent writing on the ceiling and I gurantee he'll look up." 

She doesn't get it. Madame HYDRA just carries on talking, but it just sounds like blah-blah-take over the city-blah. The normal supervillain speech about how dumb and foolish he is. Sure, she probably went to a super-school, and he couldn't even hear the word fractions without cringing, but Clint was not dumb nor foolish. In fact, he was already reaching for the arrow that was strapped up his sleeve.

In one quick motion, he threw it, and it whizzed threw the air in a victorious sound. Once it had attached onto the side of the jet, it was mere seconds before it exploded, and tossed its occupants down on to the building opposite. Evacuated, of course.

Another day, another villain who refused to pay attention. Clint learned these things as he went along, little tips and tricks to help in his day-to-day, definitely-not-boring life. He climbed down (with the help of his zipline-arrow), called Agent Hill, told her about the situation, got told off and continued on from where he'd left off.

He got some cereal, more free coffee