Trigger Warnings:
Suicidal thoughts
Strong language

Clint Barton never expected to live long.

If you’d asked the six year old with a split lip and bruised face, he would’ve told you that he fully expected his daddy to one day punch him too hard.

If you’d asked the starving eight year old, he would’ve told you that he thought this would be his last winter.

If you’d asked the twelve year old circus kid, he would’ve told you that one day he’d fall, or miss, and Trick wouldn’t be very happy with him.

If you’d asked the homeless eighteen year old, he would’ve told you that maybe one of these days he’d do it himself.

If you’d asked the twenty-one year old private second class, he would’ve told you that Afghanistan tended to kill those who worked there.

If you’d asked the twenty-two year old husband, he would’ve told you that he didn’t expect to see his kid be born.

If you’d asked the twenty-four year old SHIELD recruit, he would’ve told you that Phil Coulson could be pretty fucking scary when he wanted to be.

If you’d asked the twenty-seven year old sniper, he would’ve told you that the black widow mission might just be his last.

If you’d asked the thirty-two year old avenger, he would’ve told you that aliens seemed pretty damn likely.

If you’d asked the thirty-four year old archer, he would’ve told you that an exploding city and a shower of bullets wasn’t the worst way to go out.

If you’d asked the thirty-five year old prisoner, he would’ve told you that Ross was a dick, but a powerful one.

If you’d asked the thirty-eight year old standing alone in a field of ashes, he would’ve told you that soon he’d be ashes too.

If you’d asked the forty-three year old man in space for the first time, he would’ve told you that he would give his life for Natasha.

…

And, now?

He’d never been afraid of dying, but now with a new Hawkeye, a wife, and three kids, he was scared for the first time of who he’d have to leave behind.

Now, if you asked the forty-four year old retiree, he’d tell you that he’d already lived longer than expected, but that also, for the first time in his life, he might just have a chance at living past the age of fifty.

Right now, though, he was just grateful for what he had.

…

If you spoke to him on his last day of life, he would tell you that he had never, not in his wildest dreams, thought he would live past the deaths of his wife and oldest son.

If you told a thirty-eight year old Clint Barton, with nothing but some ashes and the hope that Nat might be alive, that he would die a bloodless and painless death, he would have asked if you had your head on straight.

If you told a twenty-two year old Clint Barton, married and with a pregnant wife, that he would live to see his youngest son’s graduation, it would have felt pretty fucking unreal.

And if you’d told a six year old Clint Barton, bloodied and bruised even then, that he would one day become a great-grandfather, well… he certainly wouldn’t have believed you.

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Hey! It's been a while, sorry about that, but this popped up in my head mid-writing something entirely different and I decided to publish it. (:
Anyway... thank you for reading this far! If you have I hope you enjoyed. Any and all constructive criticism is welcomed, as well as any requests you may wish for me to write.
I won't update often, but requests I shall try to finish asap.

pd: march 31 2020
wc: 548

- Cassie