He hates running like this. It's never been his style and especially not now. Yet, it's dark and he left his goggles at home. Even worse is the fact he is wearing civvies and without a trick arrow to spare. 

How does he always get himself in these scenarios?

"Fuck!"

Something nearly grazes the side of his head, the whisp of the air of it passing by is the only tale tell sign of that theory but he hadn't heard a gunshot ring in the air. The next thing he notices is..

THUNK!

That would be the sound of Clint Barton hitting a sign post, much like George of the Jungle would hit a tree. He literally bounces off of it and rolls into a fetal position for the briefest of moments, grimacing in pain. Through a mumbled but heavy breathed voiced, he speaks, rolling over to see the shadow of his would be attackers. Clint's eyes widen as they get closer, the forms of the people becoming more clearer to him.

"You have got to be shitting me!"

Clint sits up in an indian style stance as a small hand reaches towards him.

'Sorry mister...we thought you were Justin..'

Clint's head tilts to one side as the second kid pulls out his Nerf gun into full view, grinning all cheesy like he had just shot down a mongoose. Clint waves off the aid and the little boy pulls his hand back, but rocks on his heels back and forth nervously.

'We didn't mean ta scare ya."

Clint jumps up quickly to his feet, shrugging off the kids words with a light clear of his throat.

"It's ok...but ya gotta be more careful...lotsa bad guys are out."

The kids looked around and then one of them circled his index finger around the side of his head at the other, signaling a he's loony sign. The kids stepped back some from Clint, even as a light came on brighter from a balcony a floor up from the ground. A woman's voice called out  below.

The boys took another step back with one of them saying...

'Sorry again mister. I hope your head's ok.'

Clint responded as the kids ran off.

"Yeah...me too."