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Clint Barton was six years old and his older brother Barney was threatening to sell him to the circus again. Clint, being a six year old boy, thought that being in a circus sounded awesome. So instead of waiting for Barney to make good on his threats, Clint took matters into his own hands. He would find his own circus to join.
Clint even had an act! His Uncle Fisher and Uncle Dominic had been teaching him to throw knives and shoot bow and arrow. He couldn’t always hit the bull’s-eye, but he never, ever missed the target. Clint was super good with the knives, but he was even better with his bow.
The knapsack on Clint’s bed was almost packed, but he still needed food for the road. It would be a long walk, since there wasn’t a circus in town at the moment. Clint had packed his knives and his favorite sweatshirt, his compass and a sock with all his pocket money in it, and a flashlight and a bottle of root beer.
Clint managed to sneak an apple, three cookies, and a bag of chips out of the kitchen and into his bag without mom or dad or Barney noticing. And with all his supplies packed, Clint set off to find a circus. He snuck out the back door, shoved his knapsack under the fence into the neighbor’s yard and wriggled through the gap after it. Then he made his way out onto the sidewalk, shouldering his bag as he went.
Practically and eternity later Clint reached the house on the corner. The man who owned the house, a big, tall, black man with an eye patch, was sitting on his front porch, reading. When he caught sight of Clint, he waved the boy over.
“Where are you headed with such a trusty backpack?” The man asked when Clint had reached the porch.
“I’m gonna join the circus!” Clint said, hitching his backpack straps up with pride.
“And what will you do at the circus?”
“Throw knives and shoot arrows. I’m super good at it.”
“Really? I’d like to see.” The man said. Clint grinned, always eager to show off. He dropped his backpack on the ground and dug around for his knives. “Why don’t you try to hit the post of the mail box.”
Clint hopped up, five knives gripped in his right hand and the point of one held between the fingers of his left hand. The boy hit the edge of the post with the first knife, and hit dead center with the second. The man kept suggesting targets and Clint kept on throwing the knives. He hadn’t been able to bring his bow because his mom and dad kept it up in the closet in their room, or else he would have shown the man how much better he was with a bow.
Before Clint knew it, an hour had passed, and he hadn’t left Mr. Fury’s – they had traded names at some point – yard. And then Clint heard someone calling his name.
“Clint? Clint, where are you?” Mom called. She sounded worried, like the time Clint had caught the blade of one of his knives when Uncle Fisher had taught him how to juggle. Clint could still see the scars on his hand from that.
“Where’s the next target?” Clint asked excitedly. He would just throw one more time, then he would go find his mom.
Fury pointed and Clint threw, hitting the mark dead center. Then Mrs. Barton, a frazzled-looking blonde woman, reached the edge of Fury’s yard, looking around in a panic. She spotted her youngest son and practically flew through the gate and over to him.
“Clinton Francis Barton, where have you been?” Clint’s mom shouted, scooping him up and holding him close to her chest. “You had me worried sick. I got home from the store and you weren’t there and Barney hadn’t seen you in over an hour. Don’t ever do that again!”
“Mom.” Clint whined. “Mom, put me down, I want to keep hitting the targets.”
Mrs. Barton put Clint down and he looked to Mr. Fury for the next target before retrieving his knives. Mrs. Barton went to talk to the man sitting on the porch.
“Hello Mr. …”
“Fury. Nick Fury. Hello.”
“Matilda Barton, hello.” Nick Fury gestured to the chair next to him and Matilda sat down heavily. “I said hello twice, didn’t I? Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess right now. Clint wasn’t bothering you, was he?”
“Not at all, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten a chance to speak with someone quite as… candid as he is. We’ve been doing a little target practice to kill the time.”
“Did he just wander into your yard or…”
“I saw him walking along the – the knot on the tree again, Clint – sidewalk with a backpack and figured I might waylay him.” Fury said, pausing to give Clint another target. “He said that he was going to join the circus.”
“Well, I am so very grateful that you managed to catch him, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t found him.” Matilda stood and straightened her skirt. “I was wondering if you would join me and my family for dinner tonight as thanks for keeping Clint safe?”
“That would be lovely.”
“We’re in the grey house with the basketball hoop and the targets in the yard. We’ll see you at six then?” Fury nodded and Matilda called for Clint to pack away his knives. “Thank you again for keeping Clint safe.”