Assemble!

First promo for Infinity War! *screams*

Me no likey this outfit. Looks like Brock Rumlow. Too trendy, not enough practicality. And is he wearing EYELINER???

THIS pic, on the other hand, gets me excited!!!! :D :D :D (see below)

Leave a note with your thoughts on what you want Hawkeye to do in Infinity War!!! 

I know why you’re here. Why you’re the first one I see after I woke up again. It’s not- it’s not going to work. I don’t want any more people in my head for now. I’d just like some peace, for a little while, please.  ∟ requested by anonymous

Everything else doesn’t matter. He can feel the blood forming a pool at the back of his throat, and when he tries to swallow, it blocks his windpipe, and he starts coughing. More blood makes its way through his mouth. He can taste it on his lips, and he wonders if this is what it feels like when the characters on TV shows all suddenly have blood seep from their lips.

She takes his shoulders, gently, and help him turn over, but the pain stabs through his chest - he can feel the arrows embedded in it, and every single cough makes it worse. So he shakes his head, and he turns it to the side, hoping that the blood and spit and dirt will just, somehow, make it out. So he doesn’t choke to death. Hah. That would be stupid.

“Hey, you’re- you’re going to be alright, okay?” she says. He almost laughs, when he focuses on her face again. She’s got his blood on her face, smeared across her cheek. When she lifts his hand to feel the warmth of it, he notices that her hands- no, her entire arms, are smeared with it. It’s that bad, huh? He smiles. Maybe he shouldn’t, but it’s funny. In a way. That she’s covered in his blood, and he doesn’t really feel the pain. 

The coldness is moving in, though. The cold and numb feeling he knows from blood loss - creeping from his fingertips all the way to his chest, slowly. 

She continues to whisper words of comfort to him, but he sort of phases them out as he lets his head lull back, and he watches the sky. It’s just that moment in time where the sun is about to break through from the last remnants of night - right before the light will shine onto all the small droplets of condensation on grass and where the sweet and misty taste of the air feels so crystal clear. 

He tries to speak again, but he starts choking again, as a mixture of blood and spit makes its way down to his lungs, and he forces himself to the side, even if that means pushing some of the arrows deeper into his chest. It feels horrible. 

After a couple of seconds, her hands are on his forehead, and their warmth make him realize that he’s freezing. He’s sweating, too, but he’s so damn cold. His fingers spasm. 

He gathers some strength as he tries to relieve the pressure on the arrows poking out of him, and tears a grimace when it sort of helps. “I knew,” he starts, wheezing as the shattered ribs move further into his ribcage, probably poking at his lungs. It’s probably why he’s been coughing up blood, too. “I knew I’d love you,” he goes on, trying with every single breath to keep going, because he wants to say this. 

“I knew I’d love you til the day I die,” he says, but she shakes her head. No. She doesn’t want to hear it, she says, and he smiles again, closing his eyes. Don’t close your eyes, she says, and he wants to obey. He wants to open his eyes again, but it’s so hard…

A fist hits his chest, and his eyes open up again, seeing her kneeling next to him, her head resting on his chest. She shouldn’t do that, he thinks. She’ll get more blood onto her face, and into her hair. It’ll be hell to wash out. As he looks up from her beautiful hair, he sees the first beams of sunlight. It’s quiet, he thinks. 

Clint Barton is so against The Accords that when told to sign or retire he immediately retires. There’s such little thought and drama attached that it happens off screen. He doesn’t argue with anyone, he just lets his actions show how much he is against it.

However, despite clearly wanting to stay out of the whole ordeal, he comes back when needed. Not because it worked for any agenda, he doesn’t have one beyond ‘save the world, go home’. He does it because a very bad guy managed to fool everyone into his trap and now can release a whole squad of Winter Soldiers that no one knew existed before and who had the highest kill count of any Hydra agents before the damn serum. Half of the Avengers are too distracted by following The Accords to even hear about this big new threat that’s coming and the other half are wanted criminals or under house arrest.

So Clint frees Wanda, gives her another pep talk to get her off her ass, and then goes to save the world again. He picks up Scott along the way, even though he doesn’t know the guy. He’s told he can help and that’s all Clint needs. For that matter, Clint might not even know who Bucky is but when the guy who knows what’s happening tells them its time to move, he does. He doesn’t need to know all the minute details, he just has a goal and some allies and he’s going to make it work because he has to.

Clint gets no credit for any of this. The new people involved in the fight don’t even bother learning his name or skill set. But he fights anyway, and even allows himself to get caught in order to make sure that the pair who have the best shot of handling the new threat make it out to the real fight. Afterwards, he’s in a prison designed for people much more threatening than he is, but he still doesn’t regret his actions. He did the right thing and he’s willing to accept the consequences. The only thing he seems irritated about is that Tony wouldn’t listen to begin with.

Clint really deserves more credit in the MCU.