The Chaos Theory
Category: Stories
Current mood:  artistic

Part 1

I feel the sweet caress of wind on my face and love in a song, I sense balance in the world and a place to belong.  ~Clint's writer ;p

March 2, 2011

New York City.

The Big Apple. The City that Never Slept, and a hundred other stupid nicknames created by travel agents and politicians A city of dreams, starts, and failures. From the colonial settlers, to the immigrants who landed on Ellis Island, aspiring actors looking to make it big on Broadway, artist who dreamed of seeing there work in one of the hundreds of galleries in the city. Athletes, doctors, lawyers, anyone and everyone could come here and reinvent themselves. In all actuality, very few of the people who came here ever truly made it; but for that small percentage who did, the sky became the limit, and this city became home.

That's why Clint Barton had come here the first time, to look for a fresh beginning, a new start. He hoped to reinvent Hawkeye and become the hero he had set out to be. He had found that fresh start, and had lived a life that most people would only ever dream of. Still, like most things in life, after a while, he took it for granted, began to have doubts, lost his way. So he left, buried his past and abandoned his life and hit the road, looking for a new path, searching for who he was and where did that path lead him?

Right back there. To New York. To the life he left. There was no use fighting it anymore. New York was home.

He had sincerely considered giving up the hero gig again. Going away silently into the night like a cowboy riding off in the sunset with a bow in his hand instead of a six shooter. His pride wouldn't let him though. He craved adventure, the next uncertainty that was waiting for him around the next corner. Hell, he would even settle for a broken nose if the right person administered the blow. A few words he remembered from a old Tupac song rang in his head: A hero dies a thousand deaths but a soldier dies but once.

In this world, the words had meaning. How many times had a hero died and returned? Even he had died and came back but he had never died the right way. As a soldier. What he had been so early in his career. What he longed to be now. Somewhere along the path of being the voice of reason and friendship, he had forgotten the number one reason he had become who he was. It was more than living a legacy, it was him living the life for everyone that never had a chance. The bum on the corner with a can in his hand asking for handouts, the kid that never saw his hoop dreams come to fruition because of some dumbass with a gun, the kid in the carney that saw a life on the road as his only option.

As always, eventually, the meaning got lost in the blur that is life. The world kept spinning but Clint couldn't keep up with the rotation. The real and the phony, the truth and the lies, smooth talk and bullshit. After a long vacation though, his eyes were wide open to it all. He saw things in a different light.

Clint had considered staying in L.A. after he had arrived in this reality but knew their was too much at risk if he had. There was always the possibility of this times Hawkeye seeing him and that would have been a humongous no no. There was too much as stake now. He was too close to reaching his home reality to die in a foreign one. At least in NY, if someone did see him that he knew, he could play off as being the real deal.

Tonight however, Clint sat emotionless on a bench in a  workout room, the lights dimmed to fit his mood. His workout had been intense but he had actually almost got his head blown off once for losing his concentration. A rookie move if he had ever seen one and it was committed by him. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, he stood up to begin again. Frustration and stress were a bitch to get rid of and this was the only way he could see to do it without hurting someone. He wanted to keep going. His spirit was willing but his body had been pushed to the edge. He hated down time because that's when the memories came back, that's when everything he had fought for came back to punch him in his gut. A constant reminder of his failures. When he was moving and fighting, he had something to focus his aggression on. When he stopped, all there was, was darkness. Fatigue. Uncertainty.

The dim lights flickered in the training room. Clint's head jolted up and he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. How long had he been a sleep? That thought was brought to an abrupt halt as he heard a voice fade in from nothingness. He lowered his hands as he saw the silhouette of a chunky man walk into the room but remain in the shadow.

"Buck?"

No. It couldn't be him. Clint had watched him die just a few month's earlier. Rubbing his eyes again, Clint looked down and then back up towards the man in the shadows.

'Clint..it's me boy. I didn't expect to come to ya like this but ya know the old saying, shit happens and then ya die.'

Buck stepped from the shadows, all decked out in Trickshot costume but was fazing in and out like some communication device from Star Wars. Buck let out a light laugh, his stomach that was large from years of beer drinking wiggling some.

'Normally Clint, I would slap ya upside the head and tell ya to wake the hell up. I can't do it this time son.'

Clint was completely confused now by what was going on and was about to speak when Buck interrupted him.

'It's not gonna be good news son. I had to come and warn ya's. I know..I know, this would have to be some life altering journey that you will have had to slowly discover on your own, but hands have been forced, and the world is going to need you very soon. Son? Ya helped change my life once. I just wanted to return the favor.'

Clint finally got a word through.

"What are you talking about Buck and what are you doing here?"

Buck raised a hand as if to quiet Clint before continuing.

'Quiet Clint..I don't have much time here. One of these days ya gonna learn to shut the hell up while grown folks are talking. Just listen to me boy.'

Clint leaned forward and then stood up, walking towards his former mentor and stopping a few feet away from him. Buck continued.

'Ya spared me an eternity of suffering and grief. Ya forgave me in the moment of my twilight and you found it in your heart to look past what I had been and seen what I had become. Ya saved my soul Clint when I couldn't even save myself. The least I could do was steer ya back in the right direction. Take ya back to basics. It's not about the fancy weapons or the rock star life style, Clint. Deep down, ya know that but real life keeps throwing you too many curveballs. Now ya using that shit for a crutch. What really matters are ya friends, ya God given skills, and ya heart. I've seen ya find two of those in the last few months. He's coming boy and your gonna beat the devil. Ya gonna go home, find ya friends, and save the world again. If ya don't son. Ya loose it all. Don't let that happen Clint...'

Buck turned and walked towards the entrance of the training room.

'They're coming. Nic's coming, ya gotta be ready...'

Trickshot turned to face Clint.

'I'd love to get in on one more good ole scrap with ya boy but this is as far as I was permitted to go by the man upstairs. It's your time to shine now, kid. I've done all I can, it's your time to shine. Give them hell Clint.'

Clint nodded as he watched his mentor fade into nothingness. He took a second to reflect, then gazed at the various weapons around the room. Slowly, surely, a sly grin crossed his face. A moment later, he jolted up again, his eyes blinking rapidly as he sit straight up on the bench.

"I have to get home..."

Part 2

Dear Niesa,

It's times like these when I wish you were here. No, not in a love me, love me not way but in the ways you were when we first met. In many ways, you were my guide psychologically when I first reappeared in this world. You were my rock. Many thought I was dead after what happened with Wanda but you knew better. Something in me had changed, my energy was different; the residue of the chaos magic's ran through my aura like blood through my veins.

The jumps are becoming more frequent. It's like dying all over again with each time I see the light. I can't stop it and now I can't at least time it out so I can prepare. It was weeks before and now it's less than a day before the next jump. Something's got to give before I completely lose my grip on reality. Maybe this is what Steve was describing he went through when everyone thought he was dead. Hell, maybe I'm dead and this is Mephisto's permanent revenge on me for what went down with Bobbi in Satannish's realm.

Regardless, I remember what you taught me and I'm preparing for the worst....

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

March 10, 2009 , District X

Clint Barton's eyes jolted open within the darkness, hearing that voice. His head spun, looking around, trying to find the source. But deep down, in a relatively small part of him anymore... He knew it wasn't really there. All that he had heard was a desperate attempt to find even a shread of light in the blackness that cloaked his being. But that was long gone now and he looked up. What would've usually been the sight of a clear or cloudy sky was replaced with the noise of New York City traffic and the sight of the streets below. He wasn't looking up at to the heavens. He was looking down at hell. "Damn it. It happened again..."

He couldn't lie to himself... His sudden appearance in the city when he didn't remember coming here was now a routine way of waking up. So surprise didn't exactly overwhelm him. However, for once, he wished he could feel as in control as he used to. Now he was a puppet for people he didn't want to admit to. This being? It went by a name. A name Clint came up with when he was a mere teenager. During... well, greater times... Happier times. Times he wished he could go back to. But now the name was tainted... misused beyond the point.

It's name was the name Hawkeye. And tonight, it had work to do. Clint would join it in it's work... even though he was just a backseat passenger, in a sense.

"Ready for some fun, Hawkeye?", He told himself, looking at his darkened reflection in the window across from him.

"Of course not. You never are. But then again... Look where that got you."

Standing straight, Clint reached to his bow and pulled it from around his chiseled chest, reaching for a grappling arrow and loading it to his bowline. Pulling back on the arrow with his thumb and index finger to his full wingspan, he released the arrow. The arrow snagged a nearby ledge, giving him all the time in the world.

"What was it you said, Clint? The day this all started? Oh yeah...",

Hawkeye said, before leaping off the rooftop and swinging downwards.

"Look out, world. Cause here comes Hawkeye."

He mockingly repeated, before letting go of the line.

"You really were such a pathetic asshole back then. But don't worry. After all..."

Hawkeye continued, with a smirk curling under his purple mask.

"You have me."

That small part of Clint was scared. Because he knew that, once again... He was in for hell if he let his other personality free.

March 10, 2005 

Manhattan, New York

"What the fuck hit me? The Thing?!?"

Clint mumbled to himself as he lifted his hand to his head and attempted to shake off the pain that was now fading throughout his body. Sliding his hand slowly across his face, his eyes fluttered open just as a shadowy figure appeared before him, his arms outstretched in what appeared to be a large cloak. Something whizzed by his head just as he dropped his hand to help himself up to his feet. Then an explosion erupted behind him and the sound of voices became clearer to him.

'Hawkeye!!! Get your ass over here now! We gotta jet!! '

The man he recognized almost immediately...It was Luke Cage but he was in his old Power Man get up. Just what the hell was going on here? Luke motioned for Clint frantically as the figured continuously hovered above him. Clint began to move forward as a man in a white cape and cowl ran by him and then stopped, returning to Clint's side.

'Let's go Hawkeye. They're right behind us and were not leaving you behind.'

Clint flashed the man a curious look and spoke.

"Marc?"

The man nodded his head and pulled at Clint's arm.

'Moon Knight while were out and about archer...now let's go while we still can.'

Clint didn't ask any more questions but began to run stride for stride with Moon Knight until they reached the blackness of the cloaked man. Luke yelled out just as the two entered.

'NOW TY!!!'

The cloak wrapped closed and all of the people inside seemed to vanish into thin air.

A moment later, the cloak opened up and the three men walked out into the light that was Josie's Bar in Sapien Town. Clint had been here before but always looked at it as something that never really happened. A cruel joke that Wanda had played on the world several years earlier. Or was it the other way around? Had he dreamed all of what happened before. Was it just a psychological thing? He didn't know really at the moment and Luke didn't give him a chance to figure it out before getting in Clint's face as soon as the cloak closed.

'CHRISTMAS! What the hell were you doing out there Barton?!?'

Clint didn't know what to say and instead stuttered out a reply.

"I froze up Luke...I don't know what happened. It was like I was somewhere else and then poof! I was in the middle of that."

Luke dropped his head for a moment, shaking it from side to side.

'Clint..we've all been stressed to the max and trying to be too many places at once. Just...just go home and get some rest. We all need it.'

Everyone seemed to stand quiet for a moment before breaking into their own little groups to talk. Marc patted Clint on his shoulder and flashed a wink of his eye before heading to the bar. Clint just stood there for a moment and took everything in before going to the back to change into civilian clothes. A moment later he walked out and was greeted by Misty Knight.

'Come on Clint. I'll give you a ride to your apartment.'

Clint reached his hands down to his pockets to feel for keys and replied.

"Ok Misty."

At least one of them new where he lived now.

It wasn't long before they arrived in Manhattan and Clint stepped out of the car, thanking her for the ride home. She leaned over a bit and spoke to Clint through the window as he exited.

'It's ok Clint. She's ok in Wakanda. Bobbi loves you and understands. Just try to get some rest.'

Clint let out a light sigh and replied.

"Thanks Misty. I'll be back tonight."

Misty flashed a smile in Clint's direction and then pulled off, leaving Clint standing on the sidewalk in front of his apartment. Clint's eyes raised upwards as the mutants flew through the air, noticing familiar sites that he had come to call a dream. He wasn't in DX this time however. He was near Times Square.

Part 3

"He flies through time with broken wings...when the light turns dark; I will feel again." ~Me

Clint Barton never grasped the importance of his situation in the grand scheme of life. At ever corner through his time travels, he had been watched and studied in ways he had never been before. Silently, he waited in the shadows until the archer was broken psychologically. He had waited until the right moment to prevent an unfortunate event that transpired between the two. His name was Lync Gevoel, and soon he would retake what he had lost in the past many years before.

Palos Verdes, California

November, 1993

On the Palos Verdes cliffs;  a rolling, swirling and unnatural cloud covers the horizon. The figure of Avenger West Coast, Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch flies from the aperture.

Death is a part of living and even though it may hurt us all to the core, it is the ultimate end to life. Most of us want to die as a hero but when that death is one of a hero that you truly love..what do you feel? How do you cope? How do you manage to go day to day with knowing that the one you love died to save your life?

Clint's voice can be heard as he shoved Wanda clear of Mephisto's realm.

"Give our regards to L.A!"

He turned his attention to Bobbi with a smile on his face, speaking almost triumphantly.

"See? I told you two was better than..."

Before he could complete his words, brimstone fire shot past Clint's head unnoticed. At his side, his wife Mockingbird yelled.

'Look out!'

She then took off in a mad dash and dove towards him. Clint screamed out as he was hit by Bobbi.

"Geeeeeez! That spitball would have fubarred me if you hadn't tackled me."

As the two of them hurtled towards the rift between Mephisto's realm and their own world. Bobbi spoke to her archer.

'That's what I'm here for sport...'

Clint held her tightly as they fell together, the fiery brimstone orbs passing within inches of them on all sides.

"Check Moxie...and I'm gonna see to it that you stay right where you..."

Bobbi screamed out loudly, a piercing scream that seemed to echo straight through Clint's soul.

'Aaaaaaaiiiiiiieeeeeee!!'

Clint rolled in midair, yelling out as well.

"BOBBI??!?"

They tumbled to ground together. The smell of burnt fabric, sulfur, and charred flesh reeked fresh in his nostrils. Hawkeye reached to grasp his wife's arms.

"Bobbi?"

She laid before him, a mass of scorched skin and blood.

"Bobbi!?! Say something, girl"

They had made it through back to the other side, the side of the living and not the demons but not without a cost.

Spiderwoman softly whispered.

'Hawk?'

Julia knew there was nothing she could do for either of them. Beside her;  Wanda, John, and Rhodey looked on in shock and disbelief. Tears streamed down his cheeks as Clint gathered Bobbi's broken body up into his arms, speaking in almost a whisper.

"You.. you can't leave me like this Bobbi... not after we just found each other again. You saved all our lives..."

Bobbi gathered the last of her strength and reached up to wipe the tears from Hawkeye's face. She opened her eyes a little wider, stared deep into his tear-filled ones and whispered.

'No.. Clint.. I did it.. to save... you....'

Her eyes shut, for the last time. As Clint's stricken teammates looked on and wondered how they could comfort him, Clint held her close to his chest and pressed his cheek against hers. He felt the life slip from her. He felt it slip from himself as well. He wrapped his arms tighter around her broken body and wept....

Clint Barton deserved this, the man thought to himself. Shortly after that grieving, Hawkeye abandoned the team to try to come to grips with his loss. The team was disbanded by the East Coast Avengers  and most of them went on to form their own group, Force Works. Later the Scarlet Witch would apparently go mental and create a scenario where Hawkeye would die after his quiver was caught aflame by Kree soldiers. I had a part in it all from the beginning. Clint would die and the Avengers would mostly go their own ways. It was the perfect plan.

A few months later, Clint would awake in a snowy field outside of District X confused and disoriented. Later, he would meet an old man that would end up being an older version of himself that told him how the Avengers left him for dead. This prompted him to return to the mansion and pin his own purple costume to the mansion's wall's. He never fully comprehended how dire his situation would become. This was planned from the moment he was influenced by Wanda Maximoff's chaos magic's....

March 16, 1995, District X

The archer dreams...the same nightmare he has had for two years now...

He hears her voice.

'Clint...'

Clint speaks in a cracked voice, almost as if he's heard a ghost.

"Who? Who's there?"

The voice replies softly.

'It's me Clint... Bobbi.'

Clint almost cries now from the sound of her voice.

"B-Bobbi?...Bobbi! You're alive!?"

Her voice replies to him once more.

'Yes Clint, but I'm not here, not with you, like you think.'

Clint replies, holding back tears now.

"...Where are you Bobbi?"

Her voice grows louder.

'I'm trapped Clint! In hell! Mephisto's realm. You left me here all this time!'

His heart races now, his hands begin to tremble.

"No Bobbi!!! I didn't know! I mean, you were dead!"

Her voice grows even louder, pleading to him.

'I'm alive, Clint! He's tormenting me! Please help me get away!'

He screams aloud.

"Bobbi! No!"

Then she screams.

'Clint!! HELP ME! AAAAAAAAHHHHHH.!!'

Clint begins to run blindly towards the voice until she comes into view, screaming at the top of lungs.

"BOBBIIIIIIIIIIII! NOOOOO!"

Just as an apparition of Bobbi Barton comes into his view, he jumps to reach for her , not realizing he is not where he believes himself to be.

Clint bolts upright in bed, still screaming at the top of his lungs. Sweating profusely, his hands were gripping at the sheets so hard that they had torn. He told himself over and over.

 "It's just a dream. I'm in Manhattan. Bobbi isn't here, and she's not in Mephisto's either."

The words sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

"Damn, you know better Clint. That's exactly where she is."

Now wide awake, Clint got up and looked at the clock. 4:20am.

"Sheesh...never get back to sleep now...not that I want to."

Clint headed for the shower. Stripping off his sweaty night clothes and turning on the cold water first.

"It's gonna be one of those days."

He is close now. The remaining source of his strength fades. The archer is vulnerable. It's time for the game to end. It's time for me to take back the life he took from me.

March 17, 2013

Manhattan, NY. The courtyards of Avenger's Mansion.

Clint stands next to a statue gravestone with the inscription on it reading...

Bobbi Morse Barton 19??-19??. Eternity was in our lips...and eyes.

Clint stands with his eyes filled with tears, whispering in a low voice.

"Bobbi... I still can't let you go. Somehow I feel like you're still alive somewhere... Maybe Mephisto's realm. God, I can't bear the thought of you being there. So help me Bobbi, if you are there, I'm going to do whatever it takes to get you out again. I swear..."

Clint lowers his head before reaching his hand forward to touch the cheek of the statue in the image of his deceased wife...

He felt like a fool. A fool to be here still and dragging himself through this emotional torment over and over again. Did he feel guilty that he had moved on so fast? Hell yes, even if three years was an acceptable time for any other widow. The guilt he felt because he was a second too slow, a thought off that could have changed the outcome of it all; it was still hard to accept.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Clint lowered his hand from the stony remembrance of his deceased wife and hung his head. When he turned to look at what he thought would be a friend, his eyes opened wide; just as a powerful wave of a telekinetic force would slam his body  against the statue of his wife. The man pounced on the archer with suck quickness that Clint had no time to reclaim his composure. The last thing he saw as he faded to black was a red mask and a voice whispering close to his face. A small needle would press into his neck as his attacker spoke.

'Goodnight ma brotha. Game o'va.'