Chapter Text
15 years earlier
With his last glittering arrow exploding under the roof and a bright smile on his face, Clint bowed and left the center ring. The audience was swept off its feet. Like always, Clint thought. There was a reason why he was one of the main acts. He grabbed the towel he kept stashed behind the entrance and wiped his face before slinging it around his neck.
“Good show, kid.” Rusty, the clown said and patted his shoulder.
“Thanks, man.” He smiled at the older man and headed out of the big top to change and secure bow and quiver. On his way out of the tent, he went to the water bucket, filled the cup and drained it in a few swallows. The spotlight was always so hot and he was really sweaty and thirsty when he finished his routine.
“You outdid yourself.” He turned at the sound of Barney’s voice to find his brother grinning at him. “Did you hear them? They’re still cheering for you.”
“Nah, they’re just laughing at Rusty.” Clint grinned back at his brother.
“Come on, give yourself some credit. You were great tonight.”
“Thanks.” Clint swiped over his face once again.
“Okay, go change your clothes and come back when you secured your bow.” Barney slapped his back and walked out into the dark. Clint drank another cup of water before he left the big top and headed over to the trailer he shared with his brother, wondering what Barney wanted. He hoped that it wasn't about Buck having another job. He hated that. With a yawn, he opened the door and unstrung his bow, coiling the string and tossing it on the bed, along with his bow, and started to strip out of his clothes. He thought about a shower, but they still had to prepare everything for the next show tomorrow and he decided against it. After wiping away the worst of the sweat with a wet washcloth, he pulled on jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie. Just as he slipped into his first sneaker he froze, sensing that something was wrong. It was too quiet. Usually they could hear the sounds from the animals nearly constantly but now it was quiet.
Clint went to the door and opened it just a bit, but it was dark in the corner with the trailers. All of the carnies and performers were at the big top, and no one wasted electricity lighting empty trailers.
“Barney?” he called carefully. Maybe it was one of his pranks, waiting around the corner in the dark to jump out and scare him. He’d done it before. But no one answered.
“Barney, this is not funny,” he said aloud, trying to sound like he wasn’t bothered. Then he heard a noise on his right and he turned quickly. For a few seconds he thought about climbing back into the trailer and locking it, but then he’d never hear the end of it from his brother. Maybe it was just one of the dogs or cats that always found their way here whenever they set up. He slowly crept to the corner of his trailer and glanced around. But there was nothing there. With a sigh, he started to turn back when he suddenly felt hands on his shoulders. Someone yanked his arms behind him and dragged him back. Clint yelled and began to struggle to try and get free, but whoever was holding him was strong, really strong. And then another hand was pressed over his mouth, muffling his yells. Adrenaline flooded his body and he kicked back, trying to get the guy who was holding him to drop him. Clint was fast; he only needed a moment free and then he could take off. There was a metallic rattle and he felt metal cuffs close around his wrists. He tried to scream again, actually beginning to panic. For a moment, the hand across his mouth disappeared, only to be replaced with duct tape.
Suddenly there was light in his eyes and he blinked against the brightness, blinded by it. He tried to turn his head, but the guy behind him grabbed him by the hair and held him still.
“Is this the right one?” he asked. The guy holding the light held up something next to Clint’s face, looking at something, maybe a picture.
“Yes, that's him.”
“You sure? This kid?”
“Boss says it is. Besides, I wouldn't want to be in front of the business end of his bow,” the second guy chuckled.
“Come on, get him in the van.” Out of the darkness, a third voice spoke up. Clint felt his heart sink as he realized he probably never stood a chance of getting away. The light clicked off and the guy grabbed his legs, the third man coming forward to wrap his ankles with duct tape. They carried him away from the trailer. And while Clint still twisted his body and tried to scream, no one was there to help him. When he saw one of the men open the back doors on a black van, his struggles got even more desperate and he managed to twist himself violently enough to fall out of their grip and land on the ground. It hurt, and before he could do anything else, they picked him back up.
“No!” he tried to scream one last time, but the tape muffled it. He shook his head but the men grabbed him again. As they carried him around the back of the van, what he saw made his blood run cold. There was a cage, like the kind used to carry dogs. The third man opened the cage door and the two men who held him shoved him in. Clint thrashed with all his might, but in the end he was a tied up fifteen year old kid, and it was almost laughably easy for the men to force him into the cage. When he was finally in, they closed the door and sipped a padlock onto the door. The sound of it clicking shut was the worst thing Clint ever heard.
This couldn't be happening, he thought. A bunch of guys had just kidnapped him and he had no idea why. He still struggled and kicked against the bars that surrounded him, but then one of the guys took a syringe and came over to him. He shook his head and tried to move away as far as possible, but the cage was small and he had nowhere to go. The man grabbed his arm, shoved the baggy sleeve of his hoodie up, and jabbed the needle into the meat of his arm. The drug hit his system almost immediately. He tried to resist, but by the time the guys were climbing into the front of the van, he was already losing consciousness. His last thought was that he forgot to close the door to the trailer and anyone could go in and steal his bow.